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neptuneiris · 5 months

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Behind the Scenes (03/05)

Behind the Negotiation

pairing: actor!aemond × fem!reader

summary: knowing that you can't run away from your past forever, you receive unexpected visitors in your home that make you fear for your son's future.

word counter: 8.9k

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warnings: angst, arguments, language,mention of abortion.

guys, I'm sorry for the delay, with this chapter a lot of unexpected things came across my way, but I've finally finished it and I'm satisfied with the result, although I'm not sure if you will like it, it might bore you but I don't know, please let me know :)

without more to say, enjoy it and thanks for all the support, really! let me know your comments too, I'll be waiting for them!

You still remember it all too well.

You remember how you accepted Aemond's terms, the terms of his agent Criston and also of his entire team.

You agreed to keep the existence of your child a secret, to hide in the shadows with him and to keep a low profile until it was "safe" for Aemond's career to publicly and legally acknowledge the baby.

But you only accepted to take that worry off everyone's mind and especially his, so you could run away. Although the reality is that you were scared.

At first, Aemond's power, influence and connections kept you paralyzed, thinking about the consequences of breaking all ties with him.

And running away from him, disappearing from his life along with your son was a decision you had to make carefully and then had to live with in fear and dread of being found someday.

And the fear of possible legal reprisals for your escape and uncertainty about the consequences were present at every turn. But you did everything to live in freedom, not to destroy Aemond's career and to protect your son from all public exposure.

You always knew that Aemond with his celebrity status possesses power, not only in the entertainment industry, but also in the media and social sphere, that was obvious, just like any other celebrity.

So finding you could be as easy as snapping his fingers.

So to prevent Aemond from tracking your movements so he could find you, you began by discarding any means of transportation that could be easily monitored or tracked.

You avoided airports and bus terminals, opting instead for small train stations and local buses, always paying with cash. You left King's Landing and the entire state, going all the way to the Iron Islands.

In Pike, with the money you had left over, you were able to rent a room to yourself in a cheap hotel, then quickly began to look around for a job in the surrounding area in search of an opportunity that could provide you with support and stability.

You knew you couldn't get a job like the one you had before, on a recording set with a big salary. So downtown, you found a job at a beauty salon.

Not only does she own a beauty salon, she also owns a few small apartments in the city and offered you one of them at a lower price, considering you were just starting out with a new job.

The owner of the place, Becca Waters, a kind and understanding woman, saw potential and also the need in you.

Knowing your condition and that you practically came to live in a place where you knew nothing and no one, she also offered you a place to live and be safe.

Mrs. Waters became a fundamental support for you, providing guidance, encouragement, flexibility and stability in your financial need and also in your pregnancy.

With her you felt completely safe and supported at a time when you needed it most. After all you had gone through to get here, leaving your life behind and pregnant, she was your reward.

But still nothing was easy after that.

Your pregnancy process was a roller coaster of emotions, challenges and moments. Facing motherhood as a single mom was an overwhelming reality.

On the one hand, even though the baby was unplanned, you were excited to know that you would soon be holding him in your arms, but on the other hand, you also felt fear and anxiety at the responsibility of raising a child alone with no knowledge of anything really.

The first few months of pregnancy were especially difficult.

You experienced pain, symptoms and discomforts that you had no idea about and had to endure, as well as a slight state of depression and anxiety about dealing with all of this on your own.

But through it all, Becca was your pillar of support at all times, who became your confidant, giving you comfort and encouragement in difficult times. And she was the one who helped you throughout your pregnancy and also the one who was by your side when you gave birth to your child.

And even though you didn't want to, being in a very vulnerable state, you couldn't help but feel lonely and miss Aemond, just as you missed everything you once used to be.

But remembering everything that happened the last time you saw him, even though the feeling disappeared, you also couldn't help but start crying.

And to protect yourself emotionally, you decided to stay away from news about Aemond.

You avoided social media and any content that could remind you of your past with him. Your determination was great to be able to raise your child alone, without relying on Aemond's presence or acknowledgement.

And the day your son finally came into the world, it was a moment of joy and wonder that could not be compared to any other moment in life, filling your heart with indescribable happiness.

However, the birth also brought with it a torrent of new worries and challenges.

Childbirth was exhausting and intense. Nothing you've ever experienced before. And in the days that followed, the constant care of the newborn, the lack of sleep and the adjustment to your new life were heavy challenges that pushed you to the limit many times.

But in spite of that, every smile, every little gesture of your son filled your world with immense love, as well as Mrs. James' help in guiding you in practical aspects of motherhood increased your unwavering determination to go forward for him, being your driving force.

Although also the arrival of your son into the world increased your fear in you.

The fear that Aemond and his team might find you and take your son away from you was a constant worry. But despite this, there were moments of uncertainty when you thought too much about it.

You wondered why Aemond would bother looking for you and your child. Clearly the baby was a risk to his career and he didn't even want to support you from the start, only accepting it later because that was your decision.

You knew he wouldn't but you were still afraid.

Would Aemond really seek you out after he initially supported the idea of abortion?

Would he really seek you out after he supported your decision even if he didn't want to but in the shadows, avoiding any public acknowledgement and hiding you and your son?

But just when you had gotten used to it, had found stability with a job and a permanent refuge in the beauty salon with Mrs. Waters, a few months after the birth of your son, Mrs. Waters was forced to close the salon due to unforeseen financial problems.

That place that had been your refuge and where you found support and friendship, suddenly disappeared, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness, uncertainty and nostalgia.

Mrs. Waters would have to leave town and although you didn't want to, you also decided to do the same, convinced that you would be safer with your son in a place you knew well, avoiding at all times the places you used to go with Aemond and where you knew you could meet him.

So after looking for a job, with your resume and previous excellent references, in the city where the entire film industry resides, you got a job as a makeup artist in a different recording studio than the one you had worked in before.

There was no way you could meet Aemond, or so you thought.

Previously the TV network was BBC, now it was HBO for whom you would be working on a new TV show, so you really had nothing to worry about, especially since the pay was very good and you could survive just fine on that for you and your child.

But right on your first day of work, life decided to surprise you.

And now you are here, in your new apartment where you were planning to live temporarily until you find a better one, but now with you running away on your first day it means definite dismissal for sure, so you have no idea how you are going to pay for a better one or how you are going to pay for this one next month so you won't get kicked to the street.

But you can't even think straight as you are still shaking, your emotions are running high, you have no idea what really happened, it was all very fast between talking and remembering the past.

And the only thing that gives you some peace in the midst of your own thoughts and everything you're feeling, are the sounds of Aenar's toys and babbling in the living room, playing on the floor and touching everything he can.

His silver hair shines from the sunlight coming through the windows and he giggles as his colorful toys bump into each other, showing a world of happiness and innocent curiosity, completely filling your heart but you still feel that sharp ache in your chest.

You move towards him with a soft sigh and take a seat next to him, keeping a small genuine smile on your lips but with some melancholy, when he starts showing you all his toys and asks you between babbling and giggles to play with him.

You move the toys back and forth, ask him questions in honeyed tones and he laughs, making you laugh too, but you continue with the tumult of your overwhelming thoughts.

You think about what you will do now, that you should probably look for a job at a new beauty salon, which is what you should have done as soon as you got back, find a subtle job instead of going back to what you were doing before so suddenly.

However the paycheck was what made you take it and you need it too much, so you'll have to look for other alternatives.

You find yourself thinking about it when you suddenly hear the sound of the door completely interrupting your thoughts and also your game with Aenar.

You look towards the entrance, confused, with a strange feeling growing in your chest, immediately giving you a bad feeling. For who would come knocking at your door?

No one knows you're back… except Aemond.

Oh Gods.

The thought makes you paralyzed, feeling your whole body tense up, your heart starts beating fast and fear invades you completely.

Could it be him?

You wonder, struggling to stay calm, even though there's no way he could have figured out so quickly where you're living.

Or has he?

The thought leaves you completely paralyzed, with a mixture of anxiety and fear flowing inside you.

The knocking on the door becomes more insistent and you carefully get up and leave Aenar still amused in his game on the floor, then walk towards the door feeling a lump in your throat and a growing uneasiness.

You reach for the doorknob and as you turn it to open, your heart skips a beat when you find Aemond's agent standing in front of you, Criston Cole.

A trace of surprise and confusion flashes across your face, feeling your body tighten further and the fear linger.

How did he know where you were?

What is he doing here?

Criston returns you a serious but understanding look, beginning to feel the tension between the two of you, while you feel the fear invade you again because of the old memories and being him one of the main reasons why you decided to run away.

His mere presence triggers a series of emotions that take you by surprise. With no trace of Aemond or anyone else around you, yet your mind races.

Nervousness invades every fiber of your being, while your heart beats faster and stronger than usual. A sense of discomfort invades you and you also feel alert, afraid, unable to control it.

"Y/N."

He pronounces your name with a slight nod. His tone tries to be reassuring, but confusion and bewilderment wash over you.

You say nothing for a few seconds, feeling unable to speak and unable to formulate any words, barely trying at that moment to process the situation. Anxiety creeps through your chest, as he gives you and respects your space, aware of your unease.

"I understand that you're surprised by my visit and I don't want to make you uncomfortable, I really don't. But we need to talk."

The confusion inside you increases and so does the fear, to watch him completely bewildered and on the verge of collapse.

"H-how—

You try to ask with your voice cracking in the midst of all your emotions, but he interrupts you in response, knowing what you're going to ask.

"My team," he lets you know, "They handled finding you."

He tells you seriously and with that touch of professionalism in his tone, but his response only surprises and puzzles you more, to which Criston notices.

You feel the questions pile up in your head, but you barely manage to articulate a word, besides all the emotions you're feeling, fear mainly.

"Aemond informed us of your return," he adds, "After he didn't find you again, he asked us to look for you," he tells you calmly, trying to make his eyes convey an attempt at empathy for you.

But you don't believe that one bit. Not after what happened the last time you saw him and his entire team.

You feel a surge of vulnerability wash over you, leaving you suddenly helpless before him. You don't have the slightest idea how you will be able to cope with that situation, how to get away from them again now that they have found you, especially him.

"What have you really come for?" you question, not hiding your distrust.

Criston keeps a serene attitude and look, seeking to soften the tension, but notices your demeanor and posture, of fear and alertness altogether.

"Just to talk," he tells you softly, "Believe me the last thing I want and Aemond too is to cause you trouble. We just want to talk and nothing more," he explains, but you are having none of it, "He was going to come himself, but he had to film some scenes. But he'll come as soon as he can."

This just adds more weight to the anxiety and nervousness you're already feeling, so it triggers an alert in you that makes you feel completely freaked out, definitely not wanting that.

"No," you try to retort with a firm tone, but your vulnerability shows in your trembling voice and nervous expression, "Please leave."

Concern flashes across Criston's face for an instant, unconsciously taking a step towards you.

"Y/N–

"Please," you plead, "Just go away and don't come back, none of you, not even him."

"Y/N, please, just let me—

"No," you interrupt him again, more desperate than before, "Please," you repeat.

The atmosphere is filled with a silence full of tension, where your words, full of desperation and longing to get away from the situation, float in the air, also asking for urgent distance and tranquility.

And Criston lets out a sigh.

"Just a few minutes," he says, struggling to find some control in the situation, "Just-let us talk to you, Aemond and me."

"If it's to talk about his career and his son, I'm not interested," you say firmly, but your trembling voice gives away your emotions, "We've talked about that before," you say with some bitterness and sadness in your tone, "You can go now. I don't plan on staying anyway."

Without having let go of the door frame, you try to close the door, ending all of this, but he instantly speaks again, stopping you.

"Please Y/N, Aemond is very worried and wishes to speak with you," he insists, "He hasn't been the same since you left, you should know that," he adds in a persuasive tone.

You let out a snort in disbelief and with some bitterness, as you look away from his gaze for a moment.

"I highly doubt that."

"Y/N—

The sound of Aenar's innocent laughter while playing with his toys catches Criston's attention, stopping his words, who unconsciously catches a glimpse inside your living room where Aenar is playing and also catches a glimpse of his small figure on the floor with his characteristic silver hair.

This immediately triggers your concern and increases your protective mode and you quickly close the door a little behind you, blocking his view, while your heart is pounding.

This is what you meant.

You don't want anything bad to happen to your son, in any way. And you will do anything to protect him, because they decided everything except to protect you and now you will not allow them to intervene in your son's life now that they know he is here.

"Y/N," he calls to you in a softer voice, watching you completely intently and desperately asking you with his gaze for a moment.

"Please don't," you plead with him, at the point of collapsing from worry and frustration.

Again you enter the apartment as you hold the door frame tightly to close it, but Criston stops you again.

"You must understand the gravity of what happened," he tells you seriously, "Your disappearance put Aemond's relationship with his son in danger. There are legal implications for you to consider, such as custody," he says and your heart flips, "I can explain all of this to you and resolve it in the best way possible," he looks at you in insistence, "But only if you let me in so we can talk."

And there they are again. Your greatest fears.

The word 'custody' repeats over and over in your mind, like a loop, causing you greater fear, worry and pressure than before, the gravity of the situation and the looming legal implications being clear.

The air weighs on you, heavy with uncertainty and intense tension, as well as you are overcome with the urge to cry because of your doubts and fear.

"Wh-what-" you try to speak in a whisper, your voice cracking and your heart in a fist, "Custody?" you repeat under your breath.

Criston watches you with some pity and understanding, then lowers his gaze, lets out a sigh and watches you with that sympathy and also a little expectant.

"May I come in?"

Try one more time and maybe it's because of his words that your mind is in a state of alarm that makes you recognize that you can't run away again or else things will get worse. And you don't want that. You are afraid for yourself and Aenar.

Feeling more of your anxiety, you finally allow him to enter and Criston at this thanks you with his gaze and moves carefully, noticing your visible discomfort and also your fear, not wanting to alter you any further with absolutely nothing.

And once the door closes, you immediately stand in front of Aenar with a weak and vulnerable posture trying to look strong, this catching his attention and feeling something warm in his chest at the presence of the little one.

But he also knows exactly why you react this way and he doesn't blame you for it, much less does it bother him because he understands you.

"I'm very honest when I tell you that we really don't want to create more trouble, Y/N," he tells you in a soft tone, "Aemond…. he really is very worried. And since he is my client, we don't want any legal implications or further conflict."

You try to keep your composure, but your thoughts are a storm of confused emotions. The very idea of dealing with legal issues, especially regarding your son, is overwhelming to you.

"Why now?" you ask in a trembling voice, your gaze searching for answers, "All this… why?"

Criston exhales slowly, trying to find the right words.

"The situation has changed, basically since you left. Aemond was wrong at the time and I admit I was too, so now he's willing to acknowledge your son, in every way possible."

You can't help but look incredulous and bitter once again.

"It's already too late for that, don't you think?" you ask him in a bitter tone.

Criston looks down for a moment, his expression one of compassion and understanding towards your perspective.

"Yes, we know," he nods to you, "And that's why we're here, trying to keep all this from becoming a bigger problem. But please Y/N, understand that Aemond doesn't want to hurt you or cause you any more trouble than he's already caused."

"And until now you say that?" you inquire sad, worried, fearful and indignant, "That's what I needed to hear before when I was scared, because I was scared too Criston, not just Aemond," you let him know, with tears in the corners of your eyes, "But you treated me like a problem you needed to get rid of, you and him."

Criston listens to your words with a gesture in his eyes that reflects the heaviness of the situation, just as you see shame and regret wash over him, suddenly seeing him as the vulnerable one and you as the strong one compared to years ago, the roles reversing for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. We didn't mean to make you feel that way," he says in a regret-laden tone.

"Sorry doesn't change anything," you say, fighting back tears.

You watch him with your hard stare and sad eyes, feeling several tears fall down your cheeks, making you remember once again.

And once again without letting it drown you, you force yourself to push those memories away, all your moments of uncertainty, fear and pain, to brush your tears away from your cheeks with a strong look of determination.

"I will accept any legal consequences if there are any," you say suddenly, trying to keep your composure, "If there are legal actions, I'm willing to face them. But for now, I just want to be left alone, please."

"Y/N," Criston calls you cautiously, "I just want you to understand that we want to do the right thing now. And what we want to do is find a solution that works for you and for Aemond regarding him," he points to Aenar with his gaze behind you, "Something that guarantees your privacy while not damaging his public image."

Then all the effect of his words completely disappear on you.

You feel a surge of frustration, annoyance and despair at the realization that still the main concern remains Aemond's career.

"Do you still think about his career?" you ask with disappointment and resentment in your tone.

"Y/N—

"The most important thing here is my son," you stand strong, "But he seems to be only one aspect of Aemond's image, doesn't he?"

"Even after all this time that has passed, Aemond's career is more successful and even promising than before, that is something that neither you, him nor I should forget, let alone ignore," he tries to explain to you, "Aemond wants to fix things but his career must also be contemplated, please understand this Y/N."

"Then why do you say you want to do things the right way now if that is not true?" you inquire.

"Yes it is true," he clarifies, "But within all of this, his career must still be contemplated."

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to believe it.

"You say a lot of things Criston, but it's clear what matters most to you," you say with no emotion in your voice, "And sure, why shouldn't his career matter most to you? After all… you don't know what it's like to get pregnant, without support and go through the whole process by yourself, and then raise a child on your own, without the support of his father."

"I don't mean to—

"Please go away," you plead once more and this again alerts him.

"Y/N—

He tries to speak but the sound of the door echoes throughout the living room, drawing your full attention and Criston's as well.

The atmosphere again becomes heavier than before, as well as all your confidence disappears, already knowing who it is and you are confirmed by the fact that the person behind the door knocks more insistently, sounding desperate.

With your fearful gaze and your whole body tense, you quickly move towards Aenar, who is still playing completely oblivious to everything that is happening on the floor and you take him in your arms with haste but also care.

You hold him tightly against your body, as a way to protect him from everything outside and also from all people especially while trying to contain all your emotions.

And Criston, who also knows who it is, rushes to the door to open it.

And there on the doorway, the figure of Aemond comes into view, with all the desperation and longing in his gaze, the worry and anguish too, as you muster the courage to be able to look him in the eye again, holding Aenar a little more firmly against your chest.

But your son's body is visible to the eye and that's what makes Aemond completely paralyzed at the sight of you with his son in your arms.

Surprise is completely reflected in his whole look, immediately followed by a bunch of emotions that start to pile up in his whole being and want to come out, as he feels his whole body tense up and a feeling in his stomach invades him.

This leaves him and you in a state of momentary restlessness, where time seems to stand still and the silence is too loud. You, with your gaze fixed on him, try to keep your composure with a mixture of fear, insecurity and some determination to protect your son at all costs.

It didn't take long for Aemond's surprise to turn into a moment of awe and a surge of overwhelming emotions. The mere sight of you with his child in your arms triggers disbelief, pent-up longing and a feeling of suppressed joy.

"Y/N," Aemond calls your name in a whisper, his tone laden with surprise and visible regret, where his gaze can't tear away from you and Aenar.

You say nothing, just watch him back without saying anything, with all your emotions reflecting in your eyes.

The moment is just the three of you, so Criston turns away completely, not interfering and saying absolutely nothing, while you continue in your protective mode and Aemond is still processing this whole moment.

With excitement clashing against the surprise in his eyes, he tries to process the reality of having his son before him for the first time.

He searches for the right words to speak, but his stuck mind won't let him, nor will the lump in his throat and stomach as he continues to watch the scene in front of him; you with his son in your arms.

He tries to say something, but his lips barely half open and the words won't come out, feeling his heart beating too fast and hard.

And you with your gaze full of expectation, fear and caution, Aemond finally looks at you again, aware of all the emotional charge you feel, just like him, as well as your fear and distrust after everything that happened.

"C-can… can I come closer?"

He finally asks cautiously, his voice with a tone of longing and nervousness barely contained.

You hesitate at that moment.

Feeling the weight of the situation and the emotions that are triggered at that moment, despite everything, you feel very vulnerable and you also feel his vulnerability, also that longing to touch Aenar and hold him.

And despite the way he acted with you almost two years ago and also the way Criston and all his team treated you, you don't feel able to be as cruel as they were with you back then.

You don't want to be like them and also aware that this day would come sooner or later, you watch Aenar for a moment, leave a soft kiss on his forehead and again watch Aemond, then nod in his direction with a barely perceptible gesture.

You allow Aemond your closeness and he with extreme care begins to approach you slowly, as if fearing that a sudden movement could fade the magical and longing moment.

Aemond's heartbeat echoes in your ears as he finally stands in front of your son.

Aenar, completely oblivious to everything, senses the nearness of someone else and raises his curious gaze to Aemond, watching him with those bright blue eyes.

And upon seeing that man with the same hair color as his own, his eyes light up with a gleam of curiosity, lightly waving his arms and also his body.

With his teary eye, he watches you for a moment, to again focus on Aenar and with a mixture of excitement and awe, he extends one of his trembling hands towards his small, delicate face.

And when the touch of his fingers against his soft skin of his cheek makes itself felt, Aemond feels an unfamiliar sensation invade him completely.

A sad but honest smile full of melancholy appears on his lips as he gently and carefully traces his face, running his hand up to his silver hair, gazing intently into those blue eyes just like his own as Aenar watches him with that playful innocence but also just as curious as his own.

You, unsure of exactly what to feel or think, watch as he carefully reaches out both arms and begins to hold his body, feeling the warmth and weight of his small body now resting in his arms.

That unfamiliar, overwhelming feeling from before comes over him even more strongly as he holds his son for the first time, when Aenar lifts one of his hands and touches his left cheek, where his scar is.

The emotion makes his breath hitch as he struggles to hold back the tears of restrained happiness that will come at any moment.

It was a moment he had imagined countless times, but had never believed possible until this instant.

Aenar, captivated by the newness and warmth in the arms of Aemond, his father, laughs innocently, his eyes dazzling a happiness as he notices the familiarity in that new face above him. And at his gesture, Aemond lets out a choked laugh, completely captivated by him.

And unable to contain himself any longer, the first sob escapes his throat and the tears fall, instantly pulling his son's face to his chest, embracing him with gentleness and that security that makes him feel so vulnerable when Aenar settles perfectly in his arms.

Guilt, sadness, joy, emotion, everything invades him in that moment.

And he lets out more tears for the comfort that Aenar gives him in his arms, that feeling of protection and even… love, that makes him feel even more vulnerable.

And you are still there, close to them but giving Aemond his space, watching everything attentively with your heart in a fist and feeling sensations you had not felt before at the scene, with tears also wanting to slide down your cheeks.

After a few more seconds, Aemond slurps his nose and looks over Aenar's small shoulder at you with all the vulnerability in his gaze.

"I-I know I don't deserve this," he says with his voice cracking, trying to control himself but he can't.

And he is about to say something else but you watching his expression, a mixture of regret and deep sadness, you step forward to speak.

"In spite of everything, he deserves to know his father," you murmur with your trembling voice and teary eyes, "Aenar deserves this," you assure him, accepting it as you watch the scene of the two of them.

Aemond nods, unable to articulate words, still feeling the lump in his throat, his face reflecting pain, regret and a sadness you have never seen in him before, as his tears continue to fall as he embraces his son.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, unable to contain the emotion, turning to him and to you. "I'm so sorry. I-I didn't know how to face it…how to be there."

Silence again settles throughout the apartment, only being filled by Aemond's soft crying, as you silently weep and continue to watch the two of them.

A few minutes have passed since Aemond and your son met for the first time.

Aenar laughs with delight as Aemond plays with him with one of his toys. They are both immersed in a little world of fun where it's just the two of them, surrounded by Legos blocks, small plastic cars and puppets.

You watch everything, or almost everything, without interfering and giving them both their space, watching your son enjoy a special moment that on another occasion, could have been a daily routine with a different life.

Criston doesn't say or do anything either, he at all times stands in the corner watching the whole interaction, letting Aemond have his moment with his son, genuinely feeling happy for him.

And even though the scene makes you feel warm in your heart, being a scene you longed for before, you still still feel insecure, afraid and overwhelmed by this whole situation.

This doesn't really change anything. You have only given Aemond the opportunity to meet his son because your son deserves it, nothing more.

Inside you are still just as scared and in expectation that at any moment this whole 'beautiful' moment will fade away. And that's exactly what happens when you hear Criston's voice all over the living room.

"I wouldn't want to ruin the moment, truly," he says seriously and honestly, "But it's important that we talk about all this so we can resolve it properly."

This immediately catches your attention and also Aemond's, with whom you exchange a quick glance, again feeling your whole body tremble and out of the same nervousness you are overcome with the impulse to take your son in your arms to feel safe.

"It is important that we talk about the child, about what you are going to do now," he turns to Aemond, "Custody is important and all that goes with it."

"I don't understand why you keep talking about custody," you look at him nervously and annoyed, "I alone have cared for and raised Aenar all this time."

"I know this is complicated and sudden, Y/N," Criston tells you, "But we need to approach this whole thing responsibly."

"Responsibility?" you repeat incredulously, "What responsibility are you exactly talking about?"

"Y/N," Aemond immediately interjects, "Listen to me, please," he gets up from the floor leaving Aenar playing alone and walks towards you, "It's not my intention to take our son away from you, truly. But we must make sure we have legal rights to be in his life," he explains to you, "You were the one who ran away, who disappeared without a word. I didn't know what happened to you."

You look at him uncomprehendingly, with your hurt and desperate gaze.

"You talk about custody and rights when in the beginning that was the last thing on your mind, Aemond," you observe him incredulously, "And you keep reproaching me for running away when you know perfectly well that I did it so I could live and so I wouldn't ruin your career, which was all you were thinking about."

Regret again invades Aemond's face, as the atmosphere becomes denser, full of mixed emotions where fear and anger resurfaces with everything else.

Any trace of calm and peace, has ceased to exist, only being perceived by Aenar, who continues oblivious and innocent to all this in his games.

"I-I…" Aemond tries to speak, "I'm sorry for everything, Y/N. But back then...

His sentence hangs in suspense, not knowing what else to say, trying to find the right words without wanting to generate more tension, but that's what he involuntarily does.

"Back then," you repeat, your emotions running high, "Back then you were too busy taking care of your public image, supporting the idea of an abortion without consulting me, then supporting the idea of hiding me and my child as if we were a problem, which in fact we were and as if it was my only option, leaving me with no alternatives," you express with frustration and pain marked in every word.

Regret remains in Aemond's facial expressions, looking visibly affected by your words, grief-stricken and with a regret throughout his body that affirms to him that you are absolutely right, each word being like a dagger straight to his heart.

"Y-you don't know how much I regret and blame myself for all of that, Y/N," he tells you with vulnerability in his tone, "And I know I don't deserve it, any of this, not even that you allowed me to meet him and that I'm now in the same place as him," he says with regret, "But I want to find a solution that works for both of us," he whispers sadly.

The room is again consumed by silence, except for the sound of Aenar's toy movements, which is what catches Aemond's attention for a moment to smile a little more melancholy.

The situation becomes increasingly complex as your emotions continue to run high between anger and sadness, with the memory of past times still latent, but also with the uncertainty of the future.

And Criston, trying to keep calm, intervenes again.

"I understand that you both have different perspectives on what happened. But now we need to think about the future, of your son," he says seriously, "It's not just about custody, it's about finding a way to strike a fair balance, but… thinking about your career too, Aemond."

You let out a disbelieving, ironic snort again, shaking your head.

"His career,'" you repeat with a bitter tone, your voice a mixture of sarcasm and disappointment.

Aemond, watching you sadly and remorsefully, speaks in a calm but regret-laden voice.

"I don't want you to look at this that way, Y/N—

"That's just the way I see it," you interrupt him, serious and sad, "This is exactly why I left. This is why when I saw you again, I decided to run away again," you say hurt, "Now that you've met him, you want to be in his life, but you still prefer to hide us. This kind of life is the one you wanted to give us at the beginning and now you still do too."

Your revelations Aemond had already heard, but at that moment, again that sharp pain in his chest becomes present, as well as guilt, remorse and regret at seeing your sad face with such honest words.

"All I want is to come to an agreement, Y/N, please—

"You're not going to hide us," you interrupt him firmly.

"Aemond," he calls him seriously.

"No, that's not my intention—

He insists desperately but Criston intervenes.

"Don't," Aemond interrupts him instantly, turning serious and with an annoyed expression towards him, "We can't hide the truth anymore, Criston. Things must change."

"Look, I understand that this is difficult for you," he begins in a serious and cautious tone, "But still, we must consider the consequences. There's a lot at stake here, your career," he reminds him, "You have numerous job offers. Your show on HBO is the most famous show on the platform and the most watched show on television so far. How do you think people are going to react when they find out about your son?"

The room sinks into another silence, as you watch him with your hard, sad face, frustration, annoyance and irritation inside you, watching as Criston continues to treat your son like he's a problem.

And it hurts you.

Because Aemond doesn't even say anything.

"We can find a way to handle all this without putting at risk everything you have achieved, Aemond. And if you get a share of the custody, your son will be under your protection without harming your image," he proposes with an insistent look, seeking his approval.

You look away again, completely incredulous and with helplessness all over you.

It's not Aemond, it's Criston.

It is he who continues to manipulate Aemond to prioritize his career over his son, so that everything revolves around public image and fame, diverting attention from the well-being of your son.

And what can you really do there?

He is his agent, the person who has positioned him where he is now, making him famous, relevant, telling him what roles to take in movies or TV shows that are going to ensure one more success to his career.

"If you listen to him…" you begin to say in his direction with a trembling but firm tone, "If you do what he tells you, I swear I won't care what I have to do, even go into debt to get a good lawyer," you warn, "I will fight for the custody of Aenar and when I get it, I assure you that you will never see him again, ever."

Your words slip from your lips with a determination that completely surprises Aemond, surprise and concern visible on his face, watching you hurt for a moment, his mind a complete mess.

But it is not he who speaks, but Criston who takes the floor once more.

"If that's what you want, Y/N… that's fine," he tells you seriously, his gaze cold and calculating. "But let me warn you, we're trying to come to an agreement—

"The two of you or you specifically?" you snap at him.

"That doesn't matter, Aemond is my client and my job is to secure and protect his career," he tells you seriously, "And if you'd rather take this to fighting for full custody of Aenar, then so be it," he nods at you, "But I assure you, you're going to end up losing."

"That's enough."

Finally, Aemond's voice rises from where he stands, aimed directly at Criston, with a serious, hard stare that reveals a newfound determination.

"We are talking about our son, an issue that concerns her and me, this has nothing to do with you," he declares, his tone firm and his posture defiant.

"Your career has to do with me," he clarifies to her also serious, "You must think about what you are going to sacrifice. Your future, your career, the opportunities that await you-

"I said that's enough," he spits back at her, serious and annoyed, watching him with a hard stare, taking Criston by surprise.

And before he can say anything else, there is another knock on the door, drawing your full attention and making you feel completely alert, especially when Criston is the one who again goes to open the door, as if he knows exactly who it is.

And as you open the door, just like that day, Aemond's publicist, an assistant and the PR people enter your apartment.

Surprise flashes all over your face, watching with your eyes wide open the unexpected arrival of that group of people, whose intentions are not good.

"Thank you for coming," Criston tells them as he closes the door behind him.

"Of course."

Their eyes flick to you for a moment and then focus on Aenar, watching them back with curiosity in their gaze, while you feel confusion and fear completely take over you.

Despair, fear, your future, Aenar, everything mixes together in a horrible way that makes you want to vomit, letting out a couple of tears to quickly turn to your son and hold him in your arm, turning your back to them and starting to cry silently.

And Aemond, seeing your reaction, equally as surprised as you, quickly turns to Criston, his gaze full of confusion and annoyance.

"What is this? Why have you called them?" he inquires with his voice full of restrained anger.

And Criston, unabashed and uncaring of his actions, responds with a calm but calculated determination.

"We are not going before a jury to settle this, Aemond, it will be a waste of time and she will cause us more trouble," he says regardless, "This is necessary for your career, to address this whole issue strategically to protect your image, whether she likes it or not."

Aemond's expression transforms to one of frustration and helplessness.

But before he can intervene, his entire team begins to act.

"We need to establish an immediate plan, now," Criston says.

"Will the strategy be to minimize the impact on the media?" asks the publicity man.

"No, I want it hidden," Criston clarifies, "The approach must be careful and calculated. The priority is Aemond's reputation and career."

"I suggest we limit the exposure of Y/N and the child in public."

"We could create an alternative narrative to deflect attention by highlighting Aemond's professional accomplishments and minimizing the focus on his personal life."

"This must be handled with discretion. We cannot allow this situation to interfere with Aemond's career opportunities," Criston says firmly.

And so your entire living room fills with the sound of all those voices, each voice contributing ideas to control the situation, the problems, Aenar and you.

The tension intensifies, as everyone meticulously plans how to run the public narrative, completely ignoring Aemond's and your personal needs and concerns.

Tears slip down your cheeks silently as you hug Aenar tightly to your chest. This instantly catches the attention of Aemond, who steps worriedly towards you, placing his hand on your shoulder, positioning himself in front of you, but you abruptly pull away from him, watching him with an expression of pain and anguish amidst your tears and suffering face.

"Y/N—

"Why are you doing this? Why are you allowing this?" you ask in your broken, desperate voice.

"No, I swear to you I had no idea that he—

"I left, Aemond," you remind him with your voice cracking, "I left to save your career. And everything was fine, with you and me, our lives," you sob, "Why did you ask Criston to find me? Why do you care and insist on saying you want to be in our lives, when your career is still the most important thing?"

Pain and confusion echo in your words, lingering in the mind of Aemond, who in his gaze reflects a mixture of guilt, bewilderment, pain and sadness.

But everything hurts him more the moment you turn away from him, with a defeated gesture, turning your back to him and your whole body trembling in fear, Aenar in your arms being what gives you strength not to fall apart at that moment.

"We can prepare official statements to control the leaking information to minimize any negative impact on his public reputation."

"Rest assured that we need to maintain full control of this situation. We cannot allow any details to slip out," Aemond hears Criston's voice.

And that's when something snaps inside him.

Every repressed feeling bursts out in a whirlwind of emotions that were fighting to get out, your worry, the anger at himself and the guilt that invades him.

Everything explodes and ignites into a fury that he can no longer contain, seeing your state, causing him anger and feeling completely guilty.

Because everything is in fact his fault.

So without waiting a second longer, he walks to the center of the living room and with a hard, serious, completely annoyed look on his face and with his jaw clenched, he acts.

"Get out of here, all of you, now!" he exclaims, instantly drawing everyone's attention and yours as well.

For an instant everyone watches him and nothing else, slightly surprised and expectant, Criston too, unmoving and doing nothing, causing you a wave of despair.

"I said everyone out!" he exclaims in a firm voice and his gaze full of determination.

And it's only then that one by one the team finally leaves your apartment, except for Criston.

"What are you doing?" he inquires with a touch of disbelief in his tone, challenging Aemond.

"You get out of here too."

He orders him annoyed and with irritation, his voice charged with a frustration that has already reached its limit.

"Aemond, this is important, you can't just—

"I need to talk to Y/N alone," he interrupts her with his tone in a mixture of anger and determination, "I'm warning you, Criston. If you ever do anything else again without consulting me and interfering with this, I'm going to seriously consider firing you, which is what I should have done long ago," he shoots back at him with his defiant stare.

The pulse of the room beats with unbearable intensity as Aemond and Criston hold a duel of intense stares. However, in the face of Aemond's firmness, Criston finally resigns himself with a serious, annoyed look, full of frustration and resignation.

And finally he heads for the door, his footsteps sounding in the room as he leaves the apartment.

Aemond watches him leave with a mixture of relief and exhaustion, no longer feeling his shoulders tense. The silence expands once more as soon as the door closes and he turns to you with a gaze filled with a quiet, worried intensity.

The silence lingers for a few moments longer, a dense atmosphere charged with unspoken emotions. When he takes a step toward you, hesitantly.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice ringing with sincerity and regret, "What happened, my insistence… none of this was my intention, much less to cause you pain and hurt you," he admits with his vulnerability again reflected.

And even though it's just you and him in your apartment, your fear lingers.

"P-please don't take my son from me," you plead between sobs, your voice filled with anguish and fear.

Aemond's heart contracts in suffering and worry at your words, his gaze instantly reflecting it.

"What? No, no, Y/N… that is not what I want to do, it is not my intention to take our son from you."

He tells you instantly insistent but in a serene and sincere voice, taking a few more steps towards you, placing himself in front of you, trying to reassure you. But tears continue to slide down your cheeks.

"This is why I left, so I wouldn't cause you any more trouble, so I could live and keep our son safe," you repeat with your voice cracking.

"I know, Y/N, I know," he tells you sympathetically and with a soft tone, "And you don't know how much I hate myself for having been the cause of you deciding to leave, for having hurt you so much to the point of having made that decision," he says sincerely, his eye beginning to tear up, "And this is not just about him, about our son," he tries to explain, "Yes, it is important, but it is also about us," he speaks with a longing, "Since you left, I never stopped thinking about you, and I-I...

He hesitates, unable to fully express his feelings, as he stands in front of you and wants to hold you, you and your son, as he faces his deepest emotions, feeling a tear run down his cheek and looks at you with all the sincerity and pain in his gaze.

"I love you," he finally says, in a completely vulnerable whisper, trembling, lowering his gaze, unable to look you in the eye, "Despite everything, despite my mistakes, despite my work, despite everything that happened…. I-I still love you," he declares in a whisper laden with longing and regret, "And our son too."

His words get stuck in your mind.

With your heart clenched by the surge of emotions, your eyes watch him back with a mixture of surprise, pain and longing. Aemond's sincerity and vulnerability... it's all too much and makes you feel completely helpless, definitely not expecting that.

You can't speak, your words get stuck in your throat, your heart fluttering with the intensity of the moment, your surprise.

And Aemond completely understands your silence.

"I understand that you don't love me anymore and that you can't love me again, I also understand that things can't go back to the way they used to be because of my job. But please… don't keep running away," he pleads quietly, "We won't fight over custody, there will be no legal repercussions, I'm not going to do any of that," he assures you, "Just…" he lets out a long breath, "Just get back to work and let's face this together."

He proposes with his voice full of fragile but hopeful determination, unexpectedly causing you to feel a relief and a warm feeling in your chest.

"I just want Aenar to be okay and let's consider his well-being as the most important thing," you say quietly, while Aemond listens attentively with his face full of longing, regret and understanding, "But we need time and patience. Also that no one else interferes."

Aemond nods, with a slightly more relieved expression, but keeping in mind that there is much to resolve, to heal and to build.

"I understand that and… I'm willing to do whatever it takes… for him and for you," he says sincerely.

You nod too, as silence takes over again, but this time it is permeated with a shared understanding and a determination to face whatever is necessary for Aenar's well-being.

And finally after so much, you feel calm and fortunately, this time with the support of Aemond, who hesitantly leaves a gentle kiss on your forehead and another on Aenar's forehead, taking him back into his arms.

taglist:

@imaegonstargaryenswife0 @bellstwd @gibbsgirl7 @toodlesxcuddles @imsoshygirl @croatianprincess @gemini-mama @a-little-roony-mara @mysteris-things @zenka69 @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @duds31 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @eternally-passionate @bellaisasleep @ttkttt @aemshaircare @mellowdreamlandpost-blog @noodle81937 @mooncalvin @queenofshinigamis @n4tforlife @vexladin @dixie-elocin @wotcherpeak @watercolorskyy @shiny-trashs-blog @strangersunghoon @elysian0612 @skzenhalove @iloveallmyboys

next part taglist:

@anehkael

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen angst #modern aemond #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell fandom #ewan mitchell characters

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sirfrogsworth · 7 months

Text

Last week was crazy.

I honestly can't believe all of it happened in the span of a week. Well, I guess it was more like 10 days. But it was another... Alot.

It all started when I got my disability denial letter. I couldn't wait until I got into the house so I opened the envelope as I walked back from the mailbox. Once I saw the bad part I had an instant panic attack in my driveway.

I ran inside...

Okay, that isn't true.

I walked very quickly inside...

Nope, still not true.

Okay, I walked at my personal top speed which is probably still slow for most people... but the point I'm trying to make is that I was attempting to hurry despite only saving myself about 3 seconds of travel time.

But the hurrying made me feel better, okay?

Out of breath from my geriatric-style powerwalking, I called my lawyer's office immediately. And... he is on vacation. Won't be back until the next Thursday. I spent the entire weekend going through every panic state a body can feel. I go from angry to depressed to anxious to panicked to angry (again) to scared to more scared to extra more scared. Visions of homelessness danced in my head.

I can't sleep for over a day because my brain won't shut off. Finally my body gives out and I fall asleep on the couch watching random YouTube videos. But falling asleep on the couch is bad because I'm not hooked up to my CPAP machine. Then I finally do hook up my CPAP and my damned mask breaks. Thankfully it has happened before and I have a cool hot glue and duct tape solution. But it is hard to manage hot glue and tape when you haven't slept in days and your eyes will barely stay open. So a few burned fingers later, I am sleeping comfortably in my janky duct tape-laden CPAP mask.

Monday rolls around and I decide to go into problem solving mode. Problem solving is my superpower, so I was going to lean into that in an effort to reduce my anxiety. The denial letter said they had no records from before I was 22, so I put on my detective hat and began the hunt to prove I was sick before 2004. My aunt helped me dig through my mom's document drawer. I distinctly remember an essay I wrote to the disability people back when I first got sick. It was part of the paperwork they had me submit. It was a first hand account of my symptoms back in 2001. It also had an essay from my dad talking about how sick I was. I felt like if I could find that, the records surrounding it would all be related and from the same time period.

We go through the entire drawer and only find a few things that might be helpful. Then I realized my mom had a *second* drawer full of documents and my aunt was blocking it. So we start going through that and find a folder labeled "Ben's Disability Stuff." I would have never kept any of that stuff but my mom kept *everything* and it was all in chronological order.

She is still looking out for me.

And she may have kept me from being homeless.

We find the essay and records of my ECT treatments and the names of doctors and all kinds of evidence of my medical woes before 2004. And even if they won't accept it as direct evidence, I can use these documents to show doctors I was their patient. And my primary care doctor said he would be willing to talk to those past doctors to help me convince them to write a letter on my behalf. All they really have to say is they treated me for severe depression and fatigue. And because my mom kept a list of my prescriptions and my ECT treatments, I'm hoping that will be enough to convince them even if they don't remember treating me.

Wednesday I had my monthly checkup. And I got to peek at my main doctor's records from before 2004. It's all handwritten notes and a little hard to read (bad doctor handwriting is the most accurate stereotype in existence). But it clearly says I had depression and was undergoing ECT treatments. It even mentions one of the doctors I want to write me a letter. It's not a lot, but it is first hand, direct medical evidence from that time period. I think it will be very compelling to whoever reviews my case.

I also talked to the nurses/assistants in the office about copying my entire chart, and I thought we were on the same page, but as you will see later... we were not on the same page.

I exit the building and remember how far away I had parked. And once again I forgot to use my cane—even though I keep a spare in the car. The main lot was full and the disabled parking was occupied, so I had to park in the secondary lot. My legs were holding up so far, but it was already a lot of walking for me. Very slow walking.

His office is in the same complex as the hospital. Which is my next stop. It's the same hospital that I have been going to all of my life. And the hospital where both of my parents died.

But I need vintage medical records and that is where they keep them.

Or so I thought.

I drive from the medical office parking lot to the hospital parking lot and only the spots farthest away are empty. And because of goddamn global warming, it is 90 fucking degrees in late September. I park, lock my car, grab my man purse, and start hoofing it to the hospital entrance. I'm so nervous about getting these records that I forgot my damn cane again.

My thoughts are basically, "What if they only keep 7 years of records like everyone else? What if the records from Christian Northwest aren't kept with the records from Christian Northeast? (Christian NW doesn't exist anymore.) What if they won't send them to my lawyer? What if it costs a thousand bucks? What if, what if, what if..."

I get to the front desk and ask the lady where the records department is. She gives me directions that my brain is only capable of half paying attention to. Then I realized I left the records release form from my lawyer in the car. So I walk another half mile in the heat to my car without my cane. And initially, my thought was, "Well, at least I can grab my cane once I get the form." But by the time I got to my car my thought was, "AHHHHHHHHH THAT WAS A LONG FUCKING WALK. KILL ME!"

And so I forgot my cane.

Again.

I get back to the lobby and wave at the lady who gave me directions. I pretend like I remembered and confidently walk in the direction I recall her pointing to. I found the elevator. Thankfully this particular elevator only goes two places. Which seems like a waste of an elevator, but... whatever. I get off on the second floor and am met with a big sign with all the departments and little arrows next to them.

(I'm sure you knew what I was talking about but I'm trying to break up this wall of text with images because I am a professional blogger person.)

I see "Medical Records" and a leftward arrow. I used my keen detective skills to surmise I should probably veer left.

I find myself at the beginning of the world's longest hallway.

Without my cane.

And it is flooded with sterile florescent light and the walls are adorned with the world's most inoffensive art.

Here is a painting of a plant. Here is a painting of a bird. Here is a painting of a bird sitting on a plant. Wait, is that a... WATERFALL??

Suddenly Indiana Jones' voice shouts in my thoughts...

So, if you had to guess, do you think the records department was...

A.) near the beginning of the hallway? B.) in the middle of the hallway? C.) beyond the world's longest hallway in the world's second longest hallway?

As I enter the world's second longest hallway, I notice the art is repeating itself. I've seen that bird sitting on a plant before. I worried I was going in circles, but it turns out they probably just bought the inoffensive art in bulk and weren't concerned about repeats. I get about halfway down the second longest hallway and see a big sign sticking out... "MEDICAL RECORDS."

Note to God: The real world needs a fast travel mode.

I was a big sweaty mess and my legs were like jello. I lumber through the door and find a young woman scrolling through her phone and probably wishing she was anywhere else. She was behind a huge partition with a plexiglass divider—probably still there from COVID days.

I mean, it's still COVID days. But no one is acting like it so I am just pretending it is all over like everyone else seems to.

She notices an out-of-breath Hagrid towering over her and apathetically inquires, "Can I help you?"

I hold up a finger as I try to gain my composure and figure out exactly what I want to say. I usually rehearse this kind of thing beforehand but with all of the anxious thoughts spiraling through my brain, I totally forgot to do that.

"I need to ask questions about records." "What kind of questions?" "Well, how long are the records?" "I'm sorry?" "What year do they start?" "What year do you need?"

I'm suddenly realizing why I rehearse these things. So I take a moment and breathe deeply. I form the proper question in my mind.

"How far back do you keep medical records?" "30 years."

I shoot my hands up like I just scored a touchdown and say, "OH THANK GOD."

She is very confused.

"30 years, oh my god. 30 years just saved my life."

She is still very confused.

"And do you have records from Christian Northwest?" "Yes, we have everything from all Christian hospitals."

I try to give her a brief explanation of my situation and she cuts me off. "Fill out this form."

I look at the clipboard and it is a release form.

Do you remember way back when I walked an extra mile to and from the car to get a release form that my lawyer prepared? Well, turns out they have their own version of that and I walked all that way for nothing.

I finish the form and hand it to the bored, indifferent front desk lady. She tells me someone will be out in a moment. So I sit in the uncomfortable waiting chairs and try to rest a bit. A much tinier young woman walks to the front desk partition thingie and calls out my name. But due to her diminutive stature, she is completely obscured by a pillar and I have no idea where the voice is coming from. We do this little awkward dance on either side of the pillar, attempting to see each other, and finally we both end up on the same side. She starts looking over my form and seemed a little annoyed that I left a section blank. I wasn't sure what kind of records I needed and there was no box that said "everything everywhere all at once."

What I really wanted was any document with my name on it from the beginning of time.

But I was worried about asking for too much labor from this person so I started negotiating for some reason.

I was like, "Well, like, I really need like anything you have from before like 2004. And then maybe, like, some general records after 2004. Like, the pre-2004 records are super important. But, like, I also need to show I was sick all my adult life. So if there are like, summary records? Or, like, something?"

I couldn't stop saying like. I was turning into a Kardashian. Again, some rehearsal was probably warranted.

"I just don't want to be a burden and make you dig up all of my records. I mostly need my ECT records from 2001."

"What is ECT?"

"Shock therapy. It's for depression. I just need to show I was really sick before the age of 22."

"And who is this guy on the form?"

*ramble mode engaged*

"Oh, that is my disability attorney. You see, I'm trying to get a special kind of disability, but I need to prove I was sick before the age of 22. So anything like that before 2004 would be very helpful. But like, if you have less detailed records after 2004 that is good too. Because I may need to prove I've been sick my entire adult life."

*continued rambling until I notice she stopped paying attention*

She did not need to know all of this. And I was not answering the questions she needed answered. I was nervous and babbling and oversharing and I couldn't snap out of it. And I was really concerned if I asked for too much, she was going to be upset. But then she told me all of the records were in a warehouse and she would not actually be finding them for me. She just places an "order" for them. So this weird negotiation thing I was doing to keep her from being annoyed at me was pointless.

And I also realized... this is super important.

I yell at myself, "Ask for everything, stupid! Quit trying to get halfassed records because you're worried about inconveniencing someone."

Finally I just say, "I want every medical record you have from before I was 22 until now."

And she was like, "Sure."

Well... that was easy.

I thanked the tiny lady and the bored lady and exited back into the second longest hallway. My adrenaline was surging. I kept yelling, "30 YEARS!!" in my brain. I had to tell someone this amazing news. I had to tell them right that second or I might burst. So I grab my phone from my man purse and dial Katrina.

The thing is, I only call Katrina when something really bad happens. People don't make phone calls anymore. People text! So when she picked up the phone she answered with a very worried tone. As if somehow a third parent of mine died or something.

"THIRTY YEARS!!!!" "WHAT IS HAPPENING??" "They keep records for 30 years!" "OHHHHHHHHHH!!! That's amazing!"

She probably didn't hop for joy in real life, but in my mind I like to pretend she did. I start explaining everything that just happened and how they most likely have my ECT records and then I realize I am in the middle of the world's second longest hallway and I don't remember which direction leads back to the world's longest hallway. And because I am having unusual and extraordinarily good luck, a medical worker was walking by right at that moment.

"Which way back to the elevator?" "This way!" "Oh great! Thank you!" "Or that way. There are two elevators."

There is that normal luck I recognize.

I can feel the universe realigning itself. But that is okay, because...

THIRTY YEARS, BABY!

I talk to Katrina as I traverse the two longest hallways. Thankfully I was going in the correct direction and found the proper elevator. After a nice chat about various things including problematic 80s movies, we hung up and I decided to treat myself to a hospital cafeteria chicken quesadilla. They are surprisingly delicious and I ate them every single day while my dad was in hospice. Those quesadillas were a single bright spot during one of the hardest times of my life.

So I walk up to the grillmaster and look at the menu.

"Wait, where is the quesadilla?" "We stopped making those two weeks ago."

Universal realignment completed. Luck has returned to its original state.

A male nurse in front of me commiserated. "Yeah, man. I miss them too."

I walked back out to my car both happy and depressed. An odd combination of conflicted feelings. But my day was not over yet. I needed vaccines and groceries. Naturally, I went to the grocery store with the CVS. I got my dad his last booster there, so I was confident they could take care of me. I grab a shopping cart and pick up a few things on the way to the pharmacy. I get in line at the little vaccine check-in spot. The woman in front of me is getting her booster as well. Otherwise, the pharmacy is empty and the three employees are just scrolling through their phones.

After the previous booster seeker was taken care of, I tell the woman I need a booster and a flu vaccine.

"I can give the flu shot now and set an appointment for the booster." "You never required an appointment before." "We just started a few weeks ago." "Can I make an appointment for, like, now?" "No, sorry." "Do you have the booster in stock?" "Yes." "Do you have someone here qualified to give the booster?" "Yes." "Do you have any other appointments right now?" "No."

I tried very hard to keep my composure and remain polite.

"I am disabled. It is very hard for me to get out of the house. Returning another day would be very difficult. Can you please make an exception?"

"I can get you in tomorrow."

I probably should have asked for a manager at this point. But I had no energy for confrontation. She started preparing for me to get the flu shot, but I told her I was going somewhere else. My happy news was quickly being soured by weird rules that made no sense.

But I did see a cool robot.

I got my groceries and loaded them into my car. Some were frozen items so I made sure to turn the A/C on full blast. I called another pharmacy. It was the one run by the Jamaican family who came out to the house to give my parents boosters during the height of COVID. I asked if they could do walk-in vaccinations without an appointment. And in that beautiful accent, they replied, "Sure, come on by. We'll take care of you."

Their shop is in Ferguson. Which I'm sure the news has convinced people is a constant warzone or something. But the main street, West Florrisant, is actually really neat in spots. A lot of small businesses catering to the Black community. There was a soul food place and an African hair braiding place and a Taco Bell. Okay, it wasn't all Black-themed shops, but the pharmacy was directly next to the "Wumzy African Attire" tailoring shop that was combined with the party planning store.

And in the back was an African beauty supply depot.

Three shops in one! Just a very efficient use of space.

And looking through the window of the tailoring shop was like a feast of colors for the eyes. I don't know how they get fabric so bright and colorful. Really beautiful patterns too. I tried not to look like a creep while staring inside so I just walked reeeeeally slow toward the pharmacy entrance.

I just wish people knew that side of Ferguson. It's a beautiful community that was really dragged through the mud by the national media.

I digress.

I walked into the pharmacy and it was long and skinny. They had a few shelves with over-the-counter health products. But the main area was pretty empty. I guess they want to make sure they can accommodate long lines without people having to wait outside. But their working area seemed really cramped. There were some awards on the wall and news articles. Apparently, they are very involved with vaccinating the local refugee community. Something you won't see at pointless appointment-having CVS. I just felt like I was in the right place even if my frozen items were thawing and my legs were buckling from constantly forgetting my cane in the car.

The shop was run by the pharmacist and matriarch. Her son took my information. He looked about 18 and was a bit shy—but very kind and helpful. He directed me to this little partition they set up for vaccinations and they had a liquor bottle full of hand sanitizer. The label had a big "DO NOT DRINK" warning. I found a picture of the exact one on Google.

I washed my hands and rolled up my sleeve. The pharmacist greeted me with my shots prepared. Some people have a sort of magic touch when it comes to giving shots. I'm not sure if it is a special technique or just lots of experience, but aside from a little pressure, I didn't even feel the needles going in. And my arm was only mildly sore despite the double shots.

I really wanted to thank her for sending someone to vaccinate my parents when no one else would. But I was really tired and chickened out. So I just thanked her and drove home.

I unloaded my groceries and collapsed on the couch. I could barely move at that point. Everything hurt.

But... 30 years.

I was feeling good the next day despite everything. My body hurt, but my brain was contented from my success. But there was more to do and everything was trending downhill. I called those doctors mentioned in my personal medical records. I knew it was a long shot, but I asked if they kept records from 2001. They did not. However, I thought the psychiatrist who did my ECT was dead. And it turns out he is just old-as-heck and still practicing. So even though he doesn't have records and probably doesn't remember me, I am hopeful he will write me a letter.

My other psychiatrist from back then is also still practicing. No records there either.

So far my phone anxiety wasn't getting the better of me. But I still had more calls to make and I could feel my brain starting to get melty.

My pocket knife doesn't open correctly and I couldn't get anyone to email me back from SpyderCo. So I called their office in Colorado and tried to get someone to talk to me. I got bounced to three different people and finally a guy told me that model is just hard to open. So that was pointless.

Melt. Melt. Melt.

And finally, I had to call the dreaded CPAP supply place.

It did not go well. At all.

You can read more about it at that link, but the short version is I got angrily sighed at for asking reasonable questions about what the hell "chart notes" are. And the lady refused to answer those questions for no reason I can fathom. She eventually brought me to tears and got angry at me for doing so. And it turned out the call was pointless as well.

Oh, and my lawyer was sick. Remember him? Vacation guy? Who skipped town at the exact moment I got my disability denial letter? Yeah, I had been waiting for 7 grueling, anxiety-filled days to speak with him and he gets sick the day he returns.

Brain is melty goo.

Hey, Universe! I think you are overcorrecting with that luck realignment. I appreciate the 30 years of records thing, but can you let me enjoy it a little?

Friday arrives and I still have calls to make. The CPAP lady really messed up my brain and so just dialing the numbers was freaking me out. But I decided to start with the worst first. I called the CPAP lady and she finally had her precious "chart notes" and put my order through. She was cheerful and helpful and I was confused but thankful.

I thought maybe things were looking up in my phone call adventures.

My next call was to my primary care doctor's office.

One thing you need to know about my doctor is he is a bit of a... hot mess. A very smart, capable doctor. He knows his stuff. I suspect he has an eidetic memory due to his instant recall of medication names and doses and things that happened 8 years ago and detailed descriptions of medical conditions he only heard about in school 40 years ago. Aside from that, he is kind and compassionate and he has my back no matter what.

But he is technologically stuck in the 80s. His personal life is a roller coaster of drama. He once hired his girlfriend of 2 months to work at the office and his regular staff secretly whispered "She's so awful" behind his back. (They broke up soon after.) He is disorganized and constantly running late. And he takes on tons of frustrating patients because they have nowhere else to go. I admire him for treating so many poor elderly folks without any family to take care of them, but you can tell it is extremely challenging at times and a lot of that labor is delegated to his staff.

His office manager is probably the only person on the planet who can tolerate him being a hot mess.

Unfortunately, she is also a hot mess in completely different ways.

She tries to speedrun through everything. It's probably because she has a million things to do and is trying to fit 12 hours of work into an 8 hour workday. I try to be sympathetic and understanding of that. But one of her methods for speeding things along is attempting to use her psychic powers. You will start telling her what you need and she will do this thing where she cuts you off and tries to predict said need.

"I need a prescription for..." "Your thyroid meds are due, right? I'll send it over to the pharmacy." "...insulin. But I have a question about..." "So thyroid and insulin? No problem. I'll send it over." "...increasing my dosage." "Wait, what's yer question, hon?" "Was it 50 units..." "No, it's says 100. Okay? I'll send it over. Take care." "...twice per day or 100 units once in the morning?"

Often her predictions are so bad that it actually takes a lot more time to correct her than it would if she had just let you finish speaking. And this is especially problematic for me because I rehearse everything I need to say and she constantly interrupts and so I have to end up improvising new things to say that I never accounted for. And I'm already anxious and not thinking clearly so I do a poor job of explaining my needs and it just ends up in disaster.

So I have a complicated situation. I need my entire written chart copied and sent to my lawyer. I know it is a lot of work for the office staff. They probably have to copy several hundred pages. But this is probably the most important evidence in my disability case. And my lawyer has already volunteered to pay the several hundred dollars it will cost. It's worth it because if my case goes well, I could get years of back pay.

I call and get the young woman whom I really like on his staff. She is very quiet and unassuming but secretly the star of the office. Like a ninja of competence. If you really need something done properly without mistakes, she is the best one to go to. But her job does not include handling the records, so she transfers me to the office nurse. The office nurse does not process new information well. You often have to explain things several times. And if she gives up trying to understand, she hands you off to the office manager.

The Final Boss, if you will. I was really hoping I could avoid that.

"Okay, so my lawyer needs all of my written records..."

"He needs to fax a form saying what he needs, okay honey?"

"He already faxed a release form asking for records and I brought in a new copy yesterday with all of his mailing information..."

"He didn't fax anything. He needs to tell us what he needs. I'm not seeing any form. Just tell him to call me."

"He is out sick today and he already faxed the form and I brought a second one just in case. I signed it and dated it and I watched Competence Ninja put it in my chart. It asks for everything..."

"Okay, I see it here. This doesn't look right. He needs to tell us what he needs us to send him."

"It says in the letter, 'to release any medical information, including medical records, written letters, treatment reports, testing results, or similar information.' Should it say something different?"

"I've been doing this 20 years and I've never seen anything like this. He needs to be more specific. I ain't sending him all that, hon."

"So, this is for my disability case. I already talked to the nurse about this. And I know it is a lot, but the doctor's records are the only direct evidence that I've been sick since 2001."

"So you just need something from 2001? Okay, the lawyer needs to fax something saying that."

"I need the entire handwritten chart copied and sent to the lawyer. We need a full record of my illness because..."

"This is ridiculous. You're lawyer is fucking lazy. I've never seen anything like this. And I'm worried he is not going to represent your interests."

"This is not a normal disability claim. If you'd allow me to explain I think you'd understand why I need..."

"Disability should already have all this. We shouldn't need to send this. This is fucking ridiculous and you need a new lawyer. You're going to lose your case with his lazy ass."

"This isn't normal disability. I need to prove that I've been sick for a long time and..."

"This is going to cost a fortune, you know? We charge 50 cents per page. You're going to be out hundreds of dollars."

"Okay, but I will be out thousands of dollars if I don't get this copied."

"Fuck it. I am going to copy this ONCE. No more after this. UNDERSTOOD?"

And... she hung up on me.

My heart was beating out of my chest with panic and my eyes were blurry with tears. And in that moment, I thought I had done something wrong. My doctor gave me his personal mobile number so I call him up with tears apparent in my voice. I explain what just happened and that I was really sorry and that I didn't mean to upset her. He told me she is "just like that sometimes" and I shouldn't take it to heart. They have a very serious deadline for something due that day and she was very upset and I was collateral damage. I asked him to apologize for me and he said there was no need. He said we'd work it all out on Monday when this deadline wasn't stressing everyone out.

It wasn't until I calmed down a bit that I realized I did absolutely nothing wrong. That she was just being a big jerk and taking her other problems out on me. And I was probably the one deserving of an apology. I also remembered this is not the first time she has blown up at me. She was the one who tried to make me get a ventilator instead of a proper CPAP machine years ago. She said, "My mom has one and it works fine." And I was like, "So if I travel I'm supposed to take 12 pounds of medical equipment instead of a 1 pound device that fits neatly into a backpack?"

I get why my doctor made excuses for her. She works very hard and puts up with him. He'd never be able to find anyone that would last a week doing that job. And I have a feeling he probably defended me after I called. I played what he said back in my brain and noticed a frustrated tone. Despite what he said, it seems clear he was pissed.

I can make amends and figure things out with her. That isn't an issue. But I am worried that between her and CPAP lady, all of the progress I've made trying to reduce my telephobia was erased. I really was getting better calling people. I used to need Katrina hanging out on Skype while I called anyone as moral support. And while it still helps, I've gotten a lot better at calling strangers on my own. But now, I'm not so sure.

I might ask if there is an office email address I can use from now on. If I can write out what I need there is no way to get interrupted. I can be clear and detailed and use my writing skills to communicate way better than my phone skills.

I don't know.

It was just a crappy way to end a stressful, exhausting week.

But it wasn't the end!

Friday evening my sick lawyer finally called. I had rehearsed all kinds of things I wanted to say to him. But it turns out, all of my emails already did most of the talking—proof that I write a great email. He was really impressed with all of my detective work. And he said if those records pan out, he is very optimistic about my case going forward. He also said that he was expecting a denial. And it was probably good that we got that out of the way quickly. And now we get to mount more of a defense, which is what lawyers are good at. We talked for about 20 minutes and came up with a battle plan. He explained the process going forward. But he mentioned one thing that worried me.

This could take a while.

A lot longer than I was expecting.

I explained that I currently have a runway until about June 2024. That's when the mortgage money runs out. However, my brother should be willing to release my inheritance in March. I hope. I have a hard time trusting anything my brother says anymore. But if he does, then I should have another year of mortgage payments. But I am definitely going to have a Plan B just in case my brother finds a new way to disrespect my father's wishes.

The lawyer said there is a quick thing and a long thing. The quick thing has a low chance of success. But it is worth trying. The long thing is a hearing with a Social Security lawyer. He said a lot of these lawyers are miserable and don't want to be there and don't really care. Which is a good thing because they'll just be like, "Fine, whatever." But it can take a long time to get a hearing due to backlogs.

So, as long as I can gather all the evidence and the hospital records have my ECT stuff, I think there is room for hope. A little hope. After years of chronic illness I know hope is sometimes dangerous. So I allot a tiny bit of hope to keep me going forward, but not enough hope to leave me devastated if things go tits up.

So... umm... I think that is the end of this novel of a post. I feel bad that I don't have a big climax or twist or cliffhanger. Should I add a big CGI dragon fight?

Even though a more down-to-earth kung fu fight with my brother would be a more satisfying conclusion?

Or I could pull an M. Night Shyamalan and reveal that I've been dead for quite some time.

This post is getting really long.

Why are you still reading this?

I am thankful that you are. I just needed to get all of that out. I hope I wrote it in a compelling way and you weren't bored.

I love you all.

#long post #i see dead frogpeople

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marvel-ousmondays · 4 months

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Iron Man (2008)

As mentioned in last post, when I went to Iron Man I literally had no idea that such a superhero existed. (I thought Sherlock Holmes with RDJ came out first but apparently not so I had essentially no knowledge of the actor either.) My friends and I decided to spend the day out at the nearest town big enough to have a book store, craft stores, and a Target, as well as a Drive-In movie theater. I was now a college student and enjoying the freedom of no curfew, rebel that I was. I'm pretty sure the movie prior to Iron Man was the Narnia: Prince Caspian movie. I mention this because I hated that movie. It bastardized the book something awful and after the first movie was so faithful an adaptation, this was incredibly disappointing. However, this meant I was doubly primed to appreciate the awesomeness that Iron Man ended up being. I've watched it a few times since then, but usually as background to something else. I decided for this challenge I did REALLY want to watch the movies/shows. No other distractions- just it. I can take breaks (it took me 3 days to finish Iron Man due to various constraints last week) but when I'm watching, I'm JUST watching.

Here were my takeaways this time

The differences in Terrence Howard's Rhodey and Cheadle's Rhodey are always a bit mind boggling and part of what makes Iron Man feel really different from the later films. We're also just starting MCU so while they aren't LACKING budget, it's not the level it would be later. This doesn't hurt the movie at all for the record, if anything I think it meant the story had to be more well-developed and the actors better.

But this first film has a seriousness and a somberness that most of the other films only flirt with (notable exception being Infinity War of course).

The scene where Tony goes back to help Gulmira, Yinsen's home, and we see the 13 year old boy screaming and crying as his father is pried away from their family, the soldiers clearly planning to execute him and all the other grown men. The young boy tears himself away from his mother to his father, determined to keep him, to save him. His father, begging his son to go, so that he will live even though he knows- he KNOWS he will not. This moment of utter terror made personal just before Tony shows up is incredible and all the more so when put into historical context. The U.S. was still in Afghanistan and Iraq at this time and it was easy for citizens here to paint everyone in those areas with the same brush. But in this moment you CAN'T. You HAVE to see the family ripped apart right alongside the terrorists and be forced to realize that race, ethnicity, language don't make terrible people- actions do.

A common criticism of Marvel movies is they don't let a moment sit- that they always break a serious moment with a joke. But this one doesn't do that. There are multiple heavy moments- after Yinsen's death for one and when Pepper nearly quits (because she can't watch Tony self-sabotage and possibly die) and he tells her:

"I shouldn't be alive... unless it was for a reason. I'm not crazy, Pepper. I just finally know what I have to do. And I know in my heart that it's right."

This moment sits between them so clearly, so starkly and it is not ended with a joke, but with Pepper grabbing the flashdrive and asking what to do. (Thinking back, I'm wondering how many of those MCU "broken" moments are by Tony. He's the one uncomfortable with emotion. Him breaking those moments with humor is actually 100% in character. Something to pay attention to as I watch.)

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, some of the key themes of this movie just strike to the heart.

Death from a distance is easy to ignore or even be complicit in, but death up close rips us apart. Tony sold weapons that he knew took lives for years but it wasn't until he watched Yinsen die that I think he really understands what that means. Yes, his parents had died before but he wasn't THERE, he didn't SEE it. This death, this is the one that makes him really know what it means.

You don't have to change everything to be a better person. Tony is still self-centered. He still likes attention. He's still arrogant and as we will see next movie, open to playing the field as Pepper and him haven't committed. But not only has he stopped being complicit in the deaths of the innocent, he's taken on the mantle of protecting them.

Lastly, who the good guys are is largely a matter of perspective. This obviously gets hit harder again in Ultron (oh that glorious train wreck- I'm looking forward to writing about you), but it matters here. Tony was fine manufacturing weapons because he assumed he was supporting the "good guys", the 'Muricans. But not only was Obadiah dirty dealing, he is forced to learn the good guys aren't always as discriminatory with their weapon use as they purport to be. That it's easy to start painting with broad brushstrokes in areas where precision is actually called for.

Overall I'm really glad I PAID attention to this one this round. The grittiness and the depth really hit the way they did the first time or even more so. Onward to The Incredible Hulk, even though it's only semi-canon now.

Note for me:

Directed by: Jon Favreau

#mcu #marvel mcu #marvel #iron man #tony stark

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arminsumi · 10 months

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˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ COLA

MDNI

░ 🐬 married!Armin x fem!reader ♪

One hot summer, you met a married man at the beach.

⚠️Cws; SMUT 🤤, cheating, homewrecking

⚠️💦Smut cws; CHEATING, eludes to reader having had an affair with married men before, secret public fucking (beach), unprotected sex (creampie), standing position

It was one of the hottest summers on record, and you could really feel it at the beach. The sun was scalding your back as you laid, breasts deliciously smushed on your towel, besides your best girl Mika.

"The sun is trying to burn the sins off my back." you kept joking with her. "Yeah, after what you did with your boss last week, it should be burning the sins off your back. Girl, you're a devil in disguise."

"I wouldn't say this swimsuit is much of a disguise." you giggled cheekily.

You and Mika, clad in provocative swimsuits, knew exactly what effect you had on the men passing by your spot. You have to refrain from laughing at the way wives and girlfriends cling to their men with that overprotective death grip; as if them acknowledging your very existence threatened their relationship.

When you returned lustful stares back at some men, you made sure to peer seductively over the rim of your oversized sunglasses.

You weakened one man in particular that day; a blond with a ring on his finger, who was fussing over his tots. "Don't eat the sand, darling." he told his youngest.

His eyes flitted between you and his wife, eventually locking onto you for good.

Did he feel guilty for blatantly checking you out? Of course he did, but he was too attracted to you to stop staring.

You bit your lip at him.

"Hey, go ask mommy to get ice cream, m'kay?" he softly commanded his youngest. They gave him sparkling eyes and agreed, immediately trotting over to mama to nag her until she disappeared to get those cold treats.

When his woman left the scene, Armin quickly found himself chatting you up. His eyes soaked up your curves, intently wondering how hard it was for you to squeeze into that swimsuit.

"Pretty hot today, isn't it?" he asked you in a low, sultry voice.

You gave him a flirty smirk, "Sure is."

The sexual tension between you and him was unbearable. Armin thought he was going to snap if he didn't pierce this tension soon.

It was criminally smooth how Armin talked you into his arms, whisking you away to a secluded area, giggling like horny teenagers.

Your chemistry was incredible. It was too much to handle. So laughably better in comparison to the chemistry he had with his wife.

You even sucked him off just how he liked, without knowing a damn thing about him besides his name and zodiac and marital status.

"Ah! Fuck!" Armin hissed through his teeth as you lowered your lips down on him.

You'd made a sloppy mess out of his juicy cock. His wifey was busy getting that ice cream for the kids, and meanwhile you were busy getting Armin's cream down your throat.

"Sh-shit, that's good, j-just like that, sweet girl. Just like that" Armin groaned, holding your hair back so it was out of the way.

His legs shook and he gritted his teeth. If you didn't know he was a married man with a cheating cock, you'd think he was some innocent college student getting blown for the first time. His response to your sucking and slurping made you theorize that he probably never receives head from his wife.

He kept his teeth clenched and his fists balled up. The sensation of your plush lips engulfing his dripping head sent a rush of ecstasy across his body.

Sweat beaded off his body, running down his toned torso; a small build, but boy what a build. He must have been an athletic man, you thought, probably a swimmer.

He couldn't refrain from looking you right in the eyes. He loved the sparkle you had in them while doing such an immoral act.

His cum was creamy and thick in your mouth. The perfect consistency, you expected no less from someone who was as attractive as him.

You made him weak; he was breaking down, beginning to think less about the ring on his finger and more about how hard it would be to peel that tight swimsuit off of your pretty body.

Sure he thought about all the consequences he'd face, he thought about them while sinking his fat cock into you with a needy sigh.

"I really shouldn't be doing this..." he moaned, contradictorily to his words, his actions were shameless. "Fuck... so fucking tight..."

You ensnared him with your arms, wrapping them around his neck and resting them on his broad shoulders. He groaned as he fucked you against the beach showers. Not a soul was in sight, but that didn't mean it was entirely safe to be diving into you right there.

"It's okay, your wife won't mind if she doesn't know, right?" you said cheekily.

God, your devilish tone only encouraged him to bury his cock deeper inside. He was on fire from that sloppy blowjob you gave him behind the rocks. The memory of your wet, dirty lips would be imprinted on his mind for a long time after.

Armin was thrusting into you frantically, shamelessly; like he was well aware of how sinful this act was, and yet he let it turn him on.

Such a hypocrite, he thought of himself as he bust a hot, creamy load of cum deep inside your pussy. He's the one always preaching about being a loyal lover through and through, lest you become a lonely sinner.

But his principles went out the window that day, all because of you. And that tight swimsuit, which in the end, proved to be pretty easy to peel off.

#🌶️#mdni #smut #🐬ocean prince #armin #armin arlert #aot #snk #armin x reader #armin x y/n #armin smut #tw smut #fem!reader #fem!y/n #fem reader

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 1 year

Note

Stop right now. I need some adventures of tiny batmom!?

Dr. Abigail Smith had never wanted children. They were loud, unruly, and messy. And in her perfectly ordered life there was no room for that nonsense.

But. When a 12-year-old girl got the drop on them and tore the cult they'd been sent to stop apart with some well placed Molotov cocktails thrown at ammunition they didn't know existed. When she screamed and it was this primal, furious sound that made her heart break. Screaming for a baby they'd ripped out of her body- Dr. Abigail Smith couldn't just leave her behind.

Intelligent though practically illiterate- it was decided that the best place for her was in the care of the female operatives. Where she could be trained and educated. Men scared her. Loud noises scared her. She crept through the tunnels always expecting to be hit. Any minor mistake set her to flinching when you walked towards her.

In the last two weeks, no one had gotten more than a few words out of her. She ate- a lot. Anything they'd give her. Snacks, meals if Abigail hadn't seen the medical reports, she'd suspect a tapeworm OR that the girl was powered by a small black hole.

And now, she stood, tucked in a shadowy corner near a staircase, following the sound of the agents laughing. Watching as they settled in to watch movies. Tense- ready to bolt at the first sign someone noticed her. Abigail moved slowly keeping her hands relaxed and visible, "76?"

"Doctor," you answered, your eyes not meeting Abigail's.

"We've got some snacks for the movie," she coaxed, feeling ridiculous. This wasn't a wild animal. But it was the only thing she knew that might keep you from hiding in your closet. The bed being too soft and too exposed for sleeping on. "Are you hungry? I think Chelle and Danya made some cookies. And there's popcorn."

Abigail held out a hand for you to take and wiggled her fingers, feeling oddly comforted when tiny, freezing fingers wrap around hers carefully.

If the other agents noticed, no one said anything as they watched Abbie put her new pet project on a stool and ply her with snacks- you were too cute and too traumatized for any of them to dislike you.

The lights turned down and the movie started and Abbie quietly took a seat- far enough from you to give you space to bolt but close enough that you could speak to her- and when the movie credits started, her heart broke.

You leaned forward just a little, entranced. The only sign you were paying attention was your stillness. The snacks she'd put on a plate for you were ignored and your pupils were huge. Reminding her irresistibly of a cat with a laser pointer. At points, tears slid down your little face and it wasn't until the movie ended and the lights went up that you looked around, blinking at the change.

"Got something you want to ask Santa for?" she tried.

"Santa wouldn't care about me," you shrug, "Even if he was real."

"How do you know-"

"Father said he was made up. And Christmas was just pagan-"

"Well if your father said it, isn't that a better reason to believe?" she asked, teasing lightly. This was the most you'd said since you gave your statement for their records.

"Pretty sure murderers don't get put on the nice list."

And before she can say anything, you're gone. With your snacks. Suddenly feeling too exposed and too anxious to be anywhere but the corner of your closet where you'd made your little nest.

#Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne x reader #batmom!reader #ask answered #minors dni

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 2 years

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My Sweetheart 💞 🎸

hi! i was wondering if i could request an eddie mumson x reader where eddies band gains like overnight popularity and it goes to his head because people like him and girls really like him ( no cheating bc Eddie wouldn’t do that) and he starts to ditch the reader and maybe even dustin/robin/steve because of it and its angsty but with a happy ending if possible thanks

Warnings; angst to fluff.

💞

It had happened seemingly overnight but Corroded Coffin had made it big, a music executive was at their gig at The Hideout and saw raw talent in the band and decided to give them a record deal.

Eddie liked the attention Corroded Coffin was getting and all the girls screaming for him were awesome too.

Only one girl held his heart though and that was his princess.

Still, he never thought that he would get this kind of attention ever, he was always the freak, the outcast most of his life and holding so many people's attention, them liking him was insane to him.

So yeah, he was enjoying the fact that the band's star was rising and he could take his beautiful girl yn out for fancier dinners and spoil her.

She was so supportive and she was his rock.

Everything, since Corroded Coffin had gotten big, was happening so fast though and there were dozens of higher profile gigs and more and more fans wanting to know everything about them.

Girls threw themselves at all the boy's feet and it was nice, yeah but at the end of the day he had his dream girl in y/n and he didn't want anyone else.

That reminds him that he really needs to call his girl, it's the third time this week that hes had to cancel dinner with her, and movie night with her, Dustin, Steve, Robin and the gang.

He will make it up to her though. Right after this gig was done.

Then he never managed to as their manager invited them out for drinks, something always managed to crop up and then it had been weeks of broken promises and missed dates...

💞💞

She was fuming, and Dustin was upset because it was the third time Eddie hadn't shown up for movie night.

He had also been missing their dates for weeks now maybe even longer and she was pissed off.

She was so happy that Corroded Coffin was making it big but she hoped that Eddie had remembered he had her, his uncle Wayne and his friends at home, who loved him before he was a star but obviously not.

How long would he want to be with her now anyway? He had girls falling at his feet and he could live a rockstar life.

The thought hits her like a ton of bricks and she feels her heart break, would that happen?

She believed Eddie loved her with his whole heart but the anxiety wouldn't leave her now she had thought about it.

Coupled with the fact that she was still mad and the minute Eddie walked through the door clearly just coming off a gig she was ready to blow.

"Hey, princess" he beams then his smile fades at her glare.

"Suddenly remember that your girl exists do you?". He swallows.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry I've been missing dates, things just got so crazy and..." She cuts him off.

"I understand about Corroded Coffin taking off and I'm so proud of you Eddie but it's been weeks of broken promise, missed dates and I'm sick of it. I feel like I don't mean anything to you anymore".

His eyes widen.

"No, no sweetheart, you're everything to me, I love you so much". She feels tears pool in her eyes.

"It's just pretty words, Eddie, that's it. You tell me this all the time and nothing changes, you cancel dates to go to industry parties or some shit! You forgot Dustin's birthday until I reminded you! I'm just tired, Eddie"

His eyes widen with fear.

"I just don't feel important enough to you anymore and I'm sick of it". With that, she walks away from him.

💞

Eddie feels like shit, hes been doing all the gigs, enjoying the fame and he kept treating his girl like shit, missing dates, cancelling to go to stupid parties, he was an idiot.

He was going to ask her to marry him tonight and thanks to his actions she thinks she isn't important and Eddie is so pissed at himself.

He loves her, she is the only woman for him, the love of his life and he needs to make sure she knows that.

💞💞

To start off he cuts down on the parties he doesn't need to go to, the industry ones are important but the parties just for the sake of parties are cut right out.

He also makes sure to attend every date night and not to forget, he buys a calendar and marks it down In big bold letters so he remembers.

He also includes his friends, uncle Wayne and y/n in more of his gigs, taking them to the industry dinners and parties.

Especially his Uncle Wayne, Dustin and yn, the three people who have loved him through thick and thin.

He knew for a while he had to get his shit together with his girl and he's glad she called him out on his shit because it's the kick up the ass he really needed.

Yes, he loves Corroded Coffin being fully recognised but that shouldn't mean he forgets the people most important to him.

One other thing he does is makes sure that his fans know that he has a beautiful girl by his side, he has y/n and he's off limits. She's the only woman he ever wants.

He dedicates songs to her at their gigs and even wrote one for her, it was called my sweetheart, it was a far cry from everything that the band did but he sang it every night for y/n.

It was his special tribute to her and the first time she heard it she burst into happy tears and peppered little kisses over his face.

The most important thing he does though is apologise.

"I'm so sorry I was a dick to you, to everyone ditching plans, dates. It's all just been so overwhelming all of this princess and I got caught up in everything, I've found a new balance now and it makes everything so much easier, I just hope you're still not mad"

She softens.

"Not anymore, I'm sorry I went off on you like that Eddie I was frustrated and you needed to know how much you were hurting me, everyone else". He strokes her cheek and cuddles her close to him.

"You, uncle Wayne, my friends are so important to me and of course, the band is too, Jesus h Christ I never thought we would take off like this but shit, I never ever want you to feel unimportant to me again. Never".

💞💞

The very next night after he performs My Sweetheart, he jumps off the stage and makes his way through the crowd in the front row and to y/n and dropped down on one knee.

Then he proposed and when she said yes it was the happiest fucking moment of his life. He was never going to mess up and risk losing his girl again.

He would make sure if that.

💞 🎸

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff

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lee-hakhyun · 9 months

Text

singshong will be taking a one-day break so there will be no chapter sunday! i'll see you for the next ch on monday instead :) 649

shin yoosung opens her eyes. everything's dark. did something go wrong? what happened to ahjussi? a message appears.

[the connection is disconnected.]

she takes off the connection goggles on her head, as lgy does the same, shouting at her that she overused her powers and broke the connection. they argue. is it because of sys overusing her abilites? lgy sending out too many messages? actually, why is his modifier a complete ripoff of secretive plotter? lgy gets really mad at that. they continue fighting until seolhwa's voice comes from a speaker in the access room. she'll fix it, so stop fighting and go outside. the device is incomplete, so both of them connecting at the same time is probably what broke it.

so, they're connecting through something like a vr headset? interesting

and what about sangah? she's still connected, in another room. wearing the goggles, she's been connected for 36 hours straight, watching as a constellation. on her screen is the scenery of the ruined national palace museum, where a beautiful incarnation was ordering others around.. and han sooyoung secretly searching around. unlike them, who have connected through some kind of connection goggles, she entered directly by sending an avatar. she had told them not to come along, but they couldn't just sit around and do nothing. so ysa and lgy have signed sponsor contracts with incarnations, and sys possessed herself.

kim dokja's company, when given the choice between a world where kim dokja exists and one where he doesn't, chose the latter option. they all thought it was a trap. in the same way he stayed on the subway, he's still away from them. maybe he had thought they wouldn't have made this choice, as the two children look out at the unfinished white landscape outside, like someone had just imagined it. a world that the oldest dream had never dreamed of...

it's been 6 months. a lot has happened. kimcom has launched another plan to get their squid back. yoo sangah, using the mandala's guardian's power, used her threads to search for the pieces of kim dokja's soul scattered throughout the worldlines. but there were way too many, so they decided to start with the fragments that hadn't been reborn yet. all of these fragments were pieces of kim dokja's story.

yoo sangah says. even if they collect all these fragments, it won't bring back the kim dokja they knew. collecting someone's footprints doesn't bring back the person who made the footprints. they all knew this. but lee jihye's reply,

"but if we don't do this, there's nothing left for us."

even if this is just how they mourn him, even if the kim dokja they know will never come back. like the days they waited for yjh in space, they wanted to continue their hope. so they continued. as the fragments collected, it began to move somewhere like it was being attracted to something. following it, they found a worldline. the 41st turn, the one that wasn't recorded in ways of survival, like the 0th turn

maybe kim dokja was there.

lgy asks, can they find him? sys says they can, she's already found one. "that's not hyung." "then who is ahjussi?"

shin yoosung and lee gilyoung, they 'know' kim dokja. his likes, dislikes, the foods he can't eat, his height, weight, age, the smile he makes when he sees them. maybe the kim dokja she knows doesn't exist anymore. but, when someone asks 'who is kim dokja', shin yoosung already knows lgy's answer. "hyung is someone who loves stories." and then they start arguing on if kdj likes sys or lgy's story better. during this, shin yoosung thought. in this world, conflict becomes a story. and stories are kim dokja's favourite. and since kim dokja loves stories, he must be watching them now. no matter what he looks like, as long as he's looking at this story.

shin yoosung will surely regain her star.

lee seolhwa's voice was heard through the complex's broadcast.

"he's back."

there's no way. kim dokja can't be back. so that means... someone grabs the mic. "gather around. i have something to say."

yoo joonghyuk has returned.

#chapter tldr: sao??#side story lb #orv side story #orv spoilers #649 #i cut out a few parts of this ch for brevity's sake but there's a part where sys thinks that they're better suited for the scenarios #even though she had gone back to a time she didn't want to be in #she still felt alive in the scenarios #maybe this is just who they are now

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 years

Text

Ineffable (Dream of the Endless x f!Reader) - Chapter 6: Dazed

Also with Corinthian x f!Reader

Story Masterlist - Playlist

A little more is revealed about the Reader's past, and her destiny. Morpheus and the Reader make plans to see his former lover. And, the Corinthian makes an appearance and as per usual, stirs a bit of envy.

The Dreaming never loses its wonder.

I didn't realize how exhausted I was until my back hit the mattress. Then, I was out like a light.

Since I'm able to control my dreams, I envision myself in Morpheus' palace, and I find him in his usual place in his throne room, seemingly pondering something grave as usual.

About my nifty ability to manipulate my dreams, as well as others', Morpheus had tried his hardest to figure it out. Where my power comes from, whether I am actually just a human. He and Lucienne had put me through tests when I first met them, and they even peered into my earliest history from the records of my life and my dreams in the palace library - as much as I would allow them, at least - but strangely enough, they could not find anything from before I was 5 years old, and I'd already started to use my powers then. Morpheus had wanted to read every word to the present, but Lucienne kindly stepped in, sensing my discomfort on the matter.

"I'm sure there are other ways, my lord. We don't need to pore into every detail of y/n's life right now," she said, ever so considerate, "Besides, as she said so herself, she has lived quite a relatively ordinary human life. Apart from stumbling upon her powers by chance, of course. She's just as unaware about the source of her powers as we are."

"It's alright," I had said, even though I didn't feel that way completely, because I was damned curious as well, "We can just take a little peek. Juuust a little."

I propped the main volume on its side, the one roughly outlining my life, as absurd as that concept seemed to me then, and even now. Every being that has ever existed has their own volume, and each one's content is partially overseen by the Fates. I was told that the writings in each living person's volume may also morph and change according to their choices, and any other abrupt divergence, as their lives unfold. I let it prop open on a random page, somewhere in the middle. But it was... blank.

"What the...." I turned a couple of pages forward. Still blank. I started to become worried.

"Does this mean that my life ends early, or what?" I looked up at Morpheus, and he appeared just as worried. He snatched the book from my hands, and began turning the pages backward, finding the place where the ink comes to an end.

Just when I thought that we wouldn't find the spot, that perhaps I would only be granted a short existence, and that I should maybe tie up some loose ends soon, he found the page.

He read out the final passage -

"Their eyes meet, and it's as if the other has recognized something dear. Some unfamiliar being, albeit wholly captivating. It is a first meeting, yet it feels as if both of them have found home.

For it will take time, but in due course they will ascertain, that they are destined to be each other's home. Each other's dream."

A long silence follows.

Until I couldn't help but blurt out, "What the fuck does that mean?"

Morpheus' head shot up to glare at me, "Leave it to you to speak so crudely."

"Sorry," I half-heartedly apologized, "but why does my story end there?"

"It seems as if," Lucienne started to say, in an attempt to break the tension, "you meet someone. Someone of the greatest importance. However, that doesn't still explain why your story ends there." She glanced over the pages, "From what I can deduce, in this point in time, this is the very first instance where you first came across..."

She paused then, and she glanced up at me in an instant.

"Came across who?" I asked, but somehow, I had a feeling I already who knew she was referring to.

He stood there, face warped in concentration, studying the words on the page, still as a perfect marble statue. Like a dream.

Morpheus took a deep breath, and closed the book with a thud. "It seems as if we won't find anything of note in this," he glanced at me, "Lucienne is right. There may be other ways to learn about the source of your powers. For now, we just need to get you to control them. Avoid drawing any attention to yourself, or doing anything too rash."

"That's what I've been trying to do all my life, Dream Lord." I was slightly dismayed that he seemed keen to learn only about my powers, and not myself. As if without them, I wouldn't be worth all this effort and attention.

I do appreciate that they are trying to help me, given that I have absolutely no clue how I can do the things that I do either. But I also do feel like amoeba under a microscope, and being studied so closely is starting to get under my skin.

And, well, there are some things in my life that I'd like to keep hidden. Especially the one thing that I most regret, to this day.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Now, he sits on his throne, leaning casually on one armrest, talking to Lucienne.

I've been told to wait, so I stand a few feet away, in order to give them some privacy. They speak in hushed tones, well, more like Lucienne speaks and he ponders, while ocassionally glancing in my direction.

Are they talking about me? Before I could let my assumptions go further, he beckons to me.

"Lucienne suggested that you may need some training, before we see Amelia, and I agree."

"Training?" I ask. Just what exactly are we going to be facing?

"Yes," Lucienne says, in a kinder tone, "This is in no way meant to undervalue your abilities or the progress you've made thus far. I just worry because," she clasps her hands together, "all your missions have been mainly in the Dreaming, which are quite manageable. And with the very few that you've undertaken in the Waking World, you did not have to deal with supernatural beings, like witches, for instance."

"Notwithstanding the serial killer that Corinthian so smartly brought you to," Morpheus mutters icily, and I glare at him briefly before turning to Lucienne.

"Okay, well, if you think I need training, then I won't argue. But, is the nature of our mission so threatening that you think I may need training for it?"

Didn't Morpheus describe Amelia as, more or less, a good-natured individual? Or is there more to it than he is letting on?

"I suppose you should know that Amelia called to me in distress. She vaguely described some peril that she is facing, but she withheld most of the information. Perhaps, she thinks it best or easier that we find out for ourselves." Morpheus speaks, worry lacing his voice.

"She's in trouble? And you don't have any clue as to what the problem is?" I try to clarify. He has to have some idea of what it could be.

"I do have an inkling as to what it may be. Witches are," he pauses, pacing in contemplation, "well, in truth, plenty of them are benevolent women. Only practicing magic and the spiritual arts for self-betterment and altruism, such as Amelia. But a select group, have strayed from the flock. They exclusively practice dark magic, an unsavoury means to an equally unsavoury end."

"So she may be under threat from a dark witch," I offerred, now realizing why I am need to hone my powers. I've never faced such a being before, much less tried to fight dark magic.

"It has happened before," he responds, "and I was there to help her through it once. So I wonder if it's a similar case this time."

I nod, taking in the gravity of the situation. But I have to wonder, if the case is really as grave as it sounds, then why is he taking me? Why not someone more experienced, someone who won't be as vulnerable to dark magic?

"Perhaps, I should take y/n to the library, my lord," Lucienne says, "There are some basic incantations that she can learn to defend herself."

"Of course. In the meantime, I will try to check on Amelia, see how she's faring."

I try to ignore the feeling of jealousy tightening my chest. We have much bigger things to deal with right now.

Lucienne addresses Morpheus with a tilt of her head, "My lord," and begins to walk out of the throne room, expecting me to follow.

"Y/n," he stops me, one hand on my arm, "Are you okay with this? If you wish to withdraw from this mission, you can tell me. It's all right."

I'm caught off guard, not thinking he would ask this now. I internally chastise myself for being distracted by the gentle pressure of his hand on me, keeping me in place. Damn it. Why must I be like a little schoolgirl with a crush? Get yourself together, y/n.

"I want to help you," I assure him, "so I'm going."

"I don't want you to get hurt." His voice sounds so deep, so sincere, that the line tugs at my heart.

A small smile grows on my lips, and I catch his eyes flit down to them.

"Don't underestimate me, Dream Lord," I say teasingly, "I'll be fine. Besides, I'll have you there with me, so we can take on anything."

He smirks back at me, and I can't help but admire at how roguish he looks in the moment.

Our tense dynamic has improved as of late, and I only want to take things further. I want him to feel free to open up to me. I want more.

So I do something. What do they say? Life's too short? Well, for me at least. I doubt Dream Lord here will ever face the same conundrum.

I step forward, and use his arm to pull him closer, slowly. So there is but the smallest space between us, and I look at his eyes, captivated by how iridescent they are. They become heavy-lidded, and I am glad that I have an effect on him.

He gaze travels all over my face, from my eyes down to my lips. His lips part, and he whispers my name, "y/n". Then, he inches closer, but he seems to be contemplating something, "We shouldn't do this."

Our foreheads touch.

"Why not?", I ask, lost in the feeling of his proximity. This is the closest we've ever been.

"I'm not... how you think I am," he breathes, his face reflecting inner turmoil, "I can't give you what you want."

"You are," I press on gently, "You can."

He fingers graze my cheekbone, and another hand moves to rest on my waist. He relents, and moves even closer.

I feel it. The slightest touch of his lips on mine. A most tantalizing brush, barely felt, but it already sent shivers up my spine. He leans back slightly, calmer now, and he draws forward once more.

I close my eyes, and part my lips.

1...2...3... seconds pass. But I don't feel him. Rather, my eyes fly open and I find him stepping away from me, hands to his sides.

"Corinthian," he says loudly.

"Hey, boss," I see Cor standing there, and he looks between Morpheus and I, "Am I interrupting?"

"No," Morpheus declares quickly, not even glancing at me, "Not at all. Have you come to report anything?"

I feel as if I've been pushed to the side. The moment was certainly gone now, and Morpheus seemed poised and ready to bury it. Just when you think you're getting close...

"I have," Cor replies, "I've had a few hours to kill, so I actually went off and dealt with yet another Collector. The Scream Queen. Thankfully, not a psychotic devil-dealing one this time." He smirks at me, and I feel lighter inside, appreciating his sly humour.

"Very well. I'll be monitoring her in the Dreaming as well, to ensure that she doesn't get much respite here as in the Waking World."

"Of course, my lord," Cor says, "I suppose that's all I have for now."

"Great," I turn to him, "You can accompany me to the library then. Lucienne is waiting." I grab his hand, and almost drag him out of the throne room.

He chuckles at me, and I look past my shoulder and call out, "See you later, dream lord."

Morpheus says nothing, but I do catch his eyes land on mine and Cor's hand intertwined. Take that. I'm not even sure why I'm so frustrated with him, since I can deduce that he tries his best when it comes to learning more about connection and engaging in it, and that it's not easy.

But I'm not in the mood to be fair-minded today. How quickly his disposition can switch like hot and cold can be exasperating.

"You seem tense," Cor squeezes my hand we stride through the corridor, "Should I be worried?"

"Not at all," I reassure him, "I'm better now that you're here."

He smiles, "I'm better now that I'm with you too, trouble."

End of Chapter 6.

taglist: @notabotiswear @mischiefmanaged71 @5sosjay @pinkpunkdynamite @lu123sworld @iloveangstposts @shaewithyou @layla2-49 @littleblackspider @fate-huntress @kintsugi-keys @dame-sunflowers @cool-ontherun-world @poohxlove @seninjakitey @katiemrty @boofy1998 @witchxlove

Well, well, who do y'all think the passage from the Reader's life volume is about? Morpheus? Or Corinthian?

Also, there are some hints there about the Reader's history... plus the fact that they can't find anything from her earliest years. Who is she??

taglist is open - simply comment to be added :)

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kaiasky · 4 months

Note

🌂 you meet your doppelganger. it has all your memories and personality, but knows that it's the copy, and it will disappear in 28 days unless it kills you.

🌂 it is not more evil or less intelligent than you or anything like that. it has your personality and body down to a T

🌂 somehow you both know all of the above. maybe instinctually, maybe the way the doppelganger came into existence (like touching a magic mirror with known properties) means that you know

🌂 what do you do? is your doppelganger trustworthy?

🌂 does your answer change if your doppelganger has a few handy supernatural abilites that you do not? for example: resilience to damage, an amorphous body or agelessness?

cw for discussion of murder, suicide, etc. obviously in a fictional setting.

This is going to sound bad, but I don't really have a strong desire to keep living. like, I'm not going to kill myself now or ever; I plan on living my life to the fullest and to a ripe old age, and all that. but like if a magic mirror came down and said you'll die in 28 days... in some sense, them's the breaks. bummer. idk.

so like. I think I'm more averse to killing than being removed from existing, and so I think for us the answer would be pretty obviously that original kaia goes to work and lives life, and tries to be there for mirror kaia. And mirror kaia enjoys 28 days of party time doing whatever i want so long as it won't cause problems for original kaia. (eg, no leaving a criminal record).

if mirror kaia wants to kill real kaia at the end of those 28 days she's welcome to ig but I don't think they would. i would like to be there for her at the end though. picnic in a nice peaceful place.

if one of us has superpowers (in such a way that they could be a benefit to society and not a danger, i think) then yeah i think normal kaia is beefing it in a polite and caring way and there's mutual agreement on that. same 28 day thing, but superpowers kaia has to find a way to hide a clone body I guess. and we have to be really niceys about killing me.

unfortunately this is peak k5-25 situation. (n.b. k5-25 is the name i adopted on the evening of may 25 20..22? when i decided i was quitting tumblr and queued a bunch of posts for the rest of eternity so i (kaia who was posting on 5-25 and sad about quitting tumblr) would live forever, unlike 'the rest of you shmucks who die when you go to sleep'. as sort of a sacrificial effigy that would keep kaia (real) off of tumblr. as u can see it didn't work but it worked for some months until k5-25 started posting cringe and i had to kill her (delete her posts). the point is tumblr account @kaiasky would belong to whichever of us is ceasing in 28 days and they get to k5-25post about it. i think i'd pull a page from the harrowhark book and show up on my last day with a stack of a thousand letters with opening conditions on them i think that'd be a nice way to be remembered by myself.

#cw suicidal ideation #cw suicide #thanks for the ask!

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peachymilkandcream · 3 months

Text

Break Me Slowly|Part 25|Yandere Levi x Evelyn

(A/N: The fact we're almost done with the canon storyline is actually insane. There's only two specials left that I'll try and cover one per chapter in and then it's totally off of my own storyline (which I think you guys will really like tbh) How many chapters after the end of the canon line ends I'm not sure I'm still deciding. I would put a number but I don't want to force myself to finish at a certain number if I don't need/want to. Hope you enjoy and comment to be added to the taglist!)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

==============================================

Since the battle Levi had done nothing but insist Evelyn sat with him while he held her stomach gently. He would never admit it but he was worried sick that something might have happened to her. Might have happened to their child.

"After this is all over Levi, what will we do then? Go back to our house? Pretend like the world didn't almost end and live out the rest of our mortality."

"That's if we don't become fugitives."

"Exactly. What are we going to do."

"That house is my home. I'm going to go back there and live out the rest of my days with my wife in peace. Our children, and their children gathered around us. The Ackerman bloodline rebuilt, my legacy continued."

"What if we don't make it back?" She was hesitant to ask.

"We will. I promise you. I will not allow you to exist without me. The very idea makes me sick."

A soft scoff comes from her at his determined look, how easy it was for him to get into these fits. "If you say so Captain."

Neither had anything smart to say anymore so they relapsed into silence, until with some effort Levi stood, straightening his clothes, even now at the end of humanity he was determined to look clean and presentable.

"Where are you going now? Shouldn't you be resting?"

"Not a chance. I sleep when I'm dead. That bearded lady, she's healing up and it seems like she survived her infection. I'm going to make her tell us where Eren is going."

Evelyn stands with him, taking his arm. "Shall we?"

"Willing to touch me huh? What's with this sudden change in mood?"

"We're partners in crime. In all things I've got your back."

A small smile appears on his face before he forces it to vanish, kissing her forehead. "There's my girl."

=============================================

Levi's presence alone was intimidating enough for Yelena to talk. Spilling her guts on the excuse she wanted them to admit that Zeke was right in what he was doing. Although Levi's suspicion is she really didn't want to get any more bones broken.

Her calm explanation of the world's destruction didn't phase the Captain in the slightest. Just another thing that needed to be accomplished. Evelyn didn't even think he gave a second thought to her words until they were lying in the same bed last night for the first time in months. She had forgotten how warm and comforting it was to lay beside him and hear the rhythm of his heart.

"Hey."

"What is it."

"I told you I was going to get you out of this, but truth is, we could die tomorrow."

"I know."

"I want you to stay behind."

"You know I won't do that."

He sighs. "Not even if I tell you it's for your own good?"

"Nope."

"Good. Glad we got that out of the way so I can go down in the record that I did the gentlemanly thing and told you to save yourself."

"Record added." She looks up at him, his gruesome stiches hidden poorly under the cloth. "It's like you don't know me at all."

"Trust me I do. Wherever I go you're right behind me like a leech."

"I think you have that the other way around."

"Hm. Maybe I do."

Their breathing fills the room again until he breaks it by pulling her face up towards his and meeting her mouth in a fiery kiss, as if he was trying to sear the imprint onto her skin.

"What's gotten into you-" Her words and more breathless than she would've liked, her core clenching on nothing.

"We might die, so fuck it and lets have one last night to remember."

He was right, he always was. They could die tomorrow. So giving in at the end of all of this could be done guilt free.

Her body rose up to meet him, accepting his hips rolling onto hers with such desperation it made her shudder. His hands clawed and groped, wanting to touch every inch of her. His tongue and mouth tasted all they could, he just wanted to devour her. That's all he ever wanted since he laid eyes on her. To take everything she was, chew it up and savor how it broke and bent to his teeth before spitting her out, just bones of who she used to be.

Their clothes become nothing more than a discarded heap, soon she found her thighs over his shoulders while his tongue explored her folds, dipping eagerly in and out. He was famished, before he was incapable of making their reunion worth while. No more.

His arousal covered kisses trailed up her body, pausing to flick her nipples with his tongue while his fingers twisted and turned inside her. Speeding up until she threw her head back, moaning and clamping down on them, practically begging him for his dick.

"Tell me what you want honey."

Defiance flashed in her eyes, she was willing to work with him for the sake of their child but there was no chance she was going to submit to him. "Oh fuck you."

"If you insist." His hand slips behind her neck, then he flips her onto her stomach, landing a slap on her ass, admiring the ripples it makes.

Levi pressed his whole weight onto her, still holding her neck while squeezing slightly, his erection grinding into her and channeling all his desire into his thrusts. "You'll do as I say, got it? And you'll fucking enjoy it." Slowly he started to slide in, each inch he pushed punctuated his next words. "Every. Fucking. Inch."

Fingers down her throat kept the noises at bay while he thoroughly fucked her, setting his own rough and unforgiving pace until eventually she was sucking him in while she came, forcing every drop of cum to fill her cunt.

When he was finished with her he dropped her with a sigh. "That's a good girl."

==============================================

Something was different between them the next day, It was almost like how it was before the whole mess of marriage. Helping each other with their gear, sharing smiles, and joking with each other like that had back then. It was...nice. Oh how she missed it.

She added it up to the hope of what was to come. The flying boat nearly prepared and all filled with a sense of determination that they would be the ones to save humanity. And while the only gloom was the leaving of Annie, the fate of the world rested on their shoulders. They had a mission to finish. Then they could all go home, life would continue on, Commander Erwin would be finally freed once the Jeagerists realized there was no longer and hope. They would all be free.

Shots fired from within the hanger cut short their celebration. Floch's weakened body firing without thought before Mikasa's sword finally cut him up. A deserved death in Evelyn's mind, all he had caused was trouble on top of that arrogant attitude.

"Good riddance." She muttered under her breath.

"Hange, he shot up the tank- We're grounded-!" Onyankopon's eyes were filled with terror as he surveyed the damage.

"Don't give up." One of the engineers assured him. "It'll fly if we can just fix these holes."

Collectively, they scrambled to get the welding tools and begging fixing the damage.

"How long will it take?" Concern laced Hange's voice.

"Tin is the fastest way, it shouldn't take longer than an hour."

As he reached for a set of wire cutters the ground beneath them began to shake violently.

They were too late.

"We haven't got an hour."

Evelyn followed Reiner out to estimate how much time they had left, horrified when they saw they had no time. The Rumbling was here.

They continued to march forward, the Titans refusing to stop their assault. All of the former Scouts debating amongst one another who should stay and who should go with the others.

"Go, I can cover the rear." Reiner's gaze traveled to Evelyn unbidden, if she could make it out, his death would be worth it.

"You think that's any better?" Hange's voice came from behind them, her arms laden with thunder-spears. "If we're going to stand a chance we can't use any of our Titan power yet." She paused, a determined look in her eyes. "We wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for me, I dragged you all here over the bodies of your comrades. It's time I made it right." Her gaze met those of her comrades. "When this is all over remember me when you all celebrate your victory and the end of The Rumbling. It was an honor to serve with you all." She gave them all a small smile. "Short retirement speech I know. Alright, bye guys." She turns to leave, facing her two oldest friends.

"Hey, that's your goodbye?" Levi seemed unimpressed.

"I know you get it Levi, I've been waiting so long for this. My time has come." She pauses, leaving the silence hang for a second. "So please, I want to ride the high to the end and make a really awesome exit! Let it happen, okay?"

Both the Captain and wife sort through their feelings all at once. This woman had been with them since the beginning. Teasing Levi for his quirks, daring Evelyn to do crazy stuns, dodging responsibility to research Titans. Their best friend.

A moment passes before Levi presses an enclosed fist to her chest. "Dedicate your heart."

She smiles slightly as Evelyn salutes her. "Captain."

A laugh escapes Hange's lips. "I didn't think I'd ever hear you say that. Take care of Evie for me Levi, or I might have to come back from the dead and take her myself." She tries to wink but with the loss of her eye it seems like a blink as she zips away to certain doom.

Hange's assault was taken advantage of, the Scouts only moving when told that the flying boat was prepared to move. They boarded with one last look on Hange as they took off down the runway. Her burnt body resembling that of a falling star.

Each grieved in their own way, sobbing, or silent thoughts of sadness. The only words spoken were that of Levi's.

"See you around, Hange. Just watch us."

#break me slowly #levi x oc #attack on titan #levi aot #levi ackerman #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #yandere levi #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi x reader #aot x reader #aot smut

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hobbit-in-kuroshitsuji · 2 years

Text

Reaper Headcanons

their spectacles are what make them capable of seeing (literally anything) cinematic records; the thing that makes them shinigami - but that is also their greatest weakness. Reapers in love will touch each other's glasses, the frames, or lovingly bump their spectacles against each other :3 (I've written examples here)

Ronald is known across the entire office as the go-to after-work party person

Ronald has a watch but William says Ronald never uses it (wrong, but Ronald sometimes struggles being on time and William is salty)

William is salty

they don't celebrate birthdays (they're all depressed af, why would they)

but they do celebrate achievements and from time to time there's a cake at the office when a reaper has succeeded splendidly as of late

William has a coffee addiction

Ronald has a tea addiction

Grell's office is actually used much more than you would imagine for someone who does barely any paperwork - she uses the desk space to dye her clothes red

Grell will sneakily place paperwork on the stacks of her co-workers

William will sneakily place said paperwork back onto her desk

It's a battle - the other reapers make bets on who will win each day

the reapers live in a dimension away from humans, heaven, hell, purgatory - they're little bubbles in time and space which exist all around the world. i.e. if the reapers need to visit a different country's dispatch, they need to travel through the human world first and then travel "up" to the dimension

the reapers don't know that they don't have to reap a certain amount of souls for a certain amount of decades until they are forgiven by some higher intelligence caring for the afterlife, they have to forgive themselves and want atonement for ending their life

Grell breaks into William's flat from time to time - not to do anything, but just to be near him. William lets her, he stopped trying to change the lock a long time ago. Grell has a cup for tea in William's kitchen which he lets her keep there - he even buys her favourite tea to keep in stock.

They're friends, but it's a love-hate sorta thing

Reapers have something called a 'death day' - once a year, a reaper does not have work as they re-live what happened. It's sorta like human beings sometimes being affected by the moon's cycle? 6 months away from their death day, reapers feel perfectly fine, ecstatic, with no memory of any angst or pain, no memories at all of their mortal lives, the closer they are to their death day, the closer they get to their tangible remains on Earth, and the more memories they have until... their death day is upon them which is 24 hours of pure hell for them, forced back into the state they were before ending it.

the English Reaper Dispatch has a "buddy system" for everyone's death days. no reaper has to go through it alone.

Grell and William are there for each other

William is also there for Ronald. Ronald is there for A LOT of reapers - he's a super supportive friend.

Ronald brings everyone their favourite drink at each start of his shift. That also means he knows exactly who is working and when. He's a super attentive reaper. Everyone loves him.

William babies Ronald sometimes - not on purpose, William just used to have sisters he needed to care for all on his own (negligent parents). One of them was Ronald's age towards the end of William's mortal life. Subconsciously, William has taken Ronald in and cares for him.

William doesn't show affection through physical touches. He shows affection through ensuring each reaper has come back from their tasks in the mortal world. If someone is late, William goes to investigate and make sure they are safe. He hides this by saying he was making sure they were doing their job - the world would end before William admits he cares for anyone.

All reapers live in flats. The flats exist in reaper dimensions to which only pigeons and grim reapers can go. Each country's division has their own dimension. Reapers can visit other country's dimensions.

Grell used to have a sister.

Grell was a top-class seamstress, working especially with theatre houses in London, and is used to being the one that starts fashion trends among nobility. She herself was not noble, but invited to enough parties to feel noble. She had a secret boyfriend amongst nobility. Things didn't end well there toward the end of her life...

#kuroshitsuji #reaper headcanons #reaper lore #shinigami #black butler #reaper #william t spears #ronald knox #grell sutcliff #grelle sutcliff #reaper hcs #I will add more as I go through a re-read of the manga #especially in terms of adding more reapers :3 #but I felt like doing this for now #my headcanons

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lgbtqiamarauders · 1 year

Text

Peter Pettigrew headcanons

(because he doesn't get enough love)

he'll be the first to put down gender norms to help people (esp sirius) like painting his nails, wearing heels, or anything else (plus he always slays doing it)

will not have ANYONE spew homophobic or transphobic comments

he started growing a mullet when they left hogwarts

he'll be the first to jump into doing anything considered childish by modern society (like they'll be 20 years old and he'll be trying to break the world record of the highest pillow fort)

he will go ALL IN for the bit, planning, waiting, preparing, etc, and the joke will always land

he's the midnight barber

he's the funniest marauder tbh

i love the ace headcanon for him, but i also see people who are just using the headcanon to leave him out, or not put the effort in of giving him a love interest, so that's not great, and i like the headcanon that he's a total lady's man, smoother than sirius and james can even DREAM of being

he's not ticklish, which frustrates james and sirius to no end

people think that he's the nice marauder because of his dry wit and sarcasm, which is hard to pick up on if you don't know him very well

he is notorious for being able to keep a joke running for days, weeks, or even years

he badgers remus to join in on pranks as much as james and sirius do

he will NOT put up with sirius' shit. james and most of the time even remus will coddle him or at least ignore him when he's being moody, but peter will bang on his door and force him to plan the biggest prank in existence with him

he has total poker face when he's joking, which means people can never tell if he's serious or not (and when they ask him, he'll say, "i'm not sirius, i'm peter" with a completely straight face)

he has a twin sister

he befriends dorcas before any of the marauders (or lily, mary and marlene) do

he has friends all around the castle, and if he doesn't have an in with someone, he has an in with someone who knows them. he knows everyone's business

he was as big a part of figuring out about remus' werewolf stuff as james and sirius

he was the biggest remus defender after The Prank, and wouldn't forgive him until remus did

lily was going to make him the godfather or her second child, who she was pregnant with when she died

he kept james' glasses

#sorry about the end hehe #marauders era #marauders #peter pettigrew #peter pettigrew headcanon #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #lily evans #dorcas meadowes

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joisbishmyoga · 10 months

Text

Do I know that much about Zelda lore? Eh. Do I care? Meh. Did I see that rehydrated Ganon trend a while back? Ok yes that one's on me.

Zelda wakes to a faint shiver in the balmy summer air.

Oh. Oh, it's early this time. Very early. (It's shallow this time, and so very close to the castle...)

She climbs out of bed, wriggling to slide safely down onto her bare feet with a tiny pap on the stone floor. Her thin summer blanket tries to come along, but she untwists it from her chemise and climbs up onto her dresser. It's sturdier than her washstand, can hold her weight without tipping over, and close enough that she can reach into the washbasin there.

That's not on purpose. It's very much something the castle staff would change if they realized it was so close, since the nanny that helps her get ready for bed puts a candle in the basin as a nightlight for Zelda. Not a fresh one, but old tapers at most as long as the woman's thumb. Zelda's seen her measure them like that.

Tonight's candle is still lit. Not for much longer, maybe a couple of hours... but given how close by he must be, it should be enough for her to at least get back into the castle proper.

The Triforce of Wisdom holds knowledge, the shining power of a goddess, an innate understanding of how to hold Power firm, to curb it indefinitely, if not break it. It knows things the people of Hyrule can't, mustn't, discover.

Zelda's tiny fingers prod at the wall next to her bed, prying between the stones above her head until something shifts with a gravelly click. It takes her pushing with her full weight, but the hidden door creaks open, and Zelda scurries onto a narrow passage winding down between the walls.

There's always a passage from Zelda's room in the many castles and temples the family's built and moved on from over the centuries. If the builders don't put in a false wall, half-asleep in the twilight hours after the workday's done, remembering nothing once the last stone's mortar dries, it's heavy rain leaking through tiny gaps -- the burrows left by Keese, who once were called bats and later were spelled Keys, a joke and epithet so old no one else remembers it ever existed at all. The rain soaks into cheap rubble filling the space between defensive walls, breaking it to finer and finer grit as it freezes over and over during unseasonably cold winters. Always there are cold winters after a castle's built, sometimes for decades, but the records are never connected.

Always, the power of Hylia ensures free passage for her. Even if it's centuries before Zelda is reborn, before the cycle begins again... the underpinnings are always set in place. Secret passages and orderly cave systems, cracked walls and lost treasures, villages building temples that their descendants abandon to the wilderness, that fade into myth and rumors.

Always, the power of Hylia does far more.

Zelda puts her candle down on a somewhat flat bit of the sloping floor, and goes around the corner. The passage dead-ends here, or at least seems to. Faint light peppers the wall here, tiny cracks at several different eye-levels, and she peers through the lowest one, listening.

Nothing. The castle basement is empty, and why wouldn't it be? It's the middle of the night, well before servants get up to start bread and stoke fires for the day. Zelda retrieves her candle and slips out into the dungeons.

Usually, her tunnels don't pass through useable parts of the castle. Someone's been interfering -- one of the Oracles, likely. Someday she may find a message to reach forward in time, someday when she's far older and well-settled as the Queen, when she's had decades to charge the Triforce after this turn in the cycle.

(Last time she possessed a descendant, the girl was a sailor -- it'd given her previous true incarnation enough warning to imbue the land with her power, to put the forests and fields in a shielded stasis, burrow the animals away, so the ocean didn't scour the land and leave Hyrule nothing but hundreds of miles of barren salt flat. It'd taken so much power that she died young, that life before the land drowned.)

She exhales shakily, making the candlelight dance across tombs of her ancestors. The effigies have twisted well out of true, armor thickening, developing spikes and jutting curves, crowns long since grown to helms concealing most or all of the flattened face. Their eye sockets don't yet shine -- there could be as much as another decade before they kindle -- but she can feel their bleary attention on her, feather-light for now, following until she steps onto an ancient switch and heads into the natural caverns below Hyrule.

There's no dirt or damp here to stick to her bare feet. There wouldn't be; there never has. It all gets sucked up into the rocky walls. It's another of the effects of the divine powers that no one outside the Triforce knows -- Zelda may carry Wisdom, but Hylia embodies Life. Her rebirth brings fertile fields and abundant harvests, thickens the forests, steadies the flow of water in the desert. As said... a mortal can't fully contain the power.

Ganon also embodies a god. Corrupted, destructive, but a god. His power spills over into the world just as much as Hylia's. Zelda trails fingertips over the tunnel's lumpy wall as she walks. By now, every smooth curve in the stone has visibly rippled, and those ripples are taking on the faint definition of future teeth and claws.

Demise makes the forms, the malevolence and hunger. It can't make the life, though. Just incubate its creatures in Hylia's power, feed on it, hatch in ones and twos in the remote wilds of the land... and tear loose in massive waves when Ganon does, when he wakes from the wash of Hylia's power refreshed -- reborn with Zelda -- and breaks free.

And then someone must slay the beasts before they devour everything, and put Demise back down to sleep and recover until Zelda's reborn once more.

And so the cycle continues.

Ganon's prison lies behind a door flecked with gold this time, black crystal under a shell of dull brown stone that flakes and crumbles to dust at a touch. Zelda can only reach about halfway up the intricate sigil sketching itself out, but that's high enough to poke at the bit of ruby developing into an eye, and the door clunks open just long enough for her to slip through.

The same black, gold-flecked crystal has grown into low braziers in each corner, which puff into flame without the touch of her little candle, casting warm light into the shadowy center of the room.

It's just enough to see a figure lying on a massive altar there: an effigy of Ganon, all thick planes of heavy muscle, dark clay under a fall of coiling terracotta hair. So... it hasn't been nearly as long as it was between Zelda's last two lives. Last time... last time, she'd come down late, already nine when the Call of Power finally reached her, leading her down through sub-basements and catacombs, through a cave system she'd had to return to with rope and supplies, hoping Hylia's power blurred the attention of the palace inhabitants long enough to actually reach his cell.

She'd only found a slowly-churning wisp of energy, that time. The effigy lay cracked, unfinished, the altar nothing but dried-out clay crumbled across the cave floor. His spirit had ended up possessing someone to carry out its compulsion.

This time, though, Ganon lives. Sort of. After all, he never truly dies.

The effigy is no statue. Or it won't be, in a few short years. This is the only reason Ganon never wakes to ravage the land while Zelda and Link are small children -- older ones, yes, sometimes, but never when they're just toddlers. The powers diffused through the land have to build him a body. How quickly that happens, how viable it is...

... that depends on Zelda. She doesn't always remember enough to know that.

The altar's a good three or four times the size of her bed, and stands nearly as high as the kitchen countertops the cook scolds her for climbing. (And then gives her a small treat from a batch of whatever sweets they're making.) Zelda has to put her candle down by Ganon's hip, way over at the tips of his half-sculpted hands, and jump to catch the edge, scrambling up to sit next to his shoulder. Which she then has to throw a leg over, getting one foot down into the gap that will someday divide his arm and chest, to reach the candlestick and bring it back.

Lifting the candle at this angle shows that Ganon's fingers aren't the only thing already half-sculpted. The effigy is never made with clothes on -- those come from some magical device hidden deep in the altar, the same way a number of Link's armors and such do -- but the details of his body are... not always relevant. Not even often relevant, especially if he's... if he's yet again...

She swallows, one hand on Ganon's future barrel of a chest, his massive shoulder between her legs, and allows herself one long -- possibly last, possibly only in this life -- moment to feel the faint powdery surface of clay already halfway flesh, still a bit too cool and stiff to mistake for alive. Then she raises the candle to his face.

The heavy brow and wide mouth are those of a man, with no hint of any kind of beast. His nose is large and sharp, beautiful by Gerudo standards; protruding canine teeth are blunted rosethorn points just visible past his lips, not tusks. His ears, what little of them are visible under the terracotta, are still just lumps, but they aren't positioned in the wrong, too-high manner of his many and varied bestial incarnations. He's forming normally. No dark witches or sorcerers have sunk their spells into him this time, and he's too far along to be caught now.

He'll still be Destruction when he's complete. Compelled to the cycle, just as Zelda is, just as Link will be. But he won't be maddened, won't follow the whims of some power-hungry mortal... will recognize them while he's still chained and until his defeat. He'll be himself when he wakes.

"Oh, husband..." she breathes.

It's been centuries since he was himself.

She'll try to delay his waking as long as possible. Zelda presses a kiss, open-mouthed, onto his forehead, the flat bridge of his nose; another to his parted mouth, then one each, more a breath than a touch, to the barely-there curves of developing eyes. "Slow, husband," she murmurs, patting his cheek with her small hand. "Wait for us."

-0-0-0

She doesn't nap on him that night. She'd started the journey down too late, and couldn't stay much longer than giving the benediction -- even if she blew out the candle for a time, and relit it from the braziers, the nanny would notice if she was missing in the morning. She's still too young to be expected to get up and ready on her own.

At least there isn't much Zelda has to pretend to be well-rested for. Just her writing lessons, scheduled before lunch, since if they have to wash her hands anyway they might as well be splattered with ink. Otherwise she's expected to play, the nanny trailing after her in case she bothers the wrong groundskeeper or stablehand with incessant questions. Though she doesn't do that today. Being tired hurts too much; she sulks under a bench in the garden, toying with a peony drooping low on its bush, and waits for either the sunlight or her body to quit this nauseating, sore horribleness called being awake.

This lifetime's Link hasn't been brought to Castle Town yet. He might not be -- he isn't always found before Ganon breaks free -- but Zelda has a feeling. He'll show up before Ganon wakes.

It'd be nice if it was now, though.

-0-0-0

Weeks pass. Months. Zelda's days slowly fill with formal lessons -- math, science, philosophy and history and civics. The lore of Ganon is slanted towards the terrifying, the theology only somewhat accurate. Why centuries of scholars have gotten the idea that numbers have any more significance than 'Triforce means three Aspects', Zelda does not know. Of course a lot of magical items come in threes. Part of it is, yes, the Triforce influencing how magic tends to settle, but most of what the scholars wandered off into comes from how few numbers even exist before you can start subdividing them back out. The Hero's Items can get into the dozens, but the wise philosophers of Hyrule are dividing them into pendants vs. armor vs. spell medallions and on and on.

Zelda may have Opinions. No one will bother listening until she's grown, though. Centuries of experience have long since proven that.

So Zelda's days are filled with lessons that are dull (this time, she remembers more than usual -- she'd be done with math by now if she didn't keep forgetting to use the new symbols for addition and such), biased (someone's remembered Ganon was once a Gerudo, so it isn't a fun time to be one this century), or outright wrong (no, Zelda is not constantly reborn -- she'd be her own mother and things would get creepy very, very quickly).

Her nights, though, become increasingly filled with visits to Ganon. His body is shaping itself well, thick muscles and large hands, chest defined in mathematically perfect swells of padding that Zelda pillows her head on while she traces sleep spells over his face, sigils for quiet between his ribs.

Ganon's skin reddens from clay to lifelike the same week that his hair finally flows through Zelda's fingers like silk -- on her last visit, it had still been intricate terracotta, fine locks scored like the nonexistent artisan had combed the clay with a wire brush before firing, glazed smooth with a transluscent layer of Gerudo red.

One hand comes fully free of his hip on her tenth birthday. His fingers, each nearly as thick as her wrist, do the same over the next five days, and the split between arm and torso completes all at once right under her foot a couple of nights after that, sending her tumbling onto his head.

Link still hasn't appeared. This may be one of the lives where he grows up in a rural cottage, or half-feral in the woods. Where they don't meet until Ganon's captured her, until she sends the call for help to begin the active questing of the cycle anew... where Link only sees Ganon at the end, over shield and sword.

No. She can't think like that. It's been nearly a thousand years... Link deserves to have this just as much as she does. A few months, a week, even if just a day, he deserves a moment with destiny fallen silent before it must play out.

She's twelve, and a sudden growth spurt has left her tall enough to not have to climb to get onto the altar. Ganon's thighs have fully separated, his body finally warm enough to make a difference when she tucks her chilly toes there. She's going to have to discard her chemise soon -- Ganon is always a furnace by the time he wakes.

Her hair stirs ever-so-slightly as she traces the sleeping spell high onto his chest.

Ganon's finally breathing.

-0-0-0

Link, if you don't hurry, you'll miss it.

But Zelda only has one aspect of the Triforce, and isn't connected to Power -- that one lies dormant until Ganon wakes. She isn't strong enough to reach Link.

-0-0-0

Deep laughter draws her to a small outbuilding that's been used for storage since Zelda was a baby. She'd thought it was a carriage house, perhaps -- it's certainly close enough to the castle gate -- but the latches that made her think so have been undone, and the doors were actually the entire wall, panels folding back in on themselves all the way around the corner and to the stone parts of the cottage. The space has been emptied of the junk that used to be in there -- broken wheels and cart panels, mysterious crates and barrels, a truly ridiculous number of cheap pots stacked to the rafters -- and with it all out of the way, Zelda can identify the place as a smithy. Someone's sweeping out the forge, kneeling on the raised firebreak and half-tucked inside, showers of glittering soot and rupees coming out between his knees.

Her father's talking to a different man near the anvil, a stout and heavy-shouldered one with gray streaks in his frizzly hair and beard.

"--couldn't kick me out with a little tyke!" the man is saying, and he laughs again. "Even if he was a boy! Started him on that sand-sign of theirs, apparently they can talk with their hands if the wind's too loud. Craziest thing."

Her father hums, considering that. It's not an entirely pleasant sound. "I seem to recall the Zora do something similar," he muses leadingly.

"That they do!" The smith -- he's probably a smith -- replies. "Something about not hearing the same under water. They call it water-sign... or it might be swim-sign, I never did manage to figure out the difference. Damn near identical to the Gerudo stuff, though. I hope some people around here know Zora sign," he adds more quietly. "Hyrulian's our native language, sure, but only for hearing. Link's--"

"Link," Zelda echoes, gaze snapping back to the boy eeling out of the forge. The soot is everywhere: his legs from thighs to ankles look like artists' charcoal all up the front and insides; his shorts are gray, the hem freshly blackened and riding too high to not be old childhood clothing bound for the rag bin. The side seams have been pieced with a few extra inches of cloth, quick basting stitches stretching to show tiny gaps as Link twists to sit on the hearth, long legs akimbo. The hands he rests over one upraised knee are also matte charcoal-black, though the palms and fingertips are slightly paler, like he tried to wipe them clean -- the excess soot's spread in long blotches over his shoulders and back. Except, no, that's probably from brushing up against the forge's walls. The excess soot from his hands is actually streaked across his forehead and nose, and in ragged stripes through his blond hair.

He offers her a shy little grin, face going pink under the black marks, and wiggles his fingers a bit.

Zelda does know Zora sign. Mostly political niceties, but that's enough to cover all the forms of hello. "Hello, Link," she signs back, hands flicking warmth and delight at him.

He ducks his head and blushes all the way down to his shoulders.

"So that's where you've been all this time?" Zelda asks later, after Link's uncle has freed him from cleaning duty and he's charmed the bathhouse attendants into opening early. (At least the Hyrulian bath, anyway. Not that either of the other two are in use at the moment, with only Hyrulians in the castle, but if they were Link wouldn't need to make pleading faces at their attendants: the Zora bath only ever closes for cleaning, since its water only gets lukewarm at best and doesn't need well-monitored furnaces, and the Goron bath stays locked as a potentially-lethal scalding risk for most of the palace inhabitants.) She lathers up more soap into a fresh cloth and scrubs at the fading stains on Link's legs. "A wandering smith and his nephew in the outlands?"

Link shrugs. Learning other peoples' skills, he says (the reason Zelda's helping him bathe, so that he has both hands free to talk). Don't get him started; he'll flap his hands off -- talk your ear off translates very oddly in sign -- about how different circumstances make different needs, and then go off into anti-corrosion and weight-lowering alloys if you let him. And then complain he still hasn't figured out where the Gerudo get their bronze.

"Bronze?" Zelda asks, though she isn't surprised. Just prompting.

Nomad forges, Link explains. They don't get hot enough for iron. And that, Zelda did not know.

She scoops up another bucket of warm water and dumps it over his head. "What else did you learn?" she asks as he sputters, and settles in to watch him talk.

-0-0-0

That night, she finds Link waiting in the tombs, hovering by an archway deep in the back. He's close to the switch hidden in the floor, but... Zelda doesn't think he's actually waiting at it. He's too close to the archway, his attention on a Darknut too large for the sarcophagus it's lying on. Its armor is starting to tinge blue at the edges, noticeable only by the fact that the rest is a dull pewter gray.

How Link is managing to have a staring contest with something that doesn't yet have eyes, much less is pointing them in his direction, Zelda does not know. He loses when she slips up next to him, glancing her way before his gaze returns to the Darknut.

He passes over his own candle, so Zelda now has two, and slowly raises his hands.

This one... I think it was yours, he says, uncertain and hesitant. I outlived you? That's not a question for her; he sounds like he only half-remembers.

"You may have," Zelda answers anyway. Her own memories tend to fade towards the end of her lifespans, but if Link died first last time, she doesn't remember being told. She offers his candle back, wiggling it a bit until he takes it. "Come on." And she steps over onto the switch and leads him down into the caves.

The golden sigil etched into the door is complete, now. Intricate Sheikah patterns -- what they were in the dimmest reaches of Hylia's knowledge, once when the cycle was new, before they diverged into Gerudo and Zora and Hyrulian styles -- trace out an eye in the center of a Triforce, the triangles solid black crystal amid the curls and coils of gold. But it doesn't need arrows to unlock, not yet, just a gentle tap.

The door won't lock until Ganon puts Zelda in here.

Zelda steps aside to let Link pass. She had her privacy for that first sight of Ganon's untwisted face. Link should have that too.

She's never really bothered to look around the rest of the chamber. It's smaller than the black crystal makes it look, though it's starting to develop bas-relief pillars that distort the firelight where it catches on the gold flecks in the stone. Larger gold flecks than are in the smooth expanses between, actually -- the pillars may well develop gold filigree to outline the room better, so it looks less like a field of stars off behind the firepits.

The crystal to hold her is growing as well. That one's deep in the back of the room, where the light is blocked a bit by Ganon's altar. Not much, but there isn't much light down here in the first place. The crystal -- nearly shoulder height on her now, and almost too large to encircle with her arms should she have the space to try -- all but disappears into the shadows despite being a transluscent milky white.

Link claps at her, and Zelda glances back to find him perched in the same square of space she's had to climb on before being able to reach Ganon himself: there above his right shoulder, where she'd minced about on tiny feet until Ganon's hair softened enough to push out of the way.

Forgot what he looked like, Link tells her, slow and reluctant. One hand slides fingertips back into Ganon's hair, pulled there like a magnet; with the other, he mumbles, Been so long.

"Still the prettiest?" Zelda asks, because she wasn't sure of that herself until a couple of years ago. (He is, by classical -- and all but forgotten -- Gerudo standards. 'Male' generally doesn't fit Gerudo ideas of beauty anymore.)

Link snorts. Nope, he tells her. That's me. But he's not bad.

Red hair slips between Link's fingers, just enough curl that it catches before falling free, and he winds the lock around. After a few passes of this, combing through the strands, Link sighs and lets Ganon's hair fall, turning tired eyes to Zelda. Will we ever get out of this cycle?

"I don't know, Link." She can't see any way it could happen. "I just don't know."

-0-0-0

With Link having finally arrived, they can actually start preparing for the next rise. Link can get around unsupervised far more easily than Zelda, is even ignored somewhat more than should be polite once people realize he can't speak. He can gather and cache supplies, clear the hidden supply (read: smuggling) routes between towns, and spruce up the spellmarks that keep Ganon's beasts out.

Zelda handles setting up bunkers and watch towers, but she can't prevent people from putting up too many at the Gerudo border. Or from cutting off open trade.

Link puts extra effort into the Gerudo routes after that.

-0-0-0

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen, and one night Link jerks with surprise. Zelda follows his stare to find the tiniest glint of reflected candlelight where there's only been closed eyes for years.

Ganon isn't awake. He's not even animate enough to shift in his sleep yet. But his eyes can open now.

It won't be much longer.

-0-0-0

Even knowing how close Ganon is to waking, it still comes as a shock when it happens.

A hoarse yelp has Zelda spinning away from the buckets she's just set by a brazier, to see Link flailing where he's standing on the altar. He barely manages to throw his weight back, so instead of hitting the stone floor with his face, he lands on Ganon's chest with a distinct grunt. Not his own -- Ganon's eyes pop open at the hit, his back curling in on himself as he wheezes, as Link struggles trying to push himself upright and off of Ganon and nearly topples over again like he's stuck.

Like his legs are stuck. Or, rather, one leg: one large hand has a firm grip around Link's ankle, reaching halfway to his knee, though his other foot is almost caught as well; it's not quite jammed between Ganon's biceps and ribcage.

It takes a moment for Ganon's eyes to focus on Link. His expression goes sharp, confusion warring with... recognition, Zelda hopes, but it might be a threat assessment instead. (It's probably the assessment. Hopefully Link's nightshirt and lack of weapons is overriding the part where Ganon identifies him.)

Zelda has no idea what to say. ".... Good morning."

She has no idea what language that came out in. It certainly isn't modern Hyrulian.

Ganon's burning gaze snaps to her. His mouth works for a moment, air hissing in his throat. Then, voice dry -- barely more than a whisper -- and halting as he searches for words in that same ancient dialect, he says, "... Is... it?"

Of course he can barely speak, this body hasn't ever been anything but magic, clay, and air. Thank Hylia that she hasn't yet put soap in the water she's brought. Though she's been thoughtless enough to forget to bring a cup.

"It's close enough, I suppose," Zelda replies, bending to scoop up some of the lukewarm water in cupped hands. She pads across the floor, that calculating gaze flicking down to her bare feet (and then catching just below the hem of her chemise instead of returning to her face -- fair enough, the modern type is shorter than it's been in a millenium, even before she hit a late growth spurt last season... not that he would know, he's been monstrous for centuries and only ever captured her fully clothed the entire time).

They both pretend to ignore Link, perched uneasily on Ganon's chest.

"Here," Zelda says, coming well into reach. She brings the water to his lips, fully aware that neither she nor Link could move fast enough if he grabs for her. Ganon probably knows that. But he doesn't try, simply raises one thick eyebrow and leans in to sip.

Oh.

Zelda feels the blush rising to her face. Ganon's being warily delicate here, the scarcest brush of his mouth against her fingertips, almost -- almost -- a courtly greeting kiss to her hands.

And then Link shoves Ganon's face aside -- the sheer surprise enough to make Ganon move -- and pulls Zelda's hands up, and he drinks all the water with an impish little smirk.

"Link!" Zelda yelps. "That's for Ganon!"

Link's eyes brighten further, and he twists to face Ganon. One hand's still on Ganon's cheek, and that thumb taps Ganon's mouth. Link taps his own with his free hand, and raises an eyebrow.

Ganon goes very, very still. "... I... may be misremembering some important details here," he manages, his voice still thready but not a harsh whisper anymore.

Link's expectant question doesn't shift a single hair.

Zelda sighs. "If they're at all about taking liberties with either of us," her face is burning, it's not fair that Link's barely gone pink, "you aren't." That gets only a stunned silence. "It's been a very long time," Zelda allows. Ganon's been aware all of five minutes... and they've been fighting and killing him far more often than speaking to him, much less kissing. There's a lot of bad memories for him to consider. "I'll get you more water if you don't want a kiss."

Silence.

... Well, what did she expect. Zelda turns away to get that water. She should probably just bring the entire bucket over. He can wash up later, maybe even get up and find... whatever it is that he cleans in before dressing, Zelda hasn't been looking for a bathing room in here...

A muffled sound of surprise behind her almost covers that of movement.

He. They.

Well.

Ganon's not letting the bad memories guide him after all. He's pulled Link down, one heavy hand keeping his head in place, strands of blond hair caught between dark fingers. Link's bright red now, wide eyes going soft before falling closed; a thin trickle of water gleams in the dim light, trailing down Ganon's jaw.

In several hours, Zelda will have to go attend her duties upstairs in the castle. In several days, Ganon will have the strength to walk the room; just hours after that, to lift his swords, and the cycle will begin again. But for now, she goes to join them.

#legend of zelda #zelda fanfiction #worldbuilding #triforce shipping #idk if there's a ship name but you probably get the idea

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