#her whole life is drenched in grief

[thinkershipman]

SHAUNA SHIPMAN: AN ORESTEIA

#yes everything is about greek tragedies to me what about it #shauna is literally The Epitome of Tragedy i cannot stress this enough #her whole life is drenched in grief #and shame and loss and guilt #THE DESPAIR #what's that quote by khaled hosseini?? #about if you had just opened your mouth and said something at that one pivotal moment your whole life might have turned out different?? #but you didn't say something?? you stayed silent instead?? #also richard siken's someone has to leave first quote that everyone on this hellsite should know by heart <3 #That is the Epitome of Tragedy thank u mr hosseini #thank u mr siken #the inevitability of it all. the inescapability. what if you just - #but you didn't. you didn't and that is why you suffer #anyways i was too lazy to find more quotes so these excerpts are from both anne carson's translation of the oresteia #and robert icke's extraordinary modern-day production of the greek tragedy #shauna shipman #shauna x jackie #yellowjackets #parallels #web weaving

[mllemarianne]

Striving

Aemond Targaryen x F!Strong!Reader

Part 1: Deserving Part 2: Indulging Part 3: Striving

Summary: When you are summoned to King’s Landing to discuss the future of the Kingdom, Aemond is confronted by the ghosts of his past. Unfortunately, with grudges like these, it only takes a moment for one’s life to be turned upside down. It is why, on that frightful night, the people of the court gather in the throne room to hear the sad news. After all, any day the stranger comes to claim a life is a sad day… but whose life is it?

Word count: 18k 

Warnings: Angst, fluff and smut (5k words of it!) Emotional hurt/comfort. Mentions of grief, neglect, absent parent. English is my second language.

N/A: Buckle up guys, you are in for a ride. This is the third and last part of their story. This part is a little different. A lot of Aemond POV (including the smut!) Aemond has come a long way, yet he still holds grudges... This time, it really feels like the ending Aemond deserves.

AO3 | Masterlist

AEMOND

Aemond stood on top of the castle walls, trembling in his icy drenched clothes. His wavy silvery hair flew in the faint wind, a sharp contrast with the storm that broke over the whole east coast of Westeros in the past few hours. The sun pierced the clouds and engulfed the region in a warm orange light, another sharp contrast with the dire predicament Aemond found himself in.

For a second time, he had to fly through atrocious weather on Vaghar above the Stormlands. The first time was indisputably unpleasant. It happened a few moons back. Seven to be precise. The pouring rain forced him to take shelter for a night in a grubbly inn. A night where he shared a bed with you. A night that changed everything.

This time, however… it had been truly horrific. For various and obvious reasons.

A few hours had gone by since he came back to the Red Keep. He could not spare a single minute to change, but at that point, he did not care. Too much had happened in such a short period of time and damp clothes were the least of his concerns.

Quietly crying, he glanced down at the people of the court walking through the yard to enter the castle. He observed your brother, followed by other knights, rushing to the entrance, shoving men and women aside. Mayhaps it was time for Aemond to get back inside too. Afterall, the announcement would be made in the throne room any minute.

Walking slowly, Aemond joined his brothers and sister on the dais where stood the Iron Throne. He instinctively wedged himself between the Queen and Helaena, seeking comfort. Dangling somewhere between numbness and sorrow, he dropped his head so no one could see his eye glisten in the dim lighting.

He did not have his eyepatch on and could not bear the stares. Not this time. 

Helaena hooked her arm through his. He appreciated the gesture since he knew of her disinclination towards physical contact. She had tears in her eyes too, her lips pressed in a thin line. He sneaked a peek at the rest of the royal family, gathered on the other side of the Throne. Jacaerys stood with his younger brother Joffrey, Lady Baela, Lady Rhaena and Prince Daemon. While some quietly exchanged words with each other, they all had something in common.

They had their eyes locked on Aemond.

They knew. 

Aemond glanced down at his feet again, his expression tortured, avoiding any and all of their stares. Prince Daemon, especially, appeared on the verge of slaughtering half the people in the room until Aemond’s older sister, Rhaenyra, came to stand before him and took his hand in hers. She did not look at Aemond for one second. 

Lords and ladies as well as knights flooded the throne room, all impatiently waiting to hear the news that had them cutting short their dinner. They knew one thing for sure. Three people were missing from the royal dais.

Maester Mellos asked both sides of the family for permission to proceed, then walked to the front and cleared his throat. “Even though it is almost the hour of the bat, we are gathered here in great sadness, for any day the stranger comes to claim a life is a sad day.”

Aemond was half listening. The old maester’s words almost felt like distant noises. He looked around the room now dark and gloomy since the sun had set. He noted your father and brother’s absence. They probably rushed to your chambers, to see for themselves…

To say that Aemond’s whole life changed in the span of a few hours was certainly… an understatement.

5 days before

AEMOND

"My lady, my lord. A raven from King’s Landing," a voice resounded through your chamber’s door.

You sighed, shoving your face in your pillow. Aemond groaned, his nose still buried in your sweaty neck. His front was pressed to your back, the pad of his fingers softly grazed the silky skin of your thighs, soothing the flesh he held onto so tightly until then.

It was definitely too early for ravens.

“No, stay,” he murmured in your ear when he felt you moved slightly. He wrapped his arms around your bust and belly, one of his hands cupping your tender breast. You mewled when he left a trail of kisses on your neck, setting your nerves ablaze again. You were basking in the afterglow of your joining still. He literally spent the last hour worshiping you thoroughly.

He only wished to breathe in your blissful scent, to savor your heavenly taste and to revel in the singular feeling of your warm velvety walls pulsing around his cock for a few moments more. You had yet to catch your breath, shivering all over whenever he dared move an inch.

Nuzzling the soft skin behind your ear, the corners of his mouth curled in a blissful smile. He liked the scent of you in the morning. Your very skin and hair smelled of honeysuckle and lush gardens— oils and flowers you bathed in every night to soothe the pains of carrying his heir these past seven moons. However, in the morning, usually after you shared your body with him, you smelled of love too. It was the only way Aemond could describe it.

When sweat veiled your skin after he had your heart beating fast. When you soaked his thighs, riding him into oblivion. When your hair stuck to your forehead while he trapped you under him and pounded into you mercilessly. When tears dried on your cheeks after he went on and on, faster and deeper, without relenting.

Aemond could not get enough. You were glowing with love and life. Mayhaps it was because of the little dragon growing in your womb, but it appeared you could not get enough of him as well. So he obliged you. Vigorously. Granted he did not need much convincing, even when the occasion did not call for it.

He smirked as he recalled you dismissing the lords during a council meeting just so he could fuck you senseless on the large wooden table. It was the least he could do since you were the one carrying his child.

That morning was no exception. The sun was high in the sky, which meant you were still sharing a bed when you should have been sharing duties of Lady and Lord of Harrenhal. That being said, leaving your side was not amongst Aemond’s utmost priorities. He grumbled his displeasure loudly as Maester Sylvan knocked once more.

"It is an urgent matter, I’m afraid," he stated, the chains he wore clanking against the wooden door of your chambers.

READER

You chuckled, while Aemond fumed. Since you were lady and lord of Harrenhal, you noticed how every raven was "a matter of most urgency". Although, you could understand why the poor Maester insisted.

You recalled how one day, Aemond had enough of the trivial messages delivered at dawn.

The news came that Lord Luthor Tyrell— your “betrothed for a day”—  got engaged to a daughter of House Baratheon of Storm’s End. Aemond all but crumpled the message and threw it in the fire angrily, asking the Maester why the news was deemed urgent.

You had shared with Aemond the last words you exchanged with Luthor, at your engagement feast of all places. Except you did not mention the “Enjoy being a cripple’s whore” comment, fearing Aemond would have left to go burn the entirety of Highgarden with Vaghar and possibly start a war with The Reach. Fearing for his life as well, the Maester excused himself and ran before you could say anything.

Aemond rubbed his marred cheek, looking desperate.

“Maester Sylvan insists on relaying any message immediately because the last time he didn’t, my mother gave birth to me and died before my father could reach her,” you revealed with a gentle tone.

A pink hue tinted Aemond’s cheeks. His shoulder sagged briefly before he straightened, crossed his arms behind his back and looked at you with contrition. He apologized sincerely.

“It’s alright, you did not know. Maester Sylvan all but raised me alongside my father until I was ten of age and moved to King’s Landing,” you explained, remembering how he used to secretly nick raspberry tarts from the kitchens to goad you into learning more houses of the realm as well as their sigils. “Besides, you don’t see me losing my mind at the mere mention of Lord Boros’ daughters. Weren’t you supposed to marry Ellyn?”

You heard a faint “hm” as an answer. 

After that, Aemond never complained about the early morning ravens again. You were used to his temper anyway. It was improving, at least.

Lost in your thoughts of urgent messages and raspberry tarts, you startled as Aemond kissed your shoulder and detangled himself from you. You winced as he left both your body and your bed, a cold draft hitting your behind as he lifted the sheets. He dressed quickly, opened the door and thanked the Maester for his diligence. He ordered the maids to draw you a bath and came back to you, half sitting on the edge of the bed.

“What does it say?” you asked his face all but drained of its colors.

“To Lady Y/n Strong and her husband Prince Aemond Targaryen, Lady and Lord of Harrenhal. You are hereby summoned to King’s Landing in order to celebrate the union of two great houses. Lady Helaena Targaryen, second daughter of King Viserys I, and Jacaerys Targaryen, crowned Prince and first born son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and the late Lord Lenor Velaryon, are to be wed. The King wishes for both families to meet in three days time to discuss the future of the Kingdom,” read aloud Aemond. “It is signed with your father the Hand’s seal.”

“Well… this is indeed an urgent matter. We have to make plans now,” you noted, already thinking of the burden of flying in your condition. Then you noticed Aemond was silent, reading the message over and over again. “Speak, but I know what you are thinking.”

“My father wants my sister to wed Jacaerys,” he groused, frowning horribly.

You took his hand and traced figures on his calloused palm. “…It was a matter of time. You saw them dance together at our wedding… You have to admit they are well matched… mayhaps it is a first step towards reconciliation.”

“We are past reconciliation,” he snarled, standing again to throw the message in the fire. “Aegon, Jacaerys and Lucerys made my life a living hell. For years. And my father never said a thing. Aegon is the only one who apologized since. Vaghar scares him to death,” he specified, looking at the scroll slowly turning into ashes. “But my nephews never showed a single glimpse of remorse. Not for the laughs, not for the fucking pig with wings and certainly not for ganging up on me and taking my eye. They probably still think it was justice well served for ‘stealing’ Vaghar.”

You did not push him any further. Even though almost ten years had passed, it still pained him. However nice it had been at Harrenhal, you knew resentment lurked under his skin irregardless. You felt it every time the crowned Princes or his father were mentioned. Aemond was all about strength, will and power. On the outside, at least. You knew him as a passionate and caring man too. He was complex, hiding a very vulnerable side still hurting from years of mistreatment and neglect.

In spite of it all, not once have you seen him actually cry. Even when you confessed your love in each other's arms during your adventures in the Stormlands. Even when he realized you had dragged him to a Valyrian wedding. His eye was bright with unshed tears but his determination to look strong always won in the end. When you were younger, whenever he spent time with his nephews, he always came back to you looking pitiful but never tearful. That is when you began going to the library every night with him. You wanted Aemond to know that he had a friend in the Red Keep. The rest was history.

Aemond buttoned his tunic, put on his boots and hung his sword to his leather belt before he left to sort out your departure. The guards had to leave on foot now while you would join them in two days time on dragonback. You got up as well, both hands on your round belly, and went to bathe in floral oils and herbs like Maester Sylvan recommended. It did soothe the pain in your lower back and the nausea that burdened you lately. Sitting in your bath and closing your eyes, you realized how things changed during the last seven moons since you wed and moved to Harrenhal.

These days, you took baths and enjoyed leisurely walks in the meadows— that is, when your lower back allowed you— instead of training in the morning. When Maester Sylvan confirmed you were with child, Aemond all but denied you entry to your training yard. You were outraged.

He was anything but a fool. He waited for you at the entrance the next morning to make sure you turned right back around. He outright refused to even unsheathe his sword in your presence. Unsurprisingly, not a single knight dared offer sparring with their expecting lady either. Especially when your Prince was there to stare them down. You ultimately yielded, agreeing to simply observe— ogle really— Aemond in his training gear.

Your husband started to embrace his appearance too. For so long it hurt to see the frightened look on people’s faces… even if he drew satisfaction from scaring away the knights who got too friendly with you or the lords who wanted a dance during feasts.

Yet after a while, he started showing up to the training yard without his eyepatch. Then at the council meetings. In the end, he even attended dinners and feasts without it. The people grew accustomed to his beautiful glowing sapphire eye. He even seemed to forget about the gem, only to be reminded of it when he spied blue specks of lights dancing on someone’s face when the sun was out.

His appetite also changed. You thought he was insatiable before, but it was nothing compared to the beast he had become since you had your own little kingdom. Once upon a time, you had a little game where he kissed you when no one was looking. The game somehow changed a little since. Harrenhal was full of dark corners and secret passages. Lately, you found yourself, more often than not, pressed up against a stone wall or lying down on a window seat with your Prince driving in and out of you, swallowing your cries with a kiss.

“I enjoy the sight of you walking around with me dripping down your thighs,” he shamelessly confided in you once, letting down the hem of your dress after he ruined you in an alcove before a council meeting. His filthy words got to you every time.

It was no secret that he thrived now that he got out of King’s Landing. At Harrenhal, he took part in the running of the Riverlands as head of the council, by your side. He oversaw the army training and battle strategy. He taught swordplay and hand-to-hand combat to new recruits. He had access to a thousand new books thanks to your ancestors' love for academics. And since you were eager to learn, Aemond taught you High Valyrian too.

It was like after years of aimlessly roaming the halls of the Red Keep, he found a purpose. Seeing him like that, content and untroubled, filled you with so much joy you thought you would burst. 

That is why going back to King’s Landing made you so nervous.

2 days before

READER

Aemond had a special saddle made for Vaghar so you could ride comfortably in front of him without squashing the child. It had so many ropes and chains that you scoffed as he gently tied you to it.

“There may be bad weather. I’m not watching you fall off this dragon,” he justified patiently.

Unfortunately, the flight gave you a crippling nausea. When you landed on the beach of King’s Landing two hours later, you were white as a sheet and wished for nothing but rest. He fussed when you climbed down the net on Vaghar’s side as well.

Aemond took great care of you, and you were grateful by all means, but sometimes you liked to remind him you were not a delicate flower and if not for your belly, you could knock him to the ground in a training yard. Each time he smirked and kissed your cheek as an apology. He knew you had a temper too.

You climbed all the steps to the Red Keep and met Queen Alicent and Princess Halaena at the top. The Queen went to her son immediately, wrapping her arms around him in a warm loving hug. She embraced you as well, overjoyed. “Blessed be The Mother, a child so soon,” she teared up, pressing a hand on the side of your belly. “Come. The King will join us shortly. The rest of the family is in the great hall.” 

Aemond stayed with his mother, but it was not by choice. She held onto him so tight he glanced at you for help at one point. But who were you to deny a Queen the presence of her own beloved son?

You walked alongside Halaena who seemed positively radiant. You knew she was happy about her betrothal. You saw how Jacaerys asked her for a dance at your wedding and how they treasured each other’s company for the rest of the night. 

You kept that information to yourself, but a part of you felt like you should reach out to Aemond’s nephews… well, your nephews too it seemed. You hoped it was finally the beginning of a new era, where both families put their differences aside and started working together toward a better future for the Kingdom. Except you knew without a doubt that the heart of the problem resided in one dreadful night in Driftmark when a child was armed and no justice was served. 

The whole royal family was indeed in the great hall, discussing with the people of the court. You stared back at your Prince immediately.

He tensed before the crowd. He reached into his pocket and fished out his eyepatch. You did not even know he took it with him. It saddened you when he put it on quickly before he joined his brothers, Prince Aegon and Prince Daeron.

You did not see any familiar faces yet. Your father was with the King of course, and your brother would not mingle with the royal family in these circumstances anyway. So you followed Princess Helaena who joined Prince Jacaerys, and his siblings.

“Your graces, ladies.” You bowed to the Princes and greeted Lady Baela and Rhaena. They greeted you back, but it was Prince Lucerys who stepped forward and spoke directly to you.

“We know you know. Sir Harwin told us,” he hushed.

On the day of your wedding, you questioned your brother once and for all and demanded the truth. He confirmed he was indeed the father of the three crowned Princes. He apparently had an arrangement with Prince Daemon who did not resent him nor Princess Rhaenera, but wished to keep Harwin at Dragonstone. For the Princes’ sakes.

That is when Harwin abdicated his title of heir of Harrenhal. It was his wedding present to you and Aemond, in a way. The biggest castle in Westeros— even if some of it melted a bit long ago—, vast green lands with rivers and lakes, a large army… It still felt surreal to have all that to yourself. You were a second born as well, and second born usually get nothing. Also, you were a woman. Your father never treated you any differently for it, but he warned you that it would not be the case with every other lord you would cross paths with.

“Oh, I see. Of course he would,” you answered hesitantly. “As a matter of fact… I wish we could know each other better, your grace.”

“You are part of the family now. In more than one way,” he said in hushed tones, referring to you technically being their aunt. “You can drop the formal titles.”

Aemond and Helaena were the only ones you dared address without a title. Never had you dreamed of doing the same with the crowned Princes. “Old habits die hard” but you would try.

“I’m obviously in no condition to train with you in the morning, but perhaps you would join me for a tea later today? All of you. Baela and Rhaena too.”

“Will he be there?” bluntly inquired Baela before her sister Rhaena subtly elbowed her in the ribs. Knowing who “he” was, you glanced at the other side of the hall to find Aemond already looking at you with fire in his eye. You realized you were still standing quite close to Princ— to Lucerys. You took two steps back hastily and addressed Baela’s question with the truth.

“I don’t believe he would join us, no. I wish we could discuss this as well. It is my desire that we find a way to… ease tensions at the very least.”

“Say that to him. We never had a problem with you. He is the one staring like he is about to murder us,” muttered Baela. You did not need to turn your head around to know exactly what Aemond looked like that very moment. Surprisingly, it was Rhaena who stepped forward and spoke to you.

“I’ve come to peace with my mother’s dragon being claimed by Aemond a long time ago. I have Morning now and I love her so very dearly. We could indeed put all this behind us,” she spoke serenely. “I’m ready… but is he?”

“It’s me he resents, not you,” Lucerys intervened. “I’m not ashamed I defended my brother during the brawl, but I regret hurting Aemond. Truly.”

You knew it would not be that simple. Not when Aemond just came back to this wretched place, as he often called it. Not as he was forced to put his eyepatch back on. And obviously not while he shared that space with the very people who changed his life in one night with one knife.

Aemond’s whole being was tainted by the events occurring on that dreadful night he claimed Vaghar. Even if Lucerys came forward and begged for forgiveness, you were not sure Aemond would ever feel inclined to offer it to him.

You discussed some more, mainly about how life was respectively at Harrenhal, Dragonstone and Driftmark. When it was announced that the King would join you in the Throne room, you went back to Aemond who wasted no time asking what in the seven hells you were doing. He asked calmly but firmly, reaching for your hand.

“I’m establishing a peaceful relationship with the crowned Princes now that I am part of this family and Lady of Harrenhal,” you affirmed, lacing your fingers to his.

“They don’t deserve this kindness,” he stated, glaring at them on the other side of the hall.

“They are my family as well,” you replied, lowering your voice. “I’m not doing this to vex you, Aemond. And for all we know, mayhaps our child will marry one of theirs one day. I’m merely saying that… We want to build a better future. If not for us then for our child. It does not mean I forget.”

Aemond frowned at your answer as his father walked through the doors. King Viserys seemed overwhelmed as he welcomed each member of his family. Clutching at his chest, he gazed upon all the familiar faces reunited in one room for the first time in a long time. When he got to you, he rejoiced as he saw your round belly. “Lady Strong, what a wonderful sight!”

“Your grace,” you bowed slightly, as gracefully as your lower back pain allowed you. Aemond instantly circled an arm around your waist to support you.

“Father.” Aemond respectfully bowed his head as well.

“My son, I’m so very glad to see you,” beamed the King, a sincere smile on his lips. A smile that Aemond, unfortunately, did not return. The King went on to greet his youngest son Daeron.

You felt bad for your Prince. You knew what he thought of his father. Neglectful. Absent. Unjust. Aemond rarely spoke of his childhood for many reasons. The King being one. You met him when you were both ten of age, and for the ten years that had gone by, you barely recalled a handful of times you saw them interacting. They did not have the kind of warm relationship you had with your father, the Hand.

In all sincerity, you felt bad for the King as well. He seemed genuinely happy to see Aemond again. The Queen followed him around closely, holding his arm throughout the very short moment he was actually in the hall. 

Aemond long debated whether to accompany you to tea with his nephews and nieces or not. He did not want to attend but leaving your side bothered him as well. In the end, he joined his mother and siblings instead.

Although, Vaghar flew above your heads at one point during your meal in the gardens. Her roar had your table and teacups shake, spilling tea in the saucers. Servants grabbed plates of pastries so they would not fall on the ground. You were not impressed Aemond wanted to taunt them while you actively fought for peace. 

“I thought he was handsome,” Rhaena admitted, slightly blushing.

“I beg your pardon?” Lucerys half spit his tea all over his lemon cakes, surprised at his bethroted’s words.

“Luthor Tyrell is a pompous arsehole of inordinate proportions,” you asserted unashamedly.

“I like her,” Baela smirked, turning to her sister Rhaena.

Jacaerys then cleared his throat and addressed the most delicate and obvious of all subjects. “How is Prince Aemond? Obviously, he did not want to join us. We understand why, but—”

“I’m surprised he even let you come here alone,” cut Baela under her breath.

“Baela!” admonished Rhaena. “It is unbecoming.”

“Don’t fret,” you reassured, raising a hand in reassurance. “You are right, Jacaerys. Aemond did not want to have tea with us today, especially since he did not know that I was planning on it for a while. Of course I wish for both families to mend their bridges. I will not speak for him however. He can do it in his own time.” You turned to Baela. “Lastly, if you are under the impression that Aemond Targaryen controls my every move, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Hm.”

You froze in place as you recognized the sound all too well. No one looked at you anymore. “He is right behind me, isn’t he?” you asked in a low voice. Jacaerys nodded as you felt Aemond’s hand on your shoulder. His long fingers brushed against your neck as he bent down to whisper in your ear. “I was fetching you for a walk, my love.”

“Oh,” you managed to articulate, your whole being distracted by his hand skimming the nape of your neck and plunging down the back in your dress. “Yes, of course.”

“Nephews. Nieces,” he added, acknowledging their presence at last. They nodded politely in return. You thanked them for their company and asserted your wish to do it again soon.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Aemond inquired politely when you were at a safe distance, extending his arm so you could grab it.

You chose your words carefully since he was visibly grumpy.

“Well, if you wish to remain in my good graces, you will stop flying Vaghar above our heads when we’re having tea in the garden. You almost had our entire tray of apricot tarts fall in the dirt. Wars have been waged for less.”

The corners of his mouth curled into a smirk. He was proud of his little stunt. You were not surprised. Unimpressed, but not surprised.

He stayed silent, so you continued tentatively. “They changed, Aemond. And for what it’s worth, Lucerys regrets what he did and I truly believe he would like to formally apologize. Baela is feisty and protective of her sister, but Rhaena is at peace with what happened.”

“Apologies do not magically absolve you of anything,” he retorted, pulling on your arm so you left the marked path and went through a line of shrubs. “The other person may never forgive you and you have to live with that possibility. I will never forgive them, and they have to accept that.”

Your walk was short since you experienced small contractions. Maester Sylvan told you it was normal to have some from time to time during the three last moons. The womb was preparing itself for the birth. 

You went to your favorite secret spot far away in the gardens to lay down in the tall grass under your favorite willow tree. You reached for his eyepatch and took it off.

“Sȳrkta,” you whispered. Better.

You kissed his marred cheek and he smiled. Your High Valyrian was improving, but you understood it more than you spoke it. You held him tight in your arms and watched the clouds as he mindlessly brushed your long hair with his fingers. When your belly moved on his own, he pressed his hand to it to feel the little dragon inside.

Thoroughly exhausted, you slowly drifted off, listening to the sound of the waves crashing on the nearby coast…

“Nyke jaelagon īlin rȳ lenton,” you heard before you fell asleep in his arms. I wish we were at home.

AEMOND

Came the moment you left Harrenhal for. Aemond wished you could attend the council meeting but you were indisposed. When you woke up from your nap in the gardens, you were a little cranky. The pain in your back was killing you and the nausea was horrible since you got to King’s Landing.

The city stank, you were too hot, your dresses were too tight and just looking at the multiple flights of stairs gave you hives. He knew everything bothered you ten times more because of your condition, so your maid Maeva escorted you back to your chambers to bathe while Aemond went alone to the council chamber.

He dreaded that moment ever since he got the raven two days before. You were not fit to travel for extended periods of time on dragonback. You had much to do at Harrenhal like supervising the rebuild of the east tower for your new chambers and nursery. He had new recruits to train too.

As he sat at the large table, Aemond could not imagine why the entire family had to gather in King’s Landing for. He looked at his father who seemed happy to be in the presence of his entire family, for once. Strangely, there was something he could not decipher in his eyes. Then again, Aemond did not know him enough to guess what it could possibly be.

 “Shouldn’t we be addressing the Baratheons of Storm’s End and the Tyrells of Highgarden forming an alliance through marriage behind our backs?” suggested Daemon who sat nonchalantly at the other end of the table.

“Yes, brother. But for now, I wish to speak of the line of succession,” dismissed the King in one breath.

“What about it?” queried Daemon suspiciously, a warning somewhere in his tone. He exchanged a quick glance with Rheanyra.

It did seem positively pointless. Jacaerys was to marry Helaena and he would sit on the Iron Throne eventually, end of the story. Nothing more could be said on the subject. 

“Rhaenyra, you are heir to the iron throne, with Daemon at your side. Nothing will ever change that. I purely wish to make sure no one is overlooked,” reassured the King, clearing his throat.

Well. That was unexpected.

“Before the moon turns, Jacaerys and Haelena will be man and wife. They will be heir to the iron throne after you, Rhaenyra. Which means Dragonstone will be vacant. Joffrey, and his betrothed Baela, shall be heir to Dragonstone. Lucerys, as the second oldest son of the late Leanor Valaryon, will be heir to Driftmark with his betrothed, Lady Rhaena.”

His nephews and nieces looked ecstatic, understandably. Aemond fought not to roll his eye.

“My firstborn son, Aegon, shall inherit the Hightower family seat in Oldtown with its lands, army and fleet,” the King announced before he turned to Aemond. “My second born son Aemond is settled at Harrenhal already, thanks to his union with Lady Y/n Strong, heir to its castle, lands and army. Then comes young Daeron who is betrothed to Lady Amyra of Winterfell…”

Aemond’s eye narrowed in confusion. The King went on speaking of the lands he gifted to his grandchildren Viserys, Aegon and even the unborn child in Rhaenyra’s womb… until Aemond was not listening anymore.

Nothing?

His father bestowed islands, gold, castles and lands on every child and grandchild… except him? 

Anger simmered under his skin. He tried to keep his temper under control but he snapped when members of the council applauded at the end of his father’s speech.

“What happened to you making sure nobody was overlooked?” he spoke fiercely. “Forgive me father, but I find it hard to sit back and applaud when even unborn children get lands when I get absolutely nothing.”

“You are Lord of Harrenhal, nephew,” drawled Daemon. “Men would kill to get this small kingdom, sit down.”

“Daemon, please.” Viserys lifted a hand to silence his brother. “Now is not the time to bicker.”

Aemond knew he was most fortunate, having Harrenhal and the whole of the Riverlands in his grasp. Ever since he was born, he was destined to be a war commander at most, but got lucky when his wife became heir. Hells, he did not give a single fuck about Dragonstone or the Hightower family seat. He did not wish for a second castle. He just wanted… something. Was he not worthy of anything? His father showered everyone else in gifts and gold while he was ignored. Again.

He was always the overlooked son. The second son. The crippled second son. Suddenly his scar itched awfully. His hands stimmed on the handle of his knife as he fought the urge to rip his eyepatch off.

The King stood up slowly and a heavy silence fell upon the room. Aemond saw his mother’s nervous stare in the corner of his eye as he did not sit back down while his father spoke.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around this table. The faces most dear to me in all the world. You’ve grown so distant from each other in years past. The crown cannot stand strong while the House of the Dragon remains divided,” condemned the King in a ragged breath. “I merely gave to those who needed receiving… So tonight, I ask for one thing… as your father, your brother, your husband, your grandsire… I asked that you set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all so dearly.”

Still standing, Aemond looked his father in the eyes and said the words he waited all his life to say out loud.

“You never were a father to me.”

The silence was even louder. You could hear the fire crackling in the hearth, but it was nothing on the fire that burned in Aemond’s chest— the fire of a thousand dragons. His father looked down, his hand trembling on the pommel of his sword.

“I taught myself High Valyrian,” Aemond continued, his stare hard and unfaltering. “I learned how to ride a dragon alone. I trained, studied and explored the realm all on my own. I lost an eye and not even then did you carry some sort of justice. Your own son was attacked and you did not care in the least. My wife was more of a family member than you ever were. So forgive me if I don’t stand back and watch when, again, I’m reminded that I’m nothing to you.”

“Aemond!” he heard his mother cry out as he stormed off. “Aemond, come back!”

He briefly glanced back when he turned left in the hallway. He saw his father crashing in his seat, shattered at his son’s words, a hand over his heart, his mother rushing to his side.

Walking fast, Aemond first wanted to get back to you and to lose himself in your embrace until you made him see stars…

But you were probably still bathing. Besides, he could not bear to see the worry in your eyes as you learned that he, once again, lost his temper. In front of the whole family this time.

He grabbed a hood in his old chambers, went straight to the beach and flew on Vaghar in the night sky like he did that first time he claimed the beast. He wanted to leave the castle. He needed to think. He needed clarity.

READER

When you thought Aemond came back to your chambers that evening, you were surprised to see your father slipping through your door instead. He explained what happened at the council meeting and how Aemond just… left. 

He climbed on Vaghar and left.

You knew he would never abandon you. He was probably blowing off some steam and, of course, he did not want to burden you. It saddened you to see Aemond losing all the assurance and serenity he found at Harrenhal these past few months. Now resentment and frustration consumed him again. You felt the heartbreak even down in your belly and pressed your hands on either side.

Your father’s company soothed you for a while. With Aemond’s absence, you came to realize that… you have no one except for him. Even your brother was busy with his duties. You tried to ease tensions with the Princes, but they were never close to you— namely because of how close to Aemond you always were.

Helaena came later to comfort you. She brought with her a large book depicting the many insects of Westeros and one of the castle’s cats. “They both bring me comfort when I’m alone,” she prompted as you petted the little purring creature.

Hours passed. The room was dark and the fire had died long before when the sound of your door jolted you awake. You saw a glimpse of long silvery white hair and immediately tried to stand up.

"No, don’t get up. Don’t move," Aemond whispered hurriedly.

He only had his white shift and leather trousers on. He carried the rest in his arm and threw it all on the ground beside your bed. His hair was damp and wavy. 

"Are you alright?" you asked in a husky voice.

"Yes,” he answered, taking off the rest of his clothing. He flipped his hair and his delicious sandalwood and amber scent hit you at once. He bathed before he came to your chambers. And now he was gloriously naked before you, one of his hands reaching for your hip. “I just need you right now… Is that alright?"

“Always. Come here.” You lifted the sheets behind you. He climbed in your bed and he wrapped his arms around your body, one circling your neck, immediately plunging his hand in your collar to grab your plump breasts. The other rumpled the hem of your nightgown until he bared your bottom half to him. He caressed your swollen belly while he peppered your neck with kisses. His breath was ragged. As if he was desperate.

“You are so good to me, Y/n…” he purred in your ear, making your whole body shiver.

AEMOND

For a second, Aemond forgot everything. He forgot about his father who all but confirmed he could not care less about him. He forgot about the snarks and gossip following him literally anywhere in the Red Keep. He forgot about the damn eyepatch itching his skin again, having him on edge all day. And he forgot about his nephews and nieces who were rewarded and all looked at him like he was the problem.

At least he had you.

He had you and he did not need anybody else. Having you in his arms was worth a thousand castles, gold coins and books combined. After the evening he had, he only wished to be with the only person who treated him right, who looked at him without flinching, who loved him for all that he was.

You arched your back against him when he eagerly caressed every inch of your soft skin. Especially your swollen belly. 

Only three moons after your wedding did he notice a small bump appearing. If Maester Sylvan was right, it was entirely possible that the child was conceived before the wedding. Your father had moon tea delivered nightly to your chambers but you never cared to take it. Aemond never would have pressured you, but you were eager to start a family. 

You moaned softly when his fingers delicately parted your legs and cupped your cunt, looking for that sensitive little bud. He hovered, skimmed and teased without putting any real pressure with the hands you loved so much. He knew exactly how to unravel you, even when you were half awake. He grinded his hard cock against you, the head brushing the wetness between your thighs.

“You can talk to me, my love,” you breathed, but Aemond did not feel like it. 

“For now, I just want to feel you…” he confessed, biting your ear.

You yelped.

“…I want to fuck you until you are clenching down on my cock so hard that I can’t remember my name,” he growled, the tip of his manhood slowly brushing against your center. "Can you do that for me, love?” 

“Ye- yes,” you stuttered. He smirked, liking the power his filthy words had on you. 

Eyes closed, still sleepy, you lazily moved your hips as his fingers dipped in and out of you now. You sighed and he kissed the crook of your neck. He kept the pace until your breaths were short and you writhed against him. You quickly soaked his hand and mewled in your pillow as he kept circling your clit with his thumb.

You filled his hands so deliciously lately. Not only had your belly swollen, your breasts were definitely more full, nearly spilling from your dresses every time you took a breath. He found himself side-eyeing them constantly, trying to be subtle about it. Your behind felt more round too, your thighs soft and squishy. Aemond could barely keep his hands to himself, even now, one of them caressed your full breasts while the other expertly rubbed the most intimate part of you. 

You were glowing, brimming with life, even in that stinking nightmare of a city. He could always count on you to turn on the light even in the darkest of places. You were a beacon calling to him, his port in a storm, his moon in a starless sky. 

He pressed his front to your back even more, pulled one of your legs up and pressed his cock to your core. Your hand reached back for his neck, desperate to touch him.

Usually, he would have you come on his hand at least once before he buried himself into you, but not tonight. He needed you. And he knew you could take it. 

Inch by inch, he entered you and you exhaled loudly. With a few strong thrust, he seated himself fully and grunted in your neck, inhaling your sweet honeysuckle and flowers scent.

Warm. So warm. And tight. 

His strong hand held you in place by your hip while you whined at the stretch, your walls strangling his cock as you struggled to take all of him. His fingers digging in your smooth skin, he gently rolled his hips to bury himself all the way. The exquisite feeling had him lose himself almost instantly. Then he really moved.

He filled you again. And again. And again. Harder. Deeper. Faster.

De drew all sorts of sounds out of you and loved every second of it. Nothing brought him more satisfaction than hearing you panting— or better still, screaming— his name when you fell apart under his ministrations. That at least, he knew he was doing right. Oh how he liked to see you lose your mind. All because of him. All because of how good he was to you. 

He knew you by heart, so when you rewarded him with a few yelps, he picked up the pace until the obscene sound of your joining echoed on the stone walls of your chambers.

He angled your hips and reached deeper even, pleasure building quickly and almost painfully at the base of his spine. You felt so good around his cock, he feared he might find his pleasure before you found yours.

And that, he could not allow.

Not once had you left his bed unsatisfied, and that day was no exception. He needed you to come. Now.

He let down your leg and you both groaned at the tightness. You cursed when his finger teased your clit. The hand holding your belly went to your neck instead and he squeezed gently. You gasped, your legs beginning to shake. 

“You like when I hold you tight, hm?” he asked in a ragged breath. You nodded.

When he had you silent, he knew he was doing good.

“You like it when I do all these things to you? When you have no choice but to take it?”

“Uhum” you nodded.

“Uhum?” he smugly echoed you, and you cried out, trashing against him.

He knew you liked to believe you were a lady in charge. It amused him when he heard you tell his nephews and nieces that you were the one holding the reins.

“I may not control you outside these walls… you may be Lady of Harrenhal… but in our bed, I’m your King,” he sneered in your ear, emphasizing the last word with a sharp thrust. You shuddered and clenched down on his cock so tight he groaned against your ear.

Pleasure wracked through you instantly. Aemond held you while your whole body shivered against his. Your walls strangled him so tight, it felt like a vice. Your head fell back against his shoulder, your jaw hanging open, forming a perfect O shape.

“You look exquisite when you fall apart, my love,” he breathed against your cheek, nearing his peak as well. “You are so good to me.” You whimpered helplessly, your nails digging in his forearms. “Only me.” For a moment, he believed he had you forget about the pain in your back. No discomfort, nothing. Just pleasure. Overwhelming, mind numbing, soul shattering pleasure. “Mine.”

And he fucked you through your orgasm. Your whimpers turned to wails as he went in and out, keeping his torturous pace. You groaned his name, your hands frantically reaching back for him, but he held you tight. You cursed profusely yet praised how good he made you feel. He snapped his hips a few more times, until you reached yet another release. 

“Aemond!” you screamed and just like that, he was gone, hit by a shattering climax. For a moment, he lost his vision. His mind went absolutely blank and air left his lungs. His whole body spasmed, head buried in your long hair, roaring his pleasure and spilling himself deep within you. 

He shivered, feeling your walls rippling around his sensitive cock.

He panted in your neck, nuzzling your sweaty flesh.

He inhaled deeply, close to being drunk on your scent.

He loved the smell of you in the morning. You smelled of love.

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your neck, your hair.

He felt you trembling in his arms, squirming to detangle yourself from him.

He tightened his embrace.

“I’m not done,” he growled in your ear. 

You cried out as an answer, writhing against him as if you were trying to get away but he held you firmly. He knew you liked it.

He caught his breath for a moment, kissing your temple as you moaned in anticipation. He knew he could carry on. He wanted to carry on. He did not want it to be over yet.

Throbbing against your pulsing walls, he resumed his pounding while you desperately clawed at his arms. It only made him hold you tighter, his fingers circling your swollen clit as well.

He coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of you until you were an absolute mess. Even when he feared he was too intense, you surprised him by begging for more.

You were truly perfect.

The high pitch sounds you made were a symphony to his ears, like a reward for going through such a wretched day.

When your cries turned into sobs, he knew you had enough. He buried himself to the hilt and exploded, filling you again with his seed, sinking his teeth in your neck to muffle his own cry of pleasure.

You both needed a moment to recover. You startled when he wiped away the tears that fell on your cheeks. Even the slightest touch had you flinching. You liked it when he unleashed himself fully but seeing you almost broken afterwards worried him sometimes. You were quick to reassure him as your trembling hands reached for his and you kissed his fingers one by one.

Then his hand found its way back to your belly. He shifted but kept you impaled on his manhood, still not ready to lose the intimacy, unable to let go of you yet.

“Please, you have to let me rest, my love” you begged, shivers going down your spine as he twitched inside you.

"But you are so warm," he pleaded sleepily in your ear. 

"You want to sleep like this!?” you yelped, mildly shocked. He felt your slight panic as you tried to stay still, unequivocally overstimulated.

"I’d spend my life buried in that cunt," he answered truthfully, leaving open mouth kisses on your jaw. His fingers grazed your sensitive skin and you shivered terribly. 

"Sounds exhausting," you jested.

"Sounds like the last seven months,” he quipped. You laughed and he gripped your waist harshly, groaning at the sudden tightness when your muscles clenched on his softening cock. "Shhh sleep. ‘Tis almost morning anyway.”

Neither of you did, in fact, sleep.

Not even ten minutes had gone by that you lost every bit of the sanity left in you. Your walls pulsed at the cruel pressure and you started grinding on him shamelessly. So he resumed his sweet torture until the sun was up.

Until you were soaked with both your cum.

Until the feathered bed was definitely ruined.

Until you almost lost consciousness.

Until he truly lost himself in you.

1 day before

READER

At midday, the Queen fetched you. You did not show up to break fast with the rest of the family, nor did you join her for tea later on. You stayed in late, making up for the hours of sleep and energy Aemond robbed from you when he came back at dusk.

Queen Alicent implored her son to get up at once and go to his father to apologize for his behavior. Aemond downright refused. She acknowledged his struggle, but assured him that his father meant well. It was years late, but the King wanted to make amends now.

“Then why are you here instead of him?” Aemond asked, putting on his tunic carelessly.

“He… he is not as young as he used to be. Please, go to him. He loves you, Aemond. He loves you and he is proud of you. Just apologize for your outburst.”

“No.”

Then he stormed off and ordered the maids to draw you a bath. Even when his patience was tested, he thought of you. You saw sorrow in The Queen’s eyes and you promised you would try to speak to him about it, but that you would not insist if he refused again.

“You are the only person he listens to,” she said with a faint smile before she left.

If only that were true. Aemond was awfully headstrong, and visibly struggled to be back in the capital. You let him fuck you senseless until the sun was up because you wanted to, yes, but also because you felt like he needed it. He needed you. He loved to give you pleasure and get praised in return. That you noticed early on when you got intimate.

Your bodies joined for what felt like hours, leaving you the good kind of sore. However, when pleasure completely ebbed out from your every limb, you were immediately reminded of the downsides of carrying his heir. You should be grateful to the Mother for such a precious gift, but could not fathom doing it for two moons more.

Aemond called from the water chamber. He sat beside the tub and rubbed your neck while the oils and flowers worked their magic. He whispered sweet nothings in High Valyrian, his hands soothing your tensed back as you spoke back in the best of your capabilities.

He wanted to be with you. Alone with you. He wanted comfort and for years, you were the only one who provided him with it.

In the afternoon, Aemond spent time with his siblings as you sat in the gardens with your family. Your father and brother wished to speak of how you ran Harrenhal.

You learned that Master Sylvan sent reports by ravens every week. Turns out you did an outstanding job at training new boys and girls from the court. Well, not you. Aemond did. He reinforced the military strategy as well. As for you, you established great relations with the houses of the Riverlands and the people. You eased decades old tensions between some families and helped build a lasting peace in the land. You both ruled fairly, wisely and you inspired respect. Everything your father knew you would achieve.

Your heart burst with pride… yet something lingered in your mind. As good as you were at resolving conflicts between the people at Harrenhal, you wished you could do something about the strife at the very heart of this castle.

When it was time to attend Jacaerys and Helena’s engagement feast, you did not know how to brush the subject with Aemond. You waited all night, sitting by his side, thinking how you could sneak the subject in your conversations. Aemond never liked feasts to begin with. In King’s Landing, at least. But he had a good day so far… It was worth a try. Yet when you finally found the courage to talk to him, you saw the King leave the hall with your father and some knights in tow. 

Then you swore you saw the King leaned on your father for support as the door closed behind them. “My love… I think you need to speak with your father,” you spoke privately in his ear. “Now.”

He kissed your hand, but calmly replied: “I won’t. I only wished for one peaceful evening before we leave for Harrenhal in the morrow.” You nodded, but worried nonetheless when the Queen left as well.

At least, the feast was a success. Halaena was elated to dance with Jacaerys all night. Aegon was a little tipsy but pleased to have his brother by his side again. Daeron was relatively quiet but invited a dozen young ladies to dance with him. Very daring, you thought.

You dared to dance too. Harwin fetched you and you leaned on him while he unhurriedly swayed you around. Aemond even stayed for a few more cups of wine, strangely enjoying himself for once.

He persuaded Aegon to stop pursuing a married lady of the court when his gaze fell upon you… You were dancing with his nephew. Well, your nephew as well. Lucerys asked for a dance and you agreed.

“The King wants for us to make peace,” you reminded him kindly.

“Yes. It is easier said than done… Is this whole situation salvageable to begin with? Even if I formally apologize to Aemond, he will never recognize he has to apologize as well,” explained Lucerys who danced slowly to accommodate you.

“Lucerys… A dragon cannot be claimed out of legacy. You know that. Rhaena knows. Baela knows. Jacaerys knows. Dragons are not slaves. They choose their rider. Vaghar chose him. He didn’t do anything wrong,” you stressed, hoping he would understand.

“Rhaena never had the time to try!”

“She had ample time, nephew,” rebuked Aemond, appearing behind you and grabbing your hand resting on Lucery’s shoulder. “I won’t apologize for claiming a riderless dragon. Now please, leave my wife alone before you decide to carve one of her eyes out as well.” 

“Uncle Aemond—” began Lucerys, but Aemond stole you away already.

“Please don’t provoke them, nothing good will come of it,” you cautioned. “I’m not asking you to forget. I’m merely wishing for you to live without grudges eating away at you.”

“I know you feel the need to resolve this particular conflict because of your devotion to me, but do you hear yourself?” he spitted back startling you. “You are taking their side!”

“I’m on your side, Aemond. Always. You know that”, you huffed, pained he would ever think otherwise. “Now please excuse me, I’ll retire for the evening, I ache all over.”

AEMOND

Aemond stayed for one more cup of wine, silently seething in a corner. He knew you meant well, but years of resentment will do that to a man. When he cooled down an hour later, he went back to your chambers.

When he did not find you in your bed, he feared he angered you more than he thought. Then he heard noises coming from the adjacent water chamber. If she is still bathing at this hour, her back must be killing her, he thought.

Eye wide, he walked in on you shuddering, head thrown back against the edge of the tub, back arched with a hand between your legs, water threatening to spill everywhere.

It was a sight.

He instantly felt strained in his trousers, looking at you positively flushed and wanton.

Knowing he had nothing to do with your state of dishevelment, he made his displeasure known.

READER

“My love.”

“Seven hells!” you jumped. Water splashed everywhere on the floor and you stopped your movements at once.

"If I’m somehow lacking in this aspect of our marriage— which I know I’m not because you are obviously carrying my heir so soon after our union— I would very much like you to tell me," he teased, removing his tunic and the cotton shift he wore underneath.

"Pleasure eases the pain. You stayed late at dinner. A wife has to make do," you justified, making it sound like a reproach, but with a faint smile on your lips.

"You vowed to the old gods and the new that you are mine. That includes your pleasure," he clarified, kneeling beside the bath and plunging a hand underwater. His hand skimmed your leg, going higher and higher until he reached your cunt and picked up where you left off.

"You mean to tell me—” you gasped mid-sentence when his fingers parted your lips and found your clit. “—that not once you have pleasured yourself with your hand since you claimed me?"

"I have not,” he said, his fingers moving in and out of you, his thumb expertly teasing you. His lips grazed your cheek, his hot breath fanning your face. Your lips parted and you fought to keep your eyes open. 

“...I’m impressed, actually,” you quipped, between pants. “From what I’ve read, men usually d…” you did not finish your sentence. Aemond even stopped his ministrations, leaving you free falling as you were so close to the edge.

“...What on earth have you been reading?” he pressed curiously, resuming his movements in an agonizingly slow pace that had you lose your mind.

“Nothing,” you replied a little too quickly, now panting desperately. He looked at you incredulously. “...Well I may have stumbled upon Maester Merandys’ book on pleasure and martial duty once…”

"Have you, now?” he queried, curling his finger so he rubbed that spot deeper inside you, harder and faster. “I have also read it, as a matter of fact.”

Of course he did. You knew it the moment you read the words on the page. You thanked the gods that Aemond was an exemplary scholar and husband. Every book he read he mastered the subject. So when a Maester wrote a whole chapter on how pleasuring women effectively lead to a happier marriage, he read avidly… and never left your bed without making absolutely sure you reached your peak three times. At the very least.

He bent down until his hair dipped in the water. He swallowed your cries as your release barreled through you with ferocity, hitting you like lightning yet lingering long after, enough to have you shamefully moaning. Your cries echoed on the stone walls. Water splashed on the floor as you writhed horribly, gripping his arm as he fucked you through it with his fingers still. 

Aemond was very thorough and it was a curse as well as a blessing.

After a moment, he delicately pulled his hand, caressed your belly and kissed your forehead. “Come.” He helped you stand, gripping you firmly as you got out of the tub, knowing he had your legs feel like jelly.

He dried your hair with a cloth, your curls already forming. When you reached the bed, he kissed you tenderly. “I apologize for earlier. I know you mean well,” he spoke in a mumble.

“It’s alright, I understand,” you answered while he walked you backwards until the back of your legs bumped on the bed.

“Do you want my fingers again?” he murmured, brushing your inner thigh with his hand. “My mouth, mayhaps?” He kissed the corner of your mouth. “Or my cock?” He pressed his body to yours and you felt his manhood, hard and ready in the confines of his trousers.

You were on fire, your body humming with need.

“You know what I want,” you crooned, laying down on the edge of the bed, your legs parted and hanging down the side. As much as you loved the child in your womb, some positions became quite tedious as your belly grew. You wished you could feel all of him on top of you but that would be for another time.

He propped your hips up with a cushion and gave you exactly what you wanted. Your breasts bounced with each thrust and his gaze kept darting from them to your face. His hands held your thighs, your hips, your breasts, your belly, any part of your body he could reach. You stiffen, your toes curling,  your hands fisting the sheets and your head so far back he could only see the column of your neck. 

Aemond fucked like he fought. With fiery passion, taking no prisoners.

He had you come multiple times. Again.

Enough to scramble your brain. Again.

He almost made you forget you were cross with him. Almost.

Your head rested on his arm. He traced figures on your shoulder, the pads of his fingers always lingering on the small scars scattered here and there from years of sword training with him. Oh how you missed your morning routine.

He talked of his mother. He spoke of how she tried to reason with him over tea during the afternoon, saying that even she made peace with the King's decisions. The crowned Princes are Targaryens, their dragon eggs hatched, and this and that.

After a moment, he fell silent. You chose your words carefully.

“People wouldn’t say a word if your sister were a man. Her children have as much Targaryen blood as you, Aemond… I don’t think this is about the line of succession… You are still angry about your eye. Punishing your father or Lucerys will never bring it back… it only brings you anger and frustrations. I love you, but I beseech you… Stop fighting, my love.” 

“Seeing you defend them so vehemently makes me want to burn this castle. You are supposed to be on my side. You are my wife,” he protested again, stopping his caresses. You felt his temper rising, but could not bring yourself to calm him down as you usually did.

“I am your wife. I am on your side. But there cannot be sides for this. Your father wants the family to put their differences aside. You are my husband, but he is my King. I have to do as he commands,” you explained. “Do you see the position you put me in?”

He sighed, rubbing his scarred cheek with desperate hands. “Your King was more of a father to them than he ever was to me. They get away with everything. And now? They have the crown! The Throne, Dragonstone, Driftmark… They are glorified, praised even, everything is handed to them on a silver platter while I have nothing.”

It felt like plunging in an icy lake.

Your breath shallowed as his words sinked in. For a moment a vice squeezed your heart in your chest. You felt the ache all the way to your belly, as if the child felt it too.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Tears pricked your eyes, your stomach turned and you tasted acid in your mouth. You tried to keep your calm but your nerves got the better of you. 

“You have the Riverlands,” you retorted in a surprisingly calm voice as resentment simmered in your veins. “…You have Harrenhal… a court that respects you, vast green lands to roam as you please… You have an army and knights who look up to you… You have a dragon, ‘the largest in the world’ as you remind us all so often…” Your voice started shaking and his expression changed. Color drained from his face as he realized what you meant. “You have me,” you bemoaned, a sob catching in your throat. “So what you are saying is that… all this means nothing to you?”

Choking back tears, you stood up and went to sit in front of your looking glass.

“That is not what I meant—”

 “I would like to sleep alone tonight,” you said in a cold voice. You avoided his stare, brushing carelessly the ends of your tangled curly hair. He stood behind you for a few seconds. You waited for his excuses. You were expecting explanations, reassurance, something, anything.

Nothing could have prepared you for the pain you felt when he kept silent and left. Your heart broke in a million pieces as the wooden door closed behind him with a bang.

For the first time since your adventures in the Stormlands, Aemond did not share your bed.

10 hours before

READER

Your maid woke you up early. You were exhausted and your heart ached as much as your back. You spent the night tossing and turning, no longer used to sleeping alone. You did not have time to bathe either for the whole family was called to the throne room. Now you were cranky, stressed and frustrated as well. 

“An urgent meeting, my lady,” clarified Maeva, emerging from your dressing room holding your favorite blue silk gown with elaborate silver embroideries on the skirt and clasps shaped like flowers. Her eyes darted around the room, surprised to find you alone. You sighed. 

Not long after, you stood beside Helaena as the lords and ladies of the court gathered around the throne. You felt Aemond approaching, his amber and sandalwood scent always giving him away. He was by your side but refrained from holding your hand as he usually did. You were no longer cross, but appreciated he respected your boundaries after the words you spoke.

“We received a raven from Storm’s End,” announced the King. “Lord Boros of House Baratheon heard of Jacaerys and Helaena’s betrothal and feels it is a betrayal, citing past unfruitful negotiations with him. It was once understood that our houses were to join with Prince Aemond marrying one of his daughters.” The whole family turned around to look at your Prince. You grabbed his hand instantly, knowing he hated when that many people stared. “Furthermore, Lord Boros now has an alliance with the Reach since his daughter Maris married Luthor Tyrell of Highgarden.” At the mention of your former betrothed, Aemond laced his fingers to yours, soothingly stroking your skin with his thumb. 

“There is more,” declared your father the Hand, “Lord Boros claims he could stop merchant boats from sailing to King’s Landing if the crown does not offer him some sort of compensation. He seems to believe he could convince the Reach to stop supplying King’s Landing with their grain, meat and fresh food as well.”

“This is preposterous,” thundered Lord Corlys. A brouhaha erupted over your father’s word. People afraid of a siege, knights speaking of doubling the guards at every gates and Prince Daemon snarling he could take down the lord before dinner if he left now with Caraxes and a few gold cloaks.

“Your grace, I propose we send a son from each house to speak to Lord Boros at once. We need to present a united front,” your father suggested wisely.

“I’ll go,” declared Jacaerys in a solemn tone.

“You can’t,” replied Princess Rhaenyra. “You are heir to the Iron Throne after me. We can’t risk it.”

“Prince Lucerys will go,” suggested Prince Daemon. “He is a crowned Prince too, and heir to the Driftwood throne. We need to remind Lord Boros that if he ever plans to rise against the King, he is also rising against Old Town, Harrenhal, Dragonstone, Driftmark and the North as well.” 

They all turned to Aegon who stumbled upon his own feet, eyes wide. He was apparently fetched from an obscure establishment on the street of silk at dawn.

“I drank too much, I can’t go. I’ll fall off Sunfyre.”

“I’ll go,” Aemond volunteered. He looked passive, but you had a bad feeling. He avoided your intense stare as the brouhaha resumed. He kissed your hand and went to his brother before you could say a single word.

AEMOND

Aegon looked at Aemond, both sporting a grave face. “I believe it’s time…” Aemond uttered, resolute but somehow still wishing for his older brother’s approval. “I might…”

“Yes,” Aegon acquiesced, sobering up almost instantly. “Do it. Don’t hesitate.”

Aemond nodded then went back to you. He spent the previous night wallowing in despair, alone, in his old chambers. His father’s carelessness and his nephew's arrogance clouded his judgment. That and the damn eyepatch had him in a tizzy. He used words that were too strong, he expressed himself badly and he hurt you. Again. Sometimes, he wondered if he was better off when he kept silent more.

He reached for your hand once more and apologized sincerely.

“I did not mean you were nothing,” he explained. “You are, in fact, everything.”

Your traits soften as he spoke. A colossal weight lifted from his shoulder when you forgave him and said that you knew he did not mean it. You apologized too and blamed the little dragon growing in you for giving you the temper of one. Even now, your fingers tightened on your belly while the child kept kicking you, testing your limits. 

READER

You lined up on the beach, bidding the Princes a safe journey. They could very well prevent a war today. You tried to smile as you gave your husband a few words of encouragement and requested he be careful since the weather is always unpredictable in the Stormlands.

“Don’t I know it,” he answered, a hand on your cheek. He kissed you passionately and you fought to keep a straight face.

“Just… please, don’t do anything rash,” you implored.

They took flight together and you prayed for an uneventful encounter with Lord Boros. When they were far enough, you finally let your mask fall and clanged to your maid as if she was a crutch.

“Maeva…would you escort me to my room and fetch the maester?” you groaned, the pains getting stronger.

It was two moons too early, but your child was definitely coming.

As you got away, you heard the commotion behind you. You first heard a loud thud. Then Queen Alicent screamed for help. Prince Daemon shoved guards aside to get through. Princess Rhaenyra followed closely behind. You heard the distinct clanking of the gold armor of every guard as they rushed to their King…

6 hours before

AEMOND

Did the weather ever relent in the Stormlands, Aemond wondered as he once again flew in atrocious conditions, rain battering at his face. After a few hours of flight, he found himself in Lord Boros’s gloomy throne room with Lucerys at his side. He put his personal feelings aside as they both tried to reason with the stubborn Lord. 

“You were supposed to marry my Ellyn,” Lord Boros barked at Aemond, pointing at one of his frightened daughters standing beside him. He sat on his throne like he was a King.

Ludicrous.

“I simply found alliances elsewhere,” added Boros.

“Threatening the crown with rebellion is not wise, my lord,” threatened Lucerys.

Aemond looked at his nephew, unreservedly horrified. Threats? Seriously? Menacing Lord Boros was not very wise as well. What was he thinking? Had he not studied basic conversational skills?

Pathetic.

“We solely ask for a temporary truce between…”

And there was the heir to Driftmark. Threatening Boros, then almost begging him to stop his impending siege on King’s Landing.

Ridiculous. 

Aemond was the eloquent one. It was he who studied philosophy, history, warfare and politics. He was Lord of Harrenhal and he was good at it.

“So what do you have to offer? You will marry one of my daughters, boy?” asked Boros, laughing outrageously. “You are so young, you probably still suck at your mother’s tit—”

“If I may, my Lord,” interjected Aemond. Lord Boros' eyes went from Lucerys to Aemond, disdain clear on his face. Even if Aemond did not bear any sentiment toward his sister Rhaenyra, he would not have a lesser lord speak of a Targaryen in that manner. Not to mention that Lucerys’s ineptitude was about to start a damn war. “My brother Aegon, the King’s first born son is looking for a bride. If you were to agree to this union with one of your daughters, they would be heir to the Hightower family seat in Oldtown. They would have vast fertile lands, an army, a fleet, a dragon and dragon eggs for all children that the union may produce. They would also have the King’s ear.”

Lord Boros seemed reluctant, but keened at the mention of dragon eggs and proximity to the King. Aemond spoke and Lord Boros listened. Lucerys stayed silent for the rest of the negotiations. He even looked at Aemond with… was it admiration? Aemond was not sure.

5 hours before

AEMOND

They both exited the castle in silence. Aemond, however, was burning inside. He was outraged that Lucerys almost threw them into a war for his lack of political skills. He suddenly imagined you giving birth while fire rained on the castle during a siege and fury coursed through his veins. Lucerys was the future heir of Driftmark and could not simply hold a conversation with a lord.

Disgraceful. 

“All hail the lord of Driftmark. Trying to have us killed when we were supposed to be negotiating for peace,” drawled Aemond loudly as they reached Vaghar and Arrax on the other side of the castle.

“I’m not as experienced as you, uncle. I feel no shame in admitting it,” answered his nephew who adjusted his hood in the pouring rain. 

“You almost started a war, you inarticulate idiot!” Aemond shouted, fiddling with the pommel of his sword. “I should have known, you are usually the one stupidly starting conflicts.” The eyepatch dug in the ridges of his scar and it put him even more on edge.

“I’m not fighting with you, uncle,” argued Lucerys. “I promised my mother I wouldn’t do anything foolish.” 

“You already took my eye. I would call that foolish enough,” scowled Aemond, giving into his anger. 

Lucerys turned to go to Arrax but stopped when he heard a loud clang of metal on the rocks behind him. Aemond had thrown a knife at his feet. 

“One on one,” Aemond dared him, taking out another knife. “Much more even than four against one, don’t you agree?”

“I’m not fighting with you,” repeated Lucerys, suddenly frightened. He climbed on his dragon and flew away in the blink of an eye.

Aemond scrambled for his knife and mounted Vaghar as fast as he could. “Jikagon tolī zirȳla”. Chase him.

He flew high, knowing Lucerys was close beneath. He hid in the dark clouds and got closer, rain soaking him to the bones. Out of thin air, Vaghar soared and almost devoured Arrax, sending both the small dragon and its rider in a panic. The little dragon plunged down with its rider and flew through cliffs and ravines bordering the coast of the Stormlands in order to hide from the monstrous beast that was Vaghar.

Aemond had to admit it… It felt good. He laughed almost maniacally, closing his eye and letting the rain fall on his face as Vaghar observed the coast. “Jemēla gēlȳni enkā, Taobus!” You owe a dept, boy! 

He could barely see anything in the downpour. He surveyed the beach but there was no sign of them whatsoever. Suddenly, Arrax came from above and spewed fire on Vaghar, missing Aemond by a thread.

“Daor, Arrax! Yne dohaerās!” No, Arrax! Serve me!

But it was too late. Defending her rider, Vaghar roared loud enough to crumble the nearby cliffs and started chasing the smaller dragon. She did not listen to Aemond either when he panicked, pulled on the reins and shouted at her to stop the chase at once.

Vaghar speeded and snapped her mighty jaw so close to Arrax’s tail that the little dragon jerked and threw his rider off his saddle. 

Arrax flew away while Lucerys fell in the raging sea.

Eye wide, Aemond frantically scoured the waters of Shipbreaker Bay. The rain was heavy and made it almost impossible to locate the Prince… if there was something left to locate. Now that Vaghar had calmed down, he circled the area. Utterly mortified.

He realized he was presented with a choice. Revenge was technically in his grasp. Help the crowned Prince or… let him drown. He could even blame it on the weather.

Years of anger coursing through his veins.

Years of living in the shadow of his older sister with no justice served for his eye.

Years of enduring the snarks, the laughter and the wary looks.

Years of pining for the woman he loved when he could have had her all along.

Years of telling everyone his scar just felt numb when sometimes he woke in the middle of the night with lancing pain so strong it made him want to die…

The pain made him say things… do things… It was better now that he rarely wore his eyepatch. They all thought he naturally had a nasty temper, and he played along. It was better than having everyone’s pity on top of their disgust when they looked at him.

Then he thought of you and how terribly empathetic you were. If you knew about the pain… it would kill you. He decided a long time ago that he would spare you that.

Then Aemond spotted Lucerys.

His nephew was alive, not far from the coast, desperately trying to swim through the crashing waves.

It felt like an eternity when in truth, Aemond’s pondering lasted a few seconds. Deep down, Aemond was not the scary monster the court made him out to be. He was not a cold blooded killer. He remembered who he was with you. He remembered his life at Harrenhal. He remembered how happy he was these past moons… He was a scholar. He was a soldier. He was a lover. He was a lemon cake stealer, even. He was going to be a father…

But he was not a murderer.

If the Prince died in these waters today, there would be war. No doubt that Rhaenyra and Daemon would swoop down Harrenhal and melt what was left of the castle with their dragons.

Aemond ordered Vaghar to land in the water. He instructed her to extend a wing so Lucerys could cling onto it until they reached the coast.

The crowned Prince kneeled in the sand, retching and catching his breath. Aemond climbed down the net on the side of Vaghar and slowly walked to him. Lucerys looked up, unsure of his faith but he spoke anyway.

“You had no… no reason to save me… but I’m grateful that you did,” he managed to say.

“Hm…” simply replied Aemond, looking at the horizon. The sun started to pierce the heavy clouds. Lucerys sought to stand but was exhausted. Aemond observed him as he abdicated and sat in the sand.

“…I’m sorry for your eye, Aemond,” Lucerys admitted sincerely. “If I could give it back to you, I would. With time, it became more and more difficult to mend our differences. I cannot imagine what life has been like for you, but know that I think about what I did everyday and how I caused our two families to split. You are right, we are strong boys. But we are Rhaenyra Targaryen’s boys as well. We are your wife’s nephews too.”

Aemond remembered your words. How women were held by questionable standards when men could sire tens of bastards without anyone batting an eyelash. How the knights always underestimated you when you came to train with the sword. How Luthor Tyrell all but treated you like a prized broodmare  when you were destined to be one of the grandest ladies of the realm.

Aemond did not even hate his sister Rhaenyra… but he hated how his father only seemed to care about her and excused all her mistakes. The crowned Princes were indeed Targaryens. That, Aemond accepted by now. But no justice after he was unfairly attacked? No consequences whatsoever for his assailant? That was what hurt Aemond the most.

“I defended my brother, that I will never grieve over. I thought you would kill him. But we were children. Stupid children, might I even say. I wished we could leave the past in the past and work on the future instead. You at Harrenhal. Aeg—”

“Y/n at Harrenhal,” immediately corrected Aemond. “I’m her lord consort.”

“You rule as equal, though,” Lucerys pointed out. “Y/n and you at Harrenhal. Aegon at Oldtown. Me at Driftmark. Joffrey at Dragonstone. Daeron at Winterfell, and Jacaerys and Halaena in King’s Landing. …Think of what we could achieve together.”

True to himself, Aemond was silent.

“Do you forgive me?” Lucerys ultimately asked.

The raging storm started to clear and the noise from the rain eased. Arrax appeared and landed at the other end of the beach, as far as possible from Vaghar. Aemond exhaled… and extended his hand to help Lucerys get up on his feet.

“…I’m tired of being angry all the time,” Aemond answered, taking off his damn itching eyepatch and throwing it as far as he could in Shipbreaker Bay.

Surprisingly, Lucerys looked at his eye instead of the sapphire when he spoke once more.

“…but do you forgive me?”

“I’m not ready to say the words, but I’m done fighting,” Aemond sighed.

2 hours before

AEMOND

Aemond got back to King’s landing first, Lucerys not far behind. Arrax was a small dragon, and not as fast and powerful as Vaghar afterall. His own guards from Harrenhal waited for him at the gates. One of the knights he trained with daily stepped forward.

“My lord, please go to Lady Strong at once. The child is coming.”

Aemond cursed every single step and hallway that separated him from you. Your chambers were so far from the mud gate, it gave him enough time to start panicking again.

It was too soon.

You had two moons left before the child was supposed to be born. He had read everything he could get his hands on about birth. You thought he was overly fussing with you, but he read absolute horrors in those books. Women disregarded and butchered to save the child’s life; labor lasting days with them wailing in agony; mothers appearing absolutely fine then having convulsions and excruciating headaches before they stopped breathing altogether. You even confided in him how your own mother died giving birth alone.

He tried to calm himself down but the day took its toll on him. He nearly killed Lucerys in his wrath. He accused his nephew of almost starting a war then went on to do the same by chasing him with Vaghar. He went close to proving to the realm that he was indeed the monster they thought he was. And now you were giving birth alone while he acted like a complete fool.

Never again.

Aemond nearly broke down the door to your chambers. When his eye fell on your bed, what he found truly horrified him. Blood. Blood everywhere. On your bed. On your nightgown. On your legs. Smothered on your arms as well. Your arms that… held onto a small bundle of cloth, rocking slightly from side to side as you hummed tenderly.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” he bellowed, eye shining with unshed tears.

“Shhh Aemond, seven hells. She just fell asleep!” you chided him in a low voice.

Aemond let out a gasp of relief. He looked down for a moment, fighting the tears that threatened to fall on his cheeks, then rushed to your side. Usually, when you swore like a bravosi sealord, you were all right. “She?”

“She, yes. She is small but healthy,” you murmured, looking at him with loving eyes.

“How long ago?” he asked, as if it mattered now that everything was over.

“Two hours maybe. It went very fast. She just stopped screaming,” you turned to the little bundle of joy in your arms. “You have your father’s temper, don’t you?”

Aemond winced at your playful jab at his temper. He looked at his beautiful baby girl, chasing away any thoughts of what happened in the Stormlands.

Lucerys was unarmed. No war was on the way. You were alive and so was his little girl.

He could not possibly be raising her like this, with fire burning inside. He wanted to teach her High Valyrian. He wanted to fly around the realm on dragonback with her. He wanted her to learn swordplay and combat strategy. 

He stripped from his knife, sword and boots. He climbed in the bed beside you and sat against the headboard, knees propped up to cradle the baby on his legs. He took one small hand in his, looking for missing fingernails or something. But the child was perfect. He brushed the hair on her head. A head of silvery white locks. “She has your curls.”

You chuckled. “Yours as well,” you quipped, your hand pulling on a strand of his hair wavy from the rain. You loved his wavy hair.

He turned his face to you. “Were you alone? Where is everyone?”

“I don’t know. I had the maids and Maester Orwyle with me. I was okay,” you swore.

Where was Maester Mellos? Orwyle was only an Archmaester. He was only in the capital if something happened to old Mellos. Where was your father? You brother? Hells, even Helaena would have come to your bedside too.

“Do you need anything?” he wondered. “I’m fairly good at nicking lemon cakes from the kitchens.”

“I want to bathe and sleep, to be honest,” you confessed with half-lidded eyes. Your maid Maeva approached you, but Aemond insisted on doing it himself. She changed the sheets instead. 

Aemond handed your sleeping daughter to your wet nurse and walked you to the bath. He washed your hair, massaged your back and kissed the top of your head. You enjoyed his loving touch as he helped you to your nightgown, brushed your hair and tucked you into bed. He did it all in silence, but he knew you felt the love and devotion emanating from his every pore.

“How did it go with Lord Boros?” you promptly asked, reminding him of his eventful day.

“It went… Well there will be no war,” he confirmed, but he saw the curiosity in your eyes. “I’ll tell you in the morning. Now rest. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Ēdrugon isse īlva bed bisa bantis,” you said sleepily, grabbing his hand. Sleep in our bed tonight.

“Yes, my love. Emā ñuha bantior, daor nārhēdegon.” You claimed my nights, remember.

1 hour before

AEMOND

Now that he knew you were well, Aemond had only one thing in mind: getting rid of his wet clothes. He had to be presentable before he spoke to his father, the hand and Aegon at the very least… and to brave whatever may come to him when Lucerys would tell Rhaenyra and Daemon what transpired in the Stormlands. He should be back by now.

Although, when he got out of your chambers, Aegon waited for him in the corridor. Strangely sober. Before Aemond could ask what he was doing there, Aegon waved a hand, an invitation to follow him.

“Come. It’s father.”

When they entered the royal chambers, Aemond found his mother praying in front of the giant seven pointed star she had installed near the bed. As soon as she saw him, she hugged him with a strength he did not know her. “It’s his heart,” she cried. “It beats too faintly. It’s been like that for a week now, we had to move fast to discuss the line of succession and… oh please go to him, Aemond. Speak with him before it’s too late, I beg you.”

Unsure, Aemond joined the others. His siblings were all sitting around the bed, including Rhaenyra. Daemon was there, Aemond’s nephews and nieces as well. Lucerys stood beside his brothers, completely drenched too. Aemond stared at him briefly, assessing the situation. Lucerys shook his head. 

They don’t know yet.

When he met Aegon’s stare again, Aemond nodded slightly. Aegon nodded back, confirming he understood his fate was sealed in Storm’s End.

Aemond came to his father’s side, still shook at the news that he was dying and kept it a secret. He was conscious, but his ragged breath was alarming.

“Aemond, my son,” he wheezed. Aemond spoke as an emissary would.

“Father, we negotiated an allianc—” 

“He,” corrected Lucerys. “He negotiated an alliance.”

Aemond looked at him attentively. Lucerys nodded, urging him to continue. “…I negotiated an alliance with Lord Boros to make the kingdom stronger. Aegon’s future is secured in Old Town with Ellyn Baratheon at his side. There will be no war, no siege on King’s Landing and no blockade in the Narrow Sea.”

There was a collective sigh of relief. “That is… w…wonderful news, Aemond,” the King whispered. “I knew you were… the best man for the job. You’ve become… a … fine young lord.”

Aemond was silent, eye wide, unsure if he heard correctly.

“Out of all my children… you were the diligent one. Always studying… always learning… eager to prove himself a true Targaryen… And now, you saved us from a war… I’m so proud of what you have become.”

Aemond looked at his mother in disbelief, shocked at the words he heard. She had a faint smile.

“You were right… I have been a poor father to you… I only wished I had more time to… make things right… To apologize properly… meanwhile, I… I have something for you.”

The King gestured to his bedside table. Aemond gazed around but did not see what he could possibly be looking for. Daemon approached and grabbed the long sword leaning on the wall.

He unsheathed it and the Valyrian steel glimmered in the faint light from the sunset. Aemond took the precious sword in his hand and admired the handiwork.

“I give you Blackfyre, Aemond… a fine sword for a fine lord and warrior… you are definitely worthy of this sword… know that I never wanted you… to feel like you did not matter…”

Aemond’s vision started to blur. He blinked quickly, trying to gain some composure while listening to his father’s harsh breath. 

He was a father too now. He read countless books on the subject. He was bound to make mistakes as well. He will probably lose his mind when little lords will try to woo his daughter with lemon cakes, mainly because that was what he did. He knew he could not go forth if he still clung on grudges like these. Then and there, Aemond made the silent promise of being everything his little girl needed him to be.

And it began with forgiveness.

“I accept your apology, father,” Aemond breathed faintly. He heard his mother sob somewhere behind him. “I forgive you… and you are the first to know that my wife just gave birth to a healthy baby girl.”

“Oh… a granddaughter… I am… delighted…”

And with these few words, a faint smile curling his lips, the King drew his last breath. On the third day of the third moon of 129 AC, King Viserys, first of his name, died in his bed. His heart stopped beating, leaving his entire family, and the realm, in grief.

And here he was...

Standing between his mother and sister beside an empty Throne as Grand Maester Mellos announced the death of his father to the people of the court. For a second, he envied you. He instructed the guards to let you sleep. You needed rest, not to climb up so many stairs.

Lucerys joined his brothers amidst the announcement. He hurried to his chambers to change from his wet clothes. Wise.

Aemond’s mother went to the other side of the throne, to Rhaenyra. They both embraced and cried in each other’s arms. Jacaerys also changed sides to go to Helaena. He offered her his hand. She took it and let him kiss her cheek. 

Suddenly, both sides of the family blurred into one. Aegon and Jacaerys shook hands. Daeron went to Joffrey and Baela. Rhaena came to Aemond, bowed her head and extended her hand to him. He took it and they silently ended their quarrel.

In a way, it was sad that it took the death of the King to unite both sides of the family at last. They all comforted each other until Daemon approached Rhaenyra, holding in his hand his brother’s golden crown.

Aemond’s sister went to sit on the Iron Throne and Daemon crowned her Queen Rhaenyra, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Daemon kneeled first, and the people of the court bent the knee subsequently, pledging fealty and allegiance to their new Queen.

While the people celebrated, the tall doors opened once more.

READER

Holding your baby girl in your arms, your brother helped you walk up to the royal family.

“Aemond,” you breathed as you reached him and hugged him with one arm, your daughter peacefully cooing in the other. “Seriously, my love? ‘Let her sleep’?” 

“You need rest,” he explained, eye glistening.

“Your father and my King died. I’ll rest after. I’m a strong lady, you know that.”

“All too well, I’m afraid,” he abdicated, stroking the white locks on his little girl’s head.

“Well, we are strong as well, but not as strong as you y/n. You should indeed rest,” jested Jacaerys, impressed that you would climb all those steps to join them.

Aemond’s mother found the energy to come and congratulate you. She wanted to hold her first grandchild and you let her. She went to Prin— Queen Rhaenyra and they both admired the deep purple of her eyes. With your arms free, you hugged Aemond properly. He inhaled the scent of your hair and tightened his embrace around your tender waist. You were uncomfortable, but holding him was more important to you. Especially when you felt his tears dampening your silk shift.

He only let you go only when Lucerys approached to have a word. For a minute, you thought you were dreaming when Aemond thanked him for not telling Rhaenyra and Daemon about the chase in the stormlands. 

A chase? What chase?

“I told them you went ahead while Arrax struggled in the weather. They are angry because you came back without me and they imagined all sorts of things… I told them that you would never harm me.”

“When it came to it… I couldn’t.”

What?!, you thought, eyebrows raised to your hairline.

“At the risk of repeating myself, I apologize. For everything,” reiterated the crowned Prince.

“...I accept your apology, nephew,” absolved Aemond.

You had never been so confused in your entire life.

AEMOND

Aemond was unsure how he felt about losing his father, especially after the kind words he spoke in the end, but he knew that the time came to leave the past behind. He needed to make the future a better place. For everyone.

Lucerys bowed his head and took his leave.

“What happened in the Stormlands?” you inquired, worrying.

“I’ll tell you later, let’s get back to your chambers,” replied Aemond, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“No, I want to know now,” you insisted.

“There was a storm, you see. We had to take shelter at an inn, with only one bed—”

“Aemond!” you chastised, refusing to move until he answered.

“What a temper, you have, my lady Strong. I’m afraid I’m a terrible influence,” he teased, kissing you before you could curse at him.

When you went to fetch your daughter, the rest of the royal family offered their congratulations. You went to bend the knee to your Queen but she immediately grabbed you, saying you did not need to in your condition. You always liked Queen Rhaenyra, even if you never spent much time with her when you were younger.

As you looked at the entire family, you smiled knowing the bridges had been mended.

12 moons later

READER

You stood on top of the castle walls, shivering… but not because of the cold. In fact, a warm wind blew in your curly hair as you glanced down at the people of the court walking in the inner yard and entering Harrenhal. While they could only see their Lady surveying the castle grounds from that angle, no one could in fact imagine that your Prince was on his knees, wedged between the wall and you.

“Aemond, please,” you pleaded, closing your eyes as if it would give you strength, one of your hands messing his not-so-perfect hair now.

“Hm?” you heard, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine, making you gasp out loud.

Of course he chose this moment to keep silent. You could only pray you were perched high enough so the lord and ladies could not see the faces you made as Aemond thoroughly ravaged you with his tongue and fingers.

“We have to join the p—people,” you shuddered, the pace of his fingers quickening. “...they are wa— wa—waitin—oh gods!” you stammered, out of breath as immense pleasure hit you all at once. You collapsed on the low wall, muffling your cries in the sleeve of your dress as your orgasm ripped through you, destroying in its wake every last ounce of control you futilely clinged onto.

Aemond could not care less that you crushed him against the stone wall. He held you tight and kept stroking you with his fingers at an excruciating pace, making sure you lost every bit of your sanity as well. Your whole body shivering, your first orgasm quickly blended into a second one.

A bigger one, looming in like a tidal wave. One you could feel coming, long and slow, thoroughly engulfing you until you had no choice but to weigh it out. It crashed into you hard. It was devastating. Your jaw hanging, you could no longer produce any sound. You felt it in your whole body this time… and it kept going, and going, and going. It was like you were stuck in an unending cycle of pleasure.

If it were not for his strong embrace, you would have collapsed on the rampart. You felt light headed and started to lose consciousness. Only then did Aemond slowed down his assault on your cunt and peppered your thighs with kisses and small bites. 

“If you ever do this again… no, when, when you do this again… please do it in our bed. I can’t be fainting in front of our people,” you whimpered.

He did not answer but he pulled on your hands to have you sit on his lap instead, your dress pooling around the both of you.

“Please, my love, we have to go inside, they will look for us!”

“One more. Give me one more,” he insisted, sitting against the wall, rummaging through the many layers of your skirt to free his manhood from his trousers. “I want to see your face.” He notched his cock between your legs and pushed your thighs down until you swallowed him whole, hard and fast.

He groaned as you cried out. He wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you arched and flush against his chest. He pumped up into your core and you luxuriated in every second of it.

“Aemond!”, a strangled cry.

“Take it,” he growled.

Fully impaled on him, you felt your orgasm build deep and fast. Your fingers dug into his shoulders and your head tipped back on a low moan. His lips brushed your shoulder and kissed the little scars you had here and there. In return, you kissed his scarred cheek like your life depended on it. Your arms went around his shoulder as you sinked into each other, both chasing your releases. 

You tightened around his cock and he whimpered.

“Come.” His thrusting got faster and you wailed in his ear.

“Come, my love.” Your vision blurred, tears springing to your eyes.

“Come now.” He forced you to look at him as you screamed.

The coil in your stomach snapped abruptly, your orgasm having you practically convulsing. You collapsed against him. He let go of your head and you shoved your face in his long silvery hair, sobbing against his shoulder. He slammed up with his hips, fucking you mercilessly through it, your face twisted in pleasurable agony gave him the final push he needed. He buried himself to the hilt and cried out his own release. His warm cum filled you, dripping out and down on his thighs.

Your knees were ruined. You felt the pain more and more as pleasure left your trembling core. You whined in his arms when he slipped out of you. He cupped your face with both hands to keep you on his lap a little longer. “Look at me again.”

So you did. The midday sun hit his sapphire and hundreds of little blue lights danced around you. He had so much love in his eye it made you smile.

He pressed his lips to yours one last time. Afterall, Aemond and you had to get back inside the castle. The festivities would begin shortly. 

Aemond helped you stand up and you walked to the great hall. You avoided certain hallways for you feared he would drag you into one of his favorite dark alcoves to make an even bigger mess out of you. After nearly two years of marriage, he was as insatiable as the first day he had you.

A few hours had gone by since you summoned the lords and ladies to the great hall. Your brother and other knights arrived, followed by the entirety of the royal family. Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon lead the way. 

Aemond joined his brothers and sister. Aegon smirked at the state of Aemond’s hair but did not comment on it. The Queen Mother, however, came quickly to brush it with her fingers, scolding her son for his impropriety.

Now that was your fault. You have been a terrible influence for years now.

Dangling somewhere between pride and elation, Aemond held his head high. Without his eyepatch on, he did not hear laughs and jeers for once. Even if he did, nothing could put a damper on this day. 

In the end, he did confide in you that his scar hurt sometimes. You were pained at the revelation but urged him to try the same oils and flowers you used when you carried your first child.

So he did. And it worked.

He was a changed man. What you thought was a bad temper was him being on edge every time his scar hurt. Now that he discarded his eyepatch once and for all, he found himself nearly free of pain and able to enjoy life as he should.

You hooked an arm through his and sneaked a peek at the rest of the royal family, gathered on the other side of the room. Queen Rhaenyra stood beside Prince Daemon who held in his arms their latest daughter Princess Visenya. The Dowager Queen Alicent had your daughter perched on her hip, wishing to introduce her to her baby cousin. 

To your surprise, Prince Aegon and Ellyn Baratheon fell in love. Just like Aemond, Aegon’s life changed for the better when he left King’s Landing to live in Old Town with his wife. He sobered up and Ellyn gave birth not three moons before to twin sons. 

Prince Jacaerys laughed with his wife, Princess Helaena, who was expecting their first child in less than a moon. His younger brothers, Prince Lucerys and Joffrey, stood beside their betrothed Lady Baela and Rhaena. They will marry in the upcoming year. While some quietly exchanged some words with each other, they all had something in common…

…they had their eyes set on Aemond and you.

Though, it was no surprise why. Lords and ladies as well as knights flooded the throne room. You invited them all to celebrate your daughter’s first name day. But that was not all…

Maester Sylvan walked to the front of the dais and cleared his throat. “Even though it is Lady Alaena Targaryen’s first name day, we are gathered here today in great delight, for any day the Mother is blessing us with a life is a joyful day.” Aemond’s mother rushed to your side, firmly holding your laughing daughter in her arms. She stared at you both with anticipation. “Lady Y/n Strong and Prince Aemond are expecting their second child and heir in six moons from this day!” the Maester announced and the hall erupted in cheers.

Still, you were half listening. Maester Sylvan’s words almost felt like distant noises. You had one of those moments where you realized how far you had come and how wonderfully happy you were.

After the birth of your daughter— and as a sign of good will— Princess Rhaenyra gifted you a dragon egg. It hatched three months after it was placed in the cradle. Since then, Vaghar presented you with a fresh clutch of eggs too. Enough for your second child and Aegon’s twins.

Aemond had another special saddle made for Vaghar so he could securely take you and your daughter on adventures in the neighboring lands. He took Lady Rhaena for a flight too, wishing for her to fly one last time on her late mother’s dragon. 

He trained with his nephews again when they visited Harrenhal or when they invited you to Dragonstone and Driftmark. They were eager to spend time with you as well.

The Dowager Queen Alicent stayed in King’s Landing and found comfort in scriptures, her children, grandchildren and her friendship with Queen Rhaenyra. 

Lastly, when Luthor Tyrell held a tournament in the honor of his firstborn son, Aemond insisted you go. This time, he took part in the tournament. You cheered when he won both the sword fight— cutting poor Luthor’s sword in half with Blackfyre— and the joust— knocking him off his horse, his armor getting caught in the horse’s reins, dragging his insufferable arse back to the stables where it belonged. That night, you made love to Aemond not once, not twice, but thrice, knowing you made the right choice when you fought for him.

Needless to say, when you approached this sad little dragon-less boy who read alone in the library 11 years before… you did not imagine he would be the one bringing you so much joy today. And knowing you were the one brightening his days always had you emotional. Because he was everything to you.

Your friend. Your Prince. Your husband. Your love.

To say that Aemond’s whole life changed in the span of a few moons was certainly an understatement. He now had everything he had ever wished for and more. 

At long last, Aemond Targaryen found peace. All thanks to you.

Thank you for reading!

I wanted to give Aemond a happy ending. I also realized I could in fact give a happy ending to everybody and a relatively nice death to Viserys. I don’t know about you, but I read the book and it felt really good to write this fix-it. Sorry if I toyed with your emotions throughout the story. I couldn't possibly unalive the reader during childbirth, come on. I promised you a HEA.

I was in a 12 year writing slump before I wrote Deserving, Indulging and Striving. I will write more about Aemond. Probably some smutty drabbles, imagines and one shots. This fictional man has me in a chokehold.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!oc #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x reader smut #aemond smut #aemond fanfic #aemond imagine #aemond one eye x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #hotd

[sonarspace]

twin xl, suguru geto

a/n: sad so here’s this :D i kinda just rambled so i hope it makes sense. part 2?? kinda warnings: angst? blood. death. depression? hidden inventory arc au. not proofread. wc: 1k

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 you squeeze yourself between the wall and the mattress of his twin xl bed when he’s too tired to come meet you. the twin xl bed filled with memories of you two. your first kiss. your first touches. your first love confession. hard for you to let go even after years.

you knew suguru struggled to leave his room. struggled to do much of anything after riko amani’s death. her last moments keep replaying in his head. her smiling face quickly fading and on the floor in a pool of blood.

he wakes up with a scream, gasping for oxygen. he yelps when he hears you mumble a quiet “suguru”. your hand searching for his in the pool of sheets. he lets you weave your fingers together as you tug him to lay down next to you again. he turns on his side to look at you. the early morning, dark but bright enough that you could see each other’s expressions.

your other hand moves over his chest. his heart beating fast under your fingers. “hey,” you whisper meeting his eyes. they held so much pain. that moment was swallowing him whole. losing amani and then finding out he almost lost his best friend. going in that room and seeing those people clap and cheer over a little girl’s death.

it made him sick to his stomach. he ran to the bathroom to empty out his stomach, not much in there anyway. he barely ate. the taste of curses stronger than anything else. you followed behind, holding up his hair for him. no matter how many times he told you that he was fine or he wanted to be alone you didn’t budge. you forced yourself into this phase of his life. couldn’t allow him to lose himself to this grief.

you’ve seen it happen before. with your dad. when your mom passed away. latching onto him to keep him grounded to reality instead of the past. he was really grateful that you were around when he couldn’t bare to be around anyone else.

he sat there on the bathroom tiles, too tired to move. you wet a cloth and lower yourself in front of him, wiping his mouth. “you don’t have to this,” he tells you seriously. you ignore him and continue cleaning up his face and hands.

you tug his hand so he could follow you into the shower and he obliges. doesn’t have it in him to protest. you make him sit on a stool as you grab the shower head and start washing his hair. careful to follow his routine, you massage his scalp. in that moment he lets out a deep exhale. he felt a relief of some sort.

he stands up and pulls off his shirt, a silent request to wash his body as well. you take a loofah and he passes you, your cocoa butter scented body wash. a smile ghosts his lips when you lather him up with it. wanting to be close to you but not knowing how to ask for it. you leave a kiss above his heart. a silent promise.

you both walk out of a shower, him in nothing but his shorts and you in drenched clothes. you strip yourself quickly and grab two towels for the both of you. wrapping one around him first to keep him warm. you both walk out of the bathroom marking the wooden floorboards with wet footprints.

a few years from now, students will walk in your room (this room) and wonder who’s footprints those are. you’d tell them the story of you and your suguru’s youth. telling them about his serious yet goofy personality. his kind and caring heart. filled with love. the way he deserved to be remembered. a sadness taking over you as you miss him.

you open his closet filled some of your clothes. he grabs one of your oversized sweatshirts and pulls it on. he tries to smile at you “is this okay?” he asks. “yeah, it’s okay.” you smile back.

you ask him to grab the two of you breakfast from the kitchen as you stay behind and quickly clean his room. he comes back with two glasses of orange juice and some custard filled dorayaki.

you both sit on the carpet by his bed and eat your breakfast. the sun shinning brightly through the window now. he looks behind you at the two picture frames. one of him, gojo and shoko together. and one of you beside them. his girl.

he grabs your hand as you grab his empty plate to keep it aside. “i’m sorry i’ve been such a pain in the ass. thank you so much for taking care of me,” he expresses his gratitude. “don’t be silly suguru, of course i’d take care of you.” you furrow your eyebrows at him. “i’ll get better,” he promises you. “i know you will, suguru.” he kisses you then. one kiss. thank you. two kisses. i love you. three kisses. i promise.

however his promises are out of the window when he sees haibara lying on the metal table. his body lifeless. nanami sitting behind him in distress. how many more of them had to die for the sake of humans who didn’t even care. he’s sent on a mission to a village later. he commits a massacre. he calls you then.

“what did you do suguru,” you ask him tears filing your eyes in disbelief. “i did what i thought was right,” his voice gets louder. “even your parents?” you yelled. “they can’t be an exception.” he replies calmly. your hands clench and unclench at your sides when you spot the little girls shaking in fear of what might happen to them. he blocks your view quickly moving in front of you. “do you not understand why i’m doing this?” he asks you sincerely. you shake your head. “it’s for us. baby. for us.” he cups your cheek.

“i don’t want this suguru,” you tell him. “i just wanted you to get better. i didn’t ask for this.” you push his hand away. he’s taken aback at the gesture. “i have to do this.” he murmurs. “you don’t suguru.” you plead him. he knew you wouldn’t understand but he had to try and explain it to you anyway. he kisses you hard then. “i love you.” he whispers. followed by one more kiss. goodbye.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

© SONARSPACE 2023 | DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

#✎ luna.writes #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #jjk drabbles #geto suguru #suguru geto #geto suguru angst #suguru geto angst #geto angst #suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #suguru getou #getou suguru #getou suguru x you #getou suguru x y/n #geto suguru x reader #jjk geto #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen geto

[tulipsforvin]

╰┈⪼ ୨ he falls in love with his target's daughter. ୧

a/n: unfortunately three days late to our man's birthday but HAPPY BIRTJDAY BLONDIE !!

⚠️: angst no comfort (SORRY), death.

[ wise men say, 'only fools rush in' ]

yet here he was — the genius of the century, cunning and sharp minded orchestrator of all noble killings carried out in Britain falling in love with his target's daughter.

he avoided her entirely, replied but never spoke up. he knew that one look at her, once met with her gaze would seal his fate; send him spiralling down the tunnel of love that he's tried so hard to prevent.

[ but i can't help, ]

but conversations & days with her went so easy and before long, he found himself being hyper aware of the little actions she did, the octave and shrill of her laughter, her shift in expression, how hot she preferred her everyday meals.

the man was utterly powerless against her, he realized. it did not matter about the brawns or the brains one possessed. if anyone was able to draw him out to his demise — it would be her. hand her a dagger and he would expose his neck.

[ falling in love with you, ]

william found his mood being entirely dependent upon her own. he valued hearing her laugh, his neck would careen, twist and turn to see what she had found amusing.

all the glances exchanged, the little chuckles and smiles shared made him believe that perhaps, just perhaps god hadn't abandoned him just yet. every thing she did made him not want to throw himself away, he wanted to be caught off guard by her unpredictability. just once more.

[ shall i stay? ]

“smile at me for just a little while. look at me when we talk — just for a little while. stay still and let out fingertips stay in contact for a little while longer once they've brushed against each other. laugh with me as we sip and chat our days away.”

“just for a little while.”

[ would it be a sin?

if i can't help falling in love with you. ]

“let me find sanctuary in your arms tonight and i promise i will be ready to face the world tomorrow.”

his identity had been known to the entirety of Britain. to her. and yet he found himself drenched in a fusion of wretched scarlet and transparent rain, standing Infront of her doorstep.

his head dipped into the crook of her neck, basked in her warmth and her subtle perfume. the touches, the caresses; almost cautious — each one afraid the other was fragile enough to break. their bodies slinked into each other, ran against each other. hurried pace and yet the moves were sensual, almost emotional.

the guilt lay thudding inside of his chest. once this was done, tomorrow, he would deliver judgment upon the father of his heart.

[ take my hand, ]

he did not want to dream big anymore. he had learnt since childhood that the world was a dreary place. chasing your dreams would only lead to demise. and still, if he were to meet his impending doom anyway, he prayed that it would be in her embrace. no matter how much she would come to hate him.

that was the only consolation he could provide than let her spend the rest of her years in agony at the loss of her lover. let her hate him, so her love would not hold her back from loving someone else than the condemned criminal she loved now.

“i'll kill you” it was rage that had swallowed her whole, grief at the loss of her father in the hands of her lover. and yet he did not flinch, even with the muzzle of the gun against his heart.

the man, the fool in love, would swipe away at her tears and smile to her for the final time.

“you breathed life into me when i first heard you laugh all those years ago, it's only appropriate that you be the one to take it back.”

[ take my whole life too,

for i can't help falling in love with you. ]

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty x y/n #william james moriarty x you #yuumori #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #tulipsforvin · ୨🌷୧ #Spotify

[love-toxin]

Just gonna harp on vampire!angleface real quick

During the whole demo bat music distraction it's not just eddie, but you tag-team with him. Instead of him going down, you take the fall to the bats. Cut to devastated fruity four, honestly everyone, they just lost a friend, and the four just lost their love.

Days pass and they can't except your gone, it hurts too much, grief and regret of ever letting you get involved. Eddie feeling so completely like he let you down, he couldn't save you.

Then one night, everyone's sleep is disrupted by noises downstairs, Eddie and Steve heading down to investigate. Robin and Nancy following down when the guys seem to be down there to long, and finding them smothering hugging their angel, though you are clearly more toothy than before. But they don't care! They have their darling back so nothing else in the world matters, at least for the moment.

ohohoho....love me some feral angelface >:).....also dear god steve's fuckin badonkadonk in this gif-

(cws: vampire!f!angelface, fruity four, post-s4, character death, canon divergence, violence, blood + hefty gore imagery, grief/mourning elements, references to s2, some LOTR references, the kids make an appearance, el uses her powers, action sequences to broaden my portfolio heyoo!)

All Eddie remembers is blood. Blood and screaming, wailing, inhuman gurgling and the sounds of flesh tearing away from bone--that's the last image he has of you, your limbs bent at odd angles and your body soaked and slick with blood and viscera, your beautiful face drenched in your own blood and your eyes glossy as you whimpered his name, over, and over, and over, his hands shaking as he held you....and then your last breath left your lungs, and you were gone.

To be completely honest, he would've rather died that night. He's wished for the weeks since your death that he would've taken your place, or if he can be completely selfish, if he had just died along with you if that was to be your fate. The feeling of your hands on his back, shoving him out of the way of that first demobat that spelled out your demise, will haunt him for every miserable day he lives without you.

If nothing else, then at least misery loves company. Because the looks on the other's faces, the kids, when they discovered your fate were....they were just awful. Even worse were his partners. Steve, Robin, and Nancy....though the world was numb to him at that point, their voices muffled as if they were speaking to him through glass, he could hear their anguish. Felt Robin's tears on his cheek as she clung to him and sobbed, listened distantly to Nancy's screams of uncontained rage and grief, breaking anything and everything she could find outside. And Steve just stood there as numb as himself, no doubt running through every single choice he made that had led to your death, as he would for the rest of his life.

Losing you, it's like....like Frodo dying on the crack of Mount Doom. The nightmare was almost over, the enduring march nearly to a close, the burden almost broken. Even if you'd been hurt, you would still return home to the Shire. He would've carried you all the way back, eagles or no eagles, and he would've at least taken your body back through the gate if Dustin hadn't dragged him away. "Can't lose you too!" What fucking bullshit. He would have rather died next to you, if it meant he'd at least be wherever you were. He can't bring himself to blame the poor kid, though, because he's been just as gutted at the loss of you, as have all the other kids when they heard the news. A member of the party gone, never coming home.

There's reminders of you everywhere, both intentional and not. Your room hasn't been touched aside from each of them drifting in every so often, settling into your bed or touching the things that still smell of you. Except for Steve--he can't bring himself to step over the threshold of your bedroom, and usually averts his eyes as he passes by it if the door is left open, if he doesn't close it altogether. The clothes you'd left in the dirty hamper never end up getting washed, and yet the food that's always kept in the kitchen that you loved is constantly restocked, whether they end up having to trash it or not. Your spot on the couch is never sat on, but the mug Eddie bought you for your birthday, your favourite of any you've ever owned, is always full and set at your place at the table for every supper. It's painfully monotonous, the same grief being replayed day after day after day, but the rest of the world spins along like Hawkins hasn't lost the best thing it ever fucking had.

But you're dead. The Shire may as well burn without you--burn it all to the ground, because there's no reason to save it if he won't get to share it with you. It doesn't feel at all worth it to wake up every day after that, knowing there's an empty space in the house you all used to share. The hours drag on every day, and it's a lot of monotony, really. The other three try to busy themselves, but the only one who really understands his inertia is Robin--sometimes she just crawls into bed with him when he can't get up, and lets him hold her until she's called away by one of the others. He loves them, loves them just as he loved you, but things can't be the same now that you're gone no matter what they do or how hard they try.

But then comes the day that Dustin's voice crackles through the walkie. Eddie was actually feeling a little better that morning, had a dip in the afternoon but managed to eat dinner with the rest of them. The seat at the end is still sitting empty, the scarf Robin had clumsily knitted you for the cold season draped over the top. Eddie had swallowed down almost the entire bowl of soup when the static had started up, the radio with ever-changing batteries coming to life where it always sits on the kitchen counter.

"Code Red! Code Red! Come in, Riders of Rohan! Steve, fucking pick up the--zzt--goddamn walkie!"

The man in question had rushed out of his seat to squabble back at Dustin through the receiver, annoyed but clearly concerned as he demanded to know the problem--what warranted using the emergency channel when they haven't heard news of any "aftershocks" so to speak, for a while.

"Something's going on--shit, bring your guns, and the bat, too! Meet up at the cellar behind my house--zzt!"

The end of the transmission trails off, and like a group of professional first responders, the four of them forget any further questioning when Steve's frantic palm hitting the side of the radio, and his shout of Dustin's name offers no results. They jump right into action, knocking over their chairs as they scramble through the house to gather their tools--even Eddie, who hurries straight for the broom closet where he's kept his spear and shield from that night. When he throws open the door and reaches for where he knows they're propped up, he hesitates. A flash of a memory zips through his mind.

They didn't save her, so what use are they?

But he ignores that thought. For now, at least, and he grabs both of them to haul them towards the front door. Nancy flips up the window seat in the living room to take out her hidden guns, the shotgun gripped tight in her hand while she tosses the pistol at Robin, and the revolver's handed to Steve for him to stick into the back of his belt--he prefers the bat, though. More control. More familiar.

All suited up, they tear out of the driveway of Steve's otherwise empty house, his BMW kicking up a spray of gravel as he skids on to the road and speeds like a demon towards the Henderson house. They pull up on to the property in record time, barely waiting for Steve to roll to a stop before the three of them are hitting the ground and running around the side of the building--and just about pull their guns on Mike and Will when they come round out of the darkness with a flashlight to meet them, the poor kids almost pissing themselves with respective shrieks as Nancy jerks the muzzle and aims it right at her brother's forehead. With a "Christ, Mike!" and a gasp of relief, she lowers it immediately and follows them as they run down the hill towards those infamous cellar doors, where Dustin, Max, Lucas, and El are all waiting. Steve's the one that runs right to his little protégé, a hand outstretched to grab his baseball cap-clad head as he demands to know the status of everyone.

Eddie himself lingers behind them, garnering a few piteous stares from the other kids. They must know his state of being from what the others have told them, and how they haven't seen much of him since the incident--but they probably didn't know he'd be so quiet, his eyes heavy with bags that his night terrors have kept around, and his stature more hunched and thin and gaunt than before. El seems especially sensitive to his presence, despite knowing little of him personally, and she touches his arm when he gets close with a look of sympathy written clear on her features. It's....surprisingly comforting. Even moreso from a little superhero like her.

And before Dustin can say more than just confirm that everyone present is fine, the heavy metal doors in the ground start to rattle. Not just once, and not gently--they shake violently, a menagerie of sounds emanating from within that resemble that of a monster. The worst of which is the guttural, animalistic growling, that renders everyone silent and sobered as they stare down at the locked cellar.

"Dustin, what the hell is down there?" The curly-haired kid shrugs his shoulders, looking back at Steve with wide eyes that say "How the fuck should I know?" before their attention is drawn back by another rattle and an unsettingly familiar screech.

"Whatever it is, it needs to die." Nancy mutters with finality, cocking her shotgun to ready it and simultaneously humbling everyone present in the same moment. She's more than proven her worth with a firearm at this point. Another rattle, and she doesn't flinch, just stares down the invisible enemy behind the barrier.

These particular doors have been chained shut with a padlock for some time, which is the only reason the shaking doors don't buckle as whatever is inside fights to get out. When a rougher one kicks up, Steve motions for the kids to stand back and keep their flashlights off, asking that cryptic question to his best friend of whether the hole is still there.

"Duh! How would I explain that to my mother? I already had to figure out the whole cat situation."

"Well, I think we know how whatever it is got in there, then, dingus." Steve replies, and Dustin pales as another thud makes them all jump. The older boy waves them back further, and only then does El let go of Eddie's sleeve, moving to stand between Will and Mike as they get back by the trees that border Dustin's backyard.

The four of them then approach the cellar from all sides out front, facing off with that slanted door and readying each of their weapons. Safeties off, bat readied over the shoulder, shield up and spear poised. As ready as they should have been when you needed them. That's what drills through Eddie's head as his heart thuds wildly in his ears.

"Eddie-" Steve turns to say something more, eyes filled with conflict at watching one of the people he loves face death again. Something about all this feels too familiar, but Eddie can't get his mind off the fury that's bubbling in his chest as the doors start thudding even louder and a howling rises out from behind them.

"Let's rip this fucking thing to pieces."

He growls, and turns his head over his shoulder to match the gaze of the brown-haired girl watching his every move--and when he nods, she returns it back to him with just as much determination, and raises her hand with a tremble to her fingers. With a moment to focus, she stares down the chains that circle round the handles, and flexes her pointer finger with the slightest pull for the padlock to shatter open and the chains to fall and slide down to the ground underneath.

Almost immediately, the doors fly open at once and the democreature explodes into view, but it somehow isn't at all what any of them expected to see. The mass of flesh and wrinkled, gray skin speckled with dirt and dried blood is familiar, but it is clearly entangled in a struggle with another of the same kind as they burst out the cellar doors and skid across the grass, right between Steve and Eddie's legs and into the clearing just in front of the kids. And a sequence of events spring into action almost immediately following that, the encounter like a flash of action that Eddie would much rather experience in D&D than real life again.

Steve turns on his heel to shout "Out of the way!" as the kids scream in horror and the democreatures break apart--but when he does, another bat flies out of the dark, open cellar and crashes into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground face-first with a cry, his grip still tight on the handle of his bat. Behind him, Nancy's turning to aim her weapon at the same bats he'd had his eye on, while Robin rushes forward to rear up a kick on the one clinging to the back of Steve's neck. And when two more come flying out, flapping their wings and screeching, a curse rips out of Eddie's throat as his vision goes red and he stabs at the nearest one with a violent battle cry, spearing it almost perfectly through the stomach and slinging the spear in an arc to fling the twitching, lifeless body off and send it rolling across the lawn. Blood splatters over the grass and the next one is about to get the same treatment, just as Robin's knocked Steve's attacker off and shot at it frantically, leaving three or four gaping holes in its body and the ground, but Eddie's next swing misses and so does Nancy's carefully aimed shot at one of the two facing off with each other. The two of them still don't stop thrashing, teeth tearing brutally into each other like they've got some kind of personal vendetta between predator and predator, even as they narrowly miss a killshot with a roll of entwined bodies across the dirt.

But just as she's cocking her gun again, and the kids are hurriedly backing away with their hands on each other to brace themselves, Eddie's heart sinks, and then stops. The bat he had missed flies overhead, circling with more screeches as it must realize it's outnumbered--but it's also bleeding, even though none of them have grazed it. And all four of them watch in shock as one of the ones on the ground lets out its own screech, distinct in how loud and gurgly it sounds, as if it has blood welling up in a non-existent throat. It flaps up and slides back in the direction of the kids, but it doesn't face them. It spreads its wings and bares its fangs at the other bat it's been tangled with, as if it's somehow not only brimming with vengeance, but also trying to protect the party members watching on in empty-handed horror.

"Nancy, don't-!" With only a second to react, Eddie's focus zeroes in on the sound of Nancy raising her gun, head turning and fingers roughly grabbing the barrel to shove it away--and when she misfires at the ground nearby, startled at his intervention, the wounded bat and the one flying overhead both startle at the sound and lunge. One goes for the bigger, oddly-behaving one, but the one above them dives down at a concentrated target--him.

And it hits, collides with him square in the chest just as he's shoving Nancy away, and his world tips as the shield and spear fall from his hands and he shrieks and stumbles back--but the sensation of falling dizzies him as it lasts too long, and pain cracks through his skull at the same time he gasps out for oxygen, the air knocked straight out of his lungs as he hits the concrete stairs and slides all the way down to the bottom. The world there is dark, and cold, and hazy, his vision blurred with black as the screams of his most beloved loves of his life ring in his ears, and his body jerks in pain as the demobat sinks its teeth into his supple chest to devour him. And the only clarity he has is in his thoughts. I'm getting my just desserts. This is what I deserve.

What he doesn't know, what he can't see from where he lies or register in his concussed head, is that the end is far from near. He's not alone, and though it feels as miserable as that place as the monster tears into his flesh, he's not in the Upside Down anymore. Hope soon arrives in the form of that larger, oddly-behaving bat as it soars down the arc over the steps with its attacker still hanging by its heavy wing, and Eddie chokes and gasps for air again when his savior swings its dogged-down limb and knocks his attacker off with its own. The two offending creatures fly with a pathetic shrieking noise before hitting the concrete wall of the cellar, shelves rattling beside it as the two bodies leave cracks behind before they collapse to the ground. Dizzied, they wobble back up to full height with the help of their injured wings, hissing back at him and the heroic bat that's now perched itself on top of his bleeding chest. The howling, gurgly cry that it bellows at the two of them as they start approaching doesn't help his pounding head, but the intimidation keeps them at bay long enough for Steve and Robin to come running down the stairs with their hands free. The kids and Nancy aren't far behind as they wait at the top and shout their names in a panic to hurry them along, the bat on his chest not breaking the outnumbered staredown and threatening hisses even as it eases itself off of him, not even glancing at his heroes as his two partners rush to grab each arm of his and pull him up to half-carry, half-drag him back up the stairs and out of immediate danger.

Steve's hand instantly comes up to cradle his lolling head when the cool air fills his lungs, terror flaring up on his face as he finds his boyfriend's hair slick with blood from a gash against his skull. He pulls him back out of the way for Nancy to assume her position at the top of the stairs, and aim her sights down to shoot anything that dares to come back up. Eddie's trying to get those words out, warn her dazedly not to hurt the big one, don't touch it, please--but it doesn't matter, in the end.

Because in the next minute or two, all they hear is violent screeching, thrashes, clattering and the heavy thuds of things falling off shelves, and the pained cries of animals tearing each other apart. With only the light of the moon overhead and the small beams of light that the kids' flickering flashlights illuminate against the darkness, they see very little save for a few glimpses of wings and splatters of blood--but when it all grows quiet, each one of them waits in fearful anxiety, until the soft gurgles and sound of nails clacking against concrete fill the tense silence.

Something shifts, and a groan rises up out of the dark, strange enough that Nancy readjusts her hold on the gun, and takes several steps back and to the side to get a better shot if need be. In a moment their flashlights all go out completely, and the sounds of Lucas, Mike, and Will nervously smacking their tools with the palms of their hands soon get shushed by Robin, her hand outstretched to give them pause while her other one protectively grips Eddie's arm. A soft, sudden thud echoes off the walls down the steps, and all heads turn to the source with a held breath as the first is followed by several more. Closer, and closer, and closer, like footsteps--until the moonlight meets skin, scarred and glossy with all manner of blood, and eyes that glimmer and reflect back their shocked stares as they watch the figure emerge. Eddie truly can't believe what he's seeing, thinking completely that he's trapped in a concussion-induced hallucination.

Because there's no way you're standing at the top of the steps. Your clothes tattered and gashed in the places he watched you get bitten to shreds, your skin lifeless and cold, yet your mouth dripping with blackened ooze--and when you open it, it's to spit out a chunk of bloodied gray flesh that shlups against the dirt, clearly torn straight from your enemy with the aid of those fangs that gleam with blood.

You're dead. But you're standing right there, the sight of you gives him the strength to straighten up in Steve's embrace, and when he meets your eyes they pierce right through his soul. For that moment, he naively wonders with guilt hanging down his shoulders whether....whether you're gonna hurt them, too. Whether you're a monster disguised as the girl he's loved more than his own life, risen up from the Upside Down to torture them all into the same death you suffered.

But while he's doubting himself, doubting you, there's one person there that doesn't waste a second. El comes sprinting up to you with a shocked grin like what just happened never did, and steps over the mouthful of bat-flesh you spat out to throw her arms around you in a tight hug. And before you've even managed to get your own arms back around her, Dustin's rushing by next, his hat flying off and tumbling to the ground as he hugs your side, nuzzled up underneath your elbow. You squeeze them both so tight, your features relaxing from that intense focus to pure relief, and by the time they're pulling away to give you room Eddie's found himself shambling towards you. He uses Steve and Robin's hands for balance at first, still shaky from getting his brain knocked around his skull--but when he reaches out for you, you meet him with a single step, and catch him against your chest as he collapses into it. Tears already pouring out of him with choked-up sobs to match, he trembles like a leaf when you send a gurgly whisper into his ear.

"I missed you, Eddie."

He could just drop to his knees at that moment, but your voice renews his strength, and he clings to you even tighter as warmer bodies cluster around him and you. Robin hugs your side and Nancy drops her gun to huddle up to the opposite one, with Steve circling his big arms around nearly all three of you to hug you so tight it hurts. But through tears Steve's laughing for the first time in months, and so is Robin, while Nancy's buried her face in your neck and Eddie has a kiss already pressed to your bloody cheek. They'll only get a little longer to bask in the glory of having you return from the dead, because soon enough the tension has totally lifted and the other kids are burrowing past the adults to get in their own hugs. Especially Max and Will, who can't help but start laughing along with the older ones as they push past "you big gross lovebirds" to get to the friend they thought they'd lost forever. It's a moment Eddie's craved so deeply but could never believe he'd have, not even in his deepest fantasies, because to even imagine how things could be different is too painful when reality has been beating him down all this time.

The moment isn't destined to last, either. Because in as sobering a way as possible to remind you all of your current situation, a terrifying howl echoes from the depths of the cellar and you all break apart to turn towards it. It's deep enough that whatever it is isn't upon you yet, but Eddie watches as he gets another taste of your newfound instincts--you throw your arms out in front of everyone standing close to the doors, and face down the pitch darkness with a fury etched into your face that he can truly empathize with. With one word growled out in that guttural yet incredibly sexy voice, "Back", all of them shuffle back a generous distance from the danger zone, save for your partners. Including himself, despite just now finding enough steadiness to stand on his own as he bends down to grab his abandoned weapons, still sitting where he'd dropped them upon being attacked. You look amongst them with worry tracing your expression, so familiar it's like he's seeing the girl he knew before all of this, before she became something else. But the others pick up their weapons, and stand unflinching as a much greater screech rattles the window panels on the Henderson house just over the hill.

"You're not gonna face them alone this time, sweetheart." Eddie feels his own voice rumble in his throat, and finds the smile he thought he'd never show again as you look back at him with that darling sweetness in your own.

"Never. We're with you." Steve joins in, shaking his head as he pulls the revolver out from his belt, and swings the bat around in tight circles with his other clenched fist. Nancy's concentration grows hard again as she glares down at whatever's preparing to come out, her trigger finger steady as ever, while Robin checks her pistol's magazine and clicks it back in before aiming it with a confidence he's rarely seen.

And you get a wild look in your eyes, the smell of hotly pumping blood exciting your senses as you stretch out your fingers--and in a transformation so fast it would be missed within a blink, Eddie watches in awe as your body contorts in a sudden jerk before exploding into a mass of dark, taut flesh running rife with veins and pulsing muscles. Your wings outstretch in place of arms, and you somehow look even larger up close, easily dwarfing any inferior creature with size and with vicious fervor--and when you release a warning screech into the night, the rumbling of whatever is fast approaching grows louder, and all five of you ready yourselves one last time for a fight. But this time, together.

#fruity four #fruity four x reader #eddie's angelface #vampire!angelface #eddie munson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #the party #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #robin buckley x reader #st 4 #stranger things #ellie writes #cutelittlenightmarethings #anons

[beneathashadytree]

Hiiiiii! I wanted to request an angsty fic, where reader is like Scarlet Witch in WandaVision who makes this alternate universe where Whitebeard is alive and like Ace is Vision and they both have kids. While all that's happening in the Hex, the Red Hair Pirates, remnants of the Whitebeard Pirates, and the Straw Hats try to stop her since she's taking over the New World. (The Marines are trying to kill her) I'll leave the angsty details to you since I suck at thinking🤣 THANK YOUUU, HAVE A GREAT DAY!

PICTURE PERFECT - PORTGAS D. ACE X READER

Warnings : Marineford spoilers, mentions of death, blood, gore, and the like, grief and delusions, this can be generally unsettling, this is not proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : angst (plus creepiness)

Word count : 1.0K words

Additional notes : Hi nonnie! So sorry for taking a ridiculously long time to get to this, but as you might know by now, I’ve been on hiatus after certain traumatic events in my life. I had to change up quite a few things in this because I haven’t watched anything from the Marvel Universe, so I know absolutely nothing about how this would work🫠 Also, I’ve had requests for ficlets (4K+ word-long pieces) turned off for over a year now, so I couldn’t get into too much detail anyways. And of course, as stated in my rules, unless the gender affects the plot, I write my readers as gender-neutral to be as inclusive as possible. However, I hope this could be somewhat satisfactory to you, with the general vibes I could manage🥹💗

Requests : Are closed for the time being.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. This wasn’t how they’d planned out their future together.

They’d always expected a life on the run; they’d never imagined anything different. But still, the love between them was too intense to deny, and too unconditional to ever think for a moment that it would ever disappear. If they had no faith in anyone but themselves, they could, at the very least, believe in their love.

Wherever they would’ve gone, they’d still be just as smitten as they were the first day they met. No matter how their future played out, they were so sure that their love would have them dying in each other’s arms at a peaceful old age, their last breaths weaving in bed together. Wherever one went, the other would follow. That was how it was supposed to go.

It wasn’t supposed to end with them carrying Ace’s limp, ice-cold body in their arms. It wasn’t supposed to be the acrid smell of burnt flesh that suffocated them. It wasn’t supposed to be his blood that drenched their clothes and stained them unsalvageable.

They weren’t supposed to be gasping for air as their entire body shook violently, pure horror painting their features. Nor were they supposed to feel bile rising at the back of their throat and tears stinging their eyes at the terrible realization that his chest wasn’t moving, not one inch. As a matter of fact, nothing much remained of his mangled chest at all—if they could even recognize it as his chest anymore.

Their trembling only intensified, failing to register just how empty and mutilated he seemed in their lap. Vision swimming, they couldn’t help but let the ugly sobs rack their body, their tears falling freely down their cheeks. They hiccupped on their sobs, the sounds mingling with the moans of a deep, deep pain that threatened to swallow them whole.

Ace had left them. He’d left them behind. He’d left them behind in a world they no longer wanted nor cared for. He’d left them to look forward to nothing, to feel so empty and numb but somehow consumed by a sadness so immense it nearly ripped them apart.

Perhaps it was that moment, that moment when their entire world crumbled around them, that drove something to crumble inside of them. Something broke, and that odd, unfamiliar something awakened the deepest pit of their sorrow within them. Pandora’s box opened, and it shattered their very reality as they knew it. With Ace’s dead body in their arms, and their wailing piercing the stormy vortex of sudden bleak night, they were soon swallowed into it without even being the slightest bit aware.

The grief was blinding, and they’d lost all control. Where it took them, they didn’t care nor pay it any notice.

***

Having lost track of time, they hadn’t any idea how long it had been. In all cases, it didn’t matter. No, it truly didn’t matter what had happened on that day; after all, why would it? They still had Ace.

Yes, they still had Ace. And he was sitting right behind them on a small, tattered-but-well-loved couch. Strong arms cradled them close to his chest—a perfectly intact, moving chest, not even the slightest bit scarred. Would the universe demand a price from them, for the heinous crime they’d committed just to have this? Maybe. But this universe, at the very least, was one that handed everything to them on a silver platter.

“What’s on your mind?” he mumbled, lazily planting soft, open-mouthed kisses up their neck to their ear, and his teeth lightly tugging at their earlobe.

They hummed in delight, snuggling deeper into his embrace. “Nothing much. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

Ace laughed a little. “You just called us “three snotty-nosed brats” an hour ago.”

“And? You know I’m right,” they teased him, before asking, “Speaking of, did the kids give you a hard time falling asleep?”

Yes; kids. Kids that kissed them goodnight, kids that clung to them whenever they went out, and kids that would get mud on their carpets but shoot them the sweetest smiles that got them out of trouble every single time. Kids that cried when they scraped their knees, and kids that ran into Pops’ arms whenever he demanded his favorite grandchildren visit him.

Kids that made the small house feel like a warm home, and kids that fit perfectly into that delusion of happiness they’d built, with a father and grandfather that were perfectly healthy and fine. Deceptively so.

Perhaps this sort of deception wasn’t as sinful as it sometimes whispered it was in their ear. Their Devil Fruit had never proved itself useful, and their lack of desire to use it had been the reason why they’d found themself stunned by the existence of this universe of their own creation. The grief that had nearly killed them of heartbreak had been the very same thing to offer some salvation to them, by granting them a second chance in a world where things were perfect, in an almost eerie way.

“—babe? Babe? Hey—“

“Yes, yes,” they sighed, momentarily snapping out of it. “Sorry, got lost in my thoughts for a second.”

“You’ve been doing that pretty often lately.” Ace’s handsome face contorted into a worried frown. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

They didn’t respond to that. Almost as though on autopilot, their feet carried them to the kids’ room. With stiff movements, they bent over to brush their hair back from their foreheads, hands subtly passing underneath their noses to check that they were breathing. Good. They were very much alive, and very much real. They were real. Not just figments of their imagination.

Ace still seemed confused as they turned to walk back to him. Peering into his beautiful dark eyes, they held their breath for a moment. Yes, yes. Good. His eyes were alive; they weren’t unblinking, nor were they unseeing.

And as they reached up with trembling hands, they could trace the freckles on his cheeks and feel him leaning into their touch. The warmth of his skin was a stark contrast to the icy coldness that remained as a phantom touch in their memories.

They could live like this, forever and ever. No losses, no sorrows staining their flawless lives.

Plastering a smile on their face, they nodded. “Of course. Everything is picture perfect.”

Taglist: @stories-that-shaped-me @finch-ya @wifeofkyojuro @livwritesfics

#imagine #oneshot #angst #anime #horror #one piece #op #one piece x reader #one piece angst #one piece oneshot #op x reader #portgas d. ace #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d. ace x reader #ace #ace x reader #portgas ace #ace angst #portgas d ace angst #portgas ace angst #portgas d. ace angst #whitebeard pirates #one piece ace #one piece portgas d ace #op ace #op portgas d ace #ace oneshot #portgas d ace oneshot

[whitedragoncoranth]

Life on Knowhere II

Around one 'o clock in the morning, Cosmo and I were awoken by a frantic knocking on my apartment door--then suddenly Rocket was bursting into the room, slamming the door closed behind him, racing over to my bed where Cosmo and I were sleeping, waking us. Putting on a small night-light - something that wasn't too bright, was easy on the eyes - we saw that he looked so poorly.

His fur was everywhere, his gaze sunken, and he was drenched with sweat--a result of some of the apartment climate controls needing long overdue attention. Worse, the fur about his eyes was wet with tear tracks. Briefly, Cosmo and I looked at each other; then without any hesitation, she and I were getting out of bed, moving over to just embrace him as he snuffled into us, breath hitching. "It's okay, bud... it's okay, we've got you. We've got you; come on, let's get you into the shower..."

With a harsh, ragged sob, Rocket fell against me and I caught him and lifted him up into my arms, cradling his shaking body to my chest as I carried him into the small bathroom. I set him down very gently - or I tried to - but he didn't want to let go; he shook his head, clenched his eyes closed when I gently tried to pry him off. "Oh, man, it's okay, it's alright..." I murmured soothingly, "you don't have to let go, it's okay..." He did let go, only briefly - only for the time it took Cosmo to gently peel his sweat-stained pajamas from his body - and then he was holding me as we entered the shower, Cosmo turning it on, and setting it to tepid.

Rocket stood there, lost, listless, as I soaped, lathered, and washed every part of him aside from his intimate places, falling back against my body as I thoroughly cleaned and massaged him, getting rid of the dirt and sweat from his fur, then working down, down, to the skin beneath, working him over such that he sobbed again before starting to purr, weakly. "There's a good boy..." I murmured gently. Letting Rocket finish washing himself on his own, I briefly washed myself, too, then it was shower off and Cosmo dried me as I gently dried Rocket with the thickest, softest, fluffiest towel. I thought Rocket would sort of 'come around' after that - that he would wake a little, come to his senses, perhaps laugh a little then thank me and quietly leave...

... But worry grew in my heart for him as he listlessly wandered over to the wardrobe where I kept my clothes--and then my heart ached as he sobbed again, fossicked through my clothes, pulled out a shirt that was way too large, that made him seem so very small, and frail. He put it on, and then, raising his arms like all children do, he cried, "U-Up!" Then, Cosmo whimpered as he repeated the word, sobbing, pleading, "Up!" My heart wrenched as my brain misheard the word as "Help..." My own eyes filling with tears, I knelt down to him and then he cried for real - deep, wracking, body-shaking, silent sobs as I took him up. "Upsy-daisy, li'l man, come on..." Cradling him gently, Cosmo followed a silent guardian behind us as I carried him back to bed in my arms, then Cosmo pulled back the thin sheets so I could settle in, tucking Rocket down beside me, into the warmth of my body, placing a kiss to his headfur.

I felt her hop back upon the bed herself as I petted Rocket, soothed him, stroked him just about everywhere as he hitched another sob and soaked in the attention and care. A little later, he did sort of come around, as we were drifting in and out of sleep. "I... thks..." he roughly murmured. "I... I gotta stop doin' this... but... Lylla, Teefs, Floor. Lylla... still miss 'em so much, god... gotta get over this...!" Now I looked at him, my gaze a little stern. "Hey, man... grief... really isn't something that you just 'get over.' It's not something that just... goes away. It can stay with you your whole life; one day you'll think you're fine... but then you'll see something, or hear something, or taste something - or be doing something, like reading a book - and it'll all come back. Because... grief is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give but can't. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is love persevering. Grief is love - your love for your friends - with no place to go... because... your friends... aren't here anymore. Yeah, I know that's 'stating the obvious', but... God... I'm sorry, buddy. I'm so, so sorry."

Now Rocket was gone again, head sideways on my chest, muzzle open, heaving great lungfuls of air as he cried, and cried, and cried, silently at first, but then an awful noise of anguish escaped him and I made to cuddle him, squeeze him gently, put his ear to my chest, let him hear my heartbeat--fuck, I wished I could share with him my heart but I couldn't; all I could do was be there for him as his friend, or - in times like this - be here for him when he just needed someone to be with for a while. Cosmo, too, was there; she nosed under the thin sheets, whimpering, concerned, licked at Rocket here and there until he managed a watery laugh; then together, we all drifted to sleep. Tomorrow would be a day for Rocket - we'd go and do all the things he wanted to do, together, no matter what they were.

#rocket raccoon #love #hurt/comfort #dealing with grief #cuddle #petting #cosmo #best doggo

[vibraniumavenger]

Autumn Leaves

This was posted previously on my old account, I'm simply reposting it here. It's been a while since I've used Tumblr, and also since I've written anything. I've had major writers block, so I'm just trying to get back into it. I hope you enjoy!

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

CW: Death of reader, Cancer

Y/N shot Natasha a reassuring smile, her long hair bouncing against her back as she turned quickly, returning to the fight that played out before them. The red head couldn't help but smile to herself, her mind wandering away from the task at hand as she thought about how lucky she was to score a girlfriend like Y/N. The support she had shown and continued to show, her laugh, her smile… a few of the many things Natasha loved about her. The day they met, Natasha knew if it wasn't her, it wouldn't be anybody. She was the love of her life, and she wouldn't change anything. 

Natasha was abruptly drawn from her thoughts as a loud gunshot and a pained scream erupted among them, stopping Natasha dead in her tracks. Her eyes scanned the many figures still fighting, hoping to catch a glimpse of her love, but instead saw nothing. It was when her eyes shot down, her chest began to sink, her heart thumping rapidly against her now tightening chest. There she lay, her body growing weaker by the second, the blood flow increasing as her heart rate decreased. 

Natasha’s legs grew weak and she stumbled over to Y/N, muttering to herself, trying her best to convince herself she’d be fine. She placed her hands over her girlfriends, applying pressure to the wound as if it would make a difference. The blood seemed to engulf their hands, but they didn't seem to notice. Their tear filled eyes were locked, staring into each others as the inevitable commenced. Y/N spluttered, her blood escaping her dry throat and covering her chin. “I-I love you…” Y/N started, but Natasha shushed her, encouraging her not to speak. “I love you too. Save your voice, sweetie. W-We’re gonna get you to a hospital, okay? You just gotta hold on a little while longer.” 

Y/N weakly shook her head, her vision blurring as the darkness grew stronger. “I’m sorry, Tasha,” her eyes fluttered shut, her body grew limp and the distraught sobs of a grief-stricken assassin filled the ears of all that surrounded them as she cradled the body of her love. 

Natasha shot up from her unpleasant slumber, beads of sweat lay on the surface of her skin. She ran her hand through her sweat drenched, tousled hair, pushing it from her face to catch sight of the person she valued most. Her breathing eventually evened out and she couldn't help but smile at Y/N’s sleeping form, so peaceful, so content. She stared at her a little longer, thankful to have her still. That’s when the reality hit, she may not have lost her just yet, but she would eventually and she knew the time was approaching quickly. 

Ever since the diagnosis, she had to reluctantly adapt to the fact they wouldn't grow old together. Y/N would spend the rest of her life with Natasha, but Natasha couldn't do the same. She would have to live her life without the one thing that makes her day brighter. She would lose the one thing that grounds her, she would lose her home.  

Natasha gently brushed the hair from Y/N’s face, placing a small kiss on her forehead before pulling her closer as she drifted off. 

Y/N and Natasha were sat at the kitchen table, Y/N eating what she could of her freshly prepared breakfast as Nat watched her attentively, taking in her every feature as if it were the last time. Natasha watched as her girlfriend stood, making her way past her and up the stairs. Nat just sat staring at her plate, dreading the news that was to come with todays check up. They were both beyond scared, not only for themselves, but for others close to them. 

The ride to the hospital was uncomfortably silent, both women unable to find words as their anxieties spiked drastically, their whole world about to be rocked once again. Natasha reached for Y/N’s hand, giving it a firm, but reassuring squeeze as they pulled into the hospital car park. The short walk to the doctors office was enough to increase their nerves further, both women becoming restless, unable to contain their nervous fidgets until the doctor appeared, inviting them into his office. They sat as quickly as they could, feeling as if their legs would fail them at any second. 

The doctor read over the results multiple times, unsure of how to approach the situation. Natasha could read his face all too well, but she was holding on to the smallest piece of hope she had left. Clearing his throat, he broke the silence, “Miss Y/L/N, I’ve been over your test results and I'm afraid it isn't good news. The cancer has grown rapidly since your last visit, causing it to spread and attack your other organs. I’m ever so sorry.” Y/N couldn't seem to focus, the room began spinning, the lump in her throat tightened and the doctors words became blurred as it started to sink in. 

“H-How many months?” Natasha asked, her voice small and broken. All the doctor could do was shake his head, “Weeks. We recommend chemotherapy to make it easier during her final stages but theres nothing more we can do.” 

Nat just stared at him, waiting for him to tell her it was a joke, to tell her it was all going to be okay. Her worst fear was coming true and there was nothing she could do about it. Thanking the doctor, they left without a sound. 

Eventually, they reached their home, allowing themselves to show their true emotions. The shock was slowly fading, replacing itself with sadness. Tear stained, puffy eyes were now visible and their bodies shook with their sobs. All they could do was hold each other, clinging on to what time they had together. 

Over the next week, they had started to arrange the official things. Starting with the burial options, they had to decide what would happen to her body once she had passed. There were a few disagreements on the cremation or burial decision, but after listening to Y/N’s wish, they came to a decision. 

Laying in bed, Natasha pulled Y/N close to her before putting her hand over her heart. The steady rhythm comforted Nat instantly. “Y/N, can I ask you something?” Y/N knew what she was going to ask, she was awaiting the question. “Are you scared?” 

Y/N took a deep breath, thinking over her answer momentarily. “Of dying? No. It’s a part of life, its inevitable. I’ll tell you what I am scared of.” Natasha studied Y/N’s face, inquisitive as to what she could be scared of. “I’m scared of what will happen to you once I’m gone. I’m scared that you’ll blame yourself, that’ll you’ll beat yourself up about it so much that you can’t heal. I’m scared you won’t move on and find happiness. I’m scared you’ll be lonely, a-and I don’t want you to be lonely Nat. You’re allowed to grieve, you’re allowed to take as much time as you need but please promise me something? Promise me you won’t dwell on this, remember the good times we had together, not my death. Just promise me you’ll be okay.”

Nat didn’t respond, she wiped away her tears as quickly as she could and pulled Y/N closer. “I promise that I’ll try.” 

“That’s good enough for me.” 

It wasn’t long before Y/N’s health plummeted. She was deteriorating rapidly and all the team could do was watch. Her frame grew more fragile. Her once vibrant skin was now pale, her luscious locks grew weak and fell from her scalp in clumps, her eyes were sunken in, her body now half the size it used to be. She would spend most of her days in bed, her body unconscious as she slept her days away. 

The chemotherapy was terminated, making the process unbearable. 

It hurt Natasha to see Y/N like this, all she wanted to do was take her pain away. All she could do was stand by and watch helplessly as she lost her fight. 

The weeks went by, and as much as it pained Natasha to admit, the end was nearing. Natasha hadn’t left Y/N’s side in what seemed like forever. Everybody urged her to take a quick shower, or grab a quit bite to eat, but she adamantly refused. She was too scared to leave, fearing she would lose her person. 

Tony sat beside Natasha, turning her to face him. “Nat, go get sorted. We’ll let you know if anything changes. You’re not doing yourself any good just sitting here, Y/N would want you looking after yourself. Just nip out quickly, she’ll be right here when you get back.” 

Natasha looked from Tony, to Y/N. Through Y/N’s shallow breathing, she managed to croak out a few words, although they were almost whispers, “Tasha, I-I’ll be okay.”

Natasha was hesitant, but she kissed Y/N’s forehead and told her she would be back shortly, before walking out of the room and heading to the shower. 

Y/N lay there, her breathing getting more shallow by the second. “T-Tony?”

“I’m right here, sweetheart. Everything okay?” His face was now etched with concern. She weakly shook her head. “I-I think it’s time…”

“No! Y/N, not without Tasha. Not yet, please,” he tried to bargain, hoping and praying for you to hold on a little bit longer. 

“I-I need you to tell T-Tasha something… I-I need you to tell her that I love her, a-and that she was the best t-thing that’s ever happened to me. I-I need you to look after her, t-to make sure that she’s okay. There’s a letter, in my draw, there’s a letter. G-Give it to her once I’m gone. Promise me?”

The tears traced Tony’s cheeks as he held her hand, the lump in his throat tightening. “I promise.” 

Y/N smiled weakly, her eyes feeling heavy as she finally gave in. She took one last breath, before her body relaxed and she let go. Tony’s sobs filled the room, his eyes squeezed shut as he continued to hold her hand. 

Steve left to find Natasha, fearing the news he was to bring. 

As soon as Natasha caught sight of Steve, realisation dawned on her. She felt the air leave her lungs, her whole world stopping. She ran as fast as her weak, shaky legs could take her, ignoring the feeling of her legs collapsing beneath her. She reached the room quickly, although time seemed to slow down for her. 

One look at Y/N’s lifeless body had her kneeling over the bed. “No, no, no, please. You cant do this to me, please. I love you, Y/N, I need you. I need you, please…” her pleas were desperate. She begged, pleaded and cried until she couldn’t anymore. She climbed up onto the bed and pulled her body to her, cradling Y/N in her arms one last time. 

When Y/N’s body was taken, Natasha felt numb, empty even. She struggled to process the thought of never seeing her again. Never hearing her laugh, never seeing her smile, never kissing her or even snuggling with her again. She couldn’t do anything, except mourn her. 

A week later, it was her funeral. Natasha was getting ready, the concealer barely covering the dark circles that lay beneath her eyes. She finished the look with the red lipstick Y/N adored on her. Her legs felt like bricks as she attempted to walk out of her room. The rest of the team stood waiting, giving her sad, but reassuring smiles. 

They made their way to the cemetery, following the horse drawn carriage that transported Y/N’s coffin. It was a short, but agonising journey for the team, especially Natasha. 

Upon arrival, Natasha looked across the graves, giving a small smile at the rain that fell heavily. She remembered their first date, it rained and they ran to find cover. They had their first kiss in the rain. She remembered the way Y/N would dance in the rain, a smile gracing her face as she dragged Natasha to join her. It was Y/N’s favourite weather. She was always happiest in the rain. 

The team helped Natasha carry the coffin, the weight barely putting pressure on their shoulders as they lifted her through. Eventually, they reached their desired destination and lowered her down, not wanting to let go. 

Once everybody was seated, the funeral director stood at the podium and began the service. His words echoed throughout, each person tearing up as he continued on. Soon enough, it was Tasha’s turn to speak. She stood before everybody, wiping her eyes and clearing her throat before starting. 

“I would like to start off by thanking you all for being here today. It means a lot to me, and I’m sure it does to Y/N too. 

When I first met Y/N, I instantly fell in love with her. She had this energy that seemed to radiate from her, I was intrigued. She had this huge smile, and an adorable laugh and I knew then, I was in trouble. She changed me. She showed me what it was like to be a good person, and to love somebody as much as one possibly could. She helped me see the good in life. She made me a better person, and for that I’m eternally grateful. 

She was always such a bubbly person, instantly brightening peoples day, no matter how tough it was. She never let anything get her down. When we discovered she was sick, our worlds were flipped upside down, but she didn’t let it get the better of her. No matter how rough she was feeling, or even towards the end, she never let it get her down. She always made light of the situation. 

I’ve been with her for many years, and each day had been a blessing. We had so much we wanted to do. We had planned to get married, have children, and eventually grow old together. She spent the rest of her life with me, but I don’t get to spend the rest of mine with her. My heart breaks each day, when I wake up and she’s no longer there. I love her beyond words can even begin to explain, she is and always will be my person. I will remember her and keep her memory alive, until we can reunite once again. 

As much as it pains me to see her go, I know she is out of pain. So, Y/N, I love you, my beautiful Angel.” 

There wasn’t a dry eye present, each person allowing the tears to stain their cheeks. They stood over the coffin, watching as it lowered, like an autumn leaf, drifting to the ground. Y/N’s favourite song playing in the background.

The team threw a rose into the grave, along with Y/N’s parents and eventually, Nat. Then, came the soil. After their final goodbyes, everybody made their way to the wake. All, except Nat and Tony. Natasha was standing beside her grave, her eyes falling on all the other headstones, the rain drenching her clothes even more. Y/N was so young compared to the others surrounding her. Tony stood behind her, his hand stretched out to rest on her shoulder, causing her to jump. 

She turned to him, before pulling him into a tight hug. “You did her proud.” 

“I sure hope so.” 

Tony reached into his suit pocket, pulling out an envelope and handing it to Nat. “She asked me to give this to you. She made me promise.” Natasha looked at him, confusion evident on her face. “I’ll leave you alone to read it, I’ll be in the car waiting,” and with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Natasha alone. 

Her shaky hands opened it up, pulling the letter out and reading it slowly. 

My Love, 

If you’re reading this, I’ve lost the battle. And for that, I’m sorry. I wanted to write you this letter, just in case I never got to say goodbye. I hope you know, I never wanted to hurt you and I apologise profusely that you’re going through this. I know, you’re probably rolling your eyes at this, thinking to yourself that it’s not my fault. 

From the moment I met you, I knew you were the one for me. You say I helped you in many ways, but you helped me too. You gave me something to fight for, you were a reason not to give up. My reason to not give up. 

You’ve stood by me, no matter what. You dealt with the ups and downs of this illness and for that, you are perfect. You’re perfect in so many ways, believe me. 

I want you to take care of yourself. Eat properly, sleep properly and stay hydrated. Leave the house, go for a walk, just don’t neglect yourself. Do these things for me. Don’t dwell on my death, just remember the good times we shared, think of the memories we made, the life we have built. Don’t let yourself get all dark and twisty. Let somebody in, the team will always be there for you, you know that. 

Tasha, I love you. I always have and always will love you. I’m sorry things have ended this way, it wasn’t fair. But, know that I’m out of pain and awaiting your arrival. You can only arrive once it’s your time. No sooner. 

Things will get better for you. Eventually, time will heal all wounds left from my passing. I know it’ll be hard, but I want you to move on. I don’t want you to be alone. Please, don’t be alone. Find a nice girl, settle down, have the life we were supposed to have. The life with the wedding, the kids, the grandkids and the old age. I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy.

You’ve made me the happiest girl in the world in the years we’ve spent together. The way you make me feel, the way you look at me. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. 

I’ll be sure to visit you every now and then, just to let you know that I’m still by your side, watching over and protecting you. I’ll always protect you, just like you did me. 

Once again, I love you, Tasha. 

Love, 

Y/N

P.s. I almost forgot, there’s a ring in the envelope. The same ring I was going to use to propose to you. I want you to have it, after all, it was always going to be yours. I hope it fits! 

The tears blurred her vision as she finished the note. She wiped her eyes quickly, sniffling as she pulled the ring from the envelope. She smiled as she looked at it, before sliding it onto her left ring finger. It fit perfectly. 

Taking one last look at the place her girlfriend lay, she whispered, “I love you.” And with that, she silently walked back to the car, thanking Tony for the letter as they started their journey to the wake. 

As Natasha looked down at her ring, she couldn’t help but give a sad smile. She really did have the best. 

#natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff #natasha romonova #black widow #Natasha romanoff x reader #natasha angst #natasha romanoff angst #mcu #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #Natasha romanoff x y/n #natalia romanova #marvel imagine #avengers #marvel #marvel insert #avengers imagine #avengers au #mcu fic #natasha romanoff x fem!reader

[sarawritestories]

The Nightmare

Nash Wells x Fem Reader

His Nightmare Part 1

His Nightmare Part 2

His Nightmare Part 3

Summary: Y/N has a nightmare about crisis, a reoccurring event that has happened since the massive event. So Nash does his best to bring some comfort for the woman he had grown so fond of

Word count: 1014 words

Content warning ⚠️: nightmares, brief talk of grief and so much fluff!

Tags: @eonash @yetanotherwells @twilightlover2007

Holding Harry close Y/N had tears streaming down her face, “Harry, I can’t lose you.” Red lightning flashed facing the storm.

Harry grasped her chin and pressed his forehead to hers against hers. “Princess, Allen is going to need your help with this. We only have time for one of us to go through the breach. You have to go.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks and pressed a kiss to her lips, “I love you, and because you made me a better man.” She tried stifling the sob from escaping but failed she hugged him, sobbing into his shoulder.

“I love you too, Harrison Wells,” There was a shake in the ground, and Harry pulled her away, “I’m going to miss you.” She breached as she saw part of S.T.A.R Labs getting destroyed. “Y/N,” Harry’s voice carried over the explosions, “Y/N, Y/N!”

“Y/N!” Y/N jolted awake drenched in sweat, Nash leaning over her as her vision began to clear. The last memory she had with her best friend was full of pain and fueled her nightmares. Y/N had started staying in S.T.A.R. Labs her house feeling empty and cold, reminders of when Harry was here plaguing the space. It did mean she had to share a room with Nash, but she figured their were worst roommates to have. She looked at the adventurer as his brows were furrowed in worry, “You okay, Angel? You were screaming.. again”

She rubbed her face as she sat up, “Sorry, Nash, I’m fine.” She took a moment to look at Nash and noticed that He was without a shirt, his lean body displayed by the moonlight. She bit her the inside of her lip and gave him a small smile, “I’m really sorry for waking you up. Again.”

He turned, pausing briefly staring intently at the wall. He signed, grabbing his signature white tank putting it on. Her gaze locked on his biceps and how nice they looked. She looked up and saw Nash staring at her with his piercing blue eyes as she quickly averted her gaze. He held out his hand and cleared his throat so she would have to look back at him, “Come on, you need a drink.”

She grabbed his hand as she took the covers over her and he led her to the lounge. His hand was warm against hers and brought her some comfort. As the two reached the lounge, the moon illuminating the room, he released her hand and held out a chair for her as she took a seat and he scooted the chair in. He rounded the bar and pulled two glasses and a bottle of emerald green liquid. Pouring a hefty amount for the two of them he slid a glass in her direction. She took it in her hands and took a sip the liquid causing a wave of warmth filled her body. “So, Angel, same dream?”

She nodded as he sipped out of his glass, “I knew crisis was coming before anyone else, I lost the love of my life and my best friend. But on top of that I lost the whole council too.” Nash lowered the glass from his lips and stared at the liquid, she reached out and placed her hand on top of his, “It was no one’s fault, Nash, and I’ll be honest, I’m happy we have you. I know you don’t believe it or don’t want to believe it but you are a wonderful addition to our team. I just really miss H.R, Sherloque, and especially Harry.” He smiled briefly before staring behind her and frowning again. “Nash?”

Nash focused went from the wall back to Y/N. “Sorry, I promise I’m listening. Come on, lets step outside.” The two walked outside as Nash grabbed a blanket laying on the couch. As they walked up Y/N fought off a chill. Nash wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.

Y/N smiled, “Thank you, I want you to know I appreciate everything you have done for me.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I know you didn’t sign up for it and I know I’m not your favorite person, but your friendship has been a comfort and not because you share a face with my late husband.”

Nash chuckled as a comfortable silence fell between them. Y/N stared out and look out at the city pulling the blanket closer to her. Nash took a looked at her ignoring the Council that was standing beside him giving him their unwanted opinions. In the moonlight she was gorgeous and he understood why his fellow Wells were drawn to her. She was kind and non judgmental no matter how dark a person’s past was or how cruel a person was to her. “You are my favorite person.”

Her head snapped to him, “I am?”

He nodded, “You are kind, and any of the Wells that has come in contact with you just felt like they could start fresh, be better men. Myself included,” he smiled, “You treat everyone with compassion and put others before you.” He placed a hand on her cheek, “So taking care of you after a nightmare is the least I can do.”

Y/N smiled and scooted closer to the adventurer, reaching up and kissing his cheek before she could pull away he placed a gentle kiss to her lips. When he pulled away he wrapped his arms around her as they continued to talk, bouncing from subjects.

~Later~

“Look at how sweet!” H.R’s voice flooded the lounge as he stared at Nash on the couch with Y/N in his arms fast asleep.

Sherloque appeared next to him and nodded his hands in his pockets, “It is nice to see her finally get some sleep wouldn’t you agree, Harry?”

Harry knelt by the couple, grazing his phantom hand over her cheek. A small smile as she was sleeping soundly something he knew she struggled with, especially after crisis. “Yes it is,” he looked to his doppelganger also in a deep sleep, “I know you’ll take good care of her, Nash.”

#harrison wells #the flash cw #nash wells x reader #nash wells #harrison wells x reader #the flash

[chiefdirector]

Rest | Wanda Maximoff | MCU

SPOILER FREE (2022)

"It'll all be okay, you hear me?" Wanda said as she cradled (Y/N) in her arms, watching as the blood poured from her abdomen. When she had first seen her, Wanda had tried to put pressure on the wound to stop the blood flow. But it didn't work, and they both knew this, so Wanda moved her hand away from the wound and held on (Y/N)'s cheek, hoping to bring her some comfort in her dying moments.

Wanda was no stranger to death. She was well acquainted with it's nasty tricks and deceits. She knew that death lied about the comfort it would bring to the person who was dying but Wanda also knew that not everyone could resist death, it was a mean temptress. (Y/N) wasn't in a position to fight anymore, they had spent their whole life fighting and now they wanted to rest. Nobody could blame them for that, not even Wanda.

"You'll be okay, my love, it'll be okay." Wanda repeated over and over as (Y/N) slowly looked up at her wife and then back down to the blood-drenched wound. "Don't think about that, it'll stop hurting soon. It'll all stop hurting soon."

And she was right; (Y/N)'s pain, as well as her life, shortly ended. But Wanda's didn't. She felt every ounce of grief she had ever felt come back and hit her tenfold. Her mother and father, Pietro, her city, her home, and now her wife. All of them had been robbed from her. All she wanted now was for the pain to stop.

She wanted a chance to have a life with her wife, her (Y/N). But she couldn't have that now that she was gone. She couldn't have the life she had wanted, the life she had worked for. Her future had been robbed from her, and there was nothing that she could do.

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee?

#chiefdirector #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #marvel #oneshot #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch

[blurredcolour]

The Hunter's Moon | Part One

The Hunter’s Moon Masterlist

Summary: Austin Butler's life changed forever in 2017. If only people knew how deep that statement ran.

Pairing: Werewolf!Austin Butler x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Angst, Language, Violence, Supernatural Themes, Suggestion of Mature/Explicit Themes - 18 + Only

Author's Note: Inspired by the headcannons of @sassy-ahsoka-tano, written with her blessing. As this is based on supernatural content, it comes with an elevated level of violence and dark themes. It is also a bit of a slow burn, especially compared to my other writing.

Song suggestion: DARKSIDE by NEONI

Word Count: 1565

—☽•✧•◐•✧•◯•✧•◑•✧•☾—

Early 2017

To say that filming The Shannara Chronicles in New Zealand had changed Austin Butler’s life would be an understatement. A foundational experience, his first leading role, the furthest he had ever been from home. But there was a lot more to it than that. A weekend alone during the filming of the second season, camping in the mountains, had altered him permanently. At the cellular level.

The lone howl in the moon-drenched night had made his blood run cold. There were no wolves…no carnivorous mammals…in New Zealand. The flash of reflective eyes across the flames of his campfire, however, had startled him to his feet. The urge to run had flooded every muscle of his body, tensing in preparation to flee. He had not stood a chance.

The great grey wolf had easily cleared the height of the flames, all four paws impacting against his chest, driving him to the ground. Claws had shredded his shirt; teeth had sunk into the flesh of his shoulder. The sound of his cellphone ringing had startled the beast off into the night, leaving him in shock. He had somehow managed to make it into his tent, to tie a makeshift bandage around the wound using his pajamas before he had passed out.

Breakfast was waiting for him when he woke, the campfire stoked, his wound properly bandaged. He had not believed a word out of that man’s mouth initially. In fact, his reaction had charted the five stages of grief so neatly, it could have been a textbook case.

Denial.

There was no way this had been happening to him. This was the stuff of myths and legends. It was scientifically impossible and besides how could it have been occurring so long amongst the crowded human world, yet no one had proven it to be true…

He had gone back to work after his days off, acted as though everything were perfectly normal. Camping had been great, very relaxing…his statement to his colleagues was as much to convince himself as them. Until the changes began to take hold: the rapid healing, the heightened sense of smell, the increased sensitivity to light and sound.

Anger.

Had life not been hard enough for him already?! What sins had tarred his soul to bring this curse upon him in addition to the implosion of his family, followed by the loss of his mother so young…

The pure rage had taken over his whole body like a roiling sea. He had snapped at any thing and anyone that had the misfortunate to draw his attention. More than one glass had been thrown across the kitchen…his damage deposit was not returned.

He had fired and re-hired his personal assistant four times that week. The fight with Vanessa over FaceTime had been the first swing of the sledgehammer at the foundation of their relationship.

Bargaining.

There had to be a way to reverse the curse. There was still time before the full moon, he had not turned fully…just flashes of unnaturally bright eyes in the mirror, claw-like nails during fits of rage. He had scoured the internet, the local library, anything he could find to see if there was a way to stop this. He would have given anything to go back in time, to not go camping, to have run up a tree…anything.

The universe had proven deaf to his pleas.

Depression.

He had not been able to pull himself from the cocoon of his bed. The bright sunlight was a mockery of the heavy, oppressive, empty chasm beneath his breastbone. He had felt as though his life was utterly ruined, his career a complete impossibility. How could a normal person hide this…let alone a celebrity?!

He had faked a flu, turned off his phone, contemplated drastic measures. The simplest of tasks took on the appearance of mountains to climb. Time stopped in his apartment as he succumbed to the weight in his heart. Every muscle ached, resonating with the hopelessness of his situation. The only thing that pulled him from his self-imposed exile were the threats of his screaming agent over the phone when he had turned it back on briefly, having hoped to indulge in some doom scrolling. He had returned to set, a shell of himself. What had once been murmured rumours was then spoken openly. Something was wrong with Austin.

Acceptance.

By the night of the full moon his body had leaned out, his muscle mass increased. The timber of his voice had deepened, the tone had richened. Every nerve ending felt sentient, at the ready for his command. With great trepidation, he had crawled into bed, uncertain of what would happen to him, his body, the people around him. He woke up naked in the woods with that same man from before, the shredded remains of some poor small creature scattered about the clearing.

He was a werewolf.

The statement was both completely absurd and as final as carved in stone. Permanent, eternal. There was no escape, there was no going back…he had been forced to find a way forward.

The man who had bitten him, Ross, was frank and honest with him now that Austin was ready to listen. After the first change, his body became foreign to him; an upgraded model that required complete re-training to operate. Any heightened emotion would trigger at least a partial shift. The greater the emotion, the more forceful and complete the transition.

Clothes were shredded at such a prodigious rate that he began shopping at thrift stores just to keep his bare ass covered. He did not see himself in his wolf form until several months in. A steam-filled shower, trying to resolve a persistent problem had brought release. Release from both his hard cock and his human form. He had growled to himself, shaking off the water droplets as they hit his fur, unable to turn it off without opposable thumbs. He had glanced in the mirror and tilted his head at his blue eyes staring back…from the face of a huge sandy wolf.

He stayed a month after filming, selling a lie about wanting more time the explore the country. Yoga, meditation, boxing – these practices had helped him gain control over his mind and his body. Unexpected shifts were mostly under control by the time he returned to Los Angeles. To Vanessa.

Being somewhat unknown served him well. He was able to develop a routine, solidify the control of his new form. May even enjoy it a little. He had found a rental property, installed a cell to secure himself away during the night of the full moon – the only night he did not have control over the shift.

The burden of the secret, however, had eaten away at his long-term relationship with Vanessa. Suspicions and rumors swirled around them. Where did he go, what was he hiding, he had changed. Though it was not a surprise, it was no less painful when the relationship ended just as he was settling into pre-production on Elvis. One last thing the universe could take from him. The greedy, cruel, grasping universe seemed the thrive on his pain.

Post Elvis, he had engaged in a publicly staged relationship with Kaia in an effort to portray a stable, normal human being. In reality, he sought physical affection from a string of women. The encounters had an expiration date of twenty-four hours. It was safer that way, to satisfy a need without risking discovery of his true self. If they never got close, never had expectations, the wolf could remain hidden. It was incredibly painful for someone like him who craved and thrived on connection and stability. He was forced to lock his heart away; it was the price of continuing his career.

Even Elvis turned out to be a curse disguised as a blessing. Yes, the role had been incredible; yes, the film was spectacular and well-received; yes, he had finally ‘made it.’ But this all came at the cost of his relatively unpublicized life. He could hardly buy a coffee without someone snapping a photo now. People around the world were fighting for every last piece of him and it felt like the walls were closing in.

He had to get out of Los Angeles.

Somewhere close, somewhere with woods, somewhere small but near an airstrip. With those vague parameters, his real estate agent had found him a sizeable house beside an alpine lake with nearly six acres to himself. It was just outside a small village named Lannet’s Falls, a fifteen-minute drive to the airport on the edge Placerville, California. An hour flight to Los Angeles.

He had felt a pull as soon as the agent spoken the name; the pictures had convinced him.

“Lake Forbearance…” He had murmured, struck by how appropriate the name was for the life he had been forced to lead.

“Oh, you know, one of those overly dramatic gold rush names.” She had giggled and waved it away with a toss of her manicured hand.

Austin reflected on how little he would miss the glossy veneer of life in Los Angeles, the perfected artifice.

“I’ll take it.” He had surprised her with how quickly he had made his decision, offered full asking.

The property had stood vacant for nearly two years, immediate possession was easily secured. He felt a sense of immediate peace upon signing the papers.

Escape.

—☽•✧•◐•✧•◯•✧•◑•✧•☾—

Read Part Two

The Hunter’s Moon Masterlist

Tag List: @karamelcoveredolicity, @mymamalife

#austin butler x you #austin butler x reader #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler x gn reader #werewolf aus #gn!reader #werewolf au #blurredcolour #thehuntersmoon #Austin butler

[aquietlifesblog]

Ravening Wolves (Dio x F!Reader) 2/?

“…we shall exact vengeance for Dio and reunite him with us. I give you my word.” OR At long last, the time has come to set your grand scheme in motion: the elimination of Jotaro Kujo and Dio’s glorious resurrection. The Age of Heaven is near, and you won’t let the Joestars stop you—no matter how hard they fight. A sequel to ‘Hungry Eyes.’

Read on AO3 Note: This is the story of Dio's resurrection, be patient as we fight for his return.

First Chapter | Masterlist |

Chapter 1: Unwelcome Guests

Jotaro Kujo is no stranger to nightmares. Oftentimes he jolts awake, heart pounding, his body drenched in a sheen of cold sweat. He’ll look up and see Star Platinum beside him, ready to battle threats unseen.

Some days he’ll dream of fighting, of dire clashes and battlefields where Stands collide with unyielding intensity. But it’s Dio who looms in the shadows of his darkest nightmares.

“The life you live is but a mere Illusion.” Dio's chilling laughter would pierce through the air, its icy tendrils crawling down Jotaro's spine.  “You're living on borrowed time, Jotaro; You’ll never be safe from me.” No matter how valiantly Jotaro fights, Dio remains. Like a phantom, who refuses to be vanquished, he’ll always return another night.

“Good grief.” He doesn’t allow himself to stew in the moment, not as Shizuka's cry pierces through the wall. Jotaro's brow furrows in concern. ‘Something must have spooked her,’ he thinks; the baby's been sleeping through the night for weeks.

For a moment, he imagines his grandfather, Joseph, cradling the little girl in his weary arms. 

And though his muscles protest, he pushes himself to action.

Guided by the silver moon that filters through the silver windows, Jotaro swipes the spare room key from the fancy gilded table by the bed. He’s more than happy to help Joseph soothe the crying baby, just as he did for Jolyne in the past.

So he opens the door with a yawn, squinting slightly as he enters the hall. All at once his vision is filled with the warm amber light and upscale furnishing of Morioh Grand Hotel. The plush white carpets are lined with cream-colored vases, and oil paintings decorate the walls. The whole floor smells faintly of artificial lemons and Charmy Green soap.

There are no other guests on the third floor, the Speedwagon Foundation saw to that,  but from the corner of his eye, he sees a woman dressed in red waiting near the entrance of the elevator. Is it a worker, he wonders, or someone who stepped off of the wrong floor? He makes a mental note of her presence, before padding across the carpet, his slippered feet carrying to the room adjacent to his own.

But just as he reaches for the door handle and slides the key into the gilded lock,  a thunderous force barrels down the hall.

The floor beneath him quakes and trembles as everything ahead is scraped away. There's no dust or debris, only a sudden disappearance that brought to mind Okuyasu Nijimura and his stand, The Hand. 

Without a moment's hesitation, Star Platinum obliterates the door and Jotaro dives inside, a split second away from disaster.

“Jotaro?” Joseph calls, and the two lock eyes. They share a bond forged through countless battles and a shared bloodline, a connection that transcends words. 

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Jotaro begins, his determined words rising above Shizuka’s hiccuping cries. “But we have another enemy Stand user on our hands. I don’t know if he’ll make it in time, but try to contact Jo-” 

The air thickens with the cloying scent of roses. The sweet aroma permeates the air. It wraps around them like a spectral mist, enveloping the three in an eerie atmosphere. For Jotaro and Joseph, and perhaps even Shizuka as well, the scent heightens their sense of danger, placing them further on edge. 

They are no longer alone. 

“You managed to survive, I see. How unfortunate," Your voice carries an odd infliction, a mix of humor and frustration that teases Joseph’s memory.  "I instructed him not to lose his composure upon encountering you, alas, he never listens. It’s almost as though he doesn’t respect me…” The shadows bend and bow in reverence, unfurling as you gracefully emerge from within.

You smile, but there’s an apex predator lurking beneath that beautiful facade. 

“You must be Jotaro Kujo; while I can’t say it's a pleasure, I’ve always wondered about you.” 

Jotaro’s eyes narrow, and Star Platinum stands ready at his side, ready for the imminent fight. 

"Enough with the fake pleasantries. Who the hell are you, what do you want?" Jotaro's voice cuts through the tension, direct and uncompromising as ever.

“My, my, did no one teach you manners? I suppose the best of Jonathan’s traits never quite made it down to you, hm?” 

A flicker of amusement dances in your gaze, but your attention soon drifts to Joseph. Though his face is marked by the passage of time, his eyes are as bright and as keen as ever. He regards you with a cautious familiarity. 

“Jonathan?” Joseph’s brows furrow. 

"What are you talking about? How do you know that name?" Jotaro interjects, shielding his grandfather from view.

But just as he does so, Cream appears like a nightmare given life. Its gaping mouth opens, revealing the furious, unhinged gaze of Vanilla Ice. His sinister intentions hang heavy in the air.

“Jotaro Kujo,” Ice growls with a low, menacing voice, “I will never forgive what you did to Lord Dio! I, Vanilla Ice, will scatter you through my dimension of darkness. There will be nothing left!” 

In a blur of motion, he slides back into the mouth of his Stand, and Cream’s power surges, barreling forward like a raging tempest. But then everything halts to a stop around Jotaro, granting him a precious few seconds of clarity. Everything dulls and he immediately comprehends the true nature of the threat before him. 

Vanilla Ice, Dio's strongest servant and a woman he doesn't know. His mind reaches back, searching for information that might give a name to your face but there is none. Though he does remember a woman being mentioned in that diary he found one of the two individuals he regarded as his friend. 

“Good grief,” he sighs. “Just when we think this town is safe.” 

Stepping away from the wall, Jotaro's eyes lock onto your frozen form, caught mid-stride, heading toward his grandfather and the baby. Determined to intercept your advance, he moves forward, both to block you and dodge Vanilla Ice. 

When time resumes, your body is forcefully thrown off balance as Star Platinum strikes you with a flurry of blows. Despite understanding the power of Time Stop, you’re taken by surprise and you crash against the wall with an unforgiving thud. A large painting of the Morioh shoreline shakes in its ornate frame,  threatening to collapse upon the floor. 

Jotaro hums, but behind him is where the true terror lies: The thick oak coffee table and soft cushioned chairs become victim to Cream's insatiable appetite. As it moves, the void of nothing scrapes away the hideous green carpet, leaving a massive crater on the floor. It barrels forward, crashing into the wall where Jotaro stood before Top Stop, leaving nothing but a massive hole behind. 

The large painting of the shoreline collapses then, and the heavy wooden frame breaks upon your body on the floor. The wood and splinters scatter and the wide canvas manages to obscure you, at least party, as the edges meet the wall at a perfect angle. 

"Get out of here, old man! Take Shizuka and run!" Jotaro's urgent voice slices through the air, commanding his grandfather to use the Joestar family’s secret technique.

Within moments, the room transforms into a battlefield of chaos.

Jotaro desperately fends off the unrelenting assault to ensure his grandfather's safety. But any relief he feels shatters once he sees that you are gone, that you've crawled out from beneath the painting of the ocean and vanished from the spot where you'd been thrown.

He thinks about following behind you, that any 'friend' of Dio is the highest priority threat, but Vanilla Ice swiftly closes the distance between them, taking half a potted plant in his wake and the attack barely misses. He can't abandon this fight. 

“Polnareff told me about you and that hideous stand of yours.” He begins, matching Ice’s glare when he peeks out from the void. “I don’t know how you managed to survive, but if you want to be with your precious Dio, I’ll send you to hell where you belong!”

~♥️~ 

Joseph carries Shizuka down the hall, moving at a speed that defies his age. But Shizuka's fear and stress reach a crescendo, and things begin to vanish before their very eyes.

“Oh no!” Joseph attempts to soothe her. 

He needs to find a phone, he needs to contact Josuke. 

But his swift progression halts abruptly when you appear beside him, emerging from a swirling cloud of mist. 

“You’re quite spry for an old man, Joseph.” You set your gaze upon him, your burning glare filled with disdain. You’ve heard tales of the infamous Joseph Joestar, the grandson Erina loved so dearly. 

"So it's as I thought. You weren't after Jotaro at all," he confirms, cradling the baby protectively, pressing her tiny body against his chest despite his invisible hands. "We've never met, so why don't you tell me who you are, little lady.” 

"I suppose I can't be surprised; my existence has always been a blemish on the family name," you laugh, a dark sound that reveals your true intentions. "Did your 'Granny Erina' truly never mention me? I suppose she was too ashamed. Or perhaps she forgot in her old age. I suppose without her maids, my little sister was quite useless, wasn't she?"

"Sister?" Joseph's suspicion solidifies into certainty.  Erina never spoke of you directly, but he recalls seeing something—a sort of family tree scrawled across the first page of an old leather bible she kept near the side of her bed. It contained all the familiar names, the familiar history up until Holly. But there was something else there, something he never entirely understood until this moment.

What he presumed to be your name.

There wasn’t much room on the page but his grandmother had written it no doubt. In the jumbled margins, there was a line that connected you as sisters. It was easy to overlook, the page was crowded with so much history, but Erina found a way to make you known.

So, much to your surprise, Joseph Joestar utters your name. 

“You’re a vampire, aren’t you? And if you are, you must have been a vampire for over 100 years! Tell me, how many humans have you devoured in all that time?” 

Joseph raises his hand and the purple vines of his Stand, Hermit Purple manifest, crackling with the power of Hamon, the power of the sun.

'A 100-year-old vampire come to haunt his family?' The gears of his mind begin turning, 'How could this happen twice? Such a thing couldn’t be a mere coincidence: She has to be connected to Dio and the Stone Masks in some way,' he thinks.  

"You can't possibly expect me to keep track of such details, Joseph. Why, don't you tell me how many loaves of bread you've eaten in your life?" You tilt your chin arrogantly, looking down upon him, your fangs catching the light as you speak.

Family or not, he cannot let evil have its way. So, in a swift motion, Joseph directs Hermit Purple towards you, its tendrils surging with the power of his Hamon. But you disperse your body into a chilling mist, evading the initial attack.

Nevertheless, Joseph remains resolute, fueled by righteous anger and the unwavering determination that flows through his veins.  But even as he wraps his and Shizuka’s body in Hamon, he’s no match for you; he doesn’t know the power of your Stand. 

So, as you reform a short distance behind him, Déjà Vu appears at your side: a tall feminine figure, adorned with glowing red hearts and scant golden armor that melds to her flesh at the most strategic points. Her eyes remain unseen beneath her ornamental helmet, crowned by a beautiful metronome. Four tubes attach her helmet to the belt that she wears, each connected to packs marked by golden letters reading C M Y K. 

Like you, your Stand remains unchanging, untouched by the flow of time.

Déjà Vu places her fingers on her lips and kisses them sweetly. A small golden heart forms between her lips and her hand and she hurls it at Joseph. It barrels forward with such force that it impacts his skull like a laser beam. Though you stood at a distance outside your most effective range, the weight of age has slowed him down, making him vulnerable to such an assault.

So, within a blink of an eye, a glowing heart emerges on the back of Joseph's head, pulsating with an ethereal light.

In response, a torrent of memories bursts forth, taking the form of photo strips that fly out from his head with the swiftness (and sounds) of a high-speed printer. 

His gaze remains fixed upward, his eyes wide. Like everyone else you’ve used your Stand’s ability on, he seems overwhelmed by the flood of memories spiraling around him. He can't move or even speak. 

"Tell me, Joseph; tell me all about the Red Stone of Aja..." you urge, your voice carrying a tone of gentle curiosity. Extracting specific memories sometimes requires a skillful interrogation. 

For you, it was a familiar process. With your servants, it was a matter of unraveling their troubles or helping them re-live some grand experience they had in the past. But some memories necessitated deeper probing. They would need a little push. 

However, the mere mention of the stone brought forward a certain strip of memories, a vivid recollection of Joseph’s bizarre youth. 

“Perfect; it seems as though we’ve had a breakthrough.” 

Yet, just as Déjà Vu reaches out to grasp a memory, the vines of Joseph's Stand manifest once more, weaving through the strips as if to safeguard his memories from prying eyes. Crackling with the potent power of Hamon, the vines pose an insurmountable barrier to you. 

"What manner of trickery is this?" you narrow your eyes, your suspicion brewing. "...Even with your addled mind, you remain clever, don't you."

A memory of your own resurfaces then—an echo of Dio’s stand. Like Hermit Purple, it was a telepathic entity, one capable of divining information. Could it be that Joseph's Hermit Purple possessed the ability to prevent his mind from being read? 

“Can you hear me, Joseph? Let’s delve deeper: Show me the Red Stone,” you implore, your voice tinged with frustration. 

In the background, the floor quakes with violence. Vanilla Ice, still sheltered within the safety of Cream's void, zigzags down the hallway, crashing through doors as if disoriented, perhaps having lost track of Jotaro somehow.

He could be anywhere.

A group of security personnel rush unto the scene, only to be met with tragic, gruesome ends. Cream eats through their bodies, leaving a bloodied mess of scattered limbs and half a torso behind. You pay it no mind.

The path to resurrecting Dio is now within reach, and you are willing to pay any price to obtain it. A fire ignites within your gaze, a reflection of your unwavering resolve.

At that moment, you recall something Dio once asked you, the day he offered you the poison that ended Lady Pendleton’s life.

'I take it you’re prepared to be bold, then?’ 

You were.

"I won't let your stand hinder me any longer, Joseph," you declare with certainty. "You will give me the information I seek!"

A surge of power courses through your veins as you channel the might of your Stand. With a swift motion, she extends her arm and firmly grips the memory. And at that moment, the power of the sun surges within you: your bones crack, the Hamon spreads throughout your arm like a spider's web, and blood sprays from the wound. It splatters across your skin and the painting on the walls. You grunt, clenching your teeth against the searing pain that threatens to destroy you. 

But then, without hesitation, you do something bold. You grip the ball of your shoulder tightly, a place where the Hamon has yet to reach, and, with resolute determination, you tear your arm free from your own body.

The sickening sound of flesh tearing reverberates in the hall. But you can still feel the energy surging from within the discarded arm. Its abandonment safeguarded your existence and it alone burns away.

‘No matter,’ you think. ‘I’ll find a new one.’ 

The baby continues to cry and the lamp behind Joseph, now stained with your blood, disappears from sight. 

“Now, let’s take a journey down memory lane, nephew; just you and me…” Blood pours from your empty socket, seeping into the fabric of your attire and staining the hotel carpet red. 

Your Stand activates her most powerful ability, the power to pull you into a world of memories. The world around you fades away, and you venture into Joseph's memories. 

As you do, the echoes of Dio's question linger in your mind, fueling your resolve.

'I am prepared to be bold,' you think to yourself, resolute amidst the silence of the mindscape. 'And I shall stop at nothing to attain my ultimate objective.'

~♥️~ 

~♥️~ 

You find yourself in a grand sitting room, adorned with elegant furnishings, echoes of a bygone era. The deep, earthy scent of polished wood and lavender candles assaults your senses as you take note of the world around you: Deep burgundy rugs, hardwood floors, and massive arched windows curtained by green velvet drapes.

You know this room; you've been taken to the Pendleton Estate.

Your eyes are drawn to Joseph then, transformed into a broad-shouldered man in his late twenties. He laughs, engaging in conversation with his grandmother, Erina. You stare.

Time etched gentle lines upon her face, tracing the map of a life well-lived, yet her eyes retained their luminosity.

"I'll handle things here, Joseph. You go ahead," Erina tells him, her voice laced with assurance as she shoos him away. Joseph chuckles as he places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

With a final farewell, Joseph excuses himself downstairs, leaving Erina alone with a baby, Holly, swaddled in a bassinet near the window. 

A surge of frustration bubbles within you. Did Joseph manage to deceive you somehow? Redirect your search to a false destination. No. That isn’t possible. You've never faltered in selecting the right memory, and the ultimate ability of your Stand ensured that even in the face of adversity, you would not be led astray. So for a moment, you stand there, shrouded in the shadows of secrecy. Because something in this room, whether it held the stone or not, evoked its memory. Something here would lead you down the right path. 

 So you direct your attention to Erina, the woman who raised such an impudent brat. 

Without your intervention, events unfold exactly as they should. Her attention shifts toward a shelf. Amongst it sits her wedding portrait, a service photograph of her son, George II, and one of Joseph’s family. She selects one, and her delicate fingers trace the contours of the frame, a wistful smile on her face. 

The sight stirs a mix of emotions within you a swirling maelstrom of hatred and envy.

Stepping forward, your presence materializes, and you become a solid part of the world you created from Joseph's memory. Your form casts an icy silhouette against the warm radiance of the room and the atmosphere grows taut.

“Enjoying the fruits of your lineage, are we?” 

Your words sliced through the silence, resonating with venomous intensity. 

Erina's head snaps around, and the burden of regret draws itself across her aged features. 

“It’s you…” Her voice rasps with age. “You've returned, I never thought I'd see you again...and after all these years...You're a vampire, aren't you? Just like Dio…”

Blood pools from the place where your arm used to be, and Erina stares at it in shock. The wound is closing, but not quickly enough for you. 

“Your arm-” 

"Save your sympathy," you scoff, your voice still dripping with venom. “I’m not here for a reunion.” 

“I see that hasn’t changed either.” Her sorrowful gaze follows your movement, her heart is heavy with the weight of a fractured sisterhood and the fear of the darkness that consumes you.

You scoff, the sound harsh and filled with disdain.

"You're right, Erina. I haven't changed. How could I when your lineage has done nothing but haunt me all these years? Look at what they’ve done to me—what I’ve been reduced to. You and your descendants, living in blissful ignorance while I suffer alone, discarded like a piece of trash."

Memories of your servitude, your abandonment, and misfortune flash before your eyes. The anger within you intensifies, consuming your rationality.

“My descendants? Did Joseph do this to you?” Her confusion is evident, but you have no intention to offer an explanation. Because the pain, frustration, and anger you feel have risen to a level beyond your understanding. Is it your injury, or the fact that you’re yet again faced with a reminder of your tragic past? 

“Had I known the misery that cursed womb of yours would bring me, I would have killed you that night.” 

Erina's eyes widen in shock and sorrow as your words strike a chord deep within her. The weight of your words hangs heavy in the air, and the room fills with a suffocating tension. 

But then the world around you trembles, the boundaries of the past crumbling as the present encroaches. Time is running out, and you know that Jotaro is drawing nearer to your body in the base world. 

“I see then. I always hoped that you would find a way to live in peace with the rest of the world. Perhaps, if you ever reunited, you could have the life with Dio you always wanted…I still have that hope for you, elder sister. Even if you’ve given up. Dio is-” 

“I know where Dio is,” you interrupt her. “I suppose I do have you to thank for it; you’ll be the reason we unite again. It’s the only useful thing you’ve ever done for me.” 

Taking a step forward, her voice raises in alarm, but you swiftly silence her by slamming your palm against her mouth. You curl your fingers inward, sinking them into her paling flesh before she can even scream.

“Jo-” 

“I should have killed you, the real you, not some decrepit old woman dredged up from some old bastard's memories." You scoff, but beneath the disdain, a question emerges, something you've always wondered about but never cared enough to explore.

“I don’t know what happens to these places when I leave the ‘world of memories’ my Stand creates. I can’t say for sure if they end or simply continue on as a parallel reality… perhaps I'm not even creating them at all. But I understand that anything that happens to me here is reflected upon my body in the base world, so it's real enough for this.” You drain the blood from Erina and her heart slows, her ragged breaths ease, and her once-clear blue eyes gloss over as her struggles slow to a stop. “I thought I could forgive you, that I wouldn’t hold a grudge... but your precious family took away the most important person in the world to me. So I’ll destroy everything you’ve ever loved. In this world, in the base world, and in all realities I come across. The Joestar Bloodline you propagated will end. Mark my words.”

You drop her body on the floor, the dried husk of what she used to be. Your gaze fixates on the gray hair that spills from her scarf, and the jewel that sits at its center. It reflects in the soft lamp light, shining a brilliant cerulean hue, matching the color of her eyes. Erina always had a fondness for jewelry.

You wonder then, if the Stone is at the old Pendleton Estate, or if Joseph buried it with his beloved grandmother. Something about this memory triggers a connection to the Stone, so that must be the case. 

Just as you begin to ponder, the door flies open, and Joseph rushes inside. He must have heard the body drop. His eyes meet yours, then widen in shock and horror as they land on the body of his grandmother lying lifeless at your feet.

“No!” He yells, his voice full of sorrow and rage. “You bitch! What have you done to Granny Erina!?” He charges forward and his fist comes alive with the power of the sun. You notice something around him then; it’s very faint but it’s certainly there: Hermit Purple, wrapped around Joseph, crackling with the same power.

But you will yourself back into reality, back to the base world, allowing the cries of the child in the bassinet to merge with the cries of the baby in the elder Joseph’s arms. 

~♥️~ 

~♥️~ 

The world snaps back together, and once again, you find yourself in the hall of Morioh Grand Hotel, the soft scent of lemons and soap intermingling with your own scent of roses and the metallic tang of the blood on the floor.  Time flows differently in the memory world, so little time went by here.

The sound of approaching footsteps fills the air. 

“I see." Understanding dawns on you then, just as Star Platinum's fist barrels toward your Stand. But your recent meal sharpens your senses, heightening your awareness. Just as he believes he lands a hit, you disperse your form into a mist, reforming a short distance away. That distance is enough to end the effect of your stand on Joseph, but that becomes inconsequential.

You have the information that you need.

“I must thank you, Joseph. Your trickery granted me just the advantage I needed!" A sinister grin draws itself across your features. Jotaro checks on his grandfather's well-being, and once satisfied, he uses time stop to close the distance between your bodies. But his two-second maximum isn't enough to bridge the gap entirely. Star Platinum launches a flurry of blows, but Déjà Vu holds up her arm in defense. It hurts, but yours is a durable stand, one with a body as resilient as your own. Your broken bones heal and, despite lacking Jotaro's fighting prowess, you refuse to back down. 

Blocking, dispersing, and clashing, your battle becomes a dance of stopping time and careful movements, gradually guiding him back toward where you suspect Vanilla Ice to be. Your healing powers have increased almost tenfold. Was it because you consumed blood so closely related to your own?

Star Platinum's aggressive cries mix together with Déjà Vu’s as they clash across the hallway of the Hotel. Doors are blown down, furniture is thrown, vases are shattered and paintings are knocked off the wall. The battle couldn't have lasted long, but your frustration begins to spike. You do what you want to stay out of his range, but so far back you can't paralyze him with your memory kiss. Star Platinum dodges the hearts with ease. For that to work you'd need to be closer, and you'd be at a greater disadvantage. 

In response to your feelings, your vampiric power brings a chill to the air, coating the hall with frost and ice.

'Where’s Vanilla Ice?' You wonder. 'What did Jotaro do to him?'

Unbeknownst to you, the frost becomes the perfect conduit for Joseph's Hamon. He channels the crackling energy through the trail of frost, transforming it into the water, which flows directly back to you.

You hiss, your eyes bulging like a wild animal the moment you sense it— the power of the sun.

But just before it strikes, a strong arm curls around your body.

The world blurs and darkness engulfs your senses and for a moment there’s nothing, nothing but the cold, primordial darkness of a void.

Something moves beside you but you struggle to adjust to the absence of light.  “Did you find the stone?" Vanilla Ice's voice echoes, and that's when you come to realize—you've been pulled into the mouth of his Stand. 

| Next Chapter

#dio brando x reader #dio x reader #jotaro kujo #joseph joestar #vanilla ice (jojo)

[newmusickarl]

5-9’s Album of the Month Podcast – now on YouTube with our latest episode out now!

It’s an exciting new era for the 5-9 Album of the Month podcast, as we have just launched our official YouTube channel! Each month, we will publishing the latest full podcast episode as well as individual album reviews and our monthly highlights outside of the albums discussed. To explore all our video content so far, including our January and February episodes, you can find our new YouTube channel here. And please, be sure to like and subscribe!

For those new here, the 5-9 Album of the Month Podcast is where I take a seat alongside 5-9 Editor Andrew Belt and Check This Out’s Kiley Larsen to review five high profile album releases from the past month in music, and ultimately name one as our Album of the Month at the end of the discussion. On the Spotify version, we also have some insightful background information to each album from Blinded By The Floodlight’s Matthew McMcLister and you can also hear our picks of the best songs from each record!

For our February 2024 episode, the five albums we discuss are:

Girl With No Face by Allie X

Phasor by Helado Negro

TANGK by IDLES

Prelude To Ecstasy by The Last Dinner Party

Loss of Life by MGMT

If you want to listen to this or any previous episodes simply follow the links below, but also be sure to follow 5-9 Blog on Instagram, Twitter and now YouTube for more news and polls relating to the podcast.

Listen to the new episode on Spotify here

Watch the latest episode on YouTube here

Choose which album joins our April 2024 lineup by voting in our poll here

Album & EP Recommendations

Filthy Underneath by Nadine Shah

Whilst everyone was going through their own personal turmoil during the last few years, much revered musician Nadine Shah was going through a particularly tumultuous time. Not long after releasing her 2020 album Kitchen Sink, Nadine would tragically lose her cancer-stricken mother during the height of the COVID-pandemic. Locked in isolation with her grief, Nadine entered a downward spiral that would play out over the next two years, with heavy substance abuse leading to depression, divorce and even an attempt to take her own life in 2022. Thankfully Nadine survived, agreeing to enter rehab where she would get the help and support she desperately needed.

Now out of rehab, substance-free and most importantly finding her happiness again, Nadine has returned with a new album that is just an absolute tour de force from beginning to end. Playing out almost like a cathartic exorcism of all the demons that have plagued her the last few years, Filthy Underneath is the sound of Nadine laying everything bare for the listener. Brutally raw, deeply personal and gracefully honest, the heavy lyrical inspiration for each track is carefully balanced with liberating, synth-drenched and rhythmic instrumentation, with the live-sounding production adding a theatrical touch to proceedings too.

While it’s an album best experienced as a complete work from start to finish, there are a few standout moments here. None more so than Greatest Dancer, a song where Nadine recalls getting high on her mum’s prescription medicine in front of an episode of Strictly Come Dancing, with pulsating synths reverberating and tribal drums pounding away as she recounts her feelings in that moment. Sad Lads Anonymous is another high point, a poetic spoken word confessional that sees Nadine describe her woes to a work experience kid in an awards show bathroom. Both these tracks present the whole album as a microcosm, filled with sounds that draw you in and make you want to dance, whilst the stories at the core are quite dark and harrowing. It all eventually culminates in the album’s hardest moment, French Exit, an ominously tense track on which Nadine openly confronts her suicide attempt. It’s a truly devastating end to an utterly enthralling record.

It’s no secret that often the darkest times can produce the greatest art. Filthy Underneath is a testament to that, with Nadine bravely and openly sharing her story as both a lesson to others but also, no doubt, her own personal catharsis. Shocking and upsetting at points yet always refreshingly honest and completely captivating, this is without a doubt one of the best albums of the year so far.

Watch the video for Greatest Dancer here

Listen to the full album here

Bleachers by Bleachers

As a producer, Jack Antonoff is partly responsible for some of my favourite records in recent years, working his magic on career-best efforts from the likes of St. Vincent, Lorde, Lana Del Rey, The 1975 and, of course, Taylor Swift. It’s strange then that up until now, his own band Bleachers haven’t done much for me. Instead, Antonoff has been more engaging musically to me when he’s working in the studio behind the scenes than performing out in front. However with this new self-titled effort, their first on new label Dirty Hit, Bleachers might be starting to finally win me over.

Let me start with the caveat that admittedly there’s not too much originality to this record. At every turn Bleachers evoke other bands with their nostalgic brand of indie-pop, with their inspirations also offering up more than they do here. Bruce Springsteen is the constant comparison of course, but shades of some of Antonoff’s recent collaborators like The 1975, The National and even Bon Iver also come through strong, which maybe isn’t surprising given both Matty Healy and Aaron Dessner appear on tracks here. The good news for Bleachers though – I love all of those bands/artists. So whilst it may not reinvent the wheel, I actually find myself drawn to the warm, familiar sounds put forward on this record.

The other big selling point of this album though as just mentioned – the collaborators. Antonoff has gone through his phone book and lined up an exceptional list of guest features who lend their talents to this album, which in addition to Matty Healy and Aaron Dessner include Lana Del Rey, Kevin Abstract, Florence Welch, Annie Clark, Clairo, Bartees Strange and more. It makes for an album filled with highlights, including all four singles (Modern Girl, Alma Mater, Tiny Moves, Me Before You) and a stellar back-end run of Call Me After Midnight, We Are Going To Know Each Other Forever and Ordinary Heaven.

So, whilst it may not win any originality prizes, this is an album I’ve had in heavy rotation since its release. With catchy hooks, groovy guitars and a smattering of saxophone, give it a chance and you may find yourself taken with Bleachers’ self-titled too.

Listen here

Beholder by The Blinders

It is sadly becoming all too frequent. Last month I wrote about nothing, nowhere’s financial pressures when writing and releasing new music as an independent artist and it seems Manchester indie outfit The Blinders are in a similar boat. Shortly after the release of this their third album, The Blinders released a statement to say that they were cancelling their EU tour and taking a step back from the band following the conclusion of their UK tour. It is the sad times we live in unfortunately, where independent artists and music venues are struggling more than ever to make a living, whilst the bigger artists and musical organisations just stand by and watch everything else collapse.

Hopefully the tide in the musical landscape will turn soon, but indeed if this is to be the last Blinders record, they couldn’t have asked for a better final outing. With hazy psychedelic guitar passages and passionate vocal cries from frontman Thomas Haywood, there’s rarely a dull moment across the 39-minute runtime. There’s also some of the bands very best moments too, with the likes of While I’m Still Young, Always, Nocturnal Skies and Swallowing Static all standing out.

Listen here

Songs That Aren’t Mine by Matt Maltese

Having delivered one of my favourite 50 albums of last year with Driving Just To Drive, singer-songwriter Matt Maltese has wasted little time in delivering this follow-up project. However rather than all new material, Matt’s decided to take on a different challenge by serving up this intriguing covers album. Taking on much-loved classics from various eras, Matt very much puts his own stamp on the songs chosen here, turning each of them into timeless, melancholic swoons. With his selection including songs from Neil Young, Bob Marley, T-Rex, Prince, Belle & Sebastien, Avril Lavigne, Sixpence None The Richer & more, his unique takes breathe fresh new life into these well-established tunes.

Listen here

Fantasies EP by Bombay Bicycle Club

A band that just don’t seem to miss, indie-heroes Bombay Bicycle Club have followed-up their much-acclaimed sixth album, 2023’s My Big Day, with this fantastic new four-track EP. Very much keeping the collaborative spirit of that record alive, each track features a female guest vocalist to compliment Jack Steadman’s signature vocals, with the wonderful Matlida Mann, Liz Lawrence, Lucy Rose and Rae Morris all appearing on a track each here. My personal favourite is Better Now with Rae Morris but if you’re a Bombay fan like me, then you’re sure to enjoy this short-but-sweet companion piece to My Big Day.

Listen here

Work In Progress EP by Holly Humberstone

Having finally released her debut album Paint My Bedroom Black last year, Lincolnshire singer-songwriter Holly Humberstone is already back with more new music, with this new EP’s arrival coinciding with her current UK tour. Forged out of unfinished tracks left on her notes app, Holly has taken the time to complete her favourite demos that didn’t make the cut for her previous EPs and debut album. Anthemic recent single Dive is still a highlight, but the spacey stripped-back title track, the saxophone-backed Down Swinging and the simply stunning Easy Tiger all hugely impress too.

Listen here

Also worth checking out:, BLUE LIPS by ScHoolboy Q, How To Make A Master Peace by Master Peace, Daniel by Real Estate, The Past Is Still Alive by Hurray For the Riff Raff, Chorus by Mildlife, A Mirror Brightly by Geographer

Tracks of the Week

Broken Man by St. Vincent

The year is heating up in terms of new releases and in the last few weeks, we got news that the ever-amazing Annie Clark would be dropping her seventh solo record next month. Titled All Born Screaming, the first taste of the record is this absolute ripper of a single, filled with electrifying industrial rock and featuring none other than Dave Grohl. We’ll be reviewing the album for our April podcast and I personally can’t wait!

Listen here

Wild God by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

Another big artist with a new album on the way, Australian rock legends Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds will release their 18th (yes 18th!) studio album this August. The first single is the title track and Nick Cave’s claims that the band are “happy” this time around seem legit, as Wild God is as joyous as they’ve sounded in years.

Listen here

Our World by James

Also due to release their 18th studio album this year, Mancunian indie legends James are preparing to drop their new album Yummy next month. Whilst I wasn’t completely taken with the first single, Our World is James at their best. Boasting an infectious pop groove but with a powerful political message at its heart, it’s succeeded in getting me excited for their next opus.

Watch the lyric video here

The Dream of Delphi by Bat For Lashes

Due to release her sixth studio album in May, which is also her first in five years, Natasha Khan AKA Bat For Lashes is back. Revealing her new record’s title track, it is a typically mystical composition anchored around her ever-stunning vocals. Welcome back!

Listen here

A Dream Is All I Know by The Lemon Twigs

Having been named our Album of the Month in May last year, the D’Addario brothers are planning a repeat in 2024, with their fifth studio album A Dream Is All I Know due for release this May. The singles for the record so far have been great but this title track is the best yet, filled with their trademark harmonies and vintage rock riffs.

Listen here

Passing Judgment by Been Stellar

Having caught them live this month supporting The 1975 on their current EU tour, its safe to say the buzz around Been Stellar is justified. Drawing shades to other NYC indie outfits The Strokes and Interpol, their upcoming debut is aptly titled Scream from New York, NY and if lead single Passing Judgment is anything to go by, it could end up being one of the debuts of the year.

Listen here

Mirror Muscles by SOFT PLAY

It’s great to have SOFT PLAY, the duo formerly known as SLAVES, back making music. Having released Punk’s Dead last year which ended up being one of my songs of 2023, you get the sense a new album is on the way and, based off these two singles, it may just be their best yet. New single Mirror Muscles is the one that adds further weight to that claim, boasting some monster riffs and lyrics that take digs at vanity gym goers, it’s sure to go down a storm this coming festival season.

Listen here

Monkey In The Middle by Marseille

And finally this week we have an up-and-coming indie outfit from Derby - Marseille. Influenced by the 90s Madchester scene, their singles up to this point have drawn comparisons to The Stone Roses and Monkey In The Middle is no different, thanks to its sprawling, psychedelic guitar passages. With some particularly scintillating riffs in the back end that would leave even John Squire himself impressed, Marseille are most certainly a band to watch going forward.

Listen here  

Also worth checking out: Gears by Divorce, Change Shapes by Lauren Mayberry, Pull The Rope by Ibibio Sound Machine, What A Devastating Turn of Events by Rachel Chinouriri, Makes Me Violent by Bob Vylan, New World Flow by Joe Goddard & Fiorious, You Make Me Feel So Dumb by Walt Disco

REMINDER: If you use Apple Music, you can also keep up-to-date with all my favourite 2024 tracks through my Best of 2024 playlist. Constantly updated throughout the year with songs I enjoy, it is then finalised into a Top 100 Songs of the Year in December.

Add the Best of 2024 playlist to your library here

#new music #best new music #album recommendation #song recommendation #tracks of the week #album of the month #podcast #music podcast #album review #nadine shah #allie x #mgmt #the last dinner party #helado negro #idles #bleachers #holly humberstone #bombay bicycle club #jack antonoff #james #st. vincent #dave grohl #soft play #the lemon twigs #bat for lashes #nick cave #nick cave and the bad seeds #marseille #been stellar #the blinders

[fran-in-the-deep]

Another Aftermath

Canon Divergence - About the life Hange could be having after the end

950 words, canon typical themes of violence, death, grief, guilt

“I dreamt that I was turned into a Titan. A funny feeling, this tingling from your nape down your spine, and then you get wrapped in hot wet towels.” And then wake up.

The sensation of having a real, physical body slowly returned to Hange. A body that was lying in a bed, no blanket, barely anything on it, yet with skin that was burning up. With an eye that was able to to take in the wooden ceiling, the patterns formed by the veins of the wood drenched in blue moonlight. Looking to one side, there was this open window, looking to the other, there was Onyankopon, unblinking, mouth slightly agape.

“Jean said it was more like putting on a ton of winter coats while you have growing pains in your whole body.” He said after a few seconds of pause. There were people walking by outside, faint voices in a language Hange didn’t recognize. Their eye flicked back towards her friend.

“What does Jean have to do with that?” Maybe their throat had always hurt this much while talking.

Onyankopon looked at them with this expression of pure confusion, then shook his head frantically, as if he needed to get rid of a thought, come to his senses. “Later.” His demeanour shifted, brows furrowed, leaning forward.

“Hange, do you remember what happened?”

“Yeah. Well, until the point I burned to death. But you should have seen them, all those Colossals. The view was amazing.” Hange had expected this to be the last thing they would see before death. Red and roaring, loud and burning. Not this, some ceiling in a world they weren’t supposed to exist in any more. Had they ever reached the flying boat when attempting to hang on with their ODM gear?

“You’re not dead.”

“Just in denial. Let me have this for a second.” Every word burned in their throat, every breath they took, as if they were going up in flames all over again, the cold night breeze not able to extinguish any of it. Onyankopon as about to say something as Hange spoke up again.

“The second is over. Did we stop the Rumbling in time? What about the others?” Hange would have asked more, so much more. About Levi, Armin, Mikasa, the children, everyone. What had happened, how they survived, what was the outcome of all of it. But they could barely breathe at this point. Onyankopon noticed as well and carefully propped them up with a bunch of pillows, bringing a bottle of water to their mouth. Hange didn’t move a limb, having to concentrate on drinking without wincing in pain, eye fixed on the upper part of the blank wall. Who knew if they even had any limbs left at all. The brain didn’t get used to things like this, at least Erwin had told them that after he lost his arm. That was in another time, another world.

In this present one, Onyankopon told them the number that would be etched into the back of their head for the rest of their life. 80%. Extinguished. The 20% who survived. The 20% they had helped saving. Although did they really? Really saved anyone at all, after not being able to look out for Eren, to see all that coming, to prevent anything? They were a shitshow of a Commander for the Scouts, seeing their demise, the rise of the Jaegerists. At least they were able to follow their conscience to the very end. They did the right thing, not the good thing.

Hange just listened to what Onyankopon told her. Everyone who boarded the flying boat had survived, having taken up refuge in Fort Salta for now with the other survivors. Eren dead, Mikasa gone. It had only been a week. As it seemed the world had gone on without them. A relief in a way. No longer commander, no longer needed. Finally free. So what was left here for them?

Only then Hange dared to look downwards, to this body they were so hyperaware of. All limbs intact. Hange moved their hands a little while still listening. The skin stiff, but they could move, even though it hurt. One week wasn’t enough to heal burns to this extend. When Onyankopon had concluded what he deemed necessary to tell Hange, they looked up at him again.

“Why are those burns nearly healed already?” Hange moved their arm, resting it on a pillow to examine it closer. Old habits died hard.

Another frown, etched even deeper into her friends features. “Usually you were the person we’d ask about this. But Armin speculated that because you were turned into a Titan by Ymir’s creature together with the other Eldians-“

“You’re really telling me I could have experienced being a Titan first hand, seen the creature that is origin of all Titans and I missed all that? Me of all people?” Hange laughed at the audacity of the universe, they couldn’t help themselves. An incredibly painful laugh, physically, mentally, as all their walls shattered, the tears that weren’t evaporated fell. Every movement hurt, every thought, every inch of skin burning.

“What the fuck are you laughing about? I’m trying to sleep-“ A familiar voice like bucket of cold water, not extinguishing the flames but rather feeding it as Hange snapped out of their hysteria, all too aware of the body again. Not moving any more as their eye met Levis, leaning against the door frame, heavily leaning onto the makeshift crutches, all bandaged up. But alive. Or as barely alive as Hange was. The two nasty people of the old generation who just didn’t know when to die. Keeping the fire on. Burning. Burning.

-----------------------

A/N: The post-canon character study of Hange I always wanted to write. Watched the finale with the friends I made through this fandom yesterday, so of course I'm having Emotions(TM) so I'll use that energy to write about my favourite character more. Hope it turned out well.

#hange zoe #hanji zoe #attack on titan #attack on titan spoilers #levi ackerman #aot onyankopon #fran-fiction writing

[vaqro-a]

trigger warning for : attempted murder, death, supernatural elements, unreality, blood, grief. if you come across any other subject you would like to be tagged, dm me. you can read below the cut, or access the gdocs over here. this work is purely fictional and has no intention to mirror any real life events.

you open your eyes, and you are immediately blinded. you wince and turn away from the source of all that light, blinking the black spots away. once your vision is clear for good, you are able to take in your surroundings.

it is the desert.

the same desert you avoid thinking about in too much detail, the same one you remember from your childhood. bathed in sunlight, drowned in moonlight, or drenched in blood. somehow, in your nightmares, you always return to this same desert. that is not the unusual part; what draws your attention is the high noon sun. usually, when coming back to this crossroad, it is the moon that greets you, along with the stench of blood. however, as you sit up and reach for your hat, your hands are dry.

this ocean of arid ground and thistles, undulating in mirage-like waves of heat and covered by a cloudless blue sky is empty of all noise. even the wind doesn’t greet you by tousling your hair or your serape. no noises from animals. nothing in the infinite land beyond the horizon is visible until you turn west.

that's where you see him.

the figure in black, with his back to you. at first, it seems credible to think it’s him. el deadeye. at this point in your life, you have met him a total of twice, and in both of them, you were on the brink between life and —

pain erupts from your abdomen, easily breaking through skin and muscle, just where reinforced armor meets a simple dark gray shirt.your lungs immediately seize in shock, and your throat convulses.red spills from the new hole in your gut the same way it escapes through the corner of your mouth. you barely have a moment to stumble back, hands coming to cover the wound, your pistol meeting the ground. when you lift your eyes —

but just as he approaches, ready to call the name he gave you some twenty-five years ago, the mirage wanes — the figure changes. gone are the hat and the riding boots. in its place, gloves and leather, wide shoulders and long legs, and a rather distinct black wool beanie. you know this person better than the palm of your hand and almost as well as you know your own gun.

gabriel reyes.

you halt your steps, eyes wide. your mouth opens, but you hesitate to say his name; it's been six years since you did.

it feels wrong to name your dead

the man shuffles before turning, robbing you of the chance to say anything at all. "so you’ve made it." the same voice, the same californian accent that you spent nights trying to imitate [ isn't imitation a form of flattery? ], the same hands hidden in his pockets, the same perpetual frown that ate away at your anxieties when you first [ or second ] sold your soul to the devil. it freezes you, the way the mere presence of him reverberates through your body and drains you of any reaction.

you look like you’ve seen a ghost, ingrate.

at long last, your brain conjures something to say—not the smartest or even the most sane, but your lips are dry and you never had much of a filter anyways, so everything you have is: "is this heaven?" and at least it comes out even, no mutters or startles, unlike your heart, which gallops inside your chest.

that’s met with a snort and a smile, which became more and more rare as the days went by in those last few years before the end. the sight of it jars you; "if it were, we'd be eating my abuela's posole on her front porch." and you laugh, nervously at first, but not caring enough to mention that you wouldn’t be eating any posole made with chicken. not even grandma reyes’.

instead, you fiddle with your stetson, still in your hands. "what are you doing out here?"

gabriel shrugs with his whole body, eyes diverging to look around, "same as you, i'd figure.” before he curls his mouth in disdain. “what exactly are you doing here, pendejo?"

multimillion-dollar question. what are you doing here in the desert? the job is done; echo is with sombra by now, and the two are working out a way to send an incredibly expensive, omnic-like robot that was stolen from the military out to europe. what matters is that mina’s dream is still alive. you could have [ should have ] gone with them, but you took another path for your life; claiming to have unfinished business you needed to attend to, but in reality, you just wanted to watch the sunset [ or more ].

ana amari was supposed to be dead, killed by widowmaker — whom you have been privately hunting on his own behalf all these years. it was supposed to be a final act of kindness [ of vengeance ] for the woman who had been like a second mother to you. but it was just another lie to add to the ever-growing tally of lies overwatch told you.

she was alive; the two of you had just spent a night together. drinking, talking — as if time hasn’t passed, as if her death meant nothing, as if you were still some young man too easily impressed by the force of nature that she was [ and continues to be ]. ana attempted to have you consider, accept the call and go help the world. it is a nice road, the one she urges you to take, but is it the right one? you came to egypt with questions and it seems you are going to leave with no answers.

"searching, i’d say," you whisper, rotating the hat in your grasp, "but i ain’t got no idea what i’m looking for anymore." you sigh as you pull your heart back over your head, “i don't even know who i am." outlaw, vigilante, gunslinger, journalist, entrepreneur, soldier, agent, or ghost? which one of them can best define you?

"how many times do i have to tell you this, cassidy?" gabe shakes his head, crossing the open path to you in quick and determined strides, saying, "it doesn’t matter the names people call you behind your back. it is the deed that makes the man." those dark brown eyes stare deep into yours for a moment before he continues on his way, headed east. you cannot look away.

it is always the same thing: he looks you in the eyes, and you are the one scared at what you find there, not the other way around. this is the same hard stare that had you agreeing to spend a lifetime of servitude instead of a lifetime in jail. but it doesn’t work this time.

"yeah, but my deeds just made things worse!" you call it — all bravado. grasping at straws, begging at the shell of a man you once held in the highest regard to give you a reason to stay, but there is nothing. [ the realization comes later, when there is only rubble and smoke ], and you are almost physically chasing the man just to have him look at you again. "i’m a fraud; i’m phony! ana believes in me," you used to believe in me too, "but these people, they need a hero."

gabriel turns just once, his snarl near animalesque in its voracity: "then be the goddamn hero! isn’t that what you always wanted?" the hero of the tale, the cowboy riding off into the sunset. but you shake your head, taking two steps forward before you stop. [ you cannot keep chasing ghosts, or you are going to become one yourself, charmer. ]

your vision blurs, but this time it is not the sun but tears. "you don't understand, i ain't even supposed to be here!" you rebut, arms wide as you try to force him to see the desert for what it is.

he meets your emotional whirlwind with the rock-steady calm he always did: "that’s right. you came all this way to find something that isn’t out here.” gabriel gives you a pointed glare, "don't you see? this isn't about you, it’s about them."

about overwatch. about their makeshift family, their friends, and their allies. about the truth of what happened. but most importantly: this is about the people who need help and you being one of the people who can help. no reward, no recognition, no trophies. the world needs all the help it can get right now, and his guilt can’t be in the way of it.

but it's not going to be easy. especially here, in this place of reckoning. you shudder, suddenly remembering that this is a dream.

this is the desert.

you are on the floor. you can feel the blood of your life gushing through your fingers, drowning the ground beneath you.like this, you cannot breathe. you realize you're going to die.on your back. in the desert. maybe you are already dead, and this has been nothing but a dream within a dream. you died when you were eleven years old. there is no man in black to put you on a path you cannot walk away from. but then you raise your eyes just enough to see a man in black with his back to you, spewing angry words into a microphone in his ear. he is carrying a shotgun. RPNT. repent. you manage to look him in the eyes and — ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤa white owl looks down on you from ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤits branch; its beak is bone-white, and ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤits eyes are almost sanguine; you have ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnever seen an owl like this. the owl does ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnot hoot or nor does it chirp, as if noticing ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤyour perplexity. the owl laughs, and ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤa shrill sound of metal grinding against ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmetal and melting on hell's fires—and one word croaks through the blood in your throat. feeble, weak, disbelieving, "gabe?"

"but i can’t go back," you whisper, hiding your defeated gaze under your hat. gabriel continues on his way, farther and farther away from you. going back means admitting you failed the people you loved. going back means facing his death. it's half the reason you're chasing the spider, or why you want echo to be an active member: your own repentance.

the last thing you hear before you lose consciousness is that strident laughter again, and the shotgun aims at your forehead. RPNT. [ you cannot repent if you are dead. ]

"i don’t know if you’ve got a choice, mijo." that was a special one. a private thing, reserved for moments of doubt or the weary hours after a mission. a name that meant too much for either of them to accept freely and fully. but it was never denied.

your hand moves to your pistol, which quickly lights up. just one bullet. you shoot. the mask breaks.

gabriel looks over his shoulder one last time. how have you never noticed the tired lines and the deep shadows under his eyes? how entertained have you been by your own hollow tale of greatness?

death looks at you with his face bare before he dissolves in a cloud of black. your arm drops to your side, gun in hand. a real cowboy dies with his gun in hand or not at all. but you are not going to die. you have a lot to repent for.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ"no man can walk out on his own story."

#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ euphuism. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤi am shouting at the empty and always running . #* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ continuum. ❫ ››› ㅤ time doesn’t erase the demons we don’t see .

[stormxpadme]

Second part of this ask

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss 38 - ... because they’re running out of time. | Jean/Logan

Logan, you're about to have company. Seven hostiles. Keep the bastards busy for a few minutes.

The tense com warning, drenched in an unusual amount of restlessness from Logan's notoriously fearless leader, was followed by more orders not meant for him that should have been supposed to soothe Jean and him though, Logan supposed. Those, however, became just as useless as a jet far too many miles above and apart from them was, when the overlapping, nervous chattering on the radio revealed Ororo being compromised the moment she left the Blackbird. Which left Logan right again without even the prospect of support, in a ridiculously defenseless car together with a physically damaged wife and a newborn, with no real idea who was on their heels and how dangerous said enemies were.

Only about the why, there was no real question. The wrath about these reasons was glowing ominously in Jean's dark pupils, every time their eyes met in the back mirror for a restless look around, to try and make out from which direction they were being approached.

Noemi, feeling her mother's growing unease instinctively in whatever weak mental link already existed between them, let out that fine weak wailing not unlike a baby kitten and struggled inside her wrap carrier close to Jean's chest, refusing to be calmed down by quietly murmured words and a few hummed tone of Jean's warm, deep voice this time.

"Switch out her lights, Red." Only at his own sober order, Logan realized his instincts had long started to evaluate, judge and decide while his agitated mind had still been busy, trying to fight the ugly animal called panic trying to claw its way up his throat. It was one of these days when he had to let that uncompromising, natural side of him take over. That guy wasn't exactly nice but he usually knew what he was doing. And right now, there was no time to debate, to weigh options. They only had two of those anyway, and the more promising one was also the one that would hurt like a bitch. "I need you two out of here, and silently."

Jean didn't even try to protest, much as Logan knew all without trying to get inside her head via their link, how much she hated just the thought of leaving him alone with an unpredictable threat. But in case of doubt, he was far better suited to survive such danger than a woman fresh out of labor and a completely defenseless being on said woman's arm. "Try not to go all feral on those assholes, James. I need your mind clear enough to see through your eyes."

"No promises," he growled through gritted teeth, stopping the car once he'd finally found a spot between a couple of thick oak trunks, suited to shield the jeep from prying eyes at least for a moment. "Go." Their gazes met in the reflection once more, this time, he wasn't searching - with a lingering restlessness that had never entirely gone away - for a trace of red and light in those wide-open pupils. He was too busy fighting to breathe through a suddenly tightness in his throat, at an expression of bone-deep fear and so much despaired grief on his wife's face as if they'd been facing a whole army instead of a few mutant-hating psychos.

Last Jean had looked at him like that had been at the Scapels moon, begging him to kill her.

There was no time to lose, not a second but he couldn't stand seeing her like this, not with how far they'd come since then, with how strong she had become. Leaning over to her, he took her ashen face between his hands and kissed her, desperately, with all that he felt for her, all the ferocity he needed to protect her with. Her and the life they'd somehow, for some reason, created together, in spite of all odds. The new life that needed them, both, strong and uncompromised, and that should be enough of a goal for them to not let anyone - or anything - ruin what they'd only just built. "I'll keep them off your back. You keep her off your back."

Jean gifted him a shaky smile and hurried to open the passenger door, keeping Noemi's tiny, helpless body close to hers, fingertips curling into the faint fuzz of red curls. Only an afterthought, the gentlest of mental intrusions had been necessary to have their daughter fall asleep. If only all their issues would have been so easy to solve.

Logan arduously convinced himself that he didn't hear Jean whisper something eerily similar to his no-promises-remark in his mind before she started to hurry towards the lake in the distance, and prepared for battle.

#sometimes stormy gets asked things #effervescentdragon #x men #everything after x2 didn't happen sue me #x men original timeline movies #fanfiction #stormys fanfics #jeanlogan #jean x logan