#more stuff I’ve posted elsewhere | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ay0nha · 10 months

Text

An Ode to Ruination | T.S.

SUMMARY: Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callus to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath.

PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.5K

WARNINGS: ANGST, swearing, smoking, drinking, semi-preoccupations with thoughts of death/suicide, mutual pining, meanish tommy because his feelings are hurt, canon-typical things, protective!tommy, rushed ending, etc.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I’m back on my bullshit. This is inspired by @zodiyack‘s request/post (here). HAD to get it out of my system, I mean look how pretty he is. This is a mix of Old writing I had to dust off the cob webs for mixed with new stuff, so be kind. Enjoy.

“You’re leaving.”

Tommy’s tone was sterile. It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset.

The cracks behind his exterior were so deeply concealed you hadn’t thought anything could slip between. Yet, standing before him, your decision was the ice-pick that’s pressure had shattered him.

“Ada told you?” You hummed with formality; his presence clearly a response to the question. “London will treat me well.”

Tommy tracked your movements. You envied how he filled the space better than you. Perhaps it was the vulnerability in his presence. Regardless, you felt like a guest in your own home. You felt caught, exposed.

The air was thick, causing Tommy’s deep breaths hard to hide behind a crackling record that you had on a continual loop, never able to stand too much silence. Your bags were organized beside the door for the morning, causing your heart to echo against the empty walls.

There was an odd sense of pride you felt with his presence. It confirmed the distant admiration that Tommy held for years. That the shared affection wasn’t something fabricated but complex. You respected his drive, but your desires fell elsewhere. He carved space for you despite your protests, but you could never be the one to fill it—you could never be his.

“A better life, eh?” Tommy mocked you, cigarette rolling over his lips with habit. “Fucks sake.” The confidence in his demeanor faltered. But he regained it quickly with a bitter laugh, “...I’ve given you everything, and here you are asking for more.”

With an instinct to comfort him, you wanted to reach for him. It spoke of your ability to read him and how exhausting it had become to interpret. He would miss you.

“Tommy—” You began. The calmness in your voice was deceiving. You could see it in his face, how expectant he was for you to tell him you’d stay. “—I’m not safe with you.” You paused, letting your admission sink in just as harshly as his words had, “I’m going to London.”

—

The bliss was idyllic.

Your wrist balanced on the windowsill as you lazily tapped the ash of your cigarette. The cool air caressed your arm and gave you goosebumps that reminded you that you were still alive. Human. Your senses were perked. The city outside kept you attentive as your head rested back. The day was long, but hearing the taxis carrying bubbling people made it worth it. You imagined how some were on their way to find warmth in their home while others were dressed for an endless night of laughter.

The living room was empty and quiet. You could no longer hear Ada’s shuffling feet above you, ushering both her and Karl to sleep. It was odd that you found such freedom with them. Protection of sorts that you could rely on as a necessary stepping stone. It caused a headache to form at the back of your head, reminding you of your lack of sleep.

Privilege came with the name associated that made your stomach churn. It was simple to push Tommy into a subconscious level. The task became daunting; an ache emerged from so deep within that it took months to realize from the start he was responsible. It was as though you could feel how his eyes were still on you.

It became a habit to remind yourself of your newfound safety. The distance created life: happiness and tranquility. You traded bloody nights for bedtime stories, sewing razor-filled caps for gin-filled gatherings, and Tommy’s scarcity of communication for peaceful nights like tonight.

A disruption was overdue. You answered the phone after the third ring.

“Ada?” The voice was unmistakable, even if it was whiskey drenched. It took him a beat to realize you were on the other end. “... ’m callin’ for Ada.”

Chewing on your lip, you debated silence and pretended like the call had never begun. But that incessant ache begged to be relieved.

“I can wake her.” Your voice was soft, promising something you were unwilling to do. It was nicety that filled the quietness you were met with.

“I—uh—” Tommy sighed deeply. The words were lost, jumbled behind an always racing mind. You could picture him well; his crisp shirt no longer having life as it was rolled up by anxiety, his tie no longer present, but still suffocating him, and everything around him reflecting how he moved with an intemperate haze. “—I’m drowning—”

“Tommy…” You refused to burst, but his name on your tongue tattered between warning and heartbreak. When he drank, he opened up to you, a foolish cycle. “Let me get Ada…”

The dark chuckle on the other end forced you to press yourself closer to the phone. “Sometimes, I wish I were dead so you'd think of me.”

A frown perked your lips. You were made out to be more heartless than the most heartless man you knew. It was a naive guilt trip that you almost slipped on. “Be fair to me, Tommy.”

There was a crackle on the other end, a cigarette lit purely by regret. The drag was long, trying to pull something thoughtful from a blurred mind. The reports he received from those he paid off weren’t enough. You were thriving with his absence, seen with a mix of people who, even acquaintances, valued you better. It elicited resentful envy. However, out of arms reach, you worried Tommy endlessly. The London associates sought blood, no matter who provided it. The paranoia was ruining him, and no answer could reassure him.

“You a communist yet?” Tommy cleared his throat with a vulnerability that was only reserved for this night. Maybe, you thought, it was an effort on his part.

“Almost…” The teasing comforted a dodged homesickness. “Think my card got lost in the post.”

“Shame.” He tutted with a gentle wit. There was a tender sadness he carried with him. It was almost as volatile as his anger. It was easy to blame it on the war, but it had latched onto him long before, never planning to let go.

You imagined how his exhaustion mapped along his body. His body probably mirrored your own; head back, limbs weakly sprawled, heavy-lidded eyes imagining the other beside each other, and a mutual worry that bounced between you.

“I am happy, Tommy…” Your promise was delayed, hardly believable. “Ada and I do miss everyone.”

I miss you.

Tommy hummed, “...have a funny way of showin’ that.”

“You haven’t seen our smoke signals?”

The laugh you were met with was small, light, and barely there, but it rushed through your limbs and heated your chest. You had a moment to catch your breath and slow your heart rate. Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callous to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath.

—

You knew Tommy would be there. For Ada—you reminded yourself. Yet, seeing him so closely caused your heart to lurch, your blood leaving your extremities with such fascination that you became light-headed.

“Drink.” Ada all but scolded you, crystal pushed into your hand. The instruction was welcomed, but it wasn’t enough to settle you. “Otherwise, you’ll clam up if Tommy bothers to find us.”

Tommy worked the crowd well. It was a feigned charm that he played into only for advantage. Although he claimed to be here for family, business always loomed. Ada hadn’t cared either way, the glitz far too intriguing to question his sudden presence in the city.

“Give him time…” Ada spoke openly to the air, her night’s indulgence tracing her words. “...always time with that one—wastes it, and yet, expects you to be there when he hollers. Does your head in, it does…”

The champagne bubbled down your throat. The night was meant to be celebratory, but you’d be lying if you said you knew why. It was a part of your distinction from the Shelby family that you questioned if ignorance truly brought you bliss.

“Surprised he came himself. Thomas Shelby in the flesh,” Ada continued with ease, mocking her brother. “Surprised he even lifted a pinky. Typically one of his goons—” She looked to you, her revelation cutting her off. “You do understand what you do to him, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to.” Your words were sharp. Your eyes filtered the crowd for the gloved waiter to replace your glass. “There’s nothing that I—I’ve put all that behind me.”

“That?” She pressed with practiced bits of patience. Ada’s smile grew comically. The shy glancing took years to turn into full sentences and Ada knew firsthand how to read her brother, and the way he lingered spoke volumes. He was past smitten.

It was all or nothing; you were it.

You were grateful how her attention shifted to her own relationship. You never tired of hearing how Freddie treated her and loved her since they were children. There was somberness in her eyes, but devotion carried in her words. You saw how she carried him with her; certain mannerisms mirrored not only in her but Karl. Love withstood.

There was a point in your life you believed you’d find something similar. You hadn’t faulted your growing mind; it was natural to romanticism your future at such a young age. Those around you promised there was something fruitful to look forward to. However, life proved difficult; men remained boys, and the only person that you regarded stalked toward you as if you were nothing more than a stranger.

“Ada.” Tommy approached his sister as if she were alone. He’d visited her in the city multiple times but never once shared the air with you. “Enjoying yourself tonight, eh?”

“Mothers can still have fun.” She teased him with a peck on the cheek. Even in her state, she ridiculed her brother’s behavior. With a shoulder pushed against his, Ada encouraged Tommy to acknowledge you. “Have you no manners?”

To others, his expression may have appeared vacant. However, Tommy wrestled with himself, unsure how to maneuver in uncharted territory. Stalling, his eyes danced the crowd as he languidly out his matches and carton. It denoted how natural his icy illusion became, and now he seemed able to practice it on you. Once he landed on you, you realized why he struggled to meet your eyes. It was his only form of self-defense.

“London suits you.” Tommy nodded, his greeting muffled through the newly lit cigarette. The small rush it gave him was enough to stay vigilant.

“It has its moments.” Your chest perked from the attention and chill, but Tommy’s eyes never faltered from your own. You were daring him to take your body in. It was the sole reason you chose a dress that cut low both front and back.

Tommy was never a blind man.

Nor was his sister. Ada excused herself, claiming whatever ‘this’ was, she wanted no part. You are no fun, she said. However, you weren’t sure who it was directed to. You held back from following her, but your shoulders remained open; you wouldn’t fold into yourself.

“I didn’t know communists could have fun…” Tommy mumbled to himself, eyes going to the crowd once more. Ada’s self-imposed isolation rippled through the family, only fracturing the stress of everyone’s well-being.

A scoff bubbled in your throat, “And what do you know about pleasure?”

“Pleasure?” Tommy became focused and pointed with his words. “Pleasure doesn’t exist.”

Eyebrows cinching with frustration, you stepped closer to be heard, “Don’t pretend like your pleasures don’t have names.”

That drunken call all those nights ago was a mistake. It showed you insight into a dream. In that dream, Tommy was free of what haunted him, light and present. Faithful. There his voice wrapped you in warmth with fulfilled promises. You never were as skilled at hiding your emotions. Your heart was broken on your sleeve.

“I’m going to—

There wasn’t a need for a protective air as those around Tommy knew never to challenge him. However, far and few between, there were those men self-entitled with such idiocy; they couldn’t recognize they were prey.

“Thomas Shelby. Birmingham man in London.” A hand clapped down on his shoulder, breaking the forming bubble around you. “Thought that was you! This must be the missus…”

“Not quite.” Your tone was bare, your hand extending with trained expertise. You could handle pleasantries. But the man was bold, leaving a damp kiss on your knuckles as if marking you.

Tommy was subtle, moving his body to act as a buffer. Fingertips brushy feather-bare against your lower back. You thought it would end there but held back a flinch when Tommy’s warm palm flattened where your back curved.

“Ah, understood!” The man replied with a boisterous cackle. It reflected years of unfiltered nicotine and a wet and sick penchant for bourbon. “I’ll have one of you warm my bed once all of this shit is over.”

You pinned your breath to the roof of your mouth. Your loss for words wasn’t due to the ill-mannered man. It was from the brush of Tommy’s thumb against your skin. It was a comfort and an apology for how he would have to agree with the man to keep him at bay.

It was all a part of the plan you were slowly catching onto.

“A good lay is a good lay, isn’t it, Mr. Shelby?” The man prompted again, a gauge to know if the future alliance would be worth it.

“Exactly right.”

You could storm off, cause a scene. Your anger steeped deeper than that. It lived in your bones, morphing into something vindictive. You stayed the course and played your part willingly. The morals you lectured Tommy on didn’t matter anymore when all along he had the upper hand.

To the man, you were a plaything, someone who the conversation held no standing. The information would be forgotten, implied confidentiality, as you’d move on to your next client. However, the further you orchestrated the conversation to continue, the more you learned.

The night was a business move, another party dosed in secrets and danger. You took in the man’s features, noting how he was aging, greys just starting to filter through his scalp. Your stomach turned, knowing there would be a bullet between his eyes by the end of the evening. The interaction was a courtesy.

Once alone again, you didn’t hesitate to move from Tommy’s shield. You felt dirtied.

“I can’t believe you.” You spat. “You’re incapable of—

“Enough.” Tommy’s words were low. He pinned you with a look alone, keeping you steady. “You want to run from me, but you can’t.” You battled with him until you lost. His face hardened like you were another associate. “It was him or you.”

#q #tommy shelby #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x f!reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x f!reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader

853 notes · View notes

chknbzkt · 8 months

Note

Could we see more werebeast Sun please? I'm in love with the boi and I just wanted to hug them

Ask and ye shall receive 🫡

Had these colored just last night but was too tired to post them 😭

Been hard at work with Halloween AU stuff and Things, I’ve got a bunch of goodies for the Glams I’m excited to show off!

Sry for the boobies, but they’re censored so no worries 😭 if anybody draws him they aren’t a hard requirement, if anything they’re supposed to be conveniently covered by a shredded shirt I’m just a stickler for anatomical exploration rahhhhh!! Plus it’s Sun you know I gotta make him genderfunky \o/

No deep lore, but currently he works as a DIY craftsman making odd trinkets and baubles he sells on his Etsy store, living with his boyfriends in a sleepy town in the boonies in the Appalachia mountains in Ohio. He claims he has to leave town for five days a month to conduct business elsewhere but we all know what business that really entails ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

329 notes · View notes

copperbadge · 7 months

Note

Hello, Mr. Badge, I seem to remember that you once posted about your processes and systems for staying organized in life with Excel spreadsheets etc. I’ve been struggling a lot with depression and executive dysfunction issues and don’t want it to impact my work.

Do you use the same processes at work? I get overwhelmed with the amount of documentation we have and the exceptions to the rules in our processes.

I'm so sorry you're struggling! It's really rough, and the more complicated the task feels, the more fraught it seems, the harder it is to even get a start. I feel that hard.

As for organizing work like my home life....well, it's sort of the same. I don't make a strong distinction between life and work simply because a lot of what needs organizing in my life IS my work, so it's tough to talk about them separately.

For example, I use Google Tasks to build a to-do list each day, but that to-do list starts with "stuff I'll do before work" then "shower" then all my work stuff, then "evening" and then all the stuff to do after work, ending with "7pm chores" (because I have a lot of stuff to do right around 7pm, which I need to post about elsewhere). Then the stuff I've pushed off to next day is below that, and that just bumps up the next morning. What's important isn't really how I keep the list, but that I keep it in a way that is constantly accessible, and I've trained myself to 1. put everything on it, even stuff like "grocery shop" and 2. check it whenever I feel lost. I don't find google calendars very helpful, however, so while work makes me use one for meetings, everything else goes on a calendar I made in Google Sheets that I'm just super used to by now.

It sounds like you're having a fairly specific issue, which may not even be related to your mental health (though assuredly the mental health issues aren't helping). If you have a lot of confusing documentation and exceptions in the stuff you do at work, that can be legit stressful even for someone who isn't dealing with other stuff, so I just want you to know that this may not only be a You Problem. My problem is usually the opposite, in that I'm often the first person doing something, or the only person who's done it in a while, so there's no documentation at all. But when I do have documentation I often will simply rewrite it.

After all, just because you have a handbook doesn't mean you have to use it. You can copy it over into another document and make yourself a step-by-step guide and/or a checklist. Like, I do our holiday cards every year, and my "HOLIDAY CARDS" document says "Here's the first thing you do, here's the second, do this before going past that, check this before asking for that". Literally at one point the document says "Stop. Before you go any further, do this step. Even if you don't understand why, do this step" because in the past I've disregarded that instruction ("Why on earth would I do it this way?") and lived to regret it.

Making the guide really, really sucks. Often it will take me four or five passes at a project before my guide is comprehensive (this is my fifth year doing the holiday card project and the document still has some steps missing at the end). But once you have it, it's invaluable, and often in the past I've found other people want my guides because they're fairly clear and precise about what needs doing when. For example, you might say, "Open the file and move column B to in front of column A. NOTE: THERE IS ONE EXCEPTION, THIS IS THE EXCEPTION." Or "Once you've saved the file, save a second copy to your backup folder so you can go back to it if you delete something you shouldn't. Stop and check: is this file from before or after October? If after, remember, you have to also rename it." If you find that there's a mistake you make frequently, figure out what would stop you from making it and add that in.

(We had a guy at work whose last name was VERY long and Italian, and so when I was working phones he got a special entry in the directory document I made -- the first line was all his directory info and the second line was just the phonetic pronunciation of his last name. He found out, which I had never intended him to do, and lost his shit laughing. "No wonder you're the only one who gets it right!")

So my recommendation to you is to create your own handbook, your own templates, and your own way of doing things and just slip that back into the system you have at work. Draw a diagram by hand if you need a flow chart. My approach to all my organizational issues has always been "What would make me do this correctly / prevent me from doing that thing wrong / remind me what to do / make it easier for me to start".

I think of this nowadays as the "Take the cupboard doors off" school of organizing, because to really make full use of my kitchen in a way that I liked, I had to take some of the cupboard doors off. It looks messier and kind of cheap, but it's actually a much more organized system now, and who's in my kitchen other than me?

#sam has adhd #adhd #organizing

208 notes · View notes

minty-mumbles · 9 months

Text

Linked Universe Survey 2023

The long awaited results of the survey. Sorry it took me forever, making graphs is hard.

There were 452 responses to the survey as a whole, which is almost double what we got last year, so thank you to everyone who participated!

If you want to see the raw data, you can find that here. I had thoughts about the data, but compiling that into another post would be too much of a hassle. Feel free to send me asks about it though!

The rest of the post will be under a read more as it it large

Demographics

Other: Demigirl (4), Transmasc (3), Grey genderfluid, Unlabeled, Demiboy, Demiagender

Other: Omnisexual (4), Poly (2), Trixic, Abroromantic or Bellusromantic, Demisexual

General Questions

Other: Quotev, Discord, their own google docs

Other: Discord, Variations of "I haven't posted yet, but I pan to" and "I haven't posted my fics in ages",

Other: Wattpad, Deviantart, Discord

Other: Crochet dolls, Custom dolls, Roleplay blogs (2), Fan translations, Headcanons (2), Piano music

The purple section in the “Warriors vs Warrior” chart is supposed to read “Warrior.” I made a typo.

Favorites and Least Favorites

Selected Free Response Answers

im sorry warriors i just can't play your game (it is very very hard. i am stuck very early on in the game)

I love cats meow meow meow

was extremely tempted to put twilight for least favorite. unfortunately he is my favorite to write from the perspective of (he has taken over most of my wips. help) and that probably counts for something. WILD on the other hand. hooo boy how the hell do i characterize this gargoyle. why is he Like That. least favorite it is

Twiddy

very good fandom to be in :) everybody is very nice

It's a straight up crime that Wars lost the aesthetics poll so quickly. He has such a peak Link design with the best colors. Ugh I'm getting wistful.

FROGS. FROGS. FROGS. ALSO HAPPY PRIDE MONTH. FROGS. FROGS. FROGS. FROGS. FROGS.

I will fight Hylia herself and the next person who implies Twi can't handle spice. If we're going to lean into him being southern/Midwestern, which is an alright stero type for our rancher, please keep in mind the culture you're basing him off. The south and midwest can handle their spice, I assure you. Have you ever had authentic Louisiana gumbo? It will melt you tongue off. Or some good old fashion spicy fried chicken? I promise the real stuff has quite a kick. (In all seriousness, though. It's more important that you're having fun. And even I can admit the idea of Twi being an Ordonian who can't handle his spice is more than a little funny.)

I am an OoT Link edgelord and have been since early 2017. So, in September of that year, when an artist by the name of jojo56830 puts out a lineup of nine different Links and the Hero of Time is there – the oldest, no eye, Hero’s Shade armor? I saw that one sketch and just thought “oh this is gonna be bad.” Yeah of course he has the coolest design. By the way, it’s only a matter of time until Fierce Deity shows up in the comic and I have reason to believe it could be this current Dawn arc. Dawn … Dawn of a New Day … and who brought about the Dawn of a New Day? Fierce Deity. Twilight is recovering but still injured and what will happen if he falls again? Fierce Deity is coming and we need to be prepared. In this essay I will—

Remember that time when someone put the whole script of the bee movie in here? I’m not that dedicated, and I don’t have that time, but let us remember and hope someone else does it again this time. Cause someone is bound too. We’re all crazy enough to do it. Alright, love you and stay hydrated pls!

Hi! I joined this fandom really recent but i’ve always seen LU stuff on pinterest and elsewhere. Only recently have i actually took the time to understand the fandom and get back into LOZ stuff and i adore the characters and story! The more and more fanart, fanfics, and comics i see about the different Links the more i love them all. It’s such a pain to pick just one i like or one i don’t like because they’re all so unique. I love this fandom and hope to get more involved!! Have a wonderful rest of your day :]

Epona is an underrated queen

your mom

I really don't get why Zelda is called Artemis. Athena makes more sense???? It perplexes me

Anyone seeing this should check out Breanna’s E!Wild AU

Something something queer every Link into oblivion!

#linked universe #lu survey 2023 #lu wild #lu twilight #lu time #lu warriors #lu legend #lu wind #lu hyrule #lu four #lu sky

330 notes · View notes

littledollll · 9 months

Text

Stars around my scars

Lucifer Morningstar x little!angel!reader

A/n: I forgot about this and randomly remembered it and finished it in one day, it was beautiful.

A/n pt. 2: I HAVE A 1005 FOLLOWERS??? I just noticed as I was about to post, I can’t begin to explain how thankful I am for all of you, your support and interest, all of it. Thanks to you I get to write about my favorite characters and express so many emotions I normally would be able to. You give me so many ideas and motivation, I’ve enjoyed my time in here so much thanks to all of you!

Warnings: not happy Lucifer for like 2 full seconds.

____________________________________

Lucifer wasn’t one to be openly insecure, infact they were rarely anything but prideful. Their whole self revolved around being the most powerful, the most wise, the most beautiful. But everyone has their moments, even them.

They were eternally grateful to have you in these moments, more than usual. Even in your regressed state you were their saving grace. A sense of peace and calm surrounded them whenever you came around. No matter for what, to endlessly babble about thinks unintelligible to Lucifer, or to request a tea party with the very busy lord of hell.

You noticed their dissociated state, like their mind was wandering elsewhere, Thinking- no. Overthinking. It took you less then a second to jump into their arms, and Lucifer immediately pulled you in tightly, showing just how much they appreciate it, you. They kissed your temple, your cheek, the tip of your nose which always made you giggle. And Lucifer swore that adorable sound could cure even the worse or sicknesses.

There wasn’t much of a need for words, not that you could give them anyways. You babbling and humming happily in their arms was enough, you were enough.

It was apparent that you didn’t want to leave their side, of course they noticed you going above and beyond to reassure or calm their wandering mind even if you didn’t quite understand. The innocence of your care made it better. That pure childish joy of yours seeping into themselves. It was a dedicated attempt, a selfless one. Not like those who seek to cure you for their own gain. But someone who just wishes to see you happy just because it’s you. And the attempt itself? That was enough.

They cracked a smile, and you couldn’t have given a brighter one back. Lucifer could almost feel their heart fill with joy. That type that makes you laugh because of a look, the type that could make you cry because it’s just too precious. They cherished it more than anything.

Your hand cautiously made its way to their heart, you had quite the habit of that. Like you could feel their heart soar and burn. Even in your regressed state you could read them like an open book. “Kay?” You asked in a small voice, quiet as ever. They have you a nod. “I’m great, my angel.”

You nodded enthusiastically, running off to do god-knows what now. But it didn’t matter what. Lucifer didn’t care if you had the crazy idea to adopt another hound or wanted something more simple. It didn’t matter if you wanted to run around the halls of the palace playing hide and seek making them look like a fool, or if you just wanted a hug. Anything, whatever it was. Nothing would ever be too much to give or do with you.

You ran back up to them with paint! When did they even get those for you? “Oh? What would you like to do, little dove?” Shyly, you looked down at the floor, almost afraid to ask what you truly wanted to. They gave you a moment.

“Paint wings?” Well that’s a new one. “You want to paint.. on my wings, darling?” It was an odd request, but why would they reject it? You again nodded shyly. “Okay, we can do that. Should I stay seated right here, little artist?” Once again you nodded, much more comfident and energized this time.

Quickly, you took out all your stuff, preparing the paint in your little pallets and sat behind them, clapping excitedly as their wings flapped open completely. Pretty much anything could be fascinating for you in this state, but their wings were still at the top of your list.

As soon as you started painting Lucifer exaggerated a gasp. “That’s cold!” To which you were quick to apologize for and hug their back as best as you could.

Lucifer wondered how they lived so many years without this. Without you making them warm and soft, breaking down their walls and healing their scars from inside out.

They healed you, and you, them.

#lucifer sandman #little angel (lucifer x little!angel!reader)#little angel #gwendoline christie #little angel (lucifer x little!reader)#the sandman #sandman lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar the sandman #lucifer morningstar (the sandman) x reader #the sandman lucifer #the sandman lucifer morningstar x reader #sandman lucifer morningstar x reader

186 notes · View notes

dulcewrites · 1 year

Text

Fool Me Once (part 10)

Summary: As tensions arise in King’s Landing, you make moves to assure the safety of your children. Final breaths are taken, pacts are made and broken, steel is drawn and the dragons dance.

Warning: mentions of stillbirths/pregnancy issues, allusions to self harm, some unreliable narrator if you squint. In our f&b bag fr!

A/N: you guys 🥺 we are finally on the last part. First, I want to say I am sooooo sorry about how long it took to get this one out. By the time I’m posting this I’m sort of like, do people even still care lmao 💀. Life has been hectic and tbh I’ve been putting some focus onto other things. Shameless plug to my other, more happy Aemond x oc series, on ao3. As well as I’ve gotten so much amazing feedback and interactions about this fic that I was slightly worried about how people would take the end. Speaking of feedback, and moving on to the more sappy stuff. My writing side blog has grown exuberantly since posting part 1 of fmo last year. It genuinely makes me emotional thinking about the little community that’s come from it. I hope to continue to make more stuff that I’m not only happy with, but further pushes said community ❤️❤️ if y’all have any hotd request let me know. Please reblog, like, and comment. As well as come chat in my inbox if you see something you like.

Slight housekeeping, though if you made it this far you probably already know. This fic does change the dance for self indulgent reasons (lol) and for the narrative of it all. This started as a cheating story and has sort of spun into something entirely else.

Fmo masterlist

Blog masterlist

Ninth moon of 129 AC

Rhaenyra’s voice could be heard from down the hall.

You wanted to reassure yourself that you had heard those screams before from Helaena, or even from yourself giving birth. But there was something so terribly guttural about the ones Rhaenyra was making.

As if outcome of the birth hung in the air. Lingering with the ghost of the past death that happened in the Red Keep. You try not to focus on the sheer look of panic on Jace’s face once you leave him at the door.

By the time you got to her chambers, Rhaenyra is already surrounded by midwives as she is hunched over, palms spread out against the wall. Midwives, and Alicent, whose face was terribly pale. Almost as drained of color as Rhaenyra. Her normally straight blonde hair wavy and stuck to her forehead with the sheen of her own sweat.

Alicent spots you, and gets away from her position from around her. She pulls you over to the side, but before she can even speak you interrupt her. The midwives begin to move Rhaenyra from her standing position to on the bed.

“Has this happened before,” you watch as Rhaenyra pleas lessen and lessen, her state becoming more sedated than what is probably normal.

Alicent shakes her head. Her auburn curls had been released for the night from the tight updo they were in earlier.

“No, at least not the first three,” she swallows hard before coming closer to you. “I fear - I fear this labor may go awry. I think we need to make preparations for if…”

The words catch in the back of Alicent’s throat. She is here with Rhaenyra; she has always been with Rhaenyra. Even when they were at odds; two ghosts haunting each other’s memories. Two sides of the same coin, causalities of the cruel fate. You want to feel sorry her; knowing that she is watching a close… companion go through this, but your mind has been elsewhere since earlier that day.

“Your son has made preparations,” you cross your arms. “All of them actually.”

Alicent brows furrow in confusion, and it dawns on you that Aemond and Aegon never clued their mother in on their little plan.

“You do not know, do you?”

“No, I do not know what your husband has been getting into. I rarely do these days.”

You and her both.

Rhaenyra lets out another groan.

“Where is Daemon,” you ask as Rhaenyra begins to mumble things incoherently to the midwives.

“He took one look at her, and left the room,” Alicent frowns. “She called for him but he went to get Jacaerys instead.”

And Jace came for you on the behest of Alicent. Tis the way of men you suppose. Often, they are absolute nuisance in situations like this, but you could not help but think that mayhaps if Daemon had stayed to seen her in this state, he would not put her through such things again. But that is giving him far more credit than you know he deserves.

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra manages to mumble out the name louder. Her eyes fluttering open and shut.

Alicent instantly rushes over, dropping the conservation she has started with you.

As you watch Alicent coax Rhaenyra through this, her words ring out. Though she did not elaborate on what those plans should be, she was right. Aemond had taken the reigns from your hands plenty times before. Safety will not be completely ensured until any threat is taken out. You have never been to battle nor war, and even you know that. A slightly morbid thought creeps into your head.

If Rhaenyra dies, Aegon could descend the throne.

It was laughable for Rhaenyra, or anyone who supports her claim, to believe known bastards would follow her in the line of succession. Or that Daemon would not bypass Rhaenyra’s first three boy in order to ensure power for her last two. It would mean an all-out war between Aegon and Daemon… but maybe it did not have to go that far. Not if plans were made to undercut whatever moves you know Daemon could put into place.

They are all back in King’s Landing, no longer under the false tranquility they tried to spin at Dragonstone. Amongst their patrons who already have much to say about Rhaenyra’s still short reign.

Aegon on the throne would ensure the safety of all of the kids. And not only the kids, but the kingdom as a whole. A war of succession, especially including dragons, would only bring destruction. Rhaenyra’s boys would have a chance to swear obeisance after Daemon is out of the way, and if not, their presence will not be needed. Bastard blood being spilt is nothing compared to the life your children.

They could go back to Dragonstone and live their lives out there with young Egg and Viserys. With the possibility of Daemon for a father, they would be better off for it.

Your thoughts are broken by the midwives telling Rhaenyra to try and push.

There was already a significant amounts of blood trailing where Rhaenyra had been. Her pushes do little to soothe the position she is in. In frustration and pain, eventually Rhaenyra, much to the chagrin of the midwives and Alicent, shoos them all away. Reaching down to pull the babe out herself.

Letting out an already grief-stricken scream as she does it.

The air is sucked from the room as a gush of blood rushes out of Rhaenyra, followed by a tiny body.

A tiny… silent body. Wrapped in scales and slightly deformed.

No one speaks as they watch Rhaenyra pick up the baby from between her legs and rocks it as if trying to lure it into crying, into breathing. But nothing comes. Just silence, and the aches of a daughter stuck in the self-fulfilling prophecy of a mother that is no longer around.

It is not proper nor lady-like, and you can hear your own mother’s voice in the back of your telling you how rude it is in a time like this, but you just turn and leave. Without a word or peep. Suddenly feeling sick you go back down the hall, back to your chambers. Ignoring Jace who calls your name out in confusion by the sudden silence coming from his mother’s room.

By the time you make it back to the room, Aemond had gotten himself ready for bed. Completely casual as if the events earlier meant nothing to him.

“What’s happened,” he notices your ashen face.

You take one look at your husband, you think of your children away in a place foreign to them, and the stillborn baby Rhaenyra clutched in her arms.

The bile comes up quick. So quick you barely make I to the basin on the other side of the room. The dry heaving reminds you that you barely ate anything today, too worried about the task at hand.

You flinch when you feel a cold hand on your back. Shrugging Aemond’s hand off, you turn head with a glare.

“You made your move,” you mutter. “I’ll give you that. But now we are going to this my way. And Aemond, so help me, a single hair on those kid’s heads is harmed and I am not with them, I burn it all to the ground, you with it.”

You don’t know how and when, but you would do it for them if it came to that. You’d do anything for their safety. It may be time for others to realize that.

— — —

Princess Visenya Targaryen is set on the pyre a day and a half later. A small swaddled body lit on fire once Rhaenyra croaked out the words. Syrax blowing a mighty flame to burn Rhaenyra’s only little girl.

She was advised to stay in bed. Though her outward physical ailments had started to heal, it was clear Queen Rhaenyra was sick. Pale skin still prickling with sweat despite the cool air outside, dark bags starting to form under her eyes as she leans gently against the cane she was given.

You stand next to Aemond, Helaena, and Aegon. The only warm you feel from the fire in front on you.

It was slightly shocking when Helaena came up to you before the funeral with guilt written over her soft features.

“I just had… a funny feeling about the kids being here. I’m sorry.”

She knew.

You were not happy about once again feeling like you’re on the outside looking in with people you are supposed to call family. At least Helaena had the decency to feel ashamed by the omission. The decency to apologize. Guilt and Aemond is laughable being in the same sentence, and Aegon had been avoiding you. A thing that has not happened in months. Helaena was always right about these things; the scary part is that you all never really knew till the outcome already happened.

You run your hand over your black mourning dress. Peering out from under your veil, you make eye contact with Daemon across the fire.

Normally mirth filled eyes, and folly written all over his face had been replaced by an emptiness that scared you. Often, you had felt the unearned confidence and ambition around you was just noblemen living up to an expectation put on by others around them. But a Daemon, already known for his rogue behavior, feeling emboldened by the death of his brother, daughter, and the newly weakened state of his wife, made you nervous.

Only compounded when you think about the conversation shared at Dragonstone. Your loyalty was not expected, but even demanded. You can’t help but wonder if the kids not being around has only put a fiercer target on your back, or even on theirs.

You look over at Aegon - messy hair, bored expression, purple circles under his eyes. But he is no worse for wear compared to Rhaenyra.

If it one thing you have learned since being around this family, it is appearances often make up for everything. Slap a smile and nice outfit on, and people tend to believe what they see versus what is underneath the surface.

The funeral ends, and you make a sharp beeline towards Otto.

“I need to run something past you.”

You rake your knuckles against Aegon’s door, and get reply in return. You do it again, this time with more vigor, slightly embarrassed at Ser Arryk just watching you pound away.

“He is in there,” you question, turning to him.

“The last time I checked, he was my lady.”

The last time he checked?

You supposed not ever sworn protector can be as diligent as Quinton, and not every subject can be well behaved.

“Aegon,” you knock once more.

Blowing out frustrated air through your mouth, you turn to go but the door eventually swings open.

His hair is crumpled on one side, shirt unbuttoned, and reeking of wine. It had not hit you that he may be with someone.

“If you are… predisposed, I apologize. I can come back”

A dopey grin breaks out of face, before he hitched the door open wider. “No one is with me. Oh, dovelet were you worried about that?”

You look over to see Arryk raise a brow at you. You push at Aegon, further annoyed. “Go.” Forcing him back into his chambers.

“Everyone is so touchy today.”

You were there, before the funeral, when Alicent fussed at him about going to it. About trying to look engaged, which he clearly did not. You think about the conversation you had with Otto in his office.

“He is not going to like it. He has long come to terms with not wanting to be king.”

“But his wants are of no concern to you now, are they?”

When put that way, you can’t help but feel a bit bad. But it is true. What Aegon wants right now means little to you. He will eventually learn to like it, and if not like it, he will learn to tolerate it. The way others have to tolerate their fate in life. We are all stuck in the same miserable cycle; the only difference is some of us will not be able to call ourselves King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“We need to talk about some things.”

“Black is one your colors,” he changes the subject. “You should wear it more often.”

“Aegon, I’m serious,” you pinch your nose.

“Is this about the kids? I thought you would be happy they are out of harm’s way.”

“They are not out of harm’s way,” your voice raises, and this is not going the way it was supposed to.

You must push him with a gently hand. A woman’s touch.

There was a something slimy about how Otto ended the conversation. Sending you to Aegon to enact a woman’s touch… whatever that meant.

“But they could be,” you lower your voice. “If - If there was someone else at the helm. None of us would have to worry about their safety. About our safety.”

Aegon give you a funny look before flopping down on his bed.

He is drunk so he may not remember any of this by next morning. You sit next to him on the bed.

“There is no running from this. Despite what you may say, you know you would not be able to live with yourself if you left your family, your kids. Aegon, you are too smart not to know what this is all coming to.”

Though not something you voiced yourself, running was an option that crossed your mind. Finding a way out to Oldtown, grabbing your kids, and running. The logistics seemed all to wash away when the word dragon comes along. Traveling with two young kids would be difficult enough, managing to travel discretely with a giant dragon would not work. You don’t know how you would tell Daella to leave Vermithor.

And then a chill would run up your spine. Where could you go where he would not find you on dragon back?

The two of you sit in silence before Aegon sighs softly.

“Share a drink with me,” Aegon whispers. “Before we all die.”

It makes you laugh. Because that is all you can do at the folly that is your life. You nod softly.

The wine is a Dornish Red. Sweet, warm, and sultry tasting drink. It reminds you of the look Aegon is giving you.

Alicent peaks her head into the door.

“Rhaenyra,” she sees baby Aegon and Viserys sitting on their mother’s bed. Both babbling away over each other. Rhaenyra weakly waves her in. Both Egg and Viserys give Alicent tiny little bows. They do it to everyone, even those who technically do not have the same amount of power toddlers do. Bowing at guards, nursemaids, and court members alike.

The boys are eventually escorted out by one of the maids, but not until they both tell Alicent about the flock of lizards they found in the garden. It’s sweet, Alicent thinks. Reminds her of when her kids were that age. Not yet tainted or disrupted by the life around them. Alicent supposes she also has herself to blame for that when it comes to own children.

Both boys not understanding the position their mother is in. She knows that Rhaenyra is grateful at least two of her kids are not aware of her vulnerable state.

“How are you feeling,” Alicent sits at the edge of the bed next to her, taking in scattering of notes around Rhaenyra. Members of Rhaenyra’s small council have written notes for Rhaenyra to read while she is abed. From things as simple as the mouse problem in the Red Keep to things more serious. Like the Shepherd’s continued teachings; this week sermon’s going as far to say the death of the Visenya was an act of the Gods. That this is Rhaenyra’s punishment. Punishment for the dragon, the incest, the Targaryen of it all.

Alicent makes sure to only visit Rhaenyra when she knows she will not run into Daemon. He flaunted around the castle as if he has never left. Still the same air of arrogance and fire, only now swathed under a layer of coolness. The passing of Viserys, clearly leading him in a quieter path.

So many awful things lead back to that man. Alicent is sure of it.

All Rhaenyra can do is give a small smile and the shake of the head.

“A bit better now that you’re here.”

Alicent just ducks her head shyly.

Rhaenyra was always good at that, making Alicent feel like she was a girl again. Ten and four and completely out of her depth when it came to her feelings. An issue she worries she still has not gained control over.

“I am thinking of naming Daemon protector of the realm,” she then croaks out. “I do not know how much I can get done while in this bed. Watching it all crumble beneath me.”

Naivety. It is the only word that comes Alicent’s mind when it comes to how Rhaenyra handles Daemon. Ironically, it is the same way Otto describes her relationship with Rhaenyra. Her father never forgets a chance the remind her the nostalgia of girlhood, and security she wraps in Rhaenyra. The same way Alicent does not know if Rhaenyra has convinced herself that Daemon’s will head her council above anyone’s else is her true feelings, is the same way Alicent does not know if she holds onto the good parts of Rhaenyra because they still exist. Or because without holding onto them, she would be again flailing and alone. Once again left with the cold, empty feelings that comes with duty above else.

The only person Alicent saw ever cut Daemon down to size is now dead, rotting and finally silent. If Rhaenyra thinks the bond, she had with Daemon is anything more than him trying to hold onto the last semblances of Viserys he could find, she has been sorely mistaken.

“Mayhaps, you should speak that over with the rest of your council,” she pushes the duvet further over Rhaenyra. It is not her job to advise. She doesn’t know if she has it in her advising another clueless monarch. Another seemingly well meaning, but headstrongly clueless monarch. Rhaenyra gets her same propriety from her father.

Rhaenyra is not a bad person. The same way many people would say Viserys was not a bad person. But when all things are said and done, Viserys will be remembered as peaceful. Alicent worries history will not give the same charitable read to Rhaenyra. Who fumbles and doubles down on her bad actions in the way she learned from her father. Terribly misguided in each path they take, paying no mind to the carnage left behind.

Too much trust in Daemon. A fault both will have to live with or die by.

“Everything will be fine, once I recover,” she takes note of Alicent’s distant eyes. “It will be alright.”

You look so much like your father when you lie to me. So much like him with false hope and no tact. They riot in the streets over your reign already, and you are sure it will be alright.

Alicent just squeezes Rhaenyra’s hand. The way she used to when she used to get the urge to pick at her hands. She looks around the room. Rhaenyra, now laying in the same bed her father did before her. Alicent just hopes the morbid memories of Viserys do not haunt her in the way Aemma’s ghost still haunts Alicent to this day.

Aemma was right, and they did not even know it at the time. The birthing bed was their battlefield. And it feels like it is all catching up to them.

It has been a few minutes since your parents welcomed you into their parents, and in those few minutes your mother has done nothing but pick at your hair and fret over your outfit.

The sun was at its height in the sky, brightness peaking through their windows. This morning you woke up, and did what have for the past couple of days. Remember your children are not there for you to kiss and hug, and look over at your sleeping husband. Multiple ways of smothering him popping into your head.

“Wearing your hair back makes you look so severe, my darling,” she fiddles with bun. Your hand goes up the move it way. “And grey is not slimming on everyone.”

“Yes mother,” you try to grin and bear like you have always done. Your resolve faltered when she gushed about how lovely of a father Aemond was for wanting the kids to spend more time with their uncle, the excuse the both of you had parroted whenever someone asked here Daella and Alaric were.

“I think it may be best, if both of you go back home,” you sit both of them down. “I just worry that things may get a bit hectic, and I would feel better if you both were far from it.”

They both give you a curious look. There is only so much you can say without giving all away. Your father gets up and pulls you to the side.

“There has been… rumblings,” he mutters. “About the Queen and her state.”

He chooses his words wisely. As if he was worried others are listening.

“I want you to know that whatever path may arrive. The full backing of the house is behind it. Your uncle and I will make sure of that. If there was a change in power.”

Tears pinch and sting your eyes. It should be reassuring but it only makes you realizing that backing comes at the whim of others. This will always come back to who is ruling, and who people think should rule.

That is why you married Aemond right? To be put in the best position for your house.

“Thank you, father.”

He kisses you on the cheek, before leaving. You turn towards your mother who sits on the bench in front of the bed.

“I do hope your little excursion has renewed your spirit,” she gets up. “Your husband seemed just beside himself after you left. No wife, no children around. I can only imagine how hard that was for him.” You just stand there as she comes towards you. She stares at you for a moment, taking in your new dark dress, and hair. You cannot tell if the look is unimpressed, or filled with sadness. Your mother’s faces tend to blur together into nothingness.

“Of course, that is what you took from it,” you mutter.

“What was that, lamb?” Another hand runs over your hair.

“Nothing, mother.”

Your mother laughs a bit, in that cold, jilted way she does. The joy never reaching her eyes.

“It’s always been that way. Sweet with him, distant with me.”

You stare at her in slight shock, slight mortification when she leans back. Is that how she’s read the situation? You choosing your father over her. Not the paralyzing fear that came with having to please her. The heart arching want to make her proud of you, even at the expense of your own wants.

“You made it that way. I - you sent me away to - to this place and -“

“Oh, here we go. You got married to a Prince, you had your babies, and I am still the evil mother.”

She bows her head as is she about to cry. Initiatively, you put a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re not evil,” you don’t understand how the conversation how switcher so fast. How now you have to the one to comfort her. “We just don’t see certain things the same way.”

An understatement.

“Mayhaps, I was never meant to be a mother,” she looks up, eyes dry. She says it so casually.

“What?”

“I should have taken the hint after the first miscarriage. But your father just begged and begged about wanting a child.”

You just watch in horror.

She runs another hand over your hair, nagging on the bun and frowns.

“Some women just aren’t meant to be mothers. Too headstrong for it, too weak for it,” there is an air of pity when she says it.

She leans in, and her breath hits your ears. “Be careful, my lamb. The softer the heart, the harder the fall.”

You swallow hard. She’s fed a poison that is hard to be weaned off.

— — —

Leaving the room, in a slight daze. Softly shuffling the opposite way of your chambers, and up the large stairs. You had promised Rhaenyra you would come see her soon.

The only thing that breaks you out the trance is the heavy footsteps of Daemon. You stop and lower your head in acknowledgment.

“My prince, I have not been able to catch you to give my condolence.”

Daemon hums. You’ve noticed how he walks around with Dark Sister attached firmly on his hip. Sometimes sheathed, other times unsheathed as he leans against as some sort of crutch.

“I suppose I should be sending you sorrows too,” a small smile on his face. You tilt your head in confusion.

“Your children.”

Your blood runs a bit cold.

“They are just with their uncle. Taking it the beauty of Oldtown. We want them to see many parts of the realm.”

“With Vermithor?”

You just nod. “You must know how important the bond is between dragon and dragon rider. More importantly during these early stages.”

Daemon’s mirth grows as he comes closer. “I do remember our conversation. About how your loyalty would be not only expected but rewarded. I would absolutely hate to see anyone get hurt, especially as our queen is recovering.”

You smile, brightly and sound.

“Of course, it would be quite a shame if anyone was putting their own needs ahead of Queen Rhaenyra’s. Those close to her must be diligent, and kind.”

The two of you exchange more fake smiles before he steps around you, sword glistening under the flicker of flames in the hallway.

Trying to compose yourself as you make your way to the master chambers. You are slightly relieved by the changes that were made by the time Rhaenyra arrived and settled in. The model Viserys spent even his last days speaking about that collected dust had been removed. Different drapes that let the sun in, the furniture moved around a bit, and the smell. Thank Gods, the smell was different.

The smell of rotting, and noxious air replaced by something a little sweeter. You know that Alicent would come in daily and light different incense for Rhaenyra.

The guards let you in, and she is still in the same place she, day after day, the large canopy bed. The bed you see Viserys lay in as you visit him with Daella and or Alaric.

“Rhaenyra,” you pull back the certain a bit, to let light in. “Have you eaten today?”

You walk over and lay a hand on her forehead. She is burning up. Her fever spiking again. All you get is a groan and the shake of the head.

“Rhaenyra, you need to eat something.”

She just gestures toward the table. Different tonics, drinks, and glasses on top of it. You walk over to see tea as well as a familiar milky substance on it.

You remembered seeing how Viserys was when he was on milk of the poppy. Hells, you understood the strength of it, and you only took it while having Daella and Alaric.

It was the beauty and ugliness of the drug once it was taken too much. The pain was gone, but then came a new problem - the grogginess of the mind and withdrawals.

“The Queen only needs five dops of it,” said the maester, a sour look on his face once asked to leave when you visited her a few days ago.

In all her paranoia, Rhaenyra had asked only those closest to her to help administer it. Not trusting the maesters the very same way she did when it came to Viserys. Out of part guilt of what she just went through, and frankly fear, you agreed when she asked you. But now, as you feel the tides changing once again for the battle for power, your hands shake a bit applying the remedy to her tea.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five….. Six. Seven. Eight.

Before you can change your mind, you a twist cap back on the milk of the poppy.

You walk back to the bed, giving a pale Rhaenyra a strained smile. “Let’s sit you up.”

Rhaenyra winces, eyes in a faraway stare as you help her lean up in the bed. The same bed she had been beholden to for the past week. You bring goblet to her lips and watch her all but chug most of it.

A part of you wants to say a prayer to the Father. Perhaps he will forgive you for all that will happen beyond this point. Understanding how stray animals often act when they are backed into a corner. Teeth bared and fighting for their lives.

She will name him Protector of the Realm if she stays abed any longer. Despite the mistreatment, Daemon has always had a way about him when it came to Rhaenyra. I have no way to stop it. Did not back then, and do not now.

Guilt only mounts when you think about the sadness in Alicent’s eyes when she said that. But then you think about your daughter’s laugh or the wide-eyed innocence of your son, and the guilt fades. All that is left is resentment. A deep hole where you think your heart used to be.

You have to shudder thinking about anyone from this family sitting the throne but at least you know some options are more… malleable than others.

“I can come back to give you more when you need it,” you brush a stray hair behind Rhaenyra’s ear. “Maybe I can read to you too.”

She gives you a tired smile, and nod before her eyes begin to flutter. You watch as her breathing labors as she drifts into a hazy state. In and out of sleep. Here she lays, a victim of the birthing bed like her mother. Ill equipped, and far too foolish to see the damage she will leave behind like her father.

“What is all of this?”

You walk into your chambers to find a table of food in the room. Aemond hops up from the bed. You take a look at the array of breads, and sweets on the table.

“All this for me,” you question, popping one of the lemon candies on a lemon cake in your mouth. “How romantic. The last time I had the pleasure of such a spread, you were telling me you got your mistress pregnant and it sent me into excruciating labor.”

Aemond face falls, and for a moment you understand what it has been like for him the past few years of marriage. To hold power over him, even if it is small and fleeting in the moment. Dangling kindness in front of his face to rip it away for no reason other than you can.

You continue to pick at the food, as Aemond just stares.

“Are you gonna say what this all about or just stare with that silly look on your face?”

His face flashes from sad stoicism something a bit angrier. Ah, that’s your husband.

“I am trying to mend things with you, and all I ge-“

“Oh, that is your first mistake,” you hold up a finger. “Well, not the first. You know your first. But trying to mend something that was never there to begin with? And with food that I could get myself. You’re smarter than that Aemond,” you tut at him.

“So, what now? We spend the rest of our days hating each other?”

If we even get that far.

“It has worked for others,” you shrug.

“It won’t for you,” he rebuts. “The hate will eat you alive. You’ll be miserable.”

Promise?

He speaks as if he is so sure of it. As like Helaena does at times, he has seen into a murky future, and pulled this out. You utterly miserable as you let that dark voice in your head play out all your morbid desires.

“But you would like that, wouldn’t you,” you think about the look he gave you when you wanted to reach for his knife. “Why else would you put through all of this but to make me as miserable as you are?”

It hang on the tip of your tongue. You could push you luck again, and tell him that she is gone, and never to be seen again. Twist the knife that you already have point at his back. But then you would have to be sure of things yourself. Dreams have dissolved into nightmares. Blood mixing the salty water of Dragonstone.

Then you wake and Otto’s words ring in your head. He took care of it. Now you are left trying to sort out the mess of memories that makes up your head. Guilt, anger, and sadness all managing fuck with your head in ways you could not imagine.

You eye the wine on the table. As much you admonish Aegon for it, you do get why he turned to it from such a young age.

The few hours of solace it gives is wonderful. Fleeting but necessary when everything else becomes too loud. Too much.

“It was not an absence in you. It was one in us… in me,” he looks so young when he says it. It almost reminds you of him when he ten and five. Fresh off a growth spurt. Terribly shy, terribly distant. But that was before. Before the expectation of marriage, of children and semblances of loyalty and care.

That boy is gone, and you are surely not the girl you were once you came to King’s Landing. You mourn that girl, the way you mourn the boy Aemond was before he lost his eye. You did not know him then but you always wonder what strings in him broke when that happened. An unjust act with no reconciliation to follow. If any of that led up to the man standing before you today.

“Well, at least that is something we can agree on,” you look down, trying to get rid of the hot tears in your eyes.

You have spent time trying to build up an armor in front of him. You’d hate to have it crack now.

“My grandsire told me about your little plan.”

It makes you look up. Aemond’s arms are crossed in skepticism.

“Your sister’s health is declining rapidly. Aegon needs to ready himself for this.”

“And he has agreed?”

“Your brother will fall in line as he realizes this is the only way to keep those dear to him safe,” you fiddle with the chocolate tart. “He already has actually.”

Helaena and him took a trip to one of the orphanages down in the Red Keep. It is about time people outside of this castle get a look at those in power. Aemond still does not look convinced.

“Does that upset you? The thought of him being king?”

“No more than it does having my useless sister or foolish nuncle on the throne.”

“What, no mention of the bastards technically in front you for the throne right now,” you think the joke falls flat till Aemond narrows his eye, and tilts his head to side in merriment. You have to do a bit of double take at the slight smirk on his face.

“You danced with one of those bastards.”

So, he remembers that.

“A tactical move,” you roll your eyes. “And when I advise Rhaenyra and Jacaerys that he should go back to Dragonstone as the new heir to the Irone Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, it would have payed off.”

“Leaving Rhaenyra as she’s abed, and stuck with Daemon? How would you manage that?”

“I can be quite convincing,” you shrug. “Not that you would understand.”

He takes another dig on chin, uncharacteristically good natured this day, but he gives you that look. The look where you don’t know whether he wants to skin you or kiss you. No one really has ever looked in the way Aemond has. As if he sees nothing of what you’re really made of while managing to look right through you at the same time.

“Better yet, I may even tell Baela and Rhaena that they should take this time to be with grandmother and grandfather, especially as Corlys may stand a similar fate as Rhaenyra.”

“What about the other one,” Aemond frowns.

Your brows furrow in confusion before it dawns on you. Both him and Lucerys had done a good job of avoiding each other since you all came back from Dragonstone. But you can tell the tiptoeing has created strain and awkwardness for everyone.

“If Baela and Jace are gone with Moondancer and Vermax in toe, that just leaves a clearly petrified Luke and Arrax. I think Vhagar, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre can handle that, no?”

Aemond raises a brow. “You want them to die?”

“I don’t want anyone to die,” well that’s not entirely true, and the look Aemond gives you lets you in that he does not believe that as well. “As few casualties as possible is the goal. They can swear to Aegon when the time comes or be put the King’s Justice. As of now, we should take advantage of the uncertainty that rest amongst everyone.”

Aemond laughs, like really laughs. It takes you for surprise, and only upsets you. He laughs as if he finds your thoughts funny in the way seeing a squirrel run up a tree is funny. “What?”

“Nothing…. Lady Hightower.”

You scoff and throw the pieces of the fruit on the table at him. “Fuck off.”

“You make those faces and turn up your nose at Aegon being king, but you and I both know you will be the first to defend his throne,” you throw a strawberry at him but this time he catches it and eats it. “This is all for the kids, right? It is why they are not here, away from their mother?”

“They are away from their father as well. For their safety.”

You just hum.

“I want to write to them. They did not even get to say goodbye.”

“That could be dangerous.”

“I do not care, Aemond,” you raise your voice.

There is a knock at the door and Quinton comes in with a note in his hand. He eyes the food on the table as you read the note. It is from your father, assuring you about your parents soon departure back to the Riverlands.

“Are you alright,” he whispers. You nod softly. Quinton had been hovering somewhere in the background whenever Aemond was around, especially with the children gone. Clearly not trusting him around you.

Quinton should probably be more worried you around him. His cape swishes behind him when he goes to leave the room.

“You can write to them when the timing is better,” Aemond continues once you two are alone again.

The timing is never right. Not with him, not the with situation you are in.

The end of ninth moon of 129 AC

As you walk down the hall, a soft hand brushes against your arm.

“Are sure you are alright,” Quinton’s voice rings in your head, and tickles your ears softly.

“Of course,” you give fake smile, tilt of the head. He stops in the middle of the empty hall. Though he is your sworn protestor, you feel it is best to keep Quinton on the fringes unless needed otherwise. The less he knows, the safer he is you assume.

“I know you are not well without your children around,” he sighs. “But I would not want you to… sully yourself with things before you can get back to them.”

Sully. You take a long look at Quinton. There is something sweet about the way he views you. Entirely too earnest at time but sweet. You wish you could tell him he had nothing to worry about, and meant it. The pedastal he puts you on, my would it be a hard and long fall.

“I appreciate the concern, but I am ok,”’you reach up to touch his cheek. “You will be the first to know.”

He gives a half-hearted nod before then both of you continue your way to Rhaenyra’s chambers. When you get there the maidservants are beginning to place lights out in the hall for the night.

When you walk in, Rhaenyra is perched where she has been for some time now. Fiddling with the books on the shelf in the corner of the room.

“Maybe something a bit more upbeat. A love story,” you whisper. You go sit next to her on bed, flipping through the large brown book in your hand.

Rhaenyra begins to mumble as you shush her softly.

“It’s ok,” you reach over for the cup next to her bed. Sniffing the cup, you take note of how differently it smells compared to the tea and milk of the poppy mixture you used to.

The tonic seems different, stronger than usual. You put it to her lips and watch Rhaenyra drink it. You wipe her mouth. Even if this weakened state, you find her tragically beautiful. Like a fallen Angel. She resembles her siblings in that regard.

“I need - I need,” her eyes flutter open and shut. “The Prince that was Promised.”

You frown.

“Aeg- Aegon…”

“Your brother?”

“Tell Jacaerys.”

She trails off. Your back straightens as you watch as Rhaenyra’s eyes close, and her breathing slow.

The Prince that was Promised… Aegon.

You lean down and kiss her forehead. Mayhaps, in another life things could’ve been different for her. For her siblings, for her children, for you… for your kids. Climbing off the side of the bed, you gently tuck Rhaenyra in.

When you walk out, you see Quinton standing at attention. You motion for him to come with.

“I need you to do go get Otto,” you mummer. “We have business to get to.”

You cannot see the look Quinton gives you as move to walk ahead of him, and to that you are grateful.

Sullying is your only other option.

In the tenth moon 129 AC, the bell connected to the Royal Sept tolled for thee.

The death of Queen Rhaenyra, First of her Name, sent ripples through the Realm. But that was just beginning of the great strife that would follow her passing. A years peaceful period of reign for the Targaryen family ended by infighting.

Histories will say the first problem came the moment the then Princess and heir decided to sire bastard heirs. Others would say it began the moment, Rhaenyra left her succession vulnerable to her young brother. Not ending his line the moment she had the chance to.

Throughout her short reign as queen, there were festering rumors of usurping. That Lord Otto Hightower would hold secret meetings planning for the best moment to strike to get his grandson son on the throne. Others dispirited this claim, saying that the Dowager Queen Alicent’s afflictions for Queen Rhaenyra would never let that happen.

Ironically, it was not the death of the Rhaenyra is not the official start of what would later be called the Dance of Dragons. Instead the death of Prince’s Aemond One-Eye Targaryen’s lady wife’s parents triggered the domino affect. An escalation of plans.

Most would say the overflipped carriage was a tragic accident, but others whispered about something more serious. An inside attack from a member of the Targaryen family themselves. It was this tragedy that led to a public outcry from the members of the house in the Riverlands, coupling with the public crowning of a new king.

It was Ser Criston Cole, member of the Kingsguard, who crowed King Aegon, Second of his Name, in a private ceremony. Only flanked by his new crowned Queen Helaena, Prince Aemond and his wife, and Lord Hightower. King Aegon was crowned in front of the septon of faith, dawning his namesakes crown.

Back on Dragonstone, Jacaerys Velaryon recieved the news of not only his mother’s death, but also the usurping. Except it was not allies with the news, but foes. Jacaerys was slain at the footsteps of the castle.

It is still debated which side has more to gain to having Jace out of the way. King Aegon or Prince Daemon. But in the end, it was the later who eventually set up him home base at Dragonstone. Fleeing under the watchful eye of his spies in the Red Keep. With only two of his sons with him.

Both sides strategizing their moves. Daemon labeling Aegon and his supporters traitors to the realm, while Aegon set out to kill his uncle himself in given the chance. Under the insistence that it was him who accerlated Rhaenyra’s already bad condition.

Support the amongst the realm split as some supporter the efforts of the new king, far more open to his tactics than one of the Rogue Prince or Rhaenyra’s Bastards. While others scoffed at the boldness of Aegon the Usurper.

Those called on the opinions of the sons that remained at King’s Landing. Rumors of the Lucerys and Joffrey Velaryon being chained arriving. But it was not Daemon who negotiated the release of the boys. It was members of House Velaryon.

But there was one condition. It would be Baela and Rhaena, of both House Targaryen and Velaryon, that recieved equal titles after the passing of Corlys. Lucerys would be stripped of title of heir to the Driftmark Throne. It was rumored that this was not a cruel twist of fate from team green, but instead a plea from Lucerys himself.

It was Rhaena Targaryen, in all her wisdom, that worked through the terms. With a heavy heart, and no more bloodshed in her pleas. The more bold sister of the twins, Baela, had other plans. Sensing the release of Lucerys and Joffrey was a trap. She climbed on top of Moondancer, despite the calls not, and made her way closer to King’s Landing herself. But she was not alone. Her grandmother was with her.

Never one to sit from a battle himself, it was King Aegon who climbed his dragon to take them both on. All three dragon and riders fought diligently. Moondancer sustaining life ending injuries, while both Sunfyre and Aegon were injured at battle. But the most costly lost came at the hand of the One-Eyed Prince himself. Taking out Rhaenys and Meleys before further injury could come to his brother.

Enraged at the news of the death of Moondancer, and the almost costly lost of Baela, Daemon began his March. But he also had other plans at play. In efforts to lure the new Prince Regent out of the castle, he sent spies to Oldtown. Where not only Prince Daeron worked with all of Reach to support King Aegon. But also where the young Prince watched over his younger nieces and nephews.

There was an attempt to take the Jaehaerys Targaryen, son of Aegon and Alaric Targaryen, son of Aemond. But the plan was thwarted by a terrible beast. Vermithor lurched and lured over Oldtown like a tower himself. His flames as green as the Hightower Beacon. Highly protective over his new rider and those close to her. At just six and seventh month, Daella Targaryen was feared as her father.

Still not wanting to be outdone, Daemon sets his sights towards not only Harrenhal, but another certain house in the Riverlands. His march pillaging those close to Aemond’s wife. Still grieving the lost of parents and seperated from her children, it was rumored the lady became more quiet, drowning herself in her cups.

It was she, with Queen Mother Alicent and Queen Helaena, who pleaded for Aemond to not take the bait. But it was too no vail. After he heard of the attempted kidnapping, he set out with men of his own.

His march mirroring his uncle’s not only through the Stormlands but as well as the Riverlands. There were whispers of inhabitants at Harrenhal. It is still speculated by both Daemon and Aemond did not burn the structure to the ground, when they had to chance. Tales would be written of a certain magic soiling the ground. Keeping safe from harm.

Though those tales are all rumors, what was undeniably true, is that two Targaryen princes breathed their last breaths over God’s Eye on the sixth moon of 130 AC. No one saw the battle, but the sound of snapping dragons and the sight of green and red flames that called attention.

Vhagar and Aemond both fought a valiant effort but it the wounds to both proved to be to substantial. Aemond Targaryen died on top of his crowned dragon. The burns from Vhagar burning Daemon beyond repair.

When their deaths made it back to the Red Keep, the halls recount the Queen Mother tearing her hair in anguish, calling for the deaths of not only everyone who supported Daemon, but Aegon the younger and Viserys alike.

A story of crowns and iron thrones whittled down to death and fire. The grief felt by team green only compounded by the body of Aemond’s lady wife found charred in their chambers. It was Ser Quinton, her sworn protector, who lived to tell the story of having to fight off several guards before it was too late. In a matter of days, Daella and Alaric Targaryen missing from their places in Oldtown.

Both jobs speculated to be last minute plans carried about for Daemon Targaryen, done by his loyal Gold Cloaks. It is said that King Aegon never fully recovers from the death of not only his brother, but his good sister. Punishing those he deems responsible once he comes to.

But there are merchants in Essos that believe they have spotted a beautiful lady hand in hand with her children. One with sparkling white hair, the other with blonde streaks through her dark curls.

taglist: @florent1s @floraroselaughter @afro-hispwriter @snh96@holy-minseok @voniikg @evienorville @tremendouswolfsaladranch @crispmarshmallow @strawbrryquinn @widemiffyhappy @msmarvel-19 @dc-marvel-girl96 @xkennobi @fanfics4ever@hydrationqueensworld @lyra689 @blazzlynch @httyd-marauders@bregarc @b00kdiary @grey-water-colors @mercedesdecorazon@flowerpotmage @bstorn @poisonedsultana @papery-maniac @its-sam-allgood @yu3kkii @hvx @leoramage @neenieweenie@stargaryenx @rey26 @lazypinkpig @blackravena @s0urmarvel@elleclairez @rebelfleur22 @inpraizeof @luvremlu @clora95@blacpiink @let-love-bleeds-red @iwanttohitmyself @alastorhazbin@kitkat-writes-stuff @carrielle @aloneatpeace @ensolleildelune@landlockedmermaid77 @deadunicorn59

#im truly screaming crying throwing up about this being done #I hope y’all enjoy this and thank you again #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond imagine #prince aemond #aemond x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc

284 notes · View notes

wildpeachfarm · 2 months

Note

Just saw a thumbnail for a commentary YouTuber commenting on the ‘dream vs Connor’ situation, and it was awful. The comments however seem to be proving that the greater internet is finally starting to see all these fake CCs for what they are, and also how horrid the treatment of Dream is. So I guess that’s nice, cause YouTube is where the core fanbase is for Dteam and seeing a majority of them on their side right now is amazing.

Irrelevant CCs continue to prove one thing. They’re irrelevant for a reason. Their entire content is based on shitting on someone els-which is fleeting, and adhering to a mob that will turn its back on them the second they make a mistake. And none of them can handle being in dreams shoes, cause they get just a teeniest taste and cave immediately.

They couldn’t make the drituation stick, and the gogcident seems to be more on George’s side now, everyone is airing out petty grievances against Dteam, and they’re all looking like fools. I could cry. We’ve waited for days like this. The Brighton bastards pissed off the commentary YouTubers, which is NOT something you want to do. I never thought I’d see the day. Twitter is still Twitter, but everywhere else is starting to realize things.

Caiti shot herself in the foot by taking this whole thing public, and her friends solidified the beginning of the end for her by doing what they did. George may have “lost” on Twitter, and some of his “friends” may have publicly turned on him, but her career is done. She lost her passion and outside of Twitter, no one really believes a word she says.

Who knew it’d take a misguided, reactionary 19 year old to catapult the general public opening their eyes to the vitriol Dteam has been facing for years? And her friends airing out their petty grievances was the nail in the coffin. I said continuously during my four years in this fandom that the tides will change for Dream, and people will be making exposés on how the internet treated him. I don’t think it’s quite that time yet, but we are getting close.

I feel for Caiti in the sense that losing your passion for something you once loved sucks. I’ve been there and it’s awful. But she brought it upon herself the second she removed her autonomy in the situation and didn’t even listen to George’s response. That is the bare minimum of what she should have done, and she didn’t, so she created her own end, albeit probably unintentionally.

To the anon doom posting about Sapnap leaving George, go back to Twitter or TikTok. That energy isn’t wanted here. If Sapnap and George didn’t leave Dream during the drituation, they’re not going to leave George when he makes a mistake. They’ve all clearly stated they love each other, and having known each other for over a decade, it would take a lot to lose a friendship that deep and with that kind of longevity. We were walking on eggshells for a bit, but that’s his brother. Take your doomposting elsewhere.

Sorry this is more of a ramble; had a lot to say and needed a place to go with it. Appreciate my morning tea, always.

One last thing.

It will never be Dteamover.

Proud dteamolo right here. (With the caveat of Sam cause he’s never wavered from those boys)

-L :)

always a pleasure to hear from you L!

And yeah I am surprised to hear that apparently youtube is taking Dream's side with the connor stuff (so far?) but I will take a win no nonetheless!

Crazy how much this has spiraled but at least people are giving dteam at least a TINY benefit of doubt now

#ask #anon #anti drummyache tag

54 notes · View notes

angstywaifu · 4 months

Text

The Lost Sister - Part 8

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: Wasn't going to double post today but I'm feeling generous with it being Valentines Day. Sadly nothing super romantic about this one, but I promise some really good stuff is coming soon! I also have a few more one shots, but my requests are open if you have any more you guys want to send through! The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

The rotunda is empty as Imogen and I enter. Everyone in the dining hall eating. The feeling of being alone should unsettle me given recent circumstances, but after today I feel like that’s behind us.

Usually I would feel her eyes on me, but as she approached me in the hall I had no idea. Though I had been a little distracted at the lack of Garrick, Xaden and Bodhi at dinner.

She leads me over to the edge of the rotunda, and sits on the ledge, leaning up against one of the pillars. I copy her on the opposite side. For a few moments we sit in silence, looking out over the trees and mountains. It’s beautiful under the moonlight. In the distance I occasionally see dragons flying around. I wonder if one of them will be mine come threshing.

“I’d say I’m sorry for how I’ve acted towards you and what I did today. But I’m won’t. It’s just my weird way of processing this I guess.” She finally says, still looking out over the trees. “But, I can’t assure you it won’t happen again.”

I slowly nod my head. “Thanks, I guess.”

She looks over at me as if confused by my response.

“Not going to lie I was expecting a different response out of you regarding this. Also kind of surprised Garrick isn’t attached to your hip after what I did.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips. “Yeah well I kinda ran off after he told me he had feelings for me and I haven’t seen him since.”

She narrows her eyes at me and the look she gives me is like she thinks I’m crazy. Which honestly, I definitely am.

“You ran off?” She emphasises each words.

“Yeah.” I lean my head back on the pillar and sigh. I was such an idiot. “I ran off. Like an idiot. And now he’s nowhere to be seen.”

She shakes her head and laughs at me. “Well if it’s any help, I don’t think you haven’t seen him because of what happened. With Bodhi and Xaden also both gone, and from what I could see their dragons to, I think something’s come up.”

I nod. She’s right. In the last few weeks it had become almost normal for the boys to disappear some nights without much warning. But it still felt like it had to do with me. Maybe they went out to help Garrick clear his head. But if that was the case I’m sure either Xaden or Bodhi would have come to see how I was.

“I’m sure Garrick has told you are history and why I’ve been the way I’ve been?” She finally says after a few minutes of me swimming in my own thoughts.

“Yeah, only took me weeks of asking and then snapping at him in the healers quadrant before.” I tell her, earning a laugh out of her.

“I knew I’d like you. Even if I hate how much you have Garrick wrapped around your finger, I can see why.” She says with probably one of the first genuine smiles I’ve seen on her since I’ve been here. “And honestly I did this to myself. He always said he couldn’t give me more than something casual. That his heart lay elsewhere. He never said who, just that they were part of the rebellion casualties. And then you showed up.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any issues. Though was inevitable with everyone thinking I was dead for the last few years. Though I didn’t know Melgren’s plan till the night before conscription day.” I look away from her back out over the valley below us.

I catch the sad look that passes over her face as she studies me. “Don’t be sorry. You being back, as much as its annoyed me in one aspect, has been good the the guys. But can you promise me one thing?” She says as she stands.

I look over at her and nod.

”Don’t fuck it up. He deserves to be happy. And you definitely make him the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”

And with that, she turns and leaves me alone in the Rotunda with my thoughts.

Imogen’s words hang over my head. Don’t fuck it up. Easier said than done. Part of me is over joyed that Garrick shares the same feelings. Though looking back I’m an idiot for not seeing it sooner. I just put it down to us being best friends. Yes he wasn’t like that with Xaden, but I was a girl. Of course our friendship would naturally be a little different.

But part of me is also terrified. What if it goes badly? What if it puts a divide in the dynamic of our group. I couldn’t live with myself if I came between Xaden and Garrick. As much as Xaden is extremely loyal to Garrick, Xaden would pick me over him without a question. It would destroy him. But he would do it. And that’s not something I’d want him to do.

So I do the stupid thing and avoid them. Which sadly is quite easy with how little they are around. They’re in our daily battle brief class, wedged up in the back corner. I know cause I feel their eyes on me despite not turning around to see if they are there. But when it comes to challenges, their appearance is few and far between. And if they are there I do my best to blend into the crowd. As best as I can with my hair colour. Though I haven’t dyed it since arriving, and at nearly 2 months in my natural dark hair has started to shown through. Rhiannon and Violet keep telling me to let it grow out as it looks good with the dark red.

But outside of classes, I rarely see them. I get glimpses of them, but most nights they aren’t at dinner. Imogen makes comments about them being sent out for drills and such. Must be part of being a third year. Though I do notice they are gone more often than the other third years.

A few times Garrick tries to catch me after battle brief or find me at challenges, but somehow I manage to get away. I’m not quite ready to have the conversation he wants to have. But I can’t avoid it forever. A few times I nearly cave when I see the pained look in his hazel eyes. Pain I was causing. Pain I’d seen in Xaden and Bodhi’s eyes as well.

Soon our gym time turns into Gauntlet training with presentation day around the corner. So far our squad has done pretty well. Only one casualty so far. One I had to watch Violet almost be apart of. She hid it but I knew how much it killed her on the inside. She was yet to fully complete the gauntlet and today was our last day of training before presentation day tomorrow.

As we walk up the stairs to the gauntlet my heart drops. Not only is Xaden standing off to the side, Garrick is with him. It wasn’t uncommon for leadership to watch their squads do training on the gauntlet, so far neither had turned up for ours. Of course they show up on the last day.

Rhiannon who is next to me must notices something is off and follows my eyes to where Xaden and Garrick are.

“Why do you look so scared to see Xaden and Garrick?” She asks.

I hadn’t quite built the relationship with her that Violet had, but it was getting there. But I hadn’t told her about my interaction with Garrick after the challenge with Imogen.

“Remember how he took me to the healers after my fight with Imogen?” I whisper to her so the others around us don’t hear. The last thing I need is gossip spreading about this while I’m still figuring my own feelings out.

She nods. “Yeah I remember. Practically rushed over and scooped you up in his arms before you could get off the mat. Was quite romantic.” I roll my eyes at her.

Our group comes to a stop in front of the gauntlet, Xaden and Garrick making their way over with Emettiro. Both their eyes locked on mine.

I lean closer to her. “He might have confessed he’s essentially been in love with me for years and years despite me being dead and I kind of panicked and ran off and have been avoiding him ever since. Which also means avoiding my brother.”

She shakes her head and chuckles at me. “Girl I could have told you he was in love with you. No one looks at someone the way he does with out being in love.”

I go to reply but Emettiro calls us to start running the gauntlet. And I’m glad Rhiannon and I end up near the front, being one of the first ones to go. Though I doubt Xaden and Garrick are here to try talk to me, as much as they may want to. At the end of the day, they want the wing to do well.

I step up as Rhiannon takes off, my eyes meeting Garrick’s. His face is a mask and I can’t read it at all. I can tell he’s upset though. He’s never like that with me. I’m one of the few he never puts a mask up for. Xaden on the other hand is intently focused on Violet who is behind me. Before I take off up the gauntlet I offer Garrick a quick smile. For a brief second before I take off, his mask falters and his eyes soften as he gives me a tight lipped smile. The entire way up the I feel his eyes following me. He’s yet to see me climb it. And probably won’t tomorrow as most of the leadership wait up top for their squads and wings to pass the gauntlet.

I reach the top with ease. Yet again Melgren’s training had really prepared me for this. I’d barely had any issues getting up the gauntlet in the first day. And most times I caught up to or passed the person in front of me. As much as I didn’t want to think it. I was grateful for his training over the years. I turn around to look down the gauntlet to see both Garrick and briefly Xaden looking up at me. Both look happy with how easily I made it up. Xaden’s gaze drops to something below me. Violet is yet again stuck on the last parts of the gauntlet. And dare I say, does Xaden looks concerned? His eyes shift up to mine. We both know she needs to find an alternate way up the last part of the gauntlet.

Part 9

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #the empyrean #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis #garrick tavis imagine #the fourth wing

67 notes · View notes

everettswritings · 4 months

Text

All my posts keep blowing up! Anyways, my mom’s letting me stay home from school today so… yeah. More headcanons!

Sucker for slapstick and physical comedy. Even the simple “getting hit in the face with a rake after stepping on it” routine is enough to make him die laughing!

Not opposed to pulling a childish prank every now and then, and most certainly not a stranger to it. But that’s just canon, you can’t change my mind

Literally never stays in place, if you look away for a nanosecond and look back, they’re already elsewhere

Honestly, you don’t even need to look away! They’ll just move around regardless

Owner of a slide-whistle, and uses said slide-whistle to annoy everyone. You can’t do anything without having to hear that godforsaken instrument

You know how some people immediately drop everything whenever someone turns on a baby sensory video to watch it? That’s him. I’m not elaborating.

I have a lot of headcanons for their other usages of the puppetry thing, the list is quite long in all honesty. There are some I’m saving for the more specific headcanons, but I will say right now that he definitely orchestrates little comedies for himself to enjoy(even if the cookies being used as puppets hate it)

They may or may not draw often, but whenever they do it kinda looks like childish scribbles.

And the funny thing is, they’re more than capable of creating high quality masterpieces! They just won’t out of spite

Makes too much eye contact. Nobody knows if it’s an intimidation tactic or if it’s because they’re neurodivergent, but it’s still scary either way.

Probably annoys cookies by giving them absurd nicknames they hate, ESPECIALLY the other beasts.

And that’s the last of it! I’ve got some more specific stuff planned, but I think I’ll wait till the weekend so that I can have more time to work on it. It’s definitely really fun to write for him, the more I do it the more I love it! Shadow Milk Cookie is definitely one of the most fun characters in the game and I dream of the day he becomes playable(which will probably never happen; but a man can dream, can’t he?). Have a good one 🫶

#everetts writings #headcanon #headcanons #cr kingdom #crk #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk cookie

71 notes · View notes

aaeeart · 1 year

Text

I feel guilty about this one :')

Wanna read something evil? Read the fanfic under the cut!

New addition from the Inquisitor Kanan AU, this one is from Fortress Inquisitorius and will have some unsettling stuff (Fallen Order and Rebels were mean to captured Jedi and so am I), like you know, torture. Just fyi if you don't approve, don't read 😄 I'm posting these excerpts randomly so far - no reading order yet, take it or leave it >:)

But for some quick info, you know what this is, the jedi gets snatched, Empire is mean, the jedi is sad.

Kanan flinched awake, a dream in his head quickly dissipating leaving behind confusion and a gradual understanding. He was in a dimly lit cell in an uncomfortable interrogation chair he had occupied since his arrival at Fortress Inquisitorius. Still bound from his chest to legs, still just as much hopeless as he has been before he finally fell asleep.

His gaze fixed on the opposing wall, his features contorting as he struggled to control the tightness in his facial muscles that lingered from the fading dream. Though the specifics eluded him, he could recall the Ghost and his crew engaged in conversation, a stark contrast to his current reality. The dream had offered a temporary respite, only to further accentuate his misery upon waking.

Lost in his thoughts of the elusive fantasy, Kanan became aware of another presence only when the purge trooper made a sharp movement to his right. The trooper stood by the red barrier, assuming a stance that suggested he was surely due to be changing shifts soon.

A mischievous grin formed on Kanan’s face as he spoke, his voice laced with mockery and a touch of wonder.

„You know,“ he taunted, relishing in the opportunity to undermine the trooper’s intimidating facade, „I’ve encountered more fearsome guards at a droid spa. Straight backs and all that, you know?“ The trooper’s shoulder twitched in response to the prisoner’s remark, prompting him to adopt a more rigid and militaristic pose. Kanan chuckled inwardly, thoroughly amused by the trooper’s reaction. „Honestly, they'll have anyone guarding important people these days, wouldn’t you agree?“

Seething with anger, the trooper clenched his fist, but before he could formulate a retort, an urgent beeping emanated from his wrist com. The trooper’s helmet crackled with a distorted voice demanding his presence elsewhere. Casting a – Kanan imagined a resentful glare on his undoubtedly ugly face – at the jedi, the trooper reached for his belt pocket and deactivated the red barrier with his key card, leaving Kanan alone once more.

In the ensuing solitude, Kanan took a deep breath, attuning his senses to the surrounding environment. Though meditation proved challenging within these confines, it still offered a means to gather strength and fortify his resolve. As he struggled to calm his racing thoughts, a traitorous voice whispered in his mind, sowing seeds of doubt and despair.

"Hera didn't come for you," the voice insidiously murmured. Kanan bit his lip, determined to silence the treacherous inner dialogue. "They left you," the voice persisted, its relentless persistence threatening to erode his resolve. Frowning, Kanan pushed back against the voice, "I'm at peace with my choice." he whispered to himself and let the bubbling anger cool off. "They're safe. They're alive."

The truth of his words resonated within him. He knew deep down that he would feel it if something had befallen his crew. Besides, the Grand Inquisitor would undoubtedly relish in taunting him with such information. The Inquisitor rarely left the moon anymore, especially not since a few days ago, when apparently Lord Vader himself gave his dark side puppets the order to break their new toy.

It turned out a new jedi came to Lothal. Ahsoka Tano. The realization brought a mix of glee and apprehension. Ahsoka was a legend among the padawans, Kanan recalled, the student of Anakin Skywalker.

He supposed it only made sense she survived the Purge. She left the jedi order near the end of the war.

"Fulcrum," the Grand Inquisitor had revealed during a previous encounter, his words still reverberating in Kanan's memory. "She is the one you've been receiving orders from." The revelation had shocked Kanan.

He spent so much time thinking he was the sole survivor and yet...

"You really didn't know," the Grand Inquisitor chuckled. "How dissapointing. And how inconsiderate of your captain, don't you think?"

Kanan felt a little betrayed at the thought. Did Hera know Fulcrum was a jedi? The Inquisitor picked up on the hesitation in a split second and tried his best to exploit it.

But he left the cell as frustrated by his failure to make Kanan succumb to his emotions as he did any other day, while Kanan, if he ignored the fact he wasn't escaping any time soon, or that his body felt like it could crumble to dust with each blow, slash or surge of electricity, he felt victorious as he smiled each time the Inquisitor lost patience and left.

Ever since Ahsoka's appearance however, his situation had deteriorated. Before, Kanan had endured each painful day with the belief that death would soon claim him due to his perceived uselessness. Now, he found himself staring into an abyss of uncertainty. He was not to be killed; he was to be broken, molded into one of the Inquisitors. Kanan understood the reason behind this decision—his connection to his crew and their association with Ahsoka made him the perfect bait.

"There is no hope," the small voice persisted, its insidious tone causing Kanan to sigh heavily. He raised his gaze toward the ceiling, fighting against the frog in his throat. The sounds outside his cell abruptly captured his attention, diverting his focus from the haunting voice within.

It couldn't be... Stretching out with his senses, Kanan sought the familiar Force signature amidst the suffocating darkness, but..

Ezra's voice, filled with determination and defiance, echoed through the corridor.

"No," Kanan whispered in disbelief and lost focus as thick fog of panic overwhelmed his senses.

No. No no no.

"You will take me to Kanan Jarrus." Ezra's voice commanded sharply.

"That won't work on us, kid." A cold answer from a trooper.

Then an amused laugh from the Grand Inquisitor. "You will see your master soon enough."

The heavy doors swung open, revealing the Grand Inquisitor and the troopers. Ezra's eyes widened as he spotted Kanan, his voice filled with relief. "Kanan!"

The Grand Inquisitor's sly smile twisted into a mocking grin. "Ah, Kanan Jarrus, our heroic Jedi master. Your padawan has been quite resourceful, breaking into our secured facilities to find you."

Meeting Ezra's gaze, Kanan saw relief flooding the young boy's face, mingled with a sense of urgency.

A surge of pride and concern welled up within Kanan. Ezra's gone to such lengths to save him? Doubts flitted through his mind, but the profound connection and familiarity that flowed between them dispelled any skepticism as their eyes locked in a steadfast gaze.

Fear consumed Kanan's being as desperation laced his voice. "What are you doing here?" he pleaded, struggling against the restraints that held him in place.

Ezra made to move towards Kanan, but the two Purge Troopers grasped his arms and held him back.

The Grand Inquisitor's voice dripped with sadistic satisfaction as he walked closer to Ezra. "Unfortunately, Kanan, your apprentice's bravery comes at a price," He paused and extended his hand towards one of the troopers and the armored soldier placed his electric baton in it.

Kanan growled urgently, his body contorting in a futile attempt to break free from the restraints, but he only managed to bruise himself.

The Inquisitor smiled and activated the baton. He spoke to Ezra. "It looks like your master doesn't wish to save you, boy."

"No!" Kanan yelled when the dark sider raised his hand. With a swift motion, he struck the boy, causing him to stagger and cry out in pain. In that moment, Kanan's crumbling walls collapsed, his heart overriding his logic with a single desperate goal.

Summoning every ounce of strength he had left within him, Kanan broke free from the chair, and hurled the Grand Inquisitor together with the Purge Troopers aside as he rushed toward Ezra. But as Kanan reached out to embrace the boy, his arms closed around empty air.

The illusion shattered before his eyes, leaving only a haunting void.

The Grand Inquisitor's laughter echoed through the cell.

Realization washed over Kanan like a chilling wave. He had been played. The weight of his failure settled upon his shoulders, crushing his spirit and extinguishing the fight within him.

Before Kanan could react, the Grand Inquisitor exerted a powerful Force push, slamming him against the cold floor, rendering him motionless once again. The Inquisitor knelt beside him, his gaze burning with sadistic pleasure.

"Come now, Kanan," the Inquisitor taunted, his voice filled with malice. "Where's that charming smile of yours?" Kanan fought to calm his rapid breathing, his lips trembling into a thin line. The metallic scent of the cell invaded his nostrils as the Inquisitor continued to press him down.

He lost. He did exactly what the Inquisitor wanted and expected. He suddenly noticed how cold he felt, as if he just emerged from an icy pond…

In a moment of overwhelming vulnerability, Kanan flinched as the Inquisitor activated his crimson lightsaber, bringing it dangerously close to his face. Heat emanated from the blade, uncomfortably close to Kanan's skin.

A hand landed on the side of Kanan's head, tugging at his hair, still tied in a ponytail. The grip tightened, digging into his skin as the Inquisitor forced his head up, drawing it nearer to the blade.

Leaning forward, the Grand Inquisitor hissed into Kanan's ear, his voice laced with triumph. "You see, Kanan," he whispered, relishing in his victory. "You are not special. Everyone breaks within the walls of Fortress Inquisitorius, and you are no exception. You're just like the rest of us."

He let him go and the two imposing Purge Troopers forcibly lifted Kanan from the ground, dragging him back to the interrogation chair, strapping him in once again.

The Grand Inquisitor approached Kanan, his eyes burning with a sadistic fire. "Use the dark side, Kanan," he demanded, his voice dripping with malice. "Free yourself and embrace the power that awaits you."

Kanan clenched his jaw, his eyes filled with unwavering resolve and loathing. "No," he declared, the simple word filled with defiance.

The Grand Inquisitor's face twisted into a cruel smile. He retrieved the electro baton and pressed it against Kanan's chest. Agonizing pain coursed through his body and he screamed and the longer the pain lasted, the more did the scream sounded like an agonized wail followed unwittingly by tears. From the pain or for the shame of how easily he let himself be tricked, for himself...

The Inquisitor removed the baton.

Kanan took a long desperate breath, shaking from exhaustion. The Grand Inquisitor gripped Kanan's chin, his grip tightening with every word. "You are a fool, Kanan Jarrus," he sneered and forced the jedi to look him in the eye. "You will break, just like all the others, it's only a matter of time. And when you do, I will revel in your defeat."

He let him go, tossing the baton aside, waving his hand towards the electric torture device connected to the chair itself.

The excruciating pain wracked Kanan's body, his screams reverberating through the walls of the fortress.

TBC...

#star wars #star wars fanart #star wars rebels #kanan jarrus #swr fanart #artists on tumblr #art #digital art #fanart #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #swr fanfic #kanan jarrus fanfiction #tw torture #tw psychological torture #tw electrocution #dark side #i need to write or draw something light-hearted after this this was exhausting :')#inquisitor!kanan au

208 notes · View notes