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egopocalypse · 7 months

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Haunting

Whumptober Day 10: "Can't you see that you're lost without me?"

No matter where Chase goes, the shadow follows.

He's ditched his car and three others in the last day, driving the gas tanks down to their last dregs in his haste to get away. He doesn't have a destination in mind other than away, yet with each mile down the unforgiving highway, the chill down his spine rankles him even more.

He slaps his hand over the back of his neck, like the sting would make the crawling fade away.

"There aren't any more cameras," he mutters under his breath. "I'm safe now. It's fine."

But how can he be so sure? Ever since those freaky scientists guys were murdered, he's had to hop between towns, losing the trail of whatever people or things want to find him. He hasn't heard from Echo since he escaped IRIS. He has no idea what the public knows about him. (Would IRIS send out a manhunt? Do people think he's a criminal?) He has no sense of where to go or what to do but survive.

Why couldn't this have been a misunderstanding? Why didn't they let him go home?

What does Anti want from him?

The ghost of a breath sends a shiver down his spine, and he cranks the heat in the current old beater to the max. It sputters out a smog of hot diesel from the exhaust; his face screws up at the stench.

He's been in this rustbucket truck for too long. Hopefully the more inland he goes, the easier it'll be to find a rural town to swap cars. The sooner he can find a gas station without CCTV, let alone a WATCHR, the better.

Except the beater doesn't get him that far.

Something rattles under the hood, and a plume of smoke sparks and slithers out through the cracks. Chase curses and slams the steering wheel and pulls over three miles before the next exit, then grabs his meager belongings and sprints away as he hears a resounding boom and a rush of heat scorches his back.

It exploded. The truck fucking exploded.

With his heart in his throat, Chase reaches for his back pocket and nearly falls over in relief. The picture is still there. Even after everything, he hasn't lost it. He can't.

"For someone trying to avoid me, you put on quite the show."

Chase lurches and goes for the gun in his waistband, only to jolt when he comes up empty. It must still be in the center console, melting into a mangled mess with the rest of the scorching hot metal in front of them.

His hands flex and curl into fists. He doesn't want to turn around, to face the nightmare ruining his life, but if he doesn't, it would give it all the opportunities to stab him or snap his neck, like it had with the bodies it dropped right before they started this race.

"How are you here?" Chase asks. "How do you keep finding me?"

Anti's eyes light up with an eerie white glow. "Do you think it's hard?" it says. "I've followed you from the first time you called my name, the first time you saw this face. You've only been able to run because I wanted to chase."

Chase's breath sharpens. There truly is no getting away, is there? He's crossed half the country in the past few days, and yet no matter where he goes, Anti or IRIS will always find him.

"Why me?" He hates the pleading strain in his voice, but it never seems to fall away. "Why do you want me?"

Anti grins. "You still know nothing, don't you? Those people wanted to use you, but they didn't put in the effort to teach you."

Flames spark in Chase's chest, and despite the autumnal chill, the heat from the truck fire drips sweat down his back.

"Teach me what? I want some fucking answers."

"What will you pay to get them?"

Chase balks. "Huh?"

"You heard me," Anti says. "There's a price for answers, Chase--a price for every choice you made. What will you pay to earn the answers you want?"

He bites his cheek. His wallet got confiscated the second IRIS got their hands on him. The now-unusable gun had been picked off the corpse of an agent that Anti killed on its rampage through the facility. His phone and whiskey were lost before IRIS nabbed him. He has nothing of any value to give.

Anti's smile cools. Those dark, dead eyes bore into Chase's skull.

"Stubbornness won't save you, Chase. Refuse, and you'll stay on the run, forever looking over your shoulder until the maggots put you down. You're a danger, and if you're no use to them, you won't survive. I won't save you a third time."

Chase chokes. "A third?"

Anti's voice lowers, regaining some of the rasp it once had, before the gaping wound on his neck disappeared without a sign of its existence. "Make your choice."

The picture burns a hole in Chase's pocket. Other than the tattered, filthy clothes streaked with blood, dirt, and sweat, it's the only thing he has left to his name. The only tie he has to the person he once was. The only sign that before IRIS, before Anti, Chase had a life. He had something to return to, to live for.

What use is a memento of the last light of his life when it's flickered out?

He pulls out the polaroid and burns the image into his retinas, searing into his memory the bright, joyful, loving faces of his family. He kisses the image as a final goodbye, then offers it like a lifeline.

"It's all I have."

Anti studies the picture, studies every inch of Chase's face, and studies the hand reaching out to him. He slips the picture away and clamps a hand over Chase's.

"You made the right choice, Chase. Welcome home."

@seaswalllow @asteriuszenith @pixie-in-trebleland

#jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #chase brody #writersofjack #River's Writing #Happy birthday Anti #It's been way too long since I've a) written and b) posted anything for this fandom #But hello :]#I am back :]#I can never miss this boy's birthday ;)

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wildechild3 · 1 year

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Maurice Drabble

It was really nice outside about a week ago when I wrote this. It’s just a little paragraph but I’m having a sorta shit day and I just wanna cope via fanfic for my favorite book.

“Maurice wakes up to the dawn of spring in his eyes and a warm weight on his chest. He turns his head away from the sunlight and looks to his lover - still asleep in his arms. The light was creeping up Alec’s face, almost reaching his eyes. Maurice lifted his hand to shade the light - all to allow his love to sleep just a bit longer. They needed to rouse soon, but he figured a few more moments - right here, right now - couldn’t hurt.”

#river's writing #maurice 1987 #maurice 1914 #Alec Scudder #maurice hall #alec scudder supremacy

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an-inky-fingered-lass · 10 months

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May and Daisy, and building steadiness and security in the midst of it all.

Daisy let her shoulder sink sideways against the doorframe, staring unseeingly at the wall of cabinets and trying to shake a humming, dazed buzz from her brain. They were going to have to go through these, at some point. He’d taken care of most of his stuff beforehand, had had enough time for that kind of preparation, but there was still some minor stuff left, things that needed to go where they were going.

May had made some headway already, weary and steady, working through those sleepless nights she probably thought no one had noticed. Probably. You could never be completely sure with May.

Daisy prodded experimentally at the heavy, hollow ache in her chest and squeezed her eyes shut, shoving her shoulder harder against the wooden grain. She felt untethered, lost in some quiet, inarticulate way, but the ground was solid beneath her feet. Nothing in her was screaming to run. Not from this.

“Hey.”

Daisy blinked out of her stupor, twisting around to look over her shoulder. May had come up behind her, still save for the one hand worrying uncharacteristically at the edge of a sleeve. There was something soft about her like this, lacking the hard frame of her jacket and the extra inches from her boots. Daisy was still getting used to it. May looked more weary than ever, eyes still warm if you knew what to look for, unwary like it was the easiest thing in the world. Something in her expression made Daisy tilt her head in a question -- it looked like she was chewing over something, wrestling with something that didn’t have any harsh edges.

A beat passed. May shifted her weight a little awkwardly and then held out an arm, an invitation. “Come here?”

Daisy blinked again. “May?”

Read the rest on Ao3

#i wrote another thing!#river's writing #agents of shield #melinda may #daisy johnson #mama may #aos fanfic #this was unexpectedly comforting to write #themes of grief and loss #(again)#(oops)#and of living and breathing through it all #and finding steady ground bit by bit #and holding onto each other while you do.#they mean so much to me your honor #alright i have been at this posting thingymagiggy for HOURS i will post now.

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kindling-of-sorts · 10 months

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looking for the shapes in the silence

a/n: if you squint hard enough this is the prequel to my kam superpower au that i haven't posted yet,,,, enjoy!

[ao3]

pairing: keefitz

TWs: none

summary:

“I swear that I loved you,” Fitz blurts, words nearly incomprehensible but determined nonetheless. For a moment, Keefe wonders if he’ll crumble. He hesitates a moment longer, and finds himself intact. “I know,” Keefe says, because he does.

Or: Keefe and Fitz are exes and Eternalia's greenhorn superheroes. They go out stargazing with their friends, and talk about their past.

word count: 1.5k

Their eyes meet, and the world does not end.

Keefe and Fitz pause as the rest of the group stumble out of the van excitedly. The night sky is brilliant and sharp, and half a year ago, it would have reminded them of the other.

They smile at each other, and not at the reflection of themselves in the other’s eyes. If they rip their gaze away quickly enough, the mirror inside is easier to ignore.

Keefe looks away first. It doesn’t feel like victory or defeat, but quiet understanding. Silence is kinder to him, these days.

Biana calls for Fitz’s help on setting up the blankets, and the magic evanesces, if there was any at all. He’s getting better at letting go.

“I’m never trusting any of you ever again,” Stina announces loudly. “Stargazing, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. We literally drove twenty minutes to my backyard.”

“We asked you and you said yes,” Biana calls out, laying down on her back.

“I was playing Candy Crush!”

“No, you were supposed to be doing paperwork.”

“Shut up!”

Sophie sighs wordlessly, head in hands as she pulls Stina and Biana apart. Keefe thinks she might be tired of babysitting in case they start bickering. She’s running on three hours of sleep, which she excitedly told Keefe this morning, much to his chagrin.

“You guys are kind of killing the stargazing vibe right now,” Keefe says, thinly veiling a grin. The city sky is brilliant, but also just as bare as it has been for its very polluted history.

Once everyone settles down, Keefe sees Fitz has been kicked out from Biana’s. Fitz doesn’t fight back, even with Sophie’s equal, if not slightly less, exasperation across his face, though it’s hardly malicious.

Keefe doesn’t hide his smile this time. He’s never stopped being jealous of the Vackers, even after the tense glances and tenser arguments. As one of the rare insiders—if barely—Keefe saw their picture-perfect frame whole, then shattered, and then he realized the fractures were always there.

Still, the jealousy never dissipated. He’s a lot less ashamed of admitting that, now.

Fitz and Biana are a lot happier than they were half a year ago.

He’s proud of them, really. As heroes, as friends, as the closest thing to family he’s ever known.

He’s proud of Fitz. He loves him still.

They never stood together. That’s okay. One day, they will.

Keefe waves Fitz over when he catches him staring. Fitz’s eyes widen, a little, and tilts his head. Keefe recognizes the habit perhaps a moment too quickly.

Yet he doesn’t look away. He shouts, “If you stay there you’re gonna get your ass wet again!”

Fitz huffs, like the huff he always makes when something mildly amuses him. He rolls his eyes, even. Keefe counts it as a win.

Just as Keefe is about to speak again, Fitz stands up and stumbles his way over to Keefe’s blanket.

“My jeans are already wet,” Fitz almost complains, but his tone is light enough that it sounds like an observation. It’s actually a bit more disconcerting that way. “Biana is ruthless.”

Keefe snorts. “We all know.”

When their laughter fades, they let their friends’ quickly moving attention span entertain them. Their current debate topic is the validity of the artificial cherry flavor.

“The city’s most promising up-and-coming heroes,” Keefe muses, “arguing over whether cherry flavored Twizzlers actually taste like cherry or not.”

“You would be there waxing poetic about your burning passion for Twizzlers right now if I wasn’t here,” Fitz mutters, head tilted back to observe the spanning, empty night.

“You’re wrong, I hate Twizzlers.” Keefe flashes his teeth unabashedly. “You haven’t left me yet.”

Fitz’s gaze softens, and Keefe might just melt with it. He did, not too long ago, a lifetime before tonight.

“Yeah.” Fitz gulps. “I haven’t.”

The following silence is awkward, but not cruel. It follows, yes, but it doesn’t chase.

They never stopped talking. It’s hard to, when they’re both in every other mission together. Their friends are the same, though that’s kind of inevitable, considering their group is the only heroes around their age.

“Do you remember when we went stargazing in the countryside when we were eight?” Keefe asks.

Fitz’s expression brightens in recognition. “Of course I do.”

“You were so excited, you fell asleep by the time we could actually see the stars, and I had to wake you up.” Keefe nudges Fitz with his arm. The touch doesn’t spark anymore.

“I lived in Eternalia my entire life and couldn’t leave! Of course I was excited,” Fitz says.

Keefe tilts his head. “You weren’t wrong. It was one of the only interesting things in that town.”

“It’s your hometown.”

“Exactly,” Keefe drawls. “Not my home anymore.”

Fitz offers an indecipherable hum. “It was beautiful. I remember it being beautiful.”

“You went home crying. I think that was, like, a life-altering moment for eight-year-old you.”

Fitz drags his hand across his face, but the sheepish smile is impossible to miss.

“Why do you think I came here today in the first place?”

“Uh, Biana manhandled you across the city?”

“Stina’s house is not across the city.”

“Did I lie?”

Fitz doesn’t dignify that with a response, and shakes his head. That smile hasn’t left. “No, I—I wanted to think, I guess. Just sit down and think.”

“Me too. I guess.” Keefe is at a loss for witty responses. Fitz has a way of making people lose their words.

The reminiscing pauses, and the quiet feels tenser. Keefe fidgets, drawing the blanket closer to himself. He opens his mouth to say something, anything—

“I swear that I loved you,” Fitz blurts, words nearly incomprehensible but determined nonetheless.

For a moment, Keefe wonders if he’ll crumble. He hesitates a moment longer, and finds himself intact.

“I know,” Keefe says, because he does.

“I still think about you.”

At that, Keefe laughs. It sounds more genuine than any he’s shared today. “I know.”

Since they gave up.

Fitz’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek as he studies a particular star, or so Keefe guesses. Keefe is following Fitz’s eyes again. Old habits die hard—but slow.

“I still miss you.” Fitz looks like he musters all of his courage as he fixes his eyes on Keefe’s. There’s resolve in the stare. Strength. Not walls between them.

Keefe opens his mouth, and finds it dry. Still, he speaks. It is the only thing he knows.

“I know.”

“And I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but I’m—I’m sorry.”

The desperate boy in front of Keefe is not Fitzroy Vacker, but something more intimate. Perhaps more than the one he kissed.

He still remembers how Fitz’s lips felt on his own. Everyone marvels over their softness, but Keefe remembers them chapped and trembling.

Keefe has ruined so many secrets. He won’t let this one become one of them.

“You’re an idiot,” Keefe declares, “and I love you.” Now. Present tense. Because it’s true.

Fitz looks at him again. Shit, those eyes. Keefe can’t forget those eyes, burning, hurting, exciting. He doesn’t want to.

“And we’ll be okay.” Keefe grabs Fitz by his shoulders, limbs twisting oddly in the uncomfortable position. “Promise.”

A minute passes, then another, and Keefe has half a mind to start shaking Fitz. He worries he said something wrong. Fuck, did he cross the line? He shouldn’t have—

“I can’t really give you my pinky like this,” Fitz mumbles, and there’s that huff again.

Keefe smiles. “I don’t care. Promise.”

“I promise.” Fitz doesn’t hesitate.

“You’re going to be so good, and I’ll be right there cheering you on,” Keefe says firmly, because it’s easier than, I won’t stare at your back all day anymore, or, I’m sorry I can’t let you go, or, I hope I can love you in a way that matters.

“We’re going to be so good,” Fitz counters, “most promising heroes, and all that.”

“I think I might have heard you say more run-on sentences today than in the past sixteen years.”

Fitz sputters. “You have a way of making people ruin perfectly good grammar.”

“I think you’re just easy to make fun of.”

Fitz laughs, not huffs, vivid and lilting. Keefe breathes, and decides Fitz is the brightest star he could ever gaze at tonight.

“Linh Song, you are a filthy traitor.” Dex seethes, who Keefe finds to be drawing twenty-four. “I cannot believe I ever trusted your innocent act.”

Linh shrugs with a polite smile. Dex continues wallowing as everyone groans and finished their round of Uno. The champion is Linh. Again. For the fourth time in a row.

“Oh, I am going to obliterate everyone,” Keefe says.

“I’m sure you will.”

“You are literally the worst at every board game ever.”

Fitz’s eyes gleam. For all the prim and proper facades he’s managed to plaster, his competitiveness has been left untamed.

“Thank you,” Fitz says, gentle, and the words unsaid are not hidden.

“Me too,” Keefe whispers, and corrects himself: the magic never left.

#river's writing #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc fic #keefitz

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crispycreambacon · 2 months

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Cut Through The Noise

Even as the strike ends, the Palestinian genocide has not.

Now more than ever, there are so many conflicting voices. People with their own self-serving, hateful motivations speak over us, and sometimes our own voices can turn against us. We may feel like our voice isn't enough or we aren't doing enough.

This is why it's so important to learn to shut down that noise. No matter how much people scream that what we're doing is useless or a waste of time, keep talking. Keep talking about Palestine. Keep talking about Palestine for as long as this goes on, both online and in real life. If Israel won't end their genocide, we won't end our protest.

Below is a list of what you can do and the poem transcript.

Check and spread this post which contains a comprehensive list on how to help Palestine.

Learn about the history of Palestine and how the displacement and eventual genocide of Palestinians started in 1948.

Learn more about Palestine, the myths surrounding it and the arguments debunking it.

Boycott companies who are either directly or indirectly supporting and finding Palestine's genocide.

Click a button to raise funds for UNRWA – an organisation aiding Palestinian refugees.

Attend a protest.

Help Gazans stay connected by purchasing eSims for them.

Donate to the following organizations – any amount, no matter how small, goes a long way:

UNWRA

Care for Gaza

Medical Aid for Palestinians

Palestine Children's Relief Fund

Islamic Relief

Here's another post detailing more charities you can donate to

And most importantly of all: Don't Stop Talking About Palestine! However you interpret it as – creating art, talking to the people in your life, emailing and calling your representatives, even reblogging and making posts – make your voice loud and clear!

— Poem Transcript —

There's a lot of noise right now

Screams dehumanizing poor souls

Groans from those in willful ignorance

People digging deeper and deeper holes

And it's overwhelming, it really is

I do not blame you

Sometimes you feel that your voice is too small

I feel that way too

But despite that, I urge you to keep going

And demand for what's right

Even it sounds like a whimper

You're still joining in the fight

And soon the rest of us will join

We can stand together here

We can cut through the white noise

And make our message clear

#palestine #gaza #free palestine #free gaza #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #don't stop talking about palestine #strike for palestine #justice for palestine #ceasefire now #palestine solidarity #palestine resources #art #artists on tumblr #comic #chris p fried art #chris p fried writings #tw eyestrain #eyestrain

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ejsuperstar · 22 days

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Imagine you live in pelican town. The new farmer has been here a couple weeks now and seems to be settling in, except... He's picking the weirdest friend choices. Like sure it's not weird to befriend the local fisherman, especially when he has an interest in fishing himself, but you're pretty sure you've seen him rooting through the Saloon's garbage with the local homeless man. As well, he keeps harassing the poor guy who works at Joja even though you KNOW he doesn't want to be friends with him.

And since you're on the topic of weirdness, isn't it odd he seemingly runs everywhere at a full sprint? Or just... Eats entire raw fish while fishing for "energy reasons"...

...

Despite all that, it's too early to call him off putting or anything... He has been engaging in town traditions, and he's started helping out with the old community centre. He's probably like the rest of you. Someone with a few quirks, that will fit in with the valley great!

Surely he can't get any weirder... Right?

#been playing my new sdv save some more recently #i keep thinking about the whole “eldritch” farmer thing #where the famer is just... objectively strange #i fucking love it #i love the idea of the farmer being some sort of higher being #someone who doesnt understand local conventions #someone who doesnt get why its considered weird to eat whole raw fish fresh from the river #or how it might be offputting to greet someone for the first time using their name #but at the same time #this eldritch entity genuinely wants to be a part of the community #they want to learn and they want to love and they want to learn to love #i see minmaxxer/speedrunner eldritch famer a lot #mainly played off for gags #but not genuinely loving their live in the valley eldritch farmer #at least not often #theres so much temptation to write an eldritch farmer x shane fanfic set in spring 1 or some shit lmao #text post #stardew valley #sdv #sdv farmer

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littl3sp4rkly4ngel · 1 month

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─── ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐩𝐭 𝟐

content warning ; ellie x fem!reader ellie being her chaotic self again .ᐟ nudes, cursing, talk about fighting, mentions of sexual behaviour (neck biting, blowjobs, pinning against wall and sending nudes), petnames… and pics of silly cats :3

author’s note ; you guys ATE the first one in less then 48h like WHAT… hope u guys enjoy these ily <3 btw if u have any ideas drop them in my inbox!!!!

part 1

palestine & tlou click to support palestine

#౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ ── dolly’s writing #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie text #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #tlou2 #tlou

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resqectable · 1 year

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Listen. I wish I could tell you it gets better. But, it doesn’t get better. You get better.

Joan Rivers

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derangedrhythms · 1 month

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Do you believe in ghosts? The creak on the stair, the chill in the room, a strange scent, a wavering light in the window. The ancient house, the walled-up wing, drifting fog, broken battlements, deep darkness, silent desolation, the empty tomb and its rotting shroud, the damp bed too soft to the touch. The sudden presence of a presence.

Jeanette Winterson, from ‘Night Side of the River’

#jeanette winterson #night side of the river #other writing #ghost

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strangerinaholyplace · 5 months

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If you haven't heard, otw (in other words ao3) have forced a volunteer to resign because they had "from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free" as their status on messaging platfrom slack, which otw use for communications.

They were denying that Israel is an apartheid settler state or that the genocide in Gaza is even happening.

This is unforgivable in my opinion, and I have sent a message to otw through their official contact form here, and I suggest you do the same. Below you'll see my message as well, in case you want to copy and paste, or just use it as a template of sorts.

I urge you also not to donate to otw anymore, unless the zionist volunteers and members of otw are removed from their positions and banned from otw.

"I am disgusted and enraged about the treatment of otw volunteer bjorn due to their pro-Palestine message status on slack, and even more so about the fact that zionists are allowed to run free amongst otw/ao3 volunteers, claiming that what Israel is doing in Gaza is not genocide, and claiming that Israel is not an apartheid settler state. As a person who has donated to the otw many times i wish I could revoke my money. But also as a donor I as well as many others demand the otw to resign fully, ban all zionist volunteers, have a written apology to bjorn and all users repudiating zionist actions in Gaza, donate to the Red Crescent to support Palestine, and reinstate bjorn as volunteer. If this is not done I as well as many others will no longer post on ao3, use it, volunteer for it and definitely not donate any more. You should be ashamed of yourselves. "

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free. 🇵🇸

PS. If anyone decides to start talking about ao3 tagging systems or content allowed on the platform on this post you are getting blocked immediately. I dont care about your views on this, and you should think for 2 seconds before putting silly fanfic discourse on the same level as the murder of thousands.

#ao3 #otw #organization for transformative works #archive of our own #palestine #gaza #free palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #boycott #personal #gaza genocide #edited to add the correct flag sorry y'all and thanks to everyone who let me know!#i was extremely mad when writing this and didn’t notice i pressed the wrong one that's on me sorry

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achaoticeternal · 1 year

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bewitched.

AEMOND TARGARYEN X FEM!READER

summary: more word has arrived to you regarding your husbands infidelity. as he returns to you, you present him with a choice. word count: 2k warnings: drinking. strong language. angst. adultery. pain. a/n: see end of the piece for author’s note

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

choose your own ending...

— ending 1.

— ending 2.

— ending 3.

— ending 4.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“My lady,” Your chambermaid spoke from the doorway, returning with a fresh pitcher of wine as you had requested, “Should I see the children to bed?”

“Please do,” Your voice was soft, the words fragile in your solemn state.

“It might be best for you to rest, rather than await the return of Prince Aemond.”

Her words were gentle, simply advising you to take care of yourself. But the fires of hurt and betrayal were already lit.

“What makes you believe that I am awaiting my husband?” With words more venomous than you intended, you bid her leave.

At the sound of the door shutting, you stood and moved toward the pitcher and chalice left idly by the fireplace. You poured the deep red liquid and lifted the cup to your lips, taking a generous gulp. The dull burn allowed some relief to your heightened senses. But you also knew that the alcohol only added fuel to your fire.

Rain began to pour over King’s Landing, softly thudding against the windows and stone of the castle walls. Usually, the rain would lull you to sleep, but it seemed the thunder of the skies only spurred you to continue drowning away the ache in your heart. Your eyes flickered over the second chalice that had been placed on the silver tray with your pitcher. It seemed that the servants expected Aemond to return to the Keep tonight. You were not sure if you wish for him to return or for him to drown in the heavy rains that poured from the sky.

As if the fool perfectly timed you, you glanced out the window to see the silhouette of Vhagar descending toward the Dragon Pits. In a drunken frenzy, you pulled the curtain to cover it, instead, the velvet fabric came down at your harsh tug.

The frustration would nearly boil over, but you did not allow the simple issues to push you over the threshold. As the Queen had often advised you, it was important that a lady bite her tongue and keep her composure even when she is by her lonesome. If someone saw the illusion of a proper lady shatter, it would be nearly impossible to recover from. She even revealed to you how she had come by this knowledge, sharing with you the events that occurred the night Aemond became the one-eyed prince.

Swiftly, you moved back toward the fireplace, picking up the parcel that a raven had delivered directly to you just this morning. It appeared blank to the simple eye, but when you hovered the note over the fire, the message revealed itself. The contents of it were simple, but completely shattered something inside of you:

She is with child.

Though the news had shocked you, the existence of the other woman did not. When Aemond and Daeron laid siege to Harrenhal and the Riverlands, word had traveled through the courts regarding the princes bedding other women. At the time, you had bit your tongue, excusing your husband’s infidelity as you convinced yourself it was just something he used to relieve his stress from battlefields.

But even after the marches through the Riverlands were claimed to be successful and at an end, Aemond would sometimes fly off to Harrenhal. He would say that he was just ensuring the hold that the Greens had on the region, yet you never believed his lies.

It was said that Harrenhal was cursed, blood mixed into the stone that built it. You believed the stories true after the great fire took the lives of Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin when you were a child yourself. But now a curse had attached itself to your husband and kept him crawling back to the towers of Harrenhal.

The door cracked open, the hinges creaking as he entered, exhaustion painted over his face. Aemond was completely drenched, his hair now scrunched into waves rather than falling perfectly straight. Most of his leather overlayer had been discarded for the servants to see to, leaving him in a black tunic and pants with his riding boots.

It took him a few moments, but Aemond quickly came to realize that you were resting by the fire rather than fast asleep in your shared bed.

“Should you not be sleeping, dear wife?” Aemond called out to you while readying himself to turn into bed.

“Sleep has… escaped me recently,” You replied, eyes remaining on the fire. Only at his words did the nerves begin to spur inside you. How would he react when you told him? What would tomorrow bring? None of it really mattered, you supposed, as long as you didn’t allow your nerves to get the best of you.

Now in his proper bedclothes, Aemond began to approach the fireplace. He noticed the half-empty pitcher of wine, slightly shocked that you were partaking this late at night. Usually, you would reserve yourself to only enjoying wine at dinners or feasts, not in your marriage chambers. His eye flickered to the second chalice that sat empty on the silver platter. His slender fingers reached to grasp it, “Would this cup be for me?”

You turned your head, looking between the pitcher and chalice but never into his eye, “The maid brought it with her, probably as a formality. No one expected you back tonight.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed at the tone you spoke with, and it caught the prince off guard when you returned your gaze to the fire rather than continuing to speak with him. He poured his own chalice with wine and allowed himself to enjoy it. He stayed in place, unwavering from his position as he looked down on you.

The air went still… the taste of the wine began to sour in his mouth. He sensed something to be out of place, yet he could not pinpoint it. Usually, you would be elated to see him, but recently you were far more reserved from your husband. Aemond was not sure if he should be upset or concerned, but did not ponder on the thought too much as he allowed himself to attend to his duties rather than his wife.

With a sigh and a light cough to clear his throat, the prince finally spoke once more, “Come to bed…”

The pause settled again before your soft chuckle hung in the air. Quickly, you stood from your seated position and drowned the remainder of your chalice in one swig. You moved to the table and refilled your cup till the pitcher ran dry. Instead of crossing to your bed, you remained standing, only turned away from the man. This behavior caused Aemond to clench his jaw, subduing his urge to correct such disobedience.

“Will you not come to bed with me?” Aemond summoned you again.

Once more you chuckled at him, not sparing him any sort of look from you. Just the cruel chuckle of your acknowledgment.

“Your husband demands—”

“My husband demands me of nothing,” You interrupted him, “And he would do well to find another bed to sleep in or find himself in tonight.”

At your words, Aemond crossed toward you, attempting to snatch the half-drunk chalice of wine from your hands, “It seems you have overindulged yourself. It would do you well to sleep before—”

“Before what? Before I continue to act out of turn?” With a fierce determination, your fingers clutched down onto the chalice so that Aemond could not separate it from you. Your words dripped with poison, “Or before you return to Harrenhal and bed the whore witch?”

At the mention of Alys, both you and Aemond let go of the goblet at the same time and simply watched it fall to the ground, red liquid covering the tile floors.

“It would do you well not to speak of things you do not know or understand.”

“I understand it quite plainly that my husband is now an adulterer, just like his eldest brother and his damned uncle. It seems that disloyalty to marriage is quite a common trait among Targaryen men.”

Quickly, Aemond’s hand came to your throat, gripping the flesh to show how serious he was being, yet not hard enough to asphyxiate you, “Did you not understand my words before, my stupid little wife? It would do you well not to speak of things you do not know…”

“Oh? But I do know…” Your hands grabbed at his forearms, nails sinking into the flesh so that he would release you, “And it would do you well to learn just how smart your wife is…”

“I have known… I have known about Alys since your first rampage through the Riverlands. For moons, I remained confined to the Red Keep from your orders, and when they came to deliver news of you and your victories, I cheered. I still cheered when the maids told me the rumors between you and Alys, because I was grateful to the Seven that you were alive. Because I was still foolish enough to love you far more than you deserve.”

Tears threatened to spill over, but you swallowed them back. You would not allow Aemond the pleasure of your tears, only the fire of your anger.

“She promised me security for my life and the lives of my men,” Aemond attempted to justify himself, “I could not risk it—”

“You could have offered her gold, offered her a title, or anything else besides your body! Instead, you break your vows. And you did not stop there, because you continue to fly back to Harrenhal whenever you desire the witch’s cunt to the point where your son and daughter could not even recognize you if they ever saw you!” You huffed out, scanning his face for any sign of emotion, anything at all.

“You have allowed your lust to overcome you, disappointing your wife, your mother, and the Seven. Worst of all, you shall now have your own bastard. At least this bastard will not be raised of the Street of Silk as your brother’s bastards have.”

“How did you know?” Aemond’s voice cracked while he asked the question, “How do you know she is pregnant?”

A smirk played on your lips at the question, “It seems that the Master of Whispers is a very devoted friend of the Queen, and with the Queen being your mother, she deemed it important enough to share the news with me, your faithful wife.”

His face went pale at the realization of how many people were aware of his infidelity. While Aemond remained silent, you twisted the knife deeper into his chest. You had been tortured with this knowledge for so long that you now enjoyed the pained expression on his face.

“I have always been good to you, devoted to you. Where others cowered from you, I loved you. Despite the warnings of your blood lust and deformity, I loved you and gave you two perfect children who study just as diligently as you once did. So while you found yourself in the arms of another woman, I tried not to curse your name and assure our children that all was well, even if their father would not be present for them. But now, I look at you like a curse upon my life. You have allowed yourself to be corrupted outside our marriage, and I can no longer offer you salvation for your selfishness…”

“What would you have me do?”

You laughed mockingly at his question. Instead of providing a proper answer, you only glared further into his good eye.

“Please,” Aemond gritted his teeth, hating that he allowed himself to beg an answer from you, “Just tell me what I should do!”

“I can not simply tell you what to do. That would be to easy - what lesson would you have learned?” You shook your head and a shuddering breath escaped you.

“You have to make a choice, Aemond,” Your hand gripped his wrist, forcing him to remain attentive to your words, “Either you atone for the sin your committed and the hurt you’ve caused or you reside in Harrenhal for the rest of your days…”

“This is a choice only you can make — a wife or a witch?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n: I am considering making a follow-up to this one-shot, a blurb about the outcome of the options that Aemond has... maybe...

#mattie writes #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd angst #alys rivers #aemond targaryen x wife!reader #aemond targaryen x alys #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon aemond #Aegon II Targaryen #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen one shot

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egopocalypse · 1 year

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We fought hard, folks. Thanks for those of you who voted for me.

Disclaimer: I couldn't follow your prompt exactly. I hope what I have instead is okay.

The night he wakes to a knife at his throat, Marvin was prepared for it.

The first spell flings out before he's fully out of bed, rolling out of the covers and under the frame for a better vantage point. From the shadows, a hand grabs him by the ankle and drags him out, but a light spell dispels it before the knife impales his throat.

He fires off a blasting spell, which his attacker dodges (and it destroys his dresser, how rude), but it puts space between them, enough for Marvin to stand and face his assailant for the first time in the fight.

"Could you have picked a better night to try and kill me? I have a very busy day tomorrow," Marvin says.

Anti grins, grip light on his knife, yet still poised to strike. "That isn't how you treat an old partner, is it, pet?"

Marvin rolls his eyes. "If you wanted to meet with me that bad, you could've found a nicer way than attacking me in my sleep."

"You've never complained before," Anti says. "It keeps you sharp; it keeps you active, alert. You never would've avoided the rest of that old mage group of yours without it. Without me."

Marvin grits his teeth. Seems the bastard is just as cocky as ever. The worst part is that Marvin can't help but admit he's right.

"What do you want?" he bites out.

Anti's eyes burn, an old, familiar rage boiling underneath the casual facade.

"I wanted to make you an offer, pet, but I might need to teach you a lesson instead."

Marvin hates how his heart rattles in his chest. Even after all these years, that damn contract and conditioning bites him in the ass.

"My apologies, sir," he says between clenched teeth. "What do you need of me?"

That damn smirk finds its way back on Anti's face. "Better, but we'll address that tone of yours later."

Anti leans against the wall next to the destroyed dresser.

"What do you know of IRIS?"

Marvin's eyebrow raises. "That little group? Why are they your targets?"

"Answer the question, pet," Anti snaps. "Neither of us have all night."

Ugh. Anti better leave him alone for a decade after this.

"They collaborate occasionally with the Magic Circle to capture, contain, and learn about abnormalities outside the realm of science," Marvin explains. "Abnormalities like you."

For some reason, Anti loses some of his aggression. The alarm clock on Marvin's nightstand finds power again, blinking on and off until he has a chance to reset it.

"So they're idiots foolish enough to think they can contain creatures like me, hmm?" he says in a low, threatening tone. "Now that sounds familiar."

Marvin stiffens, magic welling up in his chest, at his fingers as it perceives the threat. He wishes he was wearing his mask.

"What do you want with them?"

Anti grins. "You'd have to be a lot more subtle than that to get that information out of me, pet. Lucky for you, you've pleased me, so I'll hand it over with only one little string attached."

Marvin's pride burns. He's so sick of that nickname, of weighing his options between death for treason or live under this thing's servitude, but he bites his tongue. He remembers the last time he challenged Anti so flagrantly, when he tried to use its true name against it. Though the scars have faded, the memories remain.

He has to tread the line here, and unfortunately, that means shutting the fuck up.

"They currently have something that belongs to me," Anti explains. "I know where it is, but I require intel about any threats when I retrieve it. Give that to me, and I won't call on you for the next six months."

Well, it isn't as long as he'd hoped, but it's better than getting that damn knife shoved in his face again. Marvin sighs.

"What do you need to know?"

When Anti's satisfied and finally leaves, Marvin resets his alarm and pulls out his phone, calling the first contact on speed-dial.

There isn't a greeting when the other side picks up, but there doesn't need to be. Marvin knows they're listening.

"Your least favorite anomaly's going after IRIS. Whatever you have of his, get rid of it quickly or send it to me."

A series of taps erupt on the other end. Marvin listens to the full message and snarls.

"What do you mean you can't? You know what he'll do to grab it!"

A louder, more urgent series of taps begin. Marvin sags against his bedpost and rubs his face. He's going to have terrible eyebags tomorrow.

"Fine. I'll figure it out then. Don't say I didn't warn you."

He hangs up, not waiting for a response, then flings the phone across the room. He takes one glance at the damage around him before giving up and going back to bed.

He'll deal with this mess in the morning.

#jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #marvin the magnificent #River's Writing #Man. It's been a long time since I've written these two bastards #I've missed them <33 #Anyway you get three guesses who was on the other side of the phone and the first two don't count #Idk if anyone still wants to be tagged for my JSE stuff #But if you do I might write more #Like I said: I missed these bastards

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