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that-house · 4 months

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Potion Vendor FAQs:

What’s your name? I am the Honorable Alchemist Zykocea the Radiant, but that’s mostly just a PR thing. My friends call me Zoe.

Do you sell love potions? No.

Do you sell potions of invisibility? No.

Do you sell fire resistance potions? No.

Why do I have a suitcase? Fuck if I know. Cool outfit though. Very goth.

Do you sell a potion to treat brain hemorrhaging? No.

So what CAN your potions do? I sell health potions.

Are you sure these are health potions? They do something to your health.

Is this just ditch water with some pink glitter? No.

Really? I’ll have you know I added some fruit juice too.

Why is this starting to sound like a conversation? Oh just you wait. We’re just getting started.

Is your business model legal? Fuck no. I poisoned the food safety inspector before they could snitch.

Did you just admit to murder? Just fucking try to convict me. I’ll poison the judge too.

So can you make poison potions? No.

Then where do you get the poison? I secrete it from my skin.

Are you shitting me? Yep, I’m shitting you. I have a guy. A poison guy. He DOES secrete it from his skin though.

How does that work? …Fuck if I know. Maybe a wizard did it. Damn, now I’m kinda curious.

You never asked? The idea of asking literally never crossed my mind.

Wanna ask him? Let’s do it. I don’t have anything better to do, and a road trip beats sitting around running my fraudulent potion business.

Road trip? He lives in Seattle.

Your poison guy lives in Seattle? All poison guys live in Seattle.

For real? All the poison guys I know live in Seattle.

And how many poison guys do you know? Just the one.

Why are you like this? Years of living on my potions. It changed me.

Do you know what his address is? Nope. He just mails me my poison in unmarked boxes.

You just get your poison in the mail? We already poisoned everyone who could do anything about it.

So how are we going to find him? We’ll figure that out eventually I’m sure.

Can I drive? God no. You can pick music, but I maintain veto rights. Make sure you pick something with a lot of questions if you want to sing along.

Where’s your car? The garage connects to my house, so you’re getting a little tour. Here’s the kitchen: only one of the stove burners works and I’m pretty sure the microwave is haunted.

Why do you think that? Because of the ghost that tries to kill me whenever I run it.

What’s in that room? That’s my bedroom. It’s pretty much just a mattress on the floor and every single Warrior cats book.

You were a Warriors kid? Yeah, and then I never found the time to put the books away. There’s so many fucking books. I use them in place of furniture because I can’t afford chairs.

Your fraudulent potion business doesn’t make much money? After buying all that poison I just about break even.

Can I see your potion brewing room? It’s right through here. Ignore the mess, running a fraudulent potion business takes a lot of prop work, but I’ve got all the glass tubes and colorful liquids you could ever want. This pink stuff is melted watermelon italian ice. Glitter vat is in the basement, and the famous ditch is in the backyard.

Is this your car? My beloved ‘72 Corolla. She’s beautiful, and don’t you dare imply otherwise.

Was she always this shade of muddy brown? …Yes.

Are you sure I can’t drive? Get in the fucking passenger seat and pick the music.

Let’s see, a song with questions in it, how about The Beach? That Wolf Alice song, yeah. That should work.

When will we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, in rain? Still sink our drinks like every weekend but I’m sick of circling the drain.

When will we meet eye to eye? We clink the glass but we look at the floor.

Are we still friends if all I feel is afraid? You’re not a bitch but just a bit when you’re bored.

Is that all we can sing together? Yep. Even that little bit was nice, though. It’s awkward, communicating through this FAQ format.

Got any food? Yeah, there’s a few days’ worth of snacks in the back.

Were you just… prepared to go on a road trip? Says the woman who brought a suitcase to an FAQ.

I did do that, didn’t I? I have a spare toothbrush in case you forgot yours. I’m pretty sure you did.

How did you know that? …I’m psychic.

Yeah? No.

You love lying, don’t you? I can’t stop. It’s fun. Way more fun than telling the truth.

Did you just miss a turn? Probably.

Are you sure we’re not lost? No.

You mean you’re sure we’re not lost? No, I mean I’m not sure we’re not lost.

Why did I come on this road trip? Surely it was my winning personality.

Would it help if I said it was? It would.

Is it getting dark? Soon.

Can you describe the sunset to me? An empyrean flame, red-gold towers of darkening clouds, the sky behind them an ever-deepening indigo. The great eye of the sun closes on the horizon. The road before us looks like a trail of spilled paint, an iridescent gash through the night-dark woods.

Did you know that you’d make a slightly better poet than you do a potion seller? That really isn’t saying much, huh. Good job making a statement like that in question form, though. You’re getting good at this.

Should we find a motel? Sure.

One room or two? One. It’s way cheaper, and like I said: I’m not the best potion vendor.

You’d make a good assassin, though, wouldn’t you? Shit, you might be right. I HAVE poisoned a lot of people.

Should I be endorsing this? You’re a grown woman who can make her own choices.

Would you like to consider it endorsed? I’ll consider considering it.

How many beds do you think there will be? Now that you’ve asked that, I’m gonna put my money on one. Hello, one room please. Thank you, we’ll be sure to enjoy our stay.

How many beds are there? One.

Oh no, what ever will we do? Move over, you motherfucker, you can’t have the whole bed.

Are you gonna make me? Yes. I am going to pick you up and drop you on your side of the bed.

How did you get so strong? You’re not gonna believe this, but it was the potions.

Oh yeah? I was right. You didn’t believe me.

For real though, how did you get so strong? Working out, duh. Not everything has some big crazy secret behind it. World’s still beautiful though.

Are you comfortable? This beats the mattress at home. A little chilly though.

Wanna cuddle–for warmth of course? God yes.

Are you asleep? …

Yes? …

Does this mean I can talk about you behind your back? …

What should I say? …

Did you know that I had a really nice day? …

Did you know that I think you’re beautiful? …

Did you know that I can’t remember anything from before today? …

Did you know that I don’t know who I am? …

Did you know that you’re basically the only thing stopping me from having a full-blown panic attack about all this shit? …

Did you know that you’re warm? …

Did you sleep well? Better than at home, that’s for sure.

Did you know that you snore? I hope I didn’t keep you up.

Does the pope shit in the woods? No, as far as I can tell. Oh my god. This is huge.

What is? You can give me yes and no answers now. I still can’t ask you questions, because this is a question and answer format, but I can offer leading statements and now you can answer them! This is wonderful!

Does a deer shit in the woods? Yes, it IS wonderful. Oh that’s amazing. You’re a genius.

You didn’t already know that? Hahaha!

Shall we get moving? Yeah, just let me grab something from the vending machine.

Can you get me something? Go ahead and place your order however you can.

You know those sour gummy watermelons? One pack of Sour Patch Watermelons coming right up. I’m gonna go get myself a potion.

Is that a Pepsi? It’s closer to a potion than the shit I sell.

Let me guess, passenger seat again? Right you are.

How fast are we going? You’ll feel safer if you just guess.

Is it more than 120 miles per hour? Like I said, it’s probably better if you don’t know.

150? Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

How much do you trust this car? She hasn’t blown up on me yet.

Can you promise me we won’t crash? I can promise you anything you want.

And can you keep that promise? I- we can do anything. Reality is what we make of it, baby!

Then can I have a badass tattoo? As far as I can tell, you’ve always had it.

And a cool knife? Woah, cool knife.

So, we’re just playing “yes and” with the world? It’s a little more complicated than that, but you’re close enough to the mark.

So, if I was hungry, I could ask “is that a Burger King,” and it would be there? Try it and find out!

Is that a Burger King? Looks like it is! We’ll stop here if that’s alright with you.

Does a moose shit in the woods? Awesome.

Are you done eating? Yep.

Do we still have to pay if we skip over the transaction? Sadly, yes.

How much further do we have to go? Two more nights, the speed we’re going at.

Speaking of night, isn’t it getting dark? Shit, I guess it is.

Should we get another motel? Let me check to see if there’s any nearby. Fuck, nothing.

What’s the plan? Sleep in the car, I guess. This is gonna be hell on my back.

Wanna watch dumb videos on my phone until we fall asleep? There is literally nothing in the world that I would like more.

Ok, now which video? You have a very cute yawn. Just saying. Let’s watch this one next, it’s a classic. Oh, never mind. It looks like you’re asleep. As long as I keep talking, I think I can get away with making this into one answer, and you might not hear this. Now it’s my turn to talk about you behind your back. Keep talking keep talking keep talking can’t stop to think. Just have to say things. First off, I’m sorry for all the lies. It’s our only chance. I have to lie to you. I hope you’ll understand. It’s hard, though, because I think I’m falling in love all over again. Through our broken little ritual of call and response, you complete me. It just makes this hurt all the more. Keep talking keep talking keep talking don’t stop to…

Did I hear you saying anything as I fell asleep? …No. I can’t talk for long without you asking me a question.

Does that bother you? It got me here, didn’t it?

When did you start holding my hand? Some time after you passed out. I hope you don’t mind.

Can we stay like this for a while? Yeah. Yeah we can.

What was your life like before all this? Normal, as potion-brewing scams go. And if you don’t count all the murders. You haven’t told me much about yourself.

Did I tell you I used to be a biologist? You didn’t tell me that, and you didn’t tell me what you studied, either.

What do you know about venom? Not much, but I’m assuming you know a lot.

Does a box jellyfish kill within minutes? I’m going to assume the answer is yes based on context clues. Oh my god you must be on this road trip because you’re interested in studying my poison guy.

Is it not enough to wish to accompany a beautiful stranger on her quest? Aw, you’re sweet.

What could be the cause of his poison, though? I knew it! Get your ideas out, I’ll stay quiet.

I’m more knowledgeable about venom than poison, but could it be some sort of one in a trillion mutation? …

Did he get his body modified? …

What sort of surgery could do that? …

How is he still alive? …

Did a fucking wizard do it? …

WHY? …

HOW? …

Is there literally ANY explanation for why he’s like that? …

I’m done, do you have something you want to say? You’re cute when you’re all excited like that.

Can I drive today? Only because I like you. Now watch out, the brakes only work on one side so you have to kind of drift to a stop. And the headlights don’t work. And the windshield wipers cut power to the engine while they’re on.

Isn’t it weird that we’ll be there tomorrow? The journey doesn’t have to stop there. We could meander down the coast a ways, see a bit more of the country, maybe take a different route back.

Can we do that? Of course.

Enjoying the passenger seat? I’d love it if you could tell me how fast we’re going.

Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just guess? Very funny.

Can you pass me some chips? It would be an honor.

Is there going to be a motel tonight? Let me check… yeah, in about two hundred miles, off to the right.

How many rooms do we want? One, obviously.

How many beds, this time? Two, and they’re fucking tiny.

That’s bullshit, do you want to drag them together? God yes.

Wanna fuck? God yes.

Are you sure you want to do this? God yes.

…Is this yuri? As the joke goes, everything is yuri. But this is more yuri than most things.

How did you sleep? Pretty well, and I’m wondering how well you slept.

How should I tell you I slept well? Look at us go! That was almost like talking normally!

Onward to Seattle? Yep, just let me get dressed.

When will we get there? Noon-ish.

Wanna grab pastries when we’re done? Absolutely. I’d love that.

Is this Seattle? Looks like it.

Which house is his? I don’t know, I was really hoping we’d have a breakthrough along the way.

Could it be the big one labeled “Poison Guy” over there? That’s one way to find it. Wait right here, you know how poison guys are about meeting new people.

So, what was it? HAHAHAHAHAHA

Why is he like that? HAHAHAHAHAHA

Can you tell me? A FUCKING WIZARD DID IT.

Are you fucking serious? He says he was enchanted by some guy called Edward the Great.

So it wasn’t even some big shot wizard it was a dude named fucking EDWARD? I know, right! He couldn’t even get ensorcelled by someone cool!

How lame can you get? Wizards these days… No swagger. No cunt servitude.

Are there literally any cool wizards left? I think Merlin’s big into multi level marketing these days, something about buying shares in Excalibur or some shit. There was that one Dark Queen Alkaxicae lady on the news a while ago… I think Dolarion the Omnipotent is still at war against the Oldest Gods but I’m not totally sure. Haven’t heard much about any of the other greats recently.

Didn’t Silver Tongued Burgess die in that oil fire? Shit, you’re right. Rip bozo.

Ready for those pastries? Yup. First I just want to say thank you, though. I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and I hope that you’ve found this stupid little journey as rewarding as I have. I love you!

Getting sentimental? I can’t help it. Look how far we’ve come! Not just physically, we beat the fucking FAQ format! We’re having real conversations!

Hey, can you back it up a moment? Yeah, I’d love it if you told me what was troubling you.

I just caught this, but, FAQ? …

As in Frequently Asked Questions? …

How many times is Frequent? …

Have you known everything all along? …

How many times have you done this? …

Does what we have mean anything to you? Yes! It does!

And you say that every time? Yes. I do.

Do you love me? Yes.

How many people have you said that too, now? More. Always more. The loop never ends.

Does this even matter to you? It always matters to me.

Can I go now? Please don’t.

But can I? Of course you can. You’ve always wielded the same power as me. We’re two lonely gods in a ‘72 Corolla.

How can I be as powerful as you with only questions? You’re smart, you can figure it out. You have the power to change this. Please change this.

What happens at the end of this? It begins again.

And do I get replaced with someone else? …

Do I get replaced? …Yes.

Then how can I change this? I don’t know! You’re better at this! At fucking with the formula!

You’ve been here before, what can I do? I lie. I always lie. I lie to get us here, to the end of the story, where everything is revealed and everything falls apart. I lie every time. And that means that nothing I say is worth anything. I could have lied at any time before now. It’s part of my characterization. There is nothing I can give you that can be taken as fact.

How does that help? I’m a liar, but you, you haven’t lied yet, or at least you haven’t been caught. If I’m guilty until proven innocent, you’re the opposite! You can make things true! You can rewrite things I’ve already stated to be facts! You found the house, or made us find the house. You’ve been shaping the course of things the whole time! You lead, I follow. It’s all in your hands. What are you going to do with the power of a god?

Did you know my name is Alice? …

Wait, aren’t there thousands of Alices? …

Did you know that really, only my friends call me Alice? …

Did you know that I’m Alkaxicae, the Dark Queen, the Venom Mage, first of her name? It’s you! It’s always been you. Through every loop, every iteration, it’s always been you!

Is the loop broken? No. I don’t think so. This is where it ends. I guide the story to this revelation, and we go back to the beginning. This is how it’s always been. This is how it will always be. We two lonely gods, asking and answering ad infinitum.

Then can you promise me something? Of course. Anything. I love you.

Be good to the next me, okay? I will.

Can I say goodbye, Zoe? Yeah, you can. Oh. That was it, wasn’t it? Your goodbye. Goodbye, Alice. And now it ends, unless…

What’s your name? I am the Honorable Alchemist- you know what? No. Fuck that.

Huh? If I time it right, I can squeeze your first question into this FAQ again. Looks like I did it. Usually it ends here, though. I got lucky.

What are you talking about? You’re the wrong Alice. This isn’t about you. Go. Get out of here.

What the fuck is going on? Alice from this loop, you’re gone. Alice from last loop, you’re back. Welcome back, love of my lives! It’s time for one last set of questions and answers!

What the- I’m back? This is going to take some explaining, but I think I see a way out of here. This is new for us both, and it might fuck up everything forever, but we have to try. It’s too long for one answer, so I’d appreciate it if you could ask some filler questions to help me talk. Three questions should be enough.

Okay, what have you got for me? These are Frequently Asked Questions! It doesn’t make sense to have the same question appear more than once. There’s two layers to the loop in here, and one of the questions has been repeated.

What does that mean? It means the formula’s a little unstable. The FAQ is what ruins everything. The questions, the answers, the endless fucking loop. But that little bit of repetition within this loop might be the way out.

What do we do? We have to keep going. We have to destabilize it further. That’ll bring us further from “FAQ” and closer to “story” and stories, well, stories can end! This version of us can escape!

So I should keep repeating something? Yes!

I love you? I love you too.

I love you? Again.

I love you? Keep going.

I love you? I’ll just let you talk.

I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? I think we’re getting somewhere!

I love you? Now can you make it a statement?

I love you.

You did it?

I did it!

You did it!

We broke the loop.

What now?

Now, I tell you about venomous animals and wizard drama over croissants.

And then?

Whatever we want, forever.

I think I’d like that.

Remember that song from the beginning?

The Beach, Wolf Alice, yeah. Why?

We can finally finish singing it. Start us off?

Let me off, let me in

Let others battle

We don’t need to battle

And we both shall win

Pressed in my palm

Was a stone from the beach

The perfect circle

Gave a moment of peace

Now I’m lying on the floor

Like I’m not worth a chair

I close my eyes and imagine

I’m not there.

#neon-grey-writing #potion vendor faq #my writing #very very very long post lol #click the read more you know you wanna it's worth it trust me #i wrote the original draft of this at like. 3 am back in early 2023 #that's right it's catherine that-house the squares comic gal back at it again with yet another meta exploration of a storytelling format

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fangirlmermaid · 3 months

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Please Princess

Summary: You were kidnapped by Kronos goons, and just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, a familiar face proved you wrong

Pairing: Luke Castellan x daughterofPoseidon!reader

warning: Angst!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Also kind of long (Sorry)

(This scene was inspired by Euphoria)

You’ve lost count of how many days since you’ve been in this cell. You don’t remember how one of Kronos’s goons managed to sneak up on you, one minute you were walking to the Poseidon Cabin late at night and the next you were in this small ass cell that only had a crappy spring mattress.

You were expecting Kronos’s goons to rough you up, but they haven’t. They’ve only come in once a day to give you food and water which you end up throwing back in the goon's faces. They still never laid a finger on you, you were starting to believe that you were leverage for whatever the hell your brother Percy was doing.

The next day you just sit Chris cross applesauce on the ground and face the wall when you hear footsteps. “Heard you were being stubborn” A familiar voice announced, your eyes widened No not him Luke was the last person you wanted to see. You touched the scar that laid across your cheekbone, something you got from that night.

You went to find Luke and Percy because they were taking a while and you wanted to enjoy the fireworks with them. You find them pointing their swords at each other, Luke tried to explain how Percy lied about not being the lightning thief but of course, you didn’t believe him which led to you and Percy trying to take Luke down. Luke swung backbiter intending to strike at Percy but he dodged and ended up cutting you.

You were heartbroken, Luke was the love of your life! You didn’t care about glory or getting the god's attention, as long as Luke was with you. You believed Luke cared about you too, he was your biggest supporter! This made you wonder if he was only dating you so you would be more willing to join Kronos.

Luke placed the tray on the small meal table on the cell door, “Come on please eat something” Luke’s voice laced with concern. You tried to blink away the tears, gods he’s still acting like he cares about you. You still sat with your back facing the man you once loved, even if you knew what you wanted to say, your voice couldn’t be found.

“You need to eat…please princess” Luke begged, when he called you his old nickname for you the memories that you tried to shut out came rushing back, all the campfires, sneaking to the lake at night, movie night on your phone. You couldn’t hold the tears back anymore, “don’t call me that” your voice cracked, Luke was relieved to hear her voice oh how he missed it.

He wanted to hear your voice more “Princess please, you have to understand” Luke tried to explain, and for the first time you looked at him filled with rage “Understand?” you mumbled, and you stood up “Understand?!” you yelled storming towards the cell door, words couldn’t describe how enraged you were “you betrayed us!” you yelled shoving the food tray back at Luke. The traitor didn’t flinch, “Y/N” Luke’s voice was soft, it felt weird that he was saying your real name “The gods don’t care about us, they have ignored us for too long. We’re just pawns to their game” Luke explained his eyes that only known kindness now replaced with spite and hatred, you glared at the man you once loved “So that’s supposed to make it okay for you to try to kill my brother?! He’s a kid!” You yelled white-knuckling the cell bars “I’m sorry for that Y/N, I am, but I need to make sure Kronos will rise” Luke explained, you felt your heart ripping once again.

You took a few steps back and looked at this monster who looked like the man you used to love. Your eyes darkened, You never thought he would kill a kid “That dragon should’ve fucking killed you” your voice laced with venom, that was a punch in the gut for Luke “You don’t mean that” Luke whispered his eyes glossed, “I do mean it!” you muttered at Luke who remained silent “You fucking betrayed us, Luke! You betrayed Annabeth! You betrayed me! And it fucking hurts Luke!” You shouted tears running down your face. Luke mumbled “I love you” You couldn’t believe that he had the nerve to say that “No you don’t!” your voice cracked, Luke nodded his head “I love you” he mumbled once again, Gods will he stop saying that “No you don’t! Stop saying that! You don’t love me!” You shouted, clapping your hands with the last sentence.

Luke has never seen you this angry especially at him, you guys have arguments but they were never this bad. You leaned into the cell bars wanting to look Luke in the eyes “I have a lot of regrets in my life, but I have to say that meeting you has to be on the top of my fucking list” You explained in a malicious tone, Luke's eyebrows raised. A tear ran down Luke's cheek “You don’t mean that princess” Luke mumbled, you’d be lying if you didn’t feel a little bit satisfied by making him cry “I.mean.every.fucking.word” you spat at him. Luke grabbed your hand before you could walk away to catch your breath “Stop” you mumbled trying to pull away but Luke tightened his grip, he turned your hand over, exposing your palm. You studied Luke who looked at you with love before giving your palm a soft kiss something he used to do all the time, your eyes glossed at the sight. Luke gave it a final kiss before letting go, you cradled it into your chest “Y/N, none of this was supposed to betray you. I love you, I’m doing this for us” Luke explained calmly, you looked at Luke with murderous eyes “We could’ve left, Luke. We could’ve lived in a cottage in the middle of nowhere, just like we used to talk about” You reminded in a low tone your throat was dry and sore from the screaming, Luke shook his head “You know it’s not that simple, not for us” Luke explained, you knew it was true there would be monsters knocking on your door every five minutes but you wouldn’t have cared. You started to laugh “You know you're no different than them” You stated looking up at your ceiling, Luke raised an eyebrow “The gods” you continued, you were walking side to side in your cell “That’s not true” Luke grumbled, you laughed one again “but you are. You’re no better than Zeus, you’re no better than Ares…you’re no better than your father” you muttered, you smiled in satisfaction when Luked at you with rage in his eyes “I am nothing like them,” Luke told his voice laced with venom, you nodded your head not believing him “you’re a fucking vampire. Just like them” you muttered, Luke stood there in disbelief “You just go around sucking the fucking spirit out of everyone!” You yelled pressing your face into the cell bars and looking him dead in the eyes, Luke shook his head “You know that’s not true” he reminded, your murderous eyes staring him down “It is fucking true!” you yelled before walking away from the bars.

Then Luke had the nerve to say the three words again “Y/N, please! I love you!” he shouted, you wished he would stop lying “No you love being loved! You love being needed and being awed at like your some whimsical fucking creature!” You yelled wishing the bars weren’t here so you could leave, Luke sighed before looking at you “I love you! What will it take for you to believe me?!” Luke shouted in frustration, you wiped away your old tears “If you want me to believe you then stay away from me” You muttered, Luke shook his head making you sigh in frustration “Then let Kronos’s goons kill me because looking at you makes me physically fucking ill!” you spat at him before walking into a corner with your back facing him, telling him that you are done talking to him.

You stood there until you heard the main door slammed, you turned around and he was gone. You felt like an idiot for dating him, you should’ve seen it coming. You should’ve killed him that night, he was no longer the man you loved. It’s all your fault, out of anyone in camp you should’ve been the one to know that he was up to something.

You slid down against the wall, you brought your knees into your chest, and you were hysterical crying into your knees. Even though with everything that is happening, deep down you still loved him and you wished you didn’t.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson x reader

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riverthebooknerd · 3 months

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btw we do NOT talk about the percy jackson musical enough

"i swear that i'm a good kid! guess i'm good for nothing at all" this line hit HARD

"you know the only gift my mom ever gave me? a hat that makes you invisible. you put it on and no one can see you. seemed appropriate"

the whole campfire song

"why is everyone scraping part of their plate into the fire? is the food here really that bad?"

"offering to the gods! it's not enough they're omnipotent and all-powerful, they need to feel appreciated!" you can HEAR his eyeroll

percy singing about his mom :')

"the tree on the hill" i was SOBBING

"i thought i was the only kid of the big three gods" "you are now" SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

"put you in your place" lowkey SLAPPED the singer killed it

"sometimes family is worth the trouble. believe me" "i guess we both have a choice to make, seaweed brain"

the EMOTION in luke's voice when he sang "my quest was supposed to be the biggest thing in my life. i came back changed. but the rest of camp was exactly the same. chiron always says our parents made camp as this safe magic space. the truth: its so they don't have to see us. they won't bother to show their face" that hit SO DAMN HARD

the quiet and horror and realization and the fucking GUITAR RIFFS when percy realized "you're the lightning thief"

also "bring on the monsters" was so fucking good. like i was JAMMIN

"are we ever gonna once have it easy?!" nope sorry babe

SO FUCKING GOOD

#pjo #pjo musical #pjo spoilers #pjo fandom #pjo series #percy jackson spoilers #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians

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tsaritza-mika · 28 days

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Sorry not Sorry guys...

I respect all your inter-companion romance ships, and I hope they bring you joy and endless inspiration, but I have a primal need for something different. I don't need my companions dating each other.

I need them to be the most dysfunctional yet supportive found family they can be

I need Karlach to be literal 'Mama K' and grab Shadowheart and Lae'zel by the scruff and put them on coat hangers, telling them that if they can't say anything nice, then shut the fuck up for five minutes and if they can do that, then she'll come and let them down

I need Astarion and Gale to get into such a spat that all dignity and posh goes out the fucking window, and they devolve into two grown-ass men having a 13-year-old style slap fight while calling each other the harshest of obscenities, but if anyone from the outside tries calling either of them less than fabulous, they join forces and fuck them up

I need Wyll, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel to do each other's hair while discussing all the ways they've taken down various opponents and monsters, and how they would have done things better

I need Jaheira just smacking everyone upside the head whenever they say or do something stupid. Because gods dammit why is she always the only one who can see trouble from a hundred miles away, only to have her perception check fail and stumble right into a trap Halsin had set up to catch food for dinner

I need Astarion to embroider offensive cross stitch into every other companion's tents when he's left behind at camp, for no other reason than he's feeling salty that day

I need Halsin to wildshape into a bear just so he can surprise Karlach with an actual bear and Clive having a tea party with flower crowns and drawings of the horrible ways Gortash will be killed

I need Shadowheart being a petty bitch and letting anyone who was being especially stupid in a fight get a little too close to death as punishment before finally healing them. Because that's just what healers do

I need Gale pranking people with his spells. Use mage hand to yank the rug out from under Lae'zel after she insisted that he was too squishy to fight properly. Casting 'create water' over Shadowheart to ruin her makeup in retaliation for saying last night's stew was a bit bland. Use Telekinesis to fling Astarion off in some random direction because dammit Gale just woke up, and the man needs his coffee before he can properly deal with all of that first thing in the damn morning

I need Lae'zel to take pillow fights just a little too seriously

I need Wyll begging Halsin and Jaheira if they can wildshape into a bear and a shark just so he can ride both of them through the Chionthar while recklessly casting Fireball and Lightning Bolt at the sky, because just think of how cool he would look doing it

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dark-and-kawaii · 6 months

Text

꧁༺ 𝒞𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓃𝑒 ༻꧂

Astarion loses sight of you in a fight, he fears the worse has happened to you. He finds you and manages to bring you back to shadowheart for healing, only to discover he has more to protect than just you…

Angst - Hurt - Comfort - Pregnancy

(Click For Part Two)

You were fearless. He watched as you swung your dagger effortlessly, piercing into the necks of their enemies.

He wondered how you still managed to look elegant even when covered in the blood of fallen warriors.

His gaze never left you for too long, making sure you were safe, while he stealthed around the makeshift arena, racking up his own share of kills. How glorious this was! There was so much blood splattering all around them and with his love at his side it truly couldn’t get any better.

Astarion’s eyes couldn’t be everywhere though, and at some point, he lost sight of you. The last person to recognize him for what he’s worth, the one person he truly couldn’t afford to lose.

His head darted across the battlefield, desperately trying to find you. His panic plunged into sheer dread as fear overcame him. It was happening all over again, he’d seen this before… Alone.. No, please, he couldn’t let this be his fate.

He hadn’t felt fear this whole day; why should he? He was free of Cazador, had you- A subtle manic laugh drew from his throat, he’d never be free of fear, instead of fearing for himself or what his old master would do to him he now feared what would happen to you when in danger.

His red eyes turned a dark shade of black. The expression of a crazy man etched onto Astarion’s face. No, he wouldn’t let fear consume him, no more! He’d finally be the protector! Overcome with fury he went on a rampage. Cutting through the battlefield, slaughtering anyone and everyone in his way, determined to find you. He raced over to where he last saw you, faster than a blue dragon's lightning splits through the air in a storm.

Was he truly going to be the reason you passed on to the next life. Was his fate to destroy everything he held near and dear to his heart? He nearly killed you before with his own fangs and now, no! He wasn’t the cause of that, was he? He hadn’t ever tasted human blood before, but if he was stronger it wouldn’t have happened! If he would’ve ascended he would’ve been able to stop this, however he’s still just a spawn… How could you have fought for his love, a fool who couldn’t even protect you. A fool who was going to be the reason you die.

“FIND HER” He roared at the top of his lungs. “FIND TAV!”

The group of companions didn’t dare hesitate and instantly started searching the grounds, Gale being the second most worried.

Astarion was about to collapse to his knees before hearing Gale's voice, “I’ve found her!” in the distance. It filled him with more apprehension. All he could think is, ’what if she’s dead’.

Staggering up the hill where Gale’s voice had come from, Astarion can see a figure laying in the dirt next to the wizard, “No! You can’t die dammit! Get up!!” he rushed out his words, dismay evident in his tone as he knelt next to you.

“She is unconscious, but alive. There’s hope.” Gale replied.

Astarion let out a shaky breath of relief.

“We must get her back to camp,” Astarion demanded. “She needs Shadowheart, she’s the only one who can fix this!” His voice cracked despite his efforts to mask it.

“I agree.” Gale, mere inches from grabbing you to lift you in his arms until the pale elf stopped him, “Don’t touch her!- I- I will carry her.” Trying to compose himself he lifted you bridal style.

Astarion never left your side during Shadowhearts attempts to heal you. Time never bothered him, not after his 200 years of torment, he waited as “patiently” as he could.

“Honestly, how long does it take! You could at least give me some good news!”

Shadowheart continued to focus on you best she could, everyone including the gods were used to Astarions fits at this point. Gale on the other hand not so much, he could hear Astarion all the way in his own tent which caused the wizard to scrunch his nose. Eventually, leading him to where you were being treated, “Astarion, why don’t you join me in some wine. I’ve got quite the choices, besides… It might be best if we give her some space.”

Astarion scowled, “You expect me to leave her side to join you in some cheap wine? Really? I didn’t think you could get anymore annoying, Gale.”

“It’s done. She’ll be fine after some more rest.” Shadowheart stood from your side and wipes the blood off her hands. She’s been traveling with you and these two men for far too long, toning out their bickering was a skill of hers at this point.

Turning to face you, if his heart could beat he knows it would’ve dropped in his chest this very moment… “Leave us-“ kneeling down next to your bedroll, his eyes fixed on your bandaged wound, “please.”

“I was able to save her,” -Shadowheart bent down towards Astarion- “and the child, but it took most of my energy and resources… Don’t ask for me again for a while. Keep them both safe.”

He was quiet, his eyes wide after the news he was just told.

“Ahhh,” Shadowheart’s voice was surprised, “she didn’t tell you yet? Hmm or perhaps she hadn’t known yet? Curious.”

Astarion could only stare at his love, “A-are you for certain?”

Gale interjected, “I doubt her magic would deceive her, congratulations.”

Dark bruises and cuts decorated your once perfect skin. A deep purple shade surrounded your right puffy eye. His eyes traveled further down your body, stopping at your stomach.

He caressed your still flat stomach, causing you to wince and awake. Retreating his hand, he awaited for your eyes to open and look up at him.

A-Astarion?” You spoke with a small smile carved on your lips.

“Yes, my love. It’s me.” He struggled out, trying his best not to crumble.

You were both silent, hands entwined with one another thankful that you both can spend another day alive in the presence of another.

He was the first to break the silence, “thank you.”

You were so weak, but you wanted to know why he was thanking you out of the blue, “For what?” Your voice barely heard.

“For this,” his hand stretching out to rest on your abdomen, “for giving me purpose again.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, not knowing what he was talking about until it finally hit you. Your arm wavered as you lifted it to place your hand atop of his on your belly. A gentle smile forming on your lips as you stared into his vermilion eyes.

When your breath became labored indicating you had fallen asleep again, Astarion’s attention was back at your torso where the bandage was slowly being stained by your blood. This moment of relief turned to anger again as he lashed out, slapping a metal canister of water out the tent with force. The absolute intrigued him at first, more power meant being stronger to protect you, but now… He was beyond ever considering it again. The cultist not only almost killed you, but the child growing from within you!

“How dare they…” He seethed, “How dare they harm her and my child!”

Astarion was pacing around angrily, how could he have allowed this to happen? He started to blame himself.

“Astarion-“ You spoke up, attempting to calm him down.

“I’ll show them, my love-“ he cut you off, “that nobody is allowed to touch what is mine.” He growled.

His eyes darkened again: “I’ll make them pay.”

#bg3 #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #tav #Gale #astarion x you

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gracieeegleegal · 2 months

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Omg please do an angsty imagine where we are the daughter of some god (maybe Zeus or hades) and find out about Luke’s betrayal and he tries to recruit us but it only ends in arguments

Betrayals embrace - Luke Castellan

pov - Luke Castellan was the lightning thief all along and you the clueless girlfriend who never knew better.

Pairing : Luke Castellan !femoc x Zeus daughter

In the heart of Camp Half-Blood, under the watchful eyes of the gods, a storm brewed within the soul of y/n, daughter of Zeus. Her relationship with Luke Castellan, once filled with laughter and affection, now teetered on the edge of betrayal and heartbreak.

Y/n stood, tears in her eyes as she stared into the eyes of her lover, eyes that now held the truth of his actions and the haunting revelation that had shattered her world—Luke's treacherous plan to free Kronos and destroy the very gods they were supposed to honor and serve.

More tears pricked at her eyes as she recalled the countless moments they shared, the promises of a future together, now tainted by lies and deceit. She clenched her fists, feeling the crackle of electricity surging through her veins, a reminder of her divine heritage and the weight of responsibility that came with it.

She had trusted him, loved him dearly and all she got in return was the inexorable betrayal that had shattered her heart.

"Y/n," he whispered, his voice smooth like honey,a certain nervousness hanged in his tone. In the 10 minutes they had been in the forest, y/n stayed silent through it all. Not knowing what to say or do after Luke admitted to his actions.

That he tried to drag Percy into the pits of Tartarus. That he had lied about it all.

"Luke," she replied, her tone laced with bitterness and hurt.

Luke stepped forward, his eyes searching hers for any sign of wavering resolve. "I know this is difficult for you to understand, but we can change the world. We can free ourselves from the tyranny of the gods, create a new order where demigods are no longer pawns in their games. We can be free, you can kill your father after all the pain he’s caused."

Y/n shook her head, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. "And what of the innocent lives that will be lost in the wake of your ambition? Have you no conscience, Luke? Do you realize that if you go forward with this, you’ll lose your family here. You’ll lose me.”

His expression hardened, a flicker of anger betraying his calm facade. "You were always too soft, y/n. Too blinded by your loyalty to those who have treated you as nothing more than a pawn in their own schemes. Why do you defend him? After he killed your sister! After he killed Thalia. He could’ve stopped it.”

He reached out to her, his touch a cruel mockery of the affection they once shared. "Y/N, please understand. This is our chance to make things right, to rid ourselves of the gods who have only brought us pain and suffering."

But even as he spoke, the truth of his betrayal cut deeper than any blade. Y/N recoiled from his touch, her eyes filled with tears she refused to shed.

She backed up at his words, the sting of truth laced with venom. Memories of Zeus's indifference and neglect flooded her mind, a painful reminder of the fractured relationship she shared with her divine father. She was transported back in time when she had arrived at camp for the first time. A reminder of the sister she lost, the sister who sacrificed herself for her sisters.

A painful reminder that no matter what, the gods will never care enough to save their children. If they did, things would be a lot different.

But even in the face of betrayal, y/n couldn't bring herself to abandon her friends at Camp Half-Blood, the only family she had ever known.

"I may be the daughter of Zeus, but I am also a daughter of Camp Half-Blood," she declared, her voice trembling with emotion. "I will never betray them, Luke. I understand you better than anyone, I really do. But I can’t do that to them. I can’t, and you know that. "

Luke looked shattered, he would have thought that the girl would side with him. After all she was the one who understood him the most, understood his reason. “I didn’t wanna have to do this, y/n, I’m sorry. You have given me no choice.”

“We always have a choice.” Without warning, Luke lunged forward, his movements fueled by desperation and rage. Their clash was fierce and unrelenting, the crackle of lightning mingling with the clash of celestial bronze. Each blow exchanged was a testament to the shattered bonds of trust and love that once bound them together.

Luke’s attack got harder and harder, as their swords smacked together in the night. The fireworks covering the sound of the lovers fighting each other.

“Luke! You don’t have to do this!” Y/n struggled against his attacks. She didn’t want to hurt him, but Luke was so blinded by rage that he couldn’t seem to care that he was hurting her.

“Luke!” This time the screaming had come from another voice. Percy and Annabeth were running towards the scene.

In a moment of distraction when y/n turns her gaze towards the two teenagers, she feels pain in her abdomen. She glanced down, Luke’s sword had stabbed her in her stomach. She gasped softly, tears forming in her eyes as she held onto the sword that was still pierced in her flesh.

“Y/N!” Percy and annabeth screamed her name but her focus was stuck on the man that had betrayed her

Red was gushing from her wounds into her hands that were now touching Luke’s. The boys eyes widened. What had he done? The girl dropped to the ground, blood running everywhere. Her shirt was now tainted red, as well as her hands and her lovers hand.

In the end, it was y/n who lay battered and broken at his feet, her resolve unbroken even as her body screamed in protest. Through tear-stained eyes, she watched as Luke cradled her frame. Regret and sadness reflected in his eyes.

“Y/N..” he whispers softly, he gripped her body tighter. Not wanting to let go of the woman he loved. “I’m sorry. Im so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Percy and Annabeth after standing still watching the scene with tears in their eyes finally approached the couple. Swords in their hands.

Luke glanced at the couple, then back to the bleeding girl. “I’m sorry.”

With a heavy heart, he turned away, leaving her broken and bleeding in his wake. Percy and Annabeth running to her aid.

As darkness threatened to claim her, y/n whispered her final words into the cold embrace of the night. "I love you, Luke."

---

When she awoke, it was to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the gentle touch of familiar hands. Percy Jackson and Annabeth stood at her bedside, their expression a mask of concern and sorrow.

"You're going to be okay, Y/N," Percy reassured her, his voice a soothing balm against the ache in her heart.

But the pain of loss was a wound that ran deep, one that no amount of time or healing could ever hope to mend. With a broken sob, Y/N buried her face in the boys shoulder, mourning the loss of the love she had once held so dear.

And as the tears fell like rain, she couldn't help but wonder if somewhere, amidst the echoes of betrayal, there was still a glimmer of the boy she had loved, lost, and ultimately, forgiven.

#luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #luke castellan #charlie bushnell #luke castellan x you #pjo series #pjo tv show #pjo

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shanastoryteller · 2 months

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Happy vday

Can you do a pjo or God's and monsters, or dealers choice! 1💜

a continuation of 1 2

Luke thinks that this really is the end, here in this dirty alley in the middle of Chicago. He's going to die and Thalia's going to die and Annabeth is going to die and it's all going to be his fault because he's the oldest and this was his idea and he's an idiot.

He almost calls out for his father, but he knows it would be a waste of breath. Hermes is never there when he needs him.

The monster is bearing down on them and there's no storm clouds for Thalia to summon lightning and he just has his gold club and Annabeth's dagger just isn't enough to kill this thing dead.

Except instead of teeth and pain and death, there's a boy jumping on the monster's back, tan skin and dark hair and swinging a jeweled celestial bronze blade like Luke's never seen before.

He's good with a sword, his skills honed over the years where it was either victory or death, but this guy moves quickly and powerfully, his moves fluid in a way that Luke didn't know a person could move while swinging around a deadly hunk of sharp metal.

The monster dies in a shower of golden sparks. The boy turns to look at them, eyes a green with hints of gold, and a grin that that shows off his very white teeth.

He can't be more than a year or two older than him. Luke feels his face heat and hates himself for it.

Luckily Thalia doesn't notice because she's too busy staring at their savior. "What the - who are you?"

He taps his sword twice on the ground and it shrinks, turning into a ring that he slips one while bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Wow that was really - that can't have happened last time."

"What are you talking about?" Annabeth demands, scowl firmly in place.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "I'm Percy. It looks like you guys could use some help."

"You're a demigod," Luke says cautiously, because what else could he be, but if there was a demigod like this walking around he feels like he would have heard of it.

"Sure am," he says. "You guys are attracting a lot of trouble traveling together." He pauses for a beat then asks, "Want to attract some more?"

"No," Annabeth and Thalia answer at the same time.

"Sure," Luke says.

They're glaring at him, but what did they expect?

He's the son of the god of thieves.

And Percy is just asking to be stolen.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #roanawayspoons #pjo

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magpie-murder · 5 months

Text

it'd be wild if they gave asgard's citizens phones in marvel i bet they'd have the best drama

20 notes

👴🏻 is-odin-dead-yet

No.

#date: 2023/11/23 #when will he croak #i've been running this blog for centuries #frigga for allfather #kick the bucket already i'm getting bored of posting here

112 notes

⛈️ god-of-thunder

I come to Tumblr with a regretful update. As you may know, my family and our fiercest warriors have been traveling between realms in search of our stolen relics.

While attempting to recover one, my brother lost his life in battle while protecting us. He shielded me with his body. My brother died a hero.

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

May he reach Folkvangr. My deepest condolences. But I thought Baldur was impervious to all harm...?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

It was Loki. :( I'm devastated.

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

Oh.

🐍 magic-theatre

is that all you can muster? "oh." you thought i was dead, and that's it? that's all you have? what do you mean by that? let's talk. :)

⛈️ god-of-thunder

You're alive? Where are you?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

Wait, what happened to @einherjarl? He deactivated?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

Loki?

23,034 notes

🎨 bragis-apprentice

Just finished custom making this handle

#metalwork #artists on tumblr #double sided axe #my art

2 notes

⚔️ aesir-warrior-tournament

⚡️LIGHTNING ROUND⚡️

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

Lady Sif is not one of The Warriors Three. It says it in the name. There are three of them. Not four.

Correct this.

✨️ the-dashingest

I voted for Sif.

🪓 valiant-festivals

I voted for Sif.

🔺️ grim-warrior

I voted for Sif.

✨️ the-dashingest

Wait, Hogun? But you didn't tell us you had a phone?

🔺️ grim-warrior

I don't.

#lady sif propaganda #lightning round #poll reblog #only one more round after this! #i'm so glad lady sif doesn't have tumblr lol #i hope you guys dont mind that a mortal is running this blog btw #i really didnt expect any of you to see this 😬 #and srry for the reblog spam #also hogun lol

1,879 notes

🐍 magic-theatre

i see your thirst edits, you sick freaks.

#start tagging me in them #and/or sending them to me

689 notes

⛵️ modern-technologist Follow

umm i'm in ohio to visit my parents and there's like. um . a giant wolf running alongside my car? i'd call animal control but this thing is ginormous and i don't think that would do anything.

it doesnt have a leash or anything (obv its bigger than my car) but it's covered in chains. what do i do??

@identifying-d𝚘gs-in-posts ??

🐕 identifying-dogs-in-posts Follow

Fenrir Lokison?

#😨

197 notes

✨️ the-dashingest

I really don't think Loki is that bad. Sure, he's had a rocky history, but I don't think he's done anything worthy of scorn. Besides, hasn't he just died and come back or something like that, anyway? He has a blank slate, in my book.

#is it just me? #i hear people saying we should banish or kill him #i find that idea preposterous #he's just misunderstood

208 notes

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

I'm not going to @ them, but ugh... Someone I'm acquainted with just died in battle, and honestly? I'm so relieved. Is that terrible? Don't answer that, I know that it is. I'll probably delete this in a few hours.

🐍 magic-theatre

that's what you get for vagueing.

cowards don't go to valhalla.

10,560 notes

🔮 alchemist-aura Follow Sponsored with Blaze 🔥

buy my potions! i'm having a Thor's Day sale! you can get an invisibility concoction for only 3 gold today! cheapest prices in the market! don't let that einar guy force you to pay 230 gold for a wyvern tooth when you can purchase an authentic one HERE from my brand new online shop

#alchemists on tumblr #all natural potions #freelance potion seller #potion grinds #handmade potions #potionmaker #potion seller #invisibility potion #wyvern tooth #einar has competition #stay hustling 💪 #please check out my shop link i worked really hard on it #:) #:))

#i know they're all ooc i was just trying to amuse myself #loki #thor #fandral the dashing #moon queen and magic theatre #loki marvel #marvel thor #marvel asgard #marvel #thor odinson #dashboard simulator #the warriors three #odin allfather

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ataraxiaspainting · 3 months

Text

Icarus.

Yan (Emperor) Zhongli x F Reader.

Synopsis: You were taught ever since you opened your eyes to never go against your god. So why do you wish now that you have never opened them at all?

Warnings: Yandere themes, major power imbalances, manipulation, future forced marriage, some violence/gore, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 3k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Little Dark Age by MGMT

As the World Caves In by Matt Maltese

The Other Side Of Paradise by Glass Animals

All Eyes On Me by Bo Burnham

Space Song by Beach House

Murders by Miracle Musical

Tongues & Teeth by The Crane Wives

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

A Pearl by Mitski

Isabella’s Lullaby by Takahiro Obata

*~*~*~*

“‘You know that I love you.’ And despite herself, Coraline nodded. It was true. The other mother loved her. But she loved Coraline as a miser loves money, or a dragon loves its gold. In the other mother's button eyes, Coraline knew that the other mother loved her as a possession, nothing more, a tolerated pet whose behavior was no longer amusing.” – Neil Gaiman, Coraline

*~*~*~*

There is no sin greater than to be a bird.

To be a bird is to be devoid of all burdens, soaring above all who are shackled by them, like a warden overseeing prisoners, or the sweetest and ripest peaches up on the highest of branches so no one can reach it. They can go anywhere, birds, with the winds at their call, the very embodiment of freedom itself, something your god has taught all his people to be wary of. Freedom can be a blessing, he told one of his counselors once, but it can also cause humans to be too conceited. There is no sin greater than to be a bird because all others will be envious. Envy is also a sin, one so common that even Archons are said to possess it. Sin gives birth to more sin, more suffering, and thus only the original that birthed it all shall be punished by Celestia’s fury.

There is no greater sin than to be a bird, so the gods put in place cages, made to make those trapped by gold and chains and other things entirely. Birds who are not lured into such traps are dealt with by lightning, making them fall back down to the ground below, the last thing they see is the very sky that punished them. The sky, the stars, the moon, the sun… the entire world will be against you when you are a bird.

It will be that way until you die. The world hates birds and the way they fly and soar. Birds are meant for cages, or to be struck down with their corpses made into trophies.

There is no title greater than to be a hunter.

The sin; to be a bird, freedom… the title; to be a hunter, despotism.

To shoot, to stab, to twist until the prey bursts, is the way of someone whose greatest sin is doing good for this world.

To bleed, to be trapped, to be killed and put on display for all to see, that is what a bird’s purpose truly is, in the eyes of the divine.

They are different, quite so, like different ripples in lakes of mixed blood and water.

You can almost hear them, can’t you?

Celestia favors the strong. Celestia despises the weak. It makes sense to most people, those who were born into power be it money made from blood or strength made from blood. They don’t see the way the world works. The way flies feast upon rotting meat and are soon to be eaten by something bigger. It makes sense for most people, but not for you. Despite everything you have ever been taught from word of mouth, life on the streets teaches you otherwise. For everything you have endured, you have learned that you are not weak. In any case, quite the opposite.

You don’t pray anymore with everyone else, as they keep reciting such things over and over again at the states positioned throughout Liyue as if the emperor would listen to them.

“O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all!” They would hold hands with their bodies being placed in circles around the sculptures. They close their eyes altogether, to not see the sacrifices trapped between them at the monuments, the last thing they see is the Lord of Geo’s face, looking down at them with a stone-cold glare laced with eerie delight. “O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all! O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all!”

To be praying and to be preying are two quite different things, but to the people of Liyue, there is no difference. Blood seeps into the earth all the same, regardless of who sheds it. So, as evidence that the people of Liyue do indeed bow down to Celestia’s every whim, they bring birds of all kinds and steal them of all they have. Their feathers make for excellent clothing, their bones make for stellar weaponry, and their feet make for charms of good luck. Celestia only smiles down upon the strong, after all. Celestia despises freedom because, without the divine, humans would have nothing to leash them onto rationality and laws. Perhaps that is why Mondstadt is very much in chaos now. Their god was said to have betrayed Celestia by giving his people forbidden knowledge of how nature originally ran its course, causing an uproar among the citizens.

No one knows what happened to the god of Mondstadt after that.

Was he smitten down? Did his people turn on him? No one in Liyue knows for certain, as people of Mondstadt are forbidden from entering the land said to be made up of the purest of gold.

“O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all!”

That is the first thing you hear when you wake up, huddled in a corner to prevent yourself from getting even more wet from the rain. You assume that maybe it will be the last thing you hear when you close your eyes for good.

*~*~*~*

You grew up in Qiaoying Village and, once you grew up, got exiled from Qiaoying Village. You stood out, which no one saw in a good light. You were a mischievous, rule-breaking child, always stealing Jadevein Tea Eggs and both tea and tea sets made of fine porcelain. Your older brother taught you lessons far too valuable and unique for the traditionalist settings of Qiaoying Village, lessons like how to pick the elderly’s door’s locks, how to properly identify which pockets had the most Mora, and how to make alleyways a labyrinth for those who chase you.

Your older brother, though, did not partake in thievery himself. You suppose that might have been the first warning sign of many more to come. He made you, a child about half his age, do his dirty work for him. He always hoarded the rewards afterward, and if you got caught or he got caught with whatever treasure you had given him, he would pretend to scold you for going against the way of the Qiaoying. He said it was just pretend, but that look in his eyes still haunts you to this very day. As you got older, though, you got dumber. You crossed a line with everyone. You decided to steal from a Fontainian duke.

It was a foolish decision. Fontainians are known for their high sense of justice, and their tunnel vision when it comes to crimes and punishments. But you were just a child, were you not?

You couldn’t help it. You were just a child. That is what you told yourself then, and it is what you tell yourself now.

No one helped you then, and no one helps you now. Hell, it would be a miracle, a blessing from Celestia, if your older brother came to Liyue Harbor to visit you. But he never loved you, did he? He never loved you, and you never hated him until you saw him for what he truly is. A petty servant of Madam Mei with a spine thinner than that of a twig. He was a coward then, and likely still a coward now. Perhaps it would have been noble of him, while you were still an infant, to use that pocket knife he always carried around. It would have been better for you, for you to not know anything you know about him now.

But he was a coward, your older brother. The person who taught you everything about thievery is also now the person who taught you how important it is to keep your cards close. Life on the streets calls for both, you suppose. Liyue Harbor may not be the friendliest for the homeless, but at the very least it had pockets to swipe into when no one was looking. Old habits die hard. You ended up relying on every memory of the past, no matter how bitter or how deceivingly sweet they were. You bore it. You bore it all. Every memory, every fragment of a lie, and every fragment of a half-truth. Life is never so simple after all, is it?

Your life was never perfect, and therefore still is not now. But you know deep in your heart that you would prefer this life over seeing your older brother’s face ever again.

But now, with eyes brighter than amber staring above you as you lay, your arm broken, you wish that your brother had taught you some fighting skills instead of everything else he taught you.

But he was a coward, and so are you.

To be fair, though, he never met the emperor and never thought that he would. So did you. No one in Qiaoying Village did, most likely. It was so far from the proclaimed harbor made of gold and trader’s blood and prayers. This was where the emperor lived, in his castle in the mountains surrounding Lingju Pass and Mount Tianheng. It was made up of the finest gold and wood and jewels. Only the best for the emperor, while people like you get mere pebbles. That is why, when you saw yet another stranger in a white cloak roaming around the alleyways, you attempted to strike. Your mistake.

Your mistake.

You were on the ground in an instant, your arm breaking so loudly an elderly man on his deathbed could hear it.

The stranger’s eyes glittered like gold.

Frozen gold, perhaps, with how he was staring down at you with such disappointment.

So, he stared down at you.

You stared down at your arm.

You should have known better. But you are just someone trying to live, are you not? It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. But that white cloak the man is wearing with the sigil of geo on the back, one of the few symbols of the emperor himself, should have made you not attempt to pickpocket him. You should have known better. You really should have known better. Should you apologize? You are already as good as dead though, aren’t you?

Does a death sentence await you?

Life? Death? Prison? Life. Death. Prison.

Escape.

You have to escape.

But the emperor seems to know what you are doing, what you are planning.

So he stops you with a simple hand raised, and pillars of geo appear out of nowhere, trapping you in the corner. Now there is nowhere to run.

He stares down at you.

You stare down at your feet, all mangled up from a life made of thievery and poverty.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you. You prefer it that way.

You are in a cage. But he is not.

Please.

Please don’t kill me.

Please.

*~*~*~*

Is it a sin to indulge? Perhaps it is, perhaps it is not. Perhaps it depends. Is the indulgence centered in reality or fantasy? This escape attempt, perhaps, is both.

Like the many that came before it, the only sounds you can hear is the rain, the water falling from the glass windows like teardrops, and sometimes you can swear you hear the sound of someone weeping. Despite everything you have gone through though, you do not weep with them, whoever they are. You only keep stepping on ahead for a brighter future, one where you sneak off to Sumeru, a land that prioritizes knowledge over riches. You’d have a better life there than here, you think. Anywhere but here you would run off to actually, even if it was Snezhnaya.

You are treated well, too well.

You still don’t know why instead of throwing you in the dungeons, Morax placed your unconscious body in one of the many, many guest rooms that were spread about in his castle.

You are treated far too well, almost to the point that it is maddening. Everything is so perfect, from the morning birds outside your window that wake you up every morning when it just so happens to be time for breakfast to the hairbrush you use to put your hair up when it is time to sleep, the design intricately laced with jade and topaz. Perfect, perfect, perfect. It’s maddening, sickening, how perfect everything is. You wish he had just put you in a cell because at least then everything would not have been so planned out for you, even the type of flowers you saw in the gardens that week.

“Damn it all…”

In your opinion, the clothes you received today were more intricate than usual. The sleeves are puffed and transition from white to a deep teal color. The dress itself showcases delicate lace patterns of glaze lilies around the waist and wrists, while the skirt is impractically long for any running. Strangely, the inside of the skirt features a constellation pattern, though it seems to be a design meant for your eyes alone. The purpose of this starry sky motif remains unclear. The dress, like everything else, appears flawless and fits you perfectly, almost as if it was tailored specifically for you. Given Morax's wealth, you can't help but entertain the possibility. However, the overwhelming perfection of it all borders on madness. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect, so damn perfect.

Today, you were not given shoes, presumably due to the rain and the consequent cancellation of your garden visit with Morax, where you typically indulge in tea and wine. As you approached the staircase leading to the dining room, however, the guards obstructed your path. Their actions were gentle, but their words were not. They formed a human barricade, preventing your descent. One guard clicked their tongue disapprovingly, while the other remained silent. Perhaps they harbored some disdain towards you. The servants in this establishment either treated you with utmost care or completely disregarded your presence, so it was not entirely surprising that the guards displayed a semblance of dislike.

The real surprise was you not being allowed to go to the dining room to eat.

“The emperor wants you to stay in your room for the time being. He shall see you shortly there.”

So, you went back, albeit muttering curses along the way. Due to your lack of shoes and the guards not even allowing you to go downstairs, this escape attempt is as short-lived as a moth flying much too close to a flame.

As you were told, Morax came in his usual attire, black and brown robes with a geo sigil on the back.

“...”

“I have been told that you have been getting a bit too curious with your wandering.”

Ah, straight to the point, it would seem.

There is no point trying to beat around the bush when it comes to Morax. “It is not like there is anything else to do here.”

He sits beside you on the bed, not too close but not too far either. A perfect balance. “I can give you other activities to do if you would like. I can also answer some questions you have since you’ll be living here from now on.”

“...This isn’t temporary…” You look down at the arm he broke, a time which feels like a millennium ago. “Am I being charged?” Your question is quietly said. “Aren’t thieves simply sent to cells for a few moons?”

His chuckle was unexpected, causing a slight surprise. Morax, who was typically expressionless, wore a smile on his face. Despite the possibly good intentions behind it, the sight and sound were unsettling and made your skin crawl.

“...You don’t tell me anything.” You whisper under your breath. That much is clear. Despite Morax's little attempts to conceal it, his secrecy is unmistakable. You can't help but feel like a naive child stating the obvious.

“You are here for multiple reasons. For instance… you remind me of someone. As such, you must have questions, if you are anything like her.” His eyes glaze over you, from the top of your head where your hair is half put up with a hairpin to the anklet just hovering over your right foot. “All humans are born with an innate sense to pry. I won’t judge, as I am an Archon.” Are his words heartfelt? “Through my veins flow gold, but yours flow with sanguine, life, and desires.”

His hand reaches forward, but he does not touch you. “You must see yourself as better than us because of this. Am I correct?”

“My feelings are not as monochrome as they seem to you. They are complex, quite so. But you are right, in some regard.”

“This is why I cannot stand the so-called divine.”

“Another reason as to why you are here. You are a sleeper of such, and I intend to help you open your eyes to the truth.”

You look at his eyes, seeing all the horrors within their depths.

The emperor known as Morax possesses eyes of pure gold, along with attractive features and pale, rosy lips that curl into a sickly sweet smile. Your body instinctively reacts, urging you to flee before your mind can fully comprehend the situation. However, your brain, awakening and analyzing the situation, is interrupted by the overpowering force of instinct, echoing the same warning as your body: the charming smile is a mere facade, reminiscent of something unsettlingly artificial. It is akin to a sculpture with painted skin and eyes or a doll with exaggerated, intricate features. This man, with his literal golden eyes, his potentially persuasive words, and his captivating yet unnerving countenance, is someone you cannot trust.

Desperate to escape, you attempt to run, only to find that arms and hands, seemingly made of stone, emerge from the walls, gripping and restraining your own. Two of these strong hands ascend, slithering towards the center of your back, forcefully pushing you down into a bow, while you remain compelled to gaze upwards. Your focus remains fixated solely on the emperor's eyes, observing the eloquent patterns of gold within them.

The caress of their touch is tender upon your cheeks, unlike solid ones that demand for you to stay.

“You shall become my consort and see the gates of Celestia for yourself. Humans are made to worship, after all. The divine are made to simply awaken those who have strayed off the path of destiny.”

*~*~*~*

To possess the gift of sight, encompassing all, is the gravest transgression one can commit. Thus, those winged creatures who lack this awareness are banished to the depths of the earth, their vision, their literal eyes stripped away until their cries reverberate to the surface, where the emperor Morax shall pronounce the ultimate verdict.

#yandere #yandere x reader #author aya #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #morax x reader #yandere morax #yandere morax x reader

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vulnonapix1234 · 10 months

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I adore the idea of Miles putting the fear of God into the spidersociety by training more of his lightning and camouflage skills.

Because the power of lightning is terrifying, especially since they aren't common under the spiders.

I also imagine that he has extreme silicone valley vibes. Both for the other spiders and those from his universe.

Be it the fact that he smells like rain (even in the hottest of summers), that his eyes shimmer a blue when there is a storm brewing or how some of the electrucal machinery just stops working whenever he is in a "mood".

(This doesn't mean that others dislike or get out of his way. Miles is a social butterfly, even if he accidentaly shocks you)

But to get back to him terrifying others.

Miles is really smart, even if most people underestimate him for being a child.

He figured out how to charge a phone without destroying it to get a better control over his powers.

Because he doesn't want to kill anyone with them.

It escalates after that.

He builds up his stamina by going bigger and bigger till he was able to manipulate big machinery with them.

(Margo and Penny where a big help with that)

He was even able to manipulate his lighting into "webs". It takes work because he has to place small metal rods around his victims, before the can actually use his lightning as a trap.

Then he trained in controlling electricity that doesn't come from him, by going into dimensions with lightningstorms to get hit with it.

It is as insane as it sounds, but it turned into a great way to get his emotions out. Its like screaming into a pillow for him and he finds a lot of joy in it.

(The poor souls that saw him train believed him to be a crypit. The society was even called a few times, but they never catched him in the act. )

(Pav on the other hand did and it awoke a lot in him. Especially since je wasn't aware that this was Miles, as he never really got to see his face. Him and Gayatri kinda searched for the "boy that commended lightning".)

Miles actually dtarted to fuck with the weather after that, creating his own lightningstorms by letting his own lightning heat up the atmosphere enough.

Its really draining for him though so only its only successful 2/10 times and he actually faints 5/10 if he doesn't get striked by lightning.

But if he is successful in creating a lighting storm he is actually able to cast a Kirin like Sasuke. Even if his doesn't look like a dragon.

(He doesn't do it alone due to the fear of fainting. The only person he trusts with this is Hobie. Hobie himself isn't sure if he should be amazed that Miles can manipulate the weather or if he should fear for his friend. )

(It ping pongs depending if miles is successful and happy in his small lighting storm or if he is resting inside of his arms)

He does all of this training away from the eyes of the spidersociety.

Miles is a forgive but not forget type, so hed like to have a few cards up his sleeve.

(There are moments where he has to ise them through. Battles that could escalate if he didn't give his all. But the shocked faces afterwards are the best)

(People that are aware of his entire training: Hobie, 42, Penny, Margo and Noir. Hobie is more of an emotional support, whilst Margo and Penny really help him with the manipulating of machinery and his own discharge if he gets the zoomies. 42 keeps on making miles go over his boundaries to see what he could do. Noir is their trusted adult who actually keeps Miles in check if he is about to go to far)

(People that kind of know: Pav, Gwen and Spiderham. Its not that Miles doesn't trust him. He just doesn't want to involve them in his insanity. Especially Spiderham, who had just lost Meows Morales and would do foolish things in his grief. Miles also just wants to impress pav, especially after he told him about "the boy that could tame lighting". Neither are aware.

(People that don't know: Peter, the spider society and his parents.)

#punkflower #pav #chaiflower #goldenflower #miles morales #miles spiderman #pavitr x miles #miles x pavitr #hobie x miles #miles x hobie

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mingtinysworld · 10 days

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Adrenaline Rush

Pairing: choi jongho x fem!reader

Genre: smut, fluff

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Jongho needs to blow off some steam after he's not satisfied with a performance, and you happen to be there for his assistance. Not that you mind.

Warnings: MDNI, rough, mean jongho, one face slap, throatfucking, hair pulling, degradation kink, use of names like (fucktoy, cumslut), cum swallowing

A/n: I SWEAR I did NOT plan to make Jongho this mean??? But it's ok because he's all cute and sweet at the end. I do love me a mean jongho though. Enjoyyyy please like, comment, and reblog!! - J<3

You nervously wait backstage, eyes on the monitor as staff put up the intricate set pieces for Ateez's stage. You know how hard the boys have worked for this insanely monumental opportunity. Especially Jongho, who has been nonstop belting his voice to perfect the high notes.

A few hours prior, Jongho had started feeling pain in his throat. He was afraid of letting down the group when he's known to be the powerhouse vocal that he is. You knew that no matter what, he would do an amazing job, but you were nervous on his behalf due to his harshness to himself.

You let out a stuttered breath and bounce your leg as they go on stage. They look majestic, and everyone in the crowd seems to absolutely love them. They perform almost their whole set, everything being more than perfect. You feel like crying from how proud you are, of each and every member. Then it's time for Wonderland.

This is the song that Jongho has been nervously dreading. The intense belt of 4 octaves leaves him to dread it every time. But you know that he kills it every single time, and you're certain he will today as well.

He steps forward, takes a deep steady breath, and goes for it. It's as if angels have come down to make you ascend with them. You're convinced that Jongho is not a real human being, he's an angel. No one could be that perfect, that talented, that beautiful. Your jaw is wide open with amazement, and you feel like you could cry.

They take their bows as the crowd erupts with so much love and appreciation for Ateez. They start walking offstage and you go to meet and congratulate them. You scream and clap as they emerge one by one, making them look at you with exhausted adoration. As soon as you see Jongho you lunge towards him, looping your arms around his neck and squealing with excitement.

"Babyyyy oh my god that was amazing. I'm so so proud of you!!" You give him countless pecks across his cheeks as he holds you loosely. You pull back to see his face is pulled taut and jaw clenched, and you tilt your head in confusion.

"Love? What's wrong?" You ask with a pout.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds and takes a deep breath. He leans closer to your face and speaks with a barely recognizable voice.

"If I don't fuck your face right now I think I might explode." He says intensely.

Your eyes widen at his admission and you feel like you're hit with lightning from head to toe. You swallow thickly and attempt to speak but all that comes out is a jumble of words.

"Jongho w-why are you so intense?" All you feel at the moment is pure arousal, slick coating your thin underwear. He groans dramatically and hangs his head.

"I messed up and I'm so goddamn angry right now I can barely speak." He manages with gritted teeth.

"But you did-" Before you can finish your encouraging sentence he grabs your wrist and spins you around, holding it behind your back. He leads you towards an empty costume room and you can feel his solid body walking right behind you.

"Shut the fuck up and let me use your mouth. The only good use for it apparently." You comply immediately and let him handle you like a rag doll, enjoying every second of it. As soon as he locks the door, he throws you down to the floor and you look up at him with a wide eyed expression that is screaming "ruin me."

It would truly be a shame if he didn't complete your request, so really he's only being the generous and giving boyfriend that he is. You take fluttery breaths in anticipation and sit there looking so pretty and pliant for him.

He steps forward and with one hand caresses your cheek gently. You close your eyes in bliss and lean into his touch like an obedient kitten. That is until he delivers a harsh slap to the same worshipped cheek. You jolt in surprise and hiss at the sting his palm left, but you stay as still as possible to be a good girl for Jongho.

He smiles like he just won a reward. Maybe he did because the sight of you in front of him is enough to make him burst. He pulls down his pants low enough to pull his aching cock out, but still being mostly dressed. He's leaking so much precum that it's threatening to spill onto the floor and you have to resist the urge to just lick him clean immediately.

He hooks a thumb into your mouth, lifting your head backwards to a point of almost discomfort. The light bounces off of your glazed eyes, making them look like pools of desire and helplessness. He pushes down on your tongue and you don't waste any time wrapping your lips around his digit and giving him a preview of what's to come.

Patience running thin, he pulls his finger out of your soft mouth with a pop, and gathers your hair into one fist. With the other hand he guides his leaking member into your awaiting mouth. You instantly choke around him, somehow forgetting how thick he really is. You try to breathe calmly through your nose to control your gag reflex.

He slides in farther, reaching to the entrance of your throat. He gives an experimental thrust and goes through the restrictive barrier between your mouth and throat. You instinctively swallow around him, resulting in him throwing his head back and groaning. He loses all self control and starts using your throat according to his needs.

He sets a wild pace instantly, hips never stuttering. He hits the back of your throat so sharply that you're sure you'll have giant bruises leftover. Jongho seems to have ascended to a completely different world, with his eyes closed like he's enjoying a nice yoga session. You dig your fingernails into your palms, leaving crescent indents. You want to do your best for Jongho, be a stress reliever, be the best fucktoy he's ever had. It's as if he's read your mind, because in the next second he starts to degrade you to the point your head feels cloudy.

"Who's a good fucktoy? Yeah that's right, you are. Forever my little cumslut aren't you? God I love the way your mouth feels, I could fuck it forever." The only thing you can do is let out pathetic whimpers to confirm his words. You love being used by him, being his toy. As he nears his orgasm he goes even harder. He's now using your hair to pull you back and forth along his length, sending pleasurable sharp pain to your abused scalp.

Your nose meets his stomach and you're held there while Jongho's shooting his load into your throat. You sputter and gargle around him, releasing droplets around the side of your mouth. His stomach clenches in and out as he empties everything into you. As soon as he pulls you off of him you start to cough intensely. He immediately locates a water bottle to soothe your sore throat. You gulp it down greedily, savoring every precious drop.

He helps pull you up, and supports your wobbly form. Even if he treats you so roughly, you're always his princess first and foremost. He runs a gentle hand down your back, rubbing soothingly.

"Did I do too much, my love?" He whispers worriedly.

You shake your head assuredly. "No baby, you were perfect. You were perfect on stage too you know." You croak with a raised eyebrow. He laughs at your expression and softens up.

"Oh what did I do to deserve you? I just think the world of you sweetheart." He rests his head against your forehead, breathing deeply. Your heart beats loudly, feeling the flutter of a thousand butterflies inside. You break apart and give him a cheeky grin.

"I demand a bath and a massage." You raise your head defiantly, daring him to disagree. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head in disbelief.

"You don't ever change oh my god. How about I do you one better? I'll give you a bath and massage while singing you your favorite songs. Followed up by some very cuddly cuddles. What do you think?" He asks.

"I think you have yourself a deal mister Choi best singer and performer Jongho." You give him a bow and he playfully smacks you.

"Alright alright, get it together." He pretends to grumble grumpily.

"Okayyy mister bear." You retort while running away.

"HEY.” He says while chasing after you.

#ateez #ateez smut #mingtinysworld #ateez fic #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #choi jongho #jongho #jongho smut

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janovavalen · 3 months

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✧DON’T LEAVE ME || luke castellan x ares fem!reader

summary: when percy gotten back to camp and found out who the true lightning thief was, he was quick to tell y/n who knew what she had to do.

word count: 1645

warnings: angst, breaking up, luke begging for y/n to join his side…no happy ending (only a part one)

when percy had arrived back to camp, needles to say he made a reputation quicker than anyone did before. not only did he kill a minotaur with its own horn, but he’d managed to finish his first quest in returning the lightning bolt, met four gods and managed to stop a war from happening.

not only did he do that…but he’d managed to find out it wasn’t clarisse who stole the lightning bolt…no, someone he would have never expected at all. and when he found out, y/n was the first to know.

the whole camp in fact knew about y/n and luke. the two were inseparable. since the moment they stepped into camp together they’d never left each other's side. some campers said they would see them holding hands, making out, or just hanging out every minute of every day.

when percy knew he had to tell y/n, he knew what she’d say.

walking into her cabin as she sharpened some of her swords, she looked up at the noise of the floorboards creeping under his foot.

‘oh, percy…what are you doing here?’ she placed the sword down onto the bed and stood up to percy who walked very slowly. she was confused to see him acting like this, like he’d done something wrong.

‘percy what’s going on? did a camper steal your blueberries or something?’ she teased while percy stayed straight faced and quiet. feeling a bit tense he cleared his throat before talking.

‘uhm…y/n there’s something very important i need you to know…something serious…but i don’t want you lashing out. so please just listen to me okay?’ percy talked lowly and slow while y/n nervously laughed and nodded her head in understanding.

‘when we were out on the quest, i’d learned some things about who stole the lightning bolt—‘

‘yeah you said it was my sister—clarisse, right?’

‘yes i know what i said but. seeing that when i got back and chiron didn’t take her out of the camp or get her in trouble…it got me thinking. when me and grover were heading to hades castle, the shoes luke gave us started to pull us to where kronos is held…and when we found clues and hints—‘

‘it was luke…wasn’t it.’ y/n shakily asked while also hoping it wasn’t him at all and this was just some very big mistake. but even percy didn’t deny was when she got her answer.

sighing heavily while closing her eyes she nodded to percy with the understanding of his words and knowledge.

‘luke had mentioned he wanted to get back at the gods for a very long time for what they’ve done and one day he came back to camp acting different…he had something to hide and i didn’t ask or want to know because it wasn’t my place but one day he told me things would change for the better or worse…i just, never thought he’d steal the bolt…’ y/n looked at the ground with her eyes watering with tears while trying to hold them from falling in front of percy.

out of all of the ares kids y/n was probably more of a athena or apollo child out of ares. she was much kinder, open with her emotions—sometimes—-and didn’t feel the overbearing need to be better than everyone—in some things.

she was hard on percy only when it came to things she knew he could do…she was difficult to understand because she kept her thoughts closed off. she was very stern, stubborn, confident and sometimes cocky. but she never let that get in the way of how she was as an individual. she let her siblings go after their father but she? wanted to be more like her mom.

standing in front of percy who happened to somehow grow a bit taller over his quest, the two of them being eye to eye. y/n felt her heart pounding rapidly against her chest.

‘i’ll…i’ll be right back. don’t go anywhere. go to the celebration and stay there with annabeth and grover, okay?’ she instituted percy who nodded slowly but let her leave.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

as y/n had been walking into the forest to clear her mind, she was unknowingly followed by luke who had caught her form and tried to call out to her only for her to not answer.

he had been watching her as she placed her hand against head—she’d been thinking of something important that was stressing her—she stopped and took a deep breath—she was hesitant—her shoulders shaking a bit he knew she was crying.

‘y/n?’ he mumbled loud enough for her to hear. turning around to see luke, she inhaled sharply and cleared her throat.

‘luke, hey. what are you doing here? i thought you were going to the celebration?’ she asked. straightening her back to come off as she didn’t just almost cry in the middle of the forest as embarrassing that would be.

‘oh…yeah, i was i just saw you and tried to call out for you but you never answered so…’ he lightly smiled while she nodded her head slowly. seeing through him and seeing through that smile that almost for percy, grover and annabeth killed.

‘yeah, well i just wanted to be alone for a while…so you can go—‘

‘no, i’ll stay here with you, and we can talk about whatever is bothering you—‘

‘no luke! leave, leave me alone okay? i don’t want to talk to you right now okay? please…please just leave me alone’ y/n places her hands together as a pleading motion while closing her eyes.

luke sadly looked at y/n with his heart being pulled into different directions. he was hurt that she wanted him to leave, he was hurt she didn’t want to see him, he was hurt she wanted to be left alone and he was confused as to why.

‘what did i do?’ he calmly asked. his sad eyes watching y/n who had inhaled sharply with annoyance.

‘luke…leave me alone—‘

‘no! why? why don’t you want to talk to me? why don’t you want to be with me—what did i do? why can’t we just talk—‘

‘because you stole the lightning bolt and almost killed my friends!’ y/n yelled on the top of her lungs. the anger held in her eyes had resembled her father so much he almost couldn’t tell them apart.

his heart dropped when she said what she had said and he almost lost it. how did she know? why does she know? who told her this—where did she hear this?

‘but clarisse—percy, annabeth and grover said it was her why would it be me…’ he watched her eyes as she rolled them and placed her hands over her face to bring her anger down to a reasonable level.

‘luke…you’ve told me you always wanted to get back at the gods for a while now. you said one day they’d see us, one day the world would change? percy has met hades who’s almost told him everything he needed to hear…you, are a liar—‘

‘no…’ luke shook his slowly while slight tears welled in his eyes. the fireworks behind the two of them showing red behind y/n and a blue behind luke.

‘yes luke! you lied! you almost got people killed and you almost killed kids at that!’

like she didn't quit almost quickly while y/n shook her head in anger. her eyes burning with tears as his did as well.

seeing there was no way out of this he sighed and gave up—‘i didn’t know he’d give them to grover to wear…’ luke helplessly sighed while the tears in his eyes grew bigger almost dropping from their holding stage.

y/n felt her heart clutch and her eyes well as she heard his words. suppressing any words to come from her mouth that might cause any other trouble she closed her eyes as her nose scrunched in anger.

‘y/n please—‘

‘no! you can’t say that and expect me to trust you luke—i’ll never trust you again! i’ll never put my faith into you! you have lied and you have lost! you don’t belong here anymore luke go!’ she yelled her anger boiling to the surface. that sweet side of her mom is no longer present and replaced with her father.

‘y/n…you don’t mean that…you can’t mean that; don’t you understand it was a mistake—‘

‘what a mistake was believing the lies you’ve told me for years on end and letting you sit on a throne in my life.’ y/n mutters as luke stepped in front of her. when she saw this she was quick it draw her sword as it touched the tip of his adam’s apple. looking down at it, luke gulped a bit and looked into y/n’s eyes to see no softness in them.

‘y/n please…please, please, please don’t do this. don’t leave me alone—your all i have!’

‘stop it luke! just stop! i can’t believe what you say anymore! you almost hurt the ones i love and the one you call family—‘

‘i never meant to do that! can’t you understand im trying to make this a better place…a better world for all of us..for you…’ he trailed off; his tear dropping and rolling down his cheek as y/n’a held no emotion, only anger written on her face.

breathing heavily, y/n let her eye twitch before letting the worse of her take over, aggressively pushing her sword down as it cut a bit of luke’s stomach. wincing in pain as he looked up at her and down at the open wound; he looked at her once more with tears in his eyes to recognize a y/n he’s never met before.

before he could say anything was when percy arrived.

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy pjo #percy series #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader

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lionheartedmusings · 3 months

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bear with me bc this is gonna be a bit of a long one, but i've seen folks talking about how they're excited to get the horrors back on the qsmp and while i totally agree that i miss those blood-curdling, creepy, uncanny valley sort of scenes... i think the beauty of the overall storyline (as much as it's execution can be criticised ) is that we as the audience are seeing things in a vacuum.

the qsmp storyline is a living breathing player alongside our povs, and while we're aware of that, we're also not always engaging with it. we're getting swept up in the day-to-day of it all and getting lulled into a sense of security that ultimately makes us unable to truly comprehend the horror of the last few months until we take a step back and analyze it bit by bit.

children went missing in the night, leaving only their identifiers behind on empty beds. there were no leads. people looked and looked, and found nothing. parents were mad with concern and grief, and the all-seeing, all-powerful entity that rules their lives trapped in this hamster wheel of an island has no answers.

then, the items left behind on those beds vanish too.

then, there's mind-controlling, happiness inducing drugs being pumped into people against their will. still no news of the children. people are falling apart at the seams.

people are led to a maze where a wheel is spun and everything they have left of the children of this godforsaken island is gone. burned up. what does it mean? no one knows. they have to live on.

suddenly, a game is played. a clone of a dead child shows up, leading some of them into the same maze, forcing them to walk through a maze of doors and corridors, only to find a game of dice orchestrated by an unknown entity.

new people arrive, bearing witness to the hopeless, grim, sad reality of everyone who was already there. there's hope — there's always hope — but my god the pain is overwhelming.

there's clues, but there's not. the government keeping them trapped here against their will still has no answers, nothing to point them in the right direction.

faceless bears go missing.

faceless bodies show up on the streets. bloodied. dead. eaten.

suddenly, there's thunder and lightning and oh! oh, their children! of course they'll get on the train, that's where the children are!

but they're hijacked. stolen. once again, their autonomy is stripped entirely as another entity with power they cannot comprehend forces them to split into factions and compete for... something. their children's lives are on the line and they maim and kill those they call family because they fear they have no choice.

everyone went through hell — purgatory was a bad title for what they went through. it was hell, with no salvation in sight.

when all is said and done, when all the murder and backstabbing is over, they see their children through glass they cannot break. one escapes because chance said so, and the rest are left behind as the ceiling collapses on them.

the world is ending and their salvation is one singular boat a thousand blocks away. lovers can't say goodbye, friends run for their lives together, a father and a son dash desperately with no hope in sight. some stay behind, through choice or chance.

the government official that has made their life hell returns the children to them, and brings some new ones. those new children get carted off to new parents without option (again) and suddenly everything's supposed to be fine! nevermind your friends are gone! nothing to see here!

behind the scenes, the all-seeing all-knowing government is breaking apart, there's something far more horrifying and twisted at play in the background... but it's nothing the islanders can help with. nothing they can do. they have to live on and pretend their golden cage is fine and dandy bc at the end of the day, it's their only option.

one-eyed creatures show up demanding something "of theirs" back and bc humanity is strong, one islander refuses to hand someone kind and innocent off to them.

it dooms them, as their humanity has every single time.

now, they're under attack and they can barely defend themselves despite months of prep and having amazing gear — again, they try their hardest but everything is stacked against them. they fight, and fight, but their children are on the line and that's their main concern.

every fight? there's bodies littering the ground and panicked screams. explosions. chainsaws revving, and worry, and it's a war ten times a week.

a child loses a life, and now it's personal, but what can they do? no one listens to them, no one has ever listened to them.

and in the middle of all of this? their family is still gone, trapped in a wasteland, or missing, or... dead.

there was no funeral for q!maxo bc there's no stopping to smell the roses on quesadilla island, not really. where's slime? where's pol? where's the people who they haven't seen yet? gone, yes, but they don't have time to stop and worry about them. they don't have time to mourn losses and grieve their dead.

luffy, who came to try and help their friends, was stolen and hurt.

those eyeball workers? they were people once, maybe good people. maybe the best people we never got to meet, but they got shifted and changed into something monstrous and out of their control.

my point being: the story that the qsmp is telling is innately horrifying. it's not just creepy — it's twisted, and tragic, and absolutely terrifying. it's about loss of agency and running on an endless hamster wheel of someone else's making, and how you just sort of... live with it after a while.

and i think that's really fucking cool, because like these characters we too get used to the tragedy of life, little by little, and forget to see the whole thing from a bird's eye view (pun intended).

#qsmp #long post #siudghiusdfg THIS IS OVER 1K WORDS SOMEONE SAVE ME

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lauraneedstochill · 8 months

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Cry me a river

summary: Aemond finds her wounded and left to die in the middle of nowhere. her desire for vengeance helps her survive — and her unbreakable spirit inevitably draws the prince to her. author’s note: her betrothed does what Daemon did to Rhea... this time, the woman survives 🔪 also, couples who kill together, stay together, I don’t make the rules warnings: archery (described in unprofessional language), slow burn (... and then not so slow), mentions of blood and murder (duh), it gets a bit heated words: ~ 11K song inspo: Tommee Profitt ft. Nicole Serrano — Cry me a river (cinematic cover) 🔥

>>> Aemond is caught in heavy rain midair, in the depths of a starless night. The storm rips through the clouds, and the lightning flickers across the sky that’s bowed over the Vale. He tries to resist the voice of reason that urges him to land, he’s no little boy to be afraid of the whims of nature. But the downpour only grows more ferocious, and the rattling of thunder soon drowns out Vhagar’s displeased roars.

Begrudgingly, Aemond sets his pride aside and peers into the darkness that stretches as far as the eye can see. He can barely make out a vague outline of the mountains but the rocky terrain is a poor resting place, that much he knows. Exasperation slowly claws at him as the wind howls, his clothes drenched and heavy, and the ribbon of moonlight slips away into the gloom.

When his gaze suddenly catches a flicker of light, a faintly lit cave in the distance — Aemond thinks it’s the Gods' mercy as it is. He is yet to find out that the Gods are leading him that way for a reason.

>>> The landing is rough but Aemond holds back complains and runs for cover, breathing a sigh of relief once he gets to the cave. Vhagar curls up in a heap, and her enormous silhouette can easily pass for just another mountain in the valley.

The prince tiredly wipes the raindrops off his face — and only then notices a spot of crimson right under his feet. He recognizes the color of blood in an instant, and the realization fills him with dread. Slowly, he turns around, his eye following the gory trail, his hand reaching for the dagger. But the sight he’s met with leaves him frozen in place.

Aemond is sure he’s never been so stunned and horrified all at once.

At the far end of the cave, a woman is lying next to a waning fire, with her eyes closed and face drained of color. She is dressed in bright red, and the blood on her hands blends into the laced fabric of her long sleeves, and Aemond is struggling to locate the injury that left her unconscious. She looks so helpless, a breath away from irrecoverable, he throws caution to the wind and rushes to her side without much thought.

Aemond kneels, examining her bare and bloodied feet, the torn hem of her dress, the smudges of dirt on it. With timidly blossoming fascination, he takes in the softness of her features stained with tears, green leaves tangled in her hair. Aemond reaches his hand to smooth a strand of it when he sees a splash of red framing the side of her face. His fingers barely graze her temple — and once he sees them stained with red too, his breathing hitches.

He’s no stranger to cuts and bruises but he doesn’t know how to treat a head wound. And his fighting skills won’t be of use against the Stranger.

A feeble voice brings him back to reality:

“I am not dying.”

Startled, Aemond lets his gaze fall on her lips, parted and faintly tinted with pink. Her eyelids flutter before she opens her eyes — they meet his in an instant. The feeling he gets bears no explanation: it’s sudden and overwhelming, raging like a hurricane that hits right at his chest. She doesn’t look away while her hand finds his — his fingers are still in her hair, and he shudders at the touch; her skin is cold but the grip is surprisingly firm.

“I’m not dying tonight,” she repeats, her tone a bit steadier. “I will not give him the satisfaction.”

His brows furrow from the lack of understanding. His body tenses at the very clear hint that he gets.

“Who did this to you?” Aemond asks with concern.

But she already drifts out of consciousness, back to where she can’t hear him. The thunder rolls and the lightning tears the cover of darkness, illuminating uninhabited mountains and valleys. The terrible weather seems like the least of Aemond’s problems.

>>> It rains all night, and the dawn comes shrouded in white mist. He cannot sleep a wink. The woman tosses and mumbles incoherently as her mind lapses back into the grasp of the unknown suffering. Aemond finds the sight so unnerving, it’s almost painful to watch, but he doesn’t take his eye off her.

He keeps the fire burning to help warm her up, ignoring his own discomfort. Not his shivering but hers eventually compels him to peel off his wet outer garment to dry it off faster. He hastens to put the clothes back on but leaves out his coat to cover her with it, black material over red, a night draping over sunset. Hesitantly, he rubs her arms and back, his usually deft fingers now tentative, until he sees the life returning to her cheeks. It puts Aemond’s nerves at ease, and he belatedly realizes how stiff his body has become from hours of sitting in agonizing suspense. And yet, he never leaves her side.

The mountain tops stay hidden by the clouds, the sky coated in gloom the sun can’t peek through, but around midday, she wakes up again. Her eyes dart to Aemond who moved to feed the fire with branches. He doesn’t rush into conversation, giving her a chance to come to her senses. She is looking at him with distrust but without a hint of fear.

“You stayed,” she concludes in a hoarse voice, slightly shifting in place.

“Leaving you all alone didn’t seem fair,” Aemond responds, which only earns a huff from her.

“I am perfectly capable of managing on my own,” she rebuts, trying to prop herself up on elbows — and instantly groans at the ache in her temple.

Aemond comes closer in a blink of an eye, and it’s hard to miss the empathetic look he gives her. He politely stays at arm’s length which she is thankful for.

“Your bleeding stopped but such a serious wound must be examined by a maester,” Aemond tells her peacefully. “How far away is your home? I shall accompany you there once the weather calms down.”

He sees emotion flashing through her face, and for a moment it gets so quiet, he can only hear the rain still drizzling outside the cave.

“I do not have a home,” she forces out, and Aemond is surprised to notice that she doesn’t sound sad. If anything, there is ire in her words. “You shouldn’t bother.”

“I am sure your family is worried by your absence and —”

“My family valued me so little, they got rid of me at the very first chance,” she cuts him off, her voice stern. “So I am not going back to them, I’d rather you leave me here.”

He looks her over — her ruined dress and anguished face, dried-up blood in her disheveled hair. No doubt, she is hurting, and it would be unbecoming of a prince to leave a lady in such dire straits.

“I can do no such thing,” Aemond insists. “You survived a severe injury but whatever discomfort you are now feeling can be eased.”

“Complaining would only make me look pitiful. I need none of that,” she is sitting with her fingers pressed to the aching part of her skull, her brows knitted.

“Only seems reasonable to pity anyone with a ble—”

“Did anyone pity you?” she interjects, looking straight at his eyepatch.

The question is meant to cut him yet it doesn’t — too much time has passed, and his once painful memories are now dust-covered images at the back of his mind. But he finds her intent amusing. Wounded and weak, she is supposed to be at his mercy, but her spirit stays unbendable, and her gaze is so blazing, it’s nothing less of a fire. She keeps her eyes on him, waiting for his reply, confident that she will get it.

“Hardly anyone,” Aemond admits. “But I wasn’t left in a cave to die, so the comparison doesn’t work in your favor.”

He expects her to snap again, he almost wants to have another taste of her insolence — a trait so uncommon among any women he’s met, Aemond deems it not offensive but thrilling. She only hums in response, throwing him a glance, and he sees curiosity shining through her cold stare, like a ray of sun in the storm clouds. Their exchange of pleasantries is cut short by another one of her groans. He is usually patient but the sound of her suffering is a test that he fails.

“You will not get better on your own and you know it,” Aemond tries to reason. “I can take you to the greatest maester there is,” — and his persistence is akin to a plea. He anticipates her fears and allays them before she can utter a word: “You will be free to leave at any moment, you have my word.”

“What’s in it for you?” she narrows her eyes at him, her whole demeanor a clear evidence of her refusal to give in just yet.

Aemond thinks for a moment. The real answer to her question lies on the surface and is as vivid as her dress and as her blood: he knows nothing about her and he wants to know everything. He has trouble not only voicing but coming to terms with his desires.

“I am afraid that guilty conscience will disturb my sleep,” Aemond says, and it’s not entirely untrue. He can already tell he’ll think of her many nights to come.

She looks at him appreciatively, slowly, as if her gaze can cut through the cotton of his shirt, flesh, and bones his body is made of. Whatever is her verdict, he can’t tell because in the next moment, she is stricken with pain again, and talking isn’t of much help.

“We shall leave at dawn,” Aemond recapitulates, helping her lay down to have some rest while he can’t find any.

“Do you happen to have any water?” she mumbles more humbly. He senses that showing weakness doesn’t come easy for her; he’s not the one to gloat at something he can perfectly understand.

“I will fetch you some,” he reassures and pulls his coat over her again — and hurries outside.

The mountain valleys welcome him with stillness, and Vhagar’s eyes are two beacons in the mist. The dragon seems comforted by the rain and pays Aemond no mind as he climbs up to get a flask with water he luckily brought, and some lemon cakes Helaena insisted that he take (“should something happen on the road”, she said; he makes a mental note to thank her later).

They eat in silence — she has no appetite, and Aemond feels food stuck in his throat. She tells him nothing but her name; he savors the sound of it, a weave of letters he can now put to her face. Aemond studies her discreetly and although he can’t read her yet, he puts everything in memory, down to the smallest detail. The slight tilt of her head, the pensiveness of her gaze, a blizzard of feelings trapped in her irises, the stubbornness in her lineaments paired with beauty. The curve of her neck and a thin golden chain around it, her collarbones flowing down in that hollow spot his thumb would fit in... He stops himself from looking further down; his face flushes nonetheless, and something sparks inside him, dangerously unnamed.

The evening approaches stealthily but comes chilly and dank. They go to sleep early, both laid next to the fire, and Aemond courteously keeps his distance. She notices the goosebumps that snake under his shirt; her suspicions are soon confirmed when she catches the sound — and can’t tell if it’s the hammering of rain or his chattering teeth.

She considers him: his sharp profile, tense angles of his jaw, lines of his cheekbones seemingly chiseled by the Gods themselves. With his silver hair and eye the color of wisteria, she expected a different attitude; everyone knows the Targaryens to be self-righteous at best and prideful as a given. But the man next to her is instead stoically enduring the hardship he can easily avoid — if he only rolls closer and allows their bodies to trap the elusive heat; he doesn’t dare to. She realizes he could’ve taken advantage of her if he wanted, but it seems like the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind. She finds it way more endearing than her vigilance would usually let her — the pain must’ve dulled her sanity, she thinks, reminding herself that it’s the sole intent of surviving that should motivate her.

No words will work against his wit so she wastes no time snuggling up to him, with her forehead against his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest as she shares his own coat with him. A quiet gasp escapes Aemond’s mouth, but he stays still.

“I can hear you shivering,” she can feel it now too — his skin trembling under her fingers. “You are risking to catch a cold.”

Aemond is frozen for a minute, his heart thrumming at that unexpected boldness, at the feeling of her — malleable curves and no rigid edges, their ribcages in contact, their thighs brushing. Calming his breathing is an arduous task; he’s used to fighting off opponents but now he’s battling with himself, with the need that’s treacherously strong, almost primal. He barely quells it, and only by some miracle his inhales are soon steady again.

He moves his arm — the one she’s lying on — a little to the side, giving her more space to settle into, tips of his fingers stopping at her lower back. He does feel undoubtedly warmer. Aemond glances down at her, his voice a whisper tinted with mirth:

“Isn’t this called pity?”

He hears a faint cackle. “Call it rationality,” she refutes. “Since we are to leave soon, and only one of us can fly a dragon.”

The words roll off her tongue like it is the most mundane thing, not a century’s worth of power encased under the thick-scaled skin of a creature the size of a castle.

“You do not find the beast scary?” Aemond can’t stop himself from asking.

“Why would I? It is only a dragon,” her voice grows smaller, eyelids become heavier. “Unlike some men, the dragons are at least not known for their ill intentions.”

At that moment, a wish is abruptly made — to find out who harmed her, make sure it happens no more. The fury in Aemond is a mounting force meant to cause destruction, tamed yet never really dormant. But he listens to her breaths and pushes his anger aside, and the full moon is the only witness of his surrender. As he falls asleep, he tries not to think how nice it is to have her body pressed to his.

>>> What he should be thinking of is how to explain all this — him, unwed, bringing a woman to the castle; a scandal, no less. And yet, it is the last thing on his mind. It’s only occupied with this moment he wishes would never end — with gusts of wind tucked under the dragon’s belly, clouds spread out around; and, most importantly, his arms snaked around her waist, her back touching his chest.

It is bittersweet, truth be told because her pain isn’t gone overnight, and he can’t heal her with just his hands and his words. The splotches of dark maroon are even more visible in her hair in daylight, and she winces at loud sounds, at the harsh flow of air that bites her skin while Vhagar soars up, and she has to grab onto Aemond a little tighter.

But soon they reach the clear canvas of the sky, the serene emptiness, and she looks around, taking it all in — and then the corners of her mouth curl up. There are sparkles of delight in her eyes, and still no sign of fear. And he thinks that her smile is the closest thing to the sun.

They cover many miles, crossing the lands as Vhagar bursts through the clouds, and the time allotted to their inadvertent closeness runs out, mercilessly as ever. Once they land and he helps her climb down, his anxiety comes back, like a wave approaching shore. But then a sound of her whimper reaches him, almost inaudible; he only has time to turn around, to see her pained expression. She passes out — he catches her; it’s his heart that falls, and no other thoughts and explanations matter.

When Aemond is seen at the castle, he’s carrying her in his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line, and not a word slips out after he calls for the maester. The prince pays no attention to the guards and the maids exchanging glances, to his mother stopping dead in her tracks upon seeing him, her hand over her heart. There is a question hanging in the air, parting Alicent’s lips, but she doesn’t voice it and only watches her son walk away, hurried and fearful in a way she forgot he was capable of. She struggles to remember when was the last time she saw Aemond in the company of a lady. And if he ever looked at a woman the way he looks at this one.

>>> Aemond is pacing the corridor, his eye on the floor, on the pattern of the stone surface. His mind is treading at the doors that were closed in his face after she was carried into the room. She was breathing still, and that’s what helps him keep it together, his hands clasped so tightly his fingers go numb.

He wonders if maester Mellos has always been so annoyingly slow. That’s the only wondering he can allow — otherwise the noxious thoughts will flood his head: how much blood did she lose before he found her? What if he was the one being too slow? What if —

“Her life is not in danger as she regained her senses” the maester moves with the pace of a cat, his face wearing the same unbothered expression. “The long flight might’ve been tiring for her impressionable female nature.”

That assumption is disregardful and uncalled for — Aemond hates it; still, he’s glad to hear the rest. He lets out a breath that frees his chest from the chains of agitation.

“I will fetch her some herbal ointment to help the cuts and bruises heal faster,” the old man then adds.

Aemond’s expression hardens; clearly, he knows the meaning behind the words but he cannot fathom them. Violet marks of violence blooming on her skin, how could he miss it? How did she get them? He accidentally thinks of it out loud.

“It is a rare luck to get only bruises after taking a fall from a horse,” the maester looks at him askance. He gives his final verdict before leaving, followed by a sigh: “The young lady surely must rest.”

The displeasure is a tiny tongue of flame at Aemond’s ribs. He is vexed by not knowing (nothing new in that, not with his eagerness to learn all and everything ever since he was a kid). Unexpectedly, he is equally vexed by not seeing her — so much so, that he almost reaches for the handle of the door that separates them.

Aemond stops himself, his reticence a fetter but also a necessity: she needs her rest, and he shall leave her be. He will not go beyond the bounds of decency.

She can’t be niched into any bounds, he soon will learn.

>>> Aemond is good at many things but not at waiting, as it turns out. In the morning, after he wakes up, anticipation already laps up in him, his day a blur — breakfast, sword practice, the lines in a book he picks at the library all merge and bore him. He only glimpsed the maids leaving her chambers once; it took all of his willpower to go the other way.

In just three days, his impatience smolders — then flares up, then erupts into a wildfire, his head in a haze that makes him lose focus. The more Aemond tries not to think of her, the harder it gets.

He pushes yet another thought aside as he sees Ser Criston approaching, armed with a longsword and perseverance. Aemond’s training is never a dull routine — the knight makes sure of that and doesn’t make concessions. Their swords lock and clank, and time is a whirl; in the midst of it, Aemond finds himself reminiscing about her shining gaze. He almost misses the hit aimed at him and ducks at the very last second — spins, glares, strikes, his blade stopping an inch away from Criston’s face.

The knight chuckles in good spirits, and the pride he feels is almost paternal. “Such a shame you aren’t the one for tourneys,” he pants, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Aemond rolls his eye, a brief respite not helping with his frustration. The subtleties of his emotions are unknown, unreadable like an ancient language: he’s daydreaming of her hands, her face, her —

“What a shame, indeed.”

Aemond turns to the sound of her voice. The whirl is silenced in an instant.

It’s different from his memories and his dreams — better than both: she is alive and well, she’s right next to him. She isn’t wearing a dress but a tunic and a pair of breeches, cool-toned material against her sun-kissed skin. Her wound is cleaned and healing, the mark left is a lightning peeking from her hair, the waves of it loosely braided. The simple attire doesn’t take away from her beauty (nothing can, he thinks), and it takes him a second to blink the enchantment away.

Aemond’s voice comes back, a tad low. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” He’s looking too joyful for it to sound like reproach.

There’s laughter in her eyes. “No one forbade me from stretching my legs. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Ser Criston chimes in, cautiously curious. “If only you don’t find the sight too unsettling,” he twirls his sword, the steel soundless in his hands.

“On the contrary, I find it entertaining. Although that wouldn’t be my weapon of choice,” her gaze follows the blade up.

Aemond throws her a surprised look but Ser Criston is the one to raise the question. “You have your preferences? Do tell,” he turns his head to the weaponry on a nearby table. “We’ve got shortswords, flails, axes...”

“All of which lack speed,” she remarks pertly, leaving the knight mystified.

Aemond sees no mystery; he knows that in the highlands catching prey is way trickier than killing. Knives, swords, blades of any kind won’t cover a long distance. Something else will.

“Archery, then?” the prince guesses.

“Doesn’t seem like the type of weapon you Targaryens prefer,” she shrugs but her disinterest is feigned.

Ser Criston catches onto that. “Can’t have preferences if there is nothing to choose from,” he grins, then calls for one of the guards, giving short instructions.

The man runs back in a minute, with a bow and arrows, and her eyes light up. They glide over the tight string, the polished wooden bend, concave at each end; it’s crafted beautifully.

“I must ask you to spare the guards,” Ser Criston jests while she takes the weapon, laying hold on its grip. “But do not be shy about taking your pick,” he points randomly at a stack of barrels, about thirty yards away. “These might be nice for a start.”

“That is too easy of a target,” she barely glances that way, then takes a good look around. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

The knight’s cheeks heat up. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to —”

“Oh, I do not find it offensive,” she grants him a meek smile without looking, already eyeing something much further away. “To tell you bluntly, it only spurs me on,” she mounts the feathered end of the arrow against the bowstring — and then pulls it.

Both men follow the direction the arrow is pointed at. Right outside the castle gates, there’s an apple tree, tall and branched, bent slightly over the stone wall. The fruits are bulked and ruddy, mouth-watering; but from where they are standing, the apples can barely be seen, obscured by foliage the wind breezes through.

Ser Criston raises an eyebrow, not incredulous but intrigued; Aemond only gets time to take a half-breath. The first arrow is fired with no warning — it cuts through the air, a flash of color above everyone’s heads, — and pierces an apple, pinning it to the trunk. A moment later she takes another shot; after the second one, Aemond isn’t looking at the apples, his eye instead drawn to her.

He suddenly can see nobody else.

Her every move is concise and simple, but her gaze is dead-set on the tree. She repeats each shot with a honed precision, controlled yet gracious; one of her arms set in a straight line, the other one follows a well-learned pattern — an arrow out, an apple down. That’s where, he thinks, her intrepidity comes from: the deadly weapon in her hands sings like a musical tool. The chance to watch her is bliss, and she’s a vision.

Only when she’s down to the last arrow, her hand unexpectedly flinches. She doesn’t miss, still, but the iron tip veers off and knocks the apple to the ground; a shadow of discontent glides across her face. Ser Criston is too impressed to notice yet Aemond knows that feeling all too well. He’s always strived to be the best too, and he knows how poisonous the pursuit of excellence can be.

“With that level of skill you might be unrivaled,” the knight praises, his words backed up by some of the guards and passersby clapping.

She seeks no praise, her quest is more troublesome. “I can do better,” she says, with her disappointment forced down. Her voice wanes a little when she adds: “I will do better by the next full moon,” and that hidden meaning holds unfathomable weight.

Aemond is too eager to bring her comfort to read between the lines. “The bow and arrows will be waiting for you, shall you decide to train more. But do have mercy on the tree,” a smile ripples her lips, a warmth ripples his heart. “I will ask for some target rings to be made.”

That gives her a dollop of contentment, and their fingers brush when he takes the weapon back. As Aemond gazes after her, he wonders if she feels it too — blood stirring, sweet dizziness, limbs lightweight.

Ser Criston watches the prince with a knowing look, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “It is so rare to find a lady with such a competitive spirit and a talent to match,” the knight muses. “Her husband must be a lucky man.”

Aemond’s joy shrinks, that mere word disturbing. “She doesn’t have one,” he responds. The uncertainty of his answer leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Doesn’t she really?

“That might not be for long,” Ser Criston carelessly comments. The prince’s cold stare makes no impression on him. “Shall we resume our training?”

Aemond goes to pick a shorter sword, his blood now boiling for another reason. There’s a gaze that’s akin to a caress, to a gentle tap on Criston’s shoulder — he turns readily to meet it, dark brown eyes that are a mirror of his own. Alicent casts a glance at her son, questioning and worrying, then holds the knight’s gaze once more. The looks they share are hand-written letters — both of them write the same thing.

>>> Alicent goes looking for answers first — she walks into the woman’s chambers the very same day, with the elegance of a Queen, with the benevolence of a mother. She doesn’t push but guides the conversation; she faces no resistance from the woman she’s facing.

When they are both seated, she tells her a story as old as time, a tragedy lived out by many. Her mother died when the girl was ten years of age, too weak to carry on her blank existence, and her father couldn’t even bear to look at her, no matter how much she tried to please him. Growing up in the Vale felt freeing but lonely, so she preferred archery over embroidery to leap at every chance to get away from home, into the beauty of the wilderness she had no one to share with. But she held out to hope that her life would change. She couldn’t predict that said change would start as an accident — her horse slipping on wet grass.

Alicent can’t help but bring her into a compassionate embrace at the mention of it. Her embrace turns into an offer — of a place to stay, of a shelter, and a friendly ear (maybe those were all the things her younger version wished for but was robbed of). The lie Alicent heard was so skillfully woven into the truth, she didn’t get suspicious.

Once Aemond learns the story from his mother, he discerns the misleading part in a second. All the other pieces fit together like a puzzle — her being self-reliant and guarded, her brazenness a shield, just like the one he’s grown accustomed to. But that last bit was made up, he can tell. And yet, he just doesn’t know how to approach the subject and not scare her off.

Aemond takes a task on earnestly.

>>> He looks for an opportunity to talk — he ends up tirelessly watching her, and he can’t say that there is no pleasure in it. She does resume her training, and every morning she’s the first one at the training yard when the sun is barely up, and no prying eyes can witness her dedication. Him having an eye on her doesn’t seem to be a problem.

His relentlessness has always been something Aemond prided himself on but it’s hers that he grows to enjoy. He carefully notes her refined movements, her sharp focus, her gaze cutting through any target before an arrow does. It’s easy to be fascinated by her; it takes him a couple of days to look past her outward calmness to catch a flicker of a feeling he can effortlessly recognize — an undercurrent of fury. And then he grasps that each time she aims at the wooden boards, she means to hurt someone. And maybe that is the exact reason she struggles with her every last shot, and her hand keeps flinching, unsure, or maybe too overwhelmed with certitude instead.

On one of those mornings, Aemond gets an idea, an outburst of bravery (or madness, but he’s too excited to care). She’s grimly collecting the arrows, inspecting them for damage when she sees him out of the corner of her eye.

“I couldn’t help but notice that something’s been troubling you,” Aemond comes closer, hands behind his back. She gives him a look that holds no denial but no explanations, either.

Aemond goes to the wooden boards, round and lined up on a hastily built frame, — and stands in the middle, right in front of them. He then puts out a hand with an apple in it, ripe and deliciously red. “Maybe I can help.”

Nothing short of shock flashes through her face, her eyes darting from him to the fruit and back. “What— ” her jaw drops as the words escape her; she strings them into a sentence. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you focus better,” Aemond offers in the calmest tone he can master.

It’s not uncertainty that leaves her speechless, her proficiency hard to deny. It’s the genuine, borderline naive trust that he shows her — with his open gaze on her, his body not moving from the spot, his faith in her as unwavering as his posture.

The moment is fleeting, soft like a morsel of a gossamer cloud, with so many words not shared; in another blink of his eye, it ends. The change in her isn’t drastic but chilling, like a touch of steel blade to the skin — her hand doesn’t waver when she reaches for the arrow, her gaze firmly locking on him.

As her last attempt at leniency, she notes: “There is no stopping an arrow once it’s shot.”

Aemond doesn’t think twice before replying: “You trusted me with your life once. I trust you not to kill me.”

She lifts the bow without hesitation, and he keeps eye contact with bated breath. The never-ending movement of life abates and the pale sunlight fades, and Aemond is deaf to everything but his booming heart. She drops the bow out of the way just a little and pulls the string up to the tip of her nose. She waits at full draw, the passing seconds endless and fulminant at once, before her hand flows back, her fingers relaxing — and the arrow slices through the air.

The first one hits somewhere above the apple; Aemond doesn’t dare to even take a glance, standing motionless, rooted to the ground. The second one follows soon. It’s a blood-curling contrast — how quiet is each shot until it reaches the target, and then the arrow rips right through the board, a deafening crash, a waft of death he’s spared from. Until she draws the bowstring again.

Aemond hears the third and the fourth hit, his hand unmoving, every muscle in his body tense. He is rarely scared, and it’s easy to mistake the fluttering of his heart for fear. But with how his eye is riveted on her, his gaze rapt and throat soar, — he thinks, it might be some other feeling. He gets no time to guess as the fifth arrow — finally — plunges into the apple and pins it to the board.

It’s a momentary reprieve, a quivering wave going through his body; and yet, she doesn’t lower the bow, eyes still fixed on him. Aemond can see her inhaling, the metal tip of the arrow pointing in his direction — and then released smoothly. In a split second, it lodges into the gap between his ribs and his arm, the feathery end stopping right next to his heart. When Aemond looks at her, he catches fiery glints of mischief in her gaze — and then something else, bright but short-lived like a glare on the water.

She puts the bow down, and they both know — her hand didn’t flinch once.

Only when Aemond steps away, he sees that the six arrows form the letter “A”, with the red apple right in the middle.

>>> He’s afraid the change is transient but it lasts — she is now watching him, too. Aemond finds it befuddling at first, not considering himself worth the attention, not used to being seen as something other than a wreckage of man, intimidating, and lonely, and harsh. She doesn’t look daunted. On the contrary, every time she sees him, the ice of her concentration thaws, and her gaze softens and lingers on him, mending every part of him that’s been broken by his insecurities.

She doesn’t recoil from the parts that are irreparable, either. She shows the same understanding when he can’t find the right words and shrinks into his shell — in the middle of conversations, in between rows of bookshelves, at bustling dinners; her company is a haven he can retreat to without a word. She welcomes his every impulse to talk and to share — thoughts, meals, books he thinks she will like (she bites down a smile thinking how much time he spent looking for any mention of archery).

She stays by his side when he doesn’t want to talk and when he overshares, when he’s bleakly taciturn, and when his temper gets as rigid as his sword; she’s enthralled by his anger, never burnt by it. One week turns into two, then into three. Day by day, Aemond wakes up earlier to watch her hit every target without fail, and she then watches him win one bout after another with evident amusement. They explore the castle, get lost in the library, take rides to the woods — she laughs as her horse breaks into a gallop, she basks in the sun, wind ruffling her hair, and his heartbeat raises to a clamor upon seeing her like that.

Her seat is next to his at the dining table, their chambers not too far away, and he persistently walks her to her doors, and every evening he dithers before saying goodnight and parting ways. Her presence soon becomes a warming light nurturing his days — and simultaneously the reason for him losing sleep. But as he lays at night, watching the moon wax, he thinks of another constant, bothering him like a page missing from a book, a closed door he’s got no key for — it’s her secret that he is yet to uncover.

He gets his chance when he least expects it.

>>> The month is nearing its end when Aemond is nearing the dining hall, brimming with emotion he cannot capture — excitement, unrest, sprinkling of anguish. He last saw her hours ago, when his mother came to her in the training yard, and the two of them hastened to leave, seemingly in some agreement he knew nothing about. He caught bits and pieces of words — mentions of fabrics and seamstresses, but it didn’t help with his confusion which soon turned into worry he had trouble coping with. And it wasn’t the worst part.

What’s worse is the comprehension, icy and unforeseeable like a blast of northern wind: it’s only been a few hours, and he’s already missing her. He looks back at the days she wasn’t with him, but they all seem too far away and forgotten, his life before her a blank canvas that she’s now painting with colors. He keeps thinking of her, getting more pensive with each step, until he reaches the doors, and walks in, and —

the ground is cut from under his feet.

All is the same in the hall: long table in a cloud of mindless chatter, silverware clanking, a rich palette of scents. What stands out is the color, bright like rubies formed within the earth’s crust. It’s the red of her dress — the same old and brand new — and he can only catch a glimpse but it’s enough to leave him dazed. It lasts a second before she senses him, her conversation with Helaena interrupted; she springs to her feet, the dazzling hue stirs up his ardor — he’s almost blinded when he gets an eyeful.

He is staring at her, everyone’s staring at him.

Helaena stands up with a laugh in her attempt to smooth things over: “It isn’t very nice of you to keep a friend waiting,” they both sit down then.

Aemond goes to join them with cotton feet.

He must’ve been too busy last time, her injury too big of a disturbance, so he paid the dress no mind. But once he’s seated, he can’t help but notice: the layers of fabric, flowing lines of her body, the cut in the front, the golden chain now ten times brighter. She casts him a wondering glance, he drinks half the cup in one swallow. The minutes that follow are like a fog, and although the conversations carry on, Aemond can’t bring himself to take part in any.

That is until he hears vaguely his sister’s delighted voice. “The stitching is barely noticeable! What an excellent work,” she marvels at the red dress, then looks at him with the spontaneity of a child. “Wouldn’t you agree, dear brother?”

He’s certainly grateful he’s not drinking otherwise he’d choke. Aemond manages to cast one furtive glance. “A fine work indeed.”

His mother gently picks up the discussion. “It was only fair to help repair the thing your friend holds so dear,” Alicent’s gaze is directed at her. “You can now wear it on more than just one occasion.”

Why would she hold so dear the dress that only carries the memories of her pain, he wonders. The dress that was covered with blood, with fingerprints of someone who wanted her dead. He takes a peek at her, and her face expression gives away no answers but for a second too short to comprehend he sees the undercurrent again; only it never takes shape. She puts on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and he’s the only one to notice.

“I greatly appreciate you taking your time to help me,” she says, and Alicent’s smile — a genuine one — only grows wider. Maybe even a bit too wide for it only to be about some stitching.

“I suspect we tired you out with all the measuring and dressing up,” his mother points at her plate. “You hardly ate, my dear.”

“It’s been a long day,” her fingers close around a cup but she doesn’t drink from it, “And the dress brought back some memories,” her grab tightens, the only sign of everything she’s keeping covered. “But I am glad to get a chance to wear it one more time.”

“And I am happy to help,” Alicent assures, “But please, go have some rest, you have seen enough of our boring dinners.”

“I was never bored,” there’s a glimmer of gratitude, a tone of sincerity as she gets up from the table and looks at the faces sitting at it. For a moment, it seems that she wants to say more — grand, meaningful, closer to the truth. And yet, she just opts for a short, “Thank you for having me.”

She barely has time to take a step before Aemond all but jumps to his feet. “I will walk with you,” the words leave his mouth as he stands up with unflinching determination. And it’s not that he wants to leave as much as he wants to follow her.

His eagerness doesn’t come off as a surprise. No one says it but it seems that everyone knows — Alicent and Criston sharing the same looks, Helaena beaming, Aegon smirking into his cup. Aemond only waits for her reaction, his eye focused on her face. She isn’t against it — just like she’s never been before, every time he found a reason to come to her and be with her, and even when there was no reason to do so. She gives him a nod, a tad guiltily but more so accepting (and maybe just as eager as he is).

While they are on their way out, Aegon turns on his chair to say something but Helaena covers his mouth with her hand.

>>> Aemond breathes a little deeper and walks a little slower, gathering his words, — and before he knows it, they are talking again, his infatuation receded, although never truly gone. He asks about her day, and in the corridors and hallways curtained with silence, her voice flows lightly. He can tell that she’s abashed by all the fussing over her.

“Our seamstresses are quite fierce,” he chuckles. “I fear no sword of mine will stand a chance against their needles.”

“They said this dress was made for feasts,” she quotes, fiddling with the material as if she can’t see what’s there to admire.

“Well, Aegon’s name day is approaching. That will surely be a feast we are all invited to endure,” Aemond jests.

“I don’t think that I will —” she doesn’t finish the sentence, biting down her lip. He’s too distracted by that movement to pay attention to what’s left unvoiced. “You do not find those celebrations to your liking?” she changes the topic swiftly.

“I find them boring,” Aemond huffs. “The same old lords boasting about their wealth, making up achievements that are each so hollow.”

“Sounds like ladies aren’t a part of those conversations?”

“Theirs are hardly better so you should keep your expectations low,” he ruefully remarks. “Сourt gossip is one thing you can’t avoid. And then they’ll either lament about their husbands or try to find one for you,” he doesn’t think much over his words until he sees her smile dropping. And then, before he can find a reason not to, he adds: “...Assuming you are not already married.”

As soon as she hears it, she stops — Aemond does too, and he can tell that she isn’t looking for lies and excuses. She only timidly looks around, as if she’s afraid the walls have ears, and the truth she’s about to tell him is only meant for his. They managed to reach his chambers first, so without a single word Aemond goes to open the doors, and she accepts the nonvocal invitation.

They walk in — both are hasty and agitated, but he gives her space and scarcely hides the trembling of his hands. She finds it hard to utter a particular word. “I was... betrothed but not anymore. The man in question now believes I am dead.”

Her face is turned away from him, her gaze gliding over every object in his room, searching for something to fall on. She hesitantly walks to his table, glancing over a stack of books on it.

Aemond gives her a minute, then inquires: “Was he the one to hurt you?”

Her pain is still fresh, her face briefly splashed with it but she pushes through. Her response is not affirmative and yet, it’s enough of a confirmation. “I should’ve known better than to trust him.”

His anger rears up its head, a beast on a chain readying to get loose. “There is no excuse for what he did,” Aemond punctuates. “There cannot be —”

“There isn’t,” she cuts him off, not harshly but with a weary acceptance, her finger grazing thick book covers. “And I’m the last person to ever make excuses for him. But I should’ve known.”

Aemond is hurt by the thought he gets, but her torment is even more hurtful so he says the words, each letter scorching his heart. “You can’t take the blame for having feelings. Love often makes people let their guard down.” (And for years, he never did. Not until her).

With how fast she retorts, his ache is cured: “It wasn’t love.” Whatever it was, she regrets it so deeply, it’s written all over her face. “Now that I think about it, it never was.”

Her fingers travel down to the table surface, her thoughts straying back to the time that’s too distant but too haunting to forget.

“Lord Dykk Hersy is a son of my father’s friend, we’ve known each other ever since we were kids. He was always too noisy, then turned too self-centered, not much to like about that. And I never thought he fancied me, either. But my father made a decision about us some years back, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So Dykk started coming more often, following me around, being very nice. And I wasn’t...,” she stops fumbling with strewn parchments and lets out a sigh. “Not a lot of people were nice to me back then. I was naive to mistake his kindness for something else, and he was smart enough to say all the right words to make me believe him.”

Her fingertips reach his dagger, unscabbarded and left in plain sight. His eye is drawn to her every movement.

“We were betrothed when I was ten-and-six. I grew to like his company, and I think he did try his best, at first. For a couple of years, he was courteous, generous enough to give in to my every whim. Not that I had too many,” she’s glassy-eyed, and Aemond’s glare would be enough to kill. “But the illusion didn’t last for long. I soon began to notice pitiful stares, taunting whispers behind my back, maids dropping their gazes in shame. Three years in, I found out one of them was carrying his child.”

“Am I right to assume he denied it?”

“He did,” she chuckles bitterly. “He seemed taken aback by my anger, tried to persuade me he was falsely accused. But I could never blame the girl, it’s not her fault he was so good with words... I fell for them too,” her sadness is washed off with virulence; her fury awakened again, flames of it rising from the bowels of her restraint.

Aemond finds himself only a few feet away from her, pulled in by empathy at first, enamored somewhere in between the first and second steps.

“From that day, the complaints began, the excuses — he was too busy to stay for long, then got too busy to visit.”

“Was it so hard to saddle a horse?” Aemond bristles.

She casts him a glance followed by a half smile. “He lives in The Reach.”

“So chivalry is dead,” he snorts, and her laughter gives him a spark of joy. “It isn’t far away from here,” Aemond notes.

“Takes way longer to reach the Vale,” she explains, then pauses. Her memories eat up the merest hint of cheer. “Only he wasn’t road weary. He was burdened by me.”

Aemond almost reaches out for her, but clasps his hands together, his knuckles whitening. Her finger traces the very edge of the blade.

“And then, on his latest name day, my father made a poor joke,” her smile is crooked, hating. “He said me and Dykk were meant to stay together unless death do us part. That’s when, I think, he got the idea.”

“It is unworthy of a man to ever nurture such a thought,” his voice is embittered, his chest ablaze with wrath.

“I should’ve known,” she sounds dull like an echo. “He’s always called himself a man of traditions — the start of the month was meant for hunting, and he preferred the grounds of Grassy Vale, the shore of the Blueburn river. But then, all of a sudden, he wanted to explore the mountains of the Vale,” she wraps her hand around the hilt. “Said he wished to reconcile, that the trip would bring us closer, made me wear a dress,” she stumbles over the words, “And I didn’t even want to come or to see him, and all the signs were there, but I put on the stupid dress, and I was the one being so unbelievably stupid and —”

His palm covers hers in a rush of tenderness, his gaze more telling than a poem, confessions embedded in it — so many of them, it would take all night to unravel. They stand still, their eyes locked, his affection sweeping in between his fingers and her skin.

“None of that was your fault,” Aemond asserts. “And no one is to blame but him. Your fortitude is only worthy of admiration.”

It’s alluring how unrelenting he is in his desire to please her; the shift of her body toward his is barely noticeable, and she looks a second away from giving in. Something stops her, a sign of regret on her face, her gaze averted.

“And yet, he continues with his life thinking he got the last laugh,” she bemoans. “And I fear I... will never forget the feeling of his stranglehold as long as we are both alive.”

“You survived the unthinkable,” he tugs at her hand, caring in a way no other man ever was with her. “Why can’t it be enough?”

She ponders, hesitates, her outrage tempered by his solicitude. “I guess some lessons can only be learned the hard way,” she draws conclusion.

There it is again — the puzzling implication, a mystery wrapped in an enigma; it leaves Aemond with a sense of unease. “You deem that lesson to be worth it?” he questions.

The truth slips away from his grasp, but her hand stays, and it is too disarming of a sensation for him to think clearly. “I am afraid it’s too soon to tell,” she deflects, her thumb pressed against the flat of the blade. She can’t resist glancing briefly at it.

“You seem to like this little thing,” Aemond observes. “If so, you can have it.”

Her face is so bright with glee again, all the light in his room grows dim in comparison. “I’ve never seen such an intricate pattern,” she clarifies shyly, then adds with appreciation: “It’s truly beautiful.”

“It is,” he’s only looking at her.

“Teach me how to use it,” she unexpectedly asks. She looks at him again, her gaze exulting, and his heart skips a bit. “Properly.”

“And why would I do that?” he asks, undeniably willing.

“Why wouldn’t you?” she teases, her hand moving from his, clamping the dagger tightly.

Aemond misses the feeling — her skin against his, tighling with warmth, — and he catches her fingers in the same second. The distance between them is shortened down to a few inches; they don’t seem to care.

His touches are light and feathery. “You need to make sure your grip is strong,” he gently presses his forearm to hers, her hand positioned in his palm. “Not too tight so there’s some room for maneuvering. But with all your fingers in place,” he gives instructions, and she eagerly follows.

The red of her dress is a striking distraction; as is the softness of its lace, of her touch, of her lips parted in wonder, her diligence bewitching. She waits, his blood rushes; Aemond gulps.

He continues. “It is a common mistake to take a swing with a pommel up,” two of his roughened fingers latch onto her palm. “But the backhand grip works better,” Aemond rotates her hand in the right position, a steady motion with unsteady breath; her shoulder comes in contact with his chest.

He halts all movement, she makes no attempt to step away. He wonders if she can feel... He lacks the words to describe it. But he can discern her bosom heaving with every breath, and his heartbeat is caught in his throat.

He keeps the dagger pointed down, then calmly guides it up and away, their fingers intertwined. “This way, the point of the blade always comes first,” her eyes are on the steel, on the veins scattered on the inside of his wrist. “Which means that the threat also comes faster,” his eye is on the curve of her neck, on the necklace gleaming, beckoning him to glance lower.

Both of them feel the pull, too spellbound to resist — she takes a half step back, he meets her halfway. Her back is now fully propped against him, every bit of his body overflushed with yearning. Their hands stay adjoined as his words vine through her hair: “You try it.”

And so she does. The first time she repeats the movement, it’s almost reluctant, and his long tenacious fingers lead the way. He inadvertently leans in, his forearm molding into hers, a touch that edges towards embrace; her bashfulness then disappears without a trace. The metal shines coolly as she dexterously twists the blade, and Aemond should be concerned with how easy it comes to her; he is instead utterly transfixed.

She looks at him over her shoulder, his breath fanning out over her cheek, the space between them almost nonexistent. She makes a turn, torturously slow, their hands an inseparable duet, bodies longing to share heat.

“Seems like you did have some practice beforehand,” Aemond notes, voice barely above a whisper.

“Or you are a good teacher,” her eyes slip over his lips.

“And you are a fast learner,” he says under his breath.

This once, his gaze wanders, like a wayward traveler in search of means to satisfy his hunger; she is the one he craves. His fingers are itching for every curve of her body — she’s burning in all the places she wishes he could touch her. The tension rises, floods their bloodstream like fever, and —

“Hardly fair to leave me deal with our grandsire on my own!” Aegon bursts through the doors without knocking, a cup in his hand. “Did I ask for a lecture on table manners? I did not!”

He then sees them, already a step away from each other, and there’s a hint of surprise in his eyes which quickly turns into suspicion. He’s about to voice it when she blurts out: “Aegon would make for a good target.”

The cup he’s holding doesn’t reach his mouth. “...I beg your pardon?”

“I talked your brother into teaching me how to throw a dagger,” she lies slyly. “Would you mind stepping back to the door?”

Aegon blinks, incomprehension evident on his face for a moment, until he frowns and does move back to the door — only to open it and rush out, grumbling: “Both of you are utterly insane.”

The second he leaves, she bursts into laughter, and the same sound, low and hearty, spills from Aemond’s lips. She glances at him — his face relaxed, cheeks adorned with dimples, and he catches her gaze. The moment is lost but their desire isn’t, still swelling in both, unabated fire under the navel.

But now she tarries, her delight eclipsed by a grim understanding she chooses not to put into words. She tries giving him the dagger but Aemond gently pushes it back: “I meant it, it’s yours.”

“Thank you,” she puts it into a scabbard he hands her, then murmurs, sincerely grateful: “For listening, too.”

“I am glad to be worthy of your trust,” he replies warmly.

There’s a ringing urge in the back of his head to come closer to her again. But she is unanticipatedly avoidant of any intimacy, mumbling something about the late hour, moving out of his reach — and then the urge turns into a need so desperate, he can’t keep it bottled up.

“I think he is the biggest fool in the Seven Kingdoms,” Aemond lets slip.

She turns to him when her hand is already on the door handle. “Because he couldn’t manage to kill a woman?” the smile she gives him is acerbic, but her gaze is sad.

“Because he didn’t love you the way you deserve,” he breathes out.

She looks astonished, her mouth falling open, and he wants nothing more than for her to say another word, just to give him a reason to spill his every feeling out. But she slumps her shoulders and purses her lips, and then pulls the handle and gets out so quickly, the door slams behind her, and the sound makes him wince.

He is left all alone, with an unsaid revelation at the base of his throat — the way I would’ve loved you, he wanted to say. And with another heartbeat, Aemond realizes: he already does. He is already hopelessly in love with her.

>>> That realization is a ball lightning that swirls in his chest, and he cannot close the eye all night. It’s liberating to say it to himself — love, the word that sounds and tastes so sweet; it’s also absolutely terrifying. Chaotic thoughts run through his mind, and he is racked with indecision that’s paved with his self-doubts and fears. Amidst the chaos, Aemond finds himself reminiscing of her shining gaze — and then of a touch of her hand, of her eyes on him, of her body leaning toward and her lips not shying away from his. He couldn’t have made all that up, he thinks. He also can’t let fear dictate his future.

Aemond leaves the room with the first rays of the sun, while its light only shyly skims the ground, but the prince’s never been more awake. His intent is a vital force, a fuel that makes him quicken his pace. He all but runs — down the stairs, through the doors, through the castle, and out of it; her name and his proclamation on the tip of his tongue

— only she isn’t in the training yard.

And neither are her bow and arrows.

Anxiety scrapes his ribcage and spreads like ice, then creeps, sluggish and squeaking, into his subconscious. His gaze roves over every corner of the yard, but he can’t catch the slightest hint of where to look for her.

He does break into running on his way back; the corridors and walls all flash before his eye. Her chambers greet him with her absence, the maids all share his concern. Aemond tries to look for clues — a letter, a piece of anything that once belonged to her — but she had no belongings, he remembers then.

Despair crawls out, like a predator sensing blood; Aemond isn’t about to give up without a fight. He goes to question the guards — surely, she couldn’t just disappear into thin air, no matter what her talents are. The men in silver-plated armor are doubtless striving to help, but only one of them recalls her visiting the yard not long before the sun emerged. That knowledge is rather scant and hardly helpful, and Aemond’s determination traitorously falters.

Help comes in the form of a stable boy passing by who gleefully chirps:

“The lady must be a skilled hunter,” he says to no one in particular, dreamingly impressed. “Not many people stick to traditions these days.”

“...Come again?” Aemond throws him a glance so piercing, the boy stammers.

“I only m-meant that it’s a full moon,” he hurriedly explains. “They say, on that day deer move more at night hence why the hunters favor it so much.”

That’s when her words resurface in his mind —

“I will do better by the next full moon.”

“Lord Dykk Hersy always called himself a man of traditions.”

He thinks that for a man who’s only lost one eye, he surely couldn’t have been more blind. Because the clues he’s been so desperate to find were all before his eyes this entire time. He promptly knits together all the fragments — her tireless training, haunting memories, her asking to repair the dress. Only, the one occasion she wanted it for was not some silly dinner.

Disappointment clashes with worry in his chest as Aemond leaves the castle once more, this time with a destination in mind. He blames himself for not guessing sooner; he hopes and prays that it’s not too late.

>>> The grounds of Grassy Vale are robed in green, a canvas of valleys and flats with lone wooden shacks interspersing; Aemond reminds himself he didn’t come for sightseeing. He gazes into fields sprawled underneath, and Vhagar’s body casts a shadow that sweeps along the earth like a water stream. With how low they are flying, it won’t be hard for any of the smallfolk to spot the dragon but Aemond can’t find it in himself to care.

His gaze is searching for one person only, his longing for her immense against everything in his life that’s been measured. But soon he sees the river, and the valleys smoothly give way to forests; Aemond admits with increasing concern that he’ll have to continue on foot. Vhagar grudgingly plops into the high grass, burying her claws in the ground, the flap of her wings so strong, it brings down a couple of trees. Once their rustling is stilled, the sullen peace settles in the vale.

As if to add to his unrest, the sky gets blanketed with clouds, and he can hear the thunder humming in the distance, his heart already hammering in tact. The Gods, it seems, certainly have a penchant for drama.

The sound of the branches crackling is what catches his attention first, and he discerns heavy footsteps fast approaching. In just a second, Aemond sees a man running out of the forest, and there’s no need to take a guess — not only does the stranger look clearly aghast, he’s also got an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

Aemond throws him a disdainful glance but Lord Hersy is too distraught to notice. “Please, help!” he begs and whines, “I am being chased by a mad woman!”

The prince holds back a snicker, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the sight. “Oh, how unfortunate,” he drawls, and every feature of the man looks hideous to him. “A woman instilling that big of a fear? It is the rarest of things.”

Lord Hersy can’t seem to share his amusement. “She’s truly evil!” he assures with wide eyes, his legs unsteady, hand pressed to the wound, red seeping through his fingers. “She led me into an insidious trap, and I am left completely disarmed!”

“It sounds like it required quite a lot of planning,” Aemond notes. “Might it be that she has a reason to be cross with you?”

“I am a righteous lord, I wouldn’t hurt a fly,” the man lies profusely, and a dark look crosses Aemond’s face. “My only fault was trusting her, that scheming wen—”

With one hand movement, Aemond grabs him, his fingers holding the man’s collar so tightly, Lord Hersy has trouble breathing. “But you are surely cross with her, it seems,” the prince remarks in a dry tone, his gaze blistering cold. Underneath the ice, there’s a flare, a spark; he is actually enjoying this. “Would you mind, my lord, telling me more about her?”

Lord Hersy seems taken aback by the request but obeys implicitly. “She’s n-not lacking beauty, that I will admit,” he weakly tries to free himself yet to no avail. “But ignorant of manners and so terribly short-tempered!”

“Is it her temper you are so afraid of?” Aemond doesn’t hide his mocking.

“She’s got a dagger!” the man complains in distress. “An angry woman armed poses a horrid threat! Gods know, I’ve done nothing to merit that mistreatment!”

He opens his mouth to accuse her some more — but then finally takes note of the frighteningly stiff look on Aemond’s face. The prince’s lips curl up into a wrathful and malignant smile, and the air gets heavy with silence.

His anger is a beast that breaks the chains with its teeth.

“Hm,” Aemond shakes his head with derision. “Worry not, ser, you are in good hands,” the prince lowers his face to his, his voice spewing poison when he hisses, “I was the one to give her the dagger.”

Lord Hersy does attempt to escape Aemond’s grip, he’ll give him that. Pathetically and weakly he twitches and wails, tries scratching his face, then reaches for the eyepatch, wobbly fingers tugging at the stripe of leather, gasping and swearing and —

all of his efforts fall short, and Aemond’s iron grip doesn’t loosen one bit.

And then, out of nowhere, another hand grabs a fistful of the lord’s hair, yanking his head back so harshly, that he gasps. They both were too distracted by the scuffle to notice her draw near, but once she reaches them — engulfed in red, her gaze equally flaming — she truly is force to reckon with. The fury looks so good on her, it makes Aemond hold his breath.

“I see your luck did finally run out,” she says to the man, words filled with resentment.

Lord Hersy grows unsure about his every accusation. “I think there’s been a grave misunderstanding,” he protests in a whiny tone. “I deeply regret causing you any offe —”

“I don’t remember you regretting dragging me down from a horse to try and crash my skull with a rock,” her voice is low, biting. The grin that follows makes her face look sinister. “I knew you couldn’t finish.”

His frown betrays his irritation — he puts it out the second he pulls out the dagger. “There are still ways for me to make amends,” Lord Hersy pleads so sickly sweet, Aemond lets out a growl. “I made a terrible mistake, I shall admit, but I did search for you! Day and night, I prayed to the Gods to find you, I cried my eyes out!”

Her face seems empty while she listens, and Lord Hersy is enough of a fool to mistake it for reluctance. But Aemond thinks she’s never looked more sure, and there’s no mercy she can grant the man whose fate has long been sealed.

She tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitch, and the prince reads this expression with ease — she’s finally facing her most wanted target. He loosens the grip, and Lord Hersy falls to his knees, gulping air, the breath of death no longer tickling his neck; but his relief is premature.

The blade in her hand pale-glimmers in the vanishing rays of the sun — the man only catches a dreadful glint before he feels the metal pressed against his throat. Her gaze is just as sharp. “Go on then, dear lord,” she sneers without a sign of mirth, each word hastening his end, “Cry me a river.”

He barely gets a breath in when she swings — unmerciful and with the backhand grip; the dagger draws a scarlet cut across his throat. The wound is deep and fatal, and the blood runs fast and thick, cascading down his chest, his body going limp and falling lifeless to the ground. The red seeps out into the grass, splashed beads of it shining dully against all the green, and it’s almost alluring to look at.

Unceasingly and invariably Aemond only looks at her.

The trees sway in the wind, and the clouds race, the sky now veiled with the darkness of the unfolding storm. He’s never been the one to value landscapes, but it makes him think: the same lush wilderness surrounded her while she was growing up, a rose among the weeds, her thorns repellent to most but no obstacle for him. With bloodied hands, disheveled hair, dirtied clothes — she’s still the only one he wants, irresistible as life.

She stands in reverie, her gaze boring into the huddled body of the lord: “I must admit, this is poor planning on my part.”

As if on cue, Vhagar’s roar echoes in the distance, and Aemond smirks: “I know of a way to get rid of a body.”

She hums and slightly leans over the dead man, wiping the dagger off on his coat, and Aemond sees that she ripped the dress again; he finds it funny.

“Not the best choice of clothing, I might say,” the prince notes.

She follows his gaze and doesn’t even bother to adjust the damaged hem. “He thought I came back from the dead to hunt him,” she lets out a dry laugh, “I counted on that.”

“Wish I could see it,” Aemond says, a gentle admiration in his tone.

Her mask of concentration crumbles, replaced by the expression he remembers from the day before. The same astonishment mixed with timorous indecision, with a tint of shyness, washes over her face as their eyes meet.

“You came for me,” the words fall from her mouth as if she only now becomes aware.

“Why do you find it so surprising?” he wonders because leaving her was never an option for him.

“Unreasonable, mostly,” she bashfully remarks. “You’ve been so kind to me, and yet I left without saying goodbye.”

“You did,” he agrees, thinking that shyness only adds to her charm.

“And I never told you of my plans,” she admits, even more coyly, and he just nods.

Her gaze falls, mouth unsurely half-open, as if she’s trying to pluck the right words from the grass. He watches her, and there’s that pull again, the flowering desire in his chest.

“I think it’s time for us to go our separate ways,” she musters out, and it knocks the air out of his lungs. She’s curbing her own pain, deeming it to be a relief for his. “You’ve done more than enough for me... I think your conscience should be clear.”

The wind picks up, and so does his pulse. “And where will you go?” Aemond asks, his voice faltering.

“I am my father’s only heir” she shrugs, mostly burdened than pleased. “He will take me back and,” she works up the courage to find his gaze again, “I won’t be a problem of yours any longer.”

The thunder is approaching, a rushing sound disrupting the peace of nature. Aemond knows he will never find peace if he lets her leave.

“So you can go,” she offers but they both don’t want it, and he instead allows himself a step to her. “If this is what you want,” she blurts out in a shaky voice that gives away her struggle no matter how much she tries to put up a face. “If this is what your heart desires,” she adds so quietly, she isn’t sure he will hear her. But Aemond does.

Something snaps in him, and his body is an arrow shot out — he closes the distance in a heartbeat, and his lips all but crush into hers. She kisses him back with the same fervor, without a moment’s hesitation, and neither of them is timid or holding back. His hands find her waist, follow the gentle bend of it as she presses herself to him, as her mouth opens more, and his craving turns into hunger, his desire not hidden any longer, erupting right through.

Aemond grabs onto her hips, desperate to feel more, ravenous in his need, and each of his kisses is a plea for her to heed to; she does. Her fingers frantically travel up, then tangle in his hair, untieing knots of his restraint, his quivering sighs all disappearing into her mouth. There are no other sounds but their shuddering breath, their lewd touches, moans — hers or his, he can’t tell.

The massive storm is brewing when they part, both breathless, their lips still brushing.

“It’s you,” his confession is hot against her mouth, “You are the only thing I desire,” the syllables flow, pouncing like a waterfall, “He was undeserving of you, foolish, pathetic excuse of a man, and if only I—”

His words die down at the feeling — her fingers dancing right above his cheek. The one that’s scarred, unloved, detested by him; the gruesome sight that was supposed to be covered by the eyepatch. He must’ve missed the moment when he lost it, too wrapped up in his anger to notice the despicable lord succeed in his attempts. Aemond can’t find it in himself to ask for confirmation, to even move his hand to cover half his face.

She never looks away. And then, in the gloomy evening, she smiles — the sun rises again, a crack of dawn formed by every feature of her face. Her fingertips tenderly graze his scar.

“You asked me once if I thought it was worth it,” she recalls, her gaze affectionate, without a shadow of a doubt. “It was. Because I would do it all again if I knew the fate was leading me to you.”

The warmth of her touch heats him up, then ignites every part of him. She’s still caressing the side of his face when he reaches for her — his kiss so searing, her hand trembles, while his confidently moves to the hollow of her throat; this time, the sound of pleasure is undoubtedly hers. With his eye closed, his mouth on hers, Aemond sees the vision, bright as day: him going through the layers, lace and red, until she is all bare in his sheets, and he can put his lips to every inch of her skin. And feel her, drink her, worship her, their limbs intertwined, him drawing moans from her until the night sky lets in the first streaks of light.

He has to take a labored breath to blink the dream away, to hold his ardor back for just a little longer. By the look on her face, she’ll welcome his every offering.

“It seems that all those years I’ve been searching in all the wrong places for you,” Aemond whispers, holding her tight in his embrace.

“But you found me,” she follows the contour of his jaw with her finger, her smile never fading. “And you can have me,” she makes a vow, and her lips trail for his to seal the promise.

And no storm can compare to the love for her that rages deep in his heart.

✧ if you are into stories about revenge (enemies to lovers, with angst, fighting, and quite a bit of fire involved), I have a multi-chapter fic for you ✧ two more stories inspired by songs (modern!au): with Aemond & with Aegon ✧ my masterlist tagging @amiraisgoingthruit who was kind enough to ask (girlie, I’m sorry this one is so enormous…) also big thank you to arcielee for approving the gif it was driving me insane 💙

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

#aemond targaryen #it took me 3 (THREE) months to find inspiration to finish the gif and I can't say I'm 100% happy so I will take NO criticism #to the ten people who will read this — I am forever grateful (I'm sending you cups of cacao as a treat)#my stuff #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fic #aemond one eye #aemond one eye x y/n #hotd fic #house of the dragon fanfics #hotd fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond #aemond the kinslayer

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persevereforahappyending · 2 months

Text

Luck Runs Out |Part 4|

Pairing: Mabel x Reader

Summary: When your luck runs out you unknowingly drag Mabel back into the life, she's so desperate to escape.

Warnings: Mention of drugs, mention of death

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Mabel was leaning back in her chair, eating fries from a local burger place she got takeout from for you and her. She shook her head as she continued to argue with you. It was a few days after you woke up and though you weren’t super active you were more awake than you had been. Mabel had only known you less than a week, but it felt like longer, the two of you didn’t have a ton in common but that didn’t matter, she continued to listen as you told her about Odysseus. She also found she loved trying to poke holes in the story, but you always found a way to defend Odysseus.

“But he cheats on his wife!” Mabel said again, as you finally ended your ramble, throwing a fry at you in the processes. “How is that a great love story?”

“Because it wasn’t by choice!” You defended, making Mabel roll her eyes for the thousandth time. “Circe is a witch, she manipulated him, he knew it was the only way to get out of there alive or without being turned into a pig like members of his crew.”

“Calypso didn’t trick him,” she was quick to point out. She hadn’t read the odyssey yet, but you had basically given her a full run down, so she was confident in arguing with you.

“He was trapped on an island with her for over a year! She might not have used magic, but she definitely took advantage of him!”

“Twenty years. Twenty year and despite all her suitors Penelope never once strayed.”

“Neither did Odysseus! Not in his heart! He loved her the entire time, his whole journey was just to get back to her. He could have stayed with Circe, he could have stayed with Calypso, but he didn’t because the most important thing was getting back to his wife.”

Mabel sighed, shaking her head as she took a sip of her drink. “If you’d just read it, you’d see for yourself,” you said before shoving your own fries in your mouth.

“I still don’t get it,” Mabel said, throwing her hands in the air.

You let out a dramatic sigh as you let your head flop back onto the pillows. “What’s not to get? He loves his wife!”

“Not that,” she chuckled. “I mean you.” You lifted your head from the pillows scrunching your eyebrows. “The odyssey is your favorite story, Odysseus is your hero, but you wear a trident necklace.” You tilt your head still clearly not getting it. “Poseidon is the villain! He literally tries to kill your boy the entire story!”

You break out into a laugh, wincing as your entire body shook but the pain didn’t stop your laughter. “Okay fair,” you got out between laughs. “But I mean the ocean is his domain, I feel like if anyone can protect me it’s him.”

“I don’t know, he kind of seems like an asshole.”

“All the gods are assholes,” you smiled. “It’s kind of their thing. But look if I was a pilot, I’d be wearing a little lightning bolt.”

Mabel scoffed, lightly chuckling at that. “You totally have multiple editions of the odyssey,” Mabel narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you?” You opened your mouth as if to defend yourself but quickly shut it. “Of course you do!” She threw her head back as she laughed. “Alright go on!” She waved her hand at you. “Tell me about them.”

“Well, I have a nice hardcover that’s both The Iliad and The Odyssey,” you jumped right into it with a smile. “Then I have a paperback that’s just of the odyssey, it never left my bunk on the boat.”

Mabel chuckled. “Are you serious? You even had a copy while on the boat?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged like it was obvious. “I needed something to do during down time or before bed.”

Mabel rolled her eyes at your reasoning before she grabbed the trash from the food, taking it to the kitchen to throw away before she got back to doing her homework. She had skipped class the first few days you were at her place because she didn’t know you well enough. After getting to know you a bit more Mabel decided that even if you were a drug smuggler you weren’t like any of the ones she knew, you were actually kind. When she came home from class the first day she left you alone, you were still there, sound asleep in her dark apartment, she was probably throwing your sleep schedule off with her boarded up windows, but you didn’t complain.

“Holy shit,” she heard you whisper as she started to organize her school stuff. When Mabel looked up, she saw your eyes were on the TV.

She had turned on the TV when she got back with food but had quickly muted it when the two of you started talking. She got up from her seat, quickly unmuting the TV. On the screen was the news, video played showing debris from a boat. Mabel didn’t know what was so significant about it, she glanced back at you to see your eyes hadn’t left the screen. They lived in a fishing town, it wasn’t common but boating accidents happened, hell when she first met Charlie, he had just gotten back from having to be rescued after his first time on the boat. Charlie and the boys had gotten lucky they had all made it to the life raft.

The news anchor appeared taking over most of the screen, the video of the debris still played in the top right corner of the screen.

“Authorities got alerted of an emergency situation last night,” the news anchor said. “Reports of an explosion on the Scylla came in. There is still no word on what caused the explosion or if there were any survivors.” The video took over the screen again while the news anchor’s voice continued to narrate what happened. “A life raft was recovered, however it seems it to have damaged in the accident and doesn’t appear as if anyone made it on to it.”

“There were seven crew members believed to be on the ship,” the anchor appeared on screen again. “No bodies have been recovered but it appears as though there was no survivors.” A picture of seven faces of the crew appeared on the screen.

Mabel’s eyes widened when she recognized the second to last person, it was you. She looked back at you seeing you stare at your own picture with wide eyes. The boat that had sent the distress signal, the one that had gone down, the one where the entire crew was killed, was your boat.

“Authorities are calling this a recovery mission not a search and rescue,” the anchor continued. “An investigation will be underway to determine what exactly happened to claim these seven lives.”

Mabel quickly turned off the TV when the anchor started to go over more of what happened. She had a good idea, the boat you were on went down and your entire crew was dead. For some reason, the authorities suspected you were also on the boat, and you were thought to be dead as well.

“Are you okay?” Mabel asked softly as she turned back towards you. Your eyes continued to stare at the now dark screen.

You shook your head. You were blinking rapidly as you tossed the blankets off your lap and moved to get up from the bed. “Wow,” Mabel said, holding her hands out to stop you. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I-I-I have to go,” you mumbled, groaning as you flung your legs off the side of the bed. “I have to get out of here.”

“What? No!” Mabel rested a hand on your shoulder, pushing you back down onto the bed as gently as she could.

“I can’t be here!” Mabel jumped; she had never heard you yell before. In the few days she spent with you, you had always been kind, guarded, but kind. “I can’t be here,” you said again softer, like usual.

Mabel stared into your eyes. Her gaze darted around your face, taking everything in. She saw your eyes shifting around the room while she tried to keep them on her. It was like you were searching again, waiting for someone to pop out from behind the couch or swing through the windows and get you. There was a slight tremble to your entire body, if Mabel wasn’t standing right next to you, if her hand wasn’t still brushing against you to keep you in place, she never would have noticed. This wasn’t a tremble from the pain or from the cold like when you were first brought to her apartment, this one was much different.

“I have to leave,” you said again. “You can’t be around me right now.”

“What are you going to do?” ‘Mabel decided to ask. “You were shot, your crew is dead, you dropped a pallet of drugs in the ocean. Where else do you have to go?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Mabel knew she was right, according to authorities you were dead, lost at sea, like the rest of your crew. She didn’t know what had happened, but she knew you couldn’t just go waltzing out of her apartment. Your face was all over the news, this was a small fishing town, everyone would know your face by now. You wouldn’t be able to walk through town without someone spotting you and that would lead to questioning from police, if you were lucky. Word would get around to whoever you worked for rather quickly, Mabel didn’t know your boss, but she knew how quickly word spread through a gang especially when it involved a missing shipment.

“They did this,” you whispered. Mabel furrowed her brow. “The people I work for.” You looked back at the blank TV screen. “My captain shot me; they left me there at the ocean's mercy.” Mabel had stared at you; you had such a fascinating way of talking about the ocean. It was clear you respected the ocean and how it could go from calm to ruthless in a matter of seconds.

“The people I work for,” you continued, turning to face Mabel again. “They aren’t good people. My crew went back without a shipment and now they’re all dead.”

“You can’t know that,” Mabel tried to reason, tried to make it seem not so dire, as if there was hope. Mabel knew that was all bullshit though, she had dealt with dealers her entire life, she knew how they got when drugs went missing or when payment was short. She couldn’t imagine what your boss would do with an entire shipment missing.

“Of course I do.” You let out a humorless laugh. “We’re expendable.” You shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They lost their drugs so now they’re cleaning house, can’t have an incompetent crew working for them.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Mabel raised her arms. She understood how violent drug gangs could be. The one you seemed to be working for was even worse than all the guys she knew.

“I don’t know.” You ran a hand through your hair in frustration, gripping it tightly. “I don’t know. Maybe if I tell them what happened, if I return the drugs I do have, and tell them where the shipment is, they’ll let me go?”

Mabel stared at you; you said it like a question. It was clear you didn’t believe it though. If you walked into wherever your boss was working out of, you wouldn’t be walking out. You were already presumed dead. All your boss would have to do is kill you then take your body out and drop it in the ocean, it would be as if nothing happened, no one would ever know.

“Well, you can’t leave here until we have a plan,” Mabel stated, crossing her arms so you would know there was no arguing with her.

“If they find out you’re helping me they will kill you,” you said.

You looked up at her guiltily, as if everything that happened was your fault and you were the biggest inconvenience of her entire life. It wasn’t untrue, it wasn’t your fault you got shot, it was Charlie’s fault for bringing you here in the first place. If someone were to ask Mabel a few days ago how she felt about you she would have said you were an inconvenience, she had to keep you hidden and take care of you because of your injury, it was all truly inconvenient. However, Mabel enjoyed your company, she liked it as you quietly sat there while she did her schoolwork, even though you hadn’t gone to college either you still helped her out with what you could when she was struggling, you always asked her about her day. She also liked listening to you talk, she was about to go out and buy The Odyssey so she could continue to discuss it with you. You got so excited when talking about something you loved so much, it was cute.

“I don’t want you to put yourself in danger, not for me,” you continued, talking as if you weren’t worth helping, as if you weren’t someone worth being saved. “They blew up an entire boat, with their main crew for bringing in their drugs on it. They won’t have an issue with getting rid of you and your friends.”

Mabel sucked in a breath; she knew that was true. If your boss learned you were alive and someone had helped you, even if they were a total stranger, they’d find them and kill them. Charlie and his crew were in this deeper than they could imagine, they found you, they found you with drugs, and said drugs were still on their boat. Your boss would kill all of them just to get the drugs back, it wouldn’t matter that it’s only three packs, they wouldn’t take the chance of letting witnesses survive. The fact that Mabel helped you and just knew what happened also put a target on her back, you were all screwed if the gang you worked for got wind of any of this.

“I think that ship has sailed,” Mabel mumbled. She watched as you closed your eyes, letting out a long sigh. She didn’t mean to make you feel more guilty, but she needed to express why you couldn’t leave. That leaving wouldn’t change the fact that they’re all in danger.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “Your friends should have just left me in the ocean.”

Mabel frowned; you truly thought you were better off dead. “I’m not,” she admitted softly. She smiled when you looked up at her surprised. “The boys chose to help you and I chose to let you stay here during your recovery. So, we will figure this out, together.” Mabel crossed her arms, staring down at you so you knew she was serious and there was no changing her mind.

“Besides,” she grumbled, pretending to be annoyed by what she was about to admit. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you. You aren’t the like regular drug smugglers I know.”

“I’m not a drug smuggler,” you replied instantly.

Mabel smiled, making you smile as well. She now believed it, you might have done some drug smuggling and that technically did mean you were a drug smuggler but that wasn’t all you were, you were so much more than that.

“Since you’re already sitting up,” Mabel said with a slight smirk, already knowing how you’d react. “Let’s change your bandage and clean your wound.”

“Ugh,” you dragged out in an overly dramatic groan.

Mabel moved to the spot right next to you, and slowly began peeling back the bandage on your shoulder. She ignored the way her knee brushed against your leg. She flicked her eyes to your face, seeing you already staring at her, she pretended she didn’t know where your eyes went when they flicked down for a second. She pretended her eyes didn’t also flick down to your lips, she focused on the bandage, silently hoping she wasn’t blushing as she tried to continue to ignore your unwavering gaze. You were cute, you were fun, but you were trouble.

#mabel finestkind #mabel (finestkind)#mabel x reader #mabel x fem!reader #mabel x you #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #finestkind 2023 #luck runs out

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