#as im wistful... and my thoughts are not always final...

[wicabels]

so many transfems end up with their own wonderful typing styles after enough time online...

[leclercsainzz]

BEGGING for a charles leclerc x reader smau based on “some one like you” please 🙏🏼 where he’s married to someone else after reader and him broke up .. you can make it however you want:)

WISTFUL YEARNING

PARINGS: charles leclerc x ex gf!reader

TYPE: social media au

part 1 - part 2

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 720,038 others

charles_leclerc: dreams do come true, i love you, my love 💘

view 6,736 comments

user: OMG OMG

user: “dreams do come true” 😭

user: he’s officially married, guys

carlossainz55: congratulations, mate 🍾

user: YN LIKED OMG 😭😭

pierregasly: congrats, bro! wishing you the best ❤️

user: congratulations 🥰

user: *liked by yourusername* 😢

↳ user: my heart SHATTERED, OMGGGG 💔

user: i just want to know how yn feels

user: can ya’ll move on from charles and yn?!?

user: CONGRATS, CHARLES!! ❤️

user: yn 😭😭

joris__trouche: ❤️❤️❤️

user: he finally got what he wanted, omg 🥺

user: congratulations 🥳

user: i was doing fine until i saw that yn liked this post

user: im happy for him!!

landonorris: congrats, mate

user: HE’S OFFICIALLY MARRIED YA’LL 😩😩

user: idk why i was waiting to see a comment by yn

sebastianvettel: wishing you a lifetime of love and happiness

↳ charles_leclerc: thank you, sebs! 😊

lance_stroll: congratulations!

user: can’t believe so much time has passed since yn:(

user: i know all the drivers were invited but i NEED pictures

user: guess i won’t be mrs leclerc anytime soon 😩

danielricciardo: wishing you both lots of love ❤️

lewishamilton: congratulations

user: i wonder how yn must be feeling 🥺🥺

user: was hoping him and yn would get their happily ever after

user: i wonder if he calls his wife “mon cœur” or “mon ange”

↳ user: i doubt he calls his wife that considering those belong to yn but who knows

↳ user: maybe “my heart” but not “my angel” or idk

↳ user: ya’ll think she calls him “charlie” ?? the way yn did??

user: guess yn is never getting him back 😭

user: congratulations, charles! sending lots of love 💗

imessage

yourusername

liked by francisca.cgomes, lorenzotl and 610,840 others

yourusername: — la vie est belle <3

see translation: life is beautiful

view 4,810 comments

user: SHE’s HangING WITH KIKA 💗

user: babes, did you get the apartment you always wanted?!?

↳ user: wait— the one her and charles always wanted right?!?

↳ user: with the view, yes! it seems like it in the third post

pierregasly: hey! that’s MY girlfriend

↳ yourusername: OUR* get it right 🙄

francisca.cgomes: tú es belle 😘

see translation: you’re beautiful

user: “life is beautiful” LIES ik deep down you missing charles

user: i miss you and charles 😭😭😭😭

user: i really thought you and charles would’ve been endgame 😭

user: charles is married but not to yn 😭😭😭

danielricciardo: oui

see translation: yes

leclerc_pascale: belle comme toujours 😍

see translation: beautiful as always

↳ yourusername: ❤️❤️❤️

↳ user: mama leclerc 😭

user: how do you feel about charles’ marriage??

user: crazy to think how charles is married while yn’s not

user: i really thought you and charles would’ve been endgame

user: charles’ got a whole wife, bro 😔😔 and it ain’t you

user: charles got his dream but yn???? 😭😭😭😭

user: she got her apartment with the eiffel tower view

↳ user: but without charles 😢😢

user: times flies fast … it feels like her and charles were still together:((

user: wonder if she congratulated charles

↳ user: she definitely didn’t 🤣 why would she??

user: charles was suppose to be her love forever 😭😭

↳ user: well as they say, “sometimes it last in love, but sometimes it hurts instead”

user: her and charles were supposed to live in france together

user: ya’ll seriously need to move on from those two, he’s a married man ….

charles_leclerc

liked by sebastianvettel, arthur_leclerc and 772,046 others

charles_leclerc: surprise!

view 5,940 comments

user: i just know yn feeling SICK right now

user: he got married, he’s gonna become a dad, now he just needs that ferrari championship (FERRARI GIVE IT TO HIM)

carlossainz55: you’re both going to make amazing parents! congratulations on your new baby!!! ❤️

↳ charles_leclerc: thank you, carlos!

user: he’S GONNA BE A DAD 😭😭😭

user: we’re getting a mini leclerc 🥺

lewishamilton: congratulations 😊

↳ charles_leclerc: thanks, mate!

user: he’s achieving his dreams

↳ user: without yn 😭😭😭

user: ya’ll gotta stop with the whole charles/yn relationship, they BROKE UP! i don’t think his wife appreciates you all bringing yn up every chance you get

user: can’t wait!!!!!

sebastianvettel: congratulations on your new adventure

↳ charles_leclerc: 😊😊

leclerc_pascale: ❤️❤️❤️

user: we’re all happy for you, charles 😌💗

alex_albon: congrats!! 🥳

↳ charles_leclerc: thanks, alex

user: i’d be crawling back into his life, if i were yn

lorenzotl: ❤️

user: he’s getting his mini leclerc 🥺🥺

maxverstappen1: favorite uncle max is gonna spoil her/him

↳ charles_leclerc: favorite uncle?!!?? absolutely not

joris__trouche: at your service 🫡

arthur_leclerc: ❤️❤️

user: he finally accomplished his dreams

user: this could’ve been yn’s life 😩😩

yourusername: congratulations, charlie!

↳ user: MOM, OMG 😭😭

↳ user: ik she’s lowkey crying about this

↳ user: “charlie”

↳ user: i want them back together, idc 😭😭😭😭

pierregasly: congrats ❤️

user: he’s living his dreams

user: yn 💔💔💔💔

user: mom’s comment 😢

user: i’d be feeling sick to my stomach, if i were yn

imessage

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly and 649,083 others

yourusername: bonjour

see translation: hello

tagged: @yourbrother

view 4,081 comments

user: when she listens to lana del rey >>>

user: LA LA LAND, OMG 😭😭😭 PAIN

pierregasly: yourbrother & toby >>> you

user: charles liked!!! OMG

user: she’s watching la la land!

user: i didn’t realize the 5th slide was @yourbrother

leclerc_pascale: ma belle fille 😘

see translation: my beautiful girl

↳ yourusername: je t’aime ❤️

↳ user: “my beautiful girl” i cant 😭😭😭

↳ user: pascale LOVES yn so much even after all these years

francisca.cgomes: 😍😍😍😍 my wife

lorenzotl: avez-vous oublié monaco? 😔

see translation: did you forget monaco?

↳ yourusername: jasmais ça

see translation: never that

↳ arthur_leclerc: 👍🏼

user: the way charles family still interacts with hers 😭😭

↳ user: i miss them 😔

user: third slide is lowkey for charles

↳ user: girl, MOVE ON! he’s married, get over them

user: ARE WE JUST GONNA IGNORE THAT CHARLES LIKED

user: i miss yncharles 💔💔💔💔

kellypiquet: 😍😍

danielricciardo: bonjour

yourbrother: mon chein est meilleur que toi

see translation: my dog is better than you

↳ yourusername: toby m’aime mieux que toi

see translation: toby likes me better than you

charles_leclerc: toby est tellement grand 🥺 @yourbrother

see translation: toby is so grown

user: missing mom and dad 😭😭

user: i know charles is married but i can’t help myself thinking about him and yn all the times:(

user: he commented

user: she’s the one that got away 😔

↳ user: what should’ve, could’ve, and would’ve been

[grinsgrimmy]

Hello i loved ur iske fic hehe, i was wondering if maybe you could do an enzo one? Yknow ruby’s adopted brother? He lacks fics and i love him sm

Maybe can you do where shes the childhood friend of ruby, shes known to be kind and talented in magic and is considered to be very pretty hehe and she likes him but is very shy to confess so he takes the initiative <33i want him to pin for her so bad the loser bf x hot gf is taking over my brain

Thats all hope u have a great day hehe

Ｌ Ｏ Ｖ Ｅ Ｍ Ｅ Ｂ Ａ Ｃ Ｋ ?

ㅤᯓᡣ𐭩 𝖤𝖭𝖹𝖮 𝖣𝖤 𝖡𝖮𝖱𝖦𝖨𝖠 𝗑 𝖠𝖥𝖠𝖡!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

HOW TO GET MY HUSBAND ON MY SIDE

๋࣭⭑ֶֶֶָָָ֢֢֢𖹭 oneshot . (1440 words)

sum. you wanted to confess to enzo, but you chickened out

note : thank you for the request, anonie! i was 100% hesitating on taking this request bc i do not think i can do enzo justice since i am not really familiar with his character. i still am not confident on writing him even after rereading the manhwa so im using early chapters (1-3) as my sole knowledge regarding him. alsooo im sorry for not 100% using your prompt/plot but i literally blanked out on how to write with that prompt

IT WENT OVER 1400 WORDS ANYWAYS WHAT THE H

request drabble have reopened !!

ㅤ⪩⪨ m.list

he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me.

you plucked the last delicate petal from the daisy you had been toying with the past few minutes. sitting on the serene grass, it was a quiet afternoon. suppose to be peaceful and calming, but not for you.

he loves me not.

staring at the plucked flower, you let out a wistful sigh.

you gently tore the entire flower apart, as if you were trying to rip away the small, fleeting hope that had been growing in your chest.

you stared at the last petal that was left drifting on the grass. with another weak sigh, you let your fingers drop to your lap with a heavy heart.

it did not matter.

he would never see you the way you wished him to.

enzo.

the name echoed in your mind constantly. the man you had quietly admired for years, the same man who occupied every corner of your thoughts.

he was always out of reach for you.

he is not just anyone. he is a borgia, and he is your childhood friend's second older brother. ruby's brother.

but that was not the problem with your meddling emotions.

you grew up with the borgia family. he probably saw you as solely ruby's friend. or perhaps he saw you as no different than the rest of the familiar faces that filled the borgia household.

regardless, after ruby was sent off to the north to marry iske van omerta, you did not really have a reason to constantly visit the borgia household after that.

but you kept returning, time and again, to see enzo.

thinking about it, you felt akin to a lovesick teenager. there were no excuses or pressing need for you to be at the household, you simply wish to be close to him.

even catching a glimpse of enzo when he was training, sitting in silence as you watch from afar, would be enough for your entire day. in your mind, if you kept being present enough despite ruby's absence, he would begin to realise that you wanted to be with him.

and perhaps he would finally look at you the way you wanted him to. as someone more than ruby's friend.

that day never came.

it had been a month since ruby's absence, you had been awkwardly strolling along the halls and gardens of the borgia family as if you were one of them.

sincerely, you wished not to be even associated with them. the eldest brother of the borgia family gives you the creeps, as does the two hags that ran the family, mostly pope de borgia.

but you did not want to leave borgia entirely since enzo was there. he is a borgia too. as creepy as the family is, you remained close contact with them because you genuinely care for ruby and fell in love with her brother.

thankfully they had not once thrown you out.

not yet, at least.

the borgia family are seen as saints, hence, you believed the pope could not rudely kick you out of their premises.

you glanced down at the daisy petals scattered around you, the weight of your emotions pressing harder within your mind. your chest tightened.

should you even confess to enzo?

you came to the borgia household today to confess, but chickened out and ended up sitting in their gardens.

a rustling sound interrupted your train of thought. you looked up, startled. for a brief, breathless moment, your heart skipped a beat when your eyes fell onto enzo, who was approaching you.

he looked as if he had just returned from training; his gaze was fixed on you. he scratched the back of his head, roughly calling you out, “the servants told me you came.”

you gave him a blank look before slowly getting flustered. “ah, yes, around an hour ago,” you answered him with a timid expression. he stared at you with an unreadable expression.

enzo huffed, clearly not satisfied with your response, "so why weren't you at the training grounds?" his words carried a slight edge—not anger, but just annoyance tinged with something else. you could not quite place what it was.

you gave a meek and reassuring smile to mask your nervousness.

you bit your lip, scrambling for an excuse, “i, uh, didn't want to interrupt. you were busy, after all...” you trailed off, unsure of how to exactly finish your words.

enzo's annoyed gaze did not soften. he crossed his arms over his chest, looking unimpressed. “interrupt?” he repeated, considering your words carefully.

“are you an idiot? you were always there anyway. why do you suddenly feel like you are interrupting?” enzo interrogated you, his eyes narrowed with suspicion, but it felt like he knew more than he let on.

“i didn't,” you stammered. “i didn't want to be a bother so suddenly.”

enzo sighed dramatically out of annoyance, clearly he was not buying it. you could see his lips twitched, as if holding back exasperation. “ugh, whatever. i can't deal with this.”

you were going to ask about what he meant, but he suddenly grabbed your wrist. before you could even react, he was pulling you towards him, then pinned you down against the soft grass in one swift motion.

you gasped, your heart leaping in your chest. you were left stammering, struggling beneath him as you tried to push him away by his chest. but of course you could not since he was stronger than you.

“you really don't get it, do you?” he muttered, his face had almost a sulking pout with his cheeks staining pink. “i'm tired of waiting for you to figure it out,” he grumbled, his hands that were pinning your wrists were trembling.

you gulped, "w, waiting for me to figure what out?" you could not even meet his eyes properly since he was on top of you—

on top of you.

“figure out how to confess to me, you idiot!” enzo snapped, his voice getting louder and sharper, but his cheeks were getting redder and redder. “you've been looking at me like a damn puppy for weeks, and i'm supposed to just keep pretending like i don't know?!”

there was a pause, a heavy silence stretching between you two.

enzo clenched his jaw, trying to mask the embarrassment creeping over him, but his cheeks betrayed him. it turned into a deeper shade of red.

he could not tell if he was more frustrated by the situation or by the mutual feelings he had been acknowledging yet ignoring for so long.

he let out a sigh, “i was waiting for you to confess.” he blurted out, his voice cracking just enough to show his real emotions.

he freed one of his hands from gripping your wrists to cover his deep red cheeks, “look, i didn't— i didn't want to be the one to make the first move, alright?” his muttered, his voice trying to be composed as he looked away from you, “it would have been very cute of you if you did, but—”

his eyes darted to yours, meeting your flustered yet relieved eyes, which made him snap out of embarrassment. “too bad you didn't because you're too dumb to figure that out!” he exclaimed, too flustered to comprehend anything at that moment.

your eyes met his again, but something shifted in you. the awkwardness was still prominent, but there was a part of you that was relieved.

he had been waiting?

your eyes lingered on his for too long, and you could not help but give a shaky smile before bursting into laughter. you manage to get one of your hands free from his to place it at the back of his head to pull him down into a kiss.

you could hear his breath caught in his throat for a moment. there was a flicker of hesitation, but it melted away entirely.

it was a messy kiss. inexperience, even sloppy, but both of you did not mind as you both had been holding back for far too long. your hand tightened in his hair, pulling his head deeper.

when you finally pulled back, breathless and slightly dazed, you gave him a wobbly but relieved smile, “i like you, a lot.” your voice was unsteady but held so much sincerity.

you then gave him a bright smile that made his breath hitch because of how pretty you were with that smile. “i confessed first,” you said proudly with a nervous smile.

the words hung in the air between you two. enzo blinked with slightly parted lips, still in a daze from the kiss. he let out a soft grumble, looking away from you, “you... stupid—”

he went back down for a second kiss.

・❥・want a hc / oneshot? please consider commissioning in ko-fi !!

[six-eyed-samurai]

Hi there!! Gotta say I have binge read all the things you have written of gachiakuta and I'm really hooked with your writing style!!! And soo I wanted to make a request or maybe something based on the idea of reader being really protective of Fu and Rudo, as the three of them kinda resemble raccoons (I know it may sound too specific but I just can't help but think of raccoons whenever I see them???), oh and also maybe reader is around zanka's age!!

SUMMARY: You miss your pets back home...oh, wait, look, new ones!! A/N: THANKYEW IM VERY FLATTERED AND I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN Fu looks like a racoon bandit, my first thought when I saw him frfr...Rudo looks like the bug we found in third grade and we named him Mango but an idiot accidentally smashed the jar's lid onto him and Mango died >:( WARNINGS: I don't mean to imply reader sees Fu and Rudo as pets, it's more of reader wanting to take care of something and projects it on them just in case someone misunderstands SUNNY'S RICELINGS: @rosetintedrot @kepodewers @magnesiumconsumer @nowayitsalex00 @powglasc @echantedtoon @just--crys @nelmmm

🌸You're known as the bubbly oldest sibling of the team, always ready to lend a hand, share some candy, hear out vents, patch a scrape, remind about water breaks, cheer on encouragement - very motherly tendencies, loyal to the end, no wonder everyone likes you, the happy-go-lucky Cleaner who turns into a feral monster when anyone threatens your friends.

🌸 Which is why it was odd for you to look as downcast and wistful as you did one night, moodily sitting by yourself, slumped like the world was weighing on your shoulders. A certain concerned redhead approached you, worried that something might've happened on your last mission.

🌸 “Oh? Sorry, I didn't realize I was looking that miserable.” You sheepishly laugh and straighten, offering a smile that wasn't complete without your usual spark. “It's just…feeling a little homesick, I guess. Clean HQ’s pretty far from home for me…and don't laugh, but I miss my pets.”

“I'm not laughing.” Riyo is excellent at keeping a straight face and she utilities that particular skill now. “…why the sudden homesickness? With the way you were looking I would've thought your dog died or something.”

“Ah, haha, I hope not. Nah, I just…we were out saving some kids today, and one of them ran back into the building just to get their pet, which made me think of mine…and I miss needing to take care of something. I just like that feeling and…it'd been nice to have my cat around.”

“Well, you take care of us.”

“Yeah, but you don't really need me to, right? It's just like an added bonus.” You sigh and deflate again. “Sorry, I'm being stupid. Anyways, wanna do each others' hair?”

🌸 Not to sound cliche, but little did you know how soon your wish would be granted: in the form of a candy addicted, squishable, angry Pomeranian.

🌸 The first time you met him you accidentally overwhelmed Rudo with your scream and eagerness to shake his hand, practically flying over from where you were originally, introduction bursting out enthusiastically. “You can call me your big sibling, okay?! Welcome to the Cleaners! Gah, you're so cute, where’d you get him, Enjin?”

“GUH - HAR?!”

🌸Unfortunately Rudo doesn’t immediately warm up to you at the start, much to your disappointment, namely because he’s not used to a) people being so openly affectionate, b) people actually like him??, c) all this Ground things were still a shock to his system. You’re kind of overwhelming for him, especially when he hasn’t gone through his character development yet fully, but as the plot goes on he gradually lets you look out for him, until he’s finally comfortable with your spontaneous bursts of affections i.e. sudden hugs from behind, picking him up like it’s no issue (look man, he’s just?? small?? Titchy, man…), ruffling his hair. Welcomes it, actually, because he’s only ever remembered Regto being this openly affectionate with him, and Regto is…well.

🌸 Probably helped that you were very. Very. VERY. Generous with candy, even after they put him on a diet after his er, fattening incident.

🌸 You’re protective as well! You nearly killed him again by suffocation after Eishia healed him and panicked so hard when he got sent off to the mission without Enjin that you threatened to march right up to Corvus and demand you come along, despite having your own mission. The bug-eyed kid is equal parts reveling in your attention and exasperated with your soccer mom behavior.

🌸 Y’know that big board of Rudo’s to-do list he has in his room? Probably tacked up a couple photos of you there; I’d like to think he scribbled on them as well, little doodles Remlin taught him because otherwise Rudo. I’m sorry he can’t draw.

🌸 Okay I’ve lost the plot enough about Rudo it’s time for Fu - CHILD NUMBER 2# SPOTTED!! Once again when he showed up begging Enjin to order him around, you’re ready to burst from jealousy, because where is Enjin getting all these cuties from? Okay, he’s formerly a Raider, and? Does he look like he could hurt anybody? DOES HE LOOK LIKE A SPY?

“WHY DO THEY ALL WANT YOUT?” You grab Enjin’s shoulders and shake him violently “YOU’RE A LITERAL CHICK MAGNET!”

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN WHAT YOU THINK IT MEANS!”

🌸 You would defend Fu with your life! I feel like at least one person is going to try and take advantage of him mindlessly obeying any order like a brainwashed minion, and whoever they are probably needs to visit Eishia to stop their ears from bleeding when you’re done with them. Be so for real, he looks harmless, unless you’re an egotistical world-conquering maniac who’s ordering him around, which you’re not - the most he’s ever “obeyed” your orders was when you asked for a drink and lil bro raided the pantry (you put him and Rudo in timeout after the other boy freaked over the candy or something)

🌸 Affection-wise I think Fu would be more receptive, except he considers them “orders” he must submit to, but after you explain to him that this is…voluntary. If you like it, I’ll keep doing it, if you don’t, I won’t. You have a choice! But choices scare Fu! Man…what even is this, at this point - one emotionally constipated child and the other is some yee yee bandit looking minion…in the end you come to a compromise in which you “order” Fu to be honest about whether he enjoys this particular way of affection and that’s how you work around his little problem. He likes head pats, by the way, when you’re complimenting him.

🌸Haters out there probably gonna argue “wHaT dO yOu MeAn WhAt aBouT tEaM cHilD” so I think that yes, you do take care of Team Child like you would Rudo and Fu, but because you’re on Team Akuta you don’t see them as much, which was why you meant you wanted to take care of someone, and with Team Child it’s more of a babysitting job than this (THERE’S A DIFFERENCE. SOMEHOW.)

🌸And what do the rest of team Akuta think about it all? Cute family of raccoons is what; a nickname started up by Riyo and Enjin and once Zanka started using it y’know it’s official. You’re probably more than happy to induct Remlin into your cult your little group if she ever wants to.

🌸What’s that one Instagram reel audio - You better not mess with my gang, or you’ll be messing with Oopy Goopy (Guita), General Munchkin Man (Rudo), Lil Jim Bob (Dear) and worst of all, Larry (Fu).

🌸 You end up adopting Follo as well later on, once Rudo and him have made up their differences and made friends (you may or may not have shed a tear…okay, several), but that's a story for another time ;)

this was so unserious i honestly gave up halfway.

[moonsglare]

this might come as a bit of a shock but oh my goodness, i've finally found your blog again!! i was a long time fan but all of the tabs i had open of your work on my phone became deadlinks so i thought you deleted your blog and i was heartbroken for a while because i really, really like your writing style, especially the sort of wistful, longing, ephemeral nature of it? if that makes sense but !!!! i found you again very recently and needless to say your writing has truly only gotten better like ???? (confused but very, very delighted screaming)

but i digress (hugely, as evident)!!! im just dropping by to say that i really, really liked your albireo piece (i like himeko, what can i say), and to thank you for the new song that now sits right at the top of my liked songs list, i offer you azalea (by kenshi yonezu - which you hopefully haven't heard, haha!), which seems right up your street, especially with the lyrics!! i hope you never stop writing, because every word you pen is pure art!!! makes many many heart eyes at you and your writing <3333

WAGHGSDHGKSDGSD ANON THIS IS SO SWEET ??? sobbing crying at "wistful, longing, ephemeral nature"........... i'm always curious as to how my narrative voice comes off to those who read my works and this is so sweet to say anon im gonna sob 😭😭😭 also i'm so glad you enjoyed albireo, both the fic and the song !! the song itself is so wistful and lovingly tragic i love it sm rokudenashi always eats istggg. thank u for all the kind words !!

[aq2003]

top 5 ten & martha moments?

5. ten listing out all the places they could go to in last of the time lords in a "i can do better i can make it better please let me help" way and stopping bc he knows she's going to leave him. the way martha says "now i've got people to look after" and ten looks down at the floor im sooooo [kisses martha gently on the forehead and shakes ten like a ragdoll]

4. the last 15ish minutes of 42 when ten saves martha then gets possessed and martha has to save him back. moments of tv of all time that feel like someone is shattering my bones

3. ten telling martha about gallifrey. this scene fucking kills me. ten's wistful but so so sad and homesick smile and martha's halfway heartbroken expression bc she can see how heavily his loss is weighing on him. god. david and freema wanted me fucking dead

2. every time they hug and ten has to lean down or pick her up bc he is tall and she is small :)

"i thought for a moment there you'd finally found something worth living for" "oh, there's always something to live for, martha". i will never stop screaming about this scene and i want to fling myself into the sun about it

[shuxiii]

shuuu!! a jimin smau?? I'm so excited aaajdhfjkd

I'm not gonna lie I was surprised when I saw it was from you but it's always good to step out of your comfort zone and try new things sometimes so I'm proud of you 😊

and Roblox it's such a cool approach to the "lovers by being protective siblings" trope because normally it's always highschool bullying or something with a motorcycle (for some reason there's always a motorcycle involved)

and I'm finally free from school!! so I can properly give all of your stuff the deserved attention they need 😊

I know I'm a sweet nothing lover but I love all of your stuff and I've been meaning to catch up on your other smau's for so long now so expect me to show up here more often!! I couldn't contain myself and I read the latest cat page update and I'm so ready to go back to reading it you have no idea hsjdjshsk

but anyways I just came here to say I'm really excited and happy about you branching into new stuff it's always good!!

have a good Sunday shu!! (if it's still Sunday where you live if not, have a good Monday!)

bye bye shu <3

OH EM GEEE NO MORE SCHOOL YAHOO!!!!! IM GLAD URE LOVING MY SMAUS IM ALWAYS HAPPY SEEING HR ASK 💆‍♂️💆‍♂️💆‍♂️🐿️🐿️🐿️🐿️😌😌😌 HAPPY SUNDAY TO U but its still saturday here WIST WHAT ITS SUNDAY??? WTF WAIT I THOUGHT ITS SATURDAY BUT ihope u eat well and sleep well 💪

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 8: Starfall] [Series Finale]

Aemond is a fearless, enigmatic prince and the most renowned dragonrider of the Greens. You are a daughter of House Mormont and a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena. You can’t ignore each other, even though you probably should. In fact, you might have found a love worth killing for.

A/N: Hello all! At long last, here is the conclusion of this series. Thank you for all the love that this fic has received; I am truly thrilled beyond words to read each and every one of your thoughts, rants, outbursts, compliments, complaints, and analyses. My first idea for a story is always the ending, so I’ve had parts of this finale written in my Word Doc since before I published the first chapter. Still, it feels very surreal to have finally finished it. I hope it is worth the wait. 💜

Song inspiration: “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys.

Chapter warnings: Language, violence, death and destruction, ANGST, dad!Aemond, Aegon-related chaos, prophesies for days, a tiny bit of sexual content, dragons, drama, lots of shouting, if you have not read Fire & Blood then you should know that there are SOME spoilers/allusions involving certain characters (but not that many).

Word count: 10.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @crispmarshmallow @tclegane @daddysfavoritesexkitten @poohxlove @imagine-all-the-imagines @nsainmoonchild @skythighs @bratfleck @thesadvampire @yor72 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @loverandqueenofdragons @omgsuperstarg @endless-ineffabilities @devynsshitposts @vencuyot @ladylannisterxo @cranberryjulce @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @liathelioness @mirandastuckinthe80s @haezen @fairaardirascenarios @darkened-writer @weepingfashionwritingplaid @signyvenetia @crossingallmine @burningcoffeetimetravel @yummycastiel @lol-im-done @lovemissyhoneybee @nomugglesallowed @witchmoon @yoshiplushie @torchbearerkyle @sweetashoneyhoney @quartzs-posts @lauraneedstochill @nctma15 @queenofshinigamis @rapoficeandfire @hinata7346 @curiouser-an-curiouser @meadowofsinfulthoughts @imjustboredso @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @myspotofcraziness @bregarc @mikariell95 @doingfondue @justconfusedperiod @mommyslittlewarcriminal @graykageyama @elsolario​

“Goodbye, Papa,” you whisper for your daughter who cannot yet speak, your cheek pressed to Laurel’s. You wave her tiny hand as Aemond and Vhagar vanish into a horizon that’s darkening like a bruise: gold, blue, violet, black, punctuated by rising stars. Encroaching thunder growls like a dragon. Lightning flashes as raindrops begin to fall from the sky. “Goodbye. Good luck. We’ll see you again soon.”

You retreat back inside the Red Keep and accompany Helaena and the children to Alicent’s rooms. As Jaehaera and Maelor play agreeably on the floor with woodcarvings of animals—and Jaehaerys mutilates a horse figurine with a toy mallet, targeting one leg at a time—you trade with the old queen: you give her a very drowsy Laurel, and she hands you her embroidery. The pattern is a simple white watchtower, but you’re so distracted thinking about Aemond and Storm’s End that you promptly botch it and tangle the threads beyond repair.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell Alicent, mortified, showing her the rubble. “I should have known better than to try…I’m afraid I lack Helaena’s talents…”

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” Alicent says. She beams down at Laurel as she rocks her. Helaena is absorbed with embroidering a strikingly lifelike water strider. Sir Criston is ostensibly polishing his sword at the table, but in truth listening to Alicent; he studies her words and moods and gestures the same way maesters study poisons and cures. “You must be terribly preoccupied this evening.”

“I am,” you admit. There’s no point in trying to hide it. Your hands are trembling and useless.

Still gazing at Laurel—her dreamy half-closed eyes, her silver lashes, her vulnerable smallness—Alicent speaks to you in a voice that is wistful and far away. “There was once a time when Rhaenyra suggested a match to resolve the question of succession. Jace would marry Helaena, and thus our bloodlines would be knitted back together and both branches of the family spared. I refused her. I’m not even entirely sure why I did. Now I wonder if I was wrong to reject her offer. Perhaps I could have stopped this.”

“You must not blame yourself. The realm has always balked at Rhaenyra’s claim to the Iron Throne. I don’t believe anything short of her surrender could prevent war.”

“You have no idea what it was like,” Alicent says. Now she looks at you with dark eyes that glint with deep, wounded bitterness. “Watching Rhaenyra indulge every whim, flout every tradition, taste every desire, while I…while I…” She pinches her eyes shut, trying to forget. “I have been standing on this precipice since I was eighteen years old, yet I have discovered that it is something else entirely to plunge headfirst into it.”

You place your hand lightly on her forearm. From across the room, Sir Criston lays down his sword and considers approaching. “You will not face this alone.”

“Aemond says you are a woman who admires ferocity. You must think that we can win if you’ve thrown your lot in with us. Perhaps that is why you support the Greens, why you came to King’s Landing to serve us to begin with. Because you have judged us to be the victors.”

That would be perfectly logical, but it’s wrong. “I support the Greens because I love you. All of you.”

Alicent’s face breaks into a sad smile. “I’m very glad that you are Aemond’s wife. Even though I was rather horrified at first.”

“I have been known to have that effect on people.”

“You don’t know what he was like before,” Alicent says. “The only way he knew to redeem himself was through violence. I think you saved him from becoming a monster.” She returns Laurel to you. The baby is sound asleep. “You both saved him.”

Sir Criston, having sheathed his sword, wanders over to invent some pretext to converse with Alicent: something about Aegon’s new council, something about the terms sent to Rhaenyra. She is still mulling it over, this last chance at peace; yet even if she is inclined to accept the concessions—an unconditional pardon, Dragonstone for Rhaenyra and Jace, Driftmark for Luke, recognized legitimacy for Harwin Strong’s sons, places at court for Daemon’s—her husband will advise her against it. Aemond was right when he said that Rhaenyra isn’t suicidal. You aren’t so sure about Daemon.

As you depart to put Laurel to bed, you pause by Helaena and praise her embroidery. It is exactly what you have come to expect from her: intricate, gorgeous, and yet unnerving somehow. Her water strider is made of gold-and-ruby flames, and the wave it dances on is adorned with the reflection of a crescent moon. You recall what she said at King Viserys’ last dinner, so softly that hardly anyone noticed: Beware the beast beneath the boards. “Meleys in the Dragonpit,” you say. “You knew it was going to happen.”

Helaena’s reply is halting and dazed. “I can sometimes see what—pieces of it, anyway, fragments of it, like shards of glass left in the frame of a broken window—but not when or how.”

“That must be maddening.”

“Oh, it is,” she agrees, and resumes her stitching. On the floor, Jaehaerys starts dragging a screeching Maelor around by his white hair. Sir Criston separates them, then lectures Jaehaerys about the importance of princely behavior. Jaehaerys kicks him in the steel-plated shin.

“I suppose we could share grandchildren one day,” you tell Helaena. “Laurel might marry Maelor.” Otto Hightower has already suggested it, and you aren’t necessarily opposed, assuming the two grow up to be genuinely fond of each other. Maelor is a shy, benevolent sort of child, just like his mother; he’s no Jaehaerys, that’s for certain. Aemond always says the same thing about Laurel, without further explanation, without hesitation: She will be whatever she wants to be. This seems to be in blatant conflict with his self-sacrificial sense of duty, of advancement. Then again, so is his love for you.

But Helaena shakes her head, very slowly, her gaze still tangled in the threads of her embroidery. “No, she won’t,” the new queen murmurs.

You take Laurel back to her bedroom and lay her in the cradle, and you stand there for a long time with your hands on the railing. A mobile of cloth insects—a gift from Helaena—twirls lazily above your head. The room is hushed. The window looks out on Blackwater Bay, where rain falls and lightning splits the indigo sky like fractured bones; the island you and Aemond call Bearstone is visible only as an outline on the horizon that blacks out some of the stars. The only way he knew to redeem himself was through violence, Alicent had said, and that’s true, isn’t it? You wonder what Borros Baratheon’s answer will be. You wonder what kind of man will return to you if Aemond spends weeks, months, years away at war.

Beside your sleeping daughter is the dragon egg Aemond chose for her: white, silver-flecked, as large and armored as Laurel is fragile and diminutive. She often reaches for it, marvels at it, beats her little fist against it as if trying to crack the shell. The egg came from Dreamfyre’s clutch, and the Greens have already begun referring to the one-day dragon by a name that honors both its Targaryen and Mormont affiliations: Frostfyre.

You leave Laurel in the care of her wetnurses and handmaidens and sit by the fireplace in the chambers you share with Aemond, trying to lose yourself in a book about the geography of Westeros. Flamelight dances across the pages as you turn them. Your mind keeps wandering: south to Storm’s End, north to Bear Island, into the future, into the past.

There is a knock against your doorframe. Aegon leans there in gold and green, smirking, pleasantly tipsy but far from drunk. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

He waltzes inside, flourishing the wine cup in his hand. “Are you utterly tormented? Are you inconsolable? Have you chewed your fingers down to the bone?”

“Not yet. But this book isn’t helping as much as I’d hoped.”

“That’s because it’s a book.”

“Perhaps I should try whores.”

Aegon cackles and throws himself down into the plush reading chair across from you. He props his boots on the footstool and crosses them one over the other. “Can you believe that this is my fourth cup of wine today? Not fourteenth. Fourth.”

“I’m very proud of you,” you say, and you mean it.

“It’s the strangest thing. I train with Sir Criston and I attend council meetings and I make my public appearances…and before I know it each day is gone. I set my cup down on tables or bannisters and then I forget all about it.” He glances to the bed, noting the dusty pale-pink remnants of the protection spells you’ve cast there. “What happens when all the bears relocate from the kingswood? What happens when Balerion runs out of teeth?”

“I’ll start pulling yours.”

He is amused, but there is something dismal about his expression as well. His face is less puffy, more serious. The reflections of flares and embers glow in his eyes. “I don’t know why you would want to protect me,” he says, remembering the night before his coronation. “If I die, Jaehaerys is next in line to the throne, but he’ll be a child for the next decade. Aemond could be regent. The task would suit him. It would please him, I believe. It is a role he was built for. The gods used entirely different bricks when they made me. Your life would be simpler without me in it.”

“Simpler, perhaps. But not better.”

He smiles; and this time it is shadowless and pure. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“Bear Island,” you reply; and you both burst into laughter as you sit together in the crackling firelight. Outside, rain drums against the windows and the wind howls as the storm intensifies. “Also, I think Jaehaerys might be deranged.”

“Yes, well you have to watch out for firstborns, you know. They are often incorrigible.”

“Personally, I have a weakness for second sons.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“What happens if Rhaenyra won’t accept the terms?” you ask quietly, looking at Aegon. “What happens if there is war?”

“There won’t be.”

“But if there is?”

Aegon shrugs, unconcerned. “Then we’ll win. We have the support of the Westerlands and the Reach, and probably Storm’s End too. We have Sir Criston, the best swordsman in Westeros. We have Sunfyre, Dreamfyre, Tessarion, and Vhagar, who easily counts as two or three ordinary dragons put together. We have my supernaturally manipulative grandsire. We have you. And, of course, we have Aemond.”

“I fear losing him,” you confess. “I hate how much I fear it. It makes me feel pathetic. I didn’t used to be like this. But now I’m filled to the brim with dread.”

“Are you worried that he’ll march off to battle and fall into the soothing arms of some other enchanting, adulterous Northerner? That’s quite impossible, I assure you. He’s never been one inclined towards romance. What liaisons transpired before you—and there weren’t many, believe me, I judged him plenty for that—were…” He ponders how to phrase it. “More educational than impassioned.”

“No,” you say, smiling wanly. “I’m worried that he’ll come home a different man than he left. I’m worried that he’ll succumb to his blind hatred for the Blacks and be poisoned by it.”

“I don’t think that will happen. He won’t allow himself to lose his way. His love for you and the baby is too great.”

“Will you show me?” you ask, holding up your book. There is a map of Westeros on the page, mountains and rivers and borderlines carved like knife wounds in flesh. “If there is fighting, where it will happen?”

“Sure,” Aegon replies. He has attended enough council meetings to know their schemes by now. He gets up and rests his elbows on the back of your chair, hovering over you to point out the pertinent locations. He is very close; you can smell wine on him, and perfume scented like pomegranates, and soap and sun. There are ink stains on his hands. His silvery hair brushes against your cheek. “Control of the Riverlands would be essential. It is the closest thing Westeros has to a center point, and we would need it to have ready access to the surrounding regions. Its rivers carry trade goods. Its lords have many men and horses at their disposal. Its flat, fertile soil is good for feeding soldiers. And killing them.” He grins. “We would need a foothold there. Maidenpool or High Heart, perhaps. More likely Harrenhal. That’s Lord Larys Strong’s castle, conveniently.”

“It would be an uncommon sensation for him. Being useful, I mean.”

Aegon’s index finger travels around the map. “Battles would pepper the Riverlands and the parts of the Crownlands likely to support Rhaenyra. Duskendale, Rosby, Rook’s Rest. We’d stay out of the Vale. Men can’t fight on the sides of mountains. We aren’t goats.”

But your gaze has snagged somewhere else. In the belly of the Riverlands, there lies the largest lake in Westeros: vast and crystalline blue and with an island at the center known as the Isle of Faces, a legendary and unconquerable mystery that turns all sailors away with fierce winds and flocks of squawking ravens. “I’ve been there,” you say. “The God’s Eye. We stopped to swim and picnic on its shores when my family brought me south to marry Axel Hightower. It is a place of magic, of deep, ageless power. I’d like to go back someday. I’d like to try to visit the Isle of Faces.”

“Aemond can take you, when all this is over. He can land Vhagar right in the middle of that fabled, forbidden little island. And then burn it to ash if you’re unimpressed.” He plucks the book out of your hands and snaps it shut. “Now let’s desist with the geography lesson and do some gambling instead.”

You play cards for several hours—thunder booming, lightning striking ever-closer, Aegon unashamedly robbing you of your coins as you fumble along without much strategy, distracted and nervy—until you tell the king that you’re going to bed. You’re a liar. You bathe and slip into your nightgown and then sit and stare at the dying cinders in the hearth, pulsing like fireflies: garnet, jasper, carnelian, tiger’s eye. When you begin to nod off at last, your vision blurs and the pinprick infernos become distant and indistinct, like stars. They form constellations you can only decipher pieces of: a claw here, a wing there, eyes and blades and teeth. You jolt awake when you hear the bedroom door creak open. The fire rekindles with the gust of cool new air. You know exactly who it is. You recognize his footsteps.

“You’re back already—?”

His face stops you. Everything about him stops you. He’s drenched to the skin and shivering, staring at the wall. His hair is in disarray. Wet, silver twists hang loose and wild; his tie has come undone and he hasn’t even noticed. Water drips from his coat and forms reflective pools around his boots. You can see firelight dancing there. Helaena’s words whisper through your skull like cold wind: He comes home late, covered in rain.

“What?” you say, standing. “What happened?”

Aemond is silent. Lightning illuminates the room in stark, white-blue rage.

You take his hands, and he allows this but won’t look at you. Every angle of his body is wrong: his shoulders, his spine, his jaw. You’ve never seen him like this before. Perhaps nobody has. What could it be? What could it POSSIBLY be? “Did the Baratheons deny you?”

“No, they are with us. Daeron will marry Floris.”

“Then what…?”

At last, his gaze meets yours. His words are slow and heavy, so heavy. His eye—blue like clear skies, like the ocean, like veins beneath paper-thin skin—is more than just stunned. It is afraid. “Luke was there too.”

You don’t understand. “…At Storm’s End?”

“Yes.”

There’s blood on him, you realize now; not much, but enough. There’s a smudge on his right temple, a stain on his throat, flecks in his hair. “Alone?”

“Yes,” Aemond says again.

Just Luke. Not Jace, not Rhaenyra, not Rhaenys, not Daemon…just timid little Luke Strong. You take a step back, dropping his hands. Your stomach plummets; cold sweat slicks across your pores. You are suddenly terrified to know more. You don’t want to ask, but you have to. “What happened, Aemond?”

You call him by his name, and you never call him by his name. Your husband does not seem to have caught this. His fingers go unconsciously to the bear-hilt dagger he still wears at his belt. “Luke was sent to compel Lord Borros to honor his father’s long-past commitment to Rhaenyra. He was so pitiful, so weak, he brought nothing but his mother’s admonishment. Borros turned him away. And then, I…I…” Now his fingertips ghost over his scar. “I stopped him. I threw him your dagger. And I told him to put out his eye.”

Timid little Luke Strong, alone in Storm’s End…small and afraid and outmatched just like Aemond had been all those years ago on Driftmark when he was maimed. “You…?”

“As payment for mine.” He smirks, a ghoulish little half-smile with no humor at all. “I told him that I planned to make a gift of it to you.”

And there is something gut-wrenching about this, it hits you harder than you could have anticipated: that the same man who gave you tenderness and devotion and whispers and faith and a child was going to give you another child’s eye. A debt is still owed. A debt will always be owed. “But he didn’t do it.” If he had, Aemond would now be radiant, victorious. Instead, he is horrified.

“No,” Aemond says. “He refused. And when he left on Arrax…I followed him.”

Your voice is hoarse, brittle. “You killed that boy?”

“I did not give the order,” he insists fiercely. “I meant only to frighten him, to shame him, but Vhagar…she…she…” He shakes his head, like casting out bad dreams. “I tried to stop her.”

Surely there can be no greater betrayal than this: his dragon, his first conquest, his path to redemption. And he will never be able to admit it to anyone but you. Helaena’s warning is a specter hissing through fanged teeth from the shadows of this room: Be cautious with her. She will not always listen. “Vhagar against Arrax, that is no battle, that is murder. The realm will see this as murder.”

“I know.” His reply is helpless.

You reach for him. “Aemond…”

“Do not comfort me,” he flares. “I am not worthy of it. It is you and our daughter who I have endangered.”

“We can win,” you say quickly, desperately. “There will be war now but we can win it, the Greens have the Reach and the Westerlands and Storm’s End, and half of the Crownlands too, we have wealth and armies and dragons and magic, and we already hold the capital, we need only to defend it—”

“I have to send you away.”

Every frenzied thought in your mind falls silent. “What? Where?”

“Starfall.”

Dorne? Some remote, desert castle in a land I’ve never known? You watch each other in the firelight. “No,” you reply simply.

“This will destroy Rhaenyra. She will want me destroyed in return. And Daemon knows exactly how to do it.”

“No,” you repeat, furious. “I’m not going anywhere, we don’t run from battles, I don’t run from battles—!”

Aemond grabs your wrists and holds them against his chest, gently but stubbornly. “Listen,” he says. “I will have to leave King’s Landing to fight this war. And Daemon will come for you. He knows what you mean to me, what you are to me, he knows. He will do it himself, or he will send someone to do it for him, or he will do it if the Blacks sack the city, but no matter how it happens he will not stop until your blood is spilled. He will not honor your status as a noncombatant. And he won’t just kill you. He will do excruciating, unforgivable things to you, because that is how he can hurt me best. The way he looked at you…here, in the Red Keep, as Viserys lay dying…that was the first time I ever saw you as what you truly are.”

“A burden?” you fling at him like a blade.

“No, Moonstone.” He releases your wrists and clasps your face with his hands. “A weakness.”

The fight bleeds out of you. Not so long ago, it was not believed that Aemond One-Eye had any fears, any weaknesses at all. “I don’t want to leave you. Any of you.”

“It won’t be for long.”

“I can’t go to Dorne. They don’t have any heart trees there. The Old Gods won’t be able to hear me.”

“You cannot stay here,” he swears. “I cannot leave you in plain sight and undefended.”

“Then send me back to Bear Island instead,” you plead frantically.

“No. The North is likely to side with Rhaenyra, and Daemon would know to look for you there.” He strokes your hair, your cheek, the pendant that swings from your neck. “Dorne will remain neutral, and Starfall is on the Summer Sea. You can get there by ship, easily and inconspicuously. I cannot fly you. Vhagar could be sighted, and everyone knows who she belongs to. And I…I…” His eye goes vacant, haunted. “I don’t know if I can trust her.”

A shudder claws down your spine. I’ve ridden that dragon. My daughter has touched that dragon. “So you’ll ride off to battle against Syrax and Meleys and Caraxes and I’ll…just…what, stare out a window and wait for you to show up and rescue me? Wake up every day wondering if you’re still alive? If Aegon and Sir Criston and Otto are still alive? I’ll read books and play cards and embroider pillowcases and go on meaningless fucking strolls through the gardens? I’ll be useless, I’ll be worse than useless because I could have helped you if I had stayed, I will—”

“You will survive.” He smiles faintly. “The maesters of Starfall will offer you and Laurel shelter. They will keep you secret. They will keep you informed of how the war progresses. And if…somehow…the Greens are on the losing side…then they will help you start over someplace where you will never be found.”

You think of all the letters he’s exchanged with Dornish maesters over the past ten months, letters you’ve never pried much into, ravens loosed and received. “How long have you been considering this?”

“Since I met you. Just in case.”

You try to imagine it—hot blaring sun, bobbing ships, the ocean, castle walls—and perhaps Starfall won’t feel so very far from King’s Landing after all. Perhaps it will be a respite, not an exile. Perhaps you will be back in the Red Keep with every living soul you’ve ever loved before the year is finished. Even if I can’t bear to do it for me, I can do it for Laurel. I will have her. I can protect her.

Aemond touches his forehead to yours, and only now are you aware of the tears streaking down his flawless right cheek. “I am so fucking sorry,” he says, his voice breaking.

“I’ll go to Starfall. If that’s what you need, if that’s what’s best for our daughter, I’ll do it.”

“There’s one last thing.” He takes your dagger from his belt and lays it in your outstretched palm. You think, without wanting to: If Luke had mutilated himself with this blade, he’d still be alive. Aemond lifts your chin to kiss you, an act so delicate and insurmountably heavy it could shatter. “Keep this with you.”

~~~~~~~~~

He introduces her to each type of blossom, skimming a kaleidoscope of petals across her miniature fingers: roses, wisteria, jasmine, calla lilies, orchids, chrysanthemums, red poppies. He is cautious not to let her get too firm a grip, lest she decides to eat one. He insists on doing everything. He never wants a break from her. Soon you’ll both be gone, sailing into the horizon on some nondescript ship bound for Dorne. He knows his time is running out. Laurel devours him with those enormous, knowing eyes. She clutches clumsily at the petals with great interest, perhaps in part because he’s the one offering them. She gets upset when he tries to carry her through the cool, dark trellis archway grown thick with greenery; she wonders where the sun has gone.

At last he returns to sit beside you on the edge of the fountain. A pair of white stone dragons exhale gushes of clear water like flames. The gardens are quiet and still. It is late-afternoon on a magnificently warm and golden day, but the Red Keep feels abandoned. Bees and butterflies and beetles wheel in the air. You can hear waves crashing against jagged black rocks, windchimes jangling in the breeze, the distant snarls of dragons.

“She might be walking by the time we see you again,” you tell Aemond. You smile, hoping to lift his spirits; but he doesn’t smile back.

He presses his lips to Laurel’s silver hair. Someday soon, it will be long enough to braid. “She might have a dragon waiting for her.” Frostfyre’s egg will remain in King’s Landing, of course; it will be left in the care of the Dragonkeepers in case the beast hatches during the war.

“You will get to teach her how to ride. How to speak High Valyrian.”

Now he does smile, with hope and optimism and pride. “And you will teach her magic.”

There is the sound of dainty heels clicking against the cobblestones. Helaena appears, carrying a praying mantis in her palm like a beacon. “You are required in the Great Hall,” she says.

You and Aemond look at each other, mystified. “Why?” he asks Helaena.

“Everyone is waiting.” And then she turns and leaves.

You and Aemond follow after Helaena, struggling to keep up. You lift the hem of your dress—black with accents of silver, your dagger secured by a belt patterned with silver bears—to avoid puddles and ascend steps; Aemond carries Laurel against his chest. She peers over his shoulder, eyes alert, cheeks chubby and with dimples like her father’s. You will have to be mindful in Dorne to ensure her skin isn’t burned by the sun. As you near the Great Hall, you can hear muffled music and voices and clanks of cups and silverware.

“Oh, gods,” Aemond groans, realizing too late.

You begin: “What—?”

The guards open the doors. Inside the Great Hall, there is a raucous feast in progress: dancing, drinking, gorging, whoring, wolfing down enough pleasures to last until the war is done. Everyone knows that time is disappearing like a starving crescent moon. Everyone knows the blood will soon begin flowing. The royal family has a table above all the chaos: Otto, Alicent, and Sir Criston are seated there with grim faces. Aegon is laughing hysterically about something that no one else seems to appreciate. Helaena scurries across the room to take her rightful place in the empty chair beside him.

“Ah, the guest of honor!” Aegon booms when he sees you and your husband, tottering to his feet and raising his cup of wine. He is grinning hugely beneath glazed, groggy eyes. He’s not just drunk. He’s ruined. “A toast to my brother, Aemond, the champion in the very first engagement of the war. To the prince, to Vhagar, and to a hasty victory!”

There are dutiful cheers, but when the nobles of Westeros turn to Aemond their faces are not congratulatory; they are wary, mistrustful, repulsed. Even the most fervent supporters of the Greens have trouble stomaching the murder of a child. Aemond’s own face is stone; he is seething, of course, but he hides it well. You take Laurel from him so he can meander through the hall accepting obligatory compliments from the guests: sword-wielding men, blanching women, reticent daughters who are for the first time relieved that it was not one of them he chose to wed. As you make your way to the royal family’s table, you swim in a sea of noxious whispers.

“…Nothing left, I heard…not a single piece…just a head of the other dragon…the boy must have been swallowed…”

“You saw Rhaenyra’s son when he was here, didn’t you? Nothing but a scared little runt…”

“…More like an execution than a battle…”

“Look, not even Aemond’s Mormont wife can summon up enthusiasm for this travesty. When was the last time she wore black to a feast? She’s always in that strange pearlescent color…”

“…Vhagar is five times the dragon Arrax was…”

“I have it on good authority that Rhaenyra was considering terms before what happened at Storm’s End, and now it will be a bloodbath…now all our sons will be expected to bleed…”

“…There is no decency in this…”

“Aemond One-Eye, they call him. Maybe they ought to change it to Aemond the Kinslayer.”

There was a moment—at Aegon’s coronation, at the beginning of the end—when there was a chance for the people to meet Aemond, to witness his gifts, to learn to love him. Now that chance is as dead as Lucerys Velaryon.

You greet Alicent and Otto, then tell them that you’ll return after you’ve put Laurel to bed. It is not customary for young children to attend feasts, nor do you wish to frighten her with all of the unfamiliar sights and scents and sounds…although, and perhaps you should have anticipated this, Laurel doesn’t seem frightened at all.

“Nonsense!” Alicent says, rather ferociously, and gleefully lifts the baby out of your arms. She and Otto pass Laurel back and forth: snuggling her, tickling her, showing her off to mostly-indifferent courtiers. Your adopted family knows that this is one of their last chances to see her before your departure to Dorne. They have been informed of Aemond’s plan—Alicent, Otto, and Sir Criston—and contrary to being outraged (as you had been) they are in agreement that it is a wise course of action. Helaena was not explicitly told, but seems aware of it nonetheless; this morning she was offering you advice about packing lots of light, breathable fabrics. No one has told Aegon yet. Aemond doesn’t want to be the one to do it. You aren’t sure how.

You pick at your food and sip your wine and try to keep your expression as neutral as possible. There is no winning here. If you appear joyful, you are celebrating the murder of a child; if you are morose, you are betraying your husband. In truth, you are neither, and you are both, and you are everything in between. As Aemond traverses the Great Hall, he keeps you on his good side as much as he can. He glances at you—over and over again like the cyclical phases of the moon— storing up visions to be conjured when he is on the field of battle and you are in Starfall, not even a whisper, not even words on a page. He will not be able to visit you until the war is over. He will not be able to send you letters that could be intercepted.

“Should we go see the Iron Throne?” Otto asks in a high, squeaky voice as he struts around with Laurel. “Yes, let’s go see the Iron Throne. Once upon a time, there was a man called Aegon the Conqueror, and you happen to have some of his blood in you. You have his hair too, but that’s a separate story. We can talk about the trials and tribulations of hair later. Now, Aegon was born in…”

A very different Aegon saunters over to you, wine cup in hand. You ignore him.

“You look tense,” he says, swaying. He begins ineptly massaging your shoulders.

“You look wasted.” You swat him away.

“Dance with me, Moonstone,” he begs, plopping down in Aemond’s chair, swigging the last of his wine and then refilling it. “I am soon to be sent off to war. I could be killed, or worse, mortally wounded and rendered incapable of debauchery at the level which I aspire to.”

“No thanks.”

“Why, do you have other plans? Will you be sneaking off to any dusty stairwells? Do you need someone to guard the doorway for you and protect what scraps remain of your honor?”

“I don’t think I’m in the mood tonight.”

“I’m always in the mood,” he says, grinning. “What do you think, did little Luke Strong go down smooth, or are there still bits of him caught in Vhagar’s teeth?”

You see it in a nauseating flash like lightning: that same boy who cowered beside his mother and attempted to defend Jace and loved Rhaena Targaryen reduced to a jumble of blood and bones. That’s really all we are. Beneath the names and the banners and the faiths and the magic, that’s all any of us are. “You’re being cruel.”

“I’m being supportive,” Aegon counters.

You glower at him, half-angry, half-disappointed. The disappointment feels worse. “Why did you have to do this?”

He is genuinely confused. “Do what?”

“This.” You gesture to the feast, the crowds, the tentative praises offered to Aemond like girls climbing—numbly and obediently—into the beds of old men.

Aegon slurs as he speaks. “Look, whether it was the honorable thing to do or not, whether it was the wise thing to do, the Strong boy is dead and nothing can change that. We cannot apologize for it, we cannot disregard it. All that’s left to do is celebrate it.” He clangs his cup against yours. Wine splatters on the tablecloth. “There is one less Black. There is one less dragon for them to burn us alive with. And I have made Aemond a war hero.”

“You have made all of us profoundly uncomfortable.”

Pain rushes into his face like blood to flushed cheeks: true, repentant, defenseless pain. “That was not my intention,” he says softly.

“No, I see that now.” I don’t have much time left with Aegon. I don’t have much time left with any of them. “I’m sorry. And as my act of contrition I will dance with you.”

Aegon smiles again and leads you down into the crowd. You and the king are an island in a sea of depravity. To your right, some Lannister is practically undressing a more-than-enthusiastic Swyft girl. To your left, a Costayne lord has passed out on the floor; people step around him as they twirl and stumble. Aegon grasps your waist—chastely, careful not to offend—with his right hand and weaves his fingers through yours with his left. The music is quick and plucky, almost restless, almost perilous.

“I know I’ve been excessive tonight,” he admits, meaning the wine. “I hope you are not too angry with me. It’s just that I am acutely aware it will be my last chance for a while.”

This is true: there are armies massing, plans being drawn up, new weapons and armor being hammered into existence. Your ship leaves tomorrow. “I forgive you. Your brother will too, although it will take him longer.”

Aemond has at last arrived at the royal family’s table. He has somehow wrestled Laurel away from Otto and has her clutched to his chest as he confers with Sir Criston. Still, he is watching you. “So you remain opposed to the prospect of my untimely demise,” Aegon teases.

“Quite vehemently.”

“And I will continue to have the benefit of your gruesome, illicit spells until all the Blacks’ heads are secured on spikes outside the Red Keep.”

You hesitate. Aegon’s ungainly steps slow. The crowd around you is rowdy and oblivious.

“What’s the matter, witch? Have you embraced a non-heathen religion? Have you renounced the ways of your hairy, half-human, cave-dwelling forefathers?”

“It’s not that,” you say. “I would want nothing more than to help you…if I was able to. If I was staying in King’s Landing.”

He stops completely: a sudden lurch, an inebriated wobble. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll be going tomorrow.”

He rips his hands away from you. “Going where?” he demands. His eyes are sharp with betrayal.

“Aegon…”

“Going where?”

You answer in a whisper, pained and sorry. “Starfall.”

He whirls and storms out of the Great Hall, tripping occasionally, pushing himself off walls when he careens into them. In the chaos of lust and gluttony, few guests even notice. You chase Aegon out into the hallway. He is moving with truly impressive speed for a man in his condition.

“Aegon, wait!” you call after him.

“Whose idea was this?” he hurls back, still racing through empty corridors. “Aemond’s, right? It couldn’t have been yours. I can’t believe that. You wouldn’t run.”

“Please, just let me explain—”

“Explain what, that you’re abandoning me—?!”

Aemond comes soaring out of a hallway, grabs Aegon, pins him roughly to the wall.

“You can’t send her away!” Aegon pleads, struggling. There are tears spilling down his cheeks. He slaps clumsily at his brother’s face, inflicting no damage whatsoever.

“And who will protect her if she stays?” Aemond says, his voice low and serrated and dark like volcanic glass. “I will be needed in battle, you will be needed in battle, Sir Criston will be leading the infantry, so tell me, who will be here to stand between her and Daemon when he comes to King’s Landing with fire and blood?”

Aegon stops fighting. His white-blond hair shags over his eyes. He is savagely bitter, glaring, hateful. “This is all your fault.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Why did you do it then?!” Aegon shouts. “Nobody told you to kill the Strong boy, nobody told you to make this war inevitable and incur the eternal wrath of the Blacks, so why the fuck did you do it?!”

Aemond doesn’t reply, but the truth speaks through the collapsing lines of his face, his shoulders, his spirit. His hands fall away from the king. His rain-blue gaze drops to the floor.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Aegon realizes with hushed shock, with horror. And then, much louder: “It wasn’t on purpose?!”

“No one can know,” Aemond says.

“Oh gods, oh gods…” Aegon rubs his wet, ruddy face with both hands. “Seven hells, how does that happen?!”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s done.”

“You’re telling me that you possess the largest, most lethal dragon on the planet and you can’t control her?! Someone explain to me how I’m still the family disappointment when I ride Sunfyre around the Crownlands all the time and I’ve never accidentally killed someone!”

Aemond says nothing, but he looks miserable, he looks broken.

“And now you send her away,” Aegon pitches at him. “You take her away from us, from me, not because of anything I did but because you made a mistake, because you fucked up—!”

“It’s not your decision to make.”

“I am the king, every decision is my decision to make—!”

You flee from them as they slice at each other with venomous accusations, blades aimed at hearts and jugulars. You run beneath the torchlight, beneath the fading sounds of music and shouts and the crumbling realities of the world. Nothing will ever be the same again. That thread of fate disappeared down Vhagar’s void-black, scorching throat. We’re not supposed to be attacking each other. We’re supposed to be winning the war.

You know that Laurel’s bedroom will be deserted. You take shelter there, supporting yourself with the railing of her crib, empty except for Frostfyre’s egg. Through forge-hot tears, you stare out the window at the starless blur where Bearstone must be. You have not been there in the three days since Aemond returned from Storm’s End. He doesn’t want you to ride Vhagar. He doesn’t want you anywhere near her. Everything’s falling apart. How can I stop this? How can I stitch us all back together?

You wish there was a way to turn back time. You wish you had known to cast a protection spell for Lucerys Velaryon.

In the window’s glass, you catch a reflection of movement behind you in the dimly-lit bedroom. You catch the flicker of moonlight on metal.

Someone is in here with me. Someone with a blade.

You spin. A man is stepping out of the shadows, broad and black-haired and bearded. For a second, you can only gape at him with slow, stupid bewilderment. This doesn’t feel possible. This doesn’t feel real.

How…?

And then you know. Aegon uses the hidden passageways that crisscross the Red Keep like arteries; and, once upon a time, so had Daemon Targaryen. And this is the man he’s sent to kill you.

Aemond was right, you think, and realize that until now you had never truly believed him.

“Where’s the baby?” the man rasps, only half-illuminated. His dagger glints in the moonshine. “You’re supposed to have a baby with you.”

You reach for your bear-hilt dagger. He lunges for you. The second intruder, the one you still hadn’t known was there, crawls out from under Laurel’s crib and grabs your ankles. You scream like clashing swords, like a gutted animal as they grapple with you and slam you to the floor. You pull your dagger free and stab half-blindly at the larger man’s face as hands clamp over your eyes, your lips. He shrieks when your blade pierces his cheek, nicks his tongue, fills his mouth with blood. He pins your wrist to the floor and coughs up scarlet globs, spits them on you, calls you a bitch and a whore. You bite the hands that cover your face. You try to scream through their murderous fingers and palms. One of them rips your moonstone pendant off your neck, snapping the chain. The men are tearing pieces of your dress away. They are cutting the laces with their daggers. They are talking about what they plan to do to you.

Daemon wants this. Daemon told them to do this.

In his distraction, the larger man’s grip around your wrist loosens: only for a second, but that’s enough. You wrench your hand free and bury your dagger in his eye, all the way to the hilt. He howls and rocks backward, blood and remnants of his eye gushing down his face.

“Just kill the bitch!” he roars at his companion. “Just fucking kill her—!”

The bedroom door bangs open, and through the smaller man’s fingers you can see Aemond and Aegon burst inside. You hear Aemond drawing his sword. You hear the men Daemon sent struggling with him. Aegon drags you to the other side of the room and crouches over you, steadying himself by pressing a hand to the wall, wine and sweat oozing from his pores.

“No no no no!” the smaller man screeches as Aemond’s sword comes whistling down. The man’s skull is suddenly no longer attached to spine; his head rolls away with thick, sickening thuds. His blade still dripping with blood, Aemond turns to the larger man and slits his throat before he can beg for mercy. The bedroom falls into an abrupt silence.

“That is why she has to leave King’s Landing,” Aemond says, pointing to the would-be assassins’ corpses, still breathing heavily. Aegon just gawks in blank, speechless horror. Then Aemond sheaths his sword and gathers you into his arms. You dissolve into tears of fear, exhaustion, pain, shock.

“They were asking about Laurel,” you sob. “They, they, they were sent to kill her too—”

“Shh, she is safe, my love, she is safe. She is with Mother and Otto.”

“I didn’t believe it,” Aegon exhales, sinking to the floor. “I really didn’t…I didn’t think…”

“Double the guard on Mother and Helaena. They go nowhere alone.”

“Yes,” Aegon agrees immediately.

“And my wife sets sail for Starfall tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Aegon says again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I’m so sorry.”

“Aegon.” You reach for him, and he comes to you and Aemond on his hands and knees. The three of you sit on the floor together in the bloodied, moonlit quiet. You tuck the king’s hair behind his ear, whisk a tear from his cheek with your thumb, smile with soft, kind sorrow. “I’ll miss you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In Blackwater Bay, there is a ship with no destination.

It is small, inconspicuous, loaded with enough supplies for a handful of passengers and a skeleton crew. It is decorated with no banners. It carries no nets for fishing, no treasures for selling, no soldiers for transporting. In times of conflict, it is rare for such a seemingly available vessel to not be requisitioned for the war effort. Not even its captain knows where it is headed. When people—fisherman, traders, passersby—inquire about his purpose, he smirks slyly and replies: “I’m going wherever the wind blows me.”

Most accept this unfulfilling explanation with some mild bafflement, continue on with their business, and promptly let the exchange slip out of their mind like sand through the gaps between fingers. Some pester the captain with further questions until he waves them off. Some chatter innocuously with him about the weather or the sea or who he believes will triumph in the impending war for the Iron Throne. But when several Gold Cloaks from the City Watch happen by, something about this captain and his enigmatic ship catches in their minds like a thorn in flesh. Something about him reminds them of signs they’ve been told to look for.

And just as nearly a year before when Aemond Targaryen publicly announced his scandalous marriage to a willful, insignificant, already-wed daughter of House Mormont, a raven carrying this news finds its way from King’s Landing to the rocky, salt-lashed shores of Dragonstone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Laurel is asleep in a crib in the corner of the bedroom you share with Aemond. Neither of you will allow her out of your sight. The feast has ended, the guests have been sent home to prepare for combat, the castle has been searched from top to bottom, from the godswood to the Great Hall to the weblike design of secret passageways. There are no other intruders. You are safe. There are guards stationed outside the bedroom door, guards beneath the windows, guards pacing the gardens. Aemond is sitting up in bed and mending your pendant with a pair of pliers and spare links of silver obtained from the maesters. His long hair falls over his bare shoulders and chest. His eyepatch hangs from a knob on the dresser. His forehead is wrinkled and determined.

You climb into bed beside him, candlelight painting you both with a brush made of heat, rage, lust, devastation, rebirth. “Can I ask you something, Silver?”

“Anything.”

You graze his face—you’re so fucking beautiful—with the backs of your fingers, first his good side, and then his ragged scar. “Why a sapphire?”

“Because of Symeon Star-Eyes.”

“I regret to remind you that you have married an uncultured Northerner.”

He smiles, still working on the damaged chain. “He was a knight during the Age of Heroes. He was blinded when he lost both of his eyes, so he replaced them with sapphires. That’s how the singers tell the story, anyway.”

You can picture it with aching clarity: Aemond as a small, lonely, tormented boy consuming book after book about ancient warriors and legendary beasts. He kept every piece of lore he learned about them like secrets, like jewels, like bricks to build himself with. “And he never stopped fighting.”

“And he never stopped fighting.” Aemond finishes the chain and lifts it over your head. The moonstone pendant returns to rest exactly where it belongs. Then your husband tilts your chin, turns your face one way and then the other, his gaze wandering over the bruises and crimson scrapes left by Daemon’s would-be assassins, troubled and pensive. And then he kisses you, his lips gentle.

“I don’t blame you,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “I want to make sure you know that. I don’t blame you for what happened to Luke, or what happened today, or what will happen tomorrow.”

“I just can’t believe I did it. I can’t believe I was that stupid.”

“You weren’t stupid. You were hurt, you were angry.”

“When I was chasing him through the storm…when he was so weak and helpless and I was so powerful…” His eye goes vague and far away. About six years away, you believe. “It was like I was carving out every part of myself that had ever been afraid, ever been harmed: by Luke and Jace, by Rhaenyra, by the world, by my father. It was like I was destroying that child who was once so friendless and overlooked and unchosen.”

“You can’t destroy him, Aemond. He’s you.”

He stares into nothingness. “You would have been safer as Axel Hightower’s wife.”

“I would choose you again. And again, and again.”

“Would you?”

“Always.”

Your lips meet his, delectably slow at first and then faster, bolder, more hungry. He matches your fire with his own. His hands steal beneath your nightgown. Your fingers knot in his hair. His mouth smiles into yours as you straddle him, nip playfully at his lips and tongue, reach down to feel how hard he is.

“Now,” you murmur. “Give me one last good memory to take with me to Starfall.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the garden, Helaena braids daisies into your hair and introduces you to a walking stick that you pretend not to be repulsed by; you even let it creep up the downy-soft underside of your forearm. In her chambers, Alicent gives you a warm, rather desperate embrace that feels like it goes on forever…and then she offers you a package wrapped in green silk. It is a book she requested from the Citadel about the history of Bear Island. “I thought it might keep you occupied on the journey,” she explains, almost self-consciously. “Perhaps you could even read it to the baby if she is restless.” And in the shadow of the heart tree in the godswood, King Aegon—dreadfully hungover, more racoon-eyed than ever—lounges with you sipping wine and talking about anything except the fact that you’re leaving. At last, it can’t be avoided.

“I don’t feel bad for you, just so you know,” he quips.

You grin. “No?”

“No. You’re going to be sunning yourself on a beach in beautiful, debaucherous Dorne. What’s there to pity? You’ll probably have a dozen paramours by the time Aemond returns for you. You’ll have forgotten all about us. You’ll be clinging to the castle walls begging Aemond to leave you there. He’ll have to pry your fingers free one by one. Now Daeron, that’s someone deserving of sympathy. He’s being dragged out of Oldtown to help us burn cities and butcher men and his great reward, if he survives, will be marrying Floris Baratheon, the realm’s most eligible donkey. His children won’t get dragon eggs. They’ll get bits and bridles.”

You laugh, then peer up at the clouds. “Daeron. I can’t wait to finally meet him one day.”

“You’ll like him. He’s the best of us, clever and kind and unruined. He’s the good one.”

Now you look at Aegon. Both he and Aemond slept with the protection spells you cast for them under their beds last night. It is the last magic you will perform until the war is over. It is the last advantage you can give them. “You’re all the good one.”

It is not until after nightfall when Aemond walks you out to the waiting ship. He wants no witnesses, no rumors. He carries Laurel all the way there; he has to blink the tears from his eye when he surrenders her to the wetnurse. You will take two wetnurses and three handmaidens to Starfall. The ship is stocked with provisions for a trip of several weeks. The captain, an ardent Green, has not been told the destination in advance, nor of your identity; he has been told only that he will be abundantly rewarded, that he will never need to work a day in his life again, that his five children won’t either. Everyone else goes aboard. You and Aemond linger together on the dock under more stars than could ever be named. He is solemn; he is intensely quiet.

“Fear not, husband,” you say. “You cannot rid yourself of me. I am yours for life.”

“For life,” he echoes, kissing you, filling himself with you like you’re the air in his lungs, the marrow in his bones.

Your fingers brush the bear-hilt dagger at your belt, which you will take to Starfall at his insistence. “I wish I had something more to give you, a piece of me to carry through the war.”

“You have given me enough, Moonstone. You have given me everything.”

“Wait.” You lift off your pendant and stand on your tiptoes to hang it around his neck; you watch the gemstone, gleaming in the moonlight, settle on his chest by his heart. “I’m coming back,” you tell him, smiling, tears like constellations in your eyes.

Aemond admires the pendant with reverent incredulity, and then he kisses you again: one last time, his hands on your face, you tugging him closer by the collar of his coat, the wind whipping through you both. “Not soon enough. Tomorrow wouldn’t be soon enough.”

You board the ship. He returns alone to the Red Keep, his head down, his arms crossed, his mind presumably lost in the nebulous future.

The captain greets you warmly, and you give him the name of the location you are to be taken too. He nods and confers with the navigator before guiding the ship out into Blackwater Bay. You venture below deck to check on Laurel. She is sleeping peacefully in her cabin, loyally attended by her wetnurses and handmaidens. You study her for a long time—your skin, Aemond’s hair, one tiny balled fist propped against her cheek—before ascending the stairs to watch the firelight of King’s Landing fade into the past.

Sails crack in the wind above you, waves break against the hull below. The moon is obscured by indigo clouds; the night is dark and cool and placid. As you pass Bearstone—rendered nothing more than a murky, inconsequential pool of earth in an endless sea—you think of all the moments you shared there with Aemond, all those sun-drenched afternoons and whispered promises and swims in the sea, all those letters he scrawled to Dornish maesters as you laid dozing beside him, still naked, blissfully content, trusting and oblivious. You will have each other like that again, certainly. You and Laurel will survive the war, and Aemond will win it, and a night will come when the stars shine down on your reunion, flesh and words and soul.

Like knuckles, like a stone, Helaena’s words hit you. If they were solid, they could crack ribs. They are so loud you can hear them, her voice as clear as the lines on your own palms.

Because there is a great deal of fire in your future.

The wind tears viciously at your hair, your eyes, your cheeks. The flames of the ship’s lanterns bend and flicker, never extinguished but always imperiled.

The sea is calling for you.

You lean over the railing at the stern of the ship, contemplating the ocean: the eternal secrets below, the voyages above. This is the same sea that touches the Vale and Dragonstone and Storm’s End. This is the same water that Lucerys Velaryon was killed over.

Stay away from the fire.

You look at the lanterns again. No, that’s not what she meant. You pace frantically around the deck as the Red Keep becomes just a haze in the distance, searching for the source of Helaena’s prophesies. You pry open barrels and crates with your dagger, upturn buckets, study the weblike rigging. You hunt like a wolf, like a killer.

I want to help you.

Help why, Helaena? Help how?

He waits in the lagoon, coiled, red.

Your steps die. There is only one lagoon you know of in King’s Landing. You turn towards Bearstone. There is movement there, but indistinct in the darkness. There is a flapping, a shrill clicking. It grows louder. It approaches, it retreats, it vanishes. And suddenly, randomly, it occurs to you that despite all those protection spells you breathed to life under the heart tree, you never thought to cast one for yourself.

Moon on the water, fire in the sky, moon on the water…

The clouds are heaved away from the moon. Silvery light cascades down, dances on the waves, brightens the night. A shape passes high over the ship, blindingly swift and unreadable. Somewhere, there is a sound that could be laughter.

It comes from the sky.

You stare fixedly up into the night. It is a bottomless inky sea, one on top of the other. Your heartbeat is thunder in your ears. Your fingernails bite wounds into your palms. You hear it again: wings, distant cackling, clicking shrieks. And—too late for it to matter—you understand.

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond’s hand closes around your moonstone pendant as he watches from the window in Laurel’s bedroom. On the dresser hangs his eyepatch. On his face is a smile, just a hint of one. He has ensured your safety, your survival; he has secured his peace offering from the gods. He can envision himself arriving in Starfall in six months or nine months or a year, you barreling out of the castle to meet him, Laurel no longer an infant but a little girl; perhaps she will be walking, babbling, grinning with tiny white teeth. Perhaps she will recognize him.

The ship, its lanterns dots of captive light, is barely visible by the time it sails past the island he now calls Bearstone. It will soon drop over the horizon like a falling star. Aemond half-turns from the window when something wrenches him back: a flicker of motion, an interruption in the moonlight. He leans closer to the glass. Dimly, he can glimpse his own reflection in it.

It is only when Caraxes unleashes his flames that Aemond can see him in the night sky, wings outstretched, blood-red contorted body hovering above the ship. The vessel does not merely burn. It explodes, it is eviscerated, it ceases to exist entirely.

“No!” It is not a scream but a rupturing, a splitting open and hollowing out of the man he could have been in a different world. It is the end. It is the beginning. It is a fire that burns his humanity to ash.

Vhagar, he thinks, the first word he can discern from the clamoring inferno of wrath, grief, madness. Fire and blood. He is faintly aware of gasps and screams spreading like a plague through the Red Keep. Someone is wailing like they are being slaughtered, their organs dismantled piece by piece; his mother, he believes.

He bolts from the room. He is halfway down the hall when Aegon crashes into him, catches him around the waist, knocks him with great difficulty to the floor and fights to keep him there.

“No!” Aemond screams, pulling away. “Let me go, let me go—!”

“Stop it, Aemond, stop!”

And then Sir Criston appears, and Otto, and Alicent; they join the king in restraining Aemond. It takes all four of them to hold him down.

“Let me go!” His voice is raw and mindless, more animal than man. He struggles so forcefully they fear his bones will snap. Aegon grabs his face with both hands.

“Look at me, look, Aemond, look at me!” Aegon pleads. The king is sobbing, panting, frantic. Aemond’s right eye lands on him. His sapphire gleams with cold, soulless fire. “You cannot catch Daemon, he is already headed back to Dragonstone, he—”

Aemond screams again and tries to free himself. They manage to hold on to him. Helaena has materialized in the hallway like a ghost; she is shellshocked, almost catatonic. She says nothing. Her eyes leak constant, soundless tears.

“You cannot catch him,” Aegon repeats patiently, like he’s speaking to a child. “Vhagar cannot catch him, even if you had left the second it happened. Not even Sunfyre can catch him. If we go after him now, he will lead us into a trap on Dragonstone. He has surely planned for that. He is hoping for that. He—”

Aemond claws at the floor, trying to drag himself out of his family’s arms, but a part of him knows it is hopeless. His fingernails leave white lines on the wood, and then ruby ones when his nails tear out. Aemond is not aware of this. He howls and roars and finally collapses. Alicent, weeping freely, strokes his hair. Sir Criston watches her, longing with everything he’s made of to fix this. It cannot be fixed; it is not just shattered pieces, it is ash, it is dust. Otto’s face is a wasteland: desolate, brutal, a million years old.

“Look at me!” Aegon demands, still gripping Aemond’s face, still sobbing. “Aemond, you cannot kill him if you’re already dead. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want vengeance. You want fire and blood. You want to kill them.”

“Yes,” Aemond chokes out. That’s all he wants. Nothing else exists.

“And I will help you do it,” Aegon vows. “But we cannot do it now. We have to prepare. We have to do this right, or we will not live to see vengeance. Wait for me, Aemond, and I will help you. You can have Daemon, but I want Rhaenyra. And I swear to you in front of all the gods that we will burn them alive.”

Aemond is beyond words, but Aegon can read them in his eye: Yes, I understand, I yield. The last of Aemond’s ferocity vanishes. Sobs pour from his throat. Aegon embraces him. So do Alicent and Sir Criston and Otto and finally Helaena. They cling to each other, bound to the world by a multitude of glimmering strings like a spider’s thread and yet alone. The moonlight floods in. The future, dark, merciless, bathed in dragonfire, dawns like a sun.

And every second of every minute of every day for the next year—as Aemond wages war at Rook’s Rest and Harrenhal, as he burns the Riverlands, as he inspires immeasurable horror and agony and hatred, as he abandons strategy for blind revenge, as he flies to meet Daemon and Caraxes in battle above the God’s Eye—it is still there around his neck: the moonstone pendant, the silver chain.

[cat3ch1sm]

Omg! Hii!

April 22nd will be 1 year since I started a diary, and I plan to start a dream diary too! Can you write Chrollo, Killua and Kurapika by reading all your girlfriend's diary? (Dream diaries are optional! ) The F!Reader keeps them in a drawer, the F!Reader is a shy person who cannot communicate well, and who has been writing diaries since childhood (Reader with the personality of Komi-San only very shy, only writes diaries) and the F!Readers reaction (sorry for my english, hope you understand!) ( If you want! )

🥑| AGH im two days late wtf </3 happy one year to your diaries<333 i used to keep one but i can never keep up with them lol

🐢| i hope u enjoy, ily💚

chrollo

secretly, chrollo had always wanted to know what went on inside your head. of course, you were quiet, reserved, and didn't speak unnecessarily- which was what chrollo appreciated and loved about you. in fact, it had been what had drawn him to you to begin with. quiet people usually had secrets.

however, he had to admit- sometimes he wondered what you were thinking about when you stared off into space, a thoughtful look on your face, or why you found it so difficult to talk to new people. he wanted to know what went on inside your head, and unlike many other of the women he'd seduced, he just couldn't get you to crack.

so when chrollo found the tiny little journal with the velvet cover, he'd looked around to make sure the coast was clear, pocketed the book, and took to a private place to explore your thoughts at last.

just the first few words have chrollo enthralled. you write your thoughts as if they're a story you're telling, and sometimes they're even in the form of abstract poems- he loves those the most, skimming through other pages to search for the short but sweet poems scribbled in the margins of the page. you see the world so much more differently than he does, and it is endlessly fascinating to finally see what you see: how you see him, how you see those around you, and how you see yourself.

chrollo wouldn't ever share that he read your diary, so you didn't really react- you'd never know he touched it. but you might notice him smile at you more, approach you when you're sitting alone more often. he'll start taking you to obscure places he never saw much in, and ask you what you see; chrollo is never not impressed with or curious about your responses. it's nice to see things from a perspective that hasn't been tainted with blood and corpses.

kurapika

kurapika isn't really one to wonder about other people. his mind is filled to capacity 24/7, and to be honest, he doesn't even know you very well. it was your prudent demeanor and ruminant personality that attracted him to you, and you weren't one for many words.

you, to be honest, could be just as elusive as Kurapika himself- vanishing every other minute- but certainly not to pursue revenge. you disappeared just to disappear. you didn't complain about being alone. in fact, you seemed to rather like it- and you never reacted negatively when Kurapika vanished for a day or two. you were quite independent, actually, despite hardly ever speaking. you mostly communicated via facial expressions and body movements.

it was these aspects of who you were that made Kurapika wonder who exactly you were. what did you love? what did you hate? what did you think about on a daily basis? what was your past like?

Kurapika did feel guilty for picking up your thick diary and opening it to the first page- but he just wanted to know who you were.

he received the best possible answer when he started reading- within the journal were memories from your childhood all the way up until now. you painted everything in a rosy, nostalgic way that made the impulsive Kurapika think about his own experiences. he was completely enchanted by it- to view his own past in the same wistful yet fond way you did brought him more closure than he'd expected from his trauma-filled childhood.

however, he snapped out of his pensive state when you suddenly appeared at the door, a confused but not angry expression on your face as you spotted your diary spread out in Kurapika's lap.

"I apologize, Y/N- I know that was an invasion of privacy. But- do you think- maybe we could sit down for a little while and talk? Just so we can try and understand each other more?"

he's a lot more curious about you now and you in turn begin to wonder about Kurapika, and it overall benefits your relationship a lot.

killua

he doesn't really get why you don't talk. like, what's the point?

but sooner or later he starts to realize- the less one talks, the less another knows about them. and that's when he realizes that he hardly knows you.

killua had begun dating you because he thought you were interesting, unique- never being with the crowd and mostly in your own little world. well, he wanted to be in there with you now.

he figured, everybody has to express their thoughts somewhere- which is where the idea of you having a diary came from. so, killua promptly started to look for one.

props to you- you'd tucked them away so well that it took him more than a day to find them- which is pretty impressive. but of course, you can't keep something hidden from a Zoldyck, who is actively looking for it, for long. so, once he finished collecting them, he starts to go through them, only skimming at first- but killua soon becomes entranced by your writing.

he gets to see the world through your eyes, and the sight is so clear and untainted that it immediately makes him think of gon. in your world, there isn't any murder or abuse. he isn't a former assassin or a murderer in your eyes, just your sweet and funny boyfriend. you simply omit it all, and it's so unfamiliar to him that killua almost can't comprehend it.

in fact, he's so beguiled by getting to see your own perspective that he fails to notice you standing over his shoulder, reading your diary right along with him. he notices you watching him read quietly and gets defensive and flustered.

"Agh! Geez, Y/N... you need an alarm bell or something. Anyways, I found these things... man, you really don't have a clue how the world actually is, do you?"

ignore him at this point, he's just embarrassed you caught him like that. you've never seen him so thoughtful.

[milkstoner]

So I have this au idea and I don't what do you think k buuuttt imagine that everything goes wrong and Silver dies trying saving malleus for the blot like getting consumed by it instead of malleus, the ultimate sacrifice, and mallleus realizes it and in it grive uses one last spell, a time spell.

So he gets back in time but not like the beginning of the year o noo he come in the moment Lilia found Silver and he decided that now he is the one that is going to keep Silver, and takes him to the palace and basically raises him as his future consort and wife. So he is going to be with him forever the only one that it's not going to leave.

..... what do you think jajaja I would lo e to make a fic out of this but sadly my writting skill are 0 to none 🥲

OOHH I’m intrigued. Upon first reading this my first thoughts were, oh oh oh dadson mallesil!!! (Im nasty)

All of Malleus’ moves would be calculated in this scenario since he more or less knows what they lead to. And he has the chance to groom Silver his own way now. So both Silver and Lilia turn out different here. Lilia will think of Silver exclusively as an object, he might even despise him, and Silver won’t inherit the values Lilia taught him in the other timeline. But Silver’s attitude and personality are something unique to him and they shine in every timeline no matter what. It’s part of his very essence, no grooming will change that, and Malleus wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s his kindness, his selflessness, his effortless beauty.

Malleus doesn’t teach him the sword, instead opting for music, dance, literature, but not too much, and sewing. He tells Silver never to approach a weapon… but the boy is predestined to wield one, so when he sees Malleus’ weapons (his favourite is the spear, but he is also skilled with the sword and the bow—he has daggers and halberds, all hidden behind a magic case, because he doesn’t need them much, his bare hands do a great job of crushing human skulls), he is fascinated. He wants to learn how to wield the sword. Malleus hesitates. He refuses. Silver takes it with a disappointed look. If Malleus plays his cards right, Lilia won’t be seduced by Silver, and he won’t teach him the sword… which, well. Malleus is furious and teaches Silver a lesson. But… he softens after and finally allows him to wield the sword, but ONLY if Malleus is the teacher. He is the father, after all. (Sorry.)

Silver is docile and in his mind, all of this is very normal. He has no contact with the outside world. He is the only human he knows besides a doctor who is sometimes brought in from another land to check on him. (The doctor is very worried for him but he can’t do anything. Silver wonders why he always looks so… wistful.)

The rose garden is theirs. It’s their sanctuary away from all gazes. It’s so romantic… when Silver is old enough, like 13-14, this is where they first kiss :,} they get married when Silver is 15.

In this AU I feel like Malleus wouldn’t go to NRC. He already has Silver, all is well. But also… if Silver meets other humans, he might gain some awareness and become unhappy with his predicament. If this ever happens, Malleus will put everybody to sleep again 🚶🏻‍♀️

Sebek gets brought in when he’s around 14 to train for the army. He’s tasked to act as Silver’s retainer, which he HATES. He wants to be Mal’s retainer. He’ll be very uninterested in Silver, mean as well… you may be the prince’s consort, but you remain a human!!! I hope youre grateful to Malleus!!! Silver doesn’t care, which makes him mad lol.

Those are the #thoughts I can come up with… this is a rly good au we love a mastermind malleus

[oshiawaseni]

I wanna talk about these panels:

they happen right after /the thing/

the thing^

and I kinda wonder why there is such a big focus on shoto and ochako here... 

This could just be my imagination running rampant, and it’s hard to explain, but... don’t you think these two have something in common? that commonality being they want to be the person closest to izuku that’s able to reach him and bring him back? but what they’re witnessing before them is a bond they can’t even come close to having with him, the one between him and kacchan. after ignoring their own pleas and rejecting them, kacchan succeeded where they failed and not only broke down his walls, but has finally accepted, and in all aspects, fully embraced deku.

they thought of bakugou as a person who always rejected or antagonised deku-kun/midoriya, but now they’ve seen firsthand that the bkdk bond is much more than they’ve been lead to believe. he also turns out to be the one who understands deku most and is his most important person that he finally bends/breaks for. 

and he’s the person deku has been reaching for all along.

i just wonder if there was a lil bit of... jealousy...? wistfulness? understanding? in those gazes. they both want to be close to deku and are now fully seeing bkdk for what it was always trying to become (i mean shoto looks particularly numb in his eyes... is he upset at what deku said? or is it something else bothering him about deku?)

it’s so hard to put my feelings into words that i get from these images but since i first saw them i couldn’t help but feel they’re seeing a relationship they didn’t know was there for the first time. it just made the moment come across even more romantic to my bkdk tinted vision.

this all could just be my wishful thinking/projecting/imagination but i still thought to share it

would love to hear you guys’ take on this or if the focus on them was for other obvious reasons that im missing entirely and if so, well, yw for the fanfic from a delusional shipper xD

[andsheloved]

hiiii im so excited that queen of fluff is back with drabble days 😁 pls prompt #11 with loki+!established relationship that’s like a *little* angsty :D

as usual pls disregard this if it doesn’t inspire you <3 remember to take breaks today when you need them and 🗣refill your water bottle!!!🗣 HAVE A GREAT DAY i love u the most 🥰 🌷

miA MY DEAR i'm so sorry it's taken me so long to post this but regardless it is here and i love you mwauh, i do love this so much and i absolutely did squeal when i read this request cus like, i love. i love so much. i ended up changing the wording up for this prompt a bit, but i hope you enjoy anyways!! i hope you're remembering to drink some water and take care of yourself today!! mwauh!! ily so much and i hope you're doing so good mwauh i love you mwauh mwauh

pairing ~ loki x gn!reader

word count ~ 1.5k

warnings ~ pre established relationship, bit of angst, comforting fluff, bit of jealousy?? (i'm not really sure if it's considered jealousy but i am unsure), small mention of death, mention of anxiety, the dark world spoilers, crying, loki hugs though :)

prompt ~ #11: 'it’s you, it was always you’

Six weeks.

Six weeks it had been since you had last seen him.

Sure, he had messaged you a handful of times, always explaining how there was some new monster or alien or some new intergalactic thereat that had to be dealt with before he could return.

A part of you felt proud of him, how he was finally being accepted by the rest of the team, even to the point of being allowed to become so involved on missions. Though even through that pride, you couldn't help the incessant whispering that called to you from the back of your mind, you wanted him home, with you.

You hated yourself for thinking that it was such a selfish thought, to want him so much near you that you started to care a little less about whatever new villain of the week he had found himself dealing with.

You missed him, was that such a crime?

He was supposed to be coming back to the tower today though, or so he said.

You wanted to be excited, to feel something more than the exhausting weight of anxiety and slight anger at the thought of him finally coming home to you, but you just couldn't help it.

Every time he promised he would be back, something would always seem to come up for him. Granted it wasn't just extra shifts at the office or dinners with friends that were keeping him.

It was saving the world.

Though your feelings persisted regardless.

You didn't know for how long you had been frantically pacing the floor of your room when you heard the knock at your door.

You froze in place, your hands fidgeting each other as you called out a quick, "Hello?"

You heard a muffled, relieved sigh from the other side of the door, "It's me."

Loki.

You slowly crept to the door, trying to dull the small sparks of excitement that bloomed in your chest. He had left you, stringing you along for weeks without telling you where he was or if he was okay. The only reason you knew he was still alive some days was because he finally decided to text you.

You opened the door slowly, your heart beating rapidly against your ribs as he finally came into view.

His smile was soft and tired as he took you in. His shoulders slumped at the sight of you, as if just seeing you again was a breath of fresh air.

You felt your eyes begin to water, your lips beginning to turn into that wistful, dream-like smile that he always seemed to inspire within you.

"I've missed you." He mumbled, still standing in the doorway.

Before you could respond, you felt your mind tug you away from him, your legs working on their own accord as you turned suddenly from him.

"My love-"

You cut him off, your voice a dull murmur as you spoke, "I missed you too."

Even as your back was turned to him, as you fell onto the bed with a soft 'thump', you could hear the quiet, concerned grumble that fell from him.

"Have I done something?" You heard his tired voice respond.

Your lips drew into a thin line, "No, I've just-" You sighed, scrubbing your hand down your face, "I missed you, that's all."

How could begin to explain how you hadn't slept in days? That you were torn between always thinking of him and trying to push down any thoughts of him at all as you tried to go about your daily routine? How could you even begin to elaborate on how people on Earth communicated with each other, and didn't just decide to only message each other to let the other person know they weren't dead?

Sharing your life with a Prince from another planet always had its learning curves, and usually, you would take them with stride. Loki was Loki, that would never change, but in times like this, you couldn't help but get a little frustrated with him.

He never really told you directly if he could read minds, but it was during these moments when you thought he most certainly could.

"I'm sorry if I worried you. That was never my intention."

A part of you wanted to yell, to turn and grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him, but instead, you continued to face the wall, afraid that if you dared to face him, your resolve would crumble instantly.

"I didn't hear from you for weeks." You emphasized, "I thought something happened." You stammered, your voice trembling at the image your own torturous thoughts created to torment you even more.

"Nothing happened, I pro-"

"But what if it did." You spat bitterly, "What if you were gone and I never got to say-" A choked sob ripped from your lungs, stopping you from continuing as your face fell into your hands

You screwed your eyes shut as the sound of his slightly labored breathing filled your ears, though even through your tears, you could still feel how his weight made the bed sink a bit more behind you.

"I'm sorry, I should have called you-"

"I never knew if you were okay." You managed to sputter, "I never knew if you were safe. I-" You swallowed, attempting to gather yourself before continuing, "I was scared."

You finally turned to face him, your lower lip quivering as you pulled it between your teeth, awaiting his inevitable response.

"I never- I-" He grumbled to himself as he tried to find the words, "I want to protect you." He spoke plainly, "I see what's out there, and I can't bare the thought of any of that coming close to you. I know I should have let you know I was alright, but when I was there, when I finally saw what they see so often, I just couldn't come back to you without knowing those things were gone." There was a pregnant pause as you both stared at each other, his brows furrowed as he scanned your face, "My mother." He finally muttered, taking a deep breathe before continuing, "She... She's gone, because of me. I couldn't-" You could hear how his breath hitched in his throat, his voice strained, "I couldn't save her, and I can't go back and change what's happened, I've lost her. I can't lose you." His hand reluctantly reached out for yours, resting gently on your thigh as he waited, "I can't."

You felt a soft whimper escape you as your hand instinctually sought out the warmth of his. "Loki..." You sighed, a weak smile creeping onto your lips, "But I can't live without you either."

You found yourself taken back at the sudden frustrated groan that left him, "I need you to understand, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if someone- something happened to you because of me."

You understood, you supposed you couldn't blame him for wanting to protect you. You knew without much thought that you would surely do the same thing for him if you were in his position.

"It's just-" You interrupted yourself with a tense chuckle before you continued, "I miss you," You shrugged, whispering, "I miss you."

You couldn't even tell when it had happened, though you couldn't really bring yourself to care when your cheek found itself pressed against his chest, his strong arms wrapping around your shoulders instantly as you collapsed against him. You felt your cheeks dampen as the emotions you had begun to feel over the past few weeks finally spilled over.

You felt as his body began to rock back and forth gently as he rubbed calming circles with his fingers on your shoulder blade. You were surrounded by warmth, and you found yourself humming at the soft sound of his steady heartbeat.

You smiled softly against his chest at the feeling of his lips trailing tender kisses along the top of your head. You wondered if he was speaking to you, but you were too entranced by the constant thrum of his heart.

The faint rumble through his chest let you know he was finally breaking the calming silence that lingered between the two of you, and he let out a soft chuckle as if he had been reading your mind this whole time.

You could feel the kind turn of his lips against your forehead as he finally whispered. "It's for you. It's always for you."

gosh i would pay so much money for a loki hug right now :') buT consider this me sending all of the loki hugs in the universe your way because you deserve them!! mwauh!! i hope you are doing so well today and always mwauh :)

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always always appreciated!!

want more loki? check out my masterlist!!

[holly-fixation]

Damaged Doll: Chapter 3

Summary: Angeal and Zack discover a man in all black trapped under boulders in the mountains near Icicle Village. They notice things are extremely wrong about this man, but one thing demands their attention: mako blue eyes with slit pupils. Sephiroth will want to see this. And meeting him only raises more questions than answers. But what happens when this blonde is face to face with the silver general himself?

Based on this prompt by @im-totally-not-an-alien

Please Enjoy!

Chapter 3: A Link

A short pause filled the room, snake like eyes bearing into each other, one with utter obsession, the other with incurable curiosity. 

Sephiroth’s throat hitched, despite all of his planning, all of his preparation. It was his mother, the woman he was punished for asking about. The connection he never had but desperately needed, no matter how many times he was told he was better, different, and had no need for such pointless connections. He could finally learn about his mother. He took one last breath to clear it before asking, “How do you know my mother’s name?” He hoped this would be the least complicated question, or at least the least complicated answer he’d receive tonight. “How do you know my mother is Jenova?”

“It’s the name you know, therefore the name she took,” He answered simply, like that explained anything, “Your hair and the shape of your eyes are the same as hers.”

He knew he should be smarter than this, much more cautious of the abnormal answer, but a childish longing held his rational mind hostage as he answered mindlessly, “She looked like me?”

He nodded. 

“What was she like…?” His voice was small, and he received an almost caring, empathetic look from the blonde.

“Powerful. Intelligent. A tactician. A savior to so many.” He paused as he hunted for an answer. “…She was caring. Kind. Beautiful.” A wistful expression claimed the patient’s slitted eyes, which, peculiarly, expanded like a cat’s in the dark. “You’re so much like her, My prince.”

The general forced down the bubble of warmth from the comparison calmly, attempting to focus on his goal. “How did you know her?” 

“Your mother created me.” He answered truthfully, but that wasn’t possible. His age seemed about the same as Sephiroth’s. 

“‘Created’?”

Cloud lifted his head in confusion for a moment before nodding. “Yes. She created me from the stone and glass in the north.”

Sephiroth only raised a brow, but Cloud did not continue. 

Instead, he returned to a different topic, a bit of explanation before he planned to continue his answer evident in his voice. “When your mother came to this planet, she-”

“Stop,” He ordered in bewilderment, shaking his head and hands softly in wait, gaining instant silence. He always showed more emotion when it came to his mother. “‘This Planet’?”

The blonde looked down, folding his hands neatly in his lap before raising his eyes hesitantly. “Forgive me, My prince, I must ask...” it was the first time his voice faltered in front of Sephiroth, matching his currently fractured state. “What do you know of your mother…?”

Sephiroth’s heart dropped at the question, his confusion replaced with the ever gaping hole in his chest. The color vanished from his face. “Her name was Jenova. And she died giving birth to me.” He did not meet the gaze of the patient as he finished, refusing to see the reaction to the statement he told no one before, “That’s all I know.” He closed his eyes to center himself, and he heard the patient breathe deeply in thought, analysis, interrogation, determination. 

“Yet you’ve come so far…” Was that surprise, the smallest hint, in the raspy voice? Then it was back to steel, the solid tone he only used to Him. “...Your mother would be proud.” 

Sephiroth’s chest warmed again, and with a nearly sad expression on his face, he didn’t fight it.

“Please, let me explain, My prince.” 

He sighed softly and nodded, his signal to continue. 

The blonde completely understood. “Your mother was not from this planet.” Sephiroth nearly jerked in question, and though he did not ask, the blonde knew exactly what he wanted to know. “The humans would call her an alien, but she is so much more than an extraterrestrial.” His change in tense was noticed, but the general swallowed to soothe his inquiring mind, despite the cautiousness slowly stirring within. “She was a godsend. Multiple planets would call out to her when their beings were in danger due to the lifeforms they could not control. And after aiding them, she ruled them as queen. This planet, the Lifestream itself, cried. And she answered.”

Sephiroth opened and closed his mouth once, like a guppy, too many questions colliding that only one stuttered to escape. “H-How?”

“A meteor. I believe…the crater should still be there.”

“The Northern Crater?”

Cloud nodded. “Yes.”

The silver general shook his head, denying this explanation. This was nonsense, a terrible waste of time. You're insane. Completely insane or delusional. After the state he was found in, the general wasn’t surprised, just disappointed. Perhaps it was brain damage from the boulders. Perhaps it was the unspecified length of solitude. Perhaps he was never well, and that’s how he ended up in that cave in the first place.

“My prince, please wait,” The blonde begged when Sephiroth took a step toward the door, and the general gave him a tired look. “Please, I speak the truth, but it…” He trailed off, then closed his eyes and breathed. “It may not seem possible today. This world has changed so much. But your mother remains the same. Please, what other questions do you have about her?”

Is he using my own mother to justify this asinine story? Is he trying to control me just because our eyes are the same? The slightest counter shone out of the inhuman eyes.

Cloud’s eyes widened in defeat, before he closed the lids and bowed his head, dread settling in his features as the fire dwindled. “I have bothered you. I’ll stop…”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Sephiroth stated suddenly, even surprising himself with the burst of his thoughts before turning to the blonde with a cold expression. One last chance. “Tell me something I don’t know.” That’s even remotely possible, the silent half of his sentence was caught as well.

Cloud took a pained breath, then paused, analyzing his mind and the room for what he could believably explain. “...Do you truly believe your mother is dead…?”

His heart dropped, the hook ripping through his walls and reeling him in completely.

“How many times were you told…?”

“Once.” His eyes winced closed, the memory excruciating as it overwhelmed every cell in his body, dragging him down to the depths of the suppressed and fragile mind. Back to a little boy, stronger than any machine or monster they threw at him, special and different and above all else, though he never believed it. He was barely strong enough, barely as strong as they wanted, finally making his… finally making someone proud of him.

He’d be leaving for Wutai in a week, his life no longer dictated by every word out of Hojo’s cruel mouth. He’d be the first SOLDIER, out of the lab, in the field, in the real world. 

Maybe he’d finally feel rain. 

But Hojo, for the first time in his life, offered him a gift, any gift within reason, the only shred of joy the scientist ever offered. The opportunity. 

“Make your decision while I'm feeling sentimental, boy.”

Though he fidgeted in his spot as he thought, the minute of silence that passed did not change his question. He prepared for the argument, the yelling he couldn’t capture in his throat when Hojo inevitably went back on the deal after hearing what he wanted. Clothes, weapons, equipment, he wanted none of those things, nothing material. He took a breath before forcing his eyes to the scientist. 

“...Okay. I’ve made my choice.”

He felt the gaze burn through the black glasses as the scientist crossed his arms, an annoyed gesture to tell him to continue.

One more breath. One last attempt at steeling himself. “I want to know about my parents.” He felt the white hot burn from the white reflection in the back glasses in his heart. “Both of them. That’s the only thing I want.”

Hojo nearly stood and tensed in response, analyzing him, calculating his mind. The glare and pause nearly stung his skin, but he refused to back down. “You’re better than this. You know you’re better than this.”

“It’s not an attachment-”

“Then what is it, boy?” The scientist spat. “Is it curiosity? Is that the lie you’re about to tell me? That you don’t care about the answer? You ‘just’ want to know?”

Like glass, cracking at the force of the words. “I won’t ask again… Please… Just once...” He nearly whined, his voice as small as a field mouse. “That’s all I want…”

He couldn’t read the expression on the professor’s face. He didn’t know what to prepare for. The silence felt like an eternity. And when the professor moved a hand slowly, he actively forced his eyes to remain on his target. 

“You get one gift,” the scientist seethed while holding up an index finger. “So choose. Which parent do you ‘care’,” the professor nearly gagged at the thought, “about more?”

He froze at the challenge, his anxious movement vanished into ice, a shocked look on his face, his mouth agape and his eyes accusatory. He had to pick between his mother or his father? When he’d never know either? How would he know if he made the right decision? Hojo’s mind was made up. He knew there was no room for argument. Why would Hojo do this to him?

“Which one, Sephiroth?”

Glass. 

“Make a choice.”

Glass.

“Pick already.”

Clear as a window.

“My mother!” He spat out so quickly the scientist flinched and tilted a head ever so slightly in confusion. “My mother. I choose my mother...” His strength failed him and his eyes fell to the ground, guilt pumping through his veins. Why did Hojo make him choose? Why…? He kept his eyes down until Hojo spoke again, his mouth dry as a bone. 

“Her name was Jenova.”

Sephiroth’s blue eyes widened as he repeated the name for the first time. “Jenova...”

“Yes.” The scientist spat. “And she died. Giving birth to you.”

He didn’t see a shred of lie or truth beyond the black glasses. He tried to breathe, he tried to speak, but he was spellbound by the guilt in his heart and the scientist dangling the organ over a floor of swords, always ready to drop. It made sense, why he never saw her, why he didn’t have a single memory of her. It hurt. Gods it hurt, his chest tightening, but he had to keep trying, anything he could get. He swallowed hard, his hand twitching in shock. “What was she like…?”

The scientist scoffed. “No.” 

Why? Why not? 

“No, I gave you your gift. That’s all.”

“But-!”

“Don’t pull this on me,” Hojo growled. “I answered your question, now go.”

He instinctually stepped toward the man. “Please, Hojo!”

“Step back, Sephiroth.”

But he couldn’t stop his mindless pleading and eyes from watering when he moved One. Step. Closer. “Please!”

The last memory forced upon him was the crack against his cheek, that sent him stumbling back despite all his strength. 

When Sephiroth finally returned to reality, finally outside the prison of his memories, he found himself standing at the center of the same room, but with the blonde’s arms wrapped around him and pulled tightly to him. A hug. He glanced at the clock for confirmation. Only a few seconds had passed. Maybe five, or ten? Did he...dissociate? This has never happened before.

“Who did this to you, My prince?” was all he spoke, embers growing to a small flame. He was shorter, the soldier realized, the first time he stood for anyone, his head politely pulled away from the opening of skin in the leather jacket, the palms of his yellow hair softly brushing the soldier’s chin.

Sephiroth was at a loss for words. 

“You do not need to explain anything. Please answer when you’re ready. Who did this to you?” Cloud tightened his grip, his posture a rock, a ground to focus his prince. 

The silver general, the silver soldier, the first SOLDIER, the little boy cowering away from the experiments, the tiny kid crying from each failure, each break, each cut, each bruise, every emotion in his very being screamed over the whisper of logic trying to break through. His arms moved impulsively, like a desperate child, starved for attention and affection, and gripped the shoulders of the injured blonde across the smaller body. 

Cloud did not ask again, but patted the space on the back between the large pauldrons, petting the space of leather soothingly. 

Then he found himself removing one hand and pulling the blonde to his chest, with no resistance. It felt…nice, to have someone so close to him, the vaguest memory of a stuffed chocobo dashing through his mind, the fluff of the fur delicate and comforting. The similar color almost coaxed him into leaning his face into the dandelion of hair, perhaps even breathing in a scent of something other than this solitary lab. So many memories…why now? He searched his thoughts for an answer, the silence only aiding his tracking mind.

…his mother. It tied to her, didn’t it? Whether the blonde was telling the truth he sought all his life, or a story fabricated by a tortured and damaged mind, he didn't know. He did not believe the tale, of course, but he felt a connection. A deep connection. 

“...Hojo did this…” His deep voice boomed softly, and the blonde only nodded in confirmation. The only noise in the room was their tensioned breaths and the occasional beep of the medical machines. Maybe a minute of peace passed through them. 

But then they felt something, and Sephiroth let go and took a step back as they both glared at the observation window. The speaker in the ceiling clicked on.

“Apologies.” That was absolutely a new hire, stuck on the absolute worst shift for specimen monitorization: zero-hundred to zero-seven-hundred hours. “Visiting hours are 9AM to 12AM, and the patient should not be standing. Please help the patient return to the bed, then leave the room. Thank you.” Another click notified the shut off of the microphone and speaker. 

The blonde’s head was bowed again. “Forgive me.”

His silver brows knotted in confusion as his gaze returned to the blonde. “For what?” Only now did he realize the blonde was balanced on one foot, the damaged leg dangling in the air.

“I disobeyed your order to stay in bed.”

Sephiroth shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Here,” He stepped toward the blonde with his hands out, “Let me help.”

Cloud shook his head and held his arms out to stop him. “My prince, I can’t let you- nh-” He was already lifted and back in the bed before he could finish, grabbing his sides to soothe the pain from movement and failing at concealing his low, pained grunt.

“Are your ribs okay?” The soldier asked, scanning the other set of eyes for the truth. 

The blonde nodded quickly. “Yes. Thank you, My prince.”

Sephiroth cringed at another use of the faux title. “Please don’t call me that.” He moved to the exit.

Cloud tilted his head, and spoke as the door slid open. “What would you like to be called?”

“My name,” Sephiroth spoke softly, too tired, too confused as to what just happened to continue, why it happened, and left the patient alone in the hospital-like room. 

* * *  

Hojo. Will. Die. For the pain he caused My prince. But he had to be careful. He was strong enough to kill the scientist if he got close, but he wasn’t strong enough to get away with it. It angered him greatly, his hands itching to break holes in the wall. Whatever his prince had to endure as a child still haunted his prince now. But he had to control these impulses. He would not make the same mistake again. His prince deserved the perfection he failed to give his queen. Now he needed to weld the connection they both shared. He already looked back fondly on the moment in the middle of the night, finally treated as what he was. He was a weapon for her use. But he was also a tool for comfort. A toy for a child, a stuffed animal to hold for safety. Cloud almost smiled at the memory as he stared at the walls. But he was still being watched. Again. 

When the scientist, no… when Hojo finally entered, Cloud was informed he should not attempt anything with his leg for at least a month. But the longer he’s weakend, the longer that bastard lives. 

However, the scientist raised a hand and made a gesture toward the room through the one way glass. Almost immediately, the door opened to a young girl with red hair in mostly black clothing, a rougher fabric than what he was given. She adjusted a white bag in her hands, and nodded to the professor upon entry. 

“She’s a part of the Turks,” Hojo explained. “An elite program, a type of special forces here. They investigate, interrogate, exterminate, basically whatever we see fit,” He spoke with power behind the ‘T’, then gestured to the woman. “This is Cissnei. She’ll be teaching you everything you need to know.”

Cloud carefully moved his eyes to the scientist. “What specifically…?”

“Well, what you’ve missed the past two thousand years,” he stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We can’t expect you to assimilate into our society easily, but perhaps you can find someplace with more knowledge. In return for my research, of course.”

His predatory eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before he returned to calm and collected. “Very well...”

He scribbled something before clipping the pen to the board. “Glad you agree. Now excuse me.” Then he left, without another glance to either of them, though Cloud watched his location, even through the mirrored window. 

The red haired girl approached him while he wasn't looking, and she only met his eyes when she was an inch away from the bed, gently placing the bag in his lap. “These are the clothes you were found in. We highly recommend excluding your pants to let your leg heal.”

Cloud was already opening the back like a child with a gift, pulling out his coat first and analyzing the sown scratches. 

“We had them cleaned and repaired. We hope you’re satisfied.” She took the open seat as he continued to scan, frowning as he ran his thumb along the new patches.

Then he looked up to her and moved the clothes to his side. “Thank you...”

She nodded in response. “They said your throat will take another day or two to fully heal. After that it shouldn’t hurt so much to talk.”

He nodded in appreciation. Then he noticed her gloves. Both black, but only one covered her whole hand. She was a part of some kind of special force, right? The Turks? “What kind of weapon requires those gloves…?”

Cissnei had to look down at them to notice what he was talking about. She didn't think about them anymore. “Oh, these?” she held them up for a better view. “They’re the most effective for using a large shuriken.”

He tilted his head, so she elaborated. 

“A type of throwing star.” She scanned him as well. “Do you know what that is?”

He shook his head. 

“Well,” she almost laughed, “Then let’s start your lessons there.”

Cloud appreciated her aid, kindly smiling as she explained whatever she knew about their world, with him asking questions as she went on. But he hated where this aid came from. He needed to learn about this changed world, yes, and she seemed kind enough. Yet she is tied to her job. Perhaps learning her loyalty to this special program would aid him in his coming cover-up. He needed an opportunity, and he still needed it while he looked innocent. No more mistakes. No more failures. Everything must be perfectly clean. Not a drop of blood will tie back to him.

.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading! 

Author's Notes: New baby Sephiroth content will not change this story. I already finished that section before the announcement. Though I am EXTREMELY excited to see the little Babyroth! (Check tags for more notes)

[anne-i-write]

moriarty the patriot headcannons

| requested by anon: can you write headcanons for moriarty brothers meeting and having dinner with s/o's parents for the first time? and s/o's father is overprotective. thanks 🤍🙆🏻 |

william x reader; louis x reader; albert x reader

word count: 1857

tw: mentions of toxic behavior in albert’s hcs

a/n: IM BACK AND THRIVING BBS!!! it’s so good to be back again to writing!!! hhh i’m so sorry if this is far from what you wanted but i hope you all enjoy it nonetheless!!!! lowkey went off the railings w this one so 👀 also if i missed any tags, please let me know!!!!!

william: 803 words

it had been you and your father since you were younger bc your mom was the “lucky” choice of some noble

but you wouldn’t have it any other way

you two are very close and everyone in the town knows

that, and that you both hate nobles

so it’s no surprise when the moriartys move into town, you’re both less than pleased

you always try your best to avoid them whenever they come into your town and your father always begs his friends to take the nobles as customers, despite the fact it could be good for business

but the town you lived in was particularly small and you did end up bumping into william

literally

some stupid man didn’t see you crossing the road and you were nearly crushed by the carriage if it hadn’t been for the hand that pulled at your wrist

“i swear people these days don’t know how to drive carriages.”

you don’t know who you were expecting

BUT ANYONE BUT A NOBLE

“are you alright?”

“i’m fine thank you—“

you’re absolutely flustered

how did i not know that this was a noble??? he smells so clean!

“i’ve got to be on my way now!” and you left william there with no explanation

but lil did you know he actually knew who you were

or to an extent, you weren’t as sneaky as you’d hoped you’d be

he saw you hiding in corners and alleyways every time you two accidentally made eye contact

and some of the townsfolk actually told him a little about you and your father so he understood why you weren’t too welcoming

but to take great lengths to avoid him??? he is very intrigued

so he starts off small, trying to send you a kind smile before you dart off behind a fruit stall

he really tries his best to get close to you and after a few weeks (and a few persuasive friends), he finally gets to hold a conversation with you

and boy does he fall FAST

it takes a while but you finally reciprocate his feelings and he thinks its smooth sailing from there right???

lmao everyone knows your father is literally the most intimidating looking man that could ever walk the earth

if they didn’t know him personally, they would be afraid of getting curb stomped 🤠

i mean,, he’s a big softie but god forbid anyone even DARES to look at you in a romantic light

you warn william of this and he’s like “don’t worry love, it shouldn’t be too bad”

it is bad

even william has cold hands bc your father is giving him the dirtiest look

dinner isn’t even dinner it’s a grill with how much questions your father is asking him

it does NOT help that he’s a noble

“so,,, you’re a noble”

“your cooking is amazing sir”

your father leaves the table for a little bit and you can hear the quiet sigh of relief from william

“i’m sorry for my father”

“no, no,,, i just,,, your father’s really intimidating, isn’t he?”

you let out a chuckle and william relaxed, a soft smile gracing his lips

“he can be, but it’s just something he does.” you threw a wistful gaze at the door your father disappeared before.

“he’s just worried about you, i can see it. he doesn’t want you around people like me.” you grabbed his hand over the table and he gently squeezed your hand.

“if anything, if he’d give you a chance, he’d want me to be with you. noble or not”

you both continue to have a delightful conversation, your sweet laughs filling the room

however, you didn’t know your father was listening in on your conversation and he couldn’t agree more with william

your mother left with more than just a curt goodbye and unshed tears

she left you with a tear stained letter filled with sorrowful regrets and sincere apologies

he knew you would eventually grow up to be critical of the world and if you were to find out that your mother had left unwillingly, he was afraid that you would be too bitter towards the world

but as he hears your laugh and his worries are dulled down a little

he sees you smiling so happily at william and when he chances a glance at the noble beside you, his worries are completely erased

william’s looking at you the same way everyone swore he looked at your mother

it’s a gentle gaze filled with love and kindness, one that he knew could protect you and take care of you

your father hated nobles and hovered over you when it came to love

but he couldn’t help but hold back on questions when he came back and you instantly noticed that your father took a liking william

louis: 508 words

everyone knew you as “Little Noble” in your town

the sole reason being your father literally treating you like a noble lmao

he gave you the best of everything he could afford and tried his best to not let you do any work

tried

of course, you were a little angel and you HAD to help otherwise you’d cry about making someone else tired when you could’ve easily helped

you’ve carried this trait until your early twenties and there were no signs that you would stop

hence why you were bringing home some fresh fruits from the stall clerk before a man bumps into you

you were so caught off guard that your knee buckled and you fell on your butt

everyone was stunned into silence as you fell but louis was so apologetic

so when he helped you back up, he felt the chilling stares of the town burning into his back

and then you apologize for bumping into him when he was the one who bumped into you and you fell??????

“please, let me make you something! i feel so bad!”

he tries to decline but there was this odd pressure to say yes to you

he ends up going home with you

you’re both in front of the door before your father opens it, his eyes wide

“who is this boy?”

“oh, i didn’t get his name on the way here. what is your name?”

your poor father’s heart is pounding way too fast for his liking

“oh! look at that, thank you so much for bringing my child home! you should be going home now”

he tries to shut the door on louis but you hold it open and beckon louis inside

“i invited him here! i accidentally bumped into him earlier so i offered to make him something!”

louis is so awkward pls

your father reluctantly lets him in but gives him a side eye the whole time he’s in the house

“does your child do this often?”

“why? do you find it strange?”

YOUR FATHER IS SO PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE PLEASE SAVE LOUIS

anyways, you finish making your treat and give it to louis, your father glaring at your interaction

louis is still a little stiff but the more you talk to him, his guard is let down a little

soon enough he has to leave and you wish him well

he leaves with a wave and a kind smile and you look over at your father who had been scowling since you appeared at the front door

“he is a bit cute, don’t you think father?”

your father sputters, stunned by your bold claim

“y-you’re still too young to think about men like that!”

you laugh and shut the front door, teasing your poor father about finding love while also wondering if you would meet louis again

as you talk with your father behind closed doors, louis smiles to himself as he thinks about the unusual encounter today

surely, if i met them again tomorrow, it would make for a pleasant day

albert: 546 words

he meets your father before he meets you

it was during a ball your parents organized in order to connect with the more prestigious nobles around you

your parents were obsessed with the way your family was viewed and apparently being an earl wasn’t enough

so albert hears about you when your father boasts about how you’re the perfect child who answered to his every beck and call

in all honesty, albert was disgusted

no one deserved to be brought up like that

he casually makes his way into the conversation and your father is seething

“my child is your age, it’s a shame you act like this, i would have thought of you as a prime husband for them”

who is this earl to tell him what to do?

needless to say your father crosses him off of the guest list for the next ball

days go by and your father doesn’t know that you’re currently in town, doing what you can to help the working class as best as you can

it is on one particular day of visiting an orphanage do you run into the eldest moriarty brother

you two exchange polite greetings and you both pause

“your father is the earl, is he not?”

“you are a general of the army, are you not?”

a brief mention of your father and your mood dulls slightly

“yes, but i’m here on my own accord”

he would kill you if he found out you were amongst the “filth” as he called them

“well, i’ve brought books for the children, would you like to help me read some to them?”

he seemed sincere enough to not want anything more from you, so you agreed

he was actually very pleasant to be around and you find yourself enjoying his company

the meetups continued to happen and soon enough, albert finds himself standing in front of the doors to your family estate

your father is not pleased at all

“it’s nice to meet you again, sir”

“i didn’t forget about what you said to me at our first meeting”

and you’re sitting there like,, ????? they’ve met??? and your father doesn’t like albert???????

of course, inviting albert to your home would have repercussions but you didn’t expect your father to be so hostile

he was always hostile towards other nobles unless they were of higher importance than him

but for him to hate albert so quickly and openly??? this was quite new

you had mentioned that your father has always been one for power so it was clear to albert that you obviously grew up in a home that was more,,, toxic than protective

it was at dinner that this behavior reached its peak and albert despised the atmosphere and the way your father treated you

“i’ve come here to ask for your child’s hand in marriage”

your father rejects the idea without any hesitation

“i refuse to have them live the rest of their life in your household when they could do so much better”

when you invited albert that night, you knew there would be repercussions with your father

but what you didn’t expect was that you would leave your father and adopt the moriarty name as your own, the family welcoming you with open arms

moriarty the patriot taglist: @zoehanji

[b0hemian]

"Sleepy"

Sambucky

Fluff

Warnings : A but of cursing and a shit tone of gay <3

[ author's note: ] I've been really into Sambucky again recently, and at this point I'm so done with trying to think of other ships. This ship will forever have my heart despite other ships that come to sail.

James Buchanan Barnes loathed the empty space of the mattress next to him. He loathed how prim and neat the cream sheets were. He despised the rightly order of the pillows. But most importantly, he hated the missing presence of Sam.

Despite what others thought, Bucky longed to be cuddled and caressed. He loved the sudden gestures Sam would provide out of the ordinary blue. He loved the surprise of Sam's arms around his stomach. His head, dangling with tire or snuggly warmth, resting on Bucky's vibranium shoulder.

It's been a week now since Sam had left for Egypt. A week too long for a home of two with only one in its vacancy.

Bucky knew that being apart from your parter every once in a while was okay, healthy, and suggested. The first few days were of total peace. It was nice lounging about in the house without the worry of the world apart from the occasional missions and precautionary runs he ran to secure the city. But as time went on and Bucky's thoughts clouded him and his longing for Sam grew, he grew frantic and needy. He missed Sam Wilson more than anything, and if Sam can't be home right now in this very bed, he wished that he was at least safe. With a roof over his head. With food in his plate. With a smile on his lips that gave everyone, him especially, hope of a better future.

Bucky inhaled the sharp cool and crisp air. Exhaling not long after. He pulled down a pillow from the mound of them on Sam's side. He chuckled. Sam always had a shit ton of pillows with him. He called it, "the bird-ly habit of a nest." At this thought, Bucky chuckled and cuddled the pillow into his chest. His head bowed down as he inhaled its scent- Sam's scent of the oceanic blues of the cologne he had given him. He missed it. His smell. His snores however small and adorable they are. He missed the way Sam's thumb would move back and forth on his neck as he held him dear in his arms. Comforting him through his occasional, but rarer occurrences of nightmares.

He closed his eyes expecting to finally fall asleep until a ringing blew into the closed room. Bucky hummed with a tinge of curiosity and immediately hoped that whoever was calling was his boyfriend. He sat up with the pillows on his lap and reached to his left, grabbing his phone. And as the words "Idiot Bird" appeared on the blurred familiar dialing screen, Bucky's wistfulness vanished and a smile, as bright as the moon's crescents, appeared. He pressed the green button in an instant and played Sam up on speaker.

He waited until a loud crackling sound bursted from the speaker. Then, a laugh.

"Bucky!" Sam proclaimed, although in a more whispered tone than a shout.

God he missed that voice. That call of his name in a tone so beloved to him, so familiar.

"Hey, baby. I miss you."

"I miss you too, so much. It's been a hell of a whirlwind back in Cairo. Barely had any time to sleep."

"Im sorry," Bucky apologized as he laid the phone down on the empty space next to him and rested his head down the pillows. "You should probably sleep then."

"Yeah.. But you know how it is with me and planes. I can't sleep for shit."

"Wait, planes?"

"Yep. Got the whole situation sorted sooner than I thought and after a few debriefs on the actual witnesses, I can finally go fucking home."

Bucky closed his eyes and breathed in a shaky breath. Exhaling a long moment after with a stuttering chuckle. "Good good.. I miss you so much you, Sam." You have no idea.

"I miss you too, Bucky. A lot. I think a part of the reason why I could barely sleep with the time they let me go to my hotel was because all I could think about was you."

"Oh?"

"Mhm, I was scared. I was scared that I won't be there."

Bucky didn't need Sam to say it, nor Sam need to say what I meant for Bucky to know. It was a silent knowledge between them and Bucky was thankful for Sam's silence and patience about his struggles. Bucky's nightmares weren't as prominent as it once was, but they lingered like a guilt. Even though he made his amends long ago, he was still terrified of what his monster had done. Who it had killed and who's lived it had destroyed for the purpose of others. The Winter Soldier was the past and as much as he intended to forget all of what happened, he knew Sam was right when he said that sometimes forgetting the past can only lead to more suffering. Bucky smiled to himself as he thought of what else Sam had told him. Healing meant facing your fears, not abandoning them.

"Don't worry, I haven't had one since the week before you left," Bucky answered truthfully with pride knowing how long its been since he had such horrible recollections.

"Good good. Don't worry, I'll be home soon. I'll make you steak, we'll stay up till 2 watching Disney movies, and stay up for another 30 minutes stuck like tape."

Bucky, imagining every moment Sam had described, smiled. "I'd love that. Will there be kisses?"

"So many."

"Perfect."

A yawn wrapped around the air a Bucky felt sleep pull him closer and closer. Knowing Sam's voice was close and knowing the whole of him was closer, he was finally in a state of peace against the restlessness. His body relaxing. His eyelids refraining from wanting to open.

"Sleep, baby. I'll be here."

"Promise?" Bucky whispered.

"I promise."

Pulling the blankets closer and Sam's soft pillow even closer to his chest, Bucky slept off with a sentence last spoken in a whisper. A whisper loud enough for the receiving end to hear and giggle at his boyfriend's sleepy and adorable voice.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Bucky."

[aries-writes-shit]

My happy ending(SBI x Sibling!Reader)

Pairing: Platonic!SBI x Sibling!reader(C!Techno,C!Philza,C!Tommy,C!Wilbur)

Prompt:”Til death do us part” “even in the end, i was never alone”

A/N: I hope you enjoy. my requests are open! 

It was always us five, Our parental figure Philza,  Wilbur and Techno, Tommy and I.

“Til death do us part” I giggled, The family i had always known, Scattered out around me in the feild we had all just been running around, chasing each other, in. “Do you even know what that means, (Y/N)?” my brother Wilbur asked, chuckling. i sat up and looked over at him, “ i think so” i replied. “ dont people say it when they want to stay together forever?”. Wilbur sat up and looked over at me, Our other family members snickering as wilbur spoke. “your close enough” he replied. Slowly, i layed my head back down on my fathers chest, letting out a small sigh. “i wish we could stay like this forever..”

several years later, Two of my brothers began their own country, and along with that country came a war. the war was stressful, yet, when it finnally ended, the seeds of that new country grew into a safe place for all. With a final goodbye to my father and brother techno, i left to live in l’manburg. 

“Wilbur! Tommy!” i exclaimed, dropping my bags at the entrance gate as i ran up to the two,hugging the two by the neck. “(Y/N)” the both laughed, hugging me back. letting the two go i looked up at them. “ ive come to live here with you guys” i exclaimed, giving the two small jazz hands. the two looked at eachother the burst out laughing, “ im so grateful you are” tommy began, grabbing me by the arm, tugging me along “im going to give you a tour”. letting out a chuckle, wilbur grabbed my bag and began to follow us.

Its been about a year, i grew close to my fellow citizens and even began to organize wilbur’s, documents when i had the spare time. I was so sure that wilbur would when the elections came up. When he was beat by 1% by a newcomer, jshlatt, I almost began crying. I did start crying when shlatts first decree was exiling my brothers. I was terrified when shlatt called me up to the stand and asked me to become his secretary, I was so sure i would share my brothers fate if i refused. The whole country was silent as they waited for my answer. Without a choice i accepted.

i sat in my house as i played my piano for niki and jack, two of my closest friends. A loud sharp knock was heard from my door and before either could answer the door for me, Shlatt and his little gang entered my home. “Where have you been (Y/N)?” Shlatt asked. Without stopping i responded “ i have no work today so i was spending time with my closest friends”. I continued to play the piano as shlatt and his lackies looked between each other, clearly uncomfortable with how i responded. “ I never said you had the day off” shlatt barked, he was trying to be intimidating as he threatened “ if you don’t ill have you executed”. I paused, turning my head around, to look him in the eyes as i responded. “ Id like to see you try, Big brother techno wouldn”t be to pleased with you”. my face turned into a tight malicious smile as i turned around and played the last few chords of the song i had been playing. Another knock sounded at my door, “ and that should be him right now” i stood up, dusting my skirt off as i walked to my front door, brushing past Quackity. “ Dad! Techno!” i exclaimed giving both a warm hug as i brought them into my house,walking straight past Shlatt, george and Quackity. My father and older brother sat down on the sofas with Niki and Jack while i took my position back at the piano. Looking back at the trio in my doorway, i gave another smile “ will you be joining us boys?” i asked cocking my head to the side. The trio sputtered out their seperate reasons not to and quickly left my house. the atmosphere quickly returning to the cheerful one from moments before.

After that incident, and two days ‘til the festival, Shlatt would try his hardest to fuck up my work, To get me to snap at him once more so he would have a reason to execute me.  I would never let him get that satisfaction though. 

It was the day of the festival, Everything was set up and perfect, or so i thought.  

“ Tubbo, (Y/N). Come on up here would you two?”. he laughed. a knot formed in my stomach as tubbo and i made our way up to where shlatt stood. “Do you two know what we do to traitors” he asked, looking between the two of us the gesturing something to his vice presidents. Before we could move, we were incased in cobblestone. “ what the fuck shatt” i snarled, my surpressed rage finnally bubbling over. The bastard looked over at the crowd, And with a malicious smile he said “We kill them”. i swore and shouted at him as he had my own brother come up from the crowd to do the executing. Techno looked at me with sad eyes, trying to obviously convince himself to. “Its alright Tech, Just remember i love you all” My face in a weary smile as he finally shot. 

i never thought that would be when i would lose my final cannon life. I floated in the warm darkness, reminicing on everything my family did up to that point. i gave myself a wistful smile as i thought “Even in the end,i wasnt alone. I had a family who loved me and some of the best friends you could ever ask for” And when my brother wilbur joined me in that inky darkness we chose to return to the land of the living, For his unfinished symphony and for my final happy ending.