#I remember the ghost inside the crib

[godddamnbranman]

How to stay afloat in a bottomless pit..? The trick is to stop falling.

[stylesispunk]

"You're the loss of my life"

outbreak! Joel Miller x f!reader

part 2 here

summary: you and Joel went from one kiss to getting married to becoming strangers.

w.c: 5k>

Warnings: angst, implications of cheating, mentions miscarriage. Perhaps some grammar mistakes because no proofreading oops!

a/n: I know everything I write is angst but is what it fits in my mind right now. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The day you killed yourself, you woke up. The salty tears streamed down to your ears. There was a pity gaze you didn't want to meet, looking down at you, perhaps asking why. 

You didn't want to talk, even less to answer the pitiful comments from people who thought they had a say on all this.

You remember the fall. You remember Joel running to Sophie to save her life instead of yours, instead of both. You and the baby who was inside you. The one who wasn't there anymore because of its tiny form didn't resist the impact of your fall.

What a tragedy.

Sadness overcame you in the aftermath. In a world like this, treating your wounded body wasn't as hard as treating your heart, which became a frozen glass shell.

The days that followed were a blur, each moment blending into the next, a never-ending cycle of grief and numbness. You avoided mirrors, hating the reflection of a person you no longer recognized. The hollow eyes, the lifeless expression—they belonged to a ghost, not to you.

Joel tried to talk to you, his words a constant hum in the background. "I'm sorry," he'd say. "I didn't know what to do." But his apologies were meaningless, lost in the chasm that had formed between you. He perhaps saved Sophie because he loved her more, because in that split second, she was the one who mattered.

Not you anymore.

You spent hours in the nursery, the room you had so carefully prepared. The crib, the tiny clothes, the stuffed animals—all mocking reminders of what could have been. Your hands would linger on the soft blankets, tears falling silently onto the fabric. It was in that room that you felt the closest to the baby you had lost—a place where the field of dreams you had died.

One night, as you sat in the dark, the pain was too much to bear, and you decided you couldn't go on. The world was too cruel, too indifferent to people's suffering. You wrote a letter, your final words, to those who might wonder why. It was brief—just a few sentences explaining the unbearable weight of your grief and the unending ache in your heart. Meeting your family and beloved ones in heaven sounded better than keeping yourself prisoner in a world that would never be a safe place for anyone.

You took the pills, each one a step closer to peace. As you drifted off, you felt a strange sense of calm, a release from the torment that had consumed you. You hoped that in death, you would find the solace that eluded you in life.

But then you woke up again. The salty tears streamed down to your ears. There was a pity gaze you didn't want to meet, looking down at you, perhaps asking why.

Waking up again felt like a cruel joke. You were back in the same world, with the same pain. But something was different. Joel was there, his eyes red and swollen from crying. He took your hand, his touch hesitant and afraid.

"I thought I lost you," he whispered, his voice breaking.

You turned away, unable to meet his gaze. The wound was still too fresh, and the betrayal was still too raw to face them.

Joel's gaze burned in your back, and the smell of death was in the room. You held your breath for a moment. You wanted to smell the flowers and the baby smell of the little head of your baby, which you would never get to meet.

"Why?" he questioned, and for the first time, his voice did soothe your wounds; instead, it caused your blood to boil inside you and irritated you.

"I want Ellie here, not you."

"Baby- “

"Go." Your voice could slice Joel’s skin.

He recoiled as if struck, his face crumpling with pain. He stood there for a moment, looking lost and broken. "Please, don't push me away," he pleaded, but you couldn't hear him through the rage and grief that consumed you.

"Leave," you repeated, your voice cold and final.

Joel's shoulders slumped in defeat. He turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that followed was suffocating, a void that threatened to swallow you whole. You curled into a ball, the tears flowing freely now—a torrent of pain and loss.

“Go to Sophie,” you whispered to the void, allowing yourself to cry.

Time seemed to stand still in that moment; your sobs were the only sound in the quiet room. You didn't know how long you lay there, but eventually, you heard a soft knock on the door.

Ellie's voice was hesitant when she called out your name, filled with a mix of anger and concern. "Can I come in?"

You didn't answer, but she opened the door anyway, slipping inside and closing it behind her. She looked at you, her expression torn between fury and sadness.

"Why did you do it?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "Why did you try to leave me too?"

You looked up at her, seeing the pain in her eyes and mirroring your own. "I... I didn't think I could handle it anymore," you admitted, your voice breaking. "I lost everything, Ellie. I lost you, I lost Joel, and I lost the baby. I didn't know how to go on."

Ellie walked over to you, her steps hesitant. "You didn't lose me. I'm still here," she said, her voice softening. "But you almost did. And I'm so mad at Joel. He should have saved you both. He should have done more."

“Do you think Joel doesn’t love me anymore?” you sobbed.  The pain in your voice broke Ellie’s heart.

She kneeled beside you, taking your hands in hers. "I don’t know what’s on his mind now," she admitted, her voice trembling. "But I do know he loves you. He's just... broken too. We're all broken."

You pulled her into a tight embrace, both of you crying together, sharing the weight of your grief. “I lost my baby because of him.”

Ellie held you tighter, her own tears mingling with yours. "Cry,” she said softly. "Blaming him won't bring the baby back. It won't help us heal. We have to find a way to forgive and move forward."

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, finding strange solace in each other’s arms. The pain was still there, raw and overwhelming.

You were standing in the small kitchen of your home in Jackson, the dilapidated walls a far cry from the security of the life you once knew. But for a moment, you allowed yourself to dream of something better. Your hands trembled slightly as you held the small, worn piece of paper—a positive pregnancy test, a symbol of new life in a world consumed by death.

Joel walked in, weary from a long day of patrol. His eyes lit up when he saw you, but they quickly clouded with concern as he noticed the look on your face.

"What's going on?" he asked, setting down his backpack and walking over to you.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "Joel, I have something to tell you,” you began, your voice shaking. "I'm pregnant."

For a moment, there was silence. Joel's expression shifted from confusion to shock, and then to something darker—fear and maybe even anger.

"Pregnant?" he repeated, his voice rising slightly. "In this world? How could you be so irresponsible?"

The words hit you like a physical blow, your earlier excitement and hope crumbling into dust. "Irresponsible?" you echoed, your own voice rising defensively. "It takes two people to do this, you know.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "You know what it’s like out there! Every day is a fight for survival. We can barely keep ourselves alive, and now you want to bring a baby into this?”

“I know this is not the best way, but what do you want me to do?” 

“You know what.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you fought them back, unwilling to show weakness at his suggestion. "I know it's dangerous, Joel. But it's also a chance for us to have a future. To have a reason to keep going."

Joel's face softened for a moment, but then the hard lines returned. "And what if we can't protect it? What if we lose it? Bringing a baby into this world... it's a death sentence."

You turned away, unable to look at him. "I thought you'd be happy," you whispered, the tears finally spilling over. "I thought this would be something good for us."

He reached out, but you stepped back, the distance between you growing. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now, but the damage was done. "I just... I can't see how this can work."

You clutched the pregnancy test to your chest, tainted by doubt and fear. “Are you mad because of the baby, or what would Sophie think of this?" you questioned quietly.

Joel's expression faltered, and he looked away, unable to meet your gaze. The mention of Sophie seemed to strike a chord, bringing a new layer of tension to the room.

"Sophie has nothing to do with this," he muttered, but the words lacked conviction.

"Doesn't she?" You pressed, your voice rising. "She's always in the back of your mind, Joel. Every decision you make, every risk you take, it's always about protecting her."

"She's my partner in patrol,” he shot back, his voice growing louder. "I’m just as protective as I am with everyone here! I can't fail her, or you. But this world... it's no place for a child."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "I know you're scared, Joel. So am I. But we can't live our lives in fear. This baby is a chance for us to have something real, something good. Don't you see that?"

Joel's shoulders slumped, the weight of your words pressing down on him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair again. "I do see it," he admitted quietly. "But it doesn't change the reality we live in. I just... I don't know if I can take that risk."

The room fell silent, the tension hanging thick in the air. You turned away from him, your heart heavy with a mixture of hope and despair. "I'm going to do everything I can to protect this baby," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. "With or without you."

Joel looked at you, pain and conflict warring in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it, shaking his head. He turned and walked out, leaving you standing alone in the kitchen, your heart breaking as the small symbol of hope in your hand seemed to grow heavier by the second.

The “I do” and vows seemed so foreign in the back of your mind now.

A week had passed since your almost-death. The days were a blur of grief and small steps toward recovery. Ellie remained close; her presence was a constant reminder that there was still something worth fighting for. In your head, you felt guilt and pity, not strong enough to keep believing you were the same woman who arrived here. You were the gosh of a lively fighter who became a lifeless frame.

Maria approached you in the cafeteria, where you were trying to busy yourself. She had always been a pillar of strength in Jackson and a calming presence for you since the day you, Joel, and Ellie arrived.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice gentle. "How are you holding up?"

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down. Maria sighed, pulling up a chair beside you. "I know it's hard. But you need to take things slow. You can't rush healing."

You nodded, though her words felt distant. The weight of your grief was a constant presence, making everything seem surreal. "I just... I don't know how to keep going. I don’t know how to do this again," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as Sarah’s lifeless frame came to your mind.

You had lost another child.

Maria reached out, squeezing your hand. "One day at a time," she said. "And remember, it's okay to lean on others. You don't have to do this alone."

You wanted to believe her, but the pain was too fresh and overwhelming. As the days turned into a week, you forced yourself to go through the motions, trying to find some semblance of normalcy. One afternoon, you found yourself in the cafeteria of Jackson. The noise and bustle were a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

Maria was there, talking to a few people, and she caught your eye, giving you an encouraging smile. You tried to smile back, but it felt forced. The weight of your loss was a constant shadow, making everything seem heavier.

As you moved through the line, Maria came over, her expression concerned. "Hey, remember what I said. Take it slow. You don't have to do everything at once."

Something inside you snapped. The pressure, the grief, the guilt—it all came crashing down. "Take it slow?" you repeated, your voice rising. "How am I supposed to take it slow when everything is falling apart? How am I supposed to keep going when I not only lost my baby but also my husband?!”

The cafeteria fell silent, all eyes turning towards you. You could feel the weight of their stares, the shock, and the pity. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as the enormity of your outburst sank in.

Maria reached out, but you recoiled, your emotions spiraling out of control. "I don't need to take it slow!" you shouted, tears streaming down your face. "I need... I need..." You didn't even know what you needed; the pain was too overwhelming to articulate.

Joel was there in an instant, his face etched with worry. "Hey, hey," he said softly, reaching out to you. "It's okay. You're okay."

But you weren't okay. You felt like you were drowning, the weight of your grief pulling you under. You shook your head, backing away from him. "Don't touch me for fuck's sake! I don't want your dirty hands on me!”

Joel’s eyes glazed, but you didn’t care. He had become the best of the man you had married ten years ago.

Joel's eyes glazed, but you didn’t care. He had become the ghost of the man you had married ten years ago.

He froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. The cafeteria's silence deepened, the tension thickening. You saw the pain in his eyes, a reflection of your own turmoil, but it did nothing to quell the anger and sorrow boiling inside you.

"I can't do this," you said, your voice breaking as you took a step back, your chest heaving with sobs. "I can't keep pretending that everything is going to be okay. Because it's not! Nothing is okay!"

Ellie pushed through the crowd, her face pale but determined. "Mom," she said, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. "We're here. We're all here. We'll get through this."

Joel looked helplessly at Ellie, then back at you. "Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Just let us help."

You looked at him, the man who had once been your rock, now just a shadow of the person you had relied on. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, but Ellie’s presence brought a flicker of something else—a reminder of why you needed to keep fighting.

Ellie wrapped her arms around you, holding you tightly as you sobbed into her shoulder. The room remained silent; the weight of your grief was palpable. But in that moment, you felt a glimmer of hope—a reminder that you weren’t alone and that you had people who loved you and who were willing to help you carry the burden.

Joel stepped closer, his hand hovering uncertainly at your back, not daring to touch you without permission. "I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "For everything. I’m so, so sorry."

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself. "You killed him," you snapped, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I can’t forgive you.”

Joel's face crumpled, the weight of your words hitting him like a physical blow. He took a step back, his hand dropping to his side. The silence in the room grew heavier, and the tension was palpable.

"I know," he said, his voice barely audible. "I know I can never undo what I've done. I live with that guilt every day."

Your anger burned hot and fierce, like a wildfire consuming everything in its path. "You killed him," you repeated, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "And you expect me to just forgive you? To move on like nothing happened?"

Joel shook his head, his eyes filled with sorrow. "No," he said softly. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't even know if I can forgive myself. But I want to try. I want to make things right as much as I can."

You looked at him, the man who had once been your partner, your confidant, now a stranger in the wreckage of your shattered life. The anger still burned hot within you, but beneath it, there was a flicker of something else—pain, sorrow, and a desperate longing for the life you had lost.

"I don't know if I can do this," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know if I have the strength to forgive you."

Ellie's arms remained wrapped around you, a comforting presence amidst the turmoil. She gently guided you away from the cafeteria, her touch reassuring as you stumbled through the hallways of Jackson. The weight of your grief felt heavier with each step, but Ellie's presence gave you a glimmer of strength.

As you reached the door, Ellie helped you inside, guiding you to the small couch in the living area. She sat beside you, her eyes filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice filled with worry.

You shook your head, the tears still streaming down your face. "I don't know," you admitted, your voice hoarse. "I just... I don't know how to deal with all of this."

Ellie reached out, taking your hand in hers. "We'll figure it out together," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "I promise."

You squeezed her hand tightly, grateful for her unwavering support. "Thank you, Ellie," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

She leaned in, wrapping you in a tight hug. "I love you, Mom," she said softly. "And I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

Tears pricked at your eyes as you hugged her back, her words echoing in your mind. "I love you too, Ellie," you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion.

As you and Ellie held each other close, the weight of her love and support was a balm to your wounded soul. But amidst the embrace, a knock on the door interrupted the moment, causing both of you to startle.

Ellie pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours with concern. "Should I... Should I get that?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

You shook your head, wiping away your tears as you tried to compose yourself. "No, it's okay," you said, your voice still shaky. "I'll go."

Ellie nodded, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before standing up from the couch. "I'll be in my room if you need me," she said softly, giving you a lingering look before leaving the living area.

As Ellie disappeared down the hallway, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. With trembling hands, you made your way to the door and opened it, revealing Joel standing on the other side.

His expression was a mix of worry and remorse as he looked at you, his eyes filled with a silent plea for forgiveness. "Can we talk?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, the memories of your outburst in the cafeteria still fresh in your mind. But despite the anger and pain, there was a part of you that longed for closure, for a chance to understand.

"Okay," you said finally, stepping aside to let him in.

Joel entered the house, his footsteps hesitant as he crossed the threshold. The living room felt suffocatingly small as you both stood there, the weight of your shared grief hanging heavy in the air.

"I... I don't even know where to start," Joel said, his voice strained with emotion.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. "I just... I need to understand," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I need to know why you did what you did."

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the abandoned streets of the city. You and Joel had been scavenging for supplies, your footsteps echoing in the eerie silence that seemed to permeate every corner of the world.

You had felt uneasy all day, a knot of jealousy and insecurity twisting in your stomach at the sight of Sophie, her laughter ringing in your ears like a taunt.

You had implored Joel to come. You just wanted to feel as worthy and important to him as you used to, even in your state. But despite your misgivings, you had pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand, determined to prove yourself capable and worthy of Joel's love and attention.

And then it happened.

If Joel had been more careful, he wouldn’t have allowed you to come. But he didn’t want to make you feel worthless.

A horde of infected had descended upon you, their snarls and growls a chilling symphony of death and despair. You had frozen; your mind was unable to comprehend the danger until it was too late.

But Joel had acted, his movements swift and sure as he pulled you away from the oncoming onslaught, his grip firm and unyielding.

And then he had seen her.

Sophie was trapped beneath the rubble, her screams echoing in the chaos as the infected closed in, their hunger insatiable.

And in that moment, something inside Joel shifted.

He had hesitated, torn between saving you and saving her, his eyes flickering with indecision, before he made his choice.

He had chosen Sophie.

He jumped off the horse, leaving you alone. You had watched in horror as he raced towards her, leaving you behind, your heart shattering into a million jagged pieces as the truth of his betrayal washed over you like a tidal wave.

You had screamed, your voice lost in the cacophony of the chaos, your tears mingling with the blood and dust that coated your skin.

And then the world went dark.

You fell from the horse, hitting the cobblestones hard. The pain was sharp and intense, searing through your body like a white-hot flame. You could hear the distant sound of screams and growls, the world around you spinning in a haze of confusion and agony.

Through the haze, you could dimly make out Joel's voice, calling out your name in desperation. But his words felt distant, a mere echo in the darkness that threatened to consume you.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the chaos subsided, leaving behind a heavy silence that pressed down on you like a weight. You tried to move, to call out, but your body felt numb and unresponsive. Your world went black.

"I need to know why, Joel," you repeated, your voice trembling with emotion. "Why did you choose her over us? Why did you leave me behind?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you waited for his answer, the weight of his betrayal still fresh in your mind, a wound that refused to heal.

Joel's gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his guilt. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I panicked. I made a mistake."

Anger surged within you at his words, a fiery rage that threatened to consume you. "A mistake?" you repeated, your voice rising with indignation. "You left me to die, Joel. You left our child to die. How could you call that a mistake?"

Joel flinched at your words, the pain in his eyes mirroring your own. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry. You were my wife; I should.”

"Were you my wife?” You sobbed, “Since when is that in the past, Joel?”

Joel's words hung in the air like a heavy weight, his admission of guilt and regret piercing through the veil of anger and pain that enveloped you. But amidst the turmoil, there was a flicker of something else—a longing for understanding, for closure, for a chance to heal.

"You are my wife," Joel repeated clearly, his voice trembling with emotion. "I should have protected you. I should have been there for you. But I failed. I failed both of you."

His words stirred something deep within you—a wellspring of grief and longing that threatened to overwhelm you. "And now?" you whispered, your voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "What am I to you, Joel?"

Joel looked at you, his eyes filled with sorrow. Not uttering a word.

“Do you have feelings for Sophie?” You asked, fear creeping to your bones, not wanting to hear the answer.

Joel's silence spoke volumes; his hesitation was a weighty presence in the air between you. You held your breath, afraid of what his answer might be and of the truth that lay hidden in the depths of his gaze.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Joel spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his words heavy with uncertainty. "

“You love her,” you stated. “That’s why you chose her.”

Joel's silence in response to your accusation only confirmed your worst fears, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and a heavy ache in your chest. The truth hung in the air, stark and undeniable, like a shadow cast by the setting sun.

Tears stung your eyes as you struggled to process the betrayal, the pain of Joel's admission cutting through you like a knife. The realization that he might love Sophie and might have chosen her over you and your unborn child was a blow that threatened to shatter you completely.

"I can't do this," you whispered, your voice barely more than a broken plea. "I can't stay here, knowing... knowing that I'll never be enough for you. Living in a world like this is already hell, but you made it even worse. You made me feel disgusted by myself, worthless, and ashamed," you shouted. "You're a fucking coward."

Joel flinched at your words, the truth of your accusations cutting through him like a knife. For a moment, it seemed as though he might speak, might try to defend himself, but he remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor.

"Hate me; I'll wait. Until you forgive," he finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to find the words to express the depth of your pain. "Forgive you?" you chuckled bitterly. "I won't."

There are two types of grievances. The one who met the spirits in death and the one who met with the ghosts of someone who should have died in front of you. You still couldn't comprehend which one was worse. Both were painful, and both watered your eyes. But having the ghost of someone who brought you warm, freezing your aura while slipping from your grasp, leaving you crying to yourself till your head tired up and there wasn't anything left that fell into the voiceless world of sleeping, where in your dreams, you were still the same woman in the white dress, marrying the love of your life.

"I needed my husband! I need him now! And the worst thing is, I still need you, but you're just a fucking phantom."

"I'm still here," he exclaimed.

"No, you're not.".

"It wasn't even born!" Joel said.

The silence met souls leaving the lovers's bodies.

You were left speechless, tears ricocheting. Your heart was clenched in pain, and your throat felt like it was being torn apart by a monster.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Save it," you spat. You were exhausted, and your heart hurt so much that you couldn't even feel it beating anymore. "Sorry if grieving my baby was such a burden to you."

As you turned back to face Joel, the weight of your words hung heavy in the air, a painful reminder of the gaping chasm of loss that lay between you.

"Let me remind you of something, Joel," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "Losing Sarah was the worst thing that happened to us, and just imagine how it is for me to know I carried her and this baby just to lose them both."

Joel's expression softened, a flicker of remorse crossing his features as he looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. "I know," he said softly, his voice heavy with sorrow.

"I'll move out," Joel said suddenly, his voice tinged with resignation. "So you can bring your new lover here and make all the babies you want."

His words cut through you like a knife, a painful reminder of the irreparable rift that had formed between you. "You know what really broke me?" you sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush of emotion. "You... you're the biggest loss of my life, but as much as I love you, I despise you the same. You're the loss of my life I will be yours. There's no way back from this, Joel."

As the weight of your words hung heavy in the air, you reached for the wedding band adorning your finger, a symbol of a love that had once been unbreakable but now lay shattered at your feet.

With trembling hands, you removed the ring, feeling its weight in your palm as you stared at it, the memories of happier times flashing before your eyes like a cruel mockery of the present.

Without a second thought, you flung the ring towards Joel, watching as it spun through the air before landing at his feet with a soft thud.

"There," you said, your voice choked with emotion. "Take it. Take everything that remains of us."

Joel looked down at the ring, his expression unreadable as he reached out to pick it up and his fingers trembling as he held it in his palm.

"I don't want this," he whispered, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

But you shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you stared at him, the pain of his betrayal a raw wound that refused to heal. "I don't want it either," you said, your voice barely more than a broken whisper. "But it's all we have left."

And with that, you turned away, unable to bear the weight of his presence any longer. The wounds he had inflicted upon you ran deep, a festering wound that refused to heal.

[reallyromealone]

Title: give a little time

Fandom: call of duty

Characters: ghost

Fic type: fluff

Pairings: ghost x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, mpreg, fluff

Notes: I lost the original ask so I wrote what I remembered

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Having a normal life after his service wasn't easy.

Therapy was big for him and a long process for him and (name) to be stable.

But... Here he was with a very pregnant Omega and putting together a crib as (name) folded baby clothes from the baby shower "that looks so nice, honestly I'm so glad we got that one instead of that other one" (name) said softly as he looked at the crib that perfectly matched the room "you have a good eye" (name) said struggling to get up to look closer, the Alpha watching bemused before going to help him.

(Name) Was his world, the perfect Omega that waited for him patiently, not too clingy and sweet but not naive.

And glowing with pregnancy, a healthy little girl growing inside him "man, I can never figure out those stupid instructions" (name) said with a pout as Simon kissed his temple "well you can tolerate those god forsaken neighbors" he teased as they left the nursery to go get lunch, (name) craving takeout and his husband though strict and no nonsense, indulged him on this from time to time.

He would do anything for his mate.

It was late, takeout on the coffee table as (name) snuggled into his side sleeping, he didn't think life could be this good.

And in one week he would meet his baby girl...

He wanted to cry.

[halfmoth-halfman]

daisies and daffodils - 1k celebration

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader Synopsis: You picture your own home, lying in bed as you watch Simon cradle a child that looks just like him to his chest, a soft lullaby drifting from his unmasked lips to your son’s ears- a secret just between the two of them. Word Count: 1.7k Warnings: alcohol, panic attack mention Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters.

The party for little Rodolfo Vargas’s first birthday is a thing to remember.

With the entirety of the 141, the Vaqueros, and their plus ones in attendance, the house is packed full of people. Most everyone gathers in the great room, adding gifts to the ever-growing pile of presents in the center of the room or fawning over the chubby toddler sitting in Alejandro’s arms.

You bounce back and forth between the great room and the kitchen, offering your help to Mrs. Vargas as she frets over the food; you don’t have the heart to tell her that in a few hours everyone will probably be too drunk to care- they’re already well on the way there. She welcomes the help, not that she needs it; the woman is on top of everything and you don’t know how she does it.

The constant movement gives you the chance to say hello to everyone and makes the time pass quickly. Every so often you catch eyes with Simon as he looms in the background, far enough away to not be surrounded by people but close enough to not appear rude. When you see him, you give him a soft smile and raise your brows- an assurance that you’re okay and the silent question if he is. He nods back, gesturing his head slightly toward the group.

I’m fine. Go have fun.

The time comes for little Rudy- a nickname that chokes up big Rudy every time he hears it- to go to bed; his head lolling onto his father’s shoulder as he can barely keep his eyes open. Alejandro passes the toddler to his wife with a laugh, sending them upstairs with a kiss on the cheek each.

She stops you on her way to the staircase, asking if you mind helping her bring some of the presents upstairs as one of the Vaqueros comes out of the kitchen with a loud cheer and a bottle of Alejandro’s expensive tequila. You agree easily, both of you knowing the presents will be safer upstairs than down here.

Arms loaded with boxes and bags, you play a cautious balancing act as you follow Mrs. Vargas through the halls of the second floor to the nursery. She pushes the door open wide for you to follow through, heading across the room toward the crib. You have to turn to the side before you’re able to fit all of the gifts through the door.

You’re halfway into the room when your right side lightens considerably and the top few boxes are lifted from your sight. You turn in surprise to see Simon’s disapproving gaze staring down at you, the presents tucked carefully against his side.

“I could’ve handled it,” you pout, continuing inside. With a roll of his eyes, Simon follows you silently, keeping directly behind you- your shadow whether you like it or not. Mrs. Vargas stands in front of the wooden crib, bouncing a fussy Rodolfo in her arms and gently shushing him.

“You can put those over there,” Mrs. Vargas instructs, gesturing towards the already giant pile of stuffed animals and toys on the other side of the room. You nod, carefully setting the gifts down and taking the rest from Simon as Mrs. Vargas grabs a bottle for Rudy.

There’s a small exclamation behind you and you drop the box in your hands, knocking over a few of the stuffed animals. Fixing the toys, you hear movement behind you followed by the hushed voices of Mrs. Vargas and Simon.

“No, I’m not-“

“It’ll only be for a few minutes. Thank you!” You turn back in time to see Mrs. Vargas hurry from the nursery.

“What happened?” you ask, looking at Simon. You freeze, taking in the scene before you. Simon stands in the center of the room, an imposing figure of threat and darkness surrounded by the beiges and bright yellows of the nursery, glowering at you with his shadowed eyes as the toddler in his arms pokes and pinches at the painted cloth of his mask.

If he wouldn’t kill you, you’d take a picture.

“She spilled milk on her dress,” Simon explains, leaning back as Rodolfo lightly slaps his nose. He narrows his eyes slightly at the child, obviously angry but you can see the way he holds himself back to not be too menacing.

There've been talks of children between the two of you before, all ending the same: with a distant promise of someday that you both know you’ll more than likely never see. You’re sure that’s the most you’ll ever get out of Simon- you know all too well the ghosts that haunt him- and you’re certain in any future you have with him, kids or no kids.

But seeing the display before you, the imposing figure that is your husband holding a hand in front of the baby’s face to let Rudy play with his fingers, the two of them stood against the beautiful portrait of the Mexican countryside- a large field sprinkled with daisies and daffodils against the rocky mountains-, it stirs something in you.

You picture your own home, lying in bed as you watch Simon cradle a child that looks just like him to his chest, a soft lullaby drifting from his unmasked lips to your son’s ears- a secret just between the two of them.

Rudy giggles, looking up and staring into the depths of your husband’s eyes and Simon lets out a rare chuckle- a low rasp you yourself have only heard a handful of times- and then…

Simon freezes.

You can hear his breath hitch as he stills, hand falling to his side and you spring into action.

“Let me take him,” you say, voice soft and calming, approaching Simon slowly, making sure he can easily see you. Simon says nothing, passing you the baby with vacant, glassy eyes. You give him a reassuring smile, unsure if he actually registers it. He steps past you, rushing out of the nursery and brushing past Mrs. Vargas as she reenters the room, dress completely clean with a few more presents in her hands.

“Everything alright in here?” You nod, smiling as she sets the presents down and you gently pass Rudy back to her. She cuddles him close, pressing a kiss to his head and you try to ignore the way your heart suddenly clenches.

“You want me to grab some more presents from downstairs?”

“No, no. Go enjoy the party,” she assures you. “I already hid everything that seemed fragile.” She sends you away with that and a wink and you make your way downstairs into the sea of drunken soldiers.

You’re able to wade through the crowd without incident; Soap almost ropes you into a drinking contest, but you deflect his attention to Gaz and make your escape to the kitchen. You lean against the counter, allowing yourself a moment to breathe, and stare out the arched windows.

There’s a small flicker of movement to your right. You lean over the sink to get a better angle and spot Simon leaning back against the wall, eyes shut tight.

It takes you a minute to find water amidst the vast spread of alcohol, but you fill a glass and head outside.

“It’s me,” you call out as you approach him. Simon doesn’t acknowledge you as you join him, leaning with your shoulder against the wall so you can face him. His breathing is measured- in for four, hold for four, exhale, repeat- his hands clenching in and out of fists at his sides.

You stay quiet, staring out over the countryside for as long as it takes Simon to calm himself.

When his breath finally evens out, he pries his eyes open, grimacing at the sudden flood of light. You hold out the glass of water, which he takes and pulls down his mask to quickly drink without thanks, setting the glass on the ground beside him when he’s done.

“Can I…?” You hold out your hands as he pulls his mask up, his eyes unfocused as they glance at you then down to your hands then back to your face. He nods, turning his attention back to the scenery. You reach out and take his hand in yours, firmly but loose enough to let him pull away if he needs to.

You hold his hand over your chest, pressing it close to you so he can feel the calm rhythm of your heartbeat. You’re not sure if he can actually feel it through your shirt and his gloves, but you try anyway.

“I remember when Joseph was that little.” He speaks softly and then quieter adds, “I can’t do that again.”

He doesn’t look at you, staring off into the far distance and even farther past. You squeeze his hand, doing your best to smile despite the way your heart clenches- you’d never force that on him.

“We can always get a cat.”

Simon grunts, brows knitting together.

“A dog, then?” 

He sighs, finally turning to look at you, focused and more himself.

“You can have a fish,” he says sternly, but you can hear the teasing edge to his voice. 

“What about a guinea pig?”

“You get one fish.”

“Or something exotic, like a snake?”

“One fish.”

“Two fish? Small ones.”

“…fine.”

You seal it with a kiss on his hand and a wide grin. Simon stares at you as he slides his hand out of your grip and winds it around the back of your neck. He pulls you close, pressing his forehead to yours with a soft bonk.

“Thank you,” he whispers, thumb gently grazing the side of your neck. Two simple words, but a million meanings behind them: thank you for being here, thank you for caring, thank you for understanding, thank you for not pushing. 

“Always,” you return, and you mean it from the deepest depths of your soul. You let him hold you there for another few minutes, waiting until he pulls away first before stepping back.

“You want to go back inside?” you ask and Simon nods, though a bit reluctantly. “Good, 'cause Soap said something about a drinking contest and we should probably interfere before Price’s scouse makes an appearance.”

You reenter the party with Simon right behind you where you’re instantly absorbed into the chaos and drunken merriment of your friends. 

Maybe there’s a distant future where you’ll be celebrating your own child’s first birthday. Or maybe you’ll spend your years in a small house, accompanied by your two fish. Either way, it’ll be spent with Simon, and you’re okay with that.

[wizardrousactivity]

They Promise. 2

CW: Pregnancy, relationship arguments, reader is fairly young (early twenties)

(Short chapter, trying to make them longer but I've been very busy.) Part | Next>>>

And then again, you remember it all again - A painful birth was ‘gifted’ to you, without anybody there for you to witness your son. What was supposed to be a special moment, you half-near crawled out the hospital with how your knees gave out. If it wasn’t for a good samaritan to give you a pity drive home. “Somebody else drove me home, I felt more cared for when a stranger helped me.”

“You guys are full of bullshit..” You bear witness to the way both get slightly more anxious, it's not told through their actions yet through their eyes - the guilty look that reigned deep in blue and brown eyes.

You move their hands out of the way, biting the inside of your cheek while your lips begin to wobble again. The overwhelming feeling of sadness washing over when you make your way to the once-shared bed, sheets stinking of their aroma still. No matter how many times you would clean and change them.

They kept trying to touch you, just feel you like they used to, but every time their hands moved with their thoughts you would reject their affections. “Why would you do that to me? Am I not good enough?”

The way you respond to everything breaks their heart, yet they can't bring themselves to be collective and respond like they usually do, not in a situation like this. “You can’t just remain fucking stoic- say something!” 

König and Ghost remain silent, their tongues going dry inside their mouths, along with that familiar sourness building inside their linings. You sigh, gaze softening. “Why won’t you just tell me anything..?”  silent and deprived now. Your breath nearly ceases, unable to take in more oxygen with the way your emotions build up in your throat.  “We couldn’t risk you.” Is all that Ghost croaks out, watching you fall apart again at the weight of his words. Watching how you desperately try to carry yourself despite the deprivation of humanity you face. “That's all you have to fuckin’ say to me? I carried this baby for 9 months! I was alone- I gave birth in a hospital all alone!” You retort, the baby continuing to cry in the background - its shrills don’t go unheard, at least to you.

You scurry over to the crib once again to hold your child, embracing it with tears - apologies flooding out of your mouth directly to it, even if it can’t understand you.. “Just.. go downstairs, I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

And with that, they obey. Putting their hands up and heading downstairs as to your wishes, leaving you alone and once again isolated in your room. It’s nothing new, as you sit on your bed numb and tired. Your eyes droop thinking of how it could’ve come to this, should you even have met them in the first place. Were these two charming men you met - the right choice?

You don’t remember their sweetness anymore, the only thought filling your head of them - was how they left you stranded. How one day, they looked at you coldly, something that hasn’t been done in a while.

Sinking into the mattress, the baby rests on your chest. And you doze off, escaping the world you live in. Just to wake up again.

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

Reaper! Ghost (Part 3 of ?)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

Life is strange when you’re falling in like with Death.

It takes you by surprise, and then horror when you recognise the signs.  And even the realisation comes to you slowly.  

You go for a walk around the hospital floor with a nurse, leaning on every available surface and then the nurse for support.  And unbeknownst to anyone but you, Death follows you, silent and vigilant.  His hands shoot out to steady you every time you falter, remnants of long-forgotten instincts resurfacing, but of course, he can’t touch you, and he won’t risk touching you even if he could.  

You hear him, though, his sharp inhale when you trip, and his sigh when the nurse supports you in time, stops you from falling over and hurting yourself.

When you’re brought back to your room for some rest, Simon hovers at the door before you motion him inside.  You only notice his tightly clenched fist and his shoulders that almost kiss his ears because he relaxes them as he enters. 

At some point, the nurse lets you walk by yourself a little, hovering a few steps behind you, and you walk past the x-ray department, past radiology, then pathology, and end up turning the corner, straight into the children’s ward.  You pause there, and when your nurse asks you if you’re alright, if you feel dizzy or uncomfortable in anyway, you reassure him that you’re okay, you just wanted to look.  When you glance over at the large glass window, into the room where the babies sleep, you see three.  Girls, judging by the pink ID tags by the ends of their little cribs.         

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” your nurse says, squeezing your shoulder, giving you a minute.   

When the corridor is empty, you feel his presence before he even opens his mouth to speak.  “You want children?”

Your laugh is more scandalised at the abrupt, personal, completely inappropriate question than anything else.  But…were you going to explain the rules of societal propriety to the Grim Reaper?  You wouldn’t know where to begin. 

“I don’t know…I’ve never given it any serious thought.  I–I suppose?  At some point.  Maybe or maybe not.”

He nods, seemingly lost in thought again.  When he speaks, after a moment, his words seem measured, but his voice is raspy.  “With abdominal injuries like yours…women often worry about whether it affects their ability to have a child.  Have y-you—”

It shouldn’t take you by surprise.  It fucking shouldn’t.  He’s…old.  He knows and understands the ways of the universe better than anyone or anything—he is the way of the universe.  And this line of questioning is hardly rocket science (though he probably knew rocket science anyway).  Your own doctor had addressed it with you.  But it takes you by surprise anyway, and you attempt to cover it up by answering his question with one of your own. 

“You don’t find it sad?  You have to reap every soul ever born.”  You motion to the children beyond the glass with your chin.  “Even them, at some point.”

“S-sad?  I…I don’t remember what that feels like.”

You open your mouth to try to explain it to him, but you spot your nurse making his way back to you and that’s where the conversation ends.  You think that it may have been for the best.  Because how were you going to find the words to help him remember what sadness felt  like, explain a quintessential human experience to someone who had no need for it?  You didn’t think you’d have done a very good job of it at all. 

“I spoke to the doctor earlier this morning,” you tell Simon, a few days later.  “They’ll repeat my scans in forty eight hours, and if it’s all clear, they’ll send me home.”    

Simon nods.  He looks down at his feet and then back to you, seemingly unsure of what to say.  And…you understand.

Being in the hospital with you like this, it’s like you’re both in a bubble.  The memories of the accident are fresh, nightmares about it plague you, you can’t even hope to move on when everything reminds you of why you’re there in the first place.  But, in two days, you’ll move on from this place, go home, recover, resume the rest of your life.

There is a life for you outside of the stark and sterile environment you’re currently in, bright and vibrant and real.  There is nothing for Simon.

The thought bothers you more than you’re willing to admit.  You don’t know where you can go from here, or how, but you do know that you don’t want your connection to end.  

He’s Death, after all.  Omniscient.  Alpha and Omega and everything in between.  And you’re nothing to him, a speck in time and space.  A singular star in a universe.  Fragile, human, fallible, to his infinite.      

He nods again, seemingly in response to a thought he’s had, and when he speaks, he breaks your heart a little.  “I think…I think I feel sad.”

Life is strange when you’re falling in like with Death and He’s falling in like with you.  

[novaursa]

Part 3

- Note: This work was fully published on AO3, so expect steady updates. I'll post regularly to engage more readers.

- Title: zōbrie ānogar

- Rating: Explicit (18+)

- Romance: (Aegon II/OFC)

- Warning: All flags are up for this work. Aegon is also a warning on his own.

- Summary: It was written by Archmaester Gyldayn that on the day Princess Vaella Targaryen was born she was supposed to die. Until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. And when she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal, in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. And Archmaester had written a lengthy thesis on how wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in the Princess, as they both dined on their kin.

- Word count: 9 000+

- Parts: 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Final

The next day dawned as tense and solemn as the last. The atmosphere in Driftmark was heavy with grief and unease. After the official breakfast, Vaella felt the need to escape the oppressive air inside the castle. She wanted to find some fresh air before Aegon decided to monopolize her entire day or Alicent sought them out for the inevitable talk about their previous night’s actions.

As Vaella made her way through the castle, she passed Princess Rhaenys. Her chest tugged with pain for the woman, knowing how the funeral of her daughter Laena had been overshadowed by the violent events of the night. Rhaenys’ face was a mask of sorrow, her eyes distant as she moved through the halls like a ghost.

Vaella continued her walk, her mind racing with thoughts and emotions. She needed space to think, to process everything that had happened. She found herself outside, the cool sea breeze washing over her, bringing a sense of calm. As she walked along the shore, she saw Laenor standing by the water, staring emptily out to sea as if he could call Laena back from the depths.

Laenor had always been kind to her when he lived in the Red Keep with Rhaenyra, and she felt a pull to join him. She approached quietly and stood beside him for some time, offering silent companionship. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled the silence between them.

Eventually, Laenor spoke, his voice low and filled with pain. "How do you live with it, Vaella? Knowing that part of your soul is forever ripped out of you?"

Vaella replied just as softly, her words tinged with sorrow. "I don't. It feels strange just existing."

Laenor sighed, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. "Baelon was next to you in his crib when he died. My sister was on the other side of the sea. I wasn’t there."

Vaella's eyes filled with empathy as she placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Perhaps it's better this way, to never be so close to the other part of you dying. There is a part of me that is always hungry for love I will never know and now will never be sated. I was there to see the Stranger when he took my brother, although I don't remember it. It doesn't make it any better than being miles away."

Laenor turned to look at her, his eyes reflecting the depth of his sorrow. "It’s as if there’s a void inside me, a piece that will always be missing."

Vaella nodded, understanding his pain all too well. "I feel it too. A part of me is always missing, and nothing can fill that void."

They stood together in shared silence, the bond of their grief connecting them in a way that words could not. After a while, Vaella gently embraced Laenor, offering what little comfort she could. He returned the hug, holding on as if afraid to let go.

As they parted, Vaella noticed Ser Harrold Westerling approaching. She frowned, knowing why he was there. He had come to bring her to Alicent.

"Princess Vaella," Ser Harrold said respectfully, "the Queen requests your presence."

Vaella sighed, her moment of peace shattered. She turned to Laenor, giving him a sad smile. "Take care, Laenor. If you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me."

Laenor nodded, his gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thank you, Vaella. And you, take care as well."

With a final, reassuring squeeze of his hand, Vaella followed Ser Harrold, her heart heavy with the knowledge of the difficult conversation that awaited her with Alicent. As they walked back towards the castle, Vaella took one last look at the sea, the waves reflecting the turmoil within her. She steeled herself for what was to come, knowing that she had to face it with strength and grace.

…

When Vaella arrived at the private chamber, she saw Aegon already there, his gaze cast down as he stood opposite their mother, Alicent. The same pained expression Alicent had worn when Ser Harrold informed her of the situation was etched deeply on her face. Vaella moved to stand next to Aegon, both drawing silent support from one another.

As Ser Harrold left, Alicent's gaze shifted between them, her disappointment evident. She began to address the situation, her voice trembling with controlled anger. "You both made a promise to me. A promise to stop this... behavior," she said, her eyes flicking accusingly between them. "And yet, here we are."

Aegon started to protest, "Mother, we—"

But Alicent sharply cut him off, her voice rising with frustration. "You are betrothed to Helaena, Aegon! You should at least have some decency and respect towards her."

She then turned to Vaella, her disappointment clear. "And you, Vaella, I expected better of you."

Vaella felt the weight of her stepmother's words like a physical blow. She could feel Aegon clenching his fists beside her, his jaw tightening in response to the scolding.

Suddenly, Aegon spoke up, his voice firm. "Mother, I can't marry Helaena. I must marry Vaella... because I have sullied her."

Vaella felt her blood run cold, her face paling at his words. Alicent's expression shifted from anger to horror, her hands trembling as she brought them to her face, drawing strength from her faith. "What have you done?" she whispered, more to herself than to them.

Vaella turned to Aegon, her eyes wide with shock and betrayal. "Aegon, what are you saying?" she whispered, horrified.

Aegon, his face set with determination, met her gaze. "It's the only way, Vaella. They have to understand."

Alicent slowly lowered her hands, her face pale and drawn. She took a deep breath and turned back to them, her voice barely above a whisper. "Leave. Both of you. I need to speak with your father about this."

Vaella felt a surge of panic as she and Aegon were dismissed. As they turned to leave, Aegon reached for her hand, but she snatched it away, her eyes filled with hurt and anger. They walked down the corridor in silence, the tension between them thick and oppressive.

"Aegon, why did you say that?" Vaella finally demanded, her voice shaking with emotion. "You've ruined my honor with that lie."

Aegon stopped and turned to her, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and determination. "Vaella, it's the only way to be together. They won't let us unless they believe there's no other choice."

Vaella shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "You don't understand what you've done. This will change everything."

Aegon reached out to her again, his voice pleading. "Vaella, please. Trust me."

But Vaella took a step back, her heart breaking. "I can't, Aegon. Not after this."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Aegon standing alone in the corridor, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The weight of their actions and the uncertainty of their future pressed heavily on both of them.

As Vaella continued down the hallway, she felt a mix of fear, anger, and sorrow. Her relationship with Aegon had always been complicated, but now it felt irrevocably damaged. She didn't know what the future held, but she knew that the consequences of Aegon's lie would ripple through their lives in ways neither of them could yet understand.

…

Aegon stood alone in the corridor, his world crashing down around him. Vaella's reaction had been worse than he had anticipated, and now he felt an overwhelming sense of loss and regret. Despite their intentions the other night, that almost did end with something different, he knew he had lied. But he had done it to bring them together, hoping Vaella would understand.

He leaned against the cold stone wall, trying to steady his breathing. The weight of what he had done pressed heavily on his chest. His thoughts were a whirlwind of guilt and longing. He needed to find a way to make things right with Vaella.

Aegon spent the rest of the morning in a daze, trying to find Vaella to explain himself. Each time he approached her, she would slip away, avoiding his gaze and his presence. He caught glimpses of her in the corridors, in the gardens, and even at the breakfast table, but every time he got close, she would leave, her expression set and distant.

In the afternoon, Aegon found himself wandering aimlessly through the castle grounds, his heart heavy with the pain of Vaella's rejection. He stopped by the edge of the gardens, staring blankly at the flowers, their vibrant colors contrasting sharply with his bleak mood.

Aemond approached him, his one remaining eye observing his older brother with a mix of curiosity and concern. "Aegon, you look like you've seen a ghost. What's going on?"

Aegon sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "It's Vaella. She's avoiding me. I... I told Mother something, hoping it would bring us together, but it only made things worse."

Aemond raised an eyebrow. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her that I... that I sullied Vaella," Aegon admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond's eye widened in surprise. "Why would you do that? You know how Mother is about these things."

"I thought it would force their hand," Aegon said, his voice trembling. "I thought if they believed we had no choice, they would let us be together."

Aemond shook his head, his expression stern. "That was a foolish thing to do, Aegon. Now you've hurt Vaella and complicated things even more."

Aegon nodded miserably, feeling the weight of his brother's words. "I know. But I didn't know what else to do. I can't lose her, Aemond."

Aemond placed a hand on Aegon's shoulder, his grip firm. "You need to give her time. Let her come to terms with this on her own. Chasing after her will only push her further away."

Aegon nodded, his heart heavy with regret. "I just hope she forgives me."

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Aegon tried to keep himself occupied, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Vaella. He saw her once more in the afternoon, speaking quietly with Rhaenyra in the courtyard. He watched from a distance, his heart aching with the longing to be near her, to explain himself, to make things right.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the castle grounds, Aegon retreated to his chambers. He sat by the window, staring out at the darkening sky. The sense of loss and isolation weighed heavily on him, and he felt a tear slip down his cheek.

"Vaella," he whispered to himself, his voice filled with sorrow. "Please forgive me."

…

Alicent Hightower moved through the corridors of the royal chambers in Driftmark, her expression a mask of controlled fury. The sea air brought little comfort as she approached the room where her husband, King Viserys I Targaryen, rested. The events of the previous day still weighed heavily on her mind, but the fresh scandal demanded immediate attention.

As she entered the chamber, she found Viserys slouched in a chair, his face pallid and drawn with pain and sickness. The room smelled of medicinal herbs, a stark contrast to the salty breeze outside. His eyes, cloudy with fever, struggled to focus on her.

"Viserys," she began, her voice sharp. "We need to talk."

He looked up, a weary frown creasing his brow. "Alicent? What is it now?"

"Aegon and Vaella," she snapped, not bothering with pleasantries. "They've finally done it. They've crossed the line."

Viserys blinked, trying to comprehend. "Crossed the line? What do you mean?"

Alicent's patience snapped. "They fucked, Viserys. Is that clear enough for you?"

The king's face went pale, and he shook his head in disbelief. "No. Vaella would never allow such a thing to happen."

Alicent's lips curled in a bitter smile. "Just like you didn't believe it with Rhaenyra either. And look how that turned out."

Viserys recoiled as if struck, his hand clenching the armrest of his chair. "Do not speak aloud of such things," he warned, his voice trembling with anger.

"You always protect them," Alicent continued, her voice rising. "Rhaenyra, Vaella—they never face the consequences of their actions. You turn a blind eye, and now look where we are."

Viserys glared at her, his anger momentarily clearing the fog of his illness. "And you think Aegon bears no blame? He has always been the one to act on his base desires without thought of the consequences."

Alicent's eyes blazed with fury. "You would claim Aemond took his own eye out, as well, if you could sweep all this under the rug for Aemma's children. You always have."

Viserys surged to his feet, his face flushed with rage. "Enough, Alicent! You speak of things you do not understand. Vaella—she has faced her own share of pain and loss. Do not presume to judge her so harshly."

"Pain and loss?" Alicent sneered. "You think that excuses her? You think that excuses any of them? You've coddled them, Viserys, and now we're paying the price."

The king took a step forward, his body shaking with emotion. "You forget your place, wife. I will not have you speak of my daughters this way."

Alicent's voice lowered, cold and venomous. "And you forget yours, husband. You are the king, yet you let your children run wild, and now we are on the brink of disaster because of your weakness."

Viserys, his strength failing, sank back into his chair, his face a mask of anguish. "What would you have me do, Alicent? What would you have me do?"

"Bethroth them," she hissed. "Bethroth Aegon and Vaella before this scandal tears our family apart. It's the only way to salvage this mess."

The king looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of despair and reluctant understanding. "And if your father and my other advisors refuse? Otto already started making arrangements for your brother’s betrothal to Vaella."

Alicent's smile was devoid of warmth. "Then make them understand they have no choice. For once, Viserys, be a king to your children, not just a father."

Viserys closed his eyes, the weight of his sickness and the burden of his choices pressing down on him. The room was silent except for the distant crash of waves against the Driftmark shore. The decision was his to make, and the consequences, for better or worse, would be borne by them all.

…

Vaella Targaryen sat in her chambers, the evening light casting a soft glow through the windows. Across from her, Rhaenyra, her older sister, watched her with a mixture of concern and affection. The tension in the air was palpable, and Vaella could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she recounted the events that had transpired.

"Aegon told Alicent he sullied me last night," Vaella said, her voice trembling with indignation. "As Ser Harrold came to bring us after the incident with Aemond."

Rhaenyra's eyes widened, but her voice remained gentle. "Is it true, Vaella?" she asked, her tone devoid of judgment, merely seeking the truth.

"No," Vaella replied firmly, shaking her head. "It's not true. Aegon lied."

Rhaenyra gave her a searching look, one that made Vaella feel both understood and scrutinized at the same time. Vaella felt the need to insist on her innocence. "We were close," she admitted, "but nothing happened. Ser Harrold interrupted us before anything could."

Rhaenyra reached out and placed her hand over Vaella's, squeezing it reassuringly. "I believe you, Vaella," she said softly. "I always will."

Vaella felt a wave of relief wash over her, but she couldn't ignore the strain in Rhaenyra's eyes, the unspoken words that lingered between them. "You look troubled, sister," Vaella observed. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

Rhaenyra hesitated, then sighed. "I missed you, Vaella. My isolation on Dragonstone has been heavy on my mind. Being away from you, from our family, it's been... difficult. I want to convince Father to allow us to return to Dragonstone together after Driftmark."

Vaella smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through her. "I would like that, Rhaenyra. Truly."

But even as she spoke, Vaella felt a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. "But you know Alicent will detest that," she added softly. "More incidents could loom between her children and yours."

Rhaenyra's expression darkened slightly, but she nodded in agreement. "I am aware. But our bond, our family, it must come first. We need to stand united, especially now."

Vaella's thoughts drifted to the recent tensions, the arguments, and the looming threat of more conflict. "Do you think Father will agree?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Rhaenyra squeezed her hand again. "I will make him see reason. Our place is together, Vaella. We are stronger when we are not divided."

The sisters sat in silence for a moment, drawing strength from each other's presence. 

…

The next day, the tension in the royal chambers of Driftmark was almost tangible. Aegon paced back and forth in a room, his anxiety and frustration evident in every step. His platinum blonde hair was disheveled, and his usually carefree demeanor was replaced by a palpable sense of desperation. Vaella had been avoiding him since the incident, and it gnawed at him incessantly.

In the same room, Aemond sat stoically, his face a mask of indifference as the Maester carefully cleaned the stitches around his missing eye. His remaining eye followed Aegon's restless movements with thinly veiled annoyance.

"Aegon, you’re wearing a path into the floor," Aemond finally said, his voice edged with irritation.

Aegon stopped and turned to face his younger brother. "I can't help it, Aemond. Vaella won't speak to me. She won't even look at me."

Aemond raised an eyebrow. "And why do you think that is? Perhaps because you told our mother a blatant lie about defiling her? A lie that could ruin her?"

Aegon’s face twisted in frustration. "I had to do something. Father’s been ignoring our closeness for too long. I thought... I thought if I said that, he’d have no choice but to betroth us. It was a risk, but one that had to be taken."

Aemond's expression hardened. "Your 'risk' might cost you everything, Aegon. Including Vaella. She’s not like the other girls you’ve toyed with. She’s our sister. Our blood."

Aegon’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and desperation. "I know that, Aemond! Don’t you think I know that? But she’s always been mine. Ever since we were babes, we’ve been inseparable. I need her."

Aemond let out a slow, measured breath, his voice lowering to a more serious tone. "Need her or possess her? There’s a difference, brother."

Aegon’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Aemond’s words settling on him. "I just want her to see the wisdom behind my lie. To understand that it was for us."

Aemond's gaze was unwavering. "And what if she doesn’t? What if she never forgives you?"

Aegon shook his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and hope. "She will. She has to. Once Father announces our betrothal, she’ll see that it’s the only way. She’ll understand."

Aemond sighed, a note of exasperation in his voice. "You’re a fool if you think she’ll simply forgive and forget. Vaella has a strong spirit, stronger than you give her credit for. You’ve wounded her pride, her honor. Those aren’t easily mended."

The Maester finished tending to Aemond’s stitches and quietly packed away his supplies. Aemond barely noticed, his attention still fixed on his brother.

"Aegon, you need to think carefully about your next steps," Aemond continued, his tone more measured. "This isn’t one of your usual escapades. This is our family. Our legacy. You’ve set events in motion that can’t be easily controlled."

Aegon ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "I know, Aemond. I know. But I can’t just let her go. I won’t."

Aemond’s eye softened slightly, a rare moment of sympathy. "Then you’d best be prepared to fight for her forgiveness. Not with lies, but with truth. And pray that it’s enough."

The room fell silent as Aegon considered his brother’s words. The weight of his actions hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the fragile balance between desire and duty. Aegon could only hope that his gamble would pay off, and that Vaella would see the sincerity behind his desperate lie.

As the Maester left the room, the brothers were left in a contemplative silence, each lost in their thoughts. 

…

The next morning, Rhaenyra stood outside her father’s chambers, her heart heavy with the weight of the past few days. She knocked gently, and a servant opened the door, allowing her to enter. Inside, King Viserys sat by the window, the morning light casting a pallor over his already wan features. Beside him stood Alicent, her expression unreadable but her presence unmistakably stern.

"Father," Rhaenyra began softly, stepping into the room. "I need to speak with you."

Viserys turned his gaze towards his daughter, his eyes softening at the sight of her. "Rhaenyra, my dear. What is it?"

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "I was hoping you might consider coming to Dragonstone with the rest of the family before returning to King’s Landing. Perhaps... to mend what has happened between us."

Alicent scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "My son’s eye won’t grow back from your attempt to reconcile, Rhaenyra."

Rhaenyra ignored her stepmother, focusing solely on her father. "I’ve missed you, Father. And Vaella. I wish to spend a little more time together before we are parted again. It would mean so much to me."

Viserys looked at his daughter, his expression a mixture of pain and longing. He had missed his daughters dearly, the rifts in the family tearing at his heart. His gaze softened further, and he sighed, nodding slowly. "Perhaps you are right, Rhaenyra. My health fails more every day, and I wish to visit our family home before I no longer can."

Alicent’s face hardened, her eyes flashing with anger. "Viserys, you cannot be serious! This is not the time for such a trip. We have responsibilities—"

Viserys cut her off, his tone firm despite his frailty. "Enough, Alicent. I have made my decision. We will visit Dragonstone after we disembark."

He stood slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. With a final, weary glance at Alicent, he left the room, leaving the two women standing in tense silence.

As the door closed behind him, Alicent turned to Rhaenyra, her eyes blazing with fury. "What are you doing, Rhaenyra? What is your game?"

Rhaenyra met her gaze evenly, her voice steady. "I wish to spend more time with my sister and father. Nothing more."

Alicent’s lips curled into a sneer. "You expect me to believe that? After everything that has happened? You are trying to drive a wedge further between us."

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger. "You think I am plotting against you, Alicent? All I want is to be with my family, to heal the wounds that have been inflicted. You see plots and schemes everywhere, but perhaps the truth is much simpler."

Alicent stepped closer, her voice low and venomous. "You always were the favored one, the one who could do no wrong in his eyes. You think I don’t see through your manipulations?"

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened. "This isn’t about favoritism or manipulation. It’s about family, something you seem to forget in your quest for power."

Alicent’s eyes narrowed. "Be careful, Rhaenyra. You may find that the price of your so-called reconciliation is higher than you expect."

Rhaenyra stood her ground, her voice resolute. "I will take that risk, if it means mending the rifts in our family. You can either stand with us or against us, but I will not be deterred."

Alicent stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she turned on her heel and left the room, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The battle lines had been drawn, but she knew that the path she had chosen was the only way forward. She only hoped that her father’s decision would be the first step towards healing the wounds that had torn their family apart.

…

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows along the shores of Driftmark as Vaella Targaryen strolled with her oldest nephew, Jacaerys Velaryon. The distant roars of dragons echoed through the air, a reminder of their ever-present guardianship. The tranquil setting contrasted sharply with the tension Vaella felt within, the turmoil of the past days weighing heavily on her mind.

"How are you and your brothers holding up, Jace?" Vaella asked, her voice soft and concerned. They had barely had a moment to speak since arriving for Laena's funeral.

Jace glanced at her, his youthful face marked by a maturity beyond his years. "We’re good, Aunt Vaella. Life has been pleasant since we left King’s Landing. There’s no judgment on Dragonstone, no whispers behind our backs."

Vaella nodded, relieved to hear that at least part of her family found some solace away from the political machinations of the capital. "I’m glad to hear that," she said sincerely.

Jace’s expression grew serious, and he turned to her, about to broach the subject of the incident with Aemond. "Aunt Vaella, about what happened with Aemond—"

Before he could continue, a sharp voice cut through the air. "Vaella!"

Vaella’s frown deepened as she turned to see Aegon approaching them, his face a mix of desperation and determination. The sight of him brought back the pain of his betrayal, a wound still fresh and raw. She had loved Aegon, but his actions had the potential to ruin her life forever.

Jace stepped closer to his aunt, his stance protective. Aegon's pleading gaze soured as he noticed Jace’s proximity. "Don’t you have your betrothed to bother, Jacaerys?" he snapped.

Vaella, her voice cold and controlled, addressed Aegon before Jace could respond. "What do you want, Aegon?"

Aegon turned to her, his expression earnest, almost frantic. "Vaella, please understand why I said what I did. I love you. Now Father has no choice but to wed us and annul my engagement to Helaena."

Vaella’s eyes narrowed with a mix of hurt and anger. "Do you think this is something I can forgive easily? You lied, Aegon. A lie that could ruin a princess's life."

Aegon, now panicking, reached for her hands. She flinched, pulling back, but he clung to her desperately. "You must forgive me, Vaella. Because you love me too, and we almost did it anyway if not for Ser Harrold."

Jace, confused but seeing Vaella’s distress, stepped in to push Aegon back. "Enough, Aegon. Leave her alone."

Aegon’s demeanor shifted abruptly. His face twisted with anger, and he shoved Jace back. "Stay away from us, you bastard."

Vaella’s voice rose in anger and desperation. "Stop it, Aegon! This isn’t helping!"

The boys began to shove each other, the tension escalating, until a commanding voice interrupted them. "That’s enough!"

Ser Criston Cole rushed towards them, his presence a stern reminder of their responsibilities and the eyes that always watched. The boys stopped immediately, stepping back from each other.

"You must return to the castle at once," Ser Criston said, his tone urgent. "Your presence is required urgently."

Vaella, still reeling from the confrontation, nodded numbly. She glanced at Jace, who gave her a reassuring look, before turning to follow Ser Criston. Aegon trailed behind, his expression a mix of regret and defiance. The unresolved tension hung heavy in the air as they made their way back, each step fraught with the weight of unspoken words and unhealed wounds.

…

The news of Laenor Velaryon's death spread through Driftmark like wildfire, casting a heavy pall over the already grief-stricken island. Princess Rhaenys had found her son, his body charred and unrecognizable, lying near the hearth where he had met his tragic end. The once vibrant halls of Driftmark were now filled with mournful wails and the somber preparations for yet another funeral. The mood was bleak, with every corner of the castle steeped in sorrow.

A few days later, the family gathered once more by the sea, their faces drawn and eyes red from weeping. Laenor was laid to rest beside his sister Laena, their bodies committed to the deep waters as the waves lapped gently at the shore. The salt of the sea mingled with the salt of their tears, and the sound of dragons keening in the distance added a haunting note to the solemn ceremony.

The day after the funeral, the royal family prepared to depart for Dragonstone. King Viserys had granted Rhaenyra’s wish, hoping that time together away from court would help heal their fractured family. The dragon riders readied their mounts, the massive beasts shifting restlessly as their riders made final preparations. Those who were not riding dragons, including Vaella, prepared to board the ships that would take them to Dragonstone.

As Vaella stood on the docks, overseeing the loading of supplies and ensuring all was in order, she heard a familiar voice call her name. She turned and saw Aegon approaching, his expression earnest. She sighed, feeling a mixture of exasperation and resignation. 

"Aegon, what is it now?" she asked, her voice weary.

Aegon slowed his pace as he neared her, his eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and desperation. "Vaella, I was hoping you might ride with me on Sunfyre. It would be faster and... we could talk."

Vaella frowned, the pain of his recent betrayal still fresh in her heart. "I don’t think that’s a good idea, Aegon. Too much has happened."

Aegon stepped closer, his tone softening. "Please, Vaella. I know I’ve hurt you, but I want to make it right. Let me prove to you that I meant well, even if my actions were misguided."

Vaella looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there. Despite everything, the bond they shared was strong, forged over years of closeness. She felt her resolve waver. "I still haven’t forgiven you, Aegon," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aegon reached out and gently took her hand, his touch warm and familiar. "I understand, and I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness. Just give me a chance."

She hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded reluctantly. "Alright. But this doesn’t mean everything is forgiven."

Aegon smiled, relief flooding his features. "Thank you, Vaella. I promise, I’ll make it right."

With that, he led her towards Sunfyre, the magnificent golden dragon waiting patiently. Vaella climbed onto the saddle behind Aegon, her heart a tumult of emotions. As Sunfyre took to the skies, the wind whipping through her hair, she held on tight, hoping that this journey would bring some semblance of peace to their troubled family.

…

The evening sky was painted with the last hues of sunset as the royal family arrived on Dragonstone. Sunfyre, Aegon’s majestic golden dragon, landed in Dragonmont, the great volcanic mountain that housed the island’s dragons. The dragon’s arrival was met with the usual flurry of activity from the Dragonkeepers, who rushed to tend to Sunfyre and ensure the safe dismounting of Prince Aegon and Princess Vaella.

Aegon helped Vaella down from the saddle, his hands lingering on her hips longer than necessary. Vaella shot him a look, a mix of exasperation and warning, but Aegon only shrugged it off with a smirk.

The evening was tense as they gathered for dinner, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved tensions. Conversations were stilted, and the family members were all too aware of the delicate balance they were trying to maintain. After the meal, they each retreated to their chambers, seeking a moment of peace in the midst of their turmoil.

In her chambers, Vaella allowed the servants to draw her a hot bath. She slipped into the warm water, feeling her muscles relax for the first time in days. The scent of lavender and rose petals filled the air, soothing her troubled mind. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth wash away her worries.

But her peace was abruptly shattered when Aegon entered the room without knocking. The servants tending to Vaella gasped in alarm, but Aegon waved them away with an imperious gesture. He approached the bath, kneeling beside it with a wishful smile on his lips, his fingers playing with the water.

Vaella opened her eyes, startled and annoyed. "Did you want something, Aegon?"

Aegon’s smile widened. "I wanted to spend more time with you. I’ve slept little ever since you started avoiding me. I’m staying with you tonight, like before we always did."

Vaella started to protest, her voice rising in frustration. "Aegon, you can’t just—"

He cut her off, his tone firm and unyielding. "Everyone already talks about us, even before I lied to Mother. I don’t care, and neither should you."

Vaella sighed, feeling the weight of his words. "It’s not that simple. I’m a woman, Aegon."

Aegon’s smirk returned as he reached into the bath, pulling her out with a possessive grip. "You’re my woman."

She stood there, dripping and vulnerable, as Aegon’s eyes roamed over her. His admiration was evident, but Vaella felt a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. She knew he believed his actions were driven by love, but she feared how far that love would push him.

Realizing she had little choice, Vaella sighed and reached for a towel, drying herself off. She dressed in her nightgown, the silk clinging to her damp skin. Aegon watched her every move, his eyes never leaving her. She took his hand, the weight of resignation heavy in her heart, and they proceeded to retire for the night together.

As they settled into the large bed, Vaella couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. She felt the warmth of Aegon’s body beside her, his arms wrapping around her protectively. She believed him when he said he loved her, but the intensity of that love frightened her. How far would he go? How much would she have to sacrifice?

Aegon’s voice broke the silence, soft and earnest. "I know I’ve made mistakes, Vaella. But I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right."

Vaella turned to look at him, searching his eyes for sincerity. "I hope you do, Aegon. Because this... this isn’t easy for me."

He nodded, his expression serious. "I know. And I’ll prove to you that we belong together."

Vaella sighed again, nestling into his embrace. But for now, she allowed herself to find a moment of solace in his arms, hoping that somehow, they would find a way through the storm that lay ahead.

…

The next morning, the sun cast a pale light over Dragonstone, casting long shadows through the ancient stone halls. Vaella and Aegon walked hand in hand towards the chamber where their father had summoned them. The tension between them was palpable, a mix of anxiety and anticipation. As they entered the room, they found King Viserys seated at the head of a long table, his expression stern. Otto Hightower stood nearby, his face a mask of irritation, while Alicent sat beside him, her expression tight and unreadable.

Viserys looked up as they approached, his gaze moving from Aegon to Vaella. He began slowly, his voice heavy with disappointment. "Alicent has told me what occurred on Driftmark."

Vaella felt a chill run down her spine as she met her father's disapproving gaze. Aegon's grip on her hand tightened, a silent reassurance. 

"I hope you both understand the gravity of your actions," Viserys continued, his tone stern. "This is not something that can be easily overlooked or forgiven."

Aegon swallowed hard but kept his head high. "We understand, Father. We regret the distress we've caused."

Viserys sighed, his eyes softening momentarily before he continued. "In light of these events, I have decided to annul Aegon's betrothal to Helaena. It is clear that the bond between the two of you is strong, and for the sake of the court and Vaella's dignity, you will be betrothed to one another."

Aegon's face lit up with relief and triumph, his plan having worked. He pulled Vaella closer, his heart pounding with excitement. "Thank you, Father. We will do our best to uphold the honor of our house."

Otto Hightower suddenly spoke up, his voice sharp with alarm. "Your Grace, I must ask you to reconsider. My son was looking forward to his betrothal announcement to the Princess. Even if Vaella's honor is in question, this decision—"

Aegon’s expression darkened, his annoyance growing. "Grandsire, with all due respect, this is a matter between the King and his children."

Vaella remained silent, her eyes fixed on the floor. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on her, and she could feel the intensity of Otto’s stare.

Viserys raised a hand to silence the room. "I have made my decision, Otto. This union will help maintain the stability of our house and protect Vaella’s reputation."

Otto nodded reluctantly, his defeat evident in his posture. "As you wish, Your Grace."

Before turning away, Otto sent a cold, calculating stare toward Alicent, who looked down, guilt and frustration etched on her face. It was clear that he blamed her for allowing the bond between Aegon and Vaella to develop unchecked.

Viserys turned his attention back to Aegon and Vaella. "I expect you both to conduct yourselves with the utmost propriety from now on. This union is not just a matter of love, but of duty and honor to our house."

Aegon nodded, his grip on Vaella’s hand tightening reassuringly. "We understand, Father. We will not disappoint you."

Vaella finally found her voice, her tone steady despite the turmoil within her. "Thank you, Father. We will do our best to honor your decision."

Viserys nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Very well. You are dismissed."

As they left the chamber, Aegon’s excitement was palpable. He pulled Vaella into a tight embrace, whispering in her ear, "We did it, Vaella. I told you it would work. We’re going to be together."

Vaella forced a smile, her mind racing with the implications of their father's decision. She believed Aegon loved her, but the fear of what that love might drive him to do still lingered in her heart. As they walked back to their chambers, she couldn't help but wonder what the future held for them and their house.

…

As the royal family dispersed from the council chamber, Otto Hightower and his daughter Alicent walked the dimly lit hallways of Dragonstone, their footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. Ser Criston Cole trailed a few paces behind, his keen eyes ever-watchful, ensuring the Queen’s safety.

Otto’s face was a mask of barely restrained anger, his lips pressed into a thin line. He waited until they were out of earshot of any servants before he rounded on Alicent, his voice low but laced with venom. "This is your doing, Alicent. You pushed for Aegon to wed Vaella, and now look where we are. Securing Vaella’s hand to Gwayne would have cemented our House’s claim to the throne, and Aegon marrying Helaena would have garnered the favor of the smallfolk, invoking the legacy of Aegon the Conqueror. But now, everything is jeopardized."

Alicent’s eyes flashed with frustration and defensiveness. "Father, you know as well as I do that Aegon and Vaella have always shared a strange bond. They’ve shared a bed since they were babes, and no matter how much I tried to keep them apart, they always found a way to sneak behind my back. This was inevitable."

Otto grimaced, his hand clenched into a fist. He opened his mouth to reprimand her further, but Alicent cut him off, her voice firm and resolute. "This can still be used to our advantage. Aegon listens to Vaella more than anyone else. If we guide her, direct her to control his urges and ambitions, it could still work in our favor."

Otto's eyes narrowed, his expression skeptical. "And what makes you think Vaella will bend to our will? She’s as headstrong as her sister Rhaenyra. There is no guarantee she won’t betray Aegon for her sister."

Alicent met her father’s gaze, her expression determined. "Vaella may be strong-willed, but she is also deeply loyal to those she loves. If we handle this carefully, she will see the benefits of aligning with us. Besides, Aegon’s influence over her is significant. If he believes in our cause, so will she."

Otto sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "I hope you’re right, Alicent. But tread carefully. This alliance is fragile, and one misstep could bring everything crashing down. We must ensure Vaella’s loyalty, or this entire plan will be for naught."

Alicent nodded, her resolve unwavering. "I understand, Father. I will speak to Vaella and make her see the importance of our cause. Aegon’s love for her can be our greatest weapon, but only if we wield it wisely."

Otto looked at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. Finally, he nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Very well. But remember, one wrong move and we lose everything. Keep Criston close, and make sure he watches over both Aegon and Vaella. We cannot afford any more surprises."

With that, they continued down the hallway, their minds filled with the complex web of plans and contingencies that lay ahead. Ser Criston Cole followed silently, his eyes sharp and his hand never far from his sword. The future of their House hung in the balance, and every step they took would either secure their power or lead to their downfall.

…

Rhaenyra and Daemon strode through the corridors of Dragonstone, their faces set with determination and anger. They had just heard the news about Viserys's decision to wed Aegon to Vaella, a decision that had ignited a firestorm of emotions within them. Rhaenyra had always opposed this idea, having seen firsthand Aegon's obsessive behavior towards her little sister. Now, she was furious.

As they entered Viserys's chambers, they found him sitting by the window, his cane leaning against his chair, his face a mask of weariness. The burden of his illness and the endless turmoil within his family weighed heavily on him.

"Father," Rhaenyra began, her voice tight with controlled anger. "Why have you decided to wed Aegon to Vaella? After all the discussions we've had, you know this is a bad idea. Aegon is unsuited for her."

Daemon, standing beside her, added with his characteristic bluntness, "Giving Vaella to the Hightowers is dangerous and stupid. You know this, Viserys."

Viserys looked up at them, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and exhaustion. He sighed heavily, leaning on his cane for support as he spoke. "I had no choice."

Rhaenyra's eyes flashed with sarcasm and disbelief. "No choice? Because Aegon claimed he slept with Vaella? A lie that he and Alicent concocted."

Viserys's expression hardened slightly, but the weariness remained. "Both Alicent and Aegon were adamant about it. Aegon confessed himself. What was I to do?"

Rhaenyra's voice rose, her frustration evident. "You could have talked to Vaella about the matter! You took their word without even consulting her."

Viserys, looking even more fatigued, slowly sat down. He ran a hand over his face, the lines of age and illness more pronounced than ever. "It's done, Rhaenyra. I only hope that Vaella can temper Aegon's nature. Perhaps this decision will help bridge the divide between our families."

Daemon's expression was one of thinly veiled contempt. "You expect Vaella to fix Aegon's flaws? That's a heavy burden to place on her, Viserys."

Viserys met his brother-in-law's gaze, his own eyes weary but resolute. "What would you have me do, Daemon? The realm is already fraught with tension and division. If this marriage can bring some semblance of unity, then it's a risk I must take."

Rhaenyra shook her head, her heart aching for her sister. "Vaella deserves better than this. She deserves a choice."

Viserys's voice softened, his tone almost pleading. "I know, Rhaenyra. But the realm must come first. Always."

Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged a look, their mutual frustration and helplessness clear. They knew that arguing further would yield no different result. Viserys was set in his decision, driven by a hope for unity that seemed increasingly out of reach.

As they left the chamber, Rhaenyra’s heart was heavy with worry for her sister. She resolved to keep a close watch on Vaella, to protect her as best as she could from the storm that was sure to come. The corridors of Dragonstone felt colder and darker, the weight of impending conflict pressing down on them all.

…

Aegon stood in the courtyard of Dragonstone, the sea breeze tousling his platinum blonde hair. His mood was unusually buoyant, a stark contrast to the tension that had gripped the royal family in recent days. Nearby, his sister Helaena sat on a low stone wall, absorbed in her world of bugs and spiders, her delicate fingers carefully handling a beetle. Aemond, ever vigilant, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sharp and assessing as he watched his siblings.

Noticing Aegon's unusually good mood, Aemond raised an eyebrow. "You seem particularly cheerful today, Aegon. Ever since Father decided to wed you to Vaella."

Aegon's smirk widened, and he leaned against a nearby pillar, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Why wouldn't I be? Father finally saw reason. Now, Vaella will be only mine."

Helaena glanced up from her insects, a faint smile playing on her lips. The news of her annulled engagement had brought a rare sense of peace to her. She returned to her bugs, murmuring softly to herself, her words cryptic as always. "The dragon of gold binds the silver heart, but shadows loom, whispering secrets in the dark."

Aemond shook his head slightly at his sister's words before turning his attention back to Aegon. "Your irresponsible plan worked, Aegon. But now what? What happens next?"

Aegon scoffed, pushing off the pillar and pacing slightly. "Now, I finally have Vaella. She's everything to me."

Aemond's expression grew serious, his remaining eye narrowing. "Vaella is not a toy, Aegon. She's a person, with her own will and desires."

Aegon stopped and turned to face his brother, irritation flickering across his features. "I never said she was a toy, Aemond. Vaella is everything to me. I love her."

Aemond stepped closer, his voice low and intense. "If you truly love her, you'll treat her with the respect she deserves. Not as a prize you've won, but as a partner, an equal."

Aegon met his brother's gaze, the seriousness of Aemond's words sinking in. For a moment, the arrogance faded from Aegon's face, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. He nodded slowly, though the smirk soon returned. "I understand, Aemond. But don't worry, Vaella will see that this is what's best for both of us."

Aemond sighed, his skepticism clear. "Just remember, Aegon, that a relationship built on lies and manipulation won't last. You'll need more than just determination to keep her by your side."

Aegon waved off Aemond's concerns with a dismissive gesture. "She'll come around. You'll see."

Helaena, still playing with her insects, spoke up again, her voice distant and ethereal. "The web we weave, so fragile yet strong, secrets and lies, won't hold for long."

Both brothers turned to look at her, but Helaena seemed lost in her own world, her cryptic words hanging in the air like an ominous warning.

Aegon shook his head and turned back to Aemond. "Helaena's riddles aside, I'm confident. Vaella will understand why this is best."

Aemond crossed his arms, his expression still stern. "Just don't forget that Vaella is her own person. Respect her, and maybe, just maybe, this will work out."

Aegon nodded, though his thoughts were already drifting to the future he envisioned with Vaella. "I won't forget. Thank you, Aemond."

With that, Aegon turned and walked away, his steps light with newfound purpose. Aemond watched him go, his own heart heavy with concern for both his brother and Vaella. Helaena, now cradling a spider in her hands, looked up at Aemond, her eyes clear for a moment.

"The dragon's bond is forged in fire, but shadows linger, and hearts conspire," she whispered, before turning back to her quiet contemplation.

Aemond sighed, running a hand through his hair. The days ahead were uncertain, and he could only hope that his brother's determination would not lead to further strife. He turned his gaze to the distant horizon, where the sea met the sky, and a sense of foreboding settled over him.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the courtyard, Aemond resolved to keep a close watch on Aegon and Vaella. The web of intrigue and emotion surrounding them was intricate and fragile, and one wrong move could bring it all crashing down.

…

Vaella finally found a quiet corner of Dragonstone, a secluded alcove overlooking the sea. The waves crashed against the rocks below, their rhythmic sound providing a temporary solace from the storm of her emotions. She sank onto a weathered bench, the weight of her worries, expectations, and the lingering emptiness left by Baelon's death pressing down on her. 

She loved Aegon—despite his flaws and the turmoil he often brought into her life. The idea of marriage had rarely crossed her mind, and when it did, it felt distant and abstract. She had suitors, of course, but she felt no affection for any of them. Aegon had always been her rock, her confidant, and their relationship had grown more complex as they aged. She closed her eyes and let herself drift back to the moment when their innocent bed-sharing had turned into something more.

---

It was a warm summer night in King's Landing, and the air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers. Vaella and Aegon, both on the cusp of adolescence, had spent the day exploring the gardens and playing in the palace courtyards. As night fell, they had returned to her chambers, as they often did, seeking comfort in each other's presence.

"Aegon, do you ever think about what it'll be like when we're older?" Vaella asked, her voice barely above a whisper as they lay side by side in her bed.

Aegon turned to face her, his silver hair shimmering in the moonlight. "Sometimes. But I know one thing for sure—I always want to be with you, Vaella."

His words warmed her heart, and she smiled softly. "I feel the same way."

There was a moment of silence, filled only by the gentle rustling of the curtains. Then Aegon reached out, his hand lightly touching her cheek. "Vaella, can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she replied, her curiosity piqued.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to... to kiss someone?" Aegon's voice was hesitant, unsure.

Vaella's heart skipped a beat. She had thought about it, but never dared to voice it. "I have," she admitted, her cheeks flushing.

Aegon shifted closer, his breath warm against her skin. "Can I kiss you, Vaella? Just to see what it's like?"

Her pulse quickened, a mix of anticipation and nervousness flooding her. "Yes, Aegon. You can kiss me."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers gently at first, then with more confidence. The kiss was soft and tentative, a shared exploration of unfamiliar territory. Vaella felt a rush of emotions—excitement, affection, and a deep, growing bond with Aegon that she had never felt with anyone else.

As they pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other, Aegon smiled. "That was... amazing."

Vaella nodded, her heart still racing. "Yes, it was."

From that night on, their bed-sharing took on a new dimension. They explored each other intimately, their bond deepening with each secret touch and whispered confession. Their relationship became their private world, a sanctuary from the expectations and duties that awaited them outside their shared space.

---

Vaella opened her eyes, the memory lingering like a bittersweet echo. She loved Aegon, but the idea of marriage—to anyone—felt overwhelming. She had always sought solace in their shared bond, but now that bond was being formalized into something public, something scrutinized by the entire realm. She feared what that might do to the delicate balance they had maintained for so long.

A single tear rolled down her cheek as she stared out at the sea, the horizon blurred by her emotions. She could only hope that their love, which had weathered so many storms, would endure the challenges ahead. For now, she would take solace in the memory of their first kiss and the innocent intimacy that had blossomed into a love both beautiful and complicated.

…

Vaella wandered aimlessly across the island of Dragonstone, her heart heavy with grief and confusion. The distant roars of dragons offered a small comfort, a reminder of the ancient bond her family shared with these magnificent creatures. The caves of Dragonmont loomed above her, dark and foreboding, yet strangely inviting. As she walked along a particular path, a sudden wave of grief washed over her, more intense than any she had felt before.

Baelon.

Her twin, her other half. The void his death left in her soul was something she could never fully cry out, no matter how hard she tried. She often wondered what kind of life she would have had if he had lived. This sudden, overwhelming sadness propelled her to seek out one particular lair, Cannibal's. It was as if she was called there, urged by a loneliness she could barely comprehend.

The entrance to Cannibal's lair was wide and jagged, the air thick with the scent of death and decay. Bones and half-eaten carcasses littered the ground, a testament to the dragon's ferocity. The walls were blackened with soot and dragonfire, and the light barely penetrated the gloom within. Vaella felt a chill run down her spine as she stepped inside, the oppressive atmosphere pressing down on her.

In the darkness, she saw him. Cannibal, the wild dragon, black as coal with menacing green eyes that glowed eerily in the dim light. He lay atop a heap of bones, his massive form coiled in a protective stance. The partly devoured carcass of another dragon lay beneath him, a grisly reminder of his savage nature. Cannibal's eyes locked onto Vaella, observing her with an intensity that made her heart pound.

A sudden wave of sadness washed over her again, stronger this time, threatening to overwhelm her. She had felt alone for so long, but this... this was different. It was as if the dragon's own loneliness resonated with hers, a sorrow she could feel deep in her bones.

Suddenly, Cannibal launched himself at her with a terrifying roar. Vaella backed up, tripping over a loose rock and falling to the ground. She lay there, frozen in terror, as the dragon advanced. He stopped just a few meters away, his breath hot and foul, his eyes boring into hers.

Propelled by a strange mix of sorrow, loneliness, and an odd sensation of being called here, Vaella screamed at the dragon. "You think I'm afraid of you? You ugly beast! Eat me if you want, just do it! I don't care anymore!"

Cannibal shrieked, his cries echoing off the walls of the cave. He seemed ready to indulge her, his jaws opening wide. But instead of closing them around her, he stopped, his massive head just inches from her. His green eyes stared into her indigo ones, and for a moment, it felt as if their souls connected. Vaella felt another wave of loneliness, but as she began to realize it was not her own, a thunderous pain shot through her body. Her vision blurred, and she could hear Cannibal's cries turning to something almost mournful as everything went black.

---

History would record this moment as Princess Vaella’s desperate attempt to take her own life, consumed by the remorse she felt for surviving while her twin did not. Yet, it would forever be debated if Cannibal had called her to his lair of his own accord, having finally found a kindred spirit in the princess. The fierce dragon and the sorrowful girl, both creatures of loss and loneliness, had met in a moment that transcended the mortal understanding of dragon and rider.

[vibratingskull]

Ok so we all love Thrawn as a dad, but the idea of Thrawn coming back from exile to meet his baby granddaughter is rotting my brain and I need others to see my vision (and if you're taking requests when you get this, I'd love to hear your headcanons/thoughts about it)

Gilf Thrawn for the win! Granddad Thrawn is such a sweet thought tho... I'm melting, the softness, the sweetness, the tenderness... 😭😭😭

Thrawn & Daughter!reader

Tags: tooth rooting fluff, reunion, single dad/granddad!Thrawn, daughter!Reader

Thrawn remains silent, simply observing the house in front of him. 

He is sure this is the right address, but he somehow feels tense at the idea of knocking on the door. 

So many years have passed. Ten years of complete radio silence while he was exiled. So many things must have changed. 

He just hopes his daughter is doing okay. You were a teenager when he disappeared, now you must be an adult, with your life sorted out, you may not want him back... 

He raises his hand and presses the doorbell. He is met by silence, only hearing his pounding heart until he hears hurried footsteps behind the door. 

“Coming!” A male voice responds. 

Did he get the wrong address? 

The door slides open to reveal a human male he has never met before. 

“What do you... Oh!” The human simply says discovering Thrawn in full Grand Admiral regalia, his eyes rounding up in surprise. 

They look into each other eyes in silence for a split second before the human turns towards the inside of the house. 

“Thitanu! I think  you should come at the door!” 

New footsteps can be heard and a human female appears. Thrawn’s heart jumps. You are so grown up now!  

You stop dead in your tracks with a shocked expression. 

This is you, his daughter, his beloved k’eten, the joy of his heart, his pride. 

“...Dad?” 

“Ch’eo k’eten.” He responds, incredulous himself. 

“...How?”You ask with a white voice like you were observing a ghost from a distant past. 

“It will be long to explain everything. Just know that I am back for good, Ch’eo K’eten.” 

You raise your hand to your mouth, a broken sob escaping you. 

“Re-really?” 

“Yes. I am here for you now.” He opens his arms to invite you. 

You throw yourself at him. You are taller now and with a mature face, but still as beautiful as in his memories. You hug each other tight, reveling in each other’s presence and warmth. 

“Thitanu...” He whispers in his bliss, pressing you against his heart, “(Y/n)”. 

It is so good to finally hug his daughter, after so long... 

He kisses your forehead, inhaling your scent, sending his heart into a frenzy. Now that he is back he will not let you go! You will need protection in those future confused and violent times and he is perfectly capable of offering it to you. 

You will travel with him on his ISD across the universe. 

If you refuse to come with him he will make you move to one of his hideouts, where nothing could ever reach you and harm you. Your security is his top priority now! 

You part from him suddenly with eyes full of excitation. 

“I need you to meet someone urgently!” And you grab his hand and pull him inside in a hurry, so much so that he almost bumps into the human man.  

You pull him all the way up the stairs, never letting him go for a second. You giggle and almost fly across the corridors of the house. You reach a door and you press your finger on your lips, ordering him to remain silent. 

He nods, curious about that person you so desperately wants him to meet. You slowly opens the door to let him discover... a nursery. 

His heart skips a bit, he turns back to you and you smile, absolutely radiant, inviting him to enter. He passes the door gingerly, not making a single sound, not even a breath, like the nursery would evaporate at any moment, and with it all its promises. 

The room is colorful, filled to the brim with toys and plushies. He remembers buying some for you when you were still a very little girl. He is glad you kept them with you. He slowly approaches the crib in the middle of the room, holding his breath, full of anticipation. 

He slowly discovers a baby, sleeping soundly with a snow bunny in their little fist. He leans forward to observe them closer. They must be between 4 to 6 months old, still tiny and fragile. They have the same skin tone as the human male, but the nose and hair are yours indubitably.  

Magnificent... Simply magnificent. 

He observes, fascinated, the baby wiggling under their plaid, pressing the plushie against themself. They suddenly stop moving to yawn a big time, opening their mouth in perfect ‘O’, letting out the most adorable sound he ever heard. 

“Take her in your arms.” You invite, approaching in his back. 

“She is deeply sleeping. I would rather not disturb her.” He refuses. 

“Nonsense. She can still sleep in your arms. Go on, take her, I know you want to.” 

It’s true, he really wants to hold her in his hands. 

But she is so small, and him so big... 

What if he hurt her in some way? She looks so fragile, like she was made of thin glass. 

“Go on. You will not hurt her, you never hurt me when you held me.” You insist. 

He tentatively reaches for the baby, making sure to take her head delicately and support her body correctly. 

Warrior, now that she is in his large hands she appears even smaller... 

He lifts her slowly and carefully to bring her to his chest. She doesn’t seem to wake up, perfectly at peace. Now that he has her in his arms, reality settles in his mind and heart. 

He is a grandpa. 

He has a granddaughter. 

A legacy. 

Another dear one to protect with all his might and power. 

He never guessed he would have another family before adopting you when you were only a three-year-old. Grandchildren were a concept so far away, like an impossible dream. And then he got exiled to Peridea, never to see his daughter again. 

In his mind, his family would stop with you. 

But you kept going, you flourished and pushed through. You found yourself a companion and gave birth to a magnificent baby girl. His family is alive and well against his worst fears... 

His family... is safe. 

And now he is back. 

With you. 

Nothing will ever separate him from his family again! 

He presses the baby against himself, reverently kissing her forehead like she was a saint figure that came to grace his dark existence. 

“What is her name?” He whispers to not disturb the baby’s sleep, eyes fixated on the most beautiful being he ever saw beside you. 

“Thisaima.” You smile, caressing your baby’s head. 

His heart jolts. 

You chose a Chiss name. 

To honor him. 

Back when he met you on this now far away planet ravaged by war, the only miraculous survivor under your birth house rubbles, he asked you your name and kept it. He always addressed you as Thitanu, your Chiss name, and (Y/n), your birthname, leaving you the choice of your identity. 

And today you chose a Chiss name for your daughter. 

He is so grateful to you, you are giving him so much! 

“What happened when I disappeared?” He asks finally. 

“Aunt Karyn took care of me. When you left us both on Coruscant to go to Lothal she stayed at our apartment for a bit. Then we learned your disappearance with the Chimaera. She really stepped up and took responsibility the best she could. She pushed me to get my diploma and helped me find a job. She did her best with me.” 

He owes a lot to Karyn Faro and way more than several years of diligent and loyal services it appears. 

He looks back at his granddaughter, looking even more precious and fragile now. He cannot lose anyone else again. 

He will not allow it. 

Not anymore. 

He kisses the baby’s forehead again, reveling in the softness of the skin. She giggles in her sleep. 

“I am back to protect you both. I will not fail again.” 

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar@thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @obbicrystaleo @germie2037

[captain-mj]

Have you ever like.. written or talked about changeling Ghost? Because I haven't been able to stop thinking about it and for some reason I have a feeling I heard it from you. Might be wrong though.

In either case, would you be willing to write some because oh my god I can't stop thinking about it. Anything you want really I don't have many other thoughts apart from that,

Changeling Ghost just makes sense to me for whatever reason

I wasn't but its genius! I did a list of headcanons but if you want a one shot, I'll do that too!

~~~~

So changelings are usually taken back eventually, but his mom was superstitious and put salt around his crib, preventing him from being stolen back so he grew up human. He vaguely remembers a "Before" but assumes it was a childhood dream or something he made up.

He wears the gloves because the guns burn his hands.

Refuses to be near people if they have inside out clothing, but its usually chalked up to him being petty over the dress code. Always knows when someone has inside out socks. Glares until they fix it

One of the reasons his dad hates him

He often saw things as a kid and still does but he brushes them off

His ears are pointed and he hates it

Eyes change from brown to blue. No one can figure it out and Ghost thinks they're making things up because when he looks its always the same (white like a corpse)

Soap's rings once burned his hand. First clue that made Soap suspicious

Ghost barely eats but when he does, its a lot. An almost excessive amount. Price is always worried about him

He doesn't feel hot. He thought for the longest time that being affected by heat was fake

His scars look wrong. They catch light and look weirdly colorful. Ghost keeps everything covered up because he doesn't know why.

[lost-girl-2021]

I saw this post about a Na’vi Jedi talking to captain Rex. It got me thinking, what if spider was almost a Jedi knight before order 66 and he escaped by a ship and while being chased the ship was shot right spider activates the hyper drive and somehow it sends him to a distant planet. He lands the aircraft in hells gate( the RDA left). Spider decides to hide in the planet due to the trauma of order 66.

You had me at Na'vi Jedi.

So. Many. Possibilities.

Okay, so, imagine Spider was, like, the son of a Sith or something (Quaritch) but raised by the Jedi Order. He grew up with the other young padawans, trained in the ways of the force, etc. At sixteen, he's on the verge of graduating from Padawan and he's so ready. (Maybe in this version Jedi can have kids and stuff, cause idk how else all the Sully Spawn would exist)

And then, Order 66. Idk who would be the Darth Vader in the situation, because Quaritch would probably be Palpatine, so idk. Reader's choice.

Anyways, Neteyam, who's just become a Knight himself, is ushering them towards a secret passage or something. It's dark and Spider's weighed down by two kids who're barely old enough for practice saber's and—

And he falls. Lo'ak is quick to scoop up the kids, but then Neteyam is shot and there are troopers and sabers and Spider gets separated and Neteyam's blood is on the ground (and maybe some of Spider's). He doesn't know how he makes it to a ship, but he knows that he is alone. A few other ships are gone and he hopes, he needs the others to be safe as he launches himself away from the temple, from his home.

He ends up on a desert planet. It's small, outer rim, maybe near Tattooine. He can't remember, his head hurts and his knees are bloody from falling so many times. He just sleeps. For days. He sleeps and when he doesn't sleep, he cries.

He misses the nursery, even if he always disliked sharing a room with the other kids. Him, Kiri, and Lo'ak were the last three left in the older kid's room. They were separated by age groups, had been sleeping within a few feet of each other for as long as he could remember. Neteyam had always been a quiet sleeper, so Spider hadn't noticed all that much when the oldest boy had moved into his own rooms a few months before.

But, Lo'ak snored. Loudly. And Kiri mumbled in her sleep sometimes. Spider had bad dreams sometimes, even before . . . . even before. But, now? Once the exhaustion and tears have left him, all that remains are nightmares.

He misses Lo'ak and Kiri and Neteyam. He misses little Tuk, who always saved him dessert. He missed his home.

He finds the old Sith temple a week after his arrival. It hums with dark energy, but it's not unbearable. He explores all the rooms, finds outdated tech and dust and freeze-dried food that should last him a while, even if it's a bit expired. It had to have been a decade since anyone had stepped inside, before him.

He realizes just how long it's been when he finds the dorms.

Spider was taken in by the Order when he was just two. One of the youngest ages they'd take a child. But, they'd known. Because, when your father is a great Sith, there are really only two options for how you'll end up.

His father died in this temple. Fourteen years before Spider ended up there. There's a crib in his old suites, the name M. QUARITCH still bold against the door, even after so long.

It's empty inside, the only remnants of his existence an old crib and a moth-bitten baby blanket abandoned underneath it.

He explores everywhere. Then, he does it again. And again. He doesn't know how long it is before he'll run out of food, doesn't know how long it's been since he arrived.

His father was the one who died in this place, but Spider is the real ghost.

Welcome to my thought process. This is my brain not on drugs, everyone. Started as a thought and then need up as angst. Idk if I've mentioned it on here before, but I love Star Wars. Like, two years ago my (now ex-bff) best friend and I dressed up as Obi-Wan and Darth Maul. I spent and hour painting his face to be exactly right. But, yeah, love this idea.

[woundlingus]

may I offer you a prompt in this trying time? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

asmodeus finding Gabriel in the empty and not letting him have peace even in death <3

I went a little abstract with this one hope you don’t mind it just sort of jumped out of me that way <3

———

Bliss.

Like a dark winter night that seems to stretch on eternally with no dawn in sight, and yet there is a comfort in the heavy weight of blankets keeping you tethered to the bed, for why would you ever want to be anywhere else?

Here it is warm. Here it is safe.

There’s a tickle to the senses, like the fleeting touch of deja vu when passing the street you lived on when you were young. The magic of creation dancing just at the tip of the tongue and just out of reach of ever forming the word- but where it would’ve once been sad there is now only a gentle fondness. Wars washed away, scars removed, and love made whole.

There’s a tickle of a feather to tip of his nose; the echo of laughter; the thrill of a fall knowing there was someone waiting to catch him, steady and sure, they would never drop him.

There’s a familiarity to it, of a god long gone to him, one with which there had been murky and turbulent waters but love nonetheless. Darkness. Pure and unending.

Like falling asleep in the bathtub, so warm, you simply slip… down… and you’re gone.

There’s a call to duty, he’s aware enough to hear the ringing of a boy’s voice somewhere asking him to leave, like a child knocking on his bedroom door asking him to come play. He turns over to pull the sheets up over his head and bury his face in the soft pillows, and the voice respects his autonomy and leaves him to rest. He’ll try again later.

There’s a great exodus, he can feel it itching at the senses.

Ghost after ghost passing him by to follow the echo of an order to come, come bathe in the light once more, ‘I love you.’

Many angels do, a tickle here, an itch there, but mostly the warmth of them passing through him as if they expect their brother to rouse and join them.

He does not.

This one feels mighty familiar, and it lingers like a new mother watching over a round faced baby in its crib, hand pressed to lips to feel the gentle breath and reassuring herself that the baby is just fine. It lingers for so long that Gabriel thinks this spirit may just lie down beside him as well and not get back up. It tussles his hair, and skates a hand down his wings to straighten out stray feathers like a clucky hen. This one holds a sense of anxiety about leaving him behind, there’s a duty here amongst all the love, that this wounded solider should not be left unattended. Someone calls it though, and after a long goodbye it leaves him to rest once more.

There’s less warmth in here now that most of them have moved on, but the fire still roars, and so he continues to sleep.

He dreams in way, in that deep way where there’s no true plot or picture, just glimpses of a better life. He dreams of light, and splashes of color. Glory. Passion. Love. Lust. These half baked ideas tangling around him like vines to keep him weighed down, like a lover’s soft silk bindings keeping him attached to the bed post. It’s a life he lived, but without remembering any of the pain. A hand on his cheek, or a kiss to his lips; he isn’t fussy, his essence just wants to be held. But no one comes anymore, they weren’t afraid like him, so they got to move on.

Gabriel still clings to the darkness, begs for one more dream.

One dream does come, and softly it strokes his essence. It touches parts of him he’d longed for a great many epochs for someone to seek out in him, the angel parts he’d denied himself for so long. Here he is broken down to light, both material and not, so the hands that soothe his body mingle deep inside his gut.

He stirs.

He doesn’t want to stir, he wants to stay under, but this dream doesn’t seem to be his own to will, it buries itself in him, burrows, burrs. It pulls open his chest and climbs inside, it’s touch threatens to suffocate. It relaxes down inside of him but Gabriel cannot relax with it, the warm fire keeping him drowsy now billows smoke that chokes him, forcing its way down his throat to make a home in his sleeping belly.

It wants to wear him. Eat him. Be him. Have him.

The kind blindfold of the gentleness of a lovers reunion slips, and Gabriel feels the bathwater in his lungs. It chokes him, he thrashes, but something holds him down. The harder he fights the more he gasps, and the more he lets the water in- or was it smoke? Either way, something is inside of him. Something is making a home inside of his body, tearing parts of him open to make a space for itself inside. Something familiar.

The pain gets brighter, sharper, and a whole picture begins to take shape where before there had only been sounds and feelings. The pain is a call, this one not a hand being extended out to him but a hand yanking him up by force. This call tells him to come, obey. This call is not giving him a choice here, this one says ‘wake up’.

Wake up.

“Wake up, Gabriel.”

Gabriel opens his eyes, blinking hard trying to adjust to the head spin of utter darkness enveloping him- no, not darkness. Nothing. Nothingness. Empty.

No, not nothing. Him. Just him. The two of them alone, everyone else gone and moved on, it could have been him too had he not wanted to cling to what was easy. Oh the irony, to do it all over again and wind up here. Right here. In a realm so far out of anyone else’s reach, except for him. He would always reach him, find him, for there was nowhere to run.

Gabriel opens his mouth to scream, and Asmodeus climbs inside.

——

Wanna send me a prompt? :)

[starblazes]

shakespeare aesthetics.  bold:  always  applies.   italic:   sometimes  applies.

i. romeo & juliet,      suburban july.  scraped knees.  bruised knuckles.  blood in your teeth.  bare feet on hot concrete.  restlessness.  your high school’s empty parking lot.  love poems in your diary.  a window open to coax in the breeze.  burning inside.  an ill - fitting party dress.  a t - shirt you cut up yourself.  the time you tried to give yourself bangs.  biking to your friends house.  bubble gum.  gas station ice.  the feeling that you’ve met before.  rebellion.  a car radio playing down the street.  cheap fireworks.  a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie.  switchblades.  red solo cups.  dancing in your bedroom.  screaming yourself hoarse.  running out of options.  the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac.  climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep.  flip - flops.  a eulogy written on loose - leaf.  the merciless noontime sun.

ii. hamlet,      speaking in a whisper.  holding your breath.  a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn.  mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror.  things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins.  books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day.  a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor.  the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat.  the sparrow that got in your house.  shadows.  the creek you played in as a child.  a dirty night gown.  an oversized t - shirt.  a collection of your favorite words.  soil beneath your nails. ghost stories.  the strangeness of your own name in your mouth.  deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

iii. twelfth night,      wicker deck furniture.  new england summer.  large sunglasses and a blonde bob.  a storm over the ocean.  patio umbrellas flapping in the wind.  the smell of chlorine.  muffled laughter.  sarcasm.  starched cuffs.  day drinking.  bay windows.  the idea of love.  love for the idea of love.  love for love’s sake.  hangovers.  wandering over the sand dunes.  a vagabond with a guitar.  fishermen with tattoos.  a pretty boy with a slacked tie.  a lighthouse.  growing too close.  boat shoes.  feeling yourself change.  big, floppy sunhats.  double - speak.  a song you keep listening to.  turning red under their gaze.  margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger.  string lights on a balmy night.  sleepy june days.  fights you’re unprepared for.  hope you weren’t expecting.  pranks that go too far.  bad poetry.  pining.  becoming less of a stranger.

iv. macbeth,      the space where your grief used to be.  a bird that’s lost an eye.  old blood stains.  heavy blinds.  the smell of sweat.  the stillness after a battle.  a fake smile.  a curse.  the taste of metal at the back of your tongue.  your house, unfamiliar in the dark.  a dusty crib.  the smell of sulfur.  an orange pill bottle.  streaks in the sink.  a black cocktail dress.  your hand on the doorknob, shaking.  a chilly breeze.  crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night.  clenched hands.  a rusty swing set.  a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00.  a snake that crosses your path.  an owl that watches you.  a dog that runs when you approach.  red smoke, dark clouds.  cool steel.  tile floors.  footsteps in the hallway late at night.  a baggy suit that used to fit before.  visions.  insomnia headaches.  nursery rhymes.  being too far in to go back now.

v. much ado about nothing,      the high drama of small towns.  a pickup truck.  military supply duffel bags in the hall.  hugs all around.  tulip bulbs.  a wraparound porch.  a pitcher of iced tea.  a rubber halloween mask.  someone on your level.  ill - timed proclamations.  stomach clenching laughter.  rushing in.  not minding your business.  crepe paper.  white lies.  secrets written down and thrown away.  southern hospitality.  homemade curtains in the kitchen.  a sink full of roses.  hiding in the bushes.  old friends.  the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her.  a dog - eared rhyming dictionary.  chamomile with honey.  the intimacy of big parties.  lawn flamingos.  gossip.  a crowded church.  friendly rivalries.  unfriendly rivalries.  shit getting real.  love at five hundredth sight.  not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

vi. king lear,      cement block buildings.  power lines that birds never perch on.  the end of the world.  useless words.  rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky.  arthritic knuckles.  broken glass.  chalk cliffs.  the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes.  something you learned too late.  wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk.  a cold stare.  empty picture frames.  empty prayers.  the obscenity of seeing your parents cry.  a treeless landscape.  bloody rags.  grappling in the dark with reaching hands.  the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth.  the blown out windows of a skeletal house.  decay.  jokes that aren’t jokes.  biting your tongue.  prophecies.  aching muscles, tired feet.  stinging rain.  invoking the gods.  wondering if the gods are listening.  worrying that the gods are dead.  white noise.  shivers.  numbness.  the unequivocal feeling of ending.

vii. midsummer's night dream,      the smell of wet soil and dead leaves.  listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed.  wildflowers.  the distant sparkle of lightning bugs.  a pill someone slipped you.  fear that turns into excitement.  excitement that turns to frenzy.  mossy tree trunks.  a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness.  night swimming.  moonlight through the leaves.  a bass beat in your chest.  a butterfly landing on your nose.  a kiss from a stranger.  a dark hallow in an old tree.  glow in the dark paint.  drinking on an empty stomach.  a twig breaking behind you.  spinning until you’re dizzy.  finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from.  an overgrown path through the woods.  cool dew on your skin.  a dream that fades with waking.  moths drawn to the light.  giving yourself over, completely.  afterglow.  the long, loving, velvety night.

stolen from;   @loetise tagging;   if you see this, you're tagged!

[fallbefore]

shakespeare aesthetics.  ⋆ฺ࿐༊            bold:  always  applies.   italic:   sometimes  applies.

i. romeo & juliet,      suburban july.  scraped knees.  bruised knuckles.  blood in your teeth.  bare feet on hot concrete.  restlessness.  your high school’s empty parking lot.  love poems in your diary.  a window open to coax in the breeze.  burning inside.  an ill - fitting party dress.  a t - shirt you cut up yourself.  the time you tried to give yourself bangs.  biking to your friends house.  bubble gum.  gas station ice.  the feeling that you’ve met before.  rebellion.  a car radio playing down the street.  cheap fireworks.  a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie.  switchblades.  red solo cups.  dancing in your bedroom.  screaming yourself hoarse.  running out of options.  the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac.  climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep.  flip - flops.  a eulogy written on loose - leaf.  the merciless noontime sun.

ii. hamlet,      speaking in a whisper.  holding your breath.  a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn.  mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror.  things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins.  books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day.  a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor.  the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat.  the sparrow that got in your house.  shadows.  the creek you played in as a child.  a dirty night gown.  an oversized t - shirt.  a collection of your favorite words.  soil beneath your nails. ghost stories.  the strangeness of your own name in your mouth.  deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

iii. twelve night,      wicker deck furniture.  new england summer.  large sunglasses and a blonde bob.  a storm over the ocean.  patio umbrellas flapping in the wind.  the smell of chlorine.  muffled laughter.  sarcasm.  starched cuffs.  day drinking.  bay windows.  the idea of love.  love for the idea of love.  love for love’s sake.  hangovers.  wandering over the sand dunes.  a vagabond with a guitar.  fishermen with tattoos.  a pretty boy with a slacked tie.  a lighthouse.  growing too close.  boat shoes.  feeling yourself change.  big, floppy sunhats.  double - speak.  a song you keep listening to.  turning red under their gaze.  margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger.  string lights on a balmy night.  sleepy june days.  fights you’re unprepared for.  hope you weren’t expecting.  pranks that go too far.  bad poetry.  pining.  becoming less of a stranger.

iv. macbeth,      the space where your grief used to be.  a bird that’s lost an eye.  old blood stains.  heavy blinds.  the smell of sweat.  the stillness after a battle.  a fake smile.  a curse.  the taste of metal at the back of your tongue.  your house, unfamiliar in the dark.  a dusty crib.  the smell of sulfur.  an orange pill bottle.  streaks in the sink.  a black cocktail dress.  your hand on the doorknob, shaking.  a chilly breeze.  crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night.  clenched hands.  a rusty swing set.  a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00.  a snake that crosses your path.  an owl that watches you.  a dog that runs when you approach.  red smoke, dark clouds.  cool steel.  tile floors.  footsteps in the hallway late at night.  a baggy suit that used to fit before.  visions.  insomnia headaches.  nursery rhymes.  being too far in to go back now.

v. much ado about nothing,      the high drama of small towns.  a pickup truck.  military supply duffel bags in the hall.  hugs all around.  tulip bulbs.  a wraparound porch.  a pitcher of iced tea.  a rubber halloween mask.  someone on your level.  ill - timed proclamations.  stomach clenching laughter.  rushing in.  not minding your business.  crepe paper.  white lies.  secrets written down and thrown away.  southern hospitality.  homemade curtains in the kitchen.  a sink full of roses.  hiding in the bushes.  old friends.  the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her.  a dog - eared rhyming dictionary.  chamomile with honey.  the intimacy of big parties.  lawn flamingos.  gossip.  a crowded church.  friendly rivalries.  unfriendly rivalries.  shit getting real.  love at five hundredth sight.  not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

vi. king lear,      cement block buildings.  power lines that birds never perch on.  the end of the world.  useless words.  rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky.  arthritic knuckles.  broken glass.  chalk cliffs.  the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes.  something you learned too late.  wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk.  a cold stare.  empty picture frames.  empty prayers.  the obscenity of seeing your parents cry.  a treeless landscape.  bloody rags.  grappling in the dark with reaching hands.  the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth.  the blown out windows of a skeletal house.  decay.  jokes that aren’t jokes.  biting your tongue.  prophecies.  aching muscles, tired feet.  stinging rain.  invoking the gods.  wondering if the gods are listening.  worrying that the gods are dead.  white noise.  shivers.  numbness.  the unequivocal feeling of ending.

vii. midsummer's night dream,      the smell of wet soil and dead leaves.  listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed.  wildflowers.  the distant sparkle of lightning bugs.  a pill someone slipped you.  fear that turns into excitement.  excitement that turns to frenzy.  mossy tree trunks.  a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness.  night swimming.  moonlight through the leaves.  a bass beat in your chest.  a butterfly landing on your nose.  a kiss from a stranger.  a dark hallow in an old tree.  glow in the dark paint.  drinking on an empty stomach.  a twig breaking behind you.  spinning until you’re dizzy.  finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from.  an overgrown path through the woods.  cool dew on your skin.  a dream that fades with waking.  moths drawn to the light.  giving yourself over, completely.  afterglow.  the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by;   @ashmored​​  ♡♡ tagging;   you, steal this and say i tagged you!

[bowiewashington]

Death After Life - Script

1 INT. NURSERY - SUNSET

The walls are painted a soft green. There’s an open window, with sheer white curtains framing it. In the center of the room is a wooden crib. There is a ghost-shaped plushie in the corner of the crib. A blanket shaped like a tombstone is draped over the side. There is a mobile hanging with four items hanging from it: a sun, a moon, a skull, and a scythe. There’s a light breeze in the room. WOMAN (O.S.)   Are you sure you’re feeling alright?

MAN (O.S) It’s just another migraine. I swear, the closer we get to your due date, the worse my head gets.

A person steps into frame. He’s male presenting. He’s wearing sneakers, jeans, and a sweater. There is a very prominent wedding band on his hand. Only his shoulders down are visible. As he steps into the room, the crib decorations change. The ghost is now a fuzzy sheep. The blanket is now a normal looking afghan. The mobile is plush stars with smiling faces. WOMAN (O.S) what triggered it this time?

The man walks over to the window to close it.

ANGLE. OUTSIDE OF THE ROOM LOOKING IN THROUGH THE WINDOW.

The man’s shadow is on the wall behind him. It looks normal for a moment before it flickers and the shadow is holding a large scythe. It flickers back to normal as he closes the window and draws the curtains.

ANGLE. INSIDE THE ROOM AGAIN. MAN (laughs) The French Revolution.

The camera slowly starts to move above his shoulders. A rune stone is hanging from his neck, strung through a leather cord. As he speaks his face his revealed. It’s MALIKI - all grown up.MAL (CONT'D) I had like this intrusive thought where I wondered if any of the kids tried to bowl with the heads. And as soon as I started thinking about it... BAM. Migraine.

The room flickers around him, showing the After World, before returning to normal.MAL'S WIFE (O.S.) Okay, Mr. Horror Novelist, that’s morbid, even for you.

MAL (staring into the crib) Do you get the feeling that having the baby is going to cause the world to split at the barely woven together seams?

MAL'S WIFE  (pops her head into the room) What was that?

MAL (shakes his head) nothing, I’m just psyching myself out. How can I be a good dad if I can’t remember anything from before the last 10 years?

MAL'S WIFE You worry too much.

Behind them 3 grim reapers flicker into existence. Then they flicker away.

TITLE CARD DROPS

[ebnaril]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒.

i. romeo & juliet, suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

ii. hamlet, speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter & spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

iii. twelfth night, wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses & a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

iv. macbeth, the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

v. much ado about nothing, the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down & thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, & her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

vi. king lear, cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

vii. midsummer's night dream, the smell of wet soil & dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body & not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

[publicabsent]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒.

i. romeo & juliet,      suburban july.  scraped knees.  bruised knuckles.  blood in your teeth.  bare feet on hot concrete.  restlessness.  your high school’s empty parking lot.  love poems in your diary.  a window open to coax in the breeze.  burning inside.  an ill - fitting party dress.  a t - shirt you cut up yourself.  the time you tried to give yourself bangs.  biking to your friends house.  bubble gum.  gas station ice.  the feeling that you’ve met before.  rebellion.  a car radio playing down the street.  cheap fireworks.  a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie.  switchblades.  red solo cups.  dancing in your bedroom.  screaming yourself hoarse.  running out of options.  the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac.  climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep.  flip - flops.  a eulogy written on loose - leaf.  the merciless noontime sun.

ii. hamlet,      speaking in a whisper.  holding your breath.  a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn.  mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter & spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror.  things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins.  books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day.  a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor.  the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat.  the sparrow that got in your house.  shadows.  the creek you played in as a child.  a dirty night gown.  an oversized t - shirt.  a collection of your favorite words.  soil beneath your nails. ghost stories.  the strangeness of your own name in your mouth.  deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

iii. twelfth night,      wicker deck furniture.  new england summer.  large sunglasses & a blonde bob.  a storm over the ocean.  patio umbrellas flapping in the wind.  the smell of chlorine.  muffled laughter.  sarcasm.  starched cuffs.  day drinking.  bay windows.  the idea of love.  love for the idea of love.  love for love’s sake.  hangovers.  wandering over the sand dunes.  a vagabond with a guitar.  fishermen with tattoos.  a pretty boy with a slacked tie.  a lighthouse.  growing too close.  boat shoes.  feeling yourself change.  big, floppy sunhats.  double - speak.  a song you keep listening to.  turning red under their gaze.  margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger.  string lights on a balmy night.  sleepy june days.  fights you’re unprepared for.  hope you weren’t expecting.  pranks that go too far.  bad poetry.  pining.  becoming less of a stranger.

iv. macbeth,      the space where your grief used to be.  a bird that’s lost an eye.  old blood stains.  heavy blinds.  the smell of sweat.  the stillness after a battle.  a fake smile.  a curse.  the taste of metal at the back of your tongue.  your house, unfamiliar in the dark.  a dusty crib.  the smell of sulfur.  an orange pill bottle.  streaks in the sink.  a black cocktail dress.  your hand on the doorknob, shaking.  a chilly breeze.  crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night.  clenched hands.  a rusty swing set.  a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00.  a snake that crosses your path.  an owl that watches you.  a dog that runs when you approach.  red smoke, dark clouds.  cool steel.  tile floors.  footsteps in the hallway late at night.  a baggy suit that used to fit before.  visions.  insomnia headaches.  nursery rhymes.  being too far in to go back now.

v. much ado about nothing,      the high drama of small towns.  a pickup truck.  military supply duffel bags in the hall.  hugs all around.  tulip bulbs.  a wraparound porch.  a pitcher of iced tea.  a rubber halloween mask.  someone on your level.  ill - timed proclamations.  stomach clenching laughter.  rushing in.  not minding your business.  crepe paper.  white lies.  secrets written down & thrown away.  southern hospitality.  homemade curtains in the kitchen.  a sink full of roses.  hiding in the bushes.  old friends.  the wedding dress your grandma wore, & her mama before her.  a dog - eared rhyming dictionary.  chamomile with honey.  the intimacy of big parties.  lawn flamingos.  gossip.  a crowded church.  friendly rivalries.  unfriendly rivalries.  shit getting real.  love at five hundredth sight.  not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

vi. king lear,      cement block buildings.  power lines that birds never perch on.  the end of the world.  useless words.  rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky.  arthritic knuckles.  broken glass.  chalk cliffs.  the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes.  something you learned too late.  wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk.  a cold stare.  empty picture frames.  empty prayers.  the obscenity of seeing your parents cry.  a treeless landscape.  bloody rags.  grappling in the dark with reaching hands.  the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth.  the blown out windows of a skeletal house.  decay.  jokes that aren’t jokes.  biting your tongue.  prophecies.  aching muscles, tired feet.  stinging rain.  invoking the gods.  wondering if the gods are listening.  worrying that the gods are dead.  white noise.  shivers.  numbness.  the unequivocal feeling of ending.

vii. midsummer's night dream,      the smell of wet soil & dead leaves.  listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed.  wildflowers.  the distant sparkle of lightning bugs.  a pill someone slipped you.  fear that turns into excitement.  excitement that turns to frenzy.  mossy tree trunks.  a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness.  night swimming.  moonlight through the leaves.  a bass beat in your chest.  a butterfly landing on your nose.  a kiss from a stranger.  a dark hallow in an old tree.  glow in the dark paint.  drinking on an empty stomach.  a twig breaking behind you.  spinning until you’re dizzy.  finding glitter on your body & not remembering where it came from.  an overgrown path through the woods.  cool dew on your skin.  a dream that fades with waking.  moths drawn to the light.  giving yourself over, completely.  afterglow.  the long, loving, velvety night.