#arctic watches house of the dragon

[rackartyg]

i honestly don’t think rhaenyra would’ve done a thing to alicent’s children in the timeline where she ascends the throne without the greens making a fuss. in the book she only started doing war crimes after she was Thoroughly Provoked, which she wouldn’t be, in this timeline. like unless someone does child murder to rhaenyra first i don’t think she’d do child murder herself. alicent doesn’t want to do child murder, either, it’s an accident in this version of events!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 7: Final Tribute]

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

A/N: I am wishing a very Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate! I am so thankful for all of you and your support of this fic. Only 1 more chapter left! 💜

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

Chapter warnings: Language, violence, babies, dad!Aemond, show events, drama at dinner, sexual content, witchcraft, death and destruction, dragons, a very very long chapter so maybe plan for a snack break...might I suggest a nice roasted pig??

Word count: 10.7k.

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

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

Aemond holds her so that her feet can skim the warm, sun-sparkling surf. Laurel smiles, squeals merrily, makes ineffectual little kicks. She gawks down at the water with eyes that seem to fill up her whole face. She is scrawny still—no matter how much she is fed she remains small, much smaller than other infants her age—but tough and dauntless. She rarely cries. She reaches for everything. She watches you with those enormous eyes that hold an eerie sort of awareness, a stoicism that comes from something, somewhere, that predates her two short months in this world. It should not surprise you that she is a rare sort of child. She is built of bloodlines that run thick with magic.

Jaehaera and Maelor are constructing a sandcastle, decorated with stones and shells and flags made of driftwood speared through strips of dried seaweed. The handmaidens are attempting to prevent an irate Jaehaerys from stomping it into rubble. Helaena is staring out into the ocean towards Bearstone, her face grim and remote. Gulls swoop and squawk overhead. The end of the day is golden and hot and perfect; the sun is sinking rapidly into the horizon.

Aemond straightens, cradles Laurel to his chest with one arm, and offers her a small pink cat’s paw seashell. She clutches it, considers it, tries to eat it. Aemond laughs and takes the shell away, tossing it back into the waves. Laurel begins to fuss in protest, but settles when he kisses her short silver hair and soothes her like he always does: “Shh, shh, lykiri, shh.” She peers up at him and bats at his eyepatch with her tiny fist. When you are in private, he goes without it so she can get used to his sapphire, his scar; she is entranced by the cool blue glow, finding only beauty in what some would call monstrous.

A maester appears, ambling with some difficulty across the sand to meet the prince. You take Laurel from Aemond so he can receive the scroll. He unrolls the parchment and reads it, his brow furrowed.

“Who have you been colluding with?” you tease. “Your maester friends in Dorne?”

“Something like that.” He stows the scroll away in his tunic. His boots sink into the wet sand like a punctured ship into the depths. The wind gusting in off the sea tears at his long hair. You wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. Laurel grabs at your moonstone pendant.

Far above in the orange-indigo sky, there is a flash of crimson and a shrill, clicking sort of shriek. The handmaidens gasp and duck their heads. You look up to see a dragon soaring over the walls of the Red Keep: blood-red, lithe, lightning-quick, unapologetically lethal. You’ve only ever heard of one dragon that fits that description. Caraxes. Daemon. You turn back to Aemond.

“They’re here,” he says simply.

“Since when?”

“Since this afternoon. I saw Jace and Luke in the courtyard. They did not accept my invitation to train.”

“And have they grown up to be…” you begin. Aemond smiles, dimples springing up in his cheeks; he already knows what you’re going to say. You are a book he has poured over for nearly a year. For the first time, you wonder if he’s memorized the rhythm of your footsteps, the lines of your shoulders, the slope of your jaw. You wonder if you have any new pages left for him to read. “Strong boys?”

“I wouldn’t say they’ve grown very much at all.”

“Why are they in King’s Landing?” Rhaenyra has been biding her time on Dragonstone for six years; it must have taken something truly urgent to lure her back into such an unfriendly court.

“Vaemond Velaryon has disputed Luke’s claim to Driftmark. His grounds are…obvious. The boys aren’t Laenor’s, thus they cannot inherit his titles. Rhaenyra has come seeking judgment in her favor.”

“Very interesting. Best of luck to her.”

“I wouldn’t be too optimistic. Otto and my mother are the ones doing the judging.” He lifts your chin, kisses you, nudges his nose playfully against yours. He has been like this since you had the baby: attentive, affectionate, but chaste. He does not touch you with heat, with lust. And at first, that had been more than alright; you were recovering, and then you were consumed with caring for Laurel—always so small, always so spellbinding—and even now you are only just beginning to feel like yourself again. Yet there are moments when you catch glimpses of that familiar, animalistic longing in your thoughts, your body: a memory here, a twinge of yearning there. That part of yourself is waking up like embers fueled with fresh air. You hope that Aemond still desires you in the same way he once did. You hope that when your flesh reunites you will not disappoint him. Now, he studies your face. “Do you pity them? The bastards?”

“I don’t blame them for who their father is, they cannot help that. I do blame them for what they did to you. What they have never atoned for.”

“Well, we will soon have the pleasure of seeing them humiliated,” he says brightly. “Tomorrow. In the Great Hall.”

“I’ll dress for a bloodbath.”

He chuckles, touching his lips to your forehead. “I’ll meet you upstairs. I need to send a raven first.”

You and Helaena take the children inside: you rocking Laurel to sleep in your arms, Helaena carrying an almost-too-heavy Maelor on her hip, Jaehaera trotting along beside her, Jaehaerys trying to clomp on people’s heels. The exasperated handmaidens struggle to corral him as you glide through the hallways towards the royal family’s chambers. Helaena is telling you about the web patterns of spiders when you round a corner to find an unfamiliar face.

She’s Princess Rhaenyra, she has to be. She has white hair and pale eyes and wears the black and red of House Targaryen. And yet, she is different than you had imagined her; she is regal but soft somehow, placid, subdued, some might even say diminished. She does not look like someone who would carry on a torrid, profoundly reckless affair. She does not look like a woman who would set the realm ablaze for a chance at the Iron Throne. Perhaps motherhood has smoothed over her roughest edges; perhaps suffering has humbled her.

You stare at each other in the middle of the hushed hallway—you flanked by Helaena and the handmaidens, Rhaenyra accompanied by two girls who can only be Daemon’s daughters by Laena Velaryon—and try to think of something to say. At last, Rhaenyra’s gaze drops to Laurel, bundled in a blanket stitched with a green dragon.

“Oh, she’s a brand new little thing! Might I see her?”

You do not relinquish your daughter, but you position her so Rhaenyra can get a better look. She stirs and stretches but does not wake.

“A darling,” the princess declares diplomatically. Her eyes linger on the baby’s silvery hair. “What do you call her?”

“Laurel.”

Rhaenyra smiles, just barely, as if she’s won a victory. And for the first time you see the venom in her. “Not a Targaryen name, that’s for certain.” She lays a hand on her pregnant belly. “We are expecting another in a few months’ time. After five sons, I am convinced this one is a girl at last. We plan to call her Visenya.”

It occurs to you how many things you have in common: mothers lost in childbirth, arranged and dispassionate first marriages, tenacity, magic, merciless love for a Targaryen man. And yet here you stand on opposite sides of a gaping chasm. “Congratulations.” What else can one say?

“It’s terrifying, isn’t it?” Rhaenyra asks. “When you realize what you’d do for your children.”

“Yes. I think if someone cut out her eye, I’d burn them alive.”

The princess blinks at you, stunned; and there is a moment when it is possible to unravel these generational knots of resentment and bloodletting ambition. There is a version of this exchange in which Rhaenyra apologizes for what happened to Aemond, for her callousness that night, for prizing a single lie above untold lives, for wielding her father’s fondness for her like a blade with which to cut others’ heads off. She considers it, surely; and instead she hardens, sharpens, grows claws and fangs. “I have heard of you, Lady Mormont. You’ve reached very high.”

“And you’ve stooped low.”

Rhaenyra blows by you like a storm wind, her footsteps echoing through the hallway. One of Daemon’s daughters bows her head demurely, but the other—Baela, you think her name is—flings you a glare of prideful, poisonous malice. She is very much Daemon Targaryen’s daughter. She is the type of woman who Aemond might say he’d met his match in, had they been born into different circumstances.

You can hear voices rising throughout the Red Keep. The handmaidens are gossiping frenetically among themselves. Jaehaerys growls and kicks at the wall. Beyond the glass windows, rain starts to fall and thunder booms. In your arms, Laurel begins to cry.

“He comes home late, covered in rain,” Helaena murmurs, looking at fingernails she’s chewed down to the quick.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your dresses are a kaleidoscope of gemstones: ruby, onyx, emerald, turquoise, rose quartz, pearl, tiger’s eye, sapphire, moonstone. On your vanity are pieces of jewelry to match. There are also twenty-seven blue winter roses, dried into shriveled, perpetual life and kept in a white vase.

“You should wear your namesake,” Aemond says. He stands behind you and rests his hands on your shoulders. You smile at each other in the mirror’s reflection. He is in good spirits, eager, proud. A part of that is the shame that Rhaenyra and her sons are sure to suffer. A part of that is his own prowess: his swordsmanship, his intellect, his dragon. And, you have come to realize, a part of it is you as well. He is impatient to show you off. You have no eminent blood relatives, no wealth, no sons…and yet to Aemond you are a fortune. You choose a billowing, ethereal gown that sparkles when sunlight hits the fabric. Your husband weaves matching chains of moonstones into your hair.

You enter the Great Hall with the rest of the Greens. Otto Hightower, in the king’s absence, will preside over the dispute. Alicent wears a jade-colored dress and seven-pointed star necklace like armor, like it will keep all her encroaching enemies at bay. Helaena is wide-eyed and jittery. Aegon is, much to his own regret, hungover but not inebriated at the moment; Alicent and Aemond have bullied him into relative sobriety for the duration of Rhaenyra’s visit. You stand between the brothers, always on Aemond’s good side. He periodically touches your hand, your hair, your shoulders. Sir Criston remains by the queen, watching her like a sailor studies the sky for signs of a storm: dark clouds, spiraling winds, scattering flocks of birds.

As Otto ascends the Iron Throne as Hand of the King and Vaemond Velaryon states his claim to Driftmark, you take stock of Rhaenyra’s eldest sons. It is clear why Aemond is so heartened by their presence, here in King’s Landing for all the nobles to see and spread word of throughout Westeros. Jace and Luke, whatever their favorable attributes, are utterly unlike what the world expects from Targaryens or Velaryons. They are short and dark-haired and somehow benign in their features: homey, ordinary, pug-nosed like the Strongs are known to be. They do not sweat that unnerving, commanding otherworldliness from their pores, that magnetism that totters on the blade’s edge between greatness and insanity.

Aemond smiles darkly as he ghosts his fingertips across the back of your neck. He has the looks of a true Targaryen. He has a full-grown, legendary dragon. He has you. The gods have set things right again, they have put the universe back in order. He is at the top of fate’s wheel; the bastard boys and all their defenders are at the bottom.

When Rhaenyra tries to refute Vaemond, Alicent scolds her like a child, reminding her to wait her turn to speak. The futility of her cause is becoming evident on Rhaenyra’s face. Otto and Alicent will never acknowledge her sons’ legitimacy. Not even Luke seems especially enthused by his own claim to Driftmark; he looks skittish, almost anguished. His doelike dark eyes land on Aemond and then bolt away. Aemond only grows more amused.

Aegon turns to you. Is this over yet? he mouths, then mimes swigging a cup of wine.

It is Rhaenyra’s turn to plead her son’s case. She steps forward. Daemon watches her in a way that is somehow familiar to you, and then you place it; it is the same way Aemond watches you, proud, possessive, linked by a gravity that is bone-deep and older than words. Daemon even looks and moves a bit like your husband, albeit less controlled, less premeditated. You remember once being able to tell that Aemond had never killed a man. There is no mistaking the fact that Daemon has spilled a tide of hot pulsing blood, and furthermore would be delighted to again.

Rhaenyra speaks as her time here draws short, as Luke’s claim to Driftmark dies. Everyone knows it, Blacks and Greens alike, they’re just waiting for the judgment to be handed down. And then, and then…

The doors to the Great Hall open and his entrance is announced. In nearly a year, you have never once seen the ailing King Viserys. He was not roused from his sickbed by the joust, by the feasts, by your imprisonment, by the trial by combat that nearly claimed Aemond’s life, by the birth of your daughter. Aemond rarely speaks of him. He doesn’t seem to have many memories of the king at all, the man who watched as the mangled flesh of his son’s eye was sewn shut and felt no outrage. Only now does Viserys appear to take his rightful place as king. Only for Rhaenyra.

Otto dutifully surrenders the Iron Throne and comes down to stand with his family. He and Alicent exchange a wary glance. As Daemon helps Viserys—weak, emaciated, decaying—to his seat, Aegon raises his eyebrows at you. Helaena fidgets anxiously. You tug on your moonstone pendant. Aemond is a pillar of stone. Here is one thing Rhaenyra and her sons have that he never will: the king’s unconditional love.

The winds have changed direction. Rhaenys announces her and Lord Corlys’ support for Luke’s Velaryon inheritance, as well as her intention that her granddaughters Baela and Rhaena marry Jace and Luke. Vaemond’s face is furious, while Rhaenyra’s grows cautiously assured; House Velaryon has chosen a side in the coming war, the one everyone knows of but cannot yet name.

King Viserys did not protect Aemond when his eye was cut from his skull and his life endangered, but he protects Luke now, not from jeers or blades but from his mother’s obvious indiscretion: he affirms Luke’s claim to Driftmark. The Great Hall is hectic with whispers and cynical looks. The nobles here at court may never have fully warmed to you, but many of them loathe Rhaenyra: due to her arrogance, due to her lies, due to her marriage to the rogue prince…and yes, due to her womanhood as well. While you cannot fault her for this last fact, there are plenty of shortcomings left to weigh the scales against her. Only Vaemond Velaryon, after exalting the longevity and uninterrupted bloodline of his ancient house, is willing to give voice to what so many others are thinking.

“My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned…” He turns to Luke, trembling with rage. “I will not see it ended on account of this…”

“Say it,” Daemon dares, his icy deep-set eyes gleaming, and again you can see shades of Aemond in him.

“Her children…” Vaemond says. “Are bastards!” He looks to Rhaenyra, briefly, with palpable revulsion. “And she…is…a whore.”

Aemond is smiling again. His father is less pleased. King Viserys, slow and feeble and wheezing, yanks a dagger from his belt. “I will have your tongue for that.”

There is a whistle of steel through the air, and Daemon’s blade Dark Sister severs Vaemond’s skull crosswise just above the mouth. Helaena whirls away, clapping her hands over her ears; both you and Alicent reach out to console her. The man—now a corpse—drops to the floor, spilling out blood and brains like wine sloshed in a too-full cup. The room erupts into gasps of shock, disgust, dismay. If the noble families of Westeros required any further proof of Daemon’s undomesticated savagery, they now have it.

“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon says, smirking down at Vaemond’s body.

“Disarm him!” Otto Hightower bellows.

“No need.” Daemon wipes his sword clean and sheaths it.

Helaena is whimpering as you embrace her. Aegon is clearly regretting his sobriety. Aemond is staring at his uncle, his blue eye alight, entranced and awed and hungry; for it is not often that he meets his match in someone. As you watch, his finger go—unthinkingly, instinctively—to the dagger at his belt, and they rest there on the hilt shaped like the roaring bear of House Mormont.

~~~~~~~~~~

Somewhere in the few hours between the audience in the Great Hall and the dinner arranged by the pitiful, dying king, Aegon managed to rectify his dreadful lack of intoxication. He is now quite drunk and delighted to be back in his preferred state. Aemond is berating him in the corner of the dining room.

“Perhaps I don’t drink too much,” Aegon says, swaying as he pokes his brother in the chest. “Perhaps you drink too little.”

“I drink exactly the correct amount, thanks for your concern.”

Aegon slurs, speaking to you this time: “Don’t you think he drinks too little?”

“I think you should find your seat at the table before you end up under it.”

“Well alright then.” Aegon staggers off.

“Tonight is important,” Aemond tells you, low enough that nobody else will hear. Servants are lighting candles and setting the vast table; Alicent and Rhaenyra, sitting just a few paces apart, pretend not to notice each other. “I asked him to be responsible, to be prepared, to for once put duty before self-indulgence—”

“Let him have the wine. A time will come…a week from now, or a month, or a year…when he will have to renounce his vices for the good of the realm, but that time is not now. Let him enjoy his hedonism while he still can.”

Aemond frowns as he glares in Rhaenyra’s direction. “Even when the noose is tightened, they expect us to break bread.”

“Perhaps there is an advantage in it for you,” you say, laying your hand against his cheek, his scar. “Perhaps this is your chance to study them, to learn where all their bruises and cracks are.”

He smiles, lifts your hand from his marred face, kisses your palm. Candlelight illuminates him like flames. “You are truly a terrible influence, wife. You’ve made me so tame.”

“I’ve been known to ride a dragon too, you know. A very fearsome dragon. Tall, silver-haired, spends long hours in the library reading about philosophy…” You wink and turn to go to your seat. Aemond pulls you back, hooks a hand beneath your jaw, devours you with his roaming, ravenous eye: your parted lips, your throat, your breasts, your hips, lower. You can feel your muscles unraveling, opening, growing supple. You can feel all of your self-conscious trepidation melting away. On the blurred, firelit periphery of your vision, you can tell that Daemon is watching.

“I want you,” Aemond whispers.

“So take me.”

The doors open and King Viserys is carried in by the Kingsguard, propped up helplessly in his chair. Aemond releases you and stands with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture diffident but his lips still curled mischievously, distractedly. You can guess what he’s thinking, what he’ll spend the entire meal playing out in his mind before he gets to have it. When King Viserys is positioned at the center of the table, Aemond takes his place at the Green’s end. You sit between him—always on his good side—and Helaena. Your eyes scan the guests; Jace and Luke are ogling you with a mix of horror and fascination. Daemon is smirking with his chin propped on the heel of his hand. Alicent is staring blankly at the wall.

Aegon bends across Helaena so he can say to you: “That was very decorous. Entirely appropriate for a family dinner. Maybe when they serve dessert you could fuck on the table, right between the apple cake and the blueberry tarts.”

“That’s a fine idea, I’ll certainly consider it.”

He cackles and slumps back into his seat, guzzling a cup of blood-red wine.

“How good it is to see you all tonight,” the king says. “Together.” His eye—he has only one remaining, and surely that is the work of the gods’ irony—floats over you without much interest. He barely acknowledges any of his children with Alicent, nor do they strive to capture his attention. Perhaps they learned the pointlessness of such efforts a decade ago. Perhaps the part of them that longed for the king’s affection and approval died with his rotting flesh.

“Prayer before we begin?” Alicent prompts, and the king agrees. “May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love…” Beneath the table, Aemond nudges his knee against yours. You return the gesture. “May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long…” From the opposite end of the gathering, Luke stares at Aemond as if still trying to puzzle out how the runt of a boy he blinded grew up to be…well…that. “And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

Daemon sighs and rolls his eyes dramatically. “Yes, and perhaps they can find a new wife for Axel Hightower too.”

“If he’s fortunate, he’ll be freed when I suffer an entirely coincidental fall from a horse,” you pitch back. Aemond chortles, a low rumble from deep in his chest.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” the king continues forcefully. Through a forest of flickering candles, Daemon’s eyes dissect you as he twirls his wine cup, thoughtful and amused. “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses.”

Aemond says nothing, but you can read the words in the lines of his face. Further bolstering the strength of the Blacks, you mean. Absentmindedly, he skims his fingertips across your knuckles. Goosebumps spring up on your arms.

The king raises his cup. “A toast to the young princes and their betrothed.”

Everyone obediently lifts their cups, but their expressions are less than celebratory. Otto Hightower broods. Alicent bites her lower lip. Luke blanches; he is young, so very young.

Aegon taunts: “Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman.”

“And perhaps just the one,” Jace returns. “You wouldn’t be acquainted with the idea.”

The king says: “And let us toast as well Prince Lucerys, the future Lord of the Tides.”

Cups are raised again. Rhaenyra beams with pride. Aemond leers at Luke as he drinks.

“You’ll be great,” Rhaena tells her future husband. She is a sweet girl, wise and sympathetic and grounded. She must be more like her mother. That’s good; she’ll make a fine companion for Luke when he’s sent off to rule Driftmark.

Aegon leans into Jace again. Jace flinches away. It does take some getting used to, as you are well aware; Aegon has, at best, a tenuous understanding of personal space. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that.”

“Let it be, cousin,” Baela warns. You find it unfortunate that she was born to be on the wrong side of this war. She would have made a valuable ally.

“You can play the jester if you wish,” Jace tells Aegon. “But hold your tongue before my betrothed.”

Having not received the reaction he was hoping for, Aegon returns his attention to his wine. Luke and Rhaena are whispering back and forth, giggling innocently; she’s finally gotten him to smile. Aemond reaches beneath the table to rest a hand on your thigh. It skates upwards, and then back down again, very slowly. You sip your wine and try not to react visibly, but hot blood rushes into your face. Aegon squints at you and Aemond with bleary eyes, his mouth stretching into a grin.

The king hauls himself to his feet. Aemond’s hand stills but remains on you. “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world…” Aemond shakes his head, just barely, just enough for you to notice it. His face was not dear enough for his father to mourn its butchering. He does not look directly at Viserys. He looks at you instead. Again, Daemon is watching. “…Yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.”

The king reaches up to the golden mask that covers half his face. It takes you a moment before you realize he’s going to remove it. Alicent takes a series of shallow, uneasy breaths. Aegon grimaces and gulps his wine. Beneath the mask, there is a gaping, wet cavity where the king’s right eye once was. His cheek is mostly disintegrated; one can glimpse his teeth and tongue moving behind the curtain of dark, shredded flesh. To her credit, Rhaenyra does not turn away. There is horror on her pale face, but there are other things too: compassion, mourning, loss. She does truly love him, you think to yourself, and you wonder what Alicent’s children’s lives could have been like had Viserys not already filled the chambers of his heart to the brim with Aemma’s daughter.

“My face,” the king pants. “Is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father…” Aegon forces himself to raise his eyes to Viserys, then immediately regrets it and buries his face in his wine again. “…Your brother, your husband…” Alicent winces like she’s been hit, but tries to hide it. “And your grandsire. Who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.”

You are struck with a sudden vision of Otto Hightower holding Laurel, talking to her like she’s already his closest confidant, tickling her toes, singing to her some ridiculous tavern song common in the Reach, kissing the crown of her head again and again. To your knowledge, King Viserys has never once asked about your daughter.

I cannot pity this man, you think, contemplating the dying king. You do not avert your gaze from his hideous affliction. You do not forget all the ways in which he has failed Alicent’s children. In fact, I might even hate him.

The king says as he lowers himself back down: “Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong—”

“Interesting choice of words,” Aegon mumbles.

“—If the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.” Exhausted from the effort, the king languishes in his chair and sucks in rattling breaths. Alicent comforts him and helps him refasten his mask. No one speaks, but all the Greens are thinking the same thing. It is easy for the king to urge forgiveness when he was never wronged: never ignored, never dismembered, never groped with unwanted hands, never sacrificed on the altar of Rhaenyra’s claim to the Iron Throne, a claim so much of Westeros refuses to support. He would set the world ablaze for her, and expects you all to smile and toss sticks into the flames as they lick around your ankles.

Ever the favorite child, ever affixed to the king, Rhaenyra offers a toast next. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the queen.” Alicent peers up at her reticently with large, tearful eyes. “I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that she has my gratitude…and my apology.”

“Apology for what?” Aegon hisses under his breath. He is right; the words are worthless in their ambiguity. Apology for monopolizing the king’s love? Apology for cursing Alicent for complying with old men’s schemes and marrying Viserys? Apology for what happened to Aemond? Apology for the interminable enmity that remains? Apology for dividing and jeopardizing the realm? Apology for WHAT? No matter her meaning, Daemon is not enthused. He glowers and sulks. Daemon Targaryen is not a man who apologizes for anything.

Alicent collects herself before replying. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” She stands and toasts Rhaenyra. “I raise my cup to you and your house.” She pauses, then adds: “You will make a fine queen.”

Otto Hightower raises an eyebrow. Aemond’s forehead wrinkles before he can smooth it again; his hand squeezes your thigh. Is it a lie to soothe a dying man? Is it to deceive Rhaenyra, to disarm her? Is it wistful thinking for a miraculously peaceful end to all of this? Surely Alicent cannot think it possible for Rhaenyra to reign. As long as Aegon lives—and then Aegon’s sons, and then Aemond, and then Daeron—there will be tens of millions who raise banners and swords to try to put them on the throne. It is a truth that is larger than any of their individual wills. Rhaenyra cannot let them live if she hopes to be queen. Even if she wanted to spare them, Daemon would not stand for it. She must either be kept from the Iron Throne…or she will wear the Greens’ blood like rubies. The dinner guests ignore this fact, for tonight at least. They nurse their wine and clink silverware against their plates as they eat. Candlelight paints you all in flames and shadows.

Aegon is sorely disappointed with the dearth of chaos he’s caused this evening. He gets up to refill his wine cup and snakes between Jace and his betrothed. “I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” he tells Baela. “But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

Jace jumps to his feet and slams his palms on the table.

Baela tries to calm him. “Jace…”

Beside you, Aemond rises. He doesn’t say a word; he just stares, wearing firelight like furs, his scar very loud. Aegon meanders back to his seat. Jace does some quick calculations, trying to figure out how to deescalate while saving face. He is bolder than Luke, but still far from ferocious. And he is clever enough to know how to keep the king’s love. He pounds Aegon’s shoulder and raises his cup.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond,” Jace says. “We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope that we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles. And congratulations, Prince Aemond, on the recent birth of your only child, your…” He hesitates deliberately. “Daughter.”

The table is hushed, all eyes on Aemond. He is examining Jace like he’s trying to decide the best spot to place a blade. Aegon observes his brother, waiting for a signal. Aemond looks to you. You shrug, ever so slightly, sipping your wine; you are determined not to be bothered. The Strong boys’ time of reckoning will be upon them soon, but not here and now. At last, Aemond sits. The table comes back to life like the earth at springtime.

“Beware the beast beneath the boards,” Helaena says.

“Well done, my boy,” the king praises Jace. Aegon gags audibly.

Helaena stands next. “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon.” She offers a soft, sympathetic smile. “It isn’t so bad, mostly he just ignores you…except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

There are awkward titters. Helaena isn’t sure what they’re laughing at. You reach out to grasp her hand when she sits. “That was very, very kind of you,” you say. She nods gratefully.

“Good,” Otto adds, and Helaena beams.

The king calls for music. The dining room blossoms with the noise of lively, cheerful strings. Jace—quite unexpectedly—offers Helaena his hand for a dance, and she is delighted to accept. You fill your plate with meat and fish and vegetables but eat sparingly. Aemond eats nothing. He watches you, and he watches Helaena, and he adds spoonfuls of dishes to your plate that he thinks you might like but declines to taste them himself. Aegon drains cup after cup of wine. Alicent tends to the king. Daemon tends to Rhaenyra, his arm draped across the back of her chair, making her laugh and feeding her morsels of food with his fingers. He is the mate of her choice, that’s for certain; she glows for him, she would kill for him.

When the king’s pain grows too great, he retires to his chambers for sleep and milk of the poppy. As Viserys is carried out, a large roasted pig is brought in. The scent is rich and fatty and mouthwatering. The servants place the pig in front of Aemond, and he immediately begins cutting into it to serve you a portion. That’s when you hear the snickering. At the other end of the table, Luke is smirking. Rhaena stares at him, not knowing what it means, but you do; Aemond has told you about the Pink Dread. Aegon has too, for that matter. It rolls across your husband’s ravaged face like a wave: the taunting and cutting and stitching, the excruciating cleaning of his wound each day for months afterwards, the muscle memory of trauma that never quite forgets the blade, the howling absence of repayment. A debt is still owed. A debt will always be owed.

Aemond brings his fist down on the table and stands. The music cuts off. He raises his cup. “Final tribute,” he says, and glances down at you. You would not stop him, even if you could; these words are long, long overdue. Aegon has perked up, though his eyes are still glazed with drink. Alicent is gnawing anxiously on her thumbnail. Across the table, Daemon is grinning. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey.” If his intentions were not clear before, they are now; he has conveniently left out Rhaenyra’s sons with Daemon. “Each of them handsome, wise…”

Don’t, Alicent’s eyes plead.

Do it, provoke Daemon’s.

Aemond continues: “…Strong.”

“Aemond—” Alicent begins.

“Come,” Aemond says, ignoring her. You and Aegon hold your wine cups aloft. “Let us raise our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again!” Jace shouts.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment,” Aemond says, stepping towards him. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

Jace’s fist collides with your husband’s face on his blind side. Aemond barely recoils; his wine remains undisturbed in his hand. When Luke bolts to his feet, Aegon—no great foot soldier, but committed to the cause nonetheless—smashes his face into the table. Luke yells and struggles. The room is in uproar, but when Aemond shoves Jace to the floor and turns back to you, he is smiling. He has tasted the Strong boys’ power and is wholly unimpressed. Guards rush to restrain Jace and Luke. Rhaena detains Baela, who is swiping at Aegon like a shadowcat. Aegon circles back to the Greens, probably a little terrified of her. Helaena has fled to safety at Otto Hightower’s side.

Alicent grabs Aemond’s forearm. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?!” What she means is: Why would you sabotage what little chance we have at peace?

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” Aemond rips his arm free. “Hm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

Jace breaks away from the guards. “It takes courage to speak of bastards when your child was born to another man’s wife!”

Aemond reaches for his dagger. Jace fumbles for his own. Daemon steps between them.

“Wait, wait,” he says, and Jace instantly retreats. Rhaenyra sends her children from the room, as if they needed help appearing any more juvenile. Then Daemon turns to Aemond. They measure each other in a taut, razor-sharp silence. You go to Aemond’s side, not to stop him but to show that you support him even when his own father does not, that you will always and unconditionally, that you do not shy away from battles. Daemon’s menacing, deep-set eyes flick to you, linger there, and then return to Aemond. There is a cunning sort of understanding living in those eyes like fanged animals in caves. The viciousness on Aemond’s face dies. It is replaced by something unsettled, something fearful.

“Hm,” is all he says. He nods towards the doors, telling you to leave first. You cross through the threshold and Aemond swiftly follows after you. You hurry through halls and doorframes and empty rooms. Together, you enter the deserted Great Hall.

“What was that about—?”

Aemond pushes you against the wall, kisses you breathlessly, runs his hands up the length of your body from your hips to your throat. “It doesn’t matter.” You moan into him as he pushes your thighs apart and kisses you again. He tastes like wine and heat and bloodlust. He tastes even better than you remember. “I want you,” he says. “Now.”

“Yes,” you answer. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“They’re going to come looking for me, Mother and Otto. They’re going to want to discuss what I did and pick it to pieces and start drawing up plans. If we go to our chambers they’ll find us, probably within five minutes—”

“Then do it here.” You glace to the stairwell where he took you that very first time, back when you were a widow and he was a prince in need of a politically expedient marriage and Rhaenyra was tucked neatly away on Dragonstone.

He caresses your face, suddenly gentle. “Are you sure you’re ready? I won’t be angry with you if you’re not.”

In reply, grinning and flushed, you take his hand and lead him to the stairwell. You descend together past the cobwebs and jagged stones walls and cold drafts and the torches, bathed in firelight. In the abyss of this secret place, he strokes you and tastes you and is so impatient that he rips pieces from your gown like the missing scraps of membrane on Vhagar’s wings.

When you gasp as he slips into you, he stills. “Pleasure, yes? Not pain?”

“Pleasure,” you agree, biting at his neck, the movement of your hips guiding him back into a rhythm.

“You are mine,” he whispers when you are both spent, sweat-slick and drenched in each other, throbbing with long-awaited release. He kisses the side of your face again and again as he catches his breath. “You are mine, you are mine, you will always be mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is sunlight on your bare skin. There are gulls crying outside. You can hear the crash of waves, the rustle of wind through the leaves. King’s Landing is awake again.

Your eyes still closed, you reach out to Aemond. His side of the bed is empty, and this is not so unusual; he often wakes before you to train or hunt or strategize with his family. Last night, Otto Hightower had indeed been waiting when you and Aemond returned to your chambers; he had politely diverted his gaze from your ripped gown. Perhaps the Greens’ ambitions have called your husband away again already. There is nothing to fear: Rhaenyra and Daemon have returned to Dragonstone, King Viserys has returned to his sickbed, the world is back in order. You open your eyes.

You bark out a startled yelp when you see Aegon. He’s perched on the writing desk with a cup of wine. You groan, sitting up and rubbing your face with both hands. “Why do you insist on doing this?”

There are deep, violet circles under his eyes, even more pronounced that usual. His clothes are stained and common. He wears a strange, mournful smile. “I’m just saying goodbye.”

“…You’re what…?”

He hops down, gulps the rest of his wine, tosses the cup on the floor, and walks out of the room.

“Where are you going…? Aegon?” You stumble out of bed and yell after him: “Aegon! Where are you going?!”

You dress yourself as quickly as you can and venture out into the Red Keep. Something is wrong. There are no footsteps, no pleasant jabbering, no laughter, no frivolous droves of nobles. Aegon isn’t in his rooms. The courtyard is empty. You feel a sudden stab of fear and rush to Laurel’s bedroom, but she is dozing peacefully under the supervision of her wetnurses and handmaidens. You depart to find Helaena. The princess is in her chambers, but engrossed in embroidering a black-and-red spider and says only that Aegon isn’t there, and of course you already knew that. Aegon is almost never with his wife.

“Do you know where the others are?” you ask her. “Aemond? Sir Criston?”

She shakes her head. “It comes from the sky.”

“Helaena, please…”

Her hand juts out to snag your wrist. “Stay away from the fire,” she hisses, gripping you so fiercely that her fingers leave pallid imprints in your flesh. Then her face clears and drops back down to her embroidery.

You are headed to Alicent’s chambers when Aemond intercepts you. His height fills up the hallway, blocks the sunlight, casts shadows. “There you are! I was looking everywhere—”

“Have you seen Aegon?” he asks, his voice urgent.

“An hour ago, but not since. Why?”

“Did he tell you where he was going?”

“No. He just said that he was saying goodbye.”

“Seven hells,” Aemond exhales, aghast.

You take his hands. When you do, he brings your knuckles to his lips and kisses them absently, his thoughts far away. “What’s happened?”

He looks at you for a long time before he speaks. It is a moment you can never come back from. “The king is dead.”

You know what this means. You’ve always known; you just thought you’d have more time. Aegon knows what it means too. And when he felt its full and final and crushing weight…he tried to escape it.

“We have to find Aegon,” your husband says. “He ran, and if we can’t drag him back…if he gets out of the city…” He shakes his head. “We need him to be king. We need him to send terms to Rhaenyra. We can probably convince her if we move quickly and our side has enough strength. She’s not stupid and she’s not suicidal, and if she is offered generous conditions for herself and her bastards she might concede and the realm need not burn. That is my mother’s most ardent wish, and so we will give it a chance. But we need Aegon. As long as he lives, it has to be him. He’s the firstborn son. He’s the true heir. The people will not follow anyone else.”

“I’m sorry it can’t be you,” you say softly.

“That’s done. There’s no use fighting it. It can’t be changed.” He gazes through the window into the mazelike alleyways of the city. “Do you have a spell for this, Moonstone?”

“For locating a lost person? I’ve seen one performed before, but never done it myself.”

“What would you require?”

You try to recall. “Ashes. A mirror. Willow bark. A candle of transparent wax. An object belonging to the person, like blood or hair or a sweated shirt. And something beloved by them…in this case wine, I suppose.”

“How long will it take?”

“Not long. I think I can find everything here.”

“Ask the maesters if you need any assistance,” he says. “They will help you.” And that’s true; they are devoted to Aemond, and so they will cross oceans for you as well. “Sir Criston and I must search the city. If we cannot locate him by noon, we will return for your counsel.”

You smile up at Aemond, combing your fingers through his long silver hair. “You make me sound so important.”

“You are,” he replies, as if it is obvious, and before he can vanish he remembers one last thing. He reaches into his belt to give you back your dagger from Bear Island. He balances it on his palm like scales of judgement. “I suppose you’ll need this.”

“You’ve grown attached to it, haven’t you? You like to think you own it now. That you’ve claimed it, perhaps.”

“I’ve grown attached to everything about you,” he says. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

You find ashes in the fireplace. You find a mirror on your vanity. You obtain pulverized willow bark and a clear candle from the maesters. In Aegon’s bedroom, you remove a handful of white-blond strands from his hairbrush. In the Red Keep’s kitchen, you procure a flagon of red wine.

It is risky to perform a spell in broad daylight, but the circumstances leave you no choice. You spark the candle to life with your dagger and flint on the side of the heart tree that faces away from the castle, and you pray to the Old Gods that nobody spies you and gets too curious. You burn Aegon’s hair in the flame. You scatter the ashes and willow bark over the cold grey glass of the mirror, and then you sprinkle on drops of wine from your fingertips, repeating the words you once heard your mother say when two of your brothers went missing during a hunting expedition: “Lost in the waves, lost in the trees, lost in the sky, now show me what they see.”

As you are about to wipe the glass clean, Aemond and Sir Criston appear in the godswood. They are both wearing cloaks to conceal their identities as best they can…as if there are a plethora of towering, silver-haired, one-eyed men running around King’s Landing. They are also emptyhanded.

“What on earth is she doing?” Sir Criston asks with apprehension. He is aware on some level that you dabble in the occult, but adamantly avoids the details. He is a devoted follower of the Seven, after all; although perhaps he would have absorbed whatever religion Alicent subscribed to with the same zeal. Perhaps she could have had him chanting to the Old Gods under a heart tree within an afternoon. “I don’t need to kill any more bears, do I?”

You chuckle. “No, Sir Criston. Not just yet, anyway.”

You clear the mirror with one sweep of your hand. Then you tilt the glass so the sun ricochets off of it, igniting the reflection in blinding white-gold light. Squinting, your eyes pained, you peer into the mirror. There is candlelight, and stones, and a large hollow space, and…and…

“This is ridiculous,” Sir Criston laments. “This won’t accomplish—”

“Quiet,” Aemond says.

There is a face. No, not a face, a statue. Not just a statue. A sculpture of the Mother, and then the Smith, and then the Warrior, and then the Stranger. They revolve in a ceaseless pattern like the clouds passing by overhead.

“Oh, what irony.” You look up at Aemond and Sir Criston. “He’s in the sept.”

You are waiting in Aegon’s chambers when they bring him back. He is struggling and shrieking and sniveling, dragging his feet like a petulant child. His cheeks are scraped and bloody.

“You bitch,” he says when he sees you, but he is more heartbroken than wrathful. “I wouldn’t have given you up.”

“I wouldn’t have run.”

Aegon ruptures into red-faced sobs. His limbs hang lifelessly, brokenly as Sir Criston and Aemond hold him. Your voice turns kind. You lift his shagging hair out of his eyes. They glisten with tears, with misery, with dread. “We need you, Aegon.”

“You don’t,” he chokes out. “I could disappear, I’d be happy to in fact, I could go to Pentos, or Volantis, or Myr, or…or…”

“As long as you live, you are the heir,” you tell him calmly. “And none of us would harm you.” You cradle his swollen, battered face in your hands, and he lets you. “You can do this, Aegon. You are capable of it. You will grow into it. And we will help you.”

He lets loose a bray of cynical laughter. “Do you have a spell for that too, witch?”

And Aemond wrenches his brother roughly off his feet and drags him away.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is less than twelve hours later when you find yourself back in Aegon’s chambers, this time carrying a pouch heavy with dust the color of pale rose quartz. The prince is under heavy guard to prevent another escape attempt, but he has been allowed some comforts: there are, from what you can discern in the frenzied nest of blankets, no less than two women snoring faintly beside him. Aegon is turned towards you with his eyes closed, his chest bare, slack-jawed and drooling, one hand dangling down to the floor. His coronation will be tomorrow.

You kneel to spread the fine shimmering powder beneath his bed: rosemary, sage, sea salt, black jade, a handful of teeth from a bear, a single fang from Balerion. Aemond did not suggest this precaution, although he went with Sir Criston to supply the bear teeth; he knew you would have thought of it already. When you rise, Aegon is staring at you.

“This is a strange reversal of roles, Moonstone,” he says. It is the first time he has ever used Aemond’s name for you. You weren’t even sure he was aware of it. It glides off his tongue effortlessly, like he’s known it all his life. He speaks no apology, but it is there swimming in his watery blue irises; it passes between the two of you in the blade-cool moonlight. “Now you are watching me sleep.”

You lay two fingers against his full lips. “I wasn’t here.”

“I’ve already forgotten you.” And then he rolls over, pulling up the blankets to cover his head.

~~~~~~~~~~

The smallfolk who have been corralled into the Dragonpit like cattle gawp with wide, wheeling eyes. They aren’t sure why they’re here. They’ve heard rumors, surely—and rumors can be powerful things—but they are slow to find their footing in this brand new world. They are so desperately afraid to hiss or clap at the wrong moment and end up hanged as traitors.

On the platform beneath a massive glass window that lets in sunlight like a downpour, you stand on Aemond’s right side. Helaena is to his left, and then Sir Criston and Alicent. The old queen is anxious, clasping her hands tightly together so she will not reveal too much of her humanity by wringing them. Most nights, you and Helaena bring the children to Alicent’s chambers and spend several hours there with her. She doesn’t quite feel like a mother to you yet, but you have learned enough of her to know that one day soon she will. She sews green blankets for Laurel decorated with seven-pointed stars and white watchtowers and dragons…and, occasionally, the roaring bear of House Mormont.

Otto Hightower addresses the crowd. He tells them that the king is dead and there are alarmed, doleful murmurs, perhaps less for the king—a sick old man who they have not laid eyes on in years—than for those who will survive him. An unclear succession can bring war, chaos, fire and blood…and Rhaenyra’s inheritance has been the subject of tipsy tavern debates since long before Aegon was born. The smallfolk might have less love for royals than you would care to admit, but they have more than enough for themselves: their families, their companions, their painstakingly scrapped out existences. You look into their filthy, creased, indomitable faces and are reminded of Bear Island.

“But it is also the most joyous of days,” Otto announces. “For as his spirit left us, he whispered his final wish: that his firstborn son, Aegon, should succeed him.”

There is a tentative reception to this news from the crowd, scattered shouts and applause. They have heard rumors about Aegon too, but they cannot say they know him. The guards file in. The horde parts to make space for them, common men and women jostling for the best views. The trumpets sound to proclaim the new king’s arrival. He appears—white-haired, raccoon-eyed, with an all-consuming dread that could be mistaken for dignity—and approaches the platform through an archway of drawn swords, a rainbow of cold clanging steel. The smallfolk peer at him with desperate curiosity, trying to discern what he carries in the lines of his shoulders and spine: competence, wisdom, pride, brutality, disaster. In turn, Aegon glares up at his family with bitter animosity. Tears burn in his eyes. Aemond and Otto chose his clothing, his crown, every detail of his coronation. Aegon can choose only his own grudges, fed and fattened like rats lapping up splashed milk in alleyways.

When he ascends the steps, Alicent kisses Aegon’s forehead and then moves to stand by his wife, the new queen. Helaena is dressed in a delicate, mournful blue. There is a ladybug clinging to her right index finger. She looks at you miserably. You offer her a small reassuring smile. Helaena does not smile back.

Aegon glances to Aemond, to you, and then he kneels. The septon anoints him and prays for the blessings of the Seven. Aegon’s mouth quivers; his hands shake. The smallfolk study him like a constellation they are still trying to discern the shape of. Sir Criston brings forth the crown of the Conqueror—black and red, onyx and flames—and places it on Aegon’s head. Aemond watches with an expression you can’t quite read. He breaks his concentration and warms, beams at you, brings your knuckles briefly to his lips. You catch several people in the crowd chuckle at the exchange, astonished, endeared. Regardless of the rumors, they have never properly met Aegon before; and they have never met you, either.

The smallfolk are growing louder. They are clamoring, nodding. Whatever they have heard, here is a young and able-bodied king, here is a dragonrider, here is an uncontested Targaryen, here is a man they can cast as a hero. Alicent bows to Aegon. So do Helaena and Aemond and Sir Criston and Otto. You bow lower than any of them. Aegon’s lips curl up at the edges when he sees this, just barely. And as he is introduced to the city for the first time as king, the crowd erupts. Something changes in Aegon’s drawn face; something brightens in his eyes. He unsheathes the sword Blackfyre and waves it in the air, and the cheers and applause become deafening thunder. Helaena can’t bear to look at Aegon, but you can’t take your eyes off him. He is radiant, ecstatic, ablaze. For the first time in his life, he can feel a worthy purpose surging through his veins. He can feel love.

“Long live King Aegon!” the people exalt. “King Aegon! King Aegon! Long live King—”

And then the stone floor explodes under them. The Dragonpit fills with dust, screams, the hellish shrieks of a dragon. Aemond grabs your arm, pulls you behind him, draws his sword. It is pointless; there is nothing in the world that could stop this fire from devouring you if it is loosed. From behind the curtain of churning debris, Meleys growls and screeches. Her massive red tail sends smallfolk hurtling into the walls, crushing bones, severing arteries. When the sun rose this morning, Princess Rhaenys was under lock and key in the Red Keep; yet now she is here, enraged, betrayed, armored, deadly. She has chosen her side after all. You’re on the wrong one.

Otto is yelling for the doors to be opened so people can escape, but there is no escape for the Greens. You are cornered. You are staring into the scorching golden eyes of a dragon.

“Get Helaena!” Alicent commands Sir Criston, and as he lunges for the new queen Alicent steps in front of her firstborn son. She and Aegon cower there together, united at last in these dwindling final seconds of their lives. And then you have an idea. You attempt to shove past Aemond, but he pushes you back. You peer around his shoulder, trying to catch Rhaenys’ eyes.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer, you scream soundlessly. There is no man so accursed as the kinslayer.

The uncertainty hits Rhaenys’ face and ripples out like a stone tossed into water. Her eyes go blank, empty. The reins go slack in her limp hands. Aemond turns to you, only now realizing; he is hopeful and yet so bone-rattlingly afraid to hope.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, KINSLAYER.

Rhaenys reappears. She gathers up the reins again. A decision has been made.

Meleys opens her jaws and roars. The walls quake, the destroyed floor rattles, the whole world shudders beneath her fury…and yet no dragonfire burns you to ash. Meleys whirls away, takes flight, soars out of the Dragonpit and into the clear blue sky. Alicent’s knees buckle and she collapses into sobs of relief.

Rhaenys carries the threat of murder away with her, for the moment at least. She will also carry word of Aegon’s coronation to Rhaenyra.

~~~~~~~~~~

He stands before Vhagar in the dying light. The day’s last sunbeams are speckled over the choppy waves; a storm is rolling in. His coat whips and cracks in the wind like sails. You hold Laurel in your arms; she is drowsy but valiantly battling sleep. You have both come to the cliffside to see him off.

“Storm’s End isn’t far,” Aemond says. “I’ll stay one night and be back in the morning.”

“That’s what you think now. Just wait until you wake up to find all four of Borros Baratheon’s daughters in your bed.”

He laughs, shakes his head, grazes his thumb across your cheek. “I’d tell them to assume new identities and flee to Essos. I’ve acquired a rather formidable wife.”

You search his face, not wanting to be afraid, not wanting to be weak. Rhaenyra is out there somewhere, in the mist, in the nightfall. So is Rhaenys. So is Daemon. “Do you have to go alone?”

“Aegon is needed here. There are other tasks to be attended to. And if there is an attack on King’s Landing, he and Sunfyre can defend the city until I return.”

The prospect of Aegon defending anything would have once been dubious at best; now it is a surety. He has been king for three days. With each sunrise, he wakes earlier, works longer, drinks less. He grows confident. He grows content. “Of course.”

“It is my responsibility, Moonstone,” Aemond says softly, and you understand. He is the reason why the Greens cannot assume the aid of House Baratheon. Axel Hightower’s words echo in your skull: The great houses of Westeros will not forgive this slight. You will have to crawl on your knees begging them to support you in what comes next. “I will bring my regards, my apologies. And I will also bring an offer of Daeron’s hand in marriage to whichever daughter Borros chooses.”

“Hopefully not Floris. Unless Daeron has a fondness for donkeys.”

“I prefer bears myself.”

You clutch Laurel to your chest with one hand and hold out your dagger from Bear Island with the other. “For luck,” you say. This is a joke; Aemond is not a man who believes in luck. He believes in magic. “I want it back when you return.”

“You can try to take it from me.” He grins and tucks the dagger into his belt. “Fear not, wife. This war hasn’t even begun yet and it’s already almost over.”

You balance on your tiptoes to kiss him, to breathe him in, to twist your grip into the collar of his coat and drag him in closer. His long silver hair thrashes around you in the wind. His forearms and neck are dusted with your protection spell; Sir Criston jests that his title should be changed from Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to Chief Bear Executioner. Aemond traces the wrinkles on Laurel’s velvet-soft palm; her tiny hand closes around his finger.

“You know what I’m going to say,” he tells you. “It’s what I always say.”

“You’re coming back.”

“I’m coming back,” he agrees.

He tears away from you both, climbs up the rope netting to Vhagar’s saddle, disappears into the southern sky as the dusk snuffs out those last threads of fiery, golden light.

~~~~~~~~~~

Storm’s End is only four hours away by dragonback. Rhaenyra waits all night for Luke to return. He never does.

At first, she tells herself that Lord Borros Baratheon surely offered her son a feast and lodgings, that he is perfectly well—overindulged, even, plied with wine and meat and flirtatious serving girls—and that he will travel back to his own House the following morning or early-afternoon. But as the sun sets over the Narrow Sea exactly twenty-four hours after Luke’s departure, there is still no sign of him. Daemon flies on Caraxes to fetch the prince. He returns with Arrax’s severed head, washed up on the thunderous, stony beach of Shipbreaker Bay.

There are more than mere rumors; there are witnesses. Daemon tells Rhaenyra everything. Aemond threatened Luke in Lord Baratheon’s hall. He pursued Luke on Vhagar. There were roars and fire and shouts in the lightning-split sky. There were ragged pieces of Arrax that fell into the sea like rain. Luke did not reappear. He never will.

Rhaenyra’s wails hemorrhage from her in wrenching, gasping torrents. She cannot stop. She cannot bear it. Each time there is a sliver of silence she hears his screams. Each time she closes her eyes, she sees her child—his outstretched hands, his dark matted hair, his face contorted in shock and terror—tangled in Vhagar’s entrails, alone in the darkness, in the gore. She will never be rid of this. It will be a cavernous, inescapable loss. It will be a hatred that replicates in her bone marrow until no part of her can remember a time before.

“I’m so sorry,” Daemon says as he cradles her like a child, his hands smoothing her hair, long and loose and bone-white, the mark of the magic in their blood. “I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“He has done this.” Rhaenyra’s words are gutted and pitch-black. “That monster. That vile beast of a man. It is not enough that they stole my father from me, that they murdered Harwin Strong, that they killed my daughter in the womb. Now they have…they have…” She cannot speak of it. The words do not exist.

“We will burn Arrax’s remains as a true Targaryen. And we will have vengeance.”

“What will happen to Aemond’s child? What will happen to the Mormont girl?”

Daemon considers this. “He will send them away,” he decides. “That’s what I would do. He will send them somewhere he thinks is safe. He will hide them until the war is won.”

And in the bloodstained silence, the two of them—uncle and niece, husband and wife, rulers of Westeros in name only—look at each other for a long time.

[wildbriars]

gojo satoru: god, mortal, man

heavy is the head that wears the crown • listen here

i. the greatest sia / ii. everybody's watching me (uh oh) the neighbourhood / iii. teenagers my chemical romance / iv. eat your young hozier / v. uprising muse / vi. savages marina / vii. it's tough to be a god kevin kline & kenneth branagh / viii. this hell rina sawayama / ix. invincible aminé / x. i'm gonna live till i die frank sinatra / xi. house of memories panic! at the disco / xii. a lack of understanding the vaccines / xiii. snap out of it arctic monkeys. / xiv. the loneliest mäneskin / xv. how to save a life the fray / xvi. i am not a robot marina / xvii. all i wanted paramore / xviii. i can do it with a broken heart taylor swift / xix. surface pressure jessica darrow / xx. everybody lost somebody the bleachers / xxi. eyes closed imagine dragons / xxii. i'm still standing elton john / xxiii. dead! my chemical romance / xxiv. the greatest billie eilish

[shintin]

Gunpowder Dreams

Chapter 10 (Plan)

↳ Vash the Stampede x Female Reader

They didn't know a wounded man would show no mercy when they took the best thing he ever had away from him. What did they say? Don't poke the dragon if you can't take the heat; if you do, expect the flames.

Genre: explicit smut, toxic relation, romance, angst (Mafia au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, Alternative Universe/Modern Setting, no spoilers from manga and anime, dominate Vash the Stampede, sexual situations, dub-con, graphic violence, gore, angst, toxicity, gunplay, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, too many smut scenes, emotional trauma, and etc.

Song Recommendation: Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know?

Note: Sorry for the delayed update. Unexpected events in life took place. I hope with this smut chapter, I can earn your forgiveness.

Chapter Index - Next Chapter

The darkness suffocated you; unsettling dreams bled all over your mind and prevented you from finding rest. You only had your dreams to give you peace, but now they had vanished, leaving you unsure how to get them back.

All you saw when you closed your eyes was Knives.

You kept getting cut over and over and over, with a knife in his hand, and Vash shot his brother in the leg and outside, the wind sang, but its high-pitched and off-key melody made it difficult for you to ask it to stop. The blood on your skin drained the warmth from your veins, leaving you freezing. The floor beneath you seemed to engulf you as you lay on your back. You could taste the clotted blood in your mouth, throat, and heart.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Yet another delightful adventure in the land of perpetual misfortune.

With a sigh, you turned in bed, your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and when you blinked, you realized the leather couch in front of the windows was empty, with rumpled sheets tossed aside. Despite the house having millions of rooms, he chose to sleep on the couch. You weren't sure why he kept you in his room or why he preferred the sofa over another room. You didn't seek answers or dwell on it. Having him in the room brought comfort, but he was absent right now.

Once again, a sigh came out of your lips.

Being in Vash's presence was like a rollercoaster ride. He was so used to solitude that each day spent with him brought new revelations. These discoveries weren't entirely negative; in fact, most of what you learned about him was endearing and harmless.

Just last week, you stumbled upon him in his office, listening to vintage vinyl records. While you had seen his collection of records before, stacked high alongside old books and artwork, but seeing him simply sitting and listening to the music was a new experience altogether.

He didn't even notice your presence when you walked in that day. He sat completely motionless, staring at the wall, and you later realized he was listening to a Johnny Cash record. You discovered this when you peeked into his office hours after he had already left.

Your curiosity got the best of you as you couldn't help but wonder why Vash kept resetting the needle to listen to that one particular record. You were determined to find out which song it was, and it turned out to be a tune called "You're My Sunshine."

You had yet to share with him what you had witnessed that day, as you didn't want to disturb his comfort in his own space. However, some of you wanted to unravel his past, uncover both the good and bad aspects, and lay bare all the secrets so you could be done with it because you believed your imagination posed a greater threat than any of his hidden truths.

But you were not sure how to make that happen. He wasn't exactly known for his communication skills.

The previous night, you had feigned sleep as you watched him enter the room, cautiously lighting a small lampshade to avoid waking you up. He silently took a seat at the table, unloading his firearm and arranging the golden bullets on a cloth. He leaned over and cracked open the window slightly, hoping to dissipate the scent of gunpowder, but the bold wind had other plans. It audaciously swept in and playfully tousled his golden locks, eliciting a bittersweet smile from you that carried a tinge of pain. Yes, even smiling hurt. But witnessing him find solace was a rarity; now, you were fortunate enough to experience it twice.

With a revolver clutched in his gloved hand, he diligently used a bore snake to clean the barrel. You recognized the process because, when your father still had remnants of his humanity, he had taught you how to assist him in maintaining his firearm. However, you were only a child back then, unaware that cleaning the gun meant he had likely used it to take someone's life.

Men and their guns. They all use them for destruction, and the man before you had even used it to make you—

As the old memory resurfaced, a blend of anger and shameful emotions welled up, stinging the back of your eyes. You closed your eyes tightly, unwilling to witness Vash's sinful ritual any longer.

As you glanced around the dim room, your sleep-riddled eyes scanned from the couch to the shadows cast by the furniture. The filtered sunlight seeping through the covered windows faintly illuminated the space. Amidst the shadows, a phantom-like silhouette took shape that wasn't there, with light blond hair, chilling green eyes, and a mole beneath the right eye—a vicious ghost.

Your grandmother used to say that if you dwell on the thought of the devil long enough, he will appear at your doorstep.

The floorboards made a creaking sound to your right, seemingly originating from somewhere in the bedroom. Your head swiftly turned in that direction, and you took a sudden, sharp breath. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end like a frightened dog backed into a corner. You held your breath, being cautious not to make any noise in case the sound repeated. Silence enveloped the room, an eerie stillness. Your fingers tightly gripped the duvet on your lap as your heart raced faster.

There was an intruder in the room. But how? How the fuck did Knives manage to evade the guards again?

After another creak, a distinct footstep echoed through the room. You cautiously rose from the bed, but as you stood up, a wave of dizziness nearly caused you to fall. You managed to grab onto the side of the bed, trying to steady your spinning head.

You made your way over slowly, masking the nausea coursing through your body. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, breaths coming in quick succession. With measured steps, you pressed your back against the cold wall. Despite your attempts, a trembling breath managed to escape. Your chest heaved as you took rapid, shallow breaths while the echoing footsteps reverberated from an unfamiliar location.

You stood frozen, your back melding into the wall as if you were one with it, rendering you immobile and unable to hide. However, you refused to become a victim once more. Determined, you knew you had to find a sharp object. With urgency, you sprinted towards the wooden nightstand by the bed, frantically rummaging through the drawers in search of a knife, a gun, or any means of defense.

But you suddenly stopped.

One of the drawers contained a collection of origami made from napkins, which you had previously crafted. It struck you as odd that Vash had kept these seemingly insignificant origami pieces while discarding the plates he used to bring you donuts.

With hands trembling, you shut the drawer and turned your attention elsewhere in search of a weapon. However, in your state of unease, you accidentally collided head-on with something solid.

Something human.

Male.

You heard him sharply inhale, felt his hands stabilize your body, and sensed the blood draining from your face, leaving you weak and lightheaded.

"Vash," you exclaimed, struggling to catch your breath. You went through the familiar motions, just as you always did. Your heart skipped a beat, then raced uncontrollably, your breath became shallow, and your palms grew sweaty. No matter how many times you encountered him, he consistently evoked the same response from you: a mix of fear and excitement. You couldn't quite explain why it excited you.

Something had to be amiss with you. It wasn't ordinary for fiery warmth to surge through your veins in such conditions, leaving a tingle in its wake.

He refused to release his grip on you. You could hear the rapid, forceful thumping of his heart in the quiet space between you. He remained incredibly still and tense as if he were struggling to maintain control over his own body.

Your heart was giving out. "It was you—"

"What are you searching for?" he whispered, his words strained as if he struggled to breathe. His eyes, an unusual shade of blue, captured your attention even in the darkness—they were stunning, crystal clear, and had a penetrating quality that was somewhat unsettling. His hair was thick, a lustrous hue of gold, and his physique appeared slender and unassuming, yet his grip conveyed effortless strength.

"I thought someone was in the—" you trailed off, abruptly stopping your words. Vash stood before you, clad in nothing but a towel. A TOWEL! The embarrassment swept over you, and you wished you could simply disappear, perhaps even roll under the bed to avoid the awkwardness.

The voice you heard came from him. He had just stepped out of the shower, appearing as if he had hurriedly done so because of you. Water droplets cascaded from the tips of his hair onto his shoulder blades, trickling down towards his chest and well-defined abdominal muscles.

Vash maintained a deliberately neutral expression, his voice unaffected as he assured, "He won't return to this house again."

For a brief moment, it was hard to fathom that you were still standing there, gazing at Vash, who was wearing nothing but a towel. It wasn't easy to take the situation, or even yourself, seriously.

"You kept those origamis."

There it was. A flash of anger. In and out. Vash's eyes flickered with intensity, then settled. He shifted his gaze towards the wall, remaining silent for a moment. "Yes," he murmured, his voice calm and composed.

"I didn't intend to rummage through your belongings."

He said nothing.

"I was searching for something sharp to defend myself against the person hiding in the room." The words slipped effortlessly from your mouth. What surprised you even more was the need to vocalize them, to reassure Vash that you hadn't invaded his privacy.

"I couldn't care less if you get bored and snoop around my stuff," he stated dismissively, walking past you without making eye contact. "My mother used to craft origami. They reminded me of her." His voice was chillingly cold. You observed as he opened the drawer, clutching the towel around his waist with one hand, and crushed all the origami in his wet fist. " But she's dead now, so it holds no significance anymore." With that, he returned to the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet right before your astonished eyes.

You couldn't quite understand why you felt a pang of hurt, considering those napkin origamis held no particular significance to you. However, witnessing him collect and preserve them in the drawer beside his bed stirred something tender in your heart. Unfortunately, as always, you couldn't shut up and ended up ruining the moment.

However, you were now aware. This man would go to any lengths to eliminate anything that could be perceived as a weakness.

He emerged from the bathroom and proceeded towards his walk-in closet, disregarding your gaze. You continued to watch him as he dropped his towel, exposing his bare buttocks to your view. You gulped as a hot sensation enveloped you, and your eyes shamelessly roamed from his butt cheeks to the muscles of his thighs, finally settling on his calves.

Who did sculpt this man?

 Vash had everything going for him in the looks department. He was hot as sin, with a stunning body and killer charm. You almost drool, but when he caught you stealing a glance, you hastily averted your gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the fantastic sheets.

Sheets? Seriously? Huh!

"You know, it's pretty rude to be snooping on people, love."

Embarrassment flooded your face, heating your cheeks, as you were caught in such a juvenile act. Suddenly, you felt utterly clueless about what to do with your hands. Your thoughts raced, overtaken by self-reproach. What the heck was wrong with you? The overwhelming urge to hide and disappear consumed you. You sprinted to the bathroom, securing the door with two locks. Leaning against the door, you slid down until you sat on the cool, black-tiled bathroom floor.

Stop grinning, stupid girl!

*

Another day in the never-ending circus of misery.

The gentle afternoon sunbeams lazily brushed against your cheeks, almost as if teasing you. Squinting your eyes, you peered out the window. It was chilly outside, yet the usual forecast of rain seemed absent for the day. The Gods above were like twisted demons, mocking you by making such a gloomy day appear this beautiful.

Ugh! Why—

No!

Wait a damn minute!

Vash stood in the yard, and you were aware of this because you could see him from behind the curtain. He wore a tailor-made shirt that hugged his figure, a black shade so deep that it nearly dazzled. His shoulders were embraced by a charcoal gray coat, fifty shades darker than coal, while his golden spiked hair contrasted the somber autumn surroundings. Black pants adorned his legs, accompanied by black leather gloves and matte black boots.

He appeared flawless, particularly amidst the grimness of the dirt and decay, encompassed by the dreariest hues this scenery could present. He stood as a striking figure, his eyes adorned in shades of deep blue and turquoise, casting a captivating silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun in a stunningly beguiling manner.

He could be glowing.

That could be a halo around his head.

This could be the world's way of making an example out of irony.

Vash possessed a beauty that surpassed even your most attractive ex-partner. He was far from being human; every aspect of him was extraordinary and unconventional.

He looked around, his eyes shielded by purple round sunglasses, and a gust of wind momentarily revealed the holster strapped to his right leg as his coat flapped open. He didn't even step into his own yard without his gun. The irony!

The men surrounding him appeared to be awaiting instructions, anticipating something, and you couldn't tear your eyes away. A strange thrill coursed through you, being in such proximity yet still distant. It felt like an advantage, being able to observe him unnoticed.

He was a strange, strange, unhinged man. You weren't sure if you could ever forget what he had done to you, the way he had made you feel, and the intense desire to bring harm upon him. The urge to despise him indefinitely lingered within you, but it was gradually weakening. He had abducted you, callously exposing you to danger, and vanished while his brother subjected you to repeated torment. Yet, he also took it upon himself to mend the shattered fragments afterward, carefully gathering and reassembling them—as janky as it was. You wanted to harbor hatred towards him but found yourself at a loss as to how to do so anymore.

You had no clue about who he truly was—actually, you never had much knowledge regarding how he spent his days unless he was in your company. Even now, you remained clueless about his purpose for being there.

He eventually uttered a few words to the men, and they nodded in swift agreement before running around. You retreated entirely behind the curtains, making sure to stay hidden. You positioned yourself at an angle, ensuring he wouldn't catch sight of you even if he happened to glance in your direction.

Vash removed his glasses and ran his hand across his face, briefly covering his eyes before his hand settled on his mouth as though he held something he couldn't bring himself to say.

Suddenly, he seemed tired. His eyes appeared somewhat … sorrowful, although you were convinced you were just reading him wrong. You observed him as he observed those around him, paying close attention to notice that his gaze lingered on the red Geranium flowers, fighting to survive in the harsh weather. You attempted to decipher Vash's expression as he stared at them, but he was always careful to keep himself completely neutral. He remained like a statue in the wind, doing nothing more than blinking.

A stray dog headed straight toward him. Suddenly, fear gripped you. You felt concerned for the poor creature, a weak little animal that had mistakenly wandered into the wrong place, searching for morsels of food to stave off hunger for a few more hours.

Your heart began racing in your chest, pumping blood too quickly and forcefully. A sense of impending doom washed over you, leaving you with an unexplainable feeling that something dreadful was on the horizon.

The black dog dashed straight into the back of Vash's legs as if it had impaired vision and couldn't see its path clearly. It panted heavily, its tongue hanging to the side, seemingly unsure how to retract it. The dog whined and whimpered slightly, leaving saliva all over Vash's impeccably fine pants. You held your breath, anxiously awaiting as the golden man turned around.

You half expected he might draw his gun and shoot the dog directly in the head, having witnessed him do such a thing to a person before. However, upon seeing the dog, Vash's countenance underwent a transformation. His flawless facade fractured, revealing cracks in his otherwise perfect demeanor. Surprise elevated his eyebrows and widened his eyes if only for a fleeting moment, providing you with ample opportunity to take note of it.

He looked around, his eyes shifting as they surveyed his surroundings before he gently scooped the animal into his arms. You felt a sudden desperation to witness his next actions, and your anxiety heightened, making it difficult to catch your breath.

You had witnessed the extent of Vash's capabilities when it came to harming another person. You had observed his callous heart, his emotionless eyes, and his complete indifference. His composed and collected demeanor remained unshaken even after he took a life without hesitation. Now, you could only speculate about what he might have in store for an innocent dog.

You felt an urgent need to witness it firsthand. You had to dispel the notion of him being a good person from your mind, and this was the perfect opportunity. It would serve as evidence that he was sick, corrupted, completely in the wrong, and would forever remain so.

You had to see what he was going to do to the helpless animal when a familiar voice called out from behind you, causing you to freeze in your tracks.

"Having an absolute blast, aren't we?" Bradd remarked sarcastically. "This room conveniently provides the ideal windows for our top-notch boss surveillance operations."

You quickly turned your head, giving him a sharp glare. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and shrugged nonchalantly upon noticing your reaction. He proceeded, "I knocked on the door multiple times. However, it seems you were so absorbed in your mission that you didn't notice, and I had to come in without an invitation."

Bradd moved until he stood beside you, and his presence tightened the knot forming in your stomach. T There was an ice-cold fortress shrouded around him, as palpable as the tension in his shoulders. It felt as though he was creating a distance between you, as if you were about to be sent off to war, and he believed he would never see you again.

On certain days, you resented him for assisting the twins, but deep down, you couldn't deny the truth that he was a good man. He had become your emotional support in recent months, and you had started to understand his character. He belonged to the category of men who prioritized only their own family, and anything beyond that circle? Held no significance to him.

At the moment, you were an outsider who had disrupted their usual order, akin to a parasite, just as he had described.

You turned your head, and your eyes widened at the sight of Vash crouching on the ground, using his hands to feed something to the dog. The trembling, bony body of the animal was nestled inside Vash's open coat, seeking warmth after enduring the cold for so long. The dog wagged its tail vigorously, briefly making eye contact with Vash before diving back into the cozy refuge of his coat. You heard Vash laugh, a sound you had rarely witnessed. It was a laughter that seemed to transform him into a completely different person, the kind of laugh that put stars in his eyes and dazzled his lips.

You realized you had never seen this side of him before. You had never glimpsed his teeth, so impeccably straight and white, an embodiment of perfection.

A flawless, flawless exterior for a man with a black, black heart.

It was almost inconceivable that the person you were staring at had blood on his hands. He looked soft and vulnerable—so human. His eyes squinted from his wide grin, and his rosy cheeks bore the marks of the chilly weather. Even his dimples were visible, adding to his overall charm.

He was undeniably the most breathtaking sight you had ever encountered. And yet, you wished you had never laid eyes on him, for something within your heart was tearing apart at the seams. You struggled to comprehend the image before you, as you desperately needed him to be wicked so you could revert to hating him. However, he defied your expectations. You didn't want to see Vash like this. It felt wrong, yet in some inexplicable way, it also felt right.

You believed that the revelations had ended, but you were mistaken once again. This realization left you pondering the extent of what remained unknown and how much more you would discover about Vash in the days and months ahead.

And it scared you.

Because the more you uncovered about him, you found fewer excuses to distance yourself from him. The image you once had of him was transforming right in front of your eyes, becoming something that terrified you in ways you never could've expected. Amid so much uncertainty, all you could think was that it wasn't the right time. It wasn't the right place. Not when there were still so many problems around.

If only your emotions could grasp the significance of perfect timing.

You released a sigh, frustrated with your own indecisiveness. Although you couldn't ignore your physical attraction towards him, you struggled to let go of your initial perception of his character. It wasn't easy for you to abruptly shift your perspective and view him as anything other than a manipulative monster. You required time to adapt to the idea of accepting Vash as a normal human.

"The dog," Bradd interrupted, returning you to the present. "Nicholas used to take care of that dog, but we hadn't seen her around for quite some time until a few days ago," Bradd explained. "Seems like Angelica has taken a liking to Vash as well." Bradd glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and you found yourself perplexed, trying to comprehend why he continued to smile at you even after he averted his gaze. Flustered and feeling strangely embarrassed, you scrambled to find something to say.

"Is there anything you need from me?" you inquired, keeping your gaze fixed on Vash as he affectionately rubbed the dog's head and chuckled, trying to avoid eye contact with Bradd.

"Hm?"

You shifted your attention to Bradd. "You're here. Did you come for small talk?"

"Oh," Bradd responded, scratching the back of his neck while sporting a smile. The creases forming at the corners of his lips and eyes revealed his age. You wondered whether he had a family and if they were aware of his association with mafia freaks.

"I came to see how you're doing and to let you know that Vash wants to meet you in the living room. If you need to change, I'll wait here to accompany you. I know you've likely become familiar with the layout of this house through your very successful attempts to flee, but I still want to ensure you don't wander into the wrong rooms," he said, winking.

You bit your tongue to refrain from responding with more sarcasm than his.

*

Vash couldn't hide his surprise when he walked into the living room. As you glanced up, you finished the remaining Vodka in your glass. "Apologies for once again getting into your alcohol," you said to him, and he blinked in response.

"You're feeling better."

You nodded over your shoulder. "I was thirsty, and the drinks were there while you ran late."

"Yes," he replied, speaking slowly and cautiously.

"So I had a few shots."

"I can tell," Vash remarked, remaining stationary near the stairs, his gaze fixed upon you. He didn't utter a word but slowly advanced into the living room, removing his coat and delicately placing it over an armchair. He retrieved a gun from his holster and another from his back, deliberately positioning them on the table beside your empty vodka glass.

"I want to hurt your brother, Vash Saverem," you blurted out abruptly. It startled you to realize how much you had transformed over the past few months. You felt like an entirely different person—more audacious, hardened, and, for the first time, willing to acknowledge your anger. It was a liberating experience.

"Are you—" he shook his head, then apologized, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

You looked up, feeling the weight of Vash's stare. He appeared captivated as if intrigued by your words. If he didn't fully grasp your meaning, you were prepared to express it differently. "I need revenge," you stated firmly, or that's what you thought.

He took a seat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and intertwining his hands. A wide, amused grin spread across his face, radiating a genuine sincerity that struck you like thunder. Something pricked at your eyes and weakened your knees. "How do you plan to accomplish that, love?"

"I've got plans."

"Is that so?" He leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, and couldn't help but maintain a constant smile.

"Yes," you replied, growing increasingly irritated. Vash didn't seem to be taking you seriously, likely attributing your seriousness to being drunk. While you were indeed drunk, you were also very, very serious.

Vash waited, observing your annoyed expression, and nodded once, signaling you to continue.

A familiar, intoxicating buzz settled in your stomach, amplified by the alcohol swirling within your empty belly. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and your mouth felt parched as if you had swallowed sand. "Your brother—"

"You can't even speak his name yet talk about revenge?"

You attempted to conceal your surprise, but now you found yourself uncertain why you hesitated to utter his name. Perhaps it was because you feared that he would suddenly materialize, much like summoning a devil by speaking his name.

You slid your empty glass towards Vash, indicating that you wanted him to refill it. Vash glanced at you, and what looked like concern was clouded in his pretty eyes.

"If you want me to mention his name, hand me the bottle," you declared, snatching the vodka bottle from his grasp before taking a large gulp. The taste made your face contort, reaffirming your belief that alcohol tasted like shit when it wasn't mixed with something. You'd die on that hill. However, you did appreciate the burning sensation as it traveled down your throat, spreading warmth throughout your body.

"Knives," you said the name, taking a deep breath. Remembering the adage that fear of a name only heightens fear of the thing itself, you decided to defy that fear. So fuck him and his name! "Are you content now?"

He let out a snort. "Do you honestly believe that you can simply stroll out of this room," Vash said to you, "knock on Knives' door and shoot him in the head?"

Yes. "No."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Vash said softly, and you glared at him. "My brother isn't here," Vash continued. "He's gone to deal with a business complication elsewhere."

"He's not here?" you questioned.

"No," Vash responded, his smile fading. "And that's precisely why I wanted to speak with you." He picked up a larger glass from the table and poured himself a whole serving of Bourbon, likely his preferred drink. He downed the bitter liquor in a single gulp, then refilled the glass. He pressed the glass against his lips with his gaze fixed on you. "I need you to be gone until he returns," he said, closing his eyes as he swallowed the entire contents of the glass.

"What?" Your heart picked up so quickly that you thought you might be experiencing a heart attack.

"You heard what I said."

"No," you declared, shaking your head. It's often said that you can't repeat the same mistake twice; for the second time, it becomes a choice rather than a mistake. Therefore, this was your decision.

"Bradd will help you. It's up to you whether you want to return to your father's house or forge a new path for yourself. If you opt for the latter, I'm ready to offer my support—"

"I JUST TOLD YOU I WANT TO GET MY REVENGE!"

"How?" Vash scrutinized you intently. "How do you plan to reach my twin? How will you confront him?"

"I already told you I have plans!" you exclaimed, clenching your fists. "But I require your help," you whispered, filled with both fear and a glimmer of hope. You caught Vash's gaze from across the table. "What if I exploit Knives' vulnerability?" you asked, raising your eyebrow slightly.

"That seems unlikely."

"Why do you think that?" you said, feeling desperate. "Even if there's the slightest chance—"

Vash sighed and ran his hand through his hair, disheveling his perfectly spiked hair. "He doesn't have any weaknesses. If there were any, I would have discovered them long ago. You wouldn't be making such statements if you knew him like I do. Hope will only break your heart all over again."

You dug your nails into the leather that you feared it might rip. However, you resisted the urge. You were well aware of the threats you had heard and your chosen path. "I am an outsider," you found yourself saying. "Maybe I can perceive things more clearly than you—"

"Love—"

"Dammit, Vash! I have to give it a shot. You have to understand—"

"This is not good for you," he avoided eye contact. "It's dangerous for you to believe anyone could harm Knives."

You stared at his resolute and unwavering profile while he focused on his hands. "In the worst-case scenario, I might end up dead. You have nothing to lose, so why won't you allow me to pursue it?" you whispered.

He rubbed his forehead. "I have numerous conflicts to deal with in the coming days," he said, his voice tense. "I have meetings to attend and negotiations with people even worse than my family." He took a deep breath, the air feeling constricted. A weighty silence hung between you. "I understand that you are now afraid of even your own shadow," he continued, his voice filled with concern. "You struggle to sleep, and I know my presence makes you uncomfortable. However, I can't leave you alone anymore. I've lost my trust in Knives. So, I'm granting you your freedom once again. But this time, I'll ensure you truly are leaving. I'm making this decision for your well-being."

"Oh." A pause. Was he sleeping on the uncomfortable couch because he was worried about you?

"Yes," he said—another pause.

"Or," you said to him, "I remain here, and you use me for whatever plan you have involving my father—"

"I don't have any plans regarding that," Vash replied melancholic.

"Fortunately for you, I have made plans, and in exchange, you will allow me to seek revenge against your brother, I mean Knives. I am prepared to face the consequences on my own."

Vash fought a smile but couldn't hold it back. He glanced downward, letting out a small laugh, before locking eyes with you. He shook his head.

"What's so funny?"

"My lovely girl."

"What?"

"I've been waiting for this moment for quite a while now."

"What do you mean?"

"You're finally ready," he remarked. "You're finally ready to fight back."

Shock surged through you. "Of course I am," you replied. In an instant, memories of the unbearable pain and the horrifying fear of being brutally attacked flooded your mind. You hadn't forgotten any of it, but you realized that if you wanted to find peace, you needed to momentarily set aside your animosity toward Vash. Because now that you were prepared to fight, you felt a sense of empowerment like never before. You marveled at how different you felt and how different you knew things could be. You had a lot of things to do, so many scores to settle, and a big revenge to exact.

Everything had changed. The child you once were had succumbed to her foolishness. It was your turn to engage in this game on your terms, and you were not afraid of cheating.

No matter what lay ahead, there was no going back for you now. There were no other choices. "I forge forward or die."

Vash burst into laughter, his expression bordering like he might cry.

"I will cause hurt to your brother," you declared, "and I will make sure he learns not to threaten me."

He was still smiling.

"I will."

"I know," he said.

"Then why are you laughing at me?" you asked, puzzled.

"I'm not," he said softly. "I'm just wondering," he said, "if you would like my assistance."

"What? You agree with—" You blinked rapidly, unable to believe what you just heard.

"There are three things you should know about me, love," he said, leaning his elbows on his knees and interlocking his fingers. "First," he began, "I hate my brother more than you could comprehend." He cleared his throat. "Second, I am unapologetically self-centered and make decisions primarily based on my interests in nearly every situation. And third," he paused, looking down and chuckling softly, "I believe death would be a reward for despicable people like me or your father." He lifted his head. "I've always told you," Vash said, "that we would make an exceptional team. From the moment we met, I've been waiting for you to be ready to acknowledge your anger and strength. I've been waiting patiently all this time."

"That's why you wanted to use me to hurt my father?"

"Does that bother you?"

Your jaw dropped. "What? Of course, it bothers me! Wouldn't it bother you?"

"No," he said casually. "I would feel honored to have assisted."

Words eluded you. You couldn't tell if it was the influence of alcohol or a newfound courage that ignited within you, urging you to let your inner fire scorch others as well. "If that's the case," you declared, your gaze fixed on Vash's face, "then I want to bestow an honor upon you, Mr. Savrem."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want to use me?"

"Yep," you exclaimed, emphasizing the P. "We can hit two birds with one stone."

Vash took hold of his glass and reclined against the couch, looking at you as though he no longer recognized you. Good. When something is subjected to intense pressure, it becomes distorted. It forms sharp edges that can inflict deep wounds.

He lightly tapped his finger against the crystal, and the sound reverberated through the quiet living room. The crackling of the fireplace was the only other sound present.

Vash crossed one leg over the other. "Elaborate," he demanded.

"Do you—like, do you just like men?"

"Why? Are you trying to seduce me?" Vash asked in a relaxed manner, drawing your focus toward him as he sipped his Bourbon and peered at you over the rim of his glass.

His gaze was probing and studious, yet you offered no reaction. Your facial muscles remained steadfast as you replied, "That's what you desire, isn't it?"

A sly grin appeared on Vash's face, accentuated by the dim lighting and the flickering shadows, giving him a sinister look. However, you didn't even flinch in response. He no longer had the power to intimidate you. You had witnessed him kneeling before you.

"Is this a part of your grand plan?"

"Yes," you replied, contemplating how you wished you had a bigger mouth to accommodate more alcohol. It was essential to muster courage for what you were about to say.

"Nothing will hurt my dad more than seeing everyone talk about his beloved daughter fucking his enemy. And about your brother," you stated, taking a deep breath. You couldn't believe those words had come from your mouth. Your ears grew warm, but you had to press on because Vash didn't even flinch and needed him to take you seriously. "He has a vulnerability, and it's you," you continued, and he lowered his glass, tilting his head to the side as his eyebrows furrowed. Encouraged, you pressed forward, "He cut me because he believed you cared for me, and I am growing in you." You let out a mocking laugh, "So, you are his weakness. He doesn't want to share his little brother, and I want to do the exact opposite."

"You didn't tell me anything about this detail."

"There was no reason for you to be aware of it then. However, now I want you to pretend that you have succumbed to my seduction. I know you are skilled at acting, so it shouldn't pose a challenge for you," you said, taking another swig and wincing at the burning.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I can't fuck you," he stated, finishing the remainder of his whiskey.

The words felt unpleasant on your tongue, but you forced them out anyway. "I don't want a relationship, and If you are interested in the buttholes—"

"For fuck's sake! I've been with women as well. So, let's put an end to this discussion about holes!"

"So, if you're not exclusively interested in men, what's holding you back?" you rushed out. He tilted his head, patiently waiting. "From fucking me," you stated plainly. "You didn't hold back before. What's preventing you now?"

He remained quiet for a moment. "Because I couldn't bear the guilt," he whispered, gazing at you contemplatively. "If it were to happen again, the outcome would be vastly different — you're already aware of that."

You folded your arms. "Would it, though?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Do you think if I were to pin you against a wall, you would resist initially only to succumb to pleasure eventually? Or do you think you would fight as if your life depended on it, only to end up mentally checking out from the trauma?"

You swallowed, the truth leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

"I will never claim to be a good, kind, or even honorable man. There is little of that left in me, and the truth is, it was never truly there to start with. I was born with a blackened soul. However, there is a distinction between those who are needlessly evil and those who do wrong in the hopes of achieving something good. I'll leave it up to you to decide which category I fall into."

You realized you didn't need to think about it at all. Trauma had a tight hold on you, but all you wanted Vash to do was hold you tighter.

You downed the remaining Vodka in a single gulp, relishing in the burn as it traveled down your throat. The clock ticked, approaching eight PM. It was the perfect timing since the household staff would soon be present to serve dinner. Why not put on a performance for them? You were confident that at least one of them would discreetly inform Knives about everything.

Adrenaline got steadily released into your bloodstream, akin to injecting heroin into a vein. Rising to your feet, you approached Vash, causing his muscles to tense up as you parted his crossed legs and settled onto his lap. Almost subconsciously, his hand swiftly grasped your waist to hold you. No matter how much he pretended otherwise, it was clear that men were all the same. Their dicks dictated their every decision.

"You'll end up getting hurt," he cautioned, his voice taking on a deeper tone as the words slipped out quietly and deliberately.

" Maybe I need another pain to wash away the one I'm experiencing now," you stated, unreservedly running your hand between your legs, provocatively stroking his crotch through his pants, all while maintaining unwavering eye contact with him.

He took a deep breath. "You're toying with fire," he croaked, shifting his gaze from your face to your hand resting on his groin.

"Then let your flames consume me, Vash," you urged, intensifying the pressure of your hand against the fabric. "Imagine the retribution we will exact upon the men who ruined us."

He tightly shut his eyes, tilting his head back as his lips parted. You reached out and touched him once more, this time with gentle tenderness. You felt his thumb caressing your side. Good.

You wished for Knives to witness this moment, wanting to prove something to the deluded man who thought he owned you. The only person with the right to claim your body was the one you granted permission to. You would allow Vash's hands to explore every inch of your skin, followed by the touch of his mouth. You would let his tongue lick your pussy until you were sated, right before he fucked you until you no longer knew your name.

You would let him because you said he could.

Vash drew you closer, pressing his body against yours and pinning your breasts against his chest. Your breath faltered as you felt the warmth surround you, his arm encircling your waist tightly, firmly locking you in place.

You liked the way he felt pressed against you. The softness of your body molded against the hard ridges of his. It felt... pleasant. Satisfying.

"We can handle this, Vash. Approach it like a business," you whispered in his ear, sensing his breath leaving him and his heart pounding against your chest.

Vash locked eyes with you briefly, and as you leaned in to kiss him, he placed his forefinger on your lips. "No need for kisses. This is not about making love. It's strictly business," he asserted.

As you were about to part your lips to speak, you were interrupted by his soft lips gliding rhythmically against your neck, reminiscent of water swaying the rocks beneath a cliff. A moan rose from your throat, and you immediately grasped the back of his neck, urging him to press his head closer to your skin.

He emitted a low, primal growl, his self-control slipping away. His other hand entwined itself in your hair, adjusting the angle of your head to gain better access. He sank his teeth into your flesh, skillfully exploring with an unrestrained fervor.

You clung to him tightly, pressing further into him. Shuddering with the feel of his hard cock digging into your stomach, his size only fueling your desire. He wasn't small, and that was precisely what you craved tonight. Something that would silence Knives' voice with pleasure, leaving you breathless and thoroughly gratified.

His tongue wrestled with your collarbones, skillfully swiping and lapping while his teeth playfully nipped at them. Another moan slipped free, bouncing in the air until he matched it with his groan.

The grip on your hair tightened, tilting your head back, allowing his lips to roam freely along the sensitive area where your neck and shoulder met.

You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin, a subtle warning before he sank them in. The sharp pleasure rolled your eyes to the back of your head, followed by a long moan.

"Fuck," he cursed, his tongue flicking against your neck as he emitted a primal groan. "That voice drives me wild."

You felt your eyelids flutter as you succumbed to the pleasure his tongue and teeth were drawing out of you. His hands ventured lower, and soon, you felt a firm tug on your jeans. The button popped open in seconds, accompanied by the low purr of your zipper being undone.

On a low growl, Vash inquired, "Is your pussy wet for me like before, love?" as he playfully nipped at your neck. It stung a little, causing you to wince in response to the slight pain. However, his tongue glided over the bite mark, soothing the sting.

"Yes," you whispered, pleasure overpowering the lingering pain. His hand smoothly slid down the front of your jeans and underwear, his fingers gradually moving lower until the tip of his middle finger teasingly dipped inside you.

A low, guttural growl arose from you as he realized how truthful you were being. "Fuck, love, that's it. If you want our plan to succeed, you need to be louder. Don't you want everyone to know we're fucking?"

Suddenly, two fingers delved inside you, skillfully curling to hit that sweet spot. Your vision blurred, and a scream of pleasure erupted from your lips, becoming your sole response. It was the only thing you could do at that moment.

With instinct, you tilted your hips, grinding against his hand. He withdrew his fingers partially before driving them back into you again. And again, until he fucked you with his fingers, leaving you with nothing to do but hold on tightly, your nails digging into his shirt.

You let out long, husky moans that emanated from your throat, obediently filling the space precisely as he had requested.

"You certainly know how to make a scene," he whispered into your ear, punctuating his words with a sharp nip. The heel of his palm pressed firmly against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. With his skilled fingers, he elevated your arousal, causing the orgasm to coil deep in your stomach. Then, he rubbed you just right, causing your knees to quake from the intense pleasure.

"Oh," you moaned, your breath coming in irregular, breathless gasps.

In a dark whisper, he asked, "Will you scream when you come on my hand, love?"

You thought you nodded, but you couldn't be sure, for in a matter of seconds, your head jerked backward as your climax escalated, building up to an intense peak.

"Let me hear it," he encouraged. His fingers glided out, only to plunge back in, this time with the addition of a third finger.

You bit your lip as you tumbled over the edge. A cry rushed out, the sound wavering in pitch as deep-seated pleasure engulfed you. Shamelessly, you pressed against his hand, surrendering to the relentless waves of ecstasy.

"So vindictive," he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. Breathless yet possessing a heightened hunger, he took out his hand and lightly brushed it against your lower lip, spreading your arousal. "You've made quite a mess on my hand, love. It would be rude not to clean it up."

While maintaining eye contact, your tongue darted out, the tip sliding across his finger. He smiled wickedly, prompting you to open your mouth wider. Soon, you tasted your own familiar flavor, but it didn't last long as he withdrew his fingers and licked the remainder himself. You never expected such a simple and primal act to make you ache for him even more than you already did.

His hot breath tickled against your face, causing a shiver to run down your spine. As you closed your eyes, you couldn't help but bite your lip when you felt his hands slip into your shirt.

"Vash," you said in a hushed, breathless voice. His warm breath caressed your neck as he leaned in closer. Gentle lips delicately grazed the edge of your ear. Like a cascading waterfall, a torrent of chills raced down your back.

"You're such a good, obedient girl," he remarked. The aroma of smoke mingled with hints of mint and wood enveloped you. The thought of him being delicious and the desire to have him in your mouth crossed your mind.

As if reading your mind, he reached up and placed his hand on the back of your head, his fingers entwining in your hair and drawing you impossibly closer. In a moment of impulse, you did something foolish. You drew his lower lip into your mouth, savoring the taste of him and the feel of his lips against yours. Suddenly aware of your behavior, you let go of his lip, attempting to pull away.

He was like a drug, and similar to the actual substance, he led you to make idiotic decisions.

He held onto you tightly, using his hand to press your forehead against his own forcefully. "I explicitly said no kissing. Right?" His grip on your hair was firm.

You nodded in response.

In return, his tongue traced your chin, descending towards your neck once more. You let out a soft, unintentional moan, and as soon as he noticed your body's response, he nibbled on your skin. He completely consumed you, sucking and licking your body in a way you'd never experienced.

He was leaving hickeys all over your skin, and you found yourself powerless to resist him, just as you were powerless to deny the pleasure that ran through your veins. Another low growl pinged through his mouth, serving as a mere indication of his following action.

He gripped your waist and lifted you. "You're such a good fucking girl," he praised, leaning against your chest before biting your breasts through your shirt and bra. He held you against the wall, his body pressing tightly against yours.

Gasping for air, your feet touched the ground as you struggled to hold up your head, desperately inhaling precious oxygen. He firmly held your cheeks with his large hand, growling against you.

You inserted your hands between your bodies, traveling towards his muscled stomach and firm chest. With force, you roughly pushed him away.

"Wait, please stop," you gasped, feeling a haze of confusion clouding your mind. The heat of the moment had left your pussy pulsating and your senses overwhelmed.

"What did I tell you?" he demanded with a sharp tone. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, captivating you in a hypnotic grip. It was difficult to avert your gaze when you felt like a helpless prey entrapped by the eyes of a predator.

"What?" you whispered, still feeling lightheaded.

"You're toying with fire," he reiterated slowly, his voice rough with gravel. Your mouth opened, but the words remained trapped, unable to get out.

His lips brushed against your cheek, tracing a path along your jawline. "Think about the prying eyes behind these walls. Let's stick to your original plan and provide them with something to gossip about," he concluded, punctuating his words with a sharp nip on your earlobe. Your body reacted, arching involuntarily as sweat drops formed on your skin. " I know you want me."

"No," you denied in a whisper. "You're wrong."

He raised his head, a smug smirk gracing his lips. "So, you're going to be a bad girl tonight? Lie to my face and act like your pussy isn't aching to be filled up with my cock?"

A flush of heat spread across your cheeks, a blend of anger and embarrassment. "Not everything revolves around physical attraction," you retorted after a moment. "Maybe my body wants you, but up here," you tapped your temple, "it's a different story."

He nodded slowly, studying your face with a pensive gaze. Stepping back, he left you feeling a sense of emptiness. It was akin to a dark veil encasing the sun on a scorching summer day—a sudden, chilling coldness that seeped into your bones.

He seized your hand and yanked you away from the wall. He twirled you around until you stood in front of one of the mirrors next to the fireplace. You watched him from the reflection as he pressed his body against yours, his warmth soaking into your very being. Your gaze fixated on the mirror, your eyes meeting and colliding through the glass.

He lowered himself gradually, bringing his mouth close to your ear, never breaking eye contact. "If you've had a change of heart, I won't push you into anything and will stop right now," he whispered in your ear, eliciting sparks throughout your nerve endings. His voice carried ominous promises and dangerous new beginnings.

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. The word "No" teetered on the edge of your tongue, like a delicate ballerina dancing precariously at the tip, dangerously close to falling off and breaking her ankle. Because if you said no to this man, you'd spend the rest of your night—week—possibly longer, regretting it.

As he desired, a sense of recklessness and impulsiveness descended upon you. All you yearned for was to surrender yourself to him. You were dying to deny him, yet you had to fight your body from turning and pulling him into you.

Perhaps, just this once, to piss off Knives, you considered giving in.

You rolled your lip between your teeth, and he watched you closely, studying every gesture as if trying to interpret a cryptic language concealed within the contours of your body.

"So you think it'll work?" you inquired, your voice husky and uneven. His mouth remained close to your ear while his gaze remained fixed on yours.

He nodded slowly, his expression serious and his gaze penetrating. "Yes, love," he whispered. You closed your eyes, resignation taking over your body. You couldn't deny the truth to yourself anymore. Even if he doubted the plan's success, you still wanted him to have you tonight.

Noticing the shift, he trailed his hand over your stomach. You stiffened under his touch, feeling goosebumps rising on your skin. His fingers gripped your shirt, gradually lifting it up, parting the material at a painful pace.

"Does it hurt you when I touch your scars?"

Your eyes widened. The man, bearing his own soul's fractures, would never perceive your scars as repulsive.

"Just get it over with," you snapped, frustration emanating from his intentionally slow progression.

A malicious grin appeared on his lips, and even the mirror couldn't diminish the cruelty behind it. "Poor little thing," he jeered. "You miss having a man inside you? Were your fingers not enough to satisfy you? Have you fantasized about me while touching yourself?"

With just a glance, he possessed an uncanny ability to steal the air from your lungs. When his words accompanied that piercing gaze, it felt like you had no lungs at all.

Your shirt fell to the ground.

"What if your men come in?" you whispered, your voice barely breaking through the palpable tension in the air.

He grinned—a mischievous smile that conveyed his indifference if someone did. "What do you think they'd do?" he asked, his fingertips lightly brushing against your scars.

Goosebumps emerged, a tangible reaction from the electricity dancing across your skin wherever his touch landed.

"Do you think they'd watch?" he asked. "Do you think they would relish the sight of your naked body? Maybe they would get off on witnessing your dripping pussy or the rise and fall of your chest as you climax. I even think they would delight in watching your eyes roll back when my cock fills you so fully you can't fit any more of me inside you."

A shot of fear jolted through your heart, forcing the muscle into overdrive. Yet, despite this, your body still reacted more illicitly. Just like his words, you felt a renewed throbbing between your legs.

Would you be comfortable with a stranger observing? You doubted it. But there was something about the way he described the scenario that made you wonder if he would allow it to occur regardless.

"Are you comfortable with others seeing us undressed?" you challenged, breathless while staring at your shirt on the wooden floor.

Vash's fingers traced along your spine, moving slowly and purposefully. Their touch felt scorching, like searing lava against your flesh.

"No," he murmured into your ear. You observed him as his gaze descended, fixating on your chest. The band of your bra tightened, pressing uncomfortably against your skin before loosening. The black cups that held your breasts released, leaving you fully exposed. Your nipples were painfully erect.

When he caught sight of your hardened peaks, his tongue drifted across his lower lip as if he was salivating at the sight. "Do you want to know what I would do?" he questioned. "I would allow them to watch. I would let them watch me fuck you. They would watch as my cock fills every one of your holes and watch you cry with intense orgasms. And then, I'd fucking kill them. With my cock still wet from your cum, I would slice their throats for daring to lay their eyes upon us."

The fear within you constricted, forming a sharp tip that seemed capable of bursting the fragile balloon of sanity you clung to.

"You're insane," you gasped.

This time, he chuckled, his deep laughter sending a shiver straight to the apex of your thighs. "You were aware of this, and yet you asked for it," he murmured absentmindedly.

His focus pulled away, and his hands explored your stomach, delicately tracing the lines of your scars as if he found them captivating. Eventually, he cupped your breasts, his large hands making them appear smaller, barely contained within his grasp. He was a monster. Inside and out. Yet, despite all logic, you couldn't ignore the fact that other than your panties, your jeans had become wholly soaked, too. It seemed impossible for the body to experience both hatred and desire simultaneously.

He forcefully squeezed your breasts, causing you to scream out of pain.

"Be a good girl and scream louder," he ordered before relinquishing his hold on your breasts and moving his hands towards your jeans. You were swamped by confusion and a sense of dread. You knew this was all so terribly wrong. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to stop him as he hooked his thumbs on either side, pulling your jeans down. First, he assisted you in removing your shoes and effortlessly slipped the jeans off, setting you completely free.

You remained clad only in your wet black panties. Swallowing hard, your heart raced as you surveyed your reflection. Vash, on the other hand, remained fully clothed, his eyes examining every angle of your undressed form. He looked as if he couldn't decide, unsure where to begin.

You resisted the impulse to cover yourself. The act of hiding felt more humiliating than standing nearly bare before an attractive man.

"You need to undress as well," you insisted. There was no way you were going to be the only one left vulnerable and exposed.

Finally, he came out from behind you and stood directly before you. It felt more real when you were not looking at them through a glass mirror. Yet, you couldn't pretend that your pussy wasn't weeping for him and that you were not anticipating the feel of him inside of you. You weren't a victim this time, as you were the mastermind behind this ill-advised situation.

"If you want that, love, then you'll have to be the one to do it," he declared with a raised voice. He regarded you skeptically as if he doubted your willingness to undress him. And there was no doubt in your mind he understood the effect that look had on you. The jerk was well aware of your inability to resist a challenge.

You reciprocated the same level of respect he had shown you. Slowly and delicately, you undressed him, purposefully grazing your fingers against his skin, earning your own shivers and growls of impatience.

You took off his shirt and stared at his scarred and rugged skin. His scars still caused him pain, evident by his reaction when your fingertips brushed over them, causing him to tense and bare his teeth. It wasn't physical pain; these scars had already healed. Yet, they resembled icebergs—seemingly formidable and commanding on the outside, yet concealing something far more significant and menacing beneath the surface. They had the power to sink someone to the depths of their darkest desires, much like the Titanic. These scars wounded him deeply within, and you were genuinely curious about the stories behind each one.

In the areas without scars, there were tattoos. The most notable tattoo was a giant maze extending from his neck to his right arm. You didn't know, but he had a few small tattoos here and there, too.

"You didn't cover any of your scars with tattoos," you quietly observed, running your finger along the maze lines. The tattoos intentionally avoided the raised skin, as if deliberately respecting the scars.

"I don't hide from my failures," he asserted. However, his physical beauty extended beyond his failures. His body was filled with well-defined muscles, strong without being too bulky. His physique made it clear that he could kill you with his pinky without looking like he took steroids for breakfast. And if that alone didn't turn your knees to jelly, the thick veins roping from his neck, down his robust arms, and into his large hands were enough to unravel you.

He was… fucking phenomenal.

He observed you with great care, his eyes burning with intensity as you examined him. He was nearly vibrating beneath your slow perusal, so you moved on and resumed your torture. It took a total of zero seconds before he was bristling with the need to fuck you. You felt so much power in your fingertips, and you couldn't help but wonder how much more powerful you would be if he had a feeling for you.

With every inch of his skin revealed, you grew shakier and wetter. It seemed unjust for someone to possess such flawless allure despite the visible imperfections and scars. If anything, the evident signs of the hardships his body had endured only made him that much more edible.

You choked on air as you lowered his pants, his hard cock jutting out from the confines of his pants. So this was what accepting death via dick looked like.

Once he was completely undressed, you took a big step back and examined the reflection in the mirror. Your gaze fixated on his muscular thighs, firm and shapely buttocks, and sculpted back that had enticed you since that doomed morning. You couldn't help but fantasize about running your hands all over them. And then there was the most gorgeous cock you'd ever seen.

You wanted to run away. Far, far away. To put as much distance as possible between yourself and this man. It was clear to you that he would bring about your downfall after tonight. You could taste it on your tongue.

"Are you scared?" he asked in a low, dark voice. His gaze bore into you, his expression inscrutable.

"Yes," you responded honestly. His smile, almost breathtaking, nearly weakened your resolve. It felt unnatural how strikingly beautiful he was. Without a doubt, he was the embodiment of darkness. Now, more than ever, you were convinced he was the fucking devil.

"You ought to be," he warned, his voice tinged with menace. Without thinking, you took another step backward, but he made no move to impede your retreat.

"Get on your knees, love," he commanded in a sinister tone. You hesitated, uncertain whether to obey or search for the common sense you seemed to have misplaced somewhere along the way into this living room and make a swift escape.

"Don't test me," he growled, his face dropping into a stern expression. Lowering his jaw, he glared down at you with an intimidating gaze. The threat in his face frightened you, causing your juices to dampen your thighs.

You dropped to your knees with a jolt, the impact causing pain. It was exactly what you both desired. He tilted your head back forcefully, making you gaze up at him. His cock brushed against your cheek, serving as a forewarning of what lay ahead.

"You enjoy being a naughty girl, don't you? You like the thrill of testing me because you get off on the fear I instill in you. You're a silly little girl toying with danger," he taunted, his face contorted into a cruel snarl. Tears welled up in your eyes as he held your head firmly, burning just like the inferno of ire and lust in his eyes.

"Tell me, love, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"

"Better," you hissed, feeling the dormant resentment towards him resurface. Something very dark and dangerous shuttered over his eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and instantly, you recoiled inward. It was a lie. You both knew it.

Good girls don't lie. That was the first thing you learned when you were put in a religious school as a child. The second lesson was not to trust the devil and his influence. However, they forgot to mention the crucial advice of not provoking him once you had fallen under his sway. Perhaps that was considered basic common fucking sense.

Your lip quivered as you scolded yourself for your foolishness. Feelings of bitterness and mistrust simmered just below the surface. You couldn't fathom why you entertained the idea of allowing Vash to dominate and have his way with you without putting up a fight.

"Open your fucking mouth, bad girl. Right now, or I'll make you gag on my cock," he demanded, his voice dripping with threat.

This time, you obeyed. The moment your lips separated, Vash forcefully thrust the tip into your mouth, pushing it deep down your throat. He hissed through his teeth, accompanied by another feral growl.

You whimpered and then gagged as he pushed his dick deeper. It felt like rigid steel wrapped in smooth fabric, but the sleekness did little to alleviate the pain. He was too thick and too long for your mouth.

Tears instantly flooded your eyes and streamed down your cheeks as he continued to penetrate you forcefully. As a reflex, you grasped onto his sturdy thighs, attempting to create some distance. However, he swiftly seized both of your hands, clasping them together in one of his while maintaining his grip on your head with the other. He held your bound hands high against his abdomen, giving the appearance of a woman kneeling in prayer, worshipping the very embodiment of evil.

"Suck it. Now," he growled.

You complied with his command, hoping he'd ease up. You sucked hard, creating a hollow in your cheeks while running your tongue smoothly over the prominent vein on the underside of his length.

"That's it, love," he exhaled, granting you a momentary respite. However, within seconds, he pulled you back towards him, taking control of your movements as he guided your head back and forth while you continued to suck him with your mouth.

He murmured words of encouragement and let out deep, pleasure-filled groans as he became increasingly assertive. Every syllable and moan that left his lips fueled your growing desperation to satisfy him.

"Let's see. Your high school sweetheart, Eren Yeager, he was better than me, huh?"

Your eyes widened in confusion, unsure of how Vash knew him and fearing this conversation's direction. "I highly doubt he was better than me. Who else?" he emphasized the last word by thrusting deeper into your throat, causing you to choke. After a few seconds of struggling, he relented. "Satoru Gojo, Cloud Strife, that boy Zuko..." he continued, listing off every man you had gone on a date with. Admittedly, the number wasn't significant, but it felt a lot considering the peril in which you had just placed their lives. He abruptly jerked your head back, granting you a brief moment to catch your breath as he uttered, "I will enjoy killing each and every one of them, love."

Before you could even form a response or take another gasp of air, he resumed choking you with his cock. Your vision began to blur at the edges as he thrust deeply into your throat. No matter how much you gagged and fought against him, he only became harder and more aroused.

"What if I cum in your mouth, and you swallow it to make your father proud?"

For a brief moment, you glared up at him, your hatred burning brighter than any trace of desire. He smiled, or rather revealed his teeth, as he noticed the anger reflected in your eyes.

"You want it, but you won't damn well receive it. You haven't earned that privilege just yet."

Without any warning, he forcefully yanked your head back, his cock popping free. He gripped your chin firmly, raising you until you were on your tiptoes.

"Vash, please," you whimpered, your vision hazy from tears and your chest constricted from the lack of air. Uncertain of what you were pleading for, whether it was your own life or the lives of the innocent men you had unknowingly condemned to death.

"That's such a good girl," he praised. "I love it when you're scared and begging."

Just as you believed you could finally inhale, he swiftly stole your breath again. His lips closed tightly against yours in a captivating kiss, electrifying your senses. Your nails dug into his chest, provoking a deep growl from him as he dominated your mouth with his own. He claimed he wouldn't kiss you, but the energy between you crackled and exploded, causing both of you to drink from each other fervently. The kiss ignited sparks of fire and filled your tongue with the mingling flavor of bitter whisky.

Poison had never tasted so good.

As your tongues battled for control, he firmly grasped your waist and yanked you upwards. Your legs naturally wrapped around his trim waist just as you felt the cool glass pressed against your back. The mirror's chill threatened to send shivers curling for epilogue through your body, but the heat radiating from his body against yours was scorching hot.

A sudden, piercing bite of pain on either side of your hips caused you to gasp into his mouth. With a quick, forceful pull, he tore your panties away from your body, leaving the shredded fabric caught somewhere between your bodies.

He withdrew and positioned the head of his cock at the entrance. "Spread your pussy for me, love," he commanded.

"No!" you shouted. "There's absolutely no way I'll let you fuck me without a condom!"

"Why bother? You already have an IUD, so clearly, my spawns won't have any chance of impregnating you," he retorted, his tone laced with heavy sarcasm.

"How the hell do you know that?" you exclaimed, swiftly hitting his chest.

"Milly."

So the nurse examined you, checking if Knives had raped you or not.

"I don't want your STDs!" you spat out angrily.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Vash demanded, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"A manwhore!" you said.

He pushed you closer to the mirror while glancing between you and his reflection. "I haven't been with anymore since Nick!"

"Oh, C'mon! You fucked a girl on your birthday!"

"I didn't," he said, then relaxed his hold, letting you free.

"But Bradd—"

"I helped that abused waitress to run away," he said quietly.

You tried to speak up and ask him to just fuck you, but the anger on his face silenced you. Just as he was about to move away, you halted him and obeyed his instructions.

You spread your legs and, grabbing his cock, guided it into your entrance. It was belittling when he knew you weren't supposed to want it. And as a consequence of offending him, he was going to make you show him how much you wanted him. By spreading your pussy and inviting him in.

Gods, you hated him.

His hands tightened on your hips painfully. You knew that you would wake up tomorrow with bruises shaped like handprints, and a part of you dreaded that. The imprints left on your skin would make it impossible to forget what happened.

"Do not ever label me as a manwhore," he warned just before he forcefully brought you down onto his awaiting dick.

"Ah!" you cried out, your hands poised to push him away from your chest. He was too much, stretching you wider than you'd ever been. Your eyes rounded into giant saucers as you whimpered in response to the extreme pressure.

You sensed his grith slipping through your fingers as he worked himself deeper. "Stop! It's too big," you gasped.

"Well, tough luck for you," he cooed mockingly, his tone husky and tight. "This is the consequence of being a naughty girl, isn't it?"

When you remained silent, he forcefully pulled you down on his dick harder, causing you to let out another pained whimper.

"Answer me," he barked.

"Yes!" you exclaimed, breathless, as you tightly shut your eyes in response to the invasion.

"Will you behave now?"

"Yes," you mewled desperately. The pain was morphing into something much more intense and breathtaking.

He slid out and then eased back in with a gentler but still angry motion. It felt as if your body was on the verge of exploding. This wasn't natural to be so goddamn full.

He withdrew until only the tip remained, and then he slammed his entire length inside of you. It went so deep that you felt it all the way up to your throat.

You cried out, your voice cracking under the swell of emotions welling up in your chest. It didn't feel right at all.

"Damn, love, I can barely fucking fit."

Perhaps that's why it felt as if he was ripping you apart. He began with deliberate and powerful movements, forcefully thrusting before pulling out at a painfully slow pace, only to slam back inside you once more.

You felt your body starting to yield, eagerly taking him in as he ravished you with each thrust. He widened his stance, using the mirror for support, causing your stomach to tighten in anticipation of the damage he was about to exert on your organs.

Shockwaves scattered throughout your nerve endings as he quickened his pace, roughly fucking you against the mirror while loud noises you never made in your life fell from your lips.

The pleasure was blinding, and the sight of him moving in and out between your fingers heightened the strong desire stirring in the pit of your stomach.

He let you down, swiftly turned you around, and wasted no time before thrusting back inside you. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms against the mirror to find stability.

"Look at us in the mirror," he demanded roughly. It required significant effort, but you pried your eyes open and let them wander over the mirror. It was too much— watching him drive himself inside you so deeply.

Your eyes were partially closed, and your face displayed undeniable bliss. Then, you caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, and your gazes met. A torrent of emotions washed over you, causing your heart to sink, and you quickly averted your eyes. It was the most euphoric experience you ever had.

Your eyes met his again, and a sly smile spread across his face. He leaned in, his lips gently skating across the crook of your neck as he watched you slowly come apart at the seams, all the while maintaining a mischievous grin.

"Now, confess, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"

You nibbled on your lip and shook your head, resisting the temptation to roll your eyes in sheer exasperation.

He abruptly halted, causing an involuntary, embarrassing scream to leave your lips. He pushed your back down to readjust your positions, and the moment he hit that particular spot, your legs trembled uncontrollably.

"Oh my God," you moaned, unable to prevent your eyes from rolling back this time.

"That's right, love. I am your fucking God," he growled, and then you felt his teeth sinking into your neck.

Your stomach tightened as an orgasm built rapidly, threatening to overpower you. It felt as if a furious Poseidon resided within, conjuring a destructive tsunami that seemed poised to engulf you.

The mirror began to shudder from the force of his intense thrusts violently. It seemed as if it could shatter at any moment, yet you were unable to bring myself to care. Just as you were on the brink of reaching climax, he pulled completely out.

You whimpered, feeling the sudden emptiness almost as if it were painful. "What—"

He took a step back and gestured towards the floor. Your knees wobbled, your balance disrupted by the sharp pleasure throbbing between your thighs. "Get on your hands and knees," he instructed.

You didn't protest, primarily because the absence of the orgasm was distressing, and your legs could barely bear your weight any longer. Frustration welled up, evident in the tearful corners of your eyes, but you suppressed your snarky remark. You knew that he would only escalate your punishment further.

You expected him to enter you once more from behind, but instead, he swiftly slid his hands between your legs and gripped you from underneath your hips. He lifted you, causing your knees to lose contact with the ground, and you had to quickly catch yourself to prevent from falling face-first.

You felt his warm breath fanned across your pussy just moments before his teeth latched onto your sensitive clit. You yelped as pain and pleasure mingled. However, he wasted no time in lavishing attention on your throbbing bundle of nerves, skillfully using his mouth to suck while lapping at your dripping cunt.

He hummed, sending delightful vibrations resonating through your core. "You taste so fucking good," he murmured before teasingly flicking his tongue against your sensitive clit. You gazed up shamelessly, observing him feast on you from behind. You adjusted your head to obtain the best view of him on his knees, hungrily devouring your pussy as if he were famished.

The impending orgasm resurfaced, now even more imminent than before. You were unable to grind back into Vash's face like you desired, leaving you utterly defenseless against the relentless assault of his tongue.

"Vash, please," you begged, your eyes crying with pleasure.

"Do you want to come?" he asked; his voice was breathless and unsteady.

"Yes," you pleaded with a groan.

Vash pulled away, and in frustration, you screamed, pounding your fist against the floor. Overwhelmed by fury from being denied for the second time, you struggled against his grip, thrashing in defiance. He chuckled at your futile attempt.

"You motherfucking ass—"

He abruptly halted your outburst by seating himself inside you, causing his balls to smack against the sensitive nub. You choked on your words, this angle allowing him in far deeper than before. He seized your hair, forcefully pulling your head back, making you look directly into the mirror in front of you. From this angle, you could witness him vigorously fuck you.

"You want to cream all over my cock, love?"

You nodded your head frantically.

He responded with a smile. "Have you been a good girl?"

Once again, you nodded unsteadily.

"Then fucking say it," he urged, calling out your name.

As his gravelly voice pronounced your full name, you instinctively clenched around his cock.

"I'm a good girl," you breathed, too far gone to feel anything but blinding lust. He molded his body against your back, spearing through your tightening pussy. The hand in your hair slid down to wrap around your throat, exerting a firm grip, while his other hand splayed across your stomach. Your vision became hazy, and finally, the tsunami of orgasm crashed through you.

You emitted an ear-piercing scream that nearly rattled the mirror. Vash's name spilled from your lips in a frenzied chant as your entire world exploded into myriad fragments.

"Fuck! That's it, love. Your pussy is incredibly tight. Milk my cock," Vash managed to say through gritted teeth. He concluded with a growl, his hips trembling as he slammed into you for one last time, filling you with his cum until there was no room left inside of you. Your combined fluids trickled down your thighs as you lay on the floor, panting and breathless. Your body convulsed with aftershocks, even after the biggest orgasm you had ever experienced subsided.

You couldn't fucking breathe, let alone move or form coherent thoughts. None of it felt normal. Not a single bit.

Your breath hitched, and your teeth clenched from the feel of him sliding out of you.

Disregarding Vash's presence, you hurriedly scrambled to dress yourself.

As you approached your shoes, a muttered "shit" caught your attention from behind. Turning around, you found Vash staring at his phone, his face etched with a serious expression. He was dressed in nothing but his black boots and loosely fastened pants, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the well-defined V disappearing beneath the fabric. The glow from his phone emphasized the muscles flexing against his smooth skin, with scars and intricate black tattoos only enhancing his raw allure. The veins coursing through his hands and arms were visibly bulging, and if you weren't already leaning against the mirror, his overwhelming presence would have caused you to collapse. That masterpiece of jagged scars and rugged edges had ravished you completely, leaving you breathless.

You closed your eyes and leaned against the glass, seeking respite. Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Vash's hand on the back of your neck, causing your eyes to snap open. You realized he was pulling you closer, resting your head against his chest and draping his shirt over your shoulders. Assuming that this would be the last time you permitted his touch, you allowed him to slip his hands beneath your knees and neck, hoisting you effortlessly into his arms.

Exhaustion had enveloped you so entirely that his words, "Let's bring you to our room," evaded your weary ears.

Taglist: @julk4e - @lune010 - @beanibon - @emptybrain01 - @changingchances @awkwardchick87 @enchantedforest-network

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Thank you @gale-force-storm @savriea @galeorderbride for tagging me loves!! 💜

Three Ships: And i forgot to do the 3 ships... arthur/gwen from merlin, vex and percy de rolo, astarion x durge

First Ship: The Doctor x Rose Tyler

Last Song: I Wanna Be Yours, Arctic Monkeys

Last Movie: Last Night in Soho, I think?

Currently Reading: Starve Acre, and the Curse of Strahd sourcebook

Currently Watching: Geek Girl and House of the Dragon

Currently Eating: a galaxy ripple with a cup of tea

Currently Craving: dark!gale or the vampire blue iris flowers, tbh. and chocolate ginger biscuits

tagging @feedthepheasants @silent-words @crimson-and-lavender @aryancunin @boufsy @lanafofana @netherese0rb @owlseeyoulaterpal @swing-the-serenade

[avampirescholar]

thank you 4 tagging me @kraujuota 😘

* rules: answer and tag nine people you want to get to know better and catch up with.

favorite color: pink 🩷 and green 💚

last song: tranquility base hotel and casino by arctic monkeys

currently reading: the vampire chronicles by anne rice (before season 3 comes out)

currently watching: the season 2 finale of house of the dragon

currently craving: pain au chocolat

coffee or tea: coffee (black 🖤)

hobby to try: whatever the opposite of bed rotting is ❤️‍🩹

current au: where we’re vampires 🧛🏼‍♀️

tagging: @fic-over-cannon @jasonsmirrorball @orchidsangel @hillcrypt @nauseousidiot @siriouslytired @nicdelenfent @edbaldwin @flowerflamestars

[pissgod-639]

THE URGE TO PUKE ALL MY INTERESTS RN

Games: Buckshot Roulette, Roblox (Buckshot Showdown, Westbound, Daybreak 2, In Plain Sight 2, Guts and Blackpowder, Untitled Boxing Game, A Stereotypical Obby/Repleh Archives, Specter 2, Tower Defense Simulator), Outlast, Boyfriend to Death, Fear & Hunger, Until Dawn, Price of Flesh, Transformice, Persona 4 & 5, Honkai Star Rail, Genshin Impact, Resident Evil, Class of '09, Detroit: Become Human, Minecraft, Animal Jam, Epic Seven, D4DJ, Fortnite, Guilty Gear Strive, Rainbow Six Seige, Overwatch, Team Fortress 2, Skullgirls, Somnium, Muse Dash, Dragon Raja, Up All Night, Red Dead Redemption, Five Nights at Freddy's, Doki Doki Literature Club, Fatal Frame, Blasphemous, Hylics, Needy Streamer Overload, Ace Attorney, Danganronpa

Reads: I'm Dating a Psychopath by Nosleeparewe; Daybreak by Moosopp; Clinic of Horrors by Merryweather; Winter Moon by Merryweather; Your Wings and Mine by Hakeism; Deathsitter by Puppetology; Ghost Lights by Fantakoi; Uriah by Toffuo; Welfare Center by NANA; Stagtown by Punko; @CRC_Luna's Conspiracy Research Club, The Predator by Shin Heebin/Chi Chi; Happy Sugar Life, Killing Stalking, Black Mirror, My Dearest Self with Malice Aforethought, Takopii's Original Sin, Blue Lock, Chainsaw Man, Goodnight Punpun, Chobits, Lady K and the Sick Man, Tokyo Revengers, Berserk, All Quiet on the Western Front, Prairie Fire

Watches: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, Girl from Nowhere, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Monster, Death Note, The Walking Dead, All Quiet on the Western Front, Kakegurui, Madoka Magica, Violet Evergarden, Expelled from Paradise, All of Us are Dead, Japan Sinks 2020, Pretty Cure, Glitter Force, Words Bubble Up like Soda Pop, Voltron, Gun Gale Online, Squid Game, Hunterxhunter, My Little Pony, Carole & Tuesday, Petscop, Ena, Mandela Catalogue, Gemini Home Entertainment, Children Under the House, A Quiet Place, FNAF VHS, Bambi, Frozen, Mulan

Content Creators: Markiplier, Jerma985, Nexpo, Kubz Scouts, Jack Stauber, Joel G, Quackity, Prykations, Kkelsey_spring, grayworms, breakingthepage, ashiiu, pyro.cri, m.emityy, nyoomian, rabbits.foots, munkaei, ccoffeeplz, nikoco_11, dotswappu, keo_chooo_, Antlergrave, Jumi_bits, plastic_pots.png, pocaarii, demaymayart, hagushka, lesmestiar, Nosleeparewe, Jin_jing93, aki.strike, Caseoh

Music: Mitski, Lorde, Tv Girl, Cocteau Twins, Mother Mother, Machine Girl, Grimes, Poppy, Cigarettes After Sex, Matt Maltese, Radiohead, Dazey and the Scouts, Roar, Mars Argo, Current Joys, Violent Vira

Other: Methods of execution/torture, Marine Biology, Forensic Science, Arctic Biomes, True Crime, US History, Germany, Game lore, Making lore from games, Frutiger Aero, Survival preparation, Military, Sharks, Cowboys, Gore, Flawed characters, Niche characters/games, Making art for communities, Biblical themes, Gods, Paranormal

Characters: Finley Marai (DB2), Dakari Bowens (DB2), Ren Hana (BTD), Lawrence Oleander (BTD), Strade (BTD), Finn Lewis (IDAP), Scott (IDAP), Meowscles (FN), Jing Yuan (HSR), Blade (HSR), SUNDAY (HSR), Nanook (HSR), Fuli (HSR), Yaoshi (HSR), Columbina (GI), Scaramouche/Wanderer (GI), Beam (CSM), Ironclad (IPS2), Payday (IPS2), Subzero (IPS2), Tony (IPS2), Chris (UD), Sam (UD), Mike (UD), Carlos Oliveira (RE3), Chris Redfield (RE), Miles Upshur (OL), Waylon Park (OL:WB), Marina (F&H:T), Ragnvaldr (F&H), Cahara (F&H), Pocketcat (F&H), Crow Mauler (F&H), Oh Sangwoo (KS), Yang Seungbae (KS), Yoon Bum (KS), Aiko (GNPP), Bandit (R6S), Cole Cassidy (OW), D.Va (OW), Luluca (E7), Pavel (E7), May (GGS), Faust (GGS), Millia (GGS), Ramlethal (GGS), Happy Chaos (GGS), Bridget (GGS), Johnny (GGS), Dizzy (GG), Akira/Ren (P5), Futaba/Oracle (P5), Ryuji/Skull (P5), Yu (P4), Yosuke (P4), Nagi (BL), Kaiser (BL), Foxy (FNAF), Luna (MLP), John D. Rockefeller, George Washington, Nick Torres (UAN) and more

My Characters: Leonore Dietrich, Yumi/Charlie, August Derrick, Wolf Dietrich, Osprey Davis, Griffin Dietrich, Célestine Albine, Hunter, Leandro Cillian Otto Constantine of Eden, Arlette, Bailey, Devon, Neo, Tai, Astro/a, Zadkiel, Sparky, Skinner, Adam

[chelleisamazing]

nine people id like to get to know better

Thanks for the tag @sehrgefaelltmir!! 😘❤️

currently watching: the bear, house of the dragon and rewatching interview with the vampire!

spicy/sweet/savoury: food would make no sense to me without spice! 🔥

current obsession: i think everyone who follows me here knows I've been crazy about RWRB since the movie came out last year... I'm still very unhealthily obsessed with this book like the first day I discovered it ... Also, I can't go a day without listening to Chappell Roan lately 😩❤️

relationship status: i refuse to date a man ever again and i get scared flirting with girls, so... but im in no rush either 🤷🏻‍♀️

last song i listened to: she's thunderstorms- arctic monkeys

im not gonna tag 9 people bc i get lazy sorry 🙈 @odegoob @userpironi @mylucayathoughts @almightaylor @arsenal-has-me-depressed @thommi-tomate and if you get this on your dash and wanna do it feel free to :)

[idkshititsjustme]

୨୧┆𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐬 ꒱ ₊˚⊹ .ᐟ

Yes, i don't know how to make a carrd sooo here we go. Will not include anything that's on the bio <3

𐙚 𝐀𝐧𝐚: she/her, ENFP, bisexual, a minor, catholic, multifandom, brazillian that speaks portuguese and english and it's learning french, italian, finnish and russian. Very interessed in music (especially rock/metal), anything 80's related, good omens, foreign cultures, old/classic literature and more tons of stuff <3

𐙚 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞:

⋆ 𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔: Queen, Kiss, Hanoi Rocks, Mötley Crüe, Def Leppard (top 5 bands), Poison, Cinderella, Ratt, Dokken, Faster Pussycat, Warrant, Europe, Van Halen, Def Leppard, L.A Guns, Skid Row, The Runaways, The Clash, Bikini Kill, The Raincoats, Hole, Nirvana, Alice In Chains, Soundgarden, Babes In Toyland, L7, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Doors, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Black Sabbath, Aerosmith, Iron Maiden, Guns N' Roses, Fleetwood Mac, ABBA, Bee Gees, Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer, Anthrax, Kreator, Slipknot, Kittie, Death, Pixies, The Smashing Pumpkins, Green Day, Florence + The Machine, The Oh Hellos, Belle And Sebastian, Måneskin, Greta Van Fleet, Arctic Monkeys, The Neighbourhood and A LOT more <3

⋆ 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔: Taylor Swift, David Bowie, Laufey, Bob Dylan, Prince (top 5 singers), Hozier, Tamino, Sabrina Carpenter, Elton John, Elvis Presley, Jimi Hendrix, Elis Regina, Rita Lee, Patti Smith, Joni Mitchell, Françoise Hardy, Ozzy Osbourne, Madonna, Joan Jett, Lita Ford, Gianna Nannini, Kate Bush, Cyndi Lauper, Chappell Roan, Reneé Rapp, Melanie Martinez, Orla Gartland, Maya Hawke, Conan Gray, Olivia Rodrigo, Lana Del Rey, Phoebe Bridgers, Gracie Abrams, Tyler The Creator, SZA, Bruno Mars and A LOT more <3

𐙚 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐬: All the bands/singers i listed before (idk if it counts buuut), Good Omens, Hannibal, Dead Boy Detectives, Gilmore Girls, Stranger Things, Brooklyn 99, Jujutsu Kaisen, SK8 The Infinity, The Girl From The Other Side, Studio Ghibli, Disney movies, The Owl House, Bill and Ted, The Outsiders, The Lost Boys, Girl Interrupted, 10 Thins I Hate About You, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Scream, Mamma Mia, Skullgirls, Nom Nom Nami games, Alice Oseman books (ESPECIALLY Radio Silence) and A LOT more <3

𐙚 𝑩𝒀𝑭: i curse a lot (as u can see in the title and in my username), i make jokes abt some band members being fruity but I DON'T SHIP THEM, my sentences can have some spelling mistakes since english is not my native language, i talk A LOT about my music taste (like, more than anything), i may not be so active sometimes, i may talk abt some fictional ships i like (Aziracrow, Ineffable Burocracy, Renga, MatchaBlossom, NobaMaki, SatoSugu, etc) and i have mixed ass aesthetics

𐙚 𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭: if you like at least 3 things i listed before, is/supports LGBT, supports Palestine

𐙚 𝑫𝑶𝑵'𝑻 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭: basic criteria (homoph0be, rac1st, s3xist, ne0naz1, etc), disrespects ANY religion/atheists/agnostics, toxic swiftie/livie/carpenter/conehead/fan of any artist i mentioned before, HATES on any artist i mentioned before, comshipper, supports Israel/Russia, reposts p0rn, radfem, EXTREMELY conservative, if you're less than 12 years old or more than 18 years old

𐙚 𝑰𝑫𝑪 (𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤): kpop/Ariana Grande/Harry Styles/The Weeknd/1D fan, BNHA/Naruto/One Piece/Dragon Ball/Bleach/etc fan, doesn't like some of the artists i listed before but doesn't HATE on them, reposts/posts NSFW art

𐙚 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐄:

⋆ 𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑻𝑰𝑭𝒀:

⋆ 𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑻:

https://pin.it/1o1AEsd7Qhttps://pin.it/1o1AEsd7Q

⋆ 𝑳𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑶𝑿𝑫:

﹒⌗﹒💐﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧

[rackartyg]

[alicent approaches rhaenyra with friendly intentions]

[immediate shot of otto looking worried]

[wolf-twenty-one]

nine some people i'd like to know better 🌷⚡️

tagged by @queertemporality (sorry for not doing this sooner it was sitting in my likes and i kept meaning to do it, i think a version is in my drafts on one of my blogs

last song: Brianstorm - Arctic Monkeys (because in my heart I'm still in high school and my mom is late to pick me up, and I'm listening to AM cds with my best friend, and it's sunny outside)

favorite color: red! red! red!

currently watching: mostly youtube video essays lbr, but also House of the Dragon

last movie/tv show: Classic Who, almost done with the first Doctor, I'm gonna work through all of classic Who

spicy/savory/sweet: real bitches can balance all three in a dish

relationship status: if i have to spend many more years in the middle of nowhere alone I'm going to fold into myself until I become a black hole

current obsession(s): Hamlet

last thing you googled: Euripides Trojan Women (which seems intellectual but before that was the release date of the original Freaky Friday and upholstery cleaner)

tagging some mutuals cos i never respond to ur posts and/or i have been bad at maintaining our texts/DMs: @saranethrising @velvetcrowe @romulanholiday @damatris @thecrownofflames

[ariparri]

Biographical Information

Full Name: Veruca Carlyn McQuaid

Born: August 23, 1973

Blood Status: Pureblood

Ethnicity/Nationality: Irish

Also Known As:

Vera

Vee

Ruca (by Diego)

Signature: 

Relations:

Wilhelmina McQuaid (mother)

Elroy McQuaid (father)

Coby McQuaid (brother)

Magical Characteristics

Boggart: Kelpie

Wand: 12” Redwood, Dragon Heartstring core and supple flexibility

Patronus:

Arctic Wolf (formerly)

Leopard

Amortentia:

Berry Tarts

Carnations

Autumn Leaves

Lemon Tea

Affiliation:

Auror (formerly)

Ballet Instructor

House: Slytherin

Loyalty:

Mac Uáid Family

Ivey Family

Khanna Family

Caplan Family

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

〕About〔

Veruca Carlyn McQuaid is an Irish witch born into a pureblood family, and is the second child to Elroy and Wilhelmina McQuaid. She attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 1984-1991 and was sorted into the Slytherin House. She excelled in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Flying classes at school. After graduation, she becomes an Auror. Veruca later marries Diego Caplan. They have two daughters, Marisol and Carina, and a younger son, Ruairí. She continued to work as an Auror some time after the war before resigning and later became a ballet instructor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

〕Background〔

Veruca was born late August in 1973 to Elroy and Wilhelmina McQuaid. She is a pure-blood witch and a member of the noble House of Mac Uáid. Veruca and her older brother Coby grew up in the Mac Uáid Manor in Kinsale, Ireland.

As a child, Veruca was a shy girl who always hid behind her parents or brother. Coby had taken Veruca to the nearby park where they met some of the neighborhood kids. Two of the kids that she spent time with were Carson Ivey and Merula Snyde. Veruca and Carson were quick to become close friends, while Merula took some time due to her attitude.

Since Veruca was an emotional child, she's had sudden outburst with accidental magic and was taught at home by family members such as Obsidian, Miksa, and Selma to prevent any mishaps within a muggle school. She eventually learned how to control her magic, and some basic level of reading and writing that she no longer needed private tutoring. Though her mother wanted to keep homeschooling her, Elroy's insistence that it will be good for Veruca to be around other kids especially since Carson would be with her, Wilhelmina eventually gave in and Veruca later went to public school.

Veruca showed a keen interest in quidditch from a young age. During one of the family reunions, her father Elroy took part in the quidditch competition. Veruca was on the sidelines watching her father play and nearly fell over the railing because she wanted to be with her dad. Elroy eventually taught Veruca how to fly a broom and play quidditch. Veruca enjoyed playing as a beater and learning how to do a bunch of tricks on the broom, most of which nearly gave her parents a heart attack.

During a camping trip, Veruca found a baby bat out of its nest with a broken wing. Wanting to help the small animal, Veruca brought the bat to her father and they both took care of it. At the time, since she was very young herself, Veruca had been calling the bat "Gambyt." The name eventually became "Gambat" with Elroy helping his daughter with her pronounciation. When Gambat was finally healed, Veruca tried to get him to go back to his nest but every time Veruca put him down Gambat would fly back into her hands and cling onto her. Seeing how Veruca and Gambat have formed a bond, Wilhelmina and Elroy let their daughter keep the bat.

When Coby went missing, Elroy and Wilhelmina tried not to let Veruca outside of the manor to avoid any publicity. Veruca was never really left alone, always accompanied by either her parents or one of the manor staff. Since she was still a kid, Elroy let her continue playing just in the yard. He even allowed Carson and Merula to come over so Veruca wouldn't be lonely. Carson was a good distraction for Veruca, both were making the best of the situation as best as kids can. However, with Merula, and how her parents were sent to Azkaban, had been very antagonistic towards the two. The two were confused that Merula would treat them horribly, insulting their families and even go as far to say Coby was dead.

Angered by Merula, Veruca pushed her to the ground and they started fighting. Wilhelmina and one of the maids came out to stop the girls from fighting, scolding them while checking them for any bruises. Merula ignored the maid tending to her, calling everyone there crazy before storming off, thus ending their friendship. Wilhelmina questioned the other two on what happened, Carson didn't know what to say. Veruca on the other hand was upset, and asked her mother if Coby really was dead before breaking down. Wilhelmina did her best to console her daughter.

After the fall out with Merula, Veruca had become more closed off and cautious towards people outside of her family. She's now more protective of the people she cares about and more observant towards those who try to get close to her. Carson continues to be by her side, being her closest friend and confidant. Veruca isn't too eager to make new friends, letting Carson be the more sociable one of the duo.

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〕Appearance〔

Veruca has fair skin tone, green eyes, dark brown hair and stands at an average height of 5 feet and 3 inches or 160 centimeters.

Years 1 - 3

Years 4 - first half of Year 6

The first attire is her casual outfit. Second is her Valentine's Ball, and the third is her outfit for Festival Fun. She replaces the vest for the school sweater in her uniform.

Year 6 - Year 7

Veruca’s attire now consists of a black loose sweater over a black corset styled top and pants. In Year 7, she switches the top and sweater for a long sleeved top with a netted and meshed collar. Her hair is now cut asymmetrically short.

Post Hogwarts

Veruca has grown her hair out and tied in a loose and messy bun. She wore a purple top and a black and purple floral dress.

After her marriage with Diego, Veruca wears an off the shoulder maroon top with a light grey skirt. Her hair is swept over to the side and she wears a necklace with the letter D for Diego. On dates, Veruca wears a light blue strapless dress with a matching button up blouse over it.

When working as an Auror, Veruca puts on a black attire. She wears something reminiscent of her Year 7 attire, a long coat and gloves. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun.

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〕Personality〔

Veruca exhibits a cool and relaxed personality, usually sporting a neutral expression on her face. Her demeanor compliments this, being informal towards professors, prefects and fellow classmates. She occasionally can be quite irritable, moaning in annoyance or sighing in displeasure when it comes to anyone, or anything she dislikes. Her Irish accent comes out sometimes whenever she's irritated, it also comes out whenever she gets embarrassed.

Veruca can be mischievous and playful at times. When Rowan came up with the idea of having a pillow fight using the Depulso spell they learned in Charms, Veruca claimed it to be a stupid idea but later engaged in the activity the same night with her friend.

She apparently also loves cute things, as when she first saw the swarm of Puffskeins during Care of Magical Creatures and she was enamored by them, hugging a handful of them. She gets easily embarrassed if someone were to catch her in this state.

In spite of her outward calm, she is prone to react rather passionately about threats to those she deeply cares about. Veruca describes herself as someone who was always blaming herself, for all the harm that she's caused to those dear to her. Several examples are when Rowan was struck with ice from the Ice Vault, and when Ben casted Langlock on Charlie. She even places her friends over her own pride, going as far as to shed tears openly in the Great Hall for Rowan's memorial after witnessing her death at the hands of Rakepick.

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〕Magic Skills〔

Dueling

★★★★★

Flying

★★★★★

Charms

★★★★✰

Potions

★★★✰✰

DADA

★★★★★

Herbology

★★✰✰✰

Transfiguration

★★★✰✰

Divination

★★✰✰✰

History of Magic

★★✰✰✰

Care of Magical Creatures

★★★✰✰

Muggle Studies 

★★★★✰

Astronomy

★★★★✰

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〕Possessions〔

Broom

Comet One Eighty

Pet

Gambat

Wand

12” Redwood, Dragon Heartstring core and supple flexibility (formerly)

Enchanted Carnation

A carnation that was charmed to never wilt. Gift given by Diego after their first date.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

〕Relations〔

Coby McQuaid Veruca and Coby have sort of a “complicated” relationship. The two clearly care for each other, but with how both were raised differently due to Coby's disappearance, they have a bit of a competitive relationship that also caused them to engage in childish disputes that continued on into adulthood. Coby may be the oldest, but he can definitely be the most immature between the two, something Veruca often points out, causing Coby to whine about it. They can never play any game together as their competitiveness gets out of hand and someone ends up tackling the other to the ground.

Carson Ivey Veruca's most trusted companion, and childhood friend. The two have known each other since they were 5.They both know almost everything about each other, including their deepest secrets. They have done everything together since childhood. The two also have their own special handshake they made up when they were kids, they still do it even into their adulthood. With Carson's intellect and Veruca's cunning the two make a formidable duo and can cause chaos if they so please. They both know when the other is feeling down about something and are quick to bring it up before the other tries to play it off as something else.

Rowan Khanna Veruca’s closest friend, whom she confides in when she cannot tell Carson something. Veruca trusts Rowan so much, she was the only one who knew about Veruca’s crush on Diego. During the period that they attended Hogwarts, Rowan is revealed to be an exceptionally good roommate. Veruca mentions that Rowan has sweet little quirks, such as folding back the pages in text books of subjects she thinks Veruca would struggle on. She also leaves messages on the mirror when Veruca takes a shower and lets Veruca climb into her bed when she’s had a bad dream. Veruca grows very concerned when Rowan gets hurt during their ventures to the Vaults after she was struck with ice, and cries at her memorial in the Great Hall.

Chiara Lobosca Chiara is another of Veruca’s closest friends. Veruca turns to Chiara when she needs more of a compassionate mindset over logical ones. Veruca cares about Chiara’s wellbeing and always makes sure to ask if she’s doing okay, she even takes the liberty to drag Chiara along with her, not wanting her to be alone. Veruca's fiercely protective over her, and wouldn't hesitate to get into a fight if someone tried to mess with Chiara. After the events that happened in Sixth Year, Chiara was the only one Veruca was able to go to for comfort when she was in such a vulnerable state, and in turn, Veruca would get enraged whenever something or someone tries to hurt Chiara.

Diego Caplan Despite having classes together, Veruca and Diego only started hanging out after the former went to seek Diego out for extra dueling tips. Diego hits on Veruca, but much to the surprise of Rowan, knowing Veruca has always scared these kinds of people away, Diego receives positive results. Veruca even admits to liking when Diego calls her “Ruca.” After Diego helps her with her dueling skills, Veruca hints a liking or attraction to Diego to the point of admitting to Rowan that she had a crush on the Hufflepuff. Veruca’s attraction towards Diego is further evidenced when he starts hanging out with Carson and Jae. Elroy even notices how Veruca interacts with Diego during the summer and teased the two for how much they reminded him of his and Wilhelmina's relationship when they were young. Few years after Hogwarts, the two get married and have three children, and Veruca appears to be even more open about her feelings with Diego.

Jae Kim Jae is Veruca’s detention buddy and fellow troublemaker. Both he and Veruca tend to roast each other in greeting. When Veruca is in a tight pinch with certain items and objects, Jae’s always there with the right stuff, usually offering them to her at a ‘small,’ discount. Jae is also the only one Veruca can act all smug and casual around as they both have a handful of similarities.

Skye Parkin Veruca and Skye have a sort of competitive friendship. Having a brother herself, Veruca knows what it’s like being pressured by family to be the best they can be. They often get into minor disagreements when it comes to the way they study. Veruca even claims that Skye ripping out pages from a book is ‘a crime.’ When it comes to quidditch, the two work extra hard to win for their house, sometimes using that as a means to show off their skills. Despite playing different positions, Skye being a chaser and Veruca being a beater, they make a good team.

Tulip Karasu Like with Jae, Veruca and Tulip roast each other in greeting. Veruca likes Tulip’s style of pranking, as it reminds her of Carson’s. Although they don’t hang out as much as Carson does with Tulip, the two can be good friends and work well together. Veruca can relate to Tulip in regards to “rules are made to be broken” as Veruca always often gets herself into trouble whether it’s intentional or not.

Merula Snyde Once upon a time, the two were close childhood friends alongside Carson. However, after Merula’s parents were sent to Azkaban and Coby went missing, Merula went back against Veruca and severed ties with her. Veruca was heartbroken at the betrayal and eventually grew resentful of Merula. In Hogwarts, the two are always at odds against each other with Merula trying to ruin Veruca’s reputation even more. Near the end of their years at Hogwarts, Merula attempts at getting Veruca’s help yet the latter always sends her off on a goose chase.

Gambat Like his owner, Gambat likes to coax mischief making. He’s been with Veruca since she was a child and the two can talk to each other as if they understand what the other is saying. He’s a very cheeky and smug bat, he also likes to insult or roast Veruca, especially when it comes to her questioning her feelings or actions towards something.

Elroy & Wilhelmina McQuaid Veruca cares greatly for her parents. And while her mother was more on the strict side, Veruca knew her mother cared just as much for her. The fear of something happening to their daughter after Coby went missing was enough to cause Wil overbearing, Elroy was the one who usually had to calm and reassure her. On the other hand, Elroy adored Veruca. He always babied her when she was little, given in to her demands and wants. Elroy was the one who taught her how to fly a broom and introduced her to Quidditch. He was ecstatic when Veruca came home with her own Quidditch plaque.

Donagh & Nevaeh McQuaid Veruca adores her grandparents, Nevaeh always spoiled her with so much affection. Donagh, despite his stoic mannerism, has shown such gentle care whenever it came to Veruca. He treated her the same way he treated his daughter. When Donagh passed, Veruca held herself in her room until Nevaeh came in to comfort her. Nevaeh always insisted that her grandchildren go out and do things without needing her approval. Her reason is "because she's old, what would an old woman's approval matter anyway!" Nevaeh also would sneak some candy to Veruca whenever her mother wasn't looking.

Naoise McQuaid Grand Uncle Naoise was always a quiet and kind man. Like his brother Donagh, Naoise took gentle care over Veruca. Likewise with Veruca treating her uncle with care. The two have their own little tradition the same way Veruca has with every other family member. And that is storytelling. Whether it's Naoise recounting his past for Veruca, or Veruca telling her adventures with the vaults. Usually, Naoise is the one telling stories of his childhood since Veruca always wanted to know what her grandparents were like when they were young.

Áine Lavery Aunt Áine and Veruca's relationship can best be described as awkward niece and rich wine aunt. Since Áine has no children, she has taken to spoil her brother's children. When Áine found Veruca's little collection of brooches and pins, Áine would always buy one from whatever country she's visiting and give it to her niece. Áine usually ignores the articles in the Daily Prophet, until she finds a few articles with her niece being shown in a horrible light. Outraged, she took a chimera drawn carriage to Hogwarts, demanding her niece to clean up her act as she is a lady and not a ruffian. Veruca spent the entire time her aunt was at Hogwarts trying to be a perfect lady while also stopping her aunt from fighting Skeeter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

〕Etymology〔

The name Veruca is derived from the Slavic name veruscha/verushka (meaning true, honest, faith) and means vivacious and strong willed.

The original Gaelic form of McQuaid was Mac Uaid, which means son of Wat. The surname McQuaid was first found in County Monaghan (Irish: Muineachán) located in the Northern part of the Republic of Ireland in the province of Ulster.

The Irish name Carlyn claims descent from the O’Connors in Donegal where “Carlan” (from the Irish “carla” meaning a “wool-comb” and “an” meaning “one who” which roughly translates as “one who combs wool”) was in Irish O’Carlain or O’Caireallain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

〕Quotes〔

"I used to do ballet when I was younger… but I gave it all up. Wasn't planning on pursuing it as a career."

"My dad taught me how to fly a broom and play quidditch. The family has an entire room filled with all the quidditch plaques and trophies!"

"Coby and I could never play together. Someone always ends up cheating and getting tackled to the ground... we were both bad sports at the time."

"Felix is graduating! Who is gonna look after us now, Rowan?!"

"There's a lot about me that even Carson doesn't know. I like to keep it as a little mystery."

”Can you believe it? My own pet, my one pride and joy, calling me a coward! Liking someone is hard, okay, Gambat!!”

"I don't care what happens to you, Merula. You didn't care about the people you've hurt over and over again! And even now, you refuse to take responsibility for any of it. So why should I care about how you feel?!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Character Quizzes

Friendship Quizzes

Friendship Reward

Bat Plushie

Club Quizzes

Dragon Club - TBA

Sphinx Club - TBA

Date Quizzes

Garden Date - TBA

Courtyard Date - TBA

Date Reward

TBA

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trivia & Fun Facts

• When Veruca casts Ridikkulus on her Boggart, it turns into Coby dressed in their mother's clothes and makeup.

• After her wand was destroyed by Rakepick, Veruca stuck with wandless magic.

• She used to dance ballet when she was younger but later quit after failing to get a part in the Sleeping Beauty ballet. She eventually went back to practicing the art when Diego helped regain her courage to dance again. She now practices contemporary ballet then went back to classical ballet after some time.

• She owns a whole bunch of bat themed accessories.

• Veruca has a box filled with antique brooches and pins.

• Veruca and Carson’s birthday tradition involves smashing cake into the celebrant’s face. Friends are also encouraged to take part as they each take a turn smashing or smearing cake onto the birthday star.

• Carnations weren’t always a favorite of Veruca’s until she received a bouquet of one by a certain Hufflepuff.

[sarahbethdurst]

Gift Giving Guide 2023

Happy holidays! If you'd like to give someone a book by me this holiday season (and if so, thank you and I love you!!!), but you don't know which one to give to which reader, I thought I'd share a gift guide:

BOOKS FOR KIDS (AGES 8-12)

For the kid who loves animals… THE SHELTERLINGS, a fantasy adventure about a squirrel named Holly and her friends at the Shelter for Rejected Familiars. Lots of talking animals!

For the quiet kid… SPARK, a fantasy adventure about a quiet girl and her lightning dragon who learn you don't need to change yourself to change the world.

For the kid who wants a loyal best friend with tentacles… THE GIRL WHO COULD NOT DREAM, a fantasy book for kids about a girl whose family owns a secret shop where they buy, bottle, and sell dreams.

BOOKS FOR TEENS

For the teen who wants a creepy survival story… THE LAKE HOUSE, a YA survival thriller about three girls stranded in the wilderness of Maine.

For the teen who likes snark… DRINK SLAY LOVE, a YA contemporary fantasy about a 16-year-old vampire girl who is stabbed through the heart by a were-unicorn and develops a very inconvenient conscience.

For the teen who loves fairy-tale romance… ICE, a Beauty-and-the-Beast retelling set in the present-day Arctic.

BOOKS FOR ADULTS

For the reader who watched the extended edition of The Lord of the Rings or who wants middle-aged heroes… THE BONE MAKER, a standalone epic fantasy about five heroes 25 years past their prime. It's about second chances. And lots of bone magic.

For the reader who thinks the Indy-500 would be better if the cars had a lot more teeth and tentacles… RACE THE SANDS, a standalone epic fantasy about monster racing (and smashing the patriarchy).

For the reader who likes kickass women and very tall trees… THE QUEEN OF BLOOD, Book One of the Queens of Renthia, an epic fantasy trilogy about bloodthirsty nature spirits.

For more info on these and any of my other books, please visit http://www.sarahbethdurst.com

If you'd like a signed bookplate (a clear sticker that I'd personalize and you can stick inside any of my books to transform them into signed books) for yourself or for a gift, please drop me an email (sarah AT sarahbethdurst DOT com), and I'd be happy to mail you one (US only).

Happy holidays, and thanks for reading!

[killianglyndon]

other people have reading slump, i have watching slump and listening slump, i haven’t watched any new shows after house of the dragon s1 ended, and i can’t commit to ANY shows except rewatching brooklyn nine nine. as for listening slump, not even arctic monkeys and glass animals can’t fix this, i tried to listen every playlist i have and nothing, NOTHING makes me vibe… when will these stop, i want to watch something, listen to something, but i just can’t

[gilmore-angel]

all about bay !!

basically faye !!

I'm bay or faye, either is fine ! my pronouns are she/they, I'm pansexual, demisexual, & demigirl! I'm a minor!! I'm okay with any nicknames/petnames and I'm okay with jokingly flirting!! I'm definitely an introvert, I'm homeschooled, leo sun taurus rising and scorpio moon, INFP-T !!

bay loves !!

music, films, cats, pink, writing, reading, lipstick, perfume, dresses, rain, pinterest, journaling, mushrooms, cigarettes, my melody, hello kitty, horror, bunnies, peaches and mangos, pretty boys !!

faye hates !!

dogs, people that are rude for no reason, people that like but don't reblog, most bugs, my family, pretentious people, school, disrespectful people !!

bay listens to !!

nirvana, hole, lana del rey, the neighborhood, arctic monkeys, deftones, fleetwood mac, taylor swift, the smith's, mazzy star, ethel Cain, the backseat lovers, sir chloe, mitski, lorde, fiona apple, cavetown, suki waterhouse, the aubreys, pixies, billy idol, korn !!

faye watches !!

house of the dragon, stranger things, the umbrella academy, I am not okay with this, end of the fucking world, wednesday, mean girls, little miss sunshine, the girl next door, IT, goodfellas, okja, the batman, the last of us !!

bays favorite people !!

pedro pascal, balla ramsey, ewan mitchell (<33), phia saban, olivia cooke, emma d'arcy, matt smith, paul dano (<3), finn wolfhard, calum ross, jenna ortega, jessica barden, leo ashton, robert pattinson, amanda seyfried, zendaya, andrew garfield, ben barnes, maude apatow, lily rose depp, zoe kazan !!

fayes fandoms !!

Shameless, YOU, Sex Education, I Am Not Okay With This, End Of the Fucking World, The Maze Runner, Twilight, Shadow And Bone, Euphoria, Community, Little Miss Sunshine, The Girl Next Door (2004), The Batman (2022), Okja, Stranger Things, Mean Girls, Sally Face, Steven Universe & Adventure Time, American Horror Story, Wednesday, Midnight Gospel, House Of The Dragon, The Last Of Us, Gilmore Girls !!

[starstruckwillows]

swan boat for Marauders era!! or st idm! also, i am saying as much as i can remember ab myself (this is messy)

i'm a little awkward guy LMFAO, i'm usually in the background a lot 💔💔 i get nervous when all the attention is on me irl (online i love it icl) and i'm really oblivious (i thought all my trauma was normal).. i've got mommy AND daddy issues but i've got an okay relationship with both of them?? i listen to a plethora of genres LMAO, atm my favourites are metal an classical music (i heart kpop though, esp skz). i've watched all of those silly sigma male movies like american psycho and fight club, i loved both of them!! i like shows like the walking dead, the last of us , game of thrones, and house of the dragon as well. i've got about 108 books, and my american psycho era went so bad i even bought the book LMAO. i'm currently getting into classic books as well!! currently reading crime and punishment by fyodor dostoevsky. ALSO, one of my favourite things i wear daily are my glasses cos they've got square rims!! i watch anime, my favourites atm is attack on titan and devilman crybaby. i think i'm a faily monotone person? i don't think i can express excitement very well even if i wanted to 😭😭 i have horrible memory, i lose my phone easily but i find it pretty easily. i'm desentizised to a lot of things on the internet, say a lot of out of pocket stuff, and i've considered therapy a lot these past few weeks. i leave people on delivered (i respond to close friends dw), the longest so far is a year. at the moment my favourite movies are lord of the rings + the hobbit (all movies), american psycho, fight club, MIDSOMMAR!!!, batman 2022 and joker 2019. i bawl my eyes out when im angry, i'm a picky eater, i've got 0 game and the humour of a 13 year old boy, i am obsessed with hannibal (i havent even watched the show), ozzy osbourne, mads mikkelsen, pedro pascal, and tlou. This might seem really bitchy but favourite moments when im hanging out w friends is when we talk absolute shit LMFAO it's always so entertaining. I feel musicin my body and it's so good!! my favourite bands/artists are kittie, deftones, slipknot, black sabbath, metallica, the smiths, LADY GAGA, arctic monkeys, tyler the creator, lana del rey, RAMMSTEIN, korn, mortician, cannibal corpse, the smashing pumpkins, queen, DAVID BOWIE, mötley crüe, and megadeth!! i dont care what my family has to say about me LMAO, i aim to be more successful than them!!! (i probs will be tbh) my least favourite moments with my mum is when we argue and she just doesnt stop!! idc what shes saying its just the fact that she still has stuff to say but what shes doing is repeating the same stuff LMFAO, it's always a bit funny but its annoying cos she just doesnt stop. I'm a lesbian AND PROUD!!! been a lesbian for ages, but i'm so down bad for a lot of famous men and fictional characters. i've read fanfiction ab vecna, pennywise and barney. I used to play the violin, i played the piano a bit at school but i wanna play an electric guitar or drums!! also i'm like 5'1 LMFAO, in my defence i'm half filipino. the other half is australian (british). I lose motivation for things easily, my favourite videogame atm is minecraft, i lack empathy and its really awks when i have to comfort somebody LMAO MOST OF THE TIME I KIND OF STAND THERE AND GIVE THEM SPACE ☹️ my personality type is intp and i'm in slytherin if that means anything SORRY THIS IS SO LONG LMAO also i think im tweaking but thatsnake is really far down???

- 🐍

lesbians who love david bowie, the smiths, minecraft, and fictional men? we are one and the same :)

🦢

i ship you with james potter!!

awkward and background? not if he has anything to say about it. of course, if that's where you need to be sometimes for your own quiet space, he respects that, but he'll never let you be on the sidelines of something you want to be a part of. will listen to all of your music, to impress you, even if it's not his taste. despite popular opinion, james has no actual game, it's all a bluff. the two of you will dance around it for ages before actually going out. dates will be you introducing him to muggle tv and watching his brain implode. and you two are definitely (for some reason) having a war on who can scare the other more from jumping out at random alcoves. he isn't that jumpy though. james does not read, not even for you, but he'll like you to read to him even if he isn't listening to the words so much as your voice.