#divergent fan fiction

[peachessndreamss]

Filled With Grace

Summery : High Septon Aemond request a private audience with a hight born lady the night before her wedding.

Characters : High Septon! Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Warnings : Dub Con, power imbalance, coercion, heavy religious themes & behaviors, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, unprotected p in v sex, corruption, loss of virginity, dacryhilia (if you squint), alcohol consumption, cannon divergent

Word count : 8 k

A/N : No one asked for this but it happened, also sorry in advance, sorry for what? sorry for everything. While English is my first language I'm also profoundly dyslexic, I've done my best to minimise spelling and grammar issues but I'm there still are plenty.

When Aemond Targaryen lost his eye he thought the worst of it was the scar but it turned out in the days and weeks after the incident, the cost kept mounting. Finding his father couldn’t look at him had been hard to take and they no longer spent the evenings together reading the histories, studying the great campaigns of ancient kings and speaking high Valeryian. 

The last time his father truly looked at him was the night he sat the boy Aemond down and told him he was going into the service of the Seven. With his injury he could no longer be trusted to defend his brother’s weaker side in battle or in Kingship, and so it had been decided by the small council that he would be handed over to the Septons and be trained in the Faith. He was sent across the city and into the tall towers of Baelor's Great Sept. 

When he wasn’t in training, or studying he would sit by the window and stare back across to the Red Keep, where his family continued to live their lives without him. 

In the early days there was heartbreak, longing and grief, as Aemond spent more time at the Sept the pain turned to anger, his heart hardened and his soul blackened. Still as studious as ever he studied hard, learnt the words and the rituals and felt nothing. 

At the age of 20 he moved back across the city, back into the Red Keep as the self-styled High Septon of the Red Keep. Despite his outward devotion to the Faith he opted to keep the name his family had given him, he believed his injury and his family’s reaction had stolen enough from him but they would not take his name.  

In the 7 years that followed his return Aemond had manoeuvred himself from returning outcast to centre of all courtly life. His mother, who ruled in his sickly fathers place, relied on him constantly, looking to him for guidance in both spiritual and worldly matters and while he didn’t sit on the Small Council nothing happened in the room that he wasn’t already aware of.

He was the beating heart and soul of the Red Keep, the spiritual leader who blessed and condemned as he saw fit. He quickly learned his religious titles protected him from suspicion, so when a body turned up in the Red Keep with a broken neck or floating in the bay he was above reproach, regardless of any known animosities or feuds. He learnt being irreproachable had many benefits and he began to explore the possibilities now open to him. 

Aemond was 23 years old the first time he'd had a high born maiden come to him before her wedding night, the first time had been less about the pleasures of the flesh and more about pushing the boundaries of the Lady who’d come to him as a willing sacrifice. The first time taught him that silence could be bought with loyalty and the promise of absolution, and if those two things weren’t enough, he always had fear. 

Aemond occupied the highest tower of the Red Keep, three floors of round rooms stacked one on top the other. The lowest level was his Sept where the faithful came for his blessings, confession, where his mother lit candles and prayed and where she would ask him to translate the signs and symbols she saw everywhere and claimed were messages from the Gods. 

The second floor were his audience rooms, official rooms where he might entertain visiting Septon’s or Lords who felt themselves in particular need of spiritual guidance. 

The highest level was Aemond’s personal chambers, kept in semi-darkness at all times, the stone walls were dressed in rich tapestries and the large bed hung with blood red curtains. This was his innermost sanctum, the space that bore witness to Aemond’s true self and was the place he brought the high born Lady’s before their wedding day. 

Tonight the room was set for such an event. The fire was burning in the hearth but all other lights had been extinguished. Goblets of deep red wine were sitting on the table, as well as a plate of sweets and cakes, in case she had a sweet tooth. Aemond knew the Lady who'd be visiting tonight, she'd been fostered at the Red Keep since her 12th name day and had grown up under the watchful eye of queen Alicent. Tomorrow she would marry Lord Tullly and the day after she would leave the Red Keep forever to take up her new role as lady of Riverrun, but tonight she belonged to him. 

The knock on her chamber door was quiet but unmistakable, it helped that the lady had been waiting for it. Sitting at her dressing table, her back ramrod straight while trying to make sense of her flickering reflection in the warped surface of the mirror. Tomorrow was her wedding day, but tonight she had an audience with High Septon Aemond.

When she had first come to the Red Keep she had been under the protection of Queen Alicent, who she had followed around like a lost lamb until she was 15 and had been passed into the service of her daughter,  Helaena, who she had served as a handmaiden while she waited for her father to broker a good enough marriage deal. 

The deal had now been struck, the payments made and contracts for lands, livestock and men signed and sealed. All that was left was the wedding and due to her close status to the royal family, no expense was spared, her wedding gown had been trimmed with silver and gold threads and beaded with thousands of tiny river pearls. She had wept the first time she’d seen it from the sheer beauty of the garment and after that moment she had willed every day to pass faster so she could wear it.

The High Septon of the Red Keep called all high born brides to his tower the night before their weddings, and while the reason was never overtly discussed, the older ladies of the Red Keep would share knowing looks and speak in innuendo around the younger ladies, lording their superior knowledge and understanding over the young and naive. 

But she had found by listening carefully both to the older women of the court and the giggling gossip of the serving women she’d come to the conclusion that she would be expected to give a private confession to the High Septon. Confession was usually a fairly private matter, with all people of all status expected to unburden themselves to their Septons but without further clarity she was left wondering what made these pre-wedding confessions something so hushed up and rarely talked of. 

“Enter” she called softly, turning from her reflection toward the door. 

A small serving girl stepped into the room, dressed in the same drab dress as all the other serving women and her hair covered with a square of the same fabric, she looked as indistinct as any other of the small folk serving in the Red Keep. 

“High Septon Aemond ‘as asked to see you, milady,” the serving girl said softly, her eyes cast downward as she spoke, “I'm t’take you to ‘im,”. 

The lady nodded and stood from the stool at her dressing table, she had known the summons were coming and so she’d not undressed from that night's celebration dinner. She was still wearing a deep blue silk gown, edged with silver threads and her hair was still twisted in its elaborate crown braid that had taken over an hour to arrange. 

While the dress and the hair were elaborate, they were still modest enough for the act of contrition she assumed she was going too. 

The serving girl stepped back and turned, moving silently down the corridor and the lady followed, wishing her own steps were as silent as they moved through the dark building, even in her silk slippers she could hear her footsteps and the swish of the fabric of her dress. 

Despite living in the red keep for almost 10 years she could count on one hand the amount of times she'd been in the same room as Aemond Targaryen, he didn't waste his time on high born ladies under normal circumstances. The only women he ever seemed to speak with were his mother and his sister, she couldn’t be sure she’s ever even met his gaze, let alone have spoken with him.

At the foot of the high tower the serving girl opened a heavy door and led them up a tightly twisting set of stairs. They passed two doors on the twisting staircase before they reached the top and the final door. The serving girl knocked twice before melting back into the darkness of the stairwell. 

A voice from within bid her enter and with trembling hands she pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold. 

The room was so dark it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust, still barely able to make out the shapes in the darkness but a rustle of fabric and a small movement drew her eye and from the blackness he appeared. 

He didn’t wear Septon’s robes, instead he dressed every inch the royal son he was, in tight black trousers and a black high collared tunic, he was covered from neck to toe in tight black fabric that looked as close to his body as his own skin. His silver hair was tied back from his face and he wore a patch over his ruined eye. His good eye fixed on her, the indigo of it lost in the darkness so that it appeared to be a blackhole instead. 

“My Lady,” he greeted, bowing deeply before straightening up and fixing his gaze on her face. 

“Your Royal Highness,” she replied, dipping her knees in a curtsey, averting her eyes from his face, “I am your servant,” she added. 

He moved toward her, his steps slow and deliberate, immediately the image of a stalking predator came to mind and her heartbeat quickened. 

“Will you sit?” he asked, indicating the two chairs set close to the fire, a low table between them holding two filled wine goblets and a plate of small fruit tarts, the exact same that would be served at her wedding banquet tomorrow. 

“If it pleases,” she replied, moving toward the chairs and stepping into the circle of flickering light cast by the fire. 

“It does,” Aemond replied, taking the seat nearest to where he was standing and furthest from the light. He relaxed deeply into the seat, crossing one ankle over the other knee, one of his long arms stretching away from his body and toward the table, the tips of his fingers caressing the thin stem of the wine glass. 

She followed his lead and sat, keeping her back straight and tall, crossing her feet at the ankles under the full skirts of her dress and letting her legs fall together against the arm of the chair in the way she'd been taught since she was old enough to sit in the company of others. 

“Eat and drink, if you like,” Aemond said softly, despite the softness in his tone the invitation felt dangerous. 

But she had been raised in the Queen’s household and had impeccable manners, she offered him a small smile and thanked him before lifting the goblet to her lips and taking a small sip. The wine was rich and strong, the scent of it alone causing her head to spin. 

Aemond never took his eye from her, taking in the details of this high lady who he planned to bring so low. He noted the gloss on her lips from the wine, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she fought to master her heartbeat and the wide eyed look of fear on her pretty face which went straight between his thighs and caused his cock to strain against his trousers. 

“Do you know why you’re here my Lady?” Aemond asked after she’d shakily returned the wine glass to the table.

“For confession?” she replied, her eyes flicking toward his face for a second before looking away again after meeting his burning gaze. 

“To confess,” Aemond agreed, “and to meet with god,” he added softly, running his long fingers up the stem of the wine glass and cupping the curve of the bowl before bringing it to his mouth and taking a drink.

Aemond took a slow drink, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip before taking a shallow breath and placing the goblet back down on the table. The silence in the room was heavy, it deafened and roared at the same time and she was acutely aware of the sounds of her breathing and pounding heart.

“My Lady, the hour is late,” Aemond spoke, “why are you still dressed for banqueting?” 

She glanced down at herself, the silver beads and stitching of the deep blue dress caught in the flickering fire light and she could feel every place the fabric touched her body. 

“I didn’t want to be in a state of undress when you called for me, my Prince,” she replied. 

Aemond chuckled softly, “So you knew you’d be summoned to me tonight?” he mused, “and how did you know?”. 

In that moment she could have bitten her own tongue off to avoid saying anything further, how could she tell the truth without causing trouble for herself and the other ladies in waiting, gossip was considered below them, despite the fact that it made up a good majority of their days. 

“It’s known,” she started before her voice stalled, she squirmed in her seat under the heat of his gaze, “that’s to say, some of the other ladies who’ve been married have mentioned they had a private audience with you,”.

Aemond nodded, while he outwardly gave no sign, he was privately elated, the more that people whispered and told stories of him the more they would fear him and the more power he would have over them. He would have to try and learn the details of the gossip and whispers, and if necessary change the narrative. 

“I trust that what passes between us tonight will stay between us?” he asked, taking another drink, enjoying the rich and heady taste. 

“Of course my Prince,” she agreed readily and he nodded. 

A silence fell between them again, if she strained her ears she could just hear the sounds of the city, as distant as a dream from the covered windows. She dragged her attention back to the man in the room and she looked at him from under her lashes, not wanting to get caught staring. The flickering firelight cast his features in strong relief, his jaw and cheekbones looked like twin blades edging his face. 

“In the eyes of the Gods,” Aemond started, his indigo eye fixed on the fire, “we’re born naked, we live naked and we die naked. They see and hear all of our sins, even the sins we never speak of, or act on, they know them and they judge us for them. We are never beyond the sight of the Gods,”. 

“Of course, High Septon Aemond,” she replied, choosing to use his religious title as she felt the subtle change in him as he went from prince entertaining a guest to High Septon preparing for holy work. 

“And while they sit in judgement of us, I have the power to forgive sins, to wipe clean the slate of any man or woman who is willing to ask for forgiveness,”. 

Aemond turned his eye to her, catching her watching him, his gaze burning. 

“My Lady,” Aemond turned his face from the fire toward her, “are you willing to ask for forgiveness tonight? To confess your sins and be cleansed?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I will,”.

He took a deep breath and nodded, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips. 

“Then stand, my Lady, and you will confess as the God’s see you,” he paused for a tense second, “naked,”. 

A chill ran up her spine despite the heat of the fire. Although she had expected to be called to him she had not known what he would want when she was there, she’d had no idea he’d expect her to undress, and if he expected that what else might he expect? 

“My Prince, this gown is difficult to remove,” she spoke quickly, her heart thumping in her chest, “I’m sure the God’s will understand if I remain clothed,”. 

“Stand,” Aemond commanded, and as if touched by a white hot poker she jumped from the seat and stood like marble, her eyes fixed on the prince. 

“Gowns can be removed, repaired if necessary,” he said as he stood and stalked toward her, pulling a small blade from a concealed pocket at his hip, “your confession will not be complete unless you are as you were born,”. 

He moved toward her and with a single strong shove he pushed the heavy chair she’d been sitting in out of the way and brought himself behind her. His breath was warm on the back of her neck, his left hand caressed her left arm. 

“Please, my Prince,” she whispered as she sensed the movement of the right hand which held the blade. 

He took a steadying breath before sliding the blade beneath the silk ribbon that held the back of the dress closed, with only a little pressure the blade slipped through each twist of silver silk and the dress began to open, exposing the bright white shift underneath. She had made a small sound of protest but had gone silent. While the blade never touched the thin fabric of her shift she could feel the coolness of the metal and imagine the sharpness of the blade. 

The prince dropped the blade and used both his hands to pull the gown wider and push it off her shoulders, the weight of the skirt and the beading of the bodice dragged it down, slipping down her arms and off her hands. It landed in a pool of deep, glittering blue around her calves. 

“Better,” Aemond breathed, stepping back a little and admiring her trembling body. 

“If it pleases you,” she had to fight to keep her voice calm, tears pricked at her eyes and burned in the back of her throat. 

Perhaps this would be as far as he took it, perhaps this was bear enough for him. Perhaps she could confess in her underclothes and be gone, but she only believed this for a second as she felt him take two strong handfuls of the neck of her shift and rip them viciously apart. 

The soft fabric gave easily and ripped clearly down the middle, exposing her back and buttocks to him, again he gave the garment a soft shove over her shoulders and watched as it fell around her legs, landing on top of her gown like a blanket of snow. 

“Oh it pleases me a great deal,” he said, stepping around her, caressing her arm as he came to stand in front of her, letting his eye travel up and down her body.

He took hold of her hand and lifted it before giving her a gentle tug, unable to disobey, she stepped forward out of the mess of fabric and further into the golden light of the fire. The only thing she wore now were the soft silk slippers. 

Aemond studied her, the curve of her hips and buttocks, the softness of her stomach, the swell of her breasts that were topped with nipples several shades darker than her skin. As he watched gooseflesh crawled across her body, tightening her nipples into tight little points that he longed to reach out and pinch. SHe kept her face turned down and Aemond was transfixed by the curve of her cheek and the spiky shadows of her eyelashes. 

She felt as if his gaze was burning and freezing her at the same time, every part of her body was exposed to him and he looked at her without shame. No man had ever seen her in such a state. She had been taught her nakedness was for her husband and for him alone but now she was being looked on by her High Septon, her prince, and his eyes were devouring her body, claiming something that shouldn’t belong to him. 

“You are the Maiden incarnate,” he whispered as he dropped her hand and brought his fingertips to her chin. Lifting her head so he could look at her face. Though she still fought them she couldn’t help the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes or the tremble in her bottom lip. 

“You might look like Her,” he started, his eye flicking to a small image of the Maiden he kept by the fire before returning his gaze to her, “but you are only human and therefore a sinner,” Aemond added with a sigh, as if disappointed to remember the woman before him was human and not divine, “so kneel,”. 

“My Prince?” she questioned, the humiliation was already beyond what she thought she could survive but apparently he had more in his heart. 

“Confession is given on your knees,” he explained calmly, “and so you must kneel,” he moved his hand from her chin to her shoulder, where he applied gentle pressure. 

She allowed her knees to bend and buckle beneath her, dropping onto the thick carpet. Aemond felt his cock throb as her breasts bounced with the impact, he fought the intense and dark urge to force his cock into her mouth, instead he took a deep breath and placed his hand on the top of her head. 

“Under the watchful eye of the seven, I hear your confession,”. 

Aemond spoke the words he learned as a boy during his time in the High Sept. Confession had already fascinated him as a child and he’d hardly dared believe that people would willingly tell him the darkest secrets of their hearts. 

“Under the watchful eye of the Seven, I give my confession,” she choked out, words she’d learnt as a small child and said hundreds of times in her life before now, but never like this. 

“I, I confess to having cruel thoughts about others,” her voice cracked as she repeated another line she’s said a hundred times before to Septon after Septon. Aemond, with his eye closed and his hand still resting on the top of her head nodded. 

“Go on,”. 

“And I’ve told lies,” 

“And, and, and,” she stumbled over her words, “I confess to having impure thoughts about men at court,”. 

Aemond felt a throb between his thighs, this is what he’d been hoping for. 

“What thoughts my lady?”. 

“Thoughts of what it would be like to couple with them,”. 

Aemond nodded benevolently and opened his eye, his gaze soft and loving as he watched the woman on her knees. 

“That’s to be expected, as a bride in waiting,”. 

“This is my confession,” she whispered. 

The tears in her eyes blurred her vision but she nodded, her resolve strengthened now she’d done what he’d asked. Aemond nodded again and closed his eye, turning his face upward and addressing the air above their heads. 

“The watchful eye of the Seven have heard your confession and I, High Septon Aemond Targaryen of the Red Keep, forgive your sins,”. 

She gave out a shuddering breath as a tear slowly tracked down her cheek. She had survived, she had done as she was told and she was forgiven her sins. 

His hand moved from the top of her head and he offered it to her, she took it and allowed him to support her back to her feet. She couldn't look at his face but instead her eyes focused on the floor at his feet. Again he moved his fingertips to her chin and lifted her face. 

“You did very well my Lady,” he said softly as he stroked his finger down the curve of her cheek. Despite the warmth from the fire his fingers were like ice on her skin, “and now, you will take God inside you,”. 

Her brows furrowed in confusion as a chill ran down her spine. Surely he couldn’t be talking about bedding her? Looking at her naked body was one thing but to give her maidenhead to him the night before her wedding was unthinkable but before she could voice any resistance he gently took her hand and led her toward the bed. 

She moved as he directed her, unwilling but unable to resist him. The bed loomed, dark and foreboding in the centre of the room, she’d been able to ignore it up until now. As they moved closer she noticed the hangings and the coverings were a deep blood red, edged with black. 

Aemond brought them to the foot of the bed, placing her so the back of her knees knocked against the bedframe and the plush bed sheets brushed against the bare backs of her thighs. 

Aemond stroked her cheek again before brushing the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. 

“You've got nothing to be scared of my Lady, don't you want to know the Gods in the most intimate way possible?”. 

“Please my Lord,” she whispered, “l mean, I- I mean, my Prince,Your Highness, please,” she stumbled over her words, them coming out in a confused rush. 

“Don't worry about titles now, Maiden,” he whispered, leaning his face close to her, letting his lips brush against her cheek, “tonight you can call me God,”.

She turned her head to look in his face, catching sight of one beautiful indigo eye before his lips crashed into hers in a bruising kiss. One of Aemond’s hands slipped up her back and held her at the base of her skull as the other wrapped around her naked waist, his cold hand resting on the small of her back. He pulled her tighter to his body, feeling the hard press of her soft skin through the leather and linen of his clothes. 

Aemond licked his tongue along the line of her lips, desperate to taste her mouth, would the richness of the wine still linger on her tongue or would he be able to taste her fear? He broke away from her kiss and gazed down at her, noticing the tears in her pretty eyes and the wobble of her soft bottom lip. 

“Give yourself to me,” he whispered, “submit to me, and be filled with grace,”. 

She whimpered softly, a single tear slipping down her cheek. She felt nothing but fear, a clawing, ripping terror that started in her guts and filled every inch of her, she felt as if she opened her mouth to speak pitch black tar would come bubbling out of her throat.

There was immediate fear, what Aemond could do to her if she didn't give him what he wanted and there was the future fear, of the following night and her new husband finding her no longer the maiden he'd been promised. 

Despite the fear, Aemond's words awakened something else inside her, a pinprick of excitement in the doom, a flickering flame of need in the darkness of terror. Aemond’s grip on the back of her head tightened, her eyes focused on his face again, she found him beautiful and terrible. 

“Submit,” he said again softly before touching a kiss to her still closed mouth, “submit,” he breathed again, the sound barely audible above the thumping of the blood in her ears.

The quiet word sounded like a prayer, even though he held all the power in the few seconds after the soft plea had fallen from his lips she felt completely in control, she could deny him and walk away without further incident but she didn’t want to. She wanted to submit, she needed to give herself to him, her body and soul demanded it of her. 

“I submit, my Prince,” she replied, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper. 

Aemond brought his mouth back to hers and kissed her again, there was less aggression now and when he tightened his hold on her body there was a thrill of pleasure, like a seam of gold in the bedrock of her terror. 

He ran his tongue along her lips again and this time she parted her mouth and felt his tongue slip against hers instantly. Without thought she felt herself grip at the arm he had wrapped around her body, her fingers gripping vivaciously at the sleeve of his coat, feeling the strong and lean arm under the fabric.

As her fingers gripped him Aemond groaned into her mouth, feeling his cock throbbing against the lacing of his breeches, the press of her soft body was no longer enough, he needed to take her. 

He broke away from her mouth, his gaze focusing on her heaving breasts and the saliva coating her lips. His own heart was pounding and he felt like the room was spinning around him and she was the only steady point. 

“Lie down,” he instructed. 

She obeyed without hesitation, needing to do nothing but let herself drop down onto the mattress and lay her head back on the plush coverlet. Aemond’s gaze moved up and down her body, from the silk slippers still covering her feet, up her shapely legs to their apex where her sex was hidden by a thatch of curly hair. Further up her stomach to her breasts and their aching hard nipples, her throat and the curve of her jaw all the way to the top of her head where the crown of hair was coming loose. 

Aemond moved directly between her legs, he bent and wrapped his hands behind her knees, yanking her forward so her bottom rested just at the edge of the bed. He kept her knees lifted and pushed her thighs high and further apart. Splitting open the lips of her cunt, exposing the glistening folds of her womanhood. 

She was totally transfixed by him, and from her position below him light cast his features in even sharper relief. It was easy to believe that he was a God, surely no mere mortal could look like him. 

As he stared between her legs he made a groaning sound from deep in his chest. 

“Hold your legs, Maiden,” he said softly. 

She replaced his hands with her own, keeping her sex exposed to him. There was an ache between her legs now that seemed to start somewhere deep within her lower belly and her body was acting and reacting in ways she'd never experienced before. Aemond's hands went to the laces at the front of his breeches, working quickly to loosen them and allow him to free his cock. 

With a soft moan he pulled the hard muscle free, squeezing it at the root and watching as a bead of pearly white fluid appeared at the tip. 

He stepped forward, pressing the length of his shaft between the soaked lips of her cunt, smearing himself in her arousal. She gasped at the contact, having never felt anything between her legs apart from her own fingers before this moment. 

His cock was hot, smooth and hard as he moved it between her lips and she felt her whole body awaken at the feeling of the blunt head of his cock touching the hardened pearl between her legs. 

Aemond watched with fascination as she reacted to his ministrations on her body. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell into a pretty O shape, Aemond felt his cock pulse with desire and he longed to see how many more reactions he could draw out of her untouched body. 

The two of them were now soaked in her arousal, the hair between her legs glistening with wetness in the flickering fire light.Aemond took a steadying breath as he angled his cock at her tight entrance. 

“Be filled with grace,” his voice was like a prayer as he finally pressed forward and pushed inside her. 

She gasped at the sudden feeling of stretching and pressure, it was nothing like she'd felt before and in a flash the arousal seemed to disappear and the fear was back, gripping her like a vice and making it hard to breathe. 

“Don't fight,” Aemond hissed, “submit,”. 

She took a steadying breath, her eyes fixed on his face as he stared between their body’s, at the place the two of them were becoming one. After the initial pain and resistance she found her body wanting to welcome him, she found her cunt pulling at him hungrily and willingly changing to accept him inside her. 

Once Aemond was resting deeply inside her he gave a shuddering breath. He couldn't hear anything but the pounding of blood in his ears and he could see nothing but the place where their bodies were joined. 

“We are one, Maiden,” he said softly, looking up at her face and finding her watching him, a single tear escaping her eyes as he pushed another inch forward, finding her body yielding and vice-like in its grip. 

“Don't weep,” he said, reaching forward and wiping the tear away from her eyes, “you are one with the Gods now,”.

Aemond gathered the tear on his thumb and brought the drop of liquid to his mouth, sucking it off the tip of his thumb. He brought his wet thumb down between their bodies and brushed it against the swollen pearl that peeked out from between her soaked lips. He could feel the tight channel of her cunt squeezing around him at the contact and a small moan slipped between her soft lips. 

Slowly he began to move his hips in a slow, grinding motion. He wanted to stay as deeply rooted within her body as he could but he desperately wanted to bring her pleasure. To share with her the religious experience he was chasing. He ground his hips forward and used his thumb to swipe and stroke at her pearl.

Her whole body was on fire, every part of her mind, her body and her soul was suddenly awakened with pleasure. She moaned and immediately felt a deep shame at the sound. Aemond could sense the sudden shift in her and he looked at her face. 

“Don't hide your sounds, my Maiden, they are prayers and I want to hear them,”. 

After that, any sense of shame melted away, how could there be shame between them now? He had heard her confession and now he shared her body. There was no longer space for shame. The pleasure began to build and a deep groan moved through her body and filled the room as she gave into the pleasure. 

Aemond changed from grinding to short, sharp thrusts, pistoning his hips and moving his cock in and out, the movements made easy by the arousal that slicked between their legs, spreading over her thighs. Her eyes widened and the grip behind her knees tightened as the pleasure inside her reached a fever pitch. She moaned loudly, thrashing her head against the bed, her eyes closing tightly. 

“Submit to it, Maiden,” Aemond moaned as he felt her body tightening around him, “submit and feel God,”. 

With his words she gave her body and mind over to the sensations, the knot that tightened within her belly and the tingling in her fingers and toes, every inch of her skin felt tight and hot and then suddenly, like a dam breaking, there was nothing but bliss. 

The muscles of her stomach  and thighs clenching, the tightening being echoed by the gripping tightness of her cunt around Aemond’s cock. Her blood felt like it was on fire as it raced around her body, burning her alive. Time seemed to stop and her body no longer felt physical, she had passed beyond physical and was now made of stars. 

Aemond followed her into bliss with a deep groan and a final deep and shuddering thrust, pressing himself as deep inside her as possible before spilling his seed. 

Panting and trembling, Aemond leaned forward, bringing his body over hers for the first time and placed a soft kiss on her lips. Still dazed she looked at him, through the haze of pleasure he could have been mistaken for an angel, she expected him to kiss her again but instead he straightened up and withdrew from her body. Tucking his wet, soft cock back into his breeches before roughly tightening the laces. 

Aemond went to the door of his chambers and opened them, letting the serving girl who brought her here inside. 

“Take her back to her room, repair her dress and stay with her all night,” he spoke quickly and firmly, the only outward sign of his recent activities was the slightly pink flush to his cheeks and the sweat gathered at his hairline. 

“In the morning, make sure you stay with her,” he added, glancing back at the woman still naked on his bed, her chest still heaving and her eyes still unfocused. 

“I must go to my Sept,” he finished before moving out of the room and down the winding staircase. 

The serving girl brought a large, soft blanket to the bed and encouraged the lady to sit up, her hair was a mess, half fallen out of its elaborate style. She wrapped the blanket around the lady and drew it closed over her chest. 

“‘ere milady,' she said softly, “so you don’ get cold,”. 

The serving girl gathered up the ruined dress and the slip before returning to the bed and helping her to her feet. The lady was unsteady on her feet and was shocked back to reality by the pain between her legs. 

She brought one hand to her mouth in horror, holding the blanket tightly around her body. 

“What have I done?” She whispered, glancing back at the bed. 

“Come on my lady,” the serving girl said softly, “let's get you back to your rooms,”. 

She followed the serving girl out of the room and down the winding staircase. The stone was icy cold on her silk slippered feet and the chill moved up her legs, quickly turning her whole body to ice. At the bottom of the final turn she stopped outside the door to Aemonds Sept, through the door the sound of his prayers were just audible. She placed her hand on the door, going to push it open but the serving girl placed her hand over the lady's. 

“We must go,” she urged. 

The serving girl led her back to her rooms, managing to avoid any other living being in the red keep. Back in the safety of her rooms she helped the lady into her bed, her naked body slipping between the soft sheets. 

“Sleep, milady,” the serving girl said, “I'll be ‘ere in the morning to help you get ready,”. She closed her eyes and without another thought she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Aemond knelt at his altar all night, the sun was creeping over the city when he finally opened his eye and unclasped his hands. A great deal of his religious devotion was for show, he felt almost nothing for the faith and used it only to manipulate those around him to his will. But after a night with a highborn maiden he often felt the need to unburden his soul. 

He would not attend the wedding of his Maiden and Lord Tully, the ceremony would take place at Baelor's sept and the feast in the great hall. He wouldn't be expected to attend and he assumed his mother would pay him a visit after the festivities to fill him in on his brother's behaviour. He stood slowly from his altar to the Maiden, the candle he'd lit when he'd entered the night before was gutting and spitting as it gave its final flickers before going out, the wick drowning in a pool of its own wax.

Somewhere below the walls of the Red Keep a bell began to toll, waking the city and signalling the start of a new day. Aemond left his Sept, closing the door tightly behind him, he took the winding stairs back to his private rooms. The wine glasses and the plate of sweets were still on the table and the coverlet on the bed was rucked up from his Maidens thrashing and keening. 

He could have knelt at the foot of the bed and placed his face where her arousal had soaked the fabric, he could smell the intimate musk of her body and let him become lost in memories. 

He made to move toward the bed but there was a barely audible knock on the door, Aemond turned toward the door instead and called the visitor in. 

His serving girl stepped into the room and closed the door silently behind herself. She was the only person in the Red Keep Aemond trusted without question. 

“Milady slept fitfully, asked for you when she woke and has now been taken by ‘er mother and sisters to be washed and dressed,” she reported, her eyes focused on her feet. 

“Thank you,” he replied, a cold distance in his voice. 

“If you ‘ave no further need of me, Lord, I’ll be gone,'. 

Aemond nodded and the girl left without another word or sound. Aemond took to his seat beside the fire, he drew a glass of red wine from the decanter on the table and drank deeply, scowling at the flames as they danced in the grate. 

Some hours later the bell in the Great Sept rang out, a loud booming sound that travelled through the hot air across the city and out into the bay beyond. Underneath the tolling bell the bride stood as if made of stone, the only indication she was flesh and blood were the tears streaming down her cheeks. 

The bride groom kept glancing at her nervously, was she weeping with joy? Unlikely he reasoned, was it sadness to be leaving the home she's known most of her life? Or was it fear of the night to come? He'd heard from his older, married brothers that virgin's could be fearful and unwilling on their wedding nights; he hoped he'd give a good showing of himself for her first experience of the marriage bed. After all, he'd never had any complaints before. 

After the sun had set on the heaving city and the wedding feasting and drinking were done the newly weds were finally alone in their bridal chamber. The room was awash with light from torches and a blazing fire, the bed was made up in Tully colours and food and drink set out on a small table by the open window. She waited at the end of the bed for him, sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes turned down and the skin of her face tight and sore from the tears she’d been unable to stem. 

Her new husband drank deeply from a wine goblet by the window, he was dressed in only his long white linen shirt and black leather riding boots, he drained his goblet and moved toward the bed. He’d decided he needed some extra liquid courage before taking his new wife to bed, he didn’t think he could cope with all the tears without something to help him forget the experience. 

“Lie back, wife,” he said, his voice thick with drink, “we’ll soon  have this done with,”. 

Across the Red Keep Aemond sat alone in his chambers, he’d removed the patch from his ruined eye and the sapphire caught the flickering light from the fire, he stared at the flames as they twisted and licked around one another. Separate tongues of flame merging into a single burning light before breaking apart again and reaching desperately for cool air being drawn down the chimney.

The door to his room opened without warning, he turned his eye toward the darkened doorway and watched his mother enter. Her cheeks were flushed red with the wine she’d taken at the feast and her usually impeccable hair was looking dishevelled from dancing. 

“Nice wedding?” Aemond asked as she sat heavily in the chair beside him and sighed deeply. 

“Lovely,” Alicent mused with a smile, “the bride wouldn’t stop crying but she always was a miserable little thing,”. 

Alicent looked over at her son, her smile was indulgent as she studied his profile. 

“You should have been there,” she said softly. 

Aemond gave a small shake of his head. 

“It wouldn’t be appropriate,”. 

“What would be inappropriate about you attending the wedding of members of the court?” Alicent argued. 

Aemond, not in the mood to argue with his mother remained silent and returned his attention to the flames, tomorrow he would hold a service of devotion for his family and the small council and afterward he might entertain the master of coin to see what he could learn about the plans to deal with the civil unrest that was coming from Dorne. 

“Anyway, I thought you’d like to know that Lord Beesbury has announced his plans to wed the Moreland girl before her next name day,”. 

“The Moreland girl?” Aemond asked, turning his attention back to his mother.

“Another one of your sister's handmaids, the one with the golden hair and the crooked smile, she’s sweet enough but I feel for her marrying an old dog like Beesbury,” Alicent replied before lapsing into silence. The memory of her own marriage announcement brought sharply to the forefront of her mind. 

Aemond’s fingers twitched against his knee, he knew the girl by sight and seemed to remember that despite the crookedness of her smile she showed it off willingly and often. He could help but wonder if she’d smile for him as he took her apart piece by piece. 

“Before her next name day, you said?”. 

“Hmm? Yes, about 3 months from now,” Alicent said, her mind now firmly fixed on the past. 

Aemond nodded his head and drummed his fingers faster on his knee, not long to wait. 

[dyslexicsquirrel]

This is a super rough draft and I'm working to polish it up for AO3 but have some childhood friends who kissed (no homo) second chance romance(?) Harringrove

I haven't posted anything in forever and this idea took over my body so uh I hope you like it? If you don't? Don't tell me lmao

Now I'm thinking about childhood friends Steve and Billy who practice kissing and whatever it's totally not gay. But Steve is like imagining their life after high school together, how they're gonna go to the same college and be roommates. Maybe if they get to kiss sometimes still that would be fine.

He tells Billy about it cause they're best friends and they tell each other everything. He thought Billy was on board. He helped Steve study, made sure he graduated.

So he's a little surprised when he gets to the school and Billy's Camaro isn't there cause he was running late but Billy always did like to make an entrance. Except Steve keeps checking down their row in the stadium and Billy never shows up. Doesn't come running onto the field when they call his name.

When he goes to return the cap and gown and pick up his diploma after the ceremony, the lady at the table check's her list and tells Steve "Looks like Billy picked his up the last day of class."

There's a big hole in the middle of Steve's chest that never really quite goes away. Not through college and parties or meeting his wife and getting married. Having his kids helps a bit but it's always there, sharp and jagged just like the boy who made it.

Steve focuses on work and raising his kids and maybe that's why his marriage falls apart. His wife handed him a big Manila envelope with sadness in her eyes. "You're a great dad and there's a part of me that will always love you, but I don't think you ever loved me, Steve, and I deserve better than that. We both do."

He agreed to everything, got split custody, and moved into an apartment in the city. It was beige and empty, but he covered it with pictures of his kids and ignored the way the hole in his chest started crumbling inward, growing every morning he woke up to silence until he felt hollow.

Steve got the kids for the summer and rented an RV. They were driving to California cause the kids had never seen the Pacific, he told his ex. She shrugged and sent them all off with hugs and kisses on the forehead. If a tiny voice in the back of his head called him a liar, he ignored it.

They ate at hole in the wall diners off the highway, but Steve splurged on hotels with pools cause sue him he was too high maintenance to live without soft sheets and good shower pressure.

Somewhere in Kansas or Colorado, Steve couldn't remember where they were right then, he saw the gas gauge getting low and pulling off at the next exit to find a place to get gas.

Steve almost ran a red light when he saw the sign at the convenience store on the corner. It had his brain lighting up like fireworks, memories of a past he didn't normally let himself think about crashing against the inside of his skull like waves.

There was no way. It was just a coincidence. He made sure the kids were fine and swung into the parking lot after the light turned green. "Dad's just a little tired. We'll find a place to check in after I fill up the tank."

The gas pump was old fashioned, not a single card reader in sight, and Steve shook his head with a chuckle, before rounding up the kids and heading inside. They dumped way too many snacks on the counter when they got to the front of the line. "Can I also get $40 on pump 3?" here told the guy behind the counter who was restocking cigarettes.

Short blonde hair, wide shoulders under a worn t-shirt, jeans so tight they molded to his ass and had Steve biting the inside of his cheek because he was in public, for fuck's sake.

He had to be really hard up if he was on the verge of making a spectacle of himself over some rando in a gas station. A grunt and the guy turned, pinning Steve with the brightest blue eyes Steve had ever seen.

Ones that haunted his dreams. "Billy?" he whispered, wallet slipping out of his numb fingers.

The guy who couldn't be Billy blinked at him, except he said, "Steve."

Robbie tugged on the hem of his shirt. "Who's that, dad?"

"Dad?" Billy repeated, sounding confused and a little accusatory. And seriously, fuck him.

"Just someone I used to know." He needed to get out of there before he made a scene of a different kind by jumping over the counter and punching Billy in his stupid, perfect face. "How much do I owe you?"

Billy's frown deepened. He bagged up all of the snacks, no longer meeting Steve's eyes and said, "Don't worry about it" when he handed them over.

Nope. He was not making it that easy. *You left. You left me. Why did you leave me?* clamored to get passed his lips, but Steve refused to be that pathetic when Billy obviously hadn't cared as much as Steve. He got his wallet off the floor and slapped his credit card on the counter, handing the kids the bags to hold.

Billy rolled his eyes, the way he had whenever they were kids and Steve did something Billy thought was stupid. They stood on silence except for the chatter of his kids and the bell chiming over the door when someone else came in. Steve took his receipt without a word.

"Come on, you two, let's go." He herded the kids toward the door, determined to walk out on Billy the way the other man had walked out on him, but Steve never did have much self control.

Billy was still watching him and their eyes met when Steve looked over his shoulder. "You know a good hotel around here?"

"There's a Best Western a few blocks down. Nicest place in town."

Was he imagining the question in Billy's eyes? Steve didn't know. Grace whined, "Come on, dad," the way only teenagers could and Steve let the door swing closed behind him.

Part of Steve was anticipating the knock at the door after the sun had set and the kids were both curled up in their beds. The other part called him an idiot for still holding a torch for the guy who broke his heart.

The rap on the door was soft, but Steve still jumped, tripping over his feet when he got off the couch.

There was Billy on the other side of the door, a cigarette dangling from his lips, hands shoved into his pockets.

Mindful of his kids, Steve stepped outside, leaving the door cracked behind him, while they stared at each other, the weight of all the years between them.

Billy broke the silence first, pulling the cigarette from his mouth, ash flicked from the tip in a cascade of sparks. "Where's Mrs. Harrington?"

That was about all Steve could take. He shoved at Billy's chest, still as solid as it had been back in high school, the prick. Billy didn't budge an inch. "I got divorced last year."

Billy took a long drag, a quiet "Shit" exhaled on a cloud of smoke.

"Yeah." Steve took the cigarette from Billy like they used to. He hadn't had a drag in years and almost choked.

There was no laughter, no jibe at Steve forgetting how to smoke. Instead, one of Billy's hands rubbed circles against Steve's back. Just that one touch unlocked something in Steve, all the years of longing, of loneliness, of regret. He wrapped his free hand around Billy's waist and tucked his face into the other man's chest.

"Why?" It came out garbled and wet from his tears but Billy understood all the same.

His answer made his tears run faster. But it was okay because size Billy's arms wrapped around him, holding Steve together. "Because I loved you too much."

"You're a fucking asshole."

"I know."

"I loved you too."

"I know." Of course he had.

They stayed like that until Steve got himself back together, the cigarette left to snuff itself out on the concrete. His eyes red and puffy and Billy wiped the moisture off his cheeks with his thumbs.

Steve leaned into Billy’s calloused palms, pulling the scent of Marlboroughs and warm skin into his lungs. He sniffed loud, echoed by the crickets and the distant traffic. He needed to say something or else he’d start crying again because Billy was looking at him the way Steve always secretly dreamed Billy would look at him one day.

He wanted to know what the hell he ‘loved him too much’ to stay meant, but this thing—could he call it a thing? Robin would probably call him a dingus right about now—was too shaky, like a house built on a cliff during an earthquake.

So instead, he said, “You know I meant why’d you pick that name when I asked why, but thanks for the declaration, I guess.”

Steve felt Billy’s chuckle where their chests still touched. “Now who’s the asshole?”

And, okay, Steve really was curious because Billy had to be the one who owned that place and had the balls to slap Pretty Boy on the front of a building.

Which meant he thought about Steve and the nickname he bestowed upon him enough to name his business after him. To have to see it every day and think about Steve.

So he was curious, but not enough to stop and ask when Billy was angling Steve’s head with the hand still holding his cheek to press their lips together.

It had been decades since the last time Steve and Billy kissed and it was still the best feeling in the world. The feeling of a full beard was new, but Billy’s hands felt the same, cradling the back of Steve’s head, the other pressed low on his back.

He still tasted like cigarettes and the mint gum he liked to chew.

Steve didn’t pull away until he heard the bathroom door close inside the room and even then he didn’t go far, pressing their foreheads together so they were still sharing the same air for as long as possible.

“How long are you here for?” Billy whispered, like he was afraid if he spoke too loudly, he would shatter the moment like spun glass.

“Just until tomorrow. The kids and I are going to California for the summer.” Saying it out loud, in front of Billy, made it feel like a dirty little secret. Billy knew why Steve was going there of all places if they way one side of his mouth kicked up. Steve had missed that smirk. He’d missed a lot of things if her were being honest.

“Maybe you can swing back through on your way back.”

The hopeful note Steve heard made him feel bold, reckless. “You should come with us.”

“What?”

“To California. You should come with us. I got an RV so there’s plenty of room. We could take turns driving. Grace and Robbie are cool kids, I swear. I’m realizing now that I said that that it’s kind of weird. Forget it—” His nervous rambling was cut off by Billy’s lips.

“Shut up, pretty boy. I’ve been wanting to go to California with you my whole life.” And, oh. Well, Steve was done for. His hands curled into the fabric of Billy’s shirt, holding on for dear life, scared if he let go Billy would disappear. “Besides, I should probably get to know your rugrats before I ask their dad to marry me.”

Steve's eye went comically wide and his heart stopped and that hole in his chest felt like Billy had slapped a patch over it. He wheezed. “Huh?”

“You think I’m letting you go again, Harrington?”

That was fine with Steve.

[masterstiles]

I couldn’t help myself, I had to continue the story. 

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Original Male Character(s) Characters: Original Male Character(s), Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Lydia Martin, Derek Hale, Original Argent Character(s) (Teen Wolf), Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Melissa McCall, Theo Raeken, Peter Hale, Jordan Parrish Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gay, Gay Sex, Gay Male Character, Gay Character, Season/Series 06, Falling In Love, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Alternate Universe - Soulmates Series: Part 4 of Teen Wolf: The Alternate Path Summary:

Andrew Argent finds himself imprisoned within his own body, a vessel now commanded by the ancient deity Tēolōtl, the "Divinity of the Void." Once a revered cosmic architect, Tēolōtl was betrayed and sealed away, awakening centuries later to find himself bound within a human form—weak, limited, but burning with a desire for vengeance and cosmic rebirth. Andrew's consciousness lingers in the shadowy recesses of his own mind. Caught in a battle he cannot physically fight, Andrew must navigate the fragmented memories and shifting realities of his own existence. With each fleeting moment of control, he uncovers the profound connections that tie him to his past life, especially to Stiles, whose presence remains a beacon of hope and love across the boundaries of reality. As the stakes grow ever higher, Scott McCall’s pack must reunite to face this formidable foe. Can they save Andrew and stop Tēolōtl’s cataclysmic plans, or will they be forced to watch as their world is torn apart? Join them on a journey where the past and the present collide, and where the echoes of the fallen whisper secrets that could change their future forever.

[andreafmn]

Bound | Chapter 1

Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: graphic depictions of death, implied/referenced SA

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could've hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: tried my best to write the pain and turmoil Rosalie might have felt during such a horrendous moment. I feel like her backstory is so overlooked in the story and, for me, it's one of the most tragic. I hope I do her justice with this and the coming chapters. Also, I want to say to any and all survivors of SA that you are not alone and what happened to you is not your fault, it never will be. I hope you have healed or are healing. And if you ever just need an ear to listen, I am here. 🤍

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Rosalie Hale should have been protected. That much she knew to be true. She should have been able to revel in a perfect life. A perfect house, perfect children, a perfect husband, all complements to her being a perfect wife. 

Everything should have been perfect because she already was. 

But there was something about a perfect thing that she did not know until it was too late. Whenever it was scrutinized, the cracks started to appear. The paint that was used to make everything seamless was bulky and uneven. Nothing was perfect. Nothing could even come close. 

Still, it had been far too late to see all the flaws of what was supposed to be her perfect life. 

Everything had happened to her so quickly. Her courtship to Royce King the Second, to their engagement, to the date of the wedding. It was the thing of fairytales. Or at least, that was what she had thought –what she had been raised to believe. The perfect prince to the beautiful princess. 

His façade was impeccable. He did the right things, said the right things; he played the part well. Too well. It made it easy for Royce to hide his faults. Because they didn’t exist to the naked eye. His lingering eye was only witnessed by the women he would make uncomfortable, but they would never speak of it. His drunkenness was reserved for the late hours of the night, in the company of his closest friends. His blatant disregard for Rosalie was only spoken of in whispers, spilling into the ears of his most trusted confidantes. He did not have to worry about anyone else knowing just how execrable he actually was. 

The fact that he was marrying the Rosalie Hale was enough to allow his behavior. She was a testament to the fact that he could have anything he wanted without having to work too hard at it. All it took to reel her in were a few words and flowers, some public outings and he had her trapped in his spell. 

At that point, she didn’t know it. That the love he seemed to have for her was only his part to play. How could she? Royce King was her ticket to everything she had ever worked toward. He was the trophy for the part she had to play. It didn’t matter that she was not in love with him, she loved everything he could give her. She didn’t mind feeling like an empty shell of a human if it looked like she had everything. She knew it was vain and shallow, but it was what she had been molded to be. 

What she never thought was that the same person she believed would grant her every dream would be the very reason it was taken away. Ripped and taken from her without another thought. 

The day had started well enough for her. With her wedding only a week away, her head could only be preoccupied with the final details of the event and everything that would come after. Even as she spent the night with Vera, her best friend, watching as her husband loved her and her son grew beautifully, Rosalie could only think of when it would be her own child reaching their arms up to be carried. She would have the life she wanted because that was what she was promised. 

But the night was harsh and unforgiving. In hindsight, she would have taken that as a warning. The cold truth was slapping her in the face long before real hands had. When she was yelled at by Royce on the empty street, she should have turned around. She should have listened to the trembling in her limbs as he treated her as nothing more than a prize he had won. She should have ran and kept running. 

But his grasp around her was tight, bruising. He grabbed her like she was his possession, as though her body had never belonged to her. And he wanted to show her off because she did, she belonged to him. 

She remembered trying to fight. Whatever happened next, she could hold on to the fact that she had tried to fight. Even if it had been to no avail. No amount of strength could have been enough to protect her, at least not of any she knew. 

Then, she remembered how frozen she had felt. Not because of the cold in the weather, but because her limbs had gone stiff. Royce and his friend were drinking in her pain, rejoicing in her screams. She couldn’t give them that. So, she froze. Rosalie allowed them to take everything from her but the fact that she was in so much pain. 

They took her clothes, they took her will, they took her beauty, they took her body. They took and took until there was nothing left to give. They even believed they had taken her life. But something inside her was holding on. Something she cried would just let it all end. There was nothing left for her to hold on to, Rosalie just wanted the nightmare to end since her dream definitely had. 

Rosalie could have sworn that she had spent hours on that dimly lit street begging for death to take her in its arms and whisk her away. She didn’t want to be cold, she didn’t want to be in pain. She no longer wanted to be. All she could do was wait until it all stopped. 

Instead of the impending doom of death, she had been carried away by someone she couldn’t identify at first. At first, she believed it was the Angel of Death crossing her to the afterlife. The speed at which they were traveling felt as much. But soon she was being laid on a bed, where she was bitten on every inch of her body and it made her wish she was back to the pain from before. At least that was bearable until death came. This kind of ache ran across her entire body, freezing her veins and adjusting every fiber of her being. It was overwhelming enough that she could smell… sage? Maybe even moringa and rosemary. Possibly even a hint of ginger. 

Rosalie wanted to laugh at that realization, not that her body allowed her to. She wanted to chuckle at the mere fact that her brain had decided to trick her with the smells of herbs as she went through the worst agony of her life. But she had to admit, it had eased her slightly. And she wished she had perceived those very smells until the change happened. 

She also wished for the longest time that Carlisle had never saved her. What he did felt more like pity rather than a moment of salvation –she did not want to be saved. When he took her in his arms she wasn’t thankful, she was tired. If she’d had the ability to speak, she would have begged him to end it. Rosalie would have used every last breath she had to beacon death quicker than it was coming. 

Instead, he saved her in the worst way possible. He submitted her to a life where she would never have anything she desired. She would have her beauty, and she would have a sort of family, but she would never have something that was truly hers.  But nothing that was hers. Nothing that was just hers. 

At least there was one thing that the imposed immortality had brought her. She was strong. Stronger than all those men the night before. She could feel it. The solidness of her skin, the strain in her muscles, the itching in her limbs for speed. It was supernatural strength. An unlimited source of unimaginable power. 

A vampire. That was what they had told her she was now and she knew it was the truth. The burning in her throat yearned for only one thing and none of the people in the room she had woken in had it running through their veins. She craved the crimson liquid as though it was the sweetest nectar in the world and it was the only thing to satiate the deep void in her stomach. 

But that hunger was nothing compared to the appetite she had for revenge. For the craving she had developed to have the same men that had made her tremble in her sacred body to quiver in theirs. She wanted them to beg her for their lives, to know what it feels for their lives to be in the hands of someone that could not give two shits about them. She wanted them to plead until their voices were hoarse. Until they were so scared that she could hear their skeletons rattle inside their bodies. She wanted them to pray to their god for their lives and then she would take them with her own hands. Her eyes would watch as their souls left their bodies, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. 

She could have answered Carlisle Cullen at that moment. When he had asked her if she wanted to join their family, she knew the answer was yes. Not because they were the perfect choice, but because it was the only one she had. Rosalie didn’t want to be alone and the Cullens were offering her companionship. She would say yes, eventually. First, she had something to do. So, she asked them for a couple of days to set her head in order.

Rosalie waited until the sun had set and dressed up for the occasion. She styled herself in perfect curls and demure makeup. She was dressed in tailored clothes and high heels. At the end of the day, she was still Rosalie Hale and those men would know exactly who it was that would take their lives. 

The first two were easy to find. Buck and Andre Hubert, brothers that still lived under the same roof. With her newfound strength and speed, she slipped into their house without making a single sound. One thing she knew was every party and social appearance the rich people of Rochester, New York had to attend. She knew who would be where and when. And it just so happened that Mr. and Mrs. Hubert would be out all night. 

She wanted to go play with their minds first. Start building that nest of fear deep in their chest as they had done to her. To laugh as they questioned if they were losing their minds. 

The brothers were in the drawing room. Maybe reading, maybe drinking. Definitely drinking. It made her smile. Her legs took her to the table in their foyer, slamming a vase she had admired for years against the wall. 

“Who goes there?” Buck called out from the room to be met with the crackling of the fireplace in response. “I’ll let you know that I have a gun.”  

Rosalie remained quiet, instead making noise by slamming a framed picture of the brothers to the floor. She stared as the frame splintered around her and the glass bounced off her impenetrable skin. Bring your gun, she wanted to say, there’s nothing you can do to hurt me now. 

But she kept her silence. She wanted to draw both of them out, not just their guns. Their bodies would be the first warming call to the other three men. So, she broke more things, until the room was filled with splintered wood, glass, and roses. How she detested roses now. 

“What the fuck is going on, Buck?” Andre said, his voice shaking slightly. “Who’s there?”  

“I don’t know, man,” he sighed in frustration. “I’ll go check.” 

No. It had to be both of them. She called out, “Why don’t you both come to check?” 

“No way,” she heard one of them whisper, not really caring which one. 

They walked out slowly, each sporting a rifle in their arms. They stood tall, their eyes trained on hers, trying to appear courageous. But she knew they weren’t. She could hear their hearts racing, she could see the beads of sweat forming on their forehead, she could smell their desperation. 

“Rosalie Hale,” Buck said. “What are you doing here?”  

“Surprised to see me, boys?” She smiled sweetly and she could see the way it made them shiver. “I just thought I would pay you a visit after last night. You left without so much as a goodbye.”  

 “No, but you… you were…” Andre stammered. He was so young and it showed. His brother towered over him and he was shaking in inexperience. 

“What’s wrong, Andre?” she feigned worry. She had also been so young and they had not cared. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  

“You died last night,” Buck interjected in big brother fashion. “We left you on the street and you were dead.” 

“Correct!” Rosalie clapped in fake excitement. “You did leave me on the street, but I wasn’t dead. No. I suffered for hours waiting to die. But alas, death arrived in a different way.” 

She took steps toward them, closing the distance of the large entryway. Her movement made Buck fire his gun, the bullet flying right by her ear. It was so close she could hear the whistle of the shot as it passed her. 

“Careful, Buck,” she reprimanded. “You can’t kill something that’s already dead.”  

“W-what?” 

“I know, it’s practically unbelievable,” she chuckled. “Death becomes me, doesn’t it?”  

Rosalie was so close now that it would only take four steps for her to be nose-to-nose with them. Her appearance was illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the open front door, every feature now unmistakable to the men in front of her. 

As they looked into her eyes, they couldn’t help the scream that bubbled from their throats. It was at that moment that they knew their guns would be useless against the intruder. She was definitely not human anymore. 

Buck shot at her stomach, watching in astonishment as the bullets ricocheted against her rather than fly through her. On the other hand, Andre decided to take off in a run. Rosalie could only laugh. Her beautiful voice made their veins run cold, fear grasping them by the throats. 

The blonde took Buck’s gun in her hand, bending the barrel until no more bullets could move through, and grabbed him by his throat, walking toward Andre. She dragged the man's body with one hand, smiling as he tried to claw free, twisting and turning in her grasp. In a couple of seconds, she was behind the younger Hubert. With the damaged gun, she shattered his right leg, smiling as he yelled in pain. 

“Please, please,” Andre cried. Tears and snot mixed on his face, the mask of pure desperation sliding onto him. “Just let us go. We’re sorry, Rosalie. We were just having some fun. It should have never gotten to that point.” 

“Oh, then, please. Tell me when I was having fun?”  Rosalie said. She had dropped both brothers on the floor, one right next to the other, kneeling. “Was it when I begged you all to stop? Was it when my body had been assaulted to the point where I could not even move a finger? Or maybe it was when you were telling Royce he had to start looking for a new wife since I was dead? I would love to know what was fun about any of that.”  

“It wasn’t,” Buck blubbered. “We were wrong, Rosalie. What we did was despicable.”  

“It was, wasn’t it? It was the most vile thing you could ever do to a woman –to anyone,” she smiled. “But you still did it. And it cost me my life. Now, it’s gonna cost you yours.”  

The brothers let out strings of ‘no, please’s and ‘have mercy, Rosalie’s, and it made the fire inside her burn hotter. The vampire stared at Andre first, the youngest of the two. The one she had gone to school with. The one that was only a couple of months her junior. The boy that had acted like a man and taken everything from her. His cheeks were stained with tears, his eyes red and swollen from crying. 

“You could’ve made a woman very happy, Andre,” she smiled. “At least, the boy I knew in school would have. You, as you are now, don’t deserve the dirt on my shoes.” 

“I’m so sorry, Rosalie,” he sobbed. The attractive boy she had known had been battered to a sorry excuse for a human, and she reveled in it. “Please, just let me go. I promise I’ll never do it again.”  

“You’re right. You won’t do it again,” she said, wrapping her hands around his neck. “Save your sorry for your god, Andre.” 

And she snapped his neck, watching as his body slumped to the floor. 

Beside him, Buck let out a guttural scream. A completely broken and full of agony wail. Music to her ears. “Does it hurt, Buck?” she said. “To see the body of the little brother you had sworn to protect, lifeless and beaten? Does it hurt that there was absolutely nothing you could have done to save his life?”

When he kept quiet, only responding in whimpers and whines, she took his left arm and broke it under her grip. “Answer me,”  she seethed. “How bad does it hurt.” 

“It’s the worst pain imaginable,” he yelled out. “I should have saved him. Saved him from you!” 

“No, Buck,” she tsked. “You should have saved him from you. From the wickedness of your mind and your actions. Your brother? Your baby brother is dead because of you. And you can let him know when you join him.” 

Her pale hands wrapped around his throat once more, her eyes observing as the fight left his body. With his only hand, he tried to claw at her skin, to sink his nails into her in an attempt to free himself, but it was futile. He couldn’t even squeeze her. 

She stared into his eyes, the way they pleaded, and she committed them to memory. And she wondered. She wondered if they had looked into her eyes, would they have shown her mercy? Would they have at least let her live to see another day? The fact was that they hadn’t and she would not dwell on them. On these men that were barely human. 

Rosalie squeezed until Buck’s hand fell to his side and his heart stopped beating. She squeezed until there was nothing left in his eyes but the colored irises. She squeezed until she was satisfied. Once she was done, she let his body fall to the floor, slumping against his brother. They were a masterpiece before her. Dead without shedding a single drop of blood. 

She called the police after, claiming to be a neighbor that heard a ruckus in the Hubert house and she watched from the shadows as the scene unveiled before her. The Huber parents arrived before the police, though they weren’t far behind. Mrs. Hubert let out a heart wrenching wail, calling for her boys as she collapsed in her husband’s arms. And, instead of feeling guilty, she wondered how her own parents would have reacted to finding her body. 

Would her mother shriek? Would her father turn heaven and hell until he found the culprit? Would he yell at the policemen to do their job and find the bastard that did such a violent act as Mr. Hubert? Those were answers she would never get. There was no body for her parents to find, no crime to be reported. Not anymore. 

The girl remained at the scene for only a moment more, waiting until the front of the estate was flooded with neighbors and people from deep in the town surely woken from the commotion. She waited until everyone’s attention was on the Hubert brothers and none would be on the people farther away. Especially people staying at hotels in the town center.  

There were two men down on her list. Three more to go. And she would not give them even a second to escape. Their karma was coming for them in the shape of a beautiful vampire. 

Next ->

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[whatpistachio]

I wrote this fic after I saw the ✨spectacular✨ art of @mayskalih 💜 (check out her Blue spirit x Painted lady fan art!!)

My imagination jumped and… there it is:

🧵 Labyrinth of Night Secrets 🌌

Summary: After several assaults and fighting side by side for years, that night something will change the secret deal between the Painted Lady and the Blue Spirit, marking them in body and soul. That night will awaken something they had always kept silent.

So, let the moon rise and the spirits begin to live in the forest, until dawn.

Couple: zutara/ Blue spirit x Painted lady

Language: English

Words: 3,009

One Shot

Tag: Post-Canon, Post-War, Ambassador Katara, tension!!

They are in their 20s

Taylor Swift song: Labyrinth

Thanks to the zutara renaissance! 🥹 💜

Hope u enjoy it! ✨

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54428260

[take-it-on-the-run]

Burn

Sejanus Plinth, Coriolanus Snow

Looking back at it, Sejanus should've seen his fate coming at him like a brick through a window

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: Angst (?), AU where Sejanus lives and outsmarts Coryo, OOC!Sejanus (he has a spine), guest appearance from Lucy Gray

Characters: Sejanus Plinth, Coriolanus Snow, Lucy Gray Baird

Anonymous requested: "An au of where Sejanus lives instead of dies but finds out coryo betrayed him (his only true friend betrayed him and left him heartbroken/extremely hurt) so he goes home and seeks comfort from burning that photo of him and snow (kind of inspired by the song burn from Hamilton) but he burns the photo and then sobs his poor heart out"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: This was my first ever request! I want to thank the person who requested this fic for putting some faith in me to write something! I'm not great at writing angst when it comes to people I don't know a lot about (Sejanus) but I hope this isn't too horrible. As always, any constructive criticism is welcome with open arms!

Sejanus Plinth Masterlist | The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Sejanus Plinth hadn’t had many friends as he grew up.

He’d come from the Districts, and his beginnings weren’t lost to him. His family, on the other hand, acted as if they’d been born in the Capitol and hadn’t only been there for ten years.

When he transferred to the Academy, his beginnings were certainly spotlighted by his classmates. People turned away from him, whispering in each other’s ears as he walked by; he was an outsider, through and through.

Sure, people talked to him, walked with him in the halls, and laughed when he made jokes, but no one close enough he’d call his friend.

The money that came attached to the Plinth name was a blessing, but sometimes it was more of a bubble surrounding him. People only talked because of his name, only walked because of his name, and only laughed because of his name. At the end of the day, he’d go home to a house full of nothing but empty people and return to a school that only wanted to know him because of the Plinth prize.

At a mere eight years old, he’d thought of disappearing for the first time, until a boy in his class sat down and offered him a gumdrop.

It was a small gesture, but compared to the ridicule Sejanus had been under for his first months in the Capitol, it showed him that there was at least one soul in the sea of vultures surrounding him.

Sejanus had learned the boy’s name was Coriolanus, but only his grandma’am called him that, so it was simply Coryo.

Coryo didn’t mind much of what the other kids thought when the two of them started to study together in the library, sending a brief, cold glare toward anyone who talked loud enough for him to hear.

He hadn’t known it at the time, but the only person he’d call a friend had come to school with that gumdrop for a reason, but, until their final year in the Academy together, Sejanus was content with the idea of Coryo being his only friend.

When it finally came time for the two of them to graduate, and for the Plinth prize winner to be announced, he knew this year was different.

Greed leaked from every last person in the room, including the boy Sejanus befriended all those years ago. Even when it was announced that there was a final test, one Sejanus knew was coming, his friend barely blinked.

“You will each be assigned a tribute from the Games to mentor,” Professor Highbottom’s voice bellowed as he paced in front of the group of students, “and depending on how each of you does in your mentoring, your chances of winning the Plinth prize,” his steely eyes flickered to Sejanus before returning to the group at large, “will be greatly affected.”

People murmured around him, being quickly silenced by Highbottom’s finger in the air.

Sejanus nervously shifted his eyes to his friend, looking for someone to see just how insane this entire idea was, but was met with the side of his head as Clemensia Dovecote whispered something to him. The both of them laughed, Coryo wiping the smirk off of his face with his hand before looking back to their teacher.

Looking back at it, he should’ve seen his fate coming like a brick through a window.

Professor Highbottom announced mentors and their tributes right before the Reaping was displayed on the large screen in front of the class.

Marcus, was his tribute’s name, and Sejanus tuned the rest of what Highbottom was saying out - without even having to look, his heart dropped to his knees as District 2’s Reaping was screened above him.

District 2 Male, Marcus; another boy who Sejanus had befriended.

When the camera panned to the young man, Sejanus craned his neck to look at his former friend. His hands were swollen, his hair shorter, and his clothes were the customary masonry uniform of District 2; but looking at him felt like a window to his past life. His face remained the same as it always had, the small mole near his right ear almost acting as a way for Sejanus to prove that this was who he remembered. Who’s spot he could’ve easily been in if his family hadn’t transferred to the Capitol.

Marcus wouldn’t meet his eyes when they met again for the first time in ten years.

He looked at Sejanus through the metal bars, at his hand outstretched with food, and turned away silently. He didn’t give him a second glance, even after he eventually accepted the food through another tribute.

Marcus didn’t even get a chance to defend his own life.

A stupid tour of the Games’ arena, meant for strategizing, tore that away from him.

The explosion went off, and in a flash, Marcus was gone. Coryo and his tribute were covered in smokey debris, and all the screaming made Senjanus’ head practically explode. He turned back to see Coryo pulling his tribute out from underneath the rubble, yelling at them to run for the exit. He spun, looking around for Marcus, but deep down he knew he’d already run; so that’s what Sejanus did; he ran as fast as his legs would carry him as he waived the exit route to everyone trying to escape.

In the days leading up to the Games, Sejanus let himself think - hope - Marcus had escaped Panem somehow. Done something he only could dream of.

That hope was crushed the moment he saw Marcus hanging by his arms on a rock in the arena. His face was disfigured, and blood leaked from every part of him, landing drop by drop in a large pool far beneath him. The others barely flinched as they found their tributes, waiting for an alarm bell to sound.

Again, he turned to the only other person he could’ve called a friend, for some semblance of comfort, and instead saw he too was looking for his tribute.

Sejanus knew Coryo had felt something for that District 12 girl, probably before his friend realized it. Every time she spoke, his head turned to attention, taking in everything she said. He wanted to pretend that he didn’t see their hands interlaced as they went to preview the arena, but he couldn’t.

Coriolanus Snow had a heart, just not one to share.

The strings holding his heart in place buckled, and Sejanus swore that his mind, body, and heart were acting on their own accord.

Before he could pull back his words like he had all these years, he was screaming at the rest of the mentors in front of their screens. At the stupid man waiving his microphone around. At the Capitol, the formality of it all, all of Panem for existing in the first place.

At Coryo.

“Monsters!” He felt blood rush to his face as he jabbed his finger at everyone in the auditorium, “all of you, are monsters!”

No one spoke a word, yet all eyes were focused on him as he stumbled away from the stage, his stomach churning and trying to empty itself.

Not one person stopped him from running out of the room, it was like his words didn’t meet their ears.

It was only when Coryo was practically dragging him from the arena that night, tooth and nail, did Sejanus thought his words reached someone. When he felt Coryo’s hands rip him from Marcus’ body, away from the friend his family had forced him to leave behind, did he think that just maybe he cared about him at all.

The rest of that night went down so quickly, Sejanus could swear it was a nightmare; if only it weren’t for Bobbin’s death being broadcast the next morning.

As he watched Coryo bash the tribute’s head in, over, and over, and over, and over again, he felt his heart stop. Not out of loneliness, jealousy, or even desperation; but out of pure, blood-freezing, fear.

After that night, Sejanus locked himself away until his punishment for breaking into the arena came.

Being shipped to District 12 to serve as a Peacekeeper for the next twenty years of his life.

A light sentence is what his father called it.

He heard through the grapevine that Coryo’s tribute, his performer from District 12, had cheated death and managed to win the Games.

What was he feeling in that moment? Joy? Pride? Rage?

Fear?

As he stepped on the Peacekeeper train heading to District 12, their eyes connected almost instantly, and he swore he could feel the blood splattering onto his hands same as the night in the arena.

He wouldn’t admit it to himself at the time, but he felt his heart falter with relief as he saw Coryo’s familiar face blankly staring back at him, curving into a polite, but empty, smile.

Even after they’d gone and seen Lucy Gray, Coryo’s performer, Sejanus still told himself that he meant something to the boy he’d grown up with. That, if he were caught sneaking away to talk with rebels again, he would come to his aid.

“What are you doing?”

It was a simple enough question, one that someone passing by wouldn’t remember seconds after they’d heard it, but to Sejanus, it plagued his lungs with smoke as he fought the urge to run, turning away from Coryo with an empty jabberjay cage in his hands.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sejanus stated, surprised his voice didn’t raise any octaves.

“I’ve seen you, meeting with some of the Districts, whispering, don’t you think getting three of them killed was enough?”

The violent scene of Coryo shooting down that girl like an animal, and the carnage that followed flashed in his mind, almost drowning out the noise of a jabberjay’s record button being flicked on.

Like a brick through a window.

“So, you’re going to pretend like you haven’t been helping out any kind of rebel group in your free time?” Coryo asked him again, this time, in a harsher tone that was more accusatory than curious.

Sejanus balled his hands resting on the workbench in front of them, turning to his accuser as blood crept its way up his neck.

“You have never been where they are,” he whisper-yelled to the boy beside him as he felt his heart shatter to pieces once more, “we’ve both got it all, so how the hell would we know anything about their side of the story? People are starving as we do patrols, and we can’t so much as look at them without being punished.” He took a step closer to Coryo, to the jabberjay he knew was recording them, “and your girl? That Lucy Gray? Her life can’t be too different from these people we see out here. I’ve seen the way you look at her, the stolen moments, the way you almost beat that Billy Taupe to death because he was harassing her. No Peacekeeper in their right mind would do that out of simple pride for their job, Coriolanus.”

The boy beside him faltered for a moment as his full name slid off of Sejanus’ tongue, replaced with frustration as his thumb hovered over the jabberjay’s recorder controls.

Sejanus left without another word, turning the corner and waiting for the sound he knew he was going to hear.

Crack.

The jabberjay that Coriolanus had tried to use against him was as dead as his heart was.

And now, as he sat in a small cabin far outside the reach of the Capitol, a friend who’d been deemed dead along with him, strumming on her guitar, he opened the box he dragged from his barracks that day.

A faintly crinkled photo of students, both standing proud in their red uniforms, stared back at him. He didn’t know what had become of the boy standing next to him; the one he called Coryo, then Coriolanus, but tears slipped down his cheeks nonetheless. The strumming of the guitar stopped as the bright girl across the fire looked at him with pity, not saying a word.

His fingers tightened around the photo, distorting the two people in it. He couldn’t tell himself that was him, and he couldn’t say the blond next to him chose the Capitol over their friendship. These were two different people, friends, who had only had one another as they’d grown up in a climate that rejected them both.

He dipped the photo into the fire, watching as flames crawled over the only reminder that once, he had a friend, someone who wouldn’t ridicule him for his upbringing or his standing. Someone who, if fate had allowed it, may have held their friendship higher than his greed for power.

Sejanus Plinth hadn’t had many friends when he’d finally grown up. Only a girl sitting across from him, strumming away on her guitar, gently muffling his quiet sobs as he let the photo burn to ash.

[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 72: Wicked Hearts

Summary: Rose struggles to survive the dark turn the peace talks gala has taken.

Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke. Excerpt below the cut 👇

Excerpt:

Florianne’s laughter leaves me cold. “If you’re going to hide, mind the trail of blood you’re leaving.”

Curled behind the wardrobe, terrified tears slickening my cheeks, wanting Hawke, wanting anyone to come for me, I tremble in wait.

And then she’s standing over me

“Make it quick,” I mutter.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, yanking the cloth away from my side and nudging the wound with her boot. Claiming my last shred of hope, she crouches to cut my pouch from my hip. “I want you to hear their screams when we come for her.”

Florianne dumps my remaining healing draughts on the floor and then stands to crush them under her boot. She takes a step closer and kicks me over onto my back. “A valiant fight, Inquisitor. But not enough.”

“You’re going to regret this,” I spit. “The whole world will hate you.”

Florianne turns, her thin, proud line of a smirk cuts through the shadows.

“The world already hates me.”

She walks out.

My mind drifts. Something like Jaime’s dandelion seeds, aloft on a summer breeze. I’m too weak and woozy to stand or run, but I can roll. I crawl on my cut up forearms closer to the puddled draught on the dusty tile floor and push my hands through it. The potion tastes like bitter hope as I suck it from my fingers and spit splinters of glass. Time swims and my head grows heavier with each lave of my tongue.

There’s no one else to stop him. I have to fight.

It feels so much like drifting to sleep, this last march to the Maker’s side. Peppermint and laughter. Snug thoughts of being pillowed in Hawke’s arms mix with flickers of Father and Mother and Jaime and Tom. It feels like something I’m meant to do— think of those I’ll leave behind and those I’m coming to. But other thoughts crowd in: Corypheus’ ruined face and corrupted eyes taunting me, the broken sky of that dark future, my friends, poisoned by red lyrium. Despair settles heavy over me like a funereal shroud and I lose myself beneath it.

Read the rest here!

Start the fic here!

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[xanvasofxords]

Because I Love You

As soon as Lucy takes a step forward, he snarls. It should be intimidating but it somehow isn't. Which encourages her to take another step.

"I said, stay away!" The man before her yells, yet it isn't enough to convince her.

"And I said that I won't."

He groans, almost like he's in some sort of physical pain. Except for the cuts and bruises all over his body, he seems fine.

But he looks so distinct than the Natsu she knows. He kooks like a completely different person, with his claw-like hands and twisted horns.

And his eyes. Glinting red orbs that hold so many emotions- anger, sorrow, pain, regret and something Lucy doesn't quite recognise- that it almost suffocates her.

"Do you really not get, who I am and the threat I posses?" He clenches his fists, as if holding himself back from something.

There's a desperation in his posture.

Lucy answers without a second thought, "I don't. All I understand is that, you're my Natsu."

His eyes widen as she slowly walks closer to him. He growls in protest, as though doing so will make her run away from him.

"I'm an etherious, the master of the Tartarus demons," he rasps, "My flames will burn you. Lke it did to everything around us. I'm not the one you know, this... is my true self!"

Lucy ignores his words.

Lucy ignores the heavy air- with smoke and ashes, from the surroundings being reduced to nothing by his fire- filling her lungs. Her throat burns. She ignores the exhaustion from using up too much magic that her legs want to give out. She ignores the distant cries of people scattered over the battlefield, wanting to be saved by someone. She ignores the fact that they're amidst a war and can be attacked by enemies at any given opportunity.

All that matters, is him.

"If so, I'll gladly burn." As many times as it takes to make him understand, she tells herself.

He stiffens, doesn't say anything. Just stares.

Because he already knows the answer.

In normal circumstances, Lucy wouldn't tell him what she feels for him. For she's too afraid to ruin what they have.

However she will, now. If that's what it takes to bring him back.

"Natsu," she calls his name, reminding him who he truely is. Holds out her hand as she stands in front of him. Not afraid of the flames dancing along his skin.

"Luce, please... I remember them calling me a demon." A tear strolls down his cheek, eyes cast down.

Lucy touches him, as if she knew his magic too well to be hurt by it. Pulls him closer until their foreheads press together. His amber flames enclosing them.

"I remember calling your name, Natsu."

He cries, and asks. "Why?"

You're an idiot, Lucy thinks with a smile. Finally says, "Because I love you."

[secretly-a-catamount]

  Water is eternal. It cannot be created. It cannot be destroyed.

  Water is ancient. It fell from the heavens at the beginning of the world encased in rock, and, once it was freed, drowned the flames and ash. It falls to the earth still, a cycle that cannot be broken, an ouroboros eating its own tail.

  Water is all-encompassing, everywhere. It is present in ever living thing. It seeps into that which is believed to be dead but is not.

  Water births.

  Water sustains.

  Water kills.

  The man walked up the misted dock with an assurance that could only be granted by absolute power; someone who was used to taking what he wanted, the very mountains crumbling beneath his will. His skin was paler than sun-bleached bone, and his hair was the color of burnished gold and fell in tousled waves to his coat collar. He wore black clothing, blacker boots, and a dark gray jacket that accentuated his musculature well, silver buttons neatly fastened through ever hole atop his wrists and up the deceptively delicate, almost swan-like curve of his throat. His blood ran slowly through his veins, each beat of his heart punctured by a wound that would never heal.

  He stopped halfway down the dock, hellfire-green eyes scanning the partially obscured surface of the lake, and spoke.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  The trees did not answer, gnarled roots and trunks bent, arms burdened with leaves bending down to be swallowed by the water, but the man had not expected them to. The mist did not answer either, but he had not expected it to, anymore than the trees. The wind, faint and weak, running the incorporeal tendrils of its fingers down his neck, didn’t answer, but he had not expected it to anymore than he had the trees and the mist.

  “I said: I need you to do something for me.”

  We heard you the first time, the response came from everywhere and nowhere, a thousand voices speaking as one but slightly overlapping, the angry buzz of bees, the deafening patter of raindrops against a metal roof, the howl of a hurricane, waves crashing against the shore, who are you, to think you can command the Element of Water?

  “I’m the Enemy of Death.”

  A moment of silence, then a loud crack as the end of the dock splintered off, then a thump as a mangled corpse pulled itself from the churning depths and heaved itself onto the splintered end of the dock.

  The mage gasped and staggered back, watching as the animated corpse dragged itself towards him with the nasty scraps of bone against wood, and the wet slaps of wood against rotted flesh. The water, splintered boards, rusted nails, vegetation, and silt, came with it, reconstructed its body as it went.

  By the time the Devoured was erected and whole, the Enemy of Death had composed himself again to the point of neutrality.

  The Devoured smiled like a predator, the vines wrapped around her bones and ruptured flesh acting as muscles and ligaments, her remaining bits of skin splitting at the movement, peeling away from her ruined body. Blood and oil leaked from her empty eye sockets, and her black hair twisted around her form like a shroud. She was vaguely humanoid, vaguely feminine, and vaguely young. She wore the tattered remains of a Golden Year uniform and a Magisterium wristband.

  “Hello, Tamara.”

  Hello, Aaron.

[thepriceofsurvival]

[alwaysdaenerys]

our great glory

Chapter 18: Jon V

[moog-rt]

In the process of outlining a Shigaraki x Reader fix-it fic, and I'm so so excited to get started. I just want to dive right in, but I won't let myself until it's completely planned out.

It's gonna be one of the more complicated stories I've come up with, so I can't get lazy...

[masterstiles]

Part 1, of Teen Wolf: The Alternate Path is complete! Which finishes off coverage of Teen Wolf Seasons 1 & 2.

Please, Please, Please go and give it a read. 🙏🏻

[aeor-is-for-reccing]

Check below the cut for eleven awesome Canon Divergent fics!

i know it’s hard to breath sometimes by kmackatie (5770, Explicit) Warnings: None An alternate end to c2e128 Cat and Mouse — Jester’s divine intervention works, and instead of the fire plane, they escape the clutches of Trent and arrive safely at the Vurmas outpost. Reccer says: It’s a delicate and careful take on Essek and Caleb not quite trusting each other but finding comfort in what could be.

the better version of our past by KmacKatie (5840, Explicit) Warnings: None What if Essek got to see hundreds of alternative timelines while casting the dunamancy nap spell in Episode 138 Reccer says: The entire fic is wonderfully surreal, filled with snips of fluff and angst and pining and love

long rest by egg (strwpup) (2887, Not Rated) Warnings: None After the Nein flee from the Sanatorium, Trent decides that he is going to keep talking to Caleb throughout the night. He doesn't need that sleep :) Reccer says: Angsty alternative to the small window of time between the Sanatorium heist and getting back to Eiselcross. Caleb is worried about Essek and is pining and very sad about it

when we bleed, we bleed the same by robinread (9607, Mature) Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, major character death (but don't worry they get better!) What if Caleb failed to dispel Gaudius' charm on Essek during the battle in Cognouza? Reccer says: I just think Essek should get his own 'light them up, pretty'-moment.

only code it knows is rote survival by Chrome (13115, Teen) Warnings: Feeblemind Trent makes good on his post-Vergesson threats and goes after Essek in Aeor. The nein are stuck dealing with a feebleminded Essek. Reccer says: I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort and characters being stripped of any sort of artifice. This fic is a great example of both of them.

More Things in Heaven and Earth by kaeda (76998, Mature) Warnings: None Caleb and Essek end up inside Tusk Love. That's it. That's the fic. Reccer says: Do you like crack? Do you like crack taken deadly seriously to the point where you end up crying? LOOK NO FURTHER.

Clock Hands by royalgreen (allyoop) (62504, Mature) Warnings: No archive warnings apply It's a canon-divergent series of four fics, where Essek and Caleb are just starting a relationship when the episode 97 reveal hits. Further diverges with an alternate take on the TravelerCon arc, as the fourth fic in the series was started during the hiatus. Reccer says: I like that Essek and Caleb talk to each other -- the conversations are hard and Caleb's rightfully processing some hurt, but they still make the effort to have those conversations. I'm also really intrigued by the author's worldbuilding that they did for the TravelerCon arc.

The Arsonist by chromaryllis (80492, Teen) Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Caleb falls under a curse that's slowly stripping him of his autonomy, magic and mind. Much to his surprise, when the Mighty Nein take off to track down the mage who cursed him, Essek insists on accompanying them. Reccer says: The pining and tension are top-tier. This fic was started in 2019, so it diverges from canon at a much earlier point than a lot of more recent Sg fics, and the flavour is an intriguing change of pace.

I've Seen Injustice in the World (And I've Corrected It) by jakia (5146, Teen) Warnings: No archive warnings apply A "what if Caleb never spoke to Essek after ep 97" AU that has them reuniting a few years after the campaign ended. Reccer says: It was written at the very beginning of the Eiselcross arc, so the author did their own worldbuilding about how the campaign ended that I really enjoyed.

A Favor Accepted by SamJoinedtheReconCorps (187346, General) Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence "Essek had never cared about anyone in his over a century of life - at least that's what he thought until he realized just how much he cared about the new friends he'd found in the Mighty Nein, right as he was losing them. But Caleb offers him a second chance. If only Essek would take it." Canon divergent at episode 97. Reccer says: Long, lovely canon divergence fic about an alternate TravelerCon, with Essek there. And recced three times! Hard Mouth by road_rhythm (216261, Explicit) Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, rape/non-con | lots of Dark and heavy topics but mostly in dreams What if Caleb didn't get the Mind Blank spell in Aeor and Trent was a lot harder to deal with? Nightmares! Aeor! Exhaustion levels! The inherent eroticism of monitoring your narrative foil's pulse! PLUM ORCHARDS! Reccer 1 says: felt like a natural continuation of cannon, very true to the characters and Trent was as awful like he should be Reccer 2 says: Really thoughtful characterizations not just for Essek and Caleb but for all of TM9. Brutal but amazing. This is the Trent arc we should have gotten. Reccer 3 says: It's gruesome, intense, horrific, clever, insightful, and perhaps most of all - true to the characters. It stays with you. And yes, some of stays with you because it is deeply unpleasant - but one of my sharpest memories from it is one of peace.

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast.

Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week's theme is Old Favorites, another of our recurring themes, so stay tuned!

[andreafmn]

Bound | Chapter 4

Word Count: 4.9K Warnings: implied/referenced SA, trauma, trauma responses, mentions of death, torture, mentions of DV

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could've hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: So, I noticed that the time span of Rosalie's kills take around a year according to Midnight Sun (which I have yet to read) which is why the timeline won't match up very well, but I think it still works... maybe... hopefully. Sorry it took so long to update this story, I honestly did not have time to keep writing it for a bit. This was meant to come out yesterday but I fell asleep 🫣🫣 Also, to any and all survivors of SA that you are not alone and what happened to you is not your fault, it never will be. I hope you have healed or are healing. And if you ever just need an ear to listen, I am here. 🤍

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Three months had passed since the night that changed Rosalie’s life for eternity, and the Hubert brothers had been found dead. Two, since Ulysses Levitt ran out of town with a girl his family would have never approved, and the body of John Harris was found in his hotel room, asphyxiated and with a broken neck. 

Word had spread through the town of a killer that was taking the lives of prominent young figures. They had ransacked through two families already, and it was rumored they had taken the Levitt son hostage, regardless of the letter left. It made families hold their young ones closer to them, hypervigilant of their every move.  No one wanted their child to be next. No one wanted to weep for their child. Not even for them to go missing. 

Because none of them knew that they had nothing to worry about. 

Well, other than the King family. The royal family of Rochester, New York, would suffer a great loss that night at the hands of who would have been their greatest acquisition. She would take his life into her hands the way he had done with hers. He would clamor for mercy, beg for forgiveness, plead for another chance. And she would laugh in his face. 

There weren’t many places Royce could hide in that Rosalie would not have found him. He could have hidden a thousand feet underground, and she would have carved at the ground with her own hands until she got to him. He would not get away from her without paying for what he had done. She was judge, jury, and executioner, and she would make sure his sentence was fulfilled. 

In the Cullen residence, the other three vampires walked on eggshells around Rosalie. The anger that radiated from the girl was hot enough that any closeness could leave them burned. Even if their words and worries came from a place of concern –at least from Carlisle and Esme– she did not want to hear them. All she had time for was her revenge. There was nothing else she had to look forward to. 

She didn’t want to be angry. It was an all-consuming emotion that she did not wish to impart on the family that had “rescued” her.

“Good morning, Rosalie,” Esme called the girl’s attention as she readied herself for the day. “How are you feeling today?”

“As well as I can be while my rapist’s heart still beats,” she shrugged, brushing the golden curls in her hair. “Apart from that, I guess not worse than I felt yesterday.”

“That’s good, I think,” the woman offered a smile. “Hopefully tomorrow is better.” 

“Oh, it will be. Once Royce gets what’s coming for him, the universe will balance itself out. After that… well, we’ll see when we get there.” 

Esme remained quiet for a moment, weighing whether or not her words were welcomed in the blonde’s space. The last thing the woman wanted was to make something snap inside the girl. She was already fragile as it was, even if she wouldn’t allow herself to be, and Esme didn’t want to be the drop of water that made her cup overflow. “May I offer you some words?” she asked against her better judgment.

“If you’re trying to get me to see how wrong it is to take a life, please save your breath,” she responded, holding in her laughter at the irony of her sentence. “Carlisle and Edward have tried, and I can tell you there is nothing you can say that will make me desist from my plan.” 

“Well,” Esme sighed with a smile on her face. “Then, can I tell you about my story? I can’t say that I lived through the horrors of what you did, but I did have my own monster.” The blonde simply nodded in approval, her attention fully on the woman before her. “I didn’t envision my life turning out this way, much like you. When I was younger, I dreamed of being a school teacher. I wanted to mold the minds of my students and help them navigate this crazy world. But my parents wanted me to be the perfect wife. They wanted me to stay home and marry. And I did. I thought then that my life would be better. That’s what my parents had promised, so that’s what I believed. 

“Yet, the man that I married became the monster in the fairytale my parents had designed. He was abusive. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. He made me feel like I had no escape. And my parents perpetuated that behavior. They told me to keep it quiet. That no one in town would ever believe that he could do anything like that,” the woman continued. Rosalie could tell how difficult it was to tell her story. She could see the fear flashing in her eyes and the tremble in her hands as she felt the ghosts of her past creeping up her neck. And she wondered if that was the way she would look. Regardless of her impenetrable body, anyone would be able to see the pain plastered on her face. “There was some solace when the Great War passed. He was drafted, and I had months of peace. I learned that you don’t know how deep in the chaos you have gotten until you see a way out. Deep down, I hoped he never returned. It was easier to be a widow than to live the rest of my life in fear.

“But, much to my dismay, he came back once the war had ended. I knew my sentence was until death did us part. Until I became pregnant a few months after his return, and there was a new life to fight for,” Esme said. “I ran as far as I could. I needed to protect my baby, and I couldn’t do that if I was dead. He found me the first time, though. So, I ran again. For some time, I even became a teacher. For the first time in so many years, I was happy. I had fulfilled my childhood dream, and I was building my own family. But all of that ended when my baby died only two days after being born. I had changed my entire life for my son, and he had been ripped away from me in just 48 hours. With him gone, I had nothing left to live for. And well, after all that, Carlisle changed me. 

“I will say that I assimilated to this life quickly. It was easy when the alternative had been so horrendous for me. But, the reason I’m telling you this is not because I just wanted you to hear my sorrowful story,” she chuckled softly. “A couple of years after I was changed, Edward grew rebellious. We didn’t have a bad life, much less a bad relationship. But he was only a year younger than you are when he was turned, and he was growing angsty with our way of life, especially our diet. He went on a rampage, finding the worst of the worst among humans using his ability. He only returned to us two years ago. But he told me who his first victim had been. It had been my ex-husband. He told me how he made sure he suffered, that he yelled for mercy, and pleaded to God to save him.

“It should have made me feel better that he was gone. That he couldn’t hurt anyone any longer, for the world had to be a better place without another monster walking in its midst. I did feel relief for a second that he could not get to anyone else, but it didn’t really matter. He had still hurt me, and his being dead didn’t change that. All I could do was try and move past it. Not forgetting what he did to me, but learning to live with it,” she explained. Esme approached Rosalie, taking her hands in hers and staring deeply into the red eyes before her. “Killing Royce won’t stop the hurt from taking over your heart, Rosalie, just as I know that killing those other four men hasn’t satiated the ire inside you.”  

“Even if it won’t fix what they tore inside me, I can make sure it doesn’t happen to any other woman. At least, the ones that would have fallen victim to them if they weren’t dead,” Rosalie said through gritted teeth. There were no tears to hold back, as much as she wanted them. She wanted them to make her eyes burn with anticipation, and she couldn’t almost remember that feeling and trick herself that it was happening. But the stream never came. “I cannot let him walk free on this earth after seeing just how well he can hide the kind of monster he is. If he was going to marry me and he did what he did, I don’t want to imagine what he would do to a woman he doesn’t even know. I’m not doing this to heal anything inside me or because I am seeking inner peace. I am doing this so they can never do this again.”

 Esme knew there was nothing she could say that would deter Rosalie from finishing her plan. Instead of drowning with more words, she simply smiled and told her she understood. Before leaving the girl be, she turned and said, “You should take a stroll through the garden. This summer the nightshade has sprouted beautifully.” 

Rosalie stared at herself in the mirror, and the vision that stared back at her startled her. Dressed in a strikingly white dress that was as close as possible to the one she had picked out with her mother was unsettling. Much more knowing that to that day, she should have been already three months married… or three months dead. 

But she was neither. 

No. Her blood-red eyes reminded her that she was not married and she was stuck in a land that was not quite living but not quite dead. She was stuck as she was in a world that was no longer hers for the taking. Still, if there was one thing that was still hers, it was the ability to taste Royce’s death already. 

She had found his hideout rather quickly. He had trapped himself in the basement of an abandoned bank building that was still under his family’s possession. Little did he know that in his hiding, he had given her the perfect place to rid the world of the monster he was. His soul would forever be trapped somewhere that perfectly represented him –cold, dark, and made just for money. 

Everything was already going to plan. The crate of whiskey had been delivered on time and sent directly into the vault with food and other necessities. All she needed to do was wait it out for an hour. Sixty minutes to allow the paranoia to set in, for the hallucinations to fester, for all the pain and discomfort to rip its way across his body. She would allow the little plant to set her stage because she would be the main act that day. 

Rosalie waited until she could not wait any longer. Until she knew his mind would have started its descent into madness. She wanted him to be trembling in his skin before she made her grand entrance. 

From the bank's main lobby, she could hear Royce’s racing heart, his breathing heave, and his frantic steps. It would have been the most intoxicating song had her heart not been filled with dark hatred. His suffering meant nothing to her until it was her own hands inflicting the pain. She had to get into that room sooner rather than later. 

Though Royce was her main target, she needed to get past the two men that guarded the vault door. Innocent souls that had to be reaped because of the sins of a monster. Her parents had taught her the just paid for the guilty. And in matters of love and war, all was fair. That afternoon, two souls would join the five that had shredded her own. She would grant them a quick and painless death, and go on with the rest of the plan. 

And so, she snapped the men’s necks and laid them on the floor. She closed their eyes and prayed to whatever higher power that was out there to forgive their trespasses, granting them safe passage into the afterlife. There wasn’t much she believed in anymore, but she needed to believe that at least the innocent made their way to something better. 

With those men out of the way, Rosalie could finally accomplish what she had to do. It’s showtime, she told herself. No turning back now. 

The door wasn’t locked, only put together to give Royce the semblance of security. Not that it would have mattered. Supernatural strength and speed allowed it not to matter. Without even knowing it, Royce had written his death sentence the second he had left her for dead. 

“No. No. No. No,” she heard him mutter. “It’s not my fault. It’s not. I didn’t do it.” 

Delirium. Truly perfect. 

“Honey,” she smiled as she burst through the door, making the entire building tremble under her strength. “I’m home.” 

“No, God, please,” Royce cried as he cowered in a corner, his eyes growing as big as saucers at the vision before him. Locked inside that room, he had felt he had started to go crazy. Hidden in the shadows lived the person that had haunted his friends and was haunting him now. He knew whoever it had been was bidding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike. What he had not expected was to see her. “How are you here? How are you showing her to me?” 

“I am not a mirage, dear Royce,” Rosalie said, smoothing down her gown. It dragged behind her as she walked, the sound of the fabric swishing on the ground mixing beautifully with the sound of his racing heart. “I am actually here. Standing before you as I would have months ago.” 

“But you died… I mean, you had to have died.” 

“Oh, I did,” Rosalie sighed. She crossed the room elegantly, taking in how it had been transformed. An elegant bed was pressed against one of the walls, the sheets perfectly done as though no one had ever dared sleep on them. Truly, the entire place had been decorated to portray a luxury suite, like the ones in the many hotels the King family frequented. Beautiful and expensive. Much like the armchair she sat on to face the man directly. “You see, I stand before you today completely dead. Well… technically undead. I’m living, but I’m not alive, Royce. I’m what you might call a vampire now.”

“That’s not… no. That’s not possible!” Royce exclaimed, trembling. The bottle he held in his hands spilled with every shake of his limbs, soaking his shirt. “You’re a ghost. The same one that’s been haunting me for months.”

“I know you wish that were true, Royce. Because maybe then I wouldn’t be able to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” he said as he cowered deeper into the corner of the room. “Why would you hurt me?” 

“Oh, Royce. I knew you weren’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but I didn’t think you’d be this cretinous,” she scoffed. “Do you really think I’m here just to say goodbye? Darling, I’m here to do so much worse. I’ve already started, actually.” 

“W-what do you mean?”

“Well, I’m sure you can feel the way your heart is racing, how your skin has gotten clammy, and how your brain is all delirious. That was a little gift from me,” she grinned devilishly, examining the perfection of her cuticles. “I know how you can’t resist a glass of whiskey no matter the time of day, and I knew you had a few scheduled shipments of bottles. So, with the help of a beautiful blue flower and absentminded delivery boys, I was able to slip some deadly nightshade into those bottles. Hence, the reaction from your body and your delusions.” 

“You poisoned me? How could you, Rosalie? I don’t deserve this.” 

  “Oh no, you don’t get to speak my name,” Rosalie spat. In a matter of a second, she had killed any distance between them  “My name is the only thing you will never have possession of. Not anymore. And to think you have the audacity to question what you deserve.”

“But I don’t, R… I don’t deserve this,” he cried as the girl balled his shirt in her hands. “I made one mistake.” 

“What you and your friends did was no mistake, Royce. It was a deliberate and brutal robbery of my innocence, of my life. It was a testament to your true character and the monster that lay beneath sheep’s clothing,” she seethed. “The worst part of it all is that I would have lived with your sins had you simply given me the life I had dreamed of. I would have let you drink until your belly was full of nothing but liquor and beer. I would have let you cheat as long as you came home to me. I would have let you take everything as long as I had my children to care for. And what a waste of a life that would have been.” 

Fat tears fell from the man’s eyes, connecting with the slobber of boogers that escaped his nose, and it disgusted Rosalie to be so close to him. But it was the dangerously fast pace of his heart that thrilled her. It was the perspiration on his skin that edged her on. It was the unnatural dilation of his pupils that made her want to dance in victory. 

She knew he was in pain. She knew that his body wanted nothing more than to reject the poison of the deadly nightshade, but it would never be able to. Not while she was there, witnessing the demise of the worst kind of monster. 

Royce pleaded under his breath, trying to appeal to the human side of Rosalie without understanding that the part he was begging to had died that night. The humanity left inside her dwindled as she stared at the pitiful man. She couldn’t imagine a world where she had ended up with him. At least, for that, she was grateful. 

“You‘ll never find love,” Royce suddenly spat, a sudden rage boiling inside him, giving him enough energy to yell at her. “Not as the abomination that you are.”

“And what is that, Royce?” She said through gritted teeth. “Because the person I thought I loved was you.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he barked.  “Don’t think I don’t know about your inclinations. I saw you with my own eyes.” 

“Whatever you think you might have seen will go with you in death. At least you’ll have that memory then to keep you company.” 

“The title of murderer is less vile than the other name. You’re lucky I took pity on you and showed you what you were missing out on.”

“Pity? You took pity on me?” Rosalie took hold of his shirt, lifting him from the ground as though he weighed no more than a dress. “You destroyed me. You defiled me. You took my life. Whatever it is that you think you may know about me did not give you the right to do any of that.”

“I saved you first from a lifetime of embarrassment,” Royce choked, his voice trembling as fear overtook him. “Your lifestyle would have gotten you killed regardless.”

“The only lifestyle that killed me was the one where I chose you,” she spat. “You did this to me, Royce. And now you have to pay.”

She let him drop to the ground to cower into the corner. One second, the man was back to crying and begging. The next, he was clutching at his chest and groaning in pain. “Please stop this,” he groaned. His heart had started running at a desperate pace, trying its best to pump blood to his body. But his arteries were contracting as the seconds passed, and his body would start shutting down soon after. “I know you can. Just please, I promise I’ll be better. Just give me a chance.”

“You had a chance, Royce. This life. This was your chance, and you wasted it. You decided to use your one chance to be a despicable man —driven by your greediness and your ego. You could have led a long and beautiful life,  but you weren’t satisfied. You wanted more and more until there was nothing left to take. Now, you won’t take anything from anyone else.” 

“Please,” he sobbed, but his words came out slurred as the poison kept rushing through his bloodstream. A rash had started peeking through his clothes, burning it way through his skin. He couldn’t choose between scratching at the patches or clutching at his chest, his entire body quickly starting to betray him. “I don’t wanna die.”

“Funny,” she laughed. “I didn’t either.”

Royce didn’t take long to deteriorate. His body was already weak from a diet of fear and whiskey—and the lethal amount of nightshade that she had injected in the bottles. He had gravitated onto his bed, barely hanging on to the little life that was left in him. His lungs wheezed and his skin reddened, his limbs spasmed and his lips trembled, and his eyes never left hers. 

And she stared back. 

“Soon enough, you will stop breathing,” she sighed. “I’m sure you can barely feel your arms and your legs. Just like I know you’re trying your hardest to take in a single breath. Isn’t it terrifying? To lay there and feel your life slipping through your fingers, all because someone else decided that you weren’t worthy of your own life.” 

“P… ple… please,” he managed to croak out. Tears stained his face, mixing with the sweat on his skin. “H-h-help… m-me.” 

“It’s too late, Royce,” she smiled deviously. “Don’t you get it by now? You are dying today. You will lay there and suffer and beg. And then, you will die. Not because it’s justice for what you did to me. But because no one else in this Earth will ever have to meet a monster like you. And I will stay and watch until you take your last breath.”

And so, he begged. Royce begged until the lack of oxygen forced his eyes shut. 

And Rosalie watched. She watched until he took his last, wheezing breath. 

Once she could not hear his heart beating anymore, she spared him one last close-up glance. She stood over him and looked over his corpse, wondering who it would be that would find his body. What would they think happened? The easiest explanation would be a heart attack, but the bodies in front of the vault would paint a different story. It wasn’t because she was worried she’d be caught –there was no way she ever would be– but rather because she wondered what plot would be spun to glorify Royce’s life and condemn his killer. And she was absolutely certain they would never believe a woman had been the one to kill him, let alone the other six men. 

“Rot in hell, Royce,” Rosalie whispered against his ear. “Say hi to your friends for me.” 

The girl thought she had merely spent an hour or two inside the bank, but as she slipped back into the alley, she noticed that the morning had come and gone, and the moon had started to peek its way out on the horizon. She quickly changed out of the wedding dress, ripping it from her skin as if it was suffocating her. Her lungs ached for a breath they didn’t need as something deep inside her snapped. It seemed that Esme had been right. Killing Royce didn’t make her feel better, but it had satiated her conscience. He could not hurt anyone else. 

Rosalie placed a hat on her head to conceal her face as she walked through the barely crowded streets of her home. Whispers on the street spoke of the demented killer that had taken the lives of four young men. Even if it had been a while since he had killed, everyone knew he was still out there. She had expected that much. The fear of the unknown was enough to rattle an entire town, and after Royce, it would be the only topic on everyone’s tongues for a long time. 

What she had not expected was to come face to face with a picture of herself. 

Taped to a lamp post was her last photograph taken with the words MISSING in bold on top of it. Under, a brief description of who she had been was printed, her family calling for any information regarding the whereabouts of their daughter. But that didn’t strike her as odd. She knew her family would be worried—had been worried for months. 

No. It was the small message posted under her family’s plea that made her stop in her tracks, a sudden wave of sadness numbing her limbs. She ran her pale fingers over the withered paper as though she could hear the voice if she touched the words. 

Please help bring our Rosie home, the message read. There are people here who love her more than sunflowers love the sun. 

There was no need for a signature for Rosalie to know exactly who’d had that message printed. She ripped the message from the page, folding it into the bag she had buried the wedding dress in, careful not to wrinkle the paper. 

Her heart wrenched inside her chest as she remembered the last time she had seen this person. The last time she ever would.

Only a week before her wedding, Vera had told her how much she wished Rosalie a long and happy life. As the blonde carried Henry in her arms, her friend placed a soft hand into hers, squeezing comfortingly as she smiled. 

“You deserve happiness, Rosie,” she had said that afternoon. “I just wish…”

“There’s no point in wishing,” Rosalie sighed, her eyes transfixed by the baby in her arms. She had been afraid to look Vera in the eyes —the beautiful gemstone eyes she had adored. “You have your family. And I’m on track to have mine. It is all we ever dreamed of.” 

“But it was supposed to look like this,” Vera had sighed. “Not quite like how it really is.” 

“We knew from the start that it would end this way, V. This is just the world we live in. At least this way, we can still be in each other’s lives.” 

“Even with all your high-class parties and important people to attend?” she had joked. “You really think you’ll have time for me.” 

“Always,” Rosalie had smiled. “Forever.”

“Really? You mean that?”

“Does a sunflower love the sun?”

Now, she had all the time in the world. So much time it could never run out. But there was not a second more she would be able to spend with Vera or with Henry. She’d never again brush away the little boy’s dark curls as they fell in front of his eyes. She’d never again hear Vera calling her name as she laughed. She’d never have everything she wanted —anyone she wanted. 

After what felt like a lifetime of staring at her own face, Rosalie straightened out her dress and made her way back to the Cullen residence as though nothing had happened. She cleared her mind of all thoughts about her best friend and walked inside, ready to shut herself in her room until it was time to feed. 

“You really did it, huh?” Edward taunted. “You really went through with it.”

“Please spare me the mocking tonight, Edward,” she said as she rolled her eyes. “My patience is wearing quite thin, and there’s no telling if I might snap. I have heard that us newborns have a tendency to be twitchy and rather strong.” 

“You’re such a…”

“That’s quite enough, Edward,” Esme interjected before he could go any further. “Leave your judgment inside your head.”

Edward muttered a complaint as he disappeared into the backyard, acting as a teenager reprimanded by their mother. Which, in a sense, he was. 

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Rosalie,” the woman smiled. “I hope that whatever happened today and all those months before brought you some type of solace. I know it will never be enough, but I hope it’s a start.”

“I hope so, too.”  

But she knew her heart would need much more mending than only a few deaths. 

That night, she had pulled out the message from her bag alongside a picture she had managed to take with her of Vera and her in their class banquet. They had worn beautiful gowns and were smiling from ear to ear as they danced together. It was a memory she would carry for the rest of her life. But, then, she had laid in the bed she did not need, pressing the picture and the message close to her chest, and closed her eyes to pretend she could dream she was back there.

Next ->

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[bardic-tales]

Title: Halloween Hijinks

Pairing: Bianca || Sephiroth

Rating: General

Word Count: 332

Fandom: Final Fantasy

Warnings: AU: Canon divergent. Canon x OC

Summary: Bianca insists on offering high-quality treats for trick-or-treaters, while Sephiroth has a very different point of view.

Prompt Filled: “You can’t buy candy corn for trick or treaters! That’s the fruitcake of Halloween.”

Created for @occreatorexchange

Tags: @starryeyes2000 @residentdormouse @megandaisy9 @themaradwrites @prehistoric-creatures @arrthurpendragon

Halloween Hijinks

1.

“You can’t buy candy corn for trick or treaters!” Bianca exclaimed, as she snatched the bowl of candy from Sephiroth’s hands. She clutched the bowl, not wanting to return it to Sephiroth and his bad candy. “That’s the fruitcake of Halloween!”

This was her first Halloween since fate transported her from Earth to Gaia, and it was her favorite holiday. The celebration was among the things that she missed most about her home world. She didn’t know why dressing up in a costume meant so much to her, but it did.

It’s the perfect night to be my true self. During Halloween, Bianca had no one demand of her to bind her wings or wear normal color contacts to hide the color of her eyes. She could simply exist in her skin and none would judge her. They’d simply compliment her realistic costume.

In exchange, Bianca loved to serve only the best treats to visiting trick or treaters. She was the house that gave out full-size candy bars, making sure that her home would be well-remembered by the kids.

“You doubt me?” Sephiroth stared at her and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. His lips curled into a faint smile, which dissipated quickly and made Bianca wonder if it was even there. “It’s sweet and comes in three colors.”

Bianca’s ebony wings rested against her back as she stared down at the bowl of candy. The candy corn pieces seemed never-ending and kept appearing.

“Candy corn doesn’t taste sweet,” Bianca went to the metal cupboard, opened it, and retrieve several packages of full-sized Shinra Caramel Fusion, Peanut Blast, and Marshmallow Delight. “It tastes like sadness and tears.”

“Sadness and tears?” Sephiroth tilted his head. “But candy corn tastes sweet. It’s the quintessential Halloween candy.”

“And fruitcake is the quintessential Christmas food. Yet no one likes to receive fruitcake, and no one likes to receive candy corn. I think you are the only one who likes candy corn — and, of course, old people.”