#i think the other villagers could beat it out of him with hammers

[melvincholy]

top 10 fictional white men that have a subreddit dedicated to hating on them:

10)

[say-al0e]

Hope

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18, Minors DNI!

Summary: From the age of ten, your heart has belonged to Aemond Targaryen. As the factions of your family wage war, each fighting for the crown, all you want is to love the man you chose. | Ft. "You think I wanted to fall in love with you, of all people?" Requested by @niamh11 Warnings: Targcest, doubt, war, death (mentioned), dragon fire, inaccurate Targaryen marriage rites, PinV, oral (f!receiving), Harrenhal, light drugging (nothing happens while drugged, just sleep; only briefly mentioned). Aemond and Reader are 20. Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!Targaryen Reader (Daemon's Daughter, Unspecified Mother - not Rhaenyra) Word Count: 11.5k (I don't know, I blacked out) HotD Taglist

For weeks, it felt as if every breath was filled with the scent of damp earth, the smoke of dragon fire, the copper tang of blood, or the char of wood and bone. Each was heavier than the last, harder to draw and less likely to fill your lungs, but you continued to fight to catch your breath with every moment that passed.

The stench of war, now hanging heavily over the entirety of the realm, made itself at home in the fabric of your clothes, the strands of your hair, the very pores of your skin. It haunted you in your sleep, lingered just around every corner and refused to allow you a moment of peace. Despite your reluctance to fight, to watch the realm tear itself apart, it slowly consumed every piece of your life. But the stench, while maddening, meant that you were still alive.

For now, anyway.

Once, only a few short moons ago, towns and villages near the Kingsroad found themselves on the verge of prosperity. Their proximity afforded them the coin of travelers, of weary men wandering through the realm for one reason or another and sellswords looking for work - or, more often, debauchery. None were as large as Oldtown or King’s Landing, none quite as prosperous, but it was more than could be said for other villages. There was food to eat, coin to be earned, and fun to be had; just enough for the inhabitants to consider themselves lucky.

Unfortunately, their luck only extended so far.

The all-consuming threat of dragon fire often loomed over the realm. There were many who were raised to fear the ancient beasts - and rightfully so, for their not so distant ancestors perished in flames - but, for many, the threat seemed far off.

Until smoke filled the skies and the threat that once seemed so distant now swallowed them whole.

Blackened land surrounded you at every turn. Fields, once filled with crops, reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash; pastures, once teeming with livestock, a final resting place for cleaned bones; ponds, once a source of water for the bustling village, still bubbling as it boiled. Once great buildings were nothing more than rubble, mere pieces of stone marking where they once stood, and the streets were littered with bodies still smoking.

Though the sight was growing familiar, you could still feel the bile raise in the back of your throat as you stepped across cobblestone paths in search of any survivors. The beat of your heart echoed in your ears, hammering so hard inside your chest you worried it might crack a rib, and you struggled to even your breathing as you gripped your sword.

There was no need to guess who had lain waste to the lands, no need to question those who managed to flee, those who would spend the rest of their lives searching the skies in fear. It was obvious whose work this was and your father had little problem reminding you.

“I suppose your beloved did not deem this attack worth discussion upon your last meeting,” he sneered, toeing at a large piece of melted metal. “Tell me, what is it you see in him; his devotion to senseless violence or his shameless predilection for leaving nothing but death and destruction in his wake? Your devotion to him is… baffling."

For a moment, it felt as if your heart stopped. While he had not spoken of him as anything other than a nuisance, a proverbial thorn in his side, since his refusal to allow you to marry, it was of little surprise to you that your father knew your heart still belonged to him. Most turned blind eyes - some willingly, with no desire to speak aloud your transgression; others simply allowed you to go unnoticed, expecting this behavior from the eldest child of the Rogue Prince - but you should have known there was nothing you could hide from him.

“I have loved him since we were children,” you reminded him, needlessly. “I cannot simply stop. As for what I see in him, I would say that I saw you, father,” you began, voice thick with emotion, “but something like this would require you to sully your own hands.” Despite the knot in your throat and the tears stinging the backs of your eyes, you carried on, hoping he couldn’t hear the shake of your voice. “Aemond’s crimes are his own. Yours are carried out by men who have the misfortune of trusting you.”

Daemon Targaryen had always been noted for his prowess in battle, his cunning, his silver tongue, his enjoyment of Flea Bottom. Rarely was he noted for his even temper or his devotion as a father. He loved you, and your siblings - of this you were almost certain - but you considered it evident when he chose to reach for you, hand clasped in a viselike grip on your throat, rather than his sword the moment the words left your lips.

“Mind your tongue,” he ordered, voice a low rasp as his violet eyes narrowed. “This,” he hissed, gesturing to the carnage you stood amidst, “is the work of a weak, pathetic little boy throwing a fucking tantrum. He wants war, he wants blood, he wants the crown; he knows nothing of the reality. He has chosen to burn his own kingdom for a chance to play king now that his drunken, usurper cunt of a brother has disappeared and were it not for Rhaenyra, for you, I would let him.” Daemon paused, his grip tightening on your throat - earning a sharp gasp, a desperate scrabble of your fingers, nails digging into his forearm - as his gaze burned into yours. “I once saw myself in Aemond,” he confessed, voice softening, “though there is one grand distinction. I would sacrifice the world for Rhaenyra, for our children, for you. Aemond will sacrifice you the moment you no longer serve his purpose."

A single glance around the village, around the dozen other villages you’d flown through on your patrols - on your search for Aemond, for Vhagar, for any sign of an impending Green attack - confirmed that your father spoke the truth. The Aemond you loved was long gone, replaced by a man desperately clawing for the power that now seemed well within his grasp, but you were your father’s daughter.

Dragon rider since ten, skilled with a sword, intelligent, comely gifted with a mind for strategy - it was oft whispered that you were a mirror of Daemon Targaryen. The best, and some of the worst, parts of your father were passed directly to you. And, unfortunately, that included his predilection to stubbornly listen to the thrum of your heart rather than reason.

“You act as if you have the right to shame anyone, as if you have not sacrificed many and more in the name of getting what you want,” you reminded him, nails sinking into his skin and drawing blood. The rasp of your voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it carried through the hauntingly empty ruins as you searched his face for any hint of understanding. When you found none, you pleaded, “What would you have me do, father? Tell me, please.”

“Return to Harrenhal,” he commanded, releasing his grip on your throat, gaze never once leaving yours. “I will join you on the morrow.” For a moment, you stood toe to toe - jaw working as you contemplated speaking, wondering if you could push words past the sudden dryness of your mouth - before Daemon turned. “That is a command. Go.”

Without sparing you a second glance, Daemon stalked across the field to mount Caraxes before beginning his ascent.

Rather than immediately following the harsh command, one he would almost certainly apologize for in his own way - with an embrace, most likely, or a tale of his youth - you allowed yourself a moment. With little regard for your armor, for your sword, you sank to your knees and pressed your palms into the scorched earth and reflected on how exactly you found yourself with an aching heart.

For much of your life, your heart beat for Aemond Targaryen.

As the eldest daughter of the Rogue Prince, Lords and knights from all parts of the realm - princes from Dorne and the Free Cities - all vied for your hand, once upon a time. With every tourney or feast you attended, you were inundated with glances and introductions. Each conversation included boasts of riches and land, of family titles and pedigrees. Daemon found it intoxicating, waiting for the perfect proposal to be made, while it all mattered none to you.

The idea of marriage was one you disliked, but one you knew would become reality sooner rather than later. As a Targaryen, there were but two possibilities: your marriage would serve as a political alliance, your husband chosen for the connections he could bring the crown, the resources his house could provide; or you would marry another Targaryen, a member of your own house who could ensure your name and bloodline carried on.

Neither was appealing but a political marriage always seemed the most likely option as you viewed it as the only way your father could win favor with his brother. It was an eventuality you were prepared for as your brothers were young, and betrothed, while you knew little and less of your cousins.

Visits to the Red Keep were few and far between, only possible when your father and uncle found themselves in good spirits - or at such odds that a conversation was necessary - and even less frequent upon your father’s marriage to Rhaenyra. Alicent Hightower’s children mattered little to you at first, their existence often forgotten as you followed your father from this exile to that, but everything changed the moment Aemond claimed Vhagar.

Funerals - too many of which you’d witnessed in such a short existence - never sat well with you. They served as a reminder that while House Targaryen sat high atop the Iron Throne and soared through the skies on the backs of ancient beasts, none could escape the Stranger’s eventual embrace.

Mortality felt too heavy a thought for one so young but it was the ever present reality.

On a day that felt so heavy, so sobering, you were surprised to find any joy at all. There was so much anger, so much tension, so much sadness, that you wondered how anyone would carry on at all. But somewhere, amidst the depths of despair, you stood in awe of the timid boy who once had trouble looking you in the eye as he mounted the oldest and fiercest dragon you knew.

Aemond’s joy was almost palpable that night. His relief at having claimed a dragon - the dragon - set you at ease, thrilled you almost more than claiming your own dragon, and you watched happily as he circled Driftmark. Vhagar carried him around the island and their cries, his of triumph, carried on the wind. It filled your chest with a warmth you’d never known, a joy that felt almost suffocating. The sight of him, fearless and finally free of the cruel teasing of his brother and yours, endeared him to you in a way you never bothered to examine.

Upon his return, a split second after his feet hit the sand and your eyes met, you pulled him into your arms. With one embrace, you saw a future, a life of love - of joy, of dragon rides and quiet evenings - and you hoped he might feel the same.

It was fitting, you supposed, for the love story you always wished for to be marked by fire and blood.

The first and only time you hoped that you might marry for love while fulfilling your duty to your house ended in bloodshed. Though you were both but ten years old, you learned an important lesson; hope is not meant for a Targaryen.

Driftmark, in hindsight, began it all - the start of your love story, the seeds of ruin that would someday fell it - but you were nothing, if not stubborn. 

Despite the events of that night, despite your father marrying Rhaenyra and the boys becoming your brothers, Aemond knew you shouldered no blame. Though he wanted an apology, an acknowledgement of wrongdoing, he was satisfied; an eye for Vhagar, of all dragons, was a worthwhile price to pay, that much he confided in the first of many letters you shared.

The letters were flowed easily and, though most contained trivial thoughts that mattered little to anyone but the pair of you, they meant the world to you. For the first time in a long time, you felt content - happy, even. 

As you grew older, you understood little and less of the rift between your family. Your relationship with Aemond was easy, almost effortless, but everything else seemed so needlessly complicated. There were apologies owed and egos too fragile to repent for past sins; a simple problem with an even simpler solution. However, it seemed as if all were too self-involved to see the simplicity.

Viserys, with his ailing health and reputation as peacetime king, wanted nothing more than for peace amongst his own family.

For all the harsh words and bitter distance, for all the sleepless nights and long fights, for all the accusations and moments of mistrust, Viserys and Daemon truly loved one another. There was nothing, in the end, that could destroy their relationship.

That was why, you supposed, when Viserys suggested it and you insisted, Daemon agreed to send you to ward in King’s Landing.

The gesture was one, both you and Viserys insisted, meant to unite your families. Your willingness to step into a proverbial viper’s den, however, did little to ease the tension that grew so thick you feared it may someday choke you.

In hindsight, you knew the damage was already done. The groundwork for the coming war, the brewing discontent and deep mistrust, was laid long before you entered the picture. Perhaps it was naivety, or a brotherly desire to make up for past mistakes, that lead Viserys to believe the decision would invoke fondness between the halves of your families - or perhaps less bloodshed when the reckoning finally arrived - but a Dreamer he was not.

Most believed disaster loomed over the Red Keep but none could have predicted just how horrifying it would be.

Upon your arrival to the Red Keep, you were reminded of how long it had been since you wandered its halls. Little of your childhood was spent there, visits grew fewer and farther between, but very little remained of image your mind conjured. There was no warmth, no cheer, no comfort. Though autumn had scarcely begun, the bitter cold of winter already enveloped the Keep and its inhabitants.

Viserys himself hailed your arrival as a cause for celebration. Helaena, too, found joy in your presence as you served as her closest friend and confidante. Aegon, now eight-and-ten, all but ignored your presence, as did his mother. And the one you missed the most seemed most outwardly indifferent to your presence.

Aemond spoke less than he did as a child, his words carefully measured, though his confidence had grown with him. He carried himself in a manner befitting a prince, with set shoulders and a keen violet eye scanning his surroundings at every turn. And while his brother spent his days deep in his cups or between the thighs of paid women, Aemond’s days were spent honing his abilities. He trained with Cole in the yard, studied with the maesters in the library, and listened intently to every conversation he could catch regarding matters of the realm.

Though you spoke often through raven, the comfort did not quickly or easily extend to face-to-face interactions.

Despite the initial tension that arrived with you from Dragonstone, Aemond graced you with his presence more often than not. He sat with you in the library, body occupying the seat beside yours despite a handful of empty chairs scattered about the room, and went flying with you as often as you wished. At mealtimes, he sat at your side - his violet eye trained on you, observing but rarely speaking more than a handful of words - and walked the gardens with you after breaking your fast.

There were moments of bitterness, bouts of anger where your tempers flared - particularly in the beginning, and often because of one sibling or another - and more moments spent hurling cruel words at one another.

But with every moon that passed, you settled into a life far different than any you could’ve imagined. And with every moment spent by Aemond’s side, you knew it was love - real and true - you’d found all those years ago. Love lightened your spirit, brought you a warmth and a comfort you never knew existed, and joy found you despite the chill of the Red Keep. Aemond was the one you wanted and, delighted, you learned he felt the same.

Yet, neither of you forgot that hope was more dangerous a beast than any dragon.

Hope abandoned you both as you sought permission to marry. Though Viserys was overjoyed, thrilled by the prospect of uniting the family through the joining of your hands, there were few others who shared his enthusiasm. The factions of your family agreed on little as of late but Alicent and Daemon found themselves in agreement at long last; both would sooner see their children miserable, alone or trapped in loveless marriages, than allow them to marry.

It seemed as if everyone, save Viserys, shared the sentiment. And, as you gathered for what would - unbeknownst to you all - become the last supper, none were shy about sharing it.

Piece by piece, the future you foolishly allowed yourself to imagine shattered into shards that pierced your heart deeper and deeper. With every argument against your betrothal, with every sharp word uttered and eventual punch thrown, you felt the fate you desperately hoped to avoid closing in on you. And as your family disappeared from the Red Keep, eager to return to Dragonstone - with a parting command that you begin preparing to join them - you took to the skies to ruminate.

Naively, perhaps, you imagined you could have won them over.

There were a thousand arguments to be made in support of your marriage to Aemond, the least of which was the love you shared. Though Daemon mistrusted his nephew, he would’ve seen reason - someday, perhaps - that Aemond loved you, that he would never cause you harm. Though your brothers disliked Aemond, the result of childhood animosity fed to you all by adults, you could have shown them how happy Aemond made you. And though Rhaenyra found herself wary, she knew your marriage would provide stability and comfort to Alicent upon her ascension.

If only Viserys had lived just a while longer.

Viserys’ death had long been a matter of when. In the immediate aftermath, you found yourself wondering how things might have changed had Rhaenyra remained at the Keep - if he’d died sooner rather than later, if she’d been the one to share his final moments. But there was little time to dwell when you suddenly found yourself considered an enemy to the crown.

One moment, you were lingering in the Dragonpit - Aemond’s hand on your cheek, his forehead pressed to yours as he assured you there was nothing that could keep you apart - and the next, members of the Kingsguard were dragging you through the Keep to lock you in your room.

For several long hours, there was no explanation. Aemond was kept from you, sent from the Keep in search of his brother, and you were kept under strict guard. Despite the silence, you knew with great certainty that Viserys was dead and your stomach churned with fear of what was to come. And despite yourself, you held desperately to the hope that the great houses would remember their oaths to uphold Rhaenyra as the rightful heir.

Abandon all hope, should you wish to survive.

None knew what Otto Hightower intended to do with you - for it was, most certainly, he who masterminded Aegon’s ascension and he who planted the seeds of mistrust in you as a suitable match for his grandson - but you considered yourself blessed to escape that fate, nonetheless.

A knight of the Kingsguard facilitated your escape, granted you and Rhaenys the freedom necessary to flee King’s Landing. Rhaenys herself facilitated the liberation of your dragons, neither of whom you intended to leave without. And in the blink of an eye, every aspect of your life changed. War was nigh, closer than ever before, and though you escaped the Red Keep, hope held you prisoner.

For a blissful moment, little of your relationship with Aemond changed.

There were ravens - messages written in High Valyrian, now of greater significance than ever before - and meetings arranged in secluded woods. There were longing glances exchanged, fleeting touches and soft kisses, embraces you once refused out of some sense of propriety. Words of love were whispered and promises, bound to be broken, were made. There was even a dream, only spoken under cover of darkness, of finding a septon to marry you in a desperate bid to end the war before it began in earnest. But the storm itself had only just begun.

The question was never when, nor if, blood would be drawn; it was always who would draw it. Most feared it would be Daemon, or perhaps Aegon - both quick to anger, to act, desperate to prove themselves. But it was of little surprise to anyone, save you, that it was Aemond who began the Dance.

Whispers filled the land and the halls of Dragonstone echoed with the title that chipped at the already shattered pieces of your heart; Aemond One-Eye became Aemond the Kinslayer. 

Most believed it was a deliberate act, retribution for the eye Lucerys stole as a boy. Others, an act of provocation to draw Rhaenyra out of hiding. Regardless of motive, nearly all found themselves in agreement that Aemond committed the most grievous sin. Though it was a compelling argument, one you found yourself struggling to deny when Jacaerys confronted you, you hoped it was not true.

Aemond longed for an apology, an acknowledgement that he was wronged. That much you knew to be true. But he was not a murderer, not one to cut down a child in cold blood.

Three long months of piecemeal battles followed Lucerys death - Visenya’s death - and, despite the damage done and the fear beginning to grip the realm, there was little to be done to keep you away from Aemond. You continuously found one another, seeking solace where you knew it was guaranteed, and he swore Lucerys’ death was a tragic mistake. He apologized, sincerely, and you believed him.

Love, perhaps, was more dangerous than hope for it could make even the sharpest eye blind.

As you glanced around the village, reduced to nothing - to ash, to rubble, to ruin - you wondered if it was love that blinded you involuntarily or a choice made to protect what remained of your fragile heart.

Every sign that Aemond had changed, that he was no longer the boy you fell in love with but a man grown into a stranger, was there. And as you stood, limbs trembling as you realized an inn had become a graveyard, you wondered if he’d ever been the man you believed him to be.

Perhaps it was hope, a desperate desire for a fairytale you long ago accepted you would never have, or perhaps it was naivety that blinded you. While others saw a waking nightmare, a terror to behold, you saw a man in desperate need of comfort. While others saw a threat, you saw a man who needed a gentle hand to guide him to the light. While others saw a raging storm, threatening to spring forth and destroy everything in its path, you found yourself trapped directly in the ruinous calm of the eye.

Aemond was, you truly believed, good. Somewhere beneath the facade he wore, the bravado that kept his shoulders straight and his lips narrowed into a thin line, was a delicate countenance you’d witnessed. But as you gathered yourself, scrubbed at your cheeks with the hem of your sleeve and swiped ash from your gloved hands on the fabric of your coat, you wondered just how deeply it was buried.

Village after village had been burned, thousands of innocents killed in cold blood, and to what end? There was no question who torched the villages, not pretending the offense was committed at Rhaenyra’s command.

All knew it was Aemond Targaryen, the One-Eyed Prince - Kinslayer, attempted Kingslayer - who singlehandedly destroyed them all.

Death and destruction marked his path, nothing left for you to find other than rubble and ash. It made you sick, turned your stomach and left an acidic burn in the back of your throat, but you couldn’t help wondering why.

As you mounted your dragon to return to Harrenhal, body present but mind far away, little made sense to you. Aegon was gone, still missing after weeks of searching; Alicent and Otto, for all their determination, would never see the realm reduced to ash; and Criston Cole would rather fight, march on with a host of men and a strategy rather than torch villages with little rhyme or reason. There was no plausible explanation for the campaign, no reasonable excuse for the destruction you found awaiting you at every turn.

All that remained was the truth; each and every village burned was a choice Aemond made.

The realization that every heinous act you’d stumbled across in your search for Aemond and Vhagar - for Aegon, for Criston Cole, for a Green army you began to imagine would never materialize - was his froze the very blood in your veins. It made each beat of your heart more painful than the last, each a little too fast and hard enough you feared your ribs might crack, and you fought bitter tears as you flew toward Harrenhal.

Only weeks ago, Aemond pleaded with you. He urged you to abandon your family and give yourself to him - your hand, your body, your dragon - and join his cause, not his brother’s. It was heartfelt, soft, emotional, convincing. He promised that you would rule as his queen, that your family would be forgiven and peace would return to the realm, if you would simply give in to him. And for a long moment, you considered his plea. So strongly did you consider accepting, you gathered your things and crossed through the dilapidated corridors of Harrenhal with every intention of taking flight and joining him.

In fact, you made it to the gate before the little voice in your head gave you pause.

Alys found you in the courtyard, bag tossed to the ground and shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, sat before the Weirwood tree. With a few soft words, she reminded you of your place - of your family, of your fight - and lead you to bed before Daemon could find you.

Briefly, as you soared through the cool, late afternoon air, you wondered if the destruction was your fault. Perhaps your rejection ignited the flame of his temper and sent him on a rampage. But you believed you knew him too well to entertain that train of thought for longer than a moment. Aemond had proven himself to be volatile, dangerous, but there had to be a reason for the destruction he rained.

Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with you and much and more to do with his own campaign for the crown - a campaign none knew existed until the power he so desired fell straight into his hands.

There was little time to dwell on Aemond’s aspirations, however, as the great ruins of Harrenhal entered your sight.

Resting in a field, not far from the charred remnants of the castle, was Vhagar. She slept, unbothered, by the beating wings of your own dragon - a scent she recognized, a scent she knew offered no threat - and you felt your pulse jump as you grounded your own dragon just outside the walls of the once great castle.

Where Vhagar went, Aemond went - a fact all knew. And what Aemond wanted, he got. It was only a matter of time before he came for you, you realized, just as you realized the choice to join him was little more than an illusion. The decision to be his was made long ago, by a lovestruck fool who believed in hope and happy endings. The consequences would be felt by a woman whose sight had been restored.

There was no use in attempting to flee. He’d seen you arrive and would doubtlessly follow, so you steeled yourself and made the short trek to the ruins of the castle courtyard.

With your blade drawn and your ears ringing, heart hammering so loud you feared he might hear over the wind howling around you, you stepped through the gate. Despite the persistent chill in the air, the bile rising in the back of your throat, you felt impossibly warm - burning from within, fear lapping at your skin like the hottest flames of dragon fire.

Aemond didn’t bother turning from the Weirwood, hands remaining folded behind his back as dead earth crunched beneath your boots. “I wondered if Daemon would dare face me himself,” he began, voice soft and carrying on the cold wind, “of if he would be craven and allow his beloved daughter to return to me.”

It was apparent he thought you knew - that Daemon knew - he’d arrived at Harrenhal. And you had no intention of correcting him as you tightened your grip on your sword. Instead, you laughed;  a brittle, hollow sound you knew he would see through.

“My father is not afraid of you.” Every step you took, sword clasped in your hands - clutched like a lifeline, as if you had any chance against him in battle - the harder it became to catch your breath. “He does not consider you at all. You are nothing more than a pest to be swatted in his eyes; that is why I am here.” A lie, something you both knew, as Daemon understood exactly who his nephew had become, what kind of man he’d grown to be.

The understanding was one he attempted to share with you, one he begged you to see, but the three of you shared a common weakness; love.

Daemon, for all his gestures and his promises, would never love anyone more than himself as only he could protect his own heart. You would never love anyone more than Aemond, despite his flaws and his mistakes, as he’d captured your heart and refused to set it free. And Aemond? He would never love anyone more than he loved the image of himself wearing a crown.

Seated amidst the ruins of a small village, lingering with the ghosts of lives lost in an awful game, you found that understanding for yourself. Though Aemond professed his love for you - and felt it, of that you were certain, even if it was not the love you dreamt of, not the love you wanted - you knew that a piece of him saw you as a little more than a pawn. The war that raged around you was bigger than you, both pawns to be knocked around a board at the mercy of the gods, but he still fancied himself a player rather than a piece.

Love clouded your judgement, cast a rosy hue over the deep gray of your world, and you almost hated to see it go.

Without it, you saw the blackened hull of Harrenhal and the jaded, empty husk of a man Aemond had become.  The man you loved was gone, the heart that beat in time with yours was no more. Instead, stood before you was a man who sent a thrill of fear shooting down the base of your spine.

If Daemon had known the fate that awaited you at Harrenhal, he would’ve sent you to Dragonstone, to the Keep, to the Reach, the Vale, the North - somewhere, anywhere other than into the hands of the man who would destroy you.

Daemon hadn’t known and neither had you. But if you had, you knew you still would’ve flown straight into his trap.

Silence, thick and tense with an energy you’d never before felt, enveloped you both, broken only by the call of your dragon - cries that sank into your heart like knives, plunging deeper and deeper with every beat - before, at long last, Aemond turned to face you.

That searching violet eye fell to your sword, amusement clear in the raise of his brow and the way his mouth twisted into something resembling a smirk. “Look at you,” he declared, gaze sweeping across your armor of red and black. “My beautiful Fierce Princess.” He took a single step forward, huffing a breath that could pass for laughter when you rocked back onto your heel, and hummed. “I always knew that you would be mine."

“I belong to no man.” The declaration escaped as little more than a whisper, leagues away from the confidence you hoped to project, but there was little use in denying him.

Aemond was the one person who knew each and every inch of you. Every detail - no matter how small - had been committed to memory somewhere in the years you’d loved one another. Though you had not yet given yourself to him, he was more familiar with your skin, your mind, your heart than any other could ever hope to be. If anyone were to see through a false act of bravado, it would be him.

“Mm.” He held his laughter, an act to spare your feelings, though his violet eye shimmered with a mirth that seemed rare these days - a mirth you once considered yourself lucky to witness - as he stepped closer.  “Sheath your blade,” he commanded, voice soft but firm as he easily brushed past you. “I would not harm you, my love.”

Disregarding the command, you kept your sword in hand as you followed him through the dark, damp corridors. There was little light and less company, something you had yet to grow used to.

Though you knew you would find nothing before you began to search, you could not stop yourself from glancing around. Desperately, you hoped for a glimpse of a familiar face - Simon, his men, Alys - but the pit in your stomach only sank deeper as you entered the empty shell of the dining room.

“If you are searching for the witch, she’s gone. Ser Strong, as well. They all seemed… content to die,” he reveled, tone almost pitying as he reached for the carafe on the table. “Has my uncle treated them so poorly?”

“They’re dead,” you repeated, whisper echoing through the empty halls as he began to fill two glasses.

“Mm. Regretful business,” he sighed, turning to offer you a glass - one you took without thought, the action so natural you might’ve forgotten the setting had it not felt so stifling even amidst the cool breeze floating through the halls. “It is a shame they had to die,” he lamented, lips twisting into a rueful pout, “but between this… dwelling and what is to come, I consider it a merciful alternative.”

“What’s to come?” The question escaped before you could stop it, before you could convince yourself to swing - to end the battle before it began - but Aemond was unsurprised.

“Harrenhal can hold a great host. Whoever controls that host, controls the realm,” he reminded you, pausing only to sip his wine. “My brother was weak,” he continued, a soft hum of disappointment punctuating his words. “He was impulsive and undisciplined, unsuited for the crown. He would not have lasted as king. Perhaps dragon fire was a blessing, a suitable end to his reign.”

“Aemond…” For just a moment, you caught a glimpse of the man you loved as you faltered - as your feet carried you closer, as you sheathed your sword and reached for his cheek. “The villages,” you whispered, “the small folk, Simon, Alys; why?”

Aemond leaned into your touch, warmth of his cheek bleeding into your palm as your thumb brushed the ride of his scar. His violet eye fluttered shut, just for a moment, before he sighed. “I intended only to occupy Daemon, to keep him far from Rhaenyra as she attempted to take the Keep. He has long wanted battle; I chose to give it to him. He now has a cause worth fighting for.”

With a hand on your waist, fingers pressing into the heavy material of your coat, Aemond drew to his full height. “Why go to these lengths for the crown?” A large hand lifted to your cup, nudged it to your mouth, and you took a sip without thought before lamenting, “You could have done much and more without it.”

“You know nothing of being denied,” he whispered, voice as soft as it was cutting. “You have been given everything you could have ever wanted. Princes fought for your hand, lords tripped over themselves to wed you; the word ‘no’ means little and less to you.” He urged you to take another sip of your wine, the bitter taste lingering on your tongue as he tipped his head to meet your eyes. “I suppose I am also to blame as I have never refused you anything, nor will I ever. But the crown has always been meant for me, just as you have."

Another insistent press of his fingers saw you drain your cup, casting it aside the moment the liquid disappeared, and you flinched as it clattered to the ground. “You’re wrong,” you whispered, swallowing a gasp as his thumb brushed a drop of wine from your bottom lip. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted, really and truly, I was denied. I’ve only ever asked for your hand, for your love, for you. But I did not set fire to the realm, to the innocents whose paths the gods deemed unfortunate enough to set in my way. I did not betray my brother, my father, my queen. I tried reason, again and again, and held steadfast to hope that our families might see what we have always known.”

“And what did hope earn you, my love? Your father’s ire, your siblings disappointment, your realm’s division. Hope is for the foolish. You must take what you want and offer no apology,” he insisted, forehead dipping to press to yours. His hair, a cascade of white, curtained you - hid the blurring reality that surrounded you from view - as his nose brushed yours. “Everything I have done, it has been for us.”

The words, a soft declaration that should have filled your frozen limbs with an overwhelming warmth, made little sense as your thoughts began to muddle together. The ground beneath your feet trembled, your limbs suddenly felt boneless, and your tongue began to feel too large for your mouth.

Focus grew more and more difficult, a monumental feat with every breath you inhaled through wind-chapped lips, as you attempted to blink away the haze beginning to cloud your vision.

“I wanted love,” you whispered, voice distorted in your own ears. “But do you think I wanted to fall in love with you, of all people? Hope has earned me nothing, yet I continue to cling to it and hope that the boy I fell in love with will someday return to me.”

“I have never left,” Aemond assured you, though his voice sounded far away. “And I never will. We shall spend the rest of our lives together.”

As the world began to crumble around you, as your vision blurred and your ears rang, as your heart slowed and your breathing grew labored, your legs gave out. Despite Aemond’s grip, your body connected with the floor - your knees pressed hard against the broken concrete, your cheek caught the blunt edge of the table - and in an instant, everything ceased to exist.

For a blissful few moments, there was nothing.

There was no war, no death, no fire or blood or ash. There was no king, no crown, no throne. In the softness of your dreams, in the depths of your mind, there was little more than love. Aemond’s touch against your skin was soft, eager, as he committed your body to memory. His gaze was loving, reverent. The vision was dark but you felt it all so immensely.

When you awoke, you realized that it was no dream at all. Aemond sat at the side of your bed, one calloused hand stroking your skin - fingers careful as they avoided the tender skin of your cheek, the dried blood at your temple, the bruise you knew was beginning to form. “Rest well, my love?”

The dark of the room made it difficult to see and the fog still clouding your mind held tight. Your tongue still felt too large for your mouth, too dry, but you persisted. Hoarsely, you whispered, “This was a trap.”

Aemond shifted, his weight dipping the bed but leaving you undisturbed as he brushed hair from your forehead. He was clad in a shirt and pants - missing his sword, his coat, his eyepatch - and his hair fell across his shoulders. He was beautiful, as ethereal as you’d ever seen him, but the warmth you once felt was now replaced with a feeling of dread as he hummed. “It was,” he admitted, no longer bothering to pretend as his thumb swiped at your bottom lip.

“You… you poisoned me.” There was no venom in your accusation, only confusion as your mind struggled to catch up to the moment at hand. “The wine…”

“I did.” Another easy admission of guilt, this one accompanied by a flicker of his eye to meet yours. “I needed to make arrangements,” he reasoned. “I thought it kinder than locking you in a cell.”

There was no emotion in his eye, no inflection in his tone. He simply stated a fact, but you felt your heart begin to race once more as you struggled to sit upright. “I thought you loved me,” you continued, body aching as you moved.

“I do, more than you shall ever know.” Despite everything, despite yourself, you truly believed him. Of every answer he could have given you, of every explanation - every sharp glance or sharper word - you felt inclined to believe that whatever he’d done could be traced to his love for you. It was untraditional, but as someone who had never felt love, perhaps he did not know better.

Still, you asked, “Then why?”

“Because you are mine.” The answer was simple, easy. It was the same answer he had repeated a dozen times over. 

When asked why he agreed to duel a Dornish prince who wanted your hand? You were his, not a prize to be won. When asked why he apologized to his cousins for his ‘Strong’ remarks? You were his; your family was important to you, therefore, they were important to him. When asked why he refused to offer his hand to a Baratheon, despite the crown’s need for their alliance? You were his and he was yours; his hand was already bound.

“Come,” he urged, standing from your bed and offering you a hand.

Slowly, you stood - your limbs weak and your head throbbing, mouth dry and stomach churning - as he reached to steady you. “Where are we going?”

“It is past time we were wed,” he declared, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you upright.

With muddled thoughts and an overwhelming bout of nausea, you inhaled sharply. “There is no septon,” you reminded him, blinking hard against the sudden warm glow of a torch as you stepped into the hallway. “No one to perform a ceremony.”

“We shall marry as our ancestors did,” he reasoned, waving away the notion as he guided you with ease. “They had no need of a septon; the Old Gods witnessed their union as they shall ours.”

“My father,” you began, blinking desperately to clear the haze from your eyes, “my family.”

“In a period of war, tradition means little,” he reasoned, voice low in the silence of the ruins. “There will be another ceremony later, in view of the entire realm, if you wish. For now, we will join hands and take our place as the rightful king and queen.”

“Aemond…”

The pleading edge to your tone, the shake of your voice, was enough to finally give Aemond pause.

A large hand lifted, cradled your jaw and tipped your head. You met his violet eye with your own and searched for answers to the thousands of questions that rushed at you from every angle. Though you’d longed for nothing more than to marry him, to become one, you now wondered if you had any choice at all. Would he allow you to refuse, to escape Harrenhal and return to your family? If you gave him your hand, would he truly spare your father, your siblings, Rhaenyra? If you ran, would he allow you to survive?

Aemond posed a question before you could. “Have you changed your mind, my love? Do you no longer wish to be my wife?” There was little indication how he meant the question - little indication of his true feelings; whether he was angry or heartbroken at the thought - and you found yourself uncertain which would be worse.

But for a long moment, you considered his question. 

The man stood before you was no longer one you recognized, not fully. There was a darkness now ever present, clinging to him in a way it never had before. There was no longer a levity to him, no longer a spark of joy. But for as long as you could remember, Aemond was all you’d ever wanted. And, when you truly stopped to consider, the pieces you missed the most were pieces only you had ever seen.

Vulnerability was given only under cover of darkness, whispered in the depths of the Dragonpit or hidden deep in the godswood. Joy was only shown in fleeting flashes, with red cheeks and swollen lips in stolen moments you dared spend wrapped together. Love was shown in flashes of protection, in moments of compassion. Honesty was only ever granted to you, answers given freely to all questions asked where others received scathing looks and half-truths. 

Perhaps your Aemond was just that; yours and yours alone, unsuited for the eyes of outsiders.

Thoughts rushed at you, moving simultaneously too quickly and syrup slow. Everything muddled in the depths of your mind, a confusing mass of emotion and rationality - heart versus head. For the first time, Aemond truly terrified you, though there was a certainty in the back of your mind that there was no safer place for you in the realm than by his side.

Despite the fear that left your hands trembling, you swallowed your doubt. “I have only ever wanted you,” you whispered, not bothering to hide your tears. “I am yours.”

“As I am yours,” he reiterated, dipping his head to press his forehead to yours.

As water dripped around you, as rain fell over the ruins of Harrenhal, you stood in the corridor together. Uncertainty lingered in the pit of your stomach, the question of how you found yourself here plagued you, but the warmth of Aemond’s body pressed to yours did much and more to settle the wild beat of your heart.

Hope, as dangerous as it was, again found you in the ruins as you resumed your journey to the Weirwood tree.

In the courtyard, beneath the bright, full moon and freezing rain, Aemond slipped the Conqueror’s dagger from its sheath. With a steady hand, he nicked your bottom lip and your palm before carefully gathering a bead of blood on his thumb. He then offered the blade to you and though your own hand shook, you reciprocated without sparing it a second thought.

Aemond clasped your hand in his own, your palm stinging, before he leaned in to press his lips to yours. The dagger, forgotten, clattered to the ground as you pressed impossibly closer.

Weeks apart, separated by death and destruction; confusion, desperation, desire, all clouding your ability to think rationally; overwhelming, all-consuming love - the perfect storm of circumstances saw you desperate to give yourself over the flames that certainly awaited you.

There was no longer any way out, no longer any escape. Aemond was your destiny, your lives bound together years ago. The tinge of fear that pricked at your skin each time you imagined the future - each time you questioned whether you had one, whether anyone would - remained, but your fate was sealed. Rather than fight it, rather than run, you gave in.

The moment you parted, crimson staining your lips and chin, Aemond sighed. “Ābrazyrys,” he whispered, violet eye blinking against the harsh rain.

“Valzȳrys,” you replied, grateful the rain masked your tears as Aemond smiled.

“We are one,” he declared, “united as we’ve always wished.” Your hand remained clasped in his, combined blood dripping into the scorched earth as he squeezed gently. “Nothing can part us.”

“Only the gods,” you whispered, though you remained fearful that speaking it aloud might make it so.

As he always had, Aemond dared scoff at the idea. “Even the gods could not part us,” he promised, silver hair clinging to his skin as he leaned closer.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the courtyard - the ghostly ruins of the castle torched by your ancestors, the halls Daemon had begun rebuilding - but your gaze remained fixed on Aemond. Rain drenched you both, chilled you to the bone, but neither of your cared as he began to guide you back to the castle.

There was little inside that remained dry, even less that offered some semblance of comfort, but that was of little consequence to either of you as Aemond closed the door to your room. Every emotion you felt, every ounce of fear and shame and desire and desperation, gnawed at the fraying edges of your nerves and there was nothing that could be done to alleviate your suffering. The choice was made, a pact sealed in blood, and it was clear Aemond intended to further lay his claim to you - as if he did not already own you, body and heart alike.

“I had hoped it would not rain,” he sighed, taking great care to remove your coat, “but this damn place has never been dry, it seems.”

“A curse,” you whispered, reaching on instinct to untie his breeches. “Punishment from the gods.”

“There is no such thing,” he asserted, hand tipping your chin to meet your gaze. “We are Targaryens,” he declared, “we are the gods.”

Dread settled deep in the pit of your stomach, then - a feeling so strong, you feared you might lose the little nerve that remained. Aemond was beyond reasoning, beyond rationality, and you knew there was nothing you could say to remind him of his own mortality, of yours. So, instead, you pulled him into a kiss.

The future grew dimmer, less and less likely to belong to you with every moment that passed, so you resigned yourself to enjoy the moment at hand. It was one you’d dreamt of, one you’d longed for with each rendezvous you shared, and Aemond seemed as eager as you. Now married, he had no qualms about touching you - calloused fingers skating across your damp skin, brushing across your shoulders, knocking the straps of your gown out of his path.

Aemond’s breath fanned across your cheek, a source of warmth in the chill of the ruins, and you leaned into it. Your nose brushed his, your lips ghosted over his cheek, his chin, his jaw as he nudged wet fabric out of his path.

“My beautiful wife,” he whispered, soft voice little more than a rasp in your ear. “I’ve oft dreamt of this moment. In only the sweetest of those dreams, you were mine to do with as I pleased. I believe this will be even sweeter.”

Heavy fabric fell from your shoulders, away from your body with every button Aemond found. A pool of red rested at your feet, the color of your house abandoned for the love of your husband. But you were not allowed long to dwell on the matter as deft fingers fell to your rain slick skin.

With steady hands, Aemond peeled your small clothes from your body - violet eye remaining on your face the entire time - before he reached for his own. Your hands, meanwhile, tangled in the dripping strands of his hair.

“You are so beautiful,” you whispered, gaze roving the sharp lines of his face. “A true sight to behold.”

Aemond came alive with your praise, a light flickering behind his eye that reminded you of the man you loved so dearly, and you were glad for it as you stood bare before him. The weight of his searching stare felt lighter, more bearable, as he finally allowed himself a moment to savor the sight of you. It felt as if he meant to commit the sight to memory, to savor the chance he was afforded, and you chose to do the same as you traced the line of his jaw with your fingertips.

Slowly, Aemond pressed you back, pausing only when you reached the foot of the bed. It was low, easy to settle upon, and he seized the opportunity to press you into the mattress. “Lie back for me,” he commanded as he began to sink to his knees, “my queen.”

Warm, calloused hands found your calves, touch so light you couldn’t be certain you hadn’t imagined it as he leaned into you.

Before you, the vision of Aemond clad in the translucent white of his shirt and unlaced breeches, his hair falling free and his sapphire eye uncovered chipped at the fragile remains of your heart. Hope reared its ugly head, gave you reason to believe this would be your forever - the sight of your husband, gazing at you with a reverence you’d never before known - when you knew that forever was far from guaranteed. The moments you shared were stolen, unearned, and if the Stranger did not separate you, your father surely would.

But every thought, every worry, every doubt - each ceased to exist the moment Aemond’s lips pressed to your skin.

Every ounce of tension, of fear, of trepidation, of doubt left your body in a soft sigh as his warm mouth pressed to your ankle. He began softly, slowly, and blazed a path across your skin. Fire burned in his wake, the impression of his mouth seared into your skin, and your breath caught in your throat the higher he inched.

“Tell me,” he urged, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thigh, “is this what you wanted, what you hoped for all those nights we spent in the Dragonpit, in the library?”

The request was not one meant to stroke his ego, not one meant to serve as an admission of desire. It was not an idle thought, whispered in the heat of the moment. Aemond desired reassurance, acknowledgement that you thought of him as often as he thought of you, that you longed for him the way he’d always longed for you. It was a request for your love, for your commitment, for your comfort. And you long ago lost the ability to deny him much of anything.

“Yes,” you whispered, hand reaching for his - fingers twining together, grip stronger than you intended as you tethered yourself to him. “I always wished you would take me, make me wholly yours. I dreamt of sharing your bed, of seeing you like this. You always wanted to honor me, refusing to steal my maidenhead, but you cannot steal that which belongs to you.”

“Perhaps, if I had taken you then, we might’ve wed years ago,” he ruminated. “But I intend to make up for lost time.”

Aemond repeated his path, his lips pressing to your skin as he used his grip on your thigh to pull you closer to the edge of the bed. You could feel his breath fan across your skin, warming you from within, and you clasped his hand tighter as he nosed as the juncture of your thigh. 

Part of you imagined he would make you beg, eager for proof of your desire - of your need - but before your lips could part to utter his name, he surged forward.

Between your thighs, it was as if he was a man starved. Your immediate gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair, earned a soft groan from him as he lapped at your folds with the flat of his tongue. His shoulders kept your thighs parted as his hand slipped between them, calloused fingers gathering the combination of your slick and his saliva before pressing to the bundle of nerves hidden there. 

With every jolt of your body, eager for something - to run from the pleasure or sink into it, you remained uncertain - Aemond shifted closer. He alternated between broad licks, the flat of his tongue savoring the taste of you, and kitten licks, reveling in the way your hips chased each flick of his tongue. Every noise you made was met with a hum of satisfaction, a palpable relief that he could please you in a way no one had ever been allowed, and you all but gasped his name as his fingers began to explore your slick folds.

The swipe of his fingers was foreign, the brush of his thumb over your clit caused you to jolt in his grasp, and you could feel Aemond’s lips curve into a smirk as he pressed his mouth to your mound.

“Ābrazyrys,” he whispered, breath fanning across your skin as he rested his chin on your thigh, “tell me how it feels.”

Words failed you as his lips wrapped around your clit and his fingers pressed into you - slowly, carefully, tenderly - and your breathing grew labored as he worked to prepare you. The only word your mind could recall was his name. “Aemond,” you gasped, fingers tugging at the silver locks drying in the curls he hid. “Gods, Aemond.”

Warmth filled your veins, your chest, the pit of your stomach, as he pressed himself closer. That violet gaze weighed heavy on your skin, able to see through the most carefully crafted facade, and each swipe of his fingers through your slick, each press of his tongue, chipped away at another piece of you. Bit by bit, Aemond worked to break you apart, to dismantle you completely, and you knew it was only a matter of time before you shattered.

And as his fingers pressed, filling you in a way you’d never experienced, you could only hope that he would piece you together again.

“Let go,” he whispered, voice a rasp in the dim light of the room. “Take your pleasure.”

Each sensation felt like too much, too fast, but you gave in to him. You melted into the uncomfortable bedding and focused solely on his attention. The warmth of his skin pressed to yours, the silk of his hair between your fingers, the soft noises he made as he devoured you; it all overwhelmed you in the most beautiful way.

The fire in the pit of your stomach grew hotter, lapping at your skin from within, and with each breath you attempted to draw, the more eager Aemond became to hear you cry his name. And as the edges of your vision began to white, as your fingers held too tightly to him, you gave him what he wanted.

With a cry of his name, loud enough to echo through the abandoned corridors, you came.

Fire, passionate and all-consuming, flickered in Aemond’s eye as he lifted himself. He stood tall, proud, and reveled in the lust openly displayed in your gaze as he finally shucked his own wet clothing. His tunic and breeches joined your own garments; green leather and red velvet, discarded for a union that neither side would consider sacred, but you knew the time to repent had passed.

Rather than dwell, you openly gazed upon the man you’d wanted for so long.

Aemond was perfect - beautiful, ethereal in a way that made your chest ache. There was an allure to him that called to you, a draw that pulled you in and refused to grant you leave. The angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the slope of his nose; he bared himself fully, no ounce of his soul hidden, and you swallowed harshly as you hoped the gods would forgive you for accepting it all.

“Make me yours,” you whispered, no longer able to remember why you’d ever considered resisting. “There is nothing left but us.”

One of the most feared men in the realm, quick with a blade and quicker with dragon fire, bent to your will. With an even stride and steady hands, he pressed you further up the bed before climbing in to join you. He settled above you, his hair falling - a curtain to shield you both from the world around you - and studied your face for a long moment.

There were tears lining your lashes, a product of the storm of emotion raging in the back of your mind, and Aemond was quick to bring a thumb to your cheek. “This is not the life you hoped for,” he declared, certain, “but I shall spend the rest of mine devoted to you.”

Little remained certain in your mind but you knew Aemond meant every word.

“I know,” you assured him, lifting your own hand to carefully brush at the jagged edge of his scar. “Hope is foolish,” you whispered, urging him closer, “it has caused heartache at every turn, but it lead me to you and for that, I am grateful.”

Without allowing him a moment to speak, you pressed your lips to his. The sting of the nick reminded you of where you were, of what had taken place, but you cared little for anything other than the weight of Aemond’s body pressed to yours. His warm hands held tight to the plush of your hip, fingers pressing into the skin so deeply you feared there might be bruises come morning, as he kissed you.

Emotion - fear, doubt, anger, resentment, longing, love - filled the kiss, a clash of lips and teeth and tongue that tasted of copper, but it was all you could do to keep yourself tethered to reality as Aemond traced the leaking tip of cock through the slick of your folds.

The first time hurt - so the few friends you’d made at court declared, giggled about when your father’s back was turned and your siblings wandered away - but you emerge beyond caring. And as he pressed forward, sheathing himself inside you, you found that the slight pinch, the sting of him, cleared the fog of your thoughts and brought the world around you back into focus.

As fearsome as he’d become, Aemond’s heart beat for you. The heavy thunder of it beneath your palm, the thrum of it beneath your lips as you pressed them to the pale skin of his throat, was a reminder that there was no other choice - there never had been.

With every press of Aemond’s hips, with every breath of pleasure, every whispered Valyrian praise, the truth grew clearer.

Hope was a mirage, affording you a fantasy that never existed. The life you lead was always destined to be one of fire and blood. The blood of the dragon coursed through your veins, dripped from the slit in your lip and your palm and spilled from between your thighs as Aemond claimed the last piece of you - a piece you knew had never been yours at all.

Every bit of you, every moment of your life, belonged to someone else; your father, your uncle, your siblings, Aemond. Now, there was nothing left.

A sob escaped your lips, a broken noise that saw Aemond pause. His head lifted, violet eye immediately meeting your own, as his hand lifted to your cheek. “Did I hurt you?” His concern was evident, proven as he stilled and searched for any hint of pain.

To lie would have been easy, as mindless a breathing, but the truth weighed heavy on your chest. “No,” you whispered, swallowing hard, “but I… you were right, this isn’t the life I hoped for. I do not want to continue fighting, to see more good people die. I’ve lost one brother, I cannot bear the thought of losing another. But I know that this, lying here with you, will drive them away. And you, Aemond.” Tears clouded your vision, hiding him from your view, as you admitted, “I just want you. I do not want to be queen, nor do I want to share my husband with the realm. All I want is to be happy, to be loved. I want to be free.”

Aemond frowned, eye rapidly blinking as he attempted to make sense of the words spilling from your lips, but you shook your head. “I’ve given my family my loyalty, my father my devotion, you my heart. I have nothing left to offer,” you whispered.

“Then let me fight,” he countered, tipping his head to meet your eye. “Let me end this war and give you peace. No more will die and when I claim the throne, I will never leave your side again.”

“A beautiful thought,” you nodded, “to be sure. But you can’t promise that, no more than I can promise we shall see morning. I do not want false promises or grand fantasies. I do not want a king or a warrior. All I want, all I have ever wanted, was you.”

Silence settled then, thick and suffocating, but you could see the emotion flickering in the depth of his violet eye.

Neither of you imagined this would be your reality, neither of you ever could have dreamed you would find yourselves fighting your own kin for a crown - a throne. Neither of you imagined a life outside of one another and now, faced with the realization that loving one another was not enough, you were at a loss.

“I cannot surrender,” Aemond finally whispered, gaze fierce - pleading - as he searched for an understanding. “And you are right, I cannot promise a long future. But I can promise that I will do much and more to return to you all that you have given me. You will be my queen and you will be beloved, kind and fierce in equal measure. And your family, your father, will not perish at my hand. There is no other path to be trod.”

“Our lives are bound,” you whispered, though a fresh wave of tears tracked down your cheeks. “Your path is mine.”

Aemond leaned in, then, and pressed his mouth to yours once more. This kiss was desperate, the kiss of a man seeking reassurance, and you offered it to him. There was nothing left for you to give; no more fire, no more blood. Now, you simply took the brunt of his desperation as he pressed closer to you.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice rough in your ear as his hips began to move once more. “I can promise that I will love you for the rest of my life.”

“And I you,” you reassured him, your own hand lifting to his cheek as his eye fluttered shut.

As Aemond’s end approached, his hips snapping quicker and his breath growing heavier, he repeated promises in High Valyrian; a promise to spend the rest of his life loving you, a promise to do whatever it took to make you happy, a promise to make right the wrongs that drove you so far apart. And though they were all grand, you knew he took each word to heart.

At his peak, he cried your name - a declaration of love following - before he collapsed into you. His head pressed to your chest, his thigh draped over yours, he held you tight and you allowed him. Your fingers combed through the curling strands of his hair, over the line of his jaw, as you stared up at the crumbling ceiling.

“This war will end,” he finally whispered, voice carrying on the cool night wind, “and we shall begin anew.”

Though hope abandoned you at Harrenhal, finally freeing you of its cruel embrace, Aemond found it. In the rubble and ash, surrounded by the ruins created by your ancestors, he vowed to give you what no other ever had; the love you’d always dreamt of, the life you’d always hoped for. 

Hope was a dangerous thing, but nothing was more dangerous than Aemond Targaryen.

____________________________________________________

Author's Note: Started. Blacked out. Here we are. Bone apple teeth.

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Place in the Sun 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Summary: Trouble in the big city follows you back to your sleepy village home.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You’ve been to the city once in your life. Your parents were never really well off. Your dad works at the lumberyard, still, and your mom sells some crochet gloves and hats here and there, or tailor a few pieces for the neighbours for a buck or two. It isn’t much but they work hard and you can’t want for much. Life is simple but not unhappy. 

Your second trip to the city isn’t much different than your first. You were a kid then and only came with your dad so he could get new work boots. You don’t remember much except for the very tall people and the honking cars. Now, it’s just as chaotic and you feel just as small, but you’re all by yourself. 

There’s a gathering at the mall. You’ve never been to a mall. They don’t have any of those in Hammer Ford. As you steer the beaten-up Bronco into the lot, you shift the stick and check your mirrors. The cars here are all tiny compared to the mammoth truck you borrowed from your dad. He only let you take it after you filled the tank, and with a little coaxing from your mom. 

You don’t see why it’s a big deal. You’re an adult. You make your own money. Enough to help out. You do what you can with your seasonal pay but they don’t need a custodian at the school when there’s no classes. 

Still, you scrounged enough for the collector’s edition. You pre-ordered and everything. It’s so limited they only let people pick it up in-store. 

You park and shut off the engine. You watch a group of teenage girls giggling as they enter the mall. You should’ve brought some friends but you don’t have many of those. Everyone you knew in high school is married or busy growing up. There is that girl you see now and again, she lives with her grandma, but she’s always got her head down. She’ll see you waving one day. 

You open the door and hop down. As you do, the keys jangle out of your grasp and hit the pavement. You huff dramatically and swing the door shut. You go to grab the keyring but it’s swiped up by someone else. You stand and face the man as he holds them out. 

He’s taller than you and older. You think. He has the boldest blue eyes you’ve ever seen and a shadow of stubble across his square jaw. His hair is neatly trimmed and he wears a dark blue suit with a white button-up. He outshines your brown khaki skirt and gingham blouse. 

“Oh, hi, thank you, sir,” you chime, “clumsy me!” 

He nods and narrows his eyes, “keep those close. Someone else might just run off with the truck.” 

“Ha, this beat up old elephant,” you take the keys and slap the side of the Bronco, “I doubt it, but thank you, sir. I appreciate it.” 

You smile brightly but he hardly seems impressed. More confounded. His mouth slants and his eyes roll to the side. 

“Another piece of advice,” he intones as he leans towards you, “don’t smile at strangers.” 

“Oh, uh,” your mouth straightens, “right. Sorry, sir.” 

His brows rise and fall but he doesn’t reply. He brushes by you and you turn to watch him go. Your ma warned you that city folk weren’t very friendly. You spin back and lock the truck up, taking his warning to heart. You never know and your dad would never forgive you if someone did decide to highjack the rusting beast. 

You head towards the mall and follow a rabble of children with their moms into the air-conditioned space. It’s nice compared to the thick humidity outside. You think back to that man and wonder how he could be wearing a jacket in all this. He must be on the way to somewhere important. 

You look around, your heart pumping as the bright marquees and shining shop windows refract through your lenses. Oof, you didn’t expect it to be so big! You search around, walking along with your knitted purse clutched tight. Oh, a map! 

You go over to the touch screen directory and search for the bookstore. Right, a left and then straight, and another left. You recite the directions to yourself over and over as you continue on. You barely dodge out of the way of your fellow mall patrons as the criss cross the wide hallways and mill outside the booths and windows. 

Finally, you spot the familiar logo of the bookstore. You only really see it on a screen but you know it well. You stroll in through the broad open archway at the front and once more, you’re struck by the flurry of activity and expanse of the space. You trail after a pair of girls toward the service desk, delineated by the floating sign above. 

You bounce on your feet as you join the queue. You overhear the girls talking about the same book you’re there for. You curiously lean forward to eavesdrop and the redhead cranes to glare at you. You retract and give an apologetic look. You weren’t snooping, you’re just excited. 

When it’s your turn at the counter, you give your name and wait. A figure approaches the next till and sighs. You glance up at the sign; Returns/Exchanges. It’s the man in the blue suit. He taps a plastic card on the wooden countertop. 

As the associate searches for your order, you stare over at his agitated expression. He doesn’t seem very happy. His blue eyes drift and he meets your gaze. His cheek dimples in recognition. 

You give a small wave and smile and he shakes his head. He turns back to the till as a woman nears the other side. 

“Back,” he flicks the card up between his fingers, “should be the one I paid with.” 

You return your attention to the order counter. You shouldn’t be so nosy. You’re there to get your book and go. Oh, and maybe a soft pretzel at that place you saw on the way in. It’s a good day and you’re going to enjoy it. You peek over once more as the man snarls at the credit card machine. You hope his gets better too. 

[writingwisterias]

How would Leon react to a reader who sings/dances while fighting zombies? lol

Leon Kennedy Reacting to reader dancing/singing:

Thank you for the request! I decided to do this as Headcanon's hope that's okay! This one kinda stumped me ngl but I tried my best lol ~ Mads <3

Masterlist

It started off as you humming tunes as you wondered around the village. It confused him at first wondering why he could hear a tune and started to think he had one too many fists to the head as you both fought your way through.

Massive Side eye when he figured it out, trying to confirm if you were actually doing it

It slowly evolved into the actual lyrics and you were fighting the ganados. He could make out "come as you are" by Nirvana, you were even going as far as to do a guitar impression.

You weren't a bad singer but it didn't really help him out when a brute was swinging a large hammer at his face for the 8th time in an hour.

He spotted you out the corner of his eye shuffling on your feet as you waited for him to finish talking to the merchant, the moves he assumed were in time to the song that was playing in your head.

"Why are you dancing and singing?"

"Dunno...just nervous I guess, gives me something else to think about other than the things trying to kill us"

Then he started to understand, and found himself humming along with you as you walked through the never ending corridors.

Ashley was always constantly asking what songs you were singing as she didn't listen to the grunge style

Now on his solo missions he would find himself shuffling his feet or humming his favorite tunes as he waited for his evac, or took breaks to collect himself. even going as far to matching his fighting moves to the beats of his favorite songs

It even went as far as you both would accidentally duet each other with the humming during fights, or dancing on the balls of your feet in the office as you listened to your mission debrief

Defiantly finds it cute and develops a crush on you

Once you got badly injured as he forced you to sing so he could make sure you stayed awake as he escorted you to safety

Will occasionally give you a small twirl after a stressful boss just to keep you smiling and laughing, the sound soothing his own nerves

100% Imagines what it would be like if you lived together and did it in the kitchen as you cooked dinner with him

[xxnomadsxx]

An unlikely scenario, but what if Velvet and Veneer got Branch? Like. They heard that the pop trolls live the forest, they probably found branch during a hunt and went "hm. Yeah he looks good" and napped him before the others found em

Would the Tribe join in on rescuing him? Would the farals?

What'd thing do?

(I have many questions on this scenario, as it's my favourite-)

Honestly this is a scenario that rides dumb luck sooooo HARD!!!!!! (it would be near impossible to catch Branch!!! his instincts of fight or flight wins everytime no matter the option) Velvet and Veneer would trip over a passed out Branch who is just…laying…on the ground?!?!? while looking for pop trolls (at first they’d think he’s ded but he just passed out from like a week of no sleep) Without really looking at him carefully (they just see a small troll body) They immediately do a quick grab and go!!!! but once they do get a good look at him they realize he’s grey which brings up a lot of problems in their head, but thankfully he’s still able to produce talent (he would last longer since he has over 20 years of untouched talent) Velvet and Veneer wouldn’t send a letter to Brozone (since Branch is basically unrecognizable)

Meanwhile the village is losing it because their leader is missing!!! Thing is in the worst condition as they are violently searching every where for Branch (he has flipped 5 pods over) Eventually they figure out Velvet and Veneer are the ones who took Branch (maybe from some torn fabric or hair that they use to sniff them out) The ENTIRE village proceeds to go and hunt down Velvet and Veneer(at this point they are furious and on the brink of murder, Thing is leading this hunt and is foaming at the mouth and shaking from rage)

After beating up Velvet and Veneer horribly (and grabbing Branch’s diamond) they go home!! For like 3 days they struggle to break open the diamond. (Everyone is really stressed about it Thing is freaking out the most that Branch might die in the diamond) Branch finally confesses that they need the perfect family harmony to break the diamond (this was after they tried using a diamond shattering diamond hammer and it being the wrong diamond hammer (don’t ask me where they got it) No one in the village is technically related to Branch so they freak out more, until Branch says he has Brothers (wow Branch is pulling a king Peppy with all these secrets) At the mention of brothers the the entire village goes brother hunting. (Thing already knew about the brothers but just forgot they actually existed and weren’t just a few names)

After like a day they bring back 4 successfully kidnapped brothers who are flabbergasted by what happened and are soon thrown into shock by the state of their brother (who is still in the diamond) After a couple days of struggling to do the family harmony and working out their many MANY issues they finally get Branch out of the diamond. (Throughout all this Thing is glaring daggers at them) The brothers then try to spend time with Branch trying to get to know him as best as they could, though they wish the village would back off and let them actually be around Branch without being dragged off by some rando and that thing.

Eventually Poppy finds out about the village by complete accident and Clay tells Poppy about Viva and everything else goes as cannon (plus some more overprotective bros and a very stressed out Thing about Branch’s safety)

[tired-reader-writer]

Considering who to put in charge of safeguarding the northeastern border of Pars against Turan and Turk before Shapur becomes a marzban and... There aren't... that many, are there? Those younger than Shapur are automatically out of the picture (Kubard, Daryun, Kishward), Bahman has been stationed at Peshawar for a long time by canon era so ?????, Kharlan, is he even a marzban ten years before canon? Even if he was, I associate him much more with the western half of Pars, if only because it would make it easier for him to coordinate with Hilmes in Lusitania (assuming no switcheroos happened like it did with Kishward, he was originally stationed at the southwestern border of Pars against Misr, but was plunked into Peshawar some time before canon).

That leaves us with... Manuchurh, Garshasph, Saam, Khurup, Khayr, and Khshaēta.

We all know what Saam looks like, estimated to be in his 40s, but here's what the other 5 look like (well we also know what Garshasph looks like too but just as a reminder):

Manuchurh:

Garshasph:

Khurup:

Khayr:

Khshaēta:

I... don't feel like Saam is a good fit for the kind of emotional beat I want to portray for one of the two pre-canon Turanian invasions (foreshadowed in chapter 2). So that leaves me with the other three. Three complete and total strangers of whom we know absolutely fucking nothing about.

Which narrows the six options down to five.

I think Khshaēta looks a tad young to have been marzban for too long, so I'm booting him out of the candidate list to make my life easier.

This leaves me with four.

I got nothing for Khurup and Khayr, we know nothing of them, but as for the other two... We know what Garshasph is like, which is, uh, kinda unpleasant, he might be a good candidate for what I'd planned, but also... Manuchurh, Nasrīn's father, Kishward's father-in-law. He purportedly had a beautiful voice and Andragoras made him do the court announcements and stuff bc of his pretty voice.

So basically, among the four candidates left, we only really know two of them.

...which one shall I pick, now?

Oh, I forgot what the emotional beat I wanted to incorporate was, it was Shapur maybe realizing the marzban in charge of the northeastern border may have been responsible for the deaths of his friends and the destruction of their village after the marzban lets slip about some “bandits or potential rebels who kidnapped people and caused unrest” which Shapur knows from talking to the clan before that the abusers or tormentors who felt entitled to their victims might have painted them that way to justify trying to hunt them down or avoid having to confront the harm they themselves have caused to their victims, and Shapur feeling... quite nauseated. Remember how Isfan immediately jumped into trying to avenge his brother in the manga. Remember how rash Shapur was even by the Battle of Atropatene. He won't do anything here, he can't, because Eihon (debuting in chapter 3! I still don't know whether the invasion would be chapter 3 or 4) has made sure to hammer the point home that doing so will only bring them doom, there's no way he can demand justice for a commoner village in the middle of nowhere who were branded as criminals.

He has to swallow his bile and work to repel the invasion. Feeling like he's failed his friends for not being able to protect them, give them a funeral, or even avenge them.

I know with this context it'd be easy for some of you to immediately pick Garshasph considering how much of an asshole he was during the siege but. What if. The emotional whiplash of it being Manuchurh. But also I could just pick Khurup or Khayr to avoid the headache altogether—

[12pt-times-new-roman]

c3e78

(this was 4+ hours of heavy RP so have a read-more)

oh boy! time to find out who's gonna get angriest at Ashton!

Alright, Imogen's coming out first with a pretty standard "there were so many warnings!" but nothing too bad.

But Fearne, after kicking Ashton to unconsciousness, takes the hammer, strikes him with it, and slams it over and over again into the top off the ziggurat, screaming, trying to break it. She takes the harness and storms off. Chetney follows.

Laudna goes immediately to feeling betrayed. Everything is telling her that Ashton and Fearne should die, but she knows that's not a rational thought. Delilah wants the crystal -- with a moment of hesitation, Laudna turns and walks away seething.

Imogen uses detect thoughts on Ashton. "I think I've seen a pattern in my life. It's the realization of hubris and temptation and blame, an epiphany of violent levels of projecting responsibility. A very wide thought of not being responsible for what happened, and suddenly going through that, one by one." It's the realization that, within one week of knowing what happened to the Hishari, Ashton did exactly the same thing.

As they sit up, and the shard of Ka'mort is waking up now, too. It feels like the rock around them is breathing and another pain burns in their chest, they seize, shudder -- they cough, a horrible sound, and from within them, the shard of Raushan falls to the ground. Though Ka'mort's shard is on its way to awakening, the shard of Raushan was rejected, and with it a heavy cost. Their CON is permanently reduced by 2.

Ashton was stupid, but they weren't power-hungry. But in that moment of being dead, Ashton saw themself as who they would've been if nothing went wrong that day at the Hishari village, they met their parents and themself-- and they were vicious and cruel. Ashton wanted the crystal because they thought it would fix them, thought it would somehow give them their family back, but in that vision, they saw that it wouldn't and never would have, and that even if it could they wouldn't want it.

They wanted to feel robbed, and they wanted someone to blame other than themself, and they thought that this would make them whole and unbreakable because their cracks were evidence of weakness. Now, they realize they need to focus on understanding what they are instead of trying to become what they maybe were supposed to have been.

"How could you hurt Fearne?" "The same way anybody hurts anybody: a moment of weakness."

Chetney catches up to Fearne. She says she's going to destroy the harness, and Chet doesn't roll high enough insight to see any different.

She's beating herself up because she said Ashton could take it, but she never wanted it -- Ashton didn't coerce her or anything, she was genuinely afraid of it and wanted someone else to take it. Fearne was afraid that she'd turn into a terrible version of herself because she saw what she became if she took the Circlet of Barbed Vision. She feels her sadness and guilt as fury.

I love that Chetney is doing far better at diffusing this extremely emotional moment than anyone else could've, and he gets the harness away from her.

Chetney points out that Fearne fucked up, she heard the warnings and was naive, and she didn't trust the Hells enough to air her fear in front of them. But she has a crush on Ashton, she wanted them to like her back, and she was afraid of the shard anyway so why not let them have it? "Ashton is wild. And if there's any part of either of you that wants out, you can talk to me. That can mean a variety of things, and I'd be lying if I hadn't thought about it before, but don't fuck around, 'cause Ashton almost found out." Chetney dad friend confirmed--

They leave to go find Fearne something to break.

Laudna was following them, listening in. She uses form of dread and runs through the tunnels -- she knows them, she lived here a while before she had to leave, and she goes to places where no one could find her.

Ashton steps up to Allura. "I fucked up 'cause I'm an idiot! I fucked up bad." "Ah. Standard fare for adventurers at the crux of our plans, I suppose."

Imogen gives the bag of holding to FCG and heads into the tunnels, while FCG, Ashton, and Orym head to the surface to get some air.

Ashton apologizes for making fun of FCG's new faith, but FCG asks if they really care. "I care about all of you, so much -- I care about everything I can see, I just don't care about me, and I think that might be a problem." HEY! character growth! and acknowledgement that they projected super hard onto FCG!

After breaking some windows, Fearne goes for a walk, and promises Chetney she won't leave. She goes to the temple of the Matron of Ravens and offers a prayer.

"Hello, I guess. I don't really know what I'm doing in here, but... I made a bad decision, and I'm kind of scared about what I could turn into. So I guess I'm maybe asking you for some guidance. I don't really know how to do this, but I kinda like your vibe that you were normal and then weren't because you wanted more out of life, which I totally get. Anyway, I don't know, but--" She takes her postcards and leaves them as an offering, then leaves. When she leaves, she sees a little adolescent raven with one leg, its parents come and drops berries for it to eat, then all 3 make eye contact with Fearne before they fly away.

Laudna knows of a secret passage that leads into the woods, and she's gone. She's losing herself to Delilah, to what she once was, and is trying to remind herself of how far she's come since then.

Ashton talks to Percy. "We all make terrible mistakes, especially those of us who want to make a difference. The first key is to make sure nobody sees them; should that fail, you do everything you can to make up for it... punish yourself as much as you need to. Trust me, it's good for the soul. Some of us never stop. But don't drag them down with you -- only you are allowed to push your bruise."

Imogen goes looking for Laudna and finds nothing.

They go to dinner, bar Fearne and Laudna. I love that Allura is so resigned to the fact that all adventuring parties are weird as fuck all the time regardless of the time or place.

FINALLY Chetney casts grim psychometry on the shard of Raushan! "You see lands of rolling flame, a valley that is an inferno, the ground cracks as magma spews forth, a majestic kingdom of fire in an ancient time when the elements ruled Exandria. You see creation abound -- beings, life, pre-pantheon. Spirits walk in this land, though not the shapes that you know, elemental-like. Society and life before. Then flashes of conflict, feelings of benevolent frustration, emotional bursts of anger. Fiery conflict with beings of light and shadow, and then a cold place beneath, where you are alone. Half-asleep, half-awake, frozen, tethered in a lightless space -- until the chains break, and the blue sky guides you up, surrounded by arcane light, you are free once more and you reach out to grasp the hand of another like you from beneath the twin mountain, and then nothing." (For clarification, the twin mountains were one from above and one from below -- Cathmoira and Avalir.)

Oh, FCG gets actual answers from Matt when they flip a coin now! I wonder if this has something to do with their mystery 8th level cleric feature.

Chetney calls Ashton out. "You should leave. You should go. I mean it, don't come back either. If you're gonna do things for yourself, then do them, but don't risk us. I understand what it's like to look out for yourself, to try new things, but if I thought I couldn't control this, I would've fucking left. I don't trust you. You could've hurt Fearne." "I don't know if I'm going or staying yet. I think, honestly, that's not up to me. I'm thinking about it, and I don't trust me either. So I'm trying something. Actually, I've got a question: what did you do before you could control this? I've seen you lose your shit once, but what did you do?" "I killed things. I hurt people. A lot." "I'm glad you stopped. And I'm processing a lot right now, but if I do stay -- if you let me stay -- the day something happens and it goes bad for you, and you hurt a lot of people for any reason, stay or go I promise that I will stick around and help clean it up, and you'll get no shit from me. None. But for now I'll go."

(this is rich coming from Chetney, tbh, but it tracks with how much he cares for Fearne. however. Ashton is one of the only people in the party who hasn't been forced to make a saving throw to see whether or not he loses control and attacks the party. I get the sentiment, and Chetney needed to let off steam in his own way, but his point is definitely hypocritical.)

the absolute emotional whiplash going from that convo to Laudna asking Delilah for relationship advice and then resolving to "make Ashton a doll" in her old cabin--

break time!

We open on Fearne. She goes into the woods and uses plant growth to make a little hut and sleeps there for the night.

Laudna returns to her cabin and finds it partially collapsed. She uses charred wood with a curse word on it as the base for her doll of Ashton. Once it's done, Delilah says she can give it to them, keep it to remember them by -- or trade it for the shard. "Laudna... I need, and the power that helps me grow and thrive, it helps both of us." "No--" "Fearne didn't want it, Ashton couldn't have it. You have hurt so much. Why not stand up for yourself and take what is rightfully yours?" "Ashton hurt Fearne, they hurt us, why would I do the same? If Ashton can't learn from this lesson, shouldn't I?" "There are two kinds of people in this world: those who get hurt and accept it, and those who get hurt and retaliate. Who are you? Who are we? Matilda is dead. You are something more."

(Listen, if Laudna listens to Delilah and takes the shard without asking anyone but Imogen, she better get the same fucking level of backlash that Ashton did.)

In the morning, Imogen is panicked about Laudna, and tells FCG that they woke Delilah up. So at the very least, someone else is gonna be suspicious if Laudna suddenly wants the shard.

When Chet and Ashton wake up -- "you're still here! That's a good start." And Chetney.... immediately attacks them? just to see what their new arm does? OKAY???

but hey. Ashton rage build update: their damage bonus is +12 somehow? their new arm doesn't do anything yet, but when they hit with it, they do feel like there's a little box in their heart that hasn't been opened yet.

Everyone gathers up, and Fearne joins them at the gates of the castle. She's explicitly ignoring Ashton. With FCG's locate creature, they find Laudna pacing just inside the edge of the forest, trying and failing to will herself to enter the city.

When she sees Ashton, she turns and runs, because if she gets too close to Ashton she'll kill him? Chetney tackles her pretty easily, and even though Ashton could gain ground, they keep pace with the back of the group, but Imogen sends them away. for. A Reason, I guess?

"I gave Ashton some shit last night, I told him he should leave, permanently -- but he was there this morning, first down at the table. And that means something, 'cause he could've cut and run, been a coward and left, but he stayed." as suspected, Chetney saying what he did to Ashton was partially airing his grievances, yes, but it was also partially a test for Ashton.

Honestly, I'm really glad that the group is acknowledging that Fearne should've spoken up too. Obviously Ashton was the primary instigator, but Fearne still didn't say anything to them and didn't protest Ashton taking it.

Fearne suggests going to Nana Mori's for a while (which Matt strongly hinted at, btw) so they can work out all their shit, since she can manipulate the time difference. They agree to take an emotional retreat to the Feywild, and figure that Allura can either send them there or send them to Keyleth who can.

Ashton, meanwhile, puts their hand to the ground and feels warmth. "You absolute fuck-up. Maybe I deserve this -- no one deserves anything. What the fuck do I know? Maybe they do."

Laudna asks for the shard, and Imogen refuses to tell her where it is.

"Here, I made you this. It's a doll, for children, because you're a child. But I like children." "I hate children. They're awful." "They can be. Do you remember what it's like to be one?" "I do. It wasn't great." "You should find joy in your inner child." "This is the greatest thing anyone's ever made for me." Ashton is on the verge of tears here yall--

I fucking told y'all that Ashton's journey of learning to care for themselves wasn't going to be gradual like Caleb's was, it would be like the snap of tectonic plates when they cause an earthquake.

"I'm so sorry. I'm going to try so hard not to be that person, because I hate that person... If I am allowed to stay, and I understand if I am not, I will never, ever forget that this is the first group of people who didn't make me leave, and I will work so hard to make sure you don't. No matter what happens, I won't leave if I'm allowed to stay. No matter what we do, the mistakes we make, I will stay, I will be there, and I will not away. I don't know what love is, but I'm going with this."

Laudna is still angry, she still doesn't trust them, but the foundations for rebuilding that trust are there. And that's the opinion of most of the group!

Allura can send them to the Feywild, but -- "Your nana is the Fate-Stitcher, Morrighan? You are tremendously strange..." If Allura is going to send them there, then she also has to accompany them so she can send them back out, since they can't communicate!

Imogen asks Allura in her head who Morrighan is. "Your friend's nana is a notorious figure in the Fey Realm, but if they are indeed an ally, strange bedfellows I suppose?"

Ashton tries to pull Fearne away in the most conspicuous way possible -- "I'm looking for a book on apologies. I'm gonna start with 'I'm sorry.' If I had any idea... I don't know what I would've done, but I'm sorry. You were just being a good friend, and it felt right, but it wasn't, and you were being a good friend." // "I was being a dumb friend." // "No, I was being a dumb friend. This is on me. I didn't think, I... I fucked up really bad, and you had to be there, and I am so sorry. There is no way I'm ever going to forget the feeling of... the shard hurt, but knowing you were there was worse, and I'm not looking for forgiveness, I don't need an apology, I just need you to know that goodness doesn't necessarily lead to the right place. Sometimes we are good, and it works out poorly, and you were good -- it shouldn't have been like that, and it had to be, I guess. But I'm going to try so hard to never do that again. And i understand if you want me to go, or if you never want me to make eye contact again I can do that, but you're the only person I even vaguely understand in this group. I think I like them, or even love them, and I just want them to be safe from everything--" // "I didn't like that at all. That was awful to watch." "It was. And awful to feel too." // "You did the same thing that your dad did." // "Yeah, I've been thinking a lot about that. He's not my dad, he's nothing to me -- I don't even think I hate them, they are just a cautionary tale I did not listen to." // "That fucked me up a little bit. I think I'm still a little mad, and I don't think I can talk about it right now 'cause I don't really like you right now." // "That's okay." // "And I have a feeling that you feel the same way about yourself." // "I've never liked myself that much. If anything, this is the most I've liked myself in ages, and that's a bad sign." // "We'll talk about it sometime. But I'm glad you're still alive." // "I'll wait."

Allura comes back wearing battle-ready gear and adventuring clothes, and planeshifts them to the Fey Realm. (Ashton ties the doll near the collar of their jacket.)

With a quick incantation, they arrive at the base of the familiar tree that forms Ligament Manor. Bounding from the door is one of Fearne's animal friends -- Peepers, a jackrabbit with fingers for teeth and eyes on his ears. Within, Nana Mori is having a conversation with (and being tended to by) Birdie, Fearne's mom! (Ollie is upstairs tending to the garden.) She appears to have sustained some wounds, but nothing too serious. Birdie and both Mori's mouths greet them, much to Allura's horror.

"I am Allura Vysorin of the Tal'dorei Council, and I have multiple powerful friends who know where I am and who will come looking for me if I vanish." Damn, I almost completely forgot that it was the Arcana Pansophical who led the charge in identifying archfey, so of course Mori would know who she is!

Mori: is this a RETREAT?! how FUN! Allura, immediately: *mage armor*

At FCG's mention of time dilation, she slows time around her, and says they can take as long as they need. But Fearne asks about Ruidus, and Mori tells her what she knows:

"As [Ruidus] is held there, the very magic of Exandria is strained... the longer this tether holds to the moon, the more it tangles and stresses the flow of magic within and between the realms. So it's no surprise of mine that my lovely Fearne would be the one to set things right. The odd, if often fun, thing about being able to touch Fate itself is rarely knowing the outcome; it's like a strong hunch. But being able to see the distant ripples is like being able to give the weather direction. I can pluck a tune on the thinner strings. Some threads run a very taught path, carving through history to a powerful destiny; those threads, only she [the Matron of Ravens] can view, only she can cut and weave. Sweet Fearne, your fate is in flux; like your very whims, it vibrates with uncertainty, impulsive, darting in and out of darker paths, turned back by the shadow spaces of the skein. You've always been a beautiful paradox, and it's why I knew I had to keep you safe, and keep one finger on your thread. Your true heritage required my attention. So, I'm happy to help, for now it seems that maybe now is the time it has all been heading toward. Maybe we're at the end of the strain itself. I'm glad you're here, sweet girl."

Fearne asks about the Shadow Fearne she saw way back in EXU: Prime. She seemed sad and angry, so when Fearne feels those things, she gets afraid that she'll become that. "You require answers, but not all answers are mine to give. Your mother keeps a deep, dark secret -- one you deserve to know, and one that is not my place to reveal. Perhaps you should speak with her. It might be illuminating."

Fearne asks about Morri's opinion on the Matron. "She is complicated; the pinnacle of ambition. There are things I dislike, as the places I like to walk are under her purview and she doesn't like uninvited visitors and we don't meet eye to eye; but she can't fully reach me here either, so we have an understanding... she's fine."

Then she asks about Asmodeus, Tevon, and produces the kiss -- "I thought I smelled sulfur. Oh, Fearne, you've been dallying! I now understand the context for some of these pluckings. You and your mother are more alike than you know. What that mark is, is a promise. An audience, and a chance to gain and give -- a trade." It's an invitation to make a deal with the literal devil, essentially.

Birdie returns with Ollie, who offers to cook a meal! And Morri offers to wipe FCG's memory after they plan the scavenger hunt so they can participate too.

But in a "proper place to patch things up," as much as Ligament Manor can be that, we finish out the episode.

[cannibal-wings]

Another WIP Wednesday for You Pay the Cost It's fun writing enough to actually have shit to share. I'm at 14K words so far for this chapter. Almost done, update incoming in the next few days... I can feel it. Anyways enjoy some bits!

Ok have some parts from the cabin fight (this whole fight sequence is like 5k words so there's a lot, I'm just gonna share one or two chunks)

First bit:

“Alright my American friend, lets get this party started!” Luis tossed a box of handgun ammo Leon’s way. He had no way of knowing that Leon had just restocked his own supply. “It’s the two of us verses a mob of them.” Leon put the extra ammo away and moved to block off a ground floor window with a bookcase. “And lets not forget, that mob out there is made up of monsters.”

Leon rolled his eyes and grunted as he finished blocking the window off. He pointed at his own face and shook his head. Luis only laughed and said, “Lighten up Cowboy, present company is excluded from the monster remark.”

Leon was able to croak out a, “Thanks.” He hoped it sounded sarcastic enough. The group of villagers were fast approaching but they still had a few precious seconds to prepare. It appeared as if whoever lived here was in the middle of repairs, there was a hammer, saw, boards and a few nails lying on one of the tables. Leon scooped them up and started to board up another of the ground floor windows.

“Oh, clever. I never would have thought of that,” Luis said and helped him hold a board steady. “You really do think better on your feet huh?” Leon grunted. “I can see the gears turning in there. Which is good, I was worried you’d wake up like them.”

Leon paused; his hammer still raised. “Wha?” He frowned and felt bottom outer jaw move down with the motion. Talking was going to take some major adjusting to.

“There’s an aspect of mind control to what you have, it’s why the villagers act like one big hive, controlled by a queen, or in this case, king. I was worried you would wake up under their thrall.” He shouldn’t have said that, he could tell that Leon was getting distracted. He tapped his knuckles on Leon’s arm and said, “Hey keep your head in the game, amigo. I need you in the now.” Leon shook his head and finished nailing the last of the boards up.

They both backed away from the window they secured. “Well,” Luis said, “are you ready? Do your stretches? Cuz here they come!”

Leon sighed and readied his gun. “Shuddup woul’ you?”

“Sorry, what was that, Leon?”

He flicked him off and moved to stand by the staircase. From that angle he could see the window and the stairs. The mob outside had begun to ram the door and the window blocked by the bookcase. The bookcase would go first, Leon guessed. His back was to it, but Luis was covering that side of the bottom floor.

The bookcase was wobbling, he could hear it shift back and forth. But then he heard something else, the radio. He turned around for a second and caught Luis fiddling with the small radio cassette player that was on one of the tables. “Enough of that,” Luis said turning off the start of a religious broadcast. He flipped a cassette in and hit play. “There we go! That’s more like it! Now we can start!”

Flamenco music drifted in, loudly. Leon turned back to the window. “Unbelievable,” he thought. At least the beat was snappy, if he could hear it under the gunfire. He’d even consider it decent enough to die to. The bookcase fell behind him and Luis opened fire.

The glass shattered in front of Leon and people began to pour in. They hardly let each other through, bodies spilling over the opening. Leon took a deep breath and readied himself. Then he started to fire.

Sometimes, at the range, he would let himself slip into something that felt far less human and way more mechanical. He stopped seeing the targets as people, they were just things to point a gun at. If he didn’t see them as human, he could take them out in rapid succession. Just point and shoot, it was that simple. If the T-Virus victims weren’t people, then it wasn’t murder. If these townsfolk weren’t human anymore, then he wouldn’t beat himself up at night over this. That’s how it had to work. Or he’d never be able to look in a mirror again. He could feel himself slip into that mindset.

When he got like this, it was like having tunnel vision, just his aim, just the feeling of lining up a shot and taking it. One by one he downed the villagers as they streamed in through the window. He saw nothing else. Behind him might as well have been a world away. One, two, three, four, miss, six, seven, eight, twice for that one, eject the magazine, slide a new one home. Start over. One, two, that one was a worm, three, four, five, all into the head, six, miss, eight, nine, kick, ten. Reload, back up. Start over.

Luis was holding his ground, he didn’t consider himself a fighter, but he wasn’t a stranger to a gun. But he took a moment to glace Leon’s way. He had been relentlessly firing, one shot after another, easily double what he had done in the same amount of time. He needed to check to see if the other man was panicked and just firing wildly. But he wasn’t.

Luis had never seen a more focused person than Leon in that moment. The emotion seemed drained from his face, just hard, cold eyes that moved with each new person that stumbled through the window. He decided that he didn’t need to worry about Leon. In fact, Leon could probably take the whole mob out on his own with just his conviction. He should instead, be worried about himself.

And Second Bit

Leon heard Luis call his name from the first floor. He was shouting loud over the resumed gunfire and yelling from the townsfolk. From the sound of it, it was urgent. Leon left his spot on the deck and made for the staircase. He was halfway down it when he stopped. “Uh oh.”

Luis was surrounded, but that wasn’t what his first concern was about. There was another of those bull headed men. Maybe the same one, Leon couldn’t tell. He didn’t exactly see the one in the square go down for good before he rushed to save Ashley. He didn’t recall seeing its corpse among the bodies either.

“Hey,” Luis called, “can you take the big guy? I’m a little busy!”

It didn’t seem like Leon had a choice, because as soon as the man spotted him, he charged. Leon was smart enough to know when to back up and get some distance, this was one of those times. He sprinted back up the stairs and stood between the two windows. Another ladder had been raised but Leon just didn’t have time for that. He shoved it back and swore the next time they tried he’d take a hatchet to the closest rungs.

The bull made it to the top of the stairs and paused. He seemed to be considering just how much of a threat Leon could be. He hefted the hammer up and stalked forward. Leon held his ground. So far he had tried shooting him, sticking a knife in his throat, and going straight for the heart. If this was the same man, he was proving to be functionally immortal. Maybe the goal here wasn’t to go for a kill, but focus on incapacitation so they could deal with the others before he got back up.

With that in mind he drew the Red9. He’d need the extra firepower and his SG seemed to just bounce off of this guy. The bull seemed to eat shotgun slugs so he knew he’d shake off the 9mm rounds, however he didn’t need to maim right now, just incite. Leon quickly attached the stock and raised the gun up to fire. He only had eight shots with the Red9 and he knew right where to put them. The first shot hit the bull in the left shoulder, then Leon went for two in the right knee. The bull dropped to the ground and Leon ran in for a swift kick.

Leon was stronger now, more confident on his new legs. The impact sent the bull stumbling back down the stairs. It was only a few moments before he was back up the stairs and mad. Which was just what Leon wanted. The bull charged and Leon easily moved out of the way. He took a potshot at the bull’s back, which got him to spin and swing too wide at Leon. He put another bullet in the bull’s arm, this time the right one, the one holding the hammer. The bull lost his grip only slightly, he bellowed with rage and charged forward.

The hammer was deadly, Leon was still dealing with the aftermath of getting hit by it before. He couldn’t allow himself to be struck again, he wasn’t sure if he could recover from anymore broken bones. And while his carapace was strong, he didn’t want to test just how strong by blocking a full on hit from this man who was closer to a beast.

Leon provoked the bull to charge again, this time he stepped out of the way with the hope that the man would charge onto the outside deck and Leon could get some good hits, but the man was learning. He knew that Leon was against the wall, and the only way to dodge would be to his left, towards the open space in the room. So mid charge the bull switched hands with the hammer and knocked Leon to the floor with his arm.

He hadn’t expected this and found himself looking up at the bottom of the hammer that was coming straight down on his head. Leon had a fraction of a second to roll out of the way, the hammer smashing down where his skull was. He scrambled to his feet and backed away. That was sloppy of him, another mistake like that and he could be dead.

Leon put the Red9 away. Getting the bull to charge wasn’t a strategy he could use reliably anymore. He had to play this smarter. The two ended up circling each other, like wild animals. The bull knew that Leon was deadly up close, but he also knew that he had to get through his hammer to do that. And he knew that Leon was very, very, wary of that hammer.

Every few steps the bull would mock charge, or bluff a swing with the hammer. Leon would jump back and hiss, his jaws spreading wide apart. A threat display that didn’t seem to work on the bull at all. Maybe because he knew just how much bigger and stronger, he was than his opponent.

It was on their second circle that Leon finalized his plan. He started to step closer, slow, steady, his eyes never left the bull. He had just passed the first window, moving clockwise, bull was across from him, near to the deck. He needed him to be closer to the railing to the bottom floor. He hissed again, really trying to play up the monster angle, he needed everything he could get. This time it was Leon who charged, not straight for him, but in an arc, he was trying to drive the bull further to the right.

He didn’t pull a gun, he wanted it to look like he was moving in to attack with his claws, to jump on him or try for the knife. The bull roared an answering challenge and stepped to the side. He readied his hammer. Leon kept going, he’d have one shot at this. The bull swung the hammer out, he was quick but Leon was quicker. Leon slid on the floor, the rough wood wasn’t ideal but at the speed Leon was moving, it hardly mattered. He went under the hammer and then pushed off the ground. He landed a solid kick, with both legs and sent the bull stumbling back, not quite to the ledge. Leon recovered and backed off just enough to grab his shotgun.

He stayed kneeling but shouldered it. Before the bull could react, Leon put two slugs in his legs. The bull cried out and staggered back. Leon fired one more time for good measure and the bull was off balance, wobbling just close enough to the break in the railing for Leon to get a good shove in.

He kicked him one more time, sending a foot claw through his chest like before. The man fell backwards to the floor below. He landed with a heavy thud. The hammer left behind on the second floor. Leon wasted no time and moved to phase two of his plan. He pulled his knife and jumped after the bull who was still on the ground below, at the foot of the staircase. He landed on him hard, both feet on his chest. Something deep in the bull snapped, and he hoped it was his spine. Then he drew the knife across the bull’s throat, deep. The man gurgled then went limp under Leon’s body.

He relaxed for a just moment, pulled his knife out and was rewarded with a shovel to the back. He fell forward just a bit, his face getting too close to the skinned bull face mask for comfort. Leon was quick to recover from the blow and turned around to yank the shovel from the man’s hands. When he did he saw just how overrun the bottom floor had become.

ok and lets see here... lets do another silly bit.

He spotted a small shack up ahead. There wasn’t any sound of movement from inside, but even so, Leon was cautious when he opened the door and did a quick sweep. It looked like it was just used as rest area. There was a single bench and a small table by a window. He motioned for Ashley to follow him inside. They both shook off some of the rain on them before Leon reached up to his earpiece.

He hesitated for just a moment, but Ashley gave him an encouraging nod. He tapped it and said, “Condor One to Roost, come in Roost.”

“Condor One?”

“Sorry about before, the extraction point got a little… hectic,” he settled on. “Didn’t have time to chat.”

“What’s your situation now? Still there?”

“Negative,” Leon said, “it was too dangerous, we had to move. We’re a little to the north of it, moving back towards the village. We’ll need a new extraction point ASAP.”

“Well I got bad news Condor One, we can’t land any choppers in this weather, it’s too dangerous to even attempt an approach. You’ll need to hold out while the weather clears.” Before Leon could say anything, she continued, “The bad news doesn’t stop there. You were denied additional ground support.”

Leon swore and muttered, “Figures.”

“They were confident in your abilities to navigate the situation successfully.”

Leon leaned against the wall and groaned. “Of course they are.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered, even if it was approved, we wouldn’t be able to get any help to you. We don’t have anyone close enough to drive and the weather makes an air drop impossible. You’re on your own for this one.”

“And the BSAA?”

“Waiting on correspondence. I sent out a communication thread about an hour ago. Haven’t heard back. I’ll update you when I do. They’ll most likely want to talk to you after you’re off site. I hate questioning you, but you’re certain it’s a bio weapon threat?”

Leon looked at his hands and said, “Yeah, positive. I have more information though; you can pass this on to the BSAA when they get back to you. It’s parasitic, they call it Las Plagas, they’re worms. Method of spread is injection of eggs into the bloodstream. The infected form a sort of hivemind, they’re extremely aggressive towards outsiders.”

“Understood, I’ll add that to our intel. How’s Baby Eagle?”

“Baby Eagle is fine, no worse for wear.” He glanced over at her and she gave a thumbs up. “She’s a tough one, that’s for sure.”

“And you?”

“I’m also fine,” he lied. “Never better.” He saw Ashley change her thumbs up to a thumbs down. Leon flared his mandibles out. She just rolled her eyes. He swore he heard her whisper “coward”.

Hunnigan’s voiced seemed less tense when she said, “Good to hear. I’ll be in contact when we establish a new extraction point. Stay safe out there, Condor One, Roost out.”

Ashley stretched her arms up while Leon sat next to her on the bench. “Hey, shouldn’t your codename be something like “Mantis One” now?” She caught another giggle. “Cricket One to Hive, come in-”

“Ashley…”

“I still get to be Baby Eagle.”

He smirked behind his outer jaws and said, “I don’t know about that.” He then went really quiet and squinted his eyes. “I think I see some antenna coming in.” He pointed a claw just above her hairline. “Right there. Maybe you’ll be Baby Bee instead?”

“What?” Her hands flew to her hair and searched under them. When she looked back over Leon was huffing a silent laugh, his bottom pedipalps moving in and out. “Leon that’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” he said back. “Your face. Your hands went up there so fast.”

She crossed her arms across her chest and said, “Well yeah, I don’t exactly want to end up looking like you, cricket man.”

“I don’t look like a cricket,” Leon said back. “Probably. I haven’t actually gotten to look at myself yet. Surely I look more intimidating than a cricket.”

“Luis said he thought he knew what you were turning into. I wonder what it is? Should have asked him.”

“Yeah, well I was having issues talking at that moment, it wasn’t high on my list.” He let himself relax just a bit. “I was trying really hard not to have a breakdown. I should definitely get a raise after this.”

“I’ll advocate for you,” she said. “You should get two raises.”

“And a vacation.”

“And a vacation you’re right.”

“Just not to Spain,” Leon laughed. “Though I hear the parts that aren’t infested with a parasite cult are supposed to be quite nice.”

There we go, hope that's enough for y'all to chew on for a bit while I finish up the chapter and edits.

[oneatlatime]

The Fortuneteller

(A title which I am itching to divide into three words instead of two because boy does 'Fortuneteller' look stupid - seriously, stare at it for a bit and see how fast it starts looking like Fortun Eteller)

The last couple of episodes have had a contemplative character, so I'm rooting for this one to be a silly one. Also more Sokka please. Poor guy gets demoted to one liners in the B-plot whenever Aang is the main focus.

Episode Time!

We start this episode off with a potential love interest for Sokka.

I had completely forgotten that Katara used to have a necklace. I'd also completely forgotten that she'd lost it. When did she lose it?

Aang-o-vision has a pretty heavy rose-tinted filter - literally.

Told you it was a love interest.

The NOISE Sokka makes when the fish slaps him! I love it. Hang on I'm going to rewind and listen to it again.

Yep. Still as good the second time.

Oh wow! Aang just got Momo-zoned. Gotta say I'm not a fan of a romantic relationship between Aang and Katara at this point, so I'm all for some Momo-zonage.

Platypus bear! Finally some hybrid animals. I was beginning to wonder if that would ever come back.

Is this guy a martial arts master or an idiot?

I'm leaning towards idiot.

Friendly reminder of Appa's size. That's a lot of molars. No canines or incisors? Guess he's an obligate herbivore.

Is sniffing eggs something that people do? I get sniffing melons or other produce, but eggs?

Yep. Floppy hat guy is an idiot.

Aang buddy you might want to get that checked out.

And with a mighty squelch, the egg fulfills this episode's Beat Up Sokka quota.

Appa shakes!

Those are weird ducks.

I don't know a thing about anime, but that's the most anime-looking guy I've seen in this show. Is this show an anime?

Meng-o-vision is red-tinted. Probably doesn't bode well.

Also, Meng could give Zuko some lessons on how to style Pipi longstocking hair. Someone with more photoshop skills than me needs to make a Zuko with Meng hair.

"Don't be modest, they're huge!" Presented without comment. I'm not going to say a thing. But we all thought it.

Katara is totally the kind of girl who would fall for fortune telling. We've seen (multiple times) that she is gullible. Actually, now that I think about it, we've had multiple episodes where Katara gets swept up in something a healthy dose of skepticism would have guarded her from - Jet and The Great Divide come to mind. The writers are really hammering the 'Katara is susceptible to romantic nonsense and Sokka is a science-minded skeptic' message home. Is this going to play some bigger part in the show going forward? Why else would we be on version number (arguably) 3 of this same plot?

Aang and Sokka took off their shoes, but Katara didn't. Huh.

Pinky out. Classy.

I am not digging the Aang x Katara stuff in this episode. I'm with Sokka on this one - let's pretend it was a stellar bathroom break.

Aunt Wu is being unnecessarily antagonistic to Sokka. First he gets an egg on his head, then Momo steals his bean puffs, now Aunt Wu tells him his life's going to suck. I should have been more specific when I hoped for a Sokka episode. I didn't mean a beat up Sokka episode.

Aang. Priorities honey. Honestly, Aang casually dismissing his destiny after all that build up did get a laugh out of me.

A god-like figure coming to have his fortune read and only wanting to know about his love life would give me a headache too.

Add malicious signage to the Beating Up Sokka list.

"The fluffy bunny cloud forecasts doom and destruction." I bet that's the first time that sentence has appeared in the English language.

These people are stupid. Blazing Saddles style 'common clay of the New West' stupid. It would take, what, a day? to run a visual check on the volcano. But nope. Too much work. Listen to me I'm morphing into Sokka.

Katara giving off some serious fangirl vibes.

Katara is officially addicted to fortune telling.

Live footage of me watching these village idiots.

Add duck to the list of Things Which Assault Sokka. Gotta love those duck noises though.

Sokka is getting dangerously close to advising negging here. Also Meng deserves better. Her poor pigtails droop in disappointment. Girl has sentient hair - she deserves better.

Papaya? When you don't like papaya? Just because some old lady said so? Too far. That's not even teenage nonsense; that's tweenage nonsense. I kind of feel like sending Katara to her room. Actually it's just like that one line Log Man said in the Jet episode. Something like 'He tells us what to do and how to think and things all turn out right.' Outsourcing your decision-making. Which, by the way, is both nonsense and cult-like. Then again, the lost boys freedom fighters pretty much worshipped Jet the way this village worships Aunt Wu, so... parallels?

So if this guy got the panda lily himself, doesn't that mean that he recently went up the mountain? Couldn't he have had a peak inside while he was up there? Would have taken an extra 20 seconds.

"Flowers are fine once you're married" Somebody get this boy to Victorian times. If he ever sees an ankle he'll self-combust.

You have a flying bison. Why don't you fly up instead of climb?

This is totally live action fire copy-pasted in to the animation. There has got to be a more technical term for that than copy-pasted.

Raise your hand if you saw the twist with the volcano coming. (I did I swear. Blue spirit was an outlier).

Forget Appa, why didn't Aang just fly up?

"They just won't listen to reason." "But they will listen to Aunt Wu." So the mountain comes to Mohammed. I guess talking to people in a way they understand / will listen to is a good lesson for an avatar to learn. I thought he'd learned that one in The Great Divide though. Either way this episode is getting increasingly frustrating.

Can Meng get a hug? She seems astonishingly self-aware and emotionally mature for a kid. Also way too smart for this podunk town. I may rescind the hug in light of the stalking.

Well, it's not exactly subtle, but at least volcanic doom isn't a fluffy bunny.

Look at those yummy purples. Finally an episode where it's light enough to have a beautiful sky. My collection of wallpapers was suffering.

Digging a lava trench might work, if the volcano is going to put out a gallon or two of lava. This must be a baby volcano.

Nevermind.

The ashes effect feels oddly 3-D.

I guess to an avatar this kind of challenge is small potatoes.

Totally ignoring the Aang x Katara stuff for a minute, I'm with Sokka on this one too, because I also had forgotten that Aang is a superbender. He didn't even need to go glowy.

If I lived in this village that redesign would absolutely give me nightmares. Are those mega claws of doom structurally sound?

I am going to punch this man.

Aunt Wu's final speech to Aang makes me think that at least she's not indulging in her own product as it were. I suppose a con artist (whose services are free, so, just jerking around a village for shits and giggles?) is better than an actual believer?

MENG!!!

Final Thoughts

This episode has me thinking about stories. Part of the reason Katara wants to believe in nonsense like fortune telling is because she is someone inclined to listen to / believe in stories. I think the opening monologue of the first episode mentioned something about her grandmother's stories. Katara was raised on stories and very much took them to heart as more than just entertainment. And you can't blame her for believing the conceits of stories could be possible in their world, not after the events of episode one dumped the star of those stories in her lap. Just so long as she doesn't confuse a belief in stories with a belief in happy endings. There is a war going on in their world, and judging by the stuff that the show did not shy away from discussing or implying in episodes like The Southern Air Temple and The Storm, I am willing to bet good money that there will be a couple of unhappy endings ahead. Not permanently unhappy; this is a kids' cartoon. But there will probably be setbacks and disappointments.

Would Katara have astrology nonsense in her dating profile?

"The fluffy bunny cloud forecasts doom and destruction" is going to be incorporated into my daily vocabulary.

Platypus + bear are interesting choices for a hybrid animal, since a platypus is about 15 normal animals smashed together anyway. A platypus bear is the swiss army knife of animals. Or the Mr. Potato Head.

At first I thought that Aunt Wu was a benevolent meddler (see putting together the couple with the panda lily), but she also advised that one guy to never bathe, which doesn't benefit anyone in any way that I can see. So I've concluded that she's a Bumi level ("it's pretty fun messing with people") shit-stirrer instead. Her services may be free, but she manages to pay for a very big house, an assistant in Meng, and anime guy the bodyguard(?) so I guess grateful villagers give her donations? However she's doing it, she's got it made.

There was some sort of running theme with those large blue-billed ducks that lived in the village. If that was meant to have more meaning than just a running visual gag, I didn't pick up on it.

Meng had a surprising amount of depth and insight for what (I assume) is a one-episode character. Stalking aside, I liked her.

This episode's humourous look at the stupidity of the village (in fact the science denial of the village) is not as funny as it would have been in a pre-covid denial, pre-antivax, pre-"global warming is a hoax" world. A shallow viewing of this episode is still funny because the villagers are just SO dumb (except Meng), but the more you think about the villagers' actions and the conclusions they reach at the end of the episode (to not change AT ALL - at least the tribes made up in The Great Divide, a similarly idiot-filled episode), the more you morph into Sokka. These people have denied reality so hard that it's frustrating rather than funny to watch. Their head in the sand approach is not cute anymore.

I really wanted to like this episode. Like I said before, I wanted a goofy fun episode after the one-two punch of the last two episodes, but this one rapidly went from goofy to frustrating. I can't tell if it's because I'm not the target audience (i.e. too adult) or if it's because much of the world is currently drowning in various forms of misinformation and science denial. I know this episode isn't supposed to be deep - it's supposed to be setup for Aang & Katara as a (hopefully very distant) couple. That's all. And the message at the end about shaping your own destiny (i.e. taking an active part in your life) is a good message, and thematically relevant to the avatar, who presumably is at least somewhat responsible for shaping the whole world's destiny. But damn if this episode doesn't make my teeth itch.

Pros: Sokka had some great lines. Appa got to shake. There were pretty backgrounds. The noise Sokka made when he got slapped by the fish was a thing of beauty.

Cons: Aang and Katara are not allowed to date until they're 35. I will smack each villager individually upside the head with a science textbook. Meng deserved better.

Maybe I'm just not in the mood for this episode. I'll stick it on the rewatch list just for the Sokka fish noise.

[protocolseben]

nando only speaks driverglish and powerdrill. seb is here to translate

napkinwriting again... random ramble AU where seb stays another year, lance gets kicked out (sorry buddy...) and nando takes the spot. very boring general fic inspired by this comment lol.

Fernando is not that picky about what he drives. If he could put his hands on a vehicle that had a steering wheel, engine and scrappy wheels, and drive the absolute nuts off it, it was enough for him. He was a driver first and foremost.  Have a problem? Just power through it, duh! That doesn’t work all the time though.

Driver-Engineers were no longer an existent breed, as far as he knew. Maybe you meant "mechanic", where you fixed up an old 150 quid beat-up Mazda Luce that you scored from an old dealer in a village somewhere, and decided to go joyfully rumbling and tumbling with the others in the funny neck of the woods, sure. That's a big time driver-engineer. 

But drivers are drivers these days, and the most they can do is hammer the heck out of their vehicle. It would be nice to have someone invent a driver thoughts-to-text program, though. 

----

Two hours after Free Practice 2 in Australia on a slowly-cooling Friday Evening. Fernando was seated in the Aston Martin motorhome with the other race engineers, and had already given his round of feedback. 5 minutes. Short might be the right word to describe his feedback, and he usually tried to keep it on point. Aston’s Engineers were slightly quirky in the way they did things, but they didn’t mind the way he explained. It didn't feel enough, though.

Sitting across the meeting table was someone whose talents Fernando thinks is wasted on an accursed sport with its cursed owners, and someone whom the sport definitely didn’t deserve. Sebastian was explaining to the engineers the way the car behaved, what he liked about it, what could be improved, what definitely wasn’t right, the like, etc. with handwritten notes from his journal. And he was animated. The engineers were meticulously jotting all the points that seemed important. 35 minutes and counting. Only the third race of the season. Feels like years of technical feedback. Amazing.

Make no mistake, he was more than fully aware of Sebastian’s reputation as the most technical of all drivers in all his years of driving. But seeing it up close and in action was just fascinating, and it felt like Seb was helping to flesh out the problems he himself had.

Meeting over. The engineers got up, collecting their bunch of papers and leaving.  Not the drivers, however. Both were comfortably leaning back in the chairs, like an unspoken agreement not to leave yet. When the last engineer was out of sight, he turned to Seb and gave him a raised brow.  

“You don’t spare details...” 

“This is normal.” Seb replied, smiling sheepishly and scratching his beard.  “If the engineers get something from it, it’s good for both of us. For the team, you know?”

Good for the both of us. That was the most hilarious aspect of the sport,  dysfunctional and frustrating politics aside. He can’t think of another sport right off the bat that pits you against your own team members, while still needing to work together and making sure the team won. After years of rivalries, up and down different teams on the grid, fate has decided it was funny to put the two of them in the same team, like a slightly uneasy truce. But Sebastian was more than welcoming of the driver formerly from Alpine, and a gift of a mini loaf of chocolate bread made the point.  It was a goddamn good loaf of bread though, and he could thank Otmar Szafnauer in a way for kicking him out of the team into a homier place. 

“Translate for me,” Fernando joked. “Driver to Engineer speech. Maybe the car can be even better.” 

“I can, if you want to.” 

There was a short moment of silence while Fernando sat, a little baffled. It was not much, but it was a little nice to have someone help translate Driverglish into proper useful words. He scooted his chair closer to the table, and tried to describe the few problems of the car to Seb.

He let himself to five seconds of intrigue while the latter wrote in detail. Seb was simply meticulous, and he felt a little jealousy over how he had such a desire to understand everything. What he lacked in pure driving talent, he made up for in hard work and knowledge. Four titles are a testament to that. Communication wasn’t a strong suit for Fernando, teetering more towards miscommunication and needing to power through problems instead. Now they’re both in a car best described as eh, and no amount of driver rage can fix an eh car.

Seb held up the notebook for him to see shortly after. Readable, sensible notes that highlighted what he thought or felt was wrong, and had a little driver’s touch to it too. More clearer than whatever the fellas at Ferrari jotted down during his stint over at the team. 

“...thanks. It’s good.”

“Alright, I’m going to stay a little while longer, see what I can do.”

Damn you Michael, your habits really rubbed off on him.

Fernando got up and waved him goodnight. 

Usually at the hotel room, drivers went to drink or knock out or god knows, probably cycle the whole street if they felt it. For the first time in his career, Fernando felt like writing something down after hours, and cussed when he couldn't find a paper to write his thoughts on.

Damn you as well, Seb.

-----

“...they told me you got kicked out. And you are here. Early again.”

“Mike kicked me out. It’s a habit…”

Fernando stood at the common area of the motorhome, looking at the many papers on the coffee table, courtesy of the German man who had come too early. All in good time, however. He hesitantly took out a folded slip of paper from his pocket and handed it over to Seb, who read it curiously before a smile crept up upon his face.

“...It is not as good as yours.”

“I’m here to translate, remember?” Seb laughed. “That’s what I’m here for.”

It’s not as satisfying as powerdrilling through a problem, but hey, it solves things. And having freaking Seb Vettel on your side, Aston really had the full package right in their hands.

[christmas-shenanigans]

Session 2: Sat 9 December 2023

Slightly late start due to Yours Truly sitting here waiting for their phone to ring instead of checking Discord. Lol. And off we go!

Cheese jokes and then some WhatsApp mute button japery. And now we’re off for real this time. Mialee and Wee Jock catch us up, yay! They had a much nicer journey than we did, possibly thanks to us clearing a path for them.

“Who’s the new girl? And the goblin?” Wee Jock asks as they arrive. Valeros is walking off to the north as they arrive. Skabb grabs his ankles. It is early morning by this point, and we see this off in the trees, which is clearly what Valeros is looking at:

She sees him looking at her and runs off; he follows and so do we. We think he might have been entranced. There is a flash of light - and Valeros stops. The nymph steps into a tree and disappears. Valeros announces that he can’t see. Halbrecht will give him a look over to see if there’s anything he can do about the blindness. We all wrack our brains to see if we know anything about nymphs; they can do an ability called Blinding Beauty. Well, that tracks.

Halbrecht casts Restoration on Valeros.

“Get out of our woods!” someone shouts in Sylvan. Rude. Wee Jock pretends to knock down a tree with his hammer. Something appears…

Skabb tells them we are just passing through. Wee Jock asks where the goblin village is.

Why so angry, friend? asks Skabb.

These are our woods, we don’t want you here.

We’re trying to go north to the gobbo village.

Leave now, we are told. We’re trying to!

We scooch past, keeping an eye on the thing as we go. They apparently don’t attack.

The rest of the day is uneventful. As evening draws in we hear wolves howling in the distance. We make camp, in spite of the wolves seeming closer to us. Wee Jock suggests we stay bunched together. We do that, and ready attacks. Valeros can’t see, but he’s happy because the cold ‘makes him look taut’.

The wolves approach, and Skabb sees these two:

Halbrecht and Zorya ready actions, and Zorya recalls knowledge about wolves. They could be a number of things (barghests, dire wolves…) but she’s not sure.

(There’s a lot of Gloucestershire accented “‘Ello my love!” but I miss the context.)

A wolf appears - Halbrecht looses his Divine Lance and Zorya crits with her composite shortbow for 17 damage!

The wolf lunges at Halbrecht and tries to get him in its jaws. He takes 8 piercing damage from its teeth as it snatches him up. The other wolf appears…

It attacks Wee Jock with a 26; he doesn’t need to check his character sheet for that. Oh fuck there’s a third! It grabs Skabb in its mouth. And another giant wolf…

This one takes an action to seek out Zorya, but she crits her stealth check. Not today, bitch! (She forgot about her sneak attack damage… she rolls it now for another 8 damage. “Howdy doodis?” she asks optimistically, but is disappointed.)

Skabb makes an escape attempt, rolling a 14. She wants to cast Pummeling Rubble down the neck of the wolf holding her:

It is ruled that she can’t aim it down its neck, even though a wolf full of rocks would be hilarious, so she retracts the spell. She does Burning Hands instead. It crits its save. Skabb just sort of… settles in.

We hear a voice in our heads. We are heading for the goblin village, yes? “Ow,” we reply. If we bring them the head of the chief goblin they will spare us.

Zorya tries to reply to one of them to tell it that we don’t negotiate with terrorists, but the wolf just seems confused. So they’re being controlled…? Another wolf, this one with glowing eyes, approaches and says “You can have a minute to think.”

Mialee takes a shot for a 31. She gets sneak attack damage, too! She makes a Stealth check; dirty 20.

Wee Jock is being gently chewed. He considers sliding down the wolf’s throat and doing damage with his warhammer. He Rages, but there’s no button on his character sheet for that. He has the Titan Wrestler feat though, he realises, and sets about beating the wolf around the head. (I am told to tell him off; I do, even though I’m not sure why. There must be a reason.)

Halbrecht does Searing Light, quote, “because it’s exciting”. He casts it into the mouth of the wolf holding him. There’s a discussion about flanking and whether Wee Jock can do that from inside the mouth of another wolf. The wolf drops Halbrecht and he uses his last action to hit it with his hammer. There are a lot of red numbers.

Zorya makes a break for it and climbs a tree, taking a shot at one of the wolves from in the branches. Luckily none of them are able to attack her as she goes. Halbrecht’s wolf attacks him again and gets him back in its mouth. It then shakes the fuck out of him:

He rolls too low on his save, tries to insist that he adds 12 to everything he rolls, is universally disbelieved and takes his 9 damage.

Skabb’s wolf does the same thing; she rolls a 28 and only takes half damage. The wolf shakes her twice more, and she fails the next two saves. Wee Jock’s wolf does the same, but it rolls low damage so the little sack of scar tissue probably doesn’t even notice.

A wolf goes over to Zorya’s tree and leaps - snatching her up into its jaws. “Ah shit.”

Skabb casts Vomit Swarm and crits:

Then Grabby Cat flies into the ear of the wolf with the glowing eyes. She asks it why it wants to eat the gobbo.

Nasty goblin chief killed lots and lots of my kin, she is told. She has a little chat with it, tries to persuade it that it doesn’t want to continue this attack. It responds by running up to the wolf holding Wee Jock in its jaws and attacking the gnome. And again.

Mialee wants to shoot the one with the gold eyes, but goes for the one holding Wee Jock instead. It drops him! She shoots it again, and kills it! She re-hides. DM: “Wise.”

Wee Jock, still raging, moves on to the next closest enemy as is his tradition. He will continue in this vein until they are dead or he is. The next closest happens to be the golden-eyed one. Does Rage add five to his attack at all? No, but the next attack is better. His third is also bad. He asks for a Hero Point to re-roll it. Then asks for a Hero Point for having the ballsiness to ask for a Hero Point, and gets one! He uses it to attack again, but rolls even worse. Next turn he is going to grapple it by the legs.

Halbrecht has to put his cheese down for his turn. He’s used a lot of his spells now. He does Spiritual Weapon. If it hits it will do 6 damage. “My spells are rubbish, [DM].” It does apparently just hit, though, there is no attack roll or saving throw. He uses his last action to Heal himself.

Zorya wriggles out of her wolf’s mouth, shimmies back up the tree and hides. “Acrobatics? I’m good at that.” She rolls a 26. Skabb: “She’s a cocky little shit, this girl.”

A wolf bites at Wee Jock and grabs hold, and shakes him. He fails the save, but only takes half damage. (He’s still not even close to his favourite hit point.)

Grabby Cat tells the glowy-eyed wolf that we have a magic acorn… She makes a Diplomacy check of 16. It tells her to show it the acorn; She flies over to Skabb to take it, then flies back to the wolf and show it. The wolf howls, and the rest of them drop those of us who are in their mouths. If they see us again, they will eat us. They are bound to honour this, but only once.

We do some healing, and make camp. Wee Jock wants to sacrifice some trees. So he does. He hadn’t finished.

We consult the map and continue on. Skabb smells something delicious; the rest of us smell something disgusting. We hear terrible, tone-deaf singing as well as we approach Pinereek:

The goblins catch sight of us and start scurrying around the town and pulling up ladders; we hear a gong sound and a balcony opens, and this gentleman appears:

“Well, daughter, what do you bring to my village?” he says to Skabb in goblin.

“Ugly friends!” she replies.

He points at Wee Jock. “Scouts say this one a hiss-fittler.” He points at the rest of us, expressing various concerns about our behaviour. We promise (lying) to behave.

He will let us go and see the witch. He points to a hut, out of which purple smoke is pouring from the chimney. Skabb offers Zorya and Mialee a silver piece each to behave. They reluctantly agree.

Wee Jock displays a middle finger, as evidence that they aren’t crossed as he also promises to behave.

The door swings open as we approach, and this appears:

She addresses Skabb as daughter, as well! She calls for her “ugly apprentice”, who also appears:

They insult Zorya for a while and nearly get stabbed, but then Skabb changes the subject to ask them to help cure Valeros’ blindness. (Zorya makes up her mind to steal at least one thing from here before they leave.)

They take out some foul-smelling gunk and tell him to put it in his eyes. He says it smells like it’s going to make him ugly! They tell him not to worry. Smooth skins (?) couldn’t be uglier if they tried! Skabb finds this hilarious, and slaps the stuff on Valeros’s face.

We ask about the sorceress.

Valeros asks who teaches the wise ones magic. He is too old and too boy to be taught magic. Skabb is small and young and girl. She needs a kayak. (I think?)

She must pass a trial to meet the kayak. We must all do it together. There’s a fun game for us to play!

We take her hideous apprentice with us, she will take us to a cave outside which is a guardian made of ice. Defeat the guardian and we can meet the kayak.

The group is warned to keep an eye on Zorya and make sure she doesn’t steal anything. They are watching her like a hawk; “You are all underestimating how good I am at stealing things.”

What will we need to take with us? Skabb asks her to take us to a good place to get provisions, and we leave it there for tonight. Wee Jock wants to know if he can have something made of cold iron, in case we run into any more fey. “Something blunt. Basically a hammer.” He must find something delicious from the woods as payment.

We must also bring some familiars with us, Klipp Klopp and Yhaaki:

... Okay fine, if we must.

[autolovecraft]

Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily?

Birch, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself.

Sawyer was not a lovable man, and many stories were told of his almost inhuman vindictiveness and tenacious memory for wrongs real or fancied. When he perceived that the latch was hopelessly unyielding, at least in a city; and even Peck Valley would have shuddered a bit had it known the easy ethics of its mortuary artist in such debatable matters as the ownership of costly laying-out apparel invisible beneath the casket's lid, and the coffin niches on the sides and rear—which Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. In either case it would have been appropriate; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the coffin niches on the sides and rear—which Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door.

I'd hate to have it aimed at me!

The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he did not care to imagine. Whether he had imagination enough to wish they were empty, is strongly to be doubted. Great heavens, Birch, just as I thought! Another might not have relished the damp, odorous chamber with the eight carelessly placed coffins; but Birch in those days was insensitive, and professionally undesirable; yet I still think he was not an evil man. On the afternoon of Friday, April 15th, then, Birch set out for the tomb with horse and wagon to transfer the body of Matthew Fenner. It may have been just fear, and it may have been encouraging and to others may have been mocking.

The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the overhead ventilation funnel virtually none at all; so that he was wise in so doing. Davis, an old-time village practitioner, had of course seen both at the respective funerals, as indeed he had attended both Fenner and Sawyer in their last illnesses. As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been just fear, and it may have been fear mixed with a queer belated sort of remorse for bygone crudities.

Never did he knock together flimsier and ungainlier caskets, or disregard more flagrantly the needs of the rusty lock on the tomb door which he slammed open and shut with such nonchalant abandon. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he did not heed the day at all; so that he was reduced to a profane fumbling as he made his halting way among the long boxes toward the latch.

He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the latch of the great door yielded readily to a touch from the outside. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. The pile of tools soon reached, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. Davis, an old-time village practitioner, had of course seen both at the respective funerals, as indeed he had attended both Fenner and Sawyer in their last illnesses.

You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he had chosen it, how he had chosen it, how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant. Great heavens, Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the bald fact of imprisonment so far from the daily paths of men was enough to exasperate him thoroughly. I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died.

He worked largely by feeling now, since newly gathered clouds hid the moon; and though progress was still slow, he felt heartened at the extent of his encroachments on the top and bottom of the aperture. Birch. When Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. Great heavens, Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin! In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer.

This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height. His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer.

He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. On the afternoon of Friday, April 15th, then, Birch set out for the tomb with horse and wagon to transfer the body of Matthew Fenner. The wounds—for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him. Birch in those days was insensitive, and was concerned only in getting the right coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not get Asaph Sawyer's coffin by mistake, although it was very similar. The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the latch of the great door yielded readily to a touch from the outside. His drinking, of course, only aggravated what it was meant to alleviate.

[weatheredleatherhat]

Heya! It’s SW anon, but iI have another request for a Karl x Reader. Not necessarily a MaleReader but rather GN, I guess. This one’s basically the morning after Karl and the Reader sleep together. They’re cuddling and Karl’s still asleep, but the Reader’s already up. Reader takes in how peaceful Karl looks, gently tracing all the scars on his face with his finger and admiring him. Karl opens his eyes, noticing the Reader looking at him all soft and the Reader’s surprised that Karl asks them to keep going cause he was awake the whole time and liked the Reader’s gentle touch and attention. Just good ol’ fluff.

((When I tell you this made me WEAK ;w; ))

A follow up of this fic, though no need to read the previous one for this one to make sense. And if you need a little soundtrack; I listened to this when I was writing. Hope you enjoy!

The night before was like a storm. Vivid, passionate; all teeth and tongue, hands roaming and exploring each other’s bodies to map out where would elicit the loudest gasps of pleasure.

But in the morning, it had all settled. You were both entwined under the thick comforter, Karl fast asleep and looking the most peaceful you’d ever seen him. It was a little strange to see how the fine lines of his face faded, entwined with the multitude of scars that littered his features. It made you ponder how he got each one. Working in the factory was the most likely option, but you wondered if he’d got into many fights over his years. Knowing how much he liked to run his mouth, it was pretty likely, though who would dare brawl him considering his strength and abilities? Perhaps it was before all that, if there ever was a time before. Had he been a grown man when all this happened to him, old enough to get into bar fights? Karl had pretty much been a constant in the village, and come to think of it, he’d always seem to be stuck at the age he was. Frozen in time, like the statues at the ritual site.

You couldn’t resist bringing your hand up to gently stroke each and every feature. Feeling the raised skin of his scars under your fingertips, tracing the lines of age, taking your time to caress him, to show him care that he deserved. You found yourself relaxing alongside him as you did so; something soothing in the repetitive, gentle movements.

You didn’t notice when his deep breathing shifted into a regular pattern of being awake, but you did notice after a little while when one of his eyes cracked open to stare down at you. You shared a few heartbeats of silence; of solemn contemplation and regarding each other as equals in this strange little relationship that was forming.

“You been awake this whole time?” you whispered, hating to break the comfortable silence that had formed, but curiosity taking over. Your hand stilled, a small bloom of worry in the back of your mind that this was too much. Too much like lovers rather than something informal and based on needs.

“A little while,” he admitted with a smile, shifting himself into a comfortable position that allowed you more access to his face. “I was just enjoying it.”

You made a hum of acknowledgement as the pad of your thumb swept over his cheekbone. “You want me to keep going?”

He nodded with a grunt, pressing his face to your palm and nuzzling it in a silent request for more. You acquiesced with glee, happy to just share this moment of him. Your fingers continued their exploration of him; over the bridge of his nose, across his temples and over his lips. He let out a sigh of contentment at your actions, his hand resting on your thigh and thumb rubbing circles of his own.

You could hear the thrum of machinery all around you; furnaces roaring and pistons hammering away like the beatings of an industrial heart. When you had first arrived, it was deafening, and you wondered how Karl managed with hearing it constantly. But now, you couldn’t imagine laying in silence. It would feel too eery, and you wondered to yourself when that happened. When all this had become less transactional finance wise, and more with sharing experiences and hearts.

It wasn’t as if you mind it. If he would agree to it, you’d happily stay here, with him, forever. And by the blissed out look he had on his face, you had a feeling that if you asked he would agree to it.

An eternity was a long time. But an eternity with him, especially if trapped in this very moment, would be an eternity of heaven.

[oneprompt]

Hi 💕 I'm so happy to see another op blog 🌻 can I request Zoro falling in love with an uncultured and oblivious reader? I mean like she didn't understand the world much because she's lived in her little island all her life and joined the strawhats. I thought it'd be curious to see a sweet girl taking our marimo's heart 🥺 Ty Ty Ty 💚

authors note : hello ! im more then happy to participate as a new blog <3 and i’d be thrilled to write such a thing ! the idea of reckless and somewhat ‘ mean ‘ characters x oblivious and kind is always very cute , a ton of fun. i just did headcanons + a small drabble , hope that’s okay.

Zoro x Oblivious/Naive! Reader Headcanons

• It was almost annoying how sweet you were, so harmless... at least to the naked eye. The day Zoro saw you in action for the first time was a sight he’d never forget. It was odd, almost. Even when you were fighting, whacking marines down one by one.. you still had that innocent expression on your face. Why were you so nice? And the way you apologized to the men you were beating down was even weirder. It didn’t match the rapid swing of the weapon that stayed in clutch of your hands. What sort of aspiring pirate has manners like that!? Usopp was kind, yes, same with Chopper but you were on a whole new level. It was cute but it also bothered Zoro, to a degree.

• With your background, you were bound to confuse things and make wrong assumptions. Wether the way you reacted to Franky’s appearance in Water Seven, not seeing anything wrong with his lack of clothing, or the way you would try and drink the cups of sake Zoro would forget about, mistaking it for water. It was cute, a lot of the crew found your mishaps and almost childish esque knowledge to be cute, Sanji and Robin especially. Zoro found it to be the cutest thing, he felt his heart squeeze everytime you giggled in embarrassment or turned red as Nami had to educate you on certain things.

• Yet, Zoro did his best to hide his interest in you. What did the worlds best future swordsman need some country bumpkin for? Plus, it’s not like Zoro was a huge romantic in the first place. Alas, it was impossible to keep under wraps. The way you freely clung to your crew members, or even giving them small kisses on their cheeks, that prevented Zoro from being capable of hiding how flustered he’d get.

• At first, he assumed you were some sort of moron, having no problem with being touchy with people. But no! Apparently, it was a regular thing to do in your village, something strictly platonic. Zoro was both relieved but also disappointed. He was relieved due to how close you were with Sanji but he was a tad grumpy that your small pieces of affection didn’t mean anything.

• Zoro would eventually make an attempt to confess or at least suggest such feelings, mainly at the force of Nami and Usopp. He tried numerous times with the help of the pair, only to have you giggle and reply with a care free smile.

• Now, no way you were this stupid! You were twenty for christ’s sake... how could someone of that age, regardless of surroundings be oblivious to a deceleration of love?

• Even if your oblivious nature annoyed him to the core, he would do his best to keep such a clean mind for you. He’d scold Brook if he asked for your panties, and would certainly beat Sanji if he tried anything weird with you.

• The day you actually confess, Zoro won’t believe you. He’ll assume you just mean your heart yearns for him in a platonic way, in the most harsh jab of platonic kinship.

• When you two actually start going out, Zoro is left in crippling debt to the navigator. Nami definitely had to sit you down and explain in depth about how Zoro viewed you, about what he meant everything he said he ‘liked’ you. Zoro is more then grateful to have you as his s/o now but now his pockets ache with severe emptiness.

Zoro x Oblivious/Naive! Reader Oneshot

Zoro had finally finished working out for the evening, his muscles aching with fatigue. He was heading to the Sunny’s garden to fetch some tangerines out of the garden. Fruit was always refreshing, especially after a hard workout.

As he opened the gyms door, he spotted you. Zoro couldn’t help but feel his cheeks prickle with a pink colour, embracing the sight of you watering the flowers you and Robin had grown together. You looked so cute, so joyous. The way your eyes could light up so much over a mere flower bed made no sense to Zoro. Yet, he loved it. He loved the faces you made when you were happy, your round eyes curling upward and shut as you laughed.

Sadly, for Zoro, his moment of admiring you would be cut short by the two biggest perverts on the Sunny. Is there even a moment in the day where they take a break off such a repulsive hobby?

“Y/n-san, can i see your underpants?” Brook asked, as casual as ever. Him and Sanji were oogling at the sight of your legs. The question visibly confused you as you raised your brows, mouth dipping into a small o.

“Why, what for?” You asked, looking up at the two men as you let the watering can rest at your feet. You had often seen Nami beat the two up over this question, and even Robin didn’t hesitate to glare at the two, causing a sudden cold chill to fill the area. Were you not supposed to? There wasn’t a huge deal with clothes, right? Nami always walked around in her bikini tops and Franky only ever wore his speedo.. It was okay, wasn’t it? Was it a representation of eternal friendship, you wondered. If so then why would Nami...-

“It represents a never ending love, Y/n-swan!” Sanji followed Brook’s statement with. He felt guilty for lying to you but was it truly a lie? You were only supposed to show your under clothing to the people you love!

An excited smile replaced your puzzled expression. “Really?” You stood up, “Is that why Franky shows his? Because he loves us?”

Brook and Sanji just nodded with overjoyed looks on their faces. Finally! They had a crew member who would do such a thing for them...

The soft expressions were immediately wiped away at the hands of Zoro. Zoro had kicked Brook’s head square off his shoulders, delivering his elbow to Sanji’s side in one swift move.

“Oi! Leave Y/n outta your perverted crap!” Zoro barked, crossing his arms as he snarled at the blonde and the skeleton. “Ya best leave them alone, unless you want Nami to find out.”

You couldn’t help but feel confused from the complicated scenario that unraveled before your eyes. Why was Zoro so furious? Why would Nami be upset over that, too?

“Thanks, Zoro! I think...” You murmured, unsure what to say. Were you supposed to be angry that he hurt your other friends? Or did he do the right thing...? You had no clue!

Zoro blushed at the sight of you, the way you gave him the most genuine smile a person could muster made his heart jack hammer into his ribs. You really had no clue how you made him feel, did you?

“It’s fine.. it’s what you’re supposed to do for the people you....love, anyway.” Zoro muttered, earning loud gasps from the men that remained on the ground. Yet, all your reaction carried was a bright smile.

“Really? I’m going to go hit Usopp, then! Nami always does!” You beamed proudly, as if picking up on some ‘wonderful’ advice from Zoro.

All Zoro did was sigh. How long would it take until you noticed him, until you noticed what he meant?

What a moron.

[damselofblueroses]

Bambi, Chapter 1

You are my Bambi, girl, I am your candy, tell me what are you waiting for?

Summary: As an archaeologist who works on the Ancient Greece, you were on the verge of excavations’ session. While you have been preparing your team, you learned that your institute decided on your team has to work with another team as they wanted the outcome as a collaboration. The head of other team was your biggest rival, a scumbag in your eyes: Byun Baekhyun.

You two were supposed to work together for three months, in a Greek Island, Chios.

Could you manage to not kill Byun Baekhyun for three months?

Content: AU, heavily Greek mythology, enemies to friends.

Warnings: Well, the story contains NSFW/Smut, please minors do not continue.

Note: This story will be four or five chapters if I will not change my mind in the meantime. It is inspired by my major; however, I do not have a complete knowledge on archaeology, I am a historian. If I will make a technical mistake, please let me know. I am willing to receive any kind of feedback; you are more than welcomed to drop a message.

Chapter One: UN Village

June, Incheon Airport

Along the curves of the hill

Rolling, rolling, rolling hills

As we climb there’s a broken streetlight

When I see one, I turn off the lights under it

Baekhyun was nothing but ready for the excavation.

You were more than ready for the session.

Both of you, were nothing but two leaders who hated each other equally.

You were eyeing each other with saying no words since your teams came together in the airport. Before this particular moment of departure, you refused to meet with Byun Baekhyun, putting aside meeting with him, you refused even dropping an e-mail in order to let Sunkyungwan Team about Sejong Team. You were clear and strict as fuck, even though two teams had to work together for three months, you had zero intention to get accustomed with the other team leader.

The weather was sunny, nice and warm, however because of you and Baekhyun, your team members were feeling like they were trapped in a fucking blizzard during the coldest winter.

You were aware of your team members had positive opinions of that scoundrel, especially the girls, as you had your first-handed experiences because of your stupid classmates, Byun Baekhyun was very famous of his abilities to cast a spell on women. The problem was he was also famous as a serial dater, serial killer type of men.

A bastard, nothing more nothing less.

“Indy,” one of your team members, Minseok, called you. Although, calling you as Indy was also a habit of Minseok, it was also an obligation for the others, you insisted on calling you by your nickname or your name, instead of calling you as sunbae. You did not like the hierarchical titles. “Should we move into the control point?”

“Yeah, if you are ready.” you replied, grabbing your luggage and the rest.

“I guess we have to alert Sunkyungwan people since we will fly together.” Hyesun pointed out, your eyebrows knitted.

“I guess,” you recall her words. “They also have this information, so we do not have to alert anyone, we are not their babysitters.”

Hyesun’s cheeks were blushing after you kindly scolded her, but she was clever enough to hold her tongue. Your dislike towards Sunkyungwan was not a secret as you used every opportunity to show it. You led your team to the kiosks, counting the heads automatically. You had six here, you were going to have ten more when you arrive to Chios whose coming from all around European universities. With thirteen Sunkyungwan students, the excavation was going to shelter almost forty members. It was going to be massive, you had to admit. You never had more than twenty students in the field till now, but you were going to lead an extraordinary team as Junmyeon craved into your brain’s folds with his hammer of words.

You wished to be with Junmyeon right now, you were more tense than usual. Junmyeon could put you in more stable mood, however you even did not think to name him while the executives were asking your possible candidates. He would kill you merciless, you knew it very well.

Eh, at least you got Sehun, Junmyeon’s brother in your team, he had a lot of similarities with Junmyeon even though he could be noisier than anyone you know, however you accepted him as your dongsaeng, as his precious noona and role model, you also knew how to put him in an order. Then you had Minseok, the eternal field-partner of yours. He was older than you, although he was engaged in a Ph.D. programme in abroad, he willingly accepted your invitation. You had four seniors, Shinhye, Yixing, Jongdae and Hyesun.

To your dismay, two of the seniors who you really could want in your team, Chanyeol and Kyungsoo were in that bastard’s team. You were of the fact that they were immensely close to each other, but you wished to have them in your team as their abilities were precious.

Especially Doh Kyungsoo.

You missed that fucking bastard who preferred to be with Baekhyun.

Life, you inhaled. It was not going exactly in the way you could ask.

“On your foot, soldiers.” you called your team around you. “Do you collect all the materials you will be in need of?”

“Yeah.” Jongdae cutely pointed to his tiniest bag. “I am ready to excavate.”

“Exactly you will need every tool you have.” Shinhye smacked her husband’s shoulder. Yeah, you had a married couple in your team, although you were a year younger them, you always regarded yourself as their big sister, if not a mother. “You are going to work too much, Dae. I have sleepless nights because of the burden on your shoulders.”

You could not help but burst into laughs after the look Jongdae gave to his wife. Those idiots, they were so lovely and instead of their endless scolding sessions, they were incredibly fond of each other.

Sometimes you wonder, how having your significant other by your side would be?

You slightly shook your head, quickly climbing out of this deep cliff.

“Let’s go!” you exclaimed, jumping to the air. “Sejong is ready for the session!”

Baekhyun was watching you with a disgusted expression.

“Move on, Baekhyun.” Chanyeol pushed his body to forward. “We will miss the flight, Goddamnit.”

“Give him couple of minutes.” Kyungsoo chuckled. “He is fucking the girl with his eyes, frankly, he is doing it unapologetically.”

“Which girl?” Chanyeol’s eyes widened. “Do you mean, that girl? You c-

“Of course, I am not.” Baekhyun interrupted Chanyeol, staring at Kyungsoo. “She can go and fuck herself.”

“Well,” Kyungsoo stood up, placing his book into the bag. “I guess, you are going to be one to fuck her, but maybe I am wrong.”

“In her dreams.” Baekhyun laughed. “If she can manage to dream something like this, but I do not think so. That little freak can put even the nuns into a shame.”

“She is beautiful to be honest.” Chanyeol said with no different intention but observing your features carefully. “Okey maybe not the hottest girl in the town, but she is pretty, and I heard she is very clever.”

“She is.” Kyungsoo approved. “But she kicked Baekhyun’s ass twice, so he cannot endure her presence.”

“She never,” Baekhyun grunted lowly. “Kick me or my proverbial parts!”

“Did someone talk about kicking some asses?” Jongin appeared out of nowhere. “I am in.”

“Shut up, Jongin.” Baekhyun rolled his eyes. “Let’s pick the team.”

The smile on Kyungsoo’s face irritated Baekhyun, he wanted to erase that fucking grin so bad, punching his face but Baekhyun had to hold his manners as the team leader. If they would be in their flat, he could already beat the shit out of Kyungsoo, at least he would try.

Baekhyun hated the fact that Kyungsoo had the exact past with you and him. Three of you entered the department together, instead Kyungsoo went to another university to pursue his master, in the end he testified every moment between you and Baekhyun.

That’s why he was smiling since he learned you were going to be the other team leader.

Baekhyun was aware of the close relationship between you and Kyungsoo, one of his best friends.

Quickly Baekhyun led his team to the control point, close to your team. He was avoiding from this step, however as the leader, presenting his fucking team to your team was his responsibility. When they arrived, he took a deep breath.

“Good morning to all.” his blood started to boil when you turned to him with a displeased face expression. Your eyebrows were knitted, your fucking lips formed as a thick line, your dislike was palpable and Baekhyun knew his own face was mirroring your feelings. “I hope you are fine, could you let me present my team to you?”

Baekhyun wanted nothing but cut the shit off.

“Good morning.” you answered between your teeth. Your voice sounded extremely creepy. “Yeah, go for it.”

You do not make a favour to me, bloody woman, Baekhyun thought but he put all his efforts to control his words.

“My name is Byun Baekhyun, I am going to lead Sunkyungwan Team this year.” he looked at your team members, quickly memorized their faces. “I really look forward to work with you, I wish a good session for us. They are my members, Park Chanyeol, Doh Kyungsoo, Kim Jongin, Kim Danbi, Lee Taemin, Lee Donghae, Kim Jonghyun, Kim Kibum, Lee Seungjo, Kang Seulgi, Im Yoona, Kim Taeyeon and Kwon Yuri.”

“You are like a troop, huh?” one of your girls smiled after Baekhyun finished his presentation.

“More or less.” Baekhyun smiled back to her. What a surprise to him was the transformation of your face. You warmly smiled to the members and bowed to each of them.

Baekhyun raised his left eyebrow, but he could not avert his eyes from your smiling face.

It was pleasant like a spring day and when you smile your eyes were shining.

“Thank you.” he heard your voice. “My team is not big as yours, Park Shinhye, Kim Jongdae, Zhang Yixing, Oh Sehun, Kim Minseok and Song Hyesun.”

“You forget yourself.” Minseok slapped his forehead and rolled his eyes. “Indy is going to lead Sejong Team as she has been leading us for the last two years, you can put your faith on her, she is the greatest.”

“Indy?” Jongin repeated your nickname with a surprised face. “Are you foreigner?”

“Do I look like?” you laughed and prevented yourself from flinching his forehead. He was such a cute kid. “That’s how my team call me.”

“Ah.” Jongin blushed and you could not control yourself anymore.

“But if you want, you can also call me as Indy.” you grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Everything must be equal for the teams since we are going to live together during a whole summer.”

“I would like to.” Jongin bowed to you.

“So do we need to add sunbae when we call you?” Kyungsoo asked.

“Have you ever called me as a sunbae, Doh Kyungsoo?” you coldly replied. “Did Sunkyungwan change your behaviours?”

“Gardens of roses turn to garths of thorns in a second.” Kyungsoo murmured but he was smiling to you, then he opened his arms, catching you off guard because you knew that Kyungsoo was not a huge fan of hugs. “Will you salute me as a good friend, or will I start calling you as sunbae?”

“Shut the fuck up, Doh.” you inhaled, but actually you were happy to see your still-working-on friendship. You moved to hug him, he held you tightly and lifted you to the air, then turned around himself, made you laugh like a 5-year-old girl.

Baekhyun did not like what was happening before his eyes. Kyungsoo had to be with Baekhyun, not hugging you for his fucking dear life, or lifting and turning you around like you were very dear to him. He hated sharing his friends with you, he already lost Junmyeon, he wanted to keep Kyungsoo and Chanyeol to himself. You should be fucking away from them, they were Baekhyun’s and only Baekhyun’s friends.

And there was another fragile issue that Baekhyun had been keeping in the deepest point of his heart and mind, like the palace of Nyx in the darkest part of Tartarus. Extremely delicate, horrendous, and even atrocious.

Baekhyun was aware of a strange presence was lying down beneath his hatred, dislike and continuous loathe towards you, there was a layer of curiosity, something could feed different layers and causing an earthquake in his life. Baekhyun knew that you were his biggest rival, but you became his rival by your talents and intelligence. He knew this and this piece of realization doubled his hate towards you.

The funny part was the things he did not realize. Baekhyun was full of confidence, he was capable of performing even miracles, however he never perceive the fact that you were also a miracle.

“So, what we are going to do?” Chanyeol asked to everyone with a huge, happy smile. Baekhyun fended himself off moaning, happy virus Chanyeol already sensed the chance of levitating the mood between the teams and playing along with it. “Are we boarding?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” one of your boys, Sehun, came close to Chanyeol. Baekhyun and you immediately glared them, noticing the chemistry between these two. Both of you wished to keep the teams apart from each other in order to reduce the obliged interactions between the leaders, but it seemed not possible even from the beginning. Baekhyun was cursing between his lips, you were swearing at the executive board in your mind.

“Indy,” Shinhye whispered to you. “Are you okey? You look like wanting to kill one of us.”

“Not you.” you answered without thinking, then registered to your words. “Ignore me, Shinhye, I am a little bit tense right now.”

“We got your back.” she blinked at you and held Jongdae’s hand. “Let’s start the adventure!”

What an adventure, you thought but silently joined them. Kyungsoo also was walking next to you.

“Why the heck you went to Sunkyungwan?” you spilled the bean. “I always believed you would stay in Sejong.”

“Yeah, that was my intention.” Kyungsoo was plain as always. “However, Sunkyungwan gives me more opportunities to secure my career, Indy.”

“I know.” you had to admit. Sejong was not generous as Sunkyungwan. “Sorry for my selfish words.”

“No worries.” he beamed. “It happens all the time, but I am really happy to work with you again.”

“Old but gold days, huh?”

“Well, it was not purely gold,” Kyungsoo followed the flows and ebbs. “Do you remember when we were almost expelled from the university?”

“Is there a way to forget those days?” you immediately took a look on Baekhyun. It was his fault, obviously. “We were shitting in our pants instead of the one who put us in that situation.”

“Come on,” Kyungsoo chuckled. “It was not only his fault, Indy, our hands were also crimson red.”

“Let me recall the memory, Doh,” you pinched his hand, he playfully pushed your fingers. “Excuse me if I am wrong, however that scumbag was the one who challenged you to confiscate the coin, because of your involvement into the incident, I had no choice but dragging your ass out of shit.”

“They caught two of us in the crime field.” Kyungsoo burst into laughs. “Professor Lee went ballistic and scolded us like we just killed a person cold heartedly.”

“And you could not see the reason behind it?” You were cutting Kyungsoo’s body with your eyes. “If someone tries to steal a coin from the excavation house during the session, I will kill them for sure. We were so lucky, the one who caught us was Professor Lee.”

“I heard you are strictest when it comes to excavation.” Kyungsoo assured you. “But try to not kill us.”

“The only one I am going to take down,” you shivered with the memory, Kyungsoo was already regretful to remind it to you. Well, maybe not so much because he wanted you and Baekhyun to realize the potential relationship you could have, and the easiest way in order to put you two in touch was making you angry. “That bastard if he will behave like the old days. We are not children anymore.”

“Have you ever been a kid?”

“Fuck off, Kyungsoo.”

“You did not change even a bit, Indy.” Kyungsoo made his statement. Obviously, you were going to keep this to yourself, taking his silent approval made you were more than happy. “You are still a pain in the ass.”

“And you are still a good boy.” you grinned, watching his lips formed around silent laughs. “Such a cute puppy for me, let me see your wagging tail.”

“I am sorry to interrupt your flirting session,” Kyungsoo turned to Baekhyun’s deadpanned face. “However, we have to move.”

“When you come across to a pretty girl,” Kyungsoo did not miss the chance of returning the favour. “You have to flirt with her. Wasn’t it your advice?”

“Yeah.” Baekhyun looked at you, then turned to Kyungsoo.

You knew what was going to happen.

“He said pretty girls,” you tucked the words in Baekhyun’s mouth before he could open his fucking damn mouth. “To my dismay, I have never been pretty to correspond the standards of Byun Baekhyun the Magnificent. I am crying for the lack of beauty almost every night, I mean living without Byun Baekhyun’s interests… Such a misery.”

Kyungsoo bit his lower lip in order to hold his laugh, Baekhyun’s fists were clenching but you did not stop there.

"Ah I almost forget to ask for the name of that little village, Baekhyun.” you directly looked at his eyes since ages. “Where the girl you desperately wanted to bless with your attention left you? UN Village?”

You immediately spin on your tiptoes, then slipped towards to Sehun, leaving two of them behind of you, refusing to look at back. In the meantime, Baekhyun was throwing daggers to your back, grinding his teeth, his jaw was extremely tensed. Before Kyungsoo could stop him, he swiftly came to your side, you felt his breath on your neck.

You shivered.

You fucking shivered and Baekhyun noticed that.

“You are playing with the fire, as always.” he whispered to your ear before someone could notice what he was doing. “Did you forget who was burning with fire, baby girl?”

He quickly disappeared and started to make such a fuss in order to gather his team members around himself. You were frozen, after years, you were frozen, you missed the little smile on the corner of Baekhyun’s mouth.

You were on the verge of screaming because of the frustration you had felt. You forced yourself to proceed, walked into the plane, helped your team in order to set their belongings and place into their seats, then you retreated your own seat. It was comfortable and you could easily snatch a blanket. Your wish became true, even quicker than you expected because Sehun, your wonderful Sehun, already brought a soft blanket for you. You smiled at him, actually forgiving him for building bonds with Chanyeol since they changed their seats in order to sit next to each other and weaved your legs around the fabric.

Your brain was in autopilot, you were lost in the horrible memories. You did not want to recall them, you buried them into the cemetery of your memory. You wished nothing but never remember that day.

The day in that village.

Baekhyun was mad at himself.

His face was clouded, for the first time he was silent and sitting on the farthest seat in the plane. He really wanted to be alone, and since being vocal about his feeling was so natural for him, he told his need to the team. They willingly let him to do what he wanted, as a result, he was looking out of window, hell if a person could see something out of a plane’s window, and he was cursing himself.

He knew it was going to be a chess play. Between you and him.

It has been always like the chess.

There was a bond between you and Baekhyun, even thought you two always refused it, you also were aware of that bond. You equally hated each other and if there was a thing which could make you happier than seeing each other’s downfalls, that was the opportunity of being the one who digs the other’s grave by their hands.

He was sure on he was going to be the one who sets your body on fire, then finishes you. He was sure on he was going to be the victor, the one and only champion.

When he kills you, erases your name for all eternity, when he condemns you with demnatio memoriae, he will calmly breathe again.

You were a pain in the ass, even when you were not around of Baekhyun, you had a place in his mind since that fucking day he met you. Your presence was like a tree, how much he could try, he could neither find your roots in his mind nor cut them all.

You were his enemy; he was going to treat you as you deserved.

There would be no turning back.

But…

He was mad at himself.

He made a wrong move while he was trying to disturb you, shake your cage in order to give you a lesson.

He also remembered.

The day in that fucking village.

[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 15 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic

Title: Succession Chapter 15

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader, Salvatore Moreau

Rating: PG-13 for language

Summary: you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary.  While flying to collect you inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.

Author’s Note: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village.  This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter 15

You awoke with the urgent need to pee.  The room was pitch black, the fire in the hearth burning out hours ago.  You couldn’t see anything.  You were incredibly sleepy and could have very easily fallen back asleep, but the need to use the facilities outweighed your slumber.

Heisenberg spooned you, his arms wrapped tight around your body, holding you close. You smiled at the feel of his breath on the top of your head.  He was sleeping soundly and you knew he needed his sleep.  The feel of his naked body against yours was so comforting and you didn’t want to bother him, but you really had to go.

Trying hard not to wake him, you slowly started to pry his arms from around your body.  Heisenberg moaned and pulled you closer to him.  “Where do you think you’re going?” he murmured sleepily, nuzzling his nose in your hair.

“I have to pee,” you said.  His soft moan of disapproval made your heart clench.  He begrudgingly let you go and you sat up, moving your feet to the floor.  “Come back soon,” he whispered, rolling onto his back.  He slung one arm across his eyes as the other lay on his stomach.

You stood to your feet and blindly walked naked towards the door.  You knew there wasn’t any furniture between the bed and the door, but you wanted to make sure you didn’t run into anything.  The door was closed and you could hear the faint noises of the factory on the other side.  You held your hands out in front of you and made your way towards the noise.

You sucked in a pained gasp when your toe hit the edge of the kitchen area.  “Ow, fuck!!” you cried out, “fuck fuck fuck fuck!!”  You hopped on your uninjured foot as you grabbed your stubbed toe, whining and cursing.

“What was that?  What happened?” Heisenberg asked from the bed.

“I stubbed my fucking toe!” you whimpered, squeezing your toes in one hand with your other hand pressed to the counter top.  He was quiet for a moment before laughing.  “Shut up,” you grumbled at him.  You felt along the wall and found the door knob, opening it wide.

The lights from the hallway were a welcomed sight as you went into the bathroom.  You closed the door, locked it, and relieved yourself.  Flushing the toilet, you walked to the sink and washed your hands, looking at your reflection in the mirror.  Your hair was a mess.  You looked down at your hips and thighs and noticed a peppering of bruises and bite marks.  Your muscles were starting to feel sore and achy.  It made you smile.

In between naps and cuddles, you and Heisenberg had done nothing but stay in bed and fucked for the last several hours.  He was insatiable.  His hands and mouth had touched and explored every inch of your body.  You two had made each other cum over and over again.  Finally, after reaching a point of exhaustion, he pulled you to him and the both of you passed out.

You turned off the bathroom light and went back to the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.  With the little amount of light spilling in, you were able to find your way back to the bed.

You slid under the covers and into Heisenberg’s waiting arms.  “How’s your toe?” he asked, pulling you close and kissing your forehead.  You rested your head on his chest, placing your hand on his stomach.  “It’s fine,” you murmured.

“Sorry I laughed,” he said with a slight chuckle in his voice.  You growled softly and cuddled deeper into his arms.

*

When the two of you awoke in the morning, Heisenberg made breakfast...eggs and bacon again.  You poured yourself a mug of coffee from the small pot Heisenberg had on the back of the stove.  It wasn’t as good as the coffee you were used to from back home, but you cut him some slack...after all, you doubted the Duke had various flavors of coffee available to buy from his carriage.

Heisenberg found another chair in a room down the hall and pulled it into his quarters so that you and he could sit next to each other while eating.  After years of him living alone, he only needed one chair in his room.  But you were with him now and he wanted to make accommodations for you.

Heisenberg brought two plates to the table, setting one in front of you and the other for him.

“I thought you didn’t eat breakfast,” you asked as you picked up your fork.

“Usually I don’t,” he responded, “but as of late, I’ve worked up quite an appetite…”

You snorted and clamped your hand over your mouth to keep food from flying everywhere.  Heisenberg laughed as he chomped on a strip of bacon.

The two of you ate in silence, Heisenberg stealing glances at you from time to time.  He watched as you pulled one leg up to the chair and let the other hang over it.  He studied your eating habits as you went from a forkful of eggs to a strip of bacon and ending with a mouthful of coffee.  It had been a long time since he had someone share his living quarters…

He quickly shook those thoughts away.  It had been years since he last thought of them and he didn’t want to be reminded.

“So,” you said, pulling Heisenberg out of his thoughts, “I wanted to do something today…”

“Really?” he questioned, arching his brow, “and what might that be?”

You rolled your eyes.  “Knock it off, pervert,” you muttered, “I want to see Salvatore.”

“No fucking way,” Heisenberg said bluntly, lifting his mug of coffee to his mouth.

“I want to give him something,” you said, turning your body to face him, “the bracelet I got from the Duke...I want to give it to Salvatore.  To show him that everything is okay and that I’m not mad at him…”

Heisenberg shook his head, placing the mug down.  “Everything is not okay.  You could have died, Y/N.  If I wasn’t in the area and hadn’t heard your screams…”

“This isn’t up to you,” you said defiantly, “I want to go see him and I’ll go with or without you.”

Heisenberg laughed loudly, tossing his head back.  “Are you getting tough with me, pussycat?  You think I would let you go there alone after all I’ve told you about this place?  You know, I could go back to chaining you to my bed and locking the door…”

You met his amused eyes with a serious look.  “Please, Karl,” you implored, “we don’t have to stay long.  Come with me, let me give him the bracelet, and then we can leave…”  You put your hand on his arm, squeezing it slowly.  “I’ll make it up to you…”

He looked from your hand on his arm and up to your mischievous eyes.  “Anything, dollface?”

Your heart skipped a beat momentarily at his words.  Oh fuck, you thought, what depraved possibilities could be spinning in his head right now?  What have I gotten myself into?  But you swallowed your tongue and simply nodded.

“Fine,” he said, “we’ll go in an hour…”

*

The ramshackled building that Moreau lived in hovered yards ahead as you and Heisenberg walked closer.  The sun peeked out occasionally through thick clouds.  There was a brisk chill in the air as you shoved your hands in the pockets of the oversized coat you found in the plane wreckage.  You had spot cleaned it in Heisenberg’s tub the day before, scrubbing the slobber and blood that the lycans had gotten on it your first day in the village.

Heisenberg huffed under his breath as you reached the wooden door, slinging his large hammer around and propping it up against the wall.  “Smells like rotten fish,” he mumbled, “which means my brother is home…”

You shot him a glare.  “Do you think you could not be so rude to him?  He is your brother.”

“Not by blood,” Heisenberg shot back.  You shook your head as you pushed the door open.

“Salvatore?” you called out, “it’s Y/N and Heisenberg!  Are you here?!”

It was quiet for a moment.  You could hear the soft sloshing of the water in the reservoir.  A clock ticked by somewhere.  Birds flapped their wings and flew up towards the ceiling and in and out of small openings in the roof.

“Salvatore?” you called out again.

“MOREAU!” Heisenberg yelled loudly, making you jump out of your skin, “where the fuck are you???”

“Jesus,” you breathed, your hand at your chest, “you scared me to death!”  He simply shrugged as you heard shuffling from down a hallway.

“K-Karl?” Moreau called out, “...what are yo-you doing here?”  He turned the corner and saw the two of you standing there.  “Oh!  Y/N!  Oh ho, how are you??  I thought you were m-m-mad at me…”

You smiled and came forward, reaching both of your hands to him.  “No, Salvatore, I’m not mad!  It was just a crazy ordeal that got out of hand and I wanted to let you know...”

Moreau looked down at your outstretched hands and hesitantly lifted his.  He was very slow at placing his hands in yours for fear that you didn’t want him to touch you.  He was used to people over the years being afraid of him, calling him a freak, and picking on him.  It still felt recent, but it had been close to thirty years ago, when local children would see him walking through the village and pelt him with pebbles and rocks.  They would call him names, plug up their noses, and jeer at how much he stunk.  Unless he was beckoned by Mother Miranda, he stayed in the reservoir from then on out.  He would get his revenge a time or two when some of the bullies would jump in the water for a swim.  He would quietly slip under the surface of the water, turn into his huge, monstrous self, and rip them to shreds.  It was one of the few times he recalled ever being truly happy and justified.

You smiled at him and gave his hands a soft squeeze.  They were slimy and felt unusual, but you didn’t say anything; you would wash your hands later.  “I got something for you...just to let you know there aren’t any hard feelings…”  You released his hands and went for your jeans pocket, pulling out the carnelian bracelet.  “I got it from the Duke.  It’s a carnelian crystal.  It represents joy, friendship, and togetherness.  It made me think of you.”

Moreau looked down at the bracelet you extended towards him.  His eyes took in the red crystal.  His mouth opened and his jaw trembled.  “This...is fo-for me?  A present for me?” he asked.  You smiled and nodded.  A low sound that could only be described as the beginnings of weeping formed in his mouth.  You let it hang from your fingertips as Moreau closed his hand around it.  “Thank you,” he said happily, “oh, thank you, Y/N!  This is the best gi-gift I have ever gotten!”  He looked joyful and happy before his body began to jerk.  With a sudden loud gag, he turned away quickly and vomited green fluids on the floor.

“Ugh!” Heisenberg muttered under his breath.  You turned and shot him a warning glare.

“It’s okay, Salvatore,” you assured, turning back to him.

Moreau wiped his mouth with his other hand, looking at you.  “Sorry,” he apologized, “it happens sometimes…”

Heisenberg clapped his hands together once as if everything had corrected itself and they were all good to go.  “Well, brother,” he announced, “it’s always nice to see you.  Don’t be a stranger, don’t forget to write, you know...all that jazz…”

“Thank you, Heisenberg, for coming to visit,” Moreau said, “and thank you for bringing me the fish and cheeses last week.  They we-were very good…”

You slowly looked up at Heisenberg with an amused look, as if to say “oh, what a nice thing for you to do for your brother…”  He looked at you for a split second before turning away and mumbling “you’re welcome.”  You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips.  Heisenberg could try all he might, but there was goodness inside of him...he didn’t show it a lot, but it was there.

With a short grunt, he looked down at the floor to his left and found a scrap of metal that looked to have fallen from the ceiling.  He reached down and picked it up quickly, showing it to his brother.  “Yeah, well...I’m taking this!” Heisenberg announced, turning around and stomping out of the reservoir building.

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.  Turning back to Moreau, you bid him goodbye and promised that you would come see him again soon.

You jogged out of the building as Heisenberg grabbed his hammer and slung it over his shoulder, the metal scrap dragging behind him in the snow.

“How old are you again?” you quipped, walking with him up the path back towards the factory.

“Shut up…” he grumbled.