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aemondapologistfrfr · 27 days

Text

Command Me 2/2

knight!benji blackwood x strong!fem!reader

Part One

Summary: The following days after Brandon’s death your emotions are all over the place. You make a confession and a plea to Benji who will do anything to see you happy.

Warnings: 18+ mentions of death and murder, swearing, oral(f receiving), fingering, p in v, breeding kink, preg!reader for a bit but no birth scene, face riding, nipple play, smutty and sweet, time jumps bc i can, 2% angsty in the beginning

Authors Note: finishing up @chainsawsangel request, they deserve a happy ending fr

Word Count: 3.1k

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Two days after Brandon’s death

I sit in my chambers with Benji at my side and my mother in front of me silently talking to me. I nod my head not taking in any of her words as Jace eyes me from the hearth. Benji rests his hand on mine and I look down and smile up to him. I turn my head back to my mother as I feel a tear slip down my cheek.

“My sweet girl.” she coos pulling me into a hug. I don’t even know why I’m so emotional. I asked Benji to do this and I loathed Brandon. I’m just never good when it comes to dealing with The Stranger. My mother rocks me as I let my tears flow and I sniffle and sit back.

“The silent sisters said he’s ready to be buried.” Jace speaks up and I see him looking over me and Benji. “I don’t see why you insist on waiting and letting his body sit.”

“We all mourn in our own ways.” Benji says from my side.

“Mm, the ever faithful protector. Where were you when this happened then?” Jace walks over to the chairs.

“Outside of my chambers. He’s sworn to me.” I say through my teeth.

“That’s enough.” our mother stands. “His funeral will be held tomorrow and then we can begin to heal and move forward. Jace, come.” she nods her head along with her to the door.

I relax back into the couch curling up within myself as Benjis hand grabs mine. I sigh and pull my hand away wrapping it around my legs. My feelings are everywhere right now and everyone is expecting me to act a certain way and I’m just feeling overwhelmed.

“What’s wrong?” his words hushed as I turn to him and take in his furrowed brow.

“I think I need to be alone.” I nod my head to him and he offers me a sad smile before slipping out of my chambers.

I rush to my wardrobe and start sliding on my riding gear. I pull my boots on and I’m in the tunnels in an instant. I can’t stand to be in this castle a second longer. I race down the stairs and slip out the side of the Keep closest to the pits. From there I stitch my way through the city streets avoiding the guards. Relief pours through me as I start up the incline. I hear my dragons distinct rumbling and he’s coming up from the pits by the time I step foot in the dome.

“Let’s disappear for a while.” I hum patting his snout. I begin to mount and as I secure my last clip Benji runs through the doors.

“Princess wait, please,” he reaches up to me and my dragon jogs past him and shoots us into the sky.

We cast a shadow over the city and my dragon offers them a fearsome cry. We swoop low to the buildings and then glide over the Blackwater. He drags his claws into the water encasing us in a mist. The sun kisses my face and dries my tears as we continue further from the city. We loop back around and enter the Kings Wood through the back hoping to go unnoticed offering us a couple hours of reprieve.

My dragon starts a small fire for us before we curl around it. He brings his wing to canopy over me and I look up and admire his scales. I run my fingers against them as he chuffs and coos. We lay in silence and watch the sun start to dip under the trees. I feel a deep grumble come from my dragon and I’m on my feet in seconds. I quickly mount my dragon and we’re in the skies but not before I can see the hurt express across Benjis face. We land on the coast and the only sound is the waves crashing.

“I killed my husband.” I look up at the moon.

I kick off my boots and make quick work of the rest of my clothing. My dragon watches me curiously as I begin to step into the Bay. I dip my head under and swim out further. I hear my dragon offer low chuffs as I float near the sands.

“Get back on this shore.” Benjis voice is muffled by the water in my ears.

“No.” I sigh as I turn myself to float further away from the shore.

“Then I’m coming out there.” I hear him enter the Bay. His hand wraps around my arm and I look up to him. “What’s wrong, Princess?” he brushes my wet hair off of my face as I continue to float.

“I’m sullied, I’ve sullied you, I’m a liar, and I’ve killed my husband.” I sigh and dip my head beneath the waves. Benji pulls me up and starts to carry me back to shore as I hold onto him.

“You didn’t kill him, I did.” he sits us down on the sands.

“Why did you kill him?” my voice barely audible as I try not to shiver at the breeze against my skin.

“You asked me to.” his eyes slide to mine.

“Do you remember my wedding night?” I see him ball his fists. “You told me you would kill him in that very moment. Why did you want to?” I tilt my head studying him.

“I was mad and frustrated with him. He treated you so poorly and kicked you out of his chambers after. He knew-“ he shakes his head sighing. “He knew, as well as everyone else in that castle, that I wanted you, that I still want you. He would tease you in front of me like some toy I could never have, but you’re not a toy. You’re smart and fearless and a bit reckless. You are to be Queen and should be treated as such.” his eyes finally meet my watery ones and I sniffle pulling him towards me. I can’t contain the small gasps that leave my mouth at the cool touch of his metal armor on my bare body.

“I want to marry you, Benji. You take such good care of me.” I whisper as I burrow into his neck. His hands stay firmly on my waist as his fingers dig in.

“We can’t.” he shakes his head. “I’m a knight and your sworn protector.” his voice strained as I stretch to unclip his armor.

“You were a Lord before.” I hum lifting off his chest piece. “Lord Benjicot Blackwood of Raventree Hall. They call you Bloody Ben for all the accomplishments you achieved for my mother.” I take off his last piece while his fingers are still pressed firmly into my hips.

“Y/n,” his voice wrecked.

“Wed me, rule with me. Please Benji, I don’t want anyone else.” my hands start to pull up his shirt.

“People will talk.” he grunts as I start to unlace his trousers.

“Let them.” I kiss his neck. “Must I beg you to wed me?” I slip my hand beneath his trousers.

“You will never have to beg me for anything.” his lips crash into mine and his hands finally begin to roam upon my exposed skin. He lays me on my back and places kisses down my torso before dipping his head between my thighs.

“Benji,” I cry out as he offers me teasing licks. He chuckles against me before lashing at me with his tongue. My head falls back into the sand while whimpers cascade from my mouth. He holds me against his face as my legs begin to shake while coaxing pleasure from my body. I arch off the sand as the coil snaps and my legs close around him.

“Gods look at you in the moonlight.” he kisses up my body before capturing my lips. I gasp into his mouth as I feel his fingers slide through my sensitive core. He dips a finger in and chuckles against my mouth. He slips a second finger in and starts a slow lazy pace as I squirm beneath him.

“Do you like the way I make you feel?” he asks curling his fingers pulling a moan from me.

“Yes,” I mewl rocking my hips on his fingers.

“You look so beautiful like this.” he starts to push his finger into me faster and I can’t contain the sounds coming out of me. “Come for me, Princess.” he murmurs into my neck before sinking his teeth into me.

“Benji fuck,” I cling to him as I pulse around his ever moving fingers. “I need you in me, please,” my nails dig into his back.

“You really want to marry me?” his voice low as he kneels up to push down his trousers.

“I do,” I nod my head ignoring my ragged breathing.

“Do you want to have my children?” he slowly strokes himself and I open my legs wider for him.

“Yes, Benji please,” I reach out to him.

“I’m going to fill you until my seed is seeping out of you and I’ll keep fucking and filling you until you’re swollen.” my body shudders at his words as he spreads my thighs. His tip slides around my wetness before he pushes into me. He rolls his hips into me and moans begin falling from my mouth.

“So good, Benji fuck,” I whine as I feel my pleasure begin to wash through me. He leans down and kisses me fiercely as he pounds his hips into mine. I cling around him and I feel my stomach start to tighten. His thrusts get sloppier the more high pitched my whines are. He bursts inside me as my toes curl while I contract around him.

“Taking it all so well,” he rasps as he continues to push his hips into mine. He dips down and licks across my lips. I open my mouth letting his tongue coax small gasps and moans from me. “When these fill with milk I’ll be tempted not to even let you leave our chambers.” he chuckles rolling my nipples.

“Benji,” I move my hips and he pushes into me deeper. He shushes me as he continues to roll his hips into me. I writhe beneath him as he litters kisses and bites across my chest. I start to feel him harden the more he pumps into me. He brings a finger down to swirl against my bud and I come undone as he begins to start pushing into me.

“Squeezing me so good.” his fingers dig into my sides as he makes my hips meet his. I wrap my legs around his waist and cry out as his hips snap into me. I feel my high approaching again and Benjis thrusts become more erratic. As he starts to fill me again I come crying out his name. He pulls out and looks down with pleasure glazed eyes.

“Look at you dipping with my seed.” he slides two fingers around and starts pumping it back into me. My hips jerk at his touch as my legs shake.

“Benji,” my voice cracks as his tongue licks against my bud. “I’m gunna-“ a cry tears from my throat as I come again with my eyes rolling back.

“You’re perfect.” he hums laying down in the sand next to me.

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Six months after wedding

I walk down the main steps of the Keep with Benji hovering around me keeping both hands on me at all times. Once we make it to the bottom I huff and bat his hands away. I should’ve know that since he was overbearing as my sworn protector he would be so much worse as I’m carrying his child.

“You’re lucky I didn’t carry you down the stairs.” he says bringing a hand to my lower back and holding my arm with the other.

“Benji I’m not going to break.” I sigh. “I just want to go for a walk around the grounds.” I pout looking up at him.

“We are going for a walk.” he hums leading me out of the main doors.

“I don’t need your hands guiding my every step.” I try not to snap.

“I just want to help you and touch you. My beautiful wife.” he coos sliding a hand to my swollen bump. “Men need to know you’re mine.” his voice low.

“They know I’m yours, husband.” I look up to him and place my hand over his on my stomach.

“I still see the way men look at you. Makes me want to take you in front of them.” he dips down to my ear.

“Benji,” I breathe out.

“Spread these beautiful thighs of yours and lick you until you cry.” his arms pull me closer. “And then-“

“Benji, please,” I mewl feeling my wetness pool between my legs.

“Look at you all worked up.” he chuckles gazing down at me. “You wanted to go on a walk not come, so let’s go.” I follow after him with pink cheeks. I wrap my arm around his as he leads us through the gardens.

“What else would you do?” I whisper and he turns to me with a smirk.

“It might be too scandalous for the gardens.” his lips brush against my ear.

“Tell me.” I whine breathlessly.

“Let’s go back to our chambers.” I nod tugging him back to the main doors.

Once we’re sealed in our chambers he starts to unlace my dress before sliding it down my body. He groans kneading the tender flesh of my breasts. I let out soft whimpers as he ghosts across my nipples. He pulls the slip off of me and brings his hands to my bump while pressing his lips against mine. I pull up on his shirt and he pulls it off and is stepping out of his trousers a moment later. I sigh feeling his skin on mine and his hands caressing my body.

“Benji,” I whine against his lips as his fingers trail over my slit.

“Yes, Princess?” his fingers spread into my wetness and swirl over my sensitive bud.

“I’m gunna come,” I cling onto his arms getting lost in him.

“I just started touching you.” he chuckles speeding up his fingers.

“Benji please,” I whine as my body goes taught coming undone.

“Someone’s sensitive today.” he purrs backing me to the bed. “Sit on my face.” he lays out on the bed pulling me to him.

“I’ll suffocate you.” my cheeks heat.

“Then I’ll die happy. Let’s go.” he helps me straddle his face. He licks a long stripe up my center and my whole body trembles. My legs start to shake as I lean my head back letting the whimpers trickle out. I grind against his face as my pleasure starts to wash through me. He holds me closer as his tongue slips through my wetness before pushing into me.

“Benji, it’s too much I’m gunna-“ I squeeze my legs around his face as he laps up my release. His tongue continues to lick sending aftershocks through me. He helps me off of him and lays me next to him on my back.

“I just wanna keep making you come, my beautiful wife.” he kisses against my chest while trailing a hand down to my core. His tongue circles nipple and I squeeze my thighs shut before he can even reach my wetness. He chuckles against my nipple and I melt beneath him. He pulls his other hand up from my thighs and brings it to my neglected breast. He kneads into me softly as I mewl above him.

“Yes,” I pant breathlessly holding him against me. His teeth graze against my peak while his fingers roll my other and I come undone.

“I know you can give me more.” he purrs slipping his hand down to my core.

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Four years after wedding

I hold tightly to my daughter who’s clipped against me. My dragon soars through the clouds as she giggles wildly in my arms. Her baby dragon flies next to us crying out. I was absolutely terrified to bring her with on dragon back the first time but my dragon was calm and accommodating. As we land in the pits her dragon comes bounding in stumbling on his lengthy legs. We slide down off the side and I unclip her so she can run over to her dragon hugging him tightly.

“She may steal your title for youngest dragon rider.” Benji kisses me before pulling me into a hug.

“Her dragon has grown quite fast.” we look at our daughter playing with her dragon. “Did she show you which one she picked out?” I turn to him with a smile and he shakes his head no.

“Let’s go show daddy which egg you picked out for the babe.” I kneel down holding my arms out for her. She runs into my arms and I scoop her up.

We travel down the incline and turn into the hot room where they house the clutches. Our daughter wiggles out of my arms before grabbing Benjis hand and dragging him to the back wall.

“He’s gunna have this red one.” she lays her little palm on the egg.

“He?” Benji turns to me with a smile.

“She’s decided she’s having a brother.” I smile rubbing my bump.

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Just under five years after the wedding

“If the family tradition keeps up like this your grandchildren will come out on dragonback.” my mother chuckles next to me bouncing my son on her hip as we watch my daughter fly around the courtyard a couple moons shy of five.

“Did you hear that his is already spitting fire.” I sigh brushing his hair back.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.” she smiles to me. “I’m happy to see you content.”

“I am.” I smile as Benji scoops up our daughter before jogging over to us. My mother hands off my son to me before sweeping out of the courtyard.

“My perfect family.” he showers all of us with kisses before pulling us into a hug.

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

masterlist 🔌

i’ve been neglecting the His Wife mini series but this def got the ball rolling again for me

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @callsignwidow @gabriella-aesthetic @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @hueanhdang @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shin0n

#ben blackwood x reader #benji blackwood #benjicot x reader #benjicot blackwood #benji x reader #benjicot blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood smut #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #x reader smut #hotd x reader #x reader #x reader fic #x reader imagine

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thelonelyarchon · 9 months

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I rewatched “I want to eat your pancreas” (live action) movie and now the hormones and chemicals that makeup my brain and allow my body tofunction is thoroughly fucked up so I am in the mood for angsty hcs.

what if…

you were a terminally ill liyuean citizen given only one year to live by dr. baizhu and changsheng, and you are also zhongli’s assistant. assistant? well, more like closest confidant. hu tao specifically trained and hired you for this position knowing your skills and knowledge are almost on par with his. it was a perfect duo! and in less than 5 years, you’ve grown quite fond of one another. however, you were his silent admirer.

you loved the man. despite your illness, you’re surprised you were able to live thus far. and for years, you’ve noticed how melancholic the consultant looked whenever lantern rite comes around.

it didn’t take long for you to realize it was all because of one person: guizhong, the deceased goddess of dust.

you’ve suspected it for a while. you found out while he was asleep and in his relaxed state, his heart was unguarded and left for someone to know of who it holds dear. but oh you didn’t meant to! you were only meant to serve him tea… but you didn’t imagine you’d find yourself mourning with him.

not because you were sad for him, but because his heart belonged to someone dead and gone. you don’t want to be another burden now, do you?

so you distanced yourself, slowly. until such time nobody even noticed how the light in your eyes seemed to lose its bright glimmer, or how your once wide smiles grew impish and almost forced. or how your once radiant, pinkish skin lost its luster and bright glow.

and until such time, with how much you’ve distanced yourself, zhongli never noticed the lack of your presence in the funeral parlor.

zhongli would one day look at your desk with a strange look and knitted forehead. he’d be out and about to find the funeral director.

“director, hu tao, have you seen y/n? i… y/n’s absence lately is worrisome. have something happened that i didn’t know about?” he’d asked.

and like she was bathed in cold ice, hu tao failed to ignite the spunky fire within her—the usual look the consultant would see on his friend and boss—and that scared him.

“h-haven’t you heard? y/n’s… gone. fatui skirmishers ambushed a local tavern near luhua pool and unfortunately y/n was one of th…”

the ex-archon would not even let the young girl finish. what for? to allow himself to hear of yet another loss in his life?

in the end, you would be another name uttered whenever zhongli rests—when he is most vulnerable. your name uttered in solemn grieving, together with guizhong’s.

what a terrible friend you are, y/n. in the end, you’ve become a burden to him too.

a/n: i don’t know what i just wrote i’m going with the flow here. my eyes hurt fr crying so much :’(

#lily's random thoughts 🖋️₊˚⊹⋆#genshin angst fic #genshin men #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli x reader angst

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starogeorgina · 1 year

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Children of the dragon

Warnings: Incest, violence

Pairing: Aegon ii Targaryen × Targ oc

1.09

Beads of sweat drip down your back as you try to push the cries of a mother mourning her babe that plagued your dreams into the back of your mind. Two days have passed since you arrived at Dragonstone—two long days without hearing anything from Aegon, leaving you mentally exhausted while the strain of your due date creeping up on you was physically draining, although you would never complain out loud given the circumstances.

After holding a funeral for her stillborn daughter Visenya, Rhaenyra was crowned queen with the same crown that belonged to your late father.

Guilt bubbles in your chest as you cradle your bump, feeling the smooth velvet material beneath your fingers. The dark purple dress was a gift for Rhaenyra, made to fit her during the last term of pregnancy, but as she would no longer need it and you came without any clothes, she insisted you wear it along with her other gowns made to fit a swollen stomach.

You hold your head high while stepping up to the carved table in the shape of Westeros, engraved with its major cities, castles, and landmarks. The painted table was surrounded by the black council, consisting of your uncle Daemon, Corlys Velaryon and his wife Princess Rhaenys, Rhaenyra’s two oldest sons, Ser Erryk Cargyll and Ser Lorent Marbrand. Even with smaller numbers during this meeting as the other lords and bannermen weren’t in attendance, you found it intimidating to talk in front of them; you felt judged for who your lover, husband, mother, and grandsire were. While some tried to think of a way to prevent your brother from being crowned, it was suggested by Jacaerys to focus on the aftermath instead. As it was unlikely there would be any way to stop the inevitable.

Your mouth runs dry as you step forward to counter what Daemon had just said: during his assessment of the biggest risks, he had put your mother's sworn protector far too low down on the list. “Ser Criston Cole is no fool uncle, and he will have no boundaries. He will not hesitate to shed blood first, and because of this, I don’t believe it will take long for him to become my brother's hand.”

“And you’re sure of this?” Lord Corlys asks, “Aemond will make Ser Criston the hand of the king if he is crowned?”

“My guess is Aemond will keep my grandsire as hand of the king for a week at the longest to please our mother, but he will grow frustrated with his strategizing and replace him with Cole. Both hands will be a threat equally, but attack differently.”

“In what way?” The fierceness in Rhaenyra’s voice was almost scary.

“My grandsire will find alliance in any enemy you have ever made, while Cole will look for another approach, a deadlier one.” You glance at your nephews, not wanting to continue in front of them. What you wanted to say next would most definitely scare them, and that was not your intention.

“Luke go check on your brothers, Rhaena, and Baela. They should be in the nursery and attending their lessons,” Rhaenyra says softly.

When your nephew is out of earshot, you say, “The main difference is the target.” Daemon slams his fists against the table, giving you a fright. Gulping, you nervously continue. “My grandsire will aim to take out the biggest threat first, which is our queen, Rhaenyra. He won’t feed into Aemond’s desire for revenge, but Cole will. Their goal will be to tear the blacks apart; I believe the first act of war will be on the children.”

A roar of outrage fills the room as Rhaenys and Corlys both argue against such a horrid suggestion. You understood; they had both lost their children and desperately wanted to keep their grandchildren safe. Rhaenyra stares ahead blankly, looking lost in thought; it probably never occurred to her that her former best friend's children would try to kill her own. Surprisingly, it’s Daemon who steps in to defend you, “the princess has some insight on which we do not; perhaps we best let her speak freely.”

You give him a curt nod, thanking him without actually saying the words. “There is a fishing village below the Dragonmont, with men coming and going at all hours. All it takes is one man to slip undetected for blood to start spilling.”

“Who do you think Aemond and Ser Criston will target first?” Jacaerys asks.

“My daughters, Alyssa and Alina, then Prince Lucery. Aemond still believes he is owed a debt for losing his eye.” The room falls silent as fear sets in. Hoping to lighten the mood slightly, you change the subject. “As of now, the Greens only have one dragon, Vhagar. Truthfully, I’m unsure where my brother Daeron’s loyalties will be, but both he and his dragon Tessarion are currently in Oldtown. Dreamfyre is no threat, as my sweet sister Helena would never-” You stop talking when the slight pain in your back and lower abdomen begins to intensify. Rhaenyra immediately rushes to your side, but you try to dismiss her as she calls for the maester. “I am a fine sister, truly.”

“You need to rest.”

“I will do no such thing; I cannot rest while you plan a war that I’m partly to blame for.”

“Leave us,” Rhaenyra says, addressing everyone in the room. When the room is empty, she takes your hand in hers and says, “I know how lonely life in the keep can be. I understand why you turned to Aegon for comfort.”

“It’s more than that, Rhaenyra. I feel as if the gods themselves are looking down on us and giving us their blessing when I’m with him. I’ve always loved him; Aegon is the other half of me.”

Rhaenyra wipes away the tears rolling down your cheeks. Softly, she says, “Then it couldn’t possibly be wrong, dear girl.”

“I just never thought the consequences of our actions would be so dire.”

“You are not to blame for this war,” Rhaenyra says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You feel a sense of motherly love coming from her that you never felt was given from your own. “The greens would have usurped me regardless; the only ones to blame are Otto and Alicent. I swear to you now that no harm will come to you, Aegon, or Helena. And I will protect your children as if they were my own.”

“Thank you,” you sniff. It had already been discussed many times what should happen when Aegon eventually arrives on Dragonstone, as he did steal his own sister's crown. However, Rhaenyra understood the difficult position he was forced into, and as long as he bent the knee to her, he would be welcome among the blacks.

“Perhaps it won’t come to war.”

The hopefulness in her voice made you smile slightly. “Aemond is just as spiteful as he is proud. He’s going to stop at nothing to try and sit on the iron throne, but luckily for the people of Westeros, that’s not going to happen. We already have our queen.”

—

Frustrated, you rub at your eyes, trying to fully wake yourself up. On Rhaenyra’s orders, you were to rest for the remainder of the day, which you grudgingly agreed to.

A handmaiden filled you a bath with the finest-smelling oils, leaving your hair and body feeling extremely soft to the touch. It was supposed to help expecting mothers relax. Afterwards, you tried to sleep but kept tossing and turning. Something was nagging at you, but you couldn’t place the feeling. Sighing, you fluff your pillow before resting your head against it, trying to sleep.

“Do you ever have other dreams?”

“Yes, I had a vision of our nephew Jace dying.”

“I definitely don't want Aeron interacting with bastards.”

“Your fight with the Velaryon boys is not mine, and it's definitely not my children's.”

Letting out a gasp, you leap forward when you suddenly feel as if you’re falling from a great height. Your eyes are fixated on the sky above, and you observe clouds gathering in the distance through the small window. I'm in the sky, surrounded by clouds. The sun is shining down on me, and then it disappears. Your own words echo in your mind, and then the realization dawns on you. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. You had it wrong all along; it was never Jace you saw in your dreams; it was Luke.

You grab the gray long coat that was hanging over the back of a chair, using it to keep yourself decent since you didn’t have time to change from the thin nightdress you wore. Swinging the door open so suddenly, the knight who was posted outside it asked, “Where is Prince Lucery?”

“He’s gone to Storm's End as an envoy for the queen.”

“On dragon's back?”

The knight looks slightly concerned by your questioning but nods.

You start to run down the hallway as fast as your heavy body will allow, ignoring the knight calling after you. “Let my sister know I had to leave at once and that the children are in danger!”

“Princess! Princess!”

—

Somehow you managed to make it to Dallax without being detected; the last thing you needed was someone stopping you from leaving. If you had tried to explain your dream to your sister and uncle, they would have thought of you as mad. You didn’t know if they believed that some Targaryens saw visions in their dreams or not, and you didn’t have time to find out.

You searched the sky, hoping to spot your nephew before he reached Storm's End, but you feared you might have been too late. You weren’t sure what your dream meant other than that you needed to find him quickly. As if the gods were answering your silent prayer, you hear wings flapping in the distance. Dallax flies in the direction of the noise, and you spot Arrax below.

As you descend towards Lucerys, he looks up and screams, “He’s coming!”

You’re confused by what he means until a dark shadow clouds over you. Vhagar. Aemond shouts a slur of commands and insults in High Valyrian, but with the wind ringing in your ears, it was hard to fully understand. He was chasing the young prince on a dragon that was three times larger than Arrax, which was just a baby dragon in comparison. It was sickening. Aemond only turns his attention away from the young boy when he notices you. Vhagar swiftly changes direction and comes straight for you, jaws still open.

“May the mother have mercy on us all.”

A loud roar rips through the air as Sunfyre swipes at the older and much larger dragon. You catch a glimpse of Aegon with Aeron strapped to his chest, and panic sets in. Your precious son was caught up in this, and you couldn’t bear to lose him.

You were so caught up staring at Aegon and your son that you almost didn’t notice Aemond charging at Luke through the air again.

“Aemond no!” You scream as you watch Vhagar’s jaws about to close around Arrax, “Dracarys!” Dallax breathes fire in the direction of Aemond, your brother… your husband. There's no going back now. You could not undo what had been done. “Lucerys, go!”

Before Vhagar has a chance to attack you in return, Sunfyre claws at her face, causing the dragon to let out a roar that was so loud you were sure the people in King's Landing would have heard it. You watch helplessly as the two dragons claw and bite at each other. “Aemond stop!” You beg, knowing which dragon would win if this continued, “Please just stop-ahh!”

You scream as shooting pains travel between your lower back and pelvis. Through tear-hazed eyes, you watch as a third dragon joins the fighting. Lucerys never left. Despite both riders' best efforts, neither of them were a match for Aemond and Vhagar, whose full attention was now on you.

“Dracarys!”

You’re unsure of what happens next as it happens so fast, but you cry out in anguish as Dallax crashes into the sea, while above, Vhagar bites down on Arrax before turning her attention to Sunfyre.

#house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen x you #Aegon ii Targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #children of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x you #Aegon Targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen/oc #Aegon ii Targaryen x fem oc #Aegon ii x oc #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen x fem oc #Aegon Targaryen/oc #aegon targaryen x oc

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jklovesfandoms · 2 years

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Okay, so we all know about the (in my opinion, disgusting) theory that Noel is catfishing Mischa, right?

Have you considered, this theory/story that is my personal favorite? Even if I made it myself, lol.

Mischa Bachinski and Natalia Bolinska are two 10 year old best friends. Mischa Bachinski, a child raised by his single, sickly mother, Tamara, makes a promise to his mother who's been by his side, no matter what the world has thrown at her, that she will see him get married one day. That she will not die before she gets to watch her son have the most gorgeous wedding ceremony.

He makes a deal with his best friend since before diapers, Natalia Muruska Bolinska. They will marry each other, to make sure that Tamara at least gets that in her life. That she gets one glimmer of hope before joining her husband, and Talia's mother, in the afterlife.

Natalia Muruska Bolinska never knew her mother, and has been raised by her poor father, and by Tamara. She would do anything to make Tamara, who is essentially her own mother, happy before she passes.

They know they're too young to get married, but before the time they can, Tamara changes Mischa's birth certificate, and he gets adopted. Mischa and Talia never get married, and Talia, across the sea, keeps her best friend and fiance in the know about his mother's condition. And how it's getting worse and worse by the day.

On opposite sides of the world, the two best friends and lovers save as much money as possible, since they still have a chance to get complete a long time promise.

The day before Mischa is punished by joining the choir, Tamara Bachinski passes away in her sleep. Talia breaks the news, and Mischa weeps for the loss of his mother. It may be his adopted brother's (his cousin's, as he was told to say) birthday, but the communion wine he steals isn't just to celebrate a birthday. It's to mourn a mother that he will never embrace again, and a promise he will never keep.

The next day, he is punished, by joining the choir, and his teary eyes fall upon Noel Gruber. And Mischa's grief-filled brain is finally broken by a moment of love, love that he's only felt for one other before, his beloved Talia. So that's who he talks about, he introduces himself to the choir, and introduces Talia, as if she is standing next to him, and not preparing a funeral for the only mother figure she's ever had.

After a month of pining, and feeling guilty about sharing his love between two, Mischa messages his love, not only to check in on the Ukrainian girl, but also to inform her of his discovered feelings.

'My love, there is a boy in my choir, and I'm afraid of how he's making me feel'

It takes Talia a while to respond, but she does.

'How is he making you feel?'

Mischa pauses. How can he tell his fiance about him having the same emotions for a man he met barely over a month ago, and for her? He simply rips off the bandaid.

'I fear that I am in love with him, but I feel as though I barely know him '

'That's okay, my dear. Why do you fear love? You hold much of it in your heart, so why are you holding yourself back from showing it?'

Mischa pauses. His fiance has always made him stop and think, rather than rushing in like he's always wanted to. Talia makes him pause, just like his mother did.

'Because, my love, I am engaged to you, I am saving money to move back to Ukraine and marry you, in honor of Tamara'

'I know you are. But your heart is more than big enough to love two, so why are you stopping yourself from it? I give you permission to show care, and passion, my love. Even if you don't need it from me. You need it from yourself'

Mischa almost weeps, for Talia was right. He didn't just need permission from her, but he needed permission from himself. The tears pouring down his face, while he is collapsed in on himself, on the floor of one of the cleanest men's restrooms in the Saint Cassian Catholic High School, are all the permission he needs. But he checks, for he never wishes to hurt his best friend.

'So, are you okay with me pursuing love with him?'

He didn't realize that he had been crying for 5 minutes without responding to his fiance.

'I am fine with it under two conditions. One, what is the name of the man who has gripped my love's heart as much as I have? Two, what does that man look like?'

Mischa quickly replies

'His name is Noel Gruber, and he has the one of the most angelic face I've ever seen, besides yours, and my mother's, of course. Give me a moment, I may be able to find a picture of him.'

It doesn't take long for Mischa to find a picture of Noel on the school's website. Considering there's not that many programs, and the Chamber Choir only had one singing low voice before Mischa joined, it wasn't difficult. And as soon as he finds it, he's quickly sending it to his fiance.

'Mischa...'

'Yes?'

'This Noel, is almost more gorgeous and handsome than you are'

And his fiance would never be more right. Noel Gruber is HOT, and that was clear.

'I am very aware of that, my darling'

'I approve of him. If you'd like to invite him into our relationship, I'd fully support, and I would love to talk to him, at some point'

Mischa was shocked. His fiance approved! She allowed! She wanted to talk to his crush!

'Thank you my love, I shall keep you informed, no matter what happens. But it's getting late'

It was very late in Ukraine.

'Goodnight my love, I shall message you again, when the sun graces my eyes.'

He reacted with a heart, and shut off his phone. He slowly realizes that he's been crying on the floor of a bathroom, in a school he hates, in a country he hates, for the past 24 minutes. Slowly, Mischa lifts himself from the floor, opens the door of the stall, and sees his dark red, teary eyes, staring back at him. He stutters towards the sinks, splashing himself with the coldest water the faucet can muster, trying to cool the redness on his face. Mischa Bachinski, in his long 30 minutes in the bathroom, builds a plan.

The next day, after a night of isolation in his adopted "parents" basement, Mischa walks into the choir room with a mission, and a plan.

He arrives before most anyone else does. Father Marcus (or as Mischa calls him, behind his hearing aid, Father Bitch) hasn't arrived, due to his old age and slow movement. In fact, the only other people there are Constance and Ocean. Mischa quickly grabs a chair to sit backwards on, and waits impatiently for Noel to arrive.

Finally, the clicks of crutches start clacking down the hallway to the choir room, and Mischa hopes that Noel is following beside them. Mischa's hopes quickly become fulfilled, when the angel that is Noel Gruber opens the door for Ricky.

"Ugh, I can't believe that I can't do that history project on France! It's picking a country and summarizing their history! I know French history!" Noel complains.

Mischa knows that project, due to having history much earlier in the day. He'll write about Ukraine, and how much Canada has destroyed his country.

"Noel! Angel, I am so sorry that you can't write about France. You'd write so beautifully"

Noel, was visibly shocked. The 'Ukrainian Badboy' who talked about nothing outside of how much he hated being here, and his fiance in Ukraine, was talking to him in a way that Noel has never heard before.

"Thank you, Mischa?"

Noel is extremely confused by Mischa's odd behavior. And Mischa is almost hurt by the questioning in Noel's voice.

Before either can even think of another thought, Father Marcus comes through the door, and forces the choir to start. Mischa continues trying to show his affection to Noel, despite often talking about his beloved fiance. Noel continues to be confused, and scared that Mischa is cheating on his fiance by the near aggressive flirting. Several months go by, and Talia gets many various messages from an increasingly frustrated Mischa.

'My love, I am approaching the third month of trying to capture Noel's attention, but I am not getting any closer! What am I doing wrong?'

In Ukraine, something finally clicks for Natalia.

'My darling, do you still mention me to the choir, and call me your fiance?'

'Why of course I do! You are my fiance, and one of the loves of my life! How could I not talk about you?'

And the final puzzle piece was placed.

'Have you told Noel that he is welcome to our relationship? That I am very fine, and happy that my beloved has more than enough love for multiple people? Perhaps he believes you are trying to cheat on me with him, so he feels uncomfortable acknowledging your attempts?'

And in Uranium City, Saskatchewan, Canada, a finished puzzle set is dumped onto a certain Ukrainian.

'oh. I don't think I did. That.... Would make sense'

'I figured something like that was happening.'

'I must inform him, thank you my love'

And out in Kiev, Ukraine, a young woman named Natalia, is smiling at the innocence that her fiance still holds.

The very next day, at the Saint Cassian Chamber Choir practice, Mischa pulls Noel outside during one of the short breaks that Father Marcus only gives to give himself a break from hearing.

"Noel, I'd like to apologize for the way I have been acting over the last 3 months. It was... Inappropriate, to say the least. I owe you an explanation."

Noel was shocked, finally Mischa would explain his weird behavior over the past several months of choir, and just in time for spring break of junior year.

"Yes! Thank you, I've been needing an explanation from you! You can't use me to cheat on your fiance!"

Mischa looks near ashamed at the mention.

"Speaking of my fiance, Talia. I have been asking her for advice over the last several months, and she gave me permission to ask you this."

Noel looks very nervous for the question he's about to be asked, and Mischa looks even more nervous to ask it.

"Noel Gruber, since the day I have set eyes on you, I felt emotions that I have only felt for one other before. I have asked that one, and she wishes for happiness and love to be spread, so will you allow me to take all the pain from your soul, and in the passion factory of my heart, transform it into functional joy, by becoming my boyfriend?"

"Mischa Bachinski.... Who knew you were such a romantic? I'd love to be your boyfriend! But I'd like to talk to your fiance. Make sure that she's okay with it still?"

Mischa is nearly overjoyed, leaping into a hug that looks as aggressive as a wild bear, but for Noel, is as sweet and soft as a teddy bear.

"Of course! Of course! Talia has been begging to meet you! Oh she's going to be overjoyed!"

Father Marcus forced apart their sweet moment, by calling the choir back together, but no one noticed the two boys in the back, holding hands with each other.

Anyways, that was very long, thank you for reading, lmao. (this was originally supposed to be like 5-10 sentences.... I think I went overboard) anyways, hope you enjoyed, and watch ride the cyclone!

#ride the cyclone #rtc #ride the cyclone musical #mischa rtc #mischa bachinski #mischa x noel #nischa #noel rtc #noel gruber #natalia muruska bolinska #talia rtc #mischa has two hands

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mitskiluvr · 1 year

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Im gonna be so honest i think dazai is fr dead like he is dying and the ADA is gonna mourn and have the most devastating funeral for him ever and it’s gonna affect the real living world for like a month

#do you remember when avengers endgame came out and everyone screamed over tony stark dying #yeah no this is gonna be 10 times worse #bsd spoilers #bsd season 5 #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #it’s soukokover #soukoku #dazai osamu #skk #it’s bungover

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intriq · 1 year

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Midnight

warnings: mentions blood, death, little bit of fighting, depression, mentions of guns/getting shot, etc etc NO USE OF Y/N

Part 2 of Little Moon

Part 1, part 2, part 3

Word Count: 5.7k words

Authors discussion n shizzle:

Hi y’all sorry this took so long to do. But it’s here and I’m happy and it’s long as FUCK.

Like it’s twice as long as part 1, and it’s so bad everyone voted I break this up into a 3rd part so like, yea

I’m publishing this while the 2 yr old I’m babysitting is down fr his nap so like woooo

I’d like to thank my beta readers n co owners of Little Moon for reading this shit (I’m sorry if u cried): my bestie aka @deaths-favorite-star , terra, Apollo (Taylor swift and bat brat versions), bri, and lilac

mostly cus without them this wouldn’t even be possible/done lol

let’s get on w this shall we? Hope you all enjoy <3

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

Months have passed since your death.

In those months the children of Bruce Wayne, whether adopted or biological, grieve. All of them mourned you.

There are seldom times your grave is without fresh flowers or some sort of visitor, who either sits in silence or just talks to the headstone in a conversation that they know they’ll never get your input on again.

Your bedroom is in the same state of familiarity, too.

On some days, Alfred has to force Bruce to get out of bed or to even come home.

No one looks at Alfred quite the same anymore, but no one looks at Alfred with the same disgust as Alfred’s own reflection.

✧✿✧

Since the funeral, family dinners went from being twice a week, to just once.

And then they went to once a month, with Alfred having to just watch as the number of people who attended them dwindled, before eventually they came to a total stop.

✧✿✧

Today is another day of distant and silent mourning, as Alfred stands in his room, looking through pictures of you and Bruce as children.

Down the hallway as Alfred looks at a picture of you on your seventh (7th) birthday, he hears Cassandra softly crying down the hall in your bedroom.

During your birthday that year, when you’d turned seven (7) years old, Alfred remembers how the only thing you’d asked for was a cake. Specifically, you requested that he let you help him bake your birthday cake.

Alfred can’t help but smile, even just slightly, as he remembers how big of a mess you’d made when you had attempted to dump the entire bag of flour into the mixing bowl.

He also can’t help but remember that after a long day of celebrating your birthday, it was the first night since you’d come to live with him and Bruce that you hadn’t woken up once because of a nightmare.

✧✿✧

Alfred had been in Bruce’s study when the news came.

A tray of food in hand, he’d been begging Bruce to eat something. Anything, even if it was just a piece of toast that he hadn’t prepared himself.

“Master Bruce, you haven’t eaten in the past few days. Please, take at least one bite.”

Bruce only raises his head, dark circles under his eyes as he just blankly stares at him. An almost soulless look, one that gives a hollow feeling of emptiness.

Across the desk in Bruce’s study are papers, books, various gadgets in states of disrepair or in the middle of being made, as well as schematics for them that have the occasional ring-shaped coffee stain on them.

“Not now, Alfred. I have things to do,” Is Bruce’s only reply, a hoarse and exhausted sounding tone held within his words.

Alfred’s coming words of protest are silenced by the sounds of an alarm going off. Not too loud but neither too quiet, but just enough to make Alfred go silent.

NEW HUNTER DETECTED

That’s what the screen on Bruce’s computer read.

Various screens pop up on Bruce’s computer, each showing feed from different CCTV cameras of a person moving through Gotham and killing vampires in their wake.

The videos in question had been saved from numerous different days in the past few weeks, all adding up together once there was enough saved to trigger the algorithm that Tim had made. Specifically, it was designed to use the cameras around Gotham to track and keep note of Vampire Hunters and vampire attacks. Made solely to help prevent someone else from suffering the same fate you did.

All to prevent them from having to lose someone else.

Bruce and Alfred watch as the videos play, watching as the new hunter the algorithm had detected took out various vampires across the city of Gotham. But what made Bruce rub the drowsiness from his eyes as he leans forward, peering closer at the numerous video feeds was not because of how they looked.

No, it was because of how they moved.

The way they moved was eerily familiar. The way they moved with such precision that only got better and better with each new video feed that grew to be more recent was what had Bruce holding his breath.

While they had kept you from knowing the world of Vampire Hunting most of your life, they hadn’t let you be completely defenseless.

Which was why it was so eerie to see that the way this person was moving, was by using moves he’d only ever taught you. It was unmistakable, really. Bruce had grown up with you, knew most of the little habits you had. He knew you better than he knew himself sometimes.

Bruce is unsure if he wants to let himself grow delusional about whether or not it was who he thought it was. Should he? Could he? Was it even worth the pain it’d bring by opening up old wounds, to bring back the choking hold of grief?

Bruce can feel Alfred staring at him, because he gets that same feeling of familiarity. But it should be impossible. It couldn’t be possible.

But was it? Could it be?

Alfred sets the tray of food down on Bruce’s desk, taking the opportunity to clean up some of its disorganized mess. But it’s only because he doesn’t want to let his mind wander like Bruce’s is. He already lets it wander far enough when he looks through photo albums and when he sees his face reflected off the tea he drinks in the morning, in the mirror, off the windows, and on the screen of Bruce’s computer.

Bruce doesn’t even acknowledge the tray of food Alfred leaves on his desk, only getting up after receiving a notification on the screen that the new hunter was spotted again. Bruce already felt the idea of who it could be creeping into his mind and clinging there, leaving him wondering. Wanting to know. Needing to know, to get his question answered.

“I’ll be out for a while.”

“Will I expect you back for dinner today, Master Bruce?”

Alfred is only met with silence as Bruce grabs what he needs and heads out the door. Which gives him his answer.

“At least come back unscathed, Master Bruce. I don’t think they want you to join them just yet.”

“Don’t act like you know what they would’ve wanted, Alfred.”

Alfred goes quiet again. He understands, after all. He knows Bruce is still hurting, just like the others are. Alfred was the last person to see you alive, and was the only one there when you drew your last breath. They resent him for that.

But they also can’t look at him the same after knowing that it was because of him that you drew in that last gasp of air, held in his arms in that cold, dirty alley whilst the sun rose in the distance.

What makes it worse was just how often you used to like watching the sun rise. It was often when the others finally returned from their patrols, having spent all night hunting down vampires to make Gotham even just a little safer.

And every time, you’d be there, waiting for them. You’d welcome them home, tend to their injuries, and if they had a particularly rough night you’d even make them something, though it was usually some sort of baked dessert, like cake or cookies. And even though Bruce had a disdain for anything overly sweet, he’d still eat whatever cake you’d baked for him, even if it was so sweet it made him feel nauseous.

But no matter how much of a disdain Bruce had for sweet foods in general, he never could quite turn them down when you made them. You always had a smile with comforting words to follow, all to mask just how truly worried about him you were. Bruce knew that you always wanted, deep down, for him to stop being a vampire hunter. But you knew he couldn’t nor wouldn’t stop, so you always kept quiet about it.

If you weren’t so worried, if Bruce did anything to ease your worries, would you have let him know that you wanted to be walked home that night? He’d seen the unsent text message. Tim showed it to him. It’d been easy for Tim to find, with how unprotected your phone was from hackers and the like. You had deleted the message, and Bruce knew why.

It was because you felt guilty about even thinking of asking for his help. You knew how busy he was saving Gotham from vampires, which meant you could never work up the courage to ask him. He’d already helped you so many times before, and you barely could do anything to help him. Would things be different, Bruce thinks, if he’d texted you to make sure you got home safe instead of focusing on his patrol? Would you still be here, alive and well? Would you be here, saying goodbye to him as he heads out, telling him to stay safe?

Bruce forces the thoughts to shake free from his head as he swiftly departs, not allowing himself to turn around, knowing only that his heart would ache when he doesn’t see you there waiting for him. It’s always hurt, because the first few days he’d always mistakenly hear you calling out for him, sometimes even thinks he’d see you in the corner of his eye.

But whenever he’d turn and look, you weren’t there, and Bruce remembers.

✧✿✧

It takes a few minutes for Bruce to track down the new vampire hunter who’d somehow been able to avoid making Tim’s detection system go off, as it should have alerted Bruce to their presence months ago. The night is cold since autumn is right around the corner, and it reminds Bruce of just how cold that night was when you’d been brought to Wayne manor.

Bruce reminds himself to focus as he follows the new vampire hunter, who moves through Gotham as if they know the place by heart. Which almost seems odd to know every part of Gotham, when they’d only been detected less than six months ago. It’s odd, because the system has only had a record of their existence from that time frame. The program couldn’t even pick up data from normal Gotham citizens from before that to link it back to them.

It was odd.

So, so incredibly odd. Almost an off-putting, eerie kind. The type you get when you walk down the street at night and suddenly don’t feel alone, like you shouldn’t be there.

Bruce has this odd, eerie feeling for almost fifteen minutes before he realizes. The world’s greatest detective, they say, and it took him fifteen minutes of following this new vampire hunter to realize they were leading him in a circle. That they knew they were being followed.

When Bruce realizes he’s been following the new vampire hunter blindly for fifteen minutes in that same circle, the vampire hunter seems to know, too.

“Took you long enough to notice, Batman. You're getting awfully slow.”

Why does that voice sound so familiar?

Why does Bruce feel like he’s heard it somewhere before? And why is the familiarity hurting him?

Bruce leaps down from the rooftop he rests upon, landing on the street beside them. That feeling that screams in Bruce’s head that he knows who this vampire hunter is, who they are underneath the mask, is hideously strong. Almost sickeningly so.

But who is it?

Bruce narrowly avoids the punch the vampire hunter has swinging his way when he snaps out of his thoughts. Getting distracted and in a daze when confronting someone isn’t smart, he knows that. He taught Dick and Jason never to lose focus in a fight.

But yet here he is, losing focus.

Jason would probably find it ironic if he were here right now.

“Focus, Batman. Isn’t that what you taught those boys of yours?”

Behind Bruce’s mask, his face is scrunched up in confusion. Contorted as he continues to try and avoid getting hit, because he hates just how easy it is for him to lose focus because of just one thought.

But yet, even despite how familiar these moves are- which are the only reasons he’s able to avoid them even at the last possible moment- there’s something that bothers him, something that he realizes. The vampire hunter who is fighting him, attacking him, isn’t doing it with the purpose most others would.

It’s almost like it’s some sort of warning, as they change the trajectory of their moves to only hit the most non-vital points. Areas where it won’t do anything but leave a nasty bruise.

Which is odd, considering Bruce now realizes after a particular glint in the fluorescent lighting of the street lights that line the roads of Gotham, when the mask of the vampire hunter before him slips just enough when Bruce finally strikes back is that there are fangs.

Fangs.

The vampire hunter right in front of Bruce, the one that has managed to evade program that Tim spent weeks coding, the same vampire hunter that is refusing to strike Bruce anywhere vital as if some sign of guilt, is a vampire.

A vampire, hunting down and killing other vampires. Killing them. In a most brutal fashion, too, based on what Bruce and Alfred saw in the collected video files.

Why is a vampire, a creature that exists to attack and feed off of humans, trying to avoid hurting him?

Why?

Bruce can’t make sense of it. He can’t. There is virtually no reason for any vampire in Gotham, in the entirety of this world, that they would be trying to not hurt him.

Most vampires attempt to kill him on sight. So why isn’t this one? Why is it acting so… odd?

Bruce twists around the outstretched, reaching arm of the vampire hunter as they move in a pattern that Bruce is quickly learning. They never differ or change the pattern, no matter how often Bruce is able to evade their attacks. And with that open window of opportunity, he takes the chance to collect a sample of their DNA.

Some blood, to be specific.

The vampire… hunter lets out some sort of noise of pain. Not quite a shriek, nor a yelp, but just a noise. And just as soon as they started attacking Bruce, they are trying to flee.

And before Bruce can attempt to stop them, they are gone.

But that’s fine, because Bruce has what he came for. A blood sample.

Enough for Bruce to test, to compare to others in the database to see who they are.

Because that is the question lingering on his mind. Who is it? Just who is this new vampire hunter that has been able to leave a growing pile of bodies in their wake in just mere months?

✧✿✧

Bruce doesn’t waste a moment, ignoring Alfred’s pleas to let him look over and treat his injuries, as minor as they are. Just a few bruises that will heal.

He doesn’t waste a moment in immediately getting to work on finding out who that vampire is. Who the vampire hunting down and killing other vampires is, who they are underneath that mask.

After loading the sample into the batcomputer, he waits. Sitting there with so much impatience, so eager to find out who it is. It’s almost suffocating just how badly he wants it to just finish already, to just show him the results.

Alfred takes the opportunity, though, to place another tray full of food in front of Bruce. Because it’s now been a few days since Bruce last ate, and the only thing he’s done is keep himself hydrated.

Bruce attempts to protest, but he relents at the painful gnawing in his stomach. No longer able to keep himself sufficiently distracted to not notice just how hungry he is. But all he does is take small, slow bites, watching the progress the batcomputer is making on the sample.

He eats so slowly that by the time the sample is eighty [80] percent analyzed, the food has grown cold. So cold that it makes Bruce not want to eat anymore, even if he’s barely even touched any of the food. But Alfred is happy anyway, because he’s happy that Bruce has something in his stomach.

Even if it’s not a whole lot.

✧✿✧

When Bruce saw the results, his mouth went dry. His chest felt like an unrelenting void, filled with a crashing tidal wave. The creeping feeling that fills him is just as terrifying.

Alfred had to practically pry Bruce away from the batcomputer, as he mumbles nothing but words about how the results had to be wrong.

How there was no possible way that the blood sample belonged to and came from just who the batcomputer said it did.

So now here everyone was, called here by Alfred. Stated to be an absolute and utter emergency, and that excuses would not be tolerated. It was absolutely mandatory, and emergencies were to be ignored because this was the emergency.

Jason didn’t want to be here. Dick didn’t want to be here.

None of them wanted to be here. Not in the same home they’d ‘grown up’ in, that now held nothing but bitter reminders of a certain death. The death of someone they viewed as a child, a sibling, a parent. A role model.

You. Your death.

But yet here they are. Unable to avoid it, because it was an order. An order that it was an emergency, and no one could turn away when someone raises the alarm about something being an emergency.

When everyone arrives, Bruce is already seated in his office. He almost seems emotionless, like there isn’t even an ounce of life behind his eyes as he simply stares ahead, blankly.

He doesn’t even react when they all close the door behind themselves, his eyes only moving up once Dick stands in front of him.

“Why were we called here, Bruce?”

Dick’s voice sounds tired. But that’s because he is tired. He’s so, so tired of grieving. Of mourning you. Of feeling like that total and utter failure that he knows he is because he got lazy on one stupid patrol.

He’s tired of feeling like this. Feeling like he’s stuck in a deep pit of sadness and guilt, sadness because you died. Guilt because you died when he wasn’t looking hard enough. But yet, there’s also anger.

Anger at himself.

But Bruce doesn’t have the energy to answer Dick’s question, so Alfred does the talking. He shows the videos, also shows Bruce’s encounter with the vampire hunter. Everyone doesn’t quite understand just why there was an emergency meeting being called over a vampire hunter. Sure, it was alarming they were a vampire but that wasn’t cause for an emergency.

That is, until Alfred shows the results from the batcomputer. Results of who the DNA belongs to.

And while some seem surprised, some in a state of utter shock, others just feel.. Numb. Like there was nothing they could feel besides the ever consuming pit of nothingness in their chest.

But everyone is in disbelief, just as Bruce was. Is, more like.

The results showed a one-hundred [100] percent match for the last person they expected. The last person they even wanted to believe it could be.

You.

You, who was supposed to be dead. Buried six [6] feet under the ground in the cemetery on the grounds of the Wayne manor.

Dick wants to feel sick. Jason, too. Damian feels his stomach lurching as well, but he doesn’t let it show. He refuses to.

They all don’t want to believe the results are true, just as Bruce did. Because it should be simply impossible, right? They all made sure you were dead before burying you.

“But that’s impossible. We made sure. Alfred-... He…” The words choke and die in Tim’s throat. But everyone knows what he means. How could they not?

Alfred made sure, because he was the one who dealt the killing blow.

Those are the words that go unspoken. The truth, as disgusting and heavy as it is.

But is it the truth? Did Alfred actually deal the killing blow?

And the truth is, they hadn’t double checked. So lost in their grief over your bloody body that Alfred brought back to the manor they hadn’t even bothered to check and make sure that Alfred had actually shot you in the heart.

They had just assumed he had.

“Alfred… You.. You checked, right?”

Dick’s voice is shaky, as ragged and rushed as his breathing. He feels like he already knows the answer, but god does he want to be wrong.

But the way Alfred clenches his jaw and his eyes focus on that abandoned tray of food from much earlier, food long since grown cold, gives Dick his answer.

“Bruce? You checked, right?”

Tim is the one to ask this time. Because surely, there is no way that Bruce didn’t check and confirm for himself. He’s thorough, he always is. There isn’t any realm of possibility that Bruce didn’t check… Right?

Right?

When Bruce doesn’t answer, there’s a look of disbelief on just about everyone's faces. Bruce Wayne, the ever thorough and the world’s ‘greatest detective’, renowned vampire hunter Batman, didn’t double check that you were dead?

“You checked, right?”

“No. I didn’t.”

And now everyone is left with the horrifying, dawning realization of just one thing. A simple thought that is horrifying to picture, to imagine. To even now be known as a reality.

They’d practically buried you alive.

Everyone quickly dispersed after that. No one could stand to be in the same room as each other, because even though they know they rightfully have no right to blame one another, even though they could blame themselves, it’s all they think about.

You were alive. Alive.

All this time you’d been alive while they mourned you. While Dick blamed himself, while Damian blamed Dick for the reason you were no longer present.

Damian feels sick to his stomach at just how angry he was at Dick in the past. Of the things he’d said to him, blaming him for your death. When you weren’t even dead.

Jason can feel nauseating guilt creeping in his chest, too. Ripping open a swallowing, fathomless pit. He’d screamed at Alfred. Been angry with him, caused him so much pain. Alfred hadn’t even killed you, and he’d been so angry at Alfred.

But the sudden appearance of the vampire hunter is making sense. It coincides with your death, somewhat. With the recovery period a vampire would need to recover from a wound like the one you’d taken.

But it makes so, so much sense.

✧✿✧

Six months ago is when Cass was out tracking a vampire. Well, more-so a large nest of them. One that held connections in various cities, dangerous and leaving an endless, bloody wake of victims.

Perhaps it was because of the grief clouding her mind, that thought of how this group could be the ones responsible. The one responsible for your death.

So she got sloppy. Just a little bit. Enough to make a small error that she normally wouldn’t make.

Cass hadn’t taken the time she usually did to make sure she was sure of just how many vampires actually lived in that nest before she charged into it to take out the vampires that resided there. The information hadn’t been totally accurate, it’d missed a few vampires. So she’d been quickly overrun, out of supplies with not even enough bullets to last her.

But just as Cass thinks she’s going to die for her margin of error, as she decides to resign to her fate because hey, it means she’ll get to see you again, the vampires that are about to kill her are dead.

And there’s a figure standing over their bloody remains that seems oddly familiar to Cass. But she can’t quite place it. At least, she couldn’t then.

“I thought you were taught better than this. This is a stupid mistake, even for you.”

Before Cass can ask the obvious question that’s scratching at the back of her mind, the figure is gone just as quick as they appeared. Leaving nothing evident of their presence, besides the dead vampires.

✧✿✧

They’d all been in some sort of predicament caused by their overwhelming grief that meant they’d needed someone to save their ass. And you had. You’d been there to rescue them from their mistakes every single time.

You’d saved Cass from death, been there to save Jason during the few times he’d been distracted [even if all he’d glimpsed of you was your retreating silhouette], and so much more.

But why had you never shown yourself to them? Why had you let them wallow in their own self pity and grief over your death, when you hadn’t even died?

Perhaps there was an answer to this question they didn’t yet have.

But it was no matter. They had time to get the answer they so desperately wanted. They had a means to find you the next time you appeared, all they had to do was wait.

✧✿✧

And wait they did.

It took almost a week before you appeared again, presumably to lay low for a while after that encounter with Bruce. As if it would stop them from figuring out the truth.

They’d even checked your grave. And god, were they horrified to find that it was empty, just as they’d feared.

But yes, when you’d appeared again after lying low for a week, Jason was the one sent to go talk to you. You’d always had a soft spot for him, after all.

So in his Red Hood gear, he approaches you. He wasn’t even sure if he should be surprised that you seemed to know he was there the moment he’d landed on that same rooftop as you.

But maybe he should, since he knows neither Bruce nor Alfred gave you any training to be a vampire hunter. They wanted you to stay as far away as possible from it, after all.

But perhaps that distance is why you’d never stood a chance the night you’d been attacked. Maybe it was the lack of making sure you were prepared to face the threats that lie in the very shadows they hunted in.

Jason sees your moments from fleeing from the way you visibly tense up and flinch when he steps closer to you, so he stops. He entirely freezes, because the last thing he wants is for you to disappear again.

“We know it’s you,” Is all Jason calls out, paired with your name instead of the nickname he’d always refer to you by. A parental nickname, something similar to the way children call their parents Mom or Dad, but entirely different and unique to you.

Jason watches the way you seem to think, still frozen in a stance that says you're seconds from fleeing, that him making the wrong choice is all it takes for you to disappear. But this time it’d be Jason’s fault that you're gone, not Dick’s.

“We aren’t mad, I promise.”

Bad thing to start off with, Jason. Now you’ll think they all were mad.

“What I meant to say is… We all miss you. When you died- thought you died, we didn’t know what to do.”

Jason is practically grasping at straws. He can see his words aren’t reaching you in the way he is hoping, wanting them to. He’s never been good at the comforting stuff, never been good at talking someone down. Not like Alfred is, not like Dick is. Not like Barbara, too.

What would they even say to you?

Jason feels lost, because just why did they send him to talk to you, instead of anyone else?

Well, not sending Alfred is understandable. He’d been the one to shoot you, and Jason knows that he wouldn’t want to see the Joker again, to be the one to talk to him. But what about Dick and Barbara? What would they do?

Jason doesn’t even know if attempting to continue to comfort you is worth it, especially not when it doesn’t even seem to be working.

“Why?”

Those words slip past Jason before he can even get a chance to stop himself. But it’s a question he really, really wants an answer to. Well, not just want. He needs to know. He needs to know why you’ve let them all sit and rot inside their grief and despair, even as understandable as it may be for Alfred because even he understands that seeing the person who killed you is not easy.

Well, not that Alfred even killed you. Almost killed you, which Jason understands. The Joker had almost killed him then, too. Instead he’d lived because some weird ‘miracle’ left him being some freak of nature, a half human but not entirely vampiric person.

Like some curse.

“I was supposed to be dead.”

“I get that.”

“Plus.. I’m a vampire, Jason. I’m a danger to you guys. What if.. What if I lose control? Like I did that night?”

He knows what you're talking about. The night you’d attacked Bruce before… Alfred shot you. Jason remembers hearing about it from a very heartbroken Bruce, although the heartbreak wasn’t easy to see on the surface. But Jason had known. So had everyone else.

After all, they’d all been pretty much trained and raised by Bruce. They knew what he was feeling- most of the time. Though they couldn’t see it as easy as Alfred did.

“We could’ve found ways around it that didn’t mean you totally avoided us,” Jason says those last words with more bitterness than he should’ve. He knows he has no right to be angry, doesn’t even deserve to be. But he can’t help it, not with how he can only rethink on just how he’d treated Alfred because of it.

“Because of that we treated Alfred-” He cuts himself off, not wanting to spew those words out. Doesn’t even want them to fall past his lips. But it’s far too late, judging by the way your eyes narrow and your head practically snaps toward him.

“What did you all do?”

The venom in your voice when you hear those words is unmistakable. Sure, you wouldn’t be able to look at Alfred the same because he’d been the one to shoot you, but you still understood why he had.

You were a vampire. Something dangerous, and he was doing what needed to be done.

Before Jason can even try to backpedal he’s already spewing to you how everyone’s treated Alfred since you’d ‘died’. Everything. Including how he’d screamed at Alfred after hearing what your last words were from him, down to him destroying his room, Bruce’s new attitude, everything.

“Why would you all do that?” You’d hissed almost immediately after he’d finished telling that tale. Disbelief is just about the only thing you feel, along with those other bitter emotions you were currently feeling.

“He killed- we thought he’d killed you, and we just.. We were angry! Because he took you away from us!”

When had you even marched over to him? Was it while he was speaking those venomous words about how Alfred had killed you, taken you from them? Or was it sooner?

Was he blinded by his own emotions to even notice?

Nevertheless, you're pretty much right in his face, and while Jason is expecting you to scream at him, maybe even yell, raise your voice somewhat, you don’t. Perhaps it’s worse that you sound calm.

“Alfred did what he needed to, what he had to.”

“But you were our family!”

“I do not deserve special treatment because I helped raise you all. Not because I was the person Bruce viewed as a little sibling, and the person Alfred viewed as his own child.”

“But-”

You silence him by raising a hand up, your eyes squeezed shut in the way it does when you’d had headaches in the past, pinching the bridge of your nose between your index finger and thumb.

“Tell me, Jason, would any of you have been able to do it then, hmm? Do you know how hard it was for Alfred to even point the gun at me without his hands shaking? Without crying? Would either of you have been able to pull the trigger instead of Alfred?”

Jason stays silent, and when you open your eyes to glare at him, demanding an answer like those times you’d interrogated him after he’d been stupid and nearly gotten himself killed on those patrols back when he was younger, back when he was just Robin and training under Bruce’s watch.

And he only shakes his head.

“But I promise I’ll be back.. Someday, I don’t know when. Don’t know if it’ll be soon, or if it’s not for years ahead. But I can promise that, okay?”

You really didn’t know just what else to say, honestly. You already had plans for what your coming moves were, for your motives. You knew Jason was wondering that just by glancing at him, even if you couldn’t see his face behind his helmet.

“And if you want, you can try to help me, if it’ll make you.. I don’t freaking know, feel better, I guess?”

“How?”

“You’ll see. It’ll be an answer to my motives and why I’ve been so secretive I guess. I’ll tell you how you can help me later.”

Jason wants to say something, but he doesn’t know if he should even be surprised you already know what it is he wants to say. “Oh, and don’t tell anyone I’m letting you help me. That part stays a secret, got it?”

Jason only nods in reply, and with that, you’ve disappeared from Jason’s sight, leaving him alone on that rooftop to think through his thoughts. And of your words, of course. To muddle them over, to debate whether or not he even accepts the notion of helping you.

With keeping it secret being the price he pays.

❉ ╧╧╧╧ ✿ ╧╧╧╧ ❉

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flowers-of-io · 4 months

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Fic Rec Friday #2

Provenir

by @allteacher

Read on Ao3

Esila, and stories, and consequences.

Rating: Gen | Word count: 2,043

Warnings: Canonical Character Death

Sometimes she forgets she is still growing. She has been aging faster, after they left the Distributary, but compared to humanity the pace is still glacially slow. Here she is, child and woman, wise and famed and impatient and young. Esila is carried over the crowd of Awoken, those that have fed on her stories for centuries, and becomes their voice once again. She already loves this place as much as she loves her people, and that is exhilarating and frightening.

This week’s fic rec is one of the first works of Allteacher’s that I read. Maybe I’m so soft about it because it’s a story about a storyteller, about a girl and then a woman and then a legend; about how a writer looks at the world in wonder and fishes out the crumbs that then become tales. A teacher-child with ink-stained hands, Distributary-ancient but not overburdened by wisdom. And oh the prose is so ethereal and Dreaming City-esque, I mean—“glacially slow”!!!!! I’m absorbing the language through my pores!!!!

The fighting grows worse, and Esila turns inward from a perfect world towards a more perfect one. She is older now, old enough to explore without a babysitter, though with the Theodicy War her mother seldom lets her past the garden gate. So she makes her own path out of the gates, writes her way down the old hunt-paths long ago abandoned in favor of richer prey. She learns to walk where she could not go before: under the Crystalline Lakes, into the jewel-caves of the Andalayas. The stars become a carpet and she buries her face in them when the funeral barges throw up smoke. Here she does not need to think of politics and debts and death. Here she can dream of the stars.

I remember reading this paragraph for the first time and having such a vivid image in my mind. “Writes her way down the old hunt-paths long ago abandoned in favor of richer prey”!!

Here she is: dual-ringed, two-sided, spinning stories to close the divide between her people. She cannot heal the wound, but she has spent centuries learning, growing, teaching. She can show her people how to look elsewhere, how to reach outwards.

On the last day Esila sits in the Hull and tells her mother she loves her until the connection severs. In that last frantic second she promises her mother she will write. The last thing she hears from her mother is a laugh, a promise to write back.

This is also a story about a mother and a daughter—and isn’t it interesting how Esila, the famous historian and storyteller, whose life and death was a tale in itself, is being titled “Esila, daughter of Sila”? It’s her bond with her mother that defines her, and it’s handled so beautifully in this fic.

During their journey, Esila sits by the window in the common room and writes every fable, every story, every legend she was ever told. She asks the others for the stories they were read as children, records them, marks the differences that show between tellings. When her hand cramps too badly to write she takes the quiet moments to mourn for her mother, who will outlive her. She thinks of her home, the day they left, the day they were almost shot out of the sky. Esila hopes her mother feels her daughter, alive, in her joints. She hopes her mother will not feel her die.

Oh another thing I love is the little namedrops of characters mentioned in the lore like, once. I had to look up Owome on Ishtar, and maybe that’s just me, but I find it incredibly satisfying when I have to google a name mentioned in a fic and find they’re actually a canon character. Fr his could be an entry in The Dreaming City lorebook.

Esila daughter of Sila grows and ages slowly but is still so young, so lighthearted. On the second solstice Azirim comes to her and lies and she knows it but he reminds her of one of the first stories she ever wrote, about a Corsair who shot a man with her bow and traveled the Distributary doing good in an attempt to repent. She is not Sanguine, but she adores a tale of redemption.

She agrees to listen. She will die for it. This is history in action: the consequences of her mercy.

History in action… A tale of redemption... The consequences of her mercy… Delightful, delightful.

#izzy's bookshelf #fic tag #fic rec #allteacher #awoken #esila

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lotus-pear · 7 months

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Say something fun bc I just found out one of my favorite skk authors deleted all her ao3 works and went off the grid and I need to heal 💔💔

I NEVER GOT TO FINISH THE LATEST FIC AND IM SAD

(also wow, u dropped some irl info on our latest asks sessions?!?! girl got a pet fr 💪💪)

see i would but one of my dearest mutuals just deactivated their blog so i'm in mourning rn......we can attend both their funerals together bbg that sounds awful💔

#also i dropped info???? pray tell #lotus’s asks

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 6 days

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18th September >> Fr. Martin's Reflections/Homilies on Today's Mass Readings for Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time (Inc. Luke 7:31-35): ‘Wisdom has been proved right by all her children’.

Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA) Luke 7:31-35 'We played the pipes, and you wouldn't dance'.

Jesus said to the people: ‘What description can I find for the men of this generation? What are they like? They are like children shouting to one another while they sit in the market-place:

‘“We played the pipes for you, and you wouldn’t dance; we sang dirges, and you wouldn’t cry.”

‘For John the Baptist comes, not eating bread, not drinking wine, and you say, “He is possessed.” The Son of Man comes, eating and drinking, and you say, “Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.” Yet Wisdom has been proved right by all her children.’

Gospel (USA) Luke 7:31-35 We played the flute for you, but you did not dance. We sang a dirge, but you did not weep.

Jesus said to the crowds: “To what shall I compare the people of this generation? What are they like? They are like children who sit in the marketplace and call to one another,

‘We played the flute for you, but you did not dance. We sang a dirge, but you did not weep.’

For John the Baptist came neither eating food nor drinking wine, and you said, ‘He is possessed by a demon.’ The Son of Man came eating and drinking and you said, ‘Look, he is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’ But wisdom is vindicated by all her children.”

Reflections (7)

(i) Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

In today’s first reading, Paul declares, ‘When I was a child, I used to talk like a child, and think like a child, and argue like a child, but now I am a man, all childish ways are put behind me’. In the gospel reading, Jesus gives us a portrait of children talking and behaving as children. They are playing children’s games in the market place, imagining themselves to be playing the pipes at a celebratory event, like a wedding, and to be singing dirges at a mournful event, like a funeral. Yet, some children simply don’t want to join in these games; they are equally unmoved by both the imaginary pipe playing and dirge singing of the other children. Jesus is reminded of how unmoved the people of his generation have been by the somewhat sombre ministry of John the Baptist and his own much more joyful ministry. They labelled John as ‘possessed’ and Jesus as a ‘glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners’. In Paul’s wonderful portrait of love in the first reading, he declares that love ‘does not take offence, and is not resentful’. Many of Jesus’ contemporaries took offence at and resented the very different ministries of John the Baptist and Jesus. They lacked the quality of love towards John and Jesus that Paul describes in the first reading. This quality of love is a more than human love. It is what Paul calls elsewhere the fruit of the Spirit. It is the outward expression of God’s love that has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit. If we open our hearts to the Spirit, we will come to see others with the eyes of love, the eyes of the Lord. We will recognize the ways God is at work in people’s lives, rather than dismissing them with the kind of cheap labels that Jesus’ contemporaries used for himself and John the Baptist.

And/Or

(ii) Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

The gospels suggest that Jesus was very observant of day to day life around him. His powers of observation come through especially in the parables he spoke. The image of the sower sowing seed, of the wealthy man with two very different sons, of the traveller who fell among robbers, are all draw from his own experience of day to day life. Jesus was not only observant of life, but he recognized that all of life speaks to us of God’s relationship with us and of ours with God. This morning’s gospel reading suggests that Jesus was very observant of children, and of children’s play in particular. Even the play of children in the market place spoke to Jesus about how people respond to God’s call and presence. Jesus saw the children who play at being pipers for other children to dance and who play at singing dirges for other children to cry as images of his own ministry and of the ministry of John the Baptist. Jesus identifies readily with the children’s acting out of the role of the piper who invites people to dance. It is interesting to think of Jesus as a piper and of his ministry as a tune, and of ourselves as invited to dance to the tune that Jesus plays. Jesus’ life plays the music of God and we are invited to move to that music. Jesus is God’s musician, and our calling is to listen to God’s music that is played through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, and to allow that music to move and shape us.

And/Or

(iii) Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Jesus uses a very striking image in that gospel reading to describe the reaction of the people of his generation to his ministry and that of John the Baptist. They are like children who refuse to dance when other children in the playground play the pipes; they are also like children refuse to cry when other children in the playground sing dirges. Jesus identifies himself with the children who play the pipes and John with the children who sing dirges. It is striking that Jesus speaks of himself in terms of children who play pipes for other children to dance. It is interesting to think of Jesus as a piper who plays a tune that invites people to dance to it. In a sense, that is what we are about as followers of Jesus. We are people who dance to Jesus’ tune. We often use that phrase of dancing to someone’s tune in our day to day conversation. The gospel reading suggests that as followers of Jesus we are people who try to attune ourselves to his rhythm, to his music, and then, having done so, to try and move in time with his music. In other words we are to allow the music that Jesus plays by his life, death and resurrection, the song that he sings, to shape our lives. That particular image suggests that attentive and ongoing listening is very important in our relationship with the Lord, because we can only move to music that we listen attentively to, and that, in some sense, has become part of us. Mary was an attentive listener to the Lord’s word, and she, more than anyone, is the person whose life is in tune with the song, with the music, of Jesus. Her own song, the Magnificat, is very much in keeping with the song of Jesus, the message and the life of Jesus. She is our model and our inspiration as we try to live in tune with Jesus’ song.

And/Or

(iv) Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

The gospels suggest that Jesus had a wonderful relationship with children. He welcomed them when his own disciples were trying to keep them away from him. He pointed to them as the disciples’ teachers because of their openness to God’s presence. He identified with them completely, declaring that, in receiving such children, people are receiving him. This morning’s gospel reading suggests that Jesus was very observant of children’s play in the market place. The refusal of some children to join in the other children’s games reminded him of the refusal of his contemporaries to take seriously either himself or John the Baptist. If the children’s funeral games reminded Jesus of the ministry of John, their dancing games reminded him of his own ministry. It is interesting to think of Jesus as a piper who plays a tune for us to dance to. Jesus is the music of God. To follow him is to allow his music, the music of God, to enter deep into our hearts, souls and minds so that our whole lives move to its rhythm. The music played by the life, death and resurrection of Jesus is not a dirge that evokes tears. It is joyous music because it proclaims the favour of God towards all. It calls forth joyful dancing, the dance of the Spirit. As followers of the Lord, we carry a joyful song in our heart, even in dark times, because we appreciate how greatly we have been graced. Our calling is to allow something of the music of God that Jesus plays to move our lives and to touch the lives of all whom we meet.

And/Or

(v) Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Music is something we all appreciate. We may have different tastes in music, but we are all drawn to some kind of music. In our parish reading group we once read a book entitled ‘Life after Life’. It is the prison memoirs of Paddy Armstrong, one of the four wrongly convicted for the bombings in Guilford, London, in the mid-1970s. I was struck by how in his darkest days in prison, music lifted his heart and his spirits, the music of bands like Pink Floyd. Listening through his head phones in a prison cell momentarily brought him into another world. In this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus uses the language of music to speak of his own ministry and the ministry of John the Baptist. He compares the Baptist’s ministry to children in the market place singing dirges, playing at funerals, and he compares his own ministry to children in the market place playing pipes, as at a wedding or some other celebratory event. There was a sombre character to the ministry of John the Baptist which was absent from Jesus’ ministry and there was a joyful, celebratory character to Jesus’ ministry which was absent from the Baptist’s. Jesus declares that neither the sombre music of John’s ministry or the joyful music of his own ministry moved many of his contemporaries. They dismissed John as possessed and Jesus as a glutton and drunkard. Jesus played the music of God in a way no one else has ever done. The risen Lord continues to play the music of God through the Holy Spirit today. We try to become more and more attuned to that music of the Spirit, so that its melody feeds our spirit and its rhythm shapes how we live.

And/Or

(vi) Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Today’s first reading speaks of ‘the Church of the living God’ as ‘God’s family’. Within this family of faith, we look to God as our Father, to Mary as our Mother, and to Jesus as our brother and, also, as our Lord who, according to our reading, was ‘taken up in glory’ but is also ‘made visible in the flesh’. Within any good family, children have a special place. There is a recognition that they need the support and guidance of parents and guardians. There is often a recognition also that children have much to give to other members of the family, as well as much to receive from them. Jesus was very aware that we all have much to receive and learn from children. He declared on one occasion that we can only enter the kingdom of God if we receive it like a child, with the same openness and trusting spirit of the child. Today’s gospel reading suggests that Jesus was a keen observer of children at play. He saw in their play a pattern that helped him to interpret how his ministry and the ministry of John the Baptist was being received by others. One group of children in the market square play at being musicians at a wedding but the second group of children won’t join in their game, refusing to dance. Then the first group play at singing dirges at a funeral but the second group of children wouldn’t join in their game by crying. It reminded Jesus of how many of his contemporaries were equally indifferent to his own joyful ministry and to the more sombre ministry of John the Baptist, claiming Jesus was just a glutton and drunkard and John was possessed. It is easy to label people we find challenging or disturbing in some way. It is a convenient way of keeping them at a distance. Yet, as Jesus suggests at the end of the gospel reading, the Wisdom of God can often be speaking powerfully to us through those we are inclined to dismiss. Like the son who was asked to go into the vineyard by his father in one of Jesus’ parables, we often need to reconsider our initial ‘no’ to some call that comes to us.

And/Or

(vii) Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Jesus seems to have been a keen observer of human interaction, including that of children. In the gospel reading, he gives us an image of children in the market square talking and behaving as children. They are playing children’s games, imagining themselves to be playing the pipes at a celebration of some kind, like a wedding, and to be singing dirges, as at a funeral. Yet, some of children’s friends simply don’t want to play either wedding or funeral games; they refused to be moved either by the imaginary playing of pipes or the singing of dirges. When Jesus saw this, he was reminded of how the people of his generation refused to be moved either by the somewhat sombre ministry of John the Baptist or his own much more joyful ministry. They labelled John as ‘possessed’ and Jesus as a ‘glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners’. Many of Jesus’ contemporaries took offence at both John the Baptist and Jesus and resented their ministries. It is interesting that Jesus identifies his ministry with the children pretending to play the pipes. We don’t often think of Jesus as a piper calling on people to dance to his tune. Perhaps we could image the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of the risen Jesus, playing a tune deep within us, calling out to us to move in harmony with that tune, to live lives that give expression to the tune the Spirit is playing deep in our hearts. That tune of the Spirit is a love song, the song of God’s deep love for us, revealed in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. Our lives are to reflect that love song of the Spirit being played deep within us.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

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dulcewrites · 1 year

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Seeing Jaehaerys little casket and his face being the only thing showed is so saddening. I feel like Otto purposely left his face out in the open cause normally they cover the face. I was kinda surprised that Helaena was in there at the funeral(I know it’s her son so it’s expected she’d show up ), but if I remember she became extremely depressed to the point she didn’t leave her room. So I wonder if after the funeral thats when she’ll retreat t her room and hardly leave.

I also wanna know where Tom and Ewan were, some say that’ll be in the back on horseback and that their filming the closes up on different days or up in the air on their dragons.

Helaena and her children deserves so much better 😭. As much as I hate it Otto making Jaehaerys funeral into something public and showing the body was a smart. He’s Fr the Kris Jenner of Westeros. I know alot of people hate team green but not me, I find them so more interesting then team black.

Also seeing this dumbass tweet 😭.

I’m just glad the costume are better then last season 🙏🏽.

I think the funeral will happen almost immediately after and probably trigger more sadness for Helaena tbh :(. Like she’s gonna be riding around staring at her dead son.

Though I do want to see what Aegon and Aemond (more Aegon) are doing during this, I wouldn’t be surprised if they just have the girls do this. Especially with the whole Helaena and Alicent were beloved by smallfolk angle. I hope they do put the focus on Helaena bc I feel like whenever people talk about b&c, she ends up getting lost in the shuffle despite it literally being ‘her story’. They focus on who the father is 🙄, or some other angle that doesn’t highlight how much pain this caused Helaena. Very excited to see how phia (and Tom with aegon) play this

That tweet makes me laugh bc like 1. Out of all the people, why would anyone assume it was Alicent’s idea. She was gagged, tied up, and had to watch her grandson die and her daughter’s will to live break. She’s allowed to mourn. There’s nothing humiliating about an atrocity that’s been done TO THEM. Then 2. even if Alicent does end up being the one to wanted a public funeral, aren’t these the same people who said they’d like show Alicent more if she was like her book counterpart??? More cunning and ruthless 🤔🤔. Funny how they truly can’t stand when the narrative highlights team green in a positive/sympathetic way. Also this just proves how the women on team green despite clearly being less culpable and the bleeding hearts of the tg, get more hate than the team green men (and the men on the show as a whole) who actually do bad shit. Like they bypassed otto, the person who has been scheming since ep 1, and went straight for Alicent. It’s transparent

Plus… Rhaenys literally wore an identical mourning veil when laena died. And if I remember correctly, multiple women during laena’s funeral did. Was that dramatic too?? Or is that idea only for the big bad Alicent who can never do right lmao

#asks and requests #hotd spoilers #anti team black #<- for those who don’t want to see the rants #hotd talk

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spookymoonz · 1 year

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Sorry I haven't posted in a while, I had to do my Beauty and the Beast show. But anyway, here's a random headcanon dump for an idea I had.

They gave Melody a tamagochi bro fr.

-Holy Crap, you already know Melody is gonna love it with all her heart. Possibly even more than her friends.

-She names him Captain Sprinkles, cuz why not?

-She takes him around everywhere and just shows off everything he does to everyone.

Melody: Felix! Look what Captain Sprinkles did!

Felix: Why are you showing me Captain Sprinkles taking a shit?

-Andy's the one who got her the thing and he's starting to regret it.

-If she can't take care of him, she usually make Claus do it.

Melody: Claus, can you take care of Captain Sprinkles please?

Claus: Why do I always have to do it? Why can't Felix?

Melody: Do you really think Felix can keep him alive?

Claus: Fair point.

-Melody went as far as to make Claus Captain Sprinkles' Godfather. That's how much she loves this thing.

-Now when Captain Sprinkles DIES. That's when things really get interesting.

-Andy's just chillin when he hears Melody scream "NOOOOO!!" and then start crying. Then rushes over and:

Andy: Melody! What happened?! What's wrong?!

Melody sobbing: CAPTAIN SPRINKLES IS DEAD!!!

Andy: ...

-Girl hosted an entire funeral for a toy.

-She made everyone wear fancy black clothes and played those sad songs you usually see in memes.

-She wrote an entire speech and didn't even make it half way without bursting into tears on the altar.

-Everyone tried to act sad and sympathetic, but they were all either just... didn't care, or they were laughing on the inside. *Cough cough* FELIX- *Cough cough*

-They all felt bad for Melody, cuz they don't like seeing her sad obviously, but still-

-Melody ended up actually burying the tamagochi, and she made a weird little thing to lower it into the hole.

-She was sobbing her eyes out during the burial, and everyone had different reactions.

Margaret: Thinks this is stupid, but still tries to awkwardly comfort Melody.

Claus: Just... Stares at this all happening.

Andy: "Bro, I spent money on that-"

Felix: Desperately struggling to not laugh. (He ended up excusing himself from the funeral multiple times)

-After the burial, Melody asked Captain Sprinkles' Godfather to say a few words.

-Bro came up with the awkwardest speech ever. (Felix ended up recording it)

-Andy and Margaret were just... trying not to laugh.

-Poor Claus was just... So embarrassed.

-Like imagine, being the Godfather to a toy and then having to speak it's funeral.

-Melody thought it was beautiful.

-Peter just coming to haunt Andy again and then sees him at a funeral for a Tamagochi.

-He ended up just watching from behind. Just like, sitting there and eating popcorn.

-After the funeral, Melody spent a day mourning in her room.

-Then ended up building a little altar for him. She put a sailboat on top to honor her little Captain. (God, why am I crying now?)

#andys apple farm #andys apple farm headcanons #andy the apple #felix the fish #margaret the mole #claus the clock #melody the moon #peter the pumpkin #shitpost

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belit0 · 1 year

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This is what I’m talking about.

My Chemical Romance- Kill All Your Friends/Itachi

It’s the “you can sleep in a coffin but the past ain’t through with you” line that got me. Poor guy.

Okay but the fact i fucking love how this turned out, fr.

I think it's kind of obvious i have a special type of love for crazy Akatuski! Shisui, but yeah, I just love inserting him everywhere when it comes to Itachi🤣❤️‍🩹

ALSO THIS IS SUCH A GOOD SONG FOR HIM¿¿¿ LOL

He died.

Itachi watched him fall, listened to his words, tried to stop him, felt the water at the end of the cliff fly in all directions as his best friend's body finally hit the surface. He spent days, years, mourning his death, thinking of a million ways he could have prevented it and drowning in sorrow, pain.

Hell, he even got the fucking Mangekyō for it.

"Well, you can hide a lot about yourself, but honey, what are you gonna do?" Shisui, the other half of his soul, his person in the world, the death he grieved for so long, towers over him. He speaks with a smile and a bandaged eye, wearing a unique black robe with red clouds.

The place is dark, without much vision or resources to guide him towards understanding, but his eyes do not detach from that marvelous figure he misses so much. Itachi is always ready for ambushes, any surprise attack, but he remembers thinking about how the person who took him knew every move, every skill he could use against him.

Nothing makes sense, and it is that very reason that led him to let his guard down. His best friend was always superior, his master in many ways, having the facility to catch him off guard.

If there is someone who can break through all his barriers without alerting his senses, it is the one Uchiha who teached him everything he knows.

"And you can sleep in a coffin, but the past ain't through with you." He approaches, crouching down in front of his face and moving the hair that rains in his eyes. He treats him as gently as ever, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't jumped into that river years ago.

"We are all a bunch of liars, tell me, baby, who do you wanna be?" What happened in between? How did he survive it? The resolve he had when he let himself fall is something Itachi's mind never managed to forget, the guilt he always felt for finding himself unable to stop it, Shisui standing firm in his conviction to die.

How could that be? How did he get his other eye back?

How is he alive?

"And we are all about to sell it, 'cause it's tragic with a capital T, but let it be." He stands again, and doesn't bother to untie the rope that restrains every part of his body. Shisui knows him from head to toe, knows how to stop him, knows how to contain his power and prevent him from being able to fight.

After all, he's been his companion for longer than they could ever remember.

"We all wanna party when the funeral ends, and we all get together when we bury our friends." Sinking in shock and confused surprise at seeing him alive, the Uchiha never imagined he would find himself in such a situation. No one expects the person you love to commit suicide in front of you and then come back as if nothing, unhinged but oh so beautiful as always, to kidnap you.

"It's been eight bitter years since I've been seeing your face... and now you're walking away." Is all he manages to reply in his stupor, tearing words from his mind as if he had forgotten how to speak, forcing himself to remember the ninja he is.

Shisui's image, seeing him again, wipes any trace of power from his mind, feeling like a wet puppy in front of an evil owner. He can't understand, and doesn't think he can get answers from the one who was once his best friend.

Nor can he afford to stand still.

Shisui seems intent on leaving him there, restrained, and disappearing to who knows where. With no information on him, he could be surprised by anyone in this vulnerable situation, with no possibility of defense. He has to get free, not let him walk away from him, appeal to what little is left of his best friend.

He has to forget his feelings, emotions, act like a rational ninja, the tool of death and destruction he always knew to be. His hands are tied, his arms and legs too, ankles, but he must find a way to break free.

"I will die in this place, Shisui." He knows better, and that whatever the other Uchiha is planning clearly doesn't involve killing him, but he needs to summon whatever shred of conscience is still in his mind, try to get to the Shisui he always knew, who taught him how to live.

If it is through manipulation and lies, so be it.

"Sometimes you scrape and sink so low, I'm shocked at what you're capable of, Itachi. I've been watching you, seeing how you move, how you handle yourself with your missions and with people, you can be truly nasty you know?" He wears a lopsided grin on his face, mischief mixed with madness, and the Uchiha he misses and remembers would never say things like that. It's as if all the light he once had has vanished, lost among whatever happened to him after he fell into the river.

He is not the same Shisui he loved.

"And if this is a reunion, I ain't feeling the love, darling! What happened to my little Tachi, hm? I thought you'd greet me with a kiss and a hug!" Each statement is more incoherent than the last, without following a clear train of thought. He laughs like a maniac and paces from side to side in the dark place, as if deciding what to do with himself.

From the ground, Itachi can only watch.

"We are all a bunch of animals that never paid attention in school, so, tell me all about your problems." He refocuses his gaze on him, and walks over until he sits cross-legged in front of his bound body, like a small child waiting to be told a good story. He props both elbows on his knees, using his hands to support his chin and look down at him with a strange smile.

Itachi doesn't answer, unable to channel his ninja instincts and act as if this was just any enemy, too many feelings in the middle to be rational. "You're not going to tell me? Well! Let's pretend you asked me, so I'd answer with 'I was killing before killing was cool!"

He laughs wildly again, holding his belly and leaning back, unrestrained. What happened to him after he fell? What event screwed up his head so much to become... this? Such a pure being of light, full of kindness and love, totally corrupted by... what?

"And now you should answer with "you're so cool, you're so cool, so cool"! You make me sound crazy, bro, talking to myself and all that shit."

He wants to cry, curse, punch something and kill someone all at the same time, but his body continues to be paralyzed not only by that rope, but by emotions. What is happening is inexplicable, too strong to comprehend, and his best friend is no longer who he was.

"Shisui... please..."

"You'll never take me alive, Tachi." In a moment of infinite clarity and harmony, the Uchiha speaks again as before he fell into the river, as if those years had not passed and he was still the same as always. He even gives him a sweet little smile, the kind he always used to give when he spoke.

For a strange moment, his Shisui reappears on the scene, complete and intact, without any sign of insanity or mental instability. It's as extraordinary as it is deranged, but Itachi is under the illusion that it's an effort his best friend is making as a way of saying "hello, old friend, it's been many years."

"Do what it takes to survive, 'cause I'm still here..." Now he seems to be talking to himself again, looking at the ground and concentrating on his own voice. He stands up and walks quickly, determined to get out of that place and leave him there without any kind of explanation, moving farther and farther away.

In the echo of those dark walls, Itachi can hear a "You'll never get me, you'll never take me, you'll never get me alive" as his captor disappears without caring about what happens to him.

"You're walking away, and I will drown in the fear." He replies as if he might hear it, sinking into the panic growing in his chest and thinking that this must be how civilians who get caught up in ninja conflicts must feel.

The greatest display of the terrible power Shisui has over him, making him feel like a helpless child and the luckiest man in the world, all at the same time.

#shisuita #itachi uchiha x shisui uchiha #uchiha shisui x uchiha itachi #uchiha itachi x uchiha shisui #shisui uchiha x itachi uchiha #itachi x shisui #shisui x itachi #uchiha itachi #itachi uchiha #itachi #uchiha shisui #shisui uchiha #shisui #naruto imagines #naruto shippuden #naruto #uchiha clan

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