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ddollfface · 3 months

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My heart aches for my lil baby sailor/selkie son! I’d give him all the hugs, kisses, and love if I could! I hope our relationship with him can improve. I don’t want him to grow up a sad, bitter, and neglected person!

(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)

Honestly, I’d be willing to force myself to loving sailor so that son can witness a loving relationship from his parents! And I’d prob fall in love with sailor already cause I love all the yandere red flags!

𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡?

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝙎𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙤𝙧 𝙭 𝙎𝙚𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙚!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Let's be realistic here, nonnie. You wouldn't. Trigger Warnings; ANGST, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of rape, poorly written gore, forced pregnancy, gross.

That’s what you thought in the beginning, when you were pregnant, newly captured brought home to your lover’s arms. You thought that you’d be the loving mother who could ignore all the bad signs, that could push past the abuse and cold words, only seeing the obsession in his eyes as a positive. I mean, though his touch feels like poison, and his voice is nails on a chalkboard, at least he loves you? You thought that it was irrational to blame an innocent child for the doings of their father, that it was horrible for you to look down at your stomach with grimace and shame.

How could you? How could you think so poorly of your son? What kind of mother are you for resenting your body for taking his seed as it’s supposed to? It made you sick. You wanted to claw out your tongue, smash in your teeth, and scream until your lungs collapsed for ever muttering the words I love you to such a man. You wanted to feel your blood swell in your mouth, dribbling down your aching throat as you cried, cried, cried out in pain. The feeling of something, something of his growing inside of you, stealing your energy, and sucking the life out of you.

But you tried. You smiled, giggled, and laughed at every word he spewed out, not listening to a single syllable. He knew it was an act, that you didn’t love him, but he respected your act so he was soft. He gave you space, letting you breathe, ignoring your sobs as you curled away from him in your shared bed. He didn’t let you go hungry, cooking your meals every morning, day, and night. No matter how difficult you’d be, he’d come to your every beck and call. That made things easier, more tolerable, making it seem as if you were a victim of rape, kidnapping, and forced marriage.

It allowed you to live in a fantasy as a loving wife, assisting your husband in the lighthouse, cleaning when you could, and even making dinner! You lived like this for a while, but as your stomach grew, and your situation settled, you came to realize that you weren’t leaving. You weren’t you; who were you? Where were you? Why were you so pliant?

You remembered.

Everything! You remembered the feeling of his hands on your skin, clawing away at your pelt, scrapping any trace of who you were away and replacing it with him, him, him. His hands cupping your jaw, whispering sweet nothings as he pressed you against the sand of the beach. You can still feel the sting of the sand imprinting against your smooth skin, feeling your pelt get torn away from you, slipped away from your gasps.

Let it be known, you fought.

You clawed, bit, and scratched, slapping anything that was in your view. Your pupils dilated as his hands grazed down your body, massaging, and pressing against your skin as if you were a prayer. His lips followed suit, peppering across your skin, making you gag. Your heart was swelling with rage, filthy rage. A need to jab, punch, hit, scream, anything to get you away, consuming your soul.

You were never the same, never seeing the ocean in the same light. The waves pressing against your side as he slipped off your clothes, brushing away any tears that dribbled down your cheeks, your hands reaching out for the ocean, your home. He’d swat your hands away, tsking as he leaned down, brushing his nose against your cheek, nuzzling into your flesh.

His touch felt like a searing pan, the burning of a stove as he slowly melted his lips to yours, tilting his head in a soft motion. You bit at his lips, trying to rip the flesh away. Your jagged teeth drawing blood. It made you happy, proud of yourself when the taste of iron flooded into your mouth, staining your taste buds as you screamed, calling for your brethren.

He took you that night, deciding that if you weren’t going to be soft, then neither was he. He pressed you into the dirt, taking you like a bitch. Soft words still spewing from his mouth as he held your waist, holding you down as he pinned you to the ground. The sound of the ocean calling out to you as you grabbed the grains of sand, feeling them against your palm as you clawed at the ground, hoping for it to swallow you in one gulp.

But that was in the past, no? It was just a fit of rage, you concluded. You were quite rude, you recall, spitting insults and hurtful glares throughout the whole… exchange. Maybe he wasn’t too bad… he did clean you up afterward, that’s what good men do, no? You’re not sure. Let’s just say, you’ve never been too keen on human affairs, never interesting you the same way it did to your sisters and brothers.

You could put that in the past, ridding it from your memory, and replacing it with his gentle touch. The way he helps you do the dishes, placing you on the counter as you watch him work. His eyes lingering on your stomach for a moment too long, but there was nothing but a content gleam in them. His hazel eyes locked on your form, never leaving you as if he was afraid you’d disappear. That look always ruins it for you, it rips you away from your wishful fantasy of a loving home. It reminds you that he is in fact not your husband, but your hopelessly obsessive captor who doesn’t trust you to do anything.

But you could do this. You could look past that look in his eyes, brushing it off as him as being protective over your fragile baby. You are carrying his baby, after all. It’s only natural that he’s a little antsy whenever you use a knife, or stand on a chair to get a jar, or peer outside for too long. It’s just natural, you tell yourself. You could get through this and succumb to his fantasies. His fantasies were yours, you told yourself. It was difficult in the beginning, but you’ve gotten used to it.

You no longer flinch away from his touches, letting his hands settle on your baby bump, rubbing the skin of your stomach with warm, strong hands. His scared tissue brushing against your smooth skin, causing you to shiver, but you suppressed it. You could do this.

It’s not that bad when he helps you in the kitchen. You’re no longer worried that he’ll carve out your heart for his own needs, wanting to take you in the most primal sense of the word. Your eyes don’t flicker to his form every time he picks up a knife, wondering if it’ll be you chopped instead of the lamb. You could do this.

And you don’t let your eyes linger on the ocean anymore, deciding to busy yourself with other things than just sitting on a window seal. You crochet now, making blankets, shirts, and socks for yourself, thinking of it as a self-service for yourself. Though you could always feel your heart skip a beat, and your head feels fuzzy whenever he suggests you make something for the little man. You… you could…

To look into the eyes of another, and to only see the eyes of your captor. The eyes of a man who ripped you from your home, shed you of your skin, and raped you like breeding cattle. Though the gleam is different, the eyes are the same. Though the hair is of a different texture, that of a soft touch, it's the same. Though the skin is tinted darker, it's the same.

Though it's just a little boy, it's still him.

And you can never forgive him for that, no matter how much he tries.

#lets be real #:/#obsessive love #yandere x reader #lovesick #x reader #yandere x you #bad writing #yandere oc #yandere oc x you #yandere male #selkie reader #selkie #selkie oc #fantasy creature #yandere character #yandere sailor

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hp-hcs · 10 months

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mattheo with sick! reader? idk something fluffy about mattheo taking care reader or angsty about reader trying to hide some sorta sickness or maybe mattheo's the sick one you ask for mattheo I shall deliver - yxdls

‼️WARNING: hella gross‼️ like, it goes into genuinely nauseating detail! i’m in a weird mood right now! i don’t know!

fine (chapter one of phoenix tears) — ex-death eater! injured! mattheo riddle x gn! reader

GRAPHIC GORE WARNING

seriously, don’t read if you’re easily grossed out. or eating. actually, just don’t read this at all. it’s pretty poorly written. i’m so sorry yxdls, for whatever this is 😭

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“…and for which scenario would each of the following listed Charms work bes-”

Mattheo was cut off by another of his loud coughing bouts, hacking into his elbow.

Your brow furrowed. “Baby, that’s like, the seventh time you’ve coughed in the last five minutes. Are you sure you’re okay?”

He waved a hand in your direction. “I’m fine. Just a little cough.”

You set down your flashcards, leaning across your bed to lay the back of your hand against his forehead. “You’re burning up, baby.”

“So you think I’m hot?” He asks with a cheeky grin, waggling his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and lightly smack his arm with the sleeve of your hoodie. “Yes, you idiot. But you also have a helluva fever.”

He grimaced. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

~~~

It was, in fact, Not Fine™. It looked horrible. The skin was sunken in, to a worryingly deep degree, and the edges were blistered and raw, slowly leaking pus and refusing to scab over. Mattheo grimaced as he peeled off the old bandages, biting his bottom lip to keep from screaming when the gauze got caught on part of the torn edge. He was forced to look away as he hastily rewrapped his forearm, trying desperately not to vomit.

The minute he had deserted his father, his Dark Mark had begun to burn, to brand itself into his flesh. The tattoo sank deep into his skin, into his muscles, and into his tendons; Mattheo was convinced that at this point, it was entirely carved into the bone.

It would never go away.

The skin over the tattoo had first erupted with bright red blisters and a sickening rash, which sent Mattheo into a feverish daze for two days. Despite his friends’ protests, he refused to go to the hospital wing.

Nobody could see the Mark. They’d know. They’d know he had been a coward and a fool.

But then, his skin had begun to rot. It was unsettling. Not to mention that the Mark wriggled still, now more furiously than it ever had when he’d been a follower of his father. Combined with the state of his arm, the odd frantic movements of the tattoo felt like phantom maggots, crawling all over him, crawling under his skin, into his eyes, his mouth, Merlin-

~~~

“Riddle, man, you good?” Theodore nudged him and spoke quietly.

Mattheo startled, his eyes flying open from where he had begun to drift off standing up.

Sleep had become impossible. His arm was now constantly afflicted with burning, never-ending pain. Occasionally, random bursts of an even sharper agony would grate up his bones and make his teeth rattle. It felt like being Crucioed, but with no forewarning, no nothing.

“Mattheo!”

He startled again, not even aware that he’d started falling asleep again.

Theo put his hand on Mattheo’s shoulder, even just that small touch sending stomach-churning zaps of fresh pain down his arm. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out, squeezing his eyes shut as he did so.

Theo glanced around the room, waiting for the Herbology professor to turn her back before talking to Mattheo again.

“Dude, you seriously look like you’re about to keel over any second. You should go to the infirmary.”

“‘m fine,” Mattheo rubbed his eyes, his words slurred with feverish delirium. “Don’ need’a go anywhere.”

“Matty, dude, you look like a dead man walking.”

He opened his mouth to protest, when the worst pain he’d ever felt in his entire life struck him out of nowhere. It felt like what Mattheo imagined being beat with a baseball bat, run over by a semi-truck, and being Crucioed at the same time would feel like.

He dropped like a rock, the unrelenting pain forcing the edges of his vision to darken and then fully go black.

~~~ Mattheo woke up to quiet.

His eyes slowly creaked open, and he was greeted with unfamiliar white walls. He blinked quickly to rid the sleep from his eyes, before surveying the room.

It didn’t look like the hospital wing at Hogwarts, but it was definitely a place of medicine, if the bleach-heavy air was anything to go by. Maybe St. Mungo’s?

The overhead lights were off, thank Merlin, leaving the room lit only by the overcast afternoon sky peeking through the window.

But he started to panic when he saw that his arm lay across his chest, freshly wrapped and sore as all hell.

Someone saw.

Somebody saw the Mark of his cowardice.

Of his yearning for his father’s approval.

Fat tears started to roll down Mattheo’s cheeks. His sobs became louder when he saw that you were there.

You probably knew. You probably saw.

Merlin damn it. Why wasn’t there a magical version of HIPAA?

You’d pulled up the visiting chair all the way to the side of Mattheo’s hospital bed, your crossed arms lying on top of the mattress, and your head resting on your arms as a sort of makeshift pillow.

At least you were asleep. Mattheo couldn’t even fathom what he’d have done if you’d been awake.

You surely must hate him now.

How couldn’t you?

He started to raise his right arm, his only currently working one, to wipe away his tears, but the movement was held back.

He had the fleeting but terrifying thought of those cliché leather restraints on hospital beds in horror movies. Honestly, it wasn’t even that far-fetched. He was a criminal. A traitor. A psycho.

Mattheo looked down, expecting the worst.

Instead, he saw your fingers interlaced with his, your thumb slowly skating over his knuckles in a soothing back and forth pattern.

You were holding his hand. Asleep still, yes, but you were actively holding his hand. You were choosing to be near him.

Mattheo burst into tears again, but this time in relief.

If you were still by his side, despite everything, then maybe things really were fine.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

chapter two

#harry potter #fuck jkr #hp #x reader #hp x gn reader #hp x male reader #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x male reader #death eaters #x gn reader #gn reader

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myfavoritesstuff · 6 months

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Crimson Hearts Part 2

Paring: Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Prompt: Meeting the Sturniolo’s gang wasn’t as bad as you thought. It almost made you forget why you were brought here in the first place. Almost.

Warning(s): Gore, Shooting, Profanity, Mafia type stuff, poorly written fight scene, not proofread

Note: I made some of the YouTubers from their most recent collaboration be a part of the gang. And yes, I have soft Matt. He along with some of the other members will show more of their bad, gangster side in future chapters. I also kind of rushed it, so I apologize. I will go back and fit it later.

Word count: 3,047 (I will make all my others chapters not as long as this for those who don’t want that many words in a chapter)

Part 1

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You stirred, the memories of last night's encounter with the Sturniolo triplets creeping into your consciousness like a persistent fog. The images were vivid: the cold sweat on your father's brow, the imposing figures of Nick, Matt, and Chris, their presence commanding.

With a deep breath, you pushed the covers aside and rose from the bed, your mind racing with the possibilities of what the day might hold. The air was crisp, a stark contrast to the heated atmosphere of the party. You dressed quickly, the weight of the impending meeting settling in your stomach like a stone.

Stepping outside, the world seemed oblivious to the turmoil that churned beneath its surface. The neighborhood was peaceful, the only sounds were the distant laughter of children and the soft rustling of leaves. But the tranquility did nothing to ease your nerves.

The sleek black limousine was impossible to miss, idling at the curb like a silent predator. The door opened, and you were greeted by the sight of the Sturniolo triplets, their expressions unreadable. Nick's nod was curt, an unspoken invitation to enter their world. Matt's eyes flickered with a hint of curiosity, while Chris offered a reassuring grin, the edge of danger still lingering in his smile.

You took a seat, the leather cool against your skin. The interior of the limo was luxurious, a stark contrast to the ruthless reputation of its occupants. The triplets watched you, their gazes sharp and assessing. You swallowed hard, searching for words that wouldn't betray your anxiety.

"So," you began, your voice steadier than you felt, "I hear the city never sleeps because of you three."

Nick's lips twitched into a semblance of a smile, and Matt's posture relaxed ever so slightly. Chris chuckled, the sound rich and surprisingly warm.

"We do keep things... interesting," Nick replied, his voice smooth like aged whiskey. “The city has many stories. Some are bedtime tales for the innocent; others are wake-up calls for the brave.”

Matt’s gaze was unreadable, yet you could tell that he was reading your expression, almost like he was deciphering the thoughts racing through your mind. “Marriage is a strategic move,” he mused, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. “It’s not about love, it’s about power and alliances.”

Chris leaned forward, light catching the edge of his grin. “But don’t worry,” he chimed in, his tone light but laced with seriousness. “We’re not monsters. We’re humans too. We’re businessmen, and in our world, we value a good partnership.”

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, the reality of the situation settling in. This wasn’t just a marriage proposal; it was something much more. You thought of what you could say and the next words could potentially have consequences that would be yours to bear.

“I understand the stakes”, you replied, your voice trying to remain steady. “But I’m not just a pawn to be moved at will. Like you said, we’re all human here.”

The brothers exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. It was clear that this was a new development, a wrinkle in their plan they hadn’t anticipated. But it was also clear that they respected strength, and perhaps, in that moment, they saw a glimpse of their own resolve reflected in you.

The conversation flowed more easily after that, small talk bridging the gap between your two worlds. You spoke of inconsequential things—the weather, the city's nightlife, the latest technology. And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, you could almost forget who they were and the dangerous game you were all playing. Almost.

The limousine glided to a stop in front of an imposing mansion, its facade a testament to the power and wealth of the Sturniolo gang. As you stepped out, the grandeur of the residence struck you, a stark reminder of the world you were about to enter.

Inside, the atmosphere was charged, a mix of opulence and danger. The triplets led you through the halls, their steps echoing on the marble floors. You were introduced to the other members of the gang, each one a vital piece of the Sturniolo empire.

Nick gestured to a man with an intense gaze, "That's Colby Brock. He's our eyes and ears on the street. Nothing happens in this city without Colby knowing about it."

Matt nodded towards a figure leaning against the wall, "And there's Sam Golbach. He's the tech wizard. If it's digital and it's secure, Sam's the one who can crack it. He also works great with all kinds of weapons. If a weapon was created, he knows about it and will find out everything about it.

Chris's grin widened as he pointed out a man with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "Meet Jake Webber. He's the charmer, the face for our... less official dealings."

You followed their gazes as they introduced the rest. "That's Johnnie Guilbert," Nick said, "He handles our finances, making sure the money flows where it needs to."

“Tara Yummy," Matt added, "is our negotiator. She's got a way with words that can turn any deal in our favor."

"And last but not least," Chris chimed in, "is Larray. He's the life of the party, but don't let that fool you. He's as sharp as they come, especially when it comes to information gathering."

As you took in each face, a complex web of roles and responsibilities began to form in your mind. These were the people who ran the underworld, each with their own story, their own skills, and now, they were all looking at you.

The triplets watched you carefully, gauging your reaction. "Welcome to the family," they said in unison, their voices a blend of warmth and warning. It was clear that this was more than a mere introduction; it was an initiation into a world from which there was no easy escape.

After the introductions, you were led down a corridor lined with portraits of stern-looking individuals, their eyes following your every move. The triplets stopped in front of a heavy oak door, its surface carved with intricate designs that spoke of a long, storied history.

"This will be your room," Nick said, pushing the door open with a gentle nudge.

The room that greeted you was a study in contrasts. The walls were painted a deep, velvety maroon, accented with black trim that gave the space an air of sophistication and power. Heavy drapes in dark shades framed the windows, allowing slivers of light to pierce the room's natural dimness.

Despite the dark colors, the room was undeniably beautiful. A large, four-poster bed dominated the center, its ebony wood polished to a high shine and adorned with plush bedding in shades of crimson and gold. The furniture was of the same dark wood, each piece exquisitely crafted and perfectly placed to create a sense of balance and comfort.

On one wall, a fireplace crackled softly, the flames casting dancing shadows that played across the room. Above it, a painting of the city at night hung, its lights twinkling like stars in a dark sky, a constant reminder of the world that lay just beyond these walls.

The room was a sanctuary, a place of quiet strength and luxury. It was clear that every detail had been carefully considered, from the soft, thick carpet that cushioned your steps to the subtle scent of sandalwood that lingered in the air.

As you took it all in, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. This was a room that belonged to someone of importance, someone who wielded power with a quiet confidence. It was a room that spoke of the Sturniolo legacy, and now, it was yours.

The soft knock at the door pulled you from your reverie, the room's grandeur momentarily forgotten. You crossed the plush carpet and opened the door to find Matt standing there, his expression serious.

"May I come in?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The room seemed to shrink with his presence, the air charged with a new intensity.

"There are rules," he began, his voice low and steady. "Rules that are non-negotiable if you're to stay here."

You nodded, a silent signal for him to continue.

"First," he said, holding up a finger, "loyalty is paramount. You do not betray the family, not by action or word. Second, discretion is expected. What happens within these walls stays within these walls. And third," he paused, his gaze locking with yours, "you must contribute. Everyone here has a role, a purpose. You'll need to find yours."

The rules were clear, each one a pillar that upheld the Sturniolo empire. They were not just guidelines; they were the very foundation of the life you were stepping into.

"Understand this," Matt added, "we protect our own, but we also demand respect and obedience. Step out of line, and there will be consequences."

The weight of his words settled over you, a tangible reminder of the reality of your new existence. This was no longer the world of lost cats and late newspaper deliveries. This was a world where power and survival were intertwined, where every choice could mean the difference between life and death.

"Are you willing to accept these terms?" Matt asked, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation.

You took a deep breath, the gravity of the decision before you not lost. "Yes," you replied, your voice a whisper of resolve. "I understand."

Matt nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of your acceptance. "Welcome to the Sturniolo family," he said, and with those words, the next chapter of your life began.

Led by Matt, you returned to the main lounge, the heart of the mansion where the gang congregated. The room buzzed with conversation and the clinking of glasses, a stark contrast to the solemnity of the corridors. You hesitated at the threshold, the weight of countless eyes upon you.

The lounge was expansive, the ceilings high and the furnishings a blend of luxury and comfort. Plush sofas and armchairs were arranged in inviting clusters, encouraging close-knit discussions. The walls were adorned with art that hinted at the gang's reach and influence, each piece telling a story of power and conquest.

At first, you lingered on the periphery, a silent observer to the camaraderie and dynamics that played out before you. The members of the gang moved with an ease that spoke of long-established bonds, their laughter and gestures, a language you had yet to learn.

But as the minutes passed, you found yourself drawn into the fold. Colby shared a street-smart joke that eased the tension in your shoulders. Sam's tech and weapon talk was surprisingly accessible, his enthusiasm infectious. Jake's charm was disarming, and soon you were sharing stories of your own, laughter spilling from your lips more freely than you'd have expected.

Johnnie discussed business with a sharp acumen that piqued your interest, while Tara's negotiation tales were both harrowing and exhilarating. Larray's vivacity was a bright spark in the room, his humor a welcome relief from the gravity of the situation.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the triplets. They stood apart, a silent, watchful presence. Their expressions were unreadable, but there was no mistaking the intent focus with which they observed your integration into the group. It wasn't surveillance, but rather an assessment, a measure of your ability to adapt and belong.

Nick's gaze met yours across the room, a silent nod of approval. Matt's lips quirked up in what might have been a smile, and Chris raised his glass to you, a silent toast. In that moment, you felt a flicker of something like acceptance, a sense that perhaps you could find your place here after all.

The evening wore on, and the initial awkwardness faded into a sense of belonging. You were still an outsider, but now you were an outsider with a foot in the door, and the path ahead seemed a little less daunting.

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen windows, casting a warm, golden hue over the faces of the assembled gang members. You entered quietly, still adjusting to the rhythms of this new life. The chatter ceased momentarily as all eyes turned to you, but a nod from Nick and a smile from Chris were all it took for the conversations to resume.

The breakfast table was a lively scene, plates piled high with food, and the air filled with the rich aromas of coffee and cooked meals. You took your place, feeling the last remnants of sleep fade away as the energy of the room enveloped you.

After the meal, as the others dispersed to their various tasks, Matt's hand on your arm stopped you. He led you to a quiet corner of the room, his expression earnest.

"There's something I need to discuss with you," he said, his voice low. "The wedding is going to happen soon. It's in a month."

The words hit you like a wave, unexpected and overwhelming. A wedding? The concept seemed out of place in the dangerous world you'd been thrust into, yet here it was, being presented as a matter of fact.

Your heart raced, a mix of shock and an emotion you hesitated to name.

"I... I understand," you managed to say, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I won't disagree."

You looked into Matt's eyes, searching for answers, for reassurance. And there, in the depths of his gaze, you saw something. It was a look that conveyed a hint of respect for the role you were about to take on.

Days had passed since your conversation with Matt and you were starting to like your new living situation. You grew close with each member in your own way, and you were starting to see what was beneath all their hardened exteriors. Tara, with her sharp wit and silver tongue, had especially grown a liking to you. She had taken you under her wing as an older sister type figure.

One afternoon, Tara decided it was time for a break and claimed that “you look like you could use some fresh air. A little shopping might do us good.” You agreed, welcoming the chance to step away from your new environment.

The streets were alive with the hustle and bustle of daily life. As you and Tara made your way through the crowds, you two laughed as she was telling you about some of the gang member’s weaknesses.

“Seriously?! Matt is afraid of ketchup?! Like he has never really tried it?” A smile formed on your face as you giggled at the news. Tara nodded while recounting the memory.

“Yeah, he seems terrified of it, and in fact–” She suddenly stopped. A serious expression taking over her features.

“What is it?” You were greatly confused but soon you saw why she had so abruptly stopped. A group of figures emerged from the shadows, their intentions clear from the malice in their eyes. Now that you realize it, you two were the only ones in the area and you started to get surrounded by the men.

Without hesitation, Tara pulled out a black and pink gun from her belt and fired it straight up in the air. A pink smoke materialized.

“Oh you think your tough shit huh? Calling the rest of the gang to come help you?” One of the men called.

“No, I just want the rest of my gang to see me beat your ass.” Tara replied with an attitude. The men did not seem to appreciate that as they all soon started charging in your direction. Tara unfazed called out to you.

“Y/n! Get down, now!” Without a moment's hesitation, you crouched down just as Tara pulled out another gun, this time black with gold designs. She fired, aiming it towards the man closest to you. The sound made you jump as you shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to see the bloody scene in front of you. Tara kept firing and all you could hear was the sound of the bullets. At one point she seemed to curse, making your eyes open. You immediately felt nauseous for all you could see was blood, dead bodies, and men still trying to put up a fight.

It seemed as though Tara ran out of bullets, but that didn’t stop her in the slightest. She put her fists up and started striking at the men around you. She was a whirlwind, her strikes precise and lethal. You would have tried to help but you didn’t know the first thing about defense or attacking someone. You assumed that if you tried to interfere, you would just get in her way.

And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The surviving attackers retreated once they started hearing the sounds of running footsteps headed in your direction. As you thought, it was the rest of the gang. You saw Matt, Chris, and Nick leading the way.

Jake and Johnnie went to go check up on Tara while Matt, Chris and Nick made their way over to you. Colby, Sam, and Larray stayed on guard and watched for any other potential threats.

“Are you okay?” Matt questioned, worry hinted in his eyes. Chris and Nick stayed silent as they seemed to watch the interaction in front of them.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little shaken.” Nick then suddenly signaled to Matt.

“I don’t mean to rush this, but we should probably go. We caused too much attention” Chris intervenes. With that, you all head out to the limousine and make your way back to the mansion.

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blackswan446 · 8 months

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m.list.

fyi most of these lead to wattpad, some of them to tumblr. any stories posted in the future will be posted to tumblr (unless it's a chapter story, then it'll be posted to my wattpad as well :))

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username stories

yandere alphabet

➸ knj.

“class president”

CWs: obsession, swearing, kidnapping, mentions of (very light/mild) sexual advances/innuendos

2. "worth it"

CWs: mentions of abusive ex boyfriend, heavy descriptions of gore, death, and cutting (not as sh)

➸ ksj.

-coming soon-

➸ myg.

“just go for it”

CWs: kidnapping, obsession, mentions of murder, drugging

➸ jhs.

“sugar” - incomplete

CWs: descriptions of gore/violence/death, sexual innuendos, poorly written (if you guys like it perhaps i’ll rework it >:) hehe)

2. “corrupted”

2. 5 "corrupted" - TUMBLR LINK

CWs: emotionally abusive/manipulative!yoongi, mentions of suicide, descriptions of fighting, gore, and death by gunshot, swearing, kidnapping, implied drugging

3. "weeping mary"

cws: gun, reader gets hit in head and passes out lols

➸ pjm.

“romeo and juliet”

CWs: swearing, mentions of murder, implied suicide

1.5 “romeo and juliet” - reworked version

CWs: heavy talk of/plans of suicide, mentions of murder, mild swearing

➸ kth.

“notice me” - incomplete

CWs: bad writing oops, heavier sexual innuendos/undisclosed/implied twisted sexual thoughts, stalking

2. "partyisntover"

CWs: drugging, kidnapping, slight sexual innuendos

➸ jjk.

"thief"

CWs: mentions of rape/murder, implied smut

2. "lifetime"

CWs: kidnapping/coercion, death, funeral, sexual advances

➸ ot7.

-coming soon-

welcome to the madhouse <3

-evie xoxo

#yandere bts #yandere x reader #yandere seokjin #yandere yoongi #yandere hoseok #yandere jimin #yandere taehyung #yandere jungkook

96 notes · View notes

queenvhagar · 2 months

Note

So I’ve seen a lot of people talking about how Fire and Blood can’t be seen as accurate because it’s a compilation of accounts and I would like to point something out about this:

If we lived in Westeros it would carry the same weight as your average history textbook or historical artifact. But the readers don’t live in Westeros. This is the version of events that George R R Martin gave us. I feel like that gives way more weight to everything in that book, especially how so many notes about “this source isn’t accurate” are included. It may be a source with an unreliable narrator in the world, but it’s the recorded version of events in universe, and nobody should act like it’s totally made up because the real life author published it. It won’t be totally accurate, but it certainly shouldn’t be cast aside.

The unreliable narrator is also used in the Great Gatsby. Nobody acts like Nick is making shit up, they just note that it probably isn’t completely accurate. Fire and Blood should be the same: not entirely accurate and certainly containing unreliable narration, but the author published it so it’s what the real life author wants to be seen as canon

100%.

Treating Fire and Blood as a completely inaccurate collection of sources, made up solely of propaganda and lies against one side, created by GRRM to intentionally portray a skewed version of the REAL history that occurred... it's like, why would GRRM have written it at all then? If he didn't want you to know the real history of House Targaryen, he would have just... not written it. Not sure why people think he would write a convoluted book that turned out to be completely false with fake things that never really happened.

Thinking about it as the history book it was intended to be... WHAT happened in history should be clear, and this is recorded. Same goes for WHEN it happened and HOW it happened. But the WHY... now that is something that the writers could have been exploring. WHY did certain people do the things they did? WHY did certain events play out how they did? This is the part of Fire and Blood that is open for interpretation, not the events themselves. This allows for the creation of character and motivations and arcs and the exploration of inner psyches.

Instead, the writers think they know better than the literal author about how this story and universe work. They're changing the material from the original source while trying to justify it with their excuse and interpretation of "propaganda," and they won't shut up about how profound they think they are in doing this. Meanwhile, they're undermining the themes of the story and rendering it ultimately meaningless in addition to it being a poorly written and confusing adaptation. It has no weight, no depth, no real stakes. The characters are barely characters, as their motivation changes to fit the plot beats. The story has become oversimplified and black and white in its storytelling it's looking less like a quality show à la Succession and more like your average MCU or Disney+ production (just with more shock value of nudity, murder, gore, and incest).

#asks #hotd critical #anti hotd

32 notes · View notes

safely-in-vhagars-belly · 6 months

Text

Dancing with a wolf (FemalereaderocxAemondxAegon)

Aemond x reader x Aegon

Tags: Showsetting, blackmail, piracy, warcrimes.

🔷Summary: A long time ago, you paid the ultimate price for Prince Aemond's hand. And now your sister summons you back to court.

🔷Author's note: Dark.

🔷Wordcount :7000

🔷Warnings: Piracy, child-abuse and mentions of traumas and blood and gore.

Dancing with a Wolf

The Red Keep had not changed in years. It was the same old horrible looking building, with the same boring old towers and the same horrible people that called it their home. You look out the window of the carriage, quickly closing the curtains when a single sunray finds its way into your carriage. Today is a sunny, lovely day. So unlike how you feel inside.

You are irritated, hollow of the greed you have been feeling for a while now, as well as that anxious choking feeling you had hoped to be rid of for years now. You prided yourself into not feeling fear anymore, or not allowing yourself to feel it. Yet here you are, back in the city of Hell, King’s Landing on no one’s order than your sweet darling twin sister, Adalina. Or is it Princess Adalina now? You wouldn’t know. You haven’t written a word to that brat since you were exiled.

The Carriage finally drives up to the familiar courtyard, and when you are nearing the gates, you notice there is blood under your fingernails from where you slammed your fingers too deep into your own skin. You quickly wipe it away, on your skirt. The driver of your carriage, Haryold takes notice of your behavior. ‘’Ye Nervous, Miss?’’

You huff, denying it to yourself. As long as you don’t admit your feelings are real, they won’t feel real. ‘’That’s a ridiculous observation, Haryold.’’

He continues, stabbing the poorly healed wound.

‘’It’s just…Last time you were here, you were in quite the trouble.’’ Memories flash back to you, as you pretend that they are not your own. You are not the same girl you were back then.

‘’I don’t pay you to have an opinion on my personal matters. People who lurk around in caskets, shouldn’t be surprised if they ended up in one.’’ You warn him with that and one of your glares. Haroyld nods, understanding he crossed a line and does not speak when riding the carriage to the entrance of the keep.

There, two servants help you out of the carriage. One offers his arm, the other is prepared to help you with your feet. You drop your bag in the hand of the man, and after that you jump out of the carriage, landing on your leather shoes, glancing up at the sun and the castle.

It is quiet in the courtyard. Adalia invited you here, yet she isn’t here. You would be insulted, if you didn’t hate her. You walk towards the castle doors, your boots leaving muddy footprints from your last trip. A page or servant, someone who works for the castle, as you didn’t bother to keep up with titles of the staff, rushes after you. ‘’Lady! Lady Ethel! You must wait.’’

You turn on your heel, facing him. You smile, revealing your glimmering teeth, folding your hands on your back. ‘’I’m just visiting my sister’s future home. If you like me to report that you had a issue with me, be my guest.’’ You wait for him to deny that claim, that she’s an angel, a gift sent by the Seven. Instead of that he bows his head, letting you, as a dog rolling over. You smile, patting his shoulder and tossing him a coin, before entering the Red Keep.

—-------------

The smells, the lights and the damn banners. It all brings you back. You tried to look as yourself as much as possible. Your parents don’t need to be pleased. Your hair is loose, wild, untamed, unbothered. It is as wild as a river, as deep as an ocean and endless as the sea. Your good eye has a beautiful black line around it, highlighting the color of your pupil, and your other eye is shining as beautifully as ever. The silversmith did an amazing job, fitting your new eye. It is a small, pure silver orb with a citrine in it, symbolizing the pupil and the eye you lost. Your dress is a simple but practical dress in the colors of the Dornish.

Inside the castle, someone awaits you already. Two guards size you up, narrowing their eyes almost at the same time. ‘’I am here for Princess Adalia.’’ You tell one of them, when watching the other. The two men share a glance.

He judges your poor quality dress, your cloak with holes and your old boots. ‘’You are Lady Ethel?’’ No.

‘’Yes.’’ You say, smiling to hide your disgust. You are, in ways. In others, no. Not anymore.

You turn your head at the same time, and notice someone coming down the stairs. Someone with your hair color, someone wearing your smile. Someone living a life so different from yours. Your twin sister wears a fine silk gown with embroidered details of gold. She spots you easily, dismissing the ladies following her around as helpless little pups stalking their mother.

She comes over, and both guards nod in respect to Lady Adalia. You don’t. You do smile, and you notice her staring at your clothing and your fake eye. ‘’You changed.’’ That is the first time your twin sister says to you. Her voice almost sounds sincere. She sounds shocked.

You shrug. ‘’Disownment and exile does that to a person. Shall we go discuss things upstairs? I’m sure you can fetch a decent bottle of wine here.’’ You add with a wink.

Adalia groans, but follows.

You soon walk over the same stairs you did years ago, and it all comes back to you.

-ten years ago-

Your hair is put up high, making you look so much older than you actually are. The coal and berry juice itches on your face, as you aren’t used to wearing any of it. And your dress, it is the pretty own with the silver sparkles, as your mother requested by the seamstress. You never felt as a princess as much as you do tonight.

Your parents worked hard to arrange this match with Queen Alicent of House Hightower. Despite your family being some of her most loyal supporters, Queen Alicent was being ‘’difficult’’ about the match for months. But now, tonight, she finally has accepted: Her son, Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, will marry either you or your sister, Adalia. You and her were born during the same moon and have shared everything in life. From plush toys to dresses and from dresses to secret wishes. You both love each other deeply.

You are presented first to court. You have to wait until the page reads your name out loud and when he does, you finally make your debut and enter the castle hall. Many eyes are fixated on you, but only one pair of eyes matters. You see him standing near the throne where his father sits, the boy with silver hair that one day will become your husband. ‘’Lady Ethel of House Mossdam!’’ A few murmurs rise up as you pass the crowds of people, coming closer to the Prince. He waits with his hands folded on his back, taking in your gown with a smile on his lips.

When you are finally in front of the King and Queen, you make a curtsy for them and turn to your future husband. He smiles, greeting you. Your mother who had escorted you, quickly tells the Queen which one of the two twins you are as you and Aemond converse about the candy that is put on the table. ‘’I personally prefer the dragonsticks but I can also recommend the chocolate cake.’’ The prince says, moving a bit with his hands as he talks, likely nervous. You nod and smile. Chocolate cake sounds delicious. You plan to get a piece when your sister is announced. Once again, all heads turn.

But this time it is different. Gasps and adoring coes are heard as your sister parades to the Prince, her head held high as a true Queen. You look at the Prince, trying to get his attention by offering him chocolate cake, but it doesn't matter anymore.

The moment he sees her, his eyes light up in a way they never did when he looked at you. Despite your best efforts, your smile fades and you turn to your parents for direction and help. You gently tap the Prince’s shoulder but he does not only ignore you, he also glares at you to warn you to not do that again. Insulted and confused, you look at the Queen who only smiles back at you the way you once saw so many smile at you. Her smile speaks where her mouth cannot. Disappointment, shame and embarrassment wash over you as Prince Aemond and your sister take off in another direction entirely, gushing happily to one another.

‘’Prince Aemond made his choice.’’ Queen Alicent declares with a smile. ‘’Adelia and him will be married when they both turn sixteen.’’

You came here, hoping that Aemond would like you. You came here, hoping that this would be your home. A strange, hollow feeling eats away at your soul, bringing out an unfamiliar darkness in you that you never felt before as you look at the smiling Adelia. Your feet act before you can think and you quickly dispose of the chocolate cake you had gathered. Fresh tears pierce in your eyes, threatening to cause a scene and to ruin all what you worked so hard for. And now he doesn't even want you.

You hear footsteps approach and see that your father has followed you. You offer him a piece of cake too. He only needs to glare at you so you put the plate down. ‘’I am very disappointed in you.’’ He tells you, his voice soft so only you may hear. ‘’Your sister only needed a few moments with the Prince, and you are making a fool of yourself and he doesn’t even care.’’ He refers to the cake incident. You had hoped that no one would’ve noticed. But as you lift your head and a few tears escape, you notice that all eyes in the crowd are on you, stuck as a fly in honey.

You must defend yourself. You must.

‘’Daddy, I tried.’’ You manage to stutter. He raises his hand, to silence you.

He has a scoff in his voice, but you hear anger more than anything else. ‘’You didn’t try hard enough. Do you know how much effort me and your mother put into this match? You could at least try to not look like a clown.’’ You quickly wipe at your make-up, smearing most of it on the sleeve of your dress.

He walks away with one final word that would forever haunt your memory. ‘’Disappointment.’’

Prince Aemond and Adalia seem to be happy, at least. You try to be happy for your sister, but somehow you are only reminded of your own failures and your own misery whenever you see the two of them together. You can’t take the suffocating growing feeling inside of you, threatening to tear you apart the way a wolf would tear apart a lamb. Your legs take off, running to the exit of the ballroom when you think no one looks.

When you try to enter the cool and calming gardens of the castle, you bump into a tall silver-haired person that smells unpleasantly. You don’t need to see his face to know it is the Prince’s older brother, Prince Aegon.

Aegon smirks at your teary face, your trembling hands and your dirty dress enjoying every miserable little minute. ‘’You’re one of the little brats who my brother would marry.’’ He observes, quickly blocking your way to the gardens.

You sniffle, nodding to confirm, as you know well enough it is rude to not answer a prince.

‘’I-I am. Please let me through.’’

He does not comply. ‘’Shouldn’t you be talking with my brother?’’ He asks. You huff, anger, getting the better of you.

Why does he care? ‘’No. He picked my sister.’’ You say, pointing to the two children who are now enjoying a chocolate cake.

The other prince huffs, annoyed quickly. ‘’You give up so easily? Do you know what’s at stake here?’’

He leans in a little closer, a mischievous spark growing in his eyes. ‘’I’ll let you into a little secret. If you want to hold Aemond’s attention, mention dragons. He never had one, he would do anything for one.’’ Dragons. You know of dragons.

House Targaryen is one of the few surviving houses of old Valyria, where dragons once roamed the big skies. Before the doom. ‘’Anything?’’ You reply, a plan forming in your head.

–

That night, when everyone is asleep, you sneak out of your rooms at the palace. You pass Ada’s bed on the way out, and you can’t help but feel horrible for how you are going to steal her husband and her future away from her. You even tear up, and can barely muffle your cries as you sneak past her.

On your own, you dress and prepare yourself. Your mission is simple: You will find a dragon, convince it to bring it with you, and offer it as a gift of betrothal to the Prince. He would not even dare to refuse it. It sounds like an amazing plan, and you are pretty proud of yourself for thinking it up.

There are just a few irons to work out:

You don’t know where dragons are, you don’t know how to bring a dragon home, and you don’t know how to speak with a dragon. But you assume that if you learn one, you learn the other two. It has to be.

You manage to sneak out of the castle easily: No one cares where you go, who you are, or what you come to do. You are a shadow in the light of the Red Keep. And whoever pays attention to shadows? You hear your own footsteps and take comfort into this.

You read in your history books about the Dragon pit, located in King’s Landing. That is where the dragons of the Targaryens are where their riders can’t attend them, and that is where you will go.

It is dark and cold in the city as you walk through it, but no one seems to pay you any mind. That is until you are in front of the huge colossal housing where the dragons stay. You never saw anything like it. It’s structure reminds you a lot of the Red Keep. A memory of a time long ago, long forgotten by most. Two guards outside warn you of trespassers and what will be done to them.

Both guards seem bored, yet dangerous. You had hoped there would be no security at all, but that might have been wishful thinking. Instead of backing down and rolling over, you think of a plan on how to get inside.

Luckily for you, a huge cart is approaching, with dead animal meat on top of it. Huge slabs of meat, likely meant for the dragons. You make yourself as small as possible. The driver is asked to stop and when the two guards are busy inspecting the meat on intruders, you sneak past them both, into the famous Dragon Pit.

There you avoid most torches, and go from pen to pen. First there is a big goldenlike dragon. It warns you when you approach by flapping it’s wings violently, hissing and warning you. You bet it would impress the prince, but you aren’t stupid enough to even risk that. So, you go onto another pit.

Most dragons you pass do not please you. Most are too big, too dangerous or too scary. You had almost given up your quest entirely when you stumbled upon a small, red with black dragon sitting in a lone pen, straw and food near him. He is as big as four apples, and arguably the smallest dragon you ever saw. It looks weak, tiny, vulnerable. And perfect as a gift for Prince Aemond.

You open the pen, easily and slip inside of the pen, as the dragon cocks its head at you. You withhold a giggle of excitement and glee as you realize that everyone will soon be either impressed or happy with you.

You approach the dragon, hands out to grab it. The dragon takes a few steps back, watching you very closely but does not fight or breathe fire at you. ‘’Please, dragon. Work with me! Prince Aemond wants a dragon, and I want Prince Aemond to like me.’’ You whisper to the creature that awkwardly stares back at you with its big hollow eyes.

You lean in closer to the hatchling, coming as close that you can smell its poop nearby it and the meat it devoured recently. You watch it twitch it head at you and both your hands come closer to his body, grabbing hold of it firmly.

It seems so tiny. So helpless.

And so, so threatened by your presence.

The dragon hisses, before slamming a claw down your face, tearing open your flesh, blood bursting from the wound as you open your mouth. You know you are supposed to be silent. You know this is forbidden. You know you can’t be heard.

But that pain…

The pain of a dragon’s claw, it is the worst pain you ever have been subjected to.

You cry out in agony, pain slashes through you as the claw of the dragon pierces your flesh, cutting deep and unforgiven. Your screams of pain echo through the dragon pit as you back away from the baby hatchling, covering the right side of your face.

When you remove your hands, they are drenched in your own blood. Your face feels as if it was ripped from your very own skin. You pant, heavily, as the dragon follows you around its pen. You finally manage to get back on your feet, your small legs trembling as you make it out of the pen at long last.

Outside of the pen, with the dragon safely behind bars, you fall back to your knees, your pain becoming too much too quickly. Blood is flowing down your face, your dress, your shoes. It drips on the floor and for your own sanity, it feels like it slips between the tiles itself, going into the earth below.

You can only wail and cry in pain as someone approaches, carrying a torch. It appears to be a old man, wearing a classic scribe robe you would see on septons. But this man is no septon. He is a guard to the dragons. He sees your bloodied face, your trembling legs and your shaking body and the dragon who keeps hissing at you from behind bars.

It is all he needs to leave. You assume he is leaving you to die. Your breath quickens, as panic takes hold of you. But you soon hear three voices, coming closer as you crawl in the direction of the door.

It is the dragon guard. And he brought the two outdoor guards. The dragon guard lifts his torch, shining a light upon your face. You blink back against the sudden warmth and light. The dragon guard mumbles something, and the other two guards look at you speechless as they take in your face.

“It's a girl!” One of them shouts. “Child, what were you doing here?’ He tries to get your attention. You don’t respond.

You can only look at the crying girl looking back at you in the reflection of his blade, and you see that something ripped her face in half. It is you. It is your face. You cower, making yourself as small as possible as your face keeps stinging, reminding you of your injuries. Of a very bleak looking future without any Prince by your side. Without any approval of your parents.

Without any husband at all.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

The dragonguards brought you to the King. It is embarrassing, seeing the entire castle woken up and everyone in their nightclothes for something you did. The King did you give the privilege and kindness to first receive excessive stitching in your face. You were offered milk of the poppy, but your mother denied it. ‘’Let her suffer the consequences of her actions.’’ She said. And so, your skin was pressed back together and stitched with a needle and thread in a slow, torturous manner. The Maester had never seen anything like it, and you could tell most women were horrified to see you like this, scarred and bloody.

All but Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The Princess of Dragonstone seems as furious as her little boy, the owner of the dragon you tried to steal. She resembles her ancestor, Queen Visenya.

You can only cry, no words to defend yourself or your actions come to mind. Your parents are near, yet they stand in the back of the room, disappointment and anger chizeld into their eyes forever. Adalia is near the King and Queen, close to Prince Aemond.

“What were you doing there?’’ King Viserys has a powerful voice that booms through the room as you are finally done with your stitches. What were you doing there? How could you be so stupid?

“Can we discuss this in private?” You ask, your voice soft. You don’t want Aemond to find out. Or your parents for that matter. Anyone but the King.

The king continues his sharp questions, spitting them out as fire. “Why were you trying to steal Prince’s Joffrey's dragon?” You don’t know. You really don’t. Maybe you wanted everyone to stop judging you. To stop pressuring you. To finally be in control for once. And you ruined it all.

“It was all my fault. I didn't know a dragon would be so aggressive.’’ You say, and the King’s harsh features soften, as he takes in your new fresh scars and trembling hands. You can see he feels pity for you.

A voice as sharp as glass cuts through the silence, surprising both his foes and friends. “You know nothing of dragons then.” Prince Aemond sneers. It's somehow even more painful when he scolds you. Unknowingly to him, you wanted to please him. You wanted him to like you. To pick you as his wife.

And now he is lecturing you as if you are a little stupid girl. You look in the reflection of a sword of the King’s guard from Dorne, seeing your scarred poorly stitched and terribly mangled face. You are just that. A stupid, little girl.

Aemond continues, taking steps in your direction.

“You came into its pen, you threatened it and tried to take it away. Of course it would lash out.” You don’t know anything about dragons. You don’t know much about anything.

You would love your parents near you. To defend you and to hold your hand. But they remain in the back, present but silent. And holding your hands? They won't even look at you.

For all they are concerned: You are a disgrace, a failure, a disappointment.

You expect to be executed on the spot for your treason. And truth be told? You’d welcome it. Anything to end the pain of your face, of the humiliation and the disappointment your parents feel for you.

So when Prince Daemon takes out Dark Sister, his famous sword, you just stand there and allow him to approach you.

Queen Alicent is quick to interfere.

“The girl has been scared. Forever. Lower your blade, Daemon. Even you won’t harm a disabled child.’’ You are shocked at her kindness. Why does she even care, you wonder? She didn’t like you during the ball.

But someone else disagrees firmly with the Queen. It is the Princess. ‘’My sons will have their answer. We must know why she stole the dragon. If not willingly we can always sharply question her.” You know what that means. Torture.

So you start talking, avoiding all eyes, your eyes aimed at your bloodied slippers. “I heard Aemond liked dragons. I wanted to give him one.” You confess, softly. Queen Alicent’s eyes shimmer with tears as she turns to look at her son, the prince who has many eyes on him now.

His face betrays that he is enraged. “You can't gift dragons!” He shouts, instead of taking you for your sacrifice, for your thoughtful gift, for the gesture, for the blood you lost because of him.

“I know that now.’’ You mutter, a tear falling rolling down your scarred cheeks.

Princess Rhaenyra approaches now too, angry and terrifying as a thunderstorm or maybe a big mother dragon. “Why would you give him a dragon? Why did you think my son's dragon was a good gift?” She makes it sound like this was some deliberate attack on her son. You would never. You don’t care for her sons.

You decide to tell the truth, hoping she will believe you. “Because the others seemed too big. This one seemed harmless.” You feel all eyes on you as you fumble with your hands.

“And because…Aemond had to pick a wife…and…” Briefly, your air is cut off as you sob, your emotions becoming too much. “I wanted it to be me.” Followed by a final plea. ‘’I’m sorry!’’ You shout.

If Rhaenyra cared, she has become quite good at not showing it. “What will we do with her, father? She tried to steal my son's dragon.” This is madness. She thinks that this was some plot to hurt her, to hurt her sons, her claim to the Throne. That was not what this was. This was a desperate act.

Queen Alicent scoffs in disbelief at her words, as if she can’t believe what the Princess is saying. “For Aemond. To please him. I fully believe there was no ill will in Ethel's heart.” She adds. “She only did what she thought was right.”

Rhaenyra glances at Alicent, but her glares are for you and you alone. She turns her silver braided head in the direction of your silent parents. ‘’What do the parents think?’’ You gulp.

Your mother steps forward first. ‘’In all truth, we are disappointed and grieved by Ethel’s stupidity. We fully believe she is not capable of marrying any noble.’’ Your mother says. ‘’We certainly cannot approve of a marriage between her and House Targaryen anymore. We all ask that we may leave with Adelia and our heads on our shoulders. You may do with Ethel as you wish.’’ Your head fills with horrible images of you losing your head, or rotting away in a prison cell.

You don’t feel well. You feel as if you can pass out any moment now. ‘’’Mother,’’ you manage to squeak. ‘’You can’t mean that.’’ Yet your mother turns away, ignoring you as if you don’t exist. It is the cruelest thing she has ever done to you.

‘’Will you disown Ethel?’’ Alicent asks, and at that point, you start crying to a hysterical angle. You can’t handle being alone. You can’t be alone. Your twin sister is perfectly silent by Aemond’s side, a faint smile on her lips.

Your mother glances one time at your face. ‘’I will do as the King wants.’’ She says.

The King glares. Not at you, however. At your parents. At your mother, your father, even at your sister. To you, he only speaks. “We will spare you. But we can't allow a marriage between you and Prince Aemond, not any other Targaryen.” You had figured that one out already.

Aegon snorts, reminding everyone that that weasel is present. “As if he even wanted her anymore.”

King Viserys ignores his son, standing up from the Iron throne. ‘’We must all rest now. The hour has grown late and I’m sure Ethel wants to forget this has even happened.’’

The Princess chases her father, her black and red skirts lifted so she may go faster.

‘’Father-’’ She smiles but this time her father does not fall for it.

‘’The matter, has been settled, Rhaenyra.’’

You are returned to your rooms after. You don’t even dare to glance at the Princess, convinced you made a powerful enemy for life.

—

You are cooling your face with a towel, still somehow crying, minutes later. “Where is Ada?” You ask as your parents enter. They had an argument. You heard both of them scream and things break.

The towel brings small comfort but the pain is unbearable. “Ada has been removed from her Chambers. She is living with the royal family. And that is for the best. You could ruin it all again. Forever this time.” Your mother warns you. You roll your eyes.

She gasps at your audacity, before she sits down, grabbing you by your freshly stitched face. You yelp in pain. “We are already a minor house. Our coffins are nearing their bottom. And to top it all you now have a hideous scar that makes you unattractive and reminds every man how stupid you truly are.” She hisses, close to strangling you.

‘’Resa, let her go.’’ Your father begs your mother. ‘’The king warned us if anything happened to her, he would know.’’ Why does the King even care?

Your mother stops her actions, as if only now realizing what she did in a wave of anger. She turns her back to you, her first born child. ‘’You disgust me.’’ She whispers before she leaves.

Ada and you never became close again after the incident. She blamed you for trying to ruin her chance at becoming a princess and you blamed her for ignoring you and shutting you out when your entire world was on fire.

—-------------

present

You watch the wine splash around in your cup. ‘’What do you want?’’ You ask your twin sister. Your sister raises her chin, trying to intimidate you. She has no idea what you've been through, however but you are not impressed.

‘’I want you to attend my wedding to prince Aemond.’’ Ah, yes. Aemond. The man you lost your eye for. The man who you became a scarred mess for. The man who changed your life.

You can’t and don’t want anything to do with him anymore. ‘’I heard men lie better than that.’’ You say. ‘’Whatever you want, it’s not my support when that Valyrian scum fucks you.’’ You become distant and eye her room for anything unusual. You notice a vanity with an excessive bouquet of flowers, likely a gift from her husband to be. You notice your eyes glide to the hair bracelet around your wrist, where black, dornish locks hang. You try to hide your smirk, but you fail.

‘’I am serious. I want your support.’’ She says, using her big puppy eyes. ‘’Mother and father died so suddenly.’’ There is an accusation there. You had nothing to do with it. In a way. Sort of. Kind of. Ok, it was your fault, but you didn’t use the daggers. That was someone else.

You know it is risky for you to stay at the castle. But you want to see how her marriage with Aemond is treating her. You tell yourself that lie, feeding it your brain, repeating it until it becomes the truth. You feel your tattoo ache on your back, the one you had Aros put there years ago. You want revenge, in truth. But you can’t let Ada know that. Sweet, doe-eyed Ada would never let anything happen to her Aemond, her precious Prince.

You try to think back of the last time you felt sadness. ‘’It was a great tragedy. I regret missing their funeral, but as you know, I was not allowed back in the estate.’’ You need to cough. Your sister however thinks you have become emotional and rubs your back.

She takes a deep breath as if what she says costs her great energy. ‘’I regret the way we parted, Ethel.’’ Not Ethel.

‘’So do I.’’ You lie smoothly. You do, but it is easier to convince yourself that this is just another harmless lie. You won’t allow yourself to see it as a truth.

Adalia does not notice and pulls you in a hug. You notice her eyes close, but yours are wide open. ‘’You may take a bath.’’ She says after the hug has ended. ‘’You …smell.’’ She adds, softly. You chuckle, scoffing a bit but agreeing. You smell.

She stops in her tracks. ‘’After that, we must talk. We have much to discuss. I want my sister to be near me when I become a Princess.’’ You are confused. Didn't you just talk? You were right. She wants more from you. Much more.

—

You are even allowed to use her bathroom when your sister is busy arranging a room for you. You fill the bath to the brim and toss in three different bars of soap, and wait for the bubbles to appear. You drop out of your dress, putting your golden dagger in your boots. You also raid your sister’s closet, searching for pretty fabrics and bottles of wine. You find a delicious Dornish well-aged bottle, likely a gift from one lord or the other. You pop the bottle open and take a big swing, lying down in the warm bath, drinking freely from the bottle as the soap bars continue to create bubbles. You could get used to this.

The door is pushed open after a few minutes. Your eyes shoot open and you reach for your boot, for your dagger to see who is approaching. Once you see who it is, you are shocked. You did hear rumors he lost his eye. A blessing, you called it. You remember treating the whole bar on a drink when you heard it the first time. Aros was furious you spent so much gold, but he did forgive you, and once he heard the news too, he bought everyone a second round.

Prince Aemond has interrupted your drinking and bath moment, staring at your bare naked chest as if he never saw a pair of tits before. You lower your hands, back in the warm water and pick the bottle back up and take another sip of the bottle, daring him to speak up.

He doesn't. He seems shocked yet fascinated by what he found in his fiancee’s bathtub. You have had many men look at you that way before. You know what is on his mind.

You don't even attempt to cover yourself. “O. You're not…” He begins, soft and gentle with his way of speaking to you. You recall how he yelled at you, how he screamed at you. So you don’t even blink.

You raise your eyebrows, picking up the soap and continuing where you left off before he interrupted. “Clearly. Did you hear about this wonderful invention?” You ask, when cleaning your arms. Fascinated, he watches, shaking his head, his cheeks growing warmer and warmer.

“No.” He breathes, as you lower the soapbar underwater. You grab it, throwing it at his head. It hits him, perfectly, as he quickly backs away.

You scowl, lecturing him angrily. “It's called knocking. People usually do that before storming in.’’ You dryly respond.

Prince Aemond gawks, looking at you and the door, you and the door, the door and you and finally decides it's for the best to leave. “I-, yes.” He says. ‘’It’s just…I haven’t seen you in years and…You’ve grown.’’ Clearly.

As much as you enjoy him flustered over your body, you do have more things to do. “Where is your brother?’’ You ask. ‘’I have things to discuss.’’ You smile, and you watch Aemond’s gleeness die in a mere moment, jealousy breaking out of him.

‘’My brother?” He asks, dumbfounded. Aros needs a new ship. Aegon has money. Aros is not stupid, Aegon is, there is the end of the story.

You smile, sweetly, tilting your head. ‘’Are you deaf too?’’

He approaches, anger getting the better of him. You can’t even move but if you could, you wouldn’t have done that either. You just smirk, enjoying his little worked up face and angry pouty lips.

‘’I’m your Prince.’’ He reminds you, firmly. ‘’You will grant me your respect.’’ You have one prince. It is not Aemond.

You laugh, empty and shallow. ‘’No you’re not. You made that choice years ago. You choose wrong, little princeling.’’ You continue, taking another sip from the bottle. ‘’I made my own happiness. I don’t know what my sister wants from me yet, but I am not interested in feeding that brat if she was dying of hunger in a desert.’’

‘’Our interests align, then.’’ He leans on the tub with his hands, coming closer to your naked body. His voice becomes a soft, breakable plea. ‘’I want my freedom back.’’ You laugh, enjoying his misery. ‘’I should’ve chosen you. I didn’t know how she was.’’ He adds. There it is. Words you always dreamt of hearing.

Yet this marriage is old as stone, and it is likely that Prince Aemond has tried to talk his mother out of it before. ‘’The marriage is an old agreement. How do you plan to break it, Prince Aemond?’’

‘’I was hoping you’d know that.’’ He says. ‘’I heard you are quite the clever girl.’’ You roll your eyes. Did he really think that would work? No wonder he is in a arranged marriage. This man couldn't seduce a wife if his life depended on it.

‘’Hah! Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me. I am not a weak little doe eyed girl.’’ You tell him.

He doesn’t respond, looking at your wrist. ‘’Whose hair are you wearing around your wrist?’’ Aros. Yet you won't tell him. It is bad that he notices. The hair is a tradition among sea folks, people who travel a lot and yes; pirates. You cut off a lock of your own hair, so your loved one may tie it around their wrist, keeping you near them in a way.

‘’Please answer me, Adder.’’ For the first time during your time in the Red Keep, your head twists, shock written across your face as you look at Aemond’s smirking pink lips. He adressed you by your nickname. He knows. But how much?

Prince Aemond smirks. You glare, putting the bottle aside, as this has just become a serious conversation. One of life and death. You reach for your boots, showing him your dagger. He chuckles, delighted. ‘’Oh, that’s a adorable little blade. Did your boyfriend give you that?’’ He asks, mockingly.

It is true. You are not Ethel. You have become the first mate and paramour of Aros Blackwaters, the fearless Dornish pirate that captured your heart. You have stolen from royal and merchant ships belonging to many nations and kingdoms, including the Seven Kingdoms.

You sigh. ‘’I am not his girlfriend. I am his paramour.’’

‘’So, his slut.’’ He remarks, unimpressed.

You roll your eyes. He’s such a simpleminded man. ‘’What do you want with Aros?’’ Although, it is pretty obvious. He is a pirate. Aros regularly attacks Westerosi ships.

Aemond pretends to think. ‘’I am certain he can be of use on a rainy day.’’ He chuckles. You are silent.

‘’Aros never told you, did he?’’

You only look at him. Aemond leans in closer.

‘’He’s not just any Dornish man. He’s the bastard of Qoren Nymeros Martell. His first born bastard at that.’’ He pats your wet hand, as if rewarding you. ‘’Congratulations, your pirate boyfriend is the runaway prince of Dorne.’’ He reveals as if this isn’t already known to you at all.

You glare at the ceiling, smacking his hand away from your own. ‘’Touch me again and become known as Aemond one-hand as well.’’ You warn him. ‘’Aros never liked his family or his birthright. I’m telling him of you and your plans.’’ It is true. He would never help Aemond.

He smirks, a bit darker as he takes in your body.

‘’Do that. If I put you in a nice, dark cell, your boyfriend will come here and I’ll finally be able to jail him for his crimes, or worse, depending on my mood.’’ You know he would. You know he could. Aros would save you. He would risk his life for you. He is just as stupid as Aemond is.

You glare. Aemond leans closer, his lips coming closer to your ear so he can whisper. ‘’Now, I don’t want to hurt you. But for the sake of my family, for duty, for the crown, for the greater good? I will run you through with my sword and make that little scar of yours look like a adorable little accident.’’ You scoff.

‘’Looks like the gods gave you your own little adorable scar.’’ You remark, making him much more upset than before. He growls, clutching the bathtub to avoid hurting you personally. ‘’Although, I’m the lucky one. I at least have my wits so I can make my own happiness. But you, a little boy who always seeks validation from others? I pity you.’’ you whisper, brushing your fingers over his cheeks. He does not pull away. ‘’I despise you.’’ You add.

He only smirks. ‘’Soon I don't need validation. I will have it all. And more. You can either play along with my games and my plans, serve me and my brother well-’’ You frown, turning your head.

‘’Serve?’’ He makes it sound so sexual.

Aemond slightly blushes. ‘’Well, do our dirty work. I promise you, we won’t need help in the bedroom.’’ You see another plan forming in your head, one where you and Aron take the throne from the two princes, and sit it.

You nod, smiling. ‘’No, you do have both your hands.’’

He glares. He rolls his eyes, eying the heavens as if to ask the gods why he is forced to work with you. ‘’Or I will reveal you for the Pirate that you are, for the war criminal you are, and will see you hanged at dawn.’’ How romantic.

‘’I have never received a more moving proposal-’’ Your mockery is interrupted by your own thoughts. ‘’What do we do about my sister?’’ You ask.

Aemond smiles, mischievously. ‘’I might take her flying later, you of all people should know just how dangerous dragons can truly be.’’

A/N

Who's gonna listen when you run out of lies? Who's gonna hear you, when your words seem worthless? Who's gonna save you when you're out of time? And who's gonna want you, when you're on your knees, begging

"Oh, please take me at my word, I'm desperate I swear, I never meant to hurt no one, no Oh, please stay for what it's worth, I'm desperate" You're on your own

So don't you call my name I will take you down Should've known that you've been dancing with a wolf So don't you call my name I will take you down I'm not your friend, you burned a bridge I chew you up and spit you out

Really captures this fic really well.

I hope yall liked this little one shot!

:) i was inspired by @valeskafics latest aemond/aegon/witch reader thingy and wanted to make something!:) Hope yall liked it and im sorry for leaving for so long. mental health is kicking my butt.

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idolomantises · 2 years

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talking abt that one thing in velma thats on my mind a lot for the past few days (that turned into a big incoherent rambling about gay rep in media)

i'm seeing jokes about how the queer representation in mystery inc being so much better than the queer representation in velma and honestly it makes me want to go on a whole tangent about my thoughts on queer representation nowadays vs the more subtle examples decades prior.

There's this weird debate that goes on online about what is "good" queer representation, and one of the most notable and honestly annoying examples is that queer representation has to be so subtle that you could easily miss it/ignore it. i've always hated that take because its a claim mostly said by straight people who are uncomfortable with seeing characters who are openly queer and/or state their identity, but they present it as some sort of push for subtle and nuanced writing. personally i do prefer it when a character just, identifies as how they are without explaining their identity, but that doesn't mean flat out explaining your orientation is inherently bad representation. its why i will always defend the very clunky and awkward high guardian spice scene. it is absolutely poorly directed and written, but that doesn't make it "bad representation". however, I do consider the character who explains that he's trans bad representation because he is flat, uninteresting and very clearly a creator self insert. he doesn't feel like a well rounded character who's also a trans man, but just an incredibly sanitized example of trans representation.

i have many, many issues with helluva boss/hazbin hotel and i do genuinely find some depictions of queer characters just flat out offensive (you can argue with me about how angel dust being written like your average 90s gay stereotype is woke actually because he has trauma, i dont care), but i do admire and appreciate that the series doesn't want to sanitize its queer characters, even if its done poorly. though i could go into a whole rant about how i find it very telling that female characters that are queer are far less sexualized or allowed to be problematic compared to their queer male counterparts.

anyways back to velma. that show does something that i've always found pretty irritating in queer representation which is just this weird lack of faith in its audience. characters can't have a slow burn anymore. internalized thoughts, anger, frustration, longing. you have to immediately know that two characters are gay for each other, even if they're lifelong enemies. its like when modern horror movies open with the gore because they're scared people are going to be bored or leave early. there's no subtlety or chemistry between daphne and velma, they're just lovers because idk, its two girls who hate each other and who doesn't love that.

then i think about how mystery inc handled velma and her sexuality, how she was allowed to be well rounded and nuanced before you slowly realize that "oh, she doesn't like boys". i know her whole thing with shaggy is controversial among fans but i always loved how she does do something pretty unlikable but not immoral. yeah, it is shitty to force shaggy to choose between her and his dog, but i can understand her line of thinking and empathize with her. and i do like how they become friends in the end despite their awkward break up. It's always fun rewatching it and realizing that their incredibly awkward and cringe relationship was meant to be awkward and cringe. it was supposed to be weird and difficult to watch, because those two weren't meant to date each other. you could see how hard velma was trying to make the relationship work despite the fact that you never get the vibe that either character was full invested in it, unlike daphne and fred's relationship.

then you had velma and her relationship with marcie, which started off as sort of a catty rivalry (not full on attempted murder, i mean holy shit hbo velma) that slowly grows to where you're completely convinced that these two did gradually like each other. and i do really enjoy stuff like that, more subtle writing like that. which doesn't just apply to queer rep btw, my favorite ships are relationships that feel understated, something you have to really dig for and pay attention to. its why i consider bubbline the best f/f representation in cartoon. because its subtle, but not too subtle where it feels out of no where when they kiss, and nuanced in ways that enhances the relationship AND characters.

there's a good amount of relationships i see in cartoons where the creator, who is usually queer themselves, often wants to depict queer relationships, but is weirdly adverse to depicting the uglier aspects of that character, and refuses to add subtlety to it. steven universe is a show i've always felt conflicted on its handling of queer representation because on the one hand i appreciate writing lesbians that are messy, traumatized and make constant mistakes. but on the other hand, the show goes out of its way to ignore these issues and/or make excuses for it, making the decision to make these characters messy and complicated genuinely baffling (this is also one of the big issues i have with catradora and stolitz).

it makes me think back to my own work too. i really enjoy making fluffy, easily digestible gay content for my followers and myself because it puts me in a good headspace. But even now and then i like exploring those little nuances too, because i don't really enjoy stories with little conflict. Because of that acknowledgement of how satisfying it is to write fluffy, queer rep, you end up putting yourself in other creator's shoes. you're so used to media that either dehumanizes gay people or tells people that they don't exist that you push yourself to make the most in your face queer rep you can but its at the cost of an interesting and subtle characters. characters that don't really have arcs or places to learn and grow.

With bugtopia i made a joke about how i want some of my queer rep to feel like you're being queerbaited. It's not literal, obviously, but mixed in with characters who are already married and in same gender relationships, i really want to write dynamics that feel subtle enough for a bit of a slow burn. even if you know they're going to end up together, to at least value the characters on their own before centering them on their relationships. queerbaiting is something that deserves all the criticism it can get, but it is embarrassing when queerbaiting feels genuinely more interesting than actual queer rep because queerbaiting has that factor of "maybe they won't get together" that adds that bit of intrigue, vs so many shows that repeatedly hammer in your head "don't worry guys, they're gonna be lesbian lovers".

mystery inc (and many other shows) being forced to keep a relationship obvious while subtle to get through censorship really forced creators to be creative with their storytelling and not center characters around their relationship and identity. but nowadays i think shows like to take the easy way out. for me, i always thought the most impactful example of queer representation in steven universe is "Rose's Scabbard". I genuinely don't enjoy that episode because it's a good example of the show thinking that trauma is an excuse for shitty behavior, but i cant deny that an entire episode of pearl breaking down and finally accepting that she wasn't the center of rose's world. it's the crew being forced to be creative and push through censors to telling a compelling story about a traumatized lesbian slowly realizing that she basically deluded herself into thinking she was someone's savior.

I think it's silly to try to place good queer representation in one box. like subtle queer rep is good, but also queer rep where a character flat out states that their gay. where I think it falls apart is when it either reinforces stereotypes without properly deconstructing or expanding on them, makes the characters so overly kind and non-controversial that the relationship is just boring, or try to make your messy and complicated characters but the narrative refuses to hold them accountable or at least acknowledge that they're doing something wrong. and to clarify on that last part, i'm not asking for some hays code nonsense where every bad person goes to prison and/or promises to stop being a bad person again. i mean the narrative doesnt just fucking sugarcoat their behavior. i don't want to see helluva boss ignore the fact that stolas made blitzo call him out for only using him for sex and then pathetically rush to justify their relationship by giving them a bizarrely sanitized and sweet backstory. and i don't want to see catra literally end the fucking universe and only do something good because she's straight up out of options and the show just decides that that was her redemption and she doesn't need to do anything to atone for what she did (including repeatedly abusing and verbally berating adora).

anyways velma has none of those interesting qualities and i'm pretty sure daphne and velma kissed because the creator is a weird pervert who thinks two girls kissing is hot.

#txt #i was thinking abt knocking off some of my longer posts on my tumblr but ya know its tumblr. its made for a blog #twitter isnt really a good place to write think pieces because its not really made for thinkpieces #i really enjoy expressing my thoughts on discourse and media but i don't want to over do it because ya know. you guys followed me for my ar #not my 2434334th post about why i think helluva boss is a bad show #but i've been thinking about sometimes prioritizing what i want to do vs what people want to see from me. so now you're getting #a long ass rant about why i think velma showing two teenagers kissing by episode 2 #encapsulates the overall issue with modern queer rep

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nahoyasboyfriend · 5 months

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warnings: you die! extremely poorly written gore.

word count: 1.1k

a/n: this low-key sucks but I had to write a little something for my health. the gore is so poorly written, it's actually embarrassing. it's my first time so go easy on me. the idea of being james' snuff star was brought to me by @coentinim go check her out now or I will get you!!!

As james' lover, you're very aware of his unusual tastes, and some of the tamer ones have even been introduced into your bedroom. sucking his gun, letting him dice you up, and choking you until you're barely conscious are things the two of you have tried. but you wanted to try something new. you were sure he'd love it. the only problem being, it included the use of technology.

after days of contemplating ways to ask him, you make your move. it's a lazy day for the two of you. laying down in bed, your head resting on his chest with his arm wrapped around your torso.

“james," you whisper, angling yourself to look at him. his eyes are closed, and he looks strangely peaceful. if you didn't know him you'd think he was sleeping. he lets out a low hum to assure you that you've got his attention, so you continue, "I want you to... kill me."

his eyes slowly open to look at you and you can see the hint of a smile on his face. "if that's what you wish for, my dear." you can't help grin at his eagerness, you knew he'd like the sound of that.

"but.." his eyebrow quirks up, intrigued. "I want to record it, and if you don't mind, I'd like to post it." a beat. you scan over his face, looking for any subtle changes, but he remains inscrutable.

"that sounds... fascinating. if it's what you desire then I shall try it. however, you'll be in charge of posting it yourself. I don-" smiling, you roll your eyes, "yes, yes, I'll post it myself." then the comfortable silence resumes once more as you rejoice in how surprisingly easy it was to convince him.

after that the topic goes untouched between the two of you. though deep down you're both excited and filled with trepidation. you purchase an older camera, the film is a bit grainy, but you don't mind. it adds personality. gives it an eerie ambiance. one day, you're struck with the idea to set the camera up before you go to bed in your shared room with James. you don't tell him about your little plan, hoping that'll be a pleasant surprise.

per usual, he comes back late, and most of the time you stay up to greet him, but today is different. the room is awfully silent, so he takes a few steps closer. slow and deliberate. careful not to startle or wake you. As he inches closer, he sees you, peacefully sleeping, unaware of his presence. and in the corner of his eye, there's a little red light, turning his head to get a better look. he realizes that it's a camera.

"ah, so that's what this is," he murmurs, sauntering to the bed. he takes a moment to admire your sleeping figure. you look angelic, all soft and innocent. he couldn't wait to see how ravishing you look when you die. you had nothing but a pink slip on which he should've expected from a teasing, little minx such as yourself, but he didn't let that deter him.

you’re unsure of how long you've slept before the covers were ripped off of you. but you're not given any time to ruminate before you're being wrenched into a pair of familiar arms. they coil around you, similar to how a spider webs up its food. frightened, you let out a shrill scream. you writhe and squirm in his grasp, desperately trying to weasel your way out.

“let me go,” you huff, trying to twist your way out of his hold. you can hear James' syrupy laugh from behind you, and it sends shivers surging down your spine

abruptly, you're thrown onto the bed. taking this as a chance to escape, you attempt to crawl away, but he grabs your ankle, yanking towards him. you cry out, mindlessly kicking your feet in hopes that you’ll manage to free yourself. with an annoyed grunt, he flips you onto your back and climbs on top of you, straddling your legs. both you pause for a second, staring at each other, no other noises besides your panting. then, he's leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips, and bring a cold hand to caress your cheek. he lingers and you almost chase after him when he pulls away.

the tip of his blade kisses the skin just below your sternum. instinctively, tears begin to gather in the corners of your eyes. you don't fight him this time. you bite back the urge to kick and scream. instead you grip the sheets until your knuckles are white so you don't scratch at him. at first, it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. he's cut you before, so you had an inkling of what to expect. the pain is dull at first, but it turns sharp as he sinks the knife deeper. it's painful, of course, but you can handle it. your eyes clamp shut. you feel like you're on fire. you take a deep breath to soothe your racing heart.

he starts to slowly tug down, splitting you down the middle. the pain quickly becomes unbearable. you feel queasy, and for a second you feel like you're going to vomit, but nothing comes up. you dry heave a few times before bile starts filling your mouth. it burns your throat on the way up, and hot tears begin to stream down your face. the sound of it is disgusting, a horrible gurgle erupting from deep within you. blood stains your slip turning it a deep red making it stick to you like a second skin.

James' eyes don't stray away from where he's tearing you apart. enthralled with the way fat and muscle reluctantly separate like they don't want to part from each other. he stops just above your pelvis. taking a moment to admire his work, the sight of you is undeniably grotesque. viscera exposed, red and glistening in the dim light. you're sputtering and retching, and he can see the organs convulsing. his pants grow tighter by the second, and it's rapidly nearing the point of discomfort.

with a loving hand, he carefully strokes your innards. you barely register it until both of his hands make contact. it feels odd. it doesn't exactly hurt, but it doesn't mix well with already intense agony. it's more like being uncomfortably full, or an unpleasant pressure.

“you look marvelous, truly marvelous,” he declares. and if you weren't in such extreme anguish you might've blushed at his awe. he really did think you were beautiful inside and out.

piece by piece, the grasp on your consciousness slips through your fingers. tiny black spots blooming in your vision, your heart coming to a steady stop. the pain fizzling out into the back of your mind, turning into a secondary thought. your eyelids are getting heavier, and you do little to resist shutting them.

james presses a tender kiss to your clammy forehead, and through the fog you hear him murmur the words, “hurry back, dove.”

#editing your own snuff film is so silly #shooing away James because you have to edit and name the video #james patrick march #james march x reader #james march #james my one and only #this is kinda trash but i needed to post something for my sanity #ahs hotel #ahs fanfiction #jadesfic

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blasphemousgoggles · 1 year

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Literal Bird

Written for a friend, I suck at this game.

Warning: Gore (Nothing too bad tho)

All of your party members were dead. You and the others thought the room was safe, you had all rested there taking respite from the deteriorated dungeon. Believing you found a haven in this forsaken place all of you had eventually headed back to rest but soon you realized what a grave mistake it would be. A terrifying presence was watching you sleep. When you woke up a monster was there. Screaming had pierced through your ears but when your eyes opened everyone lay limp. The stone walls and floors were coated in the gore of your friends who were heavily disfigured. Some were missing their arms and legs, a few had their heads ripped from their neck but all had their eyes pecked out. You were quickly losing the haziness from your sleep with it being replaced with horror and rising dread. You wanted to throw up despite how little you ate, you wanted to cry for your fallen allies but you saw that the monster was still there. It had the body of a man, the head of a crow, and a mace for one of its arms. The crow cocked his head to look at you, its beady eyes looking through you. Adrenaline rising, you slowly step out of the shabby bed while the crow watches your movements then you bolt out of the room. You ran as hard as you could, hearing a loud caw from the room you left encouraged you to go faster. You went from room to room trying to get away, the guards were already taken care of, and all you had to do was escape and hide. You could do it all you had to do- “FUCK!” You fell over from the hot sharp pain in your leg. You screamed in anguish, there was a mace IN YOUR LEG. You can't run away anymore, any hope you had was dashed. The crow man stood over your form, his mace- or technically arm still in your leg while you writhe in agony. While it should be very hard for a man with a crow head to express emotions, you could tell that it's pissed. It caws angrily at you and you can’t take it anymore, you begin to bawl your eyes out and scream while the monster watches. This was it- you were dead there was no way out of this. You were weeping heavily, you didn’t notice that the foreign object was out of your leg nor did you notice when you were backed up against the rough walls of the dungeon. You only realized when fluffy feathers brushed on your neck that you weren’t gonna die yet. It began nuzzling you? Its beak slid past your ear to your hair while it let out cooing sounds. The hell is this? While this should seem comforting after the horrors you went through, being embraced by a freakishly tall crow man that smells of gore and just murdered your friends is anything but. You tremble in fear and disgust as you are pulled closer. With your allies dead no one could help you now, even if you could get away from now you wouldn’t get far with the state of your leg. You don’t try to escape for now, the crow seems pleased. It's better than being dead at least.

#fear and hunger #crow mauler x reader #crow man #crow mauler #poorly written gore #x reader

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 9 months

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Blood Ties Chapter 12

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, canonical character death, poorly written smut, mention of scars, allusions to child abuse

A/N: I feel like I say this about every chapter but I really struggled with this one. I even scrapped 3,800 words because I hated it so much. It still ended up being a long one but it feels like a lot of time skipping and nonsense. The beginning is nice though. ;) I hope it’s at least somewhat enjoyable. Thank you, my dears.💙

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Your body was on fire; electric jolts sparking with pleasure each place where his skin was touching yours. It was never like this before. It was purely physical, without attachment. Now it felt like he had integrated himself into your very soul. You wanted him deeper than his cock dragging over your inner walls; you wanted him beneath your very skin.

Each thrust was slow but deep, his back arching when he rolled his hips into you. His lips and hands felt like they were everywhere all at once. He wasn’t just fucking you. He was making love to you. Deliberate, delicate, yet no less exhilarating.

Your hips raised of their own volition to meet his. You were desperate to snap that inner tension; the tightly coiled heat low in your belly. Daryl had other plans. He was drawing this out. He was savoring you.

“Easy. I gotcha.” He purred against your ear just before his lips attached to the skin above where your pulse thrummed. “S’gonna feel real good. Hang on for me.” He ventured lower to draw a nipple into his mouth, the swirling of his tongue pulling a moan from you, your hands moving from his bare back to his hair and then returning. You urged him back to your mouth, whining against his smiling lips.

“Please.” You weren’t sure what you were pleading for; there was so much sensation that you couldn’t even pinpoint where you needed him most. “Please, please, please.” He chuckled and made a slow journey with his fingertips, whispering down your torso to disappear between your bodies. A calloused thumb pressed against your clit and you nearly wailed.

“That’s it. Let go for me.” His thrusts never wavered, leaving you to dimly wonder if this would be the first of many orgasms he would give you before he was chasing his own high. “Cum for me, Y/N.”

You could feel your cunt clamp around him and begin to pull him impossibly deeper, preparing for your orgasm to wash over you. You were right on the edge, teetering. His lips met yours and your hips angled upward, the knot ready to burst. Just as you felt the first wave of ecstasy—

You opened your eyes to the dim light of a small lamp on the bedside table. You still felt tired when somewhere in your mind, you could recall that something happened and you should feel better. In your sleepy haze, you couldn’t seem to summon the memories. Only the residual feel of Daryl’s body pressed against yours and the pleasure he was so eagerly offering you.

“That must’ve been some dream.”

You lifted your head to find Carol sitting in a chair close to the bedside, a small smile on her face and her hands folded on her lap.

“Carol.” Your lips curved upward ever so slightly.

“So dehydrated but still able to drool so I’d say we’re making progress.” She chuckled while you dragged the back of your hand across your mouth with a curl of your lip.

“The baby okay?” You scratched at your scalp, still trying to piece together what happened that ended with you in bed and hooked up to fluids.

“Mhm. Hershel says the heartbeat is strong.” She smiled, the sadness behind her eyes more transparent than she probably realized.

“What happened?” You inquired, slowly pushing yourself up to sit against the headboard without disturbing the IV tubing. Just as her mouth opened, the memories of your rescue mission came flooding back in a breathtaking onslaught. “Oh god, Daryl!” You grabbed the blanket and threw it back, aiming to get to your feet, only halting by a gentle touch to your ankle.

“He’s in the next room. He’s gonna be fine.”

When the sudden rush evaporated, you sank back against the pillows. You had all three made it.

“He was in shock by the time you made it back. Hershel gave him some IV fluids and is going to start some antibiotics. He’s all patched up. He’ll be back to his cheery self in no time.”

You chuckled. “Just a ball of sunshine, that one.” Your smile fell away, remembering just how horrible he had looked the last time you saw him; dragging his feet along behind you. Blood dampened his shirt, his pants. He was pale as milk, dark circles under his eyes. You held on to a fragile hope that he—if nothing else—looked better after stitches and fluids. “Is he awake?”

“He was stirring a little while ago.” You nodded, picking at your left thumbnail. “I’m gonna get you some water. Maybe we can take out that IV now that you’re awake.” The other woman stood gracefully, donning her usual smile except it wasn’t quite reaching her eyes. Your gaze followed her out the door, your heart aching for her. She was so intent on caring for you and your baby while her own child was still missing. It was a bleak reminder of how unfair life truly was.

You inwardly sighed, your stomach beginning to feel ill at ease. How did you end up in this position? All of it. The dead rising to eat the living. Losing everyone you held dear. Making a baby with a complete stranger. And now so desperate to keep that man in your life that it frightened you. Just—how?

Everything had been so normal before. You had your routine with your father waiting at home for you everyday. You’d sit with him over a dinner that you prepared, listening to his lame jokes and laughing even harder when they weren’t funny. Your uncles and aunt would come over once every two weeks for a big supper. You’d usually save the larger kill for those occasions.

God, you missed them.

But they weren’t here now.

Daryl was. You’d be damned if you’d lose someone else.

A soft knock on the door signaled Carol’s return. She had a tray of food. Eggs, apparently. The last time, when Daryl had brought them, you had been famished and paid no mind to the smell. It was different this time, and your stomach was not pleased.

“The eggs.” You gagged, sitting up and covering your mouth and nose. Carol’s eyes widened and she swiftly put the tray outside the door and grabbed up the water glass before she shut the smell out.

“I’m sorry.” She said quietly. “I brought the pills that Maggie and Glenn were able to get. They found a few bottles so you should be set for now.” She handed you the medication and the water. Your stomach churned angrily. “I’ll see about getting Beth to make you another smoothie.”

“Thank you.” It was made clear by the expression on her face that she was worried. “I’ll be okay.” The pill had a grainy texture and left a horrible taste. You washed it down with a sip of water, but the unpleasant assault on your tastebuds continued. It would be worth it if it meant everything would stop trying to crawl out of your throat.

“I’ll get Hershel to see about that IV. Then maybe you’d like to go see Daryl?”

You gave her a nod and a tight-lipped smile, watching her leave to fetch the vet. Ugh. You knew he would lecture you, but you couldn’t let it sway your desire to protect your little family. That’s exactly what it was: a family. Your relationship with Daryl didn’t alter the fact that you would share a child. Co-parent. Protect one another.

A rapid knock on the door before it opened revealed the vet. “Carol tells me you’re feeling okay. Maybe we can remove your IV if you can ensure you’ll continue to take in as much water as you can.”

“I can do that.”

He studied you for a moment, as if searching for a hint that you may not follow through. Apparently satisfied that you’d heed his instructions, he rounded the bed and began working on removing the catheter from your arm. The grim expression was sign enough that you were about to be scolded. “Y/N, you understand the risks involved when you go out there.” And so it began. “This, I can’t stop you from doing but you should consider the safety of your child if nothing else.”

“No one else was going to try and find him. It was something I had to do.” You lowered your head, feeling not unlike a child who was in trouble for drawing on the walls and knowing better.

There was nothing left to say. He continued to stare for a moment after instructing you to bend your arm and hold pressure on the square of gauze he’d placed there. Perhaps, he was attempting to understand. Maybe he was judging your decision. Maybe he was even praying for you. It didn’t matter. In the end, he gave a curt nod and turned to leave the room.

As soon as the door closed, you tossed the gauze onto the bedside table, carefully lowering your feet to the floor. The mattress acted as support while you ensured dizziness wouldn’t bombard you. Your vision stayed clear, even if your stomach was still protesting. Hopefully it would settle soon enough.

You knew Daryl would likely be across the hall. There was an anxiety at the thought of seeing him; one you couldn’t validate. You knew you wanted to go, to see with your own eyes that he was alive and healing. You chose to ignore the feeling and opened the door, pausing on the threshold when you heard his voice.

“I didn’t do anythin’ Rick or Shane wouldn’t done.”

“I know.” You could see Carol step into the doorway of the adjacent room. You stepped back behind the frame of your own, feeling like an intruder. “You’re every bit as good as them. Every bit.” The door closed, her soft steps moving further away, most likely in route to get your smoothie.

You could absolutely throttle the redneck after hearing him downplay what he had been nearly killing himself to achieve. He had worked just as hard as anyone else in the search for Sophia. If he wouldn’t acknowledge the effort he’d put in, he was likely giving himself hell over being placed on the sidelines after his injury. There was no way Hershel was going to clear him to go back out there anytime soon.

Your bare feet barely made a sound when you crossed the space between rooms, leaning into the door with one hand on the knob while the other quietly knocked.

“Jesus, can’t a guy get some sleep ‘round here. What is it now?”

Scrunching your nose in response to his grumpy attitude, you opened the door and peered inside. He most likely wasn’t expecting you. His back was to you, the sheet up to the curve of his hips, giving you a glimpse of the deep, dark puckered lines of several scars. His skin was still pale. They likely didn’t appear so harsh against his normally tan complexion. Still…

“Hey, dumbass. How’re you feeling?” The way he flinched and clumsily gripped the thin cover to drag it up higher made your chest tighten. The reason he didn’t want to remove his shirt when you fucked; he didn’t want you see.

“Callin’ me a dumbass when you was the one came runnin’ after me all half cocked.” He mumbled, not turning to look at you. Deflecting. You decided to let it go. He was so ashamed of that part of himself. He needed to keep that secret. It wasn’t yours to know. Maybe one day.

“I could make so many jokes out of what you just said and most would be at your expense.”

“Y’can go now, funny girl.”

You crawled up onto the mattress and maneuvered your way over to where he lay, resting your chin on the curve of his shoulder while carefully avoiding adding any pressure against his wounded side.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss. You know you’re glad to see me.”

Daryl scoffed, shrugging his shoulder to jostle your head. “Pain in my ass.” You peered at his outstretched right arm, the taped tubing leading up to a bag of clear fluids, half empty. At least his skin was feeling warmer. “Y’okay?”

“I’m sure they already told you that I’m fine.” You answered softly. You resisted the urge to brush your fingers over the bandage on his head.

“Don’t matter. Better to hear it outta ya own mouth.”

You smiled. “I’m fine, Daryl. A little nauseous but Maggie and Glenn found the medicine.”

He grunted, a moment passing before he asked “baby okay?” His voice had lowered, muscles tensing beneath your chin, as if he were bracing himself for your answer.

“Mhm. Hershel checked and said the heartbeat was strong.” He relaxed almost immediately. You were once again reminded of his desire to not be touched. You had seen him flinch away from Rick and Carol. After a rare glimpse at his bare back, the fear made sense. But he saw you differently. He had chosen to accept you as safe for whatever reason. It had to be more than your willingness to spread your legs for him once upon a time not that long ago.

“That’s good.” He muttered. He sounded a little groggy.

“He give you something for the pain?” You tilted your head on his arm, your cheek lightly pressing against the muscle there.

“Mhm. Didn’t want it. Shoulda saved it.”

“Take the meds, you stubborn ass.” You nearly shoved at him, albeit playfully. It still would have caused him discomfort. His movements were stiff, the muscles rippling under your face as his hand came up to present a clear message in the form of one finger. “You’re so mature, Dixon.” You teased. “I’m so honored to be the birth giver of your spawn.” There was instant regret when you felt him flinch, tense up, and then deflate.

“M’sorry.” His voice was raspy. Tired. You didn’t hesitate to caress the white bandage over his temple this time.

“Don’t be.” You soothed, watching him battle to stay awake. “I’m not.” You glanced at the sheet covering his back, shielding his shame from you. You could see the very top of what appeared to be the aftermath of a burn. Daryl had definitely had the opposite of your childhood. Where you had love and tenderness and support, it was suggested Daryl had pain and cruelty and isolation. Somehow, you knew that he would want better for his own child.

“I ain’t gonna be—like our daddy. My kid—ain’t gonna be like us.”

You brought your hand up to trace shapes onto his forearm, smiling as goosebumps rose from the gentle caress. “Daryl?”

You thought he might already be asleep, but then he drew in a breath and answered with a drawn out “hmm?”

“I really am honored.”

He went so still that he appeared to hold his breath, before he made a dismissive noise and shrugged you off of him. “Tryin’a sleep, woman.”

“Okay.” You had hit a nerve. It wasn’t like you didn’t consider the possibility he’d react negatively. “I’ll be across the hall.” You gracelessly scooted across the mattress, just having thrown your legs over the edge when there was a grip on your wrist, firm but gentle. You looked over your shoulder to find him awkwardly balanced on his right elbow while keeping the arm as straight as possible for the IV. He wasn’t looking at you but it had to hurt for him to have twisted into how he was to reach for you.

The breath he took shuddered. “Stay.”

“Alright.” Your free hand came to rest on the one that held your wrist, intending to provide comfort for a request he was obviously uncomfortable to make, but he pulled back his arm and settled against the pillow. Withholding your sigh, you settled behind him on your side, facing him but not touching.

It wasn’t difficult for sleep to find you in the dimly lit room with Daryl’s deep, even breathing acting as your gentle lullaby.

It was frightening how so many things could change so quickly. Hell, an entire world could end in a matter of days.

You were up and about the day after you awoke with the IV in your arm. Hershel had instructed you to take it easy and, for once in your life, you had listened. You helped with cooking and hanging laundry. Anything that allowed you to sit often for water breaks and did not require you to lift.

Daryl was also out of the house that following day. Not because Hershel had allowed it. But because he felt anxious, cooped up. He was stealthy, as per usual, and back in his tent with a book before anyone had noticed he was missing. To his credit, he did move slower and didn’t engage in anything strenuous. Well, for a few days anyway.

Lori’s pregnancy had been a shocker to everyone. It was laughable to you how suddenly, you weren’t such a burden in the eyes of the second officer. It was also very revealing. You had suspected something all along, but watching him with Rick’s wife when he thought all heads were turned had just confirmed your suspicions.

That same man was growing more and more volatile with each passing day. He was constantly challenging Rick, the sort of leader of your little group, and then going off on his own to do god knows what. Daryl had butted heads with him a few times over a variety of things. The most recent was just before Lori’s pregnancy was revealed. Shane made an off-handed comment—after you had once again stood your ground against him—about breeding with a redneck having an affect on your mentality. The archer had only conceded when you had stepped in front of him.

Tensions only rose when Glenn had revealed that Hershel had been keeping walkers in the barn. The issue was debated and discussed repeatedly with no clear resolution. Shane had come stomping over to the porch where everyone was congregated, handing out guns and riling everyone up. He was determined to clear the barn. You stood with Lori, even as Daryl went in with Shane, guns blazing. The action was one that would change everything for everyone forever.

When the lanky little girl stumbled out of the darkness beyond the barn doors, no one moved. No one made a sound. Except Carol. She had tried to run to Sophia, would have gladly allowed her daughter to rip into her throat at that moment if it meant she would get to hold her. Your fingers only brushed the woman’s arm as you attempted to stop her with a watery call of her name. Luckily, Daryl was successful. He held her until the last moment and even after the walker had fallen by Rick’s gun.

The drama didn’t end there.

A young man had been kept in the barn after Rick, Glenn, and Hershel had brought him back with an injury that required surgery. Randall ended up knowing of the Greene farm and thus, became a threat. Rather, the group that had left him was a threat, but—guilty by association and all that. Daryl had participated in the torture of the kid for information. That led to the collapse of already unsteady ground between the two of you. Dale had died still believing that the group was above taking a life. Randall was still in that barn, awaiting the decision on his fate.

Daryl took the discovery of Sophia in the barn harder than anyone, the exception being Carol. He moved his tent away from the camp, hunted alone, and stayed away from everyone.

Including you.

The one time you had tried to talk with him, not even about the distance between you, he had reacted with anger. When you stomped away, you swore you wouldn’t go back. And you hadn’t. That had been more than two weeks ago.

Inside the house, you were noticing even more changes but these were within your own body. It was as if, over night, your breasts had decided that your bra was just no longer suitable housing. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you studied them. They didn’t look bigger. Squeezing them in your palms, you hissed at the tender ache the gentle action left behind. You’d just have to wear a flannel over your cami so your nipples didn’t alert everyone that the evening was getting chilly.

Your special condition had been particularly nasty the past two days, requiring fluids once again, leaving you weak and exhausted. You grabbed your jeans from the armchair and stepped into them. There was the slightest bit of resistance getting them over your hips, earning a crease in your brow. It wasn’t until the button and zipper wouldn’t meet that you realized something really had changed.

Pushing the denim back to your knees, you turned sideways in front of the mirror. Sure enough, there was the slightest curve to your lower belly. How hadn’t you noticed? With a defeated slump to your shoulders, you let your head roll over to where your sleep pants laid at the foot of the bed. Those and your oversized t-shirt had been enough to keep you ignorant to the changes your body was making to accommodate your baby.

“Ugh, I’m not ready, Thumper.” You whined with a cool palm over the small bump. Grumbling to yourself as you kicked off the jeans and grabbed the plaid cotton pants, you slipped them on and just pulled the t-shirt back on over your camisole. Your flannel would be enough against the autumn chill and with your boots adding to your already questionable attire, you trudged out the door and down the stairs.

Your first stop was the kitchen. Lori was there with Carl, handing him a plate that contained a sandwich and probably stale potato chips. She smiled at you as you entered, eyeing your outfit with a barely concealed smile.

“Hey there. Making a fashion statement?”

Drinking down a glass of water to swallow your pill, you turned sideways and hauled up your shirt and cami before lowering your pants slightly. The other woman gave you a nod.

“Ah, I see.” Lori began putting away food that was not used for lunch. “How far along are you?”

The question caught you off guard. You honestly hadn’t thought about it in a while. You had been more concerned with Glenn being able to find enough vitamins, with keeping down enough food and water, with Daryl being a jerk, and just with surviving. The farm had brought about several weeks of safety and you wished for your little calendar that you had kept in the beginning.

“It’s okay if you don’t—”

“No, I got this.” You assured, beginning to count on your fingers. It was more difficult than you thought. The days seemed to blend, some more eventful than others, leaving you unable to recall the quiet days in between. “Maybe 17 weeks?”

Lori nodded. “Sounds about right. Everyone’s different but I’m finding myself more sick with this one than I ever was with Carl. When you have your second, it could be smooth sailing and you could have already popped,” she raised her hands in air quotes, “by the time you’re this far along.”

You tilted your head. “Popped?”

Lori chuckled and continued with her task. “Means that one day you just wake up to a very noticeable belly.”

You looked down at your stomach, still on display with your shirt tucked under your arms to keep it raised. You wouldn’t say that you have popped as Lori put it. It was hardly noticeable until you tried to fasten your jeans. However, it was there. You adjusted your clothes and pursed your lips with a hum.

“Not sure there’ll ever be a second. I think one might be enough for the end of the world.”

You could see her expression shift, the smile and ease morphing into a questioning discomfort. Maybe it was time to table this conversation.

“I think I’ll head outside for a while. Get some fresh air. Maybe see if someone will take me to get some different clothes. I definitely don’t want to run around in my pajamas when the weather turns.” The other woman nodded with a tight-lipped smile. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”

“I will, thanks.”

You dipped your head and ambled out the screen door. The sun’s glare, high in the sky, was a shock to your eyes after being tucked away inside. Your hand acted as a visor against your brow as you scanned the farm. Everyone was scurrying around in their day to day activities, a sort of normalcy settling since everyone had moved into the house.

Except Daryl, of course.

You heaved a sigh at the thought of him out toward the edge of the farm alone. He could handle himself but the self isolation he was inflicting caused a heaviness in your heart that was beginning to fester. Carol had tried to bring him back and he had become irate. The things he had said to her were shared with you when the woman had finally let her tears fall against your shoulder. You wanted to throat punch him.

Maybe you would.

You saw Andrea perched on top of the RV with her rifle. You could almost picture Dale hovering behind her, as he often did. The vehicles had been moved closer to the house, providing much needed reassurance of a quick escape if it were deemed necessary. Chewing on your lip, you let your shoulders drop. It was time to bury that hatchet.

The climb up the ladder wasn’t as difficult as you thought it’d be. You weren’t thrilled about the height with your sporadic bouts of dizziness but as long as you stayed near the middle, it’d be okay.

Andrea glowered for a moment before turning back to keep watch over the fields.

“Hey.” You greeted. She didn’t respond, her eyes looking you up and down before she turned around again. “I deserve that.”

“You deserve more than that. You pointed a gun at my head.”

You had to close your eyes and take a deep breath. “You could have killed Daryl, Andrea.” You kept your tone level, holding up a hand when she spun around with no doubt a snarky retort on her tongue. “I didn’t come to argue with you. I came to apologize.”

“Yeah? Apology not accepted.”

Another deep breath. “That decision is yours to make. Nevertheless, I’m sorry. I was sick. I was exhausted. I wasn’t thinking clearly and you had just shot the man I lo—the father of my baby.” You blinked, stunned by what you’d almost said in the moment. The look that suddenly appeared on Andrea’s face conveyed she’d caught it too. You shook your head and continued, hoping both of you could just forget it. “None of those things are an excuse for what I did when it was truly a mistake. So, I’m sorry.” When you turned to climb down, you had nearly let yourself be suffocated by the weight of your near an admission. Was it an admission? Were you just emotional? Hormones? Insanity? The dream and then this?

“I won’t tell anyone.”

You turned back, catching her eye and holding it. She could. She could spread it through the group and eventually it would make its way to Daryl and you were not ready to have that conversation. After a moment, you nodded in silent thanks. “Are we good?” Your voice was weaker than you intended.

Andrea smiled, a surprising kindness in her gaze. “We’re good.”

You inexplicably wanted to cry, barely controlling the quiver of your chin. “Thanks.” Going down the ladder was a little more difficult in part to the blurred vision for which the tears were responsible.

Once your feet were on the ground, you just started to walk, no destination in mind. When your heart screamed for Daryl, your rationality stomped it down. He was your friend. Alright, you’d been closer to him than anyone else in the group. It was never supposed to be something more. You didn’t want anything more. You didn’t want a baby with him. You didn’t want to feel trapped there.

But you didn’t feel trapped, did you? The majority of that group was kind to you. They cared for you when you were ill, expecting nothing from you. Daryl, for all his tendency to an absolute asshat, had been tender with you at times. You were safe when you could have been alone, left to figure out the pregnancy and raise a baby on your own. No, you wouldn’t have made it on your own. The complications would have killed you.

You let out a sob, walking faster and allowing the tears to flow without wiping them away. Your cheeks and neck were damp. Why were you even upset? Had the world finally broken you? You thought you’d last much longer than that, but you never could have predicted the events that had led you to where you were.

And where you were was Daryl’s camp.

The archer was perched on the ground, next to a dark patch of earth surrounded by rocks; a fire pit that was currently unutilized. He was scowling when he looked up at your approach, but his expression changed; a sudden conveyance of concern as he hauled himself to his feet.

“S’wrong?”

You didn’t know why you were there. The last thought of him before you spoke with Andrea was one of anger. Your body was crying out for a feeling of safety; for a shield from everything bad that could harm you or the little innocent life inside you. Somehow—for reasons you no longer had the energy to debunk—your feet took you straight to Daryl.

“Y/N?” His gruff voice spoke into your hair after you walked directly into his space, your fisted hands tucked under your chin while your face pressed into the solid warmth of his chest. He didn’t move. You didn’t want him to, not really. It would only make everything more confusing.

When he remained silent but his hand came to rest lightly against your back, you turned your hands and grabbed fistfuls of his vest. You pushed him away and hauled him right back, angry that he let you. You needed him to yell at you. You needed him to tell you that he didn’t care; that he’d only be around for you because of the baby.

When you tried to shove him again, he stood firm, his other hand coming to cradle the back of your head.

“Goddamnit, Daryl! Push me away! Shut me out!” You slapped a hand hard against his chest, fingers pulling at the leather again.

“Why?”

You couldn’t answer him. You couldn’t answer because you didn’t know. You didn’t want him to send you away. And you were so scared of that revelation that you yearned to scream just to feel something other than scattered turmoil that was enveloping your heart in a deviant swaddle of barbed wire.

Without a resolution to your emotional plight, you continued to cry until it drained everything out of you. Damn him, he just stood there with his arms around you; being the shield you so desperately needed. You wanted to hate him for it.

You wanted to, but you couldn’t.

Your sobs eventually dulled into sniffles and hiccups. After what felt like hours, your legs gave out, any strength you had when you left that bedroom was utterly spent. Daryl didn’t let you fall. You knew he wouldn’t. You weren’t tired enough to miss the way he held you up or the way he bent to sweep his arm under your knees.

You didn’t look at him while he carried you; turned your back to him when he placed you on the cot inside his tent. The flinch when he draped the sleeping bag over you was unintentional. You hoped he’d leave. Maybe he’d go out to hunt, irritated that you invaded the space he’d built for himself.

“Why’re ya here?”

Of course he didn’t. The universe hated you, that was abundantly clear now. “I—don’t know.”

“This cause’a hormones or whatever s’called?”

You snorted weakly, your hand working out from beneath the sleeping bag to wipe at your face. “What do you know about hormones, Daryl?”

“The book says—”

“Book?” You sat up on your forearm and twisted to look back at him. The archer looked annoyed, a decent flush spreading from his cheeks to the top of his ears.

“Went into that town they go to for the meds an’ shit. Grabbed a, uh, book about baby stuff.” You blinked at him, earning a frown in return. “Don’t look at me like that. Yeah, I read, Y/N.”

You looked past his shoulder to where two books peeked from beneath some of his clothes. The one in question was closer, upside down and open beside the battery powered lamp.

The Expectant Father: Facts, Tips, and Advice for Dads-to-be

The small upturn of one corner of your mouth had him shifting to shield the book from your sight.

“How much have you read?”

“‘Nough to know it ain’t much fun for ya some’a the time.” He wouldn’t look at you now, finding interest in a piece of grass that he’d tracked inside. You hummed, a stirring in your chest that directly correlated with the feelings that had guided you there in the first place. The difference now was that you felt oddly grounded, able to focus on a single thought or feeling.

“Daryl?” He grunted without looking up. “Will you please move into the house?”

He sighed as though he’d been asked a thousand times. “Nah, too many people.”

“Then—can I stay out here with you?” It was your turn to find something to occupy your gaze. You settled on the sleeping bag zipper.

“Ya need to be inside. Safer there.”

“I have a bedroom.” You weren’t sure how you felt about sharing a close space with the hunter, but you knew you needed him close. Tent or bedroom, you didn’t really care. “It’d just be me and you.”

The subtle shift of his jaw indicated he was chewing the inside of his cheek. Maybe you could find him something like toothpicks or straws, anything to keep him from hurting himself when he was uncomfortable.

“Why ya want me there? Ain’t like I’m miles away.”

“I feel safer with you.” Now it was you turning pink, your cheeks and neck flushing warm.

Daryl snorted. “Ya got over half a dozen people in there.”

“They’re not you.” You countered before you could think of a better way to say it. “Look, you’re the first person I met from this group. You’ve never hurt me. I trust you to fight with me.” You ducked your head. “To fight for me. To protect me if I can’t protect myself. To protect our baby.” When you met his eyes, you realized he had never looked at you the way he was at that moment. He still had that unreadable expression that you sometimes wanted to slap off of his face, but his eyes. There was something in his eyes.

“Lemme think ‘bout it.” He stated while rising to his feet. “Gotta meet ‘bout the kid later. Letcha know after.”

You didn’t want to drop the subject but at least he was going to consider it. Sitting up, you slumped on the cot, already feeling the need for a nap. Your energy levels had taken a major hit from your momentary lapse of sanity. Scratching at an itch on your belly, you were suddenly struck with the urge to share the progress note with Daryl. He was reading damn books on pregnancy. Surely he’d want to see. Right?

“Um, Daryl?”

“Yeah?” He’d stepped out to get his crossbow and bring it inside, continuing whatever he’d been doing. He still hadn’t asked you to leave. Maybe he was afraid you’d go batshit crazy a second time.

“I thought you might—well, this morning—” You furrowed your brow, groaning at your inability to put it into words. Finally, you just stood and lifted your shirt, sliding your pants down to just above your pubic bone. “I, uh, can’t get into my jeans anymore thanks to Thumper.”

Goddamn the man’s ability to maintain an expression of complete and utter stoicism. You suddenly felt self conscious, exposed. Maybe he couldn’t even see the difference. Fuck.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t—I think I should go.” You slipped your fingers beneath the waistband of the pants but that’s as far as you got before you felt Daryl’s fingertips on your knuckles. He didn’t say anything as he stepped closer, shining blue orbs zeroed in on your stomach. You tracked his movements, each step slow and deliberate until he was directly in front of you. Using the tip of his index finger, he drew a line from your sternum to just where your pants sat below the small curve of your belly.

“Really in there, huh?” His voice was soft and raspy and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you at all. It seemed like a moment between father and child. His palm was warm when he placed it flat just below your navel. You watched his hand, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin. It tickled but you stifled the giggle that threatened.

You opened your mouth to ask what the book said about how far along you were but when you lifted your gaze from your belly, he wasn’t looking at it at all. Deep blue pools were staring right back at you.

You knew your breaths were coming faster and your heart was beating a tattoo against your ribs. “Daryl?” Did you imagine that or did he just glance at your lips? You brought your hand to his face, barely brushing his skin when he pulled away abruptly.

“Head on back to the house. Don’t think I’ll be movin’ in there. Better out here.” He grabbed up his weapon and turned his back to you.

You were still standing frozen, belly exposed and hand just finally dropping to your side. “Daryl, I—”

“Go.” Daryl’s voice cracked on the word.

You adjusted your clothing and stepped toward him. “Daryl—”

“GO!”

Eyes blown wide, you flinched back and stumbled from the tent. With energy you didn’t know you had, you ran and managed to make it to the house without falling though you stumbled on more than one occasion. You ignored the concerned calls of your name, nearly taking a tumble on the stairs, before finally disappearing into the bedroom and slamming the door. With your back against it, you tried and tried to catch your breath through the onslaught of tears. Your chest was tight, your stomach rolling.

Trapped in your distress, you couldn’t hear the screen door slap against the wall, Daryl’s boots heading toward the stairs, or even Carol’s accusatory shout.

“What did you do, Daryl?!”

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