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alltheirdamn · 5 months

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Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 8 Stages

Summary: The truth is the hardest pill to swallow. Rating: 18+ Word Count: 9.5k Warnings: **THIS CONTAINS SERIES SPOILERS** violence, blood, angst x1000, language, brief hospital setting, mentions of alcohol, stages of grief, heavy emotions A/N: This was one of the most cathartic and emotional pieces of writing I've ever done.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

You didn’t realize how white your knuckles were until you glanced down at your hands gripping the steering wheel. You hadn’t moved the car a single inch since you saw Bennett’s car. It was the same piece of shit silver sedan he always drove; you’d know it in a heartbeat. Even if you didn’t recognize it, you could spot his floppy blonde hair and lean frame standing on your porch. You mindlessly searched your purse for your phone, dialing Joel’s number. You’d hate yourself for this later, but you needed to lie.

“Everythin’ okay?” Joel answered.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you lied. For your sake, you hoped that your voice wouldn’t be as shaky as your body. “I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier. Why don’t you come over later, okay? I just got home, and my head is pounding.”

“I was ‘bout to leave my house, baby. Can I come over with some medicine and some food? I’ll take care of you,” Joel insisted.

“No!” You panicked. “No, it’s okay. I’ll call you later, and you can come over. I promise.”

“Baby, y’sure you’re okay?”

You inhaled sharply, your eyes glued to Bennett only yards away. God, you were terrible at lying, but if Joel knew Bennett was here, you’d be left with a dead body in your front yard.

“I’m fine, Joel,” you sighed. “Just need some rest.”

“I’ll be waitin’ for you to call,” Joel said. You could hear the defeat in his voice.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“See you later, baby.”

You couldn’t hang up the phone fast enough. Joel would hate you for lying, but you needed to do this—whatever it was—alone. Everything in your life had been flipped on its head in just a week, and now, the man who had broken your heart beyond amends was standing at your front door. You weren’t sure if you would survive this.

Taking your foot off the brake, you rolled your car into the driveway. Bennett glanced at your car as you put it in park, his blue eyes piercing through the distance between your bodies. The coldness of his stare was just the same as it was two years ago; nothing about him had changed.

Your legs could barely hold up your trembling body as you exited the car and made your way to the porch. Bennett wore a casual business suit, the pale blue dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, and his black slacks hugged his long legs. He hadn’t changed one bit. He was always the businessman.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You questioned, bounding up the porch steps.

Bennett eyed you as you got closer, shifting his weight and drinking you in. You were well aware of your appearance: the long work day had left your hair tousled and your blouse wrinkled from sitting at your desk. You spent two years imagining what seeing him again would be like, and in every stupid imagination, you weren’t looking worn down and tired. You imagined you’d be triumphant and strong, but you were small again in his shadow.

“Hello to you, too,” Bennett grinned. Your name off his tongue was venomous, a slow, poisonous drip that ran through your veins. Compared to Joel’s accent drawling out your name, Bennett said it like a curse.

“I’ll ask you again, Bennett. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Bennett’s hands twisted together in front of his body, and your eyes caught the sun’s light radiating off a golden band sitting snugly on his left hand. He was married. You steadied your body's sway, your vision blurring around the edges.

“You’re— you’re married,” you stammered.

Bennett glanced at his hand, his eyes roaming back to yours with a smug grin.

“Just tied the knot in May,” he shrugged.

“To who? What—. I don’t understand why you’re here.” Your mind was reeling.

“Her name is Natalie. We met through work about a year ago. We hit it off immediately, and I knew she was the one.”

Your knees threatened to buckle, and the strong composure you tried to maintain slipped. Bennett was married. He was in love. And it was to someone else.

“If she’s the one, then why are you here? At my house?”

Bennett looked up at the porch overhang, his eyes tracking over the flowers planted in the yard on the walkway leading to the front door. You saw it in his eyes; you had made this a home.

“Your house,” Bennett echoed.

“Yes, Bennett. My fucking house. The one you abandoned when you ran away.”

Bennett scoffed, tucking his hands into his pocket.

“You still don’t remember, huh?” He asked, tilting his head as he looked at you.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you seethed. You stepped forward, baring your teeth.

Not only was Bennett here, but he was taunting your memory. Nothing had fucking changed.

“A friend of mine saw you out to dinner with someone a couple of weeks ago,” Bennett started. “I was curious and figured I’d drop by and ask about it.”

You laughed.

“Not only did you leave me, but you got married. And now you want to act like you give a shit about who I date?” You accused. “Are you that fucking cruel, Bennett? Do you have any clue how fucking insane you sound? You have no control over my life anymore. Who I date and what I do is none of your business! You decided that the day you left.”

“I’m here because I care about you,” he defended.

“You never cared about me!” You yelled. “You left me! You have no right to come back. Not now. Not ever.”

Bennett stepped forward, both of you toe to toe. You couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes. Something about the way he stared at you made you rethink his words. He looked concerned; he looked at you like he did care. It was a look you hadn’t seen since before the accident.

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” He asked.

“Know what, Bennett? Stop being so fucking cryptic!”

Bennett opened his mouth to speak, but the words were drowned out by the sound of tires squealing. Your head whipped to the side, your eyes widening as you saw Joel barreling out of his truck and up the yard.

“Joel?” You exhaled.

You told him you’d call him later. You told him not to come here. Why didn’t he fucking listen? Why now?

“Bennett!” He shouted, running up the front steps.

You barely made it out of the way before Joel’s fist sailed into Bennett’s jaw, the sound of bones cracking echoing around you. There was no time to recover or react as Joel grabbed Bennett by the shirt collar, spinning him into the wall and shoving him on his toes. Joel was only a few inches taller than Bennett, but in his grip, Bennett looked smaller than you had ever seen him. Blood dripped from his lip as he whimpered in Joel’s grasp, a deep purple bruise blooming across his cheek and jaw.

“Joel!” You gasped, your voice finally returning.

You ran toward his body, trying to tear him off Bennett’s body. Joel only shrugged away your hands, his fists tightening around Bennett’s collar.

“I told you I’d kill you if you ever came back,” Joel snarled.

You staggered back after hearing his words. What did Joel mean? What was he saying?

Bennett smiled through bloodied teeth, pushing his face closer to Joel’s. His eyes shifted between yours and Joel's, and his lips curled back.

“We both agreed to stay away,” Bennett said. “Then I find out you just couldn’t give up. You came right back to her. Does she even know?”

“Y’have no fuckin’ business to be back here, Bennett,” Joel snapped.

Joel used brute strength to wrangle Bennett to the ground, his arm winding back before he assaulted him with another pound of his fist. Bennett’s face snapped to the side, blood spurting onto the wood-paneled floor. Joel delivered an onslaught of punches, an explosive display of his anger shown in the form of sadistic violence. Never did you imagine Joel to be so cruel, so unforgiving… so terrifying. You watched in horror as Joel terrorized Bennett with strike after strike. You couldn’t stomach it, your body swirling with nausea as more blood pooled around Bennett’s face.

“Joel! Stop it!” You finally screamed.

You threw yourself at him, yanking at his shoulders to try and tear him away from Bennett’s limp body. Bennett’s eyes were hardly open, shallow groans escaping his mouth as he shook his head back and forth. He was hardly recognizable.

“Joel!” You pleaded. “Stop it, please!”

Finally, Joel relented, rocking back onto his heels with blood splattered on his hands and shirt. This wasn’t the man you loved. This was someone else… someone terrifying.

“I’m calling the cops,” you panted, your breath ragged as you tried to swallow down the vomit rising in your throat.

“Don’t,” Joel argued. You didn’t recognize the tone of his voice; it was so harsh and angry.

“I can’t just leave him like this, Joel! Don’t you see what you did to him? I don’t—I don’t know what the fuck just happened. I told you to stay home. I can’t… We need to call an ambulance.”

Joel stood to his full height, glancing down at his hands, their tanned skin battered and bloody. Whoever this man was before you, it was not the man you were falling in love with.

“What are you gonna tell them, baby? Because if they see me like this, I’m goin’ to jail.”

“Are you threatening me right now, Joel?” You gaped. “After everything you just did.”

His eyes met yours, the darkness inside them drowning out the brown you were so familiar with. His eyebrows furrowed together, scrutinizing your body language and disgust as you stared at him.

“Call them,” he grunted. “I don’t give a fuck. I told him what to expect if he ever came back.”

There it was again. That same sentence that confused the hell out of you. It jarred you in an unsettling way, but you pushed it down and focused on the man lying unconscious on the porch. You ran to your car, dug for your phone, and dialed 911.

You remained by your car until the police showed up, their flashing lights and sirens lighting up the fading sun as it drifted into duskfall. Joel sat on the porch steps, his head hung low and bruised hands in his lap. Neither of you had spoken a word since you called the police, and his words to Bennett still swarmed inside your mind. You had lied about the headache to him earlier, but now it was true. And you felt fucking miserable.

Two police officers exited their car, meeting you on the driveway.

“Can you tell us what happened here, ma’am?” One of them asked. He was taller than Joel, his face clean-shaven and creased with aging skin. His hand remained comfortably over the grip of his gun on his utility belt, and you tracked each movement as your heart thumped in your ears.

You swallowed thickly, deciding to do the unspeakable. You lied.

“I came home, and my ex-fiancé was waiting for me,” you explained, meticulously fabricating a story that would save Joel. Despite your confusion, a small piece of you still wanted to protect him. “I called my boyfriend and told him I felt unsafe. I tried waiting in my car, but—but my ex dragged me from the car and was threatening to hurt me if I didn’t let him inside. That's when Joel, my boyfriend, showed up. Everything he did was to protect me.”

The lie tasted bitter as it sat heavy on your tongue. It was hard to remain composed as your headache grew stronger.

“We’ll need statements from both parties,” the officer explained, reaching for a small notepad.

The other officer, a short, tan-skinned man, stayed with you and gathered your personal information. You watched as the first officer approached Joel, your body tense as you worried the stories wouldn’t add up. You lied for Joel. You hoped for both of your sakes he would fuck this up more than he had already.

The blaring sound of sirens jolted you from your fixation on Joel, the ambulance coming to a rolling stop in front of your driveway. The neighborhood was slowly becoming crowded, with watchful neighbors littering the streets and front yards. You shrunk away from their wandering eyes, wishing the world could grow quiet and dark.

Medics bounded up your driveway, a stretcher and medical supplies in hand. You bit your lip to contain the cries threatening to explode. You hated Bennett, but the brutal image of Joel’s fist crushing his face over and over again… you couldn’t erase it from your mind. Bennett was a piece of shit, but he didn’t deserve what happened.

The other officer joined you again, tapping his pen against the notepad. Anxiety wove its way through your pounding headache, straining the air, trying to expel from your chest.

“The medics are working on stabilizing him now,” he explained. “Mr. Miller’s story matches yours, so our next step is prosecution. Is that something you’d like to do, Miss Smith? I recommend filing a restraining order as soon as possible to prevent another incident like this.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” you nodded. “Whatever you think is best.”

The officer cocked an eyebrow at your response, visibly confused. If you were following the path of your lie, a restraining order would make sense, but you also wanted to speak to Bennett after he recovered. You needed answers. You needed answers from him and Joel.

“I’ll give you the contact information for an attorney that can help with the process, but other than that, we have everything we need tonight,” he said. “When your ex-fiance is awake and alert, we’ll gather his statement and file a full report. Medics will transfer him to St. David’s for further evaluations and motoring. If Mr. Miller needs further medical attention, please contact us so we can include it in the report.”

He handed you a business card with his name and number, and slowly, the commotion began to die out. You looked on in horror as the medics wheeled Bennett off in a stretcher, his face swollen and bandaged. He was a hollow version of the man you once considered so powerful. Your memories, your happiness… they were always his. And you didn’t know who owned those things anymore. Everything was crashing down around you, and you had no control.

Joel’s figure was shrouded in darkness as he stood by your front door. The anger still radiated off his body, but it was far more tame than it had been just an hour ago. The medics had cleaned and bandaged his hand, and he kept it cradled to his body. You made a conscious effort not to look at the red stains marring your porch; you’d worry about cleaning the mess tomorrow. You couldn’t stomach the smell and sight of it, not when your mind was plunging further under the pressure of your migraine.

Joel said your name, steering you out of your swarming thoughts. You blinked up at him, your eyes hazy and blurred from tears.

“Why the hell are you here, Joel?” You snapped. “I told you to stay home, so why the fuck did you show up?”

“Somethin’ bout the way you sounded on the phone made me nervous. I’m not sorry I showed up, though,” he confessed. That wasn’t good enough.

“You either explain to me what the fuck just happened, or you leave,” you ordered.

“I can explain everythin’, baby. Can we just go inside?” Joel asked.

“You actually think I’m letting you in my house after you almost killed someone?” You raged. “I don’t even recognize you right now, Joel! And what the fuck did you mean when you told Bennett never to come back? What did he mean when he said you both agreed to stay away? Do you know him, Joel? Have you been lying to me this whole time?”

Joel sighed, his eyes falling to the ground; he couldn’t even fucking look at you.

“Answer me, damn it!” You cried. “Why won’t you answer me!”

“Baby, can we please go in the house? I need you to sit down and listen to me when I explain everythin’.”

“No! I want you to tell me right now.”

Joel nodded, standing idle in front of you.

“I knew about your accident before we met.”

You looked at him horrified, your body frozen.

“How?” You asked. “You didn’t even know me until almost three months ago.”

“I knew ‘bout it ‘cause we were datin’ when it happened,” he sighed. Joel’s features began to soften, and the pain in his voice was almost impossible to ignore.

“No,” you shook your head. “You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not! Would you just listen to me? Please?” He pleaded, stepping forward.

You staggered back, your back hitting the side wall of the house. Your knees barely held your weight as you tried to grasp his words. Joel rubbed his bandaged knuckles, sucking in a breath before continuing.

“You and Bennett broke up after you moved to Austin,” he began. “Y’all had some big argument, so y’moved in with Maria since you were substitute teachin’ at her school—the same school you teach at now. It musta been a couple of months after the breakup, but there was a parent-teacher conference night, and I ran into you. That's how you and I met, baby. That was nearly five years ago.”

Like a saw cutting bone, your headache fractured into a million tiny pieces, each one a sharp stab to your brain as you tried to grasp onto Joel's words. It wasn’t true. He was lying. You were going crazy; all your hard work at remembering everything and moving on was crumbling down, sand through your fingertips you could not keep from falling away.

“No, I know you’re lying,” you denied, tears streaming down your face. “You’re just making some sick fucking joke out of my memory loss. That’s what this is, isn’t it? You saw an opportunity to make up some story after I shared the most traumatic part of myself. You and Bennett…” You heaved in a breath. “No. This—this isn’t true. You’re lying.”

“I’m not! And I can prove it, but let me finish explainin’,” he begged before continuing. “We dated for almost two years, alright? Best fuckin’ years of my life. Y’were the best thing to ever happen to me. You even moved in with me and Sarah! She loved you so so much, baby. We would go to her soccer games together and watch cartoons together. We took her campin’ in the summer before the accident. Everythin’ was amazing. So fuckin’ amazing.”

“Sarah?” You interjected. “She would have said something to me months ago. You can’t expect me to believe this.”

“I begged her not to say anythin’ to you when she started school,” he explained. “I didn’t want you knowin’ till I was ready. I wanted to do this my way.”

“Your way?” You scoffed. “You get to decide when it’s a good time to tell me everything I’ve known is a lie? Are you fucking kidding me, Joel?”

“Everyone wanted to wait ��til it was the right time,” he defended. “We all hoped you'd remember if I came back into your life.”

You slid down the wall, your body crumbling to the ground. You buried your head in your hands, trying to quell the pain squeezing together inside your head. Nothing made sense. Everything felt like a lie. It wasn’t true. You kept telling yourself that if it was true, everyone you loved and trusted had lied to you for years. You had struggled alone for so long without the truth.

“My parents? My sisters? They all knew?” You muttered. “Everyone kept this from me?”

Joel crouched in front of you, his hand hovering over your leg.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You yelled. You shrunk away from him, curling your legs up to your chest and pressing into the wall.

“The doctors and your parents thought it was best we didn’t mess with your memory,” he said, exasperated. “Bringin’ me into your life when y’didn’t remember me woulda set you back in recovery.”

“So, what?” You laughed bitterly. “Bennett just magically reappeared to save the day? Why did he come back if he and I were broken up?”

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed tight. You shivered against the wind rustling through the yard, your thin shirt barely keeping you warm. Not even the warmth of your tears coating your cheeks could fight the chill creeping through your spine.

“Your parents made the decision to reach out to Bennett,” Joel argued. “And he loved the idea. Bennet loved knowin’ I’d have no access to your life, and he’d have you back.”

“My parents wouldn’t do that. They hate him.” You kept shaking your head, hoping things would begin to make sense.

“They hate him, but they love you more, baby,” he whispered. “And I loved you—I love you—and I was willing to risk it all. If there were some chance you would get your memory back, then I’d be here waiting for you.”

“But I never remembered! I still don’t remember, Joel! So why now? Why did you come back?”

Joel rocked back onto his heels, his body falling back until he sat before you. Tears glistened in his eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. He didn’t have the right to be sad; he fucked up. He lied to you, and now he was paying the consequences. Your indifference and anger would torture him like he had tortured you. Like everyone had tortured you.

“I just wanted the chance,” he admitted. “I wanted to know if that spark was still here between us. I know it’s still there, baby. This is real.”

“Don’t call me baby,” you cried, your voice barely above a whisper. “This isn’t real. You lied to me, Joel, and so did everyone else. Everyone decided what they thought was best for me, and I have suffered because of it. Do you not see that?”

“We did it to protect you,” he defended. “Y’gotta understand that.”

You pulled yourself to your feet, tripping over his body and toward the door. You wanted nothing to do with this conversation anymore. You fumbled with the door handle, the tremor of your fingers making your grip weak on the lock. The sound of Joel standing behind you ignited another wave of nerves, and you spun to face him.

“I will never forgive you for this,” you cried.

He stepped forward, his eyes pleading with words he couldn’t say. You shoved at his chest, forcing him away from you. Joel’s brown eyes looked at you as if he could see your heart breaking. He choked out your name, broken syllables that no longer sounded beautiful on his tongue.

“Don’t ever come back here,” you threatened. “Don’t contact me. Don’t contact my family. You need to leave. Now.”

“Please,” he begged. Heavy tears fell down his tanned cheeks, leading to the scruff lining his jaw. You would have ached to soothe his sadness yesterday, but not now. Not when his sadness stemmed from the lies that filled the gaps in your memories.

“Leave!” You screamed, shoving him again.

Joel stumbled back, staring at you wide-eyed and heartbroken. You stepped forward again, your hands ready to push against his chest one more time. He lifted his hands in defeat, walking backward down the porch steps.

“I love you,” he whispered in the night. “I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t wait to see him leave. You threw open the front door and slammed it shut just as fast, your body slumping against the wood as you swallowed down your nausea.

You wanted to vomit.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to stop loving Joel.

The room was spinning around you, and you had no chance to find your bearings before the haze washed over your mind and dropped you to the ground.

Everything was dark around you. You groaned as you peeled yourself from the floor, your head still throbbing. The lies grew louder as you tried to recall everything Joel had said.

I wanted to do this my way.

I love you.

Lie after lie, overlapping in the ocean of pain, threading its way through your body. The house felt colder than you were used to, your body still shivering as you stood on unsteady legs. You walked to the kitchen in search of water; every swallow felt like knives slicing through your throat. You fumbled for the kitchen light, rummaging through the cup cabinet for a glass. Two gray mugs sat snug on the shelf, the reminder of Joel staring straight at you. Another wave of emotions coursed through you, and you reached for them.

You turned them in your hands, the faint smell of coffee lingering on the ceramic. The quiet moment spent together no longer felt special; it felt like a disgusting lie. Joel didn’t guess how you liked your coffee; he knew. He knew everything about you. The rage inside you returned, stronger than it had been on the porch. Your hands squeezed the mugs, and you hurled them into the nearest wall, a scream erupting from your mouth. You didn’t flinch as they shattered. You didn’t blink as they pierced the wall and chipped the paint. This house was built on lies, and you wanted to ruin every inch of it. You reached for another mug, smashing it on the ground before you. Then another…and another, until you stood in a pile of broken shards of your life.

It wasn’t enough.

You walked around the house, shattering anything you could find worth breaking. You stood in the living room and stared at the dust-covered bookshelf, your chest rising and falling. The books crammed on the shelves taunted you, the broken spines and dog-eared pages another reminder of the years you’d never remember. The adrenaline and anger led you to the shelf, and you used all of your strength to push it over. It toppled to the ground, its weight shaking the floor beneath your feet. A few books made their way out of the destruction, their bindings crushed by the downfall.

You staggered back to the couch, slumping into the stiff cushions. Flashes of Joel wrapped around you flooded your mind, and you immediately rolled off of it. Your ass hit the ground, and you crumbled into a ball. Somewhere in the distance, your phone rang, the shrill of the ringer echoing through the destruction you had created. Maybe it was your mom with news of your dad. Maybe it was Beth. But you knew your phone would never light up with Joel’s name again.

You rubbed your temples, trying to massage the ache throbbing in your skull.

You spent another hour on the ground until you finally decided to drag yourself to the bathroom. Under the blinding lights, you stared at the stranger in the mirror. You didn’t recognize her. Whoever she was, she wasn’t the girl you had been hours ago. Your eyes were swollen from crying, your cheeks flushed, and your lips chapped from screaming. The wrinkles in your blouse were worse than they had been after school, the corners untucked from your work pants and splattered with remnants of Bennett’s blood. You didn’t recall ever getting close enough to the bloodshed, but the evidence of Joel’s violence was all over your body. You couldn’t tear your clothes off fast enough.

You turned on the shower and didn’t wait for the water to run warm. The cold spray washed over your hair, and you scrubbed every inch of your body until your skin was raw and red. You ran the loufa over the places on your body Joel had touched: your stomach, your neck, your breasts. There wasn’t enough soap and water to rid yourself of the phantom touches left on your skin. You hated him. No, you wanted to hate him. You shook your head… you hated him.

You hated everyone in your life.

The imprint of Joel’s body was still pressed into the other side of the bed, and you couldn’t stand looking at the pillow he had laid his head on beside you. Those moments you shared under the light of the moon no longer felt special. He knew your body once before; he had seen you stripped bare and spread open. You gave yourself to him willingly, which meant something to you. Stripping off the sheets, you tossed them to the floor, curling up on the cold mattress. Sleep evaded you, so you let the night pass, your eyes watching the hours slip away through the view behind the bedroom window.

Eventually, the sun rose and colored your room in soft morning sunshine. It angered you that the Earth continued to spin; the world hadn’t stopped moving, though you remained stuck in the series of events from yesterday. It was so fucking unfair that people around you would wake up today and move through their day with contentment and happiness. You didn’t know if you’d ever experience those emotions again. You were spiraling into each stage of grief, the overwhelming pressure of them consuming every fiber of your being.

You mustered up whatever energy you had from yesterday to pull yourself from the empty bed. You were numb as you dressed yourself for work, avoiding the mirror as you put on a black dress and flats. You had briefly considered covering your dark circles and puffy eyes with makeup, but your exhaustion and lack of care said otherwise.

Vacating your room, you walked into the mess you had created. Shards of broken dishes and glass littered the floor, the wallpaper torn in areas, and the bookshelf still lying half-destroyed in the living room. A laugh bubbled out of your mouth, the sound foreign and distorted. You did this. Your rage and hatred for everything around you ruined the only haven you had left. You couldn’t contain the laughter as it wracked through your body, tears springing from your eyes as your eyes glazed over the catastrophe of each room. The denial settled back over you when the laughter died, leaving you weeping in an empty house.

As you left the house, you averted your eyes, your self-restraint working overtime not to focus on the blood stains marring the porch. You’d deal with that later. The silence inside your car weighed heavy on you while you drove to the school, your mind numb and empty as you pulled into your parking space. You should have found a substitute for the day, but you needed the distraction. Who knows what would have become of your house if you stayed in it any longer. The idea of setting it on fire didn’t sound so bad.

You decided to lock your classroom door until school began; you didn’t need nor want to see Maria. She was just as much a liar as the rest, leading you on all these months and pushing you toward Joel. That “Happy Hour” night was just a ploy to get you and Joel in the same space; her intentions were never pure. Everyone had blood on their hands in this stupid fucking plan.

The school bell rang, and you hesitantly opened your door. You plastered on the fake smile you had mastered, feeling uncomfortable after the last few months of actually feeling happy. Joel took that away in the span of a night.

As the students filed in, you greeted them with a tight-lipped smile and a brief hello before settling into your desk chair. You weren’t in the right headspace to teach today, so you opted for quiet reading time and a few worksheets: anything to keep the noise levels down and the questions to a bare minimum.

The classes went as smoothly as possible, with only a few outbursts of noise from each class. You hadn’t found the time to cry between each one, too busy finding the courage to face Sarah.

Joel’s voice rang in your head as you watched her walk into the classroom, her curls bouncing with each step.

She loved you so much, baby.

How could you believe Joel when he said something like that? It wasn’t true; it was manipulative. You never knew Sarah until this year. She was just as much a stranger to you as any other student until Joel entered your life. Yes, you cared for her, but you didn’t love her. Even she had been a part of all of this, her last conversation with you was just as much of a lie as everything else. You doubted Joel told Tommy he loved you, and you doubted Sarah even heard the conversation—if there really was a conversation to begin with. She was pushing you toward him like everyone else did.

Everyone had a say in your life except for you. You were a bystander among their choices; nothing in the last three years had been in your control. You were a puppet on a string, tossed everywhere until it pleased them.

“Okay, class, today is just an easy day for you,” you announced, your voice harsh and clipped. “Take out your reading for the next unit and work on chapters one through three. Once you finish, please grab a worksheet from my desk and get started on that.”

A unified groan sounded through the room, and that was your breaking point. Standing from your desk, you leveled the entire desk with a heavy glare.

“I don’t want to hear a single word today,” you snapped. “Open your books and start reading. Please.”

They all looked at you in terror. You had never been one to snap or be quick to anger, but you were teetering on the edge of eruption. One more word, and you would explode. The students sorted their backpacks for their books, the sound of pages rustling the only noise surrounding you. Slumping back into your chair, you sighed heavily and turned to your computer.

An email sat unread in your mailbox, and you clicked it open with a pit in your stomach.

Ms. Smith: My deepest apologies for your recent family emergency. Per the quarterly requirements, parent-teacher conferences must be completed by the end of the week. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to reach out. Many thanks, Principal Edmonds

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck Fuck.

You completely forgot about parent-teacher conferences. In the chaos of the last week, it had slipped your mind entirely. You scrounged through your binder of schedules and pulled out the spreadsheet you had created, skimming through the list to find Sarah’s name. She was the last on the list. Fuck.

Seeing Joel this week would be too soon for the open wound bleeding inside your chest. You created a mock email to send to each parent, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you landed on Joel’s email. You couldn’t avoid just one student during the conferences, even though every atom in your body screamed at you to do it. Without a second to overthink your choices, you sent your mass email and closed your inbox.

As the class continued, students drifted to your desk for their worksheets. Sarah was among the first in the groups to come up; her eyes lowered to the ground, and a frown dragged down her lips. A piece you ached for her; she was just a child amid a web of lies. Then, there was another piece of you that understood Sarah was wiser than you realized. She understood the severity of the situation, yet she continued to persist. Were the soccer games even part of Joel's meticulous plan?

“Miss Smith,” she cautioned.

“Is there something you need, Sarah?” You scowled. You were being harsh, but you couldn’t find a fuck to give about it.

“No. I—uh—I just wanted to ask if things were okay,” she stammered. “You know, between you and my dad. I shouldn’t have said anything yesterday. It was—.”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Sarah,” you interjected. You leaned forward, locking your hands together. “You shouldn’t be worrying about my dating life, nor should you worry about your father’s. I am your teacher, and these conversations need to stop.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, her eyes still staring at the ground. “I understand.”

She sulked back to her desk, never looking back at you.

When the final bell rang, you exhaled relief and listened to the class chatter quietly as they packed up to leave. You quickly cleaned your desk, stuffed your things into your bag, and slung it over your shoulder. Maria's voice drifted down the hall before you could lock your door correctly.

“I’ve been trying to catch you all day!” She said, exasperated.

You rolled your eyes, dropping your keys in your bag. Inhale. Exhale.

“Sorry, Maria. I’ve just been busy,” you lied. “I need to get home, okay? We can catch up later.”

“Is everything alright?” She pressed. “Is it your dad? Is he okay?”

You whipped your head toward her, the venom creeping over your tongue. Inhale. Exhale.

“I haven’t had time to check in. I’ve been busy.”

Maria eyed you wearily, the dots connecting in her head the longer she stared at you. She saw the anger plastered on your face; she could hear the bitterness in your voice. Her lips trembled as she tried to piece together something to say.

“Did something happen with Joel…” Her voice drifted off.

“Don’t, Maria. I need to get going.”

You rushed down the hall, leaving her between empty classrooms and lingering students.

St. David’s Medical Center looked the same as it did three years ago. Nothing had changed since you had been rushed here in an ambulance, your life hanging in the balance and memory gone. You’d never forget the moment you woke up in the hospital bed, bleary-eyed and confused.

The brick building towered over you as you entered the ER. You stilled the erratic pulse in your veins before asking a nurse which floor Bennett had been transferred to. You didn’t want to do this—you didn’t want to see him—but you deserved answers that Joel didn’t have to offer. He hadn’t been the one with you the last three years; he didn’t know the other side of the story.

The elevator ride up to the trauma unit was miserable, the nerves building inside you with each passing floor. You weren’t sure what to expect when you entered Bennett’s room, but you hoped for the best. Maybe he’d talk. Maybe he’d scream. Maybe he’d threaten to sue you…or Joel. All of which were valid reactions. The elevator door slid open, exposing you to a fluorescent hallway, a blur of nurses passing by as you walked through the corridor.

The door to his room was shut, but you spotted a petite blonde woman through the cracks of the blinds. Natalie. Dammit, you forgot he had a wife, and that made all of this much more complicated. Sucking in a deep breath, you knocked.

“You aren’t welcome here,” she seethed, cracking the door open an inch.

“I understand, and I’m so sorry. I just—I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I’m at fault for all of this. I really am sorry,” you apologized.

Natalie’s green eyes pierced into you, little daggers jabbing into the places in your heart that were still left intact. She was a few inches taller than you, her frame more petite and athletic than yours. You could understand why Bennett married her; she was perfect. You had no reason to be angry with her for his decisions, but you needed Natalie to know why you needed answers.

“Is he awake?” You asked, attempting to peer over her shoulder into the room.

She quickly blocked your view, moving into the space that allowed you to see in.

“You need to leave,” she snapped. “Our lawyer will contact you, and you can apologize to him.”

“Has he told you anything about me?” You tried a different angle. “If he has, you know why I need to talk to him. What happened yesterday…I had nothing to do with it. I was a bystander in all of it, and I know that doesn’t make the situation better, but I need to talk to him.”

“And I need you to fucking leave!” She raged.

You were defeated, tired, and left with gaps in your memory that would never be filled with answers. Nodding slowly, you wound your hands together, twisting your fingers as you stood, reluctant to leave.

“Listen, when he gets better can you please just—can someone let me know? And if he ever wants to talk to me again, I’d really like to speak with him.”

“Like I said, our lawyer will contact you.”

The sound of movement behind her stirred her away, her head glancing back at the bed. You waited idly, trying to get a glimpse of Bennett. All you could make out was splotchy, swollen skin and bandages covering half his face. When you thought about Joel, a new wave of disgust flooded you. He did this. He not only ruined your life, but he ruined Bennett’s life, too. Joel nearly killed him last night, and the guilt would weigh on you heavily for that.

“Natalie,” you heard Bennett’s voice echo into the hall. It was broken and raw, and you watched the door close in your face as she returned to his bedside.

You remained outside the door for several minutes, not knowing what to say or where to go. This had been your only chance at learning the truth from his side, but Natalie persisted in not giving you the opportunity. You understood, though; you understood her pain.

You made your way down the hall toward the nurse's station. An older woman in blue scrubs looked up at you with soft eyes and a gentle smile.

“Can I help you with somethin’, dear?” She asked.

“Do you mind if I leave my number with you? It’s for the patient down in room 201. I would really appreciate it if you could leave it with him when he gets discharged.”

“Oh, of course, sweetheart. Let me grab a notepad.”

You jotted down your number and left the hospital with tears streaming down your face. Everything was hopeless, completely hopeless. You would never get answers or closure; you’d have to spend however long to accept it and move forward. But that wasn’t good enough. You deserved answers. It was your life you had lost, and everyone else got the pleasure of knowing… everyone except you.

You were too tired to care about the mess when you arrived home. You walked barefoot through the house, tiptoeing around the broken dishes, not bothered by the thought of stepping on the shards. You were numb; nothing would hurt right now. You had no appetite for dinner, so you settled for a glass of wine; at least the buzz would overlap the throbbing pain in your head.

Your phone sat on the dining table, untouched. You hadn’t checked it in nearly twenty-four hours and were scared of what you might find. Despite the anger toward your family, you still worried for your dad. It was hard to push aside the emotions weighing down your chest, but you needed to make sure he was okay.

Taking a long gulp of your wine, you finally checked your phone.

Seven missed calls from Mom

Ten missed calls from Beth

Two missed calls from Stella

You dialed your mom’s number and waited with trembling hands.

“Sweetheart! I was so worried about you. Why haven’t you answered me?” Your mom sounded flustered.

“I’ve been busy,” you lied.

“We’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day. Dad woke up this morning, and everything was okay, like we hoped. He’s going to have a bit of recovery with his hip, but there were no other issues. His memory is fine, and he’s alert.”

That was the tipping point.

“I’m glad he can remember everything. I would really hate it if you had to lie to someone again about their life,” you said bitterly.

The silence was louder than words.

“Sweetie…” Your mom pleaded.

“I know, Mom. I know you lied. I know about everything, so save it.”

“You have to understand—.”

“I don’t have to understand anything! You don’t get to decide what I think or feel right now. You all chose to lie to me for years!”

“It was what we thought was right,” your mom begged. “We didn’t want to lose you. We—we were all so scared that messing with your memory would make things worse.”

You laughed, your body void of any emotion other than anger. Your words were weapons, and you were ready to aim to kill.

“And what were you planning on doing if I got those memories back?” You questioned. “Were you hoping I’d just carry on with my life without giving a shit? You took two years of my life and kept it a secret! You took everything from me, Mom. You all did.”

There was no mistaking the sound of her crying through the phone. You pulled your cell phone from your ear, letting the muffled sounds linger in static air. Your name floated through the receiver, and you slowly brought it back to your ear. Your mom's words mumbled together.

“…sorry, sweetie. I’m so—I’m so sorry. We should have told you sooner. We shouldn’t have…”

You tore the phone from your ear again and lifted your wine glass to your lips. The rich-bodied taste paired well with your resentment, the tinge of bitterness coating your tongue and poisoning your words.

“There’s a lot you should have done and said, but it’s too late now, isn’t it?” You raged. “You should have told me the truth the moment I woke up. You should have never let Bennett back into my life, and you should have never kept Joel a secret. I understand now why you all acted so weird around Joel in Boston. I understand why everyone was shoving it down my throat to tell him about the accident. You wanted me to be the one that took the fall when everything connected. I’m sure you’re so happy now that you’re free from all the secrets you’ve been hiding.”

“I just wanted you to be happy,” she sobbed. “We all did.”

“Happy?” you repeated. “I’ve been miserable for years. You all knew how Bennett treated me, and you let it happen! You made that decision, and now you have to live with it. You were worried you’d lose me? Well, congrats, Mom, you’ve lost me.”

You ended the call before she could utter another word and returned to your wine glass. Sitting at the dining table, surrounded by unfamiliar ghosts, you drank until the bottle ran empty.

Light-headed and drunk, you staggered through dark hallways to your room. The world spun around you as you collapsed onto the bed, your body on an endless merry-go-round as you tried to shut your eyes. Even with an entire bottle of wine in your system, you still couldn’t sleep. You watched the ceiling fan rotate for hours, your head spinning in the same cadence. Around and around, your thoughts turned until nausea led you to the bathroom.

You laid your head on the edge of the toilet seat, exhausted and defeated. You wanted to cry, but the tears never came. You wanted to scream, but you had no voice. All you had was a handful of anger and nowhere to place it.

It took you three days to finally clean the mess inside your house. Your energy levels ran so low from work and parent-teacher conferences that you would just lay on the couch and stare at the ruined walls. Your fridge was empty, and nothing in your pantry had been touched aside from the aged bottles of wine you kept stored on a dark shelf. You weren’t the type to drink yourself into oblivion, but it had been your only comfort amid the heartbreak. You didn’t sleep much, either, and it began showing. Makeup no longer hid the dark circles sinking in beneath your eyes; you gave up trying to hide it. Your students slowly started to notice the shift in your mood as the week passed; their books were open and ready to read before you could even sit down. It was a nonverbal agreement between them and you; they kept their voices down, and you didn’t lash out. You never wanted to be the teacher who didn’t care about what they learned, but you didn’t even care about yourself right now.

But now it was the last day of conferences, and you had to see the person you hated most—the person who built up and tore down your happiness and trust.

I love you.

You wished you could love the sound of those words. You wished you could hear them again in a different life and believe them. In whatever memories you lost, you knew Joel meant those words, and you knew you probably meant them, too. And the longer you thought about it, the more your heart shattered. It was all a lie.

The clock was nearing six o'clock when you finished your conference with Georgia and her parents. Of course, she got high accolades and praises, and you carried yourself as best as you could the entire time. With tight smiles and agreeing nods of your head, her family finally shuffled out.

You tried your hardest to contain the emotions welling inside your chest. There had been nothing but a static numbness rolling through your veins the last several days, but any moment now, Joel would walk through your classroom door and tear off the bandaid, barely keeping your heart together. You sorted through papers on your desk, trying to busy yourself as you waited while cursing yourself for ever deciding to be a teacher. If you hadn't chosen this school, maybe you could have avoided meeting Joel—back then and now. You might have never met if you had chosen a different career path. If you never met, then—

A familiar voice said your name and roused you from your endless ‘what ifs.’ Your head snapped toward the door and saw Joel standing with Sarah at his side. He didn’t need to say anything else; he saw everything written on your face—the anger, the pain, the exhaustion. He saw right through your hard exterior—he always did. And you hated him all over again.

“Hello, Sarah,” you greeted her with a tight smile. You kept your eyes below Joel’s neck when you greeted him. “Hello, Mr. Miller.”

You didn’t want to spend another second lost in the dark brown of his eyes, wondering about what could have happened if things had been different. You pulled Sarah’s report from your pile of papers and jotted down the list of what to talk about and how quickly you could sum it up. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed something in Joel’s hand, his bruised knuckles squeezing it tight.

Sarah went to one of the desks, readying herself to sit down. You held out a hand to stop her, urging her to remain standing.

You started, “I’ll keep it short and sweet, so I don’t waste any of your time.”

“What happened to your hand?” Joel’s voice radiated around the room, the concerned tone vibrating through your body.

You glanced at your hand and realized it was red and scabbed with cuts from cleaning the house—you hadn’t been particularly careful or safe when you picked up the broken pieces. You dropped your arms to your sides, keeping your features schooled and replacing any emotions with the professionalism you had mastered through the years.

“Like I was saying.” You cleared your throat. “Sarah has done great on the units so far this year. She’s among the highest-scoring students in the class and did exceptionally well on our poetry unit. I do not doubt the rest of the year will be even greater academically for her.”

Sarah stood awkwardly between you and Joel, her teeth chewing into her bottom lip. Joel shifted beside her, his hands drawn behind his back, keeping whatever he held a secret. You looked over your paper again, skimming the words that had been pre-written weeks ago.

“I have no concerns about Sarah or her capabilities in the class, so I think we should end it there,” you said. If this had been any other student, you would have spent more time talking them up and genuinely putting effort into the conference. But you wanted nothing more than to see them both walk out the door and leave.

Joel repeated your name, attempting to capture your attention. It worked, but not to his benefit.

“I am your daughter’s teacher, Mr. Miller,” you snapped. “Please address me correctly.”

You glared at him, finally meeting his eyes. He looked just as awful as you did. The glimmering amber of his eyes had dulled to a dark color you had never seen before, and his patchy beard was far past unkempt, the dark, wiry hairs traveling down his neck. Even his tan skin looked paler than you could recall.

Good, you thought. You wanted Joel to suffer.

“Miss Smith,” he tried again, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we just talk for a minute?”

“Unless you have a question about Sarah or the class material, there isn’t anything else to discuss,” you countered, clenching your jaw.

Joel turned his head toward Sarah, giving her a brief nod. She slid her eyes to you again, their hazel-colored softness filled with concern. Before you could question it, she moved toward the door, leaving you alone with Joel faster than you could register.

“Sarah!” You called, stomping to the door.

She was already running down the hallway, curls bouncing around her head.

Your body muscles tightened and contracted as you stood helplessly in the doorway. Joel’s warmth swarmed around you, even at the healthy distance he maintained.

“Hey,” Joel said from behind you.

You glanced back over your shoulder, watching as Joel brought forward the item he had hidden behind his back. It was a book. You recognized it immediately. Romeo and Juliet.

“Look, I just—.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, his biceps flexing under the cotton sleeves of his shirt. “I just wanted to bring this to you. It’s yours. I kept it all these years after the accident. I don’t really know why. I mean, I do know why. It’s stupid, but it’s your book, and you deserve it back.”

“Oh.” You blinked up at him, not knowing how to respond.

“Still got all your notes and scribbles,” he sighed, handing it to you. “Used to lay up at night with it, readin’ what you wrote on the sides of the pages after the accident. Y’know, I already knew it was your favorite when I asked you. I just wanted to hear y’talk ‘bout it one more time. Y’used to talk my ear off ‘bout your favorite books.” He laughed at a memory you didn’t know existed. “Anyway, I won’t keep you any longer. Y’have a good day, Miss Smith.”

He placed the book in your hands, his body brushing your shoulder as he walked out the door. Words lodged in your throat, words you didn’t want to say. The anger you were carrying inside you was becoming unbearable, but in the same breath, you hurt for him just the same.

Joel was long gone when the words finally came out, and you whispered thank you as you held the worn-down book between your hands.

You half-considered throwing away the book when you got home, your hand hovering over the trash bin with the book grasped between your shaking fingers. There wasn’t an ounce of you that wanted to open it and see your writing. Joel had carried this with him for years, holding onto a secret only he could remember. He had read this play probably a thousand times before he had even asked about it on the soccer fields. The facade of ‘doing research’ was a lie; he only wanted to share a moment of the past with you. A moment you couldn’t remember and a moment he only wanted to relive, even for just a few seconds. And you did it. You gave him hope that his plan would work, never knowing the truth.

You hated him. But it wasn’t enough hate to drown out the immense suffering of still falling in love.

Walking to your closet, you found the darkest corner and buried the book deep into the shadows. You’d be ready to flip through the pages one day, but you needed time.

Sitting back on your heels, you stared at the cuts along your hands and felt absolutely nothing. There was no more anger.

There was nothing.

#joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel x f!reader #joel x female reader #joel x teacher!f!reader #joel miller #tlou #pre outbreak!joel #tlou fanfic #joel miller fanfic #i need a better word than angst at this point #angst angst angst

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sendpseuds · 24 days

Text

[ladies and gentlemen: the fuck, marry, kill finale]

“And now, if you don’t give me what I want, I— I think I might kill you.”

Stubborn silver eyes remain frustratingly unreadable as Obi-Wan’s focus dances over Anakin’s face like he’s trying to untangle the younger man’s treacherous threat — to separate the truth from terrible lies but Anakin knows in his horrible heart that he meant every last letter.

When the grip in his hair loosens, Anakin thinks he might scream, terrified this man will pull away in more ways than one and send him into a spiraling storm, but that frigid fear quickly melts under the heat of Obi-Wan’s palm as the man’s hand slides along his jaw until he’s pressing a saber-rough thumb into the soft swell of Anakin’s lower lip, a wicked smirk curling the corners of the man’s menacing mouth as Obi-Wan Kenobi slowly lowers himself into Anakin Skywalker lap.

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?”

It feels like being yanked out of hyperspace when Obi-Wan’s lips meet his — hot and hungry and Anakin can only gasp into the kiss he never thought he’d receive. His body responds first, his mind miles behind in the maelstrom of his masters ministrations — digging his fingers into Obi-Wan’s thighs, pressing hard against his welcoming body, licking greedily into his open mouth.

Apparently, Anakin is not the only one who’s been drinking, if the bitter taste of Obi-Wan’s tongue is anything to go by but he can’t find it in him to care how exactly they got here when the man kisses like he’s been craving Anakin’s saliva for centuries.

It’s delicious and dizzying and downright insane that a stupid game could have sparked something so sinfully satisfying.

“It’s your turn,” Anakin breathes nonsensically when inevitably they’re forced to come up for air, gasping and groaning into the heating space between them.

Obi-Wan hums questioningly into another kiss, softer, sweeter than the ones that preceded it, but Anakin finds he can’t be distracted from the wicked words in his throat.

“Fuck, marry, kill,” Anakin grins, his smile only growing wider when Obi-Wan exhales an exasperated huff against his lips. “Your best friend—“ he pinches meanly at Obi-Wan’s side as if to say ‘don’t even pretend I’m not your best friend,’ “—your worst enemy—“

Anakin places small kisses to each corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth as he lists off the options, pulling the man back in and licking between his lips before adding the last teasing possibility.

“Your padawan.”

Immediately, Obi-Wan’s hands are back in his hair, harsh and heated, wrenching his head back to expose the long vulnerable line of Anakin’s throat before nipping at golden skin like he wants to hold the younger man’s pulse between his teeth.

“I have a better option,” Obi-Wan growls against his jaw and Anakin wants to roll his eyes because Obi-Wan always thinks he has a better option but any protest dies in his throat when the man in his lap grinds his ass down against Anakin’s growing desire, causing him to moan out, long and loud, his hips hitching up of their own accord.

“Fuck The Chosen One.”

Obi-Wan’s voice is rough and ragged in a way Anakin has only ever heard in the heat of battle, the man’s mouth unrelenting as he sucks a harsh bruise into his collar bone, licking salt from Anakin’s skin like he’s a delicacy meant to be savoured.

“Marry The Hero With No Fear.”

When Obi-Wan sinks his teeth into the juncture of his shoulder, growling like some feral beast, Anakin grips both hands in fiery hair, crying out in a whirling mixture of pulsing pleasure and perfect pain, tugging tugging tugging until the man’s lips are back on his, groaning into the open cavern of his mouth, desperate to taste every last one of Obi-Wan’s perfect teeth.

It feels like a fevered dream, Anakin’s mind reeling with the reality that this is Obi-Wan writhing in his lap, nipping at his lips, groaning and grinding his hips down and Anakin almost forgets—

“And who— who would you kill, Master?”

Obi-Wan pulls back just enough for that stunning silver stare to meet his own and Anakin has never seen the man like this — face flushed, hair tousled, eyes as dark and deep as empty space — he looks like a man at the very end of his carefully curated control, patience frayed to fragile fibers, and Anakin doesn’t think he’s ever laid eyes on anything more beautiful.

“Who would I kill?” Obi-Wan echos, his voice gruff and graveled and there is no denying the greedy look in those gorgeous eyes, “Anyone who dares try and take you from me.”

[1][2][3][4]

#I had so much fun with this #I hope you did too #fuck marry kill #obikin #ficlet #drabbles

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verysium · 8 months

Note

Hi please ignore this if you aren't taking requests but I have this very specific idea if you could do it:

Sae cheating on Model S/O with their rival model right before a big modeling competition which the now ex S/O wins and to kinda take revenge the now Ex S/O saying to the rival model "say hello to Sae for me"

I know this is super specific and it's up to you if you would like to take this request or not I'm currently looking for a modelling agency IRL

i took some creative liberties with this one. it was heavily inspired by yasmeen khan's 1001 nights. i do not know much about professional modeling, so most of the actual references are obscure. hopefully, this works for you though:

instead of a heart, you were born with a wound, a three-by-five inch gash that allowed the light to pass through.

doubt festers like an aperture, a brief shutter of the lens before your eyes blink away all uncertainty. in the confines of your dressing room, the mirror replaces your face with sloshing light, the silver streams of your reflection dripping down through stained fingers. it's nothing compared to the brightness of your screen, the damning evidence of a murder scene splattered across dry text.

who the hell is she? what do you mean? are you fucking cheating on me sae?

there's a knock on your door. it's alessandro, the stylist. his voice cuts through the silence, reedy and skin-tight. he wants to know why you've walked off mid-shoot, when you'll be back to rejoin the other girls on set. you think twice before you respond to his call, taking a deep breath before you face your interrogation.

there's blood on your gown, right above where your heart used to be. a fist-sized prism flashes within your chest, shot through with the hue of your arteries. crimson for the knife-thin glint in your eyes. poppy for the withered petals of your lips. scarlet for the salt encrusting your mouth. ruby for the iron ore of your tongue. red was always your color.

the photographers line up before you, judgement painted on their faces, both sets of eyes unblinking. tears with mascara make a good cover shoot, but a scornful lover with his other woman make for an even better story. you've long run out of tears to cry, tried your hand in the art of storytelling. the only way you know how to love is to angle your face towards a crowd, to bite your lip until it bleeds. your smile never wavers in its sharpness, every confession clasped tightly between white teeth.

snap, snap: once upon a time, there was a boy who weaved lies. click, click: once upon a time, there was a girl who fell for them. flash, flash: once upon a time, this could have been a love story.

there are harder things to hold than a pose, and your resolve becomes nigh unbreakable. in front of every shattering bulb, you hold strong against the impact force of time. your body is sanctified in the golden light, a yellowed blade across the horizon.

perhaps the next girl would be softer, bleeding flowers into aching mouths. perhaps the next girl would be beautiful.

but for now, you remain cold and hard and bright. you stare directly at the sun. you crush every bud beneath your fingertips, cut your flesh on its thorns. down to its very bone, every wound becomes a scar, every smile becomes a story.

when the shoot wraps up and the other woman steps in, you grin with enough light to cut shadows into her body.

"you're his new girl, right? say hello to sae for me."

#asks #fics #blue lock #bllk drabbles #bllk imagines #bllk x you #bllk x reader #bllk angst #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x y/n #sae itoshi x you #bllk #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x female reader

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crowleys-hips · 4 months

Text

Ocean

who knew that a whole ocean could be less than an inch wide? its entire depth held there in the vastness of your curious eyes i'm so afraid of drowning -all the time- but you reassure me i can breathe underwater. now it turns out i had never known oxygen until i dove into those silver blue waves and took my first breath

there inside i've found a multiverse encapsulated in the finite fragility of a human-shaped frame

that face is merely a mask and i've seen you without it there, ensconced beneath your kind gaze and gentle smile lives a fierce, ferocious passion a devotion to your convictions that bleeds into the world around you in rivulets of truths masked as embellished lies a driving force that crushes my reality into fantastic fragments of distorted visions that finally make life make sense

i see scars that resemble my own i see that deeply rooted solitude that's entrenched into our very souls pervasive and persistent throughout ages of a winless fight that singles us out as renegades

look at Us lucky Us here is our deliverance in furtive glances late nights and kisses shared from light years away

your fingerprints are indelible on my broken chest your careful digits weave golden thread through gaping wounds and fill the cracks anointing them with hallowed words

you sing, and time stops to listen your voice alone makes whole worlds bloom the hours and minutes and seconds follow the cadence of your breath and heartbeat

i wonder

if i kiss your hands would i be blessed with infinite lives across any dimension? should my tongue worship your fingertips would i find absolution?

i don't think i existed before you i have suffered a rebirth of sorts not through my despair but through the undeserved blessing of your voice calming my fears cutting through the deafening noise that besieges my crumbling mind flaring my terror of safety and gently guiding me home with your hand in mine

i'm still so afraid

but i'm not drowning now

i'm learning to swim

(i'm sorry if this was a bit much. things got out of hand.)

taglist under the cut:

@goodomensafterdark @wibbly-wobbly-blog @phantomram-b00 @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @charlotte-zophie @crowleys-curl @quoththemaiden @thewibblylever @genderqueer-hippie @lickthecowhappy @celestialcrowley @im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley @sabotage-on-mercury @ineffabildaddy @ineffable-rohese @rainbowcrowley @alwaysbemybae @fearandhatred @roof-of-trees @weasleywrinkles @brokewokebespoke @eybefioro @captainblou @amagnificentobsession

if you wanna be added/removed lemme knoww

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cloudydreamingart · 2 months

Text

(No longer canon)

The woman was taller than him by half his head, Golden eyes narrow and gleaming as the blinding lights around them shone off her horns. Blue vapour puffed out from her hallowed cheeks when she exhaled.

"Lipiah, It is wonderful to see you in good health!" She opened her arms towards him as if expecting him to fall into her waiting arms.

"Li-Lipiah?" The name felt both foreign and familiar on Kenji's tongue. A warm feeling nestled beneath the surface of his colour timer.

One of the taller men behind Kenji spoke in a language he didn't understand, It caused the woman to retract her arms and rest her hands against her blue colour timer.

"Oh, my stars! I should have known, come now my dear we can get you rested up and properly healthy at the Silver Cross,"

----------------------------------

Ultrawoman Marie - Alternative name: Mother Of Ultra Mother to Ultraman Ace and Taro - Wife to the Ultraman Ken - Father of Ultra.

Leader of the Silver Cross Aid and survivor of the Empera's War and Belial's betrayal.

#ultraman #ultraman fanart #ultrawoman marie #mother of ultra #kenji sato #ultraman rising #LimeLight Au #Cloudy art

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myfictionaldreams · 1 year

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Hello it's me your bestie! I am here to request some Loki smut! She's tired of Loki's lies and she tries to leave only for him to stop her and they get into a huge argument that leads to rough sex Dom!Loki sub!reader with biting and dirty talk maybe some oral. Also can you do a part with his eyes change and his skin goes blue? Your the best 💓💓💓💓💓

My King // Loki x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hey bestie! Thank you for your request, I hope you enjoy reading!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, manipulation, dom/sub, frost giant!Loki, huge size difference, size kink, choking, oral (f and m receiving), deepthroat, throat bulge, marking, biting, rough sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, begging

Words: 4.1 k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Loki Laufeyson, the Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief with a silver tongue that had eloquently promised to be your equal in every way that was feasibly possible. His wife, his life soul partner, his equal.

Of course, this was not the truth that came from his wicked mouth, over the last few years, there seemed to be fewer truths spoken.

“You’re my priority”.

“I’m doing this for us”.

“This is the last time I try to get the throne”.

Or your personal favourite: “I won’t leave you again”.

All sickening lies because if you were at all his priority or his equal, he wouldn’t be leaving you all alone for weeks, months or even years as he had been exiled, presumed dead or having to live on a different planet after his plans to take over the throne once again failed and caused a catastrophe for you. You’d had enough, you couldn’t live like this anymore.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Loki’s honeyed voice inquired from where he now stood at the entrance to your shared chamber doors.

“I’m going to stay with my mother,” you revealed without further explanation, not stopping with your motions of packing a few of your favourite dresses into a bag.

The sound of the chamber doors shutting echoed around the spacious golden room but you ignored him, even when his deep chuckle seemed to drift through the air, bouncing off of the walls from every direction. You loathed when he reacted like this, laughing off your words like a dismissal of your feelings as he strutted around with arrogance and confidence to belittle your emotions.

“Are you now, my pet?” he asked in a silky smooth voice.

Your body jolted to a stop at the name, he knew what that name did to you, knew how it caused your core to warm with arousal. Shaking your head to try and stay on track with your plans, you couldn’t let him distract you so quickly from your plan, he had failed to listen to your complaints before so you needed to prove that you weren’t messing around this time and actually get some space at your mother's.

Whilst continuing to fill your bag with the essentials, you maintained your confidence, “I am, and you know exactly the reason as to why Loki, I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what, exactly?” he pondered from somewhere in the room but you didn’t glance over your shoulder to check.

Your frustrations grew as you huffed out a hot breath, losing more of your patients, pulling on the drawstring of your bag with more strength than you’d needed to. “I can’t keep waiting around for you to return from being exiled”. Turning on the spot to face him directly, you were only met with an empty room, Loki nowhere in sight. Your frustration swiftly turned into anger, not in the mood for his magical tricks, knowing he had hidden from you, “I’m done with your tricks, Loki!”

Without waiting for his response, you quickly walked across the luscious room, shoulders back, bag in hand and deciding that if he said another word, you would just ignore him. However, as you research the door, you were slightly surprised that he hadn’t spoken but isn’t that what you wanted?

Lifting your hands to turn the door handle, your fingertips slide through the golden object as it disappeared before your very eyes. Loki was up to his mischief and you weren’t having it, attempting to push your body against the 15-foot high doors but they were sealed shut.

Burning hot anger rose in the centre of your chest, “You can’t keep me caged in here, Loki!”

His only response was a deep chuckle that once more echoed around the room so you couldn’t tell where it was coming from as you chucked your bad onto the floor, turned to face the empty space and took three large steps until you were away from the door.

“Stop hiding and open the fucking doors, Loki. I’m leaving. I’m fed up with waiting around for you, with your quest to take the throne! I’ve been on my own for too long! Why can’t you just be happy with what you’ve got? With me by your side and as the crowned Prince of Asgard? Why do you have to keep fighting to be the King?!”

A cool hand was suddenly enveloped around your throat and with the sheer size of his long, magical fingers, they nearly wrapped the entire way around your neck. Immediately, you knew you’d said the wrong thing, but with your rising anger, you were bound to say anything to cause a reaction from him which clearly worked as he visualised himself behind you.

Loki never raised his voice around you, even with the numerous arguments shared between you both, he always kept his voice to a balanced level which could be sometimes infuriating as it made you look like the one losing control but it was just another way for him to manipulate you.

So when he began talking in his steady tone, you couldn’t initially tell if he was angry or calm until he finished his sentence. “Do you believe I am unworthy of sitting on the throne then, my love? Is this your big confession after all of these years?”

You were sure he could feel the increase of pounding of your pulse from where he held your neck as your anxiety raised tenfold, trying to recover the words you had said, trying to take them back. “You know that’s not what I meant-”, his hand squeezed ever so slightly harder, not cutting off your airway but more as a warning to remain silent.

“Are you sure about that? Because from what I can interpret, you are unwilling to support my attempts at taking what is rightfully mine”.

This was not what you meant at all, you’d been there every step of the way and he deserved every ounce of glory that he sought after. He was your King, and knowing his hardship with Odin and brother Thor, you supported his journey to the throne but when was it enough? How could you call him your husband if he was hardly even there for you? Attempting to pull free of his grip, you stepped to the side and tried to turn to face him but he held firm, stepping with you so that you still were unable to see him.

Loki tutted, “Oh, there’s no getting out of this one now pet, you’ve betrayed my trust, do you really think I would be letting you out of here again?” You could feel the brush of his lips against the ridge of your ear, causing a shiver to brush through your body as his breath tickled the fine hairs on your face. That damned nickname again, the ownership of it as well as the restraint around your neck was causing your emotions to feel all over the place, mixed between anger and arousal, the submissive part of your brain unsure of what to do. You wanted to make him happy and prove you didn’t mean the words you said, wishing to explain that of course you supported him, you were always loyal but you couldn’t live without him forever, needing to be with him.

Your shoulders visibly sagged in defeat, losing the spark of anger as you were now resorting to back-peddling and trying to apologise for what you’d accidentally said. Opening your mouth, Loki didn’t squeeze his hand, allowing you to talk for a moment. “I just don’t want to be by myself”, you sounded defeated and timid, wanting to lean into his body but once more, his grip on your throat tightened, a sign to keep still again.

Loki’s lips were still hovering close to your ear and you could feel his mouth shape into a grin, “My lonely Princess, have I been treating you unfairly, wife?”

Your eyes shuddered closed at his acknowledgement of your union from all of those many years ago. There was always something so possessive about the way he uttered the word wife, and much like the word pet, he knew exactly what he was doing. Loki rarely said the word wife as well, usually using the pet name “my love”, when referring to you so he was really trying his best to rile you up from angry to aroused.

“Is this what you would prefer instead? For me to stay chained to our chambers and look after my lonely wife, rather than take my claim for the throne? Hmm?” You couldn’t answer even if you wanted to. His taunts were really messing with your mind, confused now between apologising and needing to relieve the tension between your legs at the thought of him naked, waiting in your bed every day just to pleasure you, oh his silver tongue was really tempting today.

Loki then pulled your body flushed against his causing you to whimper with need, wanting to feel more of him. “Shall we find out what you think?” Loki asked with a hint of humour and you already knew what his plan was as his other hand drifted to the top of your thigh, pushing aside material where the open slit was in your long dress. His skin was cooler than your body temperature due to his Frost Giant blood and during your first few years together, you would jump at the touch, but now you welcomed it as his long fingers delved to cup your unclothed cunt.

He always preferred you without underwear and soon you disposed of every pair that you’d owned so he could straight away feel just how slick you were for him, your juices already coating your pussy lips and inside of your sensitive thighs.

Loki audibly sucked in air, “Just as expected darling, dripping wet at the thought of me locked in here with you. Well that’s what you’ve got today dear wife, the door is locked and I am all yours”.

You stumbled slightly as he suddenly released you from his hold as he gave you the opportunity to decide what to do next, continue to leave, shout and argue, or give in to your lust.

You knew and he knew that you would always pick the same one, no matter the situation, the metaphorical choke hold that Loki had on you, the decision was already made.

Without turning to face him, you pushed the straps of your dress off of your shoulders, allowing the material to fall clean off of your body, pooling at your feet, leaving you completely bare for him. Loki sucked in an audible breath between gritted teeth as he looked down your naked spine, lower to the curve of your arse then to your legs, admiring your body and he couldn’t wait anymore.

With a hand on your arm, he turned your body towards him and you jumped into his arms he, was more than ready to catch you with steady hands on each of your thighs, massaging the muscles beneath as your mouth descended on his. All of your passion was put into the kiss, it hurting slightly with how hard you pressed against him, fingers gripping his shoulder-length black hair.

Loki groaned deeply from the back of his throat, tongue pressing against yours to assert dominance and you willingly succumbed whilst subtly trying to grind against his leather uniform, your breasts catching against a strap that twinged your nipples. Releasing his hair, you ran your hands over his shoulders, tugging on his clothing, pulling away from his mouth to make one demand, “Take off your clothes”.

“As my lady commands”, Loki whispered against your lips, lifting a single finger from your body to focus his magic as suddenly your skin was flush against his, lean muscles stretching over his trained body.

You took full advantage of the freedom of materials by tightening your legs that were wrapped around his waist, pushing your wet cunt directly only his abdomen, and rolling your hips to cause your clit to have some stimulation against his body. At the same time, your fingers delved back into his hair, gripping and pulling, forcing his head to snap back and revealing the column of his throat. The overwhelming emotion to mark him, to show that he was yours and as you kissed and sucked on his skin, his deep groan only fueled your plans to make him feel good, once again your submissive tendencies to show him that you believed in him, would always be by his side and you could show that through worshipping him.

You kicked your legs out, trying to pull out of his grasp and he gently placed your feet back to the floor and within a second you were on your knees, hands on the top of his thighs as you marvelled at the proud standing cock you were now eye level with. Your mouth watered, taking in the sight, admiring the veins that were beginning to bulge and the reddening tip that was beginning to leak precum.

You didn’t touch straight away, looking above his cock to Loki whose eyes were closely watching your every move. Smiling slyly, you asked in a sultry voice, “My King, I want to see the real you”.

Loki’s smile turned feral, finger reaching to stroke your cheek in a small sign of reassurance, “Do you think you can deal with it, pet?”

“I can handle anything you are willing to give me, let me look after you my King, let me show you how much I truly love the real you”.

Your husband's eyes changed colour first from their usual pale crystal blue to a blood-pumping red. Sitting back on your heels, you watched Loki shift and change, his legs lengthening, muscles thickening as he grew and grew until he was in his true Frost Giant form skin shifting to deep blue that was lined with lighter shades of raised patterns. You were hypnotised by his true self, the sheer power that he held and the confidence that radiated off of him.

His finger stroked across your cheek once more and your whole body shivered with the contact as his body was now ice-cold. Goosebumps appeared over the skin at the touch, it was such a significant drop in temperature when he was in his frost-giant body so you couldn’t touch him for long but whenever you were willing to, it made Loki incredibly hard.

Reaching up to the tallest height on your knees, both of your hands wrapped around Loki’s shaft that had grown to be proportionate with the rest of his body and could definitely never fit in any of your holes but your mouth would give it a very good go. His skin was just as soft as his Asgardian form and his shaft was still hard and throbbing with your touch but it freezing cold and caused your hands to stiffen in position, almost like when you placed your hands into the snow for too long.

“There’s my King”, you praised and reached to kiss the tip of his giant cock before licking to hole delicately swiping up the precum that was slightly saltier in this form.

“Fuck, my love”, Loki’s voice was deeper now as he watched your mouth open as wide as it could, the skin around your lips stretching slightly as you lay his heavy cock on your flat tongue. “Always feel so good”, he complimented, sighing lowly at the temperature difference as your hot tongue lapped up the underside of his tip over his most sensitive spot.

Even though there was no way you were able to deepthroat Loki with him at this size but you tried your best, wrapping your lips over his tip and sucking, eyes watering as he was already at the back of your throat. This was why your hands were working well, moving up and down his shaft in unison with the sucking of your mouth, tongue swirling over his skin as you tried to ignore just how cold you were.

You wanted to keep going for as long as you could, his words still repeating in your mind of his lack of faith in your belief in him, you needed to prove him wrong. Breathing through your nose, you sucked harder, audibly choking with your efforts to take more of him and the gasps Loki was producing were only spurring you on.

“Doing so well for me Darling, taking my cock more than ever before”, he praised. Your entire body was shivering now, overwhelmed with how cold you were from his body but you didn’t stop or slow down your movements.

Loki could see you were struggling and knew you would speak up, not that you could with his cock in your mouth so he began to shift back to his Asgardian body, body shrinking and warming back to what they were before. Usually, he would always run at a cool temperature but compared to his Frost Giant ice-cold body temp, he felt warm to the touch as you adjusted back to what he once was.

As Loki’s shaft returned back to its usual size, still girthy and long before now at a reasonable size it slipped further down your throat. It was one thing that you were blessed with not having a gag reflex, and your hands rested on the tops of his thighs, allowing them to warm up. You continued to look up at him as your throat bulged with how far he fucked into your mouth and you began to bob your head.

Loki’s thighs tensed under your hands as you move up and down his shaft, quickening in pace, feeling him throb in your throat as you gave a particularly harsh suck.

And then he was pulling out, not uttering a single word as he reached to pull you back into his arms, taking powerful steps towards the bed and then carefully laying you down and you noticed a warm invisible blanket covering your body as he used his magic to continue to heat you up.

Then it was his turn to kneel at the edge of the bed but he didn’t have as much restraint as you, needing to taste your arousal, desperate to hear your moans.

Loki’s wicked tongue pushed through your folds and lapped up everything you had to offer, licking your juices before pushing into your hole, feeling it already clenching around his muscle that tried to reach as far as it could, stroking your walls. His hands were harshly holding your thighs spread wide and inviting for him, feeling them tremble as he swiped across your bundle of nerves.

You reached down to pull on his hair but he quickly snapped on your wrist, holding it down to your hips as his mouth continued to explore your pussy.

“Keep still”, Loki demanded as you tried to roll your hips against his face, seeing if you would listen to his instructions but he knew that you wouldn’t already too lost in pleasure. His teeth grazed over your clit, sending a hot spark into your abdomen, shouting out louder.

“More!” you weren’t sure of exactly what but Loki could read you like a book, removing his mouth from your cunt only so that he could bite on your inner thigh, not hard at first but as you tried to shift your hips closer to him, he increased the pressure. This was how he spent the next few minutes, shifting between licking cunt and sucking along the inside of your sensitive thighs, biting occasionally, leaving indents with his teeth.

“Need…need to cum”, you gasped, still trying and failing to reach for him, your thighs sensitive and sore but the mix between pleasure and pain was perfect.

“You can cum”, Loki rewarded, and he spoke directly against your clit, causing the vibrations to rumble deep into your core and then he was back sucking on the throbbing nub, his chin pushing against your hole, stimulating it and bringing you over the edge.

With the way you were being restrained, all you could do was cry out in ecstasy, your breath getting caught in your throat with how good it felt as your cunt pulsed and Loki’s tongue kept lapping prolonging the pleasure until you collapsed back. Looking down at him with half-lidded eyes, you mewled pathetically, wanting to feel him, wanting more of him, the argument and feelings you were feeling earlier already a distant memory.

Loki listened to your desperate noises and smirked as he began crawling up your body, his cock occasionally bobbing to touch your stomach. Dipping his head down, he grazed along your collarbones with his teeth before caressing with his tongue, “What do you want? Use your words, Darling”.

“Want your cock inside of me, I want you to fill me up, please!” you begged, your hands finally not being held down anymore meant that you could claw at his back, feeling the muscles flex beneath.

Loki smiles hearing your pleas and sets into motion, easing his weight back onto his knees, giving him space to turn you over and onto your front, lifting your hips up so you were perking your ass and cunt into the air for him.

“Good girl”, he praised, seeing you shake your hips to will him to touch you. Easing between your legs, subtly spreading your knees further to give him more room, he smeared his cock up and down your folds, listening to your precious whimpers before pushing into your entrance.

Loki was slow with his initial penetration, giving you time to stretch around him but after that, he was held no restraint as he began fucking you hard. His hips slapped against yours, forcing you to bounce up and down on the bed, his balls grazing against your clit with each thrust and his hands gripped your hips painfully, holding your arse in place.

You wanted to reach for him, hoping to grip a part of his body in some way as you rested your weight on your neck and reached behind but Loki had other ideas as he grabbed both of your hands and held them against your lower back, now using this to help keep you in place.

He felt so good, dominating your body, knowing exactly what you liked, feeling his girthy cock pounding into your pussy, bashing against your cervix.

Loki could feel how much you were beginning to clench around him, and quickly released your arms, deciding that he needed to feel you closer. He pulled you up onto your knees, his arm supporting your body so you didn’t tip forward again, his chest pressed firmly against your spine.

Then he was back nuzzling into the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Mine”, he mumbled possessively against your neck and once more, he knew exactly what the ownership did to you. Your arms reached behind you to grip his hair, holding him against your neck, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts.

“Loki….yes!” you gasped, already sensitive from the first orgasm so the second snuck up on you, especially with this new angle and being so close to him. Thankfully he was strong enough to support your weight as your thighs trembled with the convulsions in your cunt.

You hadn’t even caught your breath before Loki was grunting out what he wanted, “I’m close, need to look into your eyes as I’m filling you with my seed”.

Once more, you allow him to manhandle you, his grip releasing so you toppled onto the bed face first, and then were turned onto your back so you were now looking up at him. His lean body was over yours in a second, his cock slipping back in as his hand held your jaw so you couldn’t look away, not that you wanted to, especially with the way his eyes had softened.

“I’d never leave you, Darling”, he whispered, his lips barely grazing yours and on instinct you reached for him, a hand resting on his back and the other cupping his cheek.

“You’re my king, you’ll always be my king Loki, please know that”, it was his time to find his pleasure, in hearing the devotion in your voice. Loki’s eyebrows knitted together, mouth dropping open, your name pouring out as his thrusts lost their tempo and his cum began coating your cunt.

You hold him to his chest as he relaxes over you, breathing heavily, fingers idly stroking along your sides as you stroked back his hair. Neither of you wanted to move from the spot but eventually Loki rolled off so that he could look you over properly, hand cupping your cheek.

“Do you want me to unpack your bags, darling Wife?”

A small smile spread across your cheeks, “Only if you promise to take me with you when you plan to take over the throne next time”.

“I promise”, he replied, leaning in to kiss you softly.

#loki one shot #loki #loki layfeyson imagine #loki odison x reader #loki x reader #loki smut #marvel smut #marvel one shot #mine*

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jaegonsmoon · 2 years

Note

Omega pregnant Aegon: *is married to Alpha Aemond and gives birth to a dark haired beautiful baby*

King Viserys: *is oblivious and just happy have more grandchildren*

Rhanyra: *freaking out over being an aunt and grandmother at the same time and also trying to spin this situation in way where this won’t end in war or death*

Aemond, Otto, Alicent and Baela: *absolutely furious and ready to draw blood*

Luke and Rhanea: *not looking and anyone and edging out of the room to avoid any fallout*

Daemon:* smirking and leaning against the doorway with popcorn*

Jace:*sweating bullets and debating on running to the free cities to keep his balls in tact*

Aegon: *ignoring everything and just holding /in love with his new Baby*

THIS IS GOLDEN!!!!!! I love it!

Aemond, who has fucked Aegon probably two to three times out of duty since they wedded. Aemond who has been fucking unbonded omega Lucerys since he presented as one not long after his and Aegon’s wedding. Aemond who, after his and his brother’s coupling, looks the other way and pretends he does not see when Aegon downs moon tea like a cup of the finest westerosi wine. Aemond who is in love with Lucerys and curses his and his own existence every day for the omega not presenting sooner so they could’ve been bonded against all odds instead. Aemond, who knows where Aegon’s heart lies since they were kids: *Fake offended gasp at the babes dark hair*

Lucerys, who forgot to take his moon tea last time and drank it a tad too late, way past the 24 hours cycle, physically sweating: *gulps*

Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena, who have always known what’s stirring inside the pot and have all come to a silent agreement because they’re all young and craving a love of their own, not one forced upon them: *trying to contain their smirks and compostures*

Jacaerys, who has loved Aegon since he learned the meaning of it. Who’s first kiss, first time, first everything he shared with his uncle. Jace who was denied Aegon’s hand when his mother, who knew all along, tried to arrange their marriage. Jace who couldn’t steal Aegon away because Alicent, suspicious of it all, wed him to Aemond privately, before anyone could make a move. Jacaerys whose chest was swelling with pride at the sight of what they made together. Their babe. It was his seed the one to blossom in his womb, it was him the one that put it there, and now were all gonna possibly be beheaded for it, but in truth there was only one person in the room who gave a fuck about it, and no one would listen to her. Jacaerys who couldn’t be more obvious right now if he could help it: Gevie.

Aegon, who had only eyes for Jacaerys his entire life, ever since he had been born, till the moment present where he knew, the moment he became pregnant. He felt it. Aegon who spent his entire pregnancy sneaking out on rides where he and Jace would meet halfway in a small island they had found as an escaped in their early youth. Where they would curl up in between their dragons and talk, kiss, touch and fuck and hold each other for hours. Ageon, whose babe was restless when their sire was away. Aegon who wished this would happen, that his baby would inherit their true sires features for the world to see. For his mother to see. The inevitable, how they were meant to be from the start and no faith and costume of the Mother or The Seven could come between the ways of Old Valyria, of the dragons. Aegon who was in love with what he and his nephew had created out of love and passion, couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful creature in his arms: I would burn the seven kingdoms for you.

And much like with Rhaenyra’s first three children, King Viserys would have the tongues and eyes of whoever dared to speak ill against his grandchild.

And when a couple of months later, unmated omega prince Lucerys gave birth to a beautiful silver haired baby, then what—

#They’re giving poor Alicent an aneurysm #I know Viserys is amused af #everybody knowzz #aemond x lucerys #lucemond #aemond targaryen #lucerys velaryon #aegon ii targaryen #lucerys targaryen #jaegon #jacaerys velaryon #jacegon #aegond

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valentine-cafe · 5 months

Text

. ˚◞♡ 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒖𝒔 9948e — the devil in angel's robes◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ “ keep looking at me like that and I'll have to kiss you breathless. hmm? oh, nothing mi amanecer — you look pretty today, ” ꒱

. ˚◞꒰verse꒱ (ex) 9948e

. ˚◞꒰face claim refs꒱ ( x ) ( x ) ( x ) ( x )

. ˚◞꒰species꒱ high angel

. ˚◞꒰ethnicity꒱ mexican-indian ( awadhi-tamil )

. ˚◞꒰age꒱ 24

. ˚◞꒰gender꒱ genderfluid

. ˚◞꒰mbti꒱ i/enfp

. ˚◞꒰aliases꒱ ángel ligero, angel of light, the auric guardian, the scarlet sabre, the gods’ lapdog ( mocking, demons ), devil in angel’s robes ( the massacre, takeya ), messenger pigeon/little pigeon ( derogatory, from other admirals )

. ˚◞꒰appearance꒱

𖹭. medium-length, layered and slightly curly brown hair that extends just past his shoulders

𖹭. amber eyes with maroon undertones. wears winged eyeliner on his upperlids

𖹭. bronze skin, has gold speckles all over his shoulders and arms. androgynous and delicate. ethereal, yet with some sharper features here and there. beauty spots all over the left side of his face

𖹭. 6’2” ( 187 cm ) in height with a slender figure comprised of some lean muscles

𖹭. two, grand pearly white wings with spotted gold specks

𖹭. mini wings behind his ears

𖹭. often wears long, flowy gold or red robes. is not afraid to show a lot of his skin at times

𖹭. often has red painted lips and in general red undertoned makeup

𖹭. sometimes wears golden belly chains

𖹭. sometimes wears a gold-chained veil with little white jewels on the lower half of his face

𖹭. a gold nose ring that connects to a piercing on his ear by a thin gold chain

𖹭. golden triple lobe and helix piercings on both ears

𖹭. a single gold vertical ring piercing on his bottom lip

𖹭. lots of gold jewellery such a gold bangles that link together with chains, gold chains and a gold hairpin that holds his hair up at times

𖹭. navel piercing and lorum piercing that turns into a clitoral piercing when he is in female form

. ˚◞꒰personality꒱

𖹭. serene, elegant and above all has a rather calm exterior. always seems rather free-spirited

𖹭. kind-hearted and a compassionate being who seems sweet in nature. a being of wisdom despite his youthful countenance

𖹭. graceful, composed and has a certain effortlessness in everything that he does. a particular cool confidence even in that sweet smile of his

𖹭. has a certain charm to him and a charisma that has many head turning

𖹭.particularly dutiful and takes his responsibilities with pride

𖹭. do not be fooled, because behind that kind façade he can be especially deceptive. with a silver tongue and wit that one wouldn’t expect from such a kind looking face

𖹭. lets people believe that he is harmless and mistake his kindness for weakness. beings of corruption quake in his presence; for they know that behind those eyes of an angel lies a devil

𖹭. has a curiosity that he doesn’t always show and a certain yearning for the unknown

𖹭. behind that angelic smile and justice-seeking front, lies quite the cunning angel with a darker side he tries to hide. with twisted desires he is often ashamed of

𖹭. can have violent tendencies which he makes sure to take out on his opponents. yet retains his elegance all the same. even with his sword bloodied and kind eyes crazed

. ˚◞꒰with a lover꒱

𖹭. a very touch-starved, so expect to always have his hands on you. be it holding your hand, hugging you from behind, draping a wing over you

𖹭. scoops you up during random times of the day and is extremely physically affectionate

𖹭. numerous kisses along with cuddles through the day and affirmations of his love for you through acts of service as well

𖹭. enjoys helping you put in whatever way that he possibly can. while he is a very busy person he likes taking care of you. helping you out in the morning or even cooking for you whenever he gets the chance

𖹭. will fluster you at any point that he can. especially with his seemingly unintentional flirting. also lots of shameless touches. will cup your face and kiss you breathless until you’re whining for him

𖹭. dances you around the balcony of his citadel or stargazes with you whenever he has the chance

𖹭. always sure to bring you something back from the vast worlds and realms he travels to, as he is ever the type to spoil you

𖹭. can be quite possessive as a result of being alone for so long. should he feel as though someone is getting a bit too close for comfort, he has a habit of snatching your waist from behind and pressing kisses to your neck all while keeping eye contact with the perpetrator — or perhaps getting you to wear some of his signature jewellery

. ˚◞꒰strengths꒱

𖹭. wings: has a pair of wings that enable him to fly and can use them in combat

𖹭. elemental light: allows him to cast projections of light and manipulate it on a physical standpoint

𖹭. light magic: able to cast certain spells and incantations in regards to light magic

𖹭. swordsmanship: an excellent swordsman that has even some of the gods’ heads turning

𖹭. combativity: highly skilled in the ways of combat, both on a ground level and aerial

𖹭. shape-shifting: the ability to shift his appearance in whatever way he may wish

𖹭. pájaro luminoso: able to channel his powers into a burst of energy and turn into a large, elegant bird made of pure elemental light and fire

. ˚◞꒰weaknesses꒱

𖹭. dark magic: as he is a being of light, he is extremely susceptible to such things as dark and black magic. it weakens his abilities depending on the severity of it

𖹭. corrupt beings: similar to the dark magic point, corrupt beings tend to put his soul at unease. should these corrupt beings be of higher power to him, they can affect him in very negative ways and weaken his abilities

. ˚◞꒰relationships꒱

𖹭. zhào jìngyí: ward, boyfriend ( future )

𖹭. alessio agresta arias: ward, boyfriend ( future )

𖹭. copper resentment ( zhào talisen 164 ): close friend

𖹭. emerald mania ( alessio agresta 164 ): close friend

𖹭. talisen zhào: close friend ( earth 781)

𖹭. nadir gods: parents ( raised him )

𖹭. some zenith gods: parents ( raised him )

. ˚◞꒰story꒱

a glitch.

the favourite of the gods; raised by the hands of the divine — that is what makes our beloved angel, rishen, stand out. a high angel who carries out his duties with a smile of serenity. be he aiding the gods personally or sent out on missions across the multiverse.

an exceptional swordsman who only continues to grow in skill. a being of duty who works his way through admiral ranks, despite great critique. all while balancing his duties as a guardian angel to his would-be fated others.

an angel who yearns not only for love but for the truth of the underworld around him. secrets and mysteries he continues to uncover. a feeling in his chest that feels all to tight. buried by his incessant urge to protect and carry out his responsibilities.

yet beneath all those glimmers and smiles of kindness dwells a creature even he himself does not recognise. a swell of darkness that gnaws at his soul. bleeding out into his sharp smiles and eyes stares. a true devil in angel’s robes.

. ˚◞꒰extra꒱

𖹭. while he is not able to directly interact with the material plane, he can do so by taking on the form of certain animals — usually takes the form of a snow tit

𖹭. he is genderfluid and plays into this by swapping through different genders’ anatomy. his natural androgyny helps a lot with this

𖹭. he is omnilingual yet prefers the language of his cultures: spanish ( latin american ), hindi and tamil

𖹭. due to his pure nature and closeness to the gods, he is often sought out by evil beings who seek to turn him

𖹭. this however does not mean that rishen does not have his own dark thoughts, he has plenty yet tries to keep them to himself

#⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ tea time — rishen 9948e ꒱#asterism #terato #teratophillia #angel character #monster character #x reader #reader insert #rishen 9948e #rishen aryielus

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blazing-spectre · 1 year

Note

I just realized I may be the reason that you'd wanna rewatch *looks back to a few days ago when my entire blog was hlvrai for a few days and hitting post limit* nah couldn't be me

LMAO I’ll be honest, it was just the post I reblogged, as well as some of the following art and stuff, but now I know which blog to look for hlvrai posts on once I start it again >:3

#asks #silver-tongues-and-golden-lies #personal #I legit haven’t watched the whole thing since fuckin. 2020. it’s overdue at this point

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 1 year

Text

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxiii, ao3)

Chapter twenty-three: In the aftermath of the attack on Velaris, Cassian can’t quite shake the feeling that something is drastically wrong, and below the wall, Nesta lies awake at the Archeron manor… (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

The blood still stained his hands.

It lingered in the gaps between his fingers, smeared across his knuckles, a mixture of silver and red that was a testament to too many lives lost.

Lives he’d tried to save.

His armour had long been discarded, but the scent of smoke still clung to Cassian’s hair, his skin. The city was in pieces, all broken stone and shattered glass, and too many cries of grief still punctured the silence, too many screams still tearing through the streets as the citizens of Velaris began to understand the scale of the devastation.

The fires were out, at least.

But an acrid taste coated his tongue even now, hours after the fighting had finished. They had been confined to the theatre district mainly, small blazes that - thank the mother - hadn’t had a chance to spread too far. But still— ash had drifted across the city, and the stone pavements that had been worn smooth with time were roughened now, scarred in too many places. And as midnight came and went, Cassian had been out on those streets, salvaging whatever was left of the City of Starlight.

They all had.

And only now, as the clock inched towards four in the morning, did Rhys’ Inner Circle make it back to the townhouse, each of them dirty and bloody and covered with ash.

None of them had the strength to wash away the grit of battle.

None had the energy to magic it away, either.

Cassian looked at them in turn now— his family, each of them as drained as he was. Mor’s golden curls were in disarray, her leathers torn at the knees. Rhys’ eyes were as dark and as empty as a chasm, no stars glittering there at all now, and even Amren’s face had turned ashen. Whatever well of ancient power she drew from, it had apparently run dry after she and Rhys had fixed the wards, constructed new ones - stronger ones - and tested them until they were sure they would not break. Silver blood was splattered across her cheek, and the string of diamonds she wore about her neck - because of course she hadn’t taken the time to remove her jewellery before heading out into the streets - was dulled by a thin coating of ash, greyed by the smoke from the fires Hybern had set.

Az sat silently, cleaning silver blood from Truth-teller’s blade as a frown settled deep between his brows. He and Cassian had both flown over the city until their wings could take no more, assessing the damage and putting out those wretched fires, and with both feet on the ground now, the Spymaster was quiet. The azure blue of his siphons was flat, dim— as empty as Cassian’s, the glow reduced to a weak, barely-there flicker.

His shadows were gone, too.

All of them— dispatched across the city and beyond to keep an eye on things as the High Lord and his most trusted took a moment to breathe.

And on the sofa beneath the window, Feyre Cursebreaker sat motionless.

Her hand was encased in Rhys’, their fingers woven so tightly together it was a wonder their knuckles weren’t white. Slowly, rhythmically, Rhys stroked his thumb across the back of Feyre’s hand— broad, soothing, strokes that Cassian knew were the only thing keeping his brother grounded. The Attor’s blood still marred Feyre’s skin, and her hair was still tangled from the free-fall that had sent the creature to it’s death, but when Rhys angled his head to the side to glance at his mate, for a moment the stars in his eyes attempted brightness despite the dark.

And beneath the grief and the despair, Rhys didn’t bother to mask the awe and adoration that consumed him every time he looked at her.

Cassian might have smiled softly, had he not been so weary.

Archerons, he thought wryly. So fucking brave they put the rest of us to shame.

In his exhaustion, he must have let his mental barriers slip, because Rhys snorted.

That’s true, he said inside the cavern of Cassian’s mind.

But Cassian didn’t respond. He only tipped his head back, shattered, and tried to find the strength he needed to ask the questions that were hanging off his tongue— ones he didn’t want to ask, but ones that needed to be voiced, even if none of them had an answer.

“Velaris might be secure for now,” he began darkly, his voice a low, exhausted, rumble, “but for how long? The queens know about us now. How long until they sell the information to the other courts? Or till Hybern uses the Cauldron against us?”

He was met with silence.

But what was there for any of them to say besides I don’t know?

Rhys let out a breath, one that was so heavy, so weary, Cassian almost winced. But it was Feyre who broke the silence.

“We need to destroy the Cauldron,” she said, her voice quiet but far from feeble.

Rhys nodded, but his violet eyes were shuttered. Cassian didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that the destruction of Velaris would forever lie heavy on Rhys’ shoulders, the blood staining his hands. Tension gathered at his shoulders, and when he spoke his voice was grim, flat.

“So we go to Hybern,” Rhys said tightly.

Feyre hesitated, bit her lip. “We can’t all go,” she pointed out, her voice dropping low as guilt flashed across her face, like she resenting adding to Rhys’ burden. “Who will defend the city?”

Amren didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll stay here.”

Somehow Cassian found the strength to lift his head an inch from the headrest of his chair, but even though he opened his mouth to protest, Amren didn’t blink. She didn’t look away from Rhys, from the ash-streaked hair that fell haphazard over his forehead.

“I am the only one of you who might hold the city until help arrives if we are attacked again,” she said steadily. When Rhys’ throat bobbed, she shook her head. “Today was a surprise— but the new wards we built will not fall so easily.”

Mor sighed, heavy, resting her cheek in her palm. “So what now?”

Amren shrugged. “We sleep. We eat.”

And with the tell-tale snick of a blade sliding back into its sheath, Azriel finished cleaning Truth-teller. Though he had been silent, he spoke now with finality, in a voice that was rough at the edges— strained and begging for retribution.

“And then we retaliate.”

His words hung in the air.

Retaliate.

Yes, they would retaliate. They would have their retribution, their revenge. They would pay Hybern back tenfold for the destruction they had unleashed today.

Cassian could only nod in agreement, his head falling back against the headrest once more as a piercing headache flourished between his temples. Unease still sat heavy in his stomach, and there was a lingering anxiety he couldn’t quite shake. Whatever it was that had apprehension cresting within him like a wave, he couldn’t put his finger on it.

As Amren got to her feet, Cassian only swallowed against the nausea. Ash lingered in her black hair, the crown of her head dusted with white, and as she announced that she was going back to her apartment to continue searching for a way to destroy the Cauldron once and for all, Cassian couldn’t even open his mouth to say goodbye.

His throat felt like it was closing.

The battle calm that had settled over him earlier had long since receded, and in its wake he was left with this— burgeoning anxiety and a kind of fear he couldn’t name and didn’t understand.

Velaris was secure, the wards were up— and yet still it felt for all the world like there was something wrong, something vital he had missed.

He barely even noticed as Feyre and Mor took their leave too. Mor pressed a hand to his shoulder as she left, her fingers curling in a silent farewell, and when they were gone, Cassian dragged a hand down his face.

Across the room, Rhys closed his eyes and let out another heavy breath. He rubbed his jaw, a crease in his brow.

“I wonder if we underestimated Hybern,” he said slowly.

With effort, Cassian snorted. He’d thought the same when he saw the queen’s body on the bridge, her eyes torn out.

“They know us, know our weaknesses far better than we know them,” Rhys continued. “We don’t know where this king came from, don’t know his background or how to predict his movements. We don’t even know his fucking name.”

Az scowled in the darkness. He’d been trying to find all of this out for months now, to no avail. Hybern was an isle wreathed in mist and smoke, one that kept its secrets close. Cassian had scouted the place out twice, and each time it’d had the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Not even Azriel’s shadows had been able to make sense of it. All they knew was that there was a sea door that might grant them access to the castle, that the Cauldron was inside, on the lower levels somewhere, and that the guards were on a two-hour rotation. Az’s shadows had picked all that up from standing sentinel outside the castle, but getting in… no, even they hadn’t been able to do that.

“I feel like we’re going into this war blind,” Rhys said, his voice a quiet whisper.

Cassian’s face was grim, because— fucking hell, what else did Hybern have in their arsenal? He thought of those stone manacles, how they’d already brought Rhys down once, had shattered Cassian’s shields. And today had only been a skirmish. The real battles were yet to come, the real war yet to be fought, and they had no idea what else Hybern was hiding, what other tricks the king might use to bring them to their knees.

Unsettling, to say the least.

That ominous, dark feeling in his stomach surged, and Cassian shifted in his chair to try and bank it, but it only blazed harder.

“When Amren figures it out, we’ll be in a much better position,” Azriel pointed out.

“And how close is she?” Cassian asked, suppressing the lump in his throat.

Rhys shrugged. “Close. She thinks we might have something in a day or two.”

At that, Cassian nodded, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger. He didn’t know what else to say, what to do, and as the clock ticked on the mantle, a heavy silence came over the sitting room, settling like a shroud. After a long, drawn out moment, Rhys stood.

“I need—” He shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair. “I need some air.”

Az nodded.

It didn’t need to be said that Rhys wanted to be alone. Five hundred years had taught each of them how to read one another like a book, and with the way Rhys sighed as he got to his feet, with that haunted look in his eyes, both Azriel and Cassian knew to leave him be.

And perhaps they should have retired to the House of Wind once he’d gone, but… neither of them moved.

The silence shifted, deepened, so complete that Cassian could hear the wind outside, and—

There.

There it was again, that twist in his gut. Beneath the fatigue, the lingering exhaustion, it was some instinct that had yet to settle, still on high alert. He might have brushed it off, but… no. In the silence and the dark he could tell now— this was something else. His tongue felt heavy, his blood felt cold, and there— right there, right where his heart was, there was something squeezing tight, like a vice that stopped him getting his breath.

Something was wrong.

“Az,” he said quietly. “I don’t think this is over.”

His brother shook his head. “The wards are up. You heard Amren.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“They won’t take us by surprise again, Cass.” The shadowsinger’s jaw was tight, his lips pressed thin as his scarred hands flexed on the arm of the chair, fingers curling into a fist. No, Azriel would not be taken unawares again. He’d taken the attack on Velaris as personally as any of them. “I’ve had shadows on the coast all night. Nothing out there moves without me being aware of it.”

But Cassian shook his head. “I just—” He rubbed his chest, where the ache had grown sharp. “I can feel it.”

Az shrugged. “Probably adrenaline left over from the attack.” He offered him a small smile, one that tried in vain to lighten the atmosphere. “After all, it’s been a while since you’ve fought in battle. You’re out of shape, general.”

Any other time, Cassian would have laughed. Flipped him off. Thrown out a leg and kicked Az in the ankle. Any other time, the teasing would have been welcome. But—

“That’s what I thought at first,” Cassian countered instead, that feeling growing teeth now, clawing him apart from the inside out. “But I don’t think so.”

There was a pause.

Azriel opened his mouth, but it was clear he didn’t know what to say. They had all of them learned to trust Cassian’s battlefield instincts over the centuries, but this was something else. Something he couldn’t articulate, and it wasn’t Velaris in danger now. No, as Cassian felt his heartbeat stumble, he knew it was something much farther south.

“Send a shadow beneath the wall,” he whispered. “Check they’re alright.”

Az sighed softly. “Have you heard something from the men down there?”

No— no, he hadn’t. And that wasn’t a bad thing, was it? They had nothing to report. But—

“I just know something isn’t right, Az.” Gods, his chest was twisting, knotting itself. And then it yanked, a determined pull on the bond, like it was trying to get his attention. “It’s Nesta,” he added, his voice threatening to crack. “Please. I have a bad feeling and I can’t— I need to know that she’s alright.”

There was another moment of silence.

“Please,” Cassian said again, and this time his voice did crack. “Just send one shadow— just to her house.”

He was all too aware of what he was asking.

Azriel had all of his shadows out patrolling the city, spread thin across the coast to ensure nothing slipped past them in the night. Cassian wanted one of them to be pulled away and sent down below the wall, when it was better used up here, defending the city until the sun could rise again.

And Az was tired— they all were. It was why Cassian wasn’t flying down there now to find out himself. He couldn’t. He didn’t think he could even make it upstairs to his bed, and Azriel was the same. They weren’t just exhausted— they were emptied of energy entirely, so completely sapped of strength from those long, long moments where they’d defended Velaris alone.

A shadow was the best Cassian could do.

At last Az’s face softened. “Alright,” he conceded.

With a flick of his fingers he dispatched a shadow, and then— all that there was left to do was wait.

It took a while— ten minutes, twenty, thirty, Cassian didn’t know. He’d stopped keeping track of time.

And when that shadow slunk across the floor, all he knew was that his heart was in his mouth. A chill crawled up his spine, a breathless kind of concern forcing its way through his veins, and in the moment that Azriel was quiet, taking in whatever it was the shadow reported, Cassian could have sworn time halted altogether.

The silence stretched.

Endless.

And then, at last, Azriel spoke.

“There’s nothing,” he said calmly. “The Mandray house is quiet. The men you sent are still there, hiding unnoticed at the perimeter. The shadow didn’t go inside, but it seems that everyone under that roof is asleep.”

Cassian swallowed.

But in the place where he expected relief to swell, there was nothing but a hollow ache, a distant kind of drumming. That feeling in his chest didn’t vanish. But if the shadow Az sent below the wall said everything was fine, and the Illyrians were still keeping watch, then…

Fucking hell, maybe he was losing his touch.

Perhaps it was the way he’d fought a battle in Velaris today, the one place he’d always thought would be safe. Perhaps it was the way he’d watched Feyre fall to the earth, to the streets that even now were still coated with red, fae, blood. It had thrown him, made him doubt everything and had concern blooming in places it didn’t need to be.

Nesta was safe.

Nesta had his men watching over her.

So, reluctantly, Cassian let it go.

In the darkness, as he closed his eyes on that armchair, too tired to climb the stairs and fall into a proper bed, he repeated it until he could feel sleep beginning to drag him under.

Safe.

Nesta was safe.

***

Below the wall, in Nesta Archeron’s darkened bedroom, the silence echoed.

Well.

In her borrowed bedroom, the silence echoed.

She couldn’t sleep, her ears ringing with the quiet, and in her thin, threadbare nightgown, she turned uncomfortably in a bed more than big enough for two. The weak moonlight streamed through the windows - past the curtains she hadn’t bothered to draw - and glanced off the gilded sconces that held unlit candles, the vast dressing table that should have held glass bottles of perfume and yet stood empty.

Once, she’d been comfortable with finery. Accustomed to it.

Now she felt as out of place here as she did in the Mandray estate.

Her mind wouldn’t quiet. As she lay in the dark, her thoughts wouldn’t still long enough to let her sleep, and maybe it was something to do with the dagger she kept beneath her pillow and the piece of string tied around her wrist, the glass beads and the little silver star winking at her in the darkness.

No, she didn’t quite know where home was anymore, but if she had to guess… well, maybe they were a good place to start.

After all, over the past two days she’d had a lot of time to think about what she would do when this war was over. Where she would be, and which side of the wall she would find herself on. Though it had seemed abhorrent to her not too long ago… the land above the wall suddenly seemed to hold far more promise than the land beneath.

She shook her head now, shifting her gaze to the ceiling. All moulded plaster-work and painted cornices.

Two days.

She had been here two days, and Elain’s dreams were getting worse.

It didn’t matter that Nesta slept in the room next door. Didn’t make any difference, either, that when Nesta had ventured into the village and handed over five gold coins at the apothecary for cold remedies - for believability, Elain had insisted - she’d also picked up some chamomile and crushed lavender and tucked it beneath her sister’s pillow.

Elain still emerged from her bedchamber each morning with pale cheeks and shadows beneath her eyes.

They come for us, Elain whispered at breakfast, when Nesta asked what haunted her the moment she closed her eyes. All claws and teeth and darkness, shattered glass and screams.

Nesta didn’t know what to say anymore. All she could do was pat her sister gently on the arm, and wonder whether it might help if she started sleeping in Elain’s bed, so that there was someone beside her when she woke. Suddenly it felt like it hadn’t been a lie at all when she’d told her husband Elain was ill.

“Elain is sick,” she’d said briskly when she returned to the Mandray house to pack her things after the meeting with the queens. She’d hoped to leave a note for Tomas on the table and slip out without seeing him, but he’d caught her in the bedroom they shared, putting nightdresses into a canvas bag.

She hadn’t looked at him— at the green eyes and dark blonde hair of the man she’d married. But Tomas’ hand had darted out as she folded shifts into her small bag, fingers closing around her wrist and pulling, hauling her forwards as her shift fell from her hands. His grip had tightened, and Nesta had been shocked at first, blinking in surprise. Oh, Tomas had been cruel in so many ways, but never like that. Never like his father.

“Don’t forget that you’re my wife,” he’d hissed, “And don’t think I won’t find out if you’re lying.”

His eyes had dropped to the bracelet on her wrist, his lip curling. It was clear he hadn’t bought her tale about the bracelet being a gift from Elain. Clear, too, that Tomas thought Nesta was spending these days in another man’s bed— another man’s arms, and she’d shot him a look that might have scorched the flesh from his bones had she the power. The audacity of him to accuse her of lying— when he spent most nights in the bed of some poor, unsuspecting tavern girl.

She had wrenched herself free, hoping the friction burned his palm as much as it did her wrist. And when she looked at him, Nesta had seen only a pitiful, wretched excuse of a boy, parading as a man.

Hatred had burned in her veins, and she’d thought of how Cassian had wiped her tears in front of those queens. How there had been such breathtaking conviction in his eyes that she hadn’t doubted him for a second when he said he’d go to war for her.

The thought of it - of him - had made her sneer right back at the man she’d married in the hope of salvation.

“If I’m lying?” she’d shot back, looking at Tomas with a kind of contempt she was’t able to mask any longer. “Elain knows about you, you know. About the girls you bed from the tavern.”

Her voice was just as flat as his, just as acidic. In all the weeks since Elain had told Nesta she’d heard of Tomas’ antics in the village, she hadn’t said a word. She’d been content to let him carry on, because after all, if he was in someone else’s bed it meant he wasn’t in hers, but now—

Nesta had had enough.

“If you think she or my father will be giving you so much as a single copper from their coffers ever again, you’re mistaken.”

Tomas had scowled, eyes darkening with a kind of vitriol that made every bone in Nesta’s body rattle with contempt.

“Then you’ll be suffering alongside us,” he’d retorted. “When we starve, you starve. When we freeze, you freeze.”

Nesta didn’t say that she had no intention of remaining his wife beyond Elain’s wedding. None at all. No, as soon as her sister was settled, as soon as Nesta was certain that Greysen wouldn’t turn out to be just like Tomas…

She was leaving.

No, instead she laughed, and when she spoke she made her voice cold and cruel. “You forget, husband, that I have starved before. I survived too many winters with no food and no fuel for fire to fear it again. Your threats are as empty as this marriage.” She finished packing her bag and smoothed a hand down her skirts. “You don’t scare me, Tomas.”

He had huffed, fury seeping from his every pore, but Nesta had only brushed passed him and tossed over her shoulder,

“I’ll be staying with my sister for the rest of the week at least.”

And now she lay in her bed at the manor, idly twirling a piece of her unbound hair around her finger.

Distantly, she could hear voices.

Earlier, when she’d looked out of the window, she’d seen the moonlight glance off the edge of a bottle, saw green and blue stones gleaming through the trees— siphons, just like Cassian and Azriel’s, though none in that shade of ruby that made her heart beat faster.

The warriors Cassian had sent were drinking— glamoured, she supposed, so none but she could see or hear them, but drinking nonetheless. Their laughter echoed through the woods that bordered the estate - raucous, like this was a game to them - but she supposed that even tipsy warriors were a better defence than nothing, and anyway, she doubted they were really needed. It was to make Elain feel better more than anything, to help her sleep soundly as much as the lavender Nesta placed beneath her pillow.

It was clear the Illyrians outside didn’t expect trouble.

Nesta didn’t either, and as she closed her eyes against the night, she felt sleep beginning to creep up on her at last. She let herself drift, thinking of crimson siphons glowing at the edge of the estate instead, dreaming of wings silvered by the moon and hazel eyes made gold beneath the starlight. He made her feel warm, safe, and—

Suddenly, she darted awake.

There was a change in the air, something she could sense but didn’t know how to name.

It was quiet.

The voices at the edge of the estate had gone silent, but the hush that crawled through the Archeron manor was not empty.

It was the kind of quiet that was wrong somehow, the kind that her blood turning to ice in her veins. Her hair stood on end, and her heart hammered in her chest as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her ears strained for any kind of sound, but there was nothing, not even the wind rattling the shutters outside.

It was a careful silence.

A deliberate silence.

And then—

All at once the quiet was rent apart, and in the darkness, Nesta Archeron heard the sound of breaking glass, the slamming of a door—

And her sister’s screams.

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

#nessian #begged & borrowed time #……😈

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theletterstohogwarts · 2 years

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The Slytherin Prince

Author: Letters to Hogwarts

Summary: Draco Malfoy overhears an argument between you and Harry, much to his surprise.

Main Character(s): Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley

The shimmering mother-of-pearl brilliance of the Amortentia was powerful enough to attract the attention of several students, who seemed to be mesmerised by the swirling steam that was emanating from the potion. With a word of caution, the professor gently places the lid back onto the cauldron, in the hopes that it will discourage the young witches and wizards from following through with their temptations.

A sudden thud from the wooden oak door distracts the students from the allure of the concoction, as the unmistakable shade of vibrant red hair allows you to recognise the Weasley who had reluctantly entered the room, followed by Harry Potter.

“What are they doing here,” you sigh. The unexpected remark is met with an intrigued gaze from Draco Malfoy as a formidable silence inundates the room. The evident intensity swirling in his iridescent eyes, reminiscent of brewing clouds in a thunderstorm, strikes you as curious and yet, rather odd before turning your attention back to Professor Slughorn.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Students begin to gather around Harry’s cauldron, as you watch the leaf come into contact with the crystal clear liquid and burst into flames. “Merlin’s beard, Harry! It’s perfect,” admires the professor before awarding him with the prized possession, a liquid resembling molten gold. “As promised, one phial of Felix Felicis.”

Immediately, the entire room erupts into a vociferous roar, as students begin congratulating the boy who lived. Watching him indulge in all the glory, a quiet sigh falls from your lips as you admit defeat. Setting your wand aside, you observe the cauldron in your proximity prior to glancing at the depths of your own potion; watching the viscous liquid effervesce. Alas, it looked not at all as it ought to, nowhere near as perfect as Harry’s and as a result, you couldn’t help but hold an unequivocal resentment towards the boy.

“You cheated.” Fortuitously, the bitter words drip from your tongue like venom, as you avoid Harry’s perplexed stare.

“What are you talking about?”

“You don’t even like potions.” Your tone was a little more vicious than you intended, as you thrust your potions book into your bag. Turning towards him, he catches a glimpse of your unfailingly deep and velvety chestnut eyes, melting into golden lagoons of honey and conflagrant with animosity. “I mean, you actually failed Snape’s class last year and yet, here you are... exactly how did you manage to brew a perfect Draught of Living Death?”

“I don’t know...” he lied, delicately hiding his copy of Advanced Potion Making behind himself. “Maybe I just got lucky.”

“You don’t get lucky in potions, Harry. Potions requires skill and a methodical approach, otherwise, things go wrong. Just take a look at Seamus, he’s constantly blowing things up because he can’t follow a simple set of instructions!”

“I think you’re just jealous.” Says Ron, joining the conversation.

“Oh, not at all. I’m just frustrated because my talent in this class is getting overlooked just because Professor Slughorn’s practically in love with him!” You shout, pointing to the dark haired boy.

“You know, I didn’t ask for any of this...” The tone in his voice compliments your bitterness as he starts packing his potions kit, a sigh falling from his lips.

“Harry...” you whisper, voice laced with contrition.

“I’ll see you later,” he mumbles before storming out the door, closely followed by Ron.

A soft sigh falls from your lips as you allow yourself to continue packing your belongings, the sound of bubbling cauldrons echoing quietly throughout the gloomy dungeon. Grabbing your wand, you begin to make your way towards the wooden oak doors before the sight of a rich, emerald green robe, embellished with lustrous silver embroidery, piques your interest.

“Malfoy.”

The boy in question, a pure-blood wizard, was leaning against the wall in a nonchalant manner; his platinum, silver hair slicked back and an aura of superiority surrounding him.

“A little spiteful, are we?” He drawls, taking a bite from a crisp green apple. You meet his intense gaze, those opalescent pale blue eyes lingering on yours, as he struts his way towards you. “I bet you wanted it.” He says, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “That liquid luck.”

“Oh please... you look like you need it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have a good heart, Draco...” The melodious sound of his name, dripping from your lips like honey, catches him by surprise. “Even if you don’t see it yourself. But you have a certain reputation to uphold as a Malfoy, and that notoriety means being obedient to Lord Voldemort.” A quiet sigh falls from your lips. “Just be careful.”

#harry potter imagines #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter #harry potter x reader #ron weasley #ron weasley x reader

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istumpysk · 1 year

Text

OPERATION ICEBERG: THE TIER LIST

THEORY:

Tysha is the Sailor's Wife

TIER:

Strong Contender: These theories have a lot of textual support, but there are still some elements of uncertainty.

[Tier list overview]

EVIDENCE:

First, who is Tysha?

Tysha was a crofter's daughter from the westerlands.

According to Tyrion, she had blue eyes, dark hair, and she was slender and beautiful.

They met when Tyrion and his brother Jaime rescued Tysha from outlaws; Jaime chased the men away while Tyrion cared for Tysha.

They quickly fell in love, married, and lived in a little cottage by the sunset sea, where they constantly made love to each other for a fortnight.

When Tywin discovered the marriage, he had Jaime deceive Tyrion by telling him that Tysha was a sex worker hired to make him a man.

Tywin then had his guards gang-rape Tysha, each giving her a silver coin afterwards.

Tywin then forced Tyrion to rape her last, and give her a gold coin, signifying that Lannisters are worth more.

The marriage was undone, and Tysha was never seen again.

Eventually, Tyrion learned that Jaime lied to him about Tysha, and he now spends every moment of the story wondering where she went.

Second, who is the Sailor's Wife?

The Sailor's Wife is a sex worker who works at the Happy Port brothel in Braavos.

Her real name is unknown.

We have no description of what she looks like.

What we know about her backstory will be covered below.

So, could they be the same person? Let's find out!

Born in 273 AC, Tyrion married Tysha when he was 13 years old (in or around the year 286 AC). If they had a child, that child would now be 14 years old.

The Sailor's Wife has a 14-year-old daughter named Lanna, who also works at the Happy Port.

Lanna was always begging the singer to play her stupid love songs. She was the youngest of the whores, only ten-and-four. Merry asked three times as much for her as for any of the other girls, Cat knew. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

Did you catch that name? Lanna. The Sailor's Wife named her child Lanna.

In the same book that introduces the Sailor's Wife and Lanna, a pregnant woman asks Cersei for permission to name her child Lanna to honor House Lannister.

Lady Graceford, who was large with child, asked the queen's leave to name it Tywin if it were a boy, or Lanna if it were a girl. - Cersei II, AFFC

And guess what? Lanna has long golden hair. Not blonde hair, no, golden hair.

Yna was there too, braiding Lanna's fine long golden hair. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

The Sailor's Wife lost her husband when she was 14.

Tysha was 14 when she met, married, and was separated from Tyrion.

The other whores said that the Sailor's Wife visited the Isle of the Gods on the days when her flower was in bloom, and knew all the gods who lived there, even the ones that Braavos had forgotten. They said she went to pray for her first husband, her true husband, who had been lost at sea when she was a girl no older than Lanna. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

I was only thirteen, and the wine went to my head, I fear. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

"[...] My brother unsheathed his sword and went after them, while I dismounted to protect the girl. She was scarcely a year older than I was [...]." - Tyrion VI, AGOT

Arya finds there's something sad about the Sailor's Wife.

Tysha had a face that would break your heart.

She was good that way, and quick to laugh as well, but Cat thought there was something sad about her too. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

She was scarcely a year older than I was, dark-haired, slender, with a face that would break your heart. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

The Sailor's Wife can speak the Common Tongue of Westeros.

Tysha was an orphaned daughter of a crofter from the westerlands of Westeros.

"He sings a pretty song," she murmured softly, in the Common Tongue of Westeros. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

She was a crofter's child, orphaned when her father died of fever, on her way to … well, nowhere, really. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

The Sailor's Wife and Lanna both seem to have a fondness for singers and love songs.

Tyrion often recalls Tysha singing "Seasons of Love" to him with affection.

When Cat slipped inside the brothel, though, she found Merry sitting in the common room with her eyes shut, listening to Dareon play his woodharp. Yna was there too, braiding Lanna's fine long golden hair. Another stupid love song. Lanna was always begging the singer to play her stupid love songs. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

Cat was thinking about the fat boy, remembering how she had saved him from Terro and Orbelo, when the Sailor's Wife appeared beside her. "He sings a pretty song," she murmured softly, in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "The gods must have loved him to give him such a voice, and that fair face as well." - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

It was pleasant to think that men still sang, even in the midst of butchery and famine. Remembered notes filled his head, and for a moment he could almost hear Tysha as she'd sung to him half a lifetime ago. - Tyrion VII, ACOK

The Sailor's Wife only beds men who marry her; the rites are typically performed by a wine-soaked red priest or a septon at the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea.

Tyrion and Tysha were married by a drunken septon.

The Happy Port sometimes had three or four weddings a night. Often the cheerful wine-soaked red priest Ezzelyno performed the rites. Elsewise it was Eustace, who had once been a septon at the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

"A Lannister of Casterly Rock wed to a crofter's daughter," Bronn said. "How did you manage that?" Oh, you'd be astonished at what a boy can make of a few lies, fifty pieces of silver, and a drunken septon. - Tyrion VI, AGOT

Tyrion obsessively asks himself, "Where do whores go?" whenever thinking about his father or Tysha. He seems convinced she is in a brothel somewhere.

At one point, he wonders if she's at a port; another time, he mentions the term "courtesan," a word strongly associated with Braavos.

And the whores were out. River or sea, a port was a port, and wherever you found sailors, you'd find whores. Is that what my father meant? Is that where whores go, to the sea? - Tyrion VI, ADWD

"Do you know where whores go?" When they did not respond, he repeated the question in High Valyrian, though he had to say courtesan in place of whore. - Tyrion I, ADWD

"Have you ever visited the pleasure houses of Lys?" the dwarf inquired. "Might that be where whores go?" - Tyrion I, ADWD

Selhorys may be where whores go. Tysha might be in there even now, with tears tattooed upon her cheek. "I almost drowned. A man needs a woman after that. [...]" - Tyrion VI, ADWD

"Do you know a woman by the name of Tysha?" he asked, as he watched his seed dribble out of her onto the bed. The whore did not respond. "Do you know where whores go?" - Tyrion VI, ADWD

The Sailor's Wife claims that her first husband was lost at sea when she was 14, and often prays for him to return to her.

The author repeatedly writes scenarios in which Tyrion almost drowns.

Was that why he reeled backward, or did he see the sword after all? He would never know. The point slashed just beneath his eyes, and he felt its cold hard touch and then a blaze of pain. His head spun around as if he'd been slapped. The shock of the cold water was a second slap more jolting than the first. He flailed for something to grab on to, knowing that once he went down he was not like to come back up. Somehow his hand found the splintered end of a broken oar. Clutching it tight as a desperate lover, he shinnied up foot by foot. His eyes were full of water, his mouth was full of blood, and his head throbbed horribly. Gods give me strength to reach the deck . . . There was nothing else, only the oar, the water, the deck. – Tyrion XIV, ACOK

The sudden cold hit Tyrion like a hammer. As he sank he felt a stone hand fumbling at his face. Another closed around his arm, dragging him down into darkness. Blind, his nose full of river, choking, sinking, he kicked and twisted and fought to pry the clutching fingers off his arm, but the stone fingers were unyielding. Air bubbled from his lips. The world was black and growing blacker. He could not breathe. There are worse ways to die than drowning. – Tyrion V, ADWD

He looked about for his wine cup, but when he found it all the rum had spilled. Drowning is bad enough, he reflected sourly, but drowning sad and sober, that's too cruel. In the end, they did not drown … though there were times when the prospect of a nice, peaceful drowning had a certain appeal. The storm raged for the rest of that day and well into the night. – Tyrion IX, ADWD

Furthermore, the theme of drowning is heavily present in much of Tyrion's arc, to the point where it's becoming kind of weird.

(There's always potential for karma when someone has a man thrown off a ship en route to the Wall or uses wildfire to bury an army at the bottom of Blackwater Bay.)

Once Janos Slynt realized he was not to be summarily executed, color returned to his face. He thrust his jaw out. "We will see about this, Imp. Dwarf. Perhaps it will be you on that ship, what do you think of that? Perhaps it will be you on the Wall." He gave a bark of anxious laughter. "You and your threats, well, we will see. I am the king's friend, you know. We shall hear what Joffrey has to say about this. And Littlefinger and the queen, oh, yes. Janos Slynt has a good many friends. We will see who goes sailing, I promise you. Indeed we will." - Tyrion II, ACOK

He retched the wine up and lay in it a while, wondering if the ship would sink. Is this your vengeance, Father? Has the Father Above made you his Hand? "Such are the wages of the kinslayer," he said as the wind howled outside. It did not seem fair to drown the cabin boy and the captain and all the rest for something he had done, but when had the gods ever been fair? And around about then, the darkness gulped him down. - Tyrion I, ADWD

Ser Rolly grabbed Tyrion by the collar. "Let us see how dwarfs swim," he said, chucking him headlong into the Rhoyne. The dwarf laughed last; he could paddle passably well, and did … until his legs began to cramp. Young Griff extended him a pole. "You are not the first to try and drown me," he told Duck, as he was pouring river water from his boot. "My father threw me down a well the day I was born, but I was so ugly that the water witch who lived down there spat me back." He pulled off the other boot, then did a cartwheel along the deck, spraying all of them. - Tyrion IV, ADWD

And the sight of me can only be salt in her [Penny] wound. They hacked off her brother's head in the hope that it was mine, yet here I sit like some bloody gargoyle, offering empty consolations. If I were her, I'd want nothing more than to shove me into the sea. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

Tyrion found himself musing on how easy it would be to slip over the gunwale and drop down into that darkness. One very small splash, and the pathetic little tale that was his life would soon be done. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

Yna, another sex worker at the Happy Port and a maegi, tasted the Sailor's Wife's blood. She claims her lover is dead and hopes he never returns, as he would be a corpse. That's a really strange thing to say, no? You always have to read between the lines with a maegi.

If you asked Tyrion, he would tell you he's been dead for a long time.

"She thinks that if she finds the right god, maybe he will send the winds and blow her old love back to her," said one-eyed Yna, who had known her longest, "but I pray it never happens. Her love is dead, I could taste that in her blood. If he ever should come back to her, it will be a corpse." - Cat of the Canalds, ADWD

There are worse ways to die than drowning. And if truth be told, he had perished long ago, back in King's Landing. It was only his revenant who remained, the small vengeful ghost who throttled Shae and put a crossbow bolt through the great Lord Tywin's bowels. No man would mourn the thing that he'd become. I'll haunt the Seven Kingdoms, he thought, sinking deeper. They would not love me living, so let them dread me dead. - Tyrion V, ADWD

Other things to consider:

Neither Samwell nor Arya provide a physical description of the Sailor's Wife, which many, especially myself, find highly suspicious. It's remarkably uncharacteristic of George R. R. Martin, given how much attention he devotes to this character.

On that note, why is it that among all the sex workers we encounter in the series, we learn so much about this particular one? (But again, not what she actually looks like.)

I feel super gross typing this, but one could argue that there's a twisted rationale to Tysha wanting to marry her customers after the sexual assault she experienced.

COUNTER-EVIDENCE:

Let's start with the obvious: Tyrion's not a sailor, and Tysha didn't lose him because he was lost at sea. (I'd argue it's fairly clear why she wouldn't share the real story.)

The whole point was that Tywin and Jaime lied, and Tysha wasn't actually a prostitute. Making both her and her daughter sex workers after what she experienced would be unnecessary, distasteful, and kind of offensive. (That said, I wouldn't put it past George to do it.)

What are the odds that Arya Stark runs into the Tysha in Braavos? (Roughly the same as Jorah Mormont and Tyrion Lannister bumping into each other at the other end of the world.)

After what happened to her, would Tysha really pray for Tyrion to return to her? Would she name her child Lanna? (Don't look at me, I don't know.)

The Gerion Lannister Consideration:

Gerion Lannister was Tywin Lannister's youngest and most reckless brother. It appears he was a sailor, given that he had a ship called the Laughing Lion and enjoyed the occasional adventure.

Circa 291 AC, Gerion went on a quest to find House Lannister's ancestral Valyrian steel greatsword, Brightroar, along with any other treasure that might have survived the Doom of Valyria.

Gerion was never seen again.

Almost a decade had passed since the Laughing Lion headed out from Lannisport, and Gerion had never returned. The men Lord Tywin sent to seek after him had traced his course as far as Volantis, where half his crew had deserted him and he had bought slaves to replace them. No free man would willingly sign aboard a ship whose captain spoke openly of his intent to sail into the Smoking Sea. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

It's not unreasonable to speculate that it's actually Gerion Lannister who married the Sailor's Wife, and fathered Lanna.

But there are some issues.

For starters, the Sailor's Wife lost her husband at sea when she was 14 years old (in or around 286 AC). Gerion disappeared in 291 AC.

Gerion was in Westeros for Robert's Rebellion (282-283 AC), and Robert's marriage to Cersei Lannister (284 AC).

"[...] If you have need of a dagger, take one from the armory. Robert left a hundred when he died. Gerion gave him a gilded dagger with an ivory grip and a sapphire pommel for a wedding gift, and half the envoys who came to court tried to curry favor by presenting His Grace with jewel-encrusted knives and silver inlay swords. - Tyrion IV, ASOS

In 288 AC, Gerion had a daughter named Joy Hill, with a commoner from the westerlands named Briony.

"Joy is my late uncle Gerion's natural daughter. A betrothal can be arranged, if that is your wish, but any marriage will need to wait. Joy was nine or ten when last I saw her." - Jaime VII, ASOS

Remember, Lanna was born in or around 286 AC.

What are the odds that between Robert and Cersei's marriage and the conception of Joy Hill, 31-year-old Gerion Lannister sailed to Braavos—assuming that's where he met the Sailor's Wife—legitimately married a 14-year-old who wasn't yet a sex worker, conceived Lanna with her, left her there for reasons unknown, traveled home, never returned, and never mentioned any of this to anyone?

Let's say they met in the westerlands. Why didn't he acknowledge his wife and legitimate child like he did his illegitimate daughter Joy Hill? Why is the Sailor's Wife hiding the fact that Gerion Lannister was her husband?

Why aren't we getting the Sailor's Wife's name and description? Such information wouldn't need to be safeguarded, would it?

Why the emphasis on the specific ages of Lanna and how old the Sailor's Wife was when she lost her husband? None of this matters if Gerion is the husband. Lanna could be any age, the Sailor's Wife could be older than 14 when she met 31-year-old Gerion, and their encounter could be placed at a more logical time in history.

Why am I being told so much about the Sailor's Wife? The marriages to her customers, the drunken priest, the singing, the sadness, Yna's fear of his corpsy return—none of this is relevant to Gerion Lannister.

Most importantly, what is the point of all this? Calling Gerion Lannister a minor character in the series would be generous. He's merely a footnote in history. This is too much.

I think what's happening here is that George wants to trick you into believing her husband was Gerion, when it's actually Tyrion.

STUMPY'S THOUGHTS:

Please don't overlook that Lanna is older than Sansa.

This one theory is better than all the secret Howland Reed theories combined. For the record, if it is Tysha, I don't think anything will come of this. I would be stunned if Tyrion ever came face-to-face with Tysha again.

VOTE:

I welcome discussions. Feel free to reblog, respond, or challenge my perspective—I won't be offended by any of it.

Please note, if "no" is the eventual winner, or if it's competitive, a second poll will be conducted to determine the proper location.

NEXT THEORY:

Olyvar Frey is Rosby's ward

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#operation iceberg #asoiaf theory tier list #theory 7 #tysha is the sailor's wife

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