#taking over for his mother after she steps down

[gguk-n]

Fading Shadow (Lando Norris x ex-Reader)

Part 2 of Last Straw Inspired by this request

Summary- Y/N moved on. Lando is still stuck, on what they had and what he lost.

{Reader's POV}

The moment I landed back home, I felt relief wash over me when I cried in my mother's arms. I had been holding on to too much, it seems. My father brought my favourite food and we ate together and we laughed together. This was the therapy I needed. My siblings weren't very happy with Lando since they had seen everything unfold on social media but they were happy to have their sister back. I was happy to be back home. I needed this, I needed my people.

I decided I needed a change of pace, a change of scenery. I had been mourning my relationship while I was still in it. Now, I was a new me, I was going to do everything I wanted.

I applied at the company I always wanted to work at but due to there being no vacancies I was assigned a job in a different country and I was ready to take on the world. I knew Lando would never search for me, he never truly loved me but I still wanted to leave. I needed a fresh start.

{Lando's POV}

The silence after the break up was exactly what I needed, or so I thought. I could leave as I wished. I could go out whenever I wanted. I didn't have to explain myself to anyone. It's so much better to be single then to be tied down.

I didn't think I would ever miss Y/N, but I did. I remember exactly when I missed her for the first time; it was after a difficult race and I had finish decently with the shitty cards I had and I just wanted someone to tell me how well I did; but there was no one; no one who knew what I wanted to hear. I felt so alone even when I was surrounded by hundreds of people for the first time in a long time.

The second time I missed her was when I was stood on top of the top step of the podium. I wanted to have her around so I could share my highs with her. I didn't get a 'do you wanna go out to celebrate?' like the last two times and I aired her both time to party with random girls. Right now, I was in the club celebrating my third win of my career and season and I felt empty and alone. Not even the alcohol helped.

The house we lived in was a stark reminder of the time we spent together. All our dates we had. All the times she would teach me how to cook but we would always end up with a big mess and half cooked or burnt food since I would get distracted. In retrospect, I loved every second of it even though I never admitted it then. I love all the time we spent together or the laugh she would emit when I messed up. I missed her and I wish she was here; I was too stupid to admit it then but I do now.

Oscar was getting sick and tired of me using his phone to check on Y/N's social media accounts since she had blocked me every where. I would end up borrowing the other driver's phone to check, just in case. Until one day, her account stopped showing up for Oscar too. I went through almost everyone on the paddock's phone to see if she had blocked my friends. Turns out, she had deactivated her social media accounts; I realised that after one of the gossip pages posted about her deactivating her profiles, across all the platforms.

I would wake up from dreams about her and I would fall asleep to the thought of her. No woman interested me anymore; I wish I was this loyal when we were dating, when she could see that I loved her, not now when she couldn't even see I had changed.

My PR team was losing their shit when I tweeted that. I had to sit through a stupid meeting after everything. It was miracle I didn't start crying in the middle of the meeting.

People had started to notice I guess, since Carlos approached me. "Cabron, what's up?" he asked while I was lying on my couch after media day. "Nothing" I hummed. "I fucked up right?" I asked. "I can't say no" Carlos said. I laughed painfully. "I didn't know how good I had it until it was all gone. I'm an ass and I deserve everything I'm getting" I cried. Carlos comforted me, hugging me tightly. "I just wish she would talk to me, at least once. So, that I could show her that I've changed. I really have Carlos. I love her so much, it hurts" I cried into his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Lando" he said patting my back.

There's a saying, You don't know what you've got until it's gone. I was living that nightmare and I will never stop living it.

[citrustan]

dating girl (jjk)

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: you try to convince yourself that you're really okay with 'casually dating' your crush.

genre: college au, fwb kinda thing but more than friends ygm? angst!

"Are they allowed to cancel an entire day at college? That can't be good for anyone..." Your mother ponders out loud as you walk around the city hand-in-hand.

"There's not much you can do if someone decides to paint over every projector lens on campus." You nod.

"Lucky for me, I get to spend time with my little baby," she nuzzles her nose into your hair, squeezing you in a side-hug, "Still can't believe we have to schedule our hangouts now."

"Yeah, there's that..." You smile half-heartedly.

You stop near a flower stall, taking in the hustle and bustle of the city. It's especially crowded because of your university abruptly cancelling a bunch of classes.

After your day had freed up unexpectedly, you had invited your sorta but not really boyfriend, Jungkook, to go cafe hopping to find where all the good teas are because you knew he'd bee available. But he never responded.

So your mood has been a bit damp all day.

You had just stepped out of this store that sold handmade sweaters and yarn balls. Not even a good shopping spree could lift your spirits.

What definately doesn't help is randomly seeing said sorta but not really boyfriend who didn't respond to your texts out and about with some leggy blonde girl.

You've never seen her around.

Not that you know every single person on campus, but if they've crossed Jungkook's path, you know them.

They're dining together al fresco, at one of the cafes you had literally listed in your text to Jungkook.

Talk about a slap in your face.

For a second, you think she might just be his sister or something.

That thought bubble is quickly shot at with a razor sharp arrow when you see him kiss her knuckles.

Your eyes involuntary darken, and your mouth forms a pout. The kind one has when they're trying to hold back a cry or a sob.

All the while, your mother had talked about your grandparents' separation, the local diner having caught fire, and matching mother and daughter shoes she had bought for your birthday.

You were listening passively so you didn't quite catch everything.

"You're still seeing him, aren't you?" She tilted her head in confusion.

When your mother notices the look on your face, she frowns, following the line of your vision.

At spotting Jungkook and mystery girl, she gasps angrily, "Oh, no, he sucks." She turns back to you, "Honey, I'm so sorry."

"No, mom, this is normal," you smile weakly, "And it's okay."

"Yes." You nod, "I am."

"But then he's there," she points at the pair with her chin, "seeing her. How's that okay?"

"It just is, mom! Really," you attempt to convince your mother (and yourself) that you were 100% fine with witnessing Jungkook out with other women. "We're keeping things casual. Very... casual."

"And that's a mutual decision?" She confirms.

"We both agreed." You concur.

Your mother's still unsure about your choices. "Well. Okay then."

You glance at Jungkook and mystery girl one last time.

The picture isn't pretty. He's leaning into her ear and has his large hand placed over her bare thigh as she caressed his arm with her much smaller hand, thoroughly enjoying his attention.

Your mother watches your expression go stiff, "So, how does this work?"

Snapping you out of your daze, she pushes a few strands of hair away from your eyes.

When you frown at her she sighs, "Sorry..."

"Oh. Um..." You exhale, "Well, we see each other and we see other people, and that's that. We're cas-" - "Yeah, casual, I heard." Your mother interrupts your blabber.

"It's ok." You look down at your feet, kicking a few stray pebbles out of the way.

"I just--- I thought you guys were sleeping together." She blurts.

"Mom!" You exclaim, looking around to see if anyone had heard her, "It's not that big of a deal. I want this too. And I need to learn to date too."

Again, you try to ease your mind about your decision.

You lightly cringe and look around, "Uh... Nobody yet. But this guy from one of my extras--- his name's Hoseok but we call him Hobi, or Hoba, depending on how close you are to him--- anyway, he asked me out to a halloween theme party next week."

"So who else are you dating?" She asks pointedly.

This is suddenly getting very exhausting.

Your mother gives you a knowing look, deciding to play along anyway, "Oh! You've never mentioned him before."

"Mhm. Because it's new." You hunch your shoulders nervously.

The party was hosted by the student body to raise funds for, you don't know, collegiate stuff.

You had imagined going with Jungkook, with matching Dentist and Tooth Fairy couple costumes. But he hadn't asked you yet and you definitely weren't going to bring it up first.

Maybe you can do the look with Hoseok instead.

It's less than a week away, so you're not expecting anything from him either. He probably already has another date lined up.

You wonder if it's the blonde he's with now.

"So, are you gonna do it?"

"Do what?" Was she in your head?

"Go with Hobi or Hoba." She makes air quotations for 'Hobi or Hoba.'

"Oh, yeah. Yep. Definitely." Suddenly remembering, you add, "Oh and can you make me my costume? I want to be the Tooth Fairy?" You softly ask her, knowing it's a little last minute, but also knowing she wouldn't deny you.

"Why of course! Does... Hobi need a costume too?" She asks carefully.

"Oh, no. Probably not." Well, you don't know. You don't know if his offer even stands now and you might end up not going at all.

Your mother rubs your shoulder, "Ask him and let me know, 'kay?"

You force out an uncomfortable smile and nod, "Thanks."

Although your mother's not convinced, she decides to drop the topic all together.

"Well, that's good," she smiles down at you warmly, "Do you want to get that sweater exchanged?"

It was vague, but you appreciated her attempt either way.

"Mhm. Back to the store we go." You narrate with an airy laugh.

Your mother was in the lead, already making her way to the store you had just walked out of.

Once again, your gaze falls on Jungkook and his date, and to your surprise he was staring right back at you.

You want to give him a little smile. To show him you're unbothered. But you couldn't seem to force one out this time.

So you settle with giving him a small wave, which he returns, mirroring your expression.

His date follows his line of sight and spots you too, giving you a tight smile. It's not passive aggressive, just... decent. Not polite either. But why should she be?

Jungkook blinks at you as you hurriedly leave trying to keep up with your mother.

Maybe you should focus on Hoseok for now.

note: nobody asked for this but i was feeling a little silly :p needed some angsty ouchie with the possibility of a favourable conclusion so i indulged!

hey bonus points if you can tell what inspired this! and if you read all this lmk what you think regardless :D

[almondmilktargaryen]

Duty & Sacrifice (Part Three)

Summary: Aemond is married with two kids to Floris Baratheon, as it was his duty. But it's when he ventures into Flea Bottom in the night that he faces his sacrifices.

Couple: Aemond Targaryen/Fem!Reader

Category: Flangst

Content warnings: Mourning child loss (written by someone who's not a parent), lying

Word count: 4.6k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four ✍️

Just as when he left Flea Bottom, the guards do not look twice at Aemond as he walks through the Keep. They do not see his face, nor the two cloaks he wore (Criston gave him his to hide the blood). No, all they see is his boots as they bow upon passing. The only words they utter are, “My prince.” Aemond faces forward. His eye does not stray. And his head stays up.

He turns sharply after climbing the stairs, finding his chamber doors in the east wing. The guard outside mimics the expected behavior before Aemond pushes himself through.

Out of all things unexpected in one night, Floris being absent was jarring. She sticks to a routine, just like him. With the candles already snuffed out, the smell of smoke had been replaced by the open air from their balcony. She should’ve retired hours ago.

Perhaps the gods wanted to leave him alone after… all of it, reminding him how alone he truly was. Still, Aemond looks around, peering past corners and squinting into dark areas at the far ends of their chambers, straining his vision with the distance as he feels the chains in his chest. They weighed down his heart and lungs as he staggered and lifted the bedcovers. Caution camouflages with his grief and takes hold just as strongly. Floris could be anywhere.

The weight, the chains stacked on themselves. Aemond discards the cloaks and mixes them in their shared dirty clothes. The view of King’s Landing taunts him; the capital he once saw from a safe distance nearly two years ago. Even in daylight, the people were nothing more than specks of dust. None of them could hurt him. He never thought it would be the reason, once again, why he felt this way. It was only more proof that he has not changed, still stupid. Three and ten, self-loathing, and stupid.

Luc used to represent his self-loathing. Now he sees Alyssa.

She was warm whenever he held her to his chest, like the sun washing over the cityscape. She was a blaze as fiery as her hair. Now she’s snuffed out like the candles in his chambers, but this time far away from home.

Aemond grips the barrier of the balcony as he falls. The stone scratches his skin as he clings to it like a cliff’s edge, yet he sinks down and down. A heave escapes him, squeezed out of him as the imagery of it all floods back, every angle pouring in as he convinces himself there was something he could have done. Before the alleyway, before Chataya’s. Surely, there was a step he missed. He had to have, so he retraced it all while shivering, like winter was here.

The door creaked open, making Aemond’s head spring up like a deer hearing a twig’s snap. He plugged his grief, picking himself up in the shroud of darkness and rubbing his face.

“Aemond!” Floris’ silhouette is barely in view, but he still recognizes it as she pushes her bangs from her forehead. Her rapid breaths grow louder with each step toward him before she’s fully in the moonlight. She’s in her nightgown. The black one from her mother that matches her hair, both now in crumpled waves. “Where have you been? Daeron has been in a state demanding to see you.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

A hand remains in her hair, the other on her hip. “He won’t stop crying. A nightmare, maybe? I put him to bed hours ago, and the handmaidens said he woke up screaming.”

“I’ll go to him.”

“Wait.” A palm meets his chest, square in the center. “What’s wrong?”

Aemond stares into the dark of their chambers just above her head before falling to her blue eyes. It was wiser not to speak.

The tips of her fingers are cold as they brush under his eye. Her short nails barely scrape his unmarred cheek. The wetness shines under the moon as she turns her palm to him.

He pulled out his usual excuse, putting a hand over his patch. “Eye pain.”

“Eye pain?”

“Yes.”

“Your upsets usually force you to rest, not tears.” She observes the residue before wiping it on her gown. “I haven’t seen it this bad since Baelon’s last name day.”

“Well, it happened. It comes in waves. Or sometimes a moment’s fit.” Another way to cover himself in the future. He’s discovered grief rises in him at inconvenient times. Gods love to torture. “I can’t control when they occur, Floris.”

“I never said you could. I just—”

“I need to see Daeron.”

The children sleep in the west wing of the Keep now. After what happened to Jaehaerys, Aemond insisted their rooms be away from the royal quarters. He made sure there was a guard at their doors day and night. Jaehaera included. Tonight, however, there were two guards outside Daeron’s door, appearing dazed and confused. Yet they still had the sense to bow to their prince.

Aemond opened the door to find five handmaidens completely helpless. But like the guards outside, Aemond was also confused when finding his son not screaming. His body only bounces in place like he had the hiccups. His head was down and he gripped his little golden blanket.

“He’s tired out his throat, my prince,” one handmaiden says. Her voice shakes.

Daeron looks up when hearing the title. His little eyes are puffy from crying so hard, and Aemond’s heart, merely hanging by chords, can still twist in on itself as he watches his boy’s lip quiver.

“Leave us, please,” Aemond says.

“Forgive us, my prince. We tried our best.”

Daeron rubs an eye with the heel of his hand. “Papa, my… throat hurts.” His voice sounds like he swallowed gravel from the training yard.

“I’m sure, sweetling. Hold on,” Aemond turns his head to the group. “My son is thirsty. Please, one of you fetch him some water. Add some essence of nightshade to help him sleep.”

Their curtsies blend with their departure. The door shuts behind him.

The candle on Daeron’s bedside table revealed the redness across his face, hot and sticky with tears. Aemond walks to the foot of the bed. He’s careful not to let his weight go too suddenly, recalling the height difference this time between this bed and Baelon’s. He’s not hesitant though with stretching out his arms. “Come here,” he says.

Daeron springs from his covers, leaving behind the small golden blanket as he crawls into Aemond’s lap. He hugs him at the neck while Aemond holds him at the waist. It’s a long hug, something they both need. He smells like outside, earthy yet sweet. He lets himself feel the boy’s fragile ribs steadying themselves. His father was here now. There was no need to worry. So they took in air as they needed it—with ease. When he pulls back, Aemond grabs the spare handkerchiefs left behind. Daeron still sniffled, but refused to blow his nose. Aemond pinches it instead.

“What’s upsetting you so much?”

“Am I to be Lord of Storm’s End?”

“What?”

Snot dribbles on the handkerchief. “I had a dream.”

Aemond cocks his head. “Tell me about it.”

“I had a dream that… that we went to Storm’s End to see Uncle Royce. But I was alone. And-and—”

“It’s alright.” Aemond rubs his son’s back. “It’s alright.”

“You wouldn’t let me fly Morning. I couldn’t get back home.”

Aemond gave pause as he listened to Daeron. The boy’s lip quivers again as Aemond’s thoughts swirl, shushing his son as he remembers Helaena. Aemond clears his throat. He smiled down at his son. “I know what this is,” he says with an exhale. “Come with me.” He holds him close as he stands up, walking across the rooms to settle at his window, the other side of King’s Landing before them. Aemond used Daeron’s fleshy arm to point. “What’s that building there?”

“S-Sept?”

“That’s right. The Grand Sept. Your Aunt Helaena is there. You never got the chance to meet her.” He petted Daeron’s head, white fluffy hairs that swept to the front and covered his forehead. He looks back up at Visenya’s Hill. The sept’s cylindrical corners and golden domes draw eyes to the center of the city. One of them held three bejeweled urns with their ashes inside, and Aemond dares not sniffle. “She would have dreams like yours, except she would often be awake. They would overwhelm her all the same. We didn’t understand them.”

“What happened?” He doesn’t look up at Aemond when he asks, only straight ahead at the sept. Meanwhile, Aemond blocks the memories; gore and blood still trailed the back of his mind if he ventured far enough. His leg bounces as he exhales slowly through his mouth, sounding like a haunting wind. Daeron didn’t notice. Aemond couldn’t gather an answer. What could he say? His sister went insane. She killed herself. He found her on Maegor’s spikes. She blamed herself for something that was his fault, and he never got to apologize.

“She lost her sons in the last war. Your cousin Jaehaera’s brothers.”

“Were they soldiers?”

“No, no.” He’s perfectly between Jaehaerys and Maelor in age. The ages they remain for the rest of time. He skips that. “But she loved them so much, losing them was too much to bear for her.” He rests his chin on Daeron’s head, just catching the tear streaking down his cheek before it dripped onto his son’s scalp. Observing the sept again, he longed to be ignorant of such despair. He shook Alyssa from his mind (as best as he could) to come back. “That’s how I feel about you.”

Daeron relaxed a little, his back touching Aemond’s chest. “But what about—” he coughs. “Uncle Royce.”

Aemond ignored the name. “These dreams can be very vivid. About things we already know. Your uncle named you heir, so you will be Lord of Storm’s End one day, yes. But you will go when you are ready.” He kissed Daeron’s head, inhaling his scent as he tried sniffling subtly. “We will ensure your brother receives proper training in royal proceedings as king. Your mother and I will ensure you’re prepared as a lord.”

Daeron doesn’t speak. He picks at the leather of Aemond’s jerkin.

Aemond, in return, hugs him tight with both arms. He gets close to his ear. “You’re not leaving me for a long, long time. Is that what you needed?”

He finally nods. His little white sideburns tickle his nose.

“Good. Because it’s the truth.” He picks him up again. “Now, time for bed.” His sniffling boy buried his head into his neck as he cuddled close, his fingers wrapped around the back. It was painful to do so, he could admit, but he still pried him off. His fingers slipped off him like broken stitches as he made him settle back in bed. He was reluctant, but gave him the golden one, avoiding the black stag sewn in the corner. He kissed the boy one more time before walking to the door.

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

“Uncle Royce. Where is he?”

“I assume at home.”

“But in my dream, I didn’t see him there. I said I was alone.”

Aemond blinks rapidly. “Perhaps… you didn’t venture far enough to find him.”

He rubs the satin edge of the Baratheon blanket.

“He loves you very much, Daeron. He wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“I know. I just don’t feel like he’s there.”

Aemond said nothing, only watched his son. His purple eyes, swollen and exhausted, darted up at Aemond briefly. They eventually went back down as he pulled his bigger blankets over his lap. Aemond could feel there was something else there, more his son wanted to say. And Aemond, for all the love he bears for his children, didn’t want to hear it tonight. So, he slowly turns on his heels.

“Papa?”

He suppressed his curse. “Yes?”

“Was… Aunt Helaena… were all her dreams true?”

Aemond swallowed thickly as he saw his wife do hours before he left for Flea Bottom. The truth is painful to keep down as he hears Helaena’s voice speaking of rats, then Jaehaerys’ head rolling on the floor just hours later. Still, Aemond looks his son in his beautiful purple eyes as he sternly says, “No. Now go to bed.”

Daeron doesn’t move for a moment, but eventually lays down. Neither of them say goodnight.

Finally, Aemond exits and heads back to his room. Keeping his head up, he pushes down his anguish with each step. He’s not out yet.

Floris barely waited for the door to close before she pounced. “Where have you been?” She is now the starkest thing in the room, all the candles alight again and casting a deep orange across their chambers and she is as dark as tonight’s sky. Only her cream skin contrasted with her hair and attire.

“I told you,” Aemond said. “At a meeting with the City Watch.”

“Her arms crossed over her small belly. “For two hours?”

“Yes.”

“When have you had a City Watch meeting last two hours?”

“Just now.”

“Aemond.”

“Floris, please.” He walks past her, cornering himself on the damn balcony. He lacks the courage to even glance at the city, choosing the brush below instead.

“What did this meeting consist of?” Her voice gets closer.

“My business with the City Watch.”

“Our baby boy wailed for his father.” Aemond can hear the way she bares her teeth. “And wherever this City Watch meeting occurred in the Keep, you were nowhere to be found.”

“It was a meeting in the city.” He spat out the first retort in his mind. “A dire meeting.”

“What could be so dire that you could not tend to your own son?”

“Someone killed a baby.”

The brewing storm halted with a catch in her breath. Her suspicion, though, is still strong around her. Aemond could smell it like rain in the air. He didn’t speak further. Rather, he found the nearest chair and fell into it. The barrier’s small columns blocked the city, similar to a cell as he thought of the woman he loved near the Old Gate. He cannot tell which one is the prisoner, as he pressed his temple with two fingers.

Floris crouched in her gown. Her gaze was heavy as Aemond did everything to keep from letting unnecessary information slip from him. “We took care of the killer. That’s what matters.”

Floris’ pale hand meets the crook of his arm. A thumb doesn’t brush back and forth like it did when his mother succumbed to her fever. The other arm does not wrap him in closer like it did when his nightmares of war jolted him and woke them both. Her thick brows didn’t slant in sympathy. They were straight and stern. “Whose baby was it?”

“What?”

“Whose baby was it?”

Aemond rips his arm away, the leather of his sleeve squeaking sharply from her grip. “What relevance is that?”

“Because you’re a kinslayer.” It rolls off her tongue so naturally.

“I’ve told you not to—”

“It’s what you’re known for, Aemond. I don’t understand how one baby would concern you.”

Aemond slams a fist on the arm of the iron chair as he stands, turning his back to his wife before facing her again. “You know I lost my nephews in the Dance.”

“After killing another.”

“Don’t!” His fingers curl into a fist. It’s when his father crosses his mind that he throws the force against his hip and lets out a shaky exhale. “Floris.”

“With your brother’s bastards rotting in the alleyways, I just don’t understand the difference.” She picks herself  up, pushing with her knees  and holding her belly. Aemond doesn’t help her.

“Because she wasn’t a bastard.” He spits out the words. Another lie, but he doesn’t care.

“Then whose baby was it?”

The chamber doors groan slowly. Aemond doesn’t move from his wife, but refuses to answer. Even as he sees her anger boil her skin and streak her cheeks, he keeps his mouth shut and watches the doors.

“Forgive me, my prince. Princess. I do not mean to disturb.”

“Cole.”

Even in a tunic and linen breeches, he stands like he wears his Kingsguard armor: feet apart, hands collected at his front. No blood in sight, and his hair is disheveled as if someone tore him from bed.

“Leave us,” Floris snaps over her shoulder.

“Cole, what news?” 

He delays in reply, clearing his throat. “Once again, we require your presence, my prince.”

“With what?” Aemond slips around Floris before she can stop him.

“With, uh, burial arrangements.”

Aemond stood still, frozen.

“If the baby has a family, they can decide for themselves,” Floris says. “I don’t understand why such matters require my husband.”

“The family is quite… distraught, princess. As a mother, I’m sure you can understand the idea of such pain.”

Floris’ eyes falter slightly to the floor before glaring back at Criston

“The maesters have wrapped the body and prepared her for her final journey.”

“I’ll go,” Aemond says.

Floris snatches Aemond at the arm. “No!” Her heels skid on the stone floor.

“Do you wish to see the child’s body yourself?” Aemond snaps back at her. “For proof she’s real and your husband has a heart?”

He expected Floris to let him go, in every sense of the phrase. But her small fists only coiled tighter around his forearm. Everything hard about her expression fractured before him. The blue in her eyes glisten brilliantly as she shakes. “Please, Aemond.”

“It won’t take long, princess. I assure you. Your husband will be back soon.”

“Don’t leave.”

Aemond sighs. But he looks his wife in the face as he pulls his arm from her hold a second time. He walks to Criston.

“Please.”

It falls on deaf ears.

Neither speak a word as they make their way through the Keep, nor create any sense of urgency with their footsteps. The only ones who look them in the face are a number of Gold Cloaks, either nodding or appearing extra sullen.

They don’t exit through the front doors. No disguises with them now. Instead, the pair navigate through Maegor’s tunnels to find their escape, opening one (of many) secret doors. The scale of Aegon’s High Hill meets them, the white waves of the Blackwater and a bobbing rowboat just below.

“How did you do it? Is Alyssa—”

“Not now.”

Criston jumps down first, landing on a small area of flat rock. He scales down the small mountain with ease, and Aemond follows with enough distance to not disturb each other’s footing. They hug the jagged walls and Aemond keeps his eye focused down on his own feet, his impaired sight working against him more than ever, with only moonlight just barely revealing shadows here and there. Criston even turned around to help him with some of the hill’s slimmer edges, but he refused, wanting to retain his focus. Over time (and with an absurd amount of patience), they meet at the bottom. They let the steep decline guide them to the small beach, meeting the rowboat.

“We have paid some Gold Cloaks to act as alibis in case your wife wants to inquire. They have already spread the word to others.”

The pools of Floris’ Baratheon blue eyes stick with him. She barely faltered upon word of her father’s fall in battle, nor a tear shed at his funeral. She maintained a grace fit for an unmoving force like her. Yet it was Aemond who pushed her tonight. He pushed her to tears. “And the maesters?” He inquires while clearing his throat. “What you said back there, that was true?”

Criston stretches his arms out to steady the boat. “Watch your step,” he tells him. But before Aemond can even take a step, he’s holding out his hand. Aemond looks down at it.

“I can get in fine on my own, Cole.”

“Just…” He gestures again and keeps it out until Aemond reluctantly takes it, one palm meeting the other. Criston guides him in and continues holding tight as the wood creaks under his boots. He doesn’t let go until Aemond sits down, the boat wobbling. Then Criston steps in on the other side, the Blackwater just missing his ankles, rocking the boat all the same. He grips the edges as he steadies it before reaching down.

Even the late night couldn’t hide the bundle of white waxy cloth, the small bloodless being that he held himself just hours ago. He can still feel the phantom wriggling in his arms from her twin’s screams. Now she is here, still. Still and cold as Criston handed her over. But even as the wind blows, Aemond hovers over her to shield her from the chill. He whispers to her as he does.

“I asked Maester Orwyle to wrap her, so we have another alibi should we need it. With her… injury…”

Aemond traces over her eye. Where her eye would be.

“There was no reason to suspect she was anything but a peasant child.”

“And Royce?”

“The less you know, the better.” Criston then pulls their weight with the boat’s oars as Aemond’s fingers brush the outline of his daughter’s face. The noise of moving water surrounds them as he pictures her. He pulled her into the world first, and he never thought bringing his third child into the world would affect him as deeply as his first two. He never imagined she would leave the world the way she came: wet and screaming.

It wasn’t until Criston docked the boat on the other side of the bay that he thought about asking where he—they—were being taken. He still stood unsteadily when stepping out, eyeing the breathing mountain amongst the young trees: his Vhagar. White birds that were perched on her spine flew when she picked up her head. She doesn’t yawn as she normally does when she wakes up, leaving Aemond to wonder, again, just what they’re doing here.

She peers from her high vantage point, neck fully stretched out as her acid green eyes peer at them both, watching them trudge through the brush of her dwelling. She sniffed the air harshly, sounding like a long hiss if Aemond wasn’t looking. Criston continues pushing the vegetation aside (as he had clearly done before, given the faint imprints of feet in the lush grass). It’s not until they make a circle around her that he sees the pyre; a shadow of dry black timber. Thick logs made the foundation as smaller sticks crossed each other to make the bed.

“She was a Targaryen,” Criston says. “She deserves a proper sendoff.”

Aemond clings to the cloth, securing her against his chest as if he is concealing her under his cloak all over again. He stares at the stick bed, and Vhagar lying behind it. Her chest rumbles, something like a hum that causes the earth to tremor under them. Her neck cranes down for a closer look, and Aemond can see the slashes in her pupils as he feels the creaking of her ancient joints when she tries standing.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond tries adding some force behind his High Valyrian.

She doesn’t listen. One foot forward, and the ground quakes. Roots and leaves shiver. The length of yellow teeth come into view as she takes another sharp breath.

“Lykirī!”

Still nothing. Her snout is inches from his forehead as her sniffs are smaller and more rapid. Her pupils drop to his chest, then back to him as she nudges him. Aemond has to step back to replant himself, but doesn’t order her to be still. His hold on Alyssa remains firm, closer to his chest than her mouth. She closes her lips, and the vibrancy of her eyes disappears when they do the same. Aemond’s forehead meets her snout, and Vhagar is silent as Aemond keeps his sobs down. He clenches his teeth hard and his jaw already aches from the tension.

Eventually, Vhagar steps back, leaving Aemond to walk to the pyre. He was not sure how long it took him to get there. Neither Criston nor Vhagar spoke. The strain from his temples to his eye, and now his jaw, made every step feel glacial. But eventually he did. He couldn’t imagine the sticks being more comfortable than that cot, but he didn’t pick her back up. He swallowed the snot and bile, meeting in the middle of his throat as he stepped back. Criston stood next to him. Vhagar looked at him.

“Dracarys.” He orders it as pathetically as he did before.

Again, she doesn’t follow him. She opens her mouth with no dragonfire. Her massive head twitches to one side, looking at him as she did the first time he ordered her to fly at Driftmark. But just as Aemond can feel the ache in her bones, she can feel the chains in his chest.

Neither of them wants to do this.

Aemond takes a breath, swallowing something like courage. “Dohaerās, Vhagar! Dracarys!”

Her head drew back with another hiss and her pupils thin out before her eyes close. Her neck curls back and she stretches her jaw. It’s always slow. Even the green color that lights up her mouth. He would be convinced that the pyre lit at the same speed, but Aemond fell into the grass; his knees giving in like the wood did under the intense heat.

Criston is still there as Aemond sobs freely, the sounds of it drowned out by the cracks of sticks and logs. He holds Aemond tightly as he buries his face into Criston’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” he tells him. “She’s ascending to the heavens where she belongs. No one can hurt her anymore.”

Aemond blocks his nose in the cloth of Criston’s shirt, sucking in air through his mouth so he doesn’t smell any of it. He remembers how Helaena wailed when she held Jaehaerys, his body limp and the blood soaking into her dress. The woman he loves screamed the same way. The cry of emptiness, a gaping wound inside. Aemond doesn’t have the lungs to scream like that. He just thinks of Helaena on the spikes. “I have to go to her,” he finally says. He pulls away, and Criston’s silhouette is nothing but a bleary shadow. “I have to before—”

“You know she doesn’t want to see you.”

“It doesn’t mean she won’t need me. We still have a child to take care of.”

“She has a child to take care of. You have three. Two of them are here. Another will be in the coming months, and your wife does not need the extra stress of questioning your whereabouts.”

Criston now sandwiches Aemond’s face between his hands. He doesn’t scream at him, but the force of the bones in his hands is hard against his skull.

“Don’t make me build a pyre for your fifth child, Aemond.”

His voice catches in his throat. Neither mother of his children wishes to see him now. Helaena once felt the same, but Aemond’s mistakes called him and Aegon to war, leaving her to grieve on her own. He turns to the pyre, a green haze that occasionally spits at the sky. The smoke burns his nose, making his eye clench shut against the sting. In that darkness, he remembers his mother and the knife to Rhaenyra’s eye. She understood sacrifice. And it was now his turn.

Criston stands up. His outline is still blurry and black, but Aemond can just see his hand outstretched for him. “Your family needs you.”

Aemond remembered his role. And he took Criston’s hand.

Taglist: @paprikaquinn @immyowndefender @teal-anchor @dixie-elocin

[sandwitchstories]

Beautiful Dichotomy

Hello, Hello! Here is the fourth installment in my series of drabbles, headcannons and one shots about Dad!Sukuna! I can't help myself, you guys. Soft Sukuna is one of my happy places!

Dad!Sukuna Series on my AO3 - Here (No real rhyme or reason here, only things they in common are Dad!Sukuna and fluff)

Summary: Headcanons and brain rot about Dad!Sukuna

WC: 800+

CW: female reader, mother reader.

Dad!Sukuna - who you caught playing peek-a-boo with your daughter after watching you do it. You smiled as a thought struck your mind at the sight -  4 hands and 4 eyes. He was definitely the peek-a-boo champion. When you told him this later he scoffed at you and replied of course he was. 

Dad!Sukuna -  You came into the great hall to find your husband trying to teach your daughter to walk. With all 4 hands. It was quite the sight to see. Your 7’3” husband, bent over with a hand on each of hers and hand on each foot, bent over, walking every step with her. As amusing as it was, it was also something burned into your memory for all time. The way he spoke softly to her and encouraged her, was patient with each wobbly step she tried to take. Even the way he called her a brat was somehow sweet. Sukuna was such a beautiful dichotomy. 

Dad!Sukuna - As soon as he found out the little princess was old enough now to eat normal food, it was game over. His own cannibalism notwithstanding - If he ate it, she ate it. If he found some new food to try in the market or on his travels, he was bringing it home to try with her. (This would never change even as she grew older.)

Dad!Sukuna - Who was beaming with pride when he told you his daughter had impressed him with the fight she gave him to change her clothes. Even with 4 arms he struggled to contain the little yokai.

Dad!Sukuna - Who developed a habit of buying you and your daughter matching kimonos. She was your mini me after all, even if she did have his pink hair. 

Dad!Sukuna - Who let his daughter practice her counting on his fingers.

Dad!Sukuna - Who sat there with his eyebrow arched while he watched his daughter attempt to tickle his feet and say ‘tika tika’ over again while she did. When she would look up at him he would say in a dead pan tone ‘Ha-Ha’. She would then laugh and do it again. And again. And again. Until he would reach his limit. Then he would snatch her up off the ground and tickle her tummy, smirking at the way she would laugh and smile up at him. She may be annoying but he had to admit she was pretty cute. 

Dad!Sukuna - Who would walk around the gardens holding his daughter’s hand even if he did have to bend down for her to do it. He would patiently let her drag him from flower to flower, squatting down and telling her the name of the flower and if it had any uses. (This would be why by the time your daughter was 4 years old she could correctly name every type of flower and tree in the vast gardens)

Dad!Sukuna - Who bought his daughter anything that he thought she might like. Having grown up dirt poor and homeless, he tended to go a little overboard on spoiling his girls. He had no intention of stopping. 

Dad!Sukuna - Who enjoys reading bedtime stories to his daughter. When she falls asleep in his arms while he is reading he will still finish the story. She has a habit of waking up if he stops speaking too soon, fighting hard to stay awake.

Dad!Sukuna - who you have caught many times taking a nap, sprawled out on the tatami mats in the sun with your daughter, on her back, sprawled across his stomach in the exact same position. She may look like you but she is her father’s daughter. 

Dad!Sukuna - who likes to randomly go ‘BLAH!’ with his stomach mouth and scare your daughter when she least expects it. She yells and runs away, hiding behind you or Uraume then peaking around at her father and laughing. She in turn tries her hardest to do the same way to him. He looks at her, puts his hands in the air and says ‘ahhh so scared.’ She laughs and runs to him for hugs immediately after. Every time. 

Dad!Sukuna - who does not seem to care what he is doing. If his daughter comes to him and wants to be picked up or held, he does it every single time.

Dad!Sukuna - who was an unwanted child and does everything in his power to make sure your daughter knows that while he is an asshole (he’s self aware, he owns it), he loves her. He never wants his daughter to doubt for one second if she is loved and wanted. 

Dad!Sukuna - who looks at you and his daughter together and feels a warmth spread through his veins at the sight of his girls smiling at him. 

Dad!Sukuna - who looks at you across the room, and you know that look. You bite your lip and look at your sleeping daughter and think - she would be a great big sister.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ 1

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

Word Count: 1,235ish

Summary: You discover your mutation. You get recruited for a team.

Warnings: death, gun shots, fire, homelessness, nakedness

Notes: Surprise! I couldn't wait until Saturday. Besides, this is more of a prologue chapter than anything. Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don't ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! Also, help me decide the endings!

It was snowing, but that didn’t matter. Your insides were burning up to the point that you couldn’t stop sweating, soaking through your clothes. There was practically a puddle of sweat beneath you as you pushed yourself further into the corner of your closet.

Your parents were downstairs, having a screaming match. It was their fifth one today. They had been too occupied with their own drama to even notice what was going on with you. A tremor had started in your hands as your fingertips began faintly glowing orange. You placed your hand against the wooden door as you heard the fighting die down. The silence was eery and before you knew it, a gun was going off. You rushed down the stairs, failing to notice the trail of fire being left behind.

Your father was standing above your mother, gun still pointed at her. Your mother was lying on the ground with a bullet in her forehead.

“Go back upstairs, Y/N,” your father demanded, not sparing you a single glance.

“What did you do?” You frantically cried.

“What she had coming,” your father responded. “She wasn’t like us, Y/N. She was— is that smoke?” Your father looked over to see the stairs in flames. “We’ve got to get out of here.” When your father grabbed your arm, only to quickly let it go when his skin burned. “You… You did this!” He pointed the gun at you. “You’re a monster just like her!”

“I— I’m sorry, Dad! I don’t know what’s happening!”

“I do, monster.”

Your father pulled the trigger and your arm came up to try to protect you. Fire shot out of your hand, landing on your father. He screamed out as the fire quickly spread over him. You cried as you watched your father stumble back into the fire engulfing the stairs. 

Yells and screams began cutting through the growing flames as the neighbors gathered outside. Realizing how this could look, you hurried out the back and continued running. What had you done?

~~~

It didn’t take you long to figure out that you had powers of some kind in the form of fire. Now living on the streets, you used your power to keep alive. You discovered your second ability when another homeless person went after you with a knife, cutting your arm. It healed, simply leaving a scar, after a few hours. It was 1965 and you had just turned 35 when you realized that you had stopped aging years ago. This forced you to move around more to keep from being caught.

Coming back from a heist with your bag full, you entered the alley that you were currently calling home. With a slight twitch of your fingers, you lit the trash in the nearby barrel to warm up the alley and provide some light.

“Some power you got there.”

You jumped at the voice, immediately forming flames in your hands. A man stepped out of the shadows, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Who are you?” You asked.

“Major William Stryker and you are Y/N L/N.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve been following you for quite some time.” He sat on a cart next to the barrel. “Tell me, did you mean to start that fire? Or was it a product of what happened to your mother?”

You grit your teeth. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I know things. Like what you are.”

“And?”

“You’re a mutant and someone special. I would like you to come with me. You’ll get training in your abilities and other skills. We could use you on the team I’m putting together.” He could tell you were considering it. “I know that you’ve been on your own and homeless for far too long. You would never have to worry about food, clothes, or a bed again. Not if you’re with me.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t. You’ll just have to come and see.”

You thought about it. This could be your chance to do something more. To learn about your powers and grow them in ways you didn’t think possible. The promise of the basic necessities was also night.

But there was also a chance that the man in front of you was trying to trick you. Taking a breath, you made a decision.

“I’ll go with you.”

~~~

Though the training was hard and the tests they constantly ran on your powers were draining, you never complained. Stryker had held up his end of the promise, providing you with food, clothes, and a place to sleep. He kept talking about his dreams for the team he was putting together and other mutants soon joined.

First, there was Fred Dukes, who possessed super strength and invulnerability. Next, John Wraith, a teleporter, and Chris Bradley or Bolt, who could control electricity. Agent Zero was next as an expert marksman with Wade Wilson, a swordsman who could never shut up, quickly following.

The six of you made an odd bunch and went out on regular missions for Stryker. You never fully understood what the point of these missions where, but you went on them anyway.

“Wade, I will melt those blades if you poke me one more time.”

The team had a day off, meaning that you were stuck in Stryker’s facility for the team until you were needed. The others had decided to plan a game of poker while you decided to read, with Wade choosing to annoy you.

“Where does the fire live?” Wade asked. “Like, is there an ember constantly lit inside of you? And why isn’t your skin hot?”

“Wade…”

“I’m just curious!” He threw his hands up. “Like how does the fire work? Do you— Hey!” Wade’s clothes burned off of him, leaving him naked. “If you wanted to fuck, you could have just asked.”

“Ew,” you cringed, moving away from him.

“Wilson!” John shouted. “Get some clothes on!”

“Why? You jealous?” Wade retorted with a smirk. He stood up and walked over to where the others were sitting. “Take a good look, boys. Take a look and wish you had this body.”

“Wilson!” Stryker exclaimed as he entered the room, with two other men trailing behind him. “Get your clothes on! We have new recruits.”

“Yes, sir,” Wade mock saluted before walking off.

You peeked over your book to get a look at them. Both of the men were muscular and clearly had their walls up. The one with shorter hair seemed more menacing than the man next to him. The man next to him caught your attention more. More emotions were swirling in his eyes. His hair was long, dark, and thick with mutton chops covering his cheeks.

“Sorry, gentlemen,” Stryker apologized. “That was Wade Wilson.” You stood up as Stryker introduced the other members of the team before ending with you. “And this is Y/N L/N.”

“A woman is on this team?” The menacing one scoffed. “No wonder you brought us in.”

“Don’t doubt, Y/N. Her ability to control fire can do more damage than your claws.”

“And you two are?” You questioned, getting annoyed again.

“This is my brother Victor Creed,” the other man introduced. He held out his hand to you. “I’m James. James Logan Howlett.”

You shook his hand briefly. “Nice to meet you, James. Welcome to the team.”

next chapter >

[his-angell]

"You'll get used to it, sweetheart." (c.bc)

plot; A trip with her boyfriend to his hometown sounded like a dream. She was so glad to be able to spend more time with him. But.. Maybe less time with the bugs.. paring; Christopher Bahng x fem!reader genre; crack, fluff, smidge of angst if you squint word count; 1k warnings; bugs, cursing, pet names, 3rd pov request?; yes! request found here

A trip to Chan's hometown was a dream. Finally being able to spend time with him and see where he grew up? That's literal heaven. Plus, she's always wanted to travel to Australia.. It seemed beautiful. So hey, it was a win win for her. Or so she thought. She didn't really believe that the bugs there were that horrible. She always saw online that they were bad, but she didn't really think it could be that horrible. They were only some silly bugs! Shes pretty much gotten used to most of the bugs where she lived. So, these can't be much worse, right? Getting used to the bugs didn't mean she was completely fear free of them though.. She still hated them with a passion.

After a relaxing dinner with Chan's family, they had decided to go take a walk, just the two of them. It was fall, so it wasn't too hot, or too cold. It was perfect. (y/n) listened happily to her boyfriend talk about how he missed his mom and dad so much. He was talking about fond memories he had walking down the trail they were on.

"I love listening to you talk," (y/n) butted in, squeezing his hand lightly. A light blush took over Chan's cheeks. He laughed nervously and waved his free hand. "Yeah, whatever." He huffed. "I ramble. Besides, my voice is not that-" He was cut off by the shorter woman slapping his arm. "Yah! Don't even start on that. Your voice is literally my favorite thing in the world." She huffed and rolled her eyes. He knew how much she hated when he talked bad about himself.

Chan chuckled and shook his head softly. They decided to take a seat down on a bench. They were sitting in a comfortable silence, gazing over at the clouds that passed over. The sun was setting, and it basked the sky in beautiful oranges and pinks. (y/n) looked down when she felt something tickle her thigh. She felt a hot rush over her body as she stared at the fat beetle on her thigh. She whined and quickly swiped it away.

Chan frowned and looked at her. "You alright?" He chuckled softly. "Why are the bugs so- Ugly-" (y/n) grumbled and shuttered slightly. God- She hated bugs.. There was something about them that freaked her out so bad. She huffed and ran a hand through her hair. Chan only laughed softly at her and patted her head. "You'll get used to it, sweetheart." He hummed. Would she thoughh? Definitely not was the correct answer..

That was just one time that the bugs bothered her. Over the trip, they were outside a lot. Whether it be walks, or eating outside at a fancy restaurant. There was no getting away from them. While she tried really hard to just ignore them, she wasn't able to. Whether it be a bug on the ground, or the table. Hell, even when she saw it on some strangers arm, she would scoot or step away. She couldn't stand it. They were big and ugly.

Chan was talking to his mother, and (y/n) was sparking conversations with his sister. They were sitting out on a patio. They had gone out to this lounge spot. It was really pretty. Hannah paused mid sentence to point at (y/n)'s shoulder. "Okay, don't freak out, but there's a huge spider on your arm." She laughed nervously. (y/n) tensed up and clenched her eyes shut. She couldn't even look at it, more less move to swat it away. "Chris-" She whined quietly.

Chan hummed and looked over. His smile faltered at the sight of his girlfriend tensed up with her eyes clamped shut. He glanced at Hannah, who pointed at the spider again. Chan looked and blinked at it. Yikes. He hated bugs as much as the next person, but he kinda got used to them. He knew how bad (y/n) hated bugs. "Why aren't you doing anything?!" (y/n) spat through gritted teeth, opening her eyes to look at him.

Hannah pursed her lips to stop herself from laughing. She wasn't aware of (y/n)'s fear of the insects. She cleared her throat and moved to go sit by their mother. Chan gently took a deep breath and grabbed a napkin. He reached over and grabbed the spider, crushing it inside the napkin. He got up, throwing it away. He sat back down and gently wiped her shoulder. "All gone, jagi." He kissed her head. (y/n) slowly nodded and shuttered. "Ick.. Ick!" She whined and wiped herself off.

Chan chuckled softly and patted her head. "Not used to it then?" He snickered. (y/n) glared at him. "I don't understand how I ever could get used to it. They're actually disgusting." She laughed quietly. She sighed softly and patted his cheek. "Good thing I have my big strong boyfriend to get them for me," She clicked her tongue and huffed. Chan rolled his eyes softly and shook his head softly. "Ah, I see what I am now. I'm only here to save you from the bugs." He grabbed his drink and took a sip from it. She nodded slowly and raised her eyebrows. "Wasn't that obvious?" She hummed. Chan scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I cannot with you." He tutted. "You love me." She kissed his cheek. "That I do, sweetheart," He kissed her head gently.

That's pretty much how the rest of the trip went. It was perfect, all because she had her lovely boyfriend to protect her from all the bugs. Anytime one flew by her, she would move to the other side of Chan and he would laugh and swat it away. He would tease her endlessly throughout the trip and even when they got home. All out of love of course. He never knew someone could be that worried about a little tiny thing. Truth was, those things are not tiny.. He's just oddly used to it..

...

thank you, annon for the requestt!! i hope it lived up to your wishess! muah muah! stay safee! <3

[mooshie-blue]

Enough for me 💕

A sort self insert octonauts fic idfk I don’t want to post this to a03

If you don’t like self insert stuff go away!

Bonnie could never be an Octonaut. They hated traveling, their room was always their safe place. they could never work under pressure either. They didn’t wear the hat or the fancy shirt collar.

They couldn’t drive a car, how would they drive a GUP? They couldn’t work under pressure. They were a coward.

Cooking is all they could really do.

The octonauts had been out to take care of and reunite a baby shark with her family after she got separated.

Bonnie was with the vegimals, planning that night’s dinner. They were chopping up some seaweed and Tominow was at the mixer, humming her little vegimal song. She occasionally looked over, noticing Bonnie’s solemn expression.

since Bonnie joined the crew, all the vegimals, especially Tomminow had taken a liking to them, seeing Bonnie as a sort of Mother figure. Sometimes Tominow called them “Mama”

The little Vegimal looked Bonnie’s direction “Mama?” Asking if they were okay.

Bonnie snapped back to reality and looked at their little friend, her little face was painted with concern “Mama?”

“I’m okay, Tominow, just not feeling it today. Must’ve slept funny.” Bonnie rubbed their totally sore neck and smiled weakly.

Tominow didn’t beleive them, she had been trained to be smarter than that thanks to Shellington and Tunip.

But she knew Bonnie didn’t like talking much about their feelings, especially to someone so young.

Tominow simply sighed sadly and went back to mixing. But she did have an idea in mind.

Soon dinner would be out in the oven and the Octonauts would return.

Tominow sat in the launch bay, waiting for Captain Barnacles because she knew how close he was with Bonnie.

Tweak walked in after getting a call from Barnacles telling her they were on their way back to the octopod. She would be set to open the octo-hatch soon.

“Hey, there Tominow! How’s dinner coming along?” She ruffled Tomminow’s leafy head as she approached the lever and stood by, waiting for orders.

“In da oven!” Tominow replied, she sat beside tweak, lightly kicking her flippers.

“Alright! But don’t tell me what it is, I want to be surprised!” Tweak giggled

Tominow nodded and hummed some more. Eventually, Captain Barnacles called for tweak to open the Octo-Hatch, Then he, Kwazii, Peso and Shellington bought the GUP-A to the top.

“How’d it go? Is Sasha okay?” Tweak asked about the baby shark.

“Oh, yes!” Captain Barnacles climbed out and gently pulled Peso out with him. “She’s fine!” Peso added Her parents were worried but they’re all together again, we made sure they swam off together before coming back!”

“A relief it is!” Shellington followed Peso out and stepped on the dock. Kwazii following close behind.

“That’s good to hear!” Tweak munched on a carrot “Tominow said dinners in the oven right now, it’ll be another 30 or so minutes.”

“In the meantime we should all take it easy, you did a wonderful job today, Octonauts!” Barnacles clasped his hands together “I’m very proud of you!”

“Shucks, Cap’n!” Kwazii chuckled “Hey, Shellington, ya up for a round of ping pong?” Shellington laughed and followed the swashbuckling cat to the rec room. “You’re on!”

Tweak set the GUP A back in its designated spot, Barnacles checking in beside her, after that, Tominow approached him and lightly tugged on his sleeve.

“Hm? What is it Tominow?” The polar bear turned to face her, he knelt down to her level.

“Mama!” Tominow hopped up and down. “Mama sad!”

“Oh, Bonnie’s upset? Do you know why?” He stood up. Tominow shaking her head, she tugged on his paw, urging him to follow.

“Easy now! I’m coming.” He gently settled the worried vegimal as he stood up and followed. They both deeply cared about Bonnie. Barnacles had found them when they were at a low place. They didn’t have a home or a job, really. The octonauts never ever encountered humans. Seeing them was a first. But he was glad he found them.

Bonnie lay quietly in their room. They left the other Vegimals in charge of watching over dinner. They just stared outside, watching the fish go by. It wasn’t uncommon for them to just not do anything. What a burden.

A gentle knock on their door “Darling? It’s me, Tominow told me you aren’t feeling well.”

They couldn’t ever really resist Barnacles helpfulness. No matter how tired or angry they were, something about the small polar bear just broke their walls down. Even just sitting quietly with him was enough to put them at ease.

They stood up and the door opened automatically, they motioned for him to come in, which he did.

They plopped themself down on their bed and lay quietly. Around him they felt more comfortable to just be ‘unpleasant’ just a side of themselves they barely show. The side that was upset and frustrated, the side that felt wasn’t good enough.

Captain Barnacles sat next to them and rubbed their shoulder “What’s wrong, my dear?”

“I’m just so tired of being so useless.” Bonnie sighed and gripped their hair in frustration, Barnacles looking with worry.

“I feel like I’m not doing enough for the team, when the opportunity comes, I just back away like a coward. I just wish I wasn’t so scared all the time.” They sighed. “I don’t feel like I belong here, or anywhere really.”

Captain Barnacles gently stroked their soft hair and moved their bangs out of their eyes noticing them close, trying to hold back tears. He pressed a soft kiss to their forehead.

“Bonnie. It’s scary for anyone to do big things. I have fears myself, y’know. There’s so much out there to be worried about. I can’t say I blame you.”

He ran his paw to their hand and gently grasped it. “But you are just as important as the rest of us. Sometimes we get so busy we don’t have time to prepare meals. So imagine how happy we are when we come back to the octopod to see a warm, delicious meal made by you and the Vegimals.” Bonnie looked at him and noticed that warm smile on muzzle.

“You don’t have to go out and bandage up wounds or take big risks to reunite a shark with their families. Not yet, anyway. When your time comes, I’ll be happy to help you every step of the way. That’s my job as the Captain, I must be patient with everyone and their needs, and that includes you.”

He looked up at them, sincerity written all over him. “So please be patient with yourself. There’s no need to rush out into something you don’t believe you’re ready for.”

Bonnie nodded and held his paw “Thank you, bear..” they took his hat off and kissed the top of his head. Barnacles letting out a soft chuckle in response. his reactions to their affection were always so charming, He himself was just.. charming.

“I’ll always be there, Bonnie. No matter how small you think your problems are, I’ll help you.” He stroked their hair.

Bonnie sat up and hugged their little bear close. “I love you, Barnacles.” They whispered. “Oh I love you too, Dear. Do you want me to stay?”

Bonnie nodded “Yes, please.” They held him closer and lay down, bringing him down with them in their embrace. “You’re so sweet, snowball.”

“All for you, my dear.” He held their cheek and kissed their lips. Bonnie gently tugged his shirt collar and kissed him right back.

They both lay in complete, comfortable silence, exchanging sweet kisses as they waited for dinner.

[fanfic-she-wrote]

Second Chances

One of the reasons Beetlejuice is determined to get married is because he needs true love’s kiss to return him back to the man he once was. Only Lydia doesn’t return his feelings…or so he thinks.

(Beetlejuice x Lydia Deetz)

(Contains spoilers for Beetlejuice Beetlejuice ⚠️ Do not read if you haven’t seen the movie! )

Chapter 1:

It was about mid November in the small town of Winter River, Connecticut. A slight dusting of white covered the lawn of a lonely house on top of the hill, the one known to locals as “the ghost house”. Which now belonged to Lydia Deetz, who decided to keep the house after Delia’s passing. Why? She really didn’t know. She had some fond memories there of course, like the time she spent with the Maintlands before they crossed over. But she also had some equally bad memories as well…

She took a deep breath and turned over in her bed, forcing her eyes shut trying to sleep, but she couldn’t. Not after what happened a little over a couple weeks ago when she saw him again. At first she was scared,but after a while it was like her and Betelgeuse seemed to just work together. She didn’t know why, but she actually found herself missing him. How strange, she thought.

She even felt a twinge of regret for sending him away after everything he did for her. If only he didn’t try to make her marry him…again. She didn’t want him or anybody for that matter. Then again if she didn’t, why would she be lying there thinking about him? She groaned feeing confused. If only she had someone to talk to. Astrid wouldn’t understand. She had nobody now. Not her father, not Delia, Rory, not even Betelgeuse…

——————————

Lydia wasn’t the only one feeling lonely. Betelgeuse was too as he sat there behind his desk listening to the sound of the shrunken heads endlessly typing away. Things had settled back down to how they were before, the same way they’ve been for over 30 years. To be honest, he was tired of it and just as he thought he would be free, he was sent back to the netherworld again. What was he going to do now? Just wait for Lydia to need him for something again? No, he was done with her. He helped her out twice and this is what he gets. Nope. Never again!

But then why was her picture still on his desk in a brand new frame?

—————————

Unable to rest, Lydia got up, put her black bathrobe on, and slowly opened the door, peering out into the hall as she went not wanting Astrid to see what she was doing.

Quietly she crept out into the hall and made her way towards the attic. Everything in the house was dead silent except for the thoughts racing through her mind as she slowly approached the stairs.

She just had to talk to him. Even though she was a little afraid to, she knew she had to see him again. At least thank him for what he did.

Lydia paused at the bottom step, looking up she saw the attic door was shut. She swore she would never go up there again and yet here she was. Just as she was about to take the first step she heard a voice call out from behind her, making her jump.

“Mom? What are you doing?” Astrid asked, half asleep.

“Nothing. Just…checking on things.” Lydia quickly replied, folding her arms, and taking a deep breath to calm herself.

“He’s gone, mom. You don’t have to worry anymore.” Her daughter assured her. Lydia sighed. That wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear.

“What’s wrong?” The teen asked, noticing how unusual her mother was acting. Her mother was always unusual, but this was different.

“Nothings wrong, kiddo. I’m fine. Let’s just go back to bed.” Lydia said, pushing her daughter down the hall away from the attic.

“You can tell me.” Astrid insisted. Lydia shook her head.

“Astrid, it’s complicated.”

They came to a stop just outside Astrid’s bedroom door. “Is it about…Be—“ She quickly stopped herself, not wanting to say his name. “Him?” She asked.

Lydia sighed, becoming impatient. “Just go to bed. Don’t worry about it.”

“But-“

“Good night Astrid!” and with that Lydia shut the door to her daughter’s room officially ending the conversation.

Lydia took one last glance over towards the attic and went back to her room, losing her nerve. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea after all? Maybe he’s better off wherever he is without her.

“Oh Betelgeuse…” She sighed as she headed back to her room.

From the Netherworld, her voice carried down to his ears sounding like a faint whisper. “Fuck.” Betelgeuse swore to himself. Why did she have to say his name?

[nectarinesalt]

Cornflake Girl

...he showed up all wet on the rainy front step wearing shrapnel in his skin and the war he saw lives inside him still...

pairing: drafted/military/PTSD Eddie Munson x reader (whose brother died in the same war)

warnings: war, language, angst, death. terrible childhood, poverty. talk of domestic violence. eventual PTSD, eventual smut.

word count: 1k

author's note: slightly thinking about making this into a multi-chapter. tell me what you think.

~~~

The exhaust from the line of buses in the road choked you like the clammy, stone grip of Death himself. You found yourself in a trance - staring at the weeping mothers, the trembling young men - the only thing to shake you back to reality was a familiar firm grip on your own shaking fingers.

“...before you know it. Trust me, Wink.”

You stuttered over a response. “W-what?”

Your older brother Zeke raised an eyebrow at you with amusement. It’s the exact look that he had been giving you for weeks, and quite frankly, it pissed you off. How could you be so fucking casual about being drafted, Zeke?

In simple terms, the world as you knew it was ending. Your best friend, your big brother, your savior - he got that goddamned letter in the mail. 

Of course, Ezekiel Elliot Winkler didn’t bat an eye. Did he expect it? Well, you were sure he did. The newspapers talked about nothing but war. But… did Zeke want this? Your mind suddenly ran past all of the memories of the previous years; him and your father shoving each other around, Zeke ripping bottles of wine out of your mother’s frail hands. 

Your brother, only eleven months older than you, covering your ears in the stuffy closet you shared as your parents smashed dishes in the kitchen during a fight. You recalled how bad you shivered in the closet that night - probably because the furnace went out again, and no one had fixed it in months.

Probably as much as you shivered now. Zeke’s chocolate brown eyes were different from yours, lighter almost. His gaze flickered between your pathetic scowl and your hand, where your anxious thoughts manifested into a severe cuticle picking problem.

“C’mon, quit the picking, sis. How’s an engagement ring ever gonna look on a chewed up finger like that?” Zeke winked at you, knowing all too well that you swore off marriage over a year ago.

His sense of humor didn’t fade one bit, not even as the heavy bag slung over his shoulder. You helped him pack it the night before, last minute as always. 

You really want to pack this much? 

He smiled that toothy smile of his, dimples catching the shadow from the bare bulb above you both.

It’s all I got, Wink.

A deep gasp rose in your throat and you squeezed your eyes shut. Your memories escaped you suddenly, but then came rushing back with the enveloping squeeze of Zeke’s long arms lifting you a few inches off the cold pavement. He had always been at least half a head taller than you.

Ignoring the scrutinizing gaze of your mother, Zeke mumbled in your ear. “Just… hang in there. Please? Someone needs to take care of her while I’m gone.”

You fought the urge to argue, to protest. You didn’t want to watch over your drunken mother. You’d be eighteen within six months - who’d be responsible for her then? After all of the nights you both went to bed hungry, the narcissistic comments as puberty hit you like a semi truck. What the fuck did you owe her? 

She didn’t attend the funeral of your father when her car wrapped around a tree… only for her to walk away with nothing but bruises.

You were shocked that she had the motivation to leave the couch to send off Zeke. Hell, right now, you were stunned she was even slightly sober in the parking lot of Hawkins High School. But that was probably for her reputation's sake, not for her only son being drafted like a pig to the slaughter.

A sudden flash of silver caught your eye.

Snapping like a twig in the middle of a dry Indiana January, your neck craned instinctively towards the sight: two buses down, the flicker of a silver chain on the strap of a man’s duffel bag. 

Eddie. Your best friend.

Well, your former best friend. Before you had to start wearing a bra. Before your PMS and family stress turned you into a hormonal monster. Before he popped boners every time you smoked behind the bleachers with him during cheer practice. Before… before he did nothing but obsess over Chrissy Cunningham. 

You sighed.

Eddie Munson, born the same year, nearly the same damned month, as Zeke, got the letter in the mail, too. Duty called to him like a whisper in the night, beckoning him with a curling finger, looking at all of his failures, insecurities; Eddie didn’t think he truly had a future in Hawkins. So why not embrace the draft?

At least, that’s what you imagined it was like. Now, your puffy eyes drew to him like a magnet. Eddie looked drastically different, yet all the same. His hair was buzzed like it was when you were in 5th grade. He kept his back awkwardly straight as he spoke silently to his uncle, Wayne. That tiny family was always so good at trying to make life easier for each other. 

You silently begged them to let the walls down. Shed tears. Hug deeply. But no, nothing like that happened. 

Zeke said his farewell to your frigid mother as you focused on the sparse Munson family. Eddie held a firm grip on his uncle as he pulled him in for a brief embrace. As your childhood best friend turned for the bus, he immediately froze at the sight of you across the parking lot.

Fuck.

A whistle sounded nearby, tearing you from the invisible silver chain that connected you to Eddie.

“Zeke!” you choked out, refusing to let go of the strap on his bag. “Write to me. Please tell me you’ll write.”

“I thought you hated my handwriting?”

“Shut up!” You gripped his strap harder, pulling him forward in a gut-crushing hug, trying to ignore the feeling of Eddie’s eyes on you. 

The last thing you remembered was the easygoing smirk on Zeke’s face as he waved through the bus windows.

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 50: Hope in Half Desire

“I dreamt about you while you were away.” “People dream of me all the time, darling. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full story on AO3

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+, mdni. Brief allusion to history of SA, forced restraint See AO3 for other chapter-specific warnings

Around nightfall, Gale and the others had returned with a handful of Noblestalk from Halaster. Shadowheart hastily brewed it into a concentrate, and Astarion carried it to Celeste’s room with a grimace. After centuries without eating, he wasn’t sure if he had a natural aversion to mushrooms, or if it truly was that awful. 

When he looks in on her, Celeste is curled atop the sheets with her father’s journal, the displacer cub sleeping in a ball at her side. He knocks softly upon the doorframe to warn her of his presence. Noticing him, she shoves the book aside and sits up.

“Hi.” She breathes. There was something in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, like she was actually…happy to see him. 

Astarion gives her a small smile as he steps inside. “How’s the reading?” he asks, sitting at the edge of the mattress. 

“Strange.” She glances at the journal, “My father wrote about abandoning the Dark Lady, the falsehoods of her teachings...” she hesitates, carefully choosing her words, “It still feels…sacrilege, but I’m trying to give it the benefit of the doubt. ”

“And what finally convinced your father to abandon Shar? Perhaps it would work on you.” 

Celeste swallows. “My mother. Their relationship began as a sinister plan, but…he grew to love her more than his goddess.”

Astarion hums to himself, pursing his lips. Uncomfortable with certain parallels and eager to change the subject, he holds up the swirling, deep indigo vial of Noblestalk.

“How about we retrieve your memories and get this over with?”

She cradles it between her palms, wrinkling her nose and abandoning it on the nightstand. 

“Gods below, it’s worse than earlier.” 

“Shadowheart’s been tinkering with the potency. I was hoping you’d take it willingly this time.” Astarion says, “But if you’d prefer to be pinned down again, that could be arranged.” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh?” Celeste tilts her head to the side, as if calling his bluff.

His smirk fades. He’d been expecting a biting retort. Not for her to be coy and play along.

Before he can respond, she uncrosses her legs and leans forward.  

“I dreamt about you while you were away.”

“People dream of me all the time, darling. You’ll have to be more specific.” The flirtation comes to him instinctively, like a familiar knife. This was the woman he loved, the body he was comfortable with, attracted to. But something about her advances was so foreign. So…wrong. 

“I think it was a memory.” She says. “You used to feed from me when you were a vampire. On several occasions, it seems…”

“You were an enthusiastic volunteer.” The playful air is gone from his voice.

“It does seem I enjoyed it. A shame I can’t sustain you that way anymore.” As she crawls towards him, the displacer cub abruptly leaps from the bed and paws at the cracked door, letting itself out.

“But there are others ways I could… sustain you.”

Astarion stares in disbelief, searching her face for any sign that she’s manipulating him again, or perhaps joking. 

“Come now, darling, we’ve made so much progress. You’re not relapsing into Sharran pain and suffering fantasies, are you?”

“It seems I enjoyed a bit of pain all along.” She says, her hand sliding towards his thigh. 

Astarion bites back the groan building in his throat and grabs her wrists, holding them in place as he leans down over her.

“I’m not sure we should do this.” he shakes his head. “And I don’t think you want to either.”

She arches her back, pressing her body to his, as she slips a wrist out of his grasp and traces the line of his jaw. 

“I’ve never wanted to remember something so badly…” she whispers. “You could make me forget my goddess…”

Astarion closes his eyes. Despite his resistance to her advances, he can’t help from leaning into her touch, pressing his face into her hand. Desire throbs at his core. Gods, he wants her. 

“How can I trust you? That this isn’t another ruse?”

“How’s this for trust?” She murmurs, hooking her fingers around the back of his neck and pulling him in. Her lips crush against his, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she deepens the kiss. Their last kiss had been a lie, but this…this was genuine. If not a little too desperate.

But it still wasn’t all of her. Just echoes. 

She tugs off her shirt, lying half-bare underneath him, and he tenses. Her eyes pour into his - she knows what she’s doing. Or this version of her does. Without her memories, Celeste is less reserved, and far more seductive than he’d expect her to be. She isn’t seeking escape or control. No, she just wants him .

But at her core, there was a reason his Celeste was hesitant about these things. 

And that was the heartbreaking part of it all. That in making her remember, she’d experience all that pain again. Perhaps they should allow her to remain oblivious. He could make love to her here and pretend everything was normal. Let her fall for him all over again, let those feelings turn her from Shar. Forge a new life, one where her past is only a shadowed memory…

“Stop.” he growls, more at himself than her, and gently pushes her off.  

As he throws his legs over the side of the bed, she hastily pulls her shirt on, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry-“ 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” He says, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not- this isn’t you.” 

“You can’t tell me who I am! It isn’t fair. This is all I have. The only thing I know about myself is that I loved you. Or she did…Does. That…other version of me.”

There was a hint of jealousy in her voice. As little sense as it made, she was jealous of herself.

“Celeste, listen to me. I want this. Gods, trust me, I want this.” He takes her chin with his free hand and turns her head, looking into her eyes with desperation. “But I need all of you, darling. Not just scraps and fragments and a body acting on familiar desire.”

Astarion smiles in an attempt to placate her humiliation, resting his forehead against hers, and closing his eyes. Gods, this is painful. 

He grants her one kiss. Innocent, tender, comforting. She returns it hungrily, and he pulls away, his thumb resting on her lower lip as she blinks at him in surprise. 

“Come now,” he says, taking the Noblestalk suspension from the bedside table, “I know seducing me is an appealing path, but I’m afraid this is far more effective.” 

He takes her silence as her answer, and uncaps the bottle, raising the rim and parting her lips with it.

“Drink.”

She holds his gaze, looking at him under lowered eyelids, but allows him to tilt her head back. She stops to cough, wincing at the taste, before taking the rest from him and finishing it in one swallow. As she pushes the empty glass back into his hands, she rises to her feet, wiping her wrist across her mouth. 

“It burns…” she whimpers, running her fingers through her hair as she stares at the rafters. 

Astarion sets the vial on the nightstand as he watches her pace frantically. When she becomes more distraught, he crosses the room to stand in her path.

“Come, Sit.” he pulls lightly on her arm and she sways in place.

“No, you don’t understand, it-“ she looks at him wide eyed. “Something’s wrong.”

“Look at me.” he wraps his hand behind her neck and studies her. The flush of her skin had vanished, and her pupils were dilated.

“What...did you...?” She slurs with a look of betrayal before her head lolls back and she faints.

“Shadowheart! ” 

He calls for the cleric in a worried tone as he catches Celeste around the waist. Lowering her gently to the floor, he checks her pulse, taking a relieved breath when her heartbeat flutters beneath her skin.

The stairs creak under his companions’ footsteps as they enter the room. Shadowheart rushes to Celeste’s side, pressing her hand to her forehead.

“Did it work?”

Astarion scowls. “Did it work ? How am I supposed to know? That Noblestalk put her in a bloody coma!”

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s not a coma,” she says, opening each of Celeste’s eyelids to check her pupils. 

“Did you plan this?” he asks, incredulous, “What possible reason could you have-” 

“One bad memory sent her into a fit. What do you think remembering a lifetime all at once will do?” Shadowheart snaps at him. “I mixed in a draught of angelic reprieve so they can come to her in dreams, slowly. Being conscious is the last thing she needs. If it works, she’ll wake as if nothing happened.”

“It’s rather brilliant, actually.” Gale murmurs admirably from behind her.

“And why,” Astarion asks through gritted teeth, “are you just now telling me this?”

“Your head isn’t straight when it comes to her, soldier.” Karlach says. “We had to keep you in the dark until she drank the Noblestalk.”

“We couldn’t risk you changing the plan.” Wyll adds.”which you are apt to do, when you assume you know better…” 

“Unbelievable. So because I have her best interest in mind, I suddenly can’t think clearly?” Astarion lets out a bark of laughter, scrubbing his hands over his face before he turns on the wizard. 

“I spent the last two centuries being controlled like a puppet on a string.” He seethes, “Pardon me if I don’t want Celeste to not bear the same-“

“Spare us the centuries of torture speech and be grateful they didn’t knock you unconscious as well, faerie.” Minthara growls. “That was my plan.”

He makes an irritated sound and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine.” 

Crouching beside Celeste’s unconscious form, he brushes hair out of her face with his fingertips. They linger at her temple, and he frowns. 

“Will it work?” he rasps, barely audible. 

“We have no reason to believe it wouldn’t.” Gale says. “But there is one more thing.”

Astarion slips a hand under Celeste’s knees and the other under her back, lifting her from the ground and carrying her to the mattress. His movements are stiff and controlled as he eases her down gently, before glancing over his shoulder at the Gale with narrowed eyes.

“What? ” He asks, a command, rather than a question. 

“Halaster had some insight into what happened. The Noblestalk will help but…the only way to truly break Shar’s hold is to destroy the connection to Nightfall. Otherwise, we risk her recasting the spell, putting us right back at the beginning.” Gale says. 

“Which means we need her to remember enough not only to turn from Shar, but to want to help us kill Keresta and Nightfall as well.” Shadowheart says.

“She’ll help.” Astarion says, staring down at her unconscious face. He sighs and leans against the wall, rubbing his temples.

“So. What’s next in this clandestine little strategy of yours?”

Shadowheart takes a seat at Astarion’s desk, crossing one leg over the other. 

“We wait.”

[thetravelingtyper]

Letters From Nowhere - Prologue (CBF! Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader)

On the anniversary of your best friend's death, her mother writes from your long-begotten home. With the letter, memories of a childhood love pull on your soul...

Warnings: mention of death, angst, discussion of suicide

Masterlist

Inspired by You're gonna go far by Noah Kahan

Scattered letters litter the floor, hardwood dull through the mist of your eyes. You could trace the handwriting of your friend's mother, the loops diving then loosening towards the end. The tears stain the parchment. Vinyl spins a humming melody, you try to shift, only to crumple on the next shaky step. You drop the letter and clutch your chest. 

Fresh tears stream as you sink to your knees to collect the letters, shaky hand reaching for the scarlet-tainted letter. Your mind focuses on the line,

“Come home Sweetheart, she left you some things from when you were kids.”

You paused as your hand brushed the paper, the smell of lavender was still sewn into the embedded paper. You almost chuckle as your heart broke, it was her paper that she had made. A hum of a sweet voice that pulls your soul from memories with your old friend.

The only time I got to prayin' for a red light

Was when I saw your destination as a deadline

"This is normal conversation, babe, it's all fine"

Makin' quiet calculations where the fault lies

This is good land, or at least it was

It takes a strong hand and a sound mind

The pain leans heavily as you stand with the mail and the letter. You hadn't been home in a long time, not since that night, you hadn’t seen him since that night. 

The college kids are gettin' so young, ain't they?

They're correctin' all the grammar on a spray paint

And I even gave up drivin' after nightfall

I got tired of the frat boys with their brights on

This is good land, or at least it was

It takes a strong hand and a sound mind

You pull a chair out from the table and drop into it, sagging against it the wood cuts into you. The weight of the occasion doesn’t miss you, but what brought this now? This month marked the anniversary of your best friend's passing, but why was her mother just now reaching out? 

It makes me smile to know when things get hard

Ooh-ooh, you'll be far

Ooh-ooh, you'll be far from here

And while I clean shit up in the yard

Ooh-ooh, you'll be far

Ooh-ooh, you'll be far, far from here

You look up to the ticking of a clock in your apartment, the brass of the pendulum gleaming in the dim lamp light. You had gotten in late from the library, picking at your mail before the familiar stationary tore a memory from the deep echoes of your mind. the reminder of your old friend dropping everything on you, your thumb traces over the stamp, a swooping swallow, and it squeezes your heart. You had gotten matching tattoos with her when you were 18, promising to fly away when you could out of that small town. 

Then there was Him.

So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart

Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are

We ain't angry at you, love

You're the greatest thing we've lost

The birds will still sing, your folks will still fight

The boards will still creak, the leaves will still die

We ain't angry at you, love

We'll be waitin' for you, love

Blue eyes that swallow the ocean stare into you from the depths of your mind. There was a fight. He never understood, a hand thrown forward to yank you back from the edge, an accented voice yelling. You tumble back from the cliff, tripping into him and rolling through coastal grass. You rush upward to follow the falling stars into the horizon but he just yanks you to his chest as you scream out. 

You bite down on your lip at the memory, the tang of blood trickling as you clench your teeth. 

And we'll all be here forever

And we'll all be here forever

We sure will

You had gone numb after that attempt. She had passed suddenly, the treatments didn’t work. She never told you. She had just gone away for a week for her 20th birthday, but never came home to you.

We're overdue for a revival

We spent so long just gettin' by

That's the thing about survival

Who the hell-, who the hell likes livin' just to die?

As you sit in the swing in shock on a chilly October evening steps alert you to his approach.

His mouth opens, but you murmur,

“Leave me alone Johnny.”

He pauses behind you, an arm comes into your peripheral vision and a strong hand grabs the chain. Johnny had grown into his personality suddenly by 20, only a year older than you he made the effort not to grin when he flexed at you. 

He sighs low and long, an emotional husk digging its way in.

“She wouldn’t have wanted you to find out this way.”

For the first time you shoot up, stumbling out and away from his warmth at your back. He startles, reaching to steady you but you yank out of his grasp.

“What do you mean Johnny?” 

You gasp out sharp breaths, wanting to doubt what you heard.

At the realization of his fumble, a frown pulls onto his face. He says nothing, only looking down.

“You knew she was sick?”

“She-”

“You bastard, you knew!” 

You croak it out. You had noticed she had been more tired before the trip but thought little of it, thinking school had gotten harder, you could have never expected this.

You stare at him and he watches your eyes dull, you grit your teeth and turn away.

“Bonnie, look she-”

“Don’t bother Johnny.”

You told me you would make a difference

Well, I got drunk and shut you down

It won't be by your own volition

If you step foot outside this town

But it's all we've had

For always

You barely spoke to him after that, just going to classes and coming home to cry. The condolences did nothing, your parents' messages did nothing, there was only the pain. In the emptiness you had decided it was time. Somehow he found out.

You spin on your heels at the sound of someone entering your bedroom as you pack.

“You’re just leaving?”

John looks older then, as he grasps at the papers on your desk, the spare key dangling in his fingers on a worn lanyard. 

You ignore him, returning to your clothes, but you feel his eyes. The night at the cliff had not been discussed, the attempt to end it all, the bruises from the rough ground still stung when pressed. You hear him step forward, and a hand reaches for your elbow.

“Look at me, Bonnie.”

Your head turns down, staring into the void of printed socks. You hear him exhale, and you know his chest is tight because yours has been since he told you he loved you that star-teared night. 

Tears stream down your cheeks as he pulls you to his chest and you begin to sob, turning to bury your head into his chest.  

So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart

Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are

We ain't angry at you, love

You're the greatest thing we've lost

The birds will still sing, your folks will still fight

The boards will still creak, the leaves will still die

We ain't angry at you, love

We'll be waitin' for you, love

You had spent that night curled around him, only to wake from the nightmares of her eyes in the casket as Johnny holds you close. You left the next week, shoving everything away, leaving Johnny and everyone to memories and never coming home. Never answering with “I love you too.”

And we'll all be here forever

And we'll all be here forever

You're gonna go far

You're gonna go far

You're gonna go far

You're gonna go far

Yes, you are (ooh-ooh)

If you wanna go (go) far

Then you gotta go (go) far

The brass shines and you stare back into the letter. With a thudding heart you pick up your phone with trembling fingers and make a call…

TO BE CONTINUED

[velieditss]

Peace before tragedy

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen (ft Jaehaera)

Summary: After the Blacks took King's Landing, Jace visits his old chambers only to find a curious surprise.

Cw: None other than a tender moment between Jace and Jahaera, and words that needed to be spoken between Jace and Helaena—meanwhile, I'm dying over this pairing.

Au: I'm not kidding, I literally just dreamed about this, woke up at three in the morning just to write it down 😆

At last, the conquest of King’s Landing had been declared in the name of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Two dragons soared through the skies, rising above the clouds, visible to all the inhabitants of the capital. After months of anticipation and whispers of the queen’s resurgence alongside her loyalists, the gates, once sealed by the regent prince, swung open to welcome the rightful heir.

Among Rhaenyra’s followers, riding upon his dragon Vermax, was her firstborn, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. There was little the supporters of King Aegon could do now. The king had vanished, leaving behind his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, his wife and mother of his children, Queen Consort Helaena, and his only daughter, Princess Jaehaera, at the mercy of Rhaenyra.

The regent prince, Aemond, had departed for Harrenhal, leaving the capital defenceless, and with it, the throne.

There was no resistance. Not even the most fervent loyalists of Aegon raised their arms, and neither did Rhaenyra’s followers take advantage of their victory.

For Jacaerys, walking once again through the streets of King’s Landing was like stepping into an old dream, a dream woven with memories both sweet and bitter. Though much of his childhood had been spent here, the place now felt foreign, strange, as if the city itself had changed in his absence. Yet what truly weighed upon his heart was not the walls or the palaces, but the memories of his brother Lucerys, who for so many years had been his closest friend and companion, and whose absence now felt like a wound that would never heal.

As he wandered through the halls of the old chambers he had once shared with his brother, a strange curiosity compelled him to enter what had once been his own room. The door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a chamber that seemed much smaller than he remembered. The curtains swayed gently in the morning breeze, allowing the golden light of dawn to stream in.

What had once been his bed now seemed diminutive, and the sheets, a greenish hue with blue trimmings, felt unfamiliar. A bronze tapestry adorned the chamber, its embroidery exquisite, though for Jace, what stood out most was a small wooden dragon upon the table next to the bed, accompanied by two carved figures of a man and a woman. He took them in his hands, feeling the roughness of the wood beneath his fingers, and a melancholic smile crept across his face.

“Who are you?” a soft voice asked from behind him.

Jace looked up in surprise. In the dimness of the room, he had not noticed the presence of the child. She was small, no older than six, with a slight frame and hair as golden as the riches of Valyria, her eyes a deep purple—Targaryen eyes. He needed no confirmation to know who she was.

“You must be Jaehaera, right?” he asked gently.

The girl nodded faintly, showing no emotion. Jace, with a tender smile, knelt to her level, extending the wooden toys towards her.

“I am Jace, your cousin. These must be yours.”

The child gazed at the toys without expression. Jace had heard the rumours about Jaehaera, about how, unlike other children, she neither smiled nor cried, always distant and silent, like a lifeless doll. Though he had heard these tales, he had always deemed them unjust; he knew well how cruel gossip could be.

Jaehaera took the wooden toys into her hands and then placed them back where they had been.

“I have never seen you before,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“That’s because I lived far away,” Jace replied, his smile never faltering.

The little princess replaced the toys in the exact spot from which he had taken them. She seemed to wish to restore the balance of her small world, as though any change might disturb the fragile peace in which she lived.

“These toys once belonged to me,” Jace said, attempting to continue the conversation. “I did not think they would still be here. Do you play with them often?”

Jaehaera’s purple eyes regarded him with mild interest as she nodded once.

“My mother gave it to me,” she murmured. At the mention of her mother, Helaena, Jace could not help but smile. Jaehaera was the very image of her mother: innocent, serene, with a purity in her voice that conveyed a peculiar calm. She would grow into a most enchanting young lady, Jace thought, once she reached maturity.

“Would you like to know a secret?” Jace asked, still seated on the floor.

The child approached, driven by curiosity, and nodded. He held up the wooden dragon in his hands.

“If you look closely at the dragon’s feet, you will see a name,” he explained. The little girl turned the toy over carefully and read the letters, carved with care.

“Ver…max…” she whispered, frowning. “Who is that?”

“He is my dragon,” Jace answered, pointing to the carving. “When I was your age, I was told that if I carved a wish into oak wood, that wish would come true. I wished for my dragon to grow as large as Balerion, so I wrote his name here.”

For the first time, Jace saw a spark of surprise and fascination in Jaehaera’s eyes.

“Really?” she asked with innocence. “Did it come true?”

Jace shook his head slowly, somewhat uncertain.

“More or less,” he admitted. “Vermax is still small, but he’s growing. A wish takes time.”

A small smile appeared on Jaehaera’s lips, delicate, almost imperceptible, but to Jace, it was a glimmer of warmth amidst all the silence.

“I want Morghul to grow big too,” she confessed, her eyes now sparkling as she gazed at the wooden dragon once more.

“Would you like me to help you carve his name on the other foot?” Jace offered, extending his hand towards the toy.

“Yes,” she answered, handing him the wooden dragon with trust.

With a soft smile, Jace sought out a quill and ink but quickly realised there were no sharp objects in the room. Instead, he settled for a small stick he found in a dusty corner.

“Come, we shall carve it together,” he said warmly, inviting the little girl to join him.

He expected Jaehaera to sit beside him on the floor, but to his surprise, the child nestled herself into his lap, resting gently upon one of his legs. Tenderly, Jace guided her small hands, helping her hold the stick. Letter by letter, they carved together the name of Morghul into the other foot of the wooden dragon.

“Now Vermax and Morghul shall grow together,” Jaehaera said, her small smile widening, filled with delight. Jace was moved to see her so, her eyes shining with joy as she cradled her beloved wooden dragon.

“And they shall grow so big,” Jace added playfully, “that you will have to jump very high to mount them.” The child’s laughter rang through the room, crystal-clear, as she imagined the scene he had painted with his words.

But those merry giggles were interrupted when the door creaked once more. Jace looked up, and for the second time that day, his eyes met with another pair of violet eyes, as deep as Jaehaera’s.

“Look, Mama!” Jaehaera exclaimed, leaping excitedly from Jace’s lap to run towards the woman who had just entered, the toy held firmly in her hands. “Jace helped me carve Morghul’s name so he can grow big like his dragon!”

Helaena, the former queen consort, stood there. It was not entirely unexpected; after all, she had lived in these chambers her entire life, and not even the taking of King’s Landing had driven her to flee.

Jace rose calmly, standing before the child's mother. Despite the slightly uncertain expression on Helaena's face, the prince merely offered her a faint smile before bowing his head in a show of respect.

Helaena lingered at the doorway, her hands clenched over her skirt, as if unsure whether she should enter. Her timidity was palpable in her delicate frame, but her eyes—those same violet eyes Jahaera had inherited—watched her daughter with a mix of caution and relief. Jace, sensing her hesitation, softened his expression further and stepped forward, careful not to appear imposing.

“I shared a little secret with Jahaera,” he said gently, approaching her with the same tenderness he had shown the child. “When I was small, I wrote Vermax’s name on that toy dragon, hoping he would grow as large as Balerion. I helped her do the same with Morghul”

Helaena nodded shyly, her head slightly bowed, but her lips formed no words. There was a timid curiosity in her gaze, though she maintained her distance. Meanwhile, Jaehaera ran around the room, holding Morghul as though it were real, completely engrossed in her game.

As the child lost herself in her world of fantasy, Jace seized the moment to move closer to the former queen consort. In a low, nearly inaudible voice, he said:

“Princess, I want you to know that neither you nor Jaehaera will be harmed. You are under my protection and my mother’s. Even though... even though Aegon has fled and left you behind, that does not change what binds us. I will not allow you to suffer for his decisions.”

Helaena looked at him, her eyes widening slightly, surprised by the softness and firmness in his words. Surely, she had heard rumors about what happened when a city fell into enemy hands, and feared what fate awaited her. But at that moment, facing Jace, she seemed a little more at ease. When her voice finally came, it was a barely audible whisper.

“And… Aegon?”

Jace swallowed hard before replying. “Aegon fled, abandoning you and her to your fate. But do not worry about him now. I... will take care of you both.”

The tension in the room didn’t dissipate entirely, but there was a faint sense of relief in Helaena’s eyes. However, there was something else Jace needed to address, something he couldn’t continue to ignore. He stepped closer, lowering his gaze before speaking, with a solemnity that weighed heavily on his chest.

“There’s something else… something I can’t leave unsaid,” he began, his voice trembling slightly. “Helaena… what happened with… with your son… with Jaehaerys… was monstrous. I know it was. And though I didn’t give the order, I can’t help but feel the weight of that guilt, as if it were mine too.”

Helaena didn’t react immediately. She seemed frozen, her hands clutching as Jace’s words slowly sank in. The name of her son, Jaehaerys, Jahaera’s twin, still echoed in the corridors of her mind, but the memory of his loss, of the cruelty with which he had been taken, was a pain she could barely face.

Jace stepped forward, his heart in his throat. “I’m sorry... I’m truly sorry. What was done to... him was an atrocity. My mother didn’t know either, and I… I would have done anything to prevent it. I can’t bring your son back, but I promise you that what happened won’t be forgotten. I swear that I will never allow something like that to happen again.”

Helaena’s eyes filled with tears, though none fell. She remained silent, unsure of what to say, but her hands stopped trembling. There was a deep pain, one that no apology could heal, but perhaps Jace’s words, his sincerity, might ease the immediate fear she felt.

Jaehaera, oblivious to the tension between the adults, continued to play with her wooden dragon in the corner. Her childish laughter filled the air, innocent and unbreakable, as though in her little world everything was still at peace.

“I lost my brother too,” Jace continued, his voice breaking slightly. “Lucerys... he meant everything to me. I understand the pain of loss. But, Helaena, I promise you I will do everything in my power to ensure that you and your daughter have a safe place with us. You are not our enemies.”

Helaena looked at him for a long moment. Finally, with a slight nod, she accepted his apology. She said nothing, but the calm in her eyes was enough for Jace to know his words had been heard.

Jace let the silence stretch between them for another moment. He observed Helaena, the fragility of her figure, the way she kept her distance, as though contact with the world pained her. But he also saw the strength hidden beneath her shyness, the weight of loss she bore without complaint, and felt a deep respect for her.

Finally, breaking the stillness softly, Jace spoke again:

“Helaena… I would like for you and Jaehaera to accompany me to the throne room. It is an important moment, and I want you there.”

Helaena blinked, her eyes drifting around the room as though searching for an answer she couldn’t quite find. Her mind seemed distant, always caught elsewhere, and Jace noticed how her hands trembled slightly as she considered his proposal.

However, before she could decide, Jace took another step closer and, without breaking his respectful demeanor, extended his hand toward her. He knew she didn’t like physical contact—he had heard those rumors too—but still, he offered the gesture as an invitation, without demanding.

“I promise you there is nothing to fear. You’ll be with me.”

For a moment, he thought Helaena might refuse his hand. The hesitation in her eyes was clear, but then, to his surprise, she slowly raised her hand, with a fragility that moved him. Her fingers trembled as they brushed against his, but they finally rested in his palm. He didn’t grasp her hand tightly, nor sought a firm hold, only enough to feel her warmth and support. It was a small act, but for Helaena, it was an immense sign of trust.

Jace offered her a warm, tender smile, letting her set the pace.

“Thank you,” he whispered, glancing down at her hand before looking back at her. “It is an honor to have your trust.”

Helaena watched him for a moment, and then, almost in a murmur more to herself than to him, she said,

“The flowers… the flowers grow best under the shadow of dragons.”

Jace didn’t understand immediately what she meant, but the softness in her voice and the strange beauty of her words made him smile. It was the first time he had heard her speak so cryptically, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. Sometimes words didn’t need to be fully understood to make sense.

“Yes,” he responded just as softly, nodding while gently guiding her toward the door. “They will grow.”

Jahaera, now entertained with her wooden dragon, ran towards them upon noticing the movement. Jace bent slightly toward her, offering his hand as well. The little princess, her childish smile still brightening her face, took Jace’s hand without hesitation, happy to follow her cousin.

As the three of them made their way to the throne room, Jace couldn’t help but think about how strange it felt to be in front of Helaena once again after months—months during which many things had happened, many terrible things, yet none of it had changed his opinion of her. Helaena, with her fragility but with the silent strength of a mother who had lost everything and still remained standing. Jaehaera, innocent and radiant, a beam of light amidst so much darkness.

And he… he had come to reclaim the city, but now he felt responsible not only for them but also for the broken legacy of his family.

With a calm yet determined step, they walked through the halls, ready to face the destiny that awaited them.

Masterlist

[rosykims]

like out of all the many, many traumas ive given elspeth my favorite has gotta be the deep roads lol. and specifically the way she never really got OUT of them. yeah so maybe her body did but not HER. shes still down there with ruck and helspith every time she closes her eyes. and during future expeditions when she goes down into the deep roads for real, it doesnt feel like some horrible nightmare it feels like REALITY and its the surface and love and warmth and alistair thats nothing more than a pleasant dream. one shes always going to wake up from. bc even in her happiest moments she's never not aware of the darkspawn digging up towards her just a few miles under her feet. and never not feeling the eyes of the deep roads looking at her, gleefully waiting for her, and knowing its not going anywhere

[bataddictedloony]

So rewatching Legend Of Korra after rewatching ATLA for the bejillionth time and uuuh.

episode 11, season 4 “Kuvira’s Gambit”, you guys. Around the 19 minute mark, Bataar Jr says some very interesting things. Stuff that Israel supporters have been saying a lot.

just, yanno, give it a watch in case you wanted a reminder of which side of history you might be on.

[billymayslesbian]

Before Lionblaze could argue, another shape burst through the billowing smoke to stand beside Squirrelflight. His eyes glared; his gray fur was matted together and stuck with bits of burnt leaf and twig. Confused by the smoke and flames, Hollyleaf almost thought she was seeing one of her warrior ancestors, until she recognized Ashfur.

Squirrelflight dropped the branch. “Help me push it into the fire!” she yowled.

Grabbing the branch in strong jaws, Ashfur thrust it past the wall of flame and into the ever-narrowing patch of ground where Hollyleaf and her brothers huddled. But Hollyleaf didn’t feel any sense of relief. There was a look in Ashfur’s eyes that she didn’t understand: the look of a cat who had just spotted an unexpected juicy bit of prey.

The branch made a bridge through the flames, but Ashfur stood at the other end of it, blocking the way to safety. Lionblaze nudged Jayfeather to his paws; Hollyleaf took a step toward the branch, then paused. She felt a cold weight in herbelly when she looked into Ashfur’s glittering blue eyes.

“Ashfur, get out of the way.” Squirrelflight’s voice was puzzled. “Let them get out!”

“Brambleclaw isn’t here to look after them now,” Ashfur sneered.

Hollyleaf felt her fur beginning to rise. What did Ashfur mean?

Lionblaze’s golden pelt was bristling, too. “What have you done with my father?” he howled through the flame.

Ashfur looked at him pityingly; his eyes were twin points of fire amid the burning forest. “Why would I waste my time with Brambleclaw?”

The main branch was too solid to catch fire easily, but the leaves on it had shriveled and the twigs were beginning to smoke. Hollyleaf realized that they didn’t have much time before their bridge to safety would be ablaze.

Squirrelflight staggered up to Ashfur. Hollyleaf had never seen her mother so angry. Her fur bristled with fury; she looked like a warrior of TigerClan. Yet it was obvious that the climb to the top of the cliff, followed by her struggle with the branch, had weakened her, and she was exhausted.

“Your quarrel with Brambleclaw has to stop,” she hissed. “Too many moons have passed. You have to accept that I’m Brambleclaw’s mate, not yours. You can’t keep trying to punish Brambleclaw for something that was always meant to be.”

Ashfur’s ears flicked up in surprise. “I have no quarrel with Brambleclaw.”

Hollyleaf exchanged a shocked glance with Lionblaze. “That’s not how it looks to me,” he muttered.

“I couldn’t care less about Brambleclaw,” Ashfur continued. “It’s not his fault he fell for a faithless she-cat.”

Faithless? A growl began to build in Hollyleaf ’s throat, but then she stopped and watched the cats on the other side of the blazing branches. Something ominous was taking place in front of her, and even with flame roaring around them she felt a sudden chill. She shrank closer to Lionblaze and Jayfeather, whose head was up, his sightless eyes intent, as if he could see the confrontation between his mother and Ashfur.

“I know you think I’ve never forgiven Brambleclaw for stealing you from me, but you’re wrong, and so is every cat that thinks so. My quarrel is with you, Squirrelflight.” Ashfur’s voice shook with rage. “It always has been.”

Horrified, Hollyleaf took a step back and felt her hind paws begin to slip on the edge of the cliff. Her head spun as lightning stabbed out and thunder drowned all other sounds, even the roaring fire. For a heartbeat she dangled over empty air, and she let out a strangled yowl.

Then she felt firm teeth meet in her scruff; blinking against the smoke, she realized that Lionblaze was hauling her back to safety. But there was no safety: only the hungry flames, and Ashfur blocking the end of the branch with fury in his eyes. Fiery sparks floated down on all three young cats, scorching their fur, and flames licked the underside of the branch; fear flooded afresh through Hollyleaf when she saw that it was already beginning to smolder.

Ashfur has to let us get out! But Hollyleaf couldn’t find any words to plead with him. What was happening here didn’t have anything to do with them, even if they died because of it.

“All this was moons ago.” Squirrelflight sounded puzzled. “Ashfur, I had no idea you were still upset.”

“Upset?” Ashfur echoed. “I’m not upset. You have no idea how much pain I’m in. It’s like being cut open every day, bleeding onto the stones. I can’t understand how any of you failed to see the blood. . . .”

His eyes clouded and his voice took on a wild, distant tone, as if he could see the blood spilling out of him now, sizzling on the burning ground. Terror burst through Hollyleaf and she pressed closer to her brothers. This cat was more dangerous than the storm or the fire, or the fall lurking perilously close to her hind paws.

Desperately she tried to step onto the end of the branch. At once Ashfur rounded on her, fully conscious again, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“Stay there!” Turning to face Squirrelflight but keeping one paw on the branch, he hissed, “I can’t believe you didn’t know how much you hurt me. You are the blind one, not Jayfeather. Who do you think sent Firestar the message to go down to the lake, where the fox trap was? I wanted him to die, to take your father away so you’d know the real meaning of pain.”

Hollyleaf ’s shocked gaze met Lionblaze’s. “He tried to kill Firestar?” she gasped. “He’s mad!”

Determination glittered in Lionblaze’s eyes, and he bunched his muscles for a giant leap. “I’m going to fight him.”

“No!” Hollyleaf fastened her teeth in his shoulder fur. “You can’t!” Her words were muffled now. “He’ll just push you into the fire.”

“Brambleclaw saved Firestar then,” Ashfur went on to Squirrelflight. “But he’s not here now. He’s not here—but your kits are.”

Squirrelflight’s eyes blazed. For a heartbeat Hollyleaf thought she was going to pounce on the gray warrior, but she knew that exhausted and in pain, her mother would have no chance. Squirrelflight seemed to realize it, too. She drew herself up, head high; she was trembling, but her voice was clear and brave.

“Enough, Ashfur. Your quarrel is with me. These young cats have done nothing to hurt you. Do what you like with me, but let them out of the fire.”

“You don’t understand.” Ashfur looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time; his voice was puzzled and petulant. “This is the only way to make you feel the same pain that you caused me. You tore my heart out when you chose Brambleclaw over me. Anything I did to you would never hurt as much. But your kits . . .” He looked through the flames at Hollyleaf and her brothers, his eyes narrowing to dark blue slits. “If you watch them die, then you’ll know the pain I felt.”

The flames crackled threateningly closer; Hollyleaf felt as if the heat was about to sear her pelt into ashes. She edged backward, only to feel the edge of the hollow give way under her hind paws. The three of them were pressed tightly together, so close that if one of them lost their balance, all three would be dragged off the cliff. Hollyleaf couldn’t control the trembling that shook her whole body as her glance flickered between the cliff and the fire.

Jayfeather was crouched close to the ground, looking tinier than ever with his pelt slicked flat by the rain. Lionblaze’s claws were unsheathed, glinting as the lightning flashed out again, but the tension in his haunches didn’t come from preparing to leap at Ashfur; it came from the effort of keeping himself on the top of the cliff.

Squirrelflight raised her head, her gaze locked on Ashfur’s crazed eyes. “Kill them, then,” she meowed. “You won’t hurt me that way.”

Ashfur opened his jaws to reply, but said nothing. Hollyleaf and her brothers stared at their mother. What was Squirrelflight saying?

Squirrelflight took a step away from them, and glanced carelessly over her shoulder. Her green eyes were fiercer than Hollyleaf had ever seen them, with an expression she couldn’t read.

“If you really want to hurt me, you’ll have to find a better way than that,” Squirrelflight snarled. “They are not my kits.”

[peachysunrize]

The King’s Retribution ⥃ prince Aemond Targaryen

Summary: when he walks back to the Keep, Aemond finds his brother’s wife in distress while her youngest child keeps her awake. Maybe it’s time to show the King that no one can humiliate the one-eyed prince.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, rough sex, lactation kink, reader is Aegon’s wife, post B&C, s2e3 inspired, dacryphilia, Aemond feels humiliated after the brothel scene, hair pulling, doggystyle, they do it in Aegon’s rooms👀 kind of a chubby/overweight reader because she has baby weight, tell me if I’ve missed something. English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 3.6k+

A/n: a very special thank you to @aemonds-holy-milk for this incredible request!!! And a very honorable mention and thank you to @arcielee for helping me with the plot and beta-ing for me! Your touch made this much hotter and better!🩷 Reblogs and comments are more than welcome<33

Aemond pushes the door to one of Maegor’s tunnels, peeking through to see if anyone is around. He scoffs when he finds the hallway empty, with no guards, no maids or handmaidens. He walks upstairs to the royal chamber’s floor, one hand pushing his hood off while the other twirls his dagger.

He is filled with such rage that he can burn this castle down without Vhagar’s help. The sting of humiliation keeps poking through his ribs, making him heave with each breath he takes. He had to keep his composure back in the brothel, he had to show his power by walking outside the room naked as the day he was born to regain some control his brother took away from him.

He walks past the rooms of his family, skipping a stair here or two as he follows the path to his chambers in silence, until he reaches his brother’s doors, catching the sound of a soft hiccuping and muffled wailing of a child.

Aemond unsheathes the dagger as he steps closer to the unguarded door, shaking his head in disbelief at his brother’s ignorance, especially after what happened to Jaehaerys. He opens the door slowly, not wanting to startle whoever is inside — a nursemaid or the queen.

He finds you sitting in front of the fireplace with baby Maelor crying fat tears in your arms as he tries to latch onto your exposed breasts to fill his tiny, hungry belly. Aemond’s eye wanders over your bare upper body; heavy swollen teats leaking with milk, a tired and teary expression on your face as you try to lull your son back to sleep, tending to him, caressing him, loving him. 

He has never seen a sight more beautiful than this.

He sheathes his dagger and pushes it into his belt before knocking on your door gently so as not to scare you and his nephew. He watches you closely as you snap your head in his direction, the tension leaving your shoulders as you smile at him sadly.

“Aemond,” you call him, gasping when your son bites your already sore nipple with his gums, trying to latch on to it but failing. He cries harder, face twisted angrily, his chubby cheeks red and puffy with how long he’s been searching for some comfort.

“Please, please don’t — mommy is trying,” you cry with him softly, standing up to pace around the room while you rock him, shushing him and wiping his tears. You are trying your hardest to feed him properly, but every second is wasted in vain as he cries and fusses in your arms.

Aemond closes the door behind him, enraptured with the sight you made—watching you walk around the room, half bare and beautiful to his eager eye.  He unfastens his cloak and belt that holds his daggers and sword before laying it on the nearest table, walking towards you with his hands locked behind his back.

You look like The Mother coming real, a god he should worship at your altar.

“Oh, my darling boy,” you coo at Maelor, sniffing as he sobs harder, his little fists flying on your chest as he searches for your breast, mouth parted and ready to be filled with his late-night meal.

Aemond stands behind you, not too close to intrude on your personal space, especially in such a vulnerable state you are in, but to keep looking at you. His eye roams across your nude chest, your fuller stomach, and hips that carry the remaining weight of having pushed a babe into the world.

He listens to your words, remembering the sight of his brother mocking him at the brothel, while he was being cuddled and taken care of — what an ugly laugh he has, Aegon. 

His gaze darkens as he looks at you, his queen, his brother’s wife, his brother’s possession, being so vulnerable in his presence with your breasts out and your child finally suckling on them. His eye finds your form once more as Aegon's words replay in his ears — ‘My brother will not sample another.’ He will make sure to teach his brother a very valuable lesson and serve him a good punishment.

His cock starts to swell beneath the layers of his clothing as he stares at you with a newfound passion; you have always been a lovely figure in his mind, too sweet and beautiful to be wed to his brother, and yet, now your features seem to be bolder in his eye.

He strides forward when he hears Maelor crying again, this time much softer but a cry nonetheless. You scurry to cover your breasts when you feel him behind you, trying to look at least a bit modest now that your child is less fussy.

“I’m sorry, Aemond, I-I forgot you came to visit,” you say in a hushed tone, waiting with bated breath for him to say something.

He looks down at his nephew over your shoulder, reaching to wipe a drop of milk from his round cheek near his mouth, his fingers brushing against your sore nipple accidentally. Both of you inhale sharply — him with the new rush of desire and you in surprise. 

“What a messy eater,” he says, his eye meeting yours as he brings his wet finger to his mouth, licking the remaining of your milk off while he keeps eye contact with you, dropping his eye to your lips as soon as they part in surprise before he meets your eyes again — they look darker, cloudier, more lustful. Your lashes flutter, and your rosy lips let out a shaky breath as you keep your gaze on his pink tongue licking his finger.

“It runs in the family I’m afraid,” you reply, averting your eyes from him, pressing a kiss on top of your son’s head as you bounce him, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Despite how crude your husband is, he’s never been one for making you flustered by such a simple gesture, and yet, his brother seems to be the complete opposite; bold, daring, and he’s surely taking whatever he wants.

“May I?” Aemond asks, standing in front of you with extended arms, reaching to take Maelor in his embrace. You gently pass him over, and as soon as your arms are free you bring them to your chest to cover your breasts.

“I-I need to—would you mind holding him for a moment?” You pull the front of your shift up as you ask him, and he can’t help his gaze not fall back on your chest but looks upward to your eyes quickly before you catch him and nod.

He hugs Maelor close, resting his little head on his shoulder as he walks towards his crib, glancing at you walking past the privacy screen. Aemond shushes his nephew, rocking him gently while he hums a tune his mother used to sing for him to lull him to sleep. It seems his efforts have worked when Maelor grows quiet, tinted cheeks stained with tears and fingers fisted tightly. Aemond lies him down slowly, brushing a finger over the few strands of his nephew’s silver hair before his attention is turned to you walking towards him with a warm towel over your chest.

“He has been restless as of late,” you sigh, leaning down to brush a kiss on your son’s forehead, standing on Aemond’s good side, “as have I, as everyone in the Keep. It seems he feels the loss of his brother.”

“We are all shaken by the loss of Jaehaerys,” he replies, his good eye looking up at your face, taking in every up and down of your face.

“Yeah,” you smile at him, ducking your head as soon as the tears gather in your eyes, “yeah…”

He takes a step closer, reaching to wipe the tear that fell from your eye, cupping your cheek in his large hand, “What ails you, my queen?”

“I just…” words die in your throat as he rubs soothing circles on your cheek, tracing the shape of your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’ve been feeling so unloved.” Your voice comes out a fragile whisper.

“Why is that, my queen?” He asks, swallowing harshly at the thought of his fool of a brother being neglectful to you. He’s been given the most beautiful maiden in the realm as his wife, so dutiful and sweet, but taken for granted because Aegon can’t simply keep his cock in his breeches for so long.

“Did you happen to see him when you were out?” You ignore his question, looking up at him from beneath your wet lashes that frame your eyes so perfectly.

He nods, his strong hold on your face never faltering, if anything he’s now more determined to punish Aegon, to take something he has been given on a silver plate but failed to care for. His touch is warm and welcoming, it grounds you to this moment of brief recognition of your feelings. Aemond seems to understand it, willing to give more, but his main purpose of this visit is to hurt Aegon the way he has hurt him.

“Was he—“ a sob is stuck in your throat as you try to utter the words, “in the b-brothel?”

Aemond looks down at his muddy boots, recalling how his brother saw him, how he laughed and undermined him in front of his friends. Aemond forgets about your question for a second, pressing his lips into a thin line and gritting his teeth before he looks back up at you, not before looking one last time at your chest, watching your milk soak through the fabric.

“I-I apologize, maybe it’s best if you leave—” You move away from him, making his hand fall from your face as you try to put back the little dignity you have left before you embarrass yourself more in front of him.

Something shifts inside him as you hide yourself from him, putting more distance between as you move toward the bed. His brother was right; he has not sampled another and has always sought out the Madame, but maybe it ought to change, maybe the fire of his brother’s cruelty might quell if he takes his most precious possession from him.

“Allow me to help you, my queen,” he walks toward you slowly, his eye seizing you up, taking in the sight of your curls around your shoulders, your skin glowing under the orange hues of the candles.

You turn around, watching him take long steps until he’s standing in front of you. He raises his hand, brushing his knuckles on your collarbones, his eyes dropping down to your cleavage. You exhale shakily, whether it is in requited desire or surprise, he does not know, but you do not push him away, just a weak protest that ‘we should not do this, I am your brother’s wife.’

“My brother is a fool who demeans others to feel powerful, and he has done this to us both,” he dips his down on your neck, his hot breath fanning on your ear, “let me show you what you have been deprived of.”

“You wish to help me just to teach your king a lesson?” your voice comes out with a slight tremble as you reach to brush your fingers through his silky hair. “Is that truly why you want me?”

“I despise when Aegon takes what is his for granted,” he says, “He is a fucking twat who takes for granted the treasures he has been given: the throne, the crown, you. And he humiliates you, his queen, by stepping inside that sinful place," he mumbles against your skin, tracing his lips over your neck while his nose nudges your cheek. 

“What do you want to do?” you whine when he bites your earlobe; you cling to his shoulders.

“I wish to fuck you like a hound,” he groans into your ear, his hands coming to grip your full hips.

“We will experience his wrath, Aemond,” you try to protest, but with how focused he is on marking your skin, you cannot help but melt in his arms.

“He is the king, I’m a kinslayer,” he hovers his mouth over yours. “I will kill him too if he dares to subject you to his anger.”

“We must be quiet-mhm—” he cuts you off, smashing his lips to yours, swallowing your protest. His hands move to your waist, gripping and caressing wherever he can reach, his tongue meeting yours in a soft battle of dominance. 

You moan into his mouth when one of his fingers traces a line from your hip up to your breast, squeezing the heavy flesh in his large palm. He groans against your sweet lips in delight, loving the weight of you in his hand. His thumb swipes across the wet towel before he pulls it out of your shift and drops it on the floor, leading you backward past the privacy screen to the bed.

You tangle your fingers in his soft hair, reaching to pull away the tie and letting his shiny silver hair frame his face beautifully while he kisses your breath away.

He lies you on the bed, breaking away from your lips for a second to look down at you, making room on top of you with his gaze fixed on the way your milk soaks through the fabric. He grabs the sides of your shift, ready to rip it apart before you put your hand on his, shaking your head, mumbling a hushed ‘we need to be quiet’ before taking off the dress yourself, lying under his heated gaze all bare except for your small clothes.

“My brother is a fucking idiot,” he mutters before he leans down to lick a path from your neck to your heaving chest, swiping the tip of his tongue over your nipple. He hums as he tastes a few beads of your milk, but abruptly stops when you whine, looking up at you with a questioning look.

“Maelor, well, he can’t latch onto his wet nurses. They are a bit s-sensitive— oh!” Your hand flies to your mouth when Aemond closes his lips around your bud, sucking like a babe being starved for hours, finally having his fill.

His other hand moves to your other breast, pinching, squeezing, and playing with the flesh while he gets drunk on your milk, helping the weight of discomfort vanish immediately.

Your nipple falls from his lips with a lewd ‘pop’, and he moves to the other one, giving the same attention while he leaves sticky lines of your milk across your chest, sucking on your teat quickly, nearly growling at the taste.

You cannot do anything besides moaning behind your hand and arching your back, pushing your chest further into his face. You throw your head back as your hips buck into his, his bulge rubbing against your covered core.

Aegon has never done this for you, it’s always been his duty to plant his seed inside you with little to no care for you to just make an heir, and after Jaehaerys, he’s been ever more distant — no more dinners, no walks in the garden with you and the kids.

His interest weakened the more you started to show, your soft dolce features turned into one of a woman, a mother-to-be, so he sought his pleasure in the brothels to fill the void you could no longer fill. You were non-existent in his eyes, and for once, you are glad, because the other Targaryen brother seems as if he’s in heaven while he feasts upon your breasts like a deprived babe. 

He lets go of your nipple finally, giving the fat of your breast one last kiss before he works his way up to your lips. He unlaces his pants and breeches, urging you to reach and undo his doublet, dropping it down on the pile of clothes. He breaks away to gasp for air while he grabs the back of his linen shirt and stands on his knees stark naked, his cock red, angry, and ready to burst inside you. His mouth shines with drops of your milk and spit.

He grabs the back of your thighs, spreading your legs to his hungry eye, licking his lip as his gaze falls on your soaked cunt. Aemond’s patience runs thinner than before, he moves closer to you, and his hair falls around you like a silver waterfall.

He strokes himself a few times before aligning himself with your entrance, pushing in until his cockhead is inside your warm cunt before he slams all the way into you. He muffles your scream with his own lips, hands coming to rest around your head, caging you under him as he starts thrusting.

Finally, he thinks, finally he has taken something that belonged to his brother, something so precious and fragile. You are nothing like Sylvie, you are soft and delicate, you taste deliciously sweet, and oh so responsive. 

He relishes the way you scratch his back as he fucks you with abandon, snapping his hips into yours furiously as he lets the pent-up anger he feels pour out of him. It is the anger he had inside because of his brother’s idiocy, the words that cut him deep like a sharp dagger.

But no more, no, it is time to take whatever belonged to Aegon. You are just a beautiful touch to it, and he would make sure his brother knows who’s been here, on his bed, giving his wife the pleasure she has never experienced before.

“My queen,” he shushes you, reaching down to collect a drop of your milk before reaching to smear it on your lips, licking it off them. His cock pistoning inside of you quickly, but he is mindful of the baby sleeping on the other side of the privacy screen.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, breasts bouncing with each deep thrust as you try to keep your voice at bay.

He remembers his brother’s words once more; ‘did you fuck her like a hound?’ No, not with the Madame, but he will fuck the queen of the seven Kingdoms like one now.

He pulls out of you, leaving you clenching and whining at the empty feeling before he flips you over on your stomach, pulling your hips up as he spits into his hand and strokes himself before making home inside your tight cunt again, his cock reaching deeper with this position.

You fist the pillows under your hands, biting the fabric to muffle your noises, and Aemond notices that it is your husband’s pillow you are lying on.

He chuckles lowly, one hand gripping the fat of your hip while the other runs down the curve of your spine before he fists your hair in his much larger hand, pushing your head into Aegon’s pillow even more.

“Breathe in his scent while I fuck you like a dog in heat, yes, good girl,” he groans, his limbs tingling with pleasure and anger, letting his emotions take the best of him as he picks up his pace. “Yes, remember how much of a pathetic husband he is, think of how he can never give you pleasure like I can while I fuck my child inside you.”

Tears run down your face from how intense he is taking you from behind, his hips snap into your arse. Your wetness drips down on the bed sheets, but there is little you can do but take what he gives you — a blinding and mind-blowing pleasure you have never had with your husband.

Aemond reaches around your body to find your pearl, rubbing quick and steady circles on the bundle of nerves, leaning down to prep your spine with feather-like kisses, taking in your mesmerizing scent, and looking closer at your tears, taking pure satisfaction in seeing what a mess he has made out of Aegon’s wife, the realm’s queen.

You come with a sob, teeth digging into the soft cushion while your legs shake, walls clamping down against his girth, eliciting a deep throaty moan from him. He lets go of your weeping cunt and grabs your bouncing breast, squeezing the heavy flesh in his hand while his face falters, his thrusts deepen.

When his climax washes over him, it’s all white hot pleasure that rushes through his veins. He shakes atop you while his cock twitches and shoots ropes of his warm spend deep inside you, filling you to the brim. He kisses your tears, his face pushed against your cheek as he lets out broken gasps and groans.

He untangles his fingers from your hair as soon as he calms down from his high, bringing his milk-covered hand to his lips to lick it clean while he meets your eyes.

You look angelic, glowing with the aftermath of your release. The Mother came to life, he thinks.

He pulls out of you gently, minding how sensitive you must feel after the brutality he bestowed upon you. Aemond helps you under the covers, not caring to clean either of you up before he lies down next to you wrapping one arm around you while you curl next to him with your head on his chest.

He notes how quiet you are, drowsy and sleepy in the aftermath of your climax. He takes pride in how peaceful you look, and how good he must have made you feel. His good eye falls on the nightstand on his side, finding his brother — no, the Conqueror's crown — glinting under candlelight.

“I will kill him,” he whispers, “I will make sure our son sits upon that chair and holds Blackfyre. I will kill him, and no one shall ever know it was me.”