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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months

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Napoleonville [Chapter 6: The House Of Salt And Scales]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, Evangelical Christians, kids, parenthood, Willis Warning, (Mis)Adventures With Aegon, Targ family dysfunction, bodily injury, blood, alligators, ANGST!!!

Word Count: 7.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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“Did you hear that Willis is single again?”

Ugh. “Yes, Mama. I heard. You told me already.” You linger in the doorway with a white bakery box in your hands: your mother’s favorite, grasshopper pie, straight out of the 1960s. She allegedly ate through two a week when she was pregnant with you. Cadi has already dashed inside and made herself at home; she’s probably jamming the movie she got from Blockbuster—Predator, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Amir recommended it—into the VHS player. “You told me, Willis told me, all his deputies told me, Cadi told me, my mailman told me, the checkout ladies at the Piggly Wiggly told me, literally every resident of Napoleonville has informed me in no uncertain terms that Willis is single again. And I could not possibly care less.”

Your mother sighs and presses a hand to her forehead, wounded and incredulous, like she’s just watched a 60 Minutes segments about a tsunami or a genocide. “I just don’t understand it. In my day, people married for life.”

You glance back longingly at your Chevy Celebrity. “Yeah. I know they did.”

“When your father, and God rest his soul, when he was young, he was a hellion,” your mother says, as if you don’t remember it, as if you weren’t there. “He’d get his paycheck every Friday and stay out all night with his buddies, sometimes he didn’t come home the whole weekend. I’d lay into him when he finally showed, I’d say, ‘Rene, how on earth am I supposed to put dinner on the table if I don’t have any fish in the icebox?!’ Once he punched a hole in the kitchen wall and I had to cover it up with a picture of President Eisenhower! And I never even thought about leaving. How could I have done that to you? Forcing you to grow up in a broken home? Mothers and fathers living apart, whoever heard of such a thing? It’s unnatural.”

You’re brainstorming recipes to distract yourself. Caramel pretzel cookies. Banana chiffon pie. Cheese Danish cupcakes with diced cherries and a hint of vanilla. “Everyone draws their own lines, Mama.”

“But it’s not just about you,” she implores, her eyes shimmering with sympathy she never had for other women. You remember what she said on the rare occasions you confided in her about your frustrations with Willis: Of course a man isn’t going to want you bothering him with your feelings when he’s had a hard day at work. Of course a man—after you’ve had his baby, after you almost died to do it—is going to be crossing off days on the calendar until you can have sex again. He keeps a roof over your head and he never hits you, what more could you ask for? “What about Cadi? What if she grows up thinking that her marriage vows don’t mean anything? It’s the foundation of society, marriage. If that goes, everything goes.”

It’s the foundation of a lot of coercion and unfairness and misery, that’s for sure. “I wouldn’t want Cadi to stay in a situation that makes her unhappy. Would you?”

Your mother throws her hands up, like you’ve told her you’re converting to communism and catching the next flight to the USSR. “Life isn’t just about happiness, sweetheart! It’s about commitment, it’s about responsibility! If everyone did what they wanted all the time, no one would stay married!”

“Maybe that speaks to the value of marriage as an institution.”

“And morality is already falling apart in this country,” your mother continues, ignoring you. That’s what she does when she can’t refute facts, logic, evidence. “Young people living together, women having babies with two or three different men, people doing drugs, people on Welfare, people shooting and stabbing each other, sex shops everywhere, naughty magazines at gas stations, men wanting to marry other men—”

“Okay, Mama. I really have to go now.”

“Alright, I’ll shut up. I will, I will, I swear.” She makes peace with a brisk kiss to your cheek like a stamp on an envelope. “Enjoy a nice quiet night to yourself. Do you have any plans?”

Well, Mama, I’m trying to resist the temptation to call my engaged dominant oil tycoon not-boyfriend and tell him to come over for kinky adulterous sex. “Not really. I’ll probably take a bubble bath and then watch something Cadi would think is boring, like 20/20.” You hand over the bakery box, and your mother’s face lights up.

“Grasshopper pie?!”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You know it’s hard for me to make it myself anymore. This rheumatoid arthritis, it’s got me all twisted up.” She nods down to where her fingers grip the box, knobby and increasingly useless.

“When’s your next appointment?”

“I’ve got one in…oh…about three weeks, I think. I’d have to check my daybook. All the way over in New Orleans with some specialist that Dr. Cormier recommended.”

“Okay. Want me to go with you?”

“Yes, that’d be fine.” It would be more than fine; she wants you to go, though she won’t say it. You aren’t sure if she doesn’t want to impose or doesn’t want to admit how reliant she’s becoming upon you, like growing up in reverse.

“Mawmaw!” Cadi shouts from inside the house. “Hurry up! I want to watch Predator!”

“You quit your hollering, I’ll be right there!” Then your mother looks to you and offers one last piece of very unsolicited advice. “Just be kind to Willis, alright? Give him a chance. I don’t think he’ll ever find a woman he likes as much as you. That’s what everyone says.”

“Mama, he has no idea who I am.” And he’s not interested either.

“Sure he does. You’re the mother of his child, and you always will be. Maybe you’ll find your way back to each other.”

“I’ll think about it.” You definitely won’t. “Goodnight, Mama.”

“So long.” She shuffles into the house, and once she’s shut the door you hear her muffled voice: “Arcadia, come on over here and help me slice up this pie…”

You drive home with the windows down and blasting St. Elmo’s Fire. There’s still an hour or two of sunlight left; the world is painted in gold and blood orange, the soybeans, the sugarcane, the grass growing tall and wild, the Spanish moss swinging from the trees, the earth ripening as its revolution hurtles towards the apex of summer. Cadi is out of school until August. Amir will be announcing his looming departure to San Francisco. Aemond will be getting married.

The adolescent alligator that Aemond is so afraid of is in the far corner of the front yard, basking in the last of the daylight. You walk into your room, flop down on the bed, lie there staring longingly at the pink phone on your nightstand. You reach to pick it up, then stop yourself. Aemond hasn’t fucked you, hasn’t kissed you, has rarely touched you at all since you found out about Christabel. But he stops by your house and invites you to his; he stitches himself into your life like someone somewhere once sutured his face back together.

I can’t. It’s wrong. He’s engaged.

Aemond doesn’t know you’re home alone. It’s Friday, and usually Cadi would be here with you until tomorrow morning.

Maybe it’s not really cheating until he’s married. I mean, if Aemond and Christabel aren’t sleeping together, if they almost never see each other…is it even a real relationship?

Wistful thinking, yes, denial, yes; but with each passing minute your resolve not to pick up the phone weakens.

We don’t have much longer until the wedding. Our time is slipping away.

He’s a robber baron. He’s arrogant, he’s delusional.

And I want him. I still do, and I can’t stop.

The phone rings. You sit up, startled. It’s not Aemond, you tell yourself so you won’t be disappointed when it isn’t him. But it is.

“Hi,” Aemond says; he sounds out of breath. “I’m really sorry to bother you.”

“No, it’s okay, Cadi is actually having a sleepover with my mom. They’re watching Predator. My mom has no idea what it’s about, she’ll be clutching that Bible she got signed by Jerry Falwell a little extra hard tonight. What’s up?”

“This is going to sound random, but…you haven’t seen Aegon, have you? He hasn’t shown up at your house, he hasn’t called? You don’t know where he is?”

Aegon? Why would I know anything about what Aegon’s doing right now? “Um, no…?”

A long exhale, a lull that’s full of dread.

“Aemond, what’s going on?”

“He and my father got into it a few hours ago. They were screaming at each other, kicking furniture over, which isn’t all that unusual, honestly. But then Aegon ran away.”

“Wait, like, he’s gone…?”

“He stormed out the back door, went down to the lake, and then headed north into the trees. And I assumed he’d be back by now, but it’s getting dark and he’s not here. He never came home. His Porsche is still sitting in the driveway.” There is a pause. “I think he’s out there.”

“Out where?”

“In the woods,” Aemond says, shellshocked, terrified. “In the bayou.”

Your eyes dart to the window; the golden daylight is dwindling. “Aemond, he can’t be alone in the bayou. It’s dangerous. He could die. There aren’t just alligators, there are wild boars, cottonmouths, copperheads, snapping turtles, brown recluses, fire ants, I don’t think there are any black bears this far south but it’s always possible, he could drown, he could get trapped in quicksand, you cannot let Aegon spend the night out there.”

“I don’t know what to do.” You’re not used to hearing this in Aemond’s voice: the panic, the vulnerability. “No one else seems worried. They said he disappears all the time, and that’s true. They’re convinced he’s found his way to a strip club or a Waffle House or something and will drag himself home eventually. No one will listen to me. My father has forbidden me from getting anyone else involved. He doesn’t want gossip getting around town and overshadowing the new rig project or…you know. The wedding thing. My wedding. And I can go over his head, sure, I can make calls, but when investigators show up here to start searching my father is just going to tell them to leave. How is it even possible to find Aegon? At night in a fucking swamp? Is anyone going to be willing to go out there before morning? Do I need people with bloodhounds or a helicopter?”

No way, you think as soon as the idea hits you. But it’s the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do. “I can think of someone who knows their way around the bayou.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s just after 7 p.m. when Willis arrives to pick you up: grinning smugly, mullet fluffed, Plymouth Gran Fury hauling his brand new 20-foot jon boat. He’s dressed for night fishing in boots, camo-colored waders, and a grey hoodie with SHERIFF printed across the front in black letters. You climb into the passenger seat wearing sneakers, denim shorts, and a blue raincoat over your Pepsi t-shirt. You haven’t been fishing since you were married to Willis, and you’ve never missed it. It’s a grisly business: hooks through lips, hooks through eyeballs, hooks swallowed and tangled up in some doomed creature’s guts.

Aemond is waiting at the mouth of the Targaryens’ driveway, just out of sight of the mansion they call The Last Desire. He gets in the back seat and sits there testily with his arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, glaring out the window as an indistinct blur of primeval vegetation passes by outside. He has on his Marlboro jacket, light-wash jeans, and Adidas sneakers. You hope he doesn’t ruin them; although you suppose he can always buy more. He could buy a hundred more, a thousand more, and it wouldn’t make a difference. You can’t fathom what it’s like to live that way. It seems to conflict with all the laws of man and nature.

Aemond speaks grudgingly to Willis, a quick flat statement that invites no conversation. He didn’t call Willis to explain the situation, you did. You’re afraid to leave them alone with each other. You aren’t sure who would be more likely to end up a corpse decomposing in the muddy silt at the bottom of Lake Verret. “Thank you for agreeing to help with this.”

Willis chuckles warmly, either oblivious to Aemond’s prickliness or unbothered by it. “Bien sur! It’s my job, son. We’ll hunt your brother down.” Then he glances over at you, smirking, prying. “So, sugar…how’d you two make each other’s acquaintance?”

“Amir and I baked the cakes for his engagement party.”

“Engagement party, huh?” Willis looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “You gettin’ married?”

Aemond is still staring out the window. “Obviously.”

“So you ain’t single?”

“Legally, I am in fact single until the day the marriage license is signed.”

Willis returns his attention to you. “So he ain’t the petit ami you’ve been so secretive about.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Willis. I really can’t be more clear than that.”

“Oh, I know you got one. I know all your looks, sugar. Some days you come ‘round my office lookin’ lovesick, like you’re just a-floatin’ on a cloud. Other days you’re real mean, like you don’t want me takin’ none of your time, like you got somebody more important to spend it on. And then sometimes you just look…” He smiles, mischievous. “Well, how can I put it? Satisfied. The cat who ate the canary. And I recall exactly what that looks like on you. It’s been a while, sure. But I remember.”

From the back seat, Aemond sighs irritably. You say to Willis: “Can we please focus on finding Aegon?”

“Sois calme, sois calme. That’s why I’m here. We’ll be in the water in ten minutes.”

There is no more discussion; the only sound is the radio, Holding Out For A Hero by Bonnie Tyler. Willis turns onto a winding dirt road that leads to a boat launch about a mile from the Targaryens’ property. He spins his Plymouth Gran Fury around and backs it down the concrete ramp towards the rippling, slow-moving currents of Lake Verret. It’s difficult to see from the driver’s seat—most people would have someone get out to guide them—but Willis knows the way by heart. He’s been on boats since before he could walk; Willis’ daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy did too, all the way back to before the Louisiana Purchase. Your family are newer arrivals (relatively speaking), having only been in Napoleonville for about 100 years and keeping mostly to the town. You remember your 11th grade science teacher saying once that alligators have been around since before the dinosaurs went extinct. Maybe that’s what Willis is: a relic of a distant time and species, afflicted with a cunning ruggedness that won’t allow his kind to go extinct.

When the trailer is mostly underwater, Willis gets out of the car to unhook the straps that keep the boat moored to it. You go outside to help and Aemond follows, though he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never handled a boat this size and it shows; perhaps a yacht would be more his speed. He stands aside and watches, frowning, hands buried in the pockets of his Marlboro jacket. His lack of expertise riles him. He’s not used to being the incapable one. He hates not having control.

Willis already has a tow rope tied to a metal handle at the bow of the jon boat; he lifts it out and gives the free end to Aemond. “Hold onto that, will ya? Don’t let her get away.”

“Sure,” Aemond replies ungenerously. Willis returns to his Plymouth Gran Fury to finish backing the trailer into the lake until the boat floats. Standing on the shore together, you and Aemond stare at each other, unable to speak honestly, unable to decide what you’d say even if you could.

The jon boat bobs in the water, and you show Aemond how to pull it away from the trailer using the tow rope. Willis drives the trailer back onto dry land, parks his car in a flat area near the boat launch, and then joins you and Aemond by the water’s edge. He walks to where the boat is floating just to the right side of the concrete ramp and, with some difficulty, clambers inside as the boat rocks under his weight. Then he stands in the middle of it and gestures for you to approach. “Let’s get goin’, sugar.”

You take Willis’ hands when he reaches for you and let him help you into the jon boat. When you stumble over a bench seat, he steadies you with a hand on your waist, familiar but in no way erotic; not for you, at least. Still, from where he is standing on the lakeshore with the tow rope, Aemond glowers venomously.

“Your turn, son,” Willis calls to him, winking. “And I promise not to get too sweet with ya.”

But Aemond doesn’t need any assistance to board the vessel. He has long limbs, good balance, and an ironclad determination not to let Willis see him falter. Aemond sits at the bow of the boat. You claim a spot in the middle. Willis takes a seat at the stern, starts the outboard motor, and guides the boat into the treacherous swampland that lurks like a stalking animal at the edges of Lake Verret.

In the bayou, the water is sluggish, currentless, thick with vivid green salvinia and duckweed. Towering bald cypress trees grow out of the opaque depths and are adorned with greyish, anemic bundles of Spanish moss like spiderwebs. Mangrove trees with their myriad of semi-submerged roots are sanctuaries for catfish, turtles, baby alligators. Larger gators—as big as the female that lives in your yard, and some up to seven or eight feet—prowl with only their nostrils and ancient yellow eyes peeking out from under the water. Great blue herons tiptoe along the shallow shoreline and stab at fish that unknowingly flit between their long skeletal legs. Cicadas shriek in the trees so loudly they almost drown out the hum of the boat’s motor. When the last of the daylight vanishes, Willis tells Aemond to turn on the spotlight mounted to the bow, and the water becomes a soupy, greenish, primordial witch’s brew beneath its glow. Aemond lights a cigarette and puffs on it as he ponders this alien corner of the world that he’s found himself in.

Willis has a number of items stowed on the flat aluminum floor of the boat, you notice now: nets, paddles in case the motor fails, bottles of water, ropes, fishing poles, flashlights, hunting knives, a few sturdy wooden walking sticks. He’s wearing his sheriff’s pistol on a belt fastened over his waders. This makes you uneasy, though you can’t recall ever seeing him use it. It seems wrong to be able to end a life with so little effort.

“Aegon!” Aemond shouts from the bow, using a flashlight to look to the sides of the boat where the spotlight’s luminescence doesn’t shine so brightly. You grab your own flashlight to help him search. “Aegon! Where are you?!”

There’s something burning in your nose and throat as you lean over the side of the boat to peer into the shadowy wilderness. Salt, you realize, but that doesn’t make any sense. Lake Verret is a freshwater lake. You turn towards where Willis is steering the boat with the rumbling gas-powered motor. “Do you smell that?”

“Yup. Sure do.”

“But…how…?”

“One of the rigs mighta hit a salt dome while they were drillin’, I figure,” Willis says. “There’s been talk for years that we got salt domes under the lake. But that don’t stop these oil companies.” He stares meaningfully at Aemond. Aemond glances back, rather abashed. “And ya know what that means. If the water turns brackish, most of the fish’ll die. And who’s got to live with that for generations to come? Not the Targaryens or the Rockefellers, that’s for sure.”

Aemond resumes shouting for his wayward eldest brother. A dark snake, perhaps six feet long, slithers down the length of the boat through the murky water. “Aegon! Aegon!”

“What did he and Viserys argue about?” you ask.

Aemond is cagy. “It’s…kind of personal.”

“Personal like he got a stripper pregnant or personal like he murdered someone in a drunken hit-and-run?”

“Neither. But closer to the first option.” Then he roars into the darkness: “Aegon!”

“Maybe the bon a rien already found his way back home,” Willis says. “Maybe—”

And then there is an echo through the bayou, faint but vaguely human, a ghost, a phantom. “Aegon!” Aemond shouts back. “Where are you?!” Willis cuts the boat engine so you can hear the reply.

Faintly, very faintly, his disembodied voice drifts out of the trees. “Over here! Help me! Quickly! Seriously, really really quickly!!”

“Keep talking!” Aemond yells. Willis is listening intently, trying to pinpoint a direction. His thick, dark eyebrows are knit together in concentration that is rare for him.

Barely audible over the screams of the cicadas: “What the fuck am I supposed to say?! Just get over here and save me!”

“We’re trying to figure out where your voice is coming from, so don’t stop talking!”

“Help me! Come help me!! Right now!! My arms are getting tired!!”

“What? What are you doing with your arms?!”

“I got him,” Willis says. He restarts the motor and steers the boat down a narrow corridor of the swamp. The path is only about ten yards wide and bordered by mangrove trees with nests of exposed, labyrinthian roots. The water is probably relatively shallow: five feet, ten feet, just deep enough for secrets. The breeze is cool and wet, almost chilly. On the shore, you spy a snapping turtle the size of a golden retriever. Its long prehistoric claws are coated with mud and green blades of marsh grass. It ogles you as if to say: What are you doing here? You don’t belong here. This is where the dinosaurs that survived the asteroid live.

“Aegon?” Aemond calls.

“Here! Over here! I can see you, I see the lights! Oh my God, I’m not gonna die! Thank you Jesus!”

Aemond laughs in relief. “I didn’t think you two knew each other.”

“Shut up and save me, you muppet!”

And then you see Aegon—the spotlight hits him, he is illuminated in a stark white glow—and your stomach plummets, your blood goes cold. In an alcove of the bayou, right where the water meets the shore, Aegon is up in a bald cypress tree. He’s about five feet off the ground and standing on top of a branch just thick enough to hold his weight. It’s too narrow to balance comfortably on; he is hugging the trunk to ensure he doesn’t fall, and a fall would be catastrophic. Sprawled on the muck surrounding the base of the tree are a plethora of alligators, all approximately ten feet in length. That’s big enough to be lethal humans. That would be big enough to kill a bear, a horse, a shark. When the spotlight shines on them, the gators begin to squirm and hiss, glaring with soulless reptilian wrath at the boat. Willis shuts off the motor, and the boat bobs placidly.

“Oh, fuck,” Aemond says.

“Yeah, exactly!” Aegon pitches back. He’s wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny turquoise blue shorts. He is barefoot. “So what’s the plan?! By the way, hey, cake lady.”

“Hi, Aegon.”

Aemond says: “How the hell did you get up there?”

“I was pissed off about the dad thing and I was walking for a long time, then I realized I was probably in the wrong neighborhood for someone with two legs and no desire to get eaten. I tried to find my way back but then these pig-looking things started chasing me and I freaked out and climbed up here to hide until they left. But as the sun went down, alligators started showing up. And the more time went by, the more alligators there were. And that’s the whole story, can you get me down now?!”

Aemond asks Willis, petrified: “How do we get him down?”

Willis surveys the scene for a moment, thinking. “Alright. Here’s what I reckon. We can toss him one end of a rope and he can tie it to the branch above him, right at the base where it’s real thick. Then we’ll hold the other end of the rope, and he can kinda shimmy on down it into the boat.”

Aegon says: “But what if right before I get to the boat, when I’m like four feet above the water, an alligator jumps out and bites me?”

“They don’t usually do that,” Willis replies.

“Usually?!”

“Look, we don’t have a lot of options,” Aemond tells his brother. “We can do the rope plan now, or we can leave you here, backtrack all the way to the boat launch, get the car, get some help, and hope they magically have a better solution for you. Or you can wait up there until morning to see if the alligators leave. You pick.”

“Isn’t that the hick sheriff guy? Can’t he shoot them?”

“Gators got brains ‘bout the size of a walnut, son,” Willis says. “And if I don’t hit ‘em where it counts, I’m just gonna make them angrier. That ain’t good for any of us.”

“Okay,” Aegon concedes. “Throw me a rope.”

Willis grabs one from the bottom of the jon boat, hands an end to Aemond, and tosses the other to Aegon. It takes the eldest Targaryen boy four attempts to catch it; the rope keeps falling and smacking the hissing alligators in the face before Willis lugs it back to the boat to try again. Once he finally obtains the rope, Aegon knots it—double, triple, quadruple—around where the branch above him, just barely within reach if he stretches as far as he can, meets the massive trunk of the bald cypress tree. Willis tells Aemond: “Now ya gotta hold the rope real tight. No slack at all, or it’ll dip and he’ll end up in a gator’s lap.”

“Yeah, Aemond!” Aegon says, his voice shaky. “No slack!”

“Got it.” Aemond loops his end of the rope around his waist, makes a knot, and then grips it with both hands and tugs it until it forms a straight diagonal line from the tree to the boat.

“Ya sure you wanna do that?” Willia says softly, nodding to Aemond’s waist. “If somethin’ goes wrong and he ends up in the water, you’ll be goin’ in with him.”

“I’m sure.”

“Alrighty.” Willis grabs one of the heavy wooden walking sticks from the aluminum floor of the boat. “If a gator tries to cause a problem, I’ll whack ‘em good. Don’t let ‘em get their jaws ‘round ya, not an arm or a leg or nothin’. If they get ahold of ya, they’ll roll and rip your bones right outta the sockets.”

“Awesome,” Aegon says from the tree. “I’m so glad you told me that. Yeah. Great. Any more super helpful alligator trivia, Sasquatch?”

“Yes sir. If one chomps down on ya, poke it in the eye with your fingers. A whack to the snout or a poke to the eye is the best way outta a gator’s mouth.”

Aegon gulps and clutches the rope, steeling himself.

“What should I do?” you ask Willis. “Should I get a stick too—?”

“Nothin’. You don’t do nothin’. You just sit down right in the middle and keep the boat steady. And if your petit ami starts goin’ overboard, maybe try to snatch him. But don’t ya fall in. Ya don’t want to be in that water. If there are gators above the water, there are gators below too. I guarantee it.”

You sit in the precise middle of the boat, using your weight to reinforce the vessel’s center of gravity as Aemond and Willis stand at opposing ends. Right before Aegon begins his descent, Aemond snags your attention. He makes a motion with one hand, a slicing, a prohibition. Don’t do anything insane, he means. Don’t risk trying to drag me back into the boat if I start going over.

“Whenever ya ready, bon a rien,” Willis says. And no one else but you knows that what he’s calling Aegon is a good-for-nothing.

Aegon begins scurrying down the length of the rope, rapidly closing the distance between himself and the bobbing jon boat. He passes above the hissing gators congregating at the base of the bald cypress tree and then over the water, where there are ripples that multiply out from epicenters and flashes of movement just beneath the surface but no homicidal alligator activity. When Aegon nears the boat, Willis seizes him and helps him into it; and then Aegon ruptures into hysterical giggles.

“I almost died, can you believe that?” he asks Aemond, who is untying the rope from his waist and beaming, the first real smile you’ve seen from him tonight. “Because I ran away from Viserys?! What an idiotic way to go. I’ll never let that bastard convince me to off myself. I gotta outlive him. I gotta do Jello shots on that motherfucker’s grave someday.”

“Yeah, you do,” Aemond agrees, squeezing Aegon’s shoulder.

“Goddammit,” Willis grumbles. He’s using his walking stick to jab at the water near the rear of the boat. “We’re hooked on a mangrove root or something.”

“Do you need help?” Aemond asks, headed towards him.

“Yes sir, if you’d be so kind. I don’t…I can’t see…what the hell is it stuck to?”

“The motor…? The blades of the motor?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, you’re right. Yup. There it is. We musta drifted into it while we were preoccupied. Okay, we gotta push the boat off the root and then we can get movin’ again. Grab a stick, let’s start pushin’.”

“Should I get a stick too?” Aegon says, joining them. “I can hit stuff with sticks. I really want to get out of here…”

There’s a bit of a commotion at the back of the boat as the men try to propel it away from the mangrove tree. Willis is complaining that the water is too deep to touch the bottom with his stick. Aemond’s stick keeps slipping off the mangrove roots when he tries to get leverage. You aren’t sure what Aegon is contributing, if anything. The boat has begun to rock.

You look to the tree where Aegon had been imprisoned. The alligators are fully awake now; they are headed into the water and disappearing there, unseen, unheard, and yet all around you.

“I think we need to go now,” you say, but no one is listening to you. They’re still wrestling with the mangrove root. You rise, taking a few steps to the left to offset the boat’s listing towards the right. “Guys, we need to—”

The boat is freed from its organic jailor and lurches sharply towards the left. As the men cheer triumphantly—completely unaware of what’s happening—you are jolted off your feet and tumble backwards over the side of the boat.

The shock of hitting the water stuns you. It is cold and impossibly dark; when you open your eyes to try to find the surface, the boat, you can’t see anything. You paddle blindly. Something brushes your leg, and you scream bubbles of mute terror. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you are picturing those ten-foot gators slinking into the water that you’re now thrashing wildly through. You swim towards what you think is the surface and strike unyielding metal—the underbelly of the boat—hard enough to put stars in your skull like the flashes of lightning bugs. You get turned around and don’t know where you are again. Something glides past your arm, and you gasp before remembering that there’s no air. Dark water—salt and silt and decomposition—surges into your lungs, your stomach, sinking you like an anchor from within. There is a whirlpool of motion around you and muffled shouting. Then something closes around your wrist.

The eyes! you think frantically. I have to poke out its eyes!

But the vice around your flesh has no teeth. It’s not a reptilian jaw, you realize now, but a human hand. It leads you and you obey.

When you break the surface, you cough bayou water from your throat and blink it out of your eyes. Willis is leaning over the side of the boat and stabbing at gators with his stick, shrieking at them in French. One lunges at him from the water, jaws snapping. Willis whips the pistol off his belt, aims it squarely between the creature’s eyes, and fires. The boom is deafening; the bleeding gator sinks into the water. Aegon is kneeling in the boat and offering his arms to help you climb up.

You look beside you. Aemond is barely keeping his head above water. “Go!” he orders you. “Get in the boat!”

With Aegon’s help, you heave yourself over the side and collapse to the aluminum floor, lungs aching, skull pounding, heart thudding mercilessly, soaked to the skin. Then you force yourself to your hands and knees to see where Aemond is.

“Aemond?!” Aegon is yelling. “Aemond, where are you?!”

He’s gone; you don’t see him in the water. You try to scream for him too, but the water still in your throat strangles you. Your hands close around the edge of the boat, and Willis grabs your raincoat to yank you backwards. “Other side!” says, pointing. “We’re gonna capsize, we need weight on the other side, go there!”

You scramble to the opposite end of the boat, sobbing now, still hacking up muddy water. Where’s Aemond?? Where is he??

Both Willis and Aegon are grasping for something. They’re shouting and stabbing into the water with their walking sticks. And then they’re hauling him into the boat: Aemond, blood pouring down the left side of his face, a gash by his temple, another on his forehead; something bit him or clawed him. He’s wearing only his jeans and a white tank top; he ripped off his Marlboro jacket before diving in after you. You don’t see his Adidas sneakers anywhere. They must have been kicked off in the water. His glass eye has been knocked out and lost in the muck. What’s left in its place is a void, gaping, pink; it’s difficult to look at, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t. It has the visceral, gory quality of organs never meant to be seen. His fingertips go to the socket to feel for his prosthetic. When he confirms it isn’t there, he covers his face with his hands and moans.

He saved me. He jumped in after me.

You crawl to him. “Aemond—”

“No!” He pushes you away, and you see that there’s blood and ancient silt from the bayou in his empty eye socket. It will have to be cleaned out. Willis watches, astonished, bewildered. For once, he is at a loss for words.

“Aemond, please…” You’d do anything to help him. You don’t know how to help him.

He saved me.

Aegon reaches for Aemond. “Hey, hey. It’s not that bad. Hey…” He drops to his knees, presses his forehead against Aemond’s, stains himself with his brother’s blood. And when Aemond tries to pull away, Aegon doesn’t let him; he’s got his fingers tangled in Aemond’s wet hair. “Thank you for saving me. I’m always almost getting myself killed and you’re always saving me. What would I do without you, huh? None of us would be okay without you. Thank you, Aemond. You hear me? You’re not gonna get this again anytime soon, so listen up. Thank you. Thank you.”

“I’m just so—”

“I know.”

“I hate that I’m like this.”

“It’s not a big deal. You’ll order a new one.”

“You know what he’s going to say.”

“Fuck him. Why do you care what he thinks? Because you think he’s the one who gets to decide what you’re worth? He isn’t. He’s not qualified.”

Aemond nods, but he doesn’t seem to be convinced. He still doesn’t look at you. He turns so the left side of his face—bloodied, eyeless—is angled towards the water and out of your view. Willis goes to the motor, starts it, and begins guiding the boat back towards the launch where he parked his Plymouth Gran Fury.

Aegon glances over at you. “You okay, cake lady?”

“Yeah.” But your voice shakes. The rest of you is shaking too; now that the adrenaline is wearing off, you can feel that you’re shivering in your wet clothes.

“Put it on,” Aemond says softly, and at first you don’t understand. Then you see that he’s pointing to his Marlboro jacket, left hurriedly flung on the floor of the boat. You unzip your dripping raincoat and don Aemond’s Marlboro jacket instead. It smells like him: smoke, cologne, effort, secrets.

“Thank you,” you tell him, wanting to say more. Aemond doesn’t answer. He stares into the murky water, greenish under the glare of the spotlight, and says nothing to anyone all the way back to the boat launch. Wordlessly, he helps Willis re-hitch the jon boat to the trailer. He remembers the steps. He’s a fast learner. The blood on his face is drying; his right eye won’t allow itself to look at you. The only sound on the drive to the Targaryens’ mansion is the radio of the Plymouth Gran Fury, which Willis turns up to cover the silence: In A Big Country.

At the end of the cobblestone driveway, lights are on in the vast house called The Last Desire. Everyone gets out of the car. Willis shakes a rather puzzled Aegon’s hand, then turns to Aemond, who ignores him. Willis chuckles, more curious than offended.

“So ya are the man who’s been givin’ her that satisfied look. I knew it. Yes, I knew what I saw. What’s your secret, son? Ya must really know your way around a woman if ya got her so mad about ya with a face like that. Ya look like the Rougarou got ahold of ya—”

Aemond grabs Willis by his hoodie, yanks him off his feet, jacks him up against the side of the sheriff’s vehicle. Immediately, you and Aegon are shouting and trying to break them apart.

You plead: “Aemond, don’t!”

“Aemond, he’s got a gun!” Aegon screeches.

Fortunately, Willis isn’t grappling for his pistol. He holds both palms in the air, open and empty, like he’s surrendering; but there’s still a smile on his face. Aemond doesn’t act like he’s heard anyone. He leans in close to Willis, his voice low and dark and snarling, his sole blue eye glinting. “You had so much in your filthy fucking hands and you just threw it away.” Then he slams Willis against the car one more time, tears away from him, and strides up the porch steps and into the house.

Aegon hurries after him, casting you a quick glance and a beckoning wave. It’s an invitation. You coming? Aegon mouths, and then vanishes inside.

Willis peers up at the house: stained glass windows, immense white columns. You don’t see any signs of Vhagar the Great Dane. Willis speaks calmly and without looking at you. “I think he’s in love with you, sugar.”

Improbable. Impossible. If he was, he couldn’t marry someone else. “He’s not.”

Now Willis’ eyes flick to you. “All I’m sayin’ is that I’ve been fishin’ on that lake since as long as I can remember, day, night, sun, storms, and nothin’ on earth would have gotten me to jump into that water. Not even Heather Locklear herself.”

“Just go, Willis,” you say, exhausted, heartsick. “Thank you for what you did tonight. But please go now.”

“How ya gonna get home?”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of that, I am incapable,” Willis drawls. Then he climbs into his Plymouth Gran Fury and is gone. You sprint up the porch steps in your soggy sneakers, searching for Aemond.

In the white-and-gold foyer, Viserys is just arriving. He struts across the marble floor until he is close enough to his two oldest sons to embrace them, to hit them, to extract their teeth with his knuckles. The others pour through the doorways—Alicent, Criston, Helaena, Daeron, Otto—but while they gape in horror and fascination, they don’t speak in anything more than murmurs amongst themselves. Viserys steals only a glimpse of Aegon, swift and disinterested, then examines Aemond: wet clothes, no shoes, grime and blood, dazed fury. When his cool, pale gaze reaches Aemond’s empty eye socket, Viserys flinches and looks away.

“So you lost another prosthetic,” is all he says. His face twists into a grimace. And you expect Aemond to do something, to jab back, but he doesn’t. He’s frozen, he’s paralyzed. His right eye is misty. He’s biting his lips so they don’t tremble. And suddenly you hate Viserys Targaryen, you hate him more than you can imagine hating anyone. You think that you could watch his entrails unspooled from his body without feeling a thing. The Targaryen family patriarch hasn’t spoken to you; you don’t register to him at all. You might as well be an oriental vase or a house plant.

“You’re the one who did it, Viserys,” Aegon says, stepping in front of Aemond seething and sharp like a blade. “You remember that part? I do. I remember. The North Sea, 1968. I remember him trotting around after you, always so desperate to prove himself, always doing anything you asked, anything you could dream up, worshipping you like you were God. And where were you when he was getting his eye socket debrided at Moorfields Hospital? In fact, where were you when he got his hands caught in a winch when he was eleven? Where were you when he fell off a pipe deck and broke six ribs because one of your idiot employees forgot to close a safety gate and he couldn’t see it? Where were you then? Where are you now?”

Viserys scowls down at him—revolted, repelled—but he doesn’t reply. He feels no instinct to defend himself. He is unable to internalize shame; it rolls off him like raindrops.

“You’d love me so much if I was dead,” Aegon says, grinning, baring his teeth like an animal. “How sick is that? You can love bones in a box, but not someone standing right in front of you. You love Aemma, a ghost. You love Baelon, and you never even knew him. You’ve got nothing for me. That’s fine, I don’t care, I’ll be alright without you.” He points to Aemond. “But you’ve got nothing for him either, and he’s everything you always wanted. You’re disgusting, you’re broken. You belong in a box too. The part of you that was human is gone. I don’t give a fuck about what’s left.”

Aegon shoves Viserys, hard, and then storms past him. As he crosses into the kitchen, Helaena grabs for his wrist. You can hear her whisper: “What the hell happened?!”

Then Aegon remembers one last thing. He whirls around and bellows at Viserys, his voice reverberating off the vaulted ceilings: “And I’m not getting my vasectomy reversed! You can’t make me! It’s bioethics! I asked the lawyer!” He stomps off and disappears, Helaena in tow.

Alicent shoots Viserys a hateful glare and then flees from the foyer, her long auburn ringlets streaming out behind her. Viserys goes in the opposite direction. Daeron and Otto share an awkward glance and then depart as well. Only you, Criston, and Aemond remain in the room, surrounded by treasures that might as well be handfuls of earth, flour, swamp water, salt.

Cautiously, Criston lays a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, on his right side where he can see it. “Aemond…”

“Don’t touch me,” Aemond says as he wrenches away. He leaves like a hurricane, like a flood, receding until there remains only wreckage and memory.

Criston sighs deeply, and then he asks you: “Do you need a ride home?”

You don’t respond. You haven’t decided how to yet. You stare at the place where Aemond stood, a void like a star that died out. Do I follow him upstairs? you think.

Do I?

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 2 months

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Til Death Do Us Part

A Steddie oneshot

Eddie was sitting in Steve's house. . .well, actually lying in Steve's house. He was still pretty banged up, and considering the town still thought he was a murderer, he needed to hide out for a while, and Steve Harrington's was the perfect place. It still felt weird to think that Steve was a good guy, but it was much too evident, and it made Eddie realize that he jumped to conclusions as quickly as others did about him. It's weird how connected they are now. First through Dustin, then through trauma, and now through bat bites. These scars were going to be more permanent than a marriage certificate. Who would have thought that he would be married with a kid by age 20. . .with Steve Harrington of all people? The thought made him laugh.

"What are you laughing about in here?" Steve asked as he popped into the room.

"I was thinking that these bat bites of ours are pretty permanent," Eddie smirked. "We're practically married."

"We are not married," Steve scoffed.

"Are you telling me we're getting divorced?" Eddie asked with a gasp. "So soon. . .oh, sweetheart, tell me what I did so I can make it up to you! Think of the kids, Steve!"

"Well, you didn't listen to me when I told you not to be a hero, so there's that," Steve said. "Not to mention the fact that you made Lucas feel bad about playing basketball, and you divided him and his friends as well as his sister. So, there's that as well."

"Shit, yeah, I do deserve the divorce," Eddie said, wincing and looking remorseful. "I'm not much better than my father, am I?"

"Hey, that not - I didn't mean it like that, Eddie. I'm sorry. Yeah, it's too soon to joke about it," Steve said softly. "Did you apologize to the kids? I mean, you did. I was there."

"Well, yeah," Eddie muttered.

"Was your dad actually sorry for anything he ever did? Would he have done what you did and tried to buy us more time? Would he have found a place for lost sheep to go to?" Steve asked.

"Well, no," Eddie admitted.

"Than you're a better man than your father ever will be," Steve shrugged. "Hold on."

Steve left the room, and a moment later, he returned with his pillow. He placed it on the bed next to him.

"What are you doing?" Eddie asked.

"Sleeping with my husband," Steve said.

"So, no divorce then?" Eddie asked with a grin.

"Are you kidding me? No way, I'm raising these hellions without a partner," Steve said. "You said it, we're married. Til death do us part, asshole."

"Goodnight, Mr. Munson," Eddie grinned.

He laughed as he sank down onto the bed beside Steve, who leaned over to turn off the light. He was thankful that Steve left the light on. Eddie watched as his husband closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. A deep wave of affection came over him as he studied Steve’s features. Oh, shit, what was that? Was he developing feelings for his husband? He liked girls. . .right? No, it was just indigestion. Eddie sighed with relief and closed his eyes.

"Steven, why are you sleeping with a man?" Robin's voice floated into Eddie's ears.

Eddie's eyes slowly opened, and he groaned quietly against the morning light streaming through the window. Steve was on his back, his eyes closed. Robin was standing over him, her hands on her hips.

"Oh my God, Robin, you can't just ask why two men are sleeping together this early in the morning," Steve groaned, his eyes remaining closed.

"Is there something you want to tell me, buddy?" Robin asked.

"Ugh, can't a guy sleep with his husband without any third degree?" Steve asked.

Neither one of them had noticed that Eddie was awake, much to Eddie's amusement.

"His what?!" Robin exclaimed and Eddie nearly laughed.

"Eddie said last night that the bat bites made us practically married," Steve said and groaned. "Don't make a big deal out of it, Robin. We're platonically married."

"Okay, I'll just let the kids know that their Daddies won't come downstairs because they're too busy platonically sleeping together," Robin said dryly. "It doesn't look platonic to me."

"Robin, stop, he doesn't like me that way," Steve sighed. "I doubt he likes men and women the way that I do or the way that I like him. I'll get up. They're probably going to want breakfast."

"Steve, he was clearly flirting with you! No one calls people "big boy" like that and means it platonically!" Robin exclaimed.

Eddie held in a breath until Robin and Steve left the room. He let it out with a loud gasp.

"Holy shit!" Eddie exclaimed. "I was flirting with Steve?!"

Eddie's eyes widened as he thought about all of his interactions with men. Yes, now that he's thinking about it, there was a definite attraction to certain jocks. Sure, he actually hated some of them, but Steve, he was pretty sure he hated for no reason back then. He did nothing to him or his friends, and he had always kept Hagan, as well as the other basketball players, on a tight lease. Well, he really tried to. Whenever he watched Steve play while in the gym, he always got irrationally angry at the sight of him. Maybe it wasn't hate. . .no, it definitely wasn't hate because he always wanted to bite him. It was so often that Eddie had, honest to God, thought that he was turning into a cannibal.

"Oh, fuck! Fuckity, fuck, fuck, shit! Goddamnit!" Eddie exclaimed.

As the days passed by, Eddie really tried to push his feelings for Steve aside. He wanted Steve to remain in his life and the one really romantic relationship he had he totally fucked up. No, he wasn't good at that shit and it would only ruin what he had with Steve now. It didn't help that Steve was basically taking care of him. Luckily, he was able to move around, and with the help of Robin, he was able to move downstairs. Unfortunately, she decided that she needed to talk her best friend up.

"I already know how great Steve is, Robin," Eddie mumbled. "I married him, didn't I?"

"No, you got married by a couple of interdimensional bats," Robin said. "You did not make the conscious decision at the time to marry my best friend."

"Why are you trying to sell me on Steve? I don't like him like that. I don't like men either," Eddie said as he lied out of his ass.

"You don't?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "And I wasn't necessarily trying to convince you to do anything. I was just talking about how great Steve is."

"Well, if you think he's so great, why don't you date him?" Eddie asked.

"Well, I would, but he's got the hots for someone else. We're also strictly platonic. Let's see what else? . . . Oh! There's also the fact that I'm a lesbian," Robin said.

"Shit, seriously?" Eddie asked and stared at her for a while, not saying anything. "Goddamnit! Okay! Okay! I'm also. . .not exactly straight. I like men, I like women, and I am head over heels for Steve Harrington. Happy?"

"Well, yes and no. You know, I wasn't trying to pressure you into outing yourself, right?" Robin asked.

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled. "I was pressuring myself."

"Thank you for telling me," Robin said.

"Thank you for telling me," Eddie grinned.

"Are you going to tell Steve?" Robin asked.

"Nope. Never," Eddie said.

"Why?" Robin asked.

"I tend to mess up in that area, so why risk what I have with Steve now?" Eddie asked.

"Because these scars you carry are proof that every day could be your last, and I don't think telling Steve is going to scare him off," Robin said softly. "He might surprise you."

"I know he likes me, which I don't understand why," Eddie said. "My husband can do so much better."

"How do you know?" Robin asked.

"You guys weren't exactly quiet the other day. It made me realize that I like both, that I've been flirting with Steve," Eddie said.

"So, you're running away, being a chicken shit, because you've already decided that you're going to hurt him?" She asked with narrowed eyes.

"I would never purposely hurt him," Eddie said.

"Well, leading him on and thinking it's going to go somewhere is hurting him. So, whether you decide to go forward with your relationship or not, you're going to have to talk to him because you're going to hurt him either way. But you want to know what a good way of not hurting him is? . . . DECIDING TO FUCKING BE WITH HIM, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!" Robin shrieked. "Get your head out your ass. You both deserve to be with each other. We're all scared of telling people how we feel, but you know what I did after we averted the apocalypse?. . .I mean, eventually, I told Vickie how I felt. So, buck up. You're hurting yourself unnecessarily and Steve, especially since you're the one who knows that you like him and he likes you. Meanwhile, he's left in the dark about how you feel. I will not see Steve hurt. Got it?!"

Robin hit him over the head with a couch pillow. Eddie shrieked.

"Alright! Alright, I'll talk to him! Can I heal first?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, that's fine, take your time," Robin said calmly, lowering the pillow. "So, do you want to be with him?"

"Of course I want to be with him. . .I'm just scared," Eddie said. "All of this is new."

"Well, I did say you could take your time," Robin said. "And if you tell Steve how scared you are of messing this up, he'll understand completely, and I'm sure you can both work through it together. . . You know, if you decide to be with him"

"This is fucking crazy. . .Steve Harrington likes me. I can't believe it. Nope! No way," Eddie said shaking his head.

"Yeah, I can't believe it either," Robin laughed.

"Fuck off," Eddie rolled his eyes.

Steve strolled through the door with a sigh as he walked into the living.

"Okay, the kids are all at home. Now we can have some time to ourselves. Well, us and Robin," Steve grinned.

He sat down on Eddie's other and kissed Eddie's temple as he wrapped his arm around him. It had quickly become a thing with them. . .to always be touching. Apparently, they were kissing each other on the head now.

"Hi, honey, did the kids give you a hard time?" Eddie asked as he squeezed his knee.

He could feel his eyes lighting up at Steve as he launched into details about the car ride. God, this was so fucking domestic and he loved it. More days passed, and he was able to move around on his own, but he was still in a lot of pain. Apparently, Steve was, too, but he had neglected to say anything until Eddie was cuddling up to him in bed and his arm wrapped around his stomach. Steve involuntarily winced. Yeah, the bat bites were no joke. Neither was their venom, which, according to the doctors were never going to go away. Luckily, Argyle and Jonathan offered a solution, but they arrived just as Steve was driving Robin to Vickie's.

"Uh, are we waiting for Steve?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah, turns out he's in pain too," Eddie said as Argyle guided him to the couch. "He's just hasn't said anything. He prefers to suffer in silence, I guess."

"Bat bites are a bitch, huh?" Argyle asked.

"Yeah, the only good thing that's come from it is the permanent marriage between me and Steve," Eddie said with a grin.

"What?" Jonathan asked.

"It's a running joke," Eddie shrugged.

"With the whole kids thing, yeah, that makes sense," Argyle said.

"So, is Steve a good husband?" Jonathan smirked.

"Hell yeah!" Eddie exclaimed, slapping his knee. "Couldn't ask for a better baby daddy."

"Seriously?" Jonathan scoffed.

"You've got something against my husband, Byers?" Eddie smirked.

"It's just hard to imagine Steve being mature enough to handle being married," Jonathan said. "Let alone to a guy."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Eddie asked, the smirk dropping from his lips.

"Just that he's a notorious ladies man, Eddie. I wouldn't get your hopes, man. He's not exactly comfortable with. . .," Jonathan said, trailing off.

"With people like me," Eddie said, looking at him with hard eyes. "Did you just make an assumption about my sexuality, Byers?"

"Oh, man," Argyle said nervously. "I think Jonathan was trying to look out for you, man."

"I'm not his little brother, I'm a grown man," Eddie sighed.

"That's a fair point," Argyle said.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to do that, but I just trying to warn you about what kind of guy Steve is," Jonathan said. "I shouldn't have made an assumption about you."

"What kind of guy do you think that Steve is? Are you calling him homophobic in his own home?" Eddie asked.

"I think he's upset you're insulting his husband, Jonathan," Argyle said.

"I just want to know why you think that about Steve," Eddie said. "That's all."

Eddie was really trying not to show Jonathan how angry he is but the guy was making it difficult.

"He called me queer once," Jonathan said.

"That's it? He called you queer and that automatically makes him homophobic? I've used that word, and I'm about as straight as a cooked noodle," Eddie said defensively. "So, when, pray tell, did he call you this?"

"It was a few years ago," he muttered.

Eddie could tell that Jonathan was starting to realize how ridiculous it was.

"Look, man, I get where you're coming from, I do because I was pretty sure I hated Steve for a long time, and because of that, I held onto my prejudiced views about jocks for a long time. My reasoning behind that is clearly not the same as yours. . .at least, I hope not. After everything that Steve has done, how can you still think anything negative about the man?" Eddie asked.

"You can do great things and still have hateful thoughts," Jonathan said.

"He's not homophobic, you fucking idiot! You would know that if you had bothered to try and get to know him in the last few years," Eddie rolled his eyes. "He shouldn't have to keep apologizing for shit he's already apologized for."

"How do you know that?" Jonathan asked. "You haven't known him that long."

"It's all about quality, not about quantity, and I clearly know him better than you do, Byers," Eddie spat. "Your own brother feels safe around him. The kids look up to him. Nancy trusts him. Your mother and Hopper love him. Jesus, what is this really about?"

"Will won't shut up about him!" Jonathan snapped. "Every time they hang out or Steve drops him off, Will comes home gushing about him and I'm just worried. . ."

"What? That he's going to think that Steve’s the better older brother?" Eddie asked, and then he laughed. "That's stupid. That's even stupider than you holding onto a dumb grudge. You know what Will does when he's over here with his friends and Steve. . . He talks about you. It's non-stop, actually. The kid loves you, and no one is ever going to replace you. So, get that out of your thick skull. Trust me when I say this: Steve Harrington is not homophobic."

"Yeah, okay," Jonathan said softly.

"You need to talk to Steve about this and Will," Eddie said. "And Byers?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ever insult my husband again, I'll punch your lights out," Eddie said.

"Noted. I'm sorry. . . Are you in love with him?" He asked curiously.

"Head over heels, man," Eddie said.

"So, are we good?" Argyle asked.

"Yeah, we're good," Eddie said in amusement as he shook Jonathan's hand.

"Oh, thank God, I thought that was going to get really awkward there for a minute," Argyle said, and they laughed.

Later that night, Eddie was lying in bed with Steve, cradling him from behind. His hand was up Steve’s shirt, carassing his stomach right above his bat bites. He didn't want to let this go, but he was also ready to risk it all for Steve Harrington.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm in love with you," Eddie said softly.

Steve turned around in his arms so he was looking at him. His hazel eyes were big and round, looking at him hopefully. The light from the lamp beside his side of the bed was revealing all of the colors in Steve's eyes. The green and the brown intermingled beautifully, but the light also made his eyes look a little bit golden. Eddie sighed. God, he was beautiful.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I'm in love with you too," Steve whispered.

"I know."

"Did you just fucking Han Solo - mmpf!"

Eddie crashed his lips to Steve’s, kissing him harshly. Steve smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Eddie gently as he threw his leg over Eddie's. Steve’s eagerly kissed him back, his fingers cupping the back of Eddie's head, tugging on his hair. Eddie moaned into his mouth. Steve gasped for breath as he broke the kiss.

"Is this really happening?" Steve asked.

"Til death do us part, asshole."

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the-bi-library · 7 months

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Here is the part 2 of my bi4bi books posts!

Books listed

Truly Madly Deeply by Alexandria Bellefleur The Stand-Up Groomsman by Jackie Lau Something Like Love by Christina C. Jones Bidding for the Bachelor by Jackie Lau Mistakes Were Made by Meryl Wilsner You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty by Akwaeke Emezi Have Me Forever by Ally Blythe Everyone's Thinking It by Aleema Omotoni Heat Wave by Elyse Springer An Act of Devotion by A.M. Leibowitz Passion Over Power by Karmen Lee Party Favors by Erin McLellan Winning Move by Skye Kilaen False Notes & Broken Frets by Elle Bennett Leah on the Offbeat by Becky Albertalli Off the Record by Camryn Garrett The Perfect Crimes of Marian Hayes by Cat Sebastian The Hellion's Waltz by Olivia Waiter The Electrical Affairs of Dr. Victor Franklin by Catherine Stein Trouble by Lex Croucher Guarding the Countess by Jess Michaels I Wish You All the Best by Mason Deaver Things We Couldn't Say by Jay Coles The Lost Girls by Sonia Hartl Silver Under Nightfall by Rin Chupeco Cutting Your Teeth by Caylan MacRae A Dowry of Blood by S.T. Gibson Death Warmed Over by M.L. Eaden The Blood-Born Dragon by J.C. Rycroft The Dragon’s Devotion by Antonia Aquilante The Envoy’s Honor by Antonia Aquilante Til Death Do Us Bard by Rose Black Baptism of Fire by Jessie Thomas The Brilliant Death by Amy Rose Capetta The Fire's Stone by Tanya Huff Water Horse by Melissa Scott Silverglass, No. 1 by J.F. Rivkin Cool for the Summer by Dahlia Adler Wild by Hannah Moskowitz In The Event of Love by Courtney Kae A Lot Like Adiós by Alexis Daria Fandom by Eden Finley Dare to Live, Dare to Love by Nicole C. Moon Beautiful World, Where Are You by Sally Rooney This Is Why They Hate Us by Aaron H. Aceves Meeting Her Match by Liz Lincoln Wild Pitch by Cat Giraldo Don't You Dare by C.E. Ricci Road Rules by Brigham Vaughn Fire Season by K.D. Casey Home Plate by Christina Lee Blindsided by Eden Finley

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arcielee · 3 months

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Question Time!

Thank you my darling Tumblr kindred spirits @lonnson @itbmojojoejo @bhxrdy @poetic-fiasco for the tag! 💜

What is a bad habit you have? Picking at my nails when I'm nervous/anxious

What‘s your dream job? Published author (unrealistic) or some level of product analyst for the internal software with a company (realistic).

How many times have you been pulled over by a cop? Oh boy... too many times to remember, which makes me sound like an absolutely hellion, but fuck it.

What are the top two words your friends would use to describe you? Trusting and reliable or kind and clever. DM me and you can decide for yourself. 💜😆

Dream travel destinations? Germany or Ireland.

Are you more independent, or need lots of people around you? Painfully independent.

Have you ever had sex in a public place?

...maybe I have hellion tendencies.

Favourite beverage? Water, or Celsius Sparkling Strawberry Guava energy drink. Their grape is pretty nifty too.

No pressure tags: @annikin-im-panicin @azperja @zaldritzosrose @zae5 @snowblack-charcoalwhite @dr-aegon @fan-goddess @lynnbeth5172 @elizarbell @schniiipsel @aegonx @thought--bubble @troublesomesnitch @persephonerinyes @chattylurker @primonizzutto @pendragora @hoosbandewan @fallingintoyourlilaceyes and if this comes across your dash, please tag me because I am nosey. 💜

#arcie lore

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nerdpoe · 7 months

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Heh, funny thought that won't happen but

Monkey Prince's (Marcus Shugel-Shen's) parents, the Drs. Shugel-Shen, could cure Jason's new affliction with ease.

They'd also make it weird and he'd turn into some sort of Chinese Demonic Horror, too. So like, power boost.

I mean, Damian's on good terms with Monkey Prince. If he reached out and got a magic user in Gotham to get the message across, he could borrow the little hellion. (I mean he'd be reaching out for magic cures, but Marcus would probably drop by with his parents and just. Not explain anything in a meaningful way. Per usual.)

#batman #monkey prince #marcus shugel-shen #Winston Shugel-shen #Laura Shugel-Shen #jason todd #damian wayne #dcu comics

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milesasinmorales · 2 years

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Happy disablity pride month! Shout out to all my disabled superheroes!!

Moonknight- Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley

Daredevil- Matt Murdock

Winter Soldier- Bucky Barnes

Thor Odinson

Echo- Maya Lopez

Hawkeye- Clint Barton

Professor X- Dr Charles Xavier

War Machine- James Rhodes

Dr Strange- Dr Steven Strange

Edit:

Sun Spider

Jubilee- Jubilation Lee

Cyclops- Scott Summers

Wiz Kid- Takeshi Matsuya

Iron Man- Tony Stark

Nebula

Hellion- Julian Keller

Misty Knight

Destiny- Irene Adler

Madame Web

Forge

Karma- Xi’an Coy Manh

(Pls let me know if you can think of anymore!)

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mermaidsirennikita · 4 months

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The Scoundrels Of St James would be a better tv show, I agree on that, the storylines are great and they have more dept to them including the male characters don't go that far to be considered bad for a tv audience

St Vincent is not even a morally grey character, he is an asshole and I wouldn't have him in any other way bc I love him like that lol

I will say, I do think St. Vincent is way softer than a lot of my favorites (every Mila Finelli hero except for Giacomo and Alessio, both of whom could still murder St. Vincent in 30 seconds but are very emotionally sweet, LOTHAIRE) but I don't think like... soft bad makes him gray? He gets redeemed, but redemption does not a sweetie pie make lol. Matthew Swift is a sweetie pie. St. Vincent is like... so a dick lol. Which is why even though I love his cameos in the Ravenels they're still very jarring to me because it's like--yeah, I guess it's believable that decades of marriage and five kids would mellow him out even post-redemption but like. This is a LEAP lol.

Scoundrels is honestly very cinematic as a series, and I think that's another thing about Lorraine's books that actually make them more "ready for TV" than a lot of other historicals, imo. Lorraine's books have amazing character development and super deep characters, but they also have a good bit of external plot and this rich web of supporting players who interconnect with each other. Like, the lawyer guy who's all "I'm sorry Jack Dodger but you've inherited a kid and I can't tell you why"? Is in so many other Lorraine books lmao. I'm actually pretty sure he tells the Marquess of Marsden that he inherited the Hellions of Havisham. Dr. Graves is a hero but he's also the bestest doctor who runs around and saves literally everyone who's dying in any Lorraine book ever.

I meeeeean Charles Dickens cameos in Scoundrels and he's like "I shall write a book about y'all, especially Jack Dodger because he's the coolest dude I've ever met ever in my life" and I was like wow so true Charles Dickens.

I also find it interesting that Lorraine's approach to heroes is really a lot... softer in a lot of ways than many other authors of her era, but they never feel like golden retrievers. Very few Lorraine heroes that I've read are ever truly aggressive to the heroines. Even if they don't *like* her, they're not physically *threatening* towards her. However, they are very competent, often pretty dangerous, and frequently quite dark because of a tragic backstory, self-loathing, etc. But a Lorraine hero will easily, easily hurt himself before he would ever hurt his heroine, even before he's in love. I think that's something mainstream audiences really want to see from romance heroes today--there's space for other stuff in less mainstream projects (again 365 comes to mind) but for mass appeal romance, I just feel like the hero has to have a very clear respect for women's boundaries.

#romance novel blogging #i mean. gorilla twins has some consent issues bc she doesn't know who tf he is lol #but that's different

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sage-nebula · 1 year

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I've written about Tails' backstory before, so now I'm thinking about Sonic's. Unlike Tails, I think that Sonic's parents are still alive. They just don't want anything to do with him.

It's nothing personal, exactly. It's just—you know how some people think that life has given them a checklist they have to follow, like, graduate, get married, have kids? That's what his parents did. They were pretty young still, just barely adults, and they had a kid because that's just what people do. They grow up, fall in love, get married, have kids. That's another milestone checked off, they're making great progress.

Except as often happens in these situations, these two hedgehogs weren't cut out to be parents. Or maybe they could have been decent parents to a normal kid, but Sonic is not and has never been a normal kid.

To say that he was a little hell raiser is an understatement. All kids are energetic and like to get into things, but he was energetic and liked to get into things with super speed, which his parents very decidedly did not have. Who knows how or why their child was born with super speed, certainly not them, but they weren't equipped to handle it. The house was a mess every single day. He was constantly running—literally running, as soon as he could walk or run upright—off. And after a couple years of this, his exhausted and stressed out young parents were like, okay, you know what? If he wants to Get Gone so badly, he can Go. That's fine with them.

So what they did was, they took him to South Island. He was maybe four? And they dropped him off there and were like, go on! Have fun! And Sonic, being four and full of energy after a really boring boat ride, took off immediately. Just sped off into Green Hill Zone. And his parents looked at each other.

"If he's not back in fifteen minutes we're legally allowed to leave, right?" his dad asked.

"I don't think so," his mom said, "but no one's around to see it, so . . ."

So they left. And sometimes they felt guilty about it and wondered what happened to him, especially when news broke of Dr Robotnik attacking the island. But mostly, they were just very relieved to no longer have a kid to worry about.

Of course, Sonic's exploits would make the news over time. Sonic remembered that his name was Sonic, even though he didn't really remember his parents, so his name was the same and they would have recognized him anyway. There aren't many blue hedgehogs the exact age of their abandoned child with super speed, after all. But while they low-fived each other on producing a child that ended up being a world-renowned hero . . . they also had no desire to make contact again. If anything, he's even more of a little hellion now. They have enough common sense to know that trying to parent him would do nothing but cause them an immense amount of stress and financial strain. Also, he's fine! He's a hero! Clearly he has done just fine without them, they have no reason to feel guilty anymore. And if they run into him in Station Square, no they didn't, they're very pointedly looking in the other direction.

Not that it matters. He barely remembers them. And they aren't wrong that he doesn't need parents; he was happy to explore South Island, and when he went back to where they were and found them and the boat gone, his immediate reaction was, "Cool, now I get to run around some more!" figuring they'd be back at some point. And then they weren't . . . but the flickies and rickies helped him find food, and he was able to find shelter, and the loop-de-loops were REALLY fun to race around on, so . . . it was fine. If anything, now that he didn't have someone always telling him "no" and "stop" and "go sit in Time Out for the tenth time today for breaking yet another thing with your super speed" he was much happier.

So although Sonic wouldn't recognize them either, if he did . . . he would also look in the other direction, not wanting them to see him. Lots of avoided eye contact here. And his parents probably did not have any other children, because what if they turned out like Sonic? They couldn't take that risk, and living the Dual Income, No Kids life suited them much better anyway.

So that's the story. His parents are alive . . . somewhere . . . and they are steadfastly pretending they never had a kid, what, you must have mixed them up with someone else (though their genes together could produce a superhero just saying they know it's true but don't ask them how they know this). And Sonic doesn't remember what happened to his parents, and that's fine by him. Tails is the only family he needs, anyway.

#sonic the hedgehog #Christmas Island is no longer Sega canon so I can just happily ignore it #but if you want you can imagine he was still born there and then just abandoned on South Island when he was four #that's fine too #fic fix #not really but that will make it easier to find if I ever need it for smth later #anyway he got put in Time Out a LOT #like he'd get put in Time Out #then bc he was a wee one & full of energy & short attn span he'd leave early #& then would get yelled at & put back in Time Out AGAIN for even LONGER #. . . his parents were not good parents tbh. probably for the best they abandoned him #sth

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toast-crumb · 10 months

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Some Relationships in My Supernatural DR

Bobby: That's mah pa. Love him dearly. He tried his best to give me a normal childhood and let me decide for myself if I wanted to hunt or not 🫶🏻✨️

Karen: Mama. I don't have a whole lot to say because she died when I was like, 4. But she used to let me help her bake.

John: Despise the man. He's an asshole. Would tell him to his face.

Sam: Bestie 4 life.

Dean: Other bestie. Has good intentions, but sometimes he's a dick and needs to be told.

Ellen: Love her. She's practically my mother. When I was younger, I'd go over to her place or the Roadhouse when Dad and Rufus were out hunting.

Jo: My sister. My ride or die. Absolute hellions when together

Rufus: Haven't seen him in years due to a falling out between him and dad, but he'll call once in a blue moon to check in on me. Kinda resembles a wacky uncle you only ever see at family reunions. Love him.

#reality shifting #shiftblr #desired reality #shifttok #shifting #shifting community #shifting consciousness #shifting to spn #shifting realities #shifting to supernatural

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smileythefirst · 1 year

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More art from my DA, part

This is an AU I made named Sonic Inverse, and it’s basically a “what if?” AU based on what Scourge’s Universe would be like if it existed after the Archie Sonic Reboot. Btw, most of these aren’t final designs, and mostly concepts.

More facts and stuff:

This universe also has things borrowed from other iterations of Sonic, such as ideas in Sonic The Comic. This means I used some of the characters in there as well, such as Turbo and Extra Life Sonic, who gets renamed Xeno. Turbo still has the Alien hedgehog thing going on, and ultimately works as a “space cop” of sorts. Extra Life Sonic’s 1-up box is found by the Alien race enslaving Turbo (which I still haven’t given a name). This lead’s to him being captured, as well. The alien race also find a prototype Metal Scourge. Turbo get’s partnered with Extra Life Sonic, who is now referred as Xeno, after being named by Turbo when Xeno tells him he doesn’t really have a name, as he’s just a copy of another person. Turbo and Xeno have a brother relationship. Xeno does have a plan to break out, as he originally only got captured willingly, thinking that the alien race might have had info on Sonic.

Reck The Tasmanian is supposed to replace Shadow’s role as Scourge’s rival. He was also an experiment, but somehow managed to escape when he was younger. This was because during the time, Dr. Ivo was being defunded by the King, meaning all of his labs were raided. Both him and Shimmer are orphans, in a sense, as Shimmer lost her parents, and Reck is an experiment. Shimmer The Bunny is supposed to be Reck’s younger adopted sister, and takes Cream’s role!

Prower hates Scourge, because of an incident that happened between them when they were younger. This also goes with Pentas The Hellion, the Amy Rose of this universe, as she also hates Scourge because of an incident between them. (Mind you, I still haven’t posted the concept art for her, because, again, my phone is broke and I can’t take pictures of the art unless I ask my friends but I don’t want to bother them.)

Scourge’s dad is King Maurice, who basically manipulates Scourge as he grows up. Alisson Acorn, Sally’s counterpart, is the General of the King’s army in this Au and she’s in charge of training Scourge. She’s mostly forced to ignore the abuse that go between King Maurice and Scourge, which leads to Scourge hating her.

The Zone Cops do exist, and I have my own version of Zamy, who is more of a partner to Zonic. She befriends Pentas The Hellion at some point, but is exiled from the Zone Cops themselves after she helps Pentas break out of the prison.

The Blaze of this universe, Lilac, does have rivalry with Pentas.

I know this might sound dumb, but I’m also using Coldsteel in this universe. He’s an experiment as well, but is mostly locked away in the King’s castle because of how catastrophic he can be. He’s mostly a trump card against the other kingdoms. Scourge does eventually use him whenever he gains control over the kingdom after he gets rid of his father.

Prower isn’t a tech guy in this universe, he’s a biologist/chemist. Null, the Knuckles of this universe, is the tech guy.

Null has a sister, and his clan still exist, except he was banished after rejecting the idea of being the guardian, as he was forced to deal with violence. Null hates violence for anything, and hates that it was an ideal that the clan thought that was supposed to be practiced. This does break the ties he has with his sister, but he does try to help her leave the clan at some point.

Rouge has her own clan, as well, and they’re enemies with the echidnas. She takes role of the guardian in this universe.

Honey The Cat and Breezie do exist, as well, named Maple The Cat and I’m still working on Breezie’s character. Maple and Inverse Breezie do have a rivalry, as well, as Maple is a crime leader who works undercover for the King, and Breezie does the opposite, and tries to limit crime.

King Maurice is extremely manipulative and influences most of the kingdom to fit his own wants, even as going as far as building a bad reputation for his “son”. This means that even if Scourge does call him out on the shady things he does, no one believes him as he’s painted as a troublemaker. Scourge does try to sabotage his father’s plans at times, and that gets him in plenty of trouble.

Antonio De Corales, Antoine D’Coolette’s Inverse counterpart, is one of the most high ranking soldiers in the army. He’s mostly against Scourge, especially whenever he becomes King. He starts out not trusting the people who want to remove Scourge from the position as King, though, because he still honors his job. He does come around at the end and helps the rest of the gang (Prower, Null, Reck, Shimmer, Pentas) defeat Scourge. (I still haven’t made a Bunnie for this Au, though)

I still have a lot of things to explain, but I’ll leave it at that, thanks for reading ^^

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red-batty · 10 months

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The Arkham Hellion: Year One

Chapter 1: The One Where Everything Worked Out (Part 1)

Characters: OC (Connie Inviglio), OC (Emril Griffith), Poison Ivy/Pamela Isley

Warnings: Prison/Hospital/Asylum setting, doctors and psychiatrists, mentions of pain. Swearing, violence, dehumanization, derealization, mentions of sex... this series isn't going to be PG, yall, so be warned.

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: I don't even know what to put here. This is part one of chapter one of TAH. I've beta read it a little, but not in a long time. I first wrote this chapter like. 3 years ago so it's probably. Not Great. And this chapter is pretty boring but you gotta start boring so you have a baseline for how fucked it gets :)

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The Asylum was quieter today, so when Connie Inviglio heard her name being called over the comms, she heard it loud and clear. She was checking in on an injured IT patient in the medical facility when she got the call, and it was a short walk across an open courtyard to the Penitentiary. Her overseer stood at the check-in desk at the front, waiting for her.

“Inviglio,” Dr. Griffith said, studying the face of his novice, “Good, you’re here. Isley had a scheduled evaluation today, I’m sending you in.”

“Had?”

“Her doctor didn’t show up, he’s busy in his office with ‘paperwork’ and put off the evaluation.” Griffith didn’t face her as he spoke, rather turning down the hall. The eccentric yet brilliant Welshman started walking mid sentence, as he often did, and Connie followed behind him in step.

“Ah, yes, the infamous paperwork,” Connie hummed, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “that definitely has nothing to do with the tech he's definitely not screwing.”

Both Griffith and Inviglio flashed their IDs to the nurses, and once more at the guards, before the second and third sets of doors unlocked one by one and allowed them entry.

“No, of course not, he’s a professional.” Griffith’s deadpan was enough to give Connie the story. A well-paid Arkham doctor slacking off on patients that were hostile and deemed untreatable? Frankly, she wasn’t surprised.

“Isley’s doctor is Riviera, right?”

“Aye. And for the record, it's not about the new tech he's not screwing, it's about the nurse he's not screwing.”

Connie sighed irritably as she contemplated the correlation of Arkham’s spotty reputation and the work ethic of doctors like Riviera. It was no surprise why the lunatics never got any better and breakouts were polyannual events.

“Isley’s evaluation, is it pharma or just psych?”

“You’re not involved with pharma, Connie, just do an honest psych eval. And I want your notes on future care for her as well, you’re smart,” he waved his hand as he walked, “figure something out.”

“Did you just compliment me?” Connie stopped in front of the heavy, automated metal door that led into what was referred to as "the Green Mile," in reference to the fact that no plants were allowed past the security gate.

“You’re already late for the eval,” Griffith replied over his shoulder. He scanned his badge to unlock the thick metal door.

“Thanks, Griffith,” she mumbled, knowing that was as close as she’d ever get to “I trust your insight” from Dr. Emril Griffith.

He didn’t regard her, blowing past her into the containment room. A large glass cell with a single chair hosted Pamela Isley, known to the public and media as Poison Ivy. she had ripped the legs off of her prison outfit, modifying them into a highly suggestive form of shorts, and her top was left with a single button done to cover her large breast. Isley regarded Griffith and Inviglio through thick lashes, arching her back just enough to accentuate her hips and chest. Seduction and manipulation was Ivy’s entire game, but Connie’s game was willpower.

“This,” Griffith started, leaning very close to the glass and gesturing to Connie, “Is Ms. Inviglio. She will be handling your evaluation today.”

“Did you bring me a woman in an attempt to evade my seduction, Dr. Griffith?” Ivy purred. There was so much wrong with that statement regarding Connie, but her gender and her sexuality was not of importance compared to her professionality. She didn’t bother to correct her.

“I brought you someone who you won’t be able to toy with,” Griffith practically spat. He was not one so easily intimidated, and even when he was, he never let it show.

Isley’s ruby red lips pulled back to show pearly white teeth, but no humor could be found in her dark green eyes.

Without another word, he turned back to Connie.

“You got this, yeah?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Drop the formalities, Inviglio. Now sod off, get to work. You know where to call me after you’re done.”

With that, Griffith strode out of the holding room, and the door clicked behind him.

“Inviglio, date: July 30, 20xx,” Connie stated as the tape began rolling. “Psychological evaluation of Pamela Isley. Hello, Pamela.”

“Please,” she hummed, “call me Ivy.”

The word ‘Ivy’ was quickly etched across the first line of Connie’s legal pad. Insistence of an alternate identity was one red flag.

“How are you doing today, Ivy?”

“Not well,” Ivy sighed. “It’s so cold, and my plants are aching, Ms. Inviglio.”

“Can you clarify what your plants are?” Connie had read Isley’s file, she already knew, but she wanted to talk to Ivy one on one. She wanted the information from the source.

“My babies… all of the plants of Earth, they are my children. They are being cut down, neglected, hurt. I can feel their pain,” Ivy’s eyes squeezed shut as she spoke. “Humans are killing my plants, and I can hear their screams.”

So much to work with, so many questions to ask, where to begin? Connie jotted down Ivy’s use of the word “humans,” as if she weren't one of them.

“What does this pain feel like?”

Ivy sighed at Inviglio’s apparent ignorance. “It depends on the injury, and the plant, darling. If an animal bites it, I feel the bite deep against my skin. If it is a blunt blow, it’s as if I feel the impact against my body. When their branches are cut, I feel the piercing pain in my arms and legs. It is agony.”

“And this is a literal pain?”

“Yes! You kill my plants, my babies, and you have no right to!” Ivy cried. She threw her head back, her vibrant red hair being flipped over her shoulders.

“How do you feel about that?” Connie studied Ivy’s reaction.

Ivy’s upset display of emotion ceased. She looked up at her interviewer slowly, her eyes hooded and her reaction controlled.

“Why do you want to know?” Interviews could go two ways.

“Answering a question with a question. That’s called deflection, Ms. Isley. Would you please reconsider the question?”

Ivy sighed once more.

“I want my plants to stop hurting.”

“Because it hurts you? Or do you genuinely care about them?”

The question caught Ivy off guard. None of the other doctors considered questions like these.

“Both. I feel their pain, and thus, I don’t want them to suffer anymore.”

“Not just to relieve your own pain?”

“No. But to relieve them of theirs. I only wish to see my plants thrive, and grow.”

“Even if it disbalances natural order?”

“What is natural about the destruction of life?” Ivy snapped.

“In moderation, death and destruction makes space for new life, and growth. What do you think about that?”

“Destroying places of natural growth is not moderation, doctor,” The patient seethed.

“Alright. That is understandable. But too much growth, that leads to things like cancer. Where I’m from, kudzu is an invasive species that grows and grows and cannot be eradicated, and that chokes out other plantlife. Is cutting down kudzu acceptable? And… How do you feel about the pruning of plants?”

Ivy studied Connie. She was strange to Ivy; she didn’t pry about her murderous history or her tendency towards violence. This wasn’t really about Ivy’s actions; it was about Ivy’s opinions, and opinions on her plants, nonetheless.

“Why do you ask?”

Connie smiled as warmly as she could.

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’ll answer your questions as soon as I know why you’re doing this.”

She needed to stop holding her breath. As she exhaled, Connie sat forward, propping her elbows on her desk.

“I simply want to understand. You are more than just the insults of guards and the antics of the news media. Does that answer your question?”

After a moment of processing, Ivy replied.

“You’re not arguing with me. You’re trying to learn.”

“That’s right.”

Another pause.

“If it is to assist in the growth of the plant, pruning is… acceptable.”

Connie smiled genuinely to the woman on the other side of the glass.

“Then that is all for today. Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Ivy, I found it quite enlightening. We will see to furthering your care and assisting you in any way we can.”

Connie stood, and started putting away her notepad, pen and file.

“That’s it?” Ivy sounded vaguely baffled.

“That’s it.” Connie replied with a smile. “As long as you were completely honest, I think we can help you and your relationship with the plants. Pardon, your plants.”

“Don’t belittle me.”

“I had no intention of doing so. I truly mean what I said in full kindness, Ivy. It sounds like you are in a lot of pain, and as you want to help the plants, I want to help you. You shouldn’t have to go through such pain.”

With a click, Connie stopped the recording, and placed the tape and recorder into her bag. Ivy didn’t say anything as Connie moved towards the door. With a beep, she scanned her ID and unlocked the door.

“Until the next time, Ms. Ivy.”

Taglist: @arts-and-sharks @burnthashbrown27

comment or dm to get added !!

#red batty oc #dc comics original story #dc comics #dc comics original character #dc comics oc #dc comics fanfiction #pamela isley #poison ivy #pamela isley/poison ivy #arkham asylum #the arkham hellion #batman arkhamverse #batman arkham trilogy #arkhamverse #arkham games

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docgold13 · 2 years

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365 Marvel Comics Paper Cut-Out SuperHeroes - One Hero, Every Day, All Year…

Wolverine / Laura Kinney

Laura Kinney is a Mutant who was artificially engineered using genetic material stolen from the X-Man known as Wolverine. Laura was created by the shadowy organization known as The Facility. The villains behind her creation sought to recreated the Weapon X experiment and generate a clone of Wolverine to use as their own personal assassin and enforcer.

The geneticist, Sarah Kinney, was tasked to lead the project, proposing to create a female subject after twenty-two failed attempts due to a damaged Y chromosome in the genetic material. Contradicting her superiors, Kinney mixed her own genetic material with Wolverine's and became the surrogate mother to the experiment, giving birth to Laura (who was designated as subject number X-23).

In The Facility, Laura was forged into a lethally efficient weapon, being constantly brutalized by her trainer, Kimura. Though the young woman did receive a glimpse of tenderness from Dr. Kinney, who sacrificed herself so to allow Laura to escape The Facility.

Seeking to put an end to vile weapons like herself, Laura tracked Wolverine to the X-Men Mansion in an effort to eliminate him. Wolverine was able to fend her off and restrain his young attacker. He argued Laura had been a victim and offered to help her. Reluctantly at first, Laura ultimately accepted this offer and joined The Xavier Institute.

Laura would go on become a member of the Academy X training group while secretly also acting as an operative of Wolverine’s covert squad, X-Force. During this time, Laura was involved in a romance with her fellow student, Hellion.

She later she joined the Avengers Academy and was abducted by Arcade and forced to compete in the murderous Avengers Arena. Throughout all of this, Laura had used the alias of X-23, accepting the identifier bestowed onto her by The Facility. She would go on to better work through the various traumas of her past and decided to effectively rebrand herself as the all-new Wolverine, wishing to honor the man who she had come to see as a father. The original Wolverine was believed dead at the time. He eventually returned and the two agreed that they could share the moniker of ‘Wolverine.’

Not long thereafter, Laura met new clones of herself that were created by the sinister corporation, Alchemax Genetics. Laura would take in the youngest of these clones under her wing as her sister. Laura and her sister, Gabby, formed a new family and the pair embarked on numerous adventures together.

More recently, Laura has relocated to the island nation of Krakoa where she was elected as a member of the new flagship iteration of The X-Men.

A version of Laura/X-23 featured in the movie, Logan, where portrayed by actress Dafne Keen. The heroine originally appeared in the X-Men: Evolution animated series; her first comic book appearance was in the pages of NYX #3 (2003).

#365 Marvel Comics Heroes #Wolverine #Laura Kinney #X-23 #X-Men #Logan #Dafne Keen #Avengers Academy #cut-out #paper art

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hollie911 · 1 year

Text

This is not my work. It is by the user constantwriter85 whose account had been deactivated on tumblr and ao3 and i am just sharing their work

The devil you know

Vampire!jefferson x reader

Part 10/10

**October 31 st, 2020 – Halloween Eve**

“Trick or Treat!”

Three sets of gleeful eyes peered up at Jefferson, and he chuckled.

“Oh my, how delightful! Let’s see…Alice in Wonderland, the White Rabbit, and…my goodness, are you the Mad Hatter?”

The boy blushed, but he beamed proudly. “Yes, sir, he’s my favourite.”

Jefferson chuckled as he dropped the candy in the children’s bags. He leaned down and whispered loudly to the child in the Mad Hatter’s costume.

“He’s my favourite, too.”

Jefferson was laughing to himself as he closed the door and set the bowl on the stairs. You peeked your head in out of the kitchen and he walked in.

“This has been great fun, it’s a shame they didn’t have something like this when Grace was little. I could just see her, the little hellion, hopped up on a sugar high and running down the boulevard in her costume.”

You smiled. Jefferson had told you everything that had happened during the transformation, including his “trip” to see Grace. You were so glad that he’d finally gotten the closure he needed. Now he was able to speak of her with happiness instead of sorrow and regret.

He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. A sizzling kiss to the underside of your jaw, and he nipped the sensitive spot. You moaned softly and twisted, searching for his lips greedily.

Jefferson’s hands drifted down to your thighs and he lifted you, setting you on the counter. The sound of his name murmured from your lips drove him further, lustful kisses trailing down to your collarbone as his fingers inched up your thigh, slipping under the hem of your sweater. He grinned.

“You naughty little thing…if you only knew what you do to me.”

“You’re not sick of me yet?”

Jefferson snorted and kissed you hard, as if to prove it. “Never, darling. I’ve waited a century for you, I just didn’t know it until I met you.”

“One year ago, tonight.”

“A kiss that set my soul aflame,” he said, licking at your lips. “You bewitched me then, Y/N, body and soul…and you still do.”

The doorbell rang, interrupting his sinful exploration of your mouth. You growled. Jefferson hummed and nipped your jaw.

“Duty calls, my dear.”

He pecked you once more on the lips, then went to answer the door. Still reeling from his attentions, you turned back to the sink. As you dipped your hand back into the soapy water, a pair of rings glittered from your left hand.

You and Jefferson had made it through approximately two months of “courting” before he broke down and proposed. Your parents had been surprised, but Jefferson was nothing but a charmer and a gentleman, and they approved wholeheartedly. The wedding had been beautiful, held right there in Storybrooke.

From there, you traveled. Taking a leave of absence from work, you’d seen the sights and done the things Jefferson had only dreamed about, after years of wandering lost and alone in the darkness.

Jefferson was like a new man unleashed upon the world. His enthusiasm and stamina were unparalleled, and you had never felt quite so alive. In truth, you’d felt like you’d been asleep your whole life, reborn and awakened the moment you’d bonded with him.

Your life since then had been happily domestic. The spark you felt for him that first day had turned into a raging inferno that time hadn’t dampened one bit. Jefferson doted on you, spoiling you with displays of his affection while still encouraging you to pursue what made you happy. He lifted you up, gave you confidence, and you loved him all the more for it.

You still worked at the morgue. In fact, Dr. Whale had retired a few months ago, promoting you to Chief Coroner. The hours were infinitely better, allowing you to finally shift to a normal work schedule. Jefferson had decided to open up a small used bookshop in town, right across the street from Granny’s. It did a fair trade, and most of all, he was happy.

Mrs. Conrad hadn’t stayed on too much longer after the night the curse was reversed. Other wayward souls to guide, she said. You had both begged her to stay—the mansion was huge, but she refused to hear it. She still visited from time to time, although she also said she hardly needed to check in—you had Jefferson well in hand, according to her educated opinion.

“Well, that’s the last of them, I imagine…it’s getting quite late,” Jefferson said, interrupting your thoughts. He turned off the porch light and blew out the jack-o-lanterns decorating the steps. His brow furrowed when he saw the look on your face.

“Y/N? Are you all right?”

You smiled at him as you dried your hands. “Perfect, love. I was just lost in thought…everything that’s happened in the past year.”

“Yes, it is a bit dizzying when you think of it like that.” He tenderly rubbed his thumb across your cheekbone. “Come, sit with me by the fire, I want to cuddle with you.”

“Okay, just let me go change first.”

As you changed out of your jeans and sweater, you smiled. It was that soft, inward smile that all women get when they’re carrying a happy little secret.

You pulled out the ultrasound picture, and held in in your trembling hand. The other rested against your abdomen, and you bit your lip in excitement.

Your first appointment had been today—you and Jefferson had been trying for a few months, and although you got the initial confirmation a couple weeks ago, you’d kept it from him until you could be absolutely sure. You didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Carefully tucking the ultrasound back in the envelope, you bounded down the stairs where the love of your life was waiting for you. Jefferson was stretched out on the couch, his hair a little rumpled and the top two buttons of his collar undone. He grinned playfully and patted the empty space next to him. You wanted to devour him right on the spot, but first…

You slid in next to him and held up the envelope. “Trick or treat.”

Jefferson took it, frowning. “Darling, what’s—”

For a moment, he just stared at the picture, and the only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Then his eyes widened when he realized what it was.

“Is…is this…are you…”

You nodded, smiling as your eyes burned. “I’m pregnant.”

“H-How long have you known?”

“I’m about eight weeks…I wanted to make sure everything was okay before I told you. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I’m sorry, Jefferson.”

“Don’t be, I’m just—god—I feel like I can’t breathe, I’m so happy!” He laughed, taking your face in his hands and kissing you. “I don’t know whether I’m going to cry or faint, or both!”

“Please don’t,” you laughed. “Just kiss me again.”

He hummed and did as you asked. Your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose and the curve of your jaw, nothing went untouched by Jefferson before he finally settled his lips against yours in a wildly passionate kiss that nearly incinerated you on the spot.

Finally he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours and looking at you as if you were the most wonderous creature he’d ever seen. Gently, as if you were made of glass, Jefferson placed his hand flat against your belly, feeling the subtle curve there.

“So…everything truly is all right, then? You’re all right? And…th-the baby? They made sure?”

You nodded smiling at his concern. “Everything is coming along just fine. I even got to see the heartbeat today. If you come with me next week you can see it for yourself.”

Jefferson nodded. He looked over at the picture of Grace on the side table, and his lips twitched in a bittersweet smile. When he looked back, you were startled to see the tears starting to brim his eyes.

“Sweetheart, what—”

Jefferson shook his head, his bottom lip quivering as he kissed you again. “You’ve given me another chance, Y/N. Another chance to live, to be happy, and now…a chance to be a father again. A chance to have a family with you.”

He pulled you into his arms and nodded to Grace’s photograph. “I know she’s looking down on me, and right now, she’s smiling. I can feel it.”

“Oh, Jefferson.” Your own eyes were starting to burn.

He pulled you even closer and kissed the palm of your hand, settling it over his heart.

“You’ve made me so very happy, Y/N…I’m the luckiest man in the world, to be able to call you my wife. I love you, my darling girl.”

“I love you too, Jefferson.”

Outside, the last of the ghouls and goblins ran back home with the spoils of another Halloween as the former vampire and the coroner curled up together in front of the roaring fireplace, lost in each other’s embrace. They had their whole lives ahead of them, and Jefferson was truly free at last. Free from the demons of his past and the curse that bound him to it, free to live, free to love, and free to start a family with the woman he loved more than life itself.

And so they lived, happily ever after.

Tags:

@learisa

#jefferson hatter x reader #vampire #vampire jefferson #x reader #ouat

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