#a woman will always be nothing but a mother

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Duet of Fire and Fate

Part One | Series Masterlist

Summary: his music school having been challenged by Riverrun Conservatory, Aemond is given the opportunity to come face to face with their top musician | Word Count: 4.7k~ | Warnings: smut (not with the main female character), toxic relationship, semi-public sex

Nothing quite compared to the low hum, and delicate whine of a cello. It had been that way for some time, ever since he'd discovered it.

Aemond still remembers the look on his mother's face, her chocolate eyes wide with pride and joy, when her son who was still freshly mutilated, resulting in the loss of sight in his left eye, took an interest in playing classical music.

The cello had become more than just an instrument to Aemond; it was his refuge, his voice in a world that had grown suddenly more silent and unforgiving. The accident had not just taken half his sight but had cast a shadow over his once bright future. Music, however, brought light back into his life, offering a path forward that he had never anticipated.

The Targaryen name, synonymous with power and prestige in other realms, here lent an aura of intrigue and expectation to his performances. Yet, it was Aemond's own skill, the raw emotion he channelled through the strings of his cello, that captivated audiences. His music was a blend of classical elegance and a palpable intensity that seemed to stem from the very depths of his being.

And Aemond was nothing if not a perfectionist at heart.

He perfected everything, to the point of madness some felt. And if he had not invited a feeling of deep, primal intrigue from every performance he gave, then what was the point? This innocent hobby at first, honed by his parents and caregivers alike, was now a way of life. A career. Something to strive for.

As he became older, this competitive nature never wavered once. He embraced it like a challenge to be met. And the conductor of this prestigious school, Otto Hightower, both a friend of his father, Viserys, a business giant well-known across all of Westeros, and conveniently his grandfather, expected nothing short of the best from his prodigious grandson.

He was never self-conscious either, even if he was easily noticeable and stared upon everywhere he went. And one might expect little attention from the opposite sex in a world of classical music and elegant instruments, but for Aemond this could not have been less true.

He attracted in every show, not only with his talent but with his haunting appearance. The straight long scar through his left eye was struck in the middle by a pale blue pupil, his other seeing eye stark in comparison. Women would watch his slender fingers strike fear, passion and energy into their hearts, wishing the very same could grip at their skin.

To their frustrations, he never acted on this popularity.

Alys Rivers was the only woman he ever reciprocated affections of some kind for. At least two decades his senior, his family had been less than impressed at her presence in his life. But there was no choice on their part. Aemond had made his, and Alys Rivers, like it or not, was his muse. A classical music lover at heart. And a professional critic no less.

One might be forgiven for thinking they disliked each other, they rarely exhibited romance. She was more akin to his manager than anyone else, critiquing his manner of playing and giving advice where he didn't want it. And he rewarded her, away from the prying eyes of the public, with quick, angry sex, exerting what control he did have, into intimacy.

She, like him, had a haunting presence to her, but one less mysterious. More overtly seductive. And though sometimes it seemed to irk Aemond, some felt as if they were still acquainted by convenience if nothing else.

Aemond always arrived early to Kings Landing Music College. The stuffy, wood-panelled room gave some semblance of comfort. There was something about the acoustics, the closeness, that felt almost womb-like. Safe. Familiar.

Meticulously, tuning his cello, he half-listened to the skinny, pink-faced Blackwood, practicing at the same time, “sound like a fucking dying pig.”

“Half dying,” Aemond murmured, with a roll of his eyes.

Otto waltzed in, clad in black slacks and a loose forest-green jumper, “Blackwood, get your fucking instrument in tune please. Fucking Cole could do a better job in violas.”

Criston twirled two Timpani sticks between his fingers, giving a look of mock offence from across the room, “just because I'm over here doesn't mean I can't hear you-”

“Alright, alright, before we begin today’s practice, I have an announcement,” Otto declared, his voice commanding attention. The room quickly fell silent, the anticipation palpable in the air.

“We’ve been challenged to a competition by the Riverrun Conservatory,” Otto revealed, his eyes sweeping across the room, measuring the reaction to his words. The announcement ignited a buzz among the musicians, the rivalry between the schools notorious for its intensity. 

“This isn’t just any friendly showcase. It’s a direct confrontation on neutral ground at the upcoming city arts festival. We will be judged on technique, emotional expression, and the complexity of our performance.”

Aemond’s pulse quickened. Riverrun Conservatory had a formidable reputation, known for their strict discipline and innovative performances. The thought of competing against them stirred a mix of excitement and nerve.

Otto’s gaze swept over the room, lingering for a moment on Aemond, then moving on. “I want crispness, I want emotion, and above all, I want precision. We will begin selecting the repertoire tomorrow. Today, I want everyone to focus on their sections. I expect perfection and I will accept nothing less than your best.”

With a decisive turn, Otto left the rehearsal space, his footsteps echoing his determination. The room erupted into whispers and hurried discussions; the stakes had been set.

Blackwood sighed, stress gnawing and weighing on his face. “Fuck me, no pressure then.”

“Don't fucking shit yourself. It's only Riverrun,” a lanky guy mumbled behind his flute.

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

Aemond tuned his cello once more, a determined glint in his eye. He was eager to prove himself, not just as a formidable cellist, but as a key player in leading his school to victory. As the rehearsal began, the sounds of strings, woodwinds, and brass filled the room, each musician pouring their heart into the notes.

Aemond knew that every session, every note, would count. The festival was not just another performance; it was a proving ground. And he was ready to claim his place on it.

With his cello perched on his back as if it were an extension of himself, Aemond strode toward Otto’s office. The familiar weight of the instrument reassured him, steadying his nerves as he prepared to discuss the imminent arrival of their rivals from Riverrun Conservatory.

Upon reaching the heavy oak door, Aemond knocked with a confident rhythm and was quickly greeted by Otto, who peered out from behind a mountain of musical scores. His deep-set eyes and beard, more salt than pepper, gave him an air of aged wisdom.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Otto asked, noticing the urgency in Aemond's posture.

Stepping inside, Aemond carefully leaned his cello against the wall. "I've heard that Riverrun will be arriving tomorrow to practise here, in preparation for the festival. They’ll be using some of our facilities. I wanted to discuss how we can use this to our advantage, especially since their star pianist is said to be among them."

Otto raised an eyebrow, a slight grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Perhaps he saw the cunning nature reflected in his grandson he perceived in himself.

"Indeed, they will be here. It’s a rare opportunity to observe them up close, to learn their strengths and possibly their weaknesses. We’ve managed to arrange different practice times to ensure there’s no direct overlap, but our paths will certainly cross."

Aemond nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. "If we could subtly observe their practice sessions, we might glean insights into their preparation and techniques. It could inform our strategy and help us focus our rehearsals where we need the most work."

Otto walked over to his desk and shuffled some papers, revealing a schedule. "Here are the timings. Riverrun’s sessions are slotted just after ours in the adjacent rooms. It’s crucial we keep our interactions professional, but keep your eyes and ears open. Understand how their pianist integrates with their ensemble— it’s not just about her solo performance."

"Should we consider adjusting our pieces or rehearsal focus based on what we learn?" Aemond asked, his voice low.

"Potentially," Otto responded, tapping his fingers on the desk. "But let’s not be hasty. First, observe. See if there’s a particular piece they struggle with or excel in. We’ll adjust our strategy based on solid evidence, not assumptions."

Aemond felt a surge of tactical excitement. "I’ll make sure our section leaders are discreet but observant. We can use this chance to refine our performance to outshine theirs."

"Exactly," Otto agreed, handing Aemond a copy of the schedule. "Use this opportunity wisely. We need every edge we can get against Riverrun. Remember, they are guests in our school, so maintain the highest standards of respect and professionalism at all times."

With a firm nod, Aemond picked up his cello, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. As he left Otto’s office, he knew the next few days could define the outcome of the festival. The challenge was daunting, but Aemond was ready to lead his school not just to compete, but to win.

Aemond was barely through the front door of his apartment before Alys was barraging him with questions. Her fine lips were lacquered with red, fingernails painted a charcoal black as she poured herself a coffee.

“I heard about the competition. Riverrun is notorious. Sure you can handle it?” She smirked behind the rim of her cup.

He sighed, setting down his cello, “yes, I can fucking handle it.” That was his only response before sinking into the sofa, laying his head flat back against the sofa, eyes shut, as if he wanted her to disappear.

He was somewhat ashamed to admit the way he tensed and then relaxed at the way her fingers expertly kneaded his shoulders, massaging the stress from him. But even more so as they trailed down, sharp nails ghosting over his neck had his lips parting and his trousers growing tight.

“Now, now. You know I only want you to do better,” she cooed, “and you will get better, with the right critique.”

He could hear her smile, her tone light and sensual as she trailed off.

Aemond turned his head and looked up at her where she was looming over him, her thumbs still pushing circles on his sore muscles.

“Critique?”

Alys’s lips curved up in a knowing smile, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that seemed to pierce through his weariness. Her green, emerald like eyes, were like daggers, hooking and reeling him in somewhere dark.

"Of course, critique," she murmured, her voice a melodious blend of challenge and tease. "Every artist needs it, even the great Aemond Targaryen. Especially with Riverrun breathing down our necks."

She moved around the sofa with the grace of a cat, setting her coffee down on the table before moving her legs either side of him, brushing her clothed core beneath her skirt against his growing hardness. "I watch, I listen, and I provide feedback that no one else dares to give you."

Aemond sighed, shifting to look at her more directly. The red of her lips was stark against the softer hue of her face, a deliberate pop of colour that matched the sharpness in her words. "And how exactly does your 'feedback' help me tonight?" he asked, his tone a mix of scepticism and intrigue.

"It helps because it makes you think. It makes you feel. Isn't that what music is about?" Alys replied, her hands now moving down from his shoulders, her fingers tracing lines across his chest through his shirt. "Besides, seeing you tense up like that, only to melt under my touch—it tells me where you're holding back. Not just here," she said, pressing briefly into a particularly tight spot. Then, her touch sank to his belt, then drifting lower and stroking his growing erection, teasing his length slowly. 

"But here too."

Her approach was intoxicating, a dangerous mix of personal care and professional critique. "You're brilliant, Aemond, but even brilliance can be polished," she continued, leaning in to whisper against his ear. "Let me polish you, make you shine brighter. Let me push you to be the best, and then push a little harder."

Aemond felt the dual edges of her influence—the softness of her caress, the hard truth in her critique. It was a manipulation he allowed, perhaps even welcomed. Her presence was woven into his life, a thread that was both comforting and controlling. Sometimes too tight. 

With two needy hands on her buttocks, he rolled up her skirt around her hips, dipping between her welcoming thighs, his ego somewhat inflated to find she was wet already. Alys did little else in reaction than assisting to undo his belt, taking his hard length in her hand and seductively massaging from base to tip.

He pulled her forcefully against him, fingers dug into her pale skin as she hovered over him and sank slowly, splitting herself open on his cock with a practised moan. Her hips moved instinctually, stretching to accommodate his thickness over and over. 

Between grunts and curses, Aemond was rarely vocal. Sex was a way to dispel frustration and invite inspiration in his clear head afterwards. Alys could be anyone. But he had to admit, he found her interesting, if not for her advice.

Her manicured and rounded nails dug into his neck as Alys moved on him with vigour, one hand stealing between them to circle her bud to try and hurtle herself towards completion.

It had occurred to Aemond that she was similarly using him in the same way.

With a bruising grip around her waist, Aemond jutted up into her shakily, coming hard within Alys’ quivering walls in the aftermath of her orgasm. And once she gained her breath, she peeled his hands off her as if he were suffocating. His member slid out of her, softened and slick with her moisture.

Alys straightened, stepping back to observe him, her eyes assessing as she wiggled her skirt back down. "Tomorrow, I'll come to the rehearsal. I want to see how you handle yourself with Riverrun watching. I'll be watching too, taking notes." Her tone was playful yet serious, a reminder of her dual role in his life.

As she retreated to the kitchen, Aemond lay there, a part of him resenting the ease with which she shifted roles from lover to critic, yet another part eager to prove himself worthy of her praise, his heart going fast still in the aftermath of their hastened sex.

 He knew that Alys's critiques, though wrapped in seduction, were aimed at forging him into a sharper, more formidable musician. In the complex symphony of their relationship, her motives played out in chords, each note crafted to challenge and change him.

The next day dawned crisp and clear, the early morning sun casting long shadows over the grounds of the music school. The building was abuzz with the nervous energy of anticipation, the air vibrating with the undertones of an impending musical clash.

As he made his way through the corridors to the rehearsal room, he could hear the murmur of voices, the tuning of instruments, and the occasional burst of laughter or a sharp command. Today, the halls of his own school would play host not just to its students but also to their rivals from Riverrun Conservatory.

Aemond entered the rehearsal room to find it already half-filled with his peers, each one keenly aware of the significance of the day. The room was set up with chairs and stands arranged in a precise semi-circle, awaiting the arrival of the Riverrun musicians.

Before long, the members of Riverrun Conservatory began to filter in, their expressions a mix of confident smiles and cautious glances. The room's atmosphere thickened with the tangible sense of competition, each group eyeing the other, assessing and reassessing.

Amid this tense backdrop, Alys slipped into the room, a notepad clutched in her hand and a pen poised for action. Her presence was a sharp reminder to Aemond of the dual aspects of their relationship. She caught his eye and offered a slight nod, an unspoken signal that she was here in her professional capacity.

The rehearsal began with Otto taking the lead, his voice firm as he called for attention. "Let's begin with a warm-up. Remember, while we share our space today, let's show our guests the level of excellence we strive for."

Aemond took his place, settling his cello between his knees. His fingers danced over the strings, tuning with meticulous care, his gaze occasionally drifting to the Riverrun musicians who were setting up nearby. Among them, he noticed a young woman, stood between two other boys who looked over her at one another with smug smiles. They were most certainly either violinists or cellists. But the woman between them, he saw, had such delicate fingers, this had to be the pianist he had heard so much about.

All watched them perform with a sort of challenging, stoic expression, as if judging every movement, every chord and sound made. Every choice scrutinised. In the corner of his eye, between glances at the music, Aemond noticed Alys scribbling down notes.

And when their performance came to an end, Riverrun Conservatory clapped, alongside their conductor, Lyonel Strong. He was burly, red-cheeked, strict but well-meaning, as far as Aemond had heard. But the way he and Otto Hightower looked at one another was akin to some secret rivalry nobody else was privy to.

Alys slid up to Aemond’s side as he began to tidy his instrument away, her presence immediately electric. “See that man?” she whispered, nodding subtly towards Lyonel. “He conducts with his heart on his sleeve, not a metronome like Otto. That’s why they play with such passion. It’s infectious, captivating.”

Aemond nodded, absorbing her analysis. He knew of her critical acumen, but there was a personal edge to her voice now. “You sound almost admiring,” he observed, watching her closely.

Alys’s expression darkened slightly, her emerald eyes flitting back to Lyonel. “I might admire his style, but not the man. Not after everything.” She sighed, a sound more resigned than angry. “He might be the maestro of emotions, Aemond, but off that podium, he’s a different story.”

Aemond did not inquire further. If he was being truthful with himself, he didn't much care for Alys' personal grievances.

“Keep a close eye on their cellist,” Alys warned from the sidelines, watching Riverrun tune and start up their instruments for their own warm up.

As Riverrun began their performance, Aemond’s attention initially settled on the cellist, analysing his fluid technique and the rich emotion flowing from his strings. However, his focus soon drifted to the pianist, who was poised before her instrument like a painter in front of a blank canvas. Her movements were almost ethereal, feather-like, as her fingers danced across the keys, each note floating into the air with a delicate precision that seemed to transcend the mechanics of the piano itself.

The pianist's performance captivated Aemond, her connection with the music evident in the subtle sway of her body and the gentle closing of her eyes as she played. It was more than mere execution, it was an embodiment of the piece, a true manifestation of feeling and artistry.

Alys, standing beside Aemond, watched the pianist with a discerning eye. After a moment, she leaned closer to Aemond and whispered, "See how she plays? It’s like she’s not just striking notes, but weaving a spell. Each touch is thoughtful, precise yet so naturally expressive."

Aemond nodded, fully absorbed in the performance. He could see what Alys meant—the pianist wasn’t just playing, she was performing in a way that made the piano speak directly to the audience. It was an inspiring display of how technique served as the foundation for emotional expression.

"Her approach is impressive," Alys continued, her voice a mix of professional respect and genuine admiration. "That’s what we need to aim for, Aemond. It’s not just about the notes, but how you make them feel alive, how you connect them to the listener’s soul."

Watching the pianist, Aemond felt a surge of inspiration mixed with a competitive drive. He realised that this was the standard he needed to meet and exceed. The way the pianist’s performance resonated in the room, how it seemed to stir the hearts of all who listened, including his own—it set a clear benchmark.

As the piece drew to a close, and the final note lingered in the air, a hushed silence fell over the room before applause erupted. The pianist looked up, her expression serene, almost surprised by the intensity of the audience’s reaction.

Aemond clapped, his applause thoughtful, infused with a newfound respect and a burning motivation. He turned to Alys, a determined look in his eyes. "I see it now," he said. "But she's nothing special. Our pianist is just as good."

“Just as good isn't enough. We have to be better. We need to surpass them—to be so outstanding that Riverrun feels like just a prelude to our performance. They shouldn’t just be impressed by us; they should be overwhelmed."

Aemond’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he processed her words. He watched the pianist from Riverrun mingle with the crowd, her presence still resonating with the lingering notes of her performance.

The shy, timid prodigy. A story written a million times. He felt as if he saw right through her, and no way was that washing with him.

“Meet me in the supply room before lunch,” Alys whispered, turning on her heel before Aemond could reply. The swing of her hips as she moved towards the Riverrun musicians and indication of what she wanted from him. All she ever wanted from him.

Aemond merely watched on from the sidelines, arms crossed. Alys mingled with them all, shaking their hands and wishing them luck in the weeks of practice and competitiveness to come. And when she finally shook the hand of the pianist, his gaze flickered between his lover and the delicate frame of this stranger he had yet to know.

Everything about her was different to Alys. She wore sheer black tights, and sensible shoes. Her skirt was flowy and ended mid tight, covered only at the top by her high-necked top, also black. And it was here he recognised a similarity in her and Aemond's dress sense.

Alys on the other hand exuded sexuality. Tight fitting skirts and dresses, no tights and heels at least four inches high. And while Alys wore a sleek straight style, the pianist was loose and free, if not slightly frizzy.

He watched the two women talking animatedly. Alys no doubt congratulating her on how well she plays.

He'd never been in more need of a cigarette then right at this moment.

“I apologise for him, he’s usually more expressive on stage than off,” Alys joked lightly as they approached, teasing Aemond in her usual manner.

The pianist extended her hand to Aemond with a firm, confident grip that surprised him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve seen your performances online,” she stated, her tone straightforward, skipping the usual pleasantries. Her directness was refreshing yet unexpected.

Aemond took her hand, a bit taken aback by her assertiveness. “Thank you,” he responded, realising only after the words left his mouth that she hadn’t actually complimented his work, just acknowledged it. “Your performance today was quite remarkable.”

“Thank you,” she replied, nodding politely, her smile brief. There was no reciprocal flattery, no effusive praise—just a clear, concise acknowledgment.

Her straightforwardness intrigued Aemond. It was rare for him to encounter someone who didn’t engage in the typical exchange of mutual admiration among peers, especially when one had just praised the other. Her confidence and lack of concern for social niceties made him rethink the usual dance of compliments that often felt more obligatory than genuine.

Their exchange maintained a professional veneer, but Aemond felt a distinct chill in the air as the pianist held his gaze with an unyielding intensity.

“I'm interested. How do you prepare for a performance of this calibre?” She asked in a probing manner, clasping her hands behind her back. And when she swept her hair out her face, a dash of her perfume hit him, light and floral, he noted.

“I focus deeply on the composition's technical demands," he responded crisply, his voice carrying a cool, almost detached quality. "Emotional expression is secondary to flawless execution.”

She bit back a smile he noticed before she could hide it, “that is quite a disciplined approach.”

"It’s the only way to ensure a performance is beyond reproach," he stated flatly, eyes scanning the room. "Judges appreciate perfection.”

“And the audience?”

He shrugged, “whether they do or not, it doesn't change my approach.”

She nodded, leaving a long pause, as if laying a trap, “interesting,” she mused, "I always believed that connecting with the audience was the true measure of a performance’s success."

“Emotions are too subjective.”

Alys, sensing the growing tension, interjected with a light laugh. "Aemond here is all about the technicalities when it comes to music. He believes in precision over passion."

The pianist tilted her head slightly, considering his response with an analytical gaze before a playful glimmer appeared in her eyes. “Are all aspects of your life subject to such rules?” her tone light, but probing. “Musicians are usually branded as romantics, after all.”

Aemond's brow twitched, a subtle annoyance. “There is a time and a place. In a competition, it's about control. Discipline.”

She hummed, slightly amused, “how practical. Does it not get lonely, striving so often for perfection?”

He shrugs, “it doesn't matter. Wins are measurable, feelings not so.”

“Musicians are not remembered for their wins. They're remembered for the feelings they tease out of people.”

Aemond’s gaze held steady, impressed by her ability to intertwine light-hearted banter with serious debate. “Maybe so, but I’d rather be remembered for setting records than stirring hearts.”

There was a long pause, her eyes never leaving him as if trying to piece together a delicate and intricate puzzle. And she had to bite her lip to contain her smile, simmering frustration in his chest.

“Interesting,” she mused, releasing her lip from between her teeth.

She finally broke their intense gaze, stepping back slightly as she prepared to leave. "Thank you for the conversation, Aemond. It was... enlightening," she said, her tone serious and reflective. "I'll be interested to see how your focus on the technicalities plays out in the competition. Good luck."

With a formal nod, she turned and walked away, her demeanour composed and professional. Aemond watched her rejoin her group, the interaction leaving him with a lingering sense of disquiet. Her straightforward, no-nonsense approach had challenged his views subtly yet profoundly, pushing him to reconsider the balance between technique and emotion in his performances.

Something he'd considered very little.

And as he fucked out his frustrations with Alys in the supply room, pushing her front against the wall and plunging into the tight warmth and solitude she offered, the encounter had ignited a new sense of challenge within him, or perhaps it was a hint of doubt, unsettling the confidence he had always felt in his methodical approach to music.

The usual clarity with which he viewed his musical career was now clouded with questions, thanks to a simple yet impactful exchange. It was a confrontation of ideals that made him both wary and intrigued.

It was clear now that the competition had escalated to more than just notes and rhythms—it was a clash of philosophies, a duel of passion in dual meaning.

And he was prepared to meet it head on.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“Mom, we should get going,” you say as you check your bag.

Your mother sits at the table. It’s cluttered as always. You can see her inhaler amid the mess. Wait, there’s another one. You cross the kitchen, only two steps, and grab both inhalers. You feel the subtle difference between them.

You take both, putting the full one back in the medicine cabinet and the other in the disposal bin. The doctor said the inhalent would help with your mother’s dopamine levels, balances her out a little, but the new treatment only seems to be another symptom of her disease. She hates doing it, she hates all of it, but you can’t blame her for that.

“We can’t be late for the consultation. We’ll be waiting another six months,” you come back to the kitchen.

She looks at you as she wobbles slightly. The tremor is more prominent than before. Each day you notice it more. All the little things changing about her. She’s a bit slower, her words don’t come easy or always clearly, and her mood grows grimmer and grimmer. So does yours.

You grab your purse and the keys. You’ll clean up when you get home. It doesn’t take very long for living to pile up though. Especially when you’re the only one to keep it in order.

Your mother grips the table and stands up. Getting her dressed was a battle already won. Her posture is slightly crooked as she shuffles around the table, “I’m moving.”

You step back, waiting patiently for her to round the table. She grumbles. Your mother was never bright and bubbly but ever since her diagnosis, she’s lost any glimmer of warmth. It’s like she’s living in a fog, just slowly wading through.

You walk down the hall ahead of her and pick out your shoes from the rack. As you kneel to tie your sneakers, she leans on the wall and slides her feet into the orthotic flats. She’s not very old yet. Neither of you expected her to decline so quickly.

You stand and open the door. You back up though the screen door and hold it for her. Her steps get a bit smoother the more she moves around. The permanent scowl sinks into the lines of her face as she comes out onto the porch. You lock the door behind her as she grunts and leans on the railing, stamping down each step to the walkway.

You follow behind her. That’s another problem. The lawn. The old mower broke. You haven’t been able to replace it.

As you trail your mother to the car, she swats you away. Sometimes you try too much for her. You know she must feel helpless. You back up as she sits heavily in the passenger seat and your eyes skim around the neighbourhood. The white sign on the lawn next to yours catches your eye.

You remember the finely dressed woman, her very image on the sign, and how she grimaced at the weeds and grass. If she’s going to sell the property, the neighbours shouldn’t be living in a jungle. You heard her say as much over the phone as she paced back and forth on the porch.

You mother pulls the door shut but it doesn’t click. You give it an extra push to secure it and round the hood. You get in the car and turn the key, rolling down the windows as the early summer morning crowds the tight space. Your mother mutters and wipes her forehead with a shaky hand.

“Let’s just go,” she sneers, “waste of my time...” she bends her arm over the open window, her fingers quivering, “damn doctors said it enough. Nothing they can do. Charlatans.”

“Mom,” you chide gently, “the surgery could help. If you qualify--”

“I heard ya last night,” she snaps. “Just drive.”

You nod and snap your mouth shut. You shift into reverse and back out of the drive. You know better than to talk too much. Your mother never liked hearing anything she didn’t want to hear. Facts are just an attack on her.

You steer down the street slowly, following the curve of the suburban street. The green lawns and white picket fences are palatial at first glance. It’s a 1950s fever dream implanted in the twenty-first century.

Your house is the black stain on an otherwise pristine canvas. The HOA must curse your grandmother for her leaving a perfectly nice home to a pair of beatnicks. You don’t blame them. You’re the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, leaving a gaping hole in the picture.

The radio crackles on and you wince. Your mother struggles to turn the knob and the volume pendulums up and down. You reach to help her and she smacks your hand, only softly as she has little strength behind it. You retract and grip the wheel, listening to buzzing struggle of her unsteady. You just hope the appointment goes well.

🏠

Your mother hasn’t said much since the appointment. That worries you. What should be good news is just another dark cloud over her.

She sits as she often does; half-reclined in the chair by the window, watching the neighbourhood just outside the pane. She’s just a resentful of the picture-perfect neighbours as she if of everything else. As she is of you.

You tidy the kitchen table as the unsaid dangles in the air. You know better than to bring it up. She barely acknowledged it when the doctor said it. She’s a good candidate for surgery but it isn’t a cure. It will help with the symptoms but not stop them altogether. It’s not good enough for her but it might just be her only hope of relief, even if temporary.

“Bring me a coke,” your mother calls through and you hear the hollow tin clatter of an empty can.

You bring the dirty dishes to the sink and set them beside it. You go to the fridge to grab a red branded can and let the door shut on its own. As you enter the living room, your mother sits forward, the recliner snapping forward with her weight. She leans on and elbow as she squints through the window and cranes over the armrest.

You pick up the old can and put the new one on the small table by the chair. She sits back and takes the Coke, trembling as she struggles to crack the tab. You know better than to help her. The curl in her lip warns you better.

“Someone’s looking at the place next door,” she says.

“Oh?” You move behind her chair and try to the next house. You can only really see the edge of the porch from here. You could open the side window but that would give more than a view of the siding and might be too obvious. “New neighbours.”

“Eh, if it sells. Could do better without these stuck-up prissy bitches running around measuring grass,” she growls of the Home Owners’ Association.

You nod. She’s right. You’ve had to deal with that nosy blonde too many times.

“We’ll see,” she mutters as she finally gets the can open and slurps. “Just hope it’s not another bitch.”

You cross your arms and step closer to the window. You sense movement just beyond your vision and the realtor in her pantsuit comes down the front steps of the neighbouring house. She turns back to face someone you can’t see and speaks to him. Their words are garbled by the barrier of window and wall.

The woman smiles and spins to strut down to the sidewalk. A man follows after, a slow stroll in his long legs. He turns to face the house again and puts his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the facade. His eyes narrow as he considers it.

His gray hair is streaked with remnants of its former blond. If it wasn’t for the colour of his locks, you might not have guessed his age. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. He’s built finely for any era.

Your mother leans forward again, “heh, lookie there,” she slurs.

She leers through the window as you stare blankly out. A new neighbour just means another person to complain about the lawn; or another person for your mother to complain about. The man pivots on his sole and pauses, his gaze set in your direction. You don’t think he can see you, not with how the sun reflects off the square panes. He stalls for just a moment before he turns complete, striding up towards the realtor.

You back up and retreat toward the kitchen. You mother hums as she continues to snoop through the window. The recliner squeaks beneath her as she shifts in the seat.

“Bit old for a family man,” she tuts.

#dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the girl next door #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america

[aelenavelaryon]

THE GREENS NIGHTMARE

IN WHICH AERA TARGARYEN IN THE KARMA OF TEAM GREEN

Daemon Targaryen x Aera Targaryen

Aera Targaryen was a woman to fear. She was Visenya and Maegor come again. When the war between Rhaenyra and Aegon began, the realm divided into two. The Blacks for Rhaenyra and the Greens for Aegon. Aera Targaryen was a distant relative yet she had been close to Rhaenyra growing up. Once, long ago Aera had been Daemon'a love and once the love of his life. Some would even argue that she was still the love of his life, even when the two were still married.

Aera Targaryen gave Daemon Targaryen four children in their first few years of marriage. Maegor, Baelon, Aemon, and Rhaegar Targaryen. Otto Hightower deemed them bastards because Aera was daughter of Saera Targaryen and Maegor Targaryen, son of Maegor and Rhaena Targaryen. Aera didn't want to return to King's Landing where she was not welcomed. Viserys always allowed Otto to fill his head with lies about her and what she was capable of. Daemon, whilst being married to Rhaenyra, which was a favor that Area had granted her.  Daemon did not see her as more than another family member. Daemon and Aera still had their own late night adventures when she would come visit, seeing as she spent most of her time in Pentos with her mother's family. 

But, from time to time she visited Rhaenyra and Daemon in Dragonstone. Daemon's sons were men grown. Some in their twenties. Not married but with bastard children of their own. Daemon and Aera shared three other children together who were born over the years. He had taken not only Aera as his wife but Rhaenyra too. Area who he had been married to since she was ten and five and he twenty and five. Daemon Targaryen loved his wife, despite what many believed. Aera much to anyone's dismay was a free spirit, bringing not only men into her bed but women too. Alexander Rivers was a bastard son she had with Harwin Strong alongside him, his twin, Alys Rivers who many believed was the daughter of Lyonel but everyone at court knew who were the parents. Alys Rivers would be a important peace for Rhaenyra during the dance.

The Hightowers thought them gone, thinking they would never step a foot in Westeros. But, as soon as Rhaenyra sent a raven to inform her cousin of the news, Aera flew on dragon back to support her girl. The news of Lucerys' death reached her before she made it to Dragonstone, and soon after, the news of Aegon's celebration for his death reached her as well and that was truly what started the fire. 

Instead of keeping route to Dragonstone like she promised, Aera flew to Old Town and set the Hightower's home ablaze for Lucerys's death and celebration of his death. She then, rode to King's Landing where the usurper thought he was coming to bend the knee. Otto nor his spies knew she knew, until from the skies she dropped the heads of every Hightower she killed, Gwayne Hightower being one of the dead. It was said that Alicent Hightower cried, screams were heard all over the Keep as the doweger queen wept over her dead family. They knew then that Aera Targaryen was the blood of the dragon. She was coming for Rhaenyra*s stolen throne. 

'she loves Rhaenyra. Did you truly think she was coming to bend the knew?' Alicent asked Aegon. Otto sat in silence saying nothing. Daeron Targaryen had return to King's Landing the same day he received the letter of his father's death. Daeron was smarter than anyone gave him credit for. He knew, Aera was the real threat, not Rhaenyra, not Daemon but Aera Targaryen was a wild dragon. He knew she was not scared to be known as a kinslayer, specially when it came to him and his siblings. But, he didn't know how far she was willing to go. 

Her arrival at Dragonstone was expected, her children had arrived the day before expecting to see their mother back with their father.  Aera Targaryen arrived and everyone gathered out to greet her. She was covered in blood, they thought she had been attack or something of that mattered. "Mother!" her eldest son ran to her. "I am fine" she told. "I did something bad" she began. Rhaenyra cared very little for what she had to say at that moment.  They retuned back inside the castle, everyone who sided with Rhaenyra was there, well, most of them. 

"I burned those Hightower's to the ground" she said loud enough for everyone to hear. The room went quiet right after that. The war had just begun. Which side will prevail?

#daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #Rhaenyra targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #house targaryen #team black #rhaenys targaryen #baela targaryen #corlys velaryon #rhaena targaryen #daemon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #harwin strong x reader #house of the dragon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #game of thrones x reader #alicent hightower x reader

[too-antigonish]

Morse and drinking in the 70s...

Long....because I can't write short. And obviously, a lot of you will already know this stuff...

Just want to take a moment to talk about alcohol and alcoholism in the context of the early 1970s and remind folks of how totally and completely different it is from how we see it today.

Drunk driving had not been outlawed in most countries. Not only that, it was widely regarding as funny—funny enough to be used as a regular “gag” in movies. Problem drinking was also seen as funny. There were regular cartoon strips about it. The “drunk” was a funny stock character in all sorts of plays and movies.

Alcohol was ubiquitous. We’re not just talking liquid lunches. We’re talking drinking at work, while you work—just as you see in Endeavour. Think about that for a second.

And politely saying no wasn’t something you did without social consequences. It wasn’t just seen as a personal preference. Unless you had a specific, acceptable reason, turning down a drink was often seen as stand-offish and judgmental or as a social snub. Teetotalism was regarded as rather naive and ridiculous—not something any man or woman of the world would embrace.

In the early 1970s, there was no widespread understanding of alcoholism as a disease. It was still seen very much as the consequence of personal weakness—still a matter of “If you cared enough or tried hard enough, you wouldn’t do this so it must be a character flaw.”

Plus, most people, “normal” people don’t have problems with alcohol, so if you do then there’s something abnormal and defective about you—most likely something you brought upon yourself.

And as a “personal weakness” and a “defect,” the shame around it was profound and the secrecy matched. If someone went away for treatment, it was very much akin to an unwed mother going off to have her baby and then returning without the child. You never spoke of it. You pretended that it had never happened.

If you were a kind person, you also didn’t go out of your way to parade babies in front of her or talk constantly about children when she was with you. But refer to it directly? Never. Ask for help? Never. It was always something to be hidden. Everyone did their best to forget that it had ever happened and saw this as the "kindest" thing to do.

When Morse returns from his “cure,” it would simply be assumed that everyone would pretend that nothing unusual has happened. Why he’s  just been off on a tour of the West Country and nothing else! Hope you had a lovely time! That sort of polite fiction was exactly what he would have expected upon his return. Anything more direct—at least in a public setting—would have been shocking to him and everyone else.

Where things break down, however, is in the more personal interactions. His relationship with Thursday is such that they can at least broach the topic of drinking. When they do, my impression is that Thursday is well-aware that Morse not “cured.” However, in the context of the time, saying this would be akin to saying, "You failed," because there was no disease model of alcholism in widespread use. You went to be cured and it worked or it didn't.

However, I'd also add that Thursday is almost to the breaking point with the cumulative strain he is under. He can’t cope with the “burden” of Morse being in a precarious state and he knows it. He feels desperately guilty about that—as well as about other things like Strange and Joan or about life having moved on so much while Morse was gone—and so he just shuts down. 

Shutting down is Thursday’s go-to strategy when he’s overwhelmed. We’ve seen him do it many times before. And part of that for him, is that he pretends that the people around him are ok—even if they are anything but ok. Not surprisingly, he does it the most with the people he has the closest emotional ties with—Win, Joan, Sam, and Morse.

So the only way that Thursday can cope is by having Morse be perfectly fine. Conveniently, his preferred coping strategy fits exactly with his society's expectations about how alcoholism works. If Morse is "cured," you don’t need to worry about sparing him the constant offers of alcohol in the same way that the young unwed mother might hope to be spared babies. You certainly wouldn’t embarrass him (especially after he’s been through the humiliation of rehab) by drawing attention in any way to a possible to the idea that he still has a problem. 

And finally, a last note on time context. The scene in the pub where Morse has that first drink after finding out that Joan is marrying Jim is utterly heartbreaking for so many reasons. One of those reasons, however, is that we know it’s the first drink—and that the first drink leads to the second, and so on and so forth. Then Morse says to Thursday, “They said the, the odd beer, the odd shot, does no harm…"Everything in moderation," they said,”  and we automatically assume he’s lying.

I’m fairly sure that those scenes were meant to be interpreted through our modern viewpoint. However, it’s worth noting that again, the model of alcoholism in the 1970s was nothing like what we have today. The idea that someone with a drinking problem/addictions needs to abstain entirely was not even close to universal at that point. It’s perfectly possible that the advice Morse is quoting is the advice he received!

#itv endeavour #endeavour morse #shaun evans #fred thursday #endeavour: prelude #thursday thursday #sort of #but mostly meta about alcohol in endeavour and the 70s

[missbluesunflowersstuff]

Gotham being a fuck up City once more

Gotham is a City with a lot of problems, Jason Todd knows it very well. And this is not about the pollution, corruption or the villains but the city itself is like that. The City is vile, dirty and knows how to make your old wounds bleed.

And sometimes Jason really hates Gotham because of this, the City plays with everyone and anyone. Oracle sent some messages to everyone, saying something about weird supernatural shit happens and everyone should be careful that night while Batman is working... Well Jason don't care.

Jason Todd is having a shit week and he is fucking tired! He just wants to go home and sleep - and maybe some beer and shower. Be the whatever shit is batman doing now it's definitely not his problem.

And Jason actually did it! He manages to avoid his siblings the whole way to the safe house. but before entering he sees a woman sitting against the door, his whole body freezes and he regrets not having paid attention to the warning because Jason knows that woman. And she definitely doesn't should be there.

"Jason" the woman got up and smiled at him, "look at you... You become so tall"

Jason's first instinct is run, but his body doesn't move, he barely can think

"look at your hands" Catharine keeps smiling and holds her son's hands, there's so much sweetie in her voice "I remember when you were a baby, your hands were so tiny, both of your hands fit in one of mine... look at you now... this time I'm the one who has to use two hands to hold one of yours"

Jason doesn't want to believe in it! She was dead! He knows it! She died years ago... But...but...

Catherine lets go of Jason's hand when she notices that her son is silent

"I understand, you must be angry with me... I'm sorry..." she starts to walk away, after all, what kind of mother was she?

That was enough for Jason to panic, whatever that was in front of him, he wasn't going to let it go that easily. He didn't understand why his parents always abandoned him, but whatever it was, he wanted to keep her there a little more

"I... I... I hurt people, mom..I hurt so many people" Jason doesn't know what makes him say that, at all the things he should say he chose. Why can't he do nothing right?

Catherine looks for her son again, She brings her hand to his face, wiping away the soft tears that have started to fall.

When did Jason start crying?

"You were trying to protect someone, weren't you? I know who you are Jason, you are my son, I raised you... you must have become such a smart man, do you still like books? I remember you loved going to the public library to read, it was a free trip so we walked there every weekend"

Jason hates it. Why Gotham keep tutoring him like that? Why Gotham keep doing this?

and the rest of the night the boy and his mom are just talking with each other in the same way they did before the drugs... She asked about the books he was reading at that time, his friends, if he had someone in his life...

They talked for hours but not enough... And then she disappears before the sun rises followed by the Oracle message "situation over control now, everything will be normal for now on"

And Jason starts sobbing on the floor again. He definitely hates how Gotham plays with everyone

#catherine todd #jason todd #dc comics #batfamily #dc comics fanfic #this come to me as a vision sorry if this is not good

[rebellore]

Yeah FUCK IT!

This woman has to be THE worst Mother in the franchise.

She had turned ravens pet into a bone rat right in front of her, She had locked raven in her room every time raven did smt good and had neglected Raven, now you could say she was just another victim of the system or wanted to prepare raven for her destiny like the other parents? But you know what stands out? SHE KNOWS! SHES AWARE! She knows That destiny means NOTHING! She knows that teaching- actually no torturing raven into being evil does fucking nothing she only did it for HER own fucked up delusion.

She had not only manipulated raven in dragon games for her own benefits but also Had hurt Raven’s loved ones, Then also saying herself “she’s going to be just like me because i gave her no choice” how does EAH tik tok see this and still think she’s a better mom than snow white? Yeah snow white isn’t that innocent either in Dragon games but she didn’t poison and hurt Apple’s loved ones!! And then the evil queen praising and saying how proud she is it’s immediately replaced with a “you’re more like me then you realize, like it or not you can’t change your destiny” KNOWING HOW THAT EFFECTS RAVEN!!!

Would also like to add how her Calling raven beautiful always makes me uncomfortable knowing the fact Raven looks identical to her.

Yeah the evil is iconic,interesting and well written but Pls be so fr on her parenting skills.

#ever after high #eah #ever after high books #raven queen #the evil queen ever after high #eah evil queen #saw a tik tok post and got so fucking mad #I SWEAR #SIJSJSJSNNS #raven deserves better

[bean-bean2000]

The Maid - Part 10

Pairing: Loki x reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, depression, mentions of suicide, despair, feeling trapped. Mentions of abuse and rape.

Please read at your own risk. Your own media consumption is not my responsibility. Please read and review the warnings before proceeding.

Thank you and enjoy!

Series masterlist Main Masterlist

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

You stand there, staring at each other until Loki breaks the silence.

"Why do you keep lying to me? What are you hiding from me?" he questions you, eyeing you up and down.

"I - I'm not hiding anything, I just -" you're cut-off by Loki slamming his hand against the reading desk next to him.

You shriek in fear and jump away.

"Damn it, woman! I will give you one last chance." staring into your eyes, you can see the anger swirling behind them.

You're breathing heavy, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Unable to form an answer, your eyes are frantically searching around the room for a way out.

"I've enchanted the room. You can't leave and nobody can come in." he says, stalking closer to you like a predator ready to pounce on his prey.

"Are you a witch? A spy? A traitor? A clever ploy, how could anyone suspect a mere maid of anything?" He's circling you now. Your hairs stand on the back of your neck.

"No, I'm not a witch." you choke out.

"Ah so a spy or a traitor then?" he hisses.

"No - I'm... not I swear to you." He closes the distance between you again, towering over you in rage.

Boldly, you look up at him "Having trouble finding a lie? Because there isn't one." you bite back.

A smirk pulls at his lips as he studies you.

"So, not a witch, nor a traitor nor a spy... then what could you be hiding from me, the king and why?" he questions aloud.

You swallow thickly and stare at the floor.

"I don't know" you whisper as you look up.

"You don't what you're hiding or why you're lying?" he retorts.

You let out a shaky sigh as you pull out a chair and sit down. Loki follows suit, sitting in front of you.

He looks at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

"No. I'm not a witch, or spy or traitor." you say to him, staring directly into his eyes. You see him searching for your lies but sits back when he can't find one.

"I don't know who I am. I'm nobody." your voice is shaking from containing your emotions.

"How do you mean? That is impossible" Loki replies dryly.

"And before you even think about it, there's no way out of this until I'm satisfied with your answer."

You pull at your fingers in your lap.

Nothing left to lose now anyway

"My parents found me one night while they were travelling between realms. They used to work as intermediaries for the royals between the realms, carrying to a fro items to be traded. My father told me that he found me between the nine realms."

Loki interrupts you "that is impossible."

"My father was told the same by the others when he returned with me, an infant, hungry, cold and crying. He went to every realm and searched for my parents but nobody claimed me. Soon, word spread of how I was found and the realms forbade my father from bringing me to any of them, out of fear that I was cursed. My parents always wanted a child but were never able to have so they considered me a blessing rather than a curse, and they adopted me.

"As I grew up, I was isolated, feared amongst everyone as I was an 'unknown'. I didn't belong anywhere. My parents home schooled me, until I was 18, since nobody would let me within a few feet from any of the villages. Then, my mother fell very ill. Healers refused to come to her aid in fear of crossing my path and being cursed as well. They warned my father that I was the reason for her illness and that she would never heal.'"

"A few years later, it was apparent that she was dying, quickly. My father could not bear it and turned to alcohol."

**flashback**

"Father, please stop! I can't do this alone!" you screamed at him desperately.

He stumbled across the room in rage in his drunken state.

"This would have never happened had I left you there to die. Everyone warned me but I could not believe that an infant could ever cause such suffering. Yet, here I am, watching my wife die as everybody watches and nobody helps. BECAUSE OF YOU!" his voice booms against the walls of your home.

"You're the reason we will both die. You were a curse disguised in an infants form. You will forever plague everyone and everything you touch." he spits at you. Chugging the last bit of the bottle he throws it across the room, shattering on the floor.

"I never wanted you. I should have left you but she insisted you were only an infant, innocent... bah, FOOLS! You were never my daughter and never will be. You have caused the demise of this home and will suffer the rest of your life because of it." he growled at you as he slapped you across your face, sending you spiralling over the kitchen table.

Your mind was buzzing from the hit, unable to focus, until you feel your body being lifted and thrown to the wet ground.

"GET OUT! Stay out with the animals where you belong. Never return." he screamed at you and hurled another object in your direction.

"I said GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" he yelled as you scrambled to your feet in fear and ran as far as you could for as long as possible before collapsing on the ground in the middle of a field. You sobbed until you could no longer produce tears or feel anything. You felt hollow. The worst loneliness you have ever felt. You truly had nobody.

The next morning you awoke on the floor. Willing yourself to get up and find food and water, you stumbled upon a crowd, murmurring to themselves.

"Have you heard they both died last night? He threw her out and they shortly died after. They were found next to each other on the bed. They should have listened to the warnings. She is a curse." a stranger said to another as they worked through their items on the selling kiosk.

You felt like you couldn't breathe. You turned around and felt your feet pounding against the earth, running in any direction away from them. Tears flowed down your face freely as you ran and ran.

When you stopped, you collapsed once more onto the ground.

You were thrown away like an animal. Left to your devices, in the wild, with nothing.

They were right. I am cursed.

**end of flashback**

You shook your head from the terrible memories that replayed in your mind but when you looked back into Loki's eyes you knew he had seen your flashback. He stared at you with such pity and understanding.

Embarrassed you stood up quickly from your seat. Blinking away the tears.

"To answer your question, again. I am nobody. As you said, I am simply a maid." you looked at him with your lips placed in a tight smile.

Before he could say anything you grabbed your supplies "I must finish cleaning, my king. I have fallen behind schedule." you say to him mechanically.

He watches you as you climb the stairs and resume your cleaning.

Tapping his fingers on the table he releases the enchantment and walks out.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding in and lean against a wall.

How much of that did he see, if anything at all? Why did he look at me like that? Now that he knows some of my truth, he will surely cast me out like everyone else has. He is no different. Nobody wants to deal with a cursed woman. Especially not a king.

You sigh heavily as you continue sweeping, keeping your mind busy with the task at hand.

At the end of the day you retire to your room and sit on the floor, back leaning on the bed.

"I can do this. Just like we practiced. Focus on pushing those feelings down, locked away. Make sure you feel nothing before waking." you say to yourself.

You close your eyes and begin imagining locking your heart, and all emotions with it in a box, sealed tight and tucked away in the deepest parts of your mind. Once you felt hollow, felt nothing, you opened your eyes.

You walk to to the bathroom and stare at your reflection.

"Good. It worked."

Your eyes are blank and dull and now shining bright blue. Nothing is seen behind them. You feel empty, and finally at peace.

You've dissociated.

You had found out you could do this, years ago to survive through the trauma. You don't know how or why, but never cared to look into it as it has kept you alive far longer than without it.

"Now, hold on to this as long as you can and just keep going." you say aloud, comforting yourself in the dire room.

You lay down on the bed and close your eyes.

With your emotions and memories locked away in the deepest parts of your mind, you fall asleep easily.

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#fanfic #marvel #angst #loki #loki x reader #loki of asgard #loki series #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #fluf #enemies to friends to lovers

[comrademonkee]

it's like imagine you are 6'2 from texas and your dad left when you were 3 and you've been raised by your single mother who is only 18 years older than you and you were a rotten kid and you just got married 2 years ago and you moved to LA to get famous as a serious musician and you land the biggest TV role of the decade and you get thrown in with 3 other guys you would otherwise have nothing to do with (except for a certain blond man from connecticut) and one of those guys is this little British dude who is a full 11 inches shorter than you and he's a Broadway star and a ladies man and exactly 3 years younger than you (you share a birthday) and his mum died when he was a teenager and hes providing for his old father and he doesn't care about the music in the way you do but you both have the common aim to get famous and recognised for your talents and get money to live the life you want to build for yourselves and your families and you form a bond through humour and ambition and you're always telling each other jokes and you let him live with you for a while when he's between houses and it's like he's the little brother you never had but there's also something else about him that everyone is drawn to and you can't help but be drawn to it too. and maybe you're a little confused and threatened by it but you keep your cool because ultimately you and him fulfill different roles and sure its embarrassing when you go out on the hotel balconies and the girls ignore you to scream the british guy's name to the point where it becomes an inside joke that you repeat for years and years afterwards that they are always screaming for him (and not you) but you admit you feel a little protective of him and affectionate towards him so you grow and come to terms with the fact that this is his group and you're just his backing act. and sometimes you can't stand each other and he threatens you physically when he thinks you step out of line with the blond man that you have conflicted feelings about (even more conflicted than the feelings you have about the British dude who is currently threatening to step on your balls) and he's passionate and he's sweet and he's really really really funny to the point where you can't breathe sometimes after talking to him and he's adamant about keeping the group together all he wants is to stay with you and the other 2 but it's not even been 2 years and you're already drifting away and testing out other things and thinking about leaving. And then the one you were the most like, the blond one who was the British one's best friend and you had conflicted feelings about and were an asshole to, leaves. He quits the group before you did and now you gotta keep these other two afloat because they're not musicians and you don't want to follow right behind the other guy and yeah okay you feel protective of the remaining two and its a little bit like the little guy clings to you but a year later you also quit. but it doesn't end there because you can never get away from the voice of the woman who loves you. Well just imagine that

[vodika-vibes]

The War Chest

A Magic and Knights AU

Summary: It’s been fifty years since the war between Mandalore and Serrano ended. A war that ended with an uneasy peace between the two nations…an uneasy peace that has since grown into something stronger. You are a daughter of one of the Noble Houses of Serrano, though only through marriage. You stand to inherit nothing from your step-family, unlike your mother. So, in an attempt to get your feet under you, you turn to treasure hunting.

Pairing: Pre Kix x F!Reader

Word Count: 5400

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @the-bad-batch-baroness

A/N: So, I know Kix already has a story in this AU, but I'm giving him another one that is unconnected from the last one. This one, I think, fits a little better with the rest of the stories. Also, there's a fun little twist at the end that I'm not sure about, honestly. Anyway, I started writing this at 8 am and it's now 2 pm, and I managed to write it without any breaks. Go me~

“Rumor has it,” You arch a single brow as the man you’re talking to, a pirate who you’ve had more than one run in with, “That Count Dooku’s War Chest has been discovered.”

You wave your hand as if brushing the rumor aside, “Everyone knows that Dooku’s War Chest was propaganda from Mandalore.” You counter with a roll of your eyes.

“That was the accepted fact. 50 years ago.” He leans into your space and you lean back to try and keep him from breathing in your face, “Come on, girlie. You’re not even remotely curious.”

“I’m far more interested in facts, Shen. Not fairy tales.”

“Bah! You’re no fun.”

“If you want someone willing to chase fairy tales, you should be talking to Lyna, not me.” You eye your drink, and then push it to the side.

“Lyna is an archeologist,” Shen counters bitterly, “She’s all, ‘this belongs in a museum’ and ‘we should return this to its rightful owner’. She’s even less fun than you!”

“Come on, you tell her about Dooku’s war chest, and she’ll be all over it,” You say as you lean back in your chair, “Can you give me anything more than fairy tales?”

“No.” He folds his arms, “You were more fun when you were running with the crew.”

“Yeah, yeah. So you’ve mentioned. If you’re not going to try and help, you can take off. Find some other patsy to do the research for you.”

Shen scowls at you, and then pushes to his feet and storms away. He hasn’t changed since you were kids, tragic but understandable. 

In any event, you’re not going to get any intel on your next score here. So you suppose that the archives is your next destination. Which is a shame, the archivists are always so annoying when you decide to visit. 

They’re all, “Oh, Lady Nalcin has come for a visit!” Which is annoying since, A, you’re not Lady Nalcin, that position belongs to your mother. And B, you don’t even carry that Nalcin last name, seeing as your father is still alive.

Mother just had to marry Serrano nobility, didn’t she.

You push away from the table and shove your hands into your pockets as you meander through the bar. You step through the open door, into the cool air of the autumn evening and you inhale deeply.

You love this time of year. Not too hot, not too cold, and none of the plants you’re allergic to are spewing pollen. If you could live someplace where it’s autumn year round, you’d be a happy woman.

Tragically, such places don’t exist.

You turn to the left, starting towards the inn you’re staying at for the time being, when you hear heavy footsteps behind you. You tense and half turn, your baton falling into your hand from where it’s stored in your sleeve. 

And then you turn properly.

The person running up to you looks like a college students, slightly younger than you, with wide eyes hidden behind thick glasses. She’s gasping for breath, and is barely able to say your name

But, garbled as it is, she does say your name. 

You slide your baton back up your sleeve, and take a good look at her. She’s well dressed, and she’s wearing a brooch that marks her as a daughter of one of the High Houses. She’s also nearly bent in two trying to catch her breath.

“...are you okay?” You ask, after watching her gasp for air for a moment.

“I-” She gasps out, “Not fit-” 

“...I can tell.”

The younger woman takes a deep breath and then straightens, “My name is Evie Wilsi, I’m the oldest daughter of House Wilsi. You are the daughter of Lord Nalcin, right?”

“Step-daughter.” You correct flatly.

“Yes. That.” She takes a step towards you, “You’re…something of an archeologist, right?”

“In a manner of speaking, sure.”

“I want to hire you!”

“...what?”

The girl flushes, “I…um…sorry. I would like to hire you, please.”

You stare at her and arch a single brow, waiting for her to continue.

“I want to hire you to find Dooku’s war-” You roll your eyes and turn your back on her to walk away, “W-wait!” She grabs your wrist and then scrambles so she’s standing in front of you, “I know that this sounds…insane-”

“Dooku’s War Chest doesn’t exist.” You say flatly, “It was a rumor. No more.”

“I have reason to believe that it does exist.”

You sigh and shake your head, “Look, Miss Wilsi, I don’t chase fairy tales. Period.” You tug your hand out of her loose grip and step around her to continue to the inn.

“2 million.”

You stop mid-step, and turn your head to stare at her, “I beg your pardon.”

Her hands are clenched into fists near her chin, “Two million credits. You’ll get two million credits just for taking the contract, and another two million when you find the war chest.”

You turn to face her fully, “And if the war chest doesn’t exist?”

“Then…then you’ll still get the second half of your payment. But only after you exhaust all avenues.”

“And you can afford this?” 

“Yes.”

Your eyes narrow at her, “Prove it.”

She nods and pulls out her comm, pulling up her banking information, before she turns the device towards you. You glance at the number on the screen and your brows raise, “Four million credits is almost your entire bank account, is this worth that much to you?”

“Yes.” She stows her comm again, “It’s…everything to me.”

You fold your arms, and shift your weight slightly as you examine her. Over the years, you’ve become very good at reading people. Part of it is your natural magic, an innate ability to read intentions off of people, most of it, however, is just experience. 

She’s being honest.

Not only does she believe that the War Chest is real, it really does mean everything to her.

You drop your arms, “Fine. But I want to be paid immediately.”

“Deal! Is there someplace we can…talk?”

You turn your back on her, and start walking away, and then you pause and glance over your shoulder, “Follow.” You don’t want to see if she’s following your instructions, you just start walking, your feet leading you to your favorite food cart.

“A…food cart?”

“Don’t knock it til you try it,” You reply as you order a caf and move to the side to wait until it’s done. Your maybe employer’s nose is scrunched up in distaste.

“Is this where you want to talk?”

“Surrounded by people? No.” You accept the cup of caf, and motion for her to keep following you. You lead her down several winding roads, and then make a sharp left into the biggest cemetery in the area.

You notice her hesitate at the gate, but you don’t slow down. If this means as much to her as she implies, as much as your magic is telling you it means to her, she’ll follow you anyway.

And you’re right.

Though she dithers at the gate for half a minute, eventually she hurries to catch up with you as you head into the older parts of the cemetery. As soon as you’re sure that there isn’t anyone around you can listen in on your conversation, no one alive at least, you perch yourself on the worn down stone wall and stare at the other woman.

“Alright. I’m all ears.”

“Here?” She asks, her voice hushed, “Isn’t it…disrespectful?”

You just tilt your head, “People don’t come to this part of the cemetery, which means no one can eavesdrop.”

“Right. Right.” Evie paces in front of you for a moment, and then she stops, “How much do you know of the Six Great Houses?”

“Assume I know nothing.”

“Right. Right! Okay. I can work with that.” Her hands curl into fists again, “There is a hierarchy to the six families, with House Dooku at the top of the pyramid, and House Wilsi at the bottom. House Nalcin is nearer to the top than the bottom.”

You lean back on the wall and take a sip of your caf, waiting for her to continue.

“This is why, 50 years ago, it was so easy for House Dooku to incite a war with Mandalore.” Evie continues.

“As I understand it,” You interrupt, “House Dooku was manipulated into it by what’s his face from Naboo.”

Evie looks genuinely pained, “You mean Court Wizard Palpatine?”

“That’s the bitch.”

She takes a deep breath, “You’re right. He was, and it was only after Count Dooku was killed that we were able to sue for peace-”

You sigh heavily, “Evie, what does this have to do with the price of chicken in Corellia?”

“...what?”

“Why does this matter?”

“Oh. Well, my family lost a lot of clout during the war…we sided with House Dooku. It seemed like a politically sound choice…so when the peace treaty was signed…we lost almost all of our status. We almost lost our noble name.”

“And?”

“And, finding Dooku’s war chest will do so much in helping us recover from this.”

“If it exists.”

“It does! It does. I’ve been researching this for years, my whole family has, and we have a solid lead.” Evie says as she steps closer to you, “It’s…here.” She digs into her purse and shoves a thin notebook at you, “All of the evidence is there, if you know where to look-”

You set your cup to the side and flip the notebook open, every page is filled with different handwriting. The notebook has clearly been in the works for years.

“Count Dooku had a safe house. He had many safe houses, in many different countries. But in the middle of the war, he vanished for three months. My family thinks he went to Hoth.”

You arch a brow, “Well, if that’s where he decided to hide his war chest, it explains why no one has found it.” 

“Yes! Exactly. According to records, Count Dooku’s safe house was up in the mountains of Hoth, which would be nearly impossible for anyone to traverse at the time-”

“It’s still impossible to traverse.” You point out, “The storms of Hoth never stop, and you need special gear and equipment to survive even the lower parts-”

“Yes, but you’ve done the impossible before.” Evie says, “I mean, you’re the one who found Palpatine’s palace in Mustafar-”

“You’re not wrong, I just hate that you mentioned it.” You mutter.

“Can you help?”

You stare at her, silently, for a moment, and then you sigh and nod. “Yeah, alright.”

“Really! Oh, this is-”

You hold up a finger, silencing her, “Several conditions. 1, I hold on to this for as long as it takes for me to read it cover to cover.”

“Deal!”

“2, you are coming with me. It’s the only way for your family to get all of the credit.”

“Of course. I’ll even pay for everything we need to survive-”

“3,” You interrupt again, “We can’t leave for 6 months.”

“...what! Why?”

“I’m not fool enough to try and climb a mountain in Hoth in the dead of winter. And good luck trying to find anyone who will.” You say flatly.

“...you raise a fair point. So we’ll head out in the spring.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Evie claps her hands together in excitement, “Oh! You won’t regret this! I promise.”

Your gaze drifts off of her, lingering on a dark thread connecting Evie with something else, a thread that only you can see with your magic, “Well,” You murmur, “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it.”

“Hm?” Evie tilts her head, “Oh! Right, payment.” She pulls her comm out and hurriedly, very hurriedly, sends you the two million credits that you’re owed for taking her contract.

You watch your bank account shoot up, and then promptly move the money from that account into your personal account, “I need your comm code,” You say once that’s done, “I’ll call you when we’re ready to leave.”

“I can’t wait!”

And then Evie is gone, hurrying out of the cemetery with none of the grace that you’d expect to see from a lady of her standing. 

You watch her leave, and then pick up your cup of caf and take a sip, while eyeing the notebook thoughtfully, “Well, it won’t be boring at least.”

7 Months Later

Hoth is a miserable place.

Frigid even in the dead of summer, with very few animals that won’t kill you as soon as they see you. 

True to her word, Evie did prepare everything that you might need for an expedition, and then some. You have a base camp, vehicles that are suited for the freezing weather, and cold weather gear that is light enough to move in, yet heavy enough to protect you from the biting wind.

There are also people. So many people. Aides and attendants, and bodyguards. Not to mention maids and chefs and butlers. You’re not impressed, at all.

“So, I was thinking we’d go up the mountain in the morning?” Evie says, her eyes alight with some emotion that you don’t want to think too hard about.

“Mm, bad idea.” You reply, as you eye a group of men that you know come from a Merc Group, “There’s a bad storm rolling in, we go out in it, we don’t come back.”

“Oh, really?” She glances at the monitor and makes a face at the massive storm rushing in, “I should tell the others to prepare for the storm.” Evie mumbles, before she gets to her feet and hurries out of the room.

You’re alone for a moment, before one of the mercs brushes past you. “You should know,” He murmurs, his voice low, “The moment you find this treasure, we have orders to remove you from the equation.”

“Hmm.”

“You saved my life that day on Taris, this is me returning the favor.”

“Noted.” He glances at you, and then continues walking. The exchange took less than 5 seconds. 

Luckily, you prepared for this exact scenario. 

It’s not like this is the first time a client has betrayed you, after all.

You remain in the monitoring room for a bit longer, watching the storm build and grow in strength, and then, when you’re sure it’s late enough, you meander to your “room”. 

You waste some time in your room, packing what few items you need to be able to survive in the storm, and then you cut out the lights, and you wait. 

One hour passes. And then two. 

And finally the lights dim in the hallway, and you know it’s time to go. 

You don the severe weather gear that you bought yourself, grab your bag, the notebook, and you slip out the window.

As you figure, you have about five hours before anyone notices that you’re missing, and by the time they notice you’re gone, the storm will have erased any and all evidence of where you might have gone. 

You walk quickly through the snow, wanting to get as far as you can before the storm hits. Though, you do take the time to veer towards a ravine just long enough to toss the notebook as well as a decoy pack down the ravine. With luck, anyone chasing you will think that you succumbed to the storm and nature.

The trick won’t work for long, but it will buy you a couple of hours, at the minimum. 

That done, and with a storm moving in, you veer towards the mountain range. According to some of the notes you decoded, Count Dooku had pathways dug through all of the mountain ranges. You just need to find an entrance.

Luckily for you, Dooku wasn’t half as clever as he thought he was, and you were able to find an entrance in less than two hours. Unluckily, the passageways aren’t heated or lit.

You dig around in your pocket for your lamp sphere and light it with a touch of magic, ordering it to circle your head as you walk through the empty tunnels. 

“Let’s see,” You say, aloud, to yourself, “If I was Dooku and needed to hide a war chest, where would I hide it?” You look around, peering down identical dark passages, and you sigh.

If you have to search every passage, you’ll be here for ages. There has to be an easier way.

You close your eyes for a moment, and focus your magic on your eyes, and then open them again.

Your natural magic isn’t the most useful for your chosen career path. You can see intentions, which is useful in foreign countries when it comes to bartering and when dealing with clients. 

It is an innate magic, you don’t have to focus on it at all.

However, if you focus your magic on your eyes, and if you’re lucky, sometimes you can see traces of people’s intentions. Memories, written on the world around them.

It’s a desperate act. Dooku has been dead for almost fifty years. The odds of any of his intentions having been strong enough to leave an echo so far into the future is…unlikely, but you have to try.

As you fear, there’s no hint of intention in any of the passages.

You’re about to power down your magic, when you catch a glimpse of something higher than where you are. You focus your gaze on the dim glow and you frown.

The intention is…strong, but faint at the same time.

You puzzle through what you’re seeing. Strong implies that someone is actively in the passages with you. But the faintness implies…slumber, perhaps. Maybe someone lives in these passages.

Well, it’s better than continuing blind.

So you mentally mark the location in your head, and you start heading that way.

It takes time, though, to find the right path that will take you to the right level. The passageways were designed as a labyrinth, and you wonder if the passages aren’t complete, or if Dooku was just that paranoid near the end of his life.

You’ve never heard one way or the other. 

But finally, after many dead ends, several looping paths, and one time when you thought you were going up but were actually going down, you reach a door.

You send a silent prayer to the patron god or treasure hunters, and then push the door open. 

It creaks loudly, and another hard push causes it to fall inwards. “Whoops.” You whisper as dirt and dust swells around you. You wave the dust away from your face, and then step into the room properly.

It’s…empty.

Well, okay. Not really empty.

There, sitting in the middle of the room, is a massive crystal formation.

It looks man-made, to your eyes. Crystals don’t generally grow in such a deliberate way, at least not in your experience.

You move closer to the crystal and circle it, your eyes narrowing thoughtfully. 

Now that you’re closer, it looks like there’s something inside it. You press your hand against the stone and try to peer through the cloudy material, but you might as well be trying to look through a solid wall. 

You rip your gloves off, and press your bare hands against the planes of the crystal. Slowly you feel around the edges of each plane you can reach. And then…there, near the bottom, on the opposite side of where you started, you find a single sigil carved into the crystal.

Now, sigils and runes are basic magic.

It is, quite literally, magic 101.

But you’ve never been interested in modern runes or sigils, preferring to focus more on the more ancient versions that you normally encounter while on your treasure hunts. 

That said, runes are runes, right?

They all get activated in the same way.

So you pull your hand back and summon a small amount of magic to your fingertips, and press your fingers against the sigil. “Please don’t be a bomb.”

For a moment, nothing happens, and then there’s a loud crack. And then another one. And a third. 

And you’re forced to dive out of the way as the crystal shatters, sending large shards crumbling to the ground.

Then you see what was in the middle of the crystal, and your heart sinks.

It’s a man. Maybe about the same age as you, or a bit older, with a strict military cut and a five o’clock shadow. He’s wearing mandalorian armor, with the symbol of the medical corps on his shoulders.

You hurry over to him and kneel next to his head as he releases a low groan. You push your hood off your head, and tug your scarf down and goggles up as his eyes flutter open.

He looks like-

Your lips turn down in thought. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” You ask, shoving your concerns to the side.

“Y-yes,” His voice is raspy and he blinks a couple of times, as if trying to clear his vision.

“What’s your name, soldier?” You ask, as you help him sit up.

“Kix…M’name is Kix.” He groans as you sit him up and he looks around the room, and then at you, “Your accent…you’re not Mandalorian.”

It’s not a question.

“Good ear,” You pull your bag off your back and dig through it, please let you have enough cold weather gear for him. “I’m Corellian, born and raised.” Kriff, you don’t. 

Kix looks around, sharpness sliding through his gaze as he shakes off the sleep, “This isn’t Corellia.”

“That is correct.” You reply, before cursing, “How good is that at keeping you warm?” You ask with a nod towards his armor, and the helmet laying half forgotten in the shards of crystal.

“Good enough.” He lets out a pained groan as he gets to his feet, “Why?”

“Well, because it’s a wee bit chilly outside, on account of us being in Hoth.” You reply dryly and you stand and grab his helmet. You make sure that there aren’t any crystals inside the helmet and you offer it to him.

“...Hoth?”

“The one and the same.”

“What is a Corellian doing here?” Kix asks suspiciously.

“Well, I was hired to find Dooku’s war chest.” You glance at the crystal shards, and then at Kix, “And I found it, apparently. I’m not generally in the business of saving people, but I suppose I’ll make an exception.”

“...what?”

You glance to the side when you hear, what sounds like, magic explosions, “Times up, I’m afraid.” You look around, and then find another door, “This way, hopefully this door stood the test of time better than that one.” You pull your scarf and hood back on, “Put your helmet on, it’s freezing.”

Kix pulls his helmet on, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “What’s going on? What’s with the explosions?”

You glance at him, before you focus on the door, “Oh. My former employers. The Wilsi family from Serrano. I was informed that they were going to kill me once I found the War Chest, so I decided to cancel the contract.”

“You keep mentioning this war chest, what is it?” Kix asks as he walks over to you and helps you open the door wide enough that the pair of you are able to leave the room. 

“Well, unless we find a vault full of riches, I think it’s you.”

Kix pauses, “What?”

You glance at him, “There’s no easy way to say this, but it’s been 50 years since the war between Serrano and Mandalore ended.” He freezes, and you quickly tug him out of the room and shut the door, “Listen to me, Kix, I know that this is a shock to you. I know that. But if we don’t start moving, we die here. Can you contain your totally understandable freak out until we’re somewhere safe?”

It’s kind of eerie, having that blank helmet staring at you, but slowly Kix nods, and you release a sigh of relief.

“Come on, this place is like a maze. Maybe we can use that to our advantage.” You turn to the left, and Kix falls into step behind you. 

All you have to do is find a way out, and make sure that neither you, nor Kix, die. And then, somehow, get him back to Mandalore.

No pressure.

“Can we take a break, please?” Kix asks as he helps her close another door, leaving the pair of them in a slightly warmer room, “I can’t hear the explosions anymore.”

She frowns, though it’s only noticeable because she pulled her scarf down a little bit ago. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve apparently been in stasis for fifty years-” And isn’t that a kicker, how is he supposed to deal with that? How can he deal with that? His brothers are all going to be in their 70s- “I just need a break, that’s all.”

She nods, and tugs her hood down, before she sits on a rock, stretching her legs out in front of her. Kix watches her for a moment, before he sits on another rock, “So…who are you, anyway?”

She blinks, and then laughs, “Sorry, I never actually introduced myself, did I?” She introduces herself with a slightly crooked smile, “My mother would have my head for such rudeness.”

“And what is it that you do?”

“I’m an archeologist. Technically. That’s what my degree says at least.” Her name, something long and complicated, does not suit her at all. So Kix makes a mental note to just call her runi, and then moves along.

“That sounds like you don’t actually do archeology, runi.”

“Eh, I go to old places and look for old things to sell to people who would rather stay safe than do things.” She waves her hand.

“Ah.”

“What?”

“You’re a tomb robber.”

“I am not!”

“Oh, so you have permission to take these items then.” Kix asks.

“I…well..not exactly. But I haven’t exactly been denied permission either-”

Kix smirks, “Tomb robber.”

“Yeah…well..what do you do?”

“I’m a medic. A perfectly respectable career that isn’t illegal.” Kix replies.

She huffs, but doesn’t respond, so Kix takes it as a win. 

“So, I assume you have a plan?” He asks, “To get us out of this mess.”

“I have a broad idea of what needs to happen, but as for the details…not so much.”

“...what?”

“Why plan? I mean, they never work out like they’re supposed to.” She shrugs, “But in the end, I do intend to get you back to Mandalore.

“And you’re going to do this without a plan?” Kix asks.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

He heaves out a sigh and then stands and pulls his helmet back on, “Maybe I should stick around with you. Stars know how you haven’t been killed yet.”

“Rude,” She scowls at him, but scrambles to her feet and pulls her cold weather gear on as well, “I-” She pauses and her head snaps to the side, “Motherkarking-...they’re planning on blowing up some of the tunnels. We need to go up and…over, I think.”

“Then let’s go. I’ll follow you.”

Kix watches as she leads him through the winding halls, pausing every now and then as though she’s following a path that only she can see. Having some kind of magic would make her survival a lot more understandable, all things considered.

He very nearly stumbles as a massive explosion makes the whole mountain shake, and Kix has to tackle runi through a door to keep them both from being crushed. 

Turns out to have been a good thing, as the room they ended up in had a single set of stairs that lead somewhere else. It’s good enough for Kix, as he hoists runi to her feet and ushers her to the stairs and up.

And up.

And up.

Finally she throws open a door at the top of the stairs and they find themselves in a workshop of some kind.

“This must be where Dooku did his magical studies,” She notes as she peers at some of the books lining the walls. 

“Wouldn’t there be a teleportation circle in here somewhere?” Kix asks, thinking back to the wizards tower back in Mandalore.

“Well, yeah. Probably. But I’m not wizard, I might be able to make it trigger it’s last destination, but-”

“This mountain is coming down, like it or not. Anywhere is better than here.”

“Ugh…fine! Help me find it.”

The pair search frantically around the room, before Kix lets out a shout of triumph. “Found it!” Runi hurries over to him and, with Kix’s help, clears the teleportation circle. 

“Um…let’s see, it looks like it’s set to teleport somewhere…west?” She says as she scans the runes.

“West is good enough.” Kix shoves her into the circle as the building trembles, “Can you activate it?”

“Can I activate it.” She scoffs, “Of course I can activate it, but I have no control over where we land.”

“Better there than here,” Kix points out logically, and she makes a face, but clearly doesn’t disagree.

The runes start to glow, faintly at first, and then brighter. 

Runi pulls her hands away from the seals, her eyes widening in panic, “Oh…oh bad…”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Um…” She turns panicked eyes on him, “The runes and sigils are reacting to the magic of the explosions…they…this is bad.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Kix asks, and runi opens her mouth to reply, but before she can say anything the teleportation circle activates.

It’s the most painful thing that Kix has ever felt in his life, and he’s almost grateful when he blacks out.

His last coherent thought is that he hopes runi is okay.

Kix wakes with a groan, this is beginning to become a habit for him. His everything is throbbing in pain, and it’s funny but his first thought was to question where his armor went.

“Easy there, vod. You’re okay.”

Kix squints at the man, one of his brothers, “-where?”

“You’re on the Resolute. We found you and the civvie passed out near a bombed out building. Seems like you threw yourself over her to save her.” Kix blinks a couple more times and finally he recognizes Vacc, one of the men he trained.

“...civvie?”

Vacc helps Kix sit up, and there’s a slightly jarring sensation when he realizes that he doesn’t recognize the medical bay. It’s…whiter and starker and has a lot less magical healing equipment than he’s used to. “Over there.” He motions to runi clad in some kind of medical attire, “She hasn’t said a word since she woke up.”

She’s curled up on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chin and her hands tangled in her hair. She lifts her gaze to meet his, and as soon as their gaze meets, her gaze darts to the portside window.

Kix follows her gaze, and his breath catches in his throat.

The Resolute was a sea-faring vessel. 

But, for whatever reason, the Resolute seems to be in space. 

No wonder she’s so freaked out. “Where…” Kix pauses to clear his throat, “Where are we going?”

“Coruscant.” Vacc claps his shoulder, “Get some rest, vod. We’ll be back at the barracks before we know it.”

And then his brother is gone, and Kix pins runi with a stare, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” She sounds miserable, “The explosion must have mixed with the magic of the teleportation…I don’t know, Kix.” She winces and clamps her hands over her ears.

“Okay, okay. Runi, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“How can you stand it?”

“Stand what?”

“The screaming.”

“What screaming, there’s no screaming-” She wraps her hands around his wrists as soon as he’s close enough, and then he hears it, high pitched and constant, as though someone, somewhere, is screaming in unending pain.

When she releases him the screaming stops, but she just tightens her hands over her ears.

“It…it’s going to be okay, runi. We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

Kix casts his gaze back to the window, just as a slightly mechanical voice echoes through the ship, “Preparing to jump into hyperspace in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…”And the galaxy outside the window fades into streaks of white and blue as Kix folds his hands around runi’s hands, trying to help her block out the screaming.

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #magic and knights au #clone medic kix x reader #kix x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic

[arikazu]

torment / Lee know

summary : Lee know seems to love you or it was all just a misunderstanding?

Warning : angst and hurt inspire by my life real events

There was a trail that she could follow.

She was an unwanted child; being the oldest in the family did not mean that everyone respected her or loved her. Her father saw her as a disgrace to the family.

She doesn't seem to remember how she got that scar but her cousin's brother must have given her that scar when she didn't obey his order and rebel against him. Her father didn't favour her and locked her inside the room for two days without food and water.

Have you noticed how y/n's parents treat her? They act like they love her and are her real parents, but something seems off. And guess what? y/n just found a scar on her body that appears to be from her blood. What could it mean?

It's heartbreaking to think that her life was nothing but an illusion, created by her own family. It must have been incredibly difficult to navigate through a world that wasn't truly hers, all while feeling a sense of anger and frustration towards those who were meant to love and support her.

Her sister Hitomi was a loved child.

Her mother would always tell her when she would tie her long black hair in a bun.

"y/n your father does not hate you he just wants you to be independent and responsible"

Did he?

Was she a disgrace to her parents?

She was 20 when she met minho.

Her life seemed to change that night.

She was sitting under the sakura tree. The cherry blossom smell seemed to linger against her nostrils.

The sweet smell of childhood and youngness only reminded him of the day he bumped into her.

She was talking loudly With her friend group when she shouted that OP Jindal was a good university and one of the slim-looking young lads who had dirty blonde hair seemed to be immature and a lot younger than her.

A weird stare at her.

She got a little pissed off at his glasses and she shouted in a little funny voice "What! Why are you staring at me!?" She threw her arms up in the air.

He smiled and said "It's not a good university" 

A little weird way to interact right?

First glares and first smiles were exchanged that day.

She would tell her feelings to him through her eyes and he would understand a thing.

The first thing he noticed about her was the y/n scar which was on her face. That day she looked like a 19-year-old woman and he was a 20-year-old man.

After a good debate of 5 minutes, they exchanged handshakes and names.

"y/n" 

" minho" 

To continue the conversation with her he would tell her about his ex-girlfriend.

"My ex-girlfriend shares the same class as yours Her name is Kimi we just broke up" 

y/n's eyes widened a little at his words because it was the first y/n a stranger was telling her about their breakup.

It's the personal thing about minho and Kimi which happened between them and it is something you won't tell a stranger.

It gave y/n a strange feeling that she could not express a sense of the knot of butterflies flying against her belly.

Even though that young man she met seemed to think about his words.

The way he took her to her library was a secret hideout spot for him only.

It was his safe ship.

It was a special day for her and a memory because he only took her to the library even though he talked with her friend too.

Noaya only took y/n with him.

To that safe ship.

"So what's your life like?"

She was sitting on the couch and he asked her a weird question indeed.

As he looked at her, it was clear that he wanted to know every single thing about her. His eyes seemed to be searching for any clue that would help him understand her better. 

However, as much as he was curious about her, it was also apparent that he was not the kind of person who would love her in a slow, steady way. minho knew that this was something that would haunt her for the rest of her life. 

It was as if her closed heart and coldness were slowly but surely consuming him, leaving him feeling burnt out and drained. 

Despite knowing this, she couldn't help but wonder if he would still stick around, or if he would eventually give up and walk away.

As days passed by the dry leaves of trees were coming back to life. He stocked around her more in her eyes he seemed to be an accomplice to her a friend she needed but to others, it looked like something else.

For her friends he liked her.

For Kimi 

y/n was the only girl he talked to her.

He would often ask her.

"Do you want to go library with me?" 

A secret code so he could steal her away from the crowd of some people who were familiar to her but to Noaya they were strangers as she spent more y/n with him her friends also became strangers to her.

Her friends told her that 

"minho seems to have developed a fondness for you. He always seems to be around you

and he doesn't interact with anyone else. It's as if you're the only one he's interested in. Some people have even noticed that he doesn't greet anyone else but you."

He would always ask her out indirectly.

And she would decline his offer.

# Having a fear of attachment can be an incredibly scary experience. It can feel even more terrifying than facing death itself, especially if you have spent a significant portion of your life feeling isolated and alone. 

When someone new enters your life, you may feel hesitant to open your heart to them. 

You might wonder what will happen if they hurt you, emotionally or physically.

 What if they abandon you just like others have in the past? The thought of being neglected or ignored by someone you've developed feelings for can be incredibly daunting. 

All of these fears can make it difficult to form meaningful connections with others, even when you want to.

And that's what happened.

All of her friends were slowly neglecting her.

And the person whom she found comfort in was slowly distancing himself from her.

She was sitting with him near the couch in these past few days have been hard for her and Kimi has been confronting her about y/n and minho's relationship.

minho was sitting all silent his eyebrows were furrowed and he looked serious.

y/n couldn't quite hear what he was saying, his voice was barely audible. 

But as she strained to listen, she realized that his world must have just shattered. "I am thinking of fixing things with Kimi," he finally uttered. y/n's heart sank as she tried to process what she had just heard.

 "As... a couple?" she asked tentatively, hoping that she had misunderstood. 

But his response confirmed her worst fears. "No, as a friend," he said. "She was my best friend once, and I should fix things with her before we go to university."

"I see yeah since Kimi was your person you should fix things with her" Utanime tried to smile hiding her sadness behind that fake smile that she had mastered in these past few years.

minho expressed his desire to keep in touch with certain individuals at the university, including Nissan and Kimi. He mentioned that he had noticed a lack of enthusiasm from the other students in his coaching class, and thus had only engaged with a select few. y/n listened to minho's concerns with a compassionate ear, nodding in acknowledgement of his situation.

"y/n I ALSO WANT TO BE WITH YOU ONCE WE GO TO UNIVERSITY " 

LIAR: a person who lies to you and makes you believe that after all, you were just a fool in the end.

He said he would be with her till the end.

After resolving the issues between himself and Kimi, he left her stranded and alone, much like how the rain leaves the barren earth waiting for a gentle drizzle to kiss it back to life. She was ignored and not given any attention, as if she was invisible. The worst part was that in the end, she was the one who was blamed for everything that went wrong, even though she had done nothing wrong.

"y/n why are you regretting it now? He liked you first but you were the only one who didn't even spare a glance at him" 

"He tried his best to approach you were the one who used to talk shit about him not only behind his back but to his face also" 

"Isn't it obvious he would choose Kimi over you since you were just the girl he met while Kimi was his best friend and ex-girlfriend"

"y/n you are the other woman" 

In the end, she lost the chance to at least love him.

She loved him because he made her feel loved.

Despite her belief that she was causing him emotional suffering, it was the other way around. He was the one who was tormenting her heart, leaving her in a state of confusion and pain. 

She struggled to understand how she could be so blind to his true feelings, and the realization that she had been mistaken all along only added to her distress. 

#stray kids #stray kids ff #straykids fanfic #skz #straykids x you #skz imagines #straykids fluff #straykids angst #skz stay #stray kids x reader #skz minho #mine #minho x reader #stray kids minho #lee know #changbin #han jisung #bang chan #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #stray kids lee know #lee know imagines #skz x reader #skz x y/n #skz x you

[empressofthesunwriter]

Change the Narrative

If people knew the truth, they would call her a selfish monster.

But Katara had sacrificed anything for the world, for an ungrateful husband!

This time she would always choose herself first!

Here is a little one-shot of my anger about what happened to Katara in canon.

I want to give her the end she deserves, so I hope you enjoy it!

Katara knew it was time for her to die.

She felt it in her old bones.

Alone she lay in her bed at the South Pole and watched how the snow was falling.

At least she would die seeing the beauty of her homeland.

It was a good death.

The old woman blinked tears away and tried to be positive about her nearing death.

She would see Sokka, her father, her mother and Gran-Gran again.

It was good.

She had lived a long happy life.

Something burning and unsettling spread through her chest as she thought this.

Was it a happy life?

How often did she and Aang argue over simple things?

How often did she beg him not to play favourites with Tenzin? Yes, their youngest was an airbender, but what about Bumi and Kya? They were his children too.

But no!

The Air Nomad legacy was more important than their two oldest children and their pain.

Once upon a time when she was a young girl and fantasized about the man and family one day she would have, she never would have guessed how she became the kind of mother, who didn't fight for her children.

Who didn't call out her husband for his wrongdoings?

However, she had so with Aang. Since she had met him, she always had mothered him, shielded him from things which didn't fit his narrative.

He was the Avatar, the only hope to end the war, with a track record of running away.

They couldn't lose him, so she had protected him the best she could.

And she did so to her children.

No wonder Bumi and Kya didn't even visit her and Tenzin didn't have much of a relationship with her.

Where did she go wrong in her life?

When did she become a shadow of herself in the name of love?

Why did she even choose Aang?

Was it because of Aunt Wu's prediction, she would marry a powerful bender or because she had a feeling Aang...deserved her?

He loved her and had ended the war.

Was it so bad to give him a chance?

Sadly after sacrificing her best years for him and being rewarded to die alone without her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren around her, it may have been the most stupid decision she ever made.

Spirits, was she a bad person to think that?

She loved her family, really she did, but deep down she had to admit...she wouldn't do it a second time.

Katara wouldn't sacrifice herself, her ideals, and her dreams for Aang's dream.

She had her whole life given and given and was now at the end of it rewarded with nothing.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, as she slowly closed her eyes.

Soon she would join her loved ones...

Just...

If she could...

If the spirits were so kind...

If dear Yue heard her...

She wanted a second chance.

She wanted to live a life for herself and herself alone.

Katara had given in this life all and more...was it so bad that she wished for a second chance to get it this time right?

Was she selfish?

Maybe.

Surely.

But anyone had a point in their life where they had to put themselves first.

Her only regret was that she did not realise it sooner.

Katara closed her eyes and felt the last beats of her heart.

Never noting how the moon was shining brightly down at her...

***

She felt pain in her head.

Katara hissed and touched her forehead.

Why did she get a headache?

Where was she?

She blinked to banish the shadows before her eyes.

Slowly she could see.

Ah yes.

She was outside General Iroh's tea shop in Ba Sing Se.

The waterbender had seen Aang walk out and wanted to join him.

It was high time that she gave Aang her answer about them being a couple.

She had been unsure a few days ago, but now with the war over...why shouldn't she give him a chance?

He was standing at the balustrade watching the setting sun, it was the perfect moment.

As the waterbender made her first step towards him, an avalanche of emotions and vision filled her whole being.

Katara gasped quietly, trying to make sense of this.

It was too fast and also too slow...however, she felt it in her bones...whatever she had planned kissing Aang and getting together with him...it would be the worst decision of her life!

No, she didn't want what she had seen.

How could she sell herself, her principals, and her honour for a guy?!

How could she be together with someone who would play favourites with their children?!

No, absolutely not!

Whether this was a vision from the future to save her from this faith Katara didn't know, but what she knew she wouldn't make the same mistakes twice!

So angry she walked up to Aang and tapped his shoulder.

The Avatar turned smiling towards her. He seemed so happy and hopeful and looked at her like she had hung the stars and the moon.

For a second she flatter, which only made the vision come forth again and made her anger tenfold.

Oh no!

Not with her!

"Aang.", she began. "I don't love you and I never will! Stop pestering me about us being a couple! If you don't accept my feelings I will waterwhip you do your next incarnation, do you understand me?!"

To say he was shocked was the understatement of the century. She could formally see the heartbreak in his eyes and how he tried to speak up, maybe to guilt trip her, however, she wasn't having anything of it.

"Nothing you will say and do will ever change my mind! So don't even try. I will go back with Sokka to the South Pole and rebuild my home. That's where I belong!"

Dramatically she turned around and entered the tea shop again.

The others tried their hardest to seem like they hadn't listened in, yet Katara saw through them.

She sends them all an annoyed look.

"What?!"

No one said anything for a few seconds before Toph snickered: "Oh sugar queen, I hoped you had it in you."

This makes Katara smile.

***

The next months of her life Katara rebuilt with her father and Sokka their home. 

The Nothern Watertribe had tried to turn the South into a second North, except Katara was having none of it.

As a war hero, master waterbender and daughter of the chief she used all her power to stop this chances.

She was a force of nature!

No one had a chance against her.

Her family was so proud of her and she was satisfied with herself.

Yes, this was where she belonged.

Helping people and not being the soulless, passionless arm candy of Aang!

Katara was happy.

A voice inside her told her how she deserved it.

***

A year later found Katara as ambassador for her people at the first peace summit.

She was happy seeing Zuko again, they had written to each other, yet seeing each other in person was much better.

He had become her best friend.

And her wall against Aang.

As Avatar he was at the peace summit too. Of course, he tried to talk with her. Tried to sway her, saying he missed her and wanted to be friends again.

She saw right through him. Aang still wanted her.

Thank the spirits for Zuko having her back and distracting Aang.

When they enjoyed together a cup of tea in General Iroh's tea shop she thanked him for his help.

Awkwardly he waved it away.

It was nothing.

He and Mai had broken up and the black-haired girl wasn't happy about it.

Even if she and Aang weren't exes, Zuko knew how frustrating it was to have a person follow you like a shadow and demand to be together again.

In comfort, she petted Zuko's hand and told him he did the right thing to end things with Mai.

If she couldn't accept a no was she a good girlfriend?

A little crooked smile formed on Zuko's lips, and her heart stopped for a second, as he thanked her for her words and friendships.

Then he asked her to join him in the search for his mother.

***

Being with Zuko on a life-changing field trip again was... exciting.

They still worked flawlessly together, like when they had hunted down the murder of her mother, but now they were friends.

It changed a lot of interactions.

They were playful with each other.

Zuko was the only one who ever laughed at her jokes.

They were there for each other.

In the long days when they hunted down one clue after another and Zuko seemed to lose hope, Katara reminded him to never give up.

They shared the workload.

It was amazing not mothering someone and having someone help her around camp.

They were getting closer to each other.

They shared things they never told anyone.

Zuko told her how he got his scar and Katara hugged him, wishing Aang had killed Ozai.

Wishing Ozai was before her and making him pay for hurting her best friend!

Sometimes they just stared at the stars, inventing constellations, their hands inching closer.

Something new was born between them.

Katara didn't know what it was, but she would enjoy it.

It made her feel good.

After weeks on the road, they finally found Ursa.

And also a society of hiding airbenders.

Katara couldn't help but laugh in utter glee.

***

Was it really that surprising that Katara and Zuko fell in love with each other after their journey?

When she kissed Zuko for the first time, it was like coming home. 

Warm, welcome, familair, intim.

It was the best sensation in the world.

Something inside her told her this was how it was supposed to be.

After two years of dating and being the ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe in the Fire Nation, they married.

All their friends and half of the world were invited.

Yes, even Aang.

Aang was so grateful to Katara and Zuko for having found his people and was busy with the air nomads to rebuild their society, and seemed to finally let go of Katara.

Now they really could be friends.

***

Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, master bender, war hero and Fire Lady became a living legend.

Not only the people in the Fire Nation adored her, but she used the power she wielded to make the whole world a better place.

She was the one who came up with the idea of Republic City, a place where all nations could live in harmony.

She revolutionized the art of healing with her bloodbending.

She installed fountains and aqueducts everywhere she could, so people had clean water.

Statues were built and universities, streets even neighbourhoods were named in her honour.

Katara taught new generations of waterbenders like her daughter Kya and people formally fought over to learn from the Fire Lady.

When their oldest daughter Izumi became Fire Lady, Katara and Zuko retired to Ember Island to live out their twilight years in peace.

They often had visits from their friends and families.

Their son Lu Ten, a nonbender, had married a waterbender named Mizuki and had with her five children.

So the proud grandparents helped their son and daughter-in-law raise the rascals.

It was fulfilling.

As Aang then died and was reborn as Korra from the Southern Water Tribe Katara and Zuko moved to the South to teach the new Avatar.

Korra loved Katara and Zuko like grandparents and loved hearing about their adventures.

After Korra goes to Republic City to learn airbending from one of Aang's sons he had with one of the hiding airbenders, the pair returns to Ember Island.

Zuko died a few months before her.

Katara followed him after the birth of their third great-grandchild.

Both died surrounded by their big and bustling family.

As Katara died, her oldest great-granddaughter, who was named after her held her hand, she couldn't help but feel happy.

She had lived a long and wonderful life.

Soon she would be together again with her beloved husband and her family.

And so the greatest and most beloved Fire Lady died in peace with no regrets in her heart, her story being told for thousands of years to come.

***

The Legend of Katara became a tale which young girls loved.

From a simple waterbender to a master, war hero and ruler over a nation, who changed the world only a few ever could.

It showed all girls, that they could do anything they wanted.

They could reach their goals and go even beyond.

This was Katara's legacy.

As it should have been.

If you liked this one-shot and want more Zutara, a badass OC, personal growth for Aang and the Gaang being amazing check out Yin and Yang! 

Click on my profile and leave a comment.

I hope you liked this little One-Shot!

Let’s now scream together in the comment section how Katara deserved better and if it’s not canon we will give it to her in fanon! :D

#katara #atla katara #avatar the last airbender #atla #zuko #atla zuko #prince zuko #atla zutara #zutara #zutarian #katara deserved better #zuko x katara #katara x zuko #zutara fanfiction #zutara fic #zutara forever #anti bryke #anti kataang #anti maiko #bryke critical

[quillkiller]

all im saying is ive never seen someone criticize those marylily or dorlily fanart/fics where they’re harrys mothers and theres no james in sight

#yall will force lily to be a mother bc of ’canon’ but yall dont care about james //responsibility// being a father ?? #yall are not the feminists you think you are #the absolute stupidest reason to be against jegulus fr #’how can you take harry from lily?’ ok and what about all the wlw lily ships where they raise harry ? #where are you THEN ??? asking how they can take harry from james ????? WHERE ARE YOU THEN #a woman will always be nothing but a mother #even before she even is one #*lia voice* ever since she’s been a daughter she’s been a prisoner #why is harry ONLY lilys goddamn responsibility #free lily from being a young mother fr.. #a dad is a babysitter and a mother has to lay down her life and freedom for the child #which is why yall dont actually care #you just want to be anti jegulus and loud about it #i dont even ship jegulus #ahfhsjsj #maybe reevaluate your stance on the heteronormative nuclear family dynamics and how they’re anti women #bc yall are just pushing the heteronormative agenda with this absolutely lacking take #ok anyway #interesting hill to die on from a girl who hates mlm ships having kids and doesnt ship jegulus #but thats a whole other thing #so!

[feluka]

Egypt 1919

#the third photo... even seen a woman so beautiful you cried #we NEED to bring those back i can't believe we let colonialism take away our beautiful clothing like that! #my mother (comes from a sa'idi village) said that while growing up women still dressed like that. and recently she went back to attend a #attend a funeral and she said she saw no tattoos no manadil nothing!!! it made me so sad because #i always assumed the reason i don't see traditional clothing around here is because i live in the city which is very modernized #but to hear that even in sa'id this is dwindling... no!!!

[schnuffel-danny]

see you soon, laika

#danny phantom #vlad plasmius #vlad masters #danny phantom fanart #I was gonna put a whole disclaimer in the post abt how this piece has nothing to do with the russian vlad hc #and how I would prefer if people didn't interpret it as such #but it would ruin the aesthetic so for those who read the tags: #to me Vlad's mother was a Czech woman who ran from the soviets to america #I wrote Laika's name in cyrillic because it felt more meaningful to me with that context #I was also inspired by soviet post cards and propaganda posters for this reason #it does have meaning but doesn't necessarily mean the character depicted is russian #thank you #this isn't hate or anything I just don't want to be misinterpreted #love and peace always <3

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

"i mess up things and then i don't have the energy to fix them up" yes brain true sentence but no brain the appropriate response is NOT "therefore i should kill myself (and here's how)"

#tw suicide #i wish i was joking #i am just so so tired of keeping myself alive! can't someone else do it for a change? or better yet kill me?? #said something to the emergency room psych #she queried it and i confirmed i had said precisely what i intended #she blinked and said 'i usually hear that from jaded forty year olds not twenty year olds' #i won't share what because it was a highly specific explanation of precisely how i might see myself suiciding or how/whether i thought i #could. she asked me and i answered. apparently she wasn't expecting that level of detail and confidence #is it funny to anyone else that i always struggle with confidence but i can confidently tell her specifics about suicide thoughts? #this is reminding me of the fifteen year old yesterday i was conversing with and he randomly started listing all the suicide methods he #could think of and i was internally like you missed a dozen i can think of. didn't say that obvs #i don't know i am. tired. of everything. and i had a long and good conversation with an older woman from church last night (mother of the #boy. i have confided in her before she's great) #she's hte only person irl who now knows about the second suicide attempt (tho she doesn't know it was the second) and she was encouraging m #to see the psych and escalate care #but all day ive been regretting telling the psych or bro or anyone honestly #it would be so much EASIER to have said nothing and gone through with my plan #i wouldn't trust myself not to rn if i had access #i mean. i know multiple ways in this room i could kill myself. but i won't #there's a couple of specific methods that are most of the thoughts usually so they're the specific ones i gotta watch out for more if that #makes sense #ooh gosh im rambling i should shut up xD #personal #puddleglum hours

[kyuala]

SOOOOOO hard to go through everyday life trying to ignore the never-ending feeling that im just irreparably fucked up and therefore should just give up on everything

#this aint exactly s******* but it aint exactly not s******* either #anyways it gets even harder when i have to live under the same roof as my brother who is so much better than me in every single conceivable #and imaginable way possible like #and i knowwww a LOT of it comes down to us having relatively similar yet wildly different lives despite being 1.5y apart and having the sam #family our entire lives like he has gone through NOTHING and i mean not a single societal issue ive had to face and endure my entire life #he's a man im a woman. he's white im black. he's straight im gay. he's skinny ive always been 'overweight'. he's always been the good #christian kid ive always had issues w faith and religion. he's never been mentally ill i was clinically depressed for nearly 8yrs of my lif #we both lost the same parent and im the only one who got pathological grief and a personality disorder out of it. he's had a great job for #the last 7yrs that now pays him 20k+ every month ive only had 3 odd jobs my entire life and 2 of those my MOTHER had to give me so i would #have SOMETHING and ive never made over 1.6k monthly n my last job was minimum wage only #he's had like 4 relationships and is nearly engaged im so traumatized + emotionally unavailable ive only ever been on 1 date my entire life #he has a good relationship w every family member we have i have Issues w like half the family. he's always been an active member of our #church i can barely listen to like 4 traditional hymns before i start losing my mind and spiraling. i think the only two ways we're pretty #much equal like socially is that we're both able bodied cis and christians but still the cis and christian thing is debatable for previousl #stated reasons so like. do yall see how much better he is doing than me in every little last area in life and how he's always gotten the #long straw when it comes to Not having to deal w certain obstacles in life. n i know its like yea idk what it actually is like to be him an #he could not be doing all that well first of all shut up. second of all if it was 1 or 2 things i'd get it but it's literally EVERYTHING #and i know bc of said things n our v different lives it's unfair to me to compare the two of us but then it begs the question: WHY #WHY did i have to go through these things. WHY do i have to deal w this. WHY did i get the short straw literally every goddamn time #WHY did i have to get THIS life like WHYYYYY why ME GOD. why have I had to put up w all this bullshit for 24 fucking years!!!!!!!!! im TIRE #and this is not me hating or resenting him i know it's not his fault and he is so good to me #but still. why was i left with these things? to live like this? #so yes i guess i do envy him a little bit. who wouldn't #mari.txt #personal #tw negative #dl #btw i do NOT mean some identities are better than others. i mean he is better and is doing better than me in life partially bc he's never #had to deal w certain social issues and obstacles that come w oppressed identities.