#ive been crying over my mother all morning | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

exitpursuedbyavulcan · 4 months

Text

What is Broken II (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity.

Author's Note: So, this did end up getting split in two. It just reached a natural stopping point and it made more sense to add a part IV instead of have an unnaturally long part II.

Taglist is done via reblogs

What is Broken

The next morning, she watched with red-rimmed eyes as the sun emerged over the horizon. As the brightness forced her to look away, she took a moment to thank whichever god had given her the foresight to send Aemond to sleep elsewhere. It had been another horrid night, and to explain it after all that had been said between them would have been far beyond miserable.

He would return soon, she was sure. With new honeyed words and gentle touches. With his beautiful pleading eye and perfect pouting mouth. With the softness of the elusive loving smile he reserved only for her.

Or did he? He had given Alys so many things she thought only they shared. Why wouldn’t he give the whore that smile as well?

The very thought had her stomach lurching again, but she raised herself to sit against the head of the bed and steeled herself against being sick. She took deep, controlled breaths, turned towards the eastern window to feel the fresh air coming off the bay, and set her mind free to wander.

Not entirely free, however. She did not let her thoughts go anywhere near her husband.

Instead, she thought of only nice things. The flowers that would soon bloom in the gardens with the coming of spring. The fresh fruits that would once more grace her table. Weather fine enough that she could ride through the Kingswood on her beloved steed, Litse, once more.

Eventually, the roiling faded, and she looked down to her stomach. “Kōdrȳsi rhinkpa jemo gaomua hae jālosa yno gaoman?” Is that as unpleasant for you as it is for me?

A soft thump near the top of her stomach felt very much like a noncommittal answer.

She laughed a little. “Iā jeme ñuha boteri raqāt daor?” Or do you enjoy making me suffer?

That question received no answer.

Just when she was about to say something more, she heard the door to her chambers creaking open and soft footsteps approaching. Of course, he would come to her so early; he had always slept so little. She clenched the sheets in her fists, preparing to face Aemond once more.

But it was not Aemond who walked through the door.

Instead of a single violet eye, she was met with a warm, brown, tear-filled pair that matched her own, and a helpless cry escaped her lips before desperate sobs overtook her. “Mama!”

Alicent ran to her side, taking her only remaining daughter in her arms and fighting back her tears. One hand rubbed soothing circles on her back while the other gently cupped her chin and lifted it so she could look into her daughter’s eyes. “Oh, my dearest girl…”

She buried her face in her mother’s rich auburn hair, savoring the comforting smell she’d known since infancy. There was no question that Alicent had been told about Aemond’s misdeeds – though whether he told her himself or she heard another way, she could not decide.

“I hate him,” she whispered weakly.

“No, you don’t,” Alicent countered immediately. She pulled away, took her hands, and softened her voice. “You are not capable of hating Aemond, my dear. Nor is he capable of hating you.”

“Then why did he do this to me?”

Alicent sighed, brow furrowing as she pondered her son’s actions. She did not have a good answer, for Aemond had always been the perfect son, save for the death of Lucerys Velaryon, and now, she supposed, this. It was behavior she had anticipated from Aegon, or had in the past. With her eldest son, she knew he acted out of his anger that he could not be the son his father wanted.

But with Aemond…

Aemond loved his wife. He was discontented with many things in his life – his position as the second son, his injury, and his father’s negligence – but never with her. His gaze had never strayed to any other woman, even before their engagement. Once they were betrothed, it was rare to find his gaze anywhere else but on her. He was so happy with her, always. What could have altered his devotion?

“I do not know,” Alicent finally answered. The words did little to soothe her weeping daughter. “Men… they can be wonderful when they truly love you. But even then, they have their weaknesses. Aemond was gone a very long time. Perhaps he was simply lonely?”

She shook her head and ripped her hands from her mother’s. “If he was lonely, he could have come back to me. He was supposed to return to me several times but never did.”

While Aemond was at Harrenhal, she, Aegon, and their grandsire had sent countless ravens asking for his return. Otto and Aegon asked so they could hear the news from the battlefield and try to adjust their plans accordingly. She asked because she missed and needed him. Badly.

He always sent some excuse. The battle was not yet over. Vhagar was too tired to fly. He did not want to leave his stronghold undefended when enemies lurked nearby. She had trusted each excuse like a fool.

“Did you know she’s carrying his child?” she asked, drawing the blankets further up her chest as if she could protect the life inside her from the horrible fact.

Alicent nodded. “I did. He told me.”

She frowned. At least Aemond had the decency to tell their mother himself. “What else did he tell you?”

“He was very upset, my dear.” She tried to suppress the kernel of joy that sparked at her mother’s words. “Not at you, of course, but at himself.”

“As he should be.”

“Yes, he should. But he loves you so much,” Alicent grimaced, setting a hand on her daughter’s belly. “And he loves your family so much. He is inconsolable at the thought that you may never forgive him.”

That kernel of joy went up in flames, and she looked at her mother with unfettered rage. “Why should I forgive him? He has betrayed me and has done nothing to regain my trust beyond his weak, selfish apologies.”

“Yes, but –”

“He lied to me again last night!” she cried. “He said it was only once. He looked me in the eye and lied! And he thought I would be stupid enough to believe him.”

Alicent sighed heavily as she looked away from her daughter. This wasn’t like Aemond – none of it was. Even after hearing his tearful explanation the night before, she was no closer to understanding it. Nor to finding a way to fix it.

“That was wrong of him,” she said at last. “All of it was – is. My dear, I do not know what to say or how to make it better. Your father, for all his faults, never strayed. I cannot begin to imagine the pain you are in. But – ”

“But what?” Her daughter glared at her with narrowed eyes, and her hand clenched into a fist by her side. “I cannot begin to imagine forgiving him, nor how I will ever look at him again without feeling this… this rage. Mother, I cannot be a wife to someone who hurt me so deeply, no matter his supposed remorse.”

She looked down at her stomach, then back to her mother. Though her eyes were red and wet, and her lip trembled, she wore a look of absolute determination. “I want to go. I don’t know where, but I don’t want to be here. I can’t bear to be with him.”

“Oh, my darling,” the queen pulled her daughter to her chest once more, not speaking again until she had calmed. “In any other circumstance, I would arrange for you to leave for Oldtown within the day. But it is not so simple.”

The princess stiffened in her mother’s arms.

“There are so few of us left, and we have already spent so much time apart. We cannot let ourselves become estranged.” Alicent bowed her forehead to rest against her daughter’s. “We cannot appear weak, especially not you and Aemond.”

She was frozen, but at that, she gathered enough strength to lift her eyes to look at her mother. “What do you mean, ‘especially’ not us?”

“There are no more heirs, darling, not of our line. But you,” her hand rested gently on her daughter’s cheek. “You are changing that. In mere weeks, your children – yours and Aemond’s – will become the new heirs to the throne.”

“They might not,” she argued weakly, her voice soft and breathless. “They may be daughters.”

Alicent smiled sadly, placing a hand gently at the top of the girl’s stomach. “This one has given you enough trouble that I would wager the Red Keep itself that he’s a boy.”

She put her hand over her mother’s as she tried and failed to smile. The Maester came to the same conclusion many weeks ago. Then, she had been thrilled at the possibility of giving Aemond an heir. Now, she wished desperately for daughters.

“Why do our heirs matter?” She asked. “Aegon will remarry and have his own soon enough.”

The question was met by a heavy, cloying silence.

“Mother?”

Alicent schooled her face into the careful neutrality that had served her so well as queen, though the tears shining in her dark eyes betrayed her heartbreak and grief. “I am afraid Aegon will not marry nor sire any more heirs. The Maesters… they predict he will leave us by the year’s end.”

Her heart stopped, then sank. “But that means Aemond…”

“Will be king soon,” Alicent confirmed. She again brushed her daughter’s hair behind her ears. “And you will be his queen.”

The implication hung over her like a black cloud: a queen could never leave her king.

Aemond knelt in the Royal Sept at the feet of the Father. He had not slept the night before, not after he told his mother what had happened and watched her cry harder than he had ever seen. He’d gone all the way back to his rooms – those he shared with his wife – before remembering the promise he had made.

He could not go back to her. To her arms. To his home.

So, he ended up in the Sept. He didn’t remember walking there, leaving the Holdfast and crossing the upper bailey. He just knew he’d been kneeling there long before the sun crested the horizon. He’d prayed and wept and begged the gods to either reveal to him a path to redemption or strike him down and spare him further torment.

The gods ignored him. He could not blame them for it.

His lamenting was halted by the sound of the carved stone doors opening, followed by a strangle rattling sound Aemond could not identify. He turned and saw his brother and king for the first time in months.

A servant stood behind Aegon to push the wheeled chair in which the kind sat with a blanket over his lap to conceal his crooked, atrophied legs, but was dismissed with a wave of a red, scarred hand. Aegon’s injuries after Rook’s Rest had been so horrific even Aemond struggled to look at him. The scars he now bore were hardly better. The king looked twisted, broken, and weak. It was a miracle little Jaehaera could look at her father without collapsing in terror.

As Aegon wheeled himself down the Sept aisle, Aemond steeled himself against the horrible expression on his brother’s face: empathy, disappointment, and rage.

In their youth, even Aegon had been protective of their youngest sister, to the point that he restrained himself from making too many lewd comments in her presence. And after years of Aemond calling him depraved, perverted, and whorish, he would, of course, delight in the irony that his little brother was just as weak as him.

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” Aegon drawled. His voice was as damaged as his body, weak and rasping. “But then I saw our mother. I always thought I was the only one that could make her look like that. So sad and weepy and disappointed.”

Aemond reminded himself that Aegon was finally the uncontested king and that throttling the life from him was now more than ever considered treason. “I hardly think you are qualified to pass judgment on me,” he growled.

“No,” Aegon smirked as he brought his chair to a stop at Aemond’s side. “But I think I am well qualified to gloat, don’t you?”

Suppressing his sneer, Aemond turned to face his brother. “Are you? How many unsuitable women have you bedded? How many bastards have you sired?” He scoffed, but his threadbare feeling of righteousness immediately gave under the lead weight of his desperation. “Why does my wife abhor me when I make this one mistake when Helaena never cared when you did the same over and over again?”

“Because Helaena never loved me, Aemond.” For the first time in their lives, Aegon was the calmer and more rational of the brothers. “She cared for me as a sister, but she never loved me as her husband. Not like our haedus loves you.”

“I love her, too.” Aemond’s face fell into utter regret and despair. “So much.”

“Yet you still broke her heart.”

Aemond turned back to the statue of the Father, bowing his head. “I did not mean to. I didn’t mean to hurt her – I would never intend to hurt her.”

“I know,” Aegon angled his chair and slumped slightly. “But you did. Over and over. I saw it. Not just with your adultery, but every time you did not come home when she asked. Whenever you took Vhagar into battle without warning her – and us. And each day you weren’t here when those babes put her through the seven hells with – ”

Aemond’s heart stopped, and his entire world with it.

“‘Babes?’”

Aegon’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t say that.”

The same blatant liar he’d been for years.

“You did,” Aemond insisted, his rage at himself now turning on his king, his mother, and everyone else who had kept this secret from him – other than his ābrazȳrītsos. He could still never be angry with her. “Why did you say that?”

After a moment of frustrated silence, Aegon finally answered. “Because the Maesters have determined that your wife is carrying twins. Something you would know if you had come home when we asked.”

“I was fighting your war,” Aemond growled, rising to his feet so his brother could no longer look down at him, “to defend your throne. It was not always possible for me to return.”

“You mean it was ‘never’ possible, right?” In that moment, Aegon truly seemed a king – mature and wise for the first time Aemond had ever seen. He almost resembled their father, as he had been on the few occasions they saw him sit the throne. “You never returned. Not for your duties, and not for your wife.”

“I…”

“If you’d come home immediately after you first fucked whoever-she-is, or any other time we summoned you, perhaps things would be better. But you didn’t, and now you must deal with the consequences of your own stupid mistakes. Again.”

Aemond flinched at the harsh words but could not deny their veracity. The death of Lucerys Velaryon had sparked a war that nearly tore House Targaryen and the realm apart. Now this… this could tear his marriage apart.

His family could be broken beyond repair before their child – their children – were ever born.

A scar-mottled hand grabbed his arm, pulling him away from his despair. “I apologize. I did not come here to make you feel worse than I am sure you already do.”

“Why did you come, then?” Aemond stared at the mangled hand that held him still. He could not bear to look in his brother’s eyes.

Aegon sighed. “I am sending you back to Harrenhal.”

“No.” Aemond ripped his arm away.

“Brother, the peace talks…”

“I said no.” He clenched his fists.

Aegon slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair, the sound echoing through the Sept. “I am your king, and I am giving you an order! You do not get to say ‘no.’”

Aemond froze, his rage roiling, desperate to spill over. But Aegon was his king, and other than his ābrazȳrītsos, his duty to the throne and his family was the thing most dear to him. So, he remained still and silent as he listened without protest.

“Cregan Stark and his army are due to arrive at Harrenhal in mere days,” Aegon explained. “I am in no condition to travel so far, and it would insult Stark and the others who were loyal to Rhaenyra to ask them to travel even further. So, as you are still Prince Regent, you will return to the Riverlands and act as my proxy in the negotiations.”

Absorbed by all that had happened since he’d arrived in King’s Landing, Aemond had entirely forgotten that particular duty. He’d known he had to attend before he left, but how could he go now? What would his wife think if he went back to Harrenhal – where Alys remained – so soon?

“You will take our sister with you.”

“I cannot,” the weak, whispered words escaped him without thought, “I cannot do that to her. You cannot do that to her.”

Somehow, the idea of bringing her with him to Harrenhal was worse than returning there himself. What would happen if she saw Alys? Spoke to her? She was already so hurt, and he did not want her to break entirely. He could not stand it. He would not allow it.

“Aegon, please,” he begged, dignity cast aside in favor of protecting his ābrazȳrītsos. “Do not make her go.”

The king straightened in his chair. “I wish I did not have to. She has already endured so much, and I have no desire to cause her more pain. But I have no other option.”

“Why? What could be more important than keeping her safe?”

Aegon’s face was drawn and filled with regret and grief. “Ensuring the realm sees you as a strong king when I am gone.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the Red Keep itself, and Aemond’s heart grew heavier still when he realized what his brother meant.

“You do not have much time left, do you?”

“Likely only a few months, according to the Maesters. But I’ll be gone by year’s end,” Aegon answered, trying and failing to summon a wry smile. “It’s almost not worth it to un-name you Prince Regent, when the crown will soon be yours once more.”

Silence fell once more.

Aemond wanted to argue. Against going to Harrenhal. Against bringing her with him. Against being king. For if he was king…

“She will be bound to me forever,” he said, not realizing he was saying it aloud, “in a way far stronger than just our shared blood or marriage. She will never be able to leave me.”

Aegon gripped the arm of his chair tighter. “Is that what you want?”

“I…” Yes. No. Aemond fumbled for his words, running a hand down his face as his thoughts raced through his mind like a thousand whirling dragons. “I want her to stay with me, but not at the cost of her happiness.”

Aegon considered the answer, the picture of a king passing judgment. At last, he nodded once. “Even if she decides she hates you, she will not leave. Her sense of duty is nearly as strong as yours, and she would never wish to raise the babes without their father.” He gestured to himself, then Aemond. “She knows well what becomes of children with no true father.”

There came a knock on the Sept door before Aemond could say anything more

Aegon sighed. “It is time for you to leave, I’m afraid. The wheelhouse is waiting.”

“What about – ”

Aegon waved a hand. “Mother went to your rooms this morning to explain the situation to her and help her prepare for the journey.”

“Can we not simply fly?” Aemond did not want for her to have to be stuck with him for the entire journey. The gods forbid that they should be made to share a tent or room at a roadside inn. Though doing so would delight him. He’d missed her so much that he would gladly take any moment he could with her, even when she was so angry with him.

Because she would be angry with him, and spending time with him would do nothing but make her miserable. Her happiness was more important than his. Always.

His brother scoffed as he began wheeling down the aisle toward the door. “Not in her condition.”

Of course. Aemond felt a fool for not realizing it himself. He’d flown Vhagar with Alys, but… she was not as far along as his wife, nor as delicate. A carriage it must be.

He should never have flown with Alys. Not for her sake or that of her child, but because flying atop Vhagar was something he did with his ābrazȳrītsos. It was something sacred they shared, and he had willfully desecrated it.

Gods, he had to get Alys out of his head. He could never become the husband his wife deserved when the witch still haunted his every thought.

Aegon stopped at the threshold of the Sept, again reaching out to grab Aemond’s arm. His eyes glinted with violent promise as he locked eyes with his brother. “If you do anything to hurt her again, intentional or not, I will exile you to Essos, and you will never see her again. I will declare you dead and marry her myself to ensure her children inherit the throne.”

“She deserves a better husband than you,” Aemond spat. It would break him never to see her or their children. But he knew he would deserve it.

The king smiled wickedly, still only a shadow of his former self. “She deserves better than the both of us, brother.”

Aemond bit back his retort and inclined his head to his king as he had at the coronation. “I swear on my life, I will never hurt her again.”

Aemond was waiting for her in the courtyard when she finally left the castle, well bundled in a thick, fur-lined cloak. The weather had turned, a final storm of the departing winter. Now, the sky reflected her mood – gray and somber.

At least the explosiveness of her anger had calmed, and she was relatively sure she wouldn’t strangle Aemond along the journey. But to go to Harrenhal with him, to be in the very place where he had betrayed her, to face the woman who carried her husband’s bastard …

She could be brave. She had to be brave. This was her duty, and her duty was sacred.

Aemond had taught her that.

She did not acknowledge him as she kissed her mother and brother farewell, nor as she walked to the steps set at the wheelhouse door.

But then he held out his hand to help her in.

Reluctantly, she took it. The brief touch was marginally more tolerable than the possibility of her stumbling and him having to catch her by the arm or, gods forbid, her waist. That would be far too much of a touch, and she was not sure she was ready for it – if she would ever be ready for it.

He stepped in just behind her, the two of them standing there for a moment, wondering where to sit. In the past, they’d always sat next to each other at the rear of the wheelhouse, with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist. But now, the thought of doing so again made her nauseous. So, she turned to the seat in the front.

“Wait,” Aemond grabbed her shoulder, then immediately released it when he saw her wince. He cleared his throat, then motioned to the opposite seat with his hand. “Please, sit here. I don’t want you getting sick riding backward.”

She looked from the seat to his wary smile. Surely he didn’t expect her to still sit with him, did he?

“I’ll sit on the other side,” he added after a prolonged moment of silence.

“Thank you,” she whispered with a nod of her head. But when she began walking to the rear seat, Aemond again stopped her.

“Before you sit, let me…” he trailed off, stepping to the front seat and gathering most of the pillows and cushions that lay atop it into his arms. Then, he deposited them on the other side. He spent several minutes arranging them until they were finally to his liking. “There.”

He reached out his hand again to help her sit. This time, she did not take it. She was more than capable of sitting down on her own, and she was well aware that Aemond knew that, too. He was merely trying to touch her again, and that, she would not allow.

Once she sat, Aemond began fussing again. “Please stop,” she sighed when he started crossing the wheelhouse to fetch even more pillows. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I do need to do this,” he insisted. She could have sworn his eye shone before he turned back to the pillows and blankets. “I want you to be comfortable. You deserve it.”

“A few pillows will not make me forgive you.” For a moment, as Aemond’s shoulders tightened, she almost regretted the words. She had spoken in haste and with cruelty. It was not something she was accustomed to. Somehow, his misdeeds were turning her into a mean and petty woman.

She was just about to apologize when Aemond spoke again, his voice more timid than it had been. “I know that, but I want to do it anyway. I want to show you how much I love you. Please.”

He looked at her pleadingly, desperately. It had been many years since he looked at her like that. When she was a girl, and she fell gravely ill, he stayed by her bedside against the instructions of the Maesters, holding her hand and begging her not to die. She had to look away from him to avoid falling into that memory.

“I am perfectly comfortable,” she said. “So you needn’t do anything more.”

With a sigh, Aemond threw the pillows in his arms carelessly on his seat, except for one – a small round cushion with the Targaryen three-headed dragon embroidered upon it. “Just this one more, please.”

She looked at it suspiciously, some instinct in the back of her mind telling her not to allow it. But his voice was so weak, so desperate. And if it could help her be more comfortable on the long journey, what harm would it do? She nodded. “Very well.”

Aemond beamed and crossed the wheelhouse. With the pillow in hand, he knelt in front of her and brought a hand to hover over her belly. Before he made contact, he looked up to her, a hopeful smile still on his lips.

But that smile was no longer reassuring to her. Instead, it brought on a wave of mistrust and fear. “What are you doing?”

Finally, he laid his hand on her. “I…” His cheeks flushed, and he suddenly could not meet her eye. “This is to cradle your belly while we ride so you are not rattled around so much.”

Her hand flew out and latched onto his wrist, her hold so hard the skin around her hand quickly grew red. She did not want to see him, so she narrowed her eyes until her coming tears blurred her vision. It took several tries for her to speak through her rapid breathing. “Did Alys teach you that, too?”

Aemond looked as if she had just driven a dagger through his heart. “She did, but –”

“I told you never to do that!” She ripped the pillow from his hands and threw it across the wheelhouse with all her strength.

He stayed kneeling, one hand braced on her seat. He had not flinched, only closed his eyes. “Wifey, if it makes you comfortable, if it helps you, then what does it matter how I learned it?”

“Because…” She furiously wiped her tears away, steadfastly looking away from him. “I don’t want you to think about her when you’re touching me.”

“I promise I am not thinking of her,” he insisted. “I could never think of her when I have with me.”

“No, only when I’m hundreds of miles away.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath, his hand never leaving her belly. “How long have you known?” Aemond rasped out. “That we are to have two babes?”

Her eyes widened in surprise at the words. How had he known? Who had told him? She did not look at him, did not want him to see the blush of shame that came over her. If either of them should be ashamed, it was him. What he did was far worse than keeping a secret, even one as important as this.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” she whispered. “But you did not come back when you were meant to – you were supposed to return and give Aegon a report on the war. You didn’t.”

Aemond bowed his head, hiding his cheeks – likely just as flushed as hers. He sniffed, as he often did when upset, and shook his head. “If I had known – ”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” she snapped back. “Your… she was already pregnant by then, wasn’t she?”

For a moment, Aemond looked up at her in pleading before dropping his head again. “Yes,” his voice was thin and utterly defeated, “she was.” He reached to adjust the pillow by her side but decided against it. Then, he returned to the seat across from her, looking at her once before bowing his head and pounding on the roof twice.

Reins snapped, and the wheelhouse lurched forward.

The first hours in the wheelhouse passed in silence. Aemond hardly moved, staring at his clasped hands. She thought she felt his eyes on her several times, but whenever she looked at him, he did not look back.

She watched the world pass her by through the windows. She’d never gone north of King’s Landing before, other than a few short flights on Vhagar with Aemond. Then, she was too high to see the little differences, mile by mile. The trees changed and became sparser, as did the shrubs and flowers. The air felt different, as did the ground beneath the wheelhouse, which became softer and less turbulent the farther they went. Even the smell of the air changed. The slight brine she was so used to faded, turning into something green and damp. It was not an unpleasant change.

What was unpleasant was trying to fall asleep within the mountain of pillows and cushions Aemond had made for her. Once, she would have loved the plushness and softness of it. But with the babes in her belly, she had come to prefer more firmness.

She would have moved the pillows herself had she been able to. But between the sheer mass of cushions and her current size, maneuvering enough to do so was impossible. Grand Maester Orwyle had said even two months away from the birth, she was already larger than most mothers just before it. Of course, most mothers only had one babe to carry, not two. So, she was left with only wiggling around as much as she could to try and find a better position.

She didn’t.

With a huff, she looked at Aemond, hoping to silently glare at him and curse him for the stuffed throne he’d made for her. But this time, when she looked at him, he was looking back.

He wore an expression of concern, like he’d been watching her struggle for some time. His eye was wide, and his lips pinched together. She knew that look, and found herself now hating it. It meant he wanted to help, to understand what was wrong.

“I cannot get comfortable,” she explained, not that he deserved an explanation.

A spark of hope entered Aemond’s eye. “Do you…” he licked his lips. “I can hold you, if you’d like.”

“No!” She felt a slight pang of guilt at the hurt painted on his face at her rejection. He did not deserve her guilt, she reminded herself. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Aemond grimaced as if he could sense the lie. He probably could, for how well he knew her. “Are you sure? I can… I can just hold you. It won’t mean anything, I promise.”

Yes, yes, yes, her body seemed to scream. She had always found comfort in his arms, always slept best with him pressed against her. And him holding her would mean he would have to discard many of the ridiculous pillows. If she accepted, she could likely be asleep in moments.

But her heart… her heart would break to be held by him. She wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about if he had held Alys in this same way. If the whore had slept with her head resting on Aemond’s shoulders. If she had kissed his neck as she fell asleep, just as she had loved to do.

She would never be able to stop thinking about Alys. Every time Aemond looked at her, touched her, spoke to her. Alys would be a ghost that would haunt her forever.

A memory of the first time Aemond had taken her to the Dragonpit came to her.

He’d told her she couldn’t come with him, but relented the moment she started crying and dragged her into the carriage with him, Aegon, and Rhaenyra’s eldest sons. Jacaerys was the only one who argued against her accompanying them. He stopped complaining after Aemond shot him a threatening glare and declared that she was braver and more capable than he would ever be. But when they arrived at the Dragonpit, and Sunfyre was led up from the dens, she’d cowered behind Aemond. The sweet little creature - perhaps the size of one of the king’s hounds - she had once watched flit around Aegon wherever he went had somehow quickly turned into a beast larger than anything she’d ever seen, baring sharp teeth the size of her dinner knives. Aegon kneeled in front of her and nudged her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t worry, haedus. He won’t hurt you, I promise.” She still screamed when Aegon stepped within reach of those fangs. And again, when Aemond pulled her from behind his back so she could not hide from the dragon. “Do not be afraid, haedus. Sunfyre is only a dragon, as are you. The blood of the dragon runs true in your veins,” he said as she buried her face in her chest. Something about the words seemed to make Jace angry, but she didn’t know why. “I can’t help it, lēkia,” she whined. “He’s scaring me.” Aemond huffed slightly, petting her head tenderly. “You are afraid because you know very little about dragons. What we do not know can be terrifying.” He turned her to face Sunfyre, who was now perfectly docile while being saddled by Aegon. She squirmed to escape his grasp. “If you watch and listen to the Dragonkeepers, you will learn. The more you learn, the less afraid you will be.”

“Why did you do it?” she asked suddenly.

“My love?” Aemond looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns. But when she held his stare, he whispered gently, “You don’t want to know. Not really.”

“I do,” she declared.Though his answer may shatter her heart completely, she had to know. His childhood voice echoed in her head. ‘The more you learn, the less afraid you will be.’

She swore she could see him remember the same memory she had. His eye darted around the wheelhouse anxiously. “It is not a good reason.”

“Unless she held you at sword point each time, there is not a reason I would call ‘good.’” She hoped it was something like that, that he hadn’t been given the choice to refuse her. It would make everything better, almost fine. But if it had been something like that, he would have already told her.

Aemond was silent for a long while. Long enough for the sun to reach its peak and begin its descent.

“I’d seen only one battle before I arrived at Harrenhal – Rook’s Rest,” he began. “In that battle, one dragon and rider were killed, and Aegon and Sunfyre were permanently wounded.”

“I know,” she whispered. She’d been there when Aemond had brought Aegon, broken, bloody, and burnt, back to the castle. She’d seen what happened to him. Aemond held her hair back as she was sick in the corridor outside the Grand Maester’s rooms.

Aemond nodded. “I was so afraid, ābrazȳrītsos, of what I would see when I truly went to war. And it was just as terrible as I’d feared. Even worse than what happened to Aegon, sometimes.” He waited to continue until she had unscrunched her eyes as she fought away another wave of nausea. “Every time I was scared, raqiarzītsos... And alone. She offered an escape. A chance to not think about the war, for at least a little while.”

“And to not think about me.”

He blanched, moving to stand, but thought better of it and sat back in his seat. “My love, I never wanted to stop thinking about you. I promise. I thought about you every moment of every day. You are what gave me the strength to ride to battle again and again – knowing that once it was all over, I’d be able to return to you.”

She glared at him. “So, you thought about me while you were fucking her?”

“Gods, no!” This time, he did rise, crossing the wheelhouse to fall at her feet. “I… I didn’t think about anything when I was with her. Not about you, or the war, or even her. It was the only way I could empty my mind of all the things that tormented me.”

“… I tormented you?” The idea that she could have done anything to make him want to forget her brought tears to her eyes.

“No. Never.” He tried to reach for her to cup her cheek, but she shrank away from him. “Don’t ever think that you could. What tormented me was that I was so far from you – that I could not be there for you. And the babes.”

He could have been, she knew. He should have been. “You had many opportunities to return. Why didn’t you?” Her voice caught in the back of her throat as a sob tried to escape. “Were you too ashamed of what you’d done?”

“I was and am ashamed,” he declared, and she believed him, “but that is not why I remained at Harrenhal. I knew that if I saw you again, I would never return to the battlefield. It was hard enough to leave you the first time. I could not endure it again.”

There was silence.

She leaned back towards him and allowed him to finally lay his hand across her cheek – an unconscious attempt to soften the blow of her next question. “Is it true that you spared her only because you lusted for her? That you took her to your bed in your first week at that awful place?”

Aemond sobbed, one horrible, wretched sob. His hand dropped, and he lowered his head into her lap, clutching at her dress like a child. The urge to comfort him tingled in her veins, to pet his hair and murmur soft words to him, to gently remove his eyepatch and assure him that all was well.

She did not move an inch.

At last, Aemond lifted his head. The bottom of his eyepatch was just askew enough to allow the tears from his ruined eye to escape. “I spared her because she claimed to be a witch – a seer. The claim was backed by several residents of the keep who had no reason to lie. She offered to lend me her aid in the war, to share her visions with me so I could be prepared when I led my men to battle. I agreed. I wanted to avoid the kind of slaughter I saw at Rook’s Rest. To prevent anyone from going through what happened to our brother. Then…

“I did lie with her in the first week,” he turned away as though he couldn’t say the words while facing her. “On the sixth day. We were to advance on Darry the next morning, to… it doesn’t matter why, just that it was the first time I would lead men to victory of their deaths. I asked Alys to share her vision of what would occur, and she did. She saw how fearful I was and told me that to win the battle, I must go into it without fear. I tried to calm myself, but I couldn’t.”

He swallowed thickly, still avoiding her gaze, and dropped his hand. “Then she offered her… further aid. I will not wound you by detailing what we did. But I will assure you that I did resist.” He licked his lips. “At least at first.”

A small comfort, she supposed.

“When I was with her, all my worries faded to nothing. I thought it was perhaps a spell she put on me, but it was not. My body just needed to find that satisfaction and release. I was hoping it was a spell. For that would mean I did not truly betray you.”

He faced her again. She did not know whether it comforted or saddened her to look into his wet, despairing eye. “But I did. And I continued to do so every time my fear threatened to overwhelm me. Which was, regrettably, often.

“I was weak,” he said with a mirthless laugh, “I was so weak. I should have been braver – better. I should have been the husband you deserve. I will spend every day of my life regretting it and trying to right what I have done wrong. I swear it.” He nodded as if to affirm the oath, yet it brought her no assurance. “I am so sorry, my love.”

He said nothing else.

She still had so many questions, wanted to know so much more. Her fears had barely been quelled. But it was something. And at the very least, the emotions Aemond’s story subjected her to had exhausted her. Enough that she knew she could close her eyes and be asleep within a heartbeat.

“Thank you. For telling me,” she whispered as she moved back in her seat, away from him. “I would like to rest now.”

Aemond bowed his head and retreated to his seat without asking again if he could hold her.

Her traitorous heart almost wished he had.

It was raining when she woke. The weather had apparently followed them north. She leaned closer to the window, wanting the wet air to cool her, but stopped when she noticed the wheelhouse wasn’t moving.

“Ser Marston and one of the porters are arranging rooms,” Aemond said softly. She did not reply, nor look at him. A glance out the window informed her that they were in some village she didn’t know, outside a relatively large building whose worn sign, cut in the shape of a stone wall, read simply ‘Inn.’

That question answered, she still didn’t look at Aemond. She knew he’d likely been watching her since they’d arrived… wherever they were. Perhaps longer. Judging by the dusk settling over the horizon, she’d been sleeping quite a while. And yet she hadn’t woken. She wondered if she should start sleeping during the day instead of at night.

“Mother said…” Aemond halted, likely waiting for her to look at him. She didn’t. “We will be sharing a room.”

She whipped her head around to face him, ignoring the slight dizziness that came with the motion. “No.”

Aemond sighed. “Raqiarzītsos, if the innkeeper notices we are apart, he may talk about it. Rumors will start.”

“Can’t we just pay him to remain silent? That’s what Mother did to prevent rumors from spreading about Aegon.”

“And yet rumors spread nevertheless,” his voice was soft and firm, like a parent explaining something to their child. The thought sickened her.

She wanted to say that those rumors spread because their mother could not pay off every woman Aegon had his way with – there had been too many to even know who they all were. But it had been their mother herself who told her that this would happen, that she would have to somehow stomach being in the same room as Aemond at night. That the consequences of not doing so would be worse than those that would come from him being there.

“You will not sleep in the bed,” she ordered, finally facing her husband, “you will sleep on whatever chair or couch is in the room or the floor if there is none.”

Aemond sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Very well.”

Curious, she’d expected more of a fight. For him to insist that a servant could see the half-empty bed and raise questions. For him to try and ply her into letting him into the bed with promises of holding her and keeping her warm. For him to try something. But he didn’t.

“Good.”

It was not a very nice room.

The paint was chipping off the walls, and the floorboards creaked. The bed linens were faded, the fur blankets patchy. The small table on one side leaned to one side, and an unshaped piece of wood held the couch by the fire level.

At least there was a couch, Aemond supposed. And as it was near the fire, he would not have to sleep in the cold to avoid depriving his wife of blankets.

She crossed the room to the bed, sitting on its edge and looking out the window again. After he’d agreed that he would not try and convince her to let him join her in the bed, she’d spent the rest of their time waiting in the carriage looking out one window, then crossing to the other side of the wheelhouse just before they were called to their room.

Even now, he could see her eyes flitting from one building to another, following the villagers as they milled about and fixating on the livestock that wandered the streets – cows, donkeys, sheep, even a small group of piglets.

He thought it was a distraction at first. But when she continued to watch the inconsequential town for far longer than he ever would, even in a new town, he realized it was something more. When she quirked her head slightly to the right and the ghost of a smile flitted over her lips, he knew what it was.

This was the first village she’d ever been in.

She was born in King’s Landing, and other than their trip to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral… she’d never left the city.

Something in Aemond’s heart cracked. He should have done something, taken her on adventures. He should have brought her on Vhagar and flown her wherever her heart desired.

But he hadn’t. He’d left her in King’s Landing, in the Red Keep. In a cage.

But now… her first trip away from the capital was one she didn’t want to be on. It wasn’t a happy occasion. And their destination was likely the place of her worst nightmares.

He should never have let Aegon order him to bring her to Harrenhal.

Aemond opened his mouth to apologize to her again but said nothing. She had already been forced to be stuck in a wheelhouse with him for most of the day. The kindest thing he could do would be to let her alone for as long as he could.

So, he went towards the door, turning back over his shoulder to look at her for a moment. She was still watching the village. It made him smile a bit. “I’m going to get supper. I’ll be back in a short while.”

She did not say anything back. She only lifted a hand to rest on the window.

She’d hardly noticed that Aemond had left. When he told her where he was going, she had just seen a small group of children playing in the muddy road. One of the little girls had spotted her watching from the window and shouted something to her friends. Soon, all the children were staring at her. She lifted a hand to the window to wave at them.

Then, she heard the door closing, and when she turned to look, Aemond was gone.

When she looked back to the children, they had already run off. Her hand drifted to her abdomen. “Nyke urnēbagon jemī tymāt umban daor.” I cannot wait to watch you play.

Before Aemond left for Harrenhal, he had taken her back to the nursery where they’d been raised. The furniture had been covered, as neither Jaehaera nor Rhaenyra’s son Aegon were inclined toward play. Not after what they went through. So, both had moved to their own rooms when they returned to the keep.

But the nursery would not be empty for long.

Aemond had pulled away the sheet covering the toy chest and knelt before it, examining each toy as though it were a priceless jewel. He told stories about them, recalling how they had played with them, and made guesses about which ones their child would prefer and what their choices would foretell about them.

He rediscovered the two wooden dragons they had once painted and named for themselves – Kēlītsos and Balerion. There were too many tales of those little dragons to retell them all, so he told only the one where they imagined the dragons had come alive and had flown them to the ruins of Old Valyria. Aemond would slay whatever beasts had wounded Balerion and killed their great-aunt, Aerea. Then, they would reclaim their ancestral homeland.

He’d kissed her belly then, calling the babe inside the “heir of Old Valyria.”

Now, they were the heir – heirs – to something else entirely.

To a broken family.

To a throne soaked in the blood of their kin.

To the sins of their father.

For a moment, she wished they could simply be like those children, playing without a care.

But they never would be.

They would still be children. They would still play and laugh. They would be mischievous and sneak sweets from the kitchens or stay awake long past the time they were sent to bed. They would still cry for their parents when they scraped a knee or had a nightmare.

But they would also be heirs. They would be taught by the finest scholars in the world how to bear the weight of their responsibilities. They would be trained by mighty warriors on how to defend themselves from the enemies they would have since birth. They would always know that their life was never wholly theirs.

Now, they would also always know that their father had betrayed their mother. She knew that no matter how hard she tried to prevent it, somehow, they would learn of Aemond’s mistress – the mother of their bastard half-sibling.

Part of her hated that child, the small thing that was not even fully formed and yet was the manifestation of all her pain.

Part of her, perhaps a larger part, pitied it.

After all, it was a bastard. The world had never been kind to bastards. After the role bastards had played in the war, she could not imagine it would grow any kinder.

What would the life of the bastard be like? Would it play the same games as her children? Would it have the same favorite toys, or foods, or colors?

While its trueborn siblings were learning to rule the realm and ride dragons, what would it do? Perhaps it would be a servant, like its mother, or become a laborer of some kind.

Would it know who its father was? Would it know the blood of the dragon ran through its veins? Would it ache for a bond with a dragon, as Aemond had? Would it spend its life feeling incomplete, yet never know why?

As she caught sight of the tears shining on her cheeks in her reflection off the window, she decided she did not hate the child. It was not at fault for the sins of its mother, or its father.

She said a brief prayer for it – for its health and happiness. Then one for her own children.

When Aemond came back through the door, carrying a tray laden with steaming food, she wiped her tears away and looked only once more out the window.

The children had gone home.

“Are you hungry, ābrazȳrītsos?” Aemond asked.

No, she wasn’t. But she knew she must eat regardless, for the sake of the babes. So, she crossed the room and sat at the small table.

She did not speak as Aemond served her the meal – fresh, steaming bread, warm stew, and a pot of tea. He did not try and get her to speak. He simply ate his food, watching her carefully.

He faded into the background as her thoughts continued to wander to that poor little child growing in Alys’ womb.

Would it have silver hair? Purple eyes? Or would it inherit its mother’s coloring, whatever it was?

She did not know what Alys looked like. She knew so little about the woman who had shared in Aemond’s sin.

Was she beautiful? Was she intelligent? Was she kind?

It was hard to imagine that she would be kind. That any woman who would lie with a married man would be kind. After all, she was called a witch. Was there such a thing as a kind witch?

Was there even such a thing as a witch?

Aemond said that he spared Alys because she could foretell the future. That the reason he’d first brought her into his bed was because she told him he needed to be calm for the battle ahead if he wished to prevail.

Prevail he did.

Were the visions real, then? Had Aemond only returned from that first battle, the second, the last, because of what Alys had told him?

If Alys were to thank for Aemond surviving the war, should she not be grateful for it? But how could she be grateful for something that had so thoroughly broken her heart?

How was she supposed to feel? How was she supposed to know what to feel? What to do?

“I want to meet her,” she said suddenly. Even her whisper sounded like an echoing shout after so long a silence.

Aemond stared at her. Fear and regret and anger in his gaze. His mouth hung open, and his skin had gone deathly pale.

“Alys,” she clarified. “I want to meet her.”

“My love, please. You don’t.” His voice quavered like a rose in a thunderstorm. “I don’t want you to, it won’t – ”

“I have questions for her. I will ask them.” Tears fell down Aemond’s cheeks, but he did not argue. It almost made her smile. “You may be there if you wish. But I will meet her.”

Aemond nodded. “If that is what you truly want.”

She felt no fear or hesitation. “It is.”

After she finished her meal, her exhaustion finally settled upon her. It had only been a day since Aemond returned to the Red Keep. Only a day since both the war and her world ended.

She just wanted to sleep. In that moment, it was all she wanted.

She had Aemond turn away as she undressed and donned her nightgown. He obeyed, staring into the fire and never once looking back until she was beneath the rough-spun blankets on the bed and gave him permission.

He only removed his leather doublet and his boots before settling onto the couch by the fire, its high back blocking them from each other’s view.

The fire crackled.

“Good night, ābrazȳrītsos,” Aemond said. “Sleep well. I love you.”

She did not reply.

She so badly wanted to sleep. But it seemed both her body and the babes in her belly wanted otherwise. No matter how she lay, she could not find comfort. No matter what she thought of, her mind would not calm.

At least she took comfort in that her restlessness was likely preventing Aemond from finding sleep as well.

When she heard his voice again, she stiffened, preparing herself to argue with him again. But Aemond did not speak.

He sang.

“Bantis ropatas Night has fallen

Yn zūgagon daor But do not fear

Sȳndror ilos daor There is no darkness

Kesrio syt drakarys vamiot ilzai. For dragonfire is near.”

It was a lullaby. One he had discovered in an Old Valyrian children’s book he found in the back of the Red Keep’s library. He had sung it to her when she was still in her crib so he could practice their ancestral language.

He stopped singing for some time when his voice settled, adjusting to the new, lower pitch. But when he began again, it was even more beautiful than before. Quiet and soft, but still beautiful.

“Yn ozelēnagon daor And shiver not

Vasīr vēzos hembistas Though the sun has gone

Drakarys kesīr ilzai Dragonfire is here

Aōhi dijaves rāelagon. To keep you warm.”

When was the last time he sang to her? Obviously not in the past six months, but when?

“Aōhi bartos mazilībās Lay down your head

Se aōhī laehossa lēdes And close your eyes

Drakarys avy mīsilza Dragonfire will protect you

Yn sepār kesan. And so too will I.”

Ah, her eyes welled with tears when she finally remembered. It had been the first night after they learned they were to have a babe, and Aemond had bedded her more passionately than he had since their wedding night and more gently than he had ever been.

He sang when they were spent, and she curled into him to sleep. Aemond brushed his fingers in light patterns over her belly and sang. But was that for her or the babe?

The last time he had sung for her and only her… she could not recall. It had been some ordinary day when she did not know she should hold onto that memory and keep it close. She did not know it was a memory she would need when Aemond went to war.

“Dōnī ēdrurī emilās, ñuha raqno Dream sweetly, my love

Bantio rȳ ēdrūs Sleep all through the night

Nyke aōma unna I will be with you

Vapār ōños arlī amāzīlza. Until again there is light.”

She wanted to be angry at him, accuse him of only singing now so he could worm his way back into her heart. But she knew that accusation would be false. After the way he fussed over her today, she knew he was truly worried for her health – and the health of the babes.

Besides, his voice and the familiarity of the song were now truly lulling her to sleep.

She was grateful for it.

“Skorī ñāqes kesīr ilos When morning is here

Se īlvon geron vamiot ilza And our journey is nigh

Īlon henkirī īlvī zaldrīzī kipili We will both mount our dragons

Sepār, sōvīlā.” Then, we will fly.”

Her last thought before her eyes slid closed was that she hoped he had not sung the lullaby – their lullaby – to Alys or her child.

Aemond woke to the sound of something crashing. He was immediately awake, throwing off his blanket and bolting to his feet. But he saw no one.

What he did see was an empty bed.

In an instant, his panic had risen to a peak it had reached only once before – the day he’d found out that his half-sister and her husband had taken King’s Landing, and in the aftermath, Aegon was missing and his ābrazȳrītsos was now in the hands of his enemies.

A horrible retching soon alerted him to his wife’s presence on the floor of the room, halfway between the bed and the washbasin against the far wall. But it did not quell his panic.

She was panting between harsh bouts of sickness, her arms trembling as they struggled to hold her up. Aemond moved immediately, kneeling beside her and sweeping her hair away from her face. His words of comfort and concern died instantly when he felt her lean against him.

She was so thin.

Her nightgown was soaked through with sweat, allowing him a clear and horrible view of every knob on her spine and curve of her ribs. The further she pressed into him, the more he could feel the sharp planes of her shoulder blades and the sickening lightness of her form. She was like some of the near-corpses he’d seen in the war – hardly more than skin stretched taut over mere bones.

He had not seen it before. She’d been bundled in robes and gowns and furs. And when she changed into her nightgown earlier this evening, she had not allowed him to look at her until she was buried beneath the blankets.

She knew.

She knew how frail she was. He knew and had not wanted him to know…

Had not wanted him to worry. Not while he was at war.

“Ābrazȳrītsos…”

She sobbed once before she was sick again. He said nothing else until he was relatively certain whatever illness had possessed her passed, and tried not to be too grateful that she didn’t push him away.

“Little darling, please,” he pulled her closer so he could rest against his chest. She did not resist. “What happened?”

She shook her head, reaching to wipe her mouth with the sleeve of her nightgown. Aemond stopped her, set her hand back on her lap, and used his own sleeve instead. She sighed as if the gesture somehow upset her, then slumped slightly. “Nothing happened. Nothing new, at least. This happens nearly every night.”

Every night. No wonder she was so thin.

“Still?” Aemond finally managed to ask in a rasping voice. She had been so sick in those early days – it was what had prompted them to take her to the Maesters, where they discovered she was with child. But it had gotten better in the days before he left for Harrenhal. She had said it was getting better.

She nodded, her eyes shut tight as she turned away from him. Was it from exhaustion or shame? “It…” she swallowed, and Aemond realized how dry her throat must be. He would fetch her something to drink as soon as she could stand. “It never stopped.”

“Oh ābrazȳrītsos…” his voice broke as the realization of how badly she had been suffering sank in. And all the while, he’d been sharing his bed with another woman.

If the Father truly cared for justice, he would have struck Aemond dead the moment he touched that witch.

Aemond held her close, panting with the effort it took to hold back his tears of shame. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She was silent for a long while. Then, “I’m tired, Aemond.”

“I know.”

A long pause. It took him longer than it should have to realize she was looking at him and longer still to recognize the plea in her eyes. She wanted his help. Or perhaps more accurately, needed his help.

So help her he did, eagerly. He sat her at one of the chairs by the table while he removed her soiled nightgown and dressed her in another. He brought the washbasin to her so he could help her wash her face, then brought her a pitcher of fresh water so she could rinse her mouth. He braided her hair once more and carried her back to bed,

Once he’d pulled the blankets back over her, he reached out to her. When she didn’t flinch away, he softly stroked her cheek. “Is there anything else I can get you, my love?”

She opened her eyes just slightly. “I’m cold.”

He turned on his heel to fetch his blanket from the couch. There was still warmth radiating from the hearth. He could move to the rug.

But when he’d settled that blanket on her as well, she opened her eyes wider and gazed up at him. “Aemond…”

If there was ever proof that the gods could be merciful, that was it.

Still, he had to be certain he wasn’t mistaken. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. Thank all the gods in the world, she nodded.

His veins buzzing with ecstatic joy, he walked to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside her. As he wrapped his arms around her, it almost didn’t matter that he could feel her frailness, that he knew she had only asked this because she truly was cold, or that his touch was tainted by his sins.

Aemond was sharing a bed with his wife. He was holding her. Her, and their children.

When her breathing finally settled, and she drifted off to sleep, Aemond closed his eyes, tucked his face into her hair, and prayed he dreamt of a world where he had slain Alys the moment he first saw her.

548 notes · View notes

smashboxgirl26 · 1 year

Text

i crumble completely when you cry

ph! katsuki bakugou x fem! reader summary: this wasn't the way it was supposed to happen, but sometimes mistakes yield the best results contains: proposal!! (for @/pityslash <33), kinda ooc soft bakugou but im blaming it on him getting a concussion, mentions of injury, lots of fluff hehe word count: 1.8k words masterlist

Katsuki awoke to a darkened room with white, tiled speckled ceiling cut into rectangles and an IV in his arm; you were sleeping in the plastic chair at his bedside, head leaning against the wall and your mouth slightly open. It was probably about two or three in the morning, judging by the dimmed light coming from the hospital hallway.

Fuck.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He shifted around slightly under the thin sheets, grunting as he tried to move his (apparently broken) right arm to fit in the pocket of his hero costume. A sigh of relief pushed past his lips when he felt the little velvet box still stashed away, thankfully left untouched.

And god– fuck did his head hurt… but this wasn’t how the night was supposed to go.

You were still dressed up — makeup and all, heels sitting next to you on the floor, the pretty black satin dress he watched you show off before you both left for dinner: now bunched up in your lap between your palms as you slept.

You were definitely going to complain about the crook in your neck when you woke up from the way your head was angled against the wall. You should’ve just gone home and slept properly in bed: but he knew arguing with you would’ve been fruitless — you’d refuse to leave his side like you always did.

Katsuki let out a small huff as he stared back up at the darkened ceiling.

This was supposed to be your anniversary. He had it all planned out: flowers, dinner, taking a walk through the park near the apartment to get ice cream, proposing in the little ramada he’d gotten Hanta and Eijirou to decorate with fairy lights and flowers. His mother’s old engagement ring was what he’d nervously tucked away into his suit pocket earlier that evening; she’d given it to him the first time you met her — as if she just knew the outcome of your relationship.

And yet, not even halfway through dinner he’d gotten a call about a villain spiraling out of control.

He knew his apology was lacking when he pushed himself up from the table, telling you he’d be back as fast as he possibly could; and he could tell how disappointed you were at the fact he was leaving despite how you playfully urged him to hurry before you ate all the dessert without him.

He’d slipped the ring in his costume pocket thinking he would make it back in time for your walk in the park — but that went out the window the second he was caught off guard and blasted through an apartment building.

You shifted slightly, against your spot on the wall. Katsuki almost thought it was because he was thinking too loud.

Your eyes opened after a moment or two, and blinked once or twice at him before realizing his eyes were also open.

“You’re awake?” you asked groggily, scrubbing your eyes before pulling yourself up from the chair. “Let me go get the nurse–”

“S’fine,” he stopped you before you could get out the door, lifting his head off the pillow because he knew you would come over and scold him for it.

Shit he felt dizzy.

“Don’t move right now,” you chastised him — immediately abandoning your mission to rush back to his side and help him lay his head back down on the pillow. “Is that comfortable?”

“Yea,” he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Don’ get the nurse yet… I don’ really want more fuckin’ needles in my arm right now.”

“...fine.” You pressed your lips together, concealing the lecture he knew you wanted to spew: him never being careful when he promised he would be being main point among those you wanted to address — yet you pulled the hard, plastic chair you were sitting in up to the bed and leaned against the mattress.

“...do you feel dizzy?”

“Yeah.”

“You got a concussion from your fall,” you turned your head to look towards the side, and he couldn’t see your expression anymore in the dimmed light from the lamp next to his bedside. “You also broke your arm from landing on it.”

“You saw?”

“It was on the news.”

You sounded on the verge of tears. He needed to apologize. He’d ruined your night.

“M’sorry,” he let his left hand drift over to where yours was laying on the bed next to him, his fingers catching between your own — grabbing you out of your dazed attention — “M’sorry I ruined our night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything Katsuki,” you shook your head, but he could hear the little edge of pain in your voice. “It’s not your fault… I was just worried.”

“I did, though,” he continued. “Tonight was s’posed to be just us walkin’ through the park n’ getting ice cream.”

“You had it all planned out huh?” You finally faced him again, tired eyes and a small, sad smile on your lips.

“F’course I did, would y’expect anythin’ less from me?”

“Of course not,” you humored him, bringing his knuckles up to your lips before planting a kiss over a small scab and pressing your cheek against it — staring faraway, somewhere his mind could never find yours.

“Why didn’t you go home?” he rubbed his thumb against yours. “Could’ve changed and been comfortable.”

You let out a small huff — “I couldn’t just leave you here. I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

“You didn’t have to worry about me, baby. Y’should’ve slept comfortably at home, come and seen me in the morning.”

You didn’t answer; instead, pressed another kiss against his knuckles before letting his hand come back down to the bed.

“If you saw what I did, you wouldn’t be saying that.” — was all you left it at — you tried to get up to get the nurse, but he didn’t let your hand go. “Katsuki–”

“Just let me be a lil’ longer,” he slurred, drowsily. “Come lay down with me.”

“Kats–”

“Please.”

“How could I–”

“Please.” He repeated, and you gave up to the pleading look in his eyes. “Can’t sleep properly without you there.”

He shifted himself over slightly, watching you hold your tongue once again with a little snort, before patting at the spot next to him. You climbed up slowly, carefully, trying to be as light as possible to not let the little hospital bed creak under both your weights — letting yourself melt next to him, your hand resting over his chest. You didn’t say anything, just nestled yourself into his shoulder with a yawn.

Something about the way you were positioned made it feel like you were hesitant to touch him — as he was as fragile as glass. Even with your fingers resting over his abdomen, he barely felt them there.

“What’s got your mind all worked up?” he asked after what felt like hours of silence.

“...nothing.”

“I know when yer overthinkin’ baby.”

You looked up to him, sad eyes and all. “I was really worried.” You sniffed, burrowing yourself back next to him. “I was just sitting in the restaurant finishing my food until I got a notification on my phone about the news — and I clicked it and saw the video of you being blasted through the building. There was so much debris, I almost thought–I don’t know what I thought… It felt like I couldn’t breathe or–or think… I just ran out of there as fast as I could so I could get to the hospital. And then, when you wake up, your first concern is that you ruined the night?” You huff, angrily and under your breath but you didn’t let him see it. “I can’t believe you sometimes…”

“M’sorry,” he repeated, this time drowsily— despite the disapproving click you let out in response, he wrapped his arm around you: rubbing small circles in your arm to soothe the tension you continued to let off. These situations were the only times you both switched roles; the only time he was the one who had to calm you down when usually it was the opposite.

“Stop saying that.”

“I am though,” he continued anyway. “For making you worry and cry when I should’ve been careful. I got a little reckless tryin’ to get back to you quickly. I just… didn’t wanna leave you stranded there.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” you almost scolded him. “I’m used to it, I understand what your job is like.”

“Told you though, I had it all planned out n’ shit — stupid bastard ruined it all…”

“It’s okay,” you pacified him. “It was just dinner, we can always go out another time.”

“It wasn’t just dinner though…” He stopped himself from continuing, but looking down at your furrowed brow knew that he’d have to give an explanation.

“We’ve talked about marriage before—” he started again after a moment of silence. A moment to catch his breath, to let his racing thoughts and heart subside slightly. “—about us staying together like this because we couldn’t really ever see ourselves with anyone else.”

You nodded.

“And I thought–I knew that we were both ready… So I was gonna propose.”

You didn’t say anything, and he didn’t dare look down at your face — not when he could feel the heat rushing up to his face like he was about to pass out.

“I uh, had this whole speech planned out n’ everything,” he stared at the ceiling once more. “Even had Ei n’ Hanta set up flowers and candles in the park near that cherry blossom tree we always picnic near.”

You still didn’t say anything.

“M’sorry for just bringing it up now, and spoiling the surprise ‘cause I could’ve just done it later…”

“...are you really apologizing for telling me that you were going to propose?” you spoke after a moment.

He could hear the slight crack in your voice, and he looked down to see that his suspicions were correct — you were crying.

“Don’ cry,” he tried to wipe them with fail because he could only use one arm. “You know I get sad when you cry.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I know that this isn’t where you probably expected to get proposed to, but everything I said is true — I wanna spend the rest of my life with you n’ get those little moments with you. N’ honestly, as long as we have that, I don’t think it matters where this shit happens.” He shifted around slightly, before you could stop him: sitting up to properly face you and pulling a little velvet box out from his pocket. “Marry me?”

“Of course I will,” you tried to wipe away your tears before falling into his embrace — pausing after he let out a hissing sound. “I’m calling the nurse for real now.”

3K notes · View notes

themultifandomgal · 2 months

Note

Hey I got a request for peaky blinders

So basically tommy is a single dad to a girl she is 2 years old and you got you was I’ll and tommy was in a meeting and you was bored she u walk. In and tommy yelled at you So you run off and started crying you find John and Arthur and told they what happened how u was I’ll and they find tommy to tell him he was a dick about yelling at you then he told u he was sorry

Hope that make sense x

Tommy Shelby- Just Want To Protect You

I hope this is what you wanted.

YN and Tommy haven’t been dating all that long, she knew he was a single dad and his daughter, Mary, came first no matter what. YN also knew that he was a dangerous man, but she didn’t care. To her Tommy was a caring man who loved his family (even if he didn’t show it), all he wanted to do was keep YN and his daughter safe.

Unfortunately Mary had been ill with a cold the last week so while Tommy was in meetings YN would take on the roll of looking after her, however today YN woke up feeling rough. She has a headache, stuffy nose and scratchy throat, but still being a mother figure to the young girl YN takes on the task of looking after her and and house while Tommy is in his office working.

“I want daddy”

“I know” YN replies bouncing the crying girl in her arms “but daddy is busy. Why don’t you take a nap. You might feel better and when you wake up, daddy might be finished”

“Ok” Mary sniffles snuggling into YN’s neck. YN takes Mary to her bedroom and puts her down. She stays with Mary until she’s asleep. Feeling rough herself she decides to go and have a nap herself, however due to her blocked nose and now cough, YN gives up after half an hour.

Making her way down stairs she decides to make herself and Tommy a cup of tea. Feeling bored YN knocks on Tommys office door before walking in

“Hi love, I made you a drink” YN says walking in placing the tea on his desk, Tommy just grunts in response “Mary is asleep, still has this awful cold. I said maybe once she wakes up you’d be finished with work”

“And why would you tell her that?” Tommy looks up to YN

“I just thought that you could have a break, you can sit in your chair and work all the time. Mary misses you”

“I can’t just stop working because Mary wants me to”

“I’m not saying that. You’ve been in here since 6 this morning. It’s now 1 and you’ve not had a break or anything to eat”

“I can’t”

“Fine. Guess I’ll be looking after your sick child all day again”

“I didn’t ask you to”

“Then who will? Your to busy with you fucking businesses to even notice that she’s been crying for you this morning”

“Don’t you swear at me!” Tommy yells standing up “Mary isn’t even your daughter so if she’s so much of a bother why don’t you just go!” Feeling taken back YN takes in what Tommy just said

“Fine” YN replies keeping her tears back.

Asking one of the maids to keep an eye on Mary, YN leaves the house and makes her way to the Garrison where she sees Arthur and John

“YN” John waves his brothers girlfriend over

“Hi” she sadly says

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s our brother done this time?” Arthur sighs

“It’s just that, I don’t feel well but ive been taking care of his daughter who’s also ill. When I told him to have a break from work he just blew up”

“Our brother is an idiot YN, I’ll speak with him” John replies

“No don’t. He will know I’ve spoken to you and he will probably have a fit. I’m gonna get a drink”

That evening YN sits her home with a book in her hands, when there is a knock at her door. Putting her book down she heads over feeling confused to who could be at her front door. Opening it up there is Tommy holding flowers in his hands

“I’m a dick I know. I’m sorry”

“You better come in” YN opens up her door wider so Tommy could enter “where’s Mary?”

“At home. Ada has her. I know I shouldn’t have shouted at you, your ill and been looking after my daughter. You didn’t have to but you did. I just get so scared when it comes to you and Mary. I just want to keep you safe and we have a problem with the business. I didn’t want you involved, I didn’t want to worry you”

“Tom, I’m your girlfriend. If we want this to work you can’t shut me out”

“I know I know. Arthur and John knocked some sense into me. Let me make it up to you. Let me cook supper for you. Treat you like a queen”

“I’d like that” YN smiles.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby

273 notes · View notes

bubbles-for-all-of-us · 10 months

Note

Hello! I loved "A Second Chance" and would like to give you some ideas for a third part:

- Helion attending the birth of his daughter

-Lucien spoiling his little sister

-IC's reaction to seeing Lucien with his little sister

-Helion taking care of his daughter

-Helion's daughter calls Lucien a funny name like Lu or Luci or another funny name

I hope at least one of my ideas inspires you and thank you for writing such beautiful stories.

I'm down to write all of these so if any of them tickle your fancy let me know. Also, we need to come up with a name for the little lady if we will keep this world going. 😌

warning: hard birth, pain, blood.

Second chance III (part IV)

You were nearing your due date and it was starting to show. You were extremely uncomfortable. No matter what you did - stood, sat, laid - it was all uncomfortable so you were constantly turning and moving. And that only made you more tired.

Lucien had taken over most of Helion's work. He had offered one evening when he found you crying in the kitchen quietly because you were missing your husband who had once again been held up in a meeting. Stress wasn't good at this stage of pregnancy and so Lucien was determined to take all the negative triggers away.

So the two of them had mastered the art of taking care of you. There was no one they trusted more than one another when it came to you. So if not Helion, then Lucien was with you and visa-versa.

You had woken up extremely uneasy this morning. You couldn't put a finger as to what felt off but it was unsettling. You brushed it off to the fact that Helion wasn't in bed. That man barely slept lately. You had scolded him about it but even if he agreed you knew that not much was going to change. Rubbing your hands over your now big bump you made your way downstairs. Multiple servants greeted you but you brushed them off. The last thing you needed was to feel cornered by them now.

Lucien was sitting in the living room. A cup in his hand as he read some document. You let out a sigh of discomfort as you wobbled down the stairs. Hating the change of gravity in your body. Within a blink of an eye, Lucian was out of his chair, walking your way.

"How are we feeling this morning?", he had given up on trying to convince you to take it easy by now. "Like there's a head between my legs", Lucien's eyes widened as he looked at you and you couldn't help but chuckle slightly, "There's no head there... yet. Just feeling tight all over". The relief washed over Lucien as he walked you closer to the sofa but you stopped midway.

"Come on a walk with me. I need to move my body", you held onto his hand but you can see the disapproval on his face. "Let me at least warm up your back for a bit, it'll soothe the ache", oh that you could have moaned in delight at. Lucien's fire fingers had been a true blessing. Your back had given up on you mid-pregnancy. You couldn't move because it was too much strain for your body but not moving was not healthy too. So Lucien had turned into your massage expert, his warm fingers digging into the sore muscles in your hack. Oh, that fanthom heat lingering even with him not being present.

"After the walk. I just feel disgusting", you muttered, you moved one of your hands beneath your bump to give it that extra support. Lucien nodded, wrapping a supportive arm around your lower back and taking your hand with his free one. You flashed him a smile as you felt the warmth from him seeping into your body.

You two had grown closer through the months. You already saw him as your son and the fact that he had turned to you multiple times when he needed help with dates and things regarding Elain made your heart fluster. He had called you mother once. It was the heat of the moment because he had found you nearly climbing the linen closet for a baby blanket. But there was such pure concern there. You had cupped his face softly after, promising him that you weren't mad and that in his own time, he was more than welcome to call you his mom.

The gardens were in full bloom. Helion was constantly saying that his daughter was going to be the most beautiful little flower girl if she chose to enter the world in the mid-bloom season. That itself made you lean more towards the names that associated with different flowers. It felt fitting. But you two hadn't fully decided. Wanted to see her first before granting her a name she would have to carry for the rest of her life.

The fresh air instantly made you feel better. The warm sun helped too, even if it didn't stand a chance against Lucien's warmth. His steps were slow as he walked with you. The tightness in your stomach made you still as you huffed slightly. Lucien instantly held onto you firmer. "I'm fine just... your sister is scheming something", you rubbed at the painfully tight skin, waiting for the muscles to ease. "I pray she won't be as stubborn as Eris at least", Lucien muttered making you smile. The oldest Vanserra had become rather frequent visitor as well. Sure the family line there was thin but he was happy for Lucien and well also just as desperate for a girl to enter that bloodline. Now you had two rather abandoned foxes roaming your house.

"As if you aren't stubborn yourself, fireheart", you teased him. Lucien rolled his eyes, "If you're comparing me to yourself, I'm dead last", you playfully slapped his arm. Until another wave of pain shoots through you making you hold onto Lucien stronger. Just this tightness was accompanied by a light pop and then a warm liquid trickling down your legs. It damped the deep green sleeping gown that you were wearing indicating to Lucien just what was happening.

"Lu...", you muttered in fear, suddenly it was all too real. This baby was coming and you, you would have to push her out. There was no backing down now. "Breath through it", he said calmly, sensing the panic within you, "Just focus on breathing now", his strong arms quickly reached to pick you up, carefully rushing back inside where the chaos quickly spiked.

You had no clue how long you had been moaning in pain, hair damp with sweat, sheets ripped from all the pulling you had been doing. Helio hadn't returned yet meaning that you were more than worried especially because you couldn't reach him through the bond. But Lucien was there, snarling at any healer who tried to usher him out of the room, "You focus on your part, I'll focus on mine", he barked at them.

"What if he's dead?", you cried out as another contraction ripped through your body, "Mom...", Lucien pleaded, "Father is not dead. He got held up by some stupid fuck", he placed a cold damp cloth onto your forehead softly, "He's going to be here. He won't miss this for life". You looked up into his soft eyes, which had been monitoring you ever since he carried you to your chambers.

Your screams filled Helion's ears and he had never run up the stairs faster in his life. Shoving past the guards as he yanked the door open. The meeting he got urgently swept into was a trap. He and Rhys took care of it. There was no threat now just the fact that he had missed the start of this was already eating at him.

Healers were urging you to push but he could tell from the cries leaving your lips that you were losing your strength. Helion quickly rounded the corner. Lucien was holding onto you. One arm wrapped around your back as he tried to save you from the struggle of pulling yourself up for every push. His fingers were nearly purple from how tight you were gripping them but the boy said nothing, only watching you with concerned eyes. His gaze met Helion's and the male could see a wave of relief washing over him.

Quickly coming to your side, Helion too draped his arm over your shoulder, before reaching for your free hand that was aimlessly wrapped around the pillow. "Helion", you cried out, "I'm here my light, I'm with you now. I'm sorry I wasn't there to start with", his lips left a couple of warm kisses at the side of your head. He didn't care about all of the sweat. None of that mattered. All he cared about was for you two to be safe.

Just life had other plans. You were growing weaker with every push but the baby just didn't want to come. Helion had fully taken the place behind your back now, but Lucien still held your hand, now focusing on changing the cold cloth. Your head lulled back after yet another push. Helion's praises filled your ears but they barely reached you now. The healer looked among themselves quickly, worry so evident on their faces.

The two males caught onto that quickly. "What is it?", Helion asked, chest growling tight as the worst fear slowly unfolded in front of him. They said nothing for some time until Lucien practically roared, "Speak! This involves my mother and my sister, speak!", the females flinched.

"The baby... baby might be breached", one of them muttered, "Lady, is also losing a lot of blood we need to speed this up". Helion's face drained of color. If he was going to lose you... If you were going to... Lucien noticed the change of mood in the room. Your sobs were threatening too, "I can't do this", you moaned. But Lucien refused to let that settle in. He had already lost so much. Been robbed of so much.

He clasped the back of Helion's neck tightly, bringing his father closer to him so their eyes met, "Scrap whatever that's going in your head now. She needs you alert and strong", Helion's eyes took flame at those words. With a quick nod, he turned back at you. The two of them pulled you up. The healer wanted you on your knees at least. The help of gravity was just one more factor they wanted to use to their advantage.

Helion was now firmly supporting your weight as you squatted between his legs, screaming at the top of your lungs as you pushed. Lucien more than even wished that he could do more than just soothe some of the pain with his fire. With so many healers all around you now he couldn't ever hold your hand.

"It's working, I feel the baby", one of the healers said. "Come on, dearest, I know you can do this", Helion muttered into your ear, "You'll get to hold her soon. She'll be right here". You gritted your teeth as you pulled the last bits of strength from your body. Pushing and pushing, till everything around you turned into an unrecognizable blur.

All until a cry pierced the room. A strong cry of someone who had just been robbed of a never-ending warmth and brought into this way cooler room. "What a set of strong lungs", the healer quickly wrapped the babe into the blanket. Helion moved to kiss the side of your head, and shoulders, bringing your palm to his lips as happy tears ran down his cheeks, "I'm so proud of you, thank you, thank you", he muttered. Just you said nothing, he didn't feel a breath of relief leaving your lips. Pulling you slightly to the side in hopes of catching your eyes, Helion felt your head slip off his shoulder. Bile rose in his throat and the chaos erupted once more.

Healers were all around you, no one was answering Helion's questions. Lucien pushed closer to the bed that you were once again dragged onto. The sight of blood all over the bed made him feel sick. He wondered if any of this by any chance could be normal. He tried to pull all the stories Feyre had shared about her births. Nothing matched up except the time she almost died.

Someone quickly shoved a bundle of material into his arms. Lucien could hear Helion shouting your name. More females rushed through the door, he caught a glimpse of Madja among them. Then a light sniff caught his attention. Lucien carefully moved the side of the material. And here in his arms laid the most beautiful baby he had ever laid eyes on. Her big eyes scarcely looked at him with cheeks still bright pink from all the crying. So Lucien pressed her closer to his chest, slipping out of the room and taking her away from all of the chaos.

#lucien x helion #helion x reader #helion imagine #helion x you #lucien x you #lucien vanserra x reader #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotat x you

384 notes · View notes

humanpurposes · 11 months

Text

My Heart Belongs to Daddy, part iv, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // For fear that you'll find out, how I'm imagining you

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, smut, cursed dinner party, toxic family dynamics, Targaryen men being the worst

Words: 5700

A/n: Also available to read on AO3. And I made a Series Playlist :)

Over the last two months, finishing her thesis, taking exams, sending off masters applications and keeping track of a boyfriend has left little room in her mind for Aemond Targaryen.

For the last month or so she’s hardly even seen him. On the weekdays she gets up early and spends all day in the library. On the weekends she goes to Cregan’s place in central. He goes to the gym with Jace on Saturday morning and on Sundays he usually has a rugby match. Between that they watch movies in his room, go for drinks with his friends and sometimes she drags him around her favourite museums.

The sex is good. For a bulky guy with a nose piercing and sleeve tattoos of wolves and weirwood trees, Cregan is surprisingly gentle. He makes her cum on his tongue, then he leans over to fuck her with his hands pressed into the mattress, looking between her eyes and the space where their bodies meet. He doesn’t say much, a few strained “oh Gods” and a grunted “fuck” when he comes. When they’re done he falls into the bed beside her, throwing an arm around her while he rambles about whatever happens to be on his mind, exams, internships, summer plans…

She’s happy to rest her head against him, listening to the humming of his chest as he speaks, letting it lull her as she slips into her own mind. Sometimes she still feels a little empty when it’s over and doesn’t have the energy to go for another round. She puts it down to stress. Or hormones. Or something.

Now, being on the other side of everything she realises time is passing too quickly for her liking.

Joan Jett blasts through the car speakers while Alys and Cregan go on about the season finale of some drama series she’s not kept up with.

Alys loves Cregan. Everyone loves Cregan because he’s a people person. He speaks to everyone he meets like they’re already lifelong friends and he has a remarkable talent for finding common interests. If she were cynical she would say he’s palatable.

The weather has been perfect so far, bright and sunny but with enough of a breeze that the heat isn’t unbearable. Ideal for the graduation ceremony.

She looks through the recent photos in her phone. She took a few nice ones of the Sept, the nave lined with columns and towering statues of the Seven watching over the cohort of students in red and black robes. She keeps swiping through photos of her and some of her classmates on the front steps tossing their hats in the air, a few of her and Joanna, one of her and Cregan, and one of her and Alys.

Sometimes she thinks she looks nothing like her mother, but when they smile they look strikingly similar.

Everything had paid off in the end, the study dates with Joanna, the all-nighters, the last minute breakdowns crying over the kitchen counter with Alys. But she’s proud that she did it all on her own. Especially given how helpful Aemond had been last year. Just thinking about it makes her heart sink.

He’d been living with them for a few months by then. They were comfortable with each other, existing in the same spaces, eating dinner and watching movies together when Alys was out or working late.

Sometimes he’d put his arm around the back of the sofa, letting her lean into him while they watched 90s thrillers, leaning into her every so often to make a joke or a profound observation. They could analyse movies forever, staying up late until their eyes were tired, leaning in closer and closer and never really realising it.

And then when exams came around, the stress just got to her. “It’s half the suffering,” Alys insisted, “you’re not doing yourself any favours, so don’t do it.” Easier said than done.

There was one particular module on Conflicts in the Modern Era that was chipping away at her sanity. It was her last exam of the year and every time she went over her notes she just felt hopeless.

Aemond offered to help her study. He had loads of notes and old assignments on his laptop from his undergrad and his masters. They spent hours in the dining room, going over readings and practice questions.

He would sit next to her, leaning over every so often to read through what she was working on. Every hand on her shoulder, every reassuring “hmm,” or utterance of “good girl,” when she got something right sent shivers down her spine.

She knew it was wrong, but she didn’t exactly want it to stop.

The exam ended up going a lot better than she anticipated. She opened the paper and instantly saw that, by some miracle, there were a few questions similar to the ones she had done with Aemond.

She came home ecstatic. Alys was at work but Aemond was home, loitering in the kitchen. She practically leapt into his arms when she saw him, telling him every detail she could think of with a huge smile on her face.

Aemond’s hands settled on her waist. He leaned into her until all she could see were his bright, blue eyes. “I’m so proud of you baby,” he said in a voice that made her breathless.

He leaned in further until his lips were on hers, soft and warm, kissing her tentatively. She thought it might be over quickly, until she reached up, teasing her fingertips over the nape of his neck while his grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer, kissing her deeper.

When they pulled away, both a little breathless, he rested his forehead against her and smiled. She smiled back.

But she snaps out of that trance when she realises they’re pulling into the driveway.

She looks across at Alys for a moment, laughing at something Cregan just said.

Her chest feels like it might crush under the weight of it all, but time presses on and things seem to be moving forward for the better. She’s happy with Cregan. Who wouldn’t be? He’s funny, smart, maybe a little over confident at times but she can forgive that. And she’s got the whole summer before she starts her masters. With Cregan in the picture she figured she might as well stay at KLU. He’s been trying to convince her to move in the flat with him. There’s no reason not to, it’s close to campus, his flatmates are nice and they seem to keep the place clean. She keeps saying she’ll think about it.

He reaches for her hand as Alys leads them through the front door.

The house looks immaculate and it fills her with dread.

Alys has decided to use her graduation as an opportunity to host a family dinner. Maybe she’s intending it to be a grand offering of peace, maybe she just wants to show off, or maybe she’s just lost her mind because putting two halves of a warring family in the same room seems like a disaster waiting to happen. Not to mention she’ll have to introduce everyone to Cregan.

The dreamy rhythm of a Mazzy Star song drifts from the kitchen. Aemond is leaning over the counter, in a black shirt with his sleeves rolled up, prepping a rack of lamb. She tries not to look at his hands as he takes pinches of salt, pepper and spices between his fingers.

Alys heads straight for the vodka, offering a round of martinis before the dreaded guests arrive.

She and Cregan both decline politely, and when Alys turns to Aemond he purses his lips. “I don’t drink vodka martinis.”

Alys rolls her eyes. “Thinks he’s so sophisticated,” she says to Cregan.

Cregan chuckles and plants a light kiss to her cheek, muttering about taking a shower and disappears down the hall.

Her eyes meet Aemond’s for a moment. He smiles sincerely. He’s playing one of her favourite songs.

She tells her mother she’s going to get dressed, and feels Aemond’s eyes following her as she heads upstairs.

When she gets to her room she puts her graduation robes on a hanger and lies on the bed in the black slip dress she wore underneath. Something’s pressing awkwardly into her back, Cregan’s jeans and t-shirt. She tosses them across the room and falls back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling and listening to the hum of the shower.

Is it unfair to hate someone for listening to a song? Did he remember it was her favourite or was it a lucky guess? Maybe he was trying to tease her, or else it could have just been a coincidence, but that doesn’t seem like him. Aemond rarely does anything accidentally.

Cregan saunters in with a towel around his hips. He looks down at his clothes on the floor in front of the door. “Not where I left them,” he mutters.

She pretends not to hear him.

He gets dressed quickly, all he has to do is put on his jeans and clean white shirt.

“How many people are coming tonight?” He asks, spraying some perfume on his pulse points.

She keeps her eyes on the ceiling. “Viserys, Alicent, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jace, Baela, Aegon and Helaena.” Luke and Rhaena were going to stay home with Joffrey, and Daeron would still be in Sunspear until the end of the month. Just as well, there would already be too many people to keep track of.

“I hear some of the family stuff from Jace,” Cregan says, “sounds like a mess.”

She hums to herself. “Oh, you have no idea.”

She takes her hair out of its low bun and fixes it into a more casual look, leaving it mostly loose but out of her face. Her makeup has managed to survive the day pretty well. She touches up her blush and wipes away her lipstick, applying a sweet tasting cherry lipbalm instead.

When they reappear in the kitchen Alys is nowhere to be found but Aegon and Helaena have already arrived.

Aegon and Cregan pair up nicely, swigging bottles of beer while Aemond pours out three gin and tonics.

She compliments Helaena’s patterned skirt and red boots. In return she admires her dress. “You two are matching,” she says, as Aemond hands them both their drinks.

He raises his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth are tight. “Happy coincidence.”

“Black’s not exactly a fashion statement,” she adds, taking a sip.

Aemond hums in agreement.

She takes a breath to relieve the tension in her shoulders. “How are you doing?” She asks Helaena, “didn’t get much of a chance to talk to you at the wedding.”

Helaena’s doing a PhD in Etymology at Highgarden, between that and her various art projects she seems happy, but something’s off. She’s never exactly been outgoing but she seems particularly timid, wide eyes darting constantly to Aemond and Aegon. She’s nervous, but in all fairness they all are. Or they should be.

While Helaena goes on about species of butterflies, she finds her attention almost completely on Aemond, his hand gripping his glass in the corner of her eye, the sound of his breath, those well timed hums and the smell of his aftershave. She takes another sip of her drink to steady her nerves, hoping neither of them notice her hand trembling as she brings the glass to her lips.

Eventually Alys waltzes in with Rhaenyra, Daemon, Baela and Jace following behind her. That seems like a good opportunity to escape. She goes to hug Jace and Baela, and follows them when they go to stand with Aegon and Cregan.

The tension is palpable, Alys having a stiff conversation with Rhaenyra, Daemon lurking at the edge of the room with a glass of whisky, and Jace stealing glances over her shoulder, at Aemond and Helaena.

She catches whispers of their conversation but nothing tangible.

“What’s your problem?” Baela hisses to Jace.

He tuts. “He’s staring daggers at me, fuck’s sake.”

Aegon’s lips thin. He excuses himself curtly and joins his siblings by the glass doors to the garden.

Their little group falls to an uneasy silence.

“Well done, dickhead,” Baela says, rolling her eyes.

Cregan gives her a confused look. She puts her hand on his shoulder and comes onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “I’ll show you the powerpoint presentation later.”

Somehow the mood only gets colder when Viserys and Alicent walk through the door. It’s almost pitiful, watching Rhaenyra and Daemon trying to win his attention while Alicent keeps her hand on her husband’s shoulder, muttering into his ear whenever she can.

Not speaking to Aemond has meant she’s mostly been out of the loop, but she can guess they’ve not moved past the dispute over Viserys’ will.

Helaena and Aegon both go to greet their parents. It’s cordial at best, light hugs and pecks on the cheek, and Viserys shakes Aegon’s hand like this is the first time they’ve met. Aemond doesn’t go near them.

The lack of warmth is only more noticeable when Viserys greets Jace and Baela with open arms and a pleasant smile. He hugs her too, congratulating her— after all that is why they’re here— and shakes Cregan’s hand firmly.

She catches Aegon’s eye over his father’s shoulder. He frowns, almost comically and goes to find another bottle of beer.

Before long Alys ushers them all into the dining room.

Alys and Viserys sit at the two heads of the table and the others fill in around them. When they see Alicent has taken the seat to Viserys’ right, Rhaenyra and Daemon move to the other end of the table. Helaena sits next to her dad and they both smile vaguely. Aemond, rather diplomatically, takes a central seat between Aegon and Rhaenyra.

In an attempt to avoid sitting across from either of his uncles, Jace settles next to Alys, and once Cregan sits next to him, the only free seat is directly opposite Aemond. She sits down without a fuss.

Once everyone is a bit more settled, Aemond and Alys go back to the kitchen to bring in small plates of salad and seared tuna.

It starts off with smalltalk. Cregan and Jace are muttering to each other on her left, while Baela and Helaena have a friendly catch up to her right, leaving her to prod at her starter, waiting for an appetite to appear.

She doesn’t dare to look up past the space in front of her plate, or the pair of eyes she can feel burning into her.

Once they’re finished, the plates are whisked away and Aemond presents them with lamb chops, fondant potatoes and summer greens, while Alys pours out glasses of red wine.

Viserys’ knife scratches against his plate as he carves into the meat. “Really excellent lamb, Alys.”

“Aemond did the food,” she says.

He pauses, looks down at his plate and carries on eating.

She hears Jace whispering something into Cregan’s ear and they both grunt in amusement.

“Something funny?” Aegon asks sharply, reaching for his glass.

She finally looks across the table. Aegon’s face is a dangerous mix of anger and anticipation.

“Just admiring Aemond’s culinary skills,” Jace muses, spearing a cut of lamb on his fork, “didn’t realise he’d gone domestic.”

“Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra hisses.

Aegon huffs but keeps his mouth shut with a stern look from Aemond.

Viserys’ attention suddenly latches onto his grandson. The rest of the table falls quiet while he asks Jace about his exam results. 65 average. Just a few marks off a first.

Aegon nudges his brother but Aemond doesn’t react.

Their father seems to notice. “Jacaerys is shadowing me for the summer,” he says pointedly.

Aegon finishes off his glass and immediately refills it.

“Not coming to Dragonstone, then?” Helaena pipes up in a brighter tone, leaning to look at Jace.

The ancestral home of the Targaryen family, a beautiful estate along the coast outside the city. It’s more of a castle than a house really, passed down the generations over centuries. They use it as a holiday home now.

She went with the Strongs one summer. Ten weeks of beach trips, reading by the pool and fresh seafood for dinner every evening. It was the first time she really remembers meeting the Targaryen siblings. Aemond seemed so quiet then, always with his nose in a book. It feels like a lifetime ago now.

Cregan’s voice in her ear takes her by surprise. “You alright?” He asks, stroking his hand along the silky black fabric on her thigh. “You looked a bit lost there for a moment.”

She can see Aemond looking at her in the corner of her eye. “I’m fine,” she says, pushing Cregan’s hand away.

“We’re just a little busy at the moment,” Rhaenyra says, “work is… hectic.”

Alicent visibly bristles.

“Might make it down for a few weeks, if the boss lets me off,” Jace says.

“I’m excited to have you,” Viserys says, “good to get him used to the order of things nice and early.”

“Yeah, amazing what you can do when you have everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter,” Aegon says, casually taking a long draw from his glass.

Alicent and Rhaenyra look horrified. Daemon and Viserys are both clenching their fists.

“He says as if Otto Hightower didn’t have to buy him a place at KLU,” Jace retorts.

Aegon shrugs. “So what if he did? Got the degree, didn’t I?”

“And what have you done with it?” Viserys says in a scathing voice, “bought a flat with my money. Drank and screwed your way through life with no concern for your career or your family.”

Aegon tuts. “The fuck does that mean, family?”

“Leave it,” Aemond mutters and the table settles into an uncomfortable quiet.

“At least Jace has some direction,” Viserys says, breaking the silence. For a moment his eyes dart to his wife.

Alicent’s brown eyes are wide and glassy. “And my children don’t?”

She watches Aemond’s lips flicker into a sneer before he composes himself and goes back to staring vacantly at his untouched glass.

“That’s not what I meant, love–”

Daemon chuckles quietly. “And yet…”

Alicent slams her knife against the table with a jarring clatter. “Maybe they would have amounted to something more if you had shown even the slightest bit of interest in your own children!”

A chair scrapes against the floor and Helaena’s silver hair billows behind her as she leaves the dining room.

Baela grabs her wrist and pulls her to stand. “Excuse us,” she says sweetly. Not that anyone will hear her over the shouting match brewing between Alicent and Daemon.

They find Helaena in the lounge, on the sofa, picking at her nails.

“Hey,” Baela whispers, coming to hold her hands so she stops.

Helaena looks up at them with glistening blue eyes and a trembling lip. It’s the first time she’s really seen the resemblance between her and Alicent.

Raised voices echo from down the hall. By the sounds of things Aegon and Viserys have joined in too.

Helaena releases her hands from Baela’s and presses her palms to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she says, taking a few shallow gasps. “I just don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Baela hums in agreement.

Tears start to trickle from her eyes. “I used to love hanging out with you and Jace and everyone. I don’t understand… what did we do wrong?”

She isn’t sure what to do. She feels so helpless just watching Helaena as she starts to cry. Baela sits next to her and puts her arm around her shoulders.

And while the arguing persists, Helaena eventually starts to calm down a little, wiping her tears on her sleeve and leaning into Baela. “We missed dessert,” she sighs.

“We have ice-cream in the freezer,” she says, “strawberry or vanilla?”

And just like that her face lights up. “Both.”

“Noted. Baela?”

Baela smiles sympathetically. “Strawberry please.”

She catches fragments of the insults being thrown around the dining room as she walks past. “Hightower leech”, “spoiled cunt”.

She sees a figure in a black shirt through the frosted glass door to the kitchen. She holds her breath as she opens the door.

Aemond is leaning over the counter, fiddling with a packet of cigarettes. He looks up as soon as he hears the door. She lets it close behind her and leans against it.

He stares at her with a tight jaw, a sad little pout on his lips and a slight scrunch in his nose. Despite everything she can’t help but feel sorry for him.

She tuts to herself and goes to place two bowls and two spoons on the counter, avoiding Aemond’s gaze.

Not my problem.

She goes towards the freezer and hears Aemond sigh heavily behind her. She hovers her hand over the handle.

Not my problem. Not my problem. Not my problem.

“Is it stupid of me to ask if you’re alright?” She asks, turning to fave him.

One of his wide plams is pressed against the counter, his legs crossed casually at the ankle. “No.”

“And are you alright?”

His nostrils flare as he takes a slow breath. “I told her this would be a bad idea,” he says, tapping the box against the counter. “But what do I know, it’s only my fucking family.”

The way the light shines on his face makes the scar over his left eye seem like a shadow. She’s never asked about the details of what happened, but then he doesn’t like to talk about it.

Two months ago she would have held his hand or pulled him into her arms when he was this anxious.

But things have changed now.

“Aemond, I–”

“Babe?”

She whips her head round to see Cregan and Jace standing in the doorway. Guilt twinges in her chest and she doesn’t know why. A conversation is nothing to be ashamed of, surely? She hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Baela and Helaena are in the lounge, right?” Cregan asks.

“Yeah,” she says, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

They both glare at Aemond before they leave. When she turns to face him, he’s looking back with a cold indifference.

“He seems nice,” Aemond says once they're gone. “Palatable.”

She starts to drag her teeth over her bottom lip but stops herself. Aemond’s eyes are so intense, glaring from across the room with a dangerous look of fury and sadness. That’s exactly how he looked at her, the night of the wedding, when they were in her hotel room. When he asked her about Cregan then she liked how it made him jealous.

Her blood starts to simmer, a feeling that cuts deeper and hurts more than hate. “Is this it then?” She says.

His brows scrunch into a frown, but his wide eyes seem more bewildered than anything. “What do you mean?”

It’s like a switch clicks in her brain and something in her heart dies. These last few weeks, even with things going so well with Cregan, she’s carried Aemond with her, hoping that one day she’d wake up and things would have worked out differently. It’s what she’s been doing for the last year anyway, she just never managed to break the habit.

It has to end somewhere, the lying, the guilt, and the naivety that she meant something more to him than a pretty face and a convenient fuck.

She needs to let go and she’s known that for a long time.

“Forget it. You’ve made your side of things clear,” she says, her voice starting to tremble. “This was never going to end well and I should have thought about that before I led myself on.”

She takes a step towards the door but he’s in front of her, keeping her between the freezer and the counter.

“Do you love him?” Aemond mutters, quickly and quietly.

She can feel her heart beating in her throat.

“Do I… what?”

He takes advantage of her hesitation. His hand clamps around her wrist as he moves to the door. It takes a few moments to realise he’s dragging her with him.

The door to the lounge is shut. She hears Cregan’s booming laugh on the other side as Aemond leads her further along the hallway.

And suddenly they’re in the downstairs bathroom. She stands in front of the sink, staring at her own reflection as the lock clicks.

She watches Aemond in the mirror. The room is small and narrow, even when he’s standing by the door he’s close. Then he starts to close the distance between them with slow, taunting steps until he’s standing over her.

She can feel him and smell his aftershave, the bitterness of gin and the sweetness of red wine.

There’s that dark look in his eye again, determined, and hungry.

“Did you really think I’d let you keep up this pathetic little act?” He murmurs, eyes fixed on hers through the glass.

“What act?”

She lets out a little gasp when he places a hand on her hip and pushes his hips against her, grinding a growing hardness against her so subtly he might not be moving at all.

He leans into her but no part of him makes contact with her skin. She shudders at the heat of his breath running over her ear, neck and shoulders. “I said you were needy, didn’t I?”

Her shoulders flinch when a single fingertip touches the nape of her neck. He draws it gradually along her spine as she desperately resists the urge to cry out at the tingling sensation it brings, arching against him because her body has nowhere else to go.

“And so sensitive,” he says and stops just as he reaches her lower back. “It was all for me, wasn’t it? The crop tops, the staring, even Stark, you just wanted a reaction.”

She’s always been a good liar but when she opens her mouth to reply she finds she just can’t do it. She doesn’t want to, not when he places his hand on her side and traces over the curves of her waist, her hips, the pouch of her stomach and her thighs. It’s been so long since they’ve been this close, and it’s not close enough.

“You stopped wanting me,” she breathes.

“Stupid little slut,” he says, leaning his chin over her shoulder. He starts dragging both hands down her thighs, taking the hem of her dress with him as he moves back up. “How could I ever stop wanting you?” His voice is harsh and hypnotic all at once. Cold and unforgiving. It sets her skin alight and leaves her wanting more.

But it doesn’t make sense. He was the one who left the hotel room.

“I don’t understand… this isn’t fair.”

“But you and I both know you don’t like to play fair,” he rasps, tracing circles over the tops of her thighs, occasionally brushing over the hem of her panties.“I just know these last couple of months have been fucking unbearable without you.”

She bites down on her lip to stop herself whimpering at his touch.

He groans as his head falls against her neck, hands still pawing at her legs and the dress hitched around her waist. “Let me fuck you,” he utters in that low voice that means it’s taking every ounce of effort to hold himself back. “I know what you need. Just be a good girl and let me fuck you.”

Anticipation floods her body. She can feel her self-control slipping. She can’t think straight, can’t think past him or a world beyond this moment.

She wants it too much to feel guilty, for now at least.

“Please,” she utters.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me.”

Suddenly his soft touches are gone and he yanks her panties down to her knees. One hand slides between her legs, prying them open enough so he can circle her clit with the pads of his fingers. The other snakes up her body and takes a gentle hold of her throat.

He finally brings his lips to her cheek. They graze over her skin as he mutters, “you said something to me, that night. What was it?”

She scoffs. “You’re such a cunt.” She can hear how weak her voice is as she says it.

“Mouth on you, baby,” he coos, “come on, I know you remember.”

She shakes her head fervently, hoping she can focus on the movements of his fingers, the pleasure building and building inside her.

“I want to hear you say it, baby.”

She lets herself melt against him, clinging desperately on his arms, breathless but defiant as she meets his eyes in the mirror.

With a short huff he withdraws his hand, but keeps her against him by her neck. He easily undoes the buckle on his belt, bringing his trousers down just enough to free his cock.

She bucks her hips on instinct as he slides the tip through her folds, gathering her wetness, and smiling when he realises responsive she is to him.

“Have you always been this restless? Or have you just missed me?”

Her head hangs slightly as he teases between her entrance and her clit. She can feel how thick his cock is, how hard he is and she already knows it’s going to make her feel so fucking good.

The grip on her neck becomes firmer, demanding her attention back to the mirror. He holds her gaze as he slides into her tight, slick cunt.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, “look at how well you take that.”

He’s right. The sight of her pleading face and parted lips as he holds her and pushes deeper inside of her only adds to her arousal.

He fucks her slowly, precisely, placing a hand on her stomach and pressing into her while the impact of his thrusts are muffled by fabric.

“Can you feel that?” He whispers, “can you feel how tight you are? Can you feel how deep that is?”

“Ah— fuck, yes…” she chokes, savouring the burn and the stretch of his cock as he drags through her walls and hits her sweet spot. When his fingers come back to circle her clit it all becomes so light and perfect and deliciously overwhelming.

“I knew you still wanted me,” he pants between the gentle kisses to her cheek. “Say it.”

“No,” she manages to whimper.

“Say it.”

Her orgasm comes as a sudden burst of warmth and Aemond isn’t far behind, suppressing a grunt as his hips still and his cock throbs inside her.

A few moments pass and he turns her head towards him, keeping his eyes on her lips. He leans in to kiss her and she twists her head to the other side.

“Fucking brat.”

Suddenly he brings her to face him fully, effortlessly lifting her by her thighs to rest her against the edge of the sink.

There’s no teasing this time, no pretence, just need. He pushes himself into her in one cruel snap of his hips.

He’s too impatient to give her time to adjust before he starts to fuck her, fiercely and without mercy, hands digging into the flesh of her rear, pulling her in over and over again. He brings his forehead against hers, glaring into her eyes like he hates her.

But like this she can wrap her arms around his neck, hold him even closer and lose herself in just him.

“All you need to remember is you’re mine. You’re fucking mine and you know it.”

Tears well in her eyes and she can only take what he gives her. “Fuck… Aemond...”

Her climax builds until it’s almost excruciating, and then it tears through her, a release unlike anything she’s known for months. She keeps her arms tight around him, burying her face into his neck as her thighs shake and her whole body tenses and trembles.

Aemond doesn’t stop, fucking her through it until she’s writhing with the overstimulation.

“Too much,” she whines, “fuck it’s too much!”

He clasps a hand over her mouth to muffle her protest, dangerously echoing on the tiled walls and floors. He comes again, gnawing at his lip to keep himself quiet and spilling deep inside her as tears stream from her cheeks.

He admires the mess they’ve made as he pulls out, her cream on his cock and his cum leaking from her quivering cunt. His eyes flicker back to her face, his expression softening and his lips curling into a half smile.

Dazed and still desperate she leans into him, but her lips barely get to graze his before he pulls away.

“Oh now you want to kiss me?”

She frowns, which only seems to amuse him.

By the way he grabs her jaw she doesn’t need to be told what to do. She offers him her tongue and swallows when he spits into her mouth.

A satisfied groan rumbles in his chest and her belly flutters in anticipation, as if he hasn’t just made her come twice, as if she can’t feel his spend starting to drip down her thighs.

He slips her off the sink and kneels down to pull her panties up her legs. Then he fixes her skirt, smoothing down the fabric with his palms.

“You’re going to be civil,” he murmurs, one of his hands coming to fix her hair. “You’re going to go back out there, kiss your boyfriend on the cheek, but I want you to think about me. Think about how good I make you feel. Do you understand?”

She nods.

“Words, baby,” he says as his hand comes to cup her jaw, stroking his thumb over her flushed cheek.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“That’s my good girl,” he says softly, leaning in to plant an almost chaste kiss to her lips.

She tries for more but he steps away, eyes roaming over her to make sure she’s presentable.

With a vague “hmm,” he carefully unlocks the door and slowly steps out. He shoots her a quick wink before he closes the door, his footsteps fading down the hallway back towards the kitchen.

Her legs almost give out underneath her and she clutches the sink to keep herself standing.

That certainly wasn’t how she was expecting this evening to go.

She’s not sure how she’s supposed to show her face and go about pretending like nothing’s happened in front of their families. Maybe she’ll rediscover her ability to lie, kiss Cregan on the cheek and play the part of the sweet girlfriend, but what kind of person will that make her?

She looks at her reflection, at the glimmer of blissful tears and sweat on her face.

A familiar laugh drifts down the hall.

How is she ever going to look her mother in the eye again?

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond x original female character #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #modern!aemond #modern au #house of the dragon fanfiction #stepdad!aemond #my heart belongs to daddy

311 notes · View notes

thevampirelevi · 5 months

Text

Adventureland | Part IV

Masterlist

"Leviathan." (part 4/7)

cw: vampire!eddie x fem!reader, mentions of blood, mature language, parts of this chapter written in first person pov (briefly!)

wc: 6.6k+

You knew it wouldn’t take long for your aunt or uncle to actually phone up your dear old dad and casually drop your current location, thus blowing your whole cover. You weren’t sure what to expect, would they all be angry with you? Disappointed? Concerned maybe? Sympathetic to your desire to flee after perhaps your first ever heartbreak in life? All these possibilities played musical chairs in your head the entire month you were in Hawkins, but never once could you anticipate the possibility of going through another heartbreak when Judgement Day finally came.

Maybe it was your lack of sleep or your low mood that raised suspicion in the first place and gave your aunt the motivation to finally clue your father in. Maybe they began planning your intervention when you’d begun to spend far too long cooped up inside of a room that isn’t truly your own. Maybe this was actually the universe’s doing, deciding to punish you once more in the ultimate cosmic “Fuck you.”

You’d actually decided that today was the day you’d be reborn, try to act as if nothing was wrong, forget you’d ever met Eddie. Blissfully unaware, you gave yourself a hot shower and tried to pick an outfit you’d really liked out of the remnants of your wardrobe. Tied up your laces, enthused to treat yourself to breakfast at the diner when you were suddenly met with a surprise waiting for you in the kitchen.

“Morning, I’m gonna go eat at Benny’s today-” you’d started to say, expecting only your aunt.

You stop at the end of the staircase, all three members of your family staring back at you.

“Surprise seeing you here,” says your father. “Take a seat.”

Hesitantly, you join them at the dinner table and take your silent settle, unsure of what to even try to say. Luckily for you, your aunt makes the next move as a way to cut through the tension that thickens the air.

“Honey,” she places her mature hand over yours gently over the placemat. “Your uncle and I have been a little worried about you, so I called your father yesterday afternoon. Only for him to inform me that he was already looking for you and had no idea you were even here.”

“Why didn’t you come home, or at least call Y/N?” he chimes in, his voice is stern and laced with concern and hints of anger.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “I was going to tell you all everything, I swear, but-”

Your father interjects, “But?”

“I just didn’t know where to start,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I still don’t. I needed some time. Just time to think, not answer everyone’s questions since I don’t quite know all of the answers yet myself.”

“Well,” a deep sigh above your father’s mustache is expelled as he exhales loudly from his nose. “Time’s up. Start talking.”

You blink rapidly, trying not to cry, moistening your lips and swallowing the lump that forms in your throat. This is the first time you’ve actually been forced to fully face the intrusive thought of him and the events that transpired between the two of you the last time you shared a room.

“Chance,” you start off slow, his name feeling foreign on your tongue. “We broke up.”

The room is quiet for a moment, processing.

“On Valentine’s Day, actually.” you continue.

Your aunt’s eyes, too similar to your mother’s, flitter with sympathy as she braves you a sad smile. “Oh sweetie, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Before she can make claims about the population of fish in the sea, you go on. “I just grabbed all of my things and left. I didn’t want to think about him anymore and,” you look up for the first time, aiming your gaze at your father and his sorry expression as you address him specifically, “You always ask about him so I just wasn’t ready to go home, not yet.”

“Y/N,” your dad’s voice is soft now but still somewhat stern. “You could’ve told me, sweetpea. I’d have ripped him a new one when he came ‘round looking for you the other day, if I’d have known that…”

“That’s probably why she didn’t want to tell you,” your uncle speaks for the first time, chuckling.

You halt, “Chance was looking for me..?”

Your father nods, wrinkles appearing in between his bushy brows. “Showed up on my doorstep asking for you, said you had a fight and that you took off. Guess he figured you came back home. Had me worried sick, I called nonstop for about two weeks, waiting for you to call home off some payphone in Timbuktu but you never did. I was this close to filing a missing person’s report when your aunt here finally rang me and said you were here.”

“I’m really sorry, dad,” you take your hands into your lap, pulling at a hangnail and avoiding meeting your father’s eyes. “I didn’t think he would show up, I never meant to make any of you worry.”

“Well you did,” your old man rises to his work booted feet and pulls you to yours, tears welling up his eyes that he tries to hide. “I know you’re an adult now n’ all, but you’re still my little girl. Don’t ever scare me like that again, y’hear me?”

“Yes sir,” you promise, muffled as you’re hugged to his chest.

“Good. So, when are you coming home?”

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───── ⋆⋅˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Nancy Wheeler. She was the one condition keeping you from being dragged all the way back to Bloomington, at least that you and your father agreed upon. Albeit, now that your father was finally filled in on all of the details and knew not to speak a certain name, there wasn’t a logical reason to explain your reluctance on going back - but there certainly may have perhaps been an illogical reason. The lie? That you were finally reconnecting with some old friends and wanted to spend more time with them, and when put on the spot you could name none other than Nancy Wheeler.

Not only was she one of the only people you knew of that was likely still in Roane County, but she was also one of your only friends that your father could actually remember by name. Once upon a third grade ago.

It had been so long since you’d last been to her address, it was a mystery how you’d still remembered it. 2530 Maple Street, wherein resides your first order of business with your Pops off your back.

You need only knock once, powder blue door answered by who you recognize to be Karen Wheeler. Older than in your memories and hair definitely lighter than the last time you’d seen her, but nevertheless the same woman you remembered from sleepovers, school bake sales, and parent conferences.

“Mrs.Wheeler?”

The now blonde woman holds up her manicured hand in pause, looking you up and down, you watch her brain working. “Y/N?”

You smile, nodding. “That’s me.”

Karen’s jaw slacks open ever so slightly in surprise, but her cedar eyes light up enthusiastically. “Y/N honey, I haven’t seen you in a hot minute. Not since-”

“I’m back in town for a bit, figured I’d stop by and say hi.”

“Of course,” she smiles, showing more of her age. “Oh well, Nancy’s not home right now but maybe I can take your number? We’d love to have you over for dinner sometime.”

“Sure thing,” you answer, letting Mrs.Wheeler guide you inside of her suburban home.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───── ⋆⋅˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

‘Nancy Wheeler called’ was scribbled on a note stuck to the fridge come the 24th of March, just the day after your run in with her mother. You’d secretly hoped there was a different name written in Nancy’s place when you first spotted the sticky note, but remembered then that you never gave Eddie your number.

Pleasantries were exchanged when you called Nancy back and you were now on your way to the recently rebuilt ‘Starcourt Mall’ to meet with her, the duration of your phone call short and sweet, similar to chatting up a receptionist. The nerves wriggling in your tummy had you hoping things would feel less awkward in person, that you could pick back up right where you left off, otherwise you might soon have no choice but to acquaint yourself with people that were not at your mother’s wake. Given how long that guestlist was, your mommy dearest evidently very much cherished by this town for the years she spent as one of their most beloved teachers, that would be rather difficult.

‘Sam Goody’ was the store you’d both agreed to meet in, its location memorized as the spot adjacent to the Sears where you bought your mourning dress. Man, you thought as you retraced your steps all the way there, this whole town is starting to feel like a funeral.

As if another Momento Mori, you look up to find that your respected Sam has now joined the list of dead things and is instead replaced by ‘Musicland.’ You never even got to enjoy their “going out of business!” sale.

Nancy sees you before you recognize her, denim jacket draped over her arm, greeting you with a fond smile under her grown out perm.

“Hey, it’s so good to see you again,” the honey brunette pulls you in for an unexpected hug, voice now more womanly without the static of the landline and less shy than how you remember. “How are you?”

“Good, good. How are you?” you try to match her enthusiasm but the words feel slightly forced, mirroring the awkwardness of your encounter on the phone as you both relearn one another’s presence while the dust settles.

“Been alright,” she says, beginning to slowly make her journey between vinyl shelves and various displays, feigning interest as she skims along. You follow her loosely. “I’m now an investigative journalist at Hawkins Post.”

“Wait, that’s so cool,” you beam earnestly, memories of a young Nancy playing pretend news anchor swarming to the surface. “Look at you, Nancy Drew.”

Wheeler picks up a ‘The Clash’ CD, flipping it to eyeball the tracklist. “It was indeed very cool, at first. Not much to write about nowadays, though.”

“No? I’d think there’d be plenty of stories to cover still, y’know since the earthquake wasn’t that long ago. Seems people are still tryna recover.”

Nancy stops reading, looking up at you blankly as she stills. “Earthquake?”

“Yeah…The quake of ‘86?”

She blinks a few times, showing no remembrance before she shakes her head. “Oh, yeah. Right. I’m more true crime than regular watchdogs, though, so I didn’t have my piece on writing about that.”

Conversation waxes and wanes as you both sift through Musicland and hop around other stores as well, making a brief trip to the food court, catching up as old friends do - or at least making the attempt to.

With what very little spending money you have, you earn yourself that ‘Transformer’ album on vinyl, a leatherbound journal with a moonstone clasp, and an invitation to Hideaway Pub next weekend, courtesy of your old childhood best friend.

You’re informed that her boyfriend Jonathan and friend Robin will both be there, and Nancy encourages you to bring someone of your own, too.

The idea of the one person you’d want to bring makes your heart do its familiar little ache.

Your first time at the bar, you’re too preoccupied with nerves from meeting new people to really get a good look around the place. You’d end up regretting that later.

For now, though, you stand glued to the sidewalk as you stare at the wavering rhombus of the neon sign. You gather all of your courage in a breath, remembering that this is part of Nancy’s oath to being a better friend - being there for you like how she should have last year, her words - her now doing her damndest at making you feel included. As if she actually missed your presence in Hawkins. As a burly man holds the door open for you upon his own exit, you take your cue.

Cozied up inside of the privacy of a dimly lit leather booth, tucked away from the peanut shelled bar thankfully, sits Nancy and who you guess is Jonathan. The chime from your entrance a mere few feet away puts a pause to their simple conversation and Nancy, the one facing you, smiles in your direction as she waves you over.

You opt for the seat next to her, allowing you a curious gander of her boyfriend as she introduces the two of you.

Robin arrives by the time your drinks have made their way to your table, wasting little time in telling all about how a ‘Steve’ is the reason she’s late. While Jonathan is notably shy, Robin speaks as if she’s known you just as long as she’s known the couple, skipping over the jargon of any introductions. You’re glad to have her here, saving you from third wheeling, and also finding that she’s an easy person to warm up to.

You’re nearing the end of your once seemingly bottomless pile of potato skins when Nancy starts a conversation about her brother Mike, of which you smile fondly as your only memories feature the preschool aged version of him.

“How is Mike by the way?” you ask, these being part of the few words you’ve spoken over the course of the night. “There’s so many people I haven’t seen in so long. Like Barb, I remember her from our sleepovers. How’s she doing??”

Despite you asking what you think are innocent questions, silence is your only response as Nancy’s face suddenly goes pale and all eyes turn to her. Obviously, you never meant any harm by it and never would have asked had you known somehow that the pair of childhood best friends had had a falling out. By the looks of it, a bad one at that, as you quickly find yourself stepping out of the booth to allow Nancy out as she rushes to the bathroom before you can even offer an apology, seemingly about to hurl.

“Sore subject?” you ask quietly, fidgeting your fingers as you try to come to terms with possibly ruining the friend group you’d just barely had hopes of forming, wondering how you manage to keep doing and saying the wrong things.

Jonathan nods, chin in hand as he rests his elbow on the table. “Not your fault, you don’t know. It’s just kinda hard for her to talk about still.”

Robin, perhaps having one too many beers and/or a low tolerance for cheap booze or just naturally outspoken in general, adds, “Barb’s unfortunately part of the list of people gone without a trace from what I know. No one saw what happened. If I lost my best friend like that, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself either.”

Not wanting to gossip, but letting your curiosity get the best of you anyways, you lean in closer with a hushed voice, “List of people..?”

Robin is too lost in her own thoughts as she thinks out loud to notice the looks Jonathan tries to send her, and he's too soft spoken to stop her from saying too much. “I mean, I’m not entirely sure it’d be better to find them down there after what could have got to them, but at least it’d be an actual answer.”

Deciding not to press the issue any further, given Jonathan’s apparent anxiety about the topic, you remain silent as you try to solve the puzzle with missing pieces inside your head just as Nancy finally returns.

“Are we all ready to call it a night?” Her voice is soft, nothing in her tone indicating that she’s still upset. No one protests and you all begin to file out once the bill is paid two separate ways. You thank Jonathan for covering you and he mumbles something about “Don’t mention it.”

Robin is riding with Nancy and her boyfriend, beating them to the car as you walk to your own parked further down the street. You feel a soft hand stop you by your elbow.

Nancy offers you a small smile, no harm no foul, “See you next weekend?”

You return the gesture, accepting, relieved. Despite now not having to question if you were going to be exiled, your mind still sashays like the hula dancer on your dash even the whole car ride home. Questions fill the unusual silence of your car.

What did Robin mean by “List of people gone without a trace” and whatever else she said about finding them “down there after what could have gotten to them”?

Your first nightmare in weeks makes its prompt return this very same night, now arguably the price you must pay for allowing your curiosity about this increasingly strange town - and its even stranger people, and their secrets - to peak. It’s no surprise when you wake at three in the morning, equipped with new use of your new journal.

March 31st

Fissures split the earth, scarlet glowing like ruby embers from the ravines and from the sky. People are running, abandoning their cars in what is left of the street as Doomsday approaches. The earth is divided in two, and then just as fast is severed by tenfold. Nameless people plummet to their deaths, passersby in the sea of people forced like magnets to the earth’s core against the flow of the stampede.

A red haired girl no older than a teenager reaches her hand out to me, dangling off of the jagged edge of the street as she fights against being pulled under. I can see her umber eyes pleading behind the cracked lenses of her glasses. Just as I’m about to help her, the shock of a cold hand clasping onto my other wrist jerks me awake, alone.

You fully intend on leaving the dream within its leatherbound confines and hope to use the rest of the flyleaf for grocery lists or something. You even keep busy as a means of distraction, helping your aunt and uncle run their motel for a small allowance and making due of your mileage the most you can between there and Wheeler’s house. Against your efforts however, you find yourself narrowly escaping dream death yet again. This time, ostensibly triggered by seeing Mike for the first time in years. Tall, lanky, and wearing a worn out t-shirt with fading iron-on letters just so barely spelling out ‘Hellfire Club.’

Not having brought your journal with you, because why would you, when your eyes snapped open to the darkness of Nancy’s bedroom, you tossed and turned in your makeshift bed as you lost all details of the dream to the start of a hangover. All details but one.

Two black eyes like endless pits, flames dancing in their reflections, staring down at you.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───── ⋆⋅˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

April 11th

‘Welcome to Hawkins HELL. Population 001.’ The red paint graffiti’d on the road sign matches the hue of the sky, which I can see in all of the mirrors of my car and through the cracked windshield as I drive through a sea of bodies bloodied on the pavement. The radio is on, crackling with a distorted voice chanting, “MASTER, MASTER!”

Suddenly there are figures moving in my rearview mirror as the stereo switches its mantra. “LAUGHTER, LAUGHTER!” The figures only appear closer and closer as I fail to accelerate against the pile of corpses littering the road. They’re too tall for me to see anything above their shoulders, and too tall to be human, gray torsos moving like the bones are broken and limbs too long for their emaciated lich-like bodies like something out of Evil Dead. I can hear their groans fill my ears before suddenly, all goes quiet as my car dies and the radio fades away. “MASTER, Master, master…”

Just as I’m considering making a run for it, something pale makes itself known to me in my rearview mirror and its black eyes stare back at me beneath its mess of dark hair. This is the last thing I see before I wake up, feeling like I’m being watched still.

April 13th

Sterile white walls surround me with only one, long rectangular mirror separating the scene. I see myself, gray and gaunt, a stream of crimson flowing in blood ribbons down my neck and soaking the starch hospital gown I am apparently wearing at the collar. Instinctively, I try to reach my hand up to touch it but find that my hand is fixed in place at my side as if I’m restrained. Looking down at said hand, I realize it is trapped by the cold, unmoving grip of a statue I hadn’t noticed before. Slowly, my eyes trail up the tall statue towards its face where I see it is made apparent that it is weeping blood from its blind eyes, which drips onto my neck. As I try to break free, I glance at the mirror whilst in the struggle at what I can only make out to be the sound of pebbles hitting the other side.

To my surprise, a devilish grin stares back at me.

April 20th

A dark abyss is perforated by tiny flecks of starlight, which is where I’m floating when I hear a raspy voice pleading with me, “I can explain everything…

Suddenly the shout of your aunt’s voice from downstairs puts a bookmark to your writing.

“Y/N,” she bellows. “Phone’s for you!”

You make your way downstairs, already knowing Nancy is waiting on the other line. The pair of you have grown pretty close over the course of the month, grief being the tide that brings you both together. You never pry, but sometimes Nancy volunteers to talk about Barb and gives small glimpses of what her life was like in the years you drifted apart. You however, you never speak about Chance, still have yet to tell her or a soul about your nightmares, and certainly are not yet ready to ever tell your friend about Eddie. That would one day change, but no time soon.

“Hello?”

You hear shuffling in response.

“Hey Y/N,” her voice is nonchalant in the way it usually is when she’s about to invite you out somewhere, of which you never decline. “You busy tomorrow?”

You pause to think, even though it’s not like you’re drowning in plans, “I’m on innkeeper duty at the motel tomorrow morning, but I should be free by the afternoon?”

“Well a bunch of us are gonna set up a bonfire at the lake since it’s spring break for Mike and his friends. Wanna come?”

“Sure,” you answer without much thought except in hoping that it’s not Lover’s Lake that she’s inviting you to.

“Cool, I’ll pick you up at around six.”

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───── ⋆⋅˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The rich smell of firewood wafts through the trees as your group of three - Nancy, Mike, and yourself - carry all of the party amenities to where everyone else is gathered at the shore. Jonathan brought his brother Will, and his friend Lucas - who brought his girlfriend - and there are several other faces for you to put a name to. Nancy helps, landing on ‘Max’ using the hand free of carrying a wicker basket to point at a redheaded girl sitting close enough to the fire for the glow of the flames to illuminate the bare skin on her freckled arms.

You try not to stare, noticing how the girl seems to fold in on herself as if trying to shrink away from your small crowd of (new) friends. You notice the scars on her arms and some on her legs, straight and precise raised pink keloids, surgical. The glasses she wears even as the sun is setting hide the fact that she was curious about you, too.

Soon enough, the circle of incongruent lawn chairs is filled around the firepit. Half full of people you at least somewhat know, and the other half of people you’re only learning the names of today. To your left is Robin, who’s sat next to who you now know as Steve, and sat to your right is a babyfaced teen named Dustin. The curly haired boy sneaks glances at you all night, which makes you wonder if you know him from somewhere. Despite how extroverted he acts toward the rest of the group, though, he does not utter one word to you.

Several campfire stories later and a belly full of marshmallows cooked in a myriad of different doneness, you’re on aching feet ready to go home and recharge your social battery. You and Robin are helping Nancy lug her belongings back to her car when a boyish voice stops you.

It’s Dustin, mustering up the words to finally ask the question he’d apparently been unable to sit still with all night. “Your name is Y/N, right..?”

You turn his way and nod, waiting for him to continue.

“And you’re friends with Eddie?”

In one single second you’re feeling all of the color drain from your face at once, except at the apples of your numb cheeks. For some reason you have the sudden urge to run.

But this time you don’t. You instead face his ghost, the sheer mention of his name that brings on a wave of unwanted thoughts, head on. You do your best to act unfazed, thinking that maybe you can fake it until you make it. “Don’t know him,” you shrug, catching up with Robin and leaving whatever Dustin’s reasoning was behind.

Why is it becoming harder to get over a man that you barely even knew, over your ex boyfriend of two years?

Maybe because it wasn’t Chance who you were looking for in crowds of people, getting Deja Vu from anyone who even slightly resembled him. It wasn’t Chance’s name you kept hearing, nor saying in your sleep. It wasn’t Chance who you dreamt of nearly every night.

Tonight, it was Eddie. Your journal sat in its rightful place on your nightstand, waiting for you when you woke up calling out his name again.

April 21st

Waves crash into my chest as I wade in darkness, my dreamself having no sense of the temperature, just only slightly the sensation, as faint as a blanket slipping off in the night. I have the feeling that I’m waiting for something or someone, as I find myself mumbling mid sentence as if there was anyone around to hear it, “I told you, it’s never too late…”I trail off, the fabric of the dream slowly unraveling as I start to question where I am and who I’m talking to. I turn my head in every direction, searching for the answer.

When I finally look down into the water, I see a ring of light shine through the pool of black surrounding me. The glow is red, unnatural and unforgiving, reminding me of the persistence of a neon sign even meters below the surface of the water. It puzzles me, but this somehow leads me to the conclusion that I’m in Lover’s Lake. The light is almost, maybe, heart shaped.

Just then, a ring clad hand snakes around my ankle, pulling me under.

For perhaps the first time ever since your acquired sleep apnea, and much to your surprise, you find yourself being rapidly lulled back to sleep. You hold your head up only long enough to jot down your first dream before a thick blanket of exhaustion smothers you out like a light. The last thing you see before you’re watching the back of your own eyelids is the glowing red of the alarm clock. 11:11pm.

This time, however, you’re aware that you’re dreaming the very moment your feet reach the ground. You almost have the feeling that you know exactly where you are as you step away from under a head of clouds aglow in the scarlet sky above you. You find a clearing in the forest enclosing you with ease, floating through time as you come face to face with the Motel 6 a mere few feet later.

The only source of light here forward illuminates the ‘No’ of the vacancy sign, sputtering for a moment before it gives out. The only car in the parking lot is your station wagon. You walk up to it, having to put a hand over your squinting eyes as you try to peer through the grime on the driver’s side window. Cobwebs have made a nest of your steering wheel and a thin blanket of dust and debris covers the upholstery of your seats. Your ignition is rusted over and the dancing hula girl on your dashboard is missing her head.

You turn around and wander back through the trees from which you came. When you emerge from the forest this time, you’re in front of your childhood home. The front door is cracked open and you can tell that no one is home as you enter the darkness inside with a creak.

Particles float through the cold air as you analyze what was once your home. Dust has fallen on nearly every surface like snow, but when you go to pick up what should be a family photo you find only your parents in the picture.

You nearly tear apart the whole place, turning the entirety of the second story upside down in search of nothing in particular, but come up empty handed regardless. No princess bedroom like how you’d left it, no pictures of you on the walls, not even a nursery. Just your parents’ bedroom and ensuite bathroom; a study where your room should be.

You nearly come flying down the stairs and out the front door, making a beeline back to the forest. You clear the entire woods in just a few steps, born out the other end staring at a sign covered in large vines that reads “Forest Hills Trailer Park.”

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───── ⋆⋅˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

By the next time you’re out with your newfound friends for a much needed break, Robin is the first to point out just how tired you look - much to your dismay.

“Jesus Y/N, you getting any sleep?” asks the tallest member of your party, now that Jonathan’s decided to sit this one out.

“Rob,” Nancy scolds her friend, shooting her a look.

You shrug your shoulders, unable to fight the yawn that escapes your lips, “She’s right. I’m practically a member of the undead these days.”

“You okay?” asks Nancy.

“Yeah, I mean, I’m fine.” This is when you decide to actually confide in your friends for once, hoping to put the nightmares to rest if you talk about it. “I’ve just been having these really weird dreams? Or nightmares, I guess.”

“Nightmares?” Robin echoes. “What about?”

You can feel Nancy studying you closely, no longer interested in her food. You choose your words carefully, deciding not to mention him just in case the pair before you might know of him. “Apocalyptic shit. Sometimes there will be these really strange monsters, or sometimes I’m in like a completely abandoned version of Hawkins. I dunno.”

“Monsters?” both women ask at the same time, staring.

You laugh, “Maybe I never got over my fear of the Boogeyman,” you wipe your hands and throw the crumbled napkin onto your now finished plate, standing up from the booth. “Don’t judge.”

You glance over your shoulder a single time as you make your way to the bathroom, spotting Nancy and Robin muttering amongst themselves. You decide not to dwell on it, excusing yourself out of the way of a woman exiting the ladies’ room. Right when you’re about to enter behind her, your eyes focus on a particular poster on the wall between the two restrooms as she moves out of the way, a familiar face catching your eye.

MISSING PERSON.

EDWARD MUNSON.

Also known as “Eddie.”

20 years old —-- 5’10” —-- 145lbs.

Last seen: March 21st-

You rush inside of the bathroom before reading any further, drowning in your thoughts all too quickly within seconds already as you try to process what you’d just read. Hands bracing the sink, your reflection scares you as you stare back all wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. You attempt to turn the words over in your mind multiple times in an effort to make sense of them,

MISSING PERSON.

EDWARD MUNSON.

You see the image over and over again in your head, knowing that it’s him.

MISSING PERSON. EDWARD MUNSON. Also known as “Eddie.”

His hair was a few inches shorter in that picture than when you’d last seen him, but everything else was all the same. Same doe eyed brunette that you’d last seen. Last seen in March.

You stand there unsure of what to do, wondering for a second if this was the start of a panic attack similar to the one Nancy might have been subjected to when you mentioned Barb.

Robin’s words suddenly echo in your mind. “The list of people gone without a trace.”

When you finally return to the table, you make it known that you’re ready to call it quits but without actual intention of going home just yet.

You’re repeating the details you’d skimmed on your way out and in as you start up your car. Residence: Forest Hills Trailer Park. That was the place you’d seen in your dream.. If you have any information, please contact Wayne Munson.

The sun is setting as you drive closer and closer to the trailer park, unsure if it’s your shot nerves or eyes blurry with tears that threaten to spill - not only does the place look eerily similar to how you’d dreamt it, but you could also swear you see Max, the redhead from the bonfire. You’re certain that it’s her as she comes fully into view and she stops walking at the sound of your tires pulling up nearby behind her.

You park your car and exit the vehicle, hurriedly making your way towards the girl. “Max?”

She does not move, even once you reach her.

“Um, hi I’m Y/N. I was at the lake, with Nancy?” you state to the back of her head.

The girl finally turns around slowly, letting you notice the cane she holds for the first time. Her eyes are cloudy, milky white and darting back and forth constantly in apparent nystagmus. You’re too shocked to say anything else.

“Yeah?” her quiet voice speaks finally, as if the recognition has dawned on her, she looks straight at you.

“I-Um,” you shut your eyes and exhale, starting over. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Wayne Munson is, would you?”

Despite how ridiculous you suddenly feel for asking, Max turns ever so slightly and points directly to a trailer across the way as if blessed with vision. “That’s his new trailer.”

“Thank you,” you declare earnestly.

Your heart banging against your eardrums, you make your way over to the trailer with the truck parked in front. Your feet drag as you amble up the stairs, and you notice something moving the blinds in one of the windows farthest from you out of the corner of your eye. At least someone’s home, you think. Stomach dropping under the heavy weight of dread, you raise an equally heavy fist to knock on the door.

After several clicks, the door creaks open ever so slightly ajar to an older man with sharp blue eyes and a graying beard as he watches you cautiously from behind it, muttering a greeting with a gruff voice.

You clear your throat, eyes misty already. “Wayne Munson?”

“Yes?” The man’s voice is low, almost a whisper. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was afraid of you. “Who are you?”

“My name is Y/N, um,” your voice is smaller than you intend, tired of having to introduce yourself. “I am- I was friends with your nephew, Eddie…When did he..When did he go missing?”

The man squints, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes. He opens the door fully now, casting away the shadows that were looming over his face. “Eddie’s fine,” he states matter of factly.

It takes a second too long for his words to hit your brain, you were expecting the worst. Rarely ever are you wrong about that, especially these days, or so you thought.

You’re unsure of letting out the breath you’re holding, “He’s- He’s fine?”

“Yes,” the man nods a single time, his expression just as puzzled as yours. “If you saw a poster or somethin’ my apologies, those are old. He’s been home for quite some time now.”

Finally, you breathe. “Oh. Is he home right now..?”

Wayne hesitates to answer, stepping back from the threshold and looking towards his right for a few moments. “Uh, no..He’s not, sorry.”

You know he’s lying, but you don’t test him. You take this as your final sign to let go, clearly you are unwanted. Your brain practically ran with the story of him being abducted or worse, instead of just coping with the fact that maybe he was just avoiding you.

You vow to never smoke tree ever again.

“Oh, okay,” you keep your tone chipper as you turn to leave. You will not cry. “Thank you.”

You’re making your way to where your car is parked, hands shaking and a gloomy overcast darkening the evening as it slowly begins to rain. You let one single tear fall, disguised by the raindrops. As you pivot to seat your body behind the wheel, you see a second door opening in the trailer you’d just left. You stop behind your open car door.

Running so fast he’s nearly dodging falling rain is none other than ‘Edward Munson.’

Before you know it, the man is pulling you into his cold embrace as he breathes your scent deep into his lungs, leaving you florid and stammering. Butterflies choke up every word you want to say and he can feel your heart beating against his ribs, electrified.

Finally he moves away, but only ever so slightly, barely leaving room for rain to fall between you.

“I’m sorry,” his voice is raspy, strained. “I just have to try something."

You notice his hands are trembling as he opens and closes his balled up fists before finally using his cold hands to close the gap between your bodies.

One hand at your cheek as your warm blood rushes to it, the other cold at your neck, rings pressing into your skin ever so slightly. He’s gentle with his hands but his lips crash into yours, hungry and practically burning with desire, leaving yours buzzing. You can’t help but to melt into him, touch starved yourself. You’re clearly not as famished as he is, though, a small whimper leaving him as you put your hand to his chest briefly just as you begin to run out of air.

Finally he breaks away from you, you gasping, his eyes as dark as always but soft looking down at you - like graphite. The boy looks pained, almost. Lips and cheeks flushed.

“Sorry,” he repeats sincerely, for multiple reasons.

“Where were you?” the sadness in your voice makes his unmoving heart break, if only it could.

Eddie’s cold breath fans your face as he exhales, still holding you to him. “I’ve been keeping something from you… But I just can’t stay away from you anymore.”

“What do you-” before you can get all of the words out, his lips are hugging yours again, shutting you up. He's all around you; the smell of his clothes, his grasp, his body, his kiss, all eclipsing you.

The man is quicker this time to remember you still need to breathe. He parts from you slowly, eyes still closed. You watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows, dark lashes even wispier against the hollows of his undereye as rain cascades down his pale cheekbones - making him look like a weeping angel.

His pink lips part. “I’m a vampire.”

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───── ⋆⋅˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

an: sooo sorry this part got delayed so many times! honestly, i'm not totally loving this story anymore. i'll def still finish but i just wanna say that any constructive criticism is always welcome <3

p.s.

max is only partially blind :3

- levi

#stranger things eddie #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x fem!reader #stranger things #adventureland

26 notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 2 years

Text

Don't Be Scared || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Complete Faith

POV Drabble #8: Don't Be Scared

WC: 2.6k

Warnings: angst, hospital visit, lots of MS talk, kissing, language

The Request:

@pamzn sorry for the delay on this one!!! I hope it delivers!

A/N: This is the second half of Chapter 10 :)

Sunday is a disaster - the worst Taehyung can remember since he was a teenager. His mother is incapacitated by the pain of her headaches, spending long hours clutching her head and crying. Not to mention that this attack - Taehyung is sure this is a full-scale MS attack, even though they don’t have the brain scans to prove it yet - has left her entire left side feeling weakened, her vision blurry.

His father had taken her to the hospital on Saturday night, but they’d treated her for the headache and sent them home again. Then on Sunday, the rest of the symptoms came on strong - the blurred, darkened vision, the weakening of her arm and leg on the left side. By Sunday night, she can barely move them at all.

He and his father beg to take her back to the hospital, but she remains stubborn, wanting to wait it out.

“Jagiya,” Taehyung’s father says softly, voice quiet, just for her. “Let’s go, okay? We’ll get Dr. Khan to order a start to the steroids. There’s no point in suffering.”

Taehyung’s not sure why she resists - pride, maybe. But probably she just hates sitting for long hours while the IV steroids run at the out-patient section of the hospital, hates how the steroids make her too energized, to where she can’t sleep and will wake up and scrub the stovetop at three in the morning. Probably she hates how they give her a moon-face and make her act mean. (“Meanness” is literally listed as a side-effect, Taehyung looked it up when he was sixteen and thought she hated him for a few weeks.)

On Monday morning, Taehyung’s father reluctantly gets ready for work. Taehyung hasn’t been home except to grab clean clothes since before his trip for Nikki’s birthday - he hasn’t even been able to think about all the things that happened with you since he stepped back into his childhood household, his mother’s misery eclipses everything else in his brain.

“I’ll talk to my boss, try to get out early,” Taehyung’s father tells him. “See if you can get her to go. She listens to you.”

Taehyung lets his mother sleep as long as she’s able in the morning; when she wakes it’s clear that she’s lost all use of her left arm. This makes her cry, and that makes Taehyung’s stomach hurt. He starts calling her neurologist's office as soon as it opens; he gets put on hold and left there.

He just wants to ask an adult - a real adult - what he should do.

Mid-morning, Taehyung decides he can’t take it anymore. “We’re going,” he tells her flatly. “I’m going to get you dressed, and we’ll leave. I’ll keep calling Dr. Khan on our way there.”

“I don’t want to just sit in the waiting room like this,” she protests. “If we wait for Dr. Khan then we can -.”

“No,” Taehyung says flatly. “At least they can give you something for the pain, even if we have to wait for the steroids.”

Behind him, from the living room, Taehyung thinks he hears his name being called. Then, once more, a little less timidly. He freezes. He knows that voice.

He rises, heads back to the living room. You look at him, bewildered, as if you can’t believe you’d just walked in uninvited. Honestly, he can’t believe it either. He’s sure you’re there to talk after everything that happened over the weekend, but he can’t right now, not when he’s deep in fix it mode with his mom. And why are you trying to talk to him during a weekday morning?

“Why are you in my house right now?” he asks. He’s already redialing Dr. Khan, ready to be put on hold until the call disconnects automatically for the fourth time that morning. “Never mind. Whatever this is, Y/N, I can’t do it right now. You need to go, now.”

He’s not even looking at you, he’s looking at his phone.

“Taehyung,” you say, and there’s something steely in your tone, something that tells him you’re taking no bullshit right now. “Let me help you.”

No. He almost says it. Behind him, his mother lets out a particularly pitiful sob before quieting again. The hold music on his phone starts to play. He needs to get his mother dressed and in the car.

“Tae,” you say, whispering. “What’s going on? How can I help?”

You look scared, brows bunched together. You look like you’re about to reach out, to place gentle fingers on his shaking hands.

“You can’t,” he snaps. He does not have the emotional capacity for this. You give him a look, crossing your arms over your chest and sticking out your chin.

He always did love how stubborn you are.

He remembers you saying, on the day you’d left him, “when I needed you to be there and you stepped up, I let you.” Was that all he had done wrong? Was that all it would take to change fate?

Resigned, he says, “My dad got called in for a work emergency,” he tells you. “She can’t walk today. I’m trying to get her to the hospital.”

He watches your eyes widen in shock. “She can’t walk?” you parrot.

“She could yesterday, this hasn’t happened in years,” he explains. “I’m trying to get a hold of her neurologist to see if he can meet us at the hospital or-.”

“What else needs to happen?” you cut him off.

Taehyung gestures wildly. What needs to happen is a miracle, and he can’t exactly ask for that. “I need to get her dressed and in the car. It’s hard when she can’t – her whole left side just doesn’t move when she wants it to.”

“I’ll do it,” you say, and honestly he’s never wanted to kiss you so much in his life. It’s not even a romantic thing, he’s just so damn relieved. “Will she let me? I’ll get her ready, you call the people you need to call. Then we can get her in the car together.”

Taehyung nods, looking back at his phone, hanging up and dialing again. While you get her dressed, he walks through the kitchen and puts together the paperwork they need, finds his own wallet and keys.

He carries his mother to the car, sets her gently in the passenger seat, helps her buckle in. You hover, holding the papers and his mother’s purse.

“I can take it from here,” he says. “Thank you for the help, but you should go back to work.”

Work. He realizes for the first time that he hadn’t remembered to call and say he was sick.

You don’t answer him, just shake your head and climb in the backseat, buckling in and staring at him defiantly, challenging.

God, you’re so stubborn. It almost makes Taehyung smile. On a different day, it might have.

Taehyung rolls his eyes and gets into the driver’s seat.

The rest of the afternoon is a blur. Taehyung remembers his mother getting whisked away to get imagining taken of her brain, so the hospital’s neurology team could confirm if she has an active lesion, judge the severity of it, make a decision. He remembers finally getting Dr. Khan on the phone, finally. He remembers his dad calling to say he was getting out of work within the hour and he’d come straight there.

He remembers you, listening intently as doctors spoke to him, holding his mother’s hand when they inserted an IV needle on the other hand, sitting beside him. Now and then you’d reach out and touch his shoulder gently, a nonverbal I’m here with you. You never left his side, not for a second.

“You can go home,” Taehyung tells you, once he knows his dad is on his way. “You can take my car - I'll just go home with my dad after he gets here.”

You frown at him like he’s said something offensive, and shake your head. “I’ll leave when you leave,” you say firmly.

And who is Taehyung to argue? The next time you lean closer to his side, he reaches over and gives your shoulder a quick, thankful squeeze.

When his father arrives, the doctors fill him in. Mrs. Kim is sleeping, having received medication for the devastating headache and a round of IV steroids to calm the process that makes her limbs weak. When they release her, Taehyung helps his father get her back in the car. He watches as they drive away, and then turns to face you, feeling completely, utterly spent.

You look at him, your face softening with understanding and affection. Taehyung wonders absently when you’d started looking at him like that again. You used to, he remembers that expression well from their days at the lakehouse. After the break-up, you had barely looked at him at all, and never like this.

“Let’s go back to your place,” you suggest. A little smile shows up on your face and you add, “You can shower and nap, I’ll order food.” It’s exactly what Taehyung had said to you, months ago, after the night your mother had gone missing, the day you’d fallen apart and he’d held you together, just like you’d done for him today.

It was always mirrors with the two of you. Taehyung had noticed that from the start.

Taehyung feels like a robot, like he’s running on muscle-memory only. He gets you both back to his apartment, he showers, he collapses into bed. It doesn’t even occur to him to argue with you, to tell you to go home. Maybe he’s too drained to think about it.

Maybe he likes that you’re there.

He wakes up some hours later feeling like a whole new person. He rolls onto his side, listening. He doesn’t hear any movement and wonders if you’ve gone home. He wouldn’t blame you - what’s the alternative, sitting alone in your ex’s living room while he napped behind a closed door?

But to his surprise, he opens his bedroom door to find you sitting in the chair in the little nook he’d made for you, back when things were good between you. The fact that you’re there, specifically, and not over on the couch or something… Taehyung feels like he’s understanding something you’re saying silently. He smiles shyly, hoping he’s not wrong.

“Feel better?” you ask him, lowering your phone. “There’s take-out in the fridge.”

Taehyung realizes he hasn’t eaten today, and he’s definitely starving. But more pressing - you’re in his apartment, and you’re sitting in your nook that he made for you.

“Amazing,” he says, and plops on the couch, his head on the arm, his legs stretched out. Despite napping, his body feels exhausted; he imagines it’s from all the adrenaline throughout the day. “What a fucking day,” he breathes.

“I’m glad it’s somewhat under control now,” you say seriously.

Taehyung snaps; he’d been holding on by the tiniest thread, and it’s over now. You’d shown up at his house unbidden, like your fucking Taehyung senses were tingling. You’d helped him through one of the hardest, scariest days he’s ever had. You’d stood by him all day, no matter how many times he told you to go home.

And then you’d stayed, waited for him, and now you’re smiling at him so openly, like the wall you used to put up isn’t just down, it’s like it never even existed in the first place.

He needs you in his arms now. He needs to hold you now or he’ll lose it.

“C’mere,” he murmurs. He doesn’t even have time to hope you listen before you’re up and moving. You perch lightly by his legs, looking at him expectantly. “Thank you for being there today,” he says, meaning this and so much more. Meaning this, and ‘thank you for saving me’. Meaning this, and ‘thank you for loving me, because I’m sure now that you do’. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up. That would have been a lot harder alone.”

“Taehyung,” you say, face pale. He can see your nerves - in the slight tremble of your fingers as they rest just above your thighs, in the breathiness as you say his name. “I have something I need to say to you.”

Taehyung pulls himself up so he’s not lying down anymore. He wants to look at you, wants to be fully participating in this conversation. “I’m all ears,” he tells you.

Don’t be scared, he thinks, something he should have told you fucking months ago. Maybe it would have saved you both some strife.

He watches you gather your bravery, squaring your shoulders and looking him right in the eyes. “Tae,” you say, and he’s done right there, he doesn’t even need the rest. It’s all in your voice, it’s all in the way the one syllable falls from your mouth, alight, like it has wings of its own. “I want to apologize. I’m sorry for letting my fear be bigger than my trust.”

Taehyung fights the urge to shake his head at you. He doesn't need an apology from you. He doesn't need you to take the blame for the break-up. He doesn't need you to care for how he’d hurt in the time you were apart.

You huff out an anxious breath and continue. “But… I do trust you. I always did. I actually… fuck, I actually love you. I’ve loved you since the lake. I think I’ve loved you since you threw a water bottle at me after we fought.”

You pause, laughing at yourself, and Taehyung just stares, pulse racing in his ears, the noise of it roaring like his heart. It’s beyond what he wanted, beyond what he needed, leagues beyond what he deserves, and he honestly just wants you to come kiss him, but you’re still talking, voice trembling.

“I remember you telling me that no one ever fought for you - no one made you feel like you’re worth the fight.”

Taehyung remembers that, too, remembers clearly the first time he had found the words for the gnawing feeling inside him. He remembers how talking to you about it had felt like… like no one else spoke his language for his whole life, and then you walked up and spoke it fluently.

“I’m fighting,” you say, your voice breaking, and Taehyung clenches his hands into fists to stop from reaching for you, from interrupting you. “I want to be with you. I want to choose to trust you every day. I want to choose to love you every day.”

Taehyung is sure that whatever you’re going to say next is amazing, which is a shame, because he’s pulling you by the wrist into his lap, reaching for your face, mouth finding yours as soon as it's close enough. You kiss him back eagerly, straddling his lap. His hands find your face and he knows - he knows - this is what he was waiting for all those years.

He knows he has something special with you. He knows that it means something that you two fought through so much bullshit to get here. He knows it matters that you were there for him today, when you owed him literally nothing. He knows that it must have been terrifying for you to apologize, to throw down your walls and admit you love him.

He knows his heart is soaring as you kiss him, knows that you’re feeling it too.

He knows he’s in love with you - fully, deeply, completely. He’s known all along.

Thank you for reading! You can find my full masterlist here :)

#daechwitatamic drabbles #complete faith fic #taehyung x reader #taehyung drabble #taehyung angst #bts x reader

64 notes · View notes

stormwarnings · 2 months

Note

WAIT WAIT WAIT I FORGOT WE WERE TUMBLR MUTUALS!! HI HELLO!!!

i'll backtrack a bit!! hi this is eta (currently elwinged but i was also previously radiantsusan/phantomsjulie) and i don't think we've ever actually talked but we ARE mutuals on tumblr and i LITERALLY didn't realise until i was scrolling through my old posts (as you do) and went WAIT I'M MUTUALS WITH STORMWARNINGS (and the answer was YES) and the reason i was so surprised is because i've been bingeing so many of your fics on ao3 recently bc i got back into star wars and! they're! so! good!!!!

i have a special appreciation for 'bury me beneath the tree i climbed when i was a child', it's so gorgeously heartwarming and made me feel all the good feels because it felt so lovely and healing! (my ao3 bookmark says: oh!! oh this was so heartwarming i'm about to cry!!)

and then ALSO (sorry this is going to be a long one) your series 'how i long to grow old'??? THANKS I'M SOBBING????? like it's fix it series but also i am crying over how much these people have lost and yet they still keep getting up???? i love how you write cody and rex and their various interactions, their grief and burdens feel so so so real (also. hey. hey. *grips you gently on the shoulder*. fox. WHY. i am sobbing.) AND THAT TITLE???? YES THEY DO. THEY LONG TO GROW OLD. SCREAMING.

and then ALSO (i said this was going to be a long one) the one that i keep reading and not realising it's also by you, an author who has written many of my favourite fics ('come down from your moutnain')!!!!!! you got the commanders and their relationships with their jedi SO RIGHT!!!! like "are they all like that?" "like what?" and the answers being BEAUTIFUL CLEVER MERCILESS BURNING BLOODSTAINED UNNERVING and you've got them pinned down to a POINT you've got their characters dissected you write them so well!!! i am in awe (and also have that passage screenshotted and favourited)

and you ALSO have written one of my fave silm pieces ever (and i... also didn't realise that stormwarnings who wrote the silm piece and stormwarnings who wrote the codywan au were the same person until a couple months ago and i went. HUH. WAIT.), 'celestial bodies', which is such a gorgeous gorgeous explanation of idril and maeglin if they were a little bit kinder to each other. like--- "you knew my mother. would you tell me about her?" I AM LYING ON THE FLOOR FACEDOWN. and how you emphasise their age and how that shapes them differently!!! lomion is so young and idril has seen things that will never be seen again and it's THEM, it's how it SHAPES them, it's how they understand each other!! i am losing it.

anyway! sorry for the extremely long ask, i was just kind of going ??? the whole morning being like WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M MUTUALS WITH ONE OF MY FAVE AUTHORS!! so!! thanks for writing some of the absolute best works i've ever read + i hope you have a wonderful day!!

RADIANTSUSAN OMG I WAS WONDERING WHERE YOU HAD GONE!!!!!!!!!! eta this made me cry in my first class genuinely this is the sweetest message and such a nice thing to wake up to!!!!

i am SO happy that you (and so many others) were touched by 'bury me beneath the tree' because that fic was truly a labor of love and a little piece of my soul and it makes me so happy to hear how much it was enjoyed. also i promise there is more of 'how i long to grow old' in the works - i have probably ten other fics plotted out, ive just been so busy with college and work and life. as for my other fics, thank you! im still really proud of 'celestial bodies', and the art that my trsb partner made was so beautiful.

anyway NO YOU your art and edits are always so lovely! so happy to see you pop up on my dash again :) have a fantastic day!

#cat rambles #lovely words from lovely people #ask #elwinged

3 notes · View notes

weirdprophetess · 1 year

Text

been seeing people talk about Ethel Cain a lot and had chills the entire time i watched her perform Morning Elvis with Florence so I'm playing Preacher's Daughter for the first time and writing notes as I go

fair warning this is an incredibly long post

first of all i have to say i love this album cover the dark warm browns are gorgeous and really give off that rural small town vibe and i read a few articles about her so i know she grew up in a place like that and the album title is describing her because her dad was a deacon of the church her and her family grew up in

the basssss the bass starting family tree ooooooohhhhh i love that

these crosses all over my body remind me of who i used to be and christ forgive these bones im hiding from no one successfully jesus can always reject his father but he cannot escape his mothers blood W H A T

THE BEATSSS THEYRE SO DARK AND DRAMATIC AND ATMOSPHERIC IM SCREAMING IM ONE MINUTE IN AND THIS IS MAYBE THE BEST ALBUM INTRO IVE EVER HEARD

my brain chemistry has already been altered i instantly need this on vinyl

loveee the guitar starting off american teenagerrrrrr

the suspended vocalization tooooooo)(U*U@PIHF@

i love love love her voice its so rich and she does deep and high notes both so amazingly welllllllll screaming

the melody the flow of the lyrics the beat the synthy floaty sounds im deadddd i love thissss i want to rip it apart like soft hot bread and eat ittttt

SAY WHAT YOU WANT BUT SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT WITH YOU F I S T S FOR ONCE

MAIN CHARACTER TYPE SONG I LOVE THE IRONY I LOVE TEH SADNESS IM GOING TO WALK AROUND TO THIS SO MUCH THAT IS ONE OF THE HIGHEST HONORS I CAN GIVE A SONG @mothercain YOUR HAND IN MARRIAGE BITCHHHH

I HAVE FINISHED TWO SONGS AND ITS ALREADY MY NEW PERSONALITY TIME TO HYPERFIXATE FOR MONTHS AND LET IT TAKE OVER THIS WHOLE FUCKING BLOG

THE SUSPENDED PIANO NOTES FOR HOUSE IN NEBRASKA???? Y E S

THE ECHOEY VOCALS MAKE ME INSANE IM CLAWING AT THE WALLS RENDING MY GARMENTS GNASHING MY TEETH OH MY GODDDDDD

I STILL CALL HOME THAT HOUSE IN NEBRASKA WHERE WE FOUND EACH OTHER IN A DIRTY MATTRESS ON THE SECOND FLOOR WHERE THE WORLD WAS EMPTY SAVE YOU AND I WHERE YOU CAME AND I LAUGHED AND YOU LEFT AND I CRIED WHERE YOU TOLD ME EVEN IF WE DIED TONIGHT THAT ID DIE YOURS

YOU KNOW I STILL WAIT AT THE EDGE OF TOWN PRAYING STRAIGHT TO GOD THAT MAYBE YOULL COME BACK AROUND I HAVE FULL BODY CHILLSSSSSS

THE ROCK GUITAR SMASHING IN AND BEING SO CRUNCHY GODDDDDDDDD

He's never looked more beautiful on his Harley in the parking lot breaking into the ATMs sleeping naked when it gets too hot from what ive heard people say about Lana Del Rey's music this sounds like she might've been an influence

show me how much i mean to you while im lying in these sheets undressed id hold the gun if you ask me to but if you love me like you say you do would you ask me to troubles always gonna find you baby but so will i crying only because im happy hold me across every state line im never gonna leave you baby even if you lose whats left of your mind cause you know ill be right there beside you riding through those western nights

ooh there's another song called family tree the first one was family tree (intro) but there's track five without (intro) delicious

oohhhhhooohohoho same first two lines but then new lyrics

give myself up to him in offering let him make a woman out of me ooooh hoo hoo hooooo

so family tree is a banger

i immediately thought emo cowboy on hearing those lyrics and google actually gave me that so thank you whoever made this image because its truly the essence of this album

the next one is hard times and the first thing i thought of was paramore ive been obsessed with that song lately

nine going on eightaayynn lay it on meeeeeeheeeeheeeee yessssss

im tiiiiired of you too tiiiiired to leave im tiiiired of you still tiiiiied to meeeee

I MET YOU THERE IN TEXAS

MY ASS WHO LIVES IN TEXAS👀👀👀

i met you there in texas somewhere on the thoroughfare on the side of the road with a pistol in my pocket i didnt trust no one but you said baby dont run ill take you anywhere

AND YOU SAID HEY DO YOU WANNA SEE THE WEST WITH MEEEHEEEEEE CAUSE LOVES OUT THERE AND I CANT LEAVE IT BEEEEEE AND I SAID HONEY LOVES NEVER MEANT MUCH TO ME BUT ILL COME WITH YOU IF YOURE SURE ITS WHAT YOU NEED

love love lovvveeeeee the beat that comes in a bit before that part

sad cowgirl winter lets go girls

i am halfway through this album and ive made more notes than i have for some albums twice the length thats how good 13 track albums always are

its not a real cowboy album if youre not spending the last two minutes of a nine and a half minute song just vocalizing

oh the nexts songs called gibson girl ive heard of that but i forgot what it is hang on

a type of drawing by a man named Charles Gibson of the ideal woman of the 1890s ooh should be interesting

the intro for this songgggg

the production is the fucking besttttt

the echoes for this one too yesss i love this shitttt

i dont even know what image to put this over but just youre all the same black leather and dark glasses pourin another while i shake my ass hes cold blooded so it takes more time to bleed obsession with the money addicted to the drugs says hes in love with my body thats why hes fucking it up

the guitar breakkkkkkk:PO(*&^%$^;l;pqokpiaw

next ones name is ptolemaea so lemme go look that up too

oh yeahhh that greek astrologer dude okay

ooh the distortion in the beginningggg

the intensity building is so horror-like i love it

the screech on the last stop made me jump a lil goodbye

I am the face of loves rage what the fuck

the guitar and drums all getting more intense after that line remind of of the end of I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers ill take ten million more songs with that please

the entire ending um???

its a good thing i decided to listen to this album around noon and not the middle of the night because i love demonic speaking parts but not when my eyes arent adjusted to the dark girl

ooh august underground is an instrumental i went to look up the lyrics and apparently its named after a horror film trilogy so ill probably check that out soon

televangelism is also purely instrumental and genius says its ethels ascent to heaven as music god this sounds gorgeous

what i wouldnt give to be in church this sunday listening to the choir so heartfelt all singing god loves you but not enough to save you so good luck on your own baby so i said fine cause thats how my daddy raised if they strike one once then you just hit em twice as hard but in the end the fire bent under the weight they gave me and this heart would break and fall twice as far eating these lyrics

WE ALL KNOW HOW IT GOES THE MORE IT HURTS THE LESS IT SHOWS BUT I STILL FEEL LIKE THEY ALL KNOW AND THATS WHY I COULD NEVER G O BACK HOME E T H E L THERE IS NO NEED TO EXPOSE ME LIKE THIS???

SO I MET HIM THERE AND TOLD HIM I BELIEVE SINGING IF ITS MEANT TO BE THEN IT WILL BE AND I FORGIVE IT ALL AS IT COMES BACK TO ME IM STILL PRAYING FOR THAT HOUSE IN NEBRASKA BY THE HIGHWAY OUT ON THE EDGE OF TOWN DANCING WITH THE WINDOWS OPEN I CANT LET GO WHEN SOMETHINGS BROKEN ITS ALL I KNOW AND ITS ALL I WANNA KNOW

one more song i have no idea what to say

freezer bride, your sweet divine look i have been obsessed with the locked tomb for over a year im not going to NOT think of Alecto when i see this

when my mother sees me on the side of a carton in winn-dixie's dairy aisle like the one promo picture for this right

and arlington's in texas👀👀👀

f.inisheddd thea lbum(*&#!OHPI#!HFo

wow what the hell was that im going to obsess over it forever

if there is not a colored vinyl of this i am going to fucking murder someone this deserves something gorgeous for me to stare at while its playing

in conclusion i cannot in any way let my religious mother know im trying to get this album so im going to work with my friend who helps me get explicit/gay music my mom wont let me because spotifys alright but i need to listen to this on my little portable cd player with headphones on full blast on the floor in the middle of the night because truly every album experience is better that way but especially shit like this

ethel if youre reading this how the everloving FUCK is this your debut album this literally deserves a grammy we all know they havent been shit for a while but if you dont get one for this im going to maul the entire Academy for real. keep doing weird shit i literally heard about you from Morning Elvis with Florence, my number one weird music woman and her taste has not failed me yet, especially not after an hour of being immersed in this

#ethel cain #hayden anhedönia #preachers daughter #mother cain #southern gothic #southern gothic aesthetic #my post

26 notes · View notes

samwearsreebok · 2 years

Text

Sam x Leah

Forewarning: I wrote this while drunk and in my feels about Sam and leahs breakup. Its pretty much gibberish

I was still trying to sort out what to do when I heard the most beautiful voice ever, "sir, are you ok?"

I turned around to see my gorgeous girl staring at me with concern in her eyes, as if she'd never seen anyone so torn apart before. She probably hadn't. In fact, I bet no one had ever looked like this to her before. Her long dark hair flowed down past her shoulders and covered half of her face. She was so beautiful. The way the light caught in her locks made them look almost luminescent. She wore a white dress shirt, tie, slacks, and high heels that matched the occasion perfectly. I almost forgot this was my engagement party. Leah could hold a candle to any woman's beauty.

"Hey honey" leah said as she walked over to us.

"Hi" I managed between breaths. I gave her a weak smile.

She smiled back, but it wasn't quite genuine.

"Let me help you up sir," emily but in putting her hand under my arm. "So you must be Sam, leah wasn't exaggeration, you are beutiful!" She enthused.

"Thanks, you're pretty cute yourself," I muttered as I got to my feet. My knees were still shaking from the shock. I took a deep breath and tried to get myself together.

"Are you okay, Sammy?" Leah asked it must be obvious how weird I felt. Like my whole world just turned inside out. I couldn't figure out why.

It was like when I'd first seen Leah and she was dressed up for the prom. Except then I knew her and was interested, or at least attracted to her. But now...now I didn't know what to think anymore. I think this officially made me worse than my father.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine, uhm...thanks." I replied nervously. Leah just stared at me, not sure what to say. I'd been acting really strange since i first turned, i knew that much. Becoming a werewolf then keeping it a secret from everyone isn't the easiest thing. Especially not when everyone is watching you, waiting for you to go crazy again and need to be but away. So I could understand her confusion. I hoped emily wouldnynpick up on her confusion.

Emily broke the silence finally, "i hope we can be friends"

"Sure," I replied, trying my best to sound normal. It wasn't easy. "I don't have many friends in this town. I feel kinda left out at the moment."

"That's sad," she said sadly as she looked into my eyes.

I turned and started walking towards the kitchen, hoping they'd make me some food. My stomach was growling loudly. I'd not eaten anything all day. All morning I'd been too nervous, then I'd gotten sick. I wasn't sure I could eat at all right now.

Leah grabbed my arm, stopping me before I got far. "Sam, are you sure you're alright? You seem kind of..." I watched as her words trailed off.

"What?" I asked.

"You know," she said hesitantly, "a little bit, um...well, different."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did i scare you?" I asked outraged.

"No! No, Sam, not at all. It's just...well you know," she stammered.

I sighed, "yes, I do know. I thought we were supposed to be moving on from this." I rushed. "Every time I have to talk about this I go back to square one." I could feel the tears forming. Just talking about it made me want to cry.

"I know, I'm sorry," she said sympathetically. "But it's good to have someone to talk to who knows what you're going through."

"Thanks," I said with a nod. "Sorry I lashed out, it's just,"

"Hard." She finished for me. "We all have to deal with it in our own ways, Sam. If it helps I'll tell you the truth, ive never seen someone phase before, " she paused, "but I wish I had been with you, it would make things easier."

"You know I'm a werewolf?" I couldn't believe she knew. I thought we were talking about my mental health.

"Yes, I've known since last year," she said calmly. "My mother told me about the story's."

"Your mother knew?" I blurted out, shocked.

"Of course she did," she nodded. "It's the tribs history, only a few people go though it. We keep it quiet, we don't want to risk your safety."

"You mean I could have talked to you about it?" I gasped.

"Maybe, if you wanted to," she shrugged. "But I'm not sure you would have."

"True, I might not have," I admitted. "I just didn't know you knew."

"How did you find out?" she asked curiously.

"Only once a changed did I believe it." I answered honestly. "I spent a week in the woods alone after I first became a werewolf. Then I came back and people started treating me differently. I was paranoid, terrified someone would see me change and think I'd lost it like the rest of my family. So I kept it a secret. Obviously the elders knew and told me I had to protect our people. So I did."

"I can understand that," she said sympathetically. "I'm glad my mom told me, it makes everything easier. I feel like less of an outsider knowing I'm part of something bigger. I just hope it doesn't get you in trouble."

"Hopefully not," I agreed. "Do you mind if we keep this between us?"

"Not at all," she smiled reassuringly. "I promise."

"Thank you," I said gratefully. "I've been hiding it from everyone."

"Like you said, it's hard for everyone to talk about," she nodded. "But I think it's important to know you're still human."

I sighed, "you might be right."

"So, you've been seeing each other a while now?" Emily asked as she enteredthe room. I was happy to talk about Leah. "I haven't seen her since the prom. Have you been dating long?"

"A couple months," I said with a shrug.

"That's not bad," she said. "You've been through a lot in a short amount of time. I'm glad you've found someone who cares about you. Do you two always stay together during these changes?"

"Most of the time," I said vaguely. I didn't want to get into it. "I'm going to go get some food. See if i can convince my stomach to eat."

"Alright, well, if you need anything let me know," she told me.

"I will," I replied as I headed for the kitchen.

#twilight #twilight saga #sam uley #leah Clearwater #sam uley x reader #leah clearwater x reader #twilight fanfiction #the twilight saga #twilight wolf pack

33 notes · View notes

thelustybraavosimaid · 2 years

Text

Bran III, AGoT — Visions and Their Corresponding Passages

TO THE EAST

He looked east, and saw a galley racing across the waters of the Bite. He saw his mother sitting alone in a cabin, looking at a bloodstained knife on a table in front of her,

...

Her hand groped beneath her cloak, her fingers stiff and fumbling. The dagger was still at her side. She found she had to touch it now and then, to reassure herself. (Catelyn IV, AGoT)

as the rowers pulled at their oars and Ser Rodrik leaned across a rail, shaking and heaving.

...

"The captain was just telling me that our voyage is almost at an end," she said.

Ser Rodrik managed a wry smile. "So soon?" He looked odd without his great white side whiskers; smaller somehow, less fierce, and ten years older. Yet back on the Bite it had seemed prudent to submit to a crewman's razor, after his whiskers had become hopelessly befouled for the third time while he leaned over the rail and retched into the swirling winds. (Catelyn IV, AGoT)

A storm was gathering ahead of them, a vast dark roaring lashed by lightning, but somehow they could not see it.

...

The crossroads gave her pause. If they turned west from here, it was an easy ride down to Riverrun. Her father had always given her wise counsel when she needed it most, and she yearned to talk to him, to warn him of the gathering storm. If Winterfell needed to brace for war, how much more so Riverrun, so much closer to King's Landing, with the power of Casterly Rock looming to the west like a shadow. If only her father had been stronger, she might have chanced it, but Hoster Tully had been bedridden these past two years, and Catelyn was loath to tax him now. (Catelyn V, AGoT)

TO THE SOUTH

He looked south, and saw the great blue-green rush of the Trident. He saw his father pleading with the king, his face etched with grief.

...

"Stop them," Sansa pleaded, "don't let them do it, please, please, it wasn't Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can't, it wasn't Lady, don't let them hurt Lady, I'll make her be good, I promise, I promise…" She started to cry.

All Ned could do was take her in his arms and hold her while she wept. He looked across the room at Robert. His old friend, closer than any brother. "Please, Robert. For the love you bear me. For the love you bore my sister. Please."

The king looked at them for a long moment, then turned his eyes on his wife. "Damn you, Cersei," he said with loathing.

He saw Sansa crying herself to sleep at night, and he saw Arya watching in silence and holding her secrets hard in her heart.

...

And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher's boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell. (Eddard IV, AGoT)

There were shadows all around them. One shadow was dark as ash, with the terrible face of a hound.

...

But if her nights were full of wolves, her days belonged to the dog. Sandor Clegane made her get up every morning, whether she wanted to or not. (Arya XII, ASoS)

Another was armored like the sun, golden and beautiful.

...

"I have made kings and unmade them. Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor." Jaime smiled thinly. "Besides, kingslayers should band together. Are you ever going to go?" (Jaime IX, ASoS)

Over them both loomed a giant in armor made of stone, but when he opened his visor, there was nothing inside but darkness and thick black blood.

...

Maester Caleotte bowed, Ser Gregor's head still clutched in his soft pink hands.

"I'll take that." Obara Sand plucked the skull from him and held it at arm's length. "What did the Mountain look like? How do we know that this is him? They could have dipped the head in tar. Why strip it to the bone?" (The Watcher, ADwD)

...

His armor was plate steel, enameled white and bright as a maiden's hopes, and worn over gilded mail. A greathelm hid his face. From its crest streamed seven silken plumes in the rainbow colors of the Faith. A pair of golden seven-pointed stars clasped his billowing cloak at the shoulders.

A white cloak. (Cersei II, ADwD)

TO THE NARROW SEA

He lifted his eyes and saw clear across the narrow sea, to the Free Cities and the green Dothraki sea and beyond, to Vaes Dothrak under its mountain, to the fabled lands of the Jade Sea, to Asshai by the Shadow, where dragons stirred beneath the sunrise.

...

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons. (Daenerys X, AGoT)

Dany's wrist still tingled where Quaithe had touched her. "Where would you have me go?" she asked.

"To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow."

Asshai, Dany thought. She would have me go to Asshai. (Daenerys III, ACoK)

However, George has said:

“I don’t plan to set any scenes in Asshai – at least not in the present book, but you may find out a little bit about it in future books. We do have one character who’s been there, of course, and that’s Melisandre. So, in the chapters from her thought, you may occasionally have her think back to her time in Asshai.”

[Source — around the 27:22 mark]

TO THE NORTH

Finally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him.

...

Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jon found himself shivering. The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would forget what it felt like to be warm. (Jon III, AGoT)

True death came suddenly; he felt a shock of cold, as if he had been plunged into the icy waters of a frozen lake. (Prologue, ADwD)

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold… (Jon XIII, ADwD)

FURTHER NORTH

And he looked past the Wall, past endless forests cloaked in snow, past the frozen shore and the great blue-white rivers of ice and the dead plains where nothing grew or lived. North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks.

(Source: The World of Ice and Fire Official App)

The Land of Always Winter is uncharted territory, with perpetually frozen land, said to be home of the Others.

"You mean the Others," Bran said querulously.

"The Others," Old Nan agreed. "Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels."

...

"In that darkness, the Others came for the first time," she said as her needles went click click click. "They were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins." (Bran IV, AGoT)

The "curtain of light" ends where the Others live. They dislike the sun, and would magically block it out.

#branmonth2022 #asoiaf #canonbran #branstarkmonth2022

72 notes · View notes

charliespringsleftconverse · 10 months

Text

The Barbie movie resonates so deep. And I didn’t realize it until days later. When I saw the movie I was like, “That was nice. That message was too loud for my taste but nice.”

And then I went about my normal life, and life did her thing. Laughed in my face is what she did. She said “oh, you don’t see how the (America Ferreira’s) monologue relates to you? Hold on to your piña colada, bestie.”

I’ve always taken care of my family. I’m always making sure everyone feels heard and no one gets left behind. You’re not feeling well and need to stay back? I’ll stay with you. What do you need. Are people speaking over you? Let me capture their attention so you can express your opinion. Just so many things. Little things of course. But they accumulate.

I’ve always felt like a mother to my brother and I always kind of chucked it to being the oldest. You’re supposed to watch out for the little ones, no? He’s always been prone to tantrums so Ive always had to teach him that we don’t throw our shoes at people when playtime is over. But I’ve always been the only one doing the teaching. For my parents, I’ve always had to apologize for their behavior because my dad is oblivious to what he does and doesn’t do and my mom exhibits the same anger driven behaviors my younger sibling has learned.

This entire week that we were supposed to be on vacation everything felt multiplied. My brothers anger was over the roof when we didn’t see eye to eye. My dads obliviousness skyrocketed and he was always walking a million steps ahead of us in these sketchy places almost like he was racing an invisible force, leaving all of us to fend for ourselves. My mother‘s frustrations at everyday life was a constant from not just the heat but especially to things beyond her power because she couldn’t control unexpected events.

I’m always the one to apologize to my brother. I’m always the one calling out my dad. I’m always the one reassuring my mom that all will be well. I’m always the one. And I didn’t realize how exhausting and draining it was until I was the one who needed help.

Now that we’re on our way home from this “vacation,” my body became physically exhausted and started trembling from exhaustion the day before. I got a cold yesterday. And today, while brushing my teeth, I somehow managed to pull a back muscle and can’t bend and barely sit down. I was sharing a room with my brother when that last one happened and through all the deep lamas breathing and yelps, not once did my brother ask if I was okay. And when I told him, he didn’t ask how he could help. So I explained that I just needed him to massage a spot on my back. And when my dad called us asking where we were because the taxi arrived 30min early, I got nervous because I had spent all morning trying to get my back to work properly rather than getting ready. So I wasn’t ready yet. And I started crying. And my brother told my dad I was hysterical and stressed because the taxi was there…rather than explaining I needed help and was in pain. And within a minute, my brother was downstairs. Leaving me to fend for myself with an injured back. I was barely able to get ready. My mom kind of helped. She was the only one to come into the room and check on me. I don’t know how I made it downstairs. Probably out of spite. Idk.

By the time we got to airport, everyone knew that my back was in pain. I put my backpack on and grabbed our bag full of everyone’s snacks and food and carried on. I’m doing an awkward walk across the airport, mostly shuffling. How I got my bag off my back and back on when going through airport security, I have no idea. I blacked out. Couldn’t tell you. Blame my cold.

As we’re getting to our gate, my dad asks if he wants me to give him the huge bag of snacks and things I’ve been carrying. And I just…like I’m at the gate already. I’m not sure where you’re going to carry it to. And what comes out of his mouth is something along the lines of “don’t get mad that you’re carrying all these things when help was offered.”

It’s like I’m supposed to be grateful for the crumbs. Like sir, what you’re offering is the bare minimum. And I’m suppose to accept it like it’s cold water and I just hiked the longest trail of my life. OH YES. THANK YOU THANK YOU. YOURE SO KIND. Like sir, at best, this is a baton race that I ran and you’re just standing on the finish line waiting for me so you can claim the win.

All in all to say that I only just now realized that I’m always watching out for everyone else but I forget that even those closest to me don’t care for me the same way. I’ve always been taught to be caring, to be giving, to put others first. That’s what a daughter should do. What a sister should do. And now here I am sitting in an airport, in a foreign country, congested and in pain only just now realizing that I forgot to care for myself. Because I wanted everyone else to be happy. I wanted everyone else to have a good time. And now here I am physically and emotionally sick. And all it took for this self realization was a damn Barbie movie.

There’s something ironic about a plastic doll teaching you about the human experience.

#Barbie #Barbie movie #vacation #holiday rant #I fucking hate being a woman

4 notes · View notes

griffin-black · 1 year

Text

‘My Ordinary Life’ (Chap. V)

Author’s Note: I recommend reading this on Ao3 or Quotev.

Chapter Five Absolution V

‘Ever since you’ve born you’ve been dying. Everyday a little more you’ve been dying. Put your hands up and reach for the sky. Cry for Absolution’

The stranger walked into his bedroom; tall, handsome and out of place. He stood next to Toby's mother. Like a powerful force of nature, his presence was immediate and electric. Commanding your attention towards him.

For a second, Toby thought the stranger was Superman, though a different looking superman, coming to rescue him and cure him of his sickness. It was a silly thought, even the young boy knew that much, but it didn't prevent that spark of hope from popping into his head.

Copper red locks fell into the stranger's face and on the bridge of his nose rested thin wire, galvin cut glasses. He was wearing work clothes: black slacks, pressed white button up, black shoes, and a tan shearling jacket that reminded Toby of something a character wore in his favorite video game. He even looked a little like the character.

The stranger's smile was small, barely noticeable, and stoic. He was strong, Toby could tell right away, and confident. He was handsome, but in a delicate and soft sort of way, and fit. Toby could tell he was muscular even through the leather jacket.

Toby swallowed. He didn't trust strangers his mother brought over, especially not ones that were visibly strong.

Toby sat up in his bed, confused by the stranger leaning against his door frame, and eyed him suspiciously. Should he have been a normal kid, he would've liked the man instantly, but years of hardship so early on in his young life made him untrusting and suspicious of all, especially adult men.

Rain pattered against the window to the left of his bed and the EKG to his right beeped and whirred, penetrating the what would have been peaceful silence. Toby looked back at the man and squinted his eyes. He so desperately wanted to trust him.

The man maintained eye contact with Toby, which only made him a little nervous, and never opened his mouth to speak. He was waiting, waiting for him to speak the first words. But he wasn't going to.

"Toby?" His mother suddenly said, appearing beside the stranger. Toby immediately went to work ignoring the situation presented to him. Wanting to appear totally uninterested, the small boy hopped down from the side of his bed, causing his Mother to squeak at the abrupt movement of her ill son, then proceeded to rummage through his rather large bedside drawer that looked more like a tool chest than a boy's bedside table. Grabbing, wrapping, unwrapping, and re-wrapping various bits of plastic holding syringe, serums, bandages and medication bottles, the boy began his regular morning routine. Filling a syringe, whilst keeping a close eye on the stranger's reaction, Toby stuck the needle into his arm with ease and tossed it once its contents had emptied. Then, he adjusted his child-size IV pole and checked the bags hanging at the top. They were fine. The last step was Toby's least favorite. Luckily he only had to do it once a week. A device was placed atop the bedside tool chest, what appeared to be a blood drawing contraption, next to a black leather journal stamped 'TOBY.' The boy scribbled something in it, making sure to check his alarm clock and document the correct date, next to what could've been hundreds of other entries hiding within the thick journal's pages. His mother cleared her throat.

"Toby. Don't you want to say hello?" She asked meekly, almost tepid.

Toby didn't respond, the boy only picked up the device on the chest and handed it to his Mother. He hated whenever his Mother spoke to him like that. Like a feral, wounded puppy. It made his face all prickly with heat. As he plopped the device in her hands, he caught a scent he hadn't smelled before. It was woody, and deep, but also sort of sweet and clean smelling. Toby looked over at the man. Cologne, he decided.

With a small sigh, the beautiful Mother with warm brunette hair took a seat next to her son on his bed and stuck the device into his arm. A little vile connected to the needle in his arm began to fill with bright red blood. His Mother winced as she always did. It was a lot of blood coming from such a small, sickly looking child, but it was necessary to keep him as he was. Not healthy, but in a constant state of undying. Every other day of the week, instead of drawing blood, Toby had to participate in a clotting test, where all that happened was a cut was made on his arm and left to bleed . . . and bleed . . . and bleed. He didn't like seeing the blood. He liked the syringe days much better, because after he was pricked, he could bandage his arm and not have to think about the puncture in his skin. But with clotting tests, he was forced to sit and watch along with his mother, copious amounts of blood leak from his arm for at least twenty minutes.

As his Mother pulled the needle from his arm, Toby met eyes with the stranger who had a strange expression on his face. Intrigue, but almost like this wasn't happening in front of him. Like Toby wasn't connected to a thousand machines and IVs.

He didn't know what to make of it.

Once the prick was cleaned and properly bandaged, just above the layers of gauze spanning from both of his hands to his elbows, Toby began trying to piece apart the man, at least as much as he could. He never liked the men his Mother brought home and this one especially was weird, but he was still trying to make up his mind whether that was a good or bad thing. The man simply watched, arms crossed, at the sad display but was still slightly smiling like when he first appeared.

Toby knew how people behaved when they saw him. It was easier to categorize them accordingly that way. Even at five he was acutely aware of how everyone around him acted. Pity was the biggest reaction. "Can I get you something?" "What can I do to help?" "Are you in any pain?" Toby never talked to any of them. Instead he liked to pretend they didn't even exist, and soon they didn't. Something strange happens when you don't acknowledge people, they tend to disappear rather quickly from you, and permanently. They always left after the perceived ineptitude to talk, but he could. He always could. It was just more entertaining for him to watch them fumble and trip over their own stupid, fake, sugary sweet words. It was his own little secret, the fact that he could speak, he had always just chosen not to.

His Mother had taken him to many a shrink to figure out why her son was mute, but none of them could figure out why and none of them could ever get him to utter even a small peep. The only person he ever spoke to was his sister Lyra, and even then it was minimal at best. After a while, his Mother gave up trying to get him to speak. Toby was talking to Lyra, and that was enough for her.

Toby's shoulder twitched aggressively.

"Jesus, Toby." She whispered. Toby hung his head. "We've gotta get that looked at." She looked up at the stranger. "He's been twitching recently. It doesn't seem like he's doing it on purpose, though. The other day during lunch he practically threw his juice. I wonder what it is."

Another thing Toby hated. Her talking like he wasn't directly next to her. She placed a gentle hand on his back and moved it up and down which seemed to ease his tension slightly.

"Hopefully nothing serious." The stranger said. He had a firm voice, it was pleasant to hear, but Toby would never admit that. The man suddenly made his way across the room and got down on one knee in front of Toby. "Your Mother tells me you don't like to talk?" He asked.

Toby glared at him, a trick he had always used to get people who simply wouldn't disappear away from him, but this time it wasn't working.

"That's a scary face." The man said with a grin. "You always greet strangers that way?"

Suddenly a hand slapped gently against Toby's back. "Toby! Cut that out!" His Mother scream-whispered at him. He ignored her and continued to glare.

"No, no, that's alright, Rach. I think it makes him look rowdy. Tough, even. It's a good look for a man, wouldn't you say, kid?"

Toby raised a brow, unwilling to be the first to break eye contact. To his surprise, the stranger looked away first.

"I guess I'm not making the best first impression." The stranger said with a grimace.

"Toby," His Mother began. "This is my boyfriend, Ryan Rogers."

Implode.

Toby's face immediately became hot and that familiar pins and needles sensation traced up his spine, shoulders, neck and face. He glared at the man.

Ryan.

"Toby?" Someone called out to him, but his eyes were still plastered on Ryan. He wasn't going to look away.

"Toby!" The voice called again.

Tim shook Toby by the shoulders. "Toby!" He shouted.

Toby jumped as though Tim had just woken him from a deep sleep. He made an awful gasping sound and looked around confused. Tim's upper lip pulled and his hands fell from the boy's figure. Something on his face let Toby know that Tim had already made up his mind about why he hadn't heard him even though he was right in front of him. But whatever conclusion Tim had come to, he didn't let Toby in on it. Tim shook his head dismissively and adjusted his flight jacket. "C'mon. We're all ready now."

Toby nodded in a daze as Tim disappeared through the thick early morning fog. The other proxies were still a mystery to him, even after spending an entire week under their constant surveillance. He was terribly wary of them and at times even plain terrified of them. He knew he was probably a mystery and something to be wary of to them as well, but still existed the power dynamic of a teenage boy versus two psychotic grown men who have known the Operator for years. It was horribly unbalanced and Toby could never shake the feeling that he was permanently in immediate danger.

Tim seemed to be the nicer of the two, but interacting with him . . . Toby compared the sensation to walking on a tightrope over a shallow canyon. On one side, a sea of pillows and cushions for a soft landing, the other, a pit of spikes and needles filled with venom.

Brian was just a constant stream of bitterness, spite, and apathy. At least, Toby thought, he could count on him always being that way. He wasn't sure which he preferred. Both were equally as miserable and detrimental to his mentality.

Toby sat on a log near the newly extinguished fire. It was twilight, just before the sun was set to rise, and the sky was dim, bringing out the greens of the trees. Smoke swirled from the black fire pit before him and his hands, clasped together in a praying position, pressed against his nose and lips, his thumbs tucked under his chin. Though his eyes were positioned on the fire, they were wide and far gone, somewhere very far away. His right leg bounced up and down nervously and his head twitched every so often, accompanied by his 'hurling' tic as the lovely miss Wilson had called it. He knew he should be heading to meet the others, but he had to try to rid himself of the churning pit in his gut.

That morning, everything was damp and hidden behind mist. The campsite was barely visible, even when sitting in the middle of it, and anything beyond it was completely hidden from sight. A rough wind blew, striking his back.

The hood of his brown jacket was pulled over his head, underneath, a black turtleneck that Brian had gifted him the previous night, telling him he wasn't dressed warm enough for the weather. New bandages now covered his hands and wrists, trailing all the way up to his elbows so he had to roll up his jacket sleeves, and his ashen, light brown nearly blond, curled tufts stuck out in every direction from beneath his hood. Grey, doe eyes like pools of winter water were pulled down by dusty purple bags, completing his sunken look along with his hollow cheeks and a sporadic strip of freckles spangled across his face. His skin was nearly grey, along with everything else which made him look terribly diseased, and his thin, frail looking frame hunched over slightly, elbows placed upon his knees.

He was focused on something, but it wasn't anything he was looking at. In his mind he could hear them, a cacophony of swirling moans and groans like ghosts, invisible, yet present, hollow, yet haunting, and full of agony. Stern, but airy like smoke.

The voices had returned. And they had yet to stop.

Toby's leg continued to bounce, shaking his silhouette, and he focused intently on the voices, trying to discern why they had returned and what they were saying. He hadn't heard them since the night he killed his stepfather, and he had adjusted just fine to the silence. But now they are back.

What has changed?

That wasn't much of a question. Everything. Everything has changed. But why did this have to remain the same?

Toby continued to bounce. He really should be listening to Tim and heading over to the car, but it was unsettling. He couldn't make out a single word.

They were whispers, maybe they weren't even speaking any words, but with them ringing in his ears he had no choice but to focus on them before doing anything else.

Suddenly, he collapsed between his legs, clasping his bandaged hands over his ears, gripping his hair.

Cracking, piercing wails battered at his eardrums so fiercely he thought they might just burst. They were screaming things at him, but he had no idea what. He winced and writhed. But they just kept shouting at him!

"Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it—" He continued to repeat barely above a whisper, rocking back and forth. "Why? Why are you all shouting? What do you want? I thought you all had finally died! Just stop! I can't understand when you're screaming all at once! Stop it, stop it—"

"Toby?" A hand fell on his shoulder.

Toby jumped so violently, he fell straight into the dirt. He looked at Tim, who had likely come over to see why Toby hadn't followed him, with a wild look in his eyes. He pulled his knees close to him and continued to whisper nonsense.

Tim seemed just as shocked as Toby.

"Did something happen?" He asked suspiciously. Toby stared at the ground, still mumbling. It took him a moment before he could speak.

"N-no. It's nothing . . . No, it's fine." He stumbled, slurring his words. Tim held out his gloved hand and Toby grabbed onto it, hoisting himself up with ease.

"Man, you're light." Tim remarked, though there wasn't any weight to his words. He was only making small talk. He was still eyeing Toby who dusted off his jeans and the bandages on his hands that caught his fall. He hadn't noticed Tim's expression, or anything in that moment, he held a thumb to his bottom lip and looked around the deserted campsite. Earlier that morning Brian had woken him up to help them pack up their things, not that there was much to pack, and wouldn't explain to Toby exactly what they were packing for or where they were going.

"Tim! Toby!" Brian suddenly called from somewhere amidst the fog. "Get your asses over here!"

Toby sighed.

"Get your asses over here!" Tim mocked in an extra strong southern accent that Toby never noticed before.

"You're both southern." He stated more than asked. Tim nodded.

"Probably. No other real reason we'd talk this way." Tim said, still eyeing him. "Of course Brian knows for sure, says he grew up somewhere in Alabama, and our twangs, I guess, are really similar. I think we're from the same place, but Brian doesn't like that theory very much. Especially since you're here now."

"Wh-what do I have to do with where you're from?"

"You always shout your questions? That fire damage your ears or something?" Tim asked, looking concerned. He was genuine which somehow stung Toby more than if he was just plain insulting him.

"No . . ." He said quietly. He hadn't realized he was shouting, but with all the noises and screams in his head it made perfect sense.

"Anyway. You're from Colorado, right? If we—" He wasn't asking, but Toby had to look at him for confirmation. Was he from Colorado?

"Shit." Tim said, shaking his head, bewildered. "You don't remember?"

The pair had stopped walking.

Toby furrowed his brows. No. He doesn't remember. Where was he from?

He gripped at his hair again and clenched his eyes shut, trying his hardest to pry his skull open and claw his way to the right answer. Tim placed a hand on top of one of his.

"Kid. You're fine." He said softly, pulling Toby's hands from his hair. "You are from Colorado. You're from Veilwood."

Toby blinked. If he didn't know where he was from, how the hell did Tim? "I never told you that."

"No, of course you didn't." Tim said 'of course' a lot, like Toby was supposed to know everything about a memory erasing, time warping, teleporting creature. "That night . . . the night you set fire to your neighborhood. You passed out. Didn't you?"

Toby nodded. He passed out and woke up in a forest he'd never seen before. Then the Operator appeared and made him its proxy. His hands trailed across the underside of his wrists.

"Toby! Tim!" Brian yelled again. Neither paid him any attention.

"We did that." Tim stated.

"What?" Toby hissed, shoulders rising to his ears. "What the hell did y-you do to-o me?"

"Look, we didn't have a choice. We didn't bash your skull in or anything like that. No chloroform either. The Master can knock out whoever he chooses at will."

"What the hell else are you not telling me-e about that thing?" Toby snarled. A hazy sound then filled his ears, so subtle he barely noticed it.

"A lot. But Brian and I both agreed it's best you learn yourself. You don't want us telling you everything."

"What kind of b-backwards logic is that? That fucking monster can knock me ou-out at any g-given moment or wipe my memories, but because two serial killers decided it's best for me to learn whatever else it can fuh-fucking do by myself then-- O-oh! W-well, I should just bend over and ta-tak-ke it!" The sound began to grow louder in his ears, but Toby had a sneaking suspicion Tim could hear it as well. He suddenly forgot about their argument. "What is that?" His voice shook.

"Junior." Tim said dangerously. Toby took the hint and stopped talking. The sound crescendoed then began to wane away until there was only the sound of the woods around them.

No one spoke.

Fast-paced footsteps crunched towards them and Brian appeared from the fog. He looked furious. "Car. Now." Was all he said. Tim and Toby followed his instructions immediately and Toby thought it was odd that Tim was obeying him. The proxies trudged over to the truck, Brian's beige '77 Ford pickup, when Toby noticed a black bag in the trunk on top of the camping supplies. It was open. He looked around to make sure neither of the other proxies would see him snooping around and quickened his pace to reach the trunk before the others. The bag was a large sports bag, bigger than one Toby had ever seen before, and the flap was still hiding its contents, but it was completely unzipped. With one last furtive glance over his shoulder, Toby slowly opened the bag and felt his heart drop to his feet.

Knives, daggers, rope, duct tape, batons, crowbars, and his two hatchets he thought he'd lost the night of Paul's murder were sitting inside. A strange sensation overcame him. Toby thought he might throw up, his stomach twisting so intensely, but also came with it a rush of excitement. He felt far, far away staring at the weaponry, wide-eyed, nearly smiling. Like digging up some part of himself he had long since locked away, like an archaeologist of his own mind. His heart was beating out of his chest, but he was perfectly calm.

The footsteps of the others were suddenly loud and Toby shut the bag and began tugging at the handle to the backseat. Brian saw him and held up the key fob in his hand, pressing a button over and over, clearly demonstrating the truck was unlocked. The vehicle made various clicking sounds as he did so and Toby tugged at the handle harder that time, but the door still wouldn't budge.

"It gets stuck." Brian stinged, his voice echoing remnants of his anger. "Tug it to the right, then pull."

Toby did. The door opened.

He swung the door shut as he sat inside and inspected the car. It was clearly old, its floors stained and covered in dirt, but the leather interior was still miraculously intact. Not to mention the engine rumbled beautifully too. Brian obviously cared about his car.

Brian got into the driver's seat, Tim on the passenger side, and adjusted the rear view mirror with a clearing of his throat. Toby looked around for any sign of a seat belt before accidentally meeting Brian's eyes in the mirror. Expecting some sort of insult his eyes got large, but to his crushing surprise, Brian flashed him a smile.

"Everyone set?" He asked.

"Jesus, just drive Mr. Hyde." Tim groaned, resting his head in his hand against the door.

"You're calling me two-faced?" Brian bickered back, but it was playful, there wasn't an ounce of venom to his words. Toby felt like he was meeting two different people all of a sudden

Psychopaths. He thought.

"Where to?" Brian met Toby's eyes in the mirror again. Toby was instantly uncomfortable. He had no idea where to draw the boundary lines with those two and eye contact with the Proxy he feared the most was anything but relaxing.

"I get to pick? Wh-why?" Toby snarked.

"Cause you're the new recruit! C'mon city boy, we are still in your county."

Toby straightened his posture at that. "We are?"

"Yeah, National Forest is still King's County, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"So pick the place, kid. Have anything in mind?" Brian rested his head against the seat, waiting for his response.

Toby didn't need to think. "Can I pick who?"

"No." Brian started. The truck was now moving steadily down an old highway through trees so tall, no matter how Toby leaned he couldn't see the tops of them. Even in the car he could hear the road decaying beneath the tires as pebbles and dirt were kicked up, striking the underside of the vehicle.

"Why." Toby shot back.

"Because I said so."

"The Operator said wuh-we're a team." He said dangerously. Brian looked at him from the rearview mirror, seemingly taken aback by his tone, before looking back at the road.

"And I think you're not experienced enough to start picking people."

"But I-I can pick the place?"

"Not anymore. We're going to Grey house." Brian said, once again using codes and language Toby was not privy to. Tim nodded and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a thick spiral journal with numerous colored sticky notes jotting out from its sides. Just the sight of it made Toby feel sick.

"Anyone going to tell muh-me what 'Grey house' is?" Toby asked, kicking his shoes up onto the backseat and sitting with his back against the door. The truck suddenly jumped over what he could only assume was a speed bump or a pothole and his stomach lurched and throat pinched shut. He hugged his legs and hid his face from all light behind his hood and arms.

"It's a grey house."

"Thanks."

"Let me speak, would you? Like we said before, we pick the place, the people, the time and how. But we're not stupid about it, or careless. We study potentials for a long time before they're chosen."

Toby sat up and rolled his eyes, staring out the back window. Chosen. Chosen for slaughter. This is sick.

"Yeah." Brian growled, his grip tightening against the steering wheel. "It really. Is."

#creepypasta #marble hornets #fanfiction #happy birthday #ticci toby!#masky #hoody #brian thomas #tim wright #toby rogers #my ordinary life #horror

3 notes · View notes