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priniya · 1 year

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GETAWAY CAR !

reader gets upset, when xavier pays no attention to her at the raven’s, but when things get complicated, and her best friend is in the center, she lets down her grudge.

notes: xavier thorpe x reader. reader is a witch. best friends to lovers. mentions of alcohol (wine), underage drinking, probably a few curse words, characters might be a little off tho. SPOILERS for wednesday finale! read on your own responsibility. NOT PROOFREAD

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in the depth of your heart, you’ve always known that you’d end up with xavier thorpe, or have a high school love story with him, so there was no surprise for anyone that knew you, that when he finally asked you out to be his date on the upcoming ball, you were on cloud nine. almost as if he knew that you’ve rejected at least four boys that invited you.

suddenly becoming involved and interested in anything that revolved around the dance, looking out for a dress with enid, and wednesday was much more fun than you anticipated, asking yoko to help you out with make-up, and hair. you were ecstatic — happier than you’ve ever been.

it was finally your turn, after so much time of sulking, you got a chance.

at least you thought so. xavier thorpe has been your friends ever since your parents put you together in one crib, during a spontaneous meet-up with his. you were always there for him, hardly ever putting yourself before him. it wasn’t a shock, when you developed a crush, you could say it was expected.

and then, when he put down another of your offer to have at least one dance, you realized what was going on. your best friend wasn’t as happy as you, whenever the topic of the ball was brought up, changing it as soon as possible, he wasn’t keen on dancing, his mind definitely somewhere else. his eyes tracing around wednesday addams.

your heart clutched in your chest as you shifted in your chair, ready to stand up. “maybe you’d stop sulking if you asked her, instead of sitting here.” you rolled your eyes, the happiness far gone on your face. “do it. i’ll be outside if you were looking for me.” he just nodded his head in reply.

sneaking out noiselessly, you managed to climb upstairs to your dorm to quickly find a bottle of wine, you’d hit under your bed earlier. as soon as your dress touched the wooden floor, your eyes filled with tears — how couldn’t you think about it? even for a second? it was so painfully obvious that he was using you to get her jealous.

the bottle emptied pretty rapidly, but it wasn’t the only bottle you had hidden somewhere in your room. sobs, accompanied by the tunes of a song playing from a random, heartbreak playlist, filled the quiet room as you poured another glass of the liquid. you were just a pawn in his game, a small chapter that didn’t matter, not as much as he mattered to you.

you didn’t even think about washing off your makeup, as it only reminded you about the humiliation you faced after putting it on. you didn’t even put the dress back into the wardrobe, nor clean the empty bottles of your favorite wine.

yet, even though you were hurting so much, all you could do is wonder if he looked for you after your sudden disappearance, did he care enough to be at least a little worried, although you wouldn’t like to know the answer, it didn’t matter anyway.

when your roommate finally came back, her white dress soaked in red paint, she didn’t even care that your sheets would get stained, she didn’t even ask about the reason of your current state, she just pulled you into a hug, and didn’t let go for the next hours as you poured out your heart.

“why do i keep doing this? why do i keep running back to him, whenever he gets upset? why does it hurt so much, when i should’ve known it would end up like that.” you cried, head resting on her laps as you sipped the sweet liquid from the bottle. “will it ever be me?” you asked.

on the next day of classes, you weren’t really yourself. you were rarely bothered by anything, always trying to bring a good mood wherever you went, now — you were the complete opposite. earphones plugged in your ears with music blasting so loud that you barely heard your own thoughts, sunglasses resting at the bridge of your nose to hide the puffiness, and redness of your eyes, not even a single word coming out of your mouth.

“earth to y/n.” bianca tapped your shoulders lightly, grabbing your attention. you two weren’t exactly best friends — she was an ex-girlfriend of a boy you were so obviously interested in, yet you managed to hold everything in for the period of their relationship. “what happened between you, and xavier last night?” she asked, a worried expression painted all over her face.

bianca respected you more than anyone that could possibly be a threat to her relationship with thorpe, when they were still together. which was weird for anyone around you, knowing how inseparable the two of you could be, yet you never wanted to be the one to ruin their best friend’s relationship. so when bianca questioned your motives, not believing any of your words until you asked her to use the siren speak on you to learn the truth. that you backed out the second he told you, that you kept your feelings and affection for yourself.

“nothing.” you shrugged. “i was just a pawn to get wednesday’s attention, something i should’ve expected.” you cracked a sad smile, fixing the sunglasses on your nose. the girl seemed to be… shocked, a frown appearing on her face.

“he was unable to stop talking about you, when we were together yet now when he has a chance, he pulls out shit like that?” a sigh escaped from between her lips, arm threw over your shoulder. “i’ll swing by our room tonight, i’ll make sure you’ll be busy with something else.”

you smiled at the girl, accepting the offer, before she got back to her friend group. a notification popped up on the screen of your phone, a humorless laugh leaving your lips immediately.

xav: need 2 talk, my shack in 5?

as a rational human-being you were (with additional psychic abilities), you left him on read, and never stepped into his art studio. well, at first you were convinced to do it, but your legs decided upon going there — so again, you were running back to him whenever he wanted.

“hey.” you spoke out softly. “you said you needed to talk?” you added, the dim lighting of the room making him almost invisible. his head shot to you immediately, determination painted all over his face.

“where were you after you left?” his words sharply cut through the thick tension built around you. you were about to part your lips, and reveal yourself, when he added. “were you in the woods? that’s why you had to run away so fast? because you are the–”

so this is what it was all about — he didn’t want to see you to check if you were fine, he wanted to see you to investigate if you were the hyde that hurt eugene, and killed rowan. you let out a humorless chuckle, turning your back on him, ready to leave, though his hand gripped on your lower arm.

“so you are the hyde.” he stated, eyes burning with fury. “you left to run after eugene, because he found out about your little secret, so you had to cut ties?” his words incredibly pained you, cutting your heart like a knife, proceeded by stabbing.

you let out a long sigh, looking him dead in the eyes. “i was in my dorm, bawling my eyes out while drinking the wine my sister sent me, because my date didn’t even bother to look at me for a second, even though i spent my last savings to buy a dress, so maybe for once, he would look at me and think that i look pretty, that i did it for him.” you felt the tears filling up your eyes, yet you kept going. “i’ve spent the entire night, wondering when my role as a pawn in his game will end. and i’ve come to a conclusion that it won’t happen, there’s always gonna be someone above me in his hierarchy, even though we were friends for more than i can remember.” he let your arm out of the grip, a confused grimace on his lips. “why didn’t you just ask her? oh wait, i know, i’ve already been told why. you did ask her out, but she refused to go, because tyler invited her earlier, so i was just a getaway car as always.”

when he didn’t break the silence after you finished your monologue, you left, running away to the woods to gather your thoughts, and cry for the fifth time that day. you clearly weren’t in a mood to talk to anyone without a sip of wine. you felt invisible, when you found yourself a seat somewhere in the forest. you were sure that your roommate would ask the teachers to give you a sick day, firmly explaining what happened.

xav: yn,,, im sorry, can we talk it through?

you didn’t reply at all, starting to hold a silent grudge against him, for once, placing yourself before anyone else. until the classes were finished, you were walking around the woods, gathering herbs for your potions, trying to calm down.

throughout your whole life, you believed that your mom has linked your souls together at the very young age, so you could be some sort of anchor for each other, whenever something overwhelmed you, nonetheless it was a double-sided sword. he could mess you up to the point, where you had to take a calming potion (and vice versa), or he could be the one to calm you like no one other could.

so when the evening came, you found yourself dressed up in your favorite pjs, which some time ago belonged to your best friend (now it’s yours, of course), standing at the door leading to bianca’s dorm. two bottles of wine, hidden in the depth of your bag.

“i hope you bought more wine, she drank two and a half bottle last night.” your roommate laughed, arm wrapped around your shoulders as you walked into the room.

the time flew by as you emptied at least three bottles, and you were comfortably laying down on divina’s bed, covered in a blanket junpier brought with her. “he accused me of being the monster today.” you spoke out suddenly, changing the topic back to xavier, who endlessly occupied your mind. “and earlier, enid told me he actually asked wednesday to go with him, she just refused.”

“he really has no shame, has he?” bianca rolled her eyes, taking a seat next to you, and gave you the tightest hug it was only possible. “you know, the thing with wednesday will die down soon, and he’ll come back sooner than you think, he always does.” she planted a soft kiss on your forehead to make her words more believable.

“and if he doesn’t, which is doubtful, then you have us, we can find you someone.” divina joined you on the bed, a big smile spread over her face as she watched you let out a light chuckle. “maybe elliott, the werewolf? he’s pretty hot.”

you were cuddling for the rest of the night, sleeping in the most uncomfortable positions that ever existed, surrounded by blankets, and lots of pillows. after that night, full of drunk confessions, words of reassurance, cuddles and lots of wine, you felt confident enough to face xavier.

it happened sooner than you anticipated, you made your way downstairs to see him, waiting and knocking at the door, pale, and shaken up. “hey, looking for someone?” you asked, his large t-shirt hanging loosely on your body.

“yn, can we talk it through? please.” he asked, begged, watching as you walked into the room, and when you didn’t close the door, he took it as a sign to step. “we?” you scoffed. “let me explain myself.”

“i don’t know if i want to hear it.” you smiled at him, before mumbling something under your breath with a hand above a pack of cookies, changing it to a proper meal. “eat it, then we can talk.” you passed the dish to him, crossing your arms afterwards.

there was a thing about xavier that had always extremely infuriated you, ever since you were children. — he was terrible at taking proper care of himself, usually forgetting to have something to eat with him, whenever he went to his art studio. you’d always cast a spell on some of your snacks, you just bought in the city, to change it into something he liked, and then accidentally step by.

“i- i’m sorry that i made the dance miserable for you.” you leaned your back on your desk, eyebrows furrowed as you listened to him speak. “i really wanted to have fun with you, but i felt the presence of the monster there, near wednesday. it frustrated me to the point, where my mind went completely blank, ruining the dance not only for myself, but also for you.”

“and you’ve never been a pawn for me, you’ve always been present in the back of my mind, you are the factor that keep me sane, you’re the only person that brought so much happiness to my life.” he stood up from his seat, and walked towards you. his hands grabbing yours, softly, knuckles caressing it gently. “i’ve always been aware of my feelings for you, my heart has always belonged to you, and it always will, but i’m scared of losing you.”

“then why didn’t you call me, when i didn’t get back? why did you assume i was the monster? xavier, i beg you, stop trying to mess with my feelings, nothing adds up.” your tone was so quiet that the boy had to get even closer to hear it. “all i wanted was you to spend quality time with you, because you ditched me for wednesday a lot, since she got here, and i get that you can do whatever you want, so i was quiet about it, but even at the event you invited me to go with you?” seeing you so vulnerable made xavier’s heart clutch painfully in his chest. it was all, because of him, and he didn’t like a single bit of it.

“i wish everything was different, really. making you cry was the last thing i wanted to do, and you can hate me all you want, i deserve it for treating you like that.” he let out a long sigh. “but i just want you to know that it’s always been you, my head was always filled with your laughter, and memories of you.”

the closeness between you was overwhelming, taking your last senses from you, the same moment, when your best friend closed the gap, kissing you so delicately. feeling his lips on yours was infatuating, and enchanting, nonetheless, you pulled away, his forehead leaned on yours. “no, no, no. you can’t do that right now, not when i’m so angry with you. give me time, please.”

and with that, he stepped back with a simple nod, his eyes didn’t leave your face even for a second. “i’ll give you as much time as you need, i promise.” were the last words he has spoken before leaving your room.

for the next two weeks, three tops, you two barely exchanged a word, everyone around could sense the tension between, but you weren’t ready to talk to him as you still felt the pain from the dance. however, when wednesday announced that xavier was the hyde, you couldn’t believe it. none of these attacks were thorpe’s doing, and you were positive.

“i’ll curse the hell out of you, if you won’t let me see him.” you hissed at one of the cops, before he leaded you to the cell, where they kept your best friend, and seeing him in a state like that was destroying.

“yn?” shocked was painted on his face as you stepped into the room, a worried expression on yours. “it’s not me, i swear. please, someone set me up, please, you have to believe me.” his broken voice rang out in your ears as you nodded.

“hey, calm down and breathe for me, please.” you asked. “i’ll find a way to get you out of here, okay? everything’s gonna be fine, i’ll figure out whose doing it was, and you’ll be clear.” you sent him a reassuring, warm, and soo loving smile that all he could do was reciprocate it. “then, we can go out on a date, but you owe me so much wine, xavier thorpe that i don’t think you’ll be able to pay me back.”

when your time was up, you hang around the city for a while, thinking how could you get xavier out without breaking any laws that would put you there instead. grabbing a quick coffee from the weathervane, before coming back to the castle with xavier being your only thought.

you visited him thrice over the time, promising that if you don’t find the person who set him up, you’ll start breaking laws and free him within a blink.

you were surrounded by a crowd of people during the evacuation, caused by bringing joseph crackstone back to life. you were responsible for the spell that would keep everyone tranquil, and quiet in a place safe enough that the pilgrim’s actions wouldn’t reach.

and then, you noticed the boy you had feelings for, standing further away, making his way towards the crowd of people, and you couldn’t resist — you ran to him, throwing your hands around his neck, pulling him into a hug. when you backed off a few seconds later, your fingers running through his hair as you smiled so widely. “it’s you.” you chuckled lightly.

you remember everything that happened afterwards — mr. galpin handcuffing his son, the funeral the new principal threw for mrs. weens, brewing a potion for wednesday, so her scar from taking an arrow for bianca could heal faster, the end of the school year, and your date with xavier.

some would say you were reckless for not moving on from the blonde boy, some would bash you for giving him another chance, but you valued your friendship, and his presence in your life. so, it wasn’t a surprise for his housemates to see you at his door at one of the last nights of school year, dressed up in the comfiest clothes you had (which were, surprisingly, his).

you both decided that going out to a restaurant was unnecessary, and you could spend some quality time with each other in his room by eating a strawberry shortcake, drinking wine, and watching movies.

it was around first in the morning, when you finished ten things i hate about you, your head rested on his shoulder as you clung to his arm, being already a little tipsy. “i can’t believe you actually hadn’t watched my favorite movie before! julia stiles was so hot, and for what!” you giggled lightly, turning your head towards him.

“waited till i could watch it with you.” he tugged on a smile, and kissed you so sweetly that you felt like dying from the butterflies in your stomach. your fingers grabbed the collar of his shirt as he pulled you even closer, sitting you on his lips. “i love you.” xavier whispered in between the kisses, making your stomach burn on the inside.

it felt like a dream — to be kissed by a boy you pinned over so long, to have his hands on your waist, and hickies made by him on your neck, to be loved by him. even if it was a dream, the last thing you wanted was to wake up.

#xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe #xavier x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #xavier thorpe fic #xavier thorpe angst #xavier thorpe fluff #hurt/comfort #xavier thorpe oneshot #divina #xavier thorpe x witch!reader #xavier thorpe x you #bianca barclay #xavier thorpe x y/n #tyler galpin #enid sinclair #niki’s works 🫂

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tadc-ragatha · 6 months

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I saw your requests open and I am in dire need to ask: Could you do some headcanons of Caine with a shy child reader?

I absolutely love your writing and saw a few others with stuff like that and I just need to word vomit how adorable of a situation that’d be. I feel like Caine would be ECSTATIC to have a child playing the game! It’s literally perfect for kids! He’d be over the moon about showing them around and chattering nonstop, only to find they’re…gone?!? Turns out, the situation is very overstimulating and adding a terrifying and loud ringmaster to the mix doesn’t really help. Queue the confused yet frantic search for the hiding newcomer, and Caine’s bafflement on how to handle the situation after. Just this over-excitable AI trying to connect with this little shy bundle .u.

Caine with a Shy Child Reader

TW: Crying

Type: Headcanons

A/N: The reader is about 9 years old. Obviously platonic only. Spoilers. You specified headcanons so I did that, but I also have a fic in the works that goes more in-depth. Thank you for the compliment!

Caine

Caine is, as you said, ecstatic to have a new, younger member of the circus. The youngest he's gotten before that is Jax, who was born in the first half of the year and was aged twenty-two. So, getting a member as young as nine in was quite the surprise.

And compared to the now second most recent member, Pomni, it seemed you had a much better transition. You didn't say much--or anything, really--and although it made some of his jokes flop (why didn't you respond?), he took it in stride.

After giving you a tour of the world of the digital circus, he dropped you off back inside to announce the day's activity. Turns out, you would be playing a fun game of hide and seek, with you being the seeker. But as Caine went to point to you, he found you gone. Very strange, considering before that you mostly stood there quietly shaking.

Caine, however, didn't quite understand what was going on. Gooseworx confirmed he's just clueless to how humans work, and so he assumed you must have just been very excited to get started. Because you got a head start, Caine decided to send everyone to look for you.

Gangle was the one to find you. You were hiding behind a set of curtains backstage somewhere crying. She had a lot of empathy for you in that moment, and although she's not very good at comforting people, she tried to make you feel better by resting a hand (or ribbon) on your shoulder.

However, the comfort was short-lived, as soon the rest of the group caught up to you. Everything got overwhelming again, and you started to cry. Gangle gave up on trying to comfort you as Ragatha took over. She was much better at the job, and managed to get you to tell her what was wrong.

You explained you were scared of being in the circus. Understandable for everyone. But you also explained being scared of Caine. You said having a loud set of teeth talking to you was overstimulating (or, in your words, "made you feel bad"). The others had known your silence wasn't one of comfort, and quickly understood Caine was clueless to this, too.

Once they told Caine, he was confused. But he wasn't harsh about it per se. He was disappointed you didn't like his game or self-described fun personality, but he tried to be nice about it. But don't get me wrong; the show is about the characters facing their traumas, so you'll definitely unfortunately have to deal with many more unpleasant-at-best moments.

#amy's writing #anonymous #the amazing digital circus #tadc #the amazing digital circus spoilers #tadc spoilers #tadc x reader #tadc caine #tadc caine x reader #x reader #child reader #tadc headcanon

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pencileraser1 · 1 month

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things i noticed/thoughts about most recent rewatches of dps (plus laserdisk deleted scenes):

whenever theres a group scene i've started watching the characters that the story isn't focusing on to see what they do and i've been having a fun time with that. pitts and cameron specifically seem to almost always be doing something interesting in the background.

hopkins!!!! my favorite minor character who somehow got character development despite having like 2 lines!!!! the last guy to stand on the desk but he did it!!!

sometimes i do like to think about what the rest of the students thought about the dead poets society, esp in alternate timeline neil lives dps keeps meeting universe. like yeah theres this guy in their class whose one of the most credited students in the school and we think he maybe started a cult. idk though. but that group runs out into the woods every few days to do god knows what and one of them keeps talking about "dead poets honor" whatever that means and holy shit welton star student neil perry started a cult.

i watched the movie with headphones. and maybe it's because ive seen this movie Far too many times and mabe i'm listening too hard but it was Really obvious sometimes when audio was added in post production. llke in the sweaty toothed madman scene when you can hear laughing and to be fair the camera is behind their heads. but it does Not look like anyone's laughing. my favorite is at the end of the phone call to chris scene where knox is like i'm gonna seize the day!! and runs up the stairs and the poets are cheering him on and neil is sort of yelling "carpe!!!!" and i could be wrong but i'm like 75% certain that the person singing is Also rsl so now neil is just speaking two times at once somehow. anyways it didn't ruin the experience for me or anything it was maybe just a little bit funny to notice but very sorry if this did ruin anyone's viewing.

people talk a lot about how rsl and ethan hawke really made their characters what they are but i have to add dylan kussman to that list. I get the impression that older versions of the movie didn't really give as much depth to cameron and watching dylan kussmans performance is like. he Knew who his character was so fucking well and it shows!! like the deleted scene of them getting clubs assigned. like i could tell So Much about cameron from that scene

for how little she actually appeared, there is an emphasis put on the fact that neil's mom smokes pretty frequently. and i think that's interesting considering neil is one of two poets shown actively smoking. neil's mom doesn't appear for very long in the movie but during that time it definitely seems like the movie is intentionally making parallels between the two, particularly in the last argument with neil's father. neil and his mother are both sitting for almost the whole time, which contrasts with his father who is standing. they are both almost powerless in this scene. they stand up at almost the same time. anyways there's a couple different possibilities for what this could mean? that i've though of? 1. to show that neil's mother is in a similar situation to the one neil is in in regards to neil's father and 2. maybe a stretch here but the theory that neil inherited his mental illness at least partially from his mother. i'm pretty sure 1 was fully intentional on the directors part, not entirely sure about 2 though

unmanned flying desket scene: it's probably cause he and ethan wrote the scene themselves but the way rsl talks in this scene feels more like the way he talks in general than the rest of the script. like briefly neil perry is talking in rsl's voice. one of my absolute favorite scenes though the sarcastic dialogue is so good.

the light of knowledge at the first shot of the film vs. todd standing on his desk at the last shot of the film paralel

#there was a whole additional part of this post that was about knox and charlies relationship with their parents #but it ended up being half of what i wrote here and i still had more to add so i'm making that a separate post #that should be posted in a few days i'm not a fast writer #neil perry #richard cameron #gerard pitts #todd anderson #dead poets society #dps

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lilliumrorum · 4 months

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What does he have that I don't? (Pilot)

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Synopsis: After a long and very much tiring solo mission, you head back to the base and report to your Captain. When you finally got home, you found your boyfriend of 2 years in another's mouth.

WC: 0.8k

Content/Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Angst, Cheating.

Notes: This is my first time writing a fanfic, so please don't attack my ass too bad if it's shit.

Going weeks (sometimes even months) without seeing your lover was normal in your shared line of work. Simon had seemed accustomed to it, almost content with you not being around. Being Simon Riley, however, he could barely handle your relationship. Many nights would end with the lights shutting off, Simon shutting down as well. If you tried to even curl up next to him, he would shove you away forcefully. You knew he didn't love you anymore, but you kept denying it. You knew that very night when he left you in bed with no aftercare, with no second glance, and departed to "do some work," he really just wanted to be left alone. He didn't want you anymore, but like a persistent pebble in a shoe, you stubbornly stayed with him.

In your heart, you felt a deep loneliness, the person you thought was your anchor now seems distant and uninterested. Neglect has crept into your relationship, leaving you longing for the love and attention that used to be there. Each day seems like a quiet plea for connection, as his actions show a noticeable change in emotions. The small, affectionate gestures that defined your love story are replaced by an unsettling emptiness. In silence, you face the painful truth that the love you once cherished might be slipping away, and you went through the emotions that come with the fading passion you once shared.

You've been facing the painful realization that Simon's lost interest in your relationship. The passion and desire you once shared had faded, replaced by distance and disinterest. Simon's actions, or lack thereof, show a decline in physical intimacy and affection. Longing for the connection you had left you feeling unfulfilled and undesirable. Dealing with the emotional strain of this shift in attraction became a source of heartache as you navigated the complex emotions of a fading intimate connection with him.

"Sergeant?"

Your Captain's questioning voice quickly brought you back to reality. His salt-and-pepper hair and subtle crow's feet added character to his face, and his inquisitive look was accentuated by the movement of his mustache along with his lips.

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you alright? you seem on edge still."

The Captain's concern for you was evident in the genuine worry etched across his face. His questioning voice took on a tone of care, reflecting his kind yet impatient personality. As he looked at you with genuine concern, the words he spoke mirrored the sincerity in his eyes, emphasizing the depth of his worry and the genuine connection between Captain and Sergeant. He knew what was wrong. He could instantly tell what was bothering you. Price was aware of how you were discarded, as if you were nothing. He had seen that sullen, tired, lifeless look in your eyes every time his lieutenant was mentioned. Though he had knowledge of your situation, he would never pry into your affairs, despite his great concern.

"Of course, just a smidge tired. That's all." You shot him a lazy grin.

"Take care of yourself, Sergeant."

He motioned toward the door, indicating that you could be dismissed.

"And {name}, Great work. I'm proud of how much effort you put into your assignments." He smiled.

"Thank you, Captain," you quickly saluted and left the office.

Beginning the long and unpleasant walk back to your shared Room on base, many thoughts began to run through your mind. Usually, Simon would ask when you were coming home. However, that stopped months ago. Simon would buy you a large bouquet of flowers and hand them to you as soon as you entered the door. After a night of lovemaking, he would whisper sweet nothings into your ear. But one cannot change time. Oh, how you wish you could. You've tried to talk to him, but he would just respond with the clicking of his teeth or even wave you off.

You missed the moments that once filled your heart with tenderness. The wish to turn back time and revive the warmth is a constant thought. Trying to talk to Simon only results in indifferent grunts or dismissive gestures, highlighting the growing divide. The once vibrant thrumming of your heart is now silent, and the journey back to your room becomes an exploration of a changing relationship, where communication is elusive, leaving you to chart the emotional terrain alone.

You haven't the slightest clue why you stayed, why your heart still melted at the sight of him. You still loved him. You told yourself over and over that this wasn't the Simon you knew and that this was Ghost. Your stubborn heart wouldn't listen.

"Shit, that walk was fast." You murmured to yourself, the room coming into view.

You don't even bother to knock, too worn out to even care if you were shouted at. The anticipation of reprimand looms, and the weariness you carry is met with the potential for Simon's raised voice, making every move a delicate dance around his disapproval.

You could not believe what was taking place right before your eyes.

More notes: Sorry this is so short, remember that this is my first time writing!! This will be a series!:) I am planning on starting part one tonight and posting it tomorrow!!

#ghost angst #soapghost #john soap mactavish #cod mw2 #soap x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #john price #john price x reader #ghost smut

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joesanrio · 9 months

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joe on the impaulsive podcast talking about his on screen romance with reader, not being very subtle about the fact that he actually does fancy her

I've been missing my bae Joe... but that interview has a chokehold on me! 🩷🩷 Thank you so much for requesting this :)

She's cute, yeah | R.R

Summary: He always secretly liked when interviewers asked about you, because now he gets the chance to talk about his favorite person.

Pairings: Joe Anoa'i {Roman Reigns} x fem!reader

Warnings: Flustered!Joe, Teasing (friendly), intense emotions, Joe is referred to as Roman.

Word Count: 514

Ratings: Fluff | 16+

A/N: The way he kept saying “Yeah” WITH THAT VOICE 😮‍💨

———————————————————

“Oh yeah yeah, my Y/n.” Roman trails off that bit of his sentence.

Logan and Mike looking at each other with a smirk, “So when did it first start? Like did creative pitch it or was it like suggested?” Logan asked as Roman nodded at the question.

“Um well it started like 2013. The team thought it would be a good idea because during that time I was in the shield, and I was more of a visual especially during segments.” Roman explained, as he could feel himself beginning to sweat.

“Oh! So, like to add more to your character!” George piped up from beside him.

“Exactly! And Y/n and I have been friends for a while so luckily it wasn’t as awkward. I mean- she’s so talented and easy to work with, we literally could talk all day and it’ll still feel like it wasn’t long enough because she’s so- um her energy is so...” Roman blanks at the end as he tries to find a word to describe his Y/n.

“She’s so awesome she got the Tribal Chief blanking!” Mike jokes making everyone burst into laughter, Roman rubs his ears as he can feel the heat becoming intense on the tips of his ears.

“Nah, I’m just not good a describing people.” Roman chuckles as he quickly comes up with an excuse.

The more he tries to think of a word to describe you. Different words pop into his mind, but nothing comes close to how you are. The guys joking in the background as all he could do was smile and nod.

“She’s unexplainable.” Roman shrugs as Logan nods, feeling all eyes on him, but not in the same way as before.

“You’re right though, I met Y/n once and she left me with an impression that was hard to shake off.” George mentioned as Mike perked up to mention the time, he met you.

“One thing I remember vividly when I met her was the fact that she was so beautiful.” Mike spoke as Roman immediately looked at him when he complimented your appearance. “Like I don’t know if it was the lighting or what, but that girl was glowing!” Logan added as the guys agreed.

“Yeah! She is gorgeous.” Roman blushed at the thought of your visuals, might as well just be a tomato from how red he was. That was something Roman always complimented you on, and you loved it because he was the only guy you wanted to hear call you pretty or anything else.

The guys now talking in depth about their first impressions of you, and how they thought you would be different. Roman did not miss out on speaking about his first impression.

He knew that if he kept on with his rant that they would have to cut him off eventually. Roman couldn’t help it though, when he hears your name it’s like his body goes into overdrive.

“Yeah, she’s cute.” Roman speaks before realizing what he said out loud. Everyone laughing at how out of it Roman seemed since you’ve been mentioned.

#roman reigns #joe anoa'i #roman reigns fluff #roman reigns oneshot #wwe superstars #wwe smackdown #joesanrio #wwe request

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l-egionaire · 2 months

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Just saw Kung Fu Panda 4. Here are some thoughts.

Plot was... okay. Nothing super special, but it was fine enough for the kind of story the movie was trying to tell. And there were some great imagery and animation moments. I honestly don't get all the complaints about the animation. I saw one thing on TV tropes say it'd because it's not something like Puss in Boots Two or The Bad Guys, but I'm honestly fine with it not being like those. I feel like if all animated movies used that style, people would just start to complain that they're all the same.

Zhen was fine as a character. Bit of the usual "thief with a heart of gold" type character, but while I do think her changing was a bit fast, I can get why it happens. Po's the first person to show her genuine kindness with little alterior motive, and combined with a later betrayl, I can see her motivation for becoming a better person. Her voice acting wasn't too bad, but I think it could've been better in some dramatic moments. Also, while the movie doesn't draw attention to it, I do think there's a lot of parallel that could be drawn between her and Po, not just with how they grew up but also in their parental figures. Not to mention, they ultimately aren't THAT different as characters. They're both goofy people but grew up being looked down on by others and seem to use humor or goofiness as a defense mechanism. Just that she uses snark whereas he uses his big happy personality.

I REALLY like Po in the movie. Not just because he's his usual big fun self, but because he's still just as, if not more competent as he was in the previous movies. A big issue I had with the How To Train Your Dragon franchise was how Hiccup seemed to keep being less competent or capable in the movies. But no. Po's still able to kick ass and is the skilled warrior he should be after three movies of fighting. And I do think his fear of losing his dragon warrior title is understandable since that HAS been a big part of his identity across all three movies. Some might say that it's odd he's so afraid of change since he became a teacher in the last movie, but that was just adding on to his the responsibilities he already had. I would say his arc of becoming a spiritual leader was neglected some by the end and could've used a bit more focus.

Po's dad's are great. At first, I thought their subplot was just a comedic b-plot, but I liked how they ended up getting their and providing Po emotional support. And again, while it's not given much focus, their relationship and how they encourage Po creates a nice parallel between Zhen and her parental figure.

The Chameleon as a villain isn't THAT interesting, but she's not terrible. Personality wise, she's okay, but nothing spectacular. I do think her backstory was interesting, and, like the past three villains, her backstory mirrors Po's in a way. Which I honestly kind of wished they'd focused on a little more. I think it would've given her more depth that she's hinted to have.

Yes, the Furious Five aren't in this move for 99 percent of it. But.....I think it works. Because the whole point of the movie is about Po and Zhen. Them building their trust and relationship to get to the point they are by the end of the movie. And having the Furious Five their might have made things feel overstuffed.

Ultimately, I think it's a good movie. Nothing AMAZING but it's good and It does pick up more in the second half. Overall I'd say this around a 7.5 out of ten if I had to describe it.

#Kung fu panda #King Fu Panda 4 #KFP 4 #po kung fu panda #zhen kfp #Movie review

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soupthatistohot · 8 months

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BSD 110: An Absurdist Analysis

The fate of Aya Kōda

Since my post analyzing BSD 109 in accordance with Asagiri's absurdist storytelling got so much love, I've decided to continue analyzing the chapters thru an absurdist lens when I deem it relevant, and making predictions accordingly. I think that not only is it an effective way of reading BSD, it gives us readers a bit more hope that things will turn out okay when the plot is... like it is right now (lol).

I recommend checking out my BSD 109 post if you haven't already this since I explain the philosophy of the absurd in depth there :)

BSD 110 spoilers below!! Obviously! Also TW for discussion of suicide.

So. I really don't think the ten year-old girl is going to die.

On top of Aya being "the last hope" (more on that later), suicide is one of those things that absurdists really frown upon.

Aya's plan as I understand it right now is to add her weight to the table in order to pull the sword from Bram's body, this is why she jumps. If this works, the sword will be dislodged and she, the sword and the table would fall to the ground, which is very far below -- she would likely die upon impact.

Absurdists really don't like suicide as a solution to hopeless situations, most absurdist storytellers have their characters commit suicide because they have "given up". It's submission, giving into the meaninglessness of our reality rather than rebelling against and embracing the absurd.

We see this with Oda in Dark Era, his suicide mission is framed as him giving up on life because the orphans were killed. Of course, it also served as catalyst for Dazai's character development, compelling him to escape a situation that would have likely ended up in his own eventual suicide. All this to say that even though Asagiri chose to make Oda go on a suicide mission, the overall narrative purpose still lent itself to absurdism through Dazai's decision to defect. It needed to happen for the story to move forward as it has (and as we know from BEAST, there literally cannot be a universe in which both Oda and Dazai are alive).

So, if Aya dies now, what message does this send? It's almost certain that the world will literally end if she does, meaning that everyone's efforts up until this point have all been for naught, which, as I explained in my BSD 109 post, is the opposite of the entire point of BSD as an absurdist text. Aya is really the "last hope" right now, with all our other main characters pretty much screwed or just not present.

"Nothing is impossible for a warrior of justice. We beat the bad guys and save the world, no matter what happens."

What Aya says right here is something I'd liken to the Dazai quote I brought up with my BSD 109 analysis: "The ones who actually make the world turn are those who scream within the storm of uncertainty and run with flowing blood." Both communicate the idea that there's never an acceptable point in time to give up (suicide), that there's always something more that you can do, even when things seem bleak. Those who "make the world turn" are one in the same with Aya's concept of "warriors of justice."

Aya may not succeed exactly the way we expect her to, but she absolutely is not dying like this. On top of the absurdist storytelling reasons, she's just a child. Of course, we know Asagiri isn't above killing kids, but Aya is a bit different than the other children we've met in BSD. Her character has been built up and developed, she has a fleshed-out backstory, and we've spent a lot of time with her. To kill off a little girl we've come to care about a lot would just be cruel, plus her death wouldn't really serve a narrative purpose right now.

So, what could happen?

One prediction is that Aya adding her weight to the table does dislodge the sword and she falls, but she is saved by another character. We know Kenji and Tecchou are out there right now, we haven't seen Yosano or Kyouka in ages, etc. etc.. Basically, there are definitely people out there that could come to her rescue.

But there's an option I like a lot better: Aya's ability manifests.

Aya Kōda was a 20th century Japanese novelist and essayist, and the namesake for the Aya we know in BSD. As far as we know, all the characters who are named after real-life authors possess an ability inspired by the life/work of said author. Aya doesn't have an ability yet, so logic follows that she will develop one by the end of the series.

I'm not sure where I read this, so take it with a grain of salt, but I believe that in BSD the character's abilities manifest because of trauma. Not only does Aya live in a somewhat emotionally abusive household, but she's literally been thrust into the middle of a conflict in which the world could literally end and has decided to jump off of a tall building to try to save the world -- I'd say that's pretty traumatizing!

I'm not familiar with the irl Aya Kōda's works enough to speculate about what her ability would actually do, but there's a decent chance that because of the current situation, her special ability will manifest in order to prevent her from dying and/or dislodge the sword from Bram. This would also fit absurdist storytelling very well, she's literally doing jumping off a building as a complete last ditch effort, it's a crazy plan that probably won't work -- but her other option is to just accept death, and that's not acceptable. If she were to manifest her ability in this moment, it would reinforce the idea that rebelling against the absurd has value, that even when things seem at their worst there's always something you can do.

Anyway, these are just my thoughts! Please feel free to add anything you find relevant, especially if you're familiar with Aya's irl counterpart! See you next month ;)

Here's the BSD 110 translation I pulled the panels from.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd 110 #bsd 110 spoilers #bsd manga #aya bsd #aya koda #bsd absurdism analysis #soup rants #but seriously tho how narratively amazing would it be if aya manifested her ability rn #like when everything seems hopeless she attempts smth absurd and is rewarded for it basically #RAGHGHGHH #asagiri i wanna kill u and kiss ur brain simultaneously

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pumpkinpie59 · 3 months

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“the 2012 family isn’t abusive” and “the 2012 family all have toxic traits that can affect each other badly” are both takes that can coexist

i think out of all the tmnt shows (except maybe rise, but i could go back on that if i think about it for more than two seconds; this post isn’t about them tho), 2012 has the most dysfunctional family.

this is not a criticism tho. it’s an observation and it can lead to interesting storytelling.

splinter in 2012 suffers from ptsd and it affects how he teaches his children and how he views the world.

he’s been through a lot and was lead to believe he lost his first child.

so yes it’s not shocking that he’d make bad decisions as a parent.

he’s not a bad person by any means, but his attitude about strangers, enemies, and relationships are off. he shows favoritism towards leo, though that’s not his intention. he fails to give his other children the attention they need. etc etc

so it’s not that surprising that his children also gained flaws that affect each other negatively.

leo is dedicated to his training, which isn’t bad but it gave him an ego. he believes he’s the good example, that he’s better skilled than his brothers. he has good skills that make him the best choice as leader, but sometimes his ego and his authority make him downplay his brothers’ opinions and chastise their choices.

it’s mostly seen in his arguments with raphael and donatello. raphael is stubborn, but he values his family like leo does. their opinions on how to protect their family and do the right thing aren’t always on the right page, which frustrates them. raphael goes through growth that makes him a lot more patient with leonardo, but he still calls leo out when leo makes bad decisions, and leo often refuses to listen to him bc he’s the leader. he’s in charge. why should he listen? which is not what a leader should be and he needs to learn that over the course of the series (he,, rlly doesn’t but i digress).

as for donatello and leonardo. donatello is smart and leonardo knows that and ends up using that to his advantage. he puts a lot of pressure on donnie and overworks him. donatello is smart so he has to be the one to track things down, fix mutations, learn what is going wrong. and when donatello’s attempts go wrong, leonardo gets frustrated and orders donatello to just. do better. keep working on it. since donatello struggles with insecurities, this is just added to it and he is super hard on himself when he fails.

having so much pressure put on him by splinter certainly doesn’t help his attitude either.

is he hard on michelangelo? eh not rlly but mikey’s a nothing character so moving on

raphael very obviously has his temper. he’s probably the most criticized of the team so his faults are kinda obvious. he has the most growth in the show tho so i’m not gonna go into too much depth.

obviously his temper and habit to get violent when he’s angry affects his brothers negatively. tho he’s mostly physically violent with leonardo or michelangelo. with donatello they usually are more verbal ig? when raphael is rough with donatello, it’s usually playful. idk

also his temper affects his focus and skills so he’s often chastised by splinter, which comes across to him like leo is so much better and splinter likes him more.

donatello’s turn. this guy has his heart on his sleeve and ik i mention his insecurities constantly but it does affect him more than anything else. he’s insecure about being a mutant, he’s insecure about his weapon and fighting skills, he’s insecure about his feelings for april, he’s insecure about whether he’s smart enough, he’s insecure PERIOD. he has so much going on in that brain so ofc it’s gonna affect his brothers

he snaps at people all the time. he lets his insecurities affect the way he interacts with other people (see: casey jones).

even the pride he does have about his scientific accomplishments can be easily crushed when they’re ruined or criticized in some way.

he isolates very often and sometimes when he is confident it comes across as rude.

and when he acts out of concern for april, he goes about it wrong and ends up being creepy.

it doesn’t help that splinter hardly corrects any of his behavior. plus he doesn’t get the affirmation he needs.

as for michelangelo he’s a bad interpretation of someone with adhd— oh wait no that’s not what i’m trying to talk about hold on—

so michelangelo is playful and naïve and fails to take many things seriously, which frustrates his brothers a lot so it’s hard for them to take him seriously when he is being genuine.

and for karai, we already see how flawed and rebellious she is, and it rubs off on her brothers often, particularly leo.

this family is just a wreck but that’s why they’re so interesting to explore and see them grow. it’s why i wanted more from the series. their dynamics have positive parts as well and it’s nice seeing them talk through things. but the series sacrifices a lot of that for plots that don’t rlly matter tbh (most of season 5 <3)

they are not abusive at all but they are extremely flawed and that’s okay

#except for mikey what who said that #pumpkin stuff #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt splinter #tmnt karai

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treason-and-plot · 2 months

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OC Evolution Tag:

Choose an OC and show the progress of the earliest to latest version of them.

I was tagged by @drawing-way-outside-the-lines, thank you very much!💖 I chose Roy for this tag. (I could write a novel about Roy's character evolution, but I don't think this tag was created for that purpose! All the same, I hope I can be forgiven if I go off on a few tangents.) Below is a screenshot from one of Roy's first appearances in my story, in June 2013.

Roy was introduced as Joël's best friend whom he had known from kindergarten, and was only ever meant as a secondary character, shamelessly dropped into the story to be Joël's sounding board and to help chart Joël's romantic challenges. But Roy was never going to be content with having a minor role! The first time it became apparent to me that he was girding his loins for a much bigger share of the limelight was the night he had one too many Pink Cougars at The Grind, and decided to strip down to his undies and dance on the tabletops.

It was also the same night he first met Anita:

After that, Roy more or less shared equal billing with Joël. He and Sonia's wedding was one of the highlights of Five Years Earlier, and still remains the most fabulous and immersive fun I have ever experienced since starting my Simblr.

As far as Roy's physical evolution goes, he was becoming noticeably more buff by January 2014, because he was working out 4 or 5 times a week to take his mind off he and Sonia's infertility woes. He also got a new skin, Ephemera's Fresh, that everyone was raving about at the time:

I loved how it made his body look, but I disliked the weird, waxy colouring it gave to his facial features:

The skin only lasted a few months before I went back to my previous default, Joedy’s Nephilim, which is still my default today.

(Roy and Sonia's infertility struggles also allowed Roy to show his vulnerable side, and hopefully added some depth and richness to his character. Up until then I had never written any chapters from Roy's POV, and I remember being very nervous about stepping into his shoes for the first time, because his personality type was so far removed from anyone I knew in real life! But it became so much easier once I could feel empathy towards him. It is upsetting for any male to be told he has a low sperm count, but for a self-described alpha-male like Roy it must have been devastating. But I think it also made him a lot more human and relateable.)

Okay, that's enough with the tangents! Here is what Roy looks like today:

His hair has never, ever changed, and his face hasn't been tweaked either apart from his famous scar. He has no tattoos. (He has lost a wedding ring, though!) So yeah, it's probably fair to say most of his evolution has been spiritual, emotional and psychological.

I would like to tag @wolfavens @pixelddump @nectar-cellar @winterspixels and @hancyan. No pressure, feel free to ignore!

#sims tag game #character development #my ocs <3 #OC Evolution Tag

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eeldritchblast · 5 months

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Thoughts on Halsin

I want to preface this by saying I don't have anything particularly against Halsin as he is in game. But I do find him lacking in depth, when compared to everyone else.

Even without knowing that he was added as a full companion last minute, I would probably have guessed as much simply because there's not much to him beyond the role he plays in the Shadow-Curse quest of Act 2. This is lampshaded with dialogue about how he himself feels consumed by his determination to end the curse. But to me, that just feels like a cop-out. Imagine any other character looking at the camera and just saying "yeah I know I don't have much character beyond what happens to me in the plot, too bad?"

But I think the worst crime about his lack of development, is the fact that because he doesn't have a lot else going on, he feels a little overly sexualized to me; like he's just there for the player to thirst after because he's this big, bulky man. Now, to be clear, I don't care that he's horny, and I definitely don't care that he's poly. (My GF is a poly lesbian, and honestly I could see myself having more than one romantic relationship , too, if someone else was ever interested in me like that and cool with it.) What I'm trying to say is, because he's lacking in other areas, leaving those traits being of his few you can list, it makes them feel of less value, and makes him feel more like a sex prop. And if you're gonna have a character with rape victim as part of his background like Halsin has, then that's the last thing you want, I think.

So, what more could be done with Halsin?

I once made a joke that someone should draw Halsin in a "Big Auntie Energy" shirt. For those of you who aren't Native, let me try to translate: In most if not all Indigenous Nations, we often call women who are champions of our cultures and communities "Auntie", whether they are actually literally your aunt or not. An Auntie is someone you dearly love, and trust to guide you. Halsin already plays something of a mentor figure to the protagonist—indeed, dev notes even call him "avuncular"—so why not lean into it further by showing what he does for others, too? Pretending that there was more development time allotted, here's what I would've liked to see...

"This place crawls with life, but little of it flourishes. I see refugees, unhoused. The destitute, unwanted. Orphans, unloved. … I wish there was a better way. I wish everyone could see the sun, have a full belly, and know nature as a friend. There is a balance that is yet to be found." —Halsin

After ending the Shadow-Curse, Halsin says he needs to find a new purpose. I feel like his purpose could easily align with his horror of the inequalities of Baldur's Gate. Instead of just talking about how awful it is, why not allow the player to challenge him to try and change things, then? For example, I like to imagine Halsin telling stories to the orphans in Rivington, providing them comfort and someone to look up to. Or another example: Halsin helping out in or maybe starting some kind of charity meal program. It's small, but it's enough to say that he could actually grow a little as a person within the game's story. And it would add at least a little bit of engagement on the player's end as well, instead of feeling like the relationship with Halsin, platonically, is one-sided.

This all doesn't come from nowhere, by the way. If you exclusively romance Halsin, he says goodbye to the player in the end because he is leading a group of people into Thaniel's realm to start a new life. But personally, I feel like this is too great a leap back into an Archdruid role he specifically rejected, because he didn't like it. It also would've been nice to get this kind of dialogue without having to romance him; to know what lies ahead for Halsin as a friend, too.

Now, that's the good ending. But almost all the companions in BG3 have a "good" and "evil" ending. I feel like this really adds a lot of insight into the characters, because they feel real through it; we all have the potential to make good and bad choices, after all. So what could be Halsin's evil-aligned ending? Well, remember when he questions if the Shadow Druids actually have a point? How about giving the player the opportunity to push him further down that path instead... Shadow Druid Halsin, holy shit.

Now, there's one more thing I want to circle back to: Halsin's past. He very casually speaks of his time as a captive in the Underdark. And maybe it was so long ago that he's long dealt with such trauma, but still, I really wish there was a way to say "hey bud, that's really fucked up and I'm sorry that happened to you." But there's not a single dialogue option that allows you to express sympathy, besides just saying "that's awful", which doesn't cut it. Halsin himself says, "sometimes I think people look at me and imagine my feelings can't be hurt." Not allowing the player to be sensitive to his feelings goes exactly against this message not to judge a person's emotions by physical appearances.

Anyway, Halsin is a character that I think has a lot of potential, but doesn't quite reach it in game. I think it's great that he was given a bigger role due to popularity, but I just wish that role was expanded on to the same degree as the other companions.

#halsin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #meta #rape tw

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sayafics · 4 months

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Dance of Shadows - Chapter IV

Sorry this took so long to update, I spent a lot of time figuring out the timeline and how the story would work with the scenes I wanted to add.

I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! This is a really long chapter which hopefully makes up for the long wait!

Expect a lot more Saenyra&Daemon moments in the next chapter! This chapter was a mix between adding more depth to their relationship, as well as building one between Saenyra and other characters <3

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Saenyra's heart ached endlessly when the news of Daemon's exile had reached her - she had expected it, of course. But the weight of her mother's death and now the absence of her uncle had become too much to bear.

Her mind fell back to her incidental meetings with the Lord Hand, and of how his words had turned kind despite his cold eyes, since her mother had passed. She understood why the man would be sympathetic to such a thing, having lost his wife to the same burdens of labour as she had lost her mother.

There was a quiet kinship there, a moment of solidarity and understanding.

Perhaps that was why he had come to her chambers today, knocking upon her door and entering with a sullen expression as she beckoned him forth.

Behind his slender form stood the broad figure of Ser Harwin Strong - she had only thought it fair to seek a Shield of her own if Rhaenyra were able to have one. Especially one as pretty as Ser Cole.

Ser Harwin nodded his head in greeting, waiting for her instructions as he stood at attention by her door. She waved the man away, rolling her eyes at his constant worrying.

Saenyra focused on Otto - the Lord Hand looked pale and stricken, eyes unfocused as he tried to string together his words.

The truth was, Otto felt nothing like the image he portrayed to the young girl, but he hoped such a performance would make her grow to trust him.

Those who were unable to see the infatuation the Targaryen girls held for their uncle were truly blind. And Otto would be a fool not to use such a bond to his advantage.

Daemon Targaryen was a dangerous man.

With all the roles within the Keep he had taken, none had sung to him more than the tireless echoes of a title so buoyant and inflamed - the Rogue Prince.

And if Otto wanted Saenyra on his side, then the only way to assure such an alliance was to remove the only person who could change her perspective.

Perhaps this method of madness was mean and trifling, but it would work. It had to.

Otto remembers the look of anguish on Rhaenyra's face when she had heard the news, when she demanded dragons be sent to threaten the man and return what was rightfully their's. He only wished Saenyra would show a reaction so similar.

"Lord Hightower, is everything alright?" Saenyra frowned softly at the man, eyes watching him with concern.

He sighed deeply, "my Princess, I am afraid I come bearing bad news."

Though her stomach sank with dread, her heart beating frantically at all the possibilities and all the horrors that could have occurred, Saenyra steeled her spine and spoke encouragingly, "you can speak freely here."

Again, Otto found his heart tremble with softness at the young girl's kindness. Here, he could not see a shadow of a dragon in sight, simply a girl who had been placed in the nest of animals and beasts.

"It is your uncle, dear child."

Saenyra frowned in earnest now, the mere mention of her uncle bringing back the flashes of the beautiful woman who pressed herself against him as though she were laying her claim. She blinked furiously, scolding herself for such envious feelings - even if that woman had not been there, it did not change the truth that Daemon was still a married man.

Daemon had not cheated her - he had cheated his wife and himself.

"What about my uncle?"

Otto lowered his head in a show of misery, "it seems he has dared to steal the egg of Baelon."

"Why would he do such a thing?" Saenyra's lips had parted in surprise, caught off guard by her uncle's audaciousness with such an act of defiance.

"We are unsure of his motives for the time being," the lie slipped off his tongue with ease. Otto was willing to do all he could to make the girl hate Daemon, but he could not risk her acting out of turn. "But we intend to claim the egg and return it to the Keep - the ships are setting sail soon, and an army rests upon it. Ready to reclaim the egg and Dragonstone by force, if needed."

"I want to come."

Otto sighed softly, not willing to disappoint the girl but knowing he will have to. He could see the anger bubbling in her eyes, but he could also see the confusion etched in her expression.

"Your sister asked us of the very same. I fear you cannot join a feat such as this - it is far too dangerous."

"Perhaps he would listen to me."

"We can only hope, Princess," Otto smiled faintly at her determination, "but it is a risk we cannot take."

Saenyra's hope faltered, hands twisting into the soft material of her gown as she bit her lip to hold back spiteful words.

Otto took a step back, gaining her attention.

"The ships leave soon, so I must take my leave. I simply believed it was important to inform you of our plans, despite the King's disagreement on the matter."

Otto watched as the girl's eyes narrowed in disappointment - had it not been for Otto's visit to her chambers, she would have been kept in the dark on the actions of her uncle.

Her father and her sister would hide such tragic news from her without a guilty conscious.

She glanced at Otto once more as he took his leave, and he smirked at the glimmer in her eyes that shone like something akin to trust.

***

It had not only been trust that gleamed in her lavender hues, but determination.

Her father and sister thought of her as weak, of being spineless and thoughtless. But she would show them. She would show them her determination, her influence, her fire.

Dragonstone was not simply a base Daemon had chosen for its view, no - its caves and tunnels homed the largest dragons - wild and crazed.

Upon the small isle was an opportunity for something more.

***

Saenyra had changed into a set of leathers she had stuffed deep in her wardrobe - they had been a gift from a Lord in a far away land who thought her to be a dragon-rider like her sister. A stark contrast from her usual soft colours, but one she hoped she could grow used to.

Her lip quirked at the idea of riding her dragon in her billowing gowns, and she whispered a promise to herself she would try.

Her heart had always weeped with disappointment at the sight of the leathers, but she never had the heart to get rid of it. It seemed all her waiting had paid off - today, she would get a dragon.

When she had changed into her leathers, she spared a moment to glance upon the jewel resting on her hand. A hesitant smile twisted upon her lips as a speck of dread bloomed.

What would Daemon think of her when he learned she had travelled to the isle to claim a dragon? Would he think differently of her? Would he be proud? Disappointed?

She tiptoed to her chamber doors as quietly as she could, ignoring her nattering thoughts. She latched it shut, hoping Harwin would leave her to her peace and not attempt entry.

Shs slipped back to the portrait above her bed, prying it open with silent breaths before slipping into the tunnels behind. She sprinted her way down tunnels she memorised a thousand times over, finding her way to an exit.

The day was bright and early, and the Keep was buzzing. But no one would expect to see Saenyra of all people in riding gear, as she had no dragon to command.

She slipped through the sea of people with ease, making her way to the ships as she dodged the sight of curious soldiers.

Saenyra knew Otto and the Kingsguard would board the ship at the forefront, so she slinked her way onto one of the smaller ships instead.

She let out a sigh of relief to see it unoccupied for the time being, rushing below the deck to hide in the shadows behind barrels and netting.

She would stay here until they reached Dragonstone.

***

The sail to Dragonstone had been bumpy, her stomach rolling with nausea as she steadied her breaths and pretended she was at home rather than upon the sea.

She swallowed harshly, thirst clawing at her throat as she wondered how much longer it would be.

It seemed only seconds, as her head raised in surprise at the shouts that carried over the ship. They drew closer to Dragonstone now, and she could hear the men prepare to anchor the ships before they continued on foot.

Just a few moments longer.

***

Saenyra had waited until the ships had emptied and the air had struck silent. Her stomach protested as she pushed herself to her feet and her knees ached. Her throat still burned with thirst and she could feel the clawing stabs of hunger pleading with her.

Still, she knew coming by boat was better than the alternative.

She was sure Rhaenyra would find her way here, but Saenyra would be damned if she asked the girl to allow her to ride upon Syrax alongside her.

Saenyra did not want the first dragon she rode to be one that was not her own - she did not want such an experience to be tainted by the hatred and jealousy that soured her relationship to her sister.

As she hiked her way towards where she hoped she would find the entrance to the caves and tunnels, her mind fell back to the dragon she hoped to claim.

Saenyra did not want a dragon that had previously been claimed. She wanted a dragon wild and free. Just as she was.

She wanted a dragon to whom she could love and dote on, to teach not with violence but patience. She wanted a dragon that was a reflection of herself, one that would burn worlds if she asked.

When she had finally reached the mouth of the cave she was panting lightly, her eyes wide with wonder as a breathless laugh escaped her. She sprinted inside, struggling to keep her footfalls quiet so as not to fall prey to any other beast that lurked within.

She spun through the tunnels, twisting and turning but failing to find the dragon she had so desperately tried to seek.

Grey Ghost was a shy dragon, calm and quiet, preferring to spin through the skies and feast in the seas. Hidden away in plain sight much like she was.

Grey Ghost is a dragon Saenyra believed she would bond well with, love strongly and protect fiercely as he would do with her. But Grey Ghost was nowhere to be found.

Her hope of claiming a dragon began to crumble as the tunnels were silent. It seemed the only life within them was her own, and she could feel defeat sink into her bones.

Saenyra sat down in a huff, eyes closed as she rested her head against the rough and craggly surface behind her.

She didn't pay mind to how long she sat like that, thinking - dreaming, hoping.

She only hoped that Harwin had not noticed her absence. Prayed that if he had, he did not report it to the King.

She doubted Viserys would care for such a thing - perhaps he would be relieved he had one less heir to worry about. Rhaenyra and Daemon were already such a handful.

However, for all she knew, the moment her deception was brought to light, a whole new shadow of chaos would be wrought upon them - one, perhaps, even Daemon could not escape.

She was still a Princess. Even if Viserys did not hold any personal regards for the girl, he would have to act in show, lest people see him as weak.

Still, she stayed. She sat upon the solid ground and listened to the sounds of her own breaths, counting every inhale and exhale and wishing she did not have to return to the Keep - knowing when she did, she could never escape the walls that confined her.

Slowly, she began drifting off. She leaned into the comforting smell of a home she would never find - a dragon she could never have.

That was when she felt it.

So lost in the tumultuous thoughts roving through her mind, she hadn't heard the gruff breaths, hadn't felt the quaking thuds. But a rough and scaly surface brushed against her cheek, slowly as though it was almost curious.

It was then she smelt it, the stench of dragon strong and high - the cloying scent of smoke coated her tongue as the brushes became firmer. She allowed herself to hope that perhaps it was Grey Ghost. That although she couldn't find him, he found her and it was a sign.

A sign that she was meant to be a dragon-rider. That the fire of a dragon burned hot through her veins - a raging blaze instead of a waning fire.

But her hesitant eyes found the predatory gaze of a dragon so monsterous it ate its own kind. So close to her, a hair's breadth away, was the slow and steady gaze of a cantankerous beast - Cannibal.

He was an inky shade of black, scales so dark that he could meld into the night sky and would cast envy from the moon, escaping its sight.

The beast reared back, but still stayed so close. Too close.

Saenyra wanted to close her eyes, to resign herself to her fate.

She was no dragon-rider, especially not to a beast so ferocious and violent. She didn't have the strength to make him submit- didn't have the gall.

But there was a subtle glint in Cannibal's eye that made her think wreaking havoc and killing her was not on his agenda.

He inched closer, almost like he was asking a silent question.

Saenyra raised a hand, fingers trembling as she took a steadying breath - the fire of a dragon ran through her veins, the ice of a thousand winters cursed her soul.

She held her breath as the tips of her fingers brushed against Cannibal's face, so close to the edge of his mouth he could break off her arm with a single twitch.

Instead he shuddered, preening as she shuffled closer and began to sit.

Surprise bound through her body, elation colouring her features - had she tamed a dragon?

Had she claimed a bond?

There was no need to violence, no yell for obedience, no fighting and no blood. There was no sacrifice because what was meant for her had come to find her.

Saenyra's eyes welled with tears, a shaky laugh escaping her as it grew louder and steady.

Saenyra had come looking in the depths of darkness for a dragon that lived in the light, hidden amongst clouds and thriving across the seas.

But that was not the fate the Seven had assigned to her. That was not the dragon she needed.

Her dragon, her fate had come to her. Undeterred and knowing.

Her dragon had come to seek her because finally, the time was right.

Her dragon - so fierce and raging and monsterous. The fire she had been missing all her life.

***

Daemon watched Rhaenyra in amusement, barely able to hold back the smirk upon his face at the pathetic attempt to pull him into line.

Had she truly thought she could command him? Call to him?

Had she truly thought he would be soft with her? Kind and adhering?

"I'm right here, Uncle. The object of your ire - the reason you were disinherited. If you wish to be restored as heir, you'll need to kill me. So do it."

Daemon could commend the girl's bravery, perhaps even her stupidity. It was a tempting thought, truly - to end all this fuss and take her head in one quick swipe.

But he was fond of the girl, despite her growing infatuations. She was his niece - his brother's child. And to hurt her would be to hurt Viserys.

"Do not bother with such words, Rhaenyra. It will gain you no favours. You would sooner leave Dragonstone empty-handed than with my undying fidelity."

Daemon couldn't help the smirk that broke across his face as her expression fell - she had been so sure presenting herself to him, a prize upon a platter, would have made him succumb and relinquish the egg.

She was sure he would give up to her. For her.

"Uncle, you do not know what you are saying. This isn't what you want. She isn't who you want."

The words she spoke were true. But not in the way she had hoped.

"Perhaps if little Saena were here, I would be happy to continue this farce for a few moments longer," he grinned at the envious expression that crossed Rhaenyra's face, "it is a pity she is not. I believe she would have enjoyed Dragonstone."

"The Princess is safe at the Keep," Otto began, his words stern as he met Daemon's glare with one just as fierce, "where you shall be unable to find her."

Daemon gritted his teeth at the show of audaciousness, but before he could speak, a set of stumbling footfalls and a shouting voice drew their attention.

"The Princess! She is in Dragonstone!"

A handful of soldiers assigned to watch over their ships had raced up to the base, panting as they waved frantically for Otto's attention.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, "yes. Well, if you could not tell, I came by dragon-back. Such fan-fare is quite uneeded."

She turned back to Daemon, ready to push and prod, but the voice continued in panicked insistence.

"No! The Princess is upon the isle. She entered the tunnels before my men could stop her. We followed her in, but we fear she is lost within them."

Daemon's expression of amusement fell, his heart sinking as his stomach twisted. Tumultuous waves of rage washed over him at the realisation of who they spoke of.

Saenyra.

Saenyra was in Dragonstone. And she was lost in the tunnels, surrounded by wild dragons.

He seethed and frothed at the mouth, trembling in anger as he pulled out his sword and raised it against Otto's throat - "you told me she was at the Keep. You told me she was safe!"

Otto's own eyes had widened in surprise, shock flooding his system at the realisation the Princess must have snuck onto a ship to reach Dragonstone.

But why had she gone into the tunnels instead of following them to Daemon?

Otto stumbled over his words, almost speechless at the turn of events. It was Rhaenyra who spoke in his stead, "lower your sword, Uncle. What my sister does out of her own stupidity is no one's fault but her own."

Daemon ground his teeth in frustration, lowering his sword from Otto's throat only to throw a dangerous glare at Rhaenyra instead - "your sister is lost within the tunnels where dragons feed upon everything with a heartbeat, and you stand here and mock her? You are heartless."

Rhaenyra's face fell, her own heart now stammering with fear as she realised there was a truth to Daemon's words. She had lost her mother such a short time ago, could she truly lose her sister now, too?

"If she is hurt- if she is scared, I will kill you all. I will slaughter you all, and I will show Viserys the truth of my brutality. If there is so much as a scratch up-"

His words came to an abrupt end, halting mid-sentence at the sound of a victorious cry.

Daemon watched in fascination as a black mass emerged from the lip of a cave, climbing high into the sky as it unleashed a violent burst of green flames into the sunlit sky.

He could hear gleeful shrieks and melodic laughter from where he stood, and he could feel the ground shake as a monsterous beast rumbled from its place confined deep within the tunnels.

The violent beast flew overhead, murmurs spreading across as they all watched in fascination as the dragonless princess rode upon the most horrid beast of all and laughed.

There was a softness there, still present despite the beast she rode. One that sounded in her voice and in her laughter. One that sang in her eyes as they crinkled with joy.

Saenyra had conquered a dragon, but she had not lost herself in doing so.

Cannibal circled over Daemon and his army, and Daemon watched in amusement as Otto and his men backed up as far as they could.

Cannibal landed with a quiet thud, his rider grinning with excitement and pride exuding off of her in pretty waves. She slid from his back, scratching his neck as she murmured praises to the beast.

Daemon watched the scene unfold with soft eyes, his heart swelling with pride as he watched Saenyra fret over a vicious beast who submitted to her freely and with ease.

He took a step forward, uncaring of the watchful eyes and bated breaths of those around him.

Saenyra caught his gaze, a gasping laugh sounding from her lips as she moved to meet him halfway. But a glance over his shoulder had her stumbling to a stop.

Daemon knew who she had seen and couldn't stop the guilt that stung his throat and left a bitter taste.

"Rijes aōt, zaldrītsos (congratulations, little dragon)."

Daemon's words were gentle but hesitant. Saenyra could not find it within herself to meet his gaze.

She took a steadying breath, eyes passing over him with great difficulty as she sought the calming gaze of the Lord Hand instead.

Otto nodded to the girl as she eyed him in quiet despair - "Prince Daemon," he began, so quietly Daemon prayed Saenyra could not hear him, "has stolen the dragon egg as a gift to his heir."

Saenyra's eyes flitted back to Daemon as they welled with a betrayal she had no right to feel. And yet, from Daemon's worried gaze and guilty heart, she could not help but feel that perhaps it was not all in her mind, after all.

"His whore, Mysaria is with child. And Daemon is to take her as a second wife."

As Otto concluded his words, he could see how the girl's shoulders tensed and her spine stiffened - he hadn't expected to unveil the truth to her, but as she stared at her uncle with poorly hidden anger he found that it was probably the smartest move he had made.

Saenyra couldn't help but glance at her sister and see how her shoulders had deflated with defeat and how Rhaenyra could not meet her gaze.

Despite everything she had heard, despite the tears that pooled in her eyes and despite the hopes she had hidden deep within her heart that had caved and crumbled, she stepped forward. She closed the gap between Daemon and herself with a stifling sense of formality.

Saenyra stood before him in the image of a poised princess, a stiff smile upon her face as she searched his eyes for something.

They glinted and gleamed and grew dark under her stare, as though he was trying to force every word he could not say aloud into her mind.

"Tepagon se zaldrīzes drōmon, kepus. Let us be done with this. (Give the dragon egg, uncle)."

"Daor (no)."

His voice was quiet - his eyes pleading.

Her breath caught in her throat for a moment, her mind knowing what it was he wanted - what he needed. But her heart was too fragile to concede.

"Ivestragon nyke skoros nyke jorrāelagon naejot rȳbagon (tell me what I need to hear)."

Daemon did not care if Rhaenyra heard him, did not care if the others understood.

He would be exiled, unable to see Saenyra anymore. He knew although he could succeed in this battle, the game of politics that would follow would not work in his favour.

Too many men had sworn their allegiance to Viserys, and now his newest heir - Rhaenyra.

She gave him a strained smile in return, "I cannot upset your wife."

"Ōdrikagon zirȳla mirre ao hae, issa daorun naejot nyke (hurt her all you like, she is nothing to me)."

"And what about me?"

"Brōzagon naejot nyke (call to me)."

Such words were a promise in themselves, a claim if one wished it to be. And from the glimmering darkness in Daemon's eyes, singing with desperation and anger and a plea for understanding, Saenyra let herself reluctantly hope it was.

"Kepus, give me Baelon's egg."

"Kostilus (please)."

"Daemon."

The name came out in a quiet rush, a hushed confession.

His breath caught in his throat, a raging heat battling through his body as his heart trembled and his body singed with relief.

"Daemon," she whispered again, looking into his eyes so pleadingly, "give it to me, Daemon. Prove it to me."

Daemon was ready to kneel for her should she ask it of him. He handed the egg over readily, the fight leaving his body with the same rolling ease his name dripped off her tongue in such erotic rivulets.

As she reached out to take the egg from his grasp, he allowed his fingers to trail over her trembling hands. He rubbed his thumb over the ring she still wore, despite his misgivings, despite his harshness and despite his exile.

She wore this piece of him with pride and adoration. Such a sight made his heart sting with grief, knowing he would have to leave her behind. Knowing he had done nothing but made everything worse.

It had been amusing, yes. It had been a show of power, a show of all the cards he held. But now he knew it was almost over - the Gold Cloaks would retreat and return to King's Landing, and he would be exiled. Never to return, if Otto had it his way.

Saenyra stepped away from him, pulling her hands back as his own fell to his sides.

He sighed as though he was amused and steps closer, hand reaching for her chin as he tilted her head up to meet his warring gaze. He smiles, so gentle and so soft and so kind.

Daemon closes his eyes, placing a soft kiss upon her head and breathing in the scent of her - he would be exiled in truth now, unable to return for years if it was what his brother wished. He would only have this memory of his lips against her skin, his nose buried in the scent of her hair, his hands digging into her soft flesh.

He murmured a promise against her, his voice hushed so no one else could hear - "Nyke kessa māzigon arlī. Kesan māzigon arlī naejot ao. Se pār, kesi kipagon īlva zaldrīzoti naejot ūndegon qilōni's iksis se sȳrje. (I shall come back. I will come back to you. And then, we will ride our dragons to see who's is the best)."

Her eyes fluttered closed at his claim, "kivio? (Promise?)"

"Kivio."

She stepped back from the man, her eyes meeting his in silent mourning. She held the egg close to her chest as she made her way back to her dragon and mounted him, lips pursed as she tried to hold back her tears at the realisation she would likely never see Daemon again.

***

Saenyra returned to the Keep upon dragon-back, soaring the sky with a mourning sense of enjoyment. Perhaps she would not see Daemon again, but her ventures had gained her a dragon.

And such a gift was not one she would be ungrateful for.

Still, she was inexperienced upon dragon-back. Though her beast was adept and gifted with a masterful skill at flight, she had never soared the skies upon a dragon, let alone one so large.

It did not take long for Rhaenyra to catch up to her savage dragon, and it took even less time for her to soar past them and glare down at her with contempt flooding her gaze.

Saenyra grew worried as she drew closer to the Keep - the sky had darkened as a clouded mist settled low on to the soil. She grew anxious as she landed Cannibal on the grounds, eyes flitting across the planes in search of the Lords and Ladies, maids and knights that haunted the Keep, only to see it bare of life.

Cannibal flew off at her beckoning, never one to be tied down to a place so small but ready to find her if she were to call.

She entered the walls of the Keep, the corridors silent as she tiptoed to her room. She slipped into the closest tunnel she could find, her footsteps rushed as she made her way to her chambers.

She knew the secret of her travels would be revealed with Otto's return. Until then, she would take advantage of what she hoped to be Harwin's discretion and the King's ignorance and take a well-deserved rest.

***

It was not long until a flurry of frantic knocks sounded against her chamber doors - she sat up in a hurry, the sheets slipping off of her as all she remained in was the sheer material of her nightdress.

Saenyra stumbled out of her bed, reaching for the latch only to be faced by Alicent.

The girl looked worried, her eyes full of sadness as she frowned at Saenyra softly.

"The King is asking for your attendance at the Counsel, this evening."

Her brows furrowed in confusion, "Father has never asked for my presence at his meetings. Did something happen?"

Had Daemon acted out of turn once again? Had he returned to the Keep despite his exile? Has her father truly grown so angry by her travels outside the Keep?

She was unsure, and unwilling to seek answers to such questions.

"You must come at once, Princess. I fear I am not at liberty to answer your queries."

Saenyra nodded in ascent, understanding Alicent coming to retrieve her may have been a leniency on behalf of her father as well as a well-devised ploy.

She turned back to grab a dressing robe, wrapping it tightly over her bodice as she nodded for Alicent to lead the way. Alicent conceded with one last hesitant glance at the girl.

When they had reached the hall where her father held his Counsel meetings, the doors parted to reveal a truly formidable sight.

Upon his seat, though weakened by his ailings, Viserys was seething - frothing at the mouth as a well-groomed Lord stood beside him with a predatory grin.

It had taken Saenyra only a glance at Rhaenyra's proud face and Otto's sorrowful expression to learn what truth came to light.

Her lips parted, an apology sitting upon the tip of her tongue before her father's brash voice cut off her musings - "here we have her," a dragon's rage pooled in his veins, "my youngest daughter."

"Father..."

She was unsure of what she could have said - the placative words she could have spoken. But Viserys paid her no mind.

"Princess Saenyra is to be your wife, Lord Byrch." Viserys' eyes met his daughters, sharp and unforgiving as he recalled the conversations Rhaenyra whispered in his ears that took place between his youngest daughter and his devious brother - "you are to wed and take my daughter to your lands where she will swell with your children and make me a happy grandsire."

Her eyes burned as his words echoed in her mind, heart sinking in betrayal as she glanced towards Rhaenyra who spoke with a smug tone, "congratulations, dear sister."

Saenyra could hear no more talk of the betrayal that had just taken place, could no longer restrain her cries or hold back her tears.

As the Lord Byrch stepped closer to his awaiting bride, the girl stumbled back as she fled from the room in a flood of emotions.

Viserys' boisterous laughs could be heard echoing through the Keep, "she is but a shy girl, Byrch. Take no offence, you shall get your bride. That I promise."

***

Saenyra did not leave her chamber for several days - taking to dining within the walls of her room where she was safe and away from her traitorous sister and looming husband-to-be.

In those days, it was only Otto whom she allowed to seek her audience; even Harwin, now her Shield and Commander of the Gold Cloaks, barely caught a glimpse of the girl when he would assign his men to keep watch over her.

The man would whisper his disapprovals of the King's decision, acting wary of listening ears and speaking in hushed anger. He would weave tales of her bethrothed's violent nature and greedy hands, of his narrow mind and stubborn heart.

He had laughed as he suggested that the death of her betrothed may be her only saving grace - as though such a proposition was preposterous and only made in jest.

Otto had ingrained upon her an expectation for a horrid future - unloved and hurt and bred like an animal.

That was the life Viserys had chosen for her, and such a realisation wrought her soul with anger and agony. She had known Rhaenyra was the favourite, but to cast Saenyra aside in such a manner made her feel truly unworthy in his eyes.

Perhaps this was why - angered by her father's aversion and terrified by Otto's quiet truths - she had found herself in such a position.

Otto had encouraged the girl to escape the confines of her room, to walk along the corridors of the Keep and, at the very least, find enjoyment in the activities she used to before.

She had agreed, reluctantly. And that very night, she left her rooms through the tunnel, unwilling to be trailed by soldiers that belonged to both Harwin and Daemon.

She found herself in the library, fingers skimming across the spine of large tomes and story books. Her touch was light and airy, her mind quiet in the comfort of the night sky.

But the sound of footfalls drawing closer had her grow keenly wary of her surroundings.

She turned in anticipation, hand falling to her side as she came face-to-face with the man she had been avoiding all this time.

Oh, how the needy and desperate whispers of her mind grew louder wishing it was Daemon she saw.

Instead, in front of her stood the slim and staggering figure of Lord Byrch. There was a grim smirk upon his lips, his voice hushed as he whispered, "my little bride. Oh, how I have been searching for you in all the crevices in the Keep."

She smiled stiffly, "my Lord."

She stepped back, nodding to be polite as she searched for a way around the man and to the door.

There was no escape.

He stepped closer, hands clamping around her waist as he pulled her towards him - so close she could smell the scent of strong ale permeating from his lips.

The man was shameless and crude, stuffing his face into the hollow of her throat as he took deep breaths and groaned roughly at her sweet scent.

Her hands came to push against his shoulders, but the man did not relent. He stumbled forward so he could press her against a table and lave at the delicate skin of her neck.

He hummed at the taste of her, groaning in her ear in a fervent breath - "I cannot wait to make you my bride and fuck you. I cannot wait to fill you with my children and make sure you never leave my bed without my cum dripping from that sweet cunt of your's."

She cried out in disgust, her hands reaching back to brace herself against the table as he grew hurried and frantic. He began to pull up the fabric of her dress, her heart sinking in dread as her eyes stung with tears.

Her hands reached for something, grasping at anything she could use to scare this monster away.

Her fingers wrapped around a thin and delicate item, and it only took a glance back to see the silver sheen of a letter opener held tight in her grasp.

It was at the sight of such a lacklustre weapon hope began to bubble in the pit of her stomach as her breath was stolen from her in preparation of such a feat - an opportunity.

Her heart sung with rage as a guttural cry escaped her, and the weapon in her hand found its place in his shoulder. The foul beast of a man reared back, and as he cried out in agony, she could hear a fierce cry shatter through the quiet of the night as though it shared in her pain and agony - Cannibal.

At the sound of his angered roars, she felt the dragon within her come to life, a disastrous blaze flooding through her as rage took over fear.

Saenyra was angry.

So angry.

Angry at Daemon. At her sister. At her father. And this pathetic excuse of a man who thought himself worthy of marrying her. Of touching her.

With a battle cry, she ripped the blade from his flesh, throwing herself at him and knocking him to the ground as her body moved with a mind of its own. She wailed upon the man as her screams gave way to mourning cries and the aches of a thousand days washed upon her and all the agony she felt, all the grief, was poured into a deserving beast.

Hands wrapped around her body, her dress tainted red as blood seeped deep into her clothes and burned her skin with feral delight. She fought against the touch, reaching forward after her prey as her mind went mad with hunger.

The arms only held her tighter, wrenching the blade from her grasp and casting it aside as they turned her towards a solid chest and hushed quietly in her ears.

Her breaths came back to her in quiet huffs, her racing heart settled as it was finally quiet once again.

"Princess," Saenyra stiffened at the voice, eyes glancing up to meet the determined gaze of the Shield she had escaped for far too long.

Harwin met her gaze, determination giving way to a kind softness as he frowned softly at the blood splattered against the girl's face. His hands reached up to her face, rubbing against the wet liquid and smearing it across her cheeks, making her seem like a blushing bride who awaited eagerly for her husband's embrace.

But Lord Byrch was dead.

His body mutilated, his face unrecognisable.

Harwin felt his own heart race in anger at the thought that the Princess would have been hurt whilst under his charge, his protection.

He gritted his teeth as he strained his mind for a plan - "I accompanied you to the library," he began, his voice lowered and his words fast as his eyes darted towards the door, hoping it would be his Gold Cloaks who arrived first and not the Kingsguards.

"Then Lord Byrch came and asked for a listening ear - which you granted him. He spoke of treasonous plans after your wedding, and when you refused, he grew mad. So I killed him."

She eyed the soldier in fascination, wondering why he would lie on her behalf about a deed so grave.

"I killed him. Did you hear me, Princess?"

She held her breath as she nodded, confusion still clouding her eyes.

"Repeat it back to me."

She began in a whisper, hands tightening around his arms as she continued, "you killed him. You killed him because he planned to act against my father. He was going to hurt me, so you killed him."

"Good. Good, you're doing so well. Leave this to me, I shall handle this."

"Harwin," her voice shook as she protested such a thing, tears tracking down her face as her hands trembled at the realisation of what she had done.

Saenyra had killed a Lord. She had murdered her intended husband.

But he had deserved it.

Still, she had taken a life.

"I am your sworn Shield. When I took such a position, I vowed to protect you with every inch of life I have within me. Allow me to do my duty, Princess. Allow me to protect you."

Saenyra threw her arms around his neck, heaving sobs against him as he held her tight and turned her away from the gruesome scene she had created.

Otto had found them in such a position only moments later, eyes growing dark with understanding as he realised what must have occured.

It was safe to say Harwin escaped with such a deed unpunished, and Saenyra grew to trust her Shield just as she grew to trust Otto.

Her heart grew discontent to sit with her sister and listen to her father's demands, but even her disheartened feelings towards them would not stop the fact her father sought another husband for the girl to wed.

Saenyra could only hope he failed in such a mission of his.

Saenyra could only hope Daemon would return before Viserys succeeded in his ventures, and Rhaenyra celebrated her departure.

Thank you to everyone who enaged with this series, I cannot wait to write more chapters!!

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toms-cherry-trees · 7 months

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Fires of Harrenhal || AemondxReader/AlysxReader

Summary: Secrets and deceive always find their way through the stone halls

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Angst I think? Betrayal. Character death. Very mild NSFW. Canon divergene from both book and show. Mention of war crimes and murder. Idk how else to do this without spoiling. No beta reading I have no one to beta for me

Author's note: Never. EVER in my life had I written something so long. And it has me very anxious. Also I don't know what this is exactly. It is not angst, nor fluff. I don't know. Enjoy!

A gentle drizzle fell from the overcast skies. Fine droplets of water collected on the braids in her hair, beading in her eyelashes, rolling down the curve of her neck to the swell of her breasts. The fabric of the green gown slowly soaked, and the air around her chilled, but she did not feel the cold. The measly mizzle could do little to match the frost spreading through her bones, born from the very depths of her soul, turning her to ice from the inside out.

His emblazoned cloak still hung loosely from her shoulders, heavy and comforting, even though the warmth of his body had been long lost to the rain. His scent lingered, smoke and leather, a faint hint of spiced wine; and something else which is entirely his own, indescribable and unexplainable, but it evoked danger. And death.

Words befitting to the place she stood. Harrenhal had been long cursed, ever since Harren the Black mixed blood in the mortar which kept the bricks together. Ever since the Black Dread torched down the fortress with the King and his sons inside. The passing of the years only added to the jinx. Death and misfortune followed whoever dared to settle within the crumbled and slagged walls. Entire houses and lineages exterminated, most recently house Strong; from the eldest man to the babes in the cradle, put to death by Aemond’s command. All of them but one.

A Strong bastard, from all people.

Aemond’s infatuation with the wetnurse stunned those who bore witness to the affair, and speculation soon arose that the so called witch of Harrenhal had laid an incantation on the Prince, for otherwise it could not be explained that such proper and devoted man, always guided by rules and correctitude, devoted of the Faith, could so brazenly take a lover, an unworthy one at that, while his beautiful, perfect, dutiful wife awaited for his return at King’s Landing. No, Aemond could never.

But he could and he had.

Alys hadn’t been the first one. Others had been fleeting affairs or pleasures of one night, both before and after their wedding. Ladies from the court, his mother companions, town girls, even the occasional maidservant that caught his eye. But unlike with Aegon, they all came willingly, ensnared by the mystery of the one eyed prince. All of them forgotten as soon as dawn broke through, their silence bought with gold or jewels, and a cup of herbal tea drank under the watchful gaze of a maester.

She didn’t let their existence bother her too much. Always keeping her head held high and her gaze ahead, haughty, beautiful and proud. Aemond took great care to not leave a trail of bastards in his wake, unlike brother dearest, and never flaunted them in the open. No, before the court he only had eyes -eye- for his wife. A gentle hand on the waist, glances across the table, a kiss on the hand when they parted, and one in the forehead when they reunited. A most perfect and devoted husband, whose mask fell as soon as the doors closed behind him.

Some days she wished he would openly hate her, because at least it would prove him capable of any feeling towards her. Instead, he only offered her an impenetrable barrier of indifference bordering cruelty. Aemond would walk the Godswood with her, barely rewarding her with a hum of acknowledgement when she tried to engage conversation of any sort. She tried to show interest in his heritage, but he said she would never understand the history without carrying Valyrian blood. When she suggested meeting his dragon, he retorted that Vhagar didn’t take kindly to strangers, citing false concerns for her safety.

Even the bedding he treated like a chore to be dealt with. Methodical, efficient, and dreadfully boring. He laid with his wife as little as possible, just enough to avoid any whispers or bad talking. He would send a servant to inform her in advance that he would visit her bed so she could be “prepared”. A quick affair, his body always on top, not a sound heard other than the occasional creaking of the bed, done. He rolled over and fell asleep before she had finished cleaning herself. Hells, she didn’t hold great expectations of the act, but for a man who took so many lovers she hoped for a bit more effort.

When he became Regent, the weight of the borrowed crown awoke something deep within him, something that had always been there, dormant and expecting for its moment of glory. An obsession with control and power. He became possessive. He had to have her in sight at all times. If he sat the throne, she stood right next to him. When he held council, she acted as cupbearer, but only to serve his cup and his cup alone. If Aemond decided to sit in the library until the hour of ghosts going over scrolls and maps, she had to be there, dutifully waiting by his side until he decided to retire for the night.

They no longer slept separately, since he simply had the maids move all her belongings to his own chambers, while also disposing of things he decided she no longer required, like her childhood dolls, books of fantasy or any gown not made in green and gold. He also kept her diary in the drawer of his desk; it had to be back there every night without fail. She did not know if he read her entries, but decided to not risk it and write only about things he would like. The hours became long, since he allowed her to speak only with people he approved of; very few had earned that trust; and those who did she would rather not speak to. Even her servants had been swapped, her maids and guards replaced with former attendants of the Queen, more loyal to the Dowager than they would ever be to her.

Aemond’s departure for Harrenhal came as a relief, his presence having slowly grown into a suffocating weight on her chest and lurking shadow on her back. As soon as Aegon could rise from bed again, he sent his brother to retake the dilapidated fortress from their uncle, although she suspected it more to be a cock show off; to remind the people that even though the Greens had less dragons, they still had the biggest one.

Aemond requested his wife to accompany him, but Aegon swiftly refused. A warzone is no place for a lady, he said. She did not trust his intentions, but given he could barely do anything other than speak and drink, she felt confidently safe in the newfound solitude, dividing her time between accompanying Helaena, prayers with her good mother in the sept and her own recreations, in which she could now indulge fully, free of her husband’s criticism.

Bliss, however, proved to be fleeting. One day Aegon summoned her while she broke her fast, to his bedchamber of all places. The alcove smelled stale, a combination of souring wine and the sickly scent of various medicines and tinctures, all mixed with the pungent stench of something unidentifiable decomposing somewhere. Perhaps the putrefaction within finally caught up to the surface, and Aegon himself had begun to rot from the inside out. Which wouldn’t surprise anyone, given his current state.

The open letter in his scarred hand and the knavish smirk on his lips gave her a bad feeling. He sat unabashedly naked in his bed, his immodesties hidden only by a sheet soiled with something indescribable. She tried and failed not to look at the ruggish and reddened skin marring his left side, the movements of his arm clumsy and stiff as if Aegon had been coated with tar. Although that probably would have been a kinder fate than his armour melting into his flesh.

When her eyes met his own, she saw a twinkle of delight sparkle on them. A sick pleasure earned from her evident discomfort at the sight of himself.

“Your dearest husband summons you to his side, now that Harrenhal is back under our command. And I, ever the benevolent brother, will allow it”

Suspicion gnawed at her insides. More so when she tried to take the letter from Aegon’s hand, and he kept waving it teasingly out of her reach, displaying surprising agility despite his wounds. Right before she could snatch it away he tucked the paper under the sheets, in a place where he knew she’d never reach out, even under threat of death by dragonfire. His smile reached his eyes for the first time in months as he dismissed her, pleased like a child who got away with a prank.

Sleep refused to come to her that night, forcing her to toss and turn as she went over the day. She didn’t trust Aegon more than she’d trust a dog guarding a roasted pig. Aemond summoning his wife at his side would not be inconceivable; the brother who fulfilled his duty to the Crown and now demanded his prize. But Aegon’s willingness to let her go told a different story. Nothing entertained him more than toying with his little brother, and what better way to do it than denying him access to his wife only because he could.

An ulterior motive had to be there for the King to grant such freedom. Something she could not yet see.

Aegon even arranged her departure himself. A messenger went ahead so everything would be arranged for a proper welcome. The retinue, albeit reduced, included fine soldiers and swordmasters, all dressed in plain cloth and without pomp. Ser Criston himself joined in on the journey, wishing to also meet up with Aemond to discuss war strategies and their next moves.

Green and gold banners and soldiers in formation awaited them in the immense courtyard upon arrival. The whistling of the icy wind through the cracks in the masonry made sounds like the fortress wept and howled, the souls of those who died within the walls using the wind to disguise their lamentations.

The steward and a knight led them inside, up the Kingspyre tower and towards where she assumed her husband awaited. Large double doors of blackened wood stood slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of light into the hallway. The steward pushed the door open and announced Criston and herself. Both stepped into a large dining room, a table laid out with a feast to feed a dozen. Yet only two sat at the table.

Aemond presided over the supper, at the spot of honour in what could only be described as a throne. In his lap sat a woman of milky skin and raven curls, cherry lips pulled into a seductive smirk, her elegant fingers carding through Aemond’s silky tresses. The bodice of the woman’s silk gown had been unlaced, one breast out of the garment and firmly captured in Aemond’s mouth.

She didn’t have time to see Aemond’s face before Criston pulled her away by the arm, his broad form standing between the disconcerted woman and the indecorous scene. But she made eye contact with the black haired woman, the woman who sat her husband’s lap, the woman whose fucking tit he suckled like an indefence infant. Green eyes bore into her own, resplendent and alluring like emeralds. The last thing she saw before the door slammed shut was the woman winking at her, as if they shared a secret.

Everything made sense now; the scattered pieces falling into place perfectly. Aemond had never written. Why would he, when he had a woman keeping his bed warm and his needs fulfilled, a woman whom he craved like a drunk craves a drink. Someone, no doubt a carefully placed spy, had surely written to Aegon to report the affair. And the King, in pain, scarred and woefully bored, allowed himself some entertainment. Soon enough he would be doubling over in laughter at the picture of his perfect brother caught with the Strong bastard’s tit in the mouth.

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife in the days that came. In order to preserve her own dignity, she had to act as if nothing had occurred. She broke her fast every morning with Aemond and Criston, not a single word spoken besides the usual morning greetings. Aemond could not look any of them in the eye, especially not his fatherly figure, who had never gazed upon the prince with such disappointment before. The silent treatment hurt Aemond more than the cut of a sword, that much was evident upon his face. But his wife didn’t feel an ounce of pity for him; in fact, she rejoiced in his shame. She wanted Aemond to feel at least a fraction of the silent disgrace she carried with herself. She wanted him to be the one who had to keep his head down and his mouth shut.

He hadn’t even tried to come to her chambers, aware of the reaction that would await him if the thought so much as crossed his mind. Which is why the knock on her door, late on the seventh night, came as a surprise. On the other side stood no other than Alys, the so-called witch, wearing the same gown of that first day. The wife tried to slam the door shut, but not fast enough to keep the woman out. Alys entered the chamber and sat near the fire, her skirts spread around her as she stared into the dancing flames.

Before she could hurl insults and perhaps something more tangible at the whore, her voice echoed through the alcove. She had never heard Alys talk. Sweet and velvety, every word slipping past her plush lips in a mellow murmur. Even though they stood away from one another, the witch’s words resounded in her ear like a close whisper.

“You are unhappy”

Not a question. An affirmation.

“Unhappy because your husband doesn’t love you like he loves others. Because he refuses to show you care and adoration like you always dreamed of. He doesn't know how to cherish you, and you think you deserve better. You know you do”

Every fibre of her being urged her to scream insults at that brazen whore, to drag her by those perfect curls of hers and push her out the window. Yet she found herself unable to move or speak. Because, deep down, Alys had only said the truth. As if with just one look, she had been able to read her deepest thoughts and laid them out plainly in a way she never could. Tears pooled in her eyes, but her prideful nature kept her from letting them out. Crying in front of her husband’s mistress was a disgrace she would never recover from.

Alys stood, eyebrows knit together and features contorted in what could only be described as pity. Her soft, motherly hands cupped the younger woman’s cheeks, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her thumbs. They stood like that for a moment, the tension dissolving into a comfortable silence as they assessed one another. At last, it was the wetnurse who broke the spell.

“I have seen your life in the flames. Not even diamonds shine as bright as your future”

The witch gave her a brief kiss on the lips and walked out silently, her steps silent in the flagstone, leaving behind a flabbergasted woman.

After that, Alys came to her chambers every night. And for some reason, she didn’t turn her away, not even once. Maybe because she knew, deep down, that the woman could not be blamed for Aemond’s weakness of mind. Because her words had struck a chord inside her. Because if not her, she had no one to turn to at the moment, alone and isolated in a place where everyone bowed to Aemond’s bidding.

Maybe because she found herself enjoying Alys’ company more than she ever did his.

She found in the witch a friend she never had in the Red Keep. They strolled through Harrenhal together, Alys narrating the story behind those walls, and the lives born and lost there. She taught her about medicinal herbs and plants, knowledge forbidden to them as women. Alys had a voice suited for melancholic songs, and she would sing to the lady as she brushed her hair at night before bed, and before returning to the Prince’s rooms. Shared between two spouses who refused to look at one another, and whose only thing in common was their infatuation with the Rivers woman.

The arrangement felt ideal for her, having found in this odd circumstance the closest thing to happiness she had experienced since the day she recited her vows in the Sept. But Alys kept pushing for reconciliation between her and Aemond, urging her to salvage the feeble bridge of their marriage before it sank into the abyss. She felt unwilling, finding great comfort in not being forced to endure his presence. But Alys brought forth a greater problem, a problem which grew by the day under her dress.

“It is only you who can help me, my girl. One day he will tire of me, and me and my babe will be put to death, just as he did my entire House. He had the infants smothered in their cribs before the eyes of their mothers, and the women bury their children with their own hands before their heads rolled. What do you think he will do to a bastard born of another bastard?”

Panic and rage bubbled in her stomach at the thought of losing Alys. She had been witness to her husband’s cruelty during his time as Regent, which only grew after being given free will at Harrenhal. Servants lashed at the faintest of errors, maids with their heads shaved and fingers broken. Executions on the daily, followed by new servants being forcibly dragged from their homes to Harrenhal to maintain the cycle. Anyone who tried to flee ended with their head on a spike and their body fed to Vhagar. It seemed like the curse of Harrenhal had slipped into Aemond’s mind, filling him with blackness and slowly pushing him to the brink of destruction like many before him. And it disgusted her to no end.

No, she could not allow herself to lose Alys. She needed her like she needed to breathe. She needed those motherly hands braiding her hair, that sweet voice entoning the saddest melodies ever written, the scent of her skin embedded in her pillows to soothe her into sleep as nimble fingers caressed her hair.

For her, she would try.

That night Alys came to her chamber as usual, Aemond with her. Husband and wife stood face to face at last, infelicitous and tense like their first night, their unspoken words lingering heavy in the air. Alys moved to stand behind her, hands on the younger woman’s shoulders. Soft fingertips tracing the curve of the neck, up to the crown of the head and then down to the collarbones; calmness spread through her veins like a salve, warming her to the tips of her toes. Alys’ lips caressed her ear, her words seeping into her brain like smoke and clouding her thoughts.

“Trust me”

Trusting Alys came as easy as breathing. Even as she undressed the lady slowly, taking her time to undo the laces of the bodice and the clasps in her skirts. Peeling away silk, lace and linen, baring soft skin and feminine curves. Aemond’s pupil widened with lust as he stood spectator, witnessing his mistress caress his wife with the greatest love and care. Kisses brushing down the neck and collarbone, gentle hands tracing the curve of the hips and the descent of the thighs, moving over forbidden places as warm lips met into a shy and delicate kiss; tongue against tongue, small sounds of delight escaping through.

When Alys finally passed her into Aemond’s embrace, she whined in protest. Aemond didn’t know how to touch her. His coarse hands were clumsy on her flesh, too harsh where she wanted featherlight, and not enough effort where she wanted more action. When her husband laid her on the bed, nestled between her thighs, Alys sat at the head, kissing, teasing and fondling while Aemond chased his own pleasure amidst grunts and pants. Alys’ hand snaked down her body slowly, between the breasts and past the navel. She screamed her climax into the woman’s neck, legs instinctively wrapping around Aemond’s hips as he too found his release.

The routine repeated night after night, for weeks on end.

And the more they did it, the more she found herself wishing it was just her and Alys; Aemond’s presence having gone from a necessity to a nuisance. His wife no longer wanted him to touch her, and only withstood on the promise that it would be her favourite witch the one to rip the highest throes of ecstasy from her body. This no longer was just about securing Alys’ safety; she wanted her safe and sound, by her side. Forever. And as she said, one night long after Aemond had left them, only one way they could secure such idyllic future for themselves.

The news of the fall of King’s Landing had reached them not long ago. The relief of Aegon’s disappearance alongside his children could not placate the terror Aemond felt at knowing his mother and sister remained at the Keep, now prisoners of Rhaenyra and her mad husband. Aemond wished for nothing more than to climb Vhagar and torch down the Crownlands, burning the last leaf on every tree to retrieve his family. But he stood put, on Alys’ command.

“You do not need to chase the war, my Prince. It shall come to your door through clouds of storm”

So they sat and waited, as day after day passed with sunny and clear skies, the God’s eye reflecting the blueness, waters calm and inviting. A fortnight after Alys’ vision, the night chilled and the wind picked up. She stood behind the lady, a silver comb in hand as she untangled her hair before bed. Her scent filled her nostrils and eased her fears. Picking up her uneasiness, she brewed her tea, which she fed her slowly, one spoonful at a time.

“All will be well, my child. Our troubles will vanish and our futures will be clearer than the waters in the God’s Eye”

That night Aemond didn’t come. That night belonged only to Alys’ and her little lady. To taste in the seclusion of the chamber what would be theirs for the rest of their lives.

The next morning, grey clouds hovered over Harrenhal, the breeze carrying the smell of rain mixed with sulphur. The high pitched dragon cries echoed in the mountains around the keep, alerting of the approaching danger. Aemond emerged from the tower, a vision of black and gold in his armour, his sword hanging from his belt and a cloak with the three headed golden dragon in his back.

First he bid Alys farewell. She whispered secret words in his ear; whatever she said, it made him set his jaw and tighten his fist around the hilt of the sword. Then he moved onto his wife. He had shown himself warmer and more loving since Alys’ intervention, blissfully unaware of his wife’s feelings. He cupped her cheek in one hand and kissed her like never before, humming against the softness of her sweet lips. She fitted his helmet over his head, tucking the silvery white braid away. The first drops fell from the clouds, and he unfastened his cloak to wrap around her shoulders, providing warmth and safety.

“I shall see you at the end” He murmured the words against her hairline, placing a tender kiss upon her brow.

And with that Vhagar rose to the skies with a deafening screech, the flapping of her leathery wings sending gushes of warm wind around Harrenhal’s dilapidated towers, the empty halls and vast chambers echoing with eerie wails that forewarned the battle to unfold. On the opposite side of the God’s Eye, Caraxes appeared as well, high pitched roars and puffs of smoke sent as a warning, his misshapen body cut over the greying clouds. Once more, dragon against dragon would clash in the sky, and tears would be shed in the wake of their fire.

Any witness would assume Aemond had the upper hand, the deformed and younger Blood Wyrm being no match for the considerably larger and more experienced war dragon. But dear Alys’ visions had never failed her, and they wouldn’t betray them now. Nor would the gentle poison she had concocted for the occasion, spread across the wife’s lips just moments before she kissed Aemond farewell, not strong enough to kill, but the right dosage to ensnare the senses and befuddle the mind.

Calm, deliberate steps took her to the top of Kingspyre tower, her path illuminated by the blazing glow of the fire coming in through the windows, the skies tinted in bright hues of red and orange. The wind blew warm and strong as she approached the ledge, ground trembling beneath her feet, reverberated by the clashing of colossal bodies. For a brief moment she feared for her own life when they flew too close to Harrenhal, but the vision had been precise and showed no threat to her life.

Her hands rested on the stone, ancient dust sticking to the sweat of her palms; heartbeat quickened in anticipation. As predicted, in perfect synchronisation, both dragons widened their jaws. Caraxes pierced Vhagar’s throat, while she tore his wing to shreds and slashed his belly open. Both beasts spiralled downwards, locked onto one another. From afar she couldn’t tell, but it seemed as if a small, black blur fell from Caraxes’ back. Whatever it was, it was soon obscured by the spray of water that rose from the Eye as both dragons sank, the gout as tall as the tower she stood in. When the lake finally settled, all that marked the spot of such a great battle were bubbles and steam rising to the surface, and then silence. A silence like never before had existed.

She remained rooted, hands on the stone, eyes fixed on the middle of the lake until the last bubbles popped under the raindrops. She did not move from her lookout post. Not even as the rain fell stronger, droplets hitting her skin like icicles, aiding into the ruined shell of the freshly grieving widow she pretended to be.

A knight came to her, nervous and apologetic, calling her attention with a sharp clearing of the throat. She looked up, rapidly blinking away unexisting tears, and dabbing at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Composed but frail. Dignified even in the face of loss. He waited for any sort of acknowledgement, and when none came, decided to speak.

“We share your sorrow, my Lady, and our thoughts are with you. This has washed ashore, and we thought you may want it” The soldier’s voice did little to sway her, and she didn't even grace him with a look.

The heavy, loaded silence between them was broken by the soft tapping of female slippers and the rustle of stiffened skirts. A brief exchange of hushed words later, the knight left the rooftop; she remained silent and still until she could no longer hear the metallic clanking of his armour.

Alys stood by her side, dark curls fluttering freely in the wind. In her pale hands, resting lightly atop the curve of her swollen belly, was Aemond’s helmet, still in pristine condition, not a scratch upon its surface. The older woman stared at it for a few moments before placing it in her hands. It felt final. Like closing a tedious book, or awakening from a bothersome nightmare. The last word in another chapter of history. A chapter written by their own hands.

Alys called her name, moving to stand behind her. A soft kiss pressed at the nape of the neck, slender fingers running down the length of her spine soothingly, making her shiver pleasantly. The smell of sandalwood, lemongrass and honeysuckle engulfed the girl.

“It’s over” Her words tickled her ear “His name will not be called again, and no good thoughts will be evoked upon his memory”

Another kiss behind the ear, hands on her breasts, pulling her flush against her body “I know your thoughts are troubled, my child, but the right thing has been done. His fire burned too strong, and he would have brought the realm to ashes, including you and me”

Her words were soothing. She was right; Alys was always right. Aemond would have been their demise. They did what they had to protect themselves, and protect the realm. A kinslayer could not be trusted; it had been his nephews before, and any day would be his brother and anyone else who stood between the sapphire Prince and the Iron Throne. He had to be stopped.

“My only regret is that he died not knowing it was me. The one he would have never suspected. I would gladly give all my family’s gold for the chance to tell him, even if it meant paying him visit in the Seven Hells where he belongs”

The neckline of her gown was pushed aside, plush lips leaving a trail of kisses down her neck towards the collarbone, hands sliding down from her bosom to the hips, digging into her flesh.

“Worry not your little head, my girl. That does not matter anymore. His bones will rest forever at the bottom of the God’s Eye. And whatever you wished to tell him, you will soon be able to pass the message along”

Alys and her cryptic words. She loved to speak in riddles and rhymes, unnerving those who heard them and didn’t know better. She only smiled and nodded.

And then the helmet rolled down.

Her hands remained mid aid, fingers curled around nothing, every muscle tense and trembling. She looked down past them towards the crimson stain growing upon the fabric of her bodice, and the sharp length of blade protruding from between her hips, coated in a red so deep it seemed black, viscous drops falling from the tip onto her husband’s last possession.

The scream died in her lips as the dagger was twisted and dragged upwards, effectively slicing her open like a squeaking boar. But she had not made sound, nothing aside a choked cry of agony as the weapon was brought down again, ensuring the cut along to be neat and thorough

“I truly didn’t want things to end like this, my sweet flower” Same gentle voice and soothing tone, words dripping venom and malice mixed with honey and sugar. Her index traced a slow line from her neck down to the point where the hilt of the dagger was pressed against her back, the carved handle still firmly grasped in her hand

“I truly enjoyed our time together, and you could have been so much more. You have the guile and the guts to match, and your mind is a most resourceful place. You could have achieved greatness, and with my nurturing, no one would have been able to stop you”

Both of her tender, motherly hands placed upon her lower belly, right under the fatal wound. The blood soaked her hands, red on white, and she gasped almost excitedly, basking on the feeling of life spilling on the stone. She did not know how her body was still standing. Perhaps it was the witch’s doing. Dragging on her demise, enjoying the wicked pleasure that came along with having power over someone else’s life.

She made a shushing sound against her ear, tenderly rubbing her abdomen in circles as the first tears finally poured from her eyes.

“I see it all, you see. Everything and more. I have seen what lies ahead of you. Trust me, I am sparing you from a lot of pain and grief”

The edges of the world faded to black, vision narrowing until all she could see was the dagger. That and the puddle of her own blood growing at her feet.

“His blood cannot carry on beyond the confines of Harrenhal. Only this cursed place can halt the strength born of his offspring. But there can be only one”

Her voice sounded distant. The last thing the lady saw was the courtyard, far down but growing closer as her body felt weightless in the air.

“Only one son can be born”

#marsie writes #aemond targaryen #alys rivers #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x alys rivers #alys rivers x reader #aemond x alys x reader #aemond targaryen x alys rivers x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond one eye

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oleander-nin · 7 months

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Horrortober Day 9 - Death(Yandere Rise Mikey x Reader)

A/N, not important: DO NOT IGNORE THE CONTENT WARNINGS. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: DEATH, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH(?), DECOMPOSITION, living with a corpse, Delusions, vomit, kidnapping, blood, bodily fluids, dark themes, yandere themes

Words: 964

Summary: Mikey's so far into his own head he doesn't even notice how far gone you are as well.

Mikey whistles to himself as he draws in his sketchbook, your head in his lap while he does so. It was a lazy Saturday, nothing going on for him, or for you. He decided that morning that he didn’t want to do anything but cuddle and relax, dragging you into his lap and settling down. The hand he wasn’t using to draw rakes slowly through your hair, your closed eyes and paling face making Mikey smile.

You were so much sweeter like this. Complacent with everything he does, no longer fighting, no longer flinching at his touch. Sure, you had grown quiet, but you had also stopped arguing. It was a massive improvement in his eyes.

The candles around his room flickered, the sweet aroma battling the foul stench seeping from the depths. He barely noticed, having grown so used to the smell. It wasn’t bad to him, and he brushed it off whenever his brothers complained when they walked by. It was why he got the candles after all. To quell their complaints and keep you happy. He couldn’t have you living in a rancid room after all. Even if it was mostly your fault either way.

Mikey sets his pencil down and leans over, grabbing the remote to his personal TV Donnie had gifted him for you. He turns it on, switching through the channels with mild disinterest. He glances down at you, his thumb caressing your cheek softly. He could feel your cheek cavity caving in at the small amount of pressure, fluid spilling from your lips. He simply wipes it away and turns back to the screen, ignoring the way your hair falls out in clumps in his hands as he strokes your head.

“What do you want to watch?” He asks, clicking through each channel as it comes on. He appreciates how you weren’t as rigid as the other day, although your skin still felt dry. He knew you hadn’t been getting up to take care of yourself, but it was still disappointing. Maybe he’d give you some lotion to put on later, to add some more life to your touch.

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, clicking on the first cartoon that pops up and leaning over his sketchbook once more. The weight of your head in his lap was comforting, making every wrong in the world right once more. You were his anchor, keeping him still and steady despite the rocking waves. He would be lost without you, and he refused to ever let you go.

The TV drones on in the background while Mikey draws, loosely sketching you and practicing poses with your body. He was restraining himself from adding too much detail to the pieces, trying to capture your essence in as few lines as possible, but feeling guilty for not pulling out all the stops in the drawing of your likeness.

He takes your limp hand and squeezes it, whispering soft words to you while he stares. You gave no opinion to his dilemma, but Mikey still felt bad for not giving you the full works, even if it was just in a drawing. He sighs, deciding to leave those drawings as just sketches, and make a fuller piece of you on the next page.

The page turns, and a knock sounds from the door, startling Mikey. He stares at the door for a moment before carefully moving you off him and slipping off the bed. He opens the door to see Leo, the older slider grimacing. He coughs when the door opens, taking a step back from his room.

“Mikey, Hermano, your room smells like death. Are you okay? Did a rat die in your paints again?”

Mikey frowns, shaking his head. “Not that I know of. And I have candles burning, so that should get rid of the smell soon. But I don’t even notice it unless I’ve been outside for a long while. It’s not that bad.”

Leo sighs, rubbing the bridge of his snout. He didn’t have the heart to tell him just how awful the smell was. He looks at his younger brother, both in concern and love. “Have they woken up yet at least? You said they’ve been sleeping for three days now.”

Mikey pouts, shaking his head. “Nope, still asleep. I shook them this morning and everything.”

Leonardo stares at his younger brother, contemplating what to do. He understood you were Mikey’s, and he wasn’t going to fight the younger on that again. However, having his youngest sibling and his kidnapped partner live in a room that reeked of death, especially while you were apparently out cold, was not the best idea.

“I’ll take a look at them.” Leo mumbles, walking into the room once Mikey steps to the side. Leo covers his nose as he steps into the thick of it, his eyes burning and lungs crying out for mercy. He couldn’t even breathe through his mouth, the air tasting as putrid as it smelled. His eyes land on you, and he freezes. Flies were buzzing around your head, landing on your skin. Pus and other fluids dripped from you, your bloated body being in the middle of Mikey’s bed and staining his sheets and blankets with the muck of decomposition.

Mikey was right in a sense. You hadn’t been waking up. Not like you could anymore, not with what Leo was staring at. Your eyes looked to have been forced shut with tape, your body patchy and drained of color from the lack of life. Mikey looks on at you too, his vision warped to see your sleeping form rather than your corpse. Your dead, rotting corpse.

Leo pukes and runs out of the room, yelling for his brothers with Mikey’s pleas hot on his heels.

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odusseus-xvi · 9 months

Text

Pomme's paranoïa

Because aparently I can't stop talking about this little egg. I wanted to touch this subject because it is something CRUCIAL to her character, and from what I've seen Richas, in his letter to Forever, has actually talked about that and how he is worried for her.

I want to talk here about WHERE that paranoïa might come from idea by idea (more in depth than my post about Pomme as a whole) :

Bobby died THE DAY after her arrival, that probably didn't help. That also caused a startle in everyone on the island making everyone a lot more paranoïd that they already were at Pomme's arrival, she then had the realization that life was EXTREMELY dangerous and limited on the island VERY early on, in a way a bit similar to Richas if we think about it, though Richas experienced it and so processed it wildly diferently, she got a dreadful suspense ; when is it coming to me ? To the others ? Because that's the thing, she is not as scared of losing her lives as she is scared of losing the others and the others losing her.

Not long after Dapper lost his first life to the code, that not only added to the already constant background aprehension, but that also made her the LAST egg with two lives, and from now on, everytime people talked about her was about how she was the next target of the code.

And then she WAS : Targeted by the code next to Ninho after everyone was worried of the tweet from Quackity Studios, and after she was saved THREE times from the codes she saw the people she cared about turn against each other because she had been not careful (Her french dads becoming suspicious of Forever, and therefore of Baghera.) (she was in fact "mind controlled" to come outside but from her POV it was still her fault.) From now on SHE CANNO'T let her guard down, this is both too dangerous for her and the people she loves.

A bit later was the attack that was then considered not canon by the admins because the attack was WAY too powerful : It broke a lot of totems at once and broke all of her armor. Though her death was not considered canon by the admins at first, Pomme (and the admin) played it as actually existing, not as a nightmare, not as non existant, but as an actual event she was saved from by someone or something : She talks about it from time to time, she truly died a bit that day.

(a little quote from that event from her diary because it's Heartbreaking)

"The pain was excruciating. It pierced my body, and with each hit, I felt the life leave my body a little more. The noise of the totems was deafening, the pain prevented me from running to escape. Just a few seconds later, I felt intense pain, even more intense than the previous blows. He had just finished me off. I no longer saw anything, I no longer felt anything. The pain had vanished in an instant. It was cold, I was scared. [...] While I was sleeping. something strange happened. As if the missing part of my soul was repairing itself. When I woke up, I no longer had any pain anywhere. But I'm still scared, more scared than ever. I'm terrified. [...] I never want to suffer so much again. I never want anyone to suffer so much again. I have no other choice; I have to get stronger. I'm going to have to live with this fear from now on, so I might as well put it to good use."

She then starts to actually show her paranoïa in a lot of aspects of her personality :

She is INCREDIBLY quick at trading her butterfly wings for her chestplate at any potential danger. She has also shown multiple times and SAID on her sign that her inventory hotbar is the most paranoïd thing ever : Filled with totems, her weapons, regeneration 2 splash potions (that are also very likely refilled with the backpack upgrade knowing her parents)

She, after learning the codes could imperssionate them now, immediatly figured out a code to make sure she was truly herself.

The day after ElQuackity was exploded by BBH and Max and that he threatened them, Pomme asked Baghera to build another safe room 200k away from spawn as she was not feeling safe in Ninho anymore.

One other interesting thing : She is not just the only egg with two lives, she is the egg that survived the LONGEST with two lives. And two things comes out of that : The fear of losing her first life because it would cause suffering to her AND her loved ones, but ironically also that SHE would be the one that could sacrifice a life to one of her siblings, she would feel terrible if one of her siblings died instead of her "simply" losing a life and she did nothing because she was scared.

A fun (not fun) little fact is that recently this paranoïa for the other's safety has started to transform into anger : She was first scared of ElQuackity, but the second she learned that Dapper was captured by him, she was FURIOUS, Baghera had to tell her multiple times to not go after ElQuackity, and though she is most of the time very empathetic of someone's situation, she has only expressed disgust and hate towards ElQuackity since then, talking multiple times how much she wants to kill him herself. (if that's how she loses her first life : dying trying to kill ElQuackity... I don't what I would do (probably cry))

I could probably find 100 more things to say but I'm writing that in the middle of doing something else and I'm getting a headache so I'll stop there. If you can't tell this was just an excuse to talk about the egg of all time. Let's finish by the quote (that I really like) that crowns her wiki page :

"J'ai beaucoup de questions mais je suis pas sûre de vouloir connaître les réponses"

"I have many questions but I'm not sure I want to know the answers"

#qsmp #qsmp pomme

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myfandomprompts · 10 months

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Is there anything left for us? || Will (Salad Days) || (1/2)

Will x Reader

Warnings: nsfw, swearing, angst, mention of alcohol, smut Summary: You've been struggling with your feelings for Will for years. Then he calls you after the worst mistake of his life and you feel the world crumble around you. A/N: I'm trying something that has been going around in my mind for quite sometimes. Please see it more as an essay about Salad Days and my vision of Will. Sorry for the length... I just wanted to share my love for this short that I find very good, story wise, many included arcs so it give Will reasons and depth for his actions. It was just so good. I realise that my writing are not for everyone. In any case, part one is more to be seen as an "essay" about the character, but part 2 is more story inclined.

You missed him, but over the years, you had learned to get used to it.

Will had always been a lone wolf kind of guy, and when he disappeared like that you knew that it was because he didn't want to be bothered, or to be found. You tried to respect that at most of your capacities, to give him the space he needed to deal with whatever he had going on.

Even back in high school when you watched him from afar, the cocky guy at the back of the class with his group of troublesome friends, you could see how much he felt rejected, out of place. It was no secret that he had complicated family issues and he hated it when people brought it up. So no one dared to. Only when you befriended him during the last year of high school did you realise how complicated it truly was.

He didn't know his father, and what happened with his mum was a mystery to everyone. Ever since that time, he had lived with his grandmother and you had never seen Will care for someone as much as he cared for her. It was touching and sweet, making you wonder if his nan was the only family affection he had ever known. If he were to lose her, he would be alone.

There was that eagerness within him, the one that craved affection, the one that longed to erase this feeling of loneliness that weighed inside of him. You witnessed it with the girls he fell for every once in a while, in the fleeting relationships and obsessions he experienced with the occasional gal, and each time it ended badly, because Will was Will: wild, hot-blooded and strong-willed.

But he was the most resourceful man you've ever encountered, always finding solutions, always taking advantage of what he thought he could, and always taking the lead when needed to. You admired that in him, this raw strength smothering his weaknesses, heightening his confidence, but sometimes you feared that his habit to always act with his head down first would play to his disadvantage one day. Because where he could be shy at times, often keeping to himself when he felt he did not have the upper hand, he could also be as keen to make rash decisions, his pride and stubbornness taking the better of him. And sometimes it affected the people around him.

And that included Leah. And you.

In high school you have always regarded Will, Matt, and Tom as the troublesome trio, so in the last year when Leah, your best friend, got close to Matt, all that was left for you to do was to follow. You became the added part of the group, doomed to see how all the boys would find Leah endearing and sweet, whereas you tried to remain unimpressed by them and wary of their actions because you were “stubborn as hell”, as Leah often put it. But the more Matt and your friend grew close over the years, the more you warmed up to them, finding them sympathetic, nice and caring. And definitely funny. And you liked to believe that they liked you as well.

It was around that time that you came to know Will better and realise everything he was carrying on his shoulders, too heavy for him to handle for someone so young. You could see it in the way he avoided some topics in conversations, how he sometimes paced around a room without paying any mind to his friends, or how sulky he seemed to become every time you all talked about the future or how a member of your family had reacted to this or that.

It attracted you somehow, this double side of his. The strong, tall, and proud man he was versus the reserved one with anguish, hidden behind the boiling rage he displayed at times. So you opened up to him, more than to the others, your heart desperate to know his, to see if you could do anything to help him, to make him feel like he didn't need to prove anything to anyone. At first he was surprised that a girl like you, all serious and phlegmatic, would take an interest in him, but you had some humour in you and he did find you funny. Besides, you didn't take any shit from anyone, especially from the guys, and neither did Leah, shutting down each time they teased both of you or made gruesome jokes you were not very fond of. But each time, Will or Matt would stop, seeing that you were not very receptive and proceed to do something you liked, right before you would tease them back, surprising them and making them laugh as well. Your coldness toward them slowly thawed within months.

You liked to believe Will admired that in you too, how you were able to put them off this easily.

High school ended and everybody stuck around; none of you were willing to venture out and all of you had a project of your own. You knew the guys were applying for several jobs, Leah had found one in a fish and chips for a while, whereas you would take online classes and tutoring students on the side.

And as your group grew forever closer, trying for your part to see through Will as much as you could over time, slowly but surely, you were doomed to see how his eyes shifted whenever he would look at your best friend.

It was so obvious you wondered why Matt hadn't noticed it before, even back in high school. Matt and Leah had got together right after the end of the year, and you believed that only Will’s well-hidden insecurities had prevented him from going after Leah first. Or maybe he knew that his friend had liked her for a long time and chose not to interfere, you didn't know. Still, you could see how Will would look away or look too intensely when Matt and Leah were together, holding hands or kissing, and only you and Tom would joke about it. Not Will. Never Will.

More often than not, it would only be you and Will; Matt and Leah would be off together, having some alone time, and Tom would be off with his family. You would go to his place, talk with his nan, give her news about Leah and your friends, about your family, and then spend time with Will, reminiscing about high school or talking about your lives. You had a lot in common, from playing video games you both like to make fun of the dumb British celebrities on reality shows, even sometimes organising a contest of darts in his basement. You, always so confident that you would win, versus Will, being exactly the same. It always ended similarly, a tied game, as you both were equally stubborn.

When you were still at your parent’s, he would often ditch your group when you invited the whole of them but did not come, and you wondered if it was too hard for Will to be inside of a happy home, one he did not have. But you quickly abandoned this theory, because when you invited Will to come over when the rest was not around, he always came, spending whole afternoons and evenings with you, for the greatest pleasure of your little sister that adored him. And you could not blame her. At nine years old, she would always come to him and he would always joke with her and carry her around, with a blush on her cheeks, and you would watch, their laughter warming your heart.

Now that you had your own flat, he still came, but less often. You and Leah knew the guys were always hanging out together, doing who knows what, but it didn’t prevent you from missing them dearly. Recently, Matt and Leah had gone through a rough patch, and you had to admit that you had feared for their relationship more than once in the past couple of weeks. You didn’t want your friend to be miserable, and you would do what you could to prevent that.

This is why the bonfire party from three weeks ago had been a relief to you, happy to finally see all of your group together again at the rim of the forest outside of the city, perched on the hills where you could watch the stars and make as much noise as you wanted. But as the night went on and the alcohol claimed your blood, you hadn’t expected Leah and Matt to argue again in the middle of it all, and more importantly, you hadn’t expected for yourself to have an argument with him, for the first time of your life.

The words he had shot at you still rang in your ears, as yours felt like poison, something not of your own but that you have uttered nonetheless. He had come to you with worries about Leah again, about how unhappy she seemed to be, and you couldn’t help it. All you heard in his worries was his own hope that they would grow apart, and this time you had been unable to hide your jealousy, ignoring him and growling in annoyance. When he asked what was wrong with you, you only lied to him and assured him that you were fine. But he didn’t like that.

“You always fucking do that, try to pretend like nothing bothers you but it’s bullshit,” he had suddenly shouted, crushing his cigarette under his shoe. “What are you fucking afraid of exactly Y/N, hm? Maybe you should grow some and start telling me!”

You had turned around in shock, the alcohol and the weight in your heart heightening your frustration and anger.

“I’m not afraid of telling you anything! And you’re the one to talk, always hiding things, closing off to me. You hide more from me than I have ever hidden from you, don’t you dare think I don’t know that.”

You earned an annoyed from from Will, lined with guilt, his tongue running across his teeth while you waited for him to respond, to say anything.

“I get it, you don’t need to tell me anything, but don’t blame me for keeping things from you that hurts, because it does Will!” you had confessed with tears threatening to appear at the rim of your eyes. “Just… Just don’t even bother.”

And with that you had turned around toward the cars, clearly remembering the way Will’s arm had caught yours in an attempt to stop you, but you only ignored it and left the field, the party, and your friends behind.

The day after that, you learned everything from your phone call to Leah as she recounted this painful night to you in more detail, telling you how Matt had ignored her for most of the night before leaving, making her feel abandoned and alone. Then she told you that Will had been the one to come to her, to comfort her, and the knot in your stomach tightened. When you pressed a little, she shamefully confessed Will had kissed her.

You couldn’t say that you weren’t surprised, but you made a great effort not to let anything appear in your voice. She continued, telling you that she had pushed Will away as nicely as she could, that she felt awfully guilty, that Matt was all she cared about and that it all seemed like a blur to her. You tried to reassure her, telling her that it was not her fault, that it meant nothing along as apologising for not being there for her when it happened. In your upset state, you hadn’t been able to stay, and you now regretted that you hadn’t. You would make it up to her, bury those feelings that clung to your heart and tried to ignore the pain you felt for Will at his rejection. Or was it your pain? You didn’t know.

Whatever happened seemed to have awoken something within Leah because two days later she was back with Matt, stronger than ever. Now it has been three weeks, and you have started a very busy week with work, three weeks without a word from Will. When you popped by Leah’s work when you could she would tell you that she had seen the three of your friends, and you tried not to ask about Will.

Two days later, Leah called and told you that she was pregnant. You congratulated her but you heard the anguish in her voice, so you tried to sooth her as much as you could. She would be all right, you knew it.

You wondered how Will had reacted.

Then it all escalated.

One minute you were working at home, trying to focus, the next you received a text from Will, breaking these three weeks of silence between the two of you:“Can you come get me Y/N please.”

You frown, heart beating because it was him, and because it was the last message you would have expected.

Where are you? you typed black.

Idk, somewhere near the bonfire’s place.

Memories of that night float back in your mind, anguish taking hold of you but you gathered yourself.

What are you doing there? you reply, heart beating.

I walked… just come Y/N please.

Will, what’s going on?

He didn’t answer. It was beginning to get dark outside, and you wondered what the hell he was doing, walking all the way up there. Part of you did not want to find out, but it was Will, and he never asked for anything, or very rarely. It did not matter how you felt, or how you two had left things off. All that mattered was that he was your friend and he was asking for your help.

So you shot up from your chair, grabbed your keys and left your apartment.

When you arrived in the area, having called Will three times during your drive there, unanswered, it was almost dark and you could not see very far. But like drawn to something you could not see, you found him on the first path you turned to, ahead, near the trees, not far from where you both had that argument, near a fallen log. He was on the ground, head in his knees and you tried not to feel the uneasiness overtaking you. You see him acknowledge your car as you hesitate to turn the engine off, leaving your lights on and stopping right next to him, exiting the vehicle as you carefully watch him.

“Will? What the hell? What is going on?” you call, levelling with him. “Will?”

He didn’t answer, his nose buried in his sleeve and watching the void, glancing so briefly at you. You crouch down, raising a hand to cautiously put on his shoulder. You could sense the sorrow and the anguish from where you stood, and you grew worried for your friend. You never wanted to see him like this, never. Whatever it was, you would do anything to make it okay.

You lower your voice. “Will… talk to me.”

He meets your gaze, his blue eyes reddened by sorrow or anger. Unable to look at you more he withdraws his gaze at once, cracking under your eyes as he buries his head in his arms once more, a deep trembling sigh coming from him. You put both of your hands on his, coming closer, desperate to sooth him.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

You hear him taking deep shaky breaths, steeling himself. You put your chin on his elbow that was supported by his knee, waiting for him, close enough now to notice the red marks that scorched his knuckles, the marks of a fight, something ugly, violent. What happened?

From your position you can feel how cold his hands are and you wonder how long he had been out there. You watch him through your eyelashes, breathing with him, stroking his skin with your thumb as you think fast, his hair tickling your face.

“Come on, let’s get you out of the cold,” you timidly suggest, not moving as you observe the way his chest heaves. Then he silently moves to get up and you give him space, leading him carefully to the passenger seat.

You had to swallow the worry in your throat. His gaze was less hooded, firmer, but still miles away from where you were. You open the door for him and take your place behind the wheel, watching him look miserable beside you.

“Ok, let’s get you home, then we’ll talk about this, yeah?”

You release the handbrake before he talks for the first time, his voice hoarse with his evident turmoil. “No, not there, not home. Anywhere else... Your place,” he said, and you stopped your movements, looking at him expectantly. “I just… I can’t go to her right now.”

You watched him for a moment longer before nodding silently, driving away. His cheeks were reddened by the biting cold outside and the warmth of his skin, riled up from his sorrow.

“Are you hurt?” you ask, eyes on the road.

You hear him click his tongue, shaking his head as he grabs his knuckles. “Nah…”

He takes his head in his hands again, passing his fingers in his hair before starting to rock his knee anxiously. He would do that when something was on his mind, but never with a shaking sigh.

“Why were you there?” you ask softly,taking the opportunity now that he seemed more responsive, even if it was just barely.

“I just walked… I didn’t care where. Didn’t want to be found.”

His last words were only whispered, and as you turned a corner to enter the city again, he dug himself back into the seat, putting his hood up and stilled, although his leg continued to bounce up and down.

You pulled onto your street and turned off the engine. “What happened Will…? You can talk to me. Please talk to me.”

He lowers his head, looking at the inside of his palms. You could not see his face, hidden by the hood. “I did sumethin’… I can’t take back.”

You swallow, turning to him. “Whatever it is, we’ll make it right. We’ve always handled ourselves. You and the guys always managed.”

Your words seemed to aggravate him, because he looked briefly in pain before getting out of the car, eager to get away.

When you reach your flat door without a word exchanged between you, trying to catch up with his agitated pace, he goes straight inside, going to the couch to sit in it, hood off and head entrapped in his hands again.

You were eager to take away his sorrow, but you can’t think of anything to say. You go grab some things in the bathroom and come back to sit on the couch next to him and take his bloodied hand. He doesn’t flinch at your touch at all, it seems to even ground him, his gaze now on how you disinfect the wounds and bandage each of his hands. His lips are drawn in a thin line, his breath heavy but less rattled.

It looks like it hurt, maybe he had fractured a bone you wondered, but he didn’t wince, didn’t make a sound. You do not let go of his hand at first, your way of telling him that you would take anything he was willing to give you. He caressed your hand back absent-mindedly in return, gaze lost at the motion before he sank into the couch.

“Don’t tell anyone I’m here,” he whispers.

“Why?”

He doesn’t respond at once, still looking miserable. “Just don’t Y/N, alright?” he snaps, his blue eyes reaching right through your soul, raising the fear in you.

“You’re gonna give me more than that, I want to help you.”

“You can’t help me.”

“Then why did you call me?"

Silence again, just him clenching his jaw and you searching his face thoroughly, for anything that he would let you see, to indicate what he needed. You knew him. Better than you would admit, and better than he realised. You just thought that he refused to acknowledge it.

“Because you would know where to find me. And that you wouldn’t judge me, or fucking push me away like everyone else did. At least that’s what I thought…”

“I won’t, okay? I won’t tell anyone you’re here, and I won’t push you away, never again,” you promise, your argument lingering between the two of you. “But I don’t want to see you like this, Will. It’s terrifying. Please talk to me.”

He looks at you with sorry eyes, almost desperate. “That’s exactly why I can’t tell you. Because you would be fucking terrified of me if I did. And I can’t have that. I fucking can’t have that.”

You frown again, parting your lips in dismay. You could never be afraid of him, it was Will, and you knew perfectly well what he was capable of. You have been ready for anything, all those years.

“Not a chance, Will. Look at me,” you ask, forcing him to level eyes with you by tugging on his arm, one side of your face resting on the back of the couch as he turned his own, inches apart from each other. “I just want to help you.”

He observes you for a painfully long time, wide blue eyes digging into yours, but he still seemed unconvinced, making your heart ache a bit. He sighs, a stressful grunt coming out of him. “I don’t know what to do right now. I shouldn’t even have fucking called you. It just fucked up so bad.”

“What went bad?” you quickly press.

His tone drastically changes, like he was hesitant to even talk. “I fucked up, Y/N. I really did.”

“Ok, let’s just… Take a breath, think about it,” you gesture, hoping that he would calm himself and see more clearly. You knew him, and right now, he would blame the world as well as himself, too proud to admit anything. He needed to see that he was safe with you.

He only straightened up and ran his fingers through his hair again, putting distance between the both of you in the process. The night had settled outside, and it felt like you had not progressed at all with him. You settled on the idea of allowing him space, to wait.

“You can spend the night here Will okay? Just… take a step back. Gather your thoughts”

He doesn’t answer you, so you decide it safe enough to go to the kitchen, maybe bring him back a glass of water and let him come to you, like he did before. Once alone near the sink you take a look at your phone and you widen your eyes at the three missed calls from Leah and seven of her texts, all roughly the same content.

“Y/N, where are you? Tom is in detention, he got arrested for robbery or something.”

“What?” you instantly reply, eyes glued to the screen as you await her response.

“Yeah, the post office thing. Y/N I’m freaking out, I’ve not heard from Matt in hours and he is not answering. I don’t know what to do.”

You thought about calling her for a minute, but you chose not to, not trusting that you would be able to remain calm, and something about a post office rang a bell in your mind.

“Do you know where Will is?” came another text while you tried to gather your thoughts, hearing Will shuffle in your living room. “I’ve tried Jonno but he knows nothing, and the police won’t tell me anything. They asked me to come in.”

You bit your lip. You promised Will you wouldn't tell. Damn, you were not making smart decisions right now, knowing the police were involved, but you were desperate to sort it out yourself first. To understand. You owed it to him.

“I’m sure he’ll come around, I’ll try to reach out for him. Don’t say anything, go to your parents. I’ll keep you updated if anything happens, yeah?”

You lock your phone after that written lie, and reach for a glass before filling it up with water.

You had suspected for a while that the guys were a little too cunning about doing illegal things, and even if they never talked to you about it, they didn’t try to really hide it either. They had the occasional jobs, but they never discussed it, they knew fishy people, fishy places and hung out God knew where for days. Matt was able to pay rent despite those shitty jobs, Will had his nan to take care of and Tom… was Tom. You believed you were unnecessarily worrying, especially since Leah didn't seemed bothered by any of it, so you let it go. But it seemed that she was even more clueless than you were.

You noticed how hard you were squeezing the glass of water in your hand and wondered for how long you had stayed like this, lost in your thoughts. But you decide that you had to know.

You unlock your phone again and search about that post office story you’re sure you’ve heard of before. It was too recent and too local for it to have been related in length, but you found some information nonetheless.

Three men robbed a post office with a firearm, and kidnapped one of the workers. The car has been found and leads are currently followed. Nothing more, the article was dated from yesterday.

You leaned into the counter and sighed, feeling the weight of all of this on your shoulders. Why, Will, why did he inflict that on himself? Where did they find a fucking gun? Why would they kidnap someone?

And why did you have this uneasy feeling that Will’s recent breakdown had something to do with Matt?

You stayed in the kitchen like this for a while, lost in thought. Your phone had several new panicked messages from Leah and you felt like a shitty friend for not calling her or even going to her. But somehow you felt that Will needed you the most. And he was wrong, you were not terrified of him, Never.

You gathered yourself and entered the living room, seeing Will fiddle with the bandages on his hands and he only seemed to notice your presence when you sat down beside him.

You handed him the water that he barely drank, analysing him and processing all of the information you had learned in the last minutes. You just had to try.

“Will… Where’s Matt?”

A/N: Thank you to @babyblue711, @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan & @arcielee for beta reading. They have been of incredible help and support. Part 2 is written and ready to go.

Part 2

#salad days #fic #will salad days #will #ewan mitchell #smut #angst #os #oneshot #usermyfandomprompts

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