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myfandomprompts · 1 year

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𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

Gif owner: @mcqraw Masterlist (Part 34) - (Annexe of the fic) [Ship in 5min]

Summary: Years later, and life still surprises you.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, + something but it's spoilandidontwanttoruinit

A/N: Yes, you read right. This is the end (or is it?). It has been one hell of a ride.

“What is this?"

You were in your shared chambers, having just discovered a brand new gift laying on the covers of your bed, unfolded as you approached it to examine it. As you took it in your hand, your expression shifted to one of disbelief when you understood what it was.

Aemond had just entered, lazily closing the door with a little smile at your reaction as you now brandished your new gift in his direction, a hand on your hips, scowling. “I believe it to be a dress, dear wife,” he responded with a self-satisfied smile as he closed the distance between you, coming to touch the fabric you held gently. “Do you not like it?”

“It’s a dornish dress. Again . A black dornish dress, might I add,” you pointed out, unfolding the velvet. “It is exactly the same one as when… when I returned from Sandstone.”

“Yes I know, I chose it on purpose,” he simply answered, the memory of that intimate and frustrating moment between the two of you in front of the fire lingering in the air, so long ago now. “I was quite fond of it, and I want you to wear it in my presence again. Besides, the weather here is mild enough for you to indulge me.”

He calmly parted away from you in order to discard some of his effects on the table near the window, as if asking you to change in the middle of the day was the most natural thing in the world. You narrowed your eyes when he finally leaned against the table and crossed his arms over his chest, expectant, smirking down at you.

He was right, of course. Even though it has always been hot in King’s Landing, it was nothing compared to the southern temperatures, here, on the coast of the Whispering Sound, at Ivyhorn. Situated between Three Sisters and Oldtown, the castle was always sunny and only the fresh breeze that was coming from the sea could cool your skin. Ivyhorn has been vacant since the previous owners, some landed Knights from the Reach, had perished in the Dance, leaving this beautiful land to your family and Aemond’s as part of the term the Blacks had settled for. Since that time, you have learned to like the place, and so did Aemond, against all odds.

But you weren’t complaining, it was a good place to live, and you liked the view. And of course, you could dress more lightly than in the north, even though Alicent would often cast a judgmental glare at some of the dresses Aemond would choose for you. But he would relish in your new looks, not missing any opportunity to have you to himself when you two would finally be alone.

“Oh, is it one of those dresses you mean to shred as soon as the day is over?” you asked, narrowing your eyes playfully. “No point in giving it to me to wear it in the first place then, my Prince.”

He smirked at your remark. “Oh but there is. I will keep buying you dresses, thousands of them if need be, and I would never get tired of ripping them off of your body,” he said, pupils dilated and his tone turning more dangerous. Still he remained unmoving. “Shall we see how long this one lasts?”

His suggestion made you blush, your current golden and comfortable gown suddenly feeling too tight for your body as you shivered, and certainly not from the cold. He now felt too far for your taste, stubbornly frustrating you. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am pregnant,” you pointed out smartly, defying him over the fact that the dress would surely not suit you as well as it did before. But he looked unfazed at your remark, amused even.

“I did yes… Your point?”

You were a fool for believing that he would not be turned on by this, even for a second. During the time that you had been pregnant, Aemond was the happiest man alive, content to see you with the ultimate mark of his possession over you, and the prospect of yet another child in your belly. He liked everything about it: how your breasts changed, how your skin glowed, how your belly grew, how he could take care of everything you needed and most of all, the fact that you could not dress in corsets anymore, rendering your body more accessible to him. You also suspected that his absence during your pregnancy with Naerys weighed on him still, as it did with you all these years ago. This time, he would not be parted from you, even for an instant. And it was most evident here, in Ivyhorn, as he was looking at you with hunger, making you bite your lips in defeat.

Fine.

Without a word, you brusquely deposited the dress on the wooden chest next to you before unlacing your gown with expert fingers, not thinking about the fact that you wish he had done it himself, not willing to admit it even to yourself. You bore a hard and unyielding gaze that did not leave Aemond as the yellow fabric fell at your feet, and soon after, your shift and undergarment.

You saw his eye darken as it travelled your now almost naked body, unconsciously wetting his lips as he did so, but he still didn’t move an inch, patiently letting you grab his gift and put it on. Still defiantly looking directly at him, you swiftly rearranged your hair over the black velvet, leaving the skin of your slightly swollen belly visible, exhaling in a mix of excitement and irritation as you finished your task, arms falling at your sides.

You waited, staring at him, impatient to see what snarky comment he had in store for you, or what he would do, your skin hot already from his intense gaze. He looked at your form for a long time before pushing himself from the table, uncrossing his arms as he finally walked up to you, pupils blown.

“Mhhh… I’m afraid it won’t last long at all…” he said, eye on the way the fabric embraced your curves. He came to push your hair aside, revealing the sapphire necklace on your collarbone. “A shame. It is a good thing I bought five more of these.”

“Five?” you said in disbelief, putting your hands on his forearms as he took hold of your waist. “Surely you jest.”

He brought you closer, burying his nose in your neck as you felt his already hardened state press against your hips. “Does it feel like I’m jesting?” he whispered, processing to trail kisses from below your jaw to your throat.

You could not help but close your eyes and sigh at the sensation, your hand going straight to his hair as he traced his kisses down to your collarbone, his hands gripping the black material of your dress tightly, fingers grazing your uncovered skin.

“No…” you conceded, glad that he was holding you as you felt your muscle going mellow under his touch. “But I was on my way to the sept, in truth.”

He groaned. “Prayers can wait, and so can my mother,” he said as he brought his mouth to yours. “You are not leaving this room until I say so.”

“Until this dress is ruined and shredded to pieces, you mean?”

“Mhh…” was his only response before you found yourself engulfed in his heated kiss, surprisingly soft compared to the way he held on to your waist, one hand coming to cup your breasts before tugging down your dress down your shoulders.

You gave his passion back tenfold, tongues clashing and soon you felt yourself being pushed into the mattress with your elbows as only support, Aemond’s hands lowering you down gently before sneaking under your dress to travel from your breasts to your belly with agonising slowness.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look, round with my child inside of you?” he huskily said, his tongue hot on your skin as he reached the pulse point on your neck, making you sigh in pleasure.

“Only…” you began, inhaling sharply when you felt him pull your skirts up and his hand grip your thigh. “A ridiculously numerous amount of times.”

He hummed again, lifting himself up from your body to get on his knees at the end of the bed and take hold of the fabric that covered part of your stomach to pull, the sensation of his breath so close to your inside eliciting chills on your skin. “Make it one more time then.”

You watched as he kissed the inside of your left thigh, trailing up before parting your legs wider, making you grip the sheet beneath you. He took care in meeting your gaze, licking his lips with a grin, enthralled with the way you looked, trembling in anticipation under his touch before slamming his mouth on your core. He did not miss the way your jaw dropped and you mewled, lulling your head back as he did so.

The sensation of his tongue on your folds was already so exquisite that when you felt two fingers slide into you, you could not help but arch your back slightly. Aemond’s hold on your dress hardened instantly, pulling so you could not move. “Lay still, wife, or I will have no choice but to strap you with your own gift.”

The thought made electricity go through every nerve in your body and you whimpered, action not lost on Aemond who smiled before resuming his ministrations. Seeing you obey him, he detached one of his hands from your belly to reach for yours on the sheets, intertwining his fingers with yours tightly.

Three knocks on the door made you gasp.

“Fuck-” Aemond groaned irritably, squeezing both your hand and your dress harder as he parted his mouth from your core with an obscene sound. “Leave at once or lose your hand!" he screamed to the door as quickened voices filtered through it.

You had frozen in your position, eyes on the wooden door and hoping that they would be fast gone as you clutched Aemond’s hand, heart beating and a desperate whimper stuck in your throat at the loss of his touch on you. You could hear voices beyond the door, rapidly hushered, like alarmed whispers. They did not depart and you were able to hear some of what filtered through it:

“… heard that? I beg of you… only make them angrier,” was all you could gather as Aemond clicked his tongue in annoyance. But you had grown curious of the voices, suspicious as to why people would have an agitated conversation outside of your quarters in the middle of the afternoon. Aemond groaned loudly when you stood up, reluctantly letting you go as you rushed to the door to open it, determined to find out what it was about.

A maid and Septa Talla were standing there, evidently in the middle of an argument, and the maid froze when she saw you appear. The Septa however, bowed her head in greetings before lifting her chin high.

“What is it?” you demanded, glancing between the two with narrowed eyes. You heard Aemond coming behind you and given the frightened look that appeared on the young maid’s face, you assumed that your husband was seething with anger for having been disturbed during one of his favourite activities.

“It is Naerys, my Lady. She escaped from her lesson.”

You frowned. “Yes, it is hardly the first time,” you blatantly said, knowing full well that Talla was not the most encouraging teacher in the Seven Kingdoms. “I’m sure you will find a suitable punishment for her actions without our help.”

The maid was now looking at her shoes, anxious as the Septa took a deep breath. “Yes my Lady, but I’m afraid that I have been unable to find her.”

You saw the maid close her eyes and hold a breath. “What do you mean you can’t find her? Have you even sent for her?” you asked, her voice a little higher.

“Yes we did, but it has been an hour and...”

Aemond was out of the door in a split second, making both women take a hasty step aside as he walked straight down the corridor.

You had a hard time catching up with him, Talla hot on your heels as you followed Aemond’s fuming strides downstairs and into the inner garden where your son Aelar was playing under the close watch of Ser Marston.

“Aemond, wait, she could only be hiding,” you tried, desperate to level with him with your short steps.

“I don’t care, we were very clear, she is not to be taken out of sight,” he fumed as he barked at the surrounding guards to look for his daughter at once. “Why did you let her out of your sight?” he snarled, turning to the Septa who had caught up with them.

Talla took a deep breath and tried to remain as composed as possible. You admired her, she was one of the only members of the castle staff that did not fear Aemond completely. But you would not let her indulge your husband in his bubbling fury, instead scooping Aelar in your arms as you chimed in.

“She cannot have gone far,” you assured, smiling at Aelar happy to see you. “We will find her.”

Saying the words, you could not help the mild panic that filled you, and you knew Aemond felt the same way, maybe even stronger. But you were better at hiding it. Aemond was very attached to Naerys, his protective nature and paranoia he felt toward you applied to your children tenfold, and the memory of Naerys being abducted was always looming over the both of you. All of the available personnel of the castle were soon ordered to look for her if they didn’t want Aemond to cut them down.

Half an hour later you found nothing, and Aemond was starting to be so tense that you feared that he would kill someone. He would not even let Aelar out of his sight as you walked the outside grounds in your search.

“Naerys!” you called, your voice echoing against the cliffs of the bay below the fortified walls. Aemond began to walk toward the edge of said cliff, silent and eye scanning the surroundings when you saw him still, turn and look in the opposite direction, over your shoulder.

“Something is wrong with Vhagar,” he stated blankly before he strode off past you and began his rapid descent toward the beach where his dragon often rested. You had no time to be amazed by the inexplicable and magical bond that linked Targaryens to their mount as you followed him closely.

With your son in your arms, you had to watch your steps more carefully than Aemond and you did not notice him starting to rush to the beach at a faster rate. When you finally looked up you understood why.

Vhagar was there, at her usual place, but she was not alone. A magnificent blue dragon that you had seen only on rare occasions was next to her, her head lowered at something on the ground as Vhagar squealed, her eyes locked onto her new companion.

Dreamfyre, the late Helaena’s dragon, had not been seen since the rebels' attacks on King’s Landing all of those years ago, when Naerys was still in your womb. Aemond had distanced himself from you, running at Vhagar and toward his beloved daughter whom you finally spotted, placed between Vhagar’s protective posture and Dreamfyre’s curious eyes, advancing on the latter.

“Naerys! Do not take another step!” you heard Aemond yell as you caught up with him. Vhagar moved to stand behind her rider as she continued to watch Naerys' approach on the blue dragon, fascinated. You stood between Aemond and his mount, your heart beating fast.

“But father, look! It is a blue dragon! It just landed here to greet Vhagar!”

“Naerys, please stop and come back,” he implored, not willing to approach the now wild dragon closer in case it would startle her. However, the already closeness in which your daughter was with the beast had Aemond pause and watch how Dreamfyre only peered boringly at her.

You watched, amazed. “By the Mother, is that…”

“Dreamfyre,” Aemond finished for you. “She has been missing for years.”

“Aemond, we have to get her out of there!”

Aemond reached for your arm over Aelar and caressed it without taking his eye off Naerys who kept advancing toward the blue dragon. “I… I think it is alright. Vhagar would not be as calm if there were any danger. You know how protective she had been of her.”

“But Aemond she is only a child, surely she…”

But you went silent as Dreamfyre suddenly shifted her neck towards your daughter, making both you and Aemond jolt. But the she-dragon purred as she pressed her snout against Naerys' tiny raised hand, her hair wavering at the strong breath of the beast, making her giggle.

“Did our daughter just… bond with Dreamfyre…?” you said in disbelief, appalled and watching as Dreamfyre turned her head to look more closely at Naerys.

Aemond did not answer right away, too amazed to let the words out of his mouth. “I… don’t know. She would have to ride her to be certain.”

You indignantly looked at your husband, mouth agape as you considered the matter very dangerous, but Aemond only squeezed your arm reassuringly before letting go of it and walking closer to Dreamfyre, making Vhagar squeal slightly.

“Dōna, do you remember the words I taught you? In High Valyrian?”

Naerys turned her head at her father, happy as she touched the scales below Dreamfyre’s nose. She thought it over.

“Uh, some of it. I know Draca-”

“No! No dōna, I know you know that one but we will try something else, alright?” Aemond said as he raised a hand to make your daughter listen. “Do you remember the command I tell Vhagar when I want her to pay attention?”

“ Lykiri !” she proudly said, making both Vhagar and Dreamfyre tilt their enormous heads. Both you and Aemond watched how the blue dragon looked at her with burning and curious eyes.

“Yes, very good. Could you repeat it to Dreamfyre?”

“Dreamfyre? Is it its name?” she said, looking back at the dragon in awe. “I like it. Lykiri!”

Dreamfyre took a step back and bowed her body lower, abandoning all of her menacing posture from before. Aemond turned his head at you, sharing a confident look with your widened one.

“Very good. Now do you remember the word for ‘flying’? Can you say it to her?”

Your daughter thought hard, before raising her finger in the air.

“Yes! I remember!” she said brightly before taking a step back as well and inflating her chest, ready to yell. “Soves! ”

Dreamfyre titled her head again but did nothing else, and you felt your heart drop into your chest as you already pictured the worse, taking a few decided steps towards your daughter, but Aemond remained calm, extending his hand to stop you.

“No, you don’t move,” he commanded you, pointing to the spot below Vhagar’s wing, where you would be protected. He reported his attention to his daughter. “Sȳz, dōna. Now try again, try calling her name,” he said in an encouraging voice.

Naerys looked at both of you before staring back at the she-dragon, looking at her like she was a huge wall that would not budge and desired nothing more than to move it. “Soves Dreamfyre, soves!”

This time Dreamfyre raised herself of all of her might, making Naerys step back a little and Aemond completely take you out of the way protectively. She then flapped her wings once, twice, and a few heavy steps after she was in the air, making Vhagar flap her wings as well in approval as she watched the dragon circle in the sky above them. Naerys was giggling, not tearing her eyes from the beast as you rushed at her side to pull her against you.

“She is so beautiful!” she said against your belly as Aelar was also watching the dragon with amazement.

“Naerys, do not ever go to a dragon you do not know! You could have been-”

Aemond’s hands went to rest soothingly on your back before crouching to level with his daughter.

“My brave little Naerys., he said before scooping her into his arms. “You might be even crazier than me,” he smiled, his expression so proud that you could not help but smile at the sight as well. Dreamfyre roared as she circled closer to the ground.

“Aemond, this was dangerous,” you weakly scolded.

“I know,” was his only reply, a huge smirk on his handsome face making you escape a laugh.

“Can we keep her? Like Vhagar?” your daughter asked, looking between the both of you.

You both exchanged a look as Dreamfyre landed roughly near her eldest.

“Yes, I think that would be fine,” you said, caressing her face fondly. Aemond dropped her carefully on the ground to let her run toward Dreamfyre again, under the scrutinising gaze of both her parents. “She is only six…” you breathed.

“Yes. It might be the earliest bonding to an already hatched dragon since Aegon the Conqueror.”

You both watched as Naerys entertained herself in roaming her hand all of the length of Dreamfyre’s neck and back.

“Aemond, I am warning you, that if I see her on her back and in the air before her tenth name day, I will confiscate all the dragons. Even Vhagar.”

“Mh. This is quite unfair. The bond between a dragon and a rider is too strong, if she wants to ride, she will, and I won’t be able to do much,” he said with a teasing smile on his face at your threat. “Besides, she had flown for the first time when she was only three months old.”

“On Vhagar! With you, an experienced rider who knows how to fly! Not…”

Aelar babbled in your arms, and Aemond stepped behind you in order to wrap his arms around you both, resting his chin on your shoulder. Exactly like the first time you had been on Vhagar with him. “Nothing will happen to her, I promise. Look at her.”

Naerys was now seated in front of Dreamfyre who was resting her head on the ground, her snout stroked by her new rider, purring.

“If Vermithor comes next, I swear I will not let Aelar out of my sight,” you announced, stroking your son’s hair. You then listened to Aemond ask his son about which dragon he would like best, and you knew he was doing this to tease you.

You smiled nonetheless.

Here is a wonderful fanart by @cyeco13 of this last scene! (or almost). She is absolutely fantastic at Christmas gifts and is so very talented. It must have took her days to do the Dreamfyre but she still did it! I cannot look away, the art is so pretty. Thank you so much!

Put that fan art from @jinniwiin on Twitter too because I find it is one of my favourite and suits Aemond and Naerys in my head.

Check out Annex chapters for more on this fic (1)

So, here it is.

I specifically wanted to say that very early on I figured that it would be hella difficult to write a happy ending with both Aemond not dying and the Blacks 'winning' at the same time, and it has been difficult. Turns out I found something, but I am not happy with the logic of it (I like to do things canonical (sort of) so even though I’m happy with what I’ve wrote relationship wise and epic wise, the ending it a little far fetched politically, but meh, I enjoyed it, and I hope you guys did too.)

I’ll also say that the story would have deserved to be longer, after Alys especially, but unfortunately I have to focus on my work now, hence the “rushed” ending.

Next time, I promise to do better, even maybe wait for season 2 so I have more ‘information’ to write a good fic about. Yes, I’m never letting Aemond go. EVER. This guy won’t die by my hand I assure you (looking at you Miguel.)

Don’t forget to check out my other works! This is not over.

And thank you for reading. So much. Your reactions were everything. I’ll be happy to answer any question you have, don’t hesitate to spam the ask box.

Love you all. And especially @babyblue711, thank you so much for you support, as well as @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan who I won't be able to thank enough. And everyone of you. I mean, it was everything. Thank you.

@let-love-bleeds-red@crazylokonugget@jeyramarie@ephemeralninon@mrswhitethornbelikov@dudfahsn@missusnora@queenofterrasen418@honeytrapsblogp-graham@heathclifftragedyy @discowizard88@ivartheblessed@xceafh@bubbletae7@omgkatherine01@tzipora-art@signyvenetia @ml0103 @nsainmoonchild @lonadane @skythighs@bietchz@samnblack@mariaelizabeth21-blog1@projectcampbell @ripdragonbeans @caribbeangal@polireader@zillahvathek@moni-cah @literishdegree99 @a-beaverhausen @thekinslayer @maniccrystalhippie @princessofdarkwinter @isaxbella749@claudie-080102@ebaylee422@hydrationqueensworld@crumblychunksofheaven@officiallyunofficialperson@grungegrrrl@stargaryenx @dark-night-sky-99 @notanenthucutlet @saeselkie

#aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond imagine #aemond x oc #aemond x you #smut #angst #prompt #fanfiction #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond x original character #aemond x female original character #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #ywawm

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fortuna-et-cataclysmos · 1 year

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This episode was a manifesto on post-truth society and I DIG IT.

I'll go ahead and overanalyse.

First, on the radicalising role of social media. We, as the watchers, know that the Monarch is the villain, right? It should have been obvious to the Parisians with all the akumatisations too? Well, apparently not. Here are the translations of some of the in-universe social media comments and why they are problematic within the context of the show (the show isn't problematic, in fact, it is brilliant for incorporating them!)

The Monarch only wants the Miraculouses to make a wish, and many people think that he wants to wish world peace. But Ladybug and Chat Noir don't want that because then no one would need them.

This one is wrong at three counts: first of all, the whole argument is based on an opinion, not a fact ("many people think that"), but also, just because "many people" agree on something, it doesn't make it right (looking at you, Nazi Germany). In addition, we see a good example of echo chamber here: in Strike Back, thousands of Parisians took the streets to show support to our heroes. So we know that the "many people" here aren't as many as they claim to be (not that it would have made them right in any case). Lastly, we, as the watchers, know especially well the superhero role is an immense burden on Ladybug and Chat Noir. The recognition on the hardships of being a superhero comes from Lila of all people in Multiplication, when she says somewhat condescendingly that Ladybug is young and we shouldn't put so much responsability on her. Moving on to the next.

Who is Ladybug really? Why does she wear a mask? If she had nothing to hide, she wouldn't hide behind a mask.

This one seems to refer to the discourse used by groups who want to favour "security" and state control over personal rights and privacy. Personal rights (and privacy) are, rights. Doh, you say. What I mean by that is that, they are supposed to be non-breachable: every human being has a right to live their own life without someone continuously monitoring them or breaching into their peaceful existence. Ladybug included. You can say that her case is different because she is, in a way, a civil servant (she isn't: technically she is a vigilante, but her and the heroes' monopoly over the superpowers are recognised by the public authorities). But that also makes her unveiling her identity even more dangerous: one must acknowledge that the heroes are still humans, and if the Monarch knew their true identities, he could easily monitor their private life and attack their weaknesses, a no brainer really. Besides, the argument can go both ways: if the Monarch is so benevolent, then why is he hiding behind a mask?

So we see that there is a toxic social media culture in the ml universe which antagonise the heroes despite all the good they did. Here is a post I made specifically expanding on this antagonism by drawing upon similarities between Ladybug and Joan of Arc.

But to continue with post-truth: now let's take Jalil more specifically. The lexicon he uses when arguing with his father is very much associated with alt-right discourse.

Jalil: Ladybug enlisted [Alix] in a crusade that's not ours.

-> Speech with military and religious terms.

Jalil: Alix got brainwashed by Ladybug.

-> I guess this one goes without saying.

Jalil: Don't you see that it doesn't hold?

-> Admittedly, this one doesn't sound too loaded when translated. But it is basically along the lines of refuting other narratives. Think of it this context: "if vaccines make you immune to illness, then why do vaccinated people still get ill? It doesn't hold!"

Jalil: Father, open your eyes!

-> "Wake up, sheeple!"

Jalil: people are talking about this! Listen!

-> Again, argumentum ad populum. Others say so too so it must be true.

And his father's reaction to these:

Mr. Kubdel: social media is affecting your judgment!

It very much is.

And how does Jalil get deakumatised? By getting convinced that he had been tricked, and not by force: Ladybug and Chat Noir don't break his akuma, Jalil frees himself. Because you cannot counter hate speech and extreme narratives by force, it will only give them more legitimacy. In this sense, Ladybug's Lucky Charm is extremely fitting: a pen. "The pen is mightier than the sword" is even implied when Joan of Arc refers to Ladybug's pen as a "ridiculous sword".

In the end, the Miraculous universe has something that completely refutes all the post-truth narratives: the Book of Truth. When Jalil realises that all the social media arguments in favour of the Monarch were unrefutable lies, he deakumatises himself.

Unfortunately in the real world, we have no Book of Truth. Even the most trustworthy sources can be wrong, new information may emerge and prove our previously checked facts wrong. That's why we can't as simply bring the extremist people in our world to their senses. Our only way is critical thinking and judgement based on our moral compass.

But I love that the show is tackling all these manipulation techniques and toxicity of social media in a critical light. It implicitly informs the viewers on the dangers of social media.

#I feel like I'll lose some followers because of this post but I don't care #miraculous ladybug #ml season 5 #ml spoilers #ml reunion #from fortuna #ml meta #ml analysis

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martellspear · 4 months

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— young!rhaenicent | word count: 782

based on the song "ivy" written by taylor swift for my evermore series.

“No one will know,” Rhaenyra insisted. The light squeeze on Alicent’s hand did little to reassure her.

“It’s not a matter of doing what’s right only when we are before the judgment of the world, Rhaenyra,” she whispered but did not stop walking, “it’s what we do when we’re alone that counts.”

A decorated speech, her Septa had made sure Alicent held those words dear. She’s to be a perfect lady, the Gods watchful eyes are on her even when it’s unbeknownst to her; besides, what she does in secrecy, when no one is truly looking, it’s what counts.

Rhaenyra kept their fingers interlocked as they walked through the narrow tunnel.

“We’ll live only once, does that do not count as well?” Rhaenyra whispered but the curved walls carried her voice, it barely sounded like a whisper.

“That should make you wish for a long life, but you’ve taken it upon yourself to go against it,” Alicent spoke quietly, her eyes still not completely accustomed to the dimness of the passage. Rhaenyra stopped suddenly, causing Alicent to crash lightly against her friend.

“Do you wish to go back? Say it and we’ll return.”

Alicent drew a sharp breath. She didn’t want to disappoint Rhaenyra nor wanted to spend her night in the boredom of her silent chambers, where Alicent would still be thinking of her. Rhaenyra is everywhere, her presence strong even in the smallest of details, such as the ring, half of a pair, Alicent faithfully wears every day – and she knows so does Rhaenyra. Flowers growing uninvited all over and within an old stone; claiming what already belonged to them.

I should put an end to this, Alicent thought to herself. That’s what one does when a situation threatens to develop into a foreseen incorrigible mistake. This can never be. They were merely borrowing time, stealing moments from a future where night escapades would no longer have a place in their routine.

However, the thought of what her father would say nudged her.

The lack of immediate response caused Rhaenyra to notice that Alice wanted to go but was far too concerned about the consequences. Her fingers tightened the grip around the stolen bottle of wine.

“What would he do if he found us out?” Alicent asked, eyes slightly widened. She could hear her own heartbeat; the silence of the tunnel was starting to suffocate her. Alicent began picking the skin around her nails, only stopping when a gentle hand was placed atop hers.

“Are you afraid my father will burn the Red Keep to the ground?” Rhaenyra playfully whispered, Alicent couldn’t see much but felt Rhaenyra shaking her head.

“It’s not the King that troubles me,” she looked over her shoulder, the door that would lead her into the walls of the Red Keep couldn’t be far. “If my father-”

The house burned to the ground would be mine¸ she thought. Ofttimes to stray far from her father’s reach seemed like a flicker of light in the darkest of nights, if the flames could consume a crumbling relationship and if the winds could take the ashes away from her sight, she might worry less, she might allow the brittle relationship to crumble. But Otto would forever be her father, she cannot escape her blood, nor she would be able to find shelter from the consequences of this.

“He won’t catch wind of this,” Rhaenyra promised, finding that it was hard not to hold Alicent’s hand when she was so close. “It’s just us.”

Rhaenyra knew Alicent couldn’t see her and yet she smiled. “No one will find out. Remember, with me, you’re safe.”

Alicent knew those words quite well and narrowed her eyes. “I am not going to ride Syrax with you,” she murmured. The Hightower lady hadn’t realized that, whilst talking to her, Rhaenyra was guiding her towards the exit. A little thrum of laughter escaped Rhaenyra’s lips.

“Very well,” she obliged with a nod. “We’ll only eat cake.”

Alicent felt a smile tugging her lips, it was hard not to smile when Rhaenyra was near. The princess mirrored both action and sentiment. She could hardly recall how she used to fill her days before Alicent arrived at court but is completely certain that they can’t be that interesting, otherwise, she would recall them.

Under the crescent moon and the reddish leaves of the weirwood, they spent the rest of the night. Once more stealing moments, borrowing time. Their hands fit perfectly, both entangled in feelings they couldn’t quite comprehend and there was no need to. They knew enough of the yearning to be near, to belong, and to add just a little bit more of sand in the hourglass.

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cup1dt3a · 1 year

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The Mirror

Summary: after being introduced to each and everyone of them they decided to bring you to the mirror. For the judgment of what happens to you lies there. Hopefully it’s good or else it’s the end of the line. You’re already in too deep so there’s no other option at this point is there? Well then come along now with me into this twisted world~.

They had all started to introduce themselves in their own horrific way. Each and everyone of the leaders introductions had been followed by a threat. Showing that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if necessary. The group that had brought you here had done the same. All of them except Malleus for his introduction had seemed more friendly than the other mens. It was a bit odd to you. You stared at them while thoughts had been overwhelming every sense you had. First of all , how are you going to help beings more powerful than you out of this eerie place. Secondly what’s with the furries and tentacles. After that cat beast had attracked you you had already begun to believe in the magic that they speak of. But the way they’re all saying your their ticket to freedom sounds a bit too untrue. There has to be just some catch to it like sacrificing, rituals, decapitation, etc. And there sadly was.

“Now now gentlemen let’s not get our hopes up once again. Remember the last few who we thought were our chances to freedom?” Malleus stated.

“ Yes yes! But! They seem to be different from the others. They’re the first one that hasn’t even tried to run away yet or scream.” Azul replied.

You hadn’t run away because there was no logical reason that would have you escape them without dying on the spot. And because your too scared to scream out at all.

“True…where did the five of you find them?” Vil asked the group.

“ In the old hallway crammed into a locker.” One of them replied.

“ Hmmm…quite odd the last one we found in a locker we had killed…it’d be such a shame to have this beauty die. So don’t disappoint us.” He smiled with a sickeningly sweet tone making you want to puke as you nodded gulping.

Of course they killed them. Of course what were you expecting them to just go “ oh well then sorry here’s a hug.” These mother fuckers probably think of hugging as a chokehold. But alas you were now in this horrible situation let’s just hope whatever the reason that person was killed you didn’t make the same mistake.

“ Well then what are we waiting for? Let’s go on with this shall we?” Malleus stood up as his dark form descended down the stairs.

“ Oh and if we actually do keep them around you five will guard them got it?” Riddle told the group as they all had a sour look on their face giving a nod to him.

The five of them crowded beside and behind you as they had brought you to the “Mirror Chamber”. The seven leaders had instructed them to take them there and that they’ll be watching. You weren’t sure how but that wasn’t your biggest problem right now. For the five of them had shown their violent tendencies not too long ago and what if they took it out on you if you didn’t make the cut? What if they just give you a taste of what will happen or-

“ So please for the love of the great seven tell me you don’t complain a lot!” Ace groaned.

“ Ace! That’s rude plus they seem to not even talk a lot.” Deuce declared as you snickered in the back of your mind how your friends would disagree.

You already missed them so much.

“ Shut it you two we don’t even know if they’ll be sticking around yet!” Sebek snapped at the two.

“ Well if they do I just want to express how much I hate whining bitches!” He stated.

“ Oh? So you hate yourself then?” Epel smirked as the red head growled at him.

“ Will you all ever knock it off!? I want to just get this over with already!” Jack snarled at them making their bickering stop. You silently thanked him as their bickering was already giving you a migraine. But your anxious thoughts still continued to scream at you and the thoughts of what your family may be thinking. Your friends and anyone you cherished probably think you’re dead or have been kidnapped by now. Death almost doesn’t sound too bad. If it meant you’ll not have to deal with these creeps anymore. Epels joke was funny but still lowering your guard down on any of them could go horribly wrong. “ Will you all ever knock it off!? I want to just get this over with already!” Jack snarled at them making their bickering stop. You silently thanked him as their bickering was already giving you a migraine. But your anxious thoughts still continued to scream at you and the thoughts of what your family may be thinking. Your friends and anyone you cherished probably think you’re dead or have been kidnapped by now. Death almost doesn’t sound too bad. If it meant you’ll not have to deal with these creeps anymore. Epels joke was funny but still lowering your guard down on any of them could go horribly wrong.

They had brought you to the same eerie and decaying place you met that beast. But there was now a small three step stair case and a large mirror. The mirror was dripping with the same substance each of them had on them.

Ace then came up and harshly banged on the large glass with tiny cracks. While the others protested to his actions he brushed them off.

“ Oh hush In trying to get this thing on!” He growled as an annoyed looking mask face suddenly appeared throwing the ginger off of the mirror.

“Disgraceful actions from such a brat!” Their deep voice boomed from the mirror as you looked in shock. Wondering what the hell they wanted you to do. ” Ow! I’m not a brat… Well then whatever’s your name go up to them and say your name.” He grimaced rubbing his back from the impact of the blow. You felt as if you couldn’t move almost frozen in place.

“ Awww poor things scared.” Epel mocked.

“ Tch! Pathetic do we have to drag you up there?” Deuce harshly spat.

Suddenly grabbing your wrist he dragged you up the stairs slinging you down onto them as he crouched above you. Peering down onto your shaking figure he chuckles at you before saying” If you are this so called chosen one you won’t last a day here. So now just state your full name and don’t start to Fucking cry got it?”

You hastily nod your head before he walked off getting off of the decaying ground. As you tried to state your name the mirror boomed out with the same thing they have all been telling you to say. Finally as you did you could feel every bone in your body rattling with fear.

“ Hmmm…. Quite an odd soul. I’ve never sensed such a pure presence before. So pure yet so easily corrupted…Perhaps you could guide them all?” It boomed.

“ Well then…I guess you’re stuck with us now!” Ace cackled as you just stared at the mirror in despair.

“ Well then looks like we finally got lucky!”

Hello and hope you all enjoyed! Two post in one day I’m on a roll!!

Hope you all have a good day/ Hope that it gets better!

Sincerely-CupidTea🍵

@simping-on-the-daily I got you some more food eat up <3

#Overblot series #twst #twisted wonderland #gender neutral reader #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland

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selfproclaimedunicorn · 3 months

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No Fragile Thing

Wrote a thing from Aldreda's backstory because I guess part of my hiatus involves her grabbing me by the throat & saying "We are about me now. Figure it out." So there's no Aldricent, but hey! Peak into part of why she is the way she is! Aldreda Tag | AO3 Series

The great hall of Lonely Light was vast, it had to be since anyone who came would be staying for months to make the trip worth it. Its stone walls were painted with scenes of the sea; krakens rising up from the waves and bare-breasted seal women with their mouths open in silent songs. Long wooden columns, carved with swirling knots and longships and the dour face of the Drowned God, were spaced evenly throughout the round chamber, holding up the ceiling of intricately laid wooden beams. A large open fireplace took up most of the center of the room, with long tables surrounding it all the way to the dais where The Farwynd sat at the high seat, presiding over his court with all the authority of the High King of the Iron Islands. With how isolated the main branch of House Farwynd was, he might as well have been.

Aldreda swallowed as she peered out from the archway, half hiding herself at the landing of the stairs that led down from the bridge between the smaller, residential tower of the castle where her rooms lay and the main tower that held the court and, at the very top, the flaming beacon that served the longships that ventured so far out into the Sunset Sea. She so rarely asked The Farwynd for anything, and it was only the bone deep need of it now that saw her doing as much. When she stepped out from the archway and onto the worn, wooden floor of the great hall, it felt like her footfalls landed harder than was possible. The walk to the high seat had never felt so long. Without Orwen there to make her be “just his younger sister” so many men’s eyes on her felt wrong. Everything felt wrong without her favorite brother. Siren’s tits, it felt wrong without any of the older ones! The absence of eight men and one who nearly had been made the great hall feel haunted.

The Farwynd was all graying hair and great, braided beard that hung down to the center of his chest. He was silent as he looked down at her from the dais, a raised eyebrow the only indication he expected anything. In the plain, cushionless, seat beside their sire, Trystifer shifted uncomfortably. His feet did not quite touch the floor and the place where Euron, and then Barrian, and then Corwen had filled so comfortably swallowed the boy of ten.

“I want to raid.”

The men in the hall were who started it, laughing like Aldreda had told some great jest just to entertain them. Trystifer joined them, eager to be seen as a man grown now that he was The Farwynd’s heir. Aldreda’s cheeks grew hot, and she balled her hands into fists at her sides. She wanted to bite and claw at whichever of the men at arms had started the laughter. Drawing blood would make them take her seriously. For his part in all of it, her sire did nothing but look at her with an appraising eye.

When he finally spoke there was an air of passive judgment to her sire’s deep, almost scratchy brogue. “Is that why you parade yourself around in such a state?”

She wanted to reach up and run her fingers through the ends of her newly cropped hair. Her head felt so light now, and her back was unexpectedly cold. When Lady Melusine came into her room last night, she had burst into hysterics when she caught her daughter cutting her hair to her shoulders. After Aldreda had explained herself, she had calmed and helped her to make sure the cut was at least even; that did not mean she liked it, though. Still, it would appear Lady Melusine hadn’t said a word of it to The Farwynd. Or, if she did, he had simply forgotten.

“I wanted it this way.” She squared her shoulders even as she struggled to meet his eyes, even as the lifeless bodies of all her dead brothers balked at her from her memories and imaginings. It was like they rose up from the sea to stare at her, judging for her half-lie with the seal eyes they had all inherited from the man who sat before her.

“Will a husband, I wonder.” It was a statement more than a question, and it bit into Aldreda’s chest with the intent to take a hunk of meat.

“I don’t care what a man thinks of me,” at least not one who intended to bed her, “I want to raid.”

“A girl of three and ten will not replace twenty good men.” The Farwynd leaned forward in his chair, right arm sliding forward till his hand hung past the carved seal’s head it had been resting on previously. So she was a woman when he wanted to send her away, and a girl when she wanted to raid, then? Either way, she was not as wanted as a son.

“Did Orwen fill your head with enough glory stories that you thought you could?”

Her favorite brother's jovial laughter mixed with The Farwynd’s dismissive judgment, with the claps of thunder from the storm that took him, with the barks of the harbor seal she decided was him when she went down to their rookery after word of the longship's sinking came. It made Orwen sound otherworldly and cruel, like his ghost was agreeing with the voice of their sire in her mind when he told Aldreda that she could not replace the three sons he just lost.

Her fists curled even tighter, short nails digging into her palms. Would they pierce her skin if they were longer? Would that be better? Would her own blood prove her worth, or would it be another reason to call her useless and dismiss her like some fragile little girl and not the only living child by The Farwynd and his rock wife? Born and bred of iron and salt and stone to carve through the waves and to reave, to fill the gaps left by eight dead men and two who would have been.

“I can fight, and I can sail. Orwen made sure of it!”

The Farwynd snorted dismissively, and leaned back in the high seat. Aldreda curled her lip, and her thin brows furrowed over black eyes that were stormy as the churning Sunset Sea had been those three nights. She jerked her head back, pointing at her younger salt brother with her chin. “I’m better than him.”

Trystifer slid himself out of the heir’s seat with such force it looked like he jumped onto his feet, and his hands were fists just like hers. He stamped his foot as he glowered down at her from his spot on the dais overlooking the hall. “No you aren’t!”

The Farwynd slammed his fist on the arm of the high seat, making Trystifer and all the men in the hall straighten with attention. “Conduct yourself with some dignity, boy! You are my heir, fucking act like it.”

“Yes, Lord Alfric.” Trystifer was stiff and his cheeks were pink. Even though he faced forward, his eyes were on his feet. The boy's deference only earned him a dismissive snort and an eye roll, however.

“Lord Alfric. You spend too much time with Mayra.”

Of course he spent time with his mother. He was a boy, and he had only been made to work on a longship three years ago.

“Who's ship are you serving on, boy?”

“Sylas Goodbrother.”

“That is who you should be spending time with. It'll put some hair on your chest and have you addressing me in the old way. The proper way.”

“And what about me?” She spoke louder now, to draw his criticism away from Trystifer. That was her little brother, regardless of how Lady Melusine talked about the salt wives.

“You’re still on that?”

“You lost good men, and I can replace them. They need to be, and I’ll fight anyone in this hall to prove I am good enough!” She could be better than them, if she wanted to be. Not just the men at arms who drowned with Corren and Orwen and Randar, but her older brothers too. All of them.

“Even if you bested some ship boy or barely blooded whelp, no one would take you.”

“I would.”

Aldreda followed her sire’s gaze to where her cousin stood. Westley had taken a step away from the long table where the men under his command paused in their sitting back down after The Farwynd’s commanding of attention. At eight and ten, he had not won much glory, but as the oldest son of The Farwynd’s rock brother he received enough favor to captain his own longship. He was also their cousin closest to Orwen, and a man he had told Aldreda to be more wary of than she wanted to be. It was a stupid warning. Her brother would not be friends with someone who prompted caution.

“Forgive me, Lord Reaver, if I spoke out of turn,” Westley took another step forward and dipped shallowly at the waist, “but it would be wrong of me to not look out for Orwen’s sister.”

“You want her?”

Westley’s eyes strayed from The Farwynd, to her. It was only for a moment, but it was long enough for Aldreda to see his charming, roguish smile was for her. “I do. I have seen how Orwen taught her, she's not beyond use. With a little work, I think Aldreda could make a fine raider.”

“Work you are willing to put in, of course.”

“Of course.”

The Farwynd looked over them both, his gaze hard and unreadable. Aldreda dug her nails further into the meat of her palms; it stung something fierce, but it was better than fidgeting or breaking eye contact with her sire. Either of those would sway him further from seeing her as worthy of the acknowledgment he gave his ten dead sons, perfect and saintly in the Drowned God’s halls where they were only memories and imaginings who could not disappoint him.

After what felt like an eternity, he relaxed back into the high seat and waved them both off. “Do what you wish. You have three years with her, and if she does not prove as fine a raider as you claim she could be I am sending her off to The Boatly. His rock wife died a year ago, he could do with a replacement, and he will not care if the new one could give him sons since he already has them.”

Aldreda inhaled sharply, and her eyes widened with indignation. Aldreda was not her mother. And even so, Lady Melusine said that it was not her fault that her husband sought the comfort of his salt wives after Ronas died, it was not her fault their second child was a daughter that saw him retreating from her without return. Westley took her by the bicep before she could even think about what it was she wanted to do. She would not do it, whatever it was; to injure The Farwynd was to injure Lonely Light itself.

“You will not be disappointed, Uncle Alfric.”

He said nothing, and just waved them off again. Aldreda heard Westley sigh through his nose, and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. The longer black hair at the top of his head fell into his eyes; they looked tired, and they were lighter than hers, grayer and warmer than the near pitch black of all of The Farwynd’s children. Did Westley want softer words and an acknowledgement of effort as well? Was that what was keeping him at Lonely Light instead of returning to Sealskin Point now that he was a man grown with some two years of adulthood under his belt? He looked back up, his attention solely on her now. “Come on, Aldreda. We’ve a lot to do in three years.” Westley squeezed her arm, and it was almost like Orwen. He let go of her, and then gave another shallow bow to The Farwynd before turning on his heel and strutting across the great hall towards doors to the main yard. Aldreda followed his lead, bowing before turning and running off after her cousin.

#my writing #oc: aldreda farwynd #hotd oc #(alfric & westley farwynd I am in your walls)#asoiaf oc #fyeahhotdocs #fyeahgotocs

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tiktokitssinoclock · 2 years

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Falling Asleep Scenarios - The Valorant Guys (p.I)

SFW // Minors and ageless blogs, DNI // You will be blocked

Sova

You two just so happened to be sitting next to each other for that Saturday's movie marathon. The common area was dark, the huge screen in front of the agents accounting for the sporadic flashes of light and color lighting up the room. Jett, Pheonix, and Killjoy were lounging on their stomachs watching the film, Jett's chin perched precariously on her fist as her eyes seemed to droop more and more. Sova chuckled to himself when her head finally fell, her cheek now smooshed against her forearm as she drifted off.

He nudged you softly.

"Y/N, do you see Jett-"

The whisper died on his lips as he looked down. You'd long since snuggled into his side a bit- platonic cuddling was never unwelcome- but he'd failed to realize how still you'd become. Your breathing was slow and soft, your lips slightly parted. He watched a strand of your hair fall loose and tickle your nose, causing you to scrunch it up in your sleep. Without a second thought, he moved the arm he had draped on the back of the couch so he could tuck it behind your ear.

He ignored the warmth spreading across his cheeks before returning his attention to the screen, making a point to move as little as possible so he wouldn't wake you.

Yoru

Yoru didn't think it had ever taken this long to get home from a mission, but then again, he'd never been as eager to get back. He could feel you trembling beside him, the poison gas from Viper still working its way out of your system. Thanks to your abilities you were going to be okay, but he still wanted to get you to Sage as quick as possible. Had anyone else stayed in the cloud as long as you had, they undoubtedly would've died. That thought wasn't settling well with him.

"You gonna be okay?"

You didn't respond, sending a spike of adrenaline through his veins. His head snapped to you and he let out an audible sigh of relief, seeing that you'd only fallen asleep. Still, even in sleep, you didn't look comfortable. Your neck was craned in an awkward position and your eyes were pinched shut, sweat beading across your brow.

His thin patience finally wore through there. He couldn't stand it. Against his better judgment, he shifted you so that your head was leaning against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around your waist to support you against him, the only thing helping him keep his cool being the feeling of your steady breath against his neck the rest of the way back.

Chamber

Never had Chamber been so appreciative of a late pick-up. The two of you were huddled together on the floor of the pick-up zone, waiting for the rest of your teammates to return with your ride back to headquarters. While Chamber was completely fine with the wait, he knew you were not; given that the mission took place in an area you'd unaffectionately dubbed 'Icebox', it was plain to see why. When chamber opened his long winter coat and gestured for you to join him with a wink, you begrudgingly accepted.

"Oh knock it off, it's not like that," you'd spat.

"Apologies. It's just of all the people in HQ, I would expect you to be the last to willingly press your body against mine-"

"I'm cold, you bastard!"

Fast forward two hours, though, and you were fast asleep in his grasp. Your cheeks were tinted pink from the cold breeze and your fingers were pressed firmly into his shirt, almost in a weak attempt at holding him to you. He ran his thumb gently across the top of your cheek, allowing his usual smirk to drop into a small smile. He was almost disappointed when he heard the telltale signs of an approaching helicopter.

Cypher

Cypher wasn't great at comforting people past the awkward head pat or strained "There there", but when you knocked on his door with that hollow look in your eyes, he knew this wasn't a matter for Skye or Astra to handle. He ushered you in sleepily before softly closing the door to his room, turning to face you mid-yawn.

"Y/N-"

"Listen. I don't want to talk it out," you deadpanned before he could say anything, clearly exhausted.

"I just want to sleep. That's why I came to you. Is it okay if I crash in here?"

Too tired to argue, he simply nodded before crawling back into bed. He opened his arms blindly, his eyes already closed, until he felt you curl up against his chest. You were out within a matter of minutes but he found himself still awake, hands tracing small patterns on your back as he let out a soft sigh. He stayed awake for a while after, whispering soothing words to you when you started to twitch or whimper. Although you hated talking about them, he steeled his resolve to finally address the nightmares with you in the morning.

#valorant fanfiction #valorant #valorant sova #valorant yoru #valorant chamber #valorant cypher

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freesia-writes · 10 months

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Howzer + Aurelia Ch. 2 + 3

Howzer stole our hearts when he appeared in TBB, and I wanted to write a bit of a backstory for him. It begins with his newbie days during TCW and stretches to where we last see him in TBB. Enjoy his character arc and some heartwarming romance, action, adventure, yearning, angst, and growth.

Master List of Chapters

Content/Trigger Warnings for Entire Work (individual chapters not labeled): wartime peril, injury, and death; pregnancy, birthing trauma, and infant loss; sexual assault up to kissing; relationship passion up to making out and heavy petting; sexual relationship alluded to but not described (no smut, sorry) ;)

I'm gonna double post the short chapters. :) Word Count: 463 and 933

2. Disillusionment

"Look sharp," Hex whispered, and Howzer stood up a bit straighter as Orn Free Taa exited the Senate chamber. Without a word, they both fell into step beside him, escorting him through the hallway. They marched smartly, DC-17s in hand, and it took all of Howzer's self-control to avoid staring at Taa's many quivering chins as he talked about his afternoon plans.

Once they arrived at the restaurant, they were dismissed to wait outside, and Howzer slumped against the building unceremoniously, groaning inwardly at his lot in life. Hex remained standing at attention next to him, and the judgment emanating from him was palpable.

"Why doesn't he have his own Twi'lek guards?" Howzer complained, pulling his helmet off. His hair had grown out a little from the standard military cut they received on Kamino, and it fell to his ears, across his forehead, in thick black pieces. He ran a hand through it, looking at Hex and continuing his protest, "Aren't they supposed to be fierce warriors or something? I mean, the ones back on Ryloth at least?"

Hex shifted his weight slightly; it was clearly not the first time he had heard these complaints. "This is our assignment. We are soldiers of the Republic, assigned to do whatever the Republic needs us to do. Would you like to take it up with the Captain?"

"No," Howzer sighed, rolling his head from one shoulder to the other, "I just didn't get the impression that our training would be preparing us to ensure that a Senator can eat all day long." He could have sworn he heard a quick laugh-turned-cough from Hex, but he decided not to push his luck.

A couple of female Twi'leks passed by on the sidewalk in front of them, and Howzer stood tall immediately, tucking his helmet under his arm and running a hand through his hair again.

"Hey, you two! How would you like a job?" he said, in an insufferably cheesy tone. "I'll hire you right here on the spot. Well, one of you. The other one can come to lunch with me."

Hex let out an audible groan then, and the Twi'leks looked at each other with a shared grimace. But Howzer was unfazed, "Now now, don't fight over it. I know it's a lot to take in all at once. Take your time, sort it out between yourselves, and let me know which one of you is the lucky lady who gets to hit the town with me."

At that, they simply turned and continued on their way, gliding down the sidewalk in a cloud of eyerolls and wrinkled noses. Howzer resumed his lean against the wall, sighing in defeat.

"Their loss."

***

Ch. 3 - Potential

Aurelia wiped the cloth across the bar counter mindlessly as she watched an hourglass-shaped BD-3000 luxury droid moving to the beat with a predictable series of motions, fully holding the clone captain's attention as he bopped along next to her. A smile crept onto Aurelia's face, accompanied by the mild fondness she always felt at the clones' behaviors.

She had worked at 79s for a few months, considering it a "place holder" while she figured out a more long-term career plan. She simultaneously had far too many aspirations at once while also feeling overwhelmed and paralyzed by all of them, settling instead to cater to the needs of a rowdy crowd most nights while she daydreamed about the possibilities.

"Whatcha thinkin about, beautiful?" came an exceedingly smooth clone voice, bringing her back to reality, and her eyes snapped into focus to see Pivot leaning on the bar across from her. She smiled, swatting her washcloth at him playfully.

"Just pining for your return, of course," Aurelia responded quickly, flipping the cloth over her shoulder and bending down to prepare his usual drink. He had been coming there long before she started, and he was as comforting as he was harmless. She had initially been put off by what seemed like advances, but when she realized there was nothing behind them other than flattery and fun, she relaxed and played along.

"Well, feast your eyes," Pivot answered, sliding some credits across the counter to her as she poured the drink from the shaker into a highball glass. She plopped a couple bright berries on the top and pushed it toward him.

"Consider them feasted."

Pivot laughed, giving her a playful salute as he scooped up his glass and made his way back to his squad in a corner booth.

***

"I mean, if you think about it, it seems like such a simple solution," Howzer said, gesturing abstractly with one hand. "I can't wait to show them what some real strategy looks like."

"I'm sure they'll be grateful," purred the Mirialan next to him, cupping her face in her hand and resting an elbow on the table, looking up at him with admiration.

"Well, it's what we were made for," he answered, puffing up a bit more. This had been going surprisingly well, and he fought to keep his composure. "So, any other plans tonight?"

She shook her head demurely, muttering something about unpacking some cargo crates.

"I've got a little something you can unpack," Howzer chortled, "If you need some practice."

"Ugh," came the reply, and she quickly excused herself without another word. He leaned back in the booth, allowing a brief sigh before regathering himself and rising to his feet. He ambled to the bar counter, scanning the room for any familiar faces long the way and seeing none. He missed Sprint, who was his usual companion when his romantic pursuits came up empty, and consoled himself by imagining what sort of missions his brother may have been enjoying.

"Can I get you anything?"

Howzer looked up, finding the bartender waiting patiently across from him, wiping a glass as she regarded him with a slightly tilted head. Now this he could work with. He leaned jauntily against the counter, flashing his roguish grin and turning on the charm.

"Listen, I know you probably have a lot of questions, but before we dive in, you can go ahead and take a moment to soak it all in. I'm sure you're wondering how you, of all people, managed to find the best-looking clone, right here in your own bar."

Aurelia smirked at the blatant irony of his phrase, fully prepared with a tongue-in-cheek response, "'Best-looking clone'? Did they teach you about irony on Kamino?"

"They taught us about everything," Howzer returned evenly, "So if you've got any questions, I'd be happy to let you in on all the mysteries of the galaxy." He raised one eyebrow with a distinctly fiendish air, eyes roving from her curly black hair to her full lips. Her nose was a bit beakish, but she had pretty eyes, dark and intelligent.

"Wow. What an offer," she marveled, pressing the back of a hand to her forehead as if about to faint. This came with the territory, sure, but could also become tiresome. She yearned for any conversation of substance, but was realizing more and more that this was not the atmosphere for that. "In the meantime... Can I get you anything?"

"I'll take a fizz, thanks, but what about you? What are your wildest dreams?" Howzer inquired, eager to continue their exchange.

"To sit under a tree on a cloudy day and read poetry from an actual book," Aurelia answered without missing a beat. She turned to get a bottle from the refrigerator behind her, missing the flash of surprise on Howzer's face. He looked serious for a moment, something working its way through his brain, but was back to his cocky little show when she turned back around.

"Wow," he bantered, "What refined taste you have. I'll get right on that." He exchanged his credits for the bottle, then offered a hand, "The name's Howzer."

"Aurelia," she responded, shaking his hand and secretly hoping his desire for attention had been satisfied.

"Aurelia," he echoed, trying it on for size, "Fancy name for a fancy lady. Alright, Aurelia. I'll be seeing you. Try to hold it together until we meet again." Howzer popped the cap from the bottle, flipped it toward her like a coin, gave her a wink, and sauntered off.

Feel free to tag a friend who loves Howzer, or comment to be added to the tag list! <3

@mary-on-the-contrary @doublesunsets @523rdrebel

#the bad batch #tbb #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #star wars fanfiction #the bad batch fanfiction #tbb fanfiction #commander howzer #captain howzer #howzer #tbb howzer #the bad batch howzer #clone trooper howzer #howzer x oc #star wars fanfics #star wars fic #star wars #star wars fluff

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beautifulsnake2162020 · 1 year

Text

Higher Intervention: Aemond x FemReader (House of the Dragon x Sandman fanfic) Part 6

Disclaimer: This is a fanwork to show appreciation for the intellectual properties used. I also haven't read Fire and Blood and most if not all that I know is from the TV show.

Gif by veinereastath

Premise: Alys Velaryon, older twin sister of Jace Velaryon is the only member among Rhaenyra's children whom Aemond cannot completely hate. As their love story progresses, a newer and larger threat complicates things and reveals discoveries that neither the greens or the blacks had ever imagined.

AN/CW: PLEASE READ THIS FIRST! This chapter contains some torture scenes that are not suitable for all audiences. I did my best not to be too graphic to the point of it being gory and mainly focused on the feelings being experienced. Having said that I'm not entirely sure if it will be your cup of tea so if you see this " XXX " This means that this is the start of the torture part and it ends with seeing this sign again. I made sure it was still fine for readers who wants to skip the torture scenes.

Anyway other CWs include: Suicidal thoughts, thoughts of self-harm, and various forms of abuse including physical, sexual, and psychological abuse. A mention of sexual objectification as a punishment.

If you wish to read the previous parts (which I recommend you do if you haven't read them yet):

Part 1 / Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5

Taglist (comment down below if you want to be included): @winxschester @memento-mora @mxrgodsstuff

Also tagging:

@lady-phasma @aemonds-war-crime @adderess @princeaemonds because some of their ideas of Aemond have undoubtedly influenced my work.

First, the confession.

After meeting with the contacts provided to work out the possible logistics and implementation of your proposed counsel as well as making sure some clarifications were addressed, you made your way to the place that filled you with dread for what you are about to do. Vereena and Kayla had made sure you had a full stomach filled with your favorite foods in your chambers. Both of them know what is to come and that you won't be able to eat good quality food for awhile. How Kayla was able to convince the Yi Ti delegation to give you another roasted duck in the way they did it was beyond your understanding. You also return to your father his guards who have served you well, although a part of you knows that he will probably still send them to keep an eye on what you're doing.

"What do you wish to confess child?"

The septon looks at you with no judgment, or at least that's what he believes he is doing.

You sit beside him as you pour your heart out.

You need to believe in this for this to work.

Believe that the things you now confess are going to be yours now.

On your soul.

On your being.

Your confession and your repentance must have worked. You were guided to a room in the dormitory of sinners. Since your clothes were already quite plain you didn't need to change into the garb that they would have repentant sinners change into. You were given simple yet hearty meals. It wouldn't help any of them if the Targaryen they were going to publicly punish would be dead before they made their point.

But you didn't miss the look of sadistic delights among the members of the Faith militant as you surrendered yourself to them.

Second, the penance.

This in itself is divided into several different parts.

The first part of this was admitting your sins to the parties you've wronged. According to the Faith militant the more humiliating the experience is, the more pure the process of purification is for the repentant sinner.

You weren't surprised when from their Cloister Sept they wash and bathe you in preparation for your penance.

"You just need to say your sins and to apologize to every person you have offended child." Says the Septa who was braiding your hair so that it will be out of the way. After braiding it she ties your hair into a bun. You were given a clue of what they have in store for you once your penance in court was concluded. You were allowed to have one last time of full rest before your suffering would begin. One last hearty meal before you began your journey walking towards the Red Keep from the Cloister Sept. On foot this took several days, with you at the center while you were surrounded by Septons, Septas and laypeople. You recall how you once travelled this road by carriage, and now you and the Faith militant are now travelling by foot. You all would rest in every Sept that was planned out along the way. They choose to suffer with you as they believe that their sins would also be purified along with your suffering.

You finally arrive at the entrance of the Red Keep. The guards were initially hesitant to allow non-nobility who were not part of the staff to enter. But then they see you at the center. It was only then that they were comfortable allowing your group to enter.

You and your group enters the court room. The last time you made a dramatic entrance in court was in your first few days have when you assisted your grandfather in intervening in the Driftmark trial.

And now as you enter again - the king is now on the Iron Throne. A lot healthier and much more mobile than he was last time. Still old and at risk for impending death, but there's no denying that he was a lot better than he was previously. Same as before, the blacks and the greens were on their respective sides. And once again everyone was staring at you. In particular both sets of your siblings, Aegon, Helaena, Ser Cole, Lord Larys Strong, and of course Aemond.

"What is the meaning of this?!" The King angrily says the moment you meet his eyes from where you were.

"Why do you have my granddaughter in shackles before me?!"

"Your grace." The lead septon says with two armed members of the Faith Militant on either side. He takes his time until some of the chatter has died down. With his back to you, your guess is that he must be revelling in his new found power at having you in his mercy.

"We are the Faith Militant. We are the armed forces of the Seven and no one wishes our wrath upon them. Need I remind you that Maegor only won our uprising against the crown by sheer luck?"

"Untrue septon! Do you forget septon that my family has dragons at our disposal?"

"To execute your own granddaughter - for the sins she has done against you? Why not? After all maybe we can now finally test if dragonfire is truly purifying." At the mention of you possibly dying the King calms down reluctantly. But you can see that your father's hand hovering over his sword or dagger. Aemond's expression is unreadable but you wager that he is doing his best to not act impulsively.

"May I remind you your grace, that this is not a matter of politics but a matter of faith. Right now if any of us are harmed by any of your guards, family, or courtiers, then that is a sign of religious persecution. Something that you don't want if we, the Faith Militant would continue tolerating the kind of marriages your family thrives on." And this was the final nail as the King and everyone begins to realize who exactly has the power this time. Both factions are involved in strategic incestuous marriages and neither side can afford to have those marriages be declared invalid.

"Aren't you lot disbanded? Or so that's what I hear since your defeat by Maegor."

"Only as an independent group. But we are still very much in the service of the Seven Prince Daemon." The lead Septa says as she tugs on the chains of your shackles as she goes behind you in facing your father. He snorts in amusement as he continues glaring at the Septa behind you.

"Yet even now you hide behind my daughter. Release my daughter and I'll forget you were even in my presence."

"Prince Daemon, she came to us."

"It doesn't matter, whatever she has done should be sorted from within my family. Not in a faith that is more than ready to punish any strange women."

"This is part of her penance Prince -" Your father draws his sword aiming for the Septa behind you but was deflected by one of the armed members who are with you.

"Daemon! Brother stand down."

"Rhaenyra and I married under the traditions of Old Valyria. We are not under these shits who say they have authority."

"If you don't want us to consider your marriage illicit you will put your sword down." The lead septon says as calmly as he can.

"No, let him draw his sword." You feel yourself pushed forward till your father's sword is almost touching your skin.

"If he wants to draw blood, then it should be the blood of his own stepdaughter. Every suffering she survives is a step closer to her purification." You try to calm yourself as your father's sword is close to your neck. You do your best not to look scared or cry.

But your father notices your expression. He notices the feelings you tried to hide.

And it was only then that he stands down and withdraws his sword safely away from your skin.

"Alys Velaryon is not here as a Princess. She is here as a repentant sinner - here to confess to you the crimes as part of her journey towards purification. We of the Faith Militant have decided to bring her here before you today since everyone she has committed an offense against would be present. Once she has finished her confession of sins she shall begin her actual purification on front of everyone." The lead septon then tugs on your chains as he forces you to walk on front of the King, and the main members of both factions.

"It's time to confess before your victims, sinner." With one last tug, you were made to kneel before everyone.

"I, Alys Velaryon, confess to the following offenses before his grace, the King, and all who hear me today." You take a breath before you begin what may be the most difficult part of it all.

But you need to believe they are yours.

These sins are now yours to claim.

And to suffer for.

"First, with the assistance of Larys Strong, I raped Ser Criston Cole in his sleep. Second, it is I who told Aemond of Vhagar no longer having a rider. Third, once he has claimed Vhagar when he was on his high after claiming Vhagar - it is I who punched him after he called me and my siblings bastards. It is I who slashed his face and made him lose his eye. It was I who betrayed him and ended our friendship in Driftmark."

"No."

"What in the Sevens is she doing?"

"Does she really expect us to believe this?"

"I don't entirely understand what she's doing."

"Whatever it is, things are going to get interesting."

"She was practically skin and bones when she emerged from Ser Cole's room. I have a hard time believing she's the one who forced herself on him."

"We all know this is bullshit - why is she claiming to have done these things?"

"Alys - granddaughter why? Why are you doing this to yourself?" At the sight of the King's face you decide to mix as much of the truth that would blend in with your confession.

"Because - because you have failed to solve this infighting!" You couldn't help the tears that are beginning to gather on your eyes. This was too important to suddenly ignore it through your tears.

"You have only tried solving the symptoms of the problem, not the problem itself. And the moment you die this infighting will become a civil war forcing our family to kill each other. And I am too weak and tired to let this go on any longer!" You breath back in some of your mucus that was threatening to pour out along with your tears.

"When Ser Cole called me a witch for exercising control over any man drawn to me, it began my reflection and realization that I was the source of the problem. I am a fraud! I am not a princess! I am only a bastard whore who deserves the worst treatment for tearing this family apart because of my sins." You straighten your back as you slowly stood up and met the King's worried eyes.

"And so I went to the Faith Militant to finally pour out my guilt and to seek repentance. Through their education I know now if I survive this purification, I will be nothing more than a slave to serve whomever master they sell me to. I am already ruined, and they are placing me back on the path of repentance."

There were more gasps and more comments but you couldn't bother. You could feel every single eye from both factions judging you.

"Well done sinner."

"Ouh." A choker made of thorns was placed on your neck from behind. You could feel the thorns piercing your skin little by little.

"Take her to the gallows. Now begins her next stage of purification."

"Wait - what's going to happen to her?" You hear Luce ask as you feel yourself dragged and pushed out.

"Oh just the standard torture methods -" You weren't able to hear beyond that as you were dragged to the gallows area. On the journey there you feel yourself being slapped, spitted on, and your plain clothes were being torn apart. What remains is your shift underneath your clothes

XXX

Before you knew it you were on the gallows. Gathered on front of the crowd.

And someone was pushing your head in a deep bucket of water.

"Repent."

"But I am -"

Underwater again.

"Claim your faults"

"I do."

Suffocation again.

"Suffer for your salvation."

You weren't able to respond. Your head was back in underwater. You weren't sure how many times more you were dunked.

Probably because you were brought back to the present when you felt the first sting of the whip on your bare back.

You just realized as another whip hits your back that your hands were now shackled around a wooden post. Your shift was sliced or torn open to reveal your back.

"Ah" You try to hold back from saying any sound. The thorns around your neck pressing against your skin by being pressed against the post was painful enough.

"Um." The stings become even more painful as they became faster and multiple people began to participate in injuring your back.

At some point you looked down and noticed some tiny streams of blood flowing down your chest. Probably from some of the thorns now piercing your skin.

Your mind began to numb as the whipping...were they even using whips?...Became more severe as they move to your sides. Maybe it was your own way of making sure you could endure this first part of the suffering. It was only when they had stopped because it was getting dark and rain was starting to fall down, that you realized that you had been crying out in pain. You could taste your own tears, and your throat felt dry from exhaustion.

Members of the Faith Militant then splash your back with salt water. You could feel the sting from the high concentration of salt in it. Then they unshackle you briefly only to move you into another contraption.

XXX

After the first part of your punishment was finished. Or so it seemed. The members of the Faith Militant now shackled you - this time from behind - around a metal post. The metal post had the seven pointed star in your head area. It's points mockingly acting as some sort of crown surrounding your head. If earlier the thorns were piercing the front of your neck, this time you had to be careful not to lean against the post. There seemed to be not much thorns compared to the front of the choker but if you could help it you would reduce the amount of suffering you currently had to endure - after all there was only more to come when you went back to the cloistered sept.

"It appears that the Seven has now blessed us with an incoming storm filled with lightning and thunder!" The lead septon cries out as you feel some of the pain that you've endured from earlier creep into your muscles.

"We have shackled the sinner into the symbol of the Seven! This is her first divine test! If the Seven spares her from being struck by lightning and thunder, she shall proceed to walk back to our cloister sept for her 30 days of solitude. And if she manages to survive those 30 days, then we shall give Prince Aemond the chance to remove her left eye for the offense she has caused him. And then she shall be given as a slave to Ser Criston Cole!"

The storm pours stronger and everyone else quickly go in search for shelter. If this is how the Seven or any divine being decides that you should die then so be it. You were too exhausted and in pain to even attempt to control the incoming lightning that was headed your way.

"If anyone out there can hear me - if you wish me to die, then smite me quickly!"

More rain, and now you hear the thunder. The sky was now dark and black with only the fires through the windows giving any sense of light amidst the continuing heavy downpour that was making things worse to see through.

"I'm too tired...I'm not strong...I'm too weak to be strong...to any being out there - end my misery...smite me in my sleep as I hang...as I hang from this post."

You feel the thorns prick against the underside of your chin as you surrender yourself to the whims of the thunderstorm.

You weren't able to enter into your dream bedroom nor play with Gregory or meet with the Sandman and his lovely wife.

Instead you had a dreamless sleep. Funny how you were also too exhausted to dream after the events of the day.

If you died now. Perhaps this was the best way.

After all you've already said your piece to everyone involved in the infighting. If you were to be the first casualty...

You just hope that the White Worm would keep her promise about being the one to make your proposed solution come true.

"Princess?" A soft voice slowly awakens you from whatever rest you had given yourself.

"Ser Arari?"

"It is about to be dawn. Quickly open your mouth. Drink some warm water." He guides you as you drink from his cup. As you slowly become more awake, you notice that he was not alone.

"My lady, here have some food. This porridge is still really warm. Priestess Kara made it herself when she and the other Holy women noticed the rain was ending."

"Don't worry Lady Alys, the three of us had made sure that none of the Faith Militant noticed our presence." Ser Ion says as he rubs salve over your wounds.

"Bu - but why?"

"My lady, we all know of the suffering you are about to endure. Allow us to help you alleviate some of it while we still can."

"That was really brave of you my lady." Your heart feels like breaking as Ser Kormy gives you a reassuring smile from under his hood.

"You are one of the strongest people I know. And what you have done really proves it."

"The acolyte is right. Dramatic? Yes, but sometimes dramatic measures needed to be taken for the point to be heard."

"I'm still rather upset that you didn't even attempt to at least guide the lightning away from you." You do your best to give him a sad smile.

"I'm sorry - I feel so exhausted to try and do it. And you've always said it's better to stay safe than to accidentally guide the lightning towards yourself."

"...It pains me to hear you say those words."

"What words Ser Arari?"

"That you're sorry."

"My colleague, at least this time she's saying it to something she has actually done."

"Or rather hasn't done. Oh I'm sorry lady Alys - I didn't mean -"

"It's fine Ser Kormy. I'm as fine as I can be."

"Oh Princess...your cries of pain as they dunked and whipped you had put a pain in our hearts."

"Why won't you let us help you? Or if not us then why not your allies in court?" Ser Ion asks in a mix of pain, anger, and sadness.

"Be - because...it is necessary...that I do this alone...there is no...other way for them...for them to -" You coughed heavily as all three of them looked at you in despair.

"Thank you, you three. But...I...need...to do this."

There was a reluctance in all of their ends to leave you. But after making sure that you ate enough and drank enough, they left as quickly as they came.

And that's when the sun rose.

And you were unshackled from the metal post with the seven pointed star.

Only for your next task to carry it on your own as you walked on foot to the way back to the cloister sept.

"Stop this." Aemond tries demanding the lead septon.

"Your highness, as a devout member of the Faith, surely you must know that this is necessary for her purification."

"I also know that the Faith highly promotes the truth. And the truth is that she is innocent of all the sins she has admitted to yesterday." You hear his tone become even more dangerous, but from what you can tell with the lead septon's back to you - Aemond was starting to get frustrated.

"And even if she were - she still bears so much guilt. Trust me your highness, we have all heavily evaluated her and all agree that this is the appropriate penance for her purification." Of course the Faith Militant wouldn't let you go. Now that you were under their power they will take this opportunity to sadistically release all their rage against your family. You were a bastard, a woman, accused of witchcraft, and most important of all - you did not have a dragon. Of all the members of your family who could've been placed in their power to abuse, you were the best one they could have hoped for. Someone with little to no power to retaliate against them.

The lead septon moves to order your unshackling before Aemond tries once again.

"Does the Faith not also prize forgiveness?"

"Of course it does your highness."

"Then as the alleged victim of one of her offenses, I forgive her from her sin against me." He does not let the septon's eyes out of his gaze.

"I forgive her for any sins she has done against me. She has suffered enough. She already has my forgiveness, let her go." There was a pause.

"Your highness..."

"Let her go, I will personally make sure she makes amends for all of her sins. She does not deserve this septon."

"... Your highness..."

Another long pause.

"...You are merely another member of the Faith. You may have power over the next ruler, the lands, or the skies with you and your dragons. But we, the Faith Militant, have the power over souls and over things the Sept alone cannot do. True, you may have forgiven her. But unless the High Septon himself intervenes - neither you nor any member of your family has power over her purification. She is after all the cause of your infighting."

You could only guess that his frustration now showed on his face as the metal post was placed on your back as you began your long walk from the gallows to the cloister sept. Members of the Faith Militant kept a close distance. To make sure that nobody helped you carry the metal post; and to make sure that if any of your relatives decided to use their dragon against them, their positions would guarantee that any dragonfire aimed at them would also kill you too.

After several days of walking while carrying the metal post, eating the bare minimum meal that they've given you to ensure you don't die along the way, and of sleeping on the floor - your group was now back in the cloister sept.

Just a little more...

Just put the metal post on the altar...

"An applause for a task well done!" You were numb to the applause given by those around you. You were too exhausted to really appreciate it anyways. The metal post was somewhat bearable. But after being food deprived, sleep deprived, and pain induced for several days, you were surprised that you were able to make it.

"In celebration of her first major penance, she shall be given a heavier meal to prepare for the next stage of purification."

The meal it turned out didn't matter so much. It was probably one of the last sources of relief before they placed you in an entirely different room.

This room was painted white all around. The window was high enough that you couldn't reach it, but also small enough to only allow air flow to pass in the room. There was no bed, only a hay mattress with reed mats on the floor. The walls were close together - not allowing for much room to move around except perhaps to walk towards the chamber pots. One for urine, one for feces.

And nothing else.

"This room is especially designed for reflection sinner." The septa says as she removes the braids she has previously made.

"No distractions. Just thoughts and reflection. Now hold still."

She then begins cutting off your beautiful long hair.

"This is to remove your sin of vanity. After all, it would simply get in the way of your purification now in your 30 days of solitude." Maybe vainness was a sin of yours after all. Your heart breaks everytime you feel your head getting lighter. Today was the second day of your 30 days.

The next time you were brought out of your room it was about the fifth day in your thirty days.

This time they removed the thorn choker they had placed on you.

What brief relief.

And after making sure the wounds made by the thorns were cleaned and treated.

The relief ended.

XXX

"May this suffering purify her!" Someone said as they lay you on your back with your arms outstretched and your legs spread apart.

And you had to maintain that for what seemed like hours on end. If you moved, they would place it back into position. You knew when it was over because then they would make you stand before escorting you to your room of reflection as they call it.

You lost the count of when you were on your days in your 30 days of solitude. They made sure to only bring you out of your room rather sparingly. You weren't sure if you were just becoming insane at the loss of anything to do while you were just kept in your room. Even meals and hygiene washes became another chance of simply having something to do apart from your thoughts.

Your penance through stillness has evolved. This time instead of your arms outstretched, you were to keep your arms straight above you as you held various sacred objects of the Faith. Once again for hours on end. On the good side, it meant that you didn't have to be in your room as much. On the bad side, it meant more active torture from the Faith Militant.

You don't know which you preferred more. A room alone with your thoughts without anything to do and no one - not even the beings you've met in your dreams - to talk to; or actively suffering as the Faith Militant take sadistic delight in it. You pretend not to know that some of them were pleasuring themselves on the sides as they watch you struggle to endure your suffering. But even they cannot hide the smell of their sex and their releases from your senses.

Soon it evolved once again.

This time it was placing needles under every toenail as your arms struggled to keep their strength and rigidness of carrying whatever object they have you carry for that day. You thought you knew how painful needles were since you would occasionally prick yourself while doing needle work with Rhaena or Helaena. But it was an entirely different and much more painful experience when needles would be jammed underneath your toenails.

You really tried hard not to cry.

And soon because of your reactions - a lot of them you couldn't control - if there was something that they didn't like, whether it was how your tears began running from your eyes or if they didn't like your expression or how you reacted - your torturers would now quickly remove any object you were holding, stretch your arms wide, and insert needles under every fingernail.

You had to endure these things for hours on end.

You don't know how much time has passed before the lead septon had a special set of tools that was being prepared in the fire of your torture room.

"And now to remind you of the power of the Seven, we shall now place on you their star on your body." Your eyes widen, someone starts saying a prayer as you were forcefully made to lie on your back. They immediately close your legs and settle your feet on the table.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, by placing your star on her body, purify her foul sins and save her from the Seven Hells."

It began with your left foot. On the space between your toes and the joint where your leg and your foot meets. They had to hold you down, but allowed you to cry and scream in agony. All the while repeating the same statement over and over again.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, by placing your star on her body, purify her foul sins and save her from the Seven Hells."

Then it was your right foot.

Then the leftside of your hip.

Then the right.

Then your left hand inside your palm.

Then the right.

Then finally you were made to sit up.

To be branded on the back of your neck.

The only benefit you could see was that at least now you had something new to think and ponder about as you stay in the mental shackles of your room.

XXX

Whenever you rested in between your sessions of suffering you believe you have begun to lose your mind.

Perhaps they have slipped in something hallucinogenic in the food and drink they gave you to make sure you were alive for the next session.

But as you allowed your mind to rest from your waking suffering, you began to notice figures of those familiar to you.

"You've done well Alys." Says the figure of your mother. It was her voice, her mannerisms.

But it was not her.

"Trust your instincts." Says the figure of Ser Ion, nodding towards you as you notice that he and the figure of your mother have the same aura.

"You're noticing the clues fast." The figure of your father, Daemon, smirks and gives a nod to the figure of your mother.

"What else did you think?" The figure of Aemond retorts as he crosses his arms. His sword and dagger sheathed and yet something told you that he was ready for a fight at any time.

"You all vastly underestimate her."

"Including Alys herself." The figure of the Prophetess Agnes appears, judging both you and everyone else.

"And you warrior -" Aemond's figure then turns to face Agnes.

"You think yourself exempt? Only she had the balls to allow this suffering to happen to her."

"Quite true." The figure of Vereena responds gently as she appears beside Agnes.

"And yet she calls herself too weak to be considered someone strong."

Wait.

Your mother, your father, Ser Ion who teaches about Balerion who was a blacksmith and inventor, Aemond who was the best swordsman among the greens...

Then the Prophetess Agnes, the eldest among the Holy Women, and Vereena, your handmaiden...

"Are you the Seven?"

"Yes" You turn around and there was the androgynous hooded figure of the Stranger. Even the Stranger's voice is neither male or female.

"Am I hallucinating? Is this a dream?"

"We are in between the state of being awake and the state of you falling into deep sleep." Says the crone through Agnes.

"Don't worry, we have asked permission from the Sandman to meet you like this." Vereena, or rather the maiden adds.

"Alys dear." Your mother - the mother moves forward and gently holds your face in her hands.

"I am so sorry that you have to suffer like this from my followers."

"Our rather uncritical, hypocritical and fanatic followers. This was not what we had in mind when the Faith Militant was formed."

"There's no use dwelling on that, Great Father, none of us, not the Sandman, not his wife, or any of us in the divine realm can interfere with the free will of mortals." Ser Ion - the Smith says in hidden retort.

"Then why did you want to meet with me? Was it just so I have proof that you exist?"

"Our meeting is to assure you that you are where you are meant to be." Vereena says.

"Your suffering is about to end soon." The Stranger says ominously.

"Your sacrifice has inspired many things to happen. You'll find out soon, but do not lose hope Alys."

"Yes, just what the warrior has said. You are starting to remember who you are. You are far more than what you think you are."

"Don't spoil the surprise Great Mother." Agnes warns as your mother chuckles.

"Now rest. We shall see you soon. The Sandman will be peeved if we keep you from sleep any longer than necessary."

"Easy for you to say Maiden." Your father scoffs, and soon they all fade away and you once again enter into a dreamless sleep.

Your next encounter with the seven was when your torture first introduced the needles to be included in your torment.

You could still feel the pain from their new torture toys as you lay down on the mattress on the ground. They didn't give you much for supper. Just some soup and water. You were still famished and also exhausted as the only thing you feel like doing is laying yourself to rest.

Once again, they meet you in a state between deep sleep and being awake.

"You are still sleeping, just lightly." Says the Maiden, in the form of Vereena.

"If I am only lightly sleeping, then why don't I wake at the sound of something that would alarm me?"

"You're sleeping deeper than what would ordinarily be considered light. But you are not yet in the state of deep sleep. Which is why you initially thought you were hallucinating."

"Sometimes I believe I still am Ser Ion - I mean, Smith." He chuckles at this. It was trying to mimic Ser Ion's laugh but you couldn't point out why there's something odd about it.

"To be fair the Smith is currently in the form of another being."

"Another being Great Mother?" You ask.

"You'll find out in time." Answered the Great father as he settles himself beside the Great mother.

"May I ask you all - why are you doing this? Helping me? Reassuring me that I'm not going insane?" You couldn't see all seven but you can feel all their eyes on you.

"We made a promise to both the Sandman and his wife to protect you while you are in this world." The warrior using Aemond's form and voice says as he goes closer to you until your gazes meet as he lowers himself to your level.

"Or at least to do our best to protect and help you without interfering with free will." The warrior says softly, his gaze infinitely more softer than you've ever seen on the actual Aemond.

You were confused.

By now you know that you must have been close with both the Sandman and his wife. After all they reintroduced you to Gregory. It was clear that they care for you and are watching over you even now.

"I know they care about me, and I probably care about them. But why would they be so concerned about my life here? I'm just a strange mortal who has developed powers that no one else in Westeros has. And even if they happen to be secret Targaryen powers, of all people why do I have to be the one to inherit them?"

The warrior, the smith, and the father chuckles. The mother, the maiden, and the crone exchange knowing looks.

"I'm afraid we cannot answer that." The stranger goes closer to you. Oddly you can feel an aura of gentleness from the androgynous being.

"You do not know it yet, but you already have the answers you seek. If we told you now it would only cause more harm than good."

"We understand your impatience to know." The Great mother says as she walks towards you. The warrior making room for her to hold your hands.

"And if it were up to us - and many beings who have been watching over you - we would have already told you. But if we did, you wouldn't be able to grow."

"To do that would be to mess with Destiny!" The crone adds to the mother's comment.

"To mess with Destiny is to make the path harder and more difficult." The crone says ominously.

"And none of us -"

"Not we, the Seven -"

"The Sandman -"

"His wife -"

"And even Destiny -"

"None of us -"

"Want that for you."

Then all the seven merged into one androgynous being. You could only see the silhouette of a human body, the light emanating from the form prevented you from seeing any specific details beyond the silhouette.

"There are other beings who already seek to harm you. Both mortal and divine. Which is why you must trust yourself to find the answers you seek on your own." The being's voice is a combination of all the voices you've heard by being in various forms that were familiar to you. With the Stranger's voice being the lead voice to make everything clearer.

"Is my only choice to wait for the memories to comeback? Is there no other way?"

"Allow yourself to dream once again. You know by now that it's easier for you to remember in the world of dreams."

"I find myself too exhausted and too frightened to dream while I am here."

"Then allow me to assist you. I shall make sure you are allowed a full night to dream and a full night to rest."

"But - but what if the Faith Militant forces me to wake up in the middle of it all? After all you cannot interfere with free will."

"True, but I can still exercise my influence over my devotees...Perhaps it is about time I enlighten them on a few things. And don't underestimate the Sandman's ability too."

You give the being of the Seven a nod as you feel him guide you. Soon enough you feel the presence of the Sandman as you also feel yourself relax even more.

You see him on front of you in what appears to be a garden.

"Thank you Septimus."

"You're welcome Sandman." The Sandman says as you take his hand.

"I shall see you later Alys." The being then fades away.

"Septimus?"

"One of the Seven's many names. They adopted it whenever they choose to appear as a singular merged being. The name simply means 'Seven' or 'the Seventh' in an existing language. But enough of that - how are you? Truly?"

It was in seeing the care and concerned in his eyes that you find yourself breaking down. You couldn't help but simply cry heavily on his shoulder as he embraces you and rubs on your back.

"I'm - I'm - I'm so sorry ...that I'm..."

"It's fine. Release everything you feel inside."

For awhile it seemed all you did was sob on his shoulder as he rubbed your back and gently rocked you to soothe you as you released your sobs.

When you calmed down and released him from your embrace in his hands was a napkin and a large crystal goblet filled with the bubbly water.

"Do you...Do you think I've taken it too far? By allowing myself to suffer at the hands of the Faith Militant and claiming many of my family's sins as my own...Is it too much?" You ask him as you take occasional sips from the large crystal goblet. The bubbly water refreshing you.

"I think that you made the choice that you believed would solve the problems that you see are emerging. And with the limited information that you have and the limited options given the recent circumstances surrounding your kidnapping...it was the choice that was the most promising." A part of you wishes Gregory would appear, but you're also too exhausted to do anything but pet him. Besides you need an outsider's perspectives on your journey so far.

"Is it worth it? Was my suffering worth it? Or was all the pain just done to me in vain?"

"Alys." His voice was soothing as he offers you his shoulder once again. This time you lay your head sidewards.

"If it's any consolation, my wife and I experienced our own kind of suffering watching what they were doing to you...And yet knowing that we cannot intervene...However only you can tell me if your voluntary suffering was worth it."

"But I'm still stuck, here in this place of suffering. And I have no idea if my pain has any effect beyond the Faith Militant abusing me sadistically. I am now an outlet for their wrath and ill will towards my family."

"I may be able to give you some encouragement if those are your worries."

"Oh? How?" You turn to face him, his eyes still gentle but his voice had a hint of authority.

"I cannot tell you the details - but know that there are discussions now made among various influential authorities."

"On what?" He remains silent.

"That's already a sufficient hint for you to not lose hope. You're beginning to awaken, it won't be long now. You're doing very well." You awaken, finding yourself well rested for the first time in a long time.

The next timeyou encounter the seven was after you were branded with the star of the seven in seven areas of your body. Or rather it wasn't an encounter in the present time. It was an encounter with them in a memory. A memory which felt too odd to be real, but it had the same familiarity as your other memories that you've experienced so far.

"Are you ready?" You ask the same merged androgynous form. It was early morning and the sun had just risen up. The merged form that the Sandman has called Septimus, nods at you and before your eyes the form divides itself into seven spheres of floating energy. You feel yourself gathering energy and making it flow to the seven floating shperes. Slowly but ever surely, as they get more of the energy you were guiding towards them, all seven spheres slowly mold into humanoid figures. It was hard work, this process taking several days, but by the time the sun sets on the seventh day of you essentially feeding energy to the seven figures, they were now fully formed aspects of what once was one. All seven of them were now able to to move independently, yet connected from each other,

"Oh thank you, thank you so much!" The figure of themaiden cries, but nearly stumbles before the figure of the smith caught her before she fell to the ground.

"Careful Maiden. You're still a new being; made from the thoughts and beliefs of the people here in the Andal Hills. You all must take the time to practice moving as people do. Adjust yourselves to -"

You feel something move in your pocket of your dress.

"Excuse me for a moment." You go outside away from their presence. Not for the sake of privacy - they were still divine beings who had better hearing than any mortal even if you had guided life force energy in their separate aspects - but rather to be able to check the item moving rapidly.

You take out what appears to be a bronze circular brooch. Inside the circle was a cross and two lines diagonally placed. All of them meeting at the center.

The sign of the crossroads.

You instantly knew who was trying to call you.

The memory ends before it was revealed. But you had a feeling of dread, that it was about to lead to something horrible.

Some time after you've experienced that memory, you were brought before the lead septon of your torment. Or purification as they say. According to him and other members responsible for your "Purification", they've decided to give you an option on how to proceed.

Or rather it's an illusion of choice.

"You want me to become a sex slave?!"

"One of your sins is for the rape of one of the Kingsguard. It's only fair that since you did not value your virtue and gave in to your lust, we believe the most adequate way to purify you and show you the error of your ways is to be in relieving others."

"What's wrong with my penance so far?"

"You are not yet adequately broken sinner. If you choose to accept being in service for the next two weeks we won't give you as a slave to Ser Cole anymore upon your last day. Surely you would think this is an opportunity that must be taken." You hear the soft chuckles of the Faith Militant surrounding you.

So this was their plan?

To break you through torture just to violate you sexually under the delusion of purification.

You see it all now.

You may have never been with a man but this isn't how you would want your first experience to be.

"I refuse."

"I had a feeling you were going to say that. We'll be adding 40 more days to your purification here."

"But - But you said that it will only last for 30 days -"

"That was before we found out that you are not yet truly broken."

"And how do you expect to tell the public that?"

"The public and your family have all forgotten about you by now. Why do you think that no one has intervened on your behalf sinner? Even they agree that you are better off here than in court."

You were dragged back into your room.

XXX

For awhile you are simply left to your room, your imagination taunting yourself at what they may possibly have in store. What seemed like days later, they brought you again to your room of torture.

Here once you laid back they place a piece of cloth to cover your entire face. And then they slowly dripped water - or at least you assume it was water - on to the cloth.

Before you knew it you found yourself suffocating.

XXX

"Accept the offer, and you shall be free before you know it."

Don't lose hope

People kept telling you mysteriously to not lose hope. The Priestess Kara, the Sandman, the mysterious being who spoke through Ser Kormy...they all kept emphasizing not to lose hope.

Not to give up.

You weren't sure how you were able to do it, but you managed to survive each suffocating session.

And soon they started to feed you something strange. Probably drugs mixed in with the food that they gave you. You were more than sure that your imagination wasn't this crazy or vivid within the blank walls of your room.

Soon they made sure that you were in a state of high vividness and you took in even more of whatever they were feeding you. It made the sessions even worse.

But still you would not give in.

You would not lose hope.

You would rather have the Stranger take you than to serve their sexual needs with the excuse that you were purifying yourself. Better to die a virgin then.

Your hallucinations got even worse as time goes on.

It was tricky trying to distinguish what was your imagination and what was hallucinations mentally choking you.

All this within the confines of the blank walls.

You don't want to lose hope but you were exhausted.

"Given how she is, it's possible she could expire any day now."

"Isn't the food and the drugs helping?"

"The drugs absorbed quickly because of how little she has taken food. She only takes liquids now." You hear them when they think you are asleep. Strangely nowadays you find yourself too exhausted to even sleep right away.

You began to notice how serious it is when they begin sending the confessor septon to you. Him dressed in all black with a black hood concealing his face.

"Why black?"

"It's because the Stranger may claim you anyday now. You have become too fragile for any active forms of purification."

"Is it because my body now rejects any food other than soup?"

"Perhaps sinner."

He was one of the more gentler confessors. They would change who got to be your last confessor everyday. Their times unpredictable but they always came in a black hood covering their faces.

Your mind was too tired and too drugged on whatever substance they keep feeding you till now. It was too exhausting to remember the various different voices. They were all different and yet so the same.

You don't know how long you've been here anymore. It must be longer than 30 days. Or maybe it only seemed to be longer than 30 days.

You don't want to give up hope.

But you also want it to end.

All your supernatural experiences seemed to tell you that if you didn't immediately remember your much needed memories, everything might come back after you die.

If that's the case then maybe you should at least prepare. You feel yourself going colder each day.

You decide to make a confession to whomever comes to you next. The Seven had promised you, the Sandman, and his wife, their protection of you. Surely they could understand why you did what you've done. You weren't going to force your death - you couldn't even intentionally harm yourself. But if you were to die, at least you told someone everything.

You were not giving up hope.

There's a chance that your confessor could somehow contribute to whatever the White Worm has in mind.

Have faith, have hope.

Once again you find yourself struggling to sleep. Finding many thoughts in your head and too exhausted to simply sink into a deep slumber. They must have increased the dosage of the drugs because you find your mind numb, and your mental images even more vivid than before.

A black hooded figure once again enters your room.

There was something different about him from your other confessors.

The way the figure moves with both strength and remorse.

Now you understand.

"Have you come to be my final confessor Stranger?" Who else could it have been? The being of the Seven did promise to see you later.

This must be your time.

"Alys?" Strange, the voice sounded really similar to Aemond's. Why switch up forms now?

"I see you want me to be comfortable with what you are about to do. And so now you appear before me in a form that pleases me." How ironically fitting that the Stranger is going to take you in Aemond's form.

You cared for him.

You aren't sure if this is called love.

You weren't even sure if this was infatuation or lust.

But since there is no point in running away from the inevitable...you may not know what name to place on your feelings, but you cared for him deeply.

If only the two of you were born in different circumstances.

"Alys, its me-"

"I know Stranger, but there's no point in hiding what you are about to do. Please Stranger, before you take me to be judged by the Great father. Please hear my last confession before you take me. And please, for my dying wish...please take me in my sleep. I'm so tired and exhausted, I want it to be as painless as possible. At least in my sleep...in my dreams, I could be free to who I am. Even though I don't quite know what that is yet."

The Stranger pauses.

"...Very well, what is your last confession?"

Slowly yet surely you pour out everything that had been plaguing your heart and mind.

"Then why? Why did you choose this? This suffering for the sins that are not yours?" Odd, there was something in the Stranger's voice. A mix of sadness, anger, frustration, and pain.

"Because they were all hurt by those sins. No one was going to do anything to solve the problems. Instead they let it foster until that hurt makes them inflict the hurt on others. Everyone, including my own mother, has too much pride and ego to have a heart to heart talk. I know how messy these kinds of talks are, but we are born into a system wherein there is too much at stake. And it seems only I - all I want is to not have bloodshed. I don't need them to be friends, but I want a solution that will stop the dispute without killing anyone."

"...Some people say that would be too good to come true." You couldn't help but smile at this.

"My father has already said that. Even Aemond, the one whose form you are in has the same sentiments. But if dreamers are powerless, then why were we spared from the Doom of Valyria because of a dream? Why did Nymeria become the ruler of Dorne with only a dream along with her army? Without the ability to dream of better things...better changes...then we resign ourselves to only being satisfied with far less than we deserve."

"Then don't you think that even you deserve better?"

"Of course, but just as the White Worm says, everything worth doing has always some risk. If this is to be my last few moments then I'm happy that the people will remember me for being the ultimate traitor who was the source of the family infighting. After all what else could unite people of all kinds than a common enemy? I already know that by claiming those sins as my own, both factions and everyone at court wishes me to suffer and die. All I'm doing is simply giving everyone what they want."

"And what makes you think that this is what they want?"

"Simple, through my solution, my brothers would be released from my mother's schemes of using them for positions they don't even want...my -" You cough a few times before resuming.

"My uncle, Aegon, would be free from a postion he doesn't want without having to flee to Essos or to die. My own mother and Aemond will be forced to be tested which of them would be a better ruler - and this will hopefully put an end to the dispute. Because whomever becomes the victor will have the people by their side, not just the disputable whims of the King. Of course not all would be satisfied - which is why whomever loses shall still have a permanent place in the counsel to keep the balance."

You take a heavy breath as you feel yourself getting colder.

"I know it's idealistic. It will probably never be implemented. And yet even now I can't afford to lose either hope or faith. It's the only way I see that gives the opportunity for those who don't want to rule to step aside; for those who wants to rule to assert themselves; and for them to be vetted by the people they will rule over. After all Aemond has been doing his best to prepare to rule, but has simply never had the opportunity."

Your eyes start to close.

"It...it seems that is all the breath...I have for a...a last confession...but you and...and the other Seven...probably already know ... my own thoughts and feelings..."

You feel the Stranger move to take your hands.

Funny how warm they are.

"Alys."

"You can take me now...thank you for listening Stranger."

You feel someone move to carry you, vaguely hear shouts, and someone else who touched your hands.

The Stranger feels so warm as you are cradled like a baby.

You then succumb to the darkness of rest.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: DON'T WORRY SHE'S NOT DEAD! She's just knocked out into a coma. You'll see in the next chapter:

1.) If it isn't obvious already, I took a lot of inspiration from the Passion of Jesus Christ (out of season I know. In a few days its supposedly the celebration of his birth - never thought my culturally forced Catholic education would be used this way but here we are). In some ways I reversed the order of the Passion by having the "Cruxifiction" part be done first and to aggravate it by making her carry the metal post to the place where she would be "purified";

2.) Some of the tortures used are a mix and match of real life medieval torture of alleged witches during the Spanish Inquisition era. I stayed away from any genital related tortures because that was personally too much for me;

3.) I know the Faith Militant was only revived during the GOT time of events and they are disbanded during the Dance of Dragons. How I decided to write it is that they are only legally disbanded but unofficially and in practice they are still very much present and the main branch of the Faith just ignore what they're doing since they benefit from having them as both the more radical branch and as their unofficial armed forces/torturers. And since they are also still angry at the Targaryens, the moment Alys goes to them they are going to milk that opportunity as much as they can;

4.) I was really excited to write this part because it was one of the first scenes or parts that was in my head when my real life friends and I were discussing what would be a challenge or a situation that could not be solved by Aemond's overcompensating in his mind, and abilities. And as @aemonds-war-crime has already pointed out, Aemond is just as devout as Alicent to the Faith of the Seven. Having a branch of the Faith actively torturing and only seeing him as not a Prince but simply another member of the Faith would force him to seek another way of helping Alys;

5.) At first I was wondering how to introduce the Seven to Alys, but then I recalled someone say how sometimes deities adapt the forms of people you love or are familiar with in order to make you comfortable or to get the point across. Also by having an aspect of the Seven adapt to the form of Aemond it also allows her to confess to Aemond while thinking he is the Stranger who has come to take her and end her life (I mean in a way she has died, but its not physical);

6.) If you're wondering why I didn't allow her to confess her feelings for him, it's because her feelings play a role later. But if it helps, Aemond is starting to suspect both his own and how she feels for him; and

7.) For the bronze brooch featured in the memory with the Seven- imagine an asterisk inside of a circled border. That is essentially what it is 😅; and

8.) I got the name "Septimus" from Stardust (Yes I know another Neil Gaiman property).

Don't be afraid to comment.

#Higher Intervention #the sandman #house of the dragon #zaldrizo lentor #Aemond Targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #Aemond x reader #hotd #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #Sandman fanfiction

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strings0fcontrol · 7 months

Text

Hannigram – Post-Fall (17)

Will seemed to be the narrative's favored character, although that typically didn't bode well for him. Instead of being endowed with plot armor, he found himself burdened with plot trauma. His personal chamber of mental torment, and Miu was his executioner. Wonderful. Attempting to regain his composure, he scanned the surroundings, squinting at the images. Some appeared crisp and clear, while others seemed distorted, fragmented, and a few even appeared to vibrate before his eyes.

What is it that Miu is attempting to convey to him? His gaze roamed the room, and his thoughts labored to unearth an answer. Introspection hung in the air. The answer resided somewhere within these images, but what answer was it? And to what question did it pertain?

Miu surged forward, its graceful and silent steps bringing it closer to the next memory. It stood beside the imagery and turned its gaze toward Will, who trailed after the creature. He cast a cautious glance at it before reaching out to touch the memory, allowing it to play. He heard a brisk, commanding knock at the door, followed by the abrupt intrusion of light into an otherwise dimly lit room. At its radiant epicenter stood Hannibal, his presence commanding attention. The good doctor's lips traced a slow, deliberate path with his tongue upon laying eyes on Graham.

"Good morning, Will. May I come in?" Hannibal's presence at the door left Will in a state of disorientation. Looking back on the moment, it felt as if a vampire had sought permission to cross the threshold into his home.

"Where’s Crawford?" His shadowy image inquired, its searching blue eyes darting about as if seeking a lifeline.

"Deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today," Hannibal responded, a subtle trace of amusement lingering in his countenance. Subsequently, his gaze drifted past Will, seemingly ensnared by an imperceptible barrier, only to snap back to the profiler with expectant intensity. "… May I come in?" Hannibal inquired again. Will, against his better judgment, had granted him wordless entry, ushering him into the intimate realms of his life. Within the next moment, they had transitioned to the table, settling into their seats as Hannibal unveiled his home-cooked meal, a dish that, upon reflection, undoubtedly concealed the sinister secret of human flesh as one of its ingredients.

"I’m very careful about what I put into my body, which means I end up preparing most meals myself. A little protein scramble to start the day. … Some eggs, some sausage."

Sausage, in all likelihood crafted from the remains of Cassie Boyle. Will speared a piece of meat with his fork with less than graceful finesse. He then snapped it between his teeth, his gaze flitting uneasily through the narrow gap between his curtains. As he chewed, his attention appeared to abruptly sharpen.

"Mm, it’s delicious. Thank you." He had anticipated his gag reflex to surge at the recollection of consuming human flesh, yet it remained surprisingly dormant. Now, that piqued his interest. Miu leaned in from behind, prompting Graham to cast a cautious and assessing glance upward. Despite feeling his heart momentarily skip a beat, he managed to maintain his composure and concealed his reaction. He continued to watch as the cat displayed a curiously keen interest in the imaginary meal set upon the plate of his memories. Fascinating, indeed. His inner self, the facet free from the constraints of societal norms, appeared entirely unperturbed by the concept of cannibalism. It regarded it with nonchalance, an absolutely intriguing revelation.

"My pleasure," Hannibal's voice echoed in the background, but Will's focus remained locked on the massive feline, whose eyes seemed to practically salivate at the sight of the meal. At least now, he was certain of the creature's diet: humans.

Though, once more, his countenance remained a steadfast fortress concealing his thoughts and emotions, a curious question lingered in his mind: what if it had seized him at the house? How excruciatingly painful would that divergent fate have been, had destiny charted a different course?

"I would apologize for my analytical ambush, but I know I will soon be apologizing again, and you’ll tire of that eventually, so–I have to consider using apologies sparingly." Hannibal pressed on, effortlessly recapturing everyone's attention.

"Just keep it professional." Will deflected, causing Hannibal's gaze to snap toward his own meal. The fork idly toyed with a morsel of egg. The maneuver had evidently struck a nerve.

"Or we could socialize, like adults," Lecter’s tone quickened, its edges becoming noticeably sharper, albeit with a subtle undercurrent of agitation. Just as swiftly as his irritation had surfaced, he imposed a deliberate pause by placing a forkful of egg into his mouth, his tone subsequently regaining its composure and steadiness. "God forbid we become friendly." ‘God forbid we become friendly.’ Will thought, and another cold realization sent a shiver down his spine. It became abundantly clear that Hannibal had harbored the intention of forging a ‘friendship’ right from the very beginning.

How desperate and yearning Hannibal could become, Will mused inwardly. It vaguely amused him, and he found himself struggling to suppress a sly, knowing smirk that threatened to tug at his lips. Oh, these memories promised to be highly enlightening. Miu was acting as his instructor, imparting the art of deciphering Hannibal's thoughts and actions, effectively arming him with potent ammunition. "I don’t find you that interesting," Will nearly choked, hastily swallowing to speak, his gaze fixed upon the steaming contents of his cup. With his cup positioned as a physical barrier, he sought to ward off Lecter on every conceivable level.

“You will,” Hannibal spoke in soft tones, though in retrospect, his words bore an unsettling semblance to a veiled threat.

Indeed, Hannibal had managed to pique Will's interest in a way he couldn't deny. Congratulations, Dr. Lecter. Will found himself torn between the urge to burst into laughter or succumb to tears, his body trembling as the scene continued. Hannibal lingered for a moment before taking his next forkful of eggs, his gaze fixed firmly on Will, evidently studying him intently.

"Agent Crawford tells me you have a knack for the monsters," Hannibal remarked. As he spoke, Miu shot a nearly judgmental glance in Will's direction. Will met the creature's gaze, his brow furrowing, before he simply shrugged, his lips forming a tight line.

Meanwhile, Graham's shadowy figure set the fork aside and gently slid the plate away, creating space for his arms to cross in another protective barrier. His hands cradled his elbows, employing a self-soothing gesture. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his interest in the conversation now unmistakable.

"I don’t think the Shrike killed that girl in the field," As Will spoke, Hannibal's immediate reaction was to raise his gaze, his curiosity and interest palpably evident. He was undeniably correct about that, an irony in how no one seemed to believe him. Now, Hannibal was thoroughly intrigued. He folded his arms onto the table, drawing closer to Will, mirroring his posture but leaning in much further. His level of interest eclipsed that of Will's.

"The devil is in the details," Lecter spoke, his right index finger ascended, pointing, as his voice gained a subtle but commanding volume and presence. "What didn’t your copycat do to the girl in the field?" His index finger descended, and his tone quickened, tinged with curiosity, as though he were ravenous for a revelation. "What gave it away?"

The devil resided within the details, yes, and those very details lay before him. Hannibal was consumed by curiosity, eager to ascertain if Will could discern his presence concealed within those little subtleties. He yearned to be noticed, to be seen by Will. Graham could sense his breath growing slightly louder, a chorus of emotions swirling within him. Amidst the tumult, one emotion emerged prominently: heat, a simmering fervor that coiled within his lower abdomen. He was undeniably excited. It wasn't a pristine emotion; there was a sinister shadow clinging to it, but he could roughly categorize it as excitement.

See?

"Everything." Will swept his right hand through the air, the gesture emphasizing the scale of his point, but then he anxiously bit his lip and retreated his hand to cover his mouth, absentmindedly stroking his beard—a manifestation of self-soothing behavior. What traversed his mind, clearly unsettled him. Redirecting his hand once more, it suddenly adopted a vivacious and animated demeanor, becoming quite the conversationalist in its own right. "It’s like he had to show me a negative so that I could see the positive." He paused, both hands retreating to rub his face, his demeanor clearly unsettled, profoundly so. It felt as though an unrelenting fire was searing its way through his mind. "That crime scene was practically gift-wrapped." With a gesture reminiscent of someone offering a gift, Will's hands stretched out toward Lecter, who listened with rapt attention.

It was a gift presented to Will, quite literally bestowed upon him by Hannibal. In all fairness, Hannibal had indeed aided Will in obtaining a crystal-clear image of the killer. Simultaneously, this moment was bestowed, as if gift-wrapped by Miu for Will, a deliberate offering intended to unveil something profound. Hannibal recoiled, momentarily appearing as though he had been taken aback, swiftly retracting his left arm from the table. It was as if he had been genuinely unsettled or surprised by the precision with which Will had discerned the image. Awe and caution danced in his eyes. He harbored no fear, yet it was evident that he had registered Will as a conceivable threat.

"The mathematics of human behavior, all those ugly variables." Hannibal paused, smoothed his jacket, then slowly extended his hand back toward the table, his fingers reaching for his fork with cautious grace. "Some bad math with this Shrike fellow, huh?" Will busied himself by pouring another cup, briefly allowing his gaze to flicker toward Lecter. "Are you reconstructing his fantasies?" Hannibal interjected, a subtle note of amusement in the final part of his utterance, one that, upon reflection, bore a more nuanced and possibly suggestive undertone than he had initially realized.

"Heh." An involuntary smirk graced Will's lips, as though the emotion had surged forth with irresistible force. ‘Reconstructing his fantasies,’ indeed. He felt a newfound determination to reconstruct them now, sensing an internal shift. It was gradually dawning on him what Miu intended to convey. The creature was laying out all the puzzle pieces, extending to him a workshop, a sort of playground where he could assemble the mosaic of his thoughts. In an ironic twist, it was granting him precisely what he needed. Will had once declared his disdain for uncertainty, and now, it was offering him the tools to craft clarity. Within the fortress lay a forge, and Miu, with a generous spirit, provided him the iron needed to craft his own sword. "What kind of problems does he have?" Hannibal asked. Graham squinted at the shadow, inhaling sharply. It was evident that Hannibal was probing, attempting to discern what Will perceived within him.

"Uh, he has a few," Will replied with a subtle tilt of his head, the wide-eyed, slightly startled look in his eyes suggesting that he might have been wary of delving too deeply into the implications of that statement. Will took a measured sip from his cup, and Hannibal's gaze, in response, retreated, snapping back to the eggs as if he were nursing some internal disappointment or frustration over the statement. It hinted at a vulnerability, and perhaps even a trace of insult, lurking beneath the surface. Did Hannibal genuinely possess the audacity to expect a compliment when posing such a question? Without a doubt, yes.

"You ever have any problems, Will?" Hannibal retorted, and only then did he permit his gaze to reconnect, leaning ever so slightly forward. Graham squinted once more, his head tilting as he contemplated the scene. The shift in tone and the transition from a straightforward question left him wondering if he had wounded Hannibal in some way. Of course, he had. He couldn't help but acknowledge the pettiness; naturally, Hannibal felt a surge of anger for not receiving what he desired. Hannibal Lecter had a multitude of issues, but there was one undeniable trait everyone could concur on: he was a petty and horny little whore. And that's precisely what led to his apprehension. In the background, the cup that Will had been holding met the table with a gentle thud.

"No," Will retorted with a sardonic smile, lifting the cup back to his lips.

"Of course you don’t," Hannibal's voice started in a low register before gradually adopting a louder, more authoritative tone once more. Yet, it carried a mocking undercurrent, concealed beneath the surface layers. "You and I are just alike, … problem-free ," he emphasized that particular part with precision, almost leaning in as he delivered it, before abruptly retracting his gaze and his proximity from Will and redirecting his focus to his meal. "Nothing about us to feel horrible about." Lecter paused, observing as Will took another forkful of the meal, a glint of satisfaction dancing in his eyes, as if he relished knowing the truth of what Will was consuming. It was evident he was contemplating how best to respond to the stinging gesture in kind. "You know, Will?" He paused again, then leaned in, "I think Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup. The finest China, used for only special guests." Ah, there he was, pressing Will's buttons, his actions almost akin to a seductive dance, asserting control over the situation. He provoked Graham. The imagery Hannibal had planted in his mind painted a picture of Jack treating him like a delicate, fragile teacup, requiring special care. This notion brewed a storm of emotions within Will—disgust, anger, and an inexplicable urge to choke Hannibal, right before his eyes. It was an impulse that surfaced suddenly, leaving him bewildered. Before he could make sense of it all, the haunting echoes of his own tormented laughter filled the room, and his eyes shifted to his own shadow. Will had reclined in his seat, gently stroking his beard, all the while Hannibal wore a smug smirk aimed squarely at him.

"How do you see me?" Will inquired, and an abrupt silence pervaded the space, with Hannibal's countenance taking on a significantly more intense expression. Light and shadow played upon his countenance, with nearly equal distribution gracing only one side of his face—a visage akin to a devil kissed by the touch of light.

"The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by." Hannibal spoke with a composed tone, but his enchanting eyes revealed a subtle vulnerability—a slight twitch of his lids, a determined effort to maintain his composure. That little flicker of black, a blur of motion against the captivating interplay of browns, grays, and greens swirling within his irises. He fought to resist blinking, to maintain a steadfast gaze directly ahead, and in doing so, he unwittingly revealed the truth. The snakes, a reference to the FBI.

Will's smile quivered, teetering on the brink of being maintained, only to ultimately fade away, replaced by a crease between his brows. With his reclined posture and limbs resting on the armrests, Graham appeared as though he had been utterly defeated, akin to a man sitting in a chair awaiting execution. In stark contrast, Hannibal sat ramrod straight, a fork clutched in his right hand, his left hand carefully guarding his meal, and a radiant smile gracing his lips. Lecter had taken firm control of the situation, and Will had just been served his metaphorical Henkersmahlzeit.

"Finish your breakfast," Hannibal commanded, his demeanor almost cheerfully focused on his meal. It felt like a command given to a dog, and Will sensed his anger simmering just beneath the surface. His breath became slow and heavy, and as the scene paused, it started to transition to the moment they were seated in the car. Graham stood outside in the parking space, patiently awaiting the arrival of the car. The window on his side was rolled down, affording him a clear view of the unfolding conversation.

"What are you smiling at?" Will asked as he caught Hannibal’s amusement. Lecter appeared subtly taken aback by Will's astute observation, as if he had momentarily faltered—a rarity considering his usual penchant for toying with other FBI agents. Yet, in a swift pivot, he recognized the depth of Will's observation and regretted his lapse in caution. He was selecting his words with utmost care and precision.

"Peeking behind the curtain. I’m just curious how the FBI goes about its business when it’s not kicking in doors." Hannibal responded with satisfaction evident in his demeanor. Of course, he was pleased, for he was truly peering behind the curtains, gaining valuable insights on how to evade capture. In essence, he held a backstage pass to the unfolding drama.

"You’re lucky we’re not doing house-to-house interviews," Will seized the opportunity to inject a bit of sass, although his tone quickly settled into a more serious demeanor. "We found a little piece of metal in Elise Nichols’ clothes, a shred from a pipe threader." Hannibal found himself both intrigued and cautious in equal measure.

"There must be hundreds of construction sites all over Minnesota." And now he was probing for specifics. Details on how they narrowed down their search.

"A certain kind of metal, certain kind of pipe, certain kind of pipe coating, so we’re checking all the construction sites that use that kind of pipe." Will, thoroughly exasperated by Lecter's presence and desperately wanting him to be silent, effectively handed over that information on a silver platter.

"What are we looking for?" Hannibal leaned in with a cheeky demeanor, posing yet another probing question in his quest for additional information.

"At this stage, anything, really. But mostly, anything peculiar," Will spoke, adamantly avoiding eye contact with Lecter until the very last moment. He practically bolted from the car, eager to escape both the onslaught of further questions and the company of the persistently sociable creature beside him.

Hannibal appeared genuinely amused by the situation. This piqued Will's interest; after all, he had exited the car, making it impossible for him to have caught a glimpse of Hannibal's expression. How, precisely, had these events been etched into his memories, and how could they retain such an extraordinarily vivid level of detail? So thoroughly engrossed in observing and mentally dissecting the scene, Will had remained oblivious to Miu's whereabouts and actions. He scanned his surroundings, searching for the demon, but at some indiscernible moment, it had simply vanished, leaving him completely clueless as to when it had slipped away. It was a puzzle without a readily apparent solution. Intrigued, he resolved to shadow Hannibal's every move.

As they entered, delving into the files, Will couldn't help but feel increasingly exasperated. The more he observed, the stronger the urge grew to facepalm and yank out his own hair in frustration. He had been right there, beside him the entire time, peering over his shoulder.

Hannibal had keenly observed as Will singled out Garret Jacob Hobbs by analyzing the resignation letters. Will had gone so far as to inquire about the existence of a daughter, offering an uncannily precise description that would later match Abigail. Moreover, he had openly shared his observations about what he found peculiar in the letter, unwittingly furnishing Hannibal with even more valuable information. And even before Will grasped it, Hannibal possessed all the necessary tools to make that fateful call. He had unwittingly handed him the metaphorical axe to execute Abigail with. Had he found himself in the company of anyone other than Hannibal, had it just been Jack that day, Abigail might still have stood a chance of being alive. Hannibal had placed unwavering faith in Will's deduction, believing him without a shadow of doubt. This belief weighed on Will's conscience, causing an overwhelming desire to vanish into a void where nothing could touch him.

The incident with the files slipping and falling was no accident either; it was precisely when Hannibal had placed that accursed call—the call that had left Abigail orphaned. If only Will had instructed Hannibal to descend and deal with his wretched mess instead of obediently plunging into the mire himself, perhaps there wouldn't have been enough time for that ill-fated call to be made.

If just one of his choices had diverged on that fateful day—had he not allowed Hannibal in, not permitted his company, not responded to his inquiries, not granted him that solitary moment with the phone—Abigail might have been spared. This realization churned within his stomach like a corrosive, seething acid.

His throat seared with a burning sensation, and his internal turmoil vibrated within him, as the surrounding sounds dissolved into an indistinct cacophony, akin to a painting of blurred colors collapsing in on themselves. Will had to withdraw, his composure crumbling beneath the weight of the memories. The scene came to a halt, and he had to regain control of his breath. Overwhelmed didn't begin to describe it. It felt as though he were not only reliving those moments but also observing himself as a detached spectator, and he found it nearly unbearable.

He found himself unable to speak, resorting instead to the physical release of his mounting frustration through vigorous rubbing and clawing at his own skin. He searched for an outlet—something to kick or hurl in a fit of anger.

Will found himself powerless to alter the situation. The emotions felt like fragments displaced in time, remnants of unprocessed feelings he had never allowed to surface. His gaze shifted to the creature. Mirroring the way he had denied Miu the space to truly exist.

However, amid his observations of the entity, one intriguing detail seized his attention, momentarily arresting his thoughts and redirecting them onto an entirely different course: a subtle inner glow emanating from its belly, as if it had consumed flames. Will's mouth fell agape, his scrutiny intensifying, his head tilting slightly. One eye narrowed, while the opposite eyebrow arched. The thought was barely taking shape, but it lingered there, just within his grasp. Could Miu be consuming emotions? As it drew nearer, Will's instinctual urge to retreat surged, but he found himself immobilized by fear as it reached out and leaned over him. Paralyzed, he acquiesced as it seized both of his upper arms with a grip as unyielding as stone cuffs. He could do nothing but watch as its colossal jaw opened, seemingly splitting its visage horizontally, revealing the true extent of its vast mouth, threatening to sever his head from his shoulders. However, this was not the creature's intention. The grip was formidable, and he sensed himself rendered immobile by the sheer presence of it, yet it did not inflict pain or constrict him; rather, it held him in a firm but gentle embrace.

He peered down its cavernous throat, witnessing muscular seals parting and a screeching suction that seemed poised to pull him inside. It was absorbing his emotions, voraciously devouring them, extracting the feelings directly from his mouth without ever making contact with his lips. It was as if it was feasting on his very soul, drawing the anger out of his chest and providing him with emotional relief. He observed the petite wisps of energy, painted in hues of orange and red, a sight akin to magic, yet searing like molten magma. They vanished down its throat, as though it were spewing fire in reverse. He sensed the scorching heat, tasted the corrosiveness, and experienced the biting sting of the emotion on his tongue, like the sensation of acid. He fixed his gaze upon the teeth, reminiscent of an anglerfish's but neatly arrayed in two rows, evoking the precision of a shark's dental layout. What struck him most was their remarkable mobility. Each tooth was tethered to a sinewy muscle strand that vanished beneath the sharp tongue. It gradually dawned on Will that these teeth possessed the ability to rotate, akin to the serrated blade of a chainsaw. They could vibrate and twist like hooks, displaying the capacity to employ them individually, with conscious intent, and a degree of creativity. Shit. Fuck. Help. Inching closer, far too close, he could smell blood. His widened eyes mirrored Death's gaping maw poised directly overhead. A mere few millimeters separated him from laying his head to rest within that ominous abyss. A mere sneeze or cough from it, and he'd be gone in an instant.

Yet, Miu's sole focus appeared to be the extraction of emotion. Its teeth remained stationary, and Will might have succumbed to fainting if not for the burning curiosity about what those teeth looked like and what they were capable of when set in motion. He yearned to understand, and it was this inquisitiveness that maintained the steady rhythm of his beating heart.

Despite the nightmarish spectacle unfolding before him, Graham felt an eerie sense of calm gradually enveloping him as it continued to draw from his emotions. The more it extracted, the more his internal landscape seemed to stabilize. It was as if it had patiently waited until his emotions were ripe for harvesting, tending to them like a vintner cultivating grapes for a fine wine—nurturing, feeding, provoking, and cultivating in its own unique way.

That.

He took a deep breath, attempting to wrestle the realization into a coherent thought.

That was the motive. Its motive wasn't sexual; it was far more sinister, calculated, and grotesque in design. It drew sustenance from emotions, particularly negative ones—anger, fear, disgust. That was what kept it going.

Not a psychopath. Something even more chilling. As Miu retreated, Will's mind went blank. He fixated on the ground, eyes widened, attempting to assemble the fragments of what he had just experienced. He felt revitalized, his thoughts astonishingly clear, but that newfound clarity was equally unsettling. It was as if it had surgically extracted the burning energy within him, leaving him to contemplate the depths of its own capacity for malevolence. It was undeniably attempting to convey something, yet simultaneously reaping its own benefits from the exchange. That level of calculation had blindsided him, taking him entirely by surprise. Will was not easily caught off guard; he usually had an innate ability to sense danger, even if he couldn't precisely identify its nature. But this, he hadn't anticipated in the slightest. His gaze lifted, fixating on the creature, and he observed the smug curl of its lips as its hands slowly ascended, gripping the collar and exerting force. The metal began to creak, even deform, but its strength hadn't yet reached the point of snapping it. This wasn't ordinary metal; it was far denser and heavier, capable of supporting several tons of weight, based on his observations. That single piece alone could be likened to an anchor capable of dragging an entire ship to the ocean's depths. The fact that the creature could deform it only heightened his unease. It was steadily gaining strength by absorbing his negative emotions. Will's mind grasped onto this realization and expanded upon it. If he continued to feed it, the collar would eventually give way, and the creature would likely manifest even more terrifying abilities. He couldn't tear his eyes away; they remained fixed on the restraint. Did he want to keep feeding it? Did he want to witness the consequences of that collar coming off? Could it spell his demise? Most likely. Yet, curiosity gnawed at him, urging him to discover what would transpire.

In a chillingly explicit manner, it had demonstrated how he could liberate it and the extent to which they would become interdependent. The question that loomed was whether either side could be trusted. Was betrayal a viable option? It intended to employ and inflict harm upon him in pursuit of its own liberation, yet paradoxically, it appeared to be guiding and nurturing him in an uncanny fusion of motives. A peculiar amalgamation indeed, one that bore unsettling similarities to a certain psychiatrist. The smugness etched across its expression conveyed the message clearly to Will. It was, in a peculiar way, extending an offer, a deal of sorts. Graham narrowed his eyes, recognizing it as an undeniable pact with the devil. Yet, in this moment, the devil seemed to be his most pragmatic choice.

He couldn't predict its next move, couldn't discern its exact intentions. Even with a literal collar around its neck, it wielded absolute control over the situation. It had succeeded in dismantling his façade initially. He still harbored fear, indeed, but it no longer dominated him as it once had. Over time, he had become skilled at feigning fear to a greater extent than he genuinely experienced it, recognizing that this made people consistently underestimate him. In a similar vein, Miu seemed to share this trait, revealing only the information it chose to disclose, typically those details that served its best interests. However, it proved to be remarkably perceptive, concealing even more than he had initially anticipated.

He had prodded at Hell's gates, and the devil himself had emerged for a game.

This, he could only liken to The Morningstar.

So remarkably cunning, he found himself nearly in awe, unable to summon hatred for it. In its sinister manner, it had managed to impress him, instilling bone-deep terror, yet evoking a sense of admiration as well. It had never uttered a falsehood, yet it had expertly manipulated him. Deception through the truth, now that was a mastery.

He pondered whether he could glean something from it. If it continued to provide him with such valuable ammunition, what would be the eventual outcome? It had already seduced him with his own curiosity. Without uttering a single word, it had showcased intelligence surpassing anything he had encountered. Oh, how Hannibal would relish this creature. He now held a precise understanding of what Miu was. Certainty, typically a comforting notion, had morphed into something quite terrifying. Its lips parted gradually, revealing a grin reminiscent of the Cheshire cat, proudly displaying its numerous sharp teeth in all their horrifying glory. Will mirrored the smile, his lips curling to reveal his teeth in a sinister display of glee. At the very least, things were taking an interesting turn. Engaging in direct confrontation held far more excitement than languishing on a desolate island with just a thread of communication. He had discovered a counterpart in his own darkness, erasing the need to hide or feign innocence. Two predators now faced each other, mutually acknowledging the game they were about to play. This promised to be a compelling training exercise, indeed.

If he relinquished control over his emotions, it would feed off him. Feeding off him would replenish its strength. Consequently, the collar would be removed. If the collar came off, it would have no further use for him. Therefore, the imperative remained: don't feed the demon. But maintain the illusion that you will, thus dissuading it from turning your intestines into a salad. He had already assigned it a name, but he couldn't afford to become attached. After all, it was probably the very thing that kept him confined in this place. The situation couldn't be any less pressure-filled, he mused with a hint of sarcasm. How great that he had honed the skill of feeling emotionally dead inside while being sassy about it. A game of chess with the devil incarnate—how could he possibly decline such an irresistible proposition? The Morningstar, bored as ever, found no greater amusement than flamboyantly annoying someone with its wit.

And Will, acutely aware of the glaring red flag, lingered to witness just how intensely crimson it could become.

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