#;; perhaps even she's GONE for those weeks and comes back and he's just dead???

[kaerinio]

speaking of emp.yrean things. this is my reminder to write a thing about her relationships with drogo and daario specifically, but also with jhogo, aggo, rakharo, doreah, irri, jhiqui, and missandei. i also need to write a thing about how/why she kills jhaqo and mago.

[uglypastels]

Logan idea- reader has very similar traumas I.e trained as a weapon, memories wiped, has bad nightmares, slower aging, modified healing.

They find healing with the X-men and get close with Logan because of their similarities the reader is more sunshine to Logan’s I don’t know if pessimism is the right word. They go on a mission, goes missing for a period, and when they show back up they’ve been brain washed and are fighting the X-men but Logan recognizes them instantly. And does the whole this isn’t you sweetheart while taking a beating cause they can both kick ass and that’s one of the things Logan loves about them. He gets the mask off of them cause he realizes that’s part of the issue for them not recognizing everyone and then it’s hurt/comfort them feeling horrible for getting caught and Logan feeling horrible for letting them get caught. And even though they hadn’t been together before just very close friends/testing the waters this brings them together cause they realize they want to be with each other after some healing and Logan be soft with the reader while they heal from the brainwashing fiasco.

I dunno I love the idea of Logan feeling horrible about not being able to rescue the reader and then recognizing them fighting his allies and helps bring them back from the void. I’m a sucker for two people relating to eachother having a friendship that a hard time brings out their true feelings with lots of fluff and healing cause Logan understands that.

this made me think of some of my favourite wolverine scenes from different media so it's all inspired by that i guess. hope you like it :3

warnings: angst. mind control. reader presumed dead. swearing. violence. hospital-setting. guilt.

Masterlist ~ X-Men Requests are Open

‘What the hell are you doing? We have to go back!’ Logan started yelling as soon as he realised you hadn’t made it back to the jet. 

‘It’s too late,’ Scott shouted back at him from the pilot seat. ‘We won’t make it.’ 

‘She won’t make it,’ Logan retorted, already lunging at the cockpit, claws itching to come out. And they would have if it wasn’t for the cold hand touching his skin. He looked up to meet Rogue’s eyes. They were filled with sadness–pity– as she held his hand. He tried to pull out of her hold, but the longer it went on, the more frail he felt. Everything around him began to spin, his vision blurred until it all turned black, and his head hit the steel flooring of the plane.

⮿

Rogue had held on for too long. That much she had realised as soon as Logan had passed out.

It took a whole day for him to come by, but not even her powerful narcosis had suppressed his rage. As soon as Logan had woken up and his senses had felt Scott’s presence, he was on his feet, grabbing the team leader by the collar of his shirt, pushing him against 

‘You proud of yourself, punk?’ he spat in Scott’s face. ‘Got your sorry ass out all safe and sound, huh?’

‘There was no other way. We would have all died if we had stayed, Logan,’ Storm clawed at his shoulders to pull him back, but none of her methods sufficed. ‘This was the only way.’

‘No the fuck, it wasn’t!’ He saw red with anger. ‘We could have saved her.’ He had pulled out of saying that one word at the last minute. I could have saved her. That was the only thing on his mind for weeks. How you still would have been there if it wasn’t for him. 

The plan had been simple; that much had been clear in your face as you suggested it the last time he saw you. But he never should have gone along with it. He never should have let you go on your own. If he had just stayed— ran after you— maybe…

A pitiful portion of him still kept up hope. That one day, the heavy doors to the mansion would open, and you would stand in the middle. Perhaps a bit bruised up and tired, but all there. And he would pull you into his arms like he had wanted to all those times before.

But you never did show up. Days turned into weeks turned into months, and there had been no news, no sightings. Even the Professor had stopped seeking Cerebro’s help as nothing turned up anyway, no matter how hard he looked.

⮿

His heart was in his chest as he raced through the dark corridors of the bunker complex. Logan looked around him for the way out with the least henchmen as chances of there being none were slim. He had already left a trail of bodies behind him and was ready for the next wave of men to beat into a pulp.

He turned the corner, but what he saw was the last thing he had expected.

For a second, he thought he was dreaming; perhaps it was a hallucination brought on by some chemicals they pumped into the air to get to him. It wasn’t possible. His mouth had already fallen open, ready to call out your name, but as you got into a stance of attack, eyes blank except for a fury deep inside them, Logan realised it wasn’t a dream at all. It was a bloody terror. 

It was the hardest fight he had ever been in, trying to block all of your attacks while pulling himself back. He couldn’t het himself to hurt you. All he found himself doing was calling your name, but it was useless. It was you, but it wasn’t. Nothing he said seemed to matter, seemed to take any effect on you. You lunged at him, punching and kicking. 

It was futile to try and argue with you, and so, against every muscle and nerve in his body screaming against it, Logan started to place his movements harder, fighting against you until you went limp in his arms. He cursed himself out as he looked down at your unconscious body, pushing some of your loose hair out of your face. But as he looked at you, he also saw that it really was you still in there. And so he didn’t waste a second thinking about it as he picked you up in his arms and ran as fast as his body could take him. Out of the tortuous underground maze and back to that godforsaken jet that had been the scene of the dreams that had plagued his mind for the past months.

⮿

Everyone had practically stopped in their tracks at the sight of you in Logan’s arms. He stumbled into the jet, nearly falling over, having had, as predicted, to deal with a number more nameless jackasses, but with you in his arms, it made beating them up a bit more challenging.

‘What—’ Storm’s eyes were nearly as pale of shock as they would have been of her powers. 

‘She’s been brainwashed,’ Logan explained before anything else, ‘or controlled. I don’t know, but he’s hostile. We need to keep her down.’ He laid you down on the ground, sitting right beside you, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a deep heave, and only then he noticed the looks of everyone around him. ‘What?’

No one said a thing, but he knew what they were all thinking. For he was thinking it, too. Was it safe to bring you back home? Could whatever they had done to you be reversed, or was he just putting everyone at the school in danger by taking you back? 

‘Is everyone back?’ He just said after no one had dared to say another word.

⮿

Logan didn’t know what had possessed him. Why he had suddenly grown so protective over you, but he could not stand the idea of you being alone in the hospital wing. It took nearly half a week just for Jean and the Professor to understand what had happened to you, and the treatment itself took far longer than Logan would have liked. 

He didn’t know why he came to visit you every night, far outside the regular visiting hours, past when anyone would be awake to see him sneak in and sit by your side, holding your hand, hoping you could feel and hear him as the apologies spilt out of him.

‘I’m so sorry, bub.’ He kissed your knuckles. ‘I should have gone back for you. I should have–’ He stilled as you stirred in your bed. 

‘Logan?’ You croaked out, throat dry and hoarse. In slight shock, Logan said nothing. You blinked and tried to find him in the darkness of the room. ‘Logan? Is that you?’

‘Yeah, it’s me.’ He chuckled softly to himself, squeezing your hand.

‘What happened?’ You tried to sit up, orientating yourself to where exactly it was that you were, but he quickly pushed at your shoulder to stay put. 

‘It’s a long story, kid.’ Never before was Logan happy to be sitting in the dark as the tears he had subdued for months finally fell down his cheeks in extreme relief. ‘You uh– you’d been gone for a while.’ 

‘I was?’ you tried to remember, ‘I can’t recall anything. It’s all—’

‘I know.’ He kept your hand in his, rubbing your skin with his thumb. Logan knew to call for someone as soon as he saw you stir awake, but he needed this moment alone with you. Make sure you are doing alright himself. Besides, the professor was probably already on his way. 

‘It’s okay. You’re alright now.’ He continued, happy you had finally come back home.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

[ghostchems]

hello my darling. i see your requests are back open… 👀 i've got a prompt for you if you so wish to write it… reader has been dead for decades, aimlessly wandering the halls of the ministry where no one has ever seen her, heard her or even felt her… until one day, she's walking (or y'know… floating…) through the halls and someone is walking towards her. He stops in his tracks and stares straight ahead. Then she realises…

he's staring at her… Choose a papa, any papa! Whoever you would like to write, if you choose to write it! 😘

a/n: almost 1k words of some sweetness. after reading the prompt i KNEW i had to pick Cardinal Copia 🥹 bee. thank you SO much for sending this in. hit me right in the dang feels

Loneliness has driven you to the busy corridors of the Abbey. Despite the clergy members quite literally seeing right through you, their presence around you is enough to alleviate the void inside you. You’ve had to make do over the decades but even after all of the disappointment there is still an unwavering flicker of hope that you’ll make some sort of contact. Who knew it would be impossible for a ghost to be noticed in a Satanic Ministry? Many attempts have been made, ranging from morose to macabre (floating candles vs. severed limbs) but to no avail. Perhaps there’s something wrong with you. Is your spirit not dark enough to be seen? You remember how you died and decide that can’t be the case.

You gave everything for The Olde One. The Ministry was a very different place back then.

You’re lost in the endless abyss of your thoughts until there’s a shift in energy around you. Something new. Someone new. The wisps of your ghostly train curl towards the ceiling behind you and gust of warm air blows your hair out of your face.

Oooh. A Cardinal. It’s been ages since there’s been one here, the last one being in 19—

Is he looking at you?

There’s no way but… his gaze is fixated on the space you occupy, eyes wide. He bears the Mark of The Olde One — just like the Papas, but even with the Eye no one has ever seen you. He picks up his pace, walking to you with such purpose. You feel an excitement you haven’t felt since you were alive but it’s quickly replaced with crippling anxiety. In a fit of panic you poof out of the corridor and reappear deep into the underground archives, far far away from any person. But the new Cardinal saw you. He really did. After vying for this for so long… you aren’t ready for it.

***

You’ve meandered further into more densely populated areas of the Abbey over the last two weeks after taking some time for yourself to come to grips with the fact that he saw you. Problem is now the Cardinal is nowhere to be found. The longer the week stretched the more you began to believe it was over — he must have only been visiting for the day and thus your chance at talking to someone other than yourself for the first time in 55 years has slipped through your fingers. But that same hope you’ve clung to keeps you pacing and wandering day after day, hoping to catch of glimpse of his black cassock.

One late night you find yourself perusing the library, hovering around the new releases aisle (you like to see how ridiculous the names of romance novels have gotten). The further you get down the aisle the thicker the air becomes around you, the familiar buzzing in your ear from the first time you saw him. There’s a dim light coming from one of the nooks. You steel yourself, you’re going to make yourself known like you planned. Glowing brighter than you ever have before, you float toward the light. How can a ghost have anxiety? You’d think all of those feelings would be gone but somehow you feel like you’d throw up if that were even possible. You reach the outside of the nook and suck in a sharp breath before peering around the corner.

His duochromatic eyes are on you instantly.

“Per favore — please, do not run away again.” He sounds quiet, sleepy but polite and he extends a hand out to you. “I was worried I would not see you.” You blink at him as you reveal yourself fully to him, his gaze taking you in.

“You… you really see me?” Your voice cracks, your ghost trail wiggling with how charged you are emotionally.

“Yes. I do.” The Cardinal stands, his hand still out to you. “I, ehh… I’m the new Cardinal, Cardinal Copia. What is your name?”

My name?

“You’re… you’re the only person who’s ever seen me.” Not an answer to his question at all but your brain is broken. All that time you spent hoping for this…

“Oh. Oh, poverino.” His fingertips graze your hand and you jump — he could feel you too? “Ah! I am sorry! Ehhh… what can I do? How can I help you?” Copia shuffles on his feet anxiously, making sure to keep a safe distance so that he doesn’t startle you again. Your guise is crackling, vibrating with energy, more than you’ve ever felt before. He seems… delighted by your prescience and it makes you feel warm.

“H-how? Cardinal, how?” You push in closer to him, wisps brushing against his cassock.

“Non lo so. I’ve… I’ve just always been able to.” He gives you a sad smile. “I eh… had some weird “imaginary friends” growing up. But please, you must… you must have a lot to say after spending so long only listening.” Copia may have the gentlest voice you’ve ever heard. You want to hug him especially since something about this feels deeply personal to him…but you compose yourself and instead take him by the hand as you sit on the corner of his desk.

“What do I even say now?” You laugh to yourself. “I’ve been so worried about ever being heard that I haven’t thought about what to say. What do you… want to know, Cardinal?” Even now you’re feeling shy.

He gingerly rests his hand on top of yours, a warmth spreading through you that you’ve never experienced before.

“I’ve wanted to get to know you since I saw you, fantasmina. Please, tell me about you.” Copia squeezes your hand with a kind smile. Speechless. You take a deep breath and nod.

You’ll tell him.

You’ll tell him everything.

[eyrina-avatar]

Mother's Day

parining: Neteyam x reader aged up and are parents - a mother's day special

synopsis: after the battle of Awa'atlu and with Quaritch now dead, the Sullys are back to living a peaceful life at the forest and Neteyam and reader have a child. Neteyam has a surprise for reader on Mother's Day.

warnings: none, mostly fluff. only a little tiny mention of reader doubting her skills as a new mother but those thoughts are later on squashed.

author's note: do na'vi babies use diapers or just loincloths that are regularly changed? I looked online and couldn't find any info on it. I mentioned about two weeks ago that this was supposed to come out on Sunday, so I know it’s late and Mother’s Day is long gone but oh well, life has been busy. Enjoy!

word count: 2.4k

glossary: prrnen- baby, ma'itan- my son, eyaye plant- warbonnet fern (the big glowing leaves of pandora that looks like a fan- in the right pic of the header), panopyras- the plant that looks like a glowing jellyfish (in the left pic of header). more info can be found on avatar's official pandorapedia and on avatar wiki.

┆彡

You gently moved your baby back and forth in your arms as you tried to calm his crying.

"Mawey, mawey ma'itan," you cooed into his ear as you tried to figure out what was making your less than one-year-old son so cranky.

"What is wrong, huh? I just fed you an hour ago, and daddy just changed your nappies." Your baby began to grow more irritable by the minute, and you had to find a quick solution. The baby was supposed to be asleep; that way you could go out into the forest to gather some fruit and vegetables for dinner.

Your son had now begun sucking on his thumb while crying and moving his head close to your chest in search of milk.

"You're still hungry? Is that what it is?" You adjusted your top to let your son feed on you, instantly calming his crying and fussiness. "What an appetite." You simply shook your head and laughed.

"Happy Mother's Day!" You heard a loud commotion outside of Neteyam's and your shared Marui. You moved the opening of your tent and peered outside, and saw Jake and his kids, Neteyam included, all showering Neytiri with attention. They all gave her a big hug and handed her flowers, rare fruits, bracelets, and a matching headset. She thanked her family for the presents, and you merely smiled at the kind gesture. You closed the flap of your tent, basking in the warmth and tranquility of your child as his eyes were now closed, content with his feeding.

When you were previously an avatar before your permanent soul transfer, you had already learned of Mother's Day and its significance. Though now, as a Na'vi, you grew to the customs of the Omaticaya and have not paid much attention to it until now.

As a mother of a young baby, not even a toddler, you knew not to expect anything significant on the day yet. How would your child know to give you a gift or thank you for being his mother? Foolishness- he was too young for you to even think about that, and you let out a small chuckle at your own thoughts and sighed.

Jake always made it clear to Neytiri on Mother's Day how much he loved and appreciated her, and he always gave her something for mothering their children. Would Neteyam do the same to you as well?

Although Neteyam is a Na'vi, you slightly expected him to know that this day held significance for you as well, especially as the father of your child. Or maybe he didn't know?

But like the rest of the Sully kids, he learned about it from Jake and has not missed a single year to gift something to Neytiri on this special day. Or maybe he didn't think you were such a good mother after all. Perhaps you were just being silly, how could you expect someone to congratulate you on something you’re so new at? You’re Na’vi now, and perhaps you should just get used to it.

You simply sighed again at the thought and placed your child in your frontal wrap as you prepared to go out and gather the food for later.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Neteyam walked into your tent and gave you a questioning look.

"No, no. Nothing’s wrong." You shook your head and smiled.

“I heard you sighing as if something was wrong.” Neteyam interrogated.

“Oh, I’m fine, Nete. I was just glad that the baby finally fell asleep after crying for so long.” You petted your son’s head as you tried to sell your excuse to your mate.

“I see. Sorry for not coming into the tent sooner. I thought I heard a baby crying, but I was a bit busy at the moment.” Neteyam helped you up as you grabbed a basket for the food you were getting ready to pick.

“It’s fine-”

“No, no, I should have helped you out-”

“Neteyam.” You placed your hand on his, “It’s fine. The baby was just hungry again, you weren’t going to be much help in that situation.” You let out a small giggle.

He simply chuckled, “I guess not.”

“I’ll be back in time to make dinner.” You waved as you made your way out of the tent.

Huh, busy? Simply busy celebrating Mother’s Day and not with you. You rolled your eyes and huffed out. Y/n, get yourself together.

You shook your head in disbelief at your own antics.

I’m sure Neteyam appreciates you, he’s probably just waiting for the baby to get bigger to celebrate Mother’s Day. In fact, maybe he’ll tell your son when he gets older. Yes, that's it.

You smiled to yourself as you came up with a conclusion and decided to drop the topic, knowing that getting upset over something so trivial wouldn’t do you any good.

You contently continued your way into the forest.

Nete, I’m home. Dinner will be ready s-” you looked into your marui and saw no one inside. Maybe Neteyam was out hunting, or busy helping his siblings, probably bailing Lo’ak out of trouble or something. You laughed at the thought.

You placed your still-asleep son in his cot and got straight to cooking as you peeled the fruits and vegetables, and moved the veggies onto separate plates, chopped, and cooked them. With your quick and skilled hands, the food was ready in no time, and your mate was home in no time as well.

“Mmm, what is that delicious smell, huh?” Neteyam made his way towards you. “Is that the wonderful cooking of my cute wife?” He bent down and gave you a kiss. Your tail swished back and forth at the compliment, and you blushed.

“Oh, just sit down.” You jokingly rolled your eyes as you gave him a bowl of food. “Thank you, love,” he smiled at you, and you sent one back.

“So, where were you?” You pried as you ate your food.

“Eh, just helping one of the clan members hunt some meat. No luck today, though.” Neteyam continued eating.

Hmm, strange. He’s all neat and clean, not a drop of sweat. Unless he bathed at the river before coming over? Probably so.

You decided to stop overthinking and just enjoy your food before you soured your appetite.

The rest of the meal was quiet but comfortable.

“Alrighty, done. That was delicious, as always.” Neteyam handed you the bowls, and you set them aside.

“So, anything in plan to do lat-” you were cut off with the sound of crying waving through your ears. You rushed over to your son and picked him up.

“Here, let me help.” Neteyam made his way over to you and took the baby from your hands. “What is my little mighty warrior so upset about, huh?” Your mate gently rocked the child back and forth.

“Shh, shh. Daddy's right here.” He cooed, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the self-given name.

The baby wouldn’t stop crying, and so you took a peek at his bottom. “Oh,” you simply let out.

“What is it?” Neteyam gave you a questioning look.

“He needs to be cleaned.” You took the baby out of Neteyam’s arms and placed him on a mat.

“Look at that cutie!” Kiri beamed as she entered the tent and made her way straight to you and Neteyam’s son. “Aww, don’t you worry. He needs a cleaning, right? I’ll take care of it.” Kiri shooed your hands away and got to work.

“No, Kiri, you don’t have to do that.” You felt bad and tried to stop her.

“Nonsense, I’ll take care of him. Go out with Neteyam and do something. Maybe go on one of those dates or whatever you romantics like to do.” She simply waved you away.

“Thank you,” Neteyam mouthed to her when you weren’t looking.

“Are you sure?” You let out as Neteyam dragged you out of the tent.

“Kiri will be fine.” He assured you.

“Well, where are we going?” You asked.

“Put this on.” He gave you a blindfold, and you simply looked at him confused about what he was doing.

“What?”

“Just put it on, you trust me, right?”

“Yes…”

“Good. Then put it on.”

You held the blindfold over your eyes, and Neteyam tied it. “How will I know where to step? What if I fall?” You asked, giving a questioning look behind the cloth.

“You wont.” Neteyam swooped you up in his arms and carried you bridal style. “You see?” He smirked.

“Well technically since I’m blindfolded right now…” Neteyam lowered his arms down, threatening to drop you. “Alright, ALRIGHT. I get it!” You let out as he swung you over his shoulders and made his way into the forest with you.

“Are we there yet?” You groaned at the long walk to wherever it was that Neteyam was taking you.

“C’mon, just wait a bit. We’re almost there.” Neteyam readjusted his hold on you.

“You said that like 5 minutes ago,” you rolled your eyes behind the cloth.

“You're starting to sound like Tuk with all of that complaining.” He chuckled

“Am not!”

“You see, you’re even arguing like her.” He teased as you swung your tail by his face in retaliation.

“Alright, I’m putting you down. We’re almost there, and you can walk from here.” Neteyam carefully lowered your legs to the ground. “I’ll hold your hand so you don’t fall.” He took your hand in a firm grasp and led the way.

“Alright, just a few more steps, c’mon.” Neteyam led you down a small hill and brought you to a stop at the bottom. “You can open your eyes now.”

You untied the cloth from your eyes and gasped at the view. A beautiful glowing stream flowed in front of you, and a small nearby waterfall fed it as a few hexapedes quenched their thirst on it. Lizards flew around you, and atokirinas gracefully danced in the air as some landed near the panopyras and on the lily pads in the water.

“Nete-“ you were speechless at the sight. This was the spot that made you fall in love with the forest, always so majestic and peaceful, breathtaking, and full of color and life.

“It’s beautiful, I love it! We haven't been here in ages; you know this is my favorite spot!” You gleamed as you faced Neteyam, and he smiled at your reaction.

"Well, what type of mate would I be if I didn't bring you anywhere nice on this special day?" He smirked, and your eyes widened in shock.

"You remembered?" Your jaw dropped open at his comment in realization that this indeed was for Mother's Day.

"Of course I did! How could I forget the beautiful mother of our child, huh?" Neteyam pecked your cheek with a kiss. "Happy Mother's Day, love. And thank you for being such a wonderful and good mother to our firstborn son. I couldn't have asked for anyone else."

A tear rolled down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away and sniffled as you tried to control your emotions. "Thank you. I love you so much." You wrapped your arms around Neteyam as he embraced you in a warm hug.

"I love you." He responded as he held you in his arms and looked down at your eyes, "I've got something for you."

You simply tilted your head in confusion as he let go of you and walked behind a tree, bending down to pick something up.

He brought back an object wrapped in eyaye leaves and handed it to you.

"What is this?" You gave him a 'you shouldn't have' look.

"Just a little something for you. Open it up, sweetheart." His tail swished back and forth in nervousness as you unwrapped the gift, and your eyes lit up at the sight.

You held up two matching bracelets, both filled with your favorite colors, blue and purple. Those were the bioluminescent colors of the forest that made you fall in love with Pandora, and Neteyam knew just how special they were to you.

"Do you like it?" His ears flickered at his anxiousness.

"I love it! It's beautiful, and they're my favorite colors! Nete, you know me so well!" You ran up to Neteyam and jumped up as you gave him a hug, almost knocking him down in the process. You grabbed his face and gave him small pecks everywhere, his cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, and finally, his lips.

"Well, I'm glad you like it." He chuckled at your antics and put you down. You put one bracelet on your ankle and the other on your wrist. Both fitted perfectly, and you raised your eyebrows at Neteyam.

As if knowing what you were going to say, he blurted out, "I measured you while you were sleeping. You're not such a light sleeper after all." Neteyam smirked.

"Well, however it was that you got the size, it worked. They fit wonderfully and look absolutely beautiful. I love them so much, thank you, ma'teyam." You smiled at your thoughtful mate and the beautiful gifts, mentally scorning yourself for your doubts earlier.

"And these are for you as well." Neteyam handed you a beautiful bouquet of sun lilies, glowing blue with purple outlines surrounding the petals and stems.

"Babe... you really outdid yourself. You know that, right?" You shook your head as you gently grabbed the flowers from his hands and smelled them. "They look great and smell amazing. Thank you." You smiled up at Neteyam as he held his hand on your back, and the both of you sat at the edge of the river, legs now kicking in the water.

"I'm so grateful to have you as my mate, my beautiful wife, and the wonderful mother of our child and hopefully many more to come, if you allow it." Neteyam kissed your cheek, and you smiled at the thought.

"And I'm so grateful to have you in my life, I wouldn't trade you for anything else. You make me feel like the happiest woman on Pandora; of course I would be glad to mother all of our future children." You smiled up at the stars as you held the flowers in your hands as a child, already used to carrying your baby in that position, causing Neteyam to chuckle at the sight.

"I love you," you turned to look at him.

"And I love you." Neteyam held your face in his hand.

"Forever..." you leaned in.

"...and always." Neteyam sealed his love for you with a kiss.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

again, sorry this came out so late. this was supposed to come out on Mother's Day but unfortunately I wasn't able to complete it sooner. I hope it came out decent enough for you guys to enjoy it.

reblogs/comments etc. are much appreciated

let me know if you want to be included in a taglist.

do not steal my work and please don't post it on ao3 or wattpad

© eyrina-avatar

colors used:#ED345F and #FFB3CF

credit: divider from this post: here

[lazyneonrabbitt]

On the morning dew

Adar x elven reader

You've walked middle earth longer than any other. Now when word of one of the Moriondor sounds through Lindon you set out to find out who it is.

Just fluffy goodness with ancient elf reader, Uruk dad and his children who like to misbehave.

You had walked the lands of Middle Earth far longer than many.

Time was barely a thing anymore for the first elves that sprouted way back then.

You lived your live comfortably among your kind, watching new generations come, and now in Lindon surrounded by people whom you attempted to fill the hole in your heart with. A hole left by one long gone but still feared by many.

All those ages ago, when Sauron was recruiting for his new army, he had so effortlessly taken him from you.

You loved him then, before he had left and after still, and you have never stopped. You had tried to love other since then, but none ever felt the same and the ache never left. The short moments of interesting new relations were never bad, but they'd end in feelings of betrayal and you quickly moved on. Again to wander alone.

A mere week ago word came to Lindon, through the lips of the blonde soldier who you were convinced had left for Valinor. Galadriel. She brought words of chaos in the Southlands, where who she thought to be one of the Moriondor was causing destruction with an army of orcs.

Upon hearing the words your mind filled with possibility. Endless scenes of what might be. Could it be him? Even if it wasn't him, but any of the others who were with him at the time then perhaps they could tell you of him, to at least get closure and move on.

The images plagued your mind for days before your thoughts gathered enough to take action.

You changed your nowadays finest garments for something more suited for travel. Something sturdier and less eye-catching. You gathered your supplies and set out without a word, in your mind already having a million excuses ready as to why you were leaving.

Luckily no one wondered and your departure was a quiet one.

For long you walked leaving Lindon behind you, resting only when the area allowed for it and no creatures lurked. You hid your ears around villages, presenting yourself as a simple traveler seeking an overnight stay or a nice cooked meal for a change.

Forests came and went, dark and overgrown between large stretches of field where nothing stood between you and thr sun. Long winding rivers delayed your travels, walking along miles of shore to reach the nearest crossing.

The woods you had entered during the day, now only halfway crossed during nightfall had proven trouble. Since entering the treeline there had been the feeling of being watched, distant gazes burning your skin during the daylight and torchlight catching trees around it during nighttime, indicating whoever was around still followed you.

It was in the dead of night that your stalkers made themselves known,loud snarls and growling voices speaking unknown tongues surrounded you as a group of orcs set out to hunt you down.

It took running, leaping past greenery and climbing trees to stay out of their claws. Arrows just barely missed you until they ran out, having to rely on their sword and spears to eound you.

You ran until the sky behind the trees started changing color ever so slightly, announcing the soon to come sunrise. With everly last ounce of breath you had left in you you forced yourself past the treeline and into the open field, where the attackers would not dare follow.

As they scurried away you let yourself fall down, rolling onto your back to catch your breath for a short moment, the grass cooling your body in the kindest way.

Leaves rustled beside you, making you sit up and look back into the forest that sat unmoving.

The orcs returnes to their troops, having informed their leader of their failure to capture the elf. It did not bother him that they failed, but still set out on his own to see for himself who was swift enough to stay out of his hunters' grasp.

He had caught a familiar scent on the wind, and felt the need to follow it.

The trail his children left was an easy one to follow, leading him to where he could see past the trees to where a figure sat, gazing at the horizon.

"Quite impressive, being able to outrun my Uruks."

A gravely voice spoke and caught you off guard, jumping up and standing face to face with an elf clad in black. He took in your everything as you did the same to him, silence falling over the moment that seemed to had frozen.

As frozen as the time you stood still as he took a step closer, hand raising to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

His palm rested there, on your cheek as he sought your eyes for any sign of recognition. To him you looked as beautiful as those moments you shared in your first days. Even with your garment and hair disheveled from running he found you the most stunning sight.

To you, it was him before you. His once flawless skin now torn and stitched back together leaving patterned scars over his face, his once ever so bright eyes dulled by the darkness.

Your hand rose, mimicing his action of brushing aside his hair. Only you did it to assess the scarring he aquired during your absence. Webbed skin stretching from his brow to above his ear, a thick, branching line following his cheekbone down his jaw.

"What have they done to you?" Tears brimmed your eyes as you imagined the pain he had gone through and feeling the anger well up inside.

The look in his eyes never lost its softness towards you, and instead of truthfully answering you he held you. I his embrace you let yourself take him in fully, the cold metal of his armor beneath your hands and his clawed glove scratching your scalp ever so softly.

With his hands on your hips he looked you in the eyes. There was a plea in them begging to come out but his lips did not dare to comply. Surely after those ages you must have lost those feelings you shared back then. You couldn't be interested in what he was now, a mess of mangled flesh and mind, no longer elven in body and soul.

You musn't still have feelings for the old Uruk that stood before you.

Your hands snuck between you, and Adar fully believed you were pushing him away for a moment, until your arms wrapped behind his neck to pull him into a kiss.

No words were necessary to share your feelings as you poured them all into him with your lips connected.

You had found him, scarred and aged but he was there with you, and that was all that mattered.

You uttered his name but were quickly interupted.

"Adar." He softly spoke just an inch from your lips. "My name is Adar, lord father of the Uruks of thr Southland." His head rested in the crook of your neck, affraid you'd disappear once he let go. But you never did. Your mouth pressed against his scarred temple as you softly swayed to a tune in your mind.

In the glow of the rising sun you hummed the tune as old as time, one you had danced to many nights before.

Adar caught on, joining in and swaying with you. A smile reappearing on his lips.

Together you danced as you did before, held in each others' arms to a tune long forgotten by everyone except you.

Adar wished for nothing but a home for his children. He wished now for you to call it home, too.

"I wish for you to meet my children." The hand on your hip steered you towards the forest, where a group of Uruks had collected, just out of the sun's reach. They no longer looked at you with hunger in their eyes, instead they presented themselves as a welcoming party.

"We apologise, lady." One of them spooe for the group, a skinnier Uruk wearing a chainmail hood. "We didn't know you belonged to Adar."

"B.. belong to?" You gave Adar a glance but he dismissed it, speaking to his company in a language you did not understand.

As you walked the Uruks fell into step beside you one by one, introducing themselves and asking you all kinds of things while Adar and the others conversed in that same unknown language. The further you walked the more Adar's composure seemed to be cracking, the Uruks cackling and almost tripping over brances. It almost looked like they teased him.

A breathy laugh left you that made Adar look over to you. "What was that, dear?"

The way he put emphasis on the term had heat rise to your cheeks and turned the subject of the Uruks' laughter your way.

"Nothing, Lord Father." You faked a bow with a smile and moved on.

One of the Uruks came back to your side, pressed against your shoulder and whispered you some words in black speech. Useful words Adar would want you to learn soon in case of trouble, and a term of endearment to get on his good side.

You took in Adar's frame from the back where you walked, seeing his fists clenched and steps heavy. He was clearly still unhappy with whatever it was the Uruks shared with him.

You were going to be kind to him, hopping over to his side and taking his hand in yours. "Adar, dear." You spoke quietly with your cheek against his shoulder. "I'm glad we found each other again, sharkû."

He halted every movement then, head snapping your way so quick you surprised he didn't break his neck.

"What was that? Because I hope you just mispronounced something." You looked over at Glûg, who had offered you the word and was now, along with the rest of the party trying his best not to burst out in laughter. "Oh come on. You tricked me! That's unbelievable, what did I say??"

"Called him an old man." Bazur, the one failing hardest in keeping his laughter at bay called over to you before doubling over in hysterics.

Beside you Adar snarled, his clawed glove raised at his children. "Whoever thinks they can teach her any new words better make sure she's taught the right ones."

You looked back at your lover. "But, they're not wrong.. You are ancient, so am I." With raised brows you shrugged.

With a long drawn out sigh he dropped the topic along with his hand, turning back around to continue the trek home. A soft smile on his face the second he was sure his children would not see it.

He was glad you all got along so well already.

[oceansblvds]

void in blue (gojo satoru) — chapter one

pairing ; satoru gojo x reader (suguru's sister)

words ; 2.7k

summary ; satoru gojo comes to your door after weeks of silence, with a proposition that will change your lives forever.

warning(s) ; mentions of sex, swearing, gojo clan being gojo clan, mentions of breeding, overall a messy argument, mentions of death

masterlist can be found here !

Gojo Satoru was in bed with another woman when he got the call that he was dreading for most of his life. 

He always knew that the clan would try to pull something like this. They were all meddling in his business whether he wanted them to or not. That’s what he got for being born the strongest in all of the world, with Six Eyes and Limitless all packed into a 6 '3 package with a nice little bow on it, a gift to a clan who spent too much time worrying about the future and what it could hold. From the moment that he was old enough to comprehend the idea of marriage, he knew that it wasn’t going to be his choice. When it happened and who it would be with were out of the question. In some ways, he thought that perhaps this whole mess over the last year and a half would’ve stalled them a bit. It was the least that they could do for what happened, the turmoil being both physical and emotional for so many parties involved. 

He should’ve known that they wouldn’t be that generous. 

Typically, he didn’t like to stay the night for his hookups. It was better to fuck and be out the door within the next ten minutes so that he didn’t have to answer constant questions about whether or not he would come back. He found himself somewhat in a loop, where he would go out during the nights that he couldn’t sleep for fear of plaguing nightmares, find someone to spend his company with, and then leave before the sun came up the next morning. No matter how disheartening the loop was to the others involved, he kept telling himself that it was for the better this way. It was better to not get close to anyone again, for fear that something like Geto would happen again. In some other timeline, perhaps things would be different. His best friend would still be here and they would be teaching the next generation of Jujutsu Sorcerers together. But things weren’t different. Suguru was dead. Satoru was broken. End of story.

“Where are you going?” The woman uttered, her bright eyes finding his own under the dim light of the lamp she had turned on when he began to rustle out of bed. “You don’t want to stay for round three?” 

“I’ll call you.” 

He wouldn’t. 

—

You couldn’t tell if Satoru was trying to be an asshole or if this was something that your rose colored glasses had hid from you for all the years that you considered him your friend. He barely reached your eye when he told you that he had something to talk to you about, looking at you, though more like looking through you. There was a time that you would’ve gone to the ends of the Earth to understand what his facial expressions meant, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as you allowed him to push past you into your apartment.  

The silence between the two of you wasn’t even deafening, it was just awkward. Satoru made his way to the island counter, pulling back the stool and sitting on it so that he was eye level with you. He patted to the seat next to him, something that he would always do to you to get you to do what he wanted for all those years before. You refused, instead coming to the opposite side and leaning against the cool granite. He had his sunglasses on, cool blue toned eyes shining against them, right into the core of your very being. Like he was trying to rip you apart with his gaze, ripping through your ribcage and bearing your organs on display for him so that he could see the hidden depths of your emotions. You didn’t allow him to see anything, a stoic look on your face as you raised an eyebrow, pushing silently for him to begin. You didn’t want him to be here any longer than he needed to be. It seemed he was in the same boat, he looked like he wanted to run off as soon as he bore whatever news he had in store. 

“Where’d the pictures go?” Satoru asked, motioning towards the empty walls. You knew exactly what he was talking about, and yet you turned your head to look at them anyway. When you looked back at Satoru, he was glaring at you. 

You shrugged. “Seemed fitting.” 

“Do you plan on just erasing his memory all together? Even the good parts?” 

You could’ve hit him for that. 

You had never been a particularly violent person, always preferring talking something out rather than resorting to punches and kicks. It seemed like that part of you had been taken and stored away somewhere, tucked between the junction of your heart and lungs, slowly being squeezed to death every second your pulse beat. Satoru always liked getting under your skin, something that came with the title of being your brother's best friend. But to do it now? It was like he was trying to make you mad. 

“You tell me, you’re the one that killed him.” 

“Don’t act like you didn’t have any part of that, like I wasn’t doing what was best for everyone.” 

You scoffed. “Oh yes, the great Satoru Gojo. Man of the people.” 

A silence fell, to where you could only glare at him and he could pretend to be hurt. It was clear that he wasn’t able to fool you, to charm you like the rest of his friends into thinking that any of this was okay. It wasn’t. It wouldn’t ever be okay. You wished to live in a world where you didn’t have to think about Satoru, where you could forget all about him and what happened to your brother, to your family. 

However, in some sick way, you could only hope to cling onto him. Whether that be with hatred or disgust or anything in between. He was the only one who could even begin to understand what you were going through, and as much as you hated to admit it, you would never be rid of Satoru Gojo. 

“Why are you here, Satoru? It’s the middle of the night,” You asked. You turned around and turned on the electric stove, putting the water filled kettle on like it was muscle memory. When a friend came over, you always made tea for them. It turns out that the body remembers those types of things even if your mind doesn’t. You reached for the glass container that held different types of tea bags, from herbal to caffeinated, instinctively grabbing the sweetest one for him. Some things never did change.

“There’s something that I need to talk to you about.” 

“You already said that,” You snapped. “Do you plan on dragging this out or would you like to tell me what is so important that you couldn’t wait until morn—” 

“The clan wants us to marry.” 

Your movements stalled, your hand hovering over the handle of the kettle as it started to squeak with the pressure of the steam coming out of the spout. Instead of relieving it and allowing for it to cool off, you stood there, staring at it, as the kettle started to get louder and louder. If Satoru was talking, you couldn’t hear it, the shrieking filling up the walls of the apartment until you decided to relieve it, pushing it away and burning yourself in the process. You couldn’t feel it though, numbness seeping ever so slightly into your entire body as you processed the word he spoke over and over again. Marry. 

Satoru continued to speak. “The clan,” a sigh, “my clan, thinks that it’s in everyone's best interest if I marry someone in order to provide for the future. I thought that they were going to choose someone from their own families, to further some type of political agenda, but they want you.” 

You couldn’t believe your ears. You were sure that your family was blacklisted from Jujutsu society after what happened with your brother. You were the only one left, and you were fine with being shunned and whatever came from that, but to be integrated into it in such an . . . intimate way? It sounded almost comical, like he was making it up. For a moment, you thought about the notion that maybe he was making it up. But as you turned around and looked at him, there wasn’t a hint of enjoyment scattered across the part of his face that you could say. In fact, this was probably the most distressed that you had ever seen him. 

“You can’t expect me to accept this,” You said. “This doesn’t even make sense, why me? They want us to marry, after everything that happened?” 

Satoru nodded, as if it was black and white, like this was the easiest thing in the world to talk about. It made you want to rip out your hair, that he was able to act so emotionless about something like this. Your future. His future. He acted like it was something that could be controlled by people who had no idea what the fuck was going on, people who only saw your lives as something to be meddled in and played with like you were toy dolls. “They believe that it’s the only way to secure the future of Jujutsu society. Your bloodline is powerful, whether you want to admit it or not. They think our union could produce the strongest sorcerer the world has ever seen.” 

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. You couldn’t believe a word he was saying. “So, this is about breeding a powerful sorcerer? Like we’re some kind of livestock? Do they actually think that this will work? That I would agree to this with no questions asked?” 

“It’s more than that,” Satoru said, his voice strained. “The recent rise in cursed spirits has everyone on edge. The clan elders believe that combining our strengths is the only way to ensure our survival. It’s not just politics; it’s the world’s survival. It’s what’s best for everyone.” 

“I’m supposed to marry you to save the world? Do they really think that a forced marriage will do that?” You scoffed, the bitterness in your tone ever so clear. “What’s best for everyone,” You repeated, disbelief lacing each syllable of your words. “And what about what’s best for us? For me? My brother is dead because of you, there’s no mending that.” 

Satoru leaned against the counter, his hand reaching for your own, which you pulled away before he could touch, going back to making the tea so that you had something to do instead of staying idle and listening to this . . . this bullshit. “They think it’s our best shot,” He replied. “They’re desperate, and desperate people do desperate things.” 

With the weight of his words and the reality of the situation pressing down on you both, you poured the boiling water into two cups, the motions automatic and detached. “You’re actually considering this,” You spoke, more a statement than a question. You felt a wave of anger rising, mixed with sadness and confusion. None of this made sense to you, really. There seemed to be a better option, but when you thought about it, you couldn’t come to any conclusions. You felt as dumb as the rest of the clan was.  “I can’t believe you’d go along with this bullshit.” 

“I don’t want to force you into anything,” Satoru said, his usual arrogance gone, laced with something you couldn’t quite put your fingers on. “But if we don’t do this, the consequences could be disastrous, more people could get hurt. We could lose everything.” 

“And you think marrying me will prevent that?” You shot back, putting the teabag in both of your cups and turning to push the cup towards him on the table. You then crossed your arms over your chest. “Do you really believe that, or is this just another way for your clan to control us? To control you?” 

“This isn’t about control; it’s about survival.” 

“Satoru, I don’t know if you have noticed, but I don’t necessarily care about my survival,” You spat, the bitterness in your voice cutting through the air. You didn’t care if you lived or if you died, you didn’t care what happened to Jujutsu society, especially if the future meant more Satoru’s running around the world. It was all in ruin, and to you, everything could just get worse. Why would you contribute to that? 

Satoru flinched, but he held his ground, as he always did. His expression tightened, his brows furrowing slightly at your words.  “You should care,” He said, his voice low but firm. “Survival isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about everyone who depends on us.” 

You scoffed bitterly, the irony of the situation seeping into your voice. “Everyone who depends on us? Like my brother who depended on you? Look where that got him.” You could almost hear your brother’s laugh through the silence. 

His jaw clenched visibly, the usually composed facade beginning to crack under your words. “I didn’t ask for any of this to happen,” He retorted, a flicker of defensiveness in his tone. “I tried to protect him, tried to get him to see reason, tried to get him —”

“Did you?” You shot back, your voice rising with accusation that was all too familiar these days. “Or were you too busy playing the hero, too blinded by your own arrogance to see the consequences? To see that he was hurting too. That he could’ve been detained.” 

Satoru took a sharp breath, as if your words were a physical blow. “I did what I thought was right,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just like I’m trying to do now.” 

“Right?” You scoffed. “There’s nothing right about any of this.” 

He reached out again, his hand hovering in the air between the two of you as if he wanted to comfort you but knew better than to try. Not if he wanted to have boiling water thrown into his face and cuts from a broken teacup along his pale cheeks. “I wish there was another way,” He said. “We have to figure out a way to navigate this together. Maybe there’s a way we can turn this situation to our advantage.” 

“Advantage?” You echoed incredulously. “There’s no advantage in being shackled to you.” 

“Maybe not now,” He admitted, his gaze almost pleading. You almost felt bad for him. “But if we work together—”

“I won’t be your pawn,” You interrupted, your voice trembling with a raw defiance you had thought you lost the moment your brother died. “Not now, not ever.” There was no world where you would bend to the whims of Satoru Gojo and let him walk all over you. Not him or his clan elders. 

Satoru looked at you with a mix of . . . what? Was it anger? Annoyance? Pity? You were unsure. Perhaps it was unfair of you to be this unruly about it, when he was the bearer of bad news. You knew that this decision wasn’t his deep down, but that didn’t stop you from being angry at him for it. This was the first time that you have seen him in days, since everything that happened, and he was telling you this? He made it seem like you had a choice in the matter. The truth was that you didn’t. “Suguru would want you—” 

“Do not bring him into this,” You said, your stern tone wavering with a mixture of unshed tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. “I don’t want you to ever say his name to me. You don’t deserve to.” 

Satoru sighed, a mix of resignation and determination mixed into his expression. “I didn’t expect you to make this easy. But I hope you’ll at least consider what’s at stake.” 

You turned away from him. “I’ll consider it,” you finally said. “But don’t expect me to agree to this without a fight.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” 

[gunilslaugh]

Gone Mad

Lee Jooyeon Summary: The first time you met Jooyeon you had no clue he was a villain. You didn’t find that out till your second meeting. (non-idol au) WC:905 Warning:none

part 2 part 3 epilogue!

photo not mine credits to owner

“So I’m not the only one who knows about this place?” A voice suddenly spoke behind you making you jump. The guy laughs at your startledness. “Sorry. You startle easily?” he asked, taking a seat next to you on the fallen tree. 

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here,” you say. 

“Me either. I like coming here to be alone,” he states. 

“I can go then.” You start to stand up from the tree, but then you feel a tug on your wrist.

“You can stay. I don’t mind your presence,” he tells you. He didn’t mind your presence, however you could feel that there was something different about his. Still, perhaps your better judgment, you sat back down. His grip on your wrist leaves once you do so. 

A silence fell over the both of you. It felt oddly comfortable. This guy was a stranger. You didn’t even know his name and he was probably sitting too close. The tree was more than big enough to have a respectable amount of distance between you two, yet he only sat a few inches away. Despite those things the atmosphere was calm, almost as if you were two friends sitting on a tree in the dark ambience of night. 

You looked up through the standing tree to look at the stars shining through in between the leaves. A sigh leaves your body and your shoulders slouch. 

“Something bothering you?” He questioned. You turned your head to look at him and fix your posture, sitting back up straight. 

“I guess there is, but why do you care?” you asked. 

“I’m a curious guy,” he shrugged. 

“Well there’s this guy,” you started. 

“That never ends well,” he joked. 

“Especially not in this case.” You shake your head. “Anyway there’s this guy. He keeps showing up at where I work trying to pursue me and he is anything but respectful about it. No matter how many times I turn him down he always ignores it. He keeps saying that I’m so lucky that a  chivalrous knight like him has interest in me, but if anything it’s a curse. I wish he would just disappear,” you ranted. 

“Disappear?” Jooyeon’s ears perked and a smirk pulled at his lips. 

“Yeah, I just want him to stop bothering me,” you say. 

“Then hopefully he stops bothering you soon.” Something about his tone was a bit unsettling. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been four days since the guy that had been bothering you showed up. Don’t get it wrong you were very grateful, but his sudden disappearance was weird. 

“Maybe he finally moved on to his next victim,” your colleague played as you hung the fabrics out to display. 

“Then I feel bad for them,” you joked too. 

“Or,” she started. 

“Or?” you pressed. 

“Did you kill him?” She raised her playfully brow at you.

“No, I didn’t kill him,” you laughed

“I wouldn't blame you if you did. I thought about doing it for you sometimes. He really pissed me off too,” she said.

“Let’s just rejoice that he’s gone,” you say. 

“Oh trust me. I am rejoicing.” The two of you burst into a fit of happy giggles. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you're walking to your little spot in the woods you walk past a tree that has a wanted sign posted on it. Out of curiosity you stop to look at the sign. The picture of the wanted man just looked like your average man. It literally could have been most of the guys who lived in your village. “Wanted for killing a palace knight”

“They really have no clue what I look like.” A voice spoke directly behind you. You turned around to come face to face with the man you sat on the tree with about a week ago.

“Are you happy that he’s gone now?” he asked you. You couldn’t formulate any words. You froze at the shocking realization. First, the knight didn’t just suddenly leave you alone, he was dead and the guy standing right in front of you smiling killed him. “Is it really that surprising?” he asked you.

“You said you wanted him to disappear. Who else could have done that besides me?” he smirked. The color drains from your face. 

“Y-you made him disappear b-because of m-me?” your voice shook. 

“Although I am quite fond of you for some reason you aren’t that special sugar plum.” He tapped your nose.  “I would have gotten rid of him eventually, but I guess you sped up the process,” he tells you. “Oh, I did feel a little something in my chest knowing getting rid of him would make you happier,” he noted.

Now you realize you should have trusted your better judgment. You shouldn’t have sat back down on the fallen tree with him. You should have left and gone home and shouldn’t have come back to this place either. It used to feel like a sanctuary, a place of peace, but now your heart pounds rapidly against your chest.

“Can you not look so scared of me? It hurts.” He placed a hand over his chest and pouted. “I’m not gonna hurt you, so let’s go look at the stars.” Without waiting for your answer he grabs you by your wrist and tugs you along to where the fallen tree laid.

“The stars are pretty don’t you think?” He turned to look at you. 

“...yeah they are,” you hesitantly answer.

part 2 part 3 epilogue!

taglist: @purplelady85 @gingerjunhan @chewednails @ezlynkisses @mon2sunjinsuver @mxlly143

[asongofmarvelanddc]

Ties That Bind

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen X Reader

WORD COUNT: 6707

WARNINGS: canon typical cousin-cest

SUMMARY: After spending most of your childhood in the Red Keep, it’s hard to let go of the bonds you’ve formed even with war on the horizon.

A/N: It's been over a month since HOTD and I'm really rusty with writing so if you see bad writing, pretend you don't xx Please reblog, like, or leave a comment! I love hearing from you guys 💛

You were only two years of age when your mother, Laena Velaryon, and father, Daemon Targaryen, left you in King’s Landing while they went to deal with some business in Driftmark. Looking back, it’s unlikely that they intended for your stay to last longer than a few moons.

The weeks stretched into years, and as you began to serve as your Aunt Alicent’s ward, your parents had more daughters – your sisters, Baela and Rhaena. They visited once, after your cousin Rhaenyra had her son Luke. Your mother had hugged you so tight and for so long that you feared she would never let go. And your father…he couldn’t stop looking at you.

Only a few years after that visit, a raven came to the Red Keep from Pentos. Laena Velaryon was dead. Your Uncle Viserys was gentle enough while delivering the news. He sat by your side, ready to console you if you cried. When you didn’t, he felt safe dismissing you from his chambers.

“She’s in shock.” you heard Alicent whisper as you left the room. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it would not hit you until you were at the burial.

That was not the case.

Long after Lord Vaemond’s eulogy and everyone returned to the castle, you stood on those cliffs staring out into the sea where your mother’s body now lay. It was a strange feeling knowing that she was gone. You felt the loss in your heart, but there was no grief, no pain…you were not even certain that you would miss her.

A part of you was ashamed to feel that way, which is perhaps the reason why you felt the need to hug your father tightly when you were reunited for the first time in years. You wanted him to believe you mourned her as your sisters did. And you hoped being with your family would help you feel that pain. It was a misguided hope.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of gravel crunching under approaching feet. It was Aemond.

He walked over and stood beside you, searching the horizon with his eyes to spot whatever it was you were gazing so intently at. With you being a few years older than him, you stood a head taller, but he was growing fast.

Eventually, he realised that you were not looking at any specific thing and turned his gaze to you. He looked at you through squinted eyes due to the gusts of wind blowing his long silver hair into his eyes.

He examined your face for sometime before asking, “Are you sad?”

A simple question it was not. You thought of how you’d feel if your cousins, or Uncle Viserys and Aunt Alicent died and knew that you’d be inconsolable. You would not feel this…numb.

“I don’t know,” you chose to answer as you turned to face him, “She was my mother and I’m sad she’s gone, but…I never knew her really.”

Any grief you felt was over never getting the chance to know your mother.

These were not thoughts you’d share with anyone, but Aemond wasn’t just anyone. With no dragons to claim, you chose each other. He was your closest friend and ally, and you were certain that there was not a single person in the seven kingdoms that knew your heart better.

Aemond slipped his hand into yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. He knew how conflicted you were without the thought being expressed, and he wanted to be your comfort.

You looked down at him and smiled softly, “Thank you. For coming to make sure I was alright.”

“Mother sent me,” he said quickly, sounding flustered. He never liked admitting how much he cared.

“Of course she did,” you chuckled just as a blush coloured his cheeks, “Come, let’s return inside.”

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You were not sure how late it was. All you knew was that you’d been put to bed a few hours earlier but had chosen to read while your sisters snuck out of the room. That reading was interrupted by chatter and yelling coming from down the hall. You would not describe yourself as a particularly nosy child, but the amount of voices made you curious as to why so many people were awake at this hour.

Following the voices, you approached a room where the noise was loudest and pushed the door open. Your father, Daemon, was standing by it and as you looked around the room, you realised that everyone was here; your sisters, Rhaenyra, her children, Aegon and Aemond, your Aunts Rhaenys and Alicent, Uncle Viserys – there were even members of the Kinsguard present.

Aemond was sitting on a chair facing away from you, his mother standing in front of him. As your father pulled you closer to him, you meekly asked, “What happened?”

“Aemond stole Vhagar!” Baela spat harshly as she glared and pointed at him

You shifted your gaze to Aemond who had slightly turned around at the sound of your voice. As soon as your eyes landed on him, your blood ran cold and the air seemed to leave your lungs. There was a jagged scar running down the left side of his face, and his eye was swollen and stitched shut.

Without thinking, you slipped out of your father’s hold and brushed past your sisters, Rhaenyra and her children to reach Aemond, ignoring the looks from everyone in the room.

Aemond looked hesitant as you raised a hand to his face, your fingers brushing his cheek, but even that was too sensitive and he winced in pain.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked back tears asking, “Vhagar did this?”

He shook his head and looked at his mother. You turned to face her and saw her burning gaze focused directly at Rhaenyra who was bleeding from one arm and shielding Luke with the other.

Realisation dawned on you in that moment. “Luke?” you gasped as the boy cowered behind his mother. You couldn’t believe it. What reason could he possibly have had to hurt Aemond?

“There is no need to start this quarrel up again,” Rhaenys said, “We should get the children cleaned up and put them to bed.”

Everyone nodded, mumbling words of agreement as they started to clear out the room.

“Come, Y/N,” Daemon reached out a hand as he summoned you from across the room.

You stared at him for a moment then looked at Aemond whose eye was still on you.

“Uncle Viserys?” he turned to look at you, an eyebrow raised, “Please may I go with Aemond?”

Viserys looked over your head, no doubt to your father, before letting out a sigh. “Of course, you may,” he cracked a smile, “But don’t stay awake too late.”

You smiled thankfully and returned to Aemond who was being helped out of his chair by Alicent. Almost everyone had left the room now, but Daemon remained by the door, watching you. You took Aemond’s hand in yours as you walked out of the room with Alicent and the Maester trailing behind you.

Alicent allowed you stay with Aemond for the night. She knew that both you and her son needed each other that night. He was laid on his back facing the ceiling, two pillows cradling his head to minimise movement. You climbed into bed beside him when he’d finished his tea and held his hand gently under the blankets.

“Does it hurt terribly?” you whispered after staring at him for a while.

“It did,” he said, “But the Maester’s tea is helping.”

You could see him trying to turn his head to face you completely, but wincing every time he moved it. It broke your heart to see him in so much pain. You didn’t realise when you started to cry.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” you spoke through tears as you squeezed his hand.

Aemond was quiet at first, but then you saw a tear roll out of his eye and disappear into his silver locks. “I thought you would be angry with me.”

“Angry?” you asked, wiping your eyes, “Why would I be angry with you?”

“I thought– Baela and Rhaena said–” he started through sniffles, “I should’ve given you a chance to claim Vhagar before I did.”

He thought he had stolen your chance at having a dragon, and that you would resent him for it.

“Vhagar chose you,” you reassured him, “She wasn’t mine to claim.”

Aemond seemed to blow out a breath of relief as more tears rolled down the side of his face and into his hair.

You decided to change the subject to make him a big happier, "Once I find a dragon, you could teach me how to claim it."

"And then you and I can go flying together," he said, his tone sounding lighter, eager, "We could race each other around King's Landing!"

"We could fly anywhere we want," you said, intertwining your fingers with his, "Just us."

Aemond did his best to look at you properly as a soft smile formed on his lips, "Just us."

You moved up in the bed and hugged him close. He didn't say anything even when your tears surely soaked through his shirt, and so you didn't let go even after he'd fallen asleep. Not even as you drifted off as well.

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It was dawn when you suddenly woke up. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. You glanced over at Aemond who was finally sleeping soundly. He'd woken up twice during the night crying in pain. Only milk of the poppy could ease his plight and allow him to return to his slumber.

The Maester said it would remain like that for next few nights. Alicent seemed even more terrified for Aemond, but you didn't care. You were going to stay by his side and help him through it. When he woke during the night, you whispered that promise to him over and over again, and his body seemed to calm.

Carefully, you slipped your hand out of Aemond's and climbed out of the bed. You gave him one last glance to make sure he was still sleeping before tiptoeing out of the room and returning to your own chambers.

As soon as you entered, you came face to face with your handmaiden, May.

"My Lady," she curtseyed, "Your father is expecting you in Princess Rhaneyra's chambers."

It was an odd request, but you went anyway. You noticed that your sisters were not in their beds and assumed they would be with your father as well.

When you finally arrived at Rhaenyra's chambers, Daemon was visibly annoyed. He turned to you, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Where were you?" he asked, though it sounded more like an accusation.

You nervously glanced at Rhaenyra who was standing beside him before explaining yourself, "Uncle Viserys said I could go with Aemond."

"Yes, to escort him to his chambers, not spend the night," he snapped, eyes burning deep into you.

His anger was unexpected. You and Aemond had practically shared a bedchamber since you were small. He would often climb into your bed late into the night and you into his. After some time, Alicent no longer cared to send you off to separate rooms, knowing come the morning, you would be found curled up next to each other sleeping soundly.

Of course, your father wouldn't know that. He was never there.

"I'm sorry, father," you bowed your head, mostly to avoid his eyes.

"It does not matter," he grunted, "I called you here to tell you that we will be returning to Dragonstone today."

The news was unsurprising considering what happened to Aemond. It was good they would be gone while he recovered.

"I need you to go and pack your things," he continued, "We will be leaving soon."

You froze. He could not be suggesting what you thought.

"Why?"

"Because you are coming with us," Rhaenyra answered. Coming from her lips, it sounded more like a declaration.

You began to panic as you looked between the two. "But…I don't want to," you said as you took a step back, "I wish to return to King's Landing."

They both seemed taken aback by that. Rhaenyra shared a glance with Daemon before stepping closer and taking your hand.

"Y/N, your father is going to Dragonstone. Your sisters too," she smiled encouragingly as she crouched down slightly, "Don't you want to be with them?"

"I want to go home," you snatched your hand away, suddenly terrified of how this situation may unfold. You couldn’t leave. Not now.

Not once did Daemon shift his stance. He just stood there, weight resting on one foot as he stated, "We're your family."

It was true. But your sisters had never needed you, and you questioned whether your father ever did either. What had changed? Why did he want you with him now that your mother was gone and Aemond needed you the most?

"Aemond is family too," you whispered, your gaze never leaving your father's.

Daemon rarely lost composure, but in that moment you saw anger awakened in him. He titled his head and narrowed his eyes before moving closer to you.

"That little cunt stole your mother's dragon," he hissed, "Your dragon."

That set you off. Your fists clenched at your sides and your skin felt like it was burning.

"You cannot steal a dragon," Daemon reacted to that like you had spit in his face, "And I don't want to go to Dragonstone, I don’t want to leave Aemond. I want to return to King’s Landing with Uncle Viserys.”

Daemon was silent as he watched you. He meant to intimidate you, but you were too angry to be affected. Rhaenyra’s eyes were trained on him, seemingly concerned about what he might do.

"I am your father,” he said after a moment’s silence, “You will do as I say."

He brushed past you as he walked out of the room and that was that. Tears began to well in your eyes as you looked down at the ground. You promised Aemond that you would be there for him. You promised…and then you didn’t see him for six years.

***

In some ways, being on Dragonstone had not been the worst thing imaginable. You cherished the opportunity to form relationships with your sisters, and your cousins Jace, Luke and Joffrey. But even as you grew closer to them, they could not replace the people you had lost.

For a time, the relationship with your father was improved. It was only in recent years when his many attempts to have you betrothed had been rejected by you that your relationship soured. You could not provide him with a reason for your rejections despite the suitability of many of the matches, and so he washed his hands off of you.

Your father loved you. You knew he did. But he loved other things – and people – more. It was a reality you came to accept in the years living with him.

When Rhaenyra announced that the family would be travelling to King's Landing on short notice, you could barely contain your excitement. You did not care that it was to go and defend Luke's claim to the Driftwood throne, all that mattered was that you were going to see your family again.

Arriving in King’s Landing on dragon back for the first time was surreal. You did not wait to see the Senryr taken into the dragon pit by the keepers, nor did you wait for your sisters or cousins when you landed. The only thing on your mind was finding Aemond and...well, you did not know what you would do or say yet. But you knew you needed to see him.

Starting at Aemond's old chambers, you were surprised to find Alicent coming out of the room.

"Aunt Alicent," you breathed as she wrapped you in a hug.

She was beaming when she pulled away, even stepping back to take in your appearance. "Y/N," she gasped and cupped your face in her hands, "How you've grown!"

You smiled and looked to your feet as heat rose to your cheeks. "How is Uncle?" you asked, offering a sympathetic smile.

Her face immediately dropped, eyes glazing over as her lip twitched. She didn't have to say it. It was as everyone feared – he did not have long left in him.

"I'm sorry."

She nodded, accepting your condolences before plastering another smile on her face, "Were you looking for Aemond? He'll be on his way to the throne room. For the hearing."

"I'll go there now," you pecked her cheek and hurried down the hall.

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

The sheer amount of people filtering into the throne room was clear indication to the importance of this particular hearing. Rhaenyra was standing with your father at the very front of the room on the right side of the aisle. You bowed your head and briskly walked towards them to stand with your cousins.

On the opposite side of the aisle, you spotted white hair very similar to yours on three heads. One of them was sweet Helaena, and Aegon was more than likely the man standing next to her looking bored. Towering over the both of them was Aemond. His hands were clasped behind his back, long hair cascading over his shoulders. The eye patch gave him away instantly.

You sucked in a sharp breath when you saw him, and as if he’d heard you, he snapped his head in your direction. Even from this distance, you saw the way his eye widened ever so slightly upon making eye contact. Every inch of you wanted to dart across the room and throw yourself into him, but you knew what the consequences of such a public display would be.

Where you were anxious and jittery, Aemond froze at the sight of you. He'd gathered that you were in the Red Keep when he encountered his nephews in the courtyard, and yet he was still so unprepared to see you again. Instantly his walls began to crumble and he found himself scrambling to keep them standing.

You smiled at him and he melted, but he could not let you see that. Instead of returning it, he turned away from you and faced the Iron throne. It was an unexpected action, but it didn't hurt yet. Perhaps he had not actually seen you.

You kept your eyes on him for the rest of the hearing, hoping to gain his attention – to no avail. When the entire farce of a hearing was ended, you tried to call out to Aemond, but he disappeared amongst the crowd of people.

He spent the rest of the day avoiding you, much to your frustration. It is why you were glad to hear that Viserys had requested to have his entire family join him for dinner. Before Aemond could protest or find another place at the table, you occupied the seat next to him, hoping it would force him into acknowledging you.

It did not work.

Despite being sat right beside him, Aemond made no move to speak to you or even look in your direction. He was actively ignoring your presence, and it would be a lie to say it did not cut you deeply.

It remained that way for most of the night. At one point, he actually turned his chair away from you to watch Jace and Helaena dance. It wasn’t until after his toast to your cousins and the scuffle which followed that he acknowledged your existence.

Everyone but you was on their feet, a few guards held Jace and Luke back as Aemond stared your father down. For a brief second he glanced in your direction, a second that felt like a lifetime, then he turned, hummed to himself in annoyance, and strutted out of the room. Without thinking about it, you rose to your feet and followed him out, ignoring the stares of confusion from your father and Rhaenyra.

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

Outside Aemond's room, you raised a hand, intending to knock, but decided against it and pushed the door open. The two of you never knocked in the past, why should it be any different now?

Aemond was sitting in a leather chair by the fireplace, one hand resting on the arm while he cracked the knuckles of his other hand. He paused when you entered and tilted his head slightly to see you with his right eye. Once he confirmed it was you, he turned back to the fireplace, not acknowledging you at all.

You scoffed and looked around the room, spotting a gold chalice and some wine sitting on a high table on the opposite side of the room. You walked over to it and filled the chalice before approaching Aemond. He finally lifted his head to look at you when you held out the cup for him.

“What are you doing here?” the smoothest Valyrian danced off his tongue as he accepted the wine from you.

You smirked and raised a brow. “He speaks,” you said, “I was beginning to fear that you had taken a sacred vow of silence. One that only applies to me, of course.”

He scoffed and took a sip of the wine, ignoring your comment. Despite his attempts to pretend you didn’t exist, you did not miss the way his body tensed as you sat down on the arm of the chair.

“Your Valyrian has improved.” Improved was an understatement. His accent was perfect.

Aemond shook his head and downed the drink before rising to his feet. “‘Tis impolite to enter one’s chambers without first knocking,” he said, his back to you.

The hostility was less amusing now and increasingly annoying. “You’ve grown bitter,” you narrowed your eyes at him from where you were seated.

He turned to face you and cocked his head to the side, “I’d like to think I’ve grown honest.”

“It was unnecessary,” you said, referring to his toast.

He smirked when he caught on to what you were talking about. “It was fun.”

You cracked a smile at that and Aemond’s lip twitched, his eye gleaming. Slowly, you pushed yourself off the chair and walked closer to him. He didn’t even flinch when you came so close that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you.

“You don’t talk as much you used to,” you whispered, your tone sad “You don’t smile either.”

He seemed so…guarded. He was looking at you like you were some kind of predator that he had to protect himself from. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but feared how he might react.

“Much has changed,” he said with the tiniest shrug, “It has been six years.”

Six years of yearning, you wanted to say.

Time had passed, it was true, but that did not explain why he felt so far from you. Or why he’d been ignoring you since you arrived. Bonds like the one you shared are not so easily damaged, nor broken.

“You have changed,” you said, eyeing him in the least discreet way possible.

He too drank you in unashamedly, taking his time from the bottom of your embroidered silk dress, to the top of your silvery-white, curly hair, before finally meeting your gaze. He looked seconds away from saying something, or doing something, but then he caught himself and shook his head.

“As have you,” he chose to say instead. The words came out steady, but when you glanced down, his fists were clenched tight. You reached out to take his hand and he moved back.

"Why are you being like this?" you snapped, though you never raised your voice, "What have I done to upset you?"

He was taken aback by your straightforward question. His plan had been to maintain a wary distance from you until you left again. He did not want to dig into memories of the past...but he couldn't deny you answers when you looked at him with such desperate and confused eyes.

He licked his lips and confessed two words, "You left."

You stepped back in surprise. That was it? Of all the things you may have done to earn such a cold reception from him, leaving him all those years ago never once crossed your mind.

"What?" you practically spluttered.

“You abandoned me,” he reiterated.

“Aemond, you can’t possibly be angry with me over that,” you smiled nervously though you were confused, “You must know I had no intention of leaving you.”

His voice was measured, unemotional. “And yet, you did.”

“I was a child. I could not have prevented them from taking me anymore than you could have.”

He was unconvinced and looked away from you.

“Aemond.”

He didn't respond.

“Aemond, would you look at me.” You grabbed his chin to force him into facing you. With reluctance, he met your gaze.

“My mother had just died. And seeing you hurt that night, pained me more than standing at her funeral,” you whispered it like a dark secret, “That is how deeply I care for you.”

Aemond was stubborn – more so than you – but his features softened at your admission.

The day he woke to find that you had left was the worst pain he had ever felt. He'd been inconsolable for weeks, even attempting to fly Vhagar to Dragonstone and bring you home. But when the tears dried and the irrational thoughts quieted, Aemond came to understand what he had to do to move on. He chose to forget the things he had lost. He chose to forget you.

Despite what you’ve admitted, you do not look away from him shyly, or run away in embarrassment. You keep your gaze steady so that he knows your heart is true.

Your voice trembles slightly as you lower your hand from his chin and ask, “Do you understand?”

He hesitates before nodding slowly. Not once since the day you left had he allowed himself to imagine that you might say anything like that. He spent years hating that you were his weakness. Resenting the fact that years later, he still felt the ache of missing you when he lay in bed at night and you were not there beside him.

And even though he successfully hid his true feelings from everyone else, he could never fool himself.

“I’ve often thought about that night,” he muttered so quietly that it was as if he was speaking to himself, “When I do, this,” he points to his eye patch, “is not the loss I mourn. It is you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath.

“You cared for me?”

“I breathed for you,” he said, then dropped his gaze to the floor in embarrassment, “I fear I still do.”

You let out an exasperated laugh, "Aemond, why would that be something to fear?"

He looked up from the ground and met your eyes with an intensity that made your smile falter. Your heart began to race as he took a step closer, and almost instinctively you moved to him.

He raised a hand to the side of your face and tucked your hair behind your ear. Then he let his hand fall to your cheek where he stroked it gently and lightly brushed your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. You sighed and leaned into his touch, raising a hand to his and holding it just where he cradled your face.

"I fear it," he started as he looked over your face, committing every detail of it to his memory, "because you will not stay. And you are not mine."

"Now is not then," you whispered, "If you want me, Aemond...then I am yours."

With that, he leaned down, his lips hovering over yours as he paused to take in your scent – sweet and earthy – before capturing them in a kiss. He knew that after this there was no returning to what once was. There would be no 'forgetting' this time. He knew this, and he eagerly accepted it.

His hands gripped your waist. You pulled him closer, wanting – no, needing to disappear into him. His scent, his touch, his kiss. It was dizzying, euphoric, and you fell into him happily.

"We must stop," you breathed between kisses, "Anyone could find us."

Aemond didn't respond as he chased your lips fervently.

"We must stop," you repeated, this time gently pushing away from him. You stopped to gather your thoughts, one hand pressed against his heaving chest. You could not look at him, no. If you did, you feared you would not leave this room again.

"We ought to return to the table," you said as you began walking to the door, "You and I have been gone for too long, they will begin to search for us."

You waited by the door until you heard Aemond's footsteps follow behind you. He stopped beside you, one hand on the door handle.

"You'll stay this time," the familiar lilt at the end of a question being asked was missing, but the hesitance in his voice and the pleading look in his eye showed he was asking.

You slipped your hand into his, just as you had done so many times as children, and with conviction answered, "I promise."

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By the time you returned to the dinner table, most of the food had already been cleared away. Luke, Jace and your sisters were dressed in their cloaks and being escorted outside by the guards while your father and Rhaenyra spoke to Alicent and Otto.

You shared a confused glance with Aemond before approaching the four.

“What is happening?”

Your father's head snapped up at the sound of your voice. “Come,” he motioned you over, “Your things are already in the carriage outside.”

“In the carriage?” you frowned, “What for? Where are we going?”

Rhaenyra sighed heavily, "Back to Dragonstone."

“But we've only just arrived,” you chuckled, "Why the hurry to leave?"

An answer was not given, but Rhaenyra's quick glance over your shoulder to Aemond said it all.

“We never intended to stay long,” she offered instead.

Your father motioned you over once again, “Say your farewells then go and get Senryr.”

The request came out like a man ordering his pup to fetch his shoe. He had no sympathy for the position he was forcing you into yet again, and did not care to pretend to show compassion to you. His daughter. It did nit make you sad, it made you angry.

“No.”

Daemon reacted as though you had just slapped him across the cheek.

“What?”

You stepped back to stand by Aemond's side. “I said no,” you repeated, jutting out your chin, “You cannot make me leave, Father. Not again.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I am not asking, Y/N,” he spoke slowly, “You will do as I say.”

It used to terrify you when he spoke in that intimidating tone, even though you knew your father would never harm you.

Perhaps that knowledge is what gave you the courage to say, “I am not leaving.”

Daemon was not often challenged, especially not by his children. He'd known from a young age that of all his children, you had inherited the worst of his temper. Your defiance was not only aggravating, it was insulting.

He stepped towards you, but before he could take another, Aemond moved in front of you protectively. The bold action stunned everyone in the room — including yourself.

Aemond was a good few decades younger than Daemon and therefore little challenge to your father. His wordless threat only indicated one of three things: stupidity, arrogance, or...

You ignored the suspicious looks thrown between you and Aemond as you placed a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. He broke his stare down with your father and looked down at you. Upon seeing the pleading look in your eyes, he stepped back to your side but remained close enough that your arm was still brushing against his.

Daemon was seething. He could see what was happening right before his eyes. Many years back when you'd refused to return to Dragonstone, it was because of Aemond. All those proposals you had turned down were because of Aemond. Even your excitement to return to King's Landing – it was because of Aemond.

He'd known all along, but he'd never spoken it aloud, thinking it beneath him to even entertain the idea that his eldest daughter cared for a Hightower – be him Targaryen or not. But how could he ignore it when it was being thrown in his face like this?

"He," he nodded his head to Aemond, "is the reason you want to remain here?"

Rhaenyra quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation. "There is no need for this," she looked directly at you as she spoke before turning to Alicent, "I will see the children back to Dragonstone, then I shall return on dragon back."

That barely seemed to satisfy Daemon. And if Rhaenyra was suggesting that she could return and convince you to leave, she would be in for a surprise. Alicent was the only one who seemed happy with this solution. She embraced Rhaenyra with a regretful smile as Daemon walked towards you.

Your body stiffened as he approached. He glared at Aemond before looking down to address you, "You may not have to choose today, but you will soon."

He gave you a long look before placing his hand on the hilt of Dark Sister and turning to leave the room. Deep down, you knew he was right. Your Uncle was fading fast, and once he was gone, lines would be drawn and sides would have to be chosen. You only hoped that you had some time before then.

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

It was difficult to part with your sisters after growing so close over the years. You would miss not having them around, but you knew they would never stay. They still hated Aemond for what happened that fateful night years ago, and neither could understand why or how you were able to forgive him. You didn't know how to tell them that to you, there had been nothing to forgive.

You remained by Aemond's side as Alicent showed you to your chambers, each of you like the other's shadow. Alicent was walking ahead of you and when she noticed you trailing behind, she stopped and turned to look at you both.

She raised a brow as she looked between you. "Aemond, I believe your room is down the other way," she pointed to the hallway leading in the opposite direction to where you were heading.

Aemond glanced at the hallway, then to you, and back to his mother. He seemed lost.

She ushered him away, "You may have spent your younger years sleeping in each others' beds, but there will be no more of that."

He nodded once and gave you a final look before walking off to his own chambers. You followed Alicent to the end of the hall where you parted ways at your room.

She was barely gone two minutes when you heard a knock at the door. You knew who it was before you even opened it. Aemond stood there under your door frame, his shoulders hunched slightly, no doubt feeling guilty for defying his mother.

You didn't say a word, you simply stepped aside to let him in. He kicked the door closed with his foot and moved closer, his knuckles brushing against the back of your hand.

"I want to sleep here with you. If you'll have me."

You turned and walked to a table at the other end of the room. You removed your bracelets, earrings and necklace and placed them on the table. Brushing your hair to the side, you looked over your shoulder at Aemond.

"Can you help me with these laces?"

He looked unsure at first before following you. His fingers trailed along your hip before finding the two laces and undoing them for you. There was a pause as he debated what to do next, then he stepped away and sat down on your bed just by your pillow.

You chuckled to yourself at his level of restraint and removed the sleeves of your dress, letting it fall to your feet. Stepping out of the dress, you could feel Aemond’s eyes on you as you removed the pins and ties in your hair and placed them on the table by your jewellery. There was no seduction in your actions. You were simply undressing, and he was simply watching you do it.

When you turned to look at Aemond, he had already kicked off his shoes and was now leaning against your headboard. He sat up when he saw you approaching, his gaze never wavering. There was so much love in his eyes, but it didn't make you shy, it made your heart race. You stopped when you were standing between his legs, resting your arms on his shoulders.

“How come you let your hair grow so long?” you asked as you ran your hand through his long, white locks. He didn’t answer, however. His eye was focused on something else.

His hand slid the hem of your slip higher up your thigh as his brow furrowed in concern. “What caused this?” he asked as he traced his fingers over two jagged scars on your knee and up your thigh.

“Senryr,” you sighed at the feeling of his touch, “She clawed me when I went to claim her. Tore my favourite dress to shreds.”

“Why did you go alone?” he asked, tracing higher to the very tip of the scar on your hip, “She could have killed you.”

You smiled as you looked down at him. “You claimed Vhagar alone,” he looked up at you as you gently stroked his jaw with your finger, “Perhaps if you’d been there to teach me, she never would have hurt me.”

He laughed then. A low, quiet one, but a laugh nonetheless. It lit up his entire face and made his eye sparkle. You felt your heart swell at seeing him so happy, so content.

You climbed over him and into the bed, slipping underneath the blanket, "Are you going to undress?"

He shook his head and climbed in after you, "I'm comfortable like this."

He lay facing you, his arm resting on your waist as he drew circles on the small of your back over your satin slip. You raised a hand to his cheek and touched the bottom of his scar.

"It wounded me when you ignored me today," you said to distract yourself from the question you wanted to ask.

Aemond chuckled, "That was the intention when I did it."

You rolled your eyes and giggled, but your gaze returned to his eyepatch. What did it look like under there? Aemond noticed your furrowed brows and understood what was playing on your mind.

Your hand hovered over the eyepatch, "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded quickly, and removed it before he could change his mind.

A deep blue gem in the place where his left eye used to be. A sapphire, glimmering in the candlelight.

"Beautiful," you whispered absentmindedly as you stroked his cheek just below the sapphire eye.

He softened and pulled you closer to him, placing a light kiss on your lips. You curled into him and tucked your head under his chin, releasing a deep sigh.

Aemond's hand found yours under the blankets, and he smiled when you threaded your fingers together. There wasn't much he wanted to say. He just needed to be here with you, listening to your quiet breathing and feeling your heartbeat against his chest.

[cocrante]

Walking the Wire

[SOLANGELO FANFIC]

summary: The dreams at Camp Half-Blood have vanished. Gentle nights embrace the campers in their hours of sleep, but just as the dreams have disappeared, so have the prophecies. For a mortal, this might not mean anything—nightmares suddenly gone, sweet nights wrapped them in the warmth of the sheets—but for a demigod, dreams are the bridge that connects them between the mortal and immortal worlds, an annoying bell that keeps them constantly on alert, and without those to disturb their nights, it was like losing their compass. But not everyone is without dreams, if "dream" this can be called, one is still allowed to travel in the dream world, perhaps out of pity and compassion of the Fates.

note: this is the second part of the fanfiction "I Start Over with You" also quite old and written a few weeks after the release of the third book "The Trials of Apollo" series. It contains significant spoilers, so please do not read it unless you have read the books first. If you decide to proceed, I will not be held responsible.

additional note: the chapters will be updated every Wednesday. If you want to read upcoming chapters of the fanfiction in advance, I invite you to follow me on Patreon. Subscribing is not necessary, these chapters will be added for free on the platform on Saturday. Following me there is just a kind and free gesture to support my work c:

Reblogs are highly appreciated c:

[PROLOGUE]

BEING A DEMIGOD MEANS COMING TO TERMS WITH A FATE THAT ONE COULD NOT CHOOSE. Every half-blood has to come to terms with that as soon as they step through the camp gates. Each of them has their battles, their own wars to fight, and they're not always against monsters, often the worst battles are against themselves, and there's no retreating from those. You can't run from yourself, you can't hide, you just have to face your fears, face the person staring back at you judgmentally from the mirror.

Nico di Angelo had always faced such battles. He couldn't escape the shadow of his father reflecting in his eyes; he couldn't cling to fond memories because he didn't have any. For years, he had been alone, surrounded by ghosts and shades of the dead, searching among them for his lost sister, to see her again, to receive one last caress, to bid her farewell. He wandered alone through the mortal world, faced the Tartarus with his own strength, survived it, escaped the giants —children of Gaea— and heard the melodious voice of Cupid, which pierced him like a sword. For years, he had thought he was fighting alone, but he was wrong. He had been saved countless times by friends, reaching out a hand, warming him with a smile, standing by him when Cupid himself spoke to him and exposed him to who was a stranger to him. He was so angry with himself that he had to take it out on the one person who was with him that time, who was somehow trying to cheer him up, not knowing who he was facing "The only person who ever accepted me in my life was Bianca, and she's dead!" he yelled "I didn't choose any of this, my father, my feelings—" those words now swirling in his mind. Jason was there that day, the one everyone loved was there to help him, standing by his side, trying to be his friend. Jason had probably been a better friend to him than anyone else.

Yet Fatum in the life of a demigod can also be merciful. It sews small pearls of happiness into the colorful tapestry of life, allowing even the unluckiest of half-bloods a chance to be happy again, and Nico —that happiness— found it in Will's smile.

Will Solace, just one of Apollo's beautiful children, had managed to bring light into the darkness surrounding Nico with little effort. "You could have new memories" Will told him one afternoon at the bay, where they skipped stones across the flat surface of the sea. At the time, Nico almost laughed; the only new memories he had were definitely not the best ones to hold onto at night. Will knew this and was ready to be the architect of those new memories himself. He wanted to give him something to warm him at night, to embrace him in those moments of melancholy. He wanted to be the one, and only one, to bring him back to the light. They spent a month together at Camp Half-Blood, spending afternoons laughing, fighting in the arena, talking about themselves and the future that awaited them outside the camp. In those days, Nico felt like an ordinary boy, relieved of the burden every demigod was forced to carry. Will was a breath of fresh air, and Nico breathed in as much of it as he could: with Will beside him, he truly felt happy again.

Things were starting to go well for him too: he had friends who cared about his life, he had a friend to rely on and confide in when things got heavy, he had found new love, and one December evening he sealed that love with a kiss.

For a week at Camp Half-Blood, all anyone talked about was them, the new relationship between the Ghost King and a son of Apollo. Many bet on a quick end to this strange relationship, others watched with interest and curiosity, only friends congratulated them. Jason, who spent a few days at camp that winter, couldn't help but spill the paranoia Nico had long before meeting him at the bay. Will, with a smile, told the same of himself.

They spent wonderful weeks together, weeks spent getting to know each other, trusting each other, letting themselves cry. It was the first time Will saw Nico cry, and in those tears, there was nothing but the suffering of years spent repressing it, but with it there was also freedom; Nico was finally free to start again, and he was happy that Will was giving him this opportunity.

Slowly, December came to an end—some of the half-bloods had to go back to school, or so it should have been if one day Chiron muttered "The air is shifting" looking thoughtfully at the leaden sky, about to unleash a storm that didn't want to break.

The demigods now had a choice to make, to stay at camp and wait or to return to their homes. Chiron wouldn't stop them.

Nico knew he had to stay. Reluctantly, he informed Reyna at Camp Jupiter that he couldn't return to New Rome at the beginning of January, he didn't even know when or if he would ever be able to return. Then it was Will's turn to decide, it wasn't an easy choice for him either, but his place was with Nico:—"I'll stay" he said those words with the lightness of someone who hadn't had to think about it, squeezing the no longer so cold hand of the son of Hades. All of Apollo's cabin followed their head counselor, and they stayed at camp—if another war broke out, they would need archers and healers.

Most of the demigods stayed at camp to train, to wait for something or someone who would soon enter at Camp Half-Blood.

[CONTENTS]

prologue

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7

↬ masterlist

[shunshunrika]

Hi, for your recent event, I hope you can consider this request! 💖

FLUFF 7 + SMUT 27 + Gojo Satoru + (no kink specified: up to author!)

₊˚Ꮚ𓂅୨⊹ OBSESSION - GOJO SATORU

warnings - SMUT, afab! reader, mirror sex, dacryphilia, humiliation, overstimulation, recording, oral (m! and f! receiving), facial, dirty talk, squirting, pet-names, not proofread.

MDNI, 18+ only!!!!

a/n: Satoruuu, why are you THAT hot? also, can't believe this is my first toru smut? I'm a toru account..what??

Gojo Satoru, your very own boyfriend, usually known as the man who knows everything, doesn't know about your obsession with him.

Yeah, you have been dating him for a bit over 6 months now and yet, you keep forgetting that you are. You are still in your 'crush' headspace after all this time. Probably because Gojo Satoru is internet famous and a lot of people, like you, are in love with him. It totally gives you an existential crisis sometimes - that you are not one of those fangirls, but his actual girlfriend. That doesn't soothe your tendencies though.

You still steal glances at him and find your cheeks turning red-hot, you find ways to sneak a peek at his naked, steamy form when he's done showering, hell you will even read fanfiction about him and save particularly juicy fanart if you come across it. Recently, you had come across certain pictures of his, drawn by a very talented artist - (bless, you even tipped her anonymously)

Ever since then, it has been the photo that adorns your phone screen. Obviously, you had a different lock screen since you didn't want Satoru to know but you could ogle at this art of Satoru all you wanted in secrecy. Satoru never knew you had this side to you. He always felt you were the more independent one emotionally and he was clingy. Little did he know though. It felt indecent, childish but you loved your little secret all the more.

You had gone a few weeks without Satoru ever noticing until one day, in the middle of the supermarket, Satoru needed your phone to look at the grocery list.

"I put down ice-cream in there, baby. Did you remove it again?" Satoru whined rather loudly. A few women passing by chuckled at the two of you, bantering in the aisle.

"Satoru. We don't need ice-cream every week, okay? Do you love your dentist more than me?" is your rebuttal.

"She's prettier..." Satoru hums to himself, earning a slap on his back from you, making him chuckle.

"Well if not ice-cream, what's left..." Satoru started scrolling through the list until he seemed to have found something.

"Oh, what's this?" he asked, rhetorically. "Wow."

For a second, you feel an ominous air. You stop dead in your tracks and feel the urge to look at what Satoru is looking at. Sure enough, his blue eyes reflect the half-naked art of his own silhouette, vibrant in all its glory right on your home-screen. You almost forget how to breathe when you snatch the phone out of his hands aggressively.

"S-Satoru, I-"

"Y/N, seriously?" he asked, amused.

“Am I your wallpaper?”

“You weren’t supposed to see that!” you exclaim, a bit too loud for a public place. You calm yourself down and clear your throat before continuing. "u-uh. I thought it looked, uh, good...so"

"Y/N!" his face cringed up. "Oh my lord, you love me that much. And here I used to think you found another man because you keep ignoring me!" Satoru pouted quietly, still eyeing your phone. You could sense the onlookers' eyes bore a hole through your back so at this point, you just grabbed Satoru and made a run for the billing line. After you were in your car, you finally breathed a sigh of relief. Satoru still wouldn't shut up about the picture on the ride home as you drove. He had convinced you to hand him your phone so he could look at the picture better from all angles. What he was looking at, only he knew.

You were so happy he hadn't figured out that there were more.

"Huh..."

Another bout of unease. You perhaps spoke too soon.

"THERE'S MORE?" he exclaimed so loud while swiping left and right, you almost slammed your breaks.

"Satoru! Stop that!" you screamed. "Give me back my phone!" you lurched at him trying to get your device filled with his lewd pictures back.

"Y/N, are you really that horny for me?" He asked genuinely.

"You should've told me 4 times a week was still insufficient for you."

"Satoru, please." at this point you were so embarrassed, your eyes were tearing up. You didn't wait for his response, parked and ran straight into your house, kicking off your shoes. He could keep the phone, do whatever. He could think you are a freak, or obsessed, or gross or whatever! You sniffed as you climbed into your king-sized bed and hugged yourself. This was so humiliating!

"Y/N? You cryin'?" Satoru was right on your heels without you realizing. He climbed into the bed with you, dropping your phone on the side table.

"Are you embarrassed about it?" he asked, scooting to be beside you, his arm on your wait and his lips on your ear. "You embarrassed that your dirty little secret is out now?" He said, sliding two fingers up your shorts and rubbing your little nub through your panties. You bit your lip, pressing your thighs together and trapping his wrist there. When he realized that he was trapped, he proceeded to pinch your nub lightly making you yelp.

"Stop teasing me!" you whimpered, your voice breaking halfway through and your vision blurry with tears.

"Nope. I want you to cry more than that, but let's do this a bit differently." he said, getting up and picking you up along with him, bridal style. He was so strong it was practically effortless for him to carry you like you were a doll. He carried you away from the bed and you wondered where he was taking you.

"Let's switch the environment a bit, shall we?" he said, laying you down on the carpet in front of a full-size mirror that lay in the corner of his room. The mirror was large enough to show you and him. You thought he was too tall for it.

"You won't need these." Satoru said, pulling at your clothes. "Off with them." he commanded, stripping himself of his shirt while facing the mirror. You could see the intricate pattern of every solid muscle on his torso and abdomen as he got rid of his clothing and you did too. You noticed how pretty your body looked and how prettier it looked bare, sitting right below Satoru's own bare body. His length hung right over your head, semi-hard already.

"How should we do this?" he put a finger to his chin, pondering.

"W-what are we doing?" you asked frantically, unsure of what was about to unfold other than the two of you having s*x in front of the mirror.

"I'm thinking." Satoru got down on his back and pointed at his face. "Sit on me and face the mirror."

You gulped when you thought of how that would look in the mirror. Your legs spread out atop Satoru's gorgeous face and you having access to his abs and his hard-on.

You quickly followed what he told you and sank onto his waiting mouth, moaning out load when you felt his tongue beginning to explore your insides. Satoru grabbed your asscheeks and lifted you up ever so slightly so you could see in the mirror, how his tongue entered in and out, at a steady pace, before setting you back down onto him. Gosh, that looked so lewd...

"What should I do?" you asked, more to yourself than to Satoru. You started out with tracing his taut abs and you saw in the mirror how your fingers filled in the ridges and crannies. Your hands finally snaked their way to his towering dick. You bent yourself forward in order to reach his dick with your mouth as his torso was too long and it ended up making you lift your ass off Satoru's face. He growled and pressed on your hips to make you sit back onto his face. You struggled to stretch out this was for a few seconds until you found a comfortable angle.

You made eye-contact with your reflection as you licked the tip of Satoru's length softly. His head looked so raw and pink, it was cute. you smiled at it before placing a kiss on it. This made Satoru groan into your hole and made you sigh too.

"Pretty 'toru cock." you commented, taking it in your mouth little by little. You were surprised how large it looked, sheathed in your mouth. It created a bulge on your left cheek as you looked at your lewd, horny self in the mirror - eyes half lidded, saliva escaping from your packed mouth, hair astray. Satoru never let his rhythm falter, as he chugged his tongue deep into your crevices, lapping up every ounce of your juice as soon as your walls were coated with a fresh layer.

His fingers were probably leaving marks on your ass now, but you loved it when they did that. Your plump ass marked with Satoru's fingers. You hollowed your cheeks out, taking in more and more till your nose connected with his pelvic bone. The tufts of fine hair on his crotch tickled your nose as you stayed there, feeling his shaft sit comfortably in your throat, like it was a glove meant just for Satoru. Meanwhile, you swirled your tongue all around his length, paying attention to each vein and the underside of the dick. You brought your hands up to his sack to toy with it - gently rubbing at the twin balls and resisting the urge to squeeze them. He noticed what you were doing and brought his own hand to your nub, rubbing at it fervently.

"Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn't tease me." he purred and you moaned right into his dick, quivering as Satoru made you lose your sanity. This was a competition now, who would cum first. You were desperate to win after how humiliated you felt. You increased your pace with your mouth around his shaft and start pumping the bottom to add to his pleasure.

"Nghh." he groaned out under you, losing focus.

"That's it Satoru." you mumbled with a mouth full of cock, feeling him come closer to his peak. "Put it all on my face, please."

"I want to drink all of it."

That was enough to send Satoru over the edge and you removed your mouth just in time for him to paint your face white. You were so f*cked out yourself that you let his thick jizz go wherever it wanted to, inside your nostrils, back in your mouth, on your eyelids. Some even fell on his hairy crotch which you kitten-licked at diligently.

"Get all of it, don't leave a single drop behind." Satoru told you as he continued his assault on your womanhood from the behind. You looked at yourself in the mirror, deranged looking - face covered in ropes of his cum and your tongue picking up the leftovers from his pubes. What a mess. Beautiful.

"Say cheese, Y/n." you suddenly heard Satoru say as he started humming into your hole. The vibrations and his tongue were enough to push you over and cum monstrously onto his mouth so much so that you didn't notice what he was doing. You cum painted face was contorting in pleasure and you wondered what sort of expression you were making. You heard the sound of a camera flash but couldn't care less, you enjoyed your bliss for a few more seconds with tears rolling down your cheeks, mixing with Satoru's cum, until you finally looked back to see what Satoru was up to.

"Wow. what a masterpiece." he said, showing you the picture, he just captured on his phone. It looked like art. Your face, the scene, the mirror, everything in it.

"I'm going to use this as my wallpaper now." Satoru said mischievously, earning a grimace from you.

"Satoru- you-" you began saying with a sigh, trying to get off of him but Satoru won't let go. He made you sit back down on him and grabbed at your breasts blindly.

"Where are you going, I'm not done with your pretty hole yet." he said, plunging his tongue yet again into your insides, making you screech.

"O-ow. Wait." you hissed, tearing up. "I'm still sensitive."

"Cry it out. You look so pretty like that." he said, pinching and pulling at the erect nipples on your breasts making you hum in pleasure and pain.

"Oh my goodness." You exclaimed and kept exclaiming until once more, Satoru's chin was drenched in your juices.

"Okay, stop now." you said.

"No, princess." he said devilishly. "Not yet."

You were now seriously questioning whether you would lose your sanity. This time, your walls were even dry and yet you felt something bubble up in your abdomen while Satoru's mouth sucked your nether lips dry.

"Oh, oh!" was the only thing you were able to say as you saw yourself in the mirror and a second later, liquid sprayed out of you and straight onto the mirror. You kept spraying the mirror in bursts, with your head thrown back until you were so weak, you fell forward, your face next to Satoru's limp c*ck.

Satoru finally let go of your ass and gently pushed you off of him, inspecting your face.

"Well." he said, getting closer to the mirror and licking some of the liquid off of it.

"If you need a picture of me as your wallpaper, I'll send you nudes baby." he pulled your cheek as you smiled, watching him set off for the bathroom, humming a tune only he knew, as you let yourself drift into dreamland full of naked Satorus.

[cavalierious-whim]

A Knight's Tale (Neuvithesley)

Wriothesley swears an oath of old, sealed with his blood, and a bite mark against his shoulder.

'oath of the water'

5.3k

knight and emperor au

set in the same canon as 'my rock, my shield'

Read here on AO3. You can also, follow me on Twitter and Blue Sky.

--

Wriothesley is thrown away as a child more than once. 

He doesn’t remember the first time, told that he was a babe left on someone’s stoop. The old man who finds him is kind enough to share a few meals, but unequipped to raise him beyond that. The people that he is given too are not kind; they are devilish instead, with insidious motives driven by greed and money. 

Children are resilient and observant. Wriothesley grows like a weed and notices the signs that something is off but ignores them. How can he not? Those who foster children who aren’t their own are blessed with kindness and fortune. Surely no one would put such effort into rearing lost causes for anything else than the love of it. 

But Wriothesley is unlucky. Or perhaps lucky—depends on the day he’s asked. One late night, one glass of water, one glimpse at something that he wasn’t supposed to see; Wriothesley leaves the next day for fear of his future, carrying his life in a threadbare bag that an older sister had left behind. 

He doesn’t think about what happened to that sister. 

The streets become his playground as he bumps elbows with others. It’s dog-eat-dog but he learns. There are rules here too, just like anywhere else, and while they may not be things like ‘keep your back straight and your head down’, they’re just as important. 

It’s all about survival. Don’t trust others, don’t share your food. The young ones will always come back for scraps if you give them a bone, and you have to keep those too because who knows when you can steal another round without getting caught.

Wriothesley is good at stealing. He’s quick and nimble on his feet, and those in the market have given up calling the guards on him. These are the best and worst years of his life. Best in that they taught him lesson after lesson. Worst in the eternal hunger gnawing at his gut, in the fight for clean water, for shelter, for basic needs. 

There are stories of how dogs go back to their abusive owners, desperate for a shred of love. Wriothesley is loyal like man’s best friend, and when he’s a little older and taller, he drags himself back to that stonewashed mansion brimming with children. And like desperate owners who lost their best friend, Ma and Pa welcome him back with welcome arms—

At least until they are found lying dead one night soon after. 

He is a teenager now, and though he’s learned a lot, Wriothesley didn’t know blood could be so red, or that it could stain wooden floors so easily. 

When the guards arrive the knife drops to the ground and he puts up no resistance. He’s shackled and taken to prison. He sits in a cell and has square meals twice a day for the first time in years. 

It’s a cold day when he awakes to a stranger. She is crisp-looking, sharp like the knife he’d saved up for, the only purchase he’s ever truly allowed himself. Cat-eyed as she watches him carefully, pacing back and forth across the filthy floor. 

“They’re thinking about a trial for you,” she says to him. “Even though you’ve confessed.”

Wriothesley blinks, too tired to do much else. 

“Do you want a trial, boy?”

“No.” His voice is hoarse, having gone unused by however long he’s been kept here. Days? Weeks? It’s all bled together, and he sleeps the hours off huddled in the corner of his cell. 

Her gaze turns curious. “Why not?” she asks, genuinely. Like a cat with cream, he realizes. She’s stalking him in the same way the older kids stalk the fresh meat on the streets. 

“It’s obvious that I did it,” he says dryly. “And, as you said, I confessed.”

The woman taps her chin thoughtfully. “The argument is that it was warranted. The guards found a mess in that home. Traffickers—your foster parents. Did you know?” Wriothesley’s jaw clenches, and she looks at him as though she’s backed him against the wall, right where she wanted. “You have a good case. The means outweigh the end, they say. What are a couple of deaths when it saves dozens?”

“Your point?”

She stops her pacing and leans close to the bars. Wriothesley can just barely make out her pale hair in the darkness of the room. “If you go to trial, you may not win, even with the odds in your favor.”

Wriothesley doesn’t care. Wriothesley has done his one deed that’s worth something in this life. At this point it matters not where he finds up. 

The woman’s gaze washes over him. “If you were let go, where would you go?”

“No where,” says Wriothesley. It’s oily, thick in his gut. That thought. Wriothesley wants somewhere to go, but there are no homes for the destitute.

She hums. “I had thought your work was petty revenge, but it wasn’t, was it? No, you are a selfless boy, so quick to throw away his life for the sake of the others. Tell me—do you think yourself unworthy of a good life?”

Wriothesley’s tongue is thick in his mouth. “I don’t… there’s nothing left for me so it doesn’t matter. My work is done.”

“Is it? Sounds as though you are perfect for the House of the Hearth.” The woman’s eyes shine with a conspiratorial glint. “Listen boy, I come here with an offer. Fontaine has a need for boys like you. Her Lady the Archon would boast about chivalrous intent, but that does not a good guard make. No, it’s all about guts and survival. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a boy say such a bold lie when his eyes show that he wants to survive.”

“The guard? The Royal Guard?”

“Well I don’t think you’d make a good spy,” she teases. “You’d have a roof over your head, meals, clothing, and even a stipend.”

“At the expense of being fodder,” spits Wriothesley.

The woman does not deny this. Wriothesley sits there and thinks about it, working his jaw.

Finally, she says, “There are worse things. Think of all the little siblings you could save in the future.”

Wriothesley does. He thinks about others, children, the elderly, the infirm. He thinks of the guards who’d chase him into alleys only to turn a blind eye because they knew he had nothing better. The slaps on the wrists instead of losing fingers and knuckles. The coins that were pressed into his palms, or the last bits of ale left at the edge of a table with their faces turned. 

The guards have always been nice to him. Even when they cuffed him at his home, it was with care. It was with pity, and he knows they’ve been sneaking him extra rations even now.

Wriothesley swallows and says, “Alright then.”

The woman’s mouth spreads into a wide smile. There is something strange about it, something off. Wriothesley has long learned how to read people and though this woman brings him an offer gilded in gold, he has the distinct feeling it will not be easy. 

Still. Shelter. Food. The alternative is death, even if they let him go. Winter will be here soon and Wriothesley’s worn through his only pair of boots. 

“Alright then,” the woman repeats. “I am called the Knave, by the way. But you can call me Father.”

#

His experiences can be counted by the scars that are notched in his skin.

The rest of Wriothesley’s teenage years pass by in a flurry of training, conditioning, and harrowing outings that test his resilience. Father is neither kind nor cruel, Father just is. Wriothesley keeps his head down, does as he’s told, and learns to loosen up. 

Comrades come and go, in and out, around and around, like those fancy revolving doors he once saw at a hotel he staked out as a child. As an adult he travels more than not, but he rarely steps foot into those old spaces he used to haunt. 

He rises in the ranks. He’s gifted titles and awards, and fanciful ribbons on his uniform. But even with his ranks and commendations, he goes to bed at night empty and forlorn. Loneliness seeps into his sheets, into his bones, and he tries to warm up with a companion of the week. 

And then there is Monsieur Neuvillette, a courtly man, the Chief Justice. He doesn’t look at Wriothesley with pity, like he’s some strange street rat who’s been polished up for entertainment. He just looks at Wriothesley. And talks to him, and shares tea with him.

Conflict in Fontaine comes and goes, Wriothesley comes and goes, but Neuvillette is always here for him, waiting, a friendship carefully cultivated through the years with nothing expected in return. Wriothesley clings to it, and the warmth that floods through his chest, pocketing every subtle smile that Neuvillette shares in his presence alone. 

A decade passes and Wriothesley wonders if twenty-five is supposed to be so exhausting. Another five years are gone in a blink, and he’s granted a Vision for an unknown reason. Celestia would not favor him, and yet it gleams in his palm, frosted at the edges. No one notices. Except Neuvillette. It’s pinned crookedly to the coat of Wriothesley’s uniform, and he reaches out to adjust it. 

That touch burns through Wriothesley but he wills himself still. 

“Congratulations,” says Neuvillette so quietly that it’s a hymn for Wriothesley alone. “I see that you have found something to protect.”

Because that’s what a Vision is, right? Divine power granted by Celestia herself. Neuvillette has never cared much for them, his nose wrinkled in distaste at the mere mention. But this one—this one must be different. It feels different even, crisp against his chest like the Cryo it breathes, but warm when held in his palm as it beats like a heart. 

Neuvillette smiles at him. Wriothesley’s heart skips a beat and he knows, then, that Celestia didn’t grant him this power, it was borne of something else entirely. 

Shortly thereafter, Wriothesley is brought to Neuvillette’s personal chambers. 

It is late. Neuvillette is dressed down for the night—far more casually than Wriothesley has ever seen him. He sits in a chair and flips through edicts. A glass of crystal clear water sits on the table beside him.

He sees Wriothesley’s hesitance and calls him forward. And he goes, caught like a puppet on a string,  flitting across the floor and feeling awkward in such a personal space. 

“Focalors,” begins Neuvillette, but then he pauses, unsure how to continue.

Yes, their Archon. Wriothesley has never disliked the woman but her theatrics certainly cause the Royal Guard quite the headache. 

“Has she been needling you again?” asks Wriothesley with humor. 

Neuvillette’s face crinkles around the edges. He sets his papers down across his lap and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “That would make this easier, I would think.” His tone is rueful and tired, and Wriothesley wonders if this just might be a coup in the making. 

It is not.

Neuvillette rubs his chin and then says, “Focalors is not the Empress.” Wriothesley blinks, not quite comprehending. When Neuvillette continues, his voice is small and hesitant. “I am the Emperor,” he says, “and this is a carefully guarded secret, for if those out there knew that the Sovereign Dragon of Hydro was, in fact, still alive, chaos would ensue. Do you understand, Wriothesley?”

Wriothesley understands. And then he does not. “Celestia…” He trails off. He’s read the histories. He knows that Neuvillette knows what he’s about to say. The Authority of the Seven Sovereigns was stripped eons ago and war broke out. Thousands upon thousands of years Fontaine has worked underneath an Archon instead.

Neuvillette’s expression is strained. “It is a ruse, one carefully crafted and known by none.”

“None,” repeats Wriothesley. “Father—”

“Your Father is not privy to this.”

“Then who is?”

“Myself,” says Neuvillette, “and Focalors.” And then a wrinkle of his nose. “And Miss Sigewinne.”

A beat passes. “And now me,” finishes Wriothesley. And then: “Why me?”

“Because I trust you,” replies Neuvillette evenly. He stands and glides across the floor, and suddenly his ethereal grace makes sense. “Because you care for me.”

Wriothesley feels ensnared at that moment, caught in a trap of Neuvillette’s making. Neuvillette watches him with a serpentine gaze, pupils slitted, irises glowing blue in the low candlelight. There is no judgment, though. His expression is soft, tender even. Neuvillette reaches out and cups Wriothesley’s cheek, tracing over the arch of his cheekbone like he’s a treasure. 

“Monsieur—”

“I have need of a knight, and who is a better choice than you?”

“It’s a risk to tell me this,” says Wriothesley. “What if I were—”

“I care for you,” cuts in Neuvillette as he leans into Wriothesley’s space. This is the closest they’ve been in all their years spent together. Neuvillette smells like a crisp, mountain stream, like the air right before a storm. “I care for you in ways that are entirely improper.”

Wriothesley is ensnared again but for entirely different reasons, heat curling in his gut. “Improper,” he repeats, voice tight. 

Neuvillette grasps his chin between a thumb and forefinger. “Focalors did not like the idea of it, but she is nothing but a puppet. I hold the true Authority here in all matters, and so I will do as I wish. I would not have asked were I not sure you’d agree.”

It is a simple answer. Of course, Wriothesley will say yes. It’s been a long time since his heart started beating for this man instead, and he will happily be his sword and shield. 

“Wriothesley,” says Neuvillette then, guiding their faces closer. “It is not an oath made lightly.”

“I love you,” blurts Wriothesley, rather stupidly. 

Neuvillette stills. And then he smiles, wide and genuine, unfettered affection blooming across his face. Wriothesley has never seen such a look on him. “Yes,” he replies, “you do.”

He does not need to say it back. It is as clear as a warm day. It’s in the way that he cups Wriothesley’s chin, in how he leans closer; it’s in the way that he clumsily kisses him, unpracticed and unused to such intimacies, and yet Neuvillette chooses to explore this with Wriothesley. 

That night, Wriothesley lays himself open. He lets Neuvillette crack open his chest and explore, flaying him alive as they lose themselves to their needs and lust. It is a quiet and all consuming thing. Wriothesley lies in the aftermath, sweat-slick and glowing, and it’s Neuvillette who tends to him, who combs his hair, who whispers the sort of sweet nothings found in books about lovers. 

Wriothesley enjoys reading, and he’s drawn to tragedies because that is all that he knows. This feels like romance, and he wonders if there is a good ending in store for a tired, broken-down, criminal-turned-knight like him.

That night, he sleeps in a soft bed plastered against another, a little too hot, hair in his mouth, but it’s home. It’s home.

Which is why the next morning Wriothesley swears an oath of old, sealed with his blood, and a bite mark against his shoulder. 

#

Wriothesley still cannot find it within himself to truly relax.

The bath does wonders to ease his bones, and pains and aches, but it’ll always be there, that flicker of awareness, that ever-present hyper awareness. Never sit with your back to the door. Sleep with one eye open. Lounge casually but always with a knife close enough for a quick grasp. Even as he sinks into the water, eyes slipping closed his ears strain for—

He jerks, eyes snapping open. “Oh,” he mutters, rubbing at his face, mildly embarrassed.

“Always at attention, aren’t you? What is the purpose of allowing you the use of my private bath if you’re wound so tightly?”

Wriothesley winces slightly. “It isn’t—”

“I tease, Wriothesley.” Neuvillette is usually so stiff and proper that seeing his mouth quirked into a subtle grin is still so… strange. It’s been years, at this point; years of watching that mouth learn how to emote properly and Wriothesley still finds it odd at times. Or, perhaps it’s because it’s directed at him. 

Neuvillette watches him for a long moment, standing there outside of the bath’s perimeter. He is dressed down as expected, for these are his personal baths, and Wriothesley allows himself to leer for a little too long, his gaze raking across the length of him.

“Wriothesley,” he starts, his tone dry.

“I’m just looking.”

Neuvillette’s expression tins with amusement. “Look all you want, but I will still ask—”

“If you can get in with me? The answer is yes.”

“—if you are alright.” Wriothesley stiffens. Neuvillette sees it and sighs. “If the recruits are still being a bother—”

“They aren’t,” reassures Wriothesley. He drags a hand down his face, rubbing at it. “I’m just tired, is all. You’ve seen the current reports, I’m sure.” Neuvillette’s expression falls. “Yeah, that. That’s how I feel.”

Neuvillette pads across the tiled floor quietly and shrugs off his robe, hanging it across the back of a chair. Wriothesley stares, unabashedly, as he steps into the pool, hissing softly at the heat of the water. And then he scowls. “Bath oils—”

“My bath time, my indulgences.” 

Wriothesley grins at the grimace on Neuvillette’s face. He’d prefer crisp, clean water—cool, even. He has only just begun to enjoy hot baths which are Wriothesley’s preference, but he still hasn’t come around to the bath oils. Soap, yes; Neuvillette enjoys being clean, and he lavishes his hair with the finest of shampoos and lathers, but the oils, he claims, cling to his skin. Which is the point, but Wriothesley has never bothered to argue much about it.

Neuvillette sinks into the water, his hair fanning out around him. Wriothesley’s arm opens up as he drifts closer, a silent invitation. Neuvillette notches against his side and relaxes entirely. 

“Bad day?” teases Wriothesley.

“Focalors…” Neuvillette pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am at my wit’s end with that woman. Her eccentricities have helped over the years, but it is to the point where she is hard to reel back. I’ve allowed her too much latitude. In the throne room today—”

“Oh, I heard.” Wriothesley lets out a long whistle. “It’s rare for Morax to pay visits to neighboring countries, but I’ve also heard that he’s pretty easy to get along with.” Neuvillette’s expression sours and Wriothesley’s eyebrows rise. “No?”

“He is—” Neuvillette shudders, his jaw tensing. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that she cannot make such rash decisions—”

“You always get to overrule them.”

“Yes, but there are some things that are not so easily adjusted without risking…”

Ah, yes, that, the elephant in the room. Wriothesley hums and tilts his face to press a kiss against Neuvillette’s temple. “I’m not saying that you should take your throne back, but—”

“But you are.”

“It’s a fantasy. It’ll make you feel better, imagining all the ways that you’d get to be in charge again.” Neuvillette snorts. “Really though,” continues Wriothesley, “Morax—”

“Must you call out the names of other dragons in my presence?”

Wriothesley gives him an amused glance. “Is this like when cats get all territorial?”

“No. I merely dislike having not only an Archon in my lands, but another—”

“So it is like a territorial cat-thing.” Neuvillette looses a long-suffering sigh and Wriothesley laughs. The bath is big enough to swim around slightly. He breaks away and floats to the side, turning to face Neuvillette properly. “How angry is Morax?”

“He is not… angry. But he is suspicious, and that is cause for concern. He is the oldest of the Archons, older than even I, and he is well-learned. Focalors was quick thinking in her response to his aide for help but I am unsure that we can risk the manpower. To fall back on such a lofty promise…”

Wriothesley hums. “We’ll figure it out.” He crosses the difference, leaning into Neuvillette’s space. “Do you want me to wash your hair? Pamper you a little?”

Neuvillette relaxes slightly, his shoulders losing their tension. “It is too late to have wet hair.”

“You can flick it away with a wave of your fingers.”

“Yes, but—” Neuvillette reaches out to grasp Wriothesley by the chin, and even now, years later, it makes him think of that night they first shared a kiss. “I would rather wash yours.”

“Scandalous,” says Wriothesley. “Unbecoming of an—” He pauses, looking around the room dramatically, and then whispers: “Emperor.”

“What’s more scandalous is his knight sharing his private bath.”

“Not his bed?”

“I do think that the servants are used to that.”

There is little use in hiding it anyhow. Mortals may not pay attention but the Melusines who attend to matters in the palace can see his claim all over Wriothesley. It’s amusing until Sigewinne sees him and turns up her nose. No, Wriothesley and Neuvillette are darlings of the court, which comes as a boon when masking the truth of Neuvillette’s nature. 

Neuvillette ducks close and presses a short, sweet kiss against Wriothesley’s mouth. “Allow me this indulgence,” he requests, politely as ever, and Wriothesley finds himself caving at that quiet, affectionate tone alone. 

Wriothesley turns his back to one person and one person alone. Neuvillette knows this vulnerability of his, and so he warns before he touches, and is gentle with every sweep of his fingers. He lathers the coarse strands of Wriothesley’s hair. His claws scrape against his scalp, dragging a soft moan from Wriothesley’s lips.

The pampering lulls him into a comfort found only in the arms of his mate. “I’m tired,” he says.

“I can tell.” Neuvillette’s hands travel down the length of Wriothesley’s neck and across his shoulders, squeezing at the muscle there. “You’re tense.” His hands are followed by a quick kiss, and then Neuvillette dumps a liter of Hydro over Wriothesley’s head.

Wriothesley yelps at the sharp sting of it. “Did it have to be cold?”

Neuvillette laughs against his temple before guiding him to dunk beneath that bath’s surface. When Wriothesley comes back up, an apology is already falling from his mouth. The tension is massaged away by those old and ancient hands. Neuvillette does not treat him like he is something broken to be fixed, or like glass threatening to crack. He treats him like a treasure to be loved with quiet praise whispered against his ear, and kisses down the back of his neck. 

He stills when he reaches the meat of Wriothesley’s left shoulder. His mark. That beloved thing that brands Wriothesley as his own. Neuvillette presses his face against that spot and inhales deeply before kissing it. Then he says, “The bath is getting cold.”

“You know these waters don’t cool.”

“I could cool them, then.” Neuvillette rests his chin in the crook of Wriothesley’s neck as his hand sneaks underneath Wriothesley’s arm. He drags his fingers through the water, making it dance in lazy circles. That one spot cools, and the cold begins to seep outwards.

“Sweetheart—” Wriothesley can feel the frown against his neck in response. “—if you want to retire to bed, you can ask.”

“I wish to have you in my bed,” says Neuvillette then, his voice dropping into a sultry baritone. “Were I permitted to do so.”

Oh. Oh. Always so polite even when he knows that Wriothesley wouldn’t dream of turning him down. Wriothesley turns around in his arms and shoots him an owlish grin. “Oh? Does the Emperor need his Consort?” A well-loved tease that makes Neuvillette’s rhinosphores tint with a subtle glow. “Is this old dragon aching and needy?”

“Wriothesley.”

They meet eagerly, like crashing waves, like the tide licking at the shore. Neuvillette tilts Wriothesley’s mouth against his, letting his forked tongue flick at the seam of his mouth. It is heated and passionate. Despite the late hour, and the tiredness of their bones, they suckle at each other's lips, tongues, teething, seeking out warmth. 

“Tea,” murmurs Neuvillette. “You taste like tea, you always—”

Wriothesley laughs against his mouth, combing through his hair before pulling away. “Out,” he says, tugging Neuvillette to the edge of the bath. 

And Neuvillette goes, like a moth drawn to a flame, looking at Wriothesley like he’s the whole damn sun.

#

They fall into the silk sheets damp and needy.

Neuvillette insists on taking care of him again, and Wriothesley chooses to let him. “A vision,” he says, hanging over him, regarding Wriothesley as if he’s hung the moon. He traces every inch of skin, every pock mark and scar that’s etched into his body. Neuvillette likens him to a canvas, a painting of learned experiences, of adventures, and he traces every moment with his tongue and teeth. 

And when he takes Wriothesley’s cock into his mouth, it’s graceless and with need, choking gently as he slides down the entire length, desperate to feel it against the back of his throat. Those hands wander again as he moans around him. His fingers dig into the meat of Wriothesley’s ass as Neuvillette presses his thighs back. 

He pulls off, suckling at the tip of Wriothesley’s cock, swirling that inhuman tongue around the crown like he’s savoring a delicacy. It’s nearly too much. Wriothesley arches in the bed and does his best to not force his cock deeper. Neuvillette smiles around him as he takes his cock back into his mouth, encouraging him in a way that he should definitely not.

A quick bob of Neuvillette’s head. That damned tongue of his slides against the underside, curling against sensitive nerves and driving Wriothesley mad. And then the heat of his mouth is gone as Neuvillette licks across his hole next, moaning at the way it twitches.

“That’s—that’s—”

Hydro makes the glide of a finger easy. Wriothesley bites at his lip, yielding easily, readily, forcing it deeper. Another slips in and Neuvillette purrs at how easily he opens, spreading his fingers wide, watching at how his rim swallows them deep. Then his tongue joins, lapping at his hole, suckling at it as Neuvillette eases him open, fucking Wriothesley on his fingers with a too-slow, too-languid pace.

“Neuvillette,” he cries, only for it to be ignored. 

Neuvillette maintains the lazy pace, scissoring his fingers open, prying him apart. Wriothesley is laid open and bare. He writhes in those sheets on one, two, three fingers, hissing out Neuvillette’s name in a plea to get a move on. 

Even now, he’s too empty. Wriothesley needs more than just his cock, he needs Neuvillette’s weight against him and those sweet praises pressed into his ear.

Neuvillette’s patience runs its course. He pulls those fingers out and Wriothesley groans at the loss. “Easy there. Take a breath.”

Wriothesley does as he’s asked, sucking in sweet, clean air as Neuvillette settles between his thighs properly. 

“Like this,” he says, hanging over Wriothesley. “I crave your closeness tonight.”

Yes, thinks Wriothesley. Yes, yes, yes. But, he always craves that closeness, regardless of what Neuvillette chooses to give him. Wriothesley is a needy, greedy thing, desperate to be suffocated by his warmth.

Neuvillette forgoes the Hydro and tips over a bottle of expensive oil into his hand, the smell of Romaritime Flowers filling the air. He sighs as he slicks his cock. Then, for good measure, Wriothesley’s loosened rim, his fingers dipping back into him for a second. 

His cock sinks in with one smooth, measured thrust. The cradle of his groin meets Wriothesley in a sickly sweet grind, and they both moan as they fall into each other. Wriothesley is deliciously full. Neuvillette’s cock carves its way home, sliding through his insides, dragging across that bundle of nerves with every eager stroke. 

He clings to him, holding Neuvillette close. Neuvillette more than indulges him, he leans into it, melting against Wriothesley’s heated, flushed skin. “Beloved,” he murmurs, their foreheads pressed together as they share words, praises, every breath that puffs between them.

Wriothesley will not last long. He didn’t realize how keyed up he was, how little it would take to drag him to the edge. He curses, trying to reel it in, trying to hold it back, but the pleasure is too sweet, too sharp. He arches, his cock twitching and aching. 

All the while Neuvillette praises him with sweet, soft, my beloved mate’s, you feel so good’s, and such a good boy’s. He drowns in him too. Neuvillette. He drinks up everything that Wriothesley gives him, pocketing that trust and giving it back with the full force of all his power.

That’s what the mark on Wriothesley’s neck means; it isn’t a one-sided blood oath but a promise between the two of them, steeped in the white-hot love that carves through his being.

Neuvillette thrusts into him suddenly, sharply, and Wriothesley comes untouched, going taut in the bed. He clamps down as all that pleasure in his gut releases, leaving him a mess. “Yes, yes—” And then he cries Neuvillette’s name, his given one, a gift that he’s only allowed to Wriothesley. This is the secret of all secrets, and Neuvillette’s breath hitches as Wriothesley tilts his face against his ear and begs for more with it.

A soft grunt. An exhalation of a name that isn’t Wriothesley, but something older, something nearly forgotten, something that said by anyone else would curdle the blood in his veins. Even with Neuvillette this name is rarely allowed but in that moment it’s perfect, wrapped in warmth, in comfort, in deep, heady arousal. 

Neuvillette comes after several unsteady thrusts. He grinds deep as he spills, claws pricking at Wriothesley’s thighs. 

Wriothesley is a mess in the sheets, his stomach coated with his spend. He whines softly, feeling Neuvillette’s cock begin to soften. 

“A moment.” Neuvillette’s lips brush his temple. “Allow me a moment as I clean you up.”

He could leave it. Wriothesley wouldn’t mind, loose-limbed and taffy-like in the bed. But Neuvillette would mind, so he sighs as he’s taken care of with gentle, sweeping touches. 

“We should have more political snafus,” says Wriothesley when he drifts back down from the heavens. Because if that is the result… well. He wouldn’t complain. 

Neuvillette has already slipped back underneath the covers and plastered himself against Wriothesley’s back. “I would rather not,” he says, but Wriothesley hears the humor that colors his words, and smiles into the covers. 

“Damage control tomorrow?”

“I do not relish the meeting I will have with her. You, however—”

“What about me?”

“Our dear, sweet Archon has promised Morax’s little guard dog a show of your prowess. You’re set to spar with him at noon.”

Wriothesley groans, burying his face into the pillow. But then, an idea. “Will you be there?”

Neuvillette smiles against his neck. “What better way to spend a mid-day water break than watching you show off your skill? Mhmn, yes, I think that I will attend and watch. And when you’re done, I’ll whisk you away—”

“For something untoward?”

“A tea break, as you like to call them.”

Oh, so definitely something untoward. Wriothesley knows Neuvillette and his tendencies of being hot and bothered under the collar. 

Teasing aside, it falls quiet. Neuvillette’s chest rumbles against Wriothesley’s back with a soft purr. “You’re thinking,” he says, gently probing.

Wriothesley thinks a lot. He thinks of the days of old and his present now. Once, he’d called himself fodder before a woman who wanted to mold him into something useful. Father has treated him well—but it is Neuvillette that has given him reason. 

Wriothesley doesn’t answer. Neuvillette doesn’t probe further, he just nuzzles at the mark on his shoulder, kissing it with a lingering touch. 

He may get that storybook romance, perhaps. Their ending isn’t yet written.

--

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No Puppet Strings Attached 6

Summary: When Katsuragi brings a puppet back to Tatarasuna, saying that he found him wandering the shores, the village and blade smiths took him in as their own. Something about the puppet struck a young girl's heart. Despite him not having a heart of his own, the puppet felt something that would seem to be impossible for someone like him to feel.

Pairings: Scaramouche x f!reader

Warning! This chapter contains mature themes, view at your own risk.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Tatarasuna was in ruins. The blame of what happened fell onto Katsuragi’s shoulders, he did this so that Nagamasa wouldn’t have to take responsibility for what happened. In turn…he was executed by Nagamasa himself, by the very sword that was crafted for him.

A divide fell through the village, and many left to protect themselves from the remnants of the tatarigami. Others were still sick and passed it onto others. The cycle continued until there was no one left in the once peaceful village. All life had been eradicated, either through death or migration to other lands. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/n felt cold. She felt cold, tired, and thirsty.

When she first opened her eyes, she didn’t recognize the place she was in. She laid on a cold table, the kimono she wore was stained with dry blood, Niwa’s blood.

Remembering what had happened, tears formed in her eyes. She looked around, there were test tubes, chambers filled with liquids and all sorts of contraptions filling the room.

She slid off of the cold table and walked around. Her bare feet stung on the cold floor, as if they had been dragged through thorns. The longer she walked, the more fear set in. The last thing she remembered was seeing his face, the face of the man that killed her brother.

Her breath hitched for a moment. How long had she been out?

It could have been hours? It could have been weeks. Niwa was dead…he’s dead. Her only brother…gone.

And what about Kabukimono? Where was he? Did the estranged man tell the boy that she did not truly love him? Where was he…

More importantly, where was she?

Tears began to slip out as she hugged herself. Having no one to console her but herself, she tried to provide as much warmth as she could, but nothing could stop the shaking.

She stood still for a few moments longer until she heard footsteps coming down what sounded like stairs.

“You’re awake and walking already?”

She knew that voice.

Her body spun to face the man.

“You… It’s you.” The fear washed away and was replaced with anger. Her breathing heavy and fists clenched.

Dottore said nothing, he just walked closer.

“I’ve been waiting far too long for you to wake up. Perhaps the anesthetic I gave you was too strong.”

His hand reached out to stroke her hair, but she slapped it away.

“Where am I? What did you do to me, where did you take me?”

She began to shake again, but this time she wasn’t sure if it was out of anger or fear.

“You’re angry?” he was so nonchalant, acting as if nothing happened.

“Angry? I’m furious! You killed my brother, you bastard! A-and you’ve taken me to a place that I don’t even… Where am I?!” y/n screeched, her voice bounced off of the walls, but there was no one around to hear it.

“Somewhere very far away from home, but it’s only been a week since the events you last remember.”

“Take me back, I don’t wish to be anywhere near you. Go to hell!” Y/n brushes past him, trying to head towards the way he came through.

“I can’t do that, little dove,” Dottore follows closely behind her, until he has her cornered, “You’re far too precious to let go. Besides, if I do let you go, it’s only a matter of time until you talk about what happened.”

“You think I’d let what happened be a secret? You’re a murderer, not only of my brother, but those poor people who you infected with the tatarigami!.”

“I don’t think you understand what position you’re in…you’re mine now. Your body, your mind, everything is to be used by me.”

Y/n felt disgusted. Her being soaked in her deceased brother's blood, and now the very man that killed him now had her cornered. She bit her lip, and Dottore began to move closer again.

She latched onto a glass beaker behind her, gripping on tightly, she smashed the glass onto the side of his head. Catching him off guard, she pushed him away and ran. 

She ran up the stairs, out of breath, her footsteps echoing throughout the walls. Along with her heavy breath, she was still crying.

She found herself in a whole other laboratory, this one bigger than the last. She looked around but was confused, there didn’t seem to be a door anywhere, just where was she? 

She heard footsteps on the stairs below her, Dottore was following her. And seeming, by the steadiness of his steps, he wasn’t in a rush. 

In a panic, she hid behind something, hoping that she could calm herself down before having to face him again. 

“I must say, you’re not at all what I expected. Heh…how disappointing, I guess we'll just have to fix that.”

Her hands clasped over her mouth only seemed to make things worse, she couldn’t breathe.

“Let’s play a game, shall we? If you manage to evade me, I’ll let you go…but if I catch you, well we’ll just have to see what happens.”

She hears his steps grow louder, he is close. She got onto her knees and crawled in another direction to hide underneath a table that was blocked by books.

Dottore began to hum a tune. She knew that tune, it was the one that Kabukimono and her sang whenever they wanted to let the other know that they were close by.

He was mocking her.

“Your heart must ache hearing that tune, correct?”

Y/n looked down at the ground, wanting to ignore his words.

“It reminds me of what songbirds sing. They remain together for life, you know…unless they are separated by force.”

Dottore stops right next to the table she crouched under. Her heart was beating out of her chest, she was sure he could hear it.

“Would you call yourself a songbird, separated from each other…locked in a cage, by me.”

Dottore knocks over the table, the tower of books coming down with it. He notices her shaking form. He gives a pitiful clock of his tongue before crouching down, level with her.

His hand wipes away the tears that were staining her cheek. The consolation only lasted a few seconds until he forcefully gripped her cheeks and brought her closer to him.

“Judging by your expression, you’re still confused, so allow me to say it one more time. You are mine, in body and soul. I will use you as I please, and I’ll warn you that not all will be pleasant. That’s just part of the fun now isn’t it…”

Dottore covered her eyes and brought her into another room. It looked like a bathroom. A single bathtub in a corner, with other trinkets in the room.

“I’d hate to leave you in these dirty robes. You’ve been soaking in your brother's remains for far too long. Wash up.”

Y/n remained still, she didn’t want to move, and she wasn’t sure if she could.

Dottore clicked his tongue once more. He turned her towards him and slid off the shoulders of her kimono.

“You’ll learn, under normal circumstances I wouldn’t let you off the hook like this, but unfortunately I’m in a hurry today.”

He reached for the silk obi that was tied around her waist, and the simple touch made her spring into action. She swung at the man, right in his face. She continued to attack him until he gripped her wrists and forced her back towards the bathtub. He dunked her into the water.

It was cold, how long had the water been out? She was struggling to breathe, but continued to resist him. She struggled until she couldn’t, inhaling the water and choking. 

Dottore kept her submerged for a few moments longer until he brought her up. She coughed and heaved out water every second, but Dottore didn’t care.

“Wash yourself, I’ll come to get you later.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/n remained in the cold water. It’s not like she was given a towel to dry herself with, nor spare clothes. He had taken the bloody kimono with him. It sounds disturbing, but she wanted to keep it. 

Who knows what Dottore had done with Niwa’s body, if it was given a proper burial, or did he just toss it into the ocean.

The last one seemed more reasonable.

She looked at the reflection of herself in the water. She looked like a mess. Her face is puffy from all the crying, cuts and scrapes all over her body. She still hadn’t eaten, and it felt like her body was shutting off.

Closing her eyes, little by little, she dozed off until her head hung on her shoulders. She just couldn’t keep herself awake long enough to fight.

Dottore walked back in not too much later and saw her sleeping in the bathtub. Despite her being asleep, y/n managed to feel a presence next to her, which allowed her eyes to flutter open. Seeing Dottore staring down at her exposed form made her flush, she covered herself with her arms.

“No need to worry about that, we’ll be bound to cross that line one day,” he set down a white gown on a chair nearby, “put this on, you have but 5 minutes to do so.”

“I don’t have a towel.” she replies somberly.

He smiles and ventures to a drawer and pulls out a towel, throwing it onto the white gown on the chair.

“Hurry, little dove, we have a lot to do.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Once she was dressed, she sat down in the same chair where the clothes were placed. These clothes felt foreign, they felt uncomfortable. It’s as if she was stripped of her identity.

While she was lost in thought, Dottore walked back in. He looked pleased that she was being so compliant, perhaps this wasn’t going to be as hard as he thought.

He guides her down to the laboratory. It wasn’t one of the two she had already been in. Just how many rooms did this place have?

He has her sit down on a similar cold table she woke up from. He rustles around, but she doesn’t pay any mind. Honestly, she didn’t listen to a word of what he had to say on the journey down to the lab.

She wonders about where Kabukimono could be. Is he still in Tatarasuna? Are Katsuragi and Miyo still taking care of him?

“Oh, and I regret to inform you, the man you called Katsuragi was executed by Mikoshi Nagamasa.”

His words snapped her out of her thoughts. She couldn’t believe it for a brief moment. Why would Nagamasa do such a thing?

“Now, don’t look at me like that. I know that’s what you’re thinking about, wondering if there’s a way for you to go home, but there is no home for you to return to.”

“No…you’re lying…”

“His wife on the hand succumbed to the remnants of the Tataragami…and the boy you were so involved with…he left. Didn’t say where he was going, not that it matters-”

“It matters to me!” she jumps off of the cold table, “I love him, I still do! It doesn’t matter if you keep me trapped here for the rest of my life, I will continue to love him until I die.”

“Well…that’s exactly what I’m going to test.”

Dottore brings out a syringe filled with a gold, bubbly liquid.

“What are you talking about…”

She backs away from him as he walks closer.

“This is a tube full of some archon residue. Not the kind that is commonly related with malevolence, rather this is their life force. Remnants of what kept archons immortal.”

He stares at the syringe for a few seconds before looking over, a smile spreading across his face. He couldn’t possibly be thinking of injecting that into her…right?

“Don’t bring that any closer, stay away from me.”

Y/n continued to try to evade him, but there were only so many places she could go until he eventually cornered her back to the cold table.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, if you comply, I promise it won’t be as painful.”

“Please…please don’t do this. I-i won’t tell anyone-PLEASE!” one final scream before Dottore gripped her neck, slamming her upper body down onto the table.

“Your disobedience is truly trifling. I understand that it’s difficult for humans to realize the position they’re in until it’s too late, so I’ll go easy on you. Would you like me to release you? Only if you obey what I say.”

He applies more pressure to her neck, making it impossible for her to breathe. She gripped onto his hand with hers, trying to find any possible form of release, but he was dead set on making her suffer until he got his answer. It wasn’t until her legs began to jerk due to the lack of oxygen that she violently screamed a ‘yes’.

Dottore let's go immediately. The hand that gripped onto his immediately went to her neck to console it, loudly coughing and heaving, trying to get as much air in as she could.

“Lie back, it’s time we start.”

She complies this time, afraid of what he may do if she doesn't.

Lying on her back, she stares at the bright light on the ceiling of the room. Dottore was gathering some more items needing for whatever he needed to.

“Little dove, lay down on your stomach for me.”

Stomach? Where could he be injecting that requires her to lay on her stomach? But again, out of fear, she did as she was told.

There was a zipper on the back of her dress, he slid it down, exposing the majority of her back.

“Y-you’re putting it in my back?” she asks.

“Your spine, to be exact. It’ll absorb much better this way,” he takes the safety pin off of the syringe, then wipes down a small area of her spine with an alcohol wipe.

“It will hurt, but you will get used to the pain after the first few times.”

She could feel the point of the needle on her back, and just that small touch made her wince. Her breathing became faster, and as she felt the needle be inserted, she began to whine. Her nails clawed at the table underneath her. God knows what would happen if she were to try to tell him to stop.

After a few seconds, Dottore pulled away the needle and wiped down the area once more. He placed a cloth bandage over it.

“All done, it wasn’t so bad.”

Wasn’t so bad, he wouldn’t be saying that if he was the one who was being injected. Of course, she didn’t say that out loud, she just remained face down on the table.

“Why…do you feel the need to do this to me?” she whispers.

“Why? For research, of course. I am first most a scholar, and I continue to advance whatever ideas I may have.”

“But, why immortality? Where did you get the archon residue…”

“Not even I can live forever, but that’s the very reason why I want to break the laws that were placed down on mortals. What better way than to test on a mortal, test what may be the key to immortality.”

“But I don’t want to be immortal.” y/n whimpers, lifting herself off of the table. 

“I don’t think you really have a choice in the matter, little dove. You will be with me throughout this journey. Every year, decade, century…and even millennia if we get there.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

This routine would continue. Once a week, she would be injected with the archon residue, before that she would have to take a bath. She despised it, especially since she didn’t feel anything different.

However, things started to look up. Once a week turned into once a month, and once a month turned into once every 6 months, then every year. Dottore was smart, there wasn’t much archon residue in the world, so he had to use the amount he had very carefully.

It was 4 years into injections when he stopped. He hadn’t injected her in what seemed to be over a year.

During a yearly physical, she brought it up.

“Do you not have any archon residue left?” she asks, watching him draw blood from the vein in her forearm.

“I have plenty, why do you ask.”

“You haven’t injected me in so long, what’s the hold up?”

Dottore laughs, placing the vial of blood in a test tube container.

“Haven’t you noticed, little dove?”

She raised a brow, confused as to what he meant. Dottore walks her towards a mirror and tells her to look closely. She couldn’t see anything different about her, she looked the same as she always does.

“I don’t see anything.”

She noticed Dottore grin from looking in the mirror.

“Precisely,” he places his chin onto her shoulders, “You’ve stopped aging.”

“What…” She whispers.

“Why do you think I do these yearly physicals, it’s to check your progress. I’ve noticed that in the past 2 years, there haven't been many physical changes. Within the past few months, you look the same as you did when you first began the injections.”

“So your plan worked?”

“I suppose, we will have to keep testing to see if it’s truly possible.”

“What do you mean? I’ve already stopped aging, is that not enough for you?”

“Do you really think stopping the aging process by a few years is enough? Certainly not, I don’t want just a few years, I want centuries, I want more.”

Y/n continues to look at herself in the mirror.

“So…this will continue for centuries?” 

“I’m so glad you’re quick to catch on. Now, how about we get you back to your chamber.”

She couldn’t move for a second, but eventually she followed him. Her ‘chamber’ is a cell with a bed and a nightstand. It isn’t much, but he insists that it’s much better than whatever the rest of his human experiments have. She doesn’t know how to feel about that, the fact that he has other people he abuses and toys with.

He swears that she’s his favorite out of all of them, after all she will be the key to his everlasting immortality. His favorite test subject.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Taglist(I’m horrible at these fyi)

@louise-rosita-leroux​

@swivy123

[formdrop]

FNAF DCA Fanfics

Please heed warnings before reading and some may be registered user locked.

The Pirate Kings Duchess by ArtemisRed

You are the heiress to the East Duchy and the fiancee of the Crown Prince of the Empire. You've waged strategic battles with your foes and even took down the Pirate King, all to make the King of the Empire proud and to make you worthy of a spot as Empress. But this shit is getting old fast, and you don't want to be a part of it anymore. It would be a real shame if three handsome pirates just whisked you away… wouldn't it?

Seastar Island by Solunest

You've been stranded on this tiny island on a planet almost completely covered in water. While you're possibly the most socially awkward person to ever grace your planet and theirs, the mer below have a different perspective of you. Can you make friends with the fish or will the forever see you as a fiend?

Cryptid Sightings by NaffEclipse

Perhaps this would scare a person, being all alone in the woods in the dark, but not you. You’re too intertwined with the paranormal and inexplicable. It’s in your blood. That doesn’t mean your heart won’t pound with terror when you face something with fangs and hungry eyes for flesh, but you don’t run away, and that’s what matters most. You will face the monsters.

Alexa, play Heather by Conan by eleanMeirr

You watched as Sun and the guard talked to each other. You watched how Sun’s rays fluttered, how he let out a happy gasp and hugged the guard close. Looking away from them with a little smile, you ignored how your hands started to shake and the room felt warmer. You tried to ignore their giggles and focus on the little computer work in front of you. It wasn’t like you were the main character here. They had no reason to like you back but her? She was the one after all.

I Think I Smell A Rat by Eyndr

Being a robotic repair rat who lives in the walls of the pizza-plex is a pretty great gig, all things considered! You fix the wires instead of chew them, and you get into tight spaces those silly humans can't reach and fix things up behind the scenes. You do your little tasks diligently, and all is well. That is, until one night when you realize all of your other repair rat friends have gone missing, and almost all of those animatronics outside the walls are acting strange… You aren't sure what it is that needs fixing, but by golly you'll fix it! You just might need a little help along the way…

Temple of the Celestials by ArtemisRed

To be the priestess of the Temple of the Celestials is the highest honor, or at least, it used to be before the gods became angry. In the last five years, all of those sent to serve the gods have come back dead, and now it is your turn to try and placate their anger. You are beyond terrified, but maybe, just maybe, they aren't as bad as they seem.

Please Choose Us by ArtemisRed

You have a new job at the Superstar Daycare. Sun is so sweet and silly, and Moon seems like he's always thinking about something. You have an ex that won't stop bothering you and kids at the Daycare that want to spend every single minute with you. It's busy work, but you love it

Celestial Roommates by HowToLoveADragon

"So your possible roommates are already up there, I let them check it out since you were a little late..." Codie catches something. "Wait, room-mates? I thought there'd be just me and one other person?" Mrs. Simmons turns to look at her sheepishly. "Well, technically it was just one roommate. But since last week it's two now that they're separated..." she trails off. Codie frowns in confusion but the manager waves her off. "It's alright, they're very nice, I'm sure you three would get along." 'But there's only two rooms...'

You Are My Lucky Stars by ArtemisRed

As an employee of the Lucky Stars Gift Shop, you have a great view overlooking the Daycare. This wouldn't be a problem if the Daycare Attendants weren't so distractingly cute!

Snake Your Way Into Me by ArtemisRed

Congratulations! You've been hired! The brand new assistant to the FazCo Laboratories, researching two members of an unknown species. It's all very exciting and you can't wait to get your hands on some super snazzy new animal friends, but they are way too cute for their own good! What are you gonna do? How are you going to deal with two very handsy 20 foot long snakes?

Daybreak by ArtemisRed

You are a barmaid at the infamous Gold Coast Pub. Sun and Moon are Captains of the infamous Daybreak. What would it be like to be infamous together? A riveting pirate adventure with lots of action but mostly just being adorable with the boys.

Dance With Me by ArtemisRed

You are an aerial dancer performing for a dinner. The Don of the city's mafia interrupts said dinner, making himself known to you as he literally catches you from a nearly disastrous fall. "Dropped right out of the sky, didn't you, doll?"

We Lurk Inside The Shadows by ArtemisRed

A little black book spells out names that burn in your heart. Your sole purpose is to rid the world of their filth, to cross out every one of those names. When you meet two lovely cafe owners, you second guess your career path. What would they do if they found out what you do?

My Lovely King by ArtemisRed

You are from a long line of hardened businesswomen. It's your job to make connections and open up the way for business deals, but now you've got your biggest challenge yet. A very adorable King who is rumored to have a dark side. Its such a shame that only one of them has sharp teeth, cause you'd sure love to be bitten.

A Cursed Kiss by ArtemisRed

The rain poured on the cobblestone around you. Thunder boomed overhead, forcing you to flinch as you pulled your soaked jacket closer. No one is willing to take you in for the night. There is only one place left, the cursed castle.

Balloons and Magic by Peony_Soprano

Sun and Moon were the Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex Party Planners. The parties were only ever booked for the Glamrocks, never for them. So filling out the weekly party whiteboard, was just another task. That was until they get a surprise that would change their lives forever.

Glimpse of Us by Justaduck6432

Everything at the pizzaplex has slowly become more and more automated. You've watched a lot of your friends and fellow coworkers get laid off in favor of the funky staff bots. You always assumed you'd be safe in the daycare. You were working with small kids, after all. They need a tender touch! Oh, how wrong you were. Two years after your not-so-polite firing, however, Fazbear comes calling. Apparently their precious, perfect attendant is in need of some assistance. And they requested you. You initially considered refusing, but the pay is double what you're making editing papers, so you dive back in. But things have changed more than you ever thought they could have.

The Stranger The Better by Eyndr

Reader is a forever exhausted young adult who has social difficulties doing their best to pay the bills, so when they get hired at the well-paying, almost entirely automated Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizza-Plex, they don't really hesitate to think things through before stumbling headfirst into a horror mystery surrounding this company and its crew of quirky (and surprisingly kind) animatronics.

There's a monster in the garage by CheryBee

Why do you hear banging noises in your garage?

A Wise Man Said I'm Alive; Nobody's Ever Told Him He's Wrong by wineberrysoju

You get to tinker on the best tech this side of the equator and get paid for it; pay no attention to the weird things happening in the tunnels, or the way the animatronics are acting just a little off, or the way the security team seem to be operating on revolving door contracts. They all tend to get a bit quirky at night.

Leviathan's Song by BlondeFromHell

You never would have joined the Aurora if you knew this was going to happen. No one told you that your ship was going to crash land on some horrid ocean world, nor that you would get separated from everyone else. You went to space to escape Earth’s ocean, and now you were stranded on a planet that was nothing BUT ocean. All alone. Or… Were you? Something, deep in the depths, was watching you, but what? Would you die in this nightmarish world, or could you turn it into a home with two unlikely companions?

Occupational Hazards by IcedMetalTea

You work in the SCP foundation as a researcher, spending your days interviewing some of the world's deadliest anomalies in an attempt to understand more about them. When you're tasked with researching the two keter-class SCP, SCP-6856 and SCP-6857, you don't think much of it. They don't seem aggressive, nor do they seem to warrant a keter classification, but you're diligent about keeping your interactions professional. They take a great interest in you.

In Deep Dreams Between the Waves by NaffEclipse

You see a fish, but the fish isn’t really a fish, because he looks up at you with big yellow eyes, wide with fright. Large black pupils dart around frantically. He’s small, less than half your size, which surprises you. You know mers are supposed to be big sea monsters that sink boats or cause storms, but you don’t see a monster. You think of a baby while staring at his chubby round face, creased with fear, and his small tail.

Glitter Glue Me Back Together by ArtemisRed

You're scared to start your new job as the Daycare Attendant's Assistant, but you slowly realize this job is the best decision you've ever made.

By the North star by Chex_Nyx

You had been fishing with your father in the Gulf of Mexico when a storm came through, you washed out into the sea and on shore miles away from your initial fishing spot. You'd planned to make it to the nearest town and call the coast guard for help, but you instead learn the storm has thrown you into another world that was almost identical to your worlds fifteenth century, only difference being the pirate crew of anthropomorphic animals that were now your captors, all because your bag ended up on their boat and you were dumb enough to go after it. Or where your thrown into a separate dimension, hurt and your taken on to the pirate vessel "New Dawn" where you meet the captains, who take an interest in you.

Electric Love by BitchImTired, Gucci_Eye_Bags

Pov: You’re one of the mechanics who worked on Sunnydrop and Moondrop, this happens post-game plot. You received a call from your former boss to come to fix the animatronics, you didn't expect to find all your babies having depression, anxiety, existential crisis, and any other emotional issues.

Painted Rocks by cerebralfluids

You lived along the coast for a short time, having moved from a nearby city. The locals never took kindly to city dwellers, but you made a habit of ignoring their stink eye. Rumors of sirens and beasts below the waves punctuated your daily life, but you thought nothing of it. Until--well, until terrible screams tore you from your bed and to the coast. Looks like the locals' rumors about sirens were true, but the humans appear more bloodthirsty.

Astro-Nautical by Pterolem

You're a mermaid who's just come across the weirdest ship of all time. Or rather, the ship is perfectly normal, but its crew? Not so much. You aren't sure you'll be safe here, but as a sea creature you've never truly been safe anywhere, so it might just be worth a shot. For now, at least... Surely they'll let you go when you ask? We'll find out.

My Sweet Starlight by ArtemisRed

Excited for your new job as a daycare helper, you get ready for the day. Little do you know, you'll fall in love with more than just the kiddos you play with.

Laws of Attraction by gheix_luna

When the Pizzaplex burns down, the company is quickly bought out. One morning, you wake up to a call from the new building manager offering you a job. You take it, not expecting to find friendships, trials, and romance with certain two certain robots.

With All My Love, Crumpet by ArtemisRed

London, England 1800s A runaway stops at a local tea room for a cuppa, and sees a cute paperboy selling newspapers in the rain. A close friendship ensues over cakes and tea, but what happens when the family comes for her? And what will it mean for their relationship?

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Twelve

Summary: Javier thought, brutally honest: the fuck you think you’re kidding?

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: Brief allusion to sex, dead bodies (kinda gore), violence, torture, angst, feeling of inadequacy, people smoking, gun mention and... cop work? 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: In the middle of a lot of shitty things, I was able to finish editing. Am I happy with this? Maybe. I know that at some point I looked at what I was doing and liked it, so I decided to not change my mind because I’m not that reliable these days - when it comes to accept by achievements. There’s a few political comments, mostly my opinion, so beforehand I warn: I hate captalism. 

Oh, and that gif was a choice because... Yeah. It’s small, discreet, but that interaction will do some good in the future. Keep that in mind!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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

You were a cynic - that was both a curse and a relief. A relief, yes, because with that lifestyle, the best way of going through most of your shit was being resilient, added to a big dose of an anesthetized sense of reality. A curse, yes, because it was like you became a numb thing, acting by intuition even in moments where you should just be more… normal. 

It wasn't like you could blame your father, but it sure as hell wasn't something that came from your mother's side. She would definitely have a more genuine and less furtive response to whatever happened inside that office, even if you knew exactly what Carrillo’s words meant.

Because Carrillo used to talk once. 

With deliberate honesty.

You wish you could speak to her, rely on her. Suddenly it had been so long since you walked to her house, talked about your day and the plans for the weekend. Suddenly it all felt too much to handle - the violence, the traps, the long nights, the responsibility. In your moments of calm, spaced and almost non-existent, there were figures that hovered in your imagination and that, despite being equally disturbed by what that life had in store, still made you more innocently accommodated.

Running on the beach. Drinking that good coffee from across the street. Repeating the same things to Mrs. Jackson because, again, she thought you were that girl who used to sell her cigarettes during the 40s. 

It was as if all the control that kept you from smoking your cigarettes or the patience for your morning jogs had gone down the drain, just because Carrillo assumed a truth that made you as afraid as if Juan Marcos had put that knife in your jugular. 

Nobody talked about it. You went back to that room as if nothing had happened, lit a cigarette and went back to your papers; Javier and Steve maintained silence for nearly an entire hour, perhaps deciding whether to keep things as they were or whether to be more combative. Your head went back and forth with the sound of Carrillo's voice saying those things, all mixed up with the jumble of useless information that you had to review because you weren’t fucking paying attention. No one wanted to open up a hornet's nest of problems for an unofficial case in that environment so inhospitable for such indulgences.

You looked up at the sound of a glass being placed on your table - Peña poured three fingers of whiskey and that was as close as the three of you came to a resolution. Silence, then it would be. Temporary consent, in other words.

You couldn't be more grateful for the team you had there.

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

“How are you feeling?”

Murphy was always comfortable being in the background as a listener - he knew himself well, he knew he needed to preserve as much stability as he could for Connie, so he avoided getting mixed up with Javier's shit or your shit, unless it had to do with work. Still, that day, a couple of weeks after that happened, Steve waited for the right moment to make his notes known, before Javi could arrive for work or anyone else entered the office.

At that moment, everything was a complete mess. Things were nothing short of heated with all that hunting for the golden eggs, with a lot of people dying and even more dead ends. Your father took your peace. You readily offered not to attend meetings with Carrillo if you could avoid it, and you even got offensive to Messina in one of her bureaucratic inconveniences. 

“Well, if you’re so worried about it, you should ask him. I’m not inside his head.”

And you remembered how Javier and Steve hid the urge to laugh, even though they were equally worried about the consequences of that comment. Fortunately, nothing happened, and afterwards it became a reason for relaxation between you. 

Which wasn't the same with Horacio.

He lived up to his word and wouldn't make your presence more than a mere inconvenience to his routine. At cluster meetings, he gave direct comments about the work and it was strange not to have any bickering sessions between you two - even if that didn't lessen the discomfort. Sometimes he would flex his fists when he heard you talk and stand back while watching you show him something on the satellite maps. Javier would look at you from the corner, Steve would watch Carrillo; sometimes they switched.

You didn't think any of that was fair. In the letters, you mentioned this to your mother and she said that it was up to you to make that decision: about how you were going to take it all forward and whether you could keep the man in his own torture. She knew, however, that it was also torture for you. That you missed the nights you spent together, the escapades at work, the way he touched you. It was too soon and too pathetic to mention feelings like 'love' or 'infatuation' or… whatever. You two were too skeptical for that. The company made everything more bearable, just as Javier had the girls and Steve had Connie. You and Carrillo didn't have anyone; or at least you didn’t. Juliana was still there for him. Always have, as it seemed. 

Maybe, deep down, that was what bothered you the most - knowing that he had a past connection and that it was easy, in a way, to take the initiative to go for the easier, more comfortable side. You couldn’t provide him that. None of it, to be honest. 

“... It happens, right? With the best and the worst of us. In the end, this is all kind of fucked up.”

You knew that in other circumstances (maybe in another life) Steve would be more reticent about this, more traditionalist. He was the type. So you didn't show much more than muttering under your breath and taking another drag on your cigarette as you continued to sit on that cheap leather couch, the morning sun scorching your back a little.

It took you a moment to answer something - when you did, you saw that he looked uneasy, as if he wanted to say something else.

“I’m fine.” 

“You just make it sound like it's a sacrifice.”

And it wasn't really a sacrifice - in that kind of profession, there was a fine line between just choosing the best and giving things up. Addictions went hand in hand with lucidity, just as the withdrawal from a normal life distanced you from the fact that not having a gun in your belt was like walking naked. You knew yourself; like any human being, you clung to the smallest moments of comfort, stability, joy and pleasure that arose. You were weak for the good life, tired of the constant resilience and warning signs that went off in your head every single day.

Again, you almost left him unanswered. Steve noticed your uncertainty, though. It scared the shit out of you.

“... It’s complicated.”

“Not that I want to be a bitch or something-”

“I know.”

“-But it’s a surprise. 

If he still had the innocence to believe in the system that governed their lives, Steve would be indignant, be the church boy he always was. But no, that wasn’t the case - at least he didn’t show it. He had seen the real world too brutally to fill it with more moralism; otherwise he would ignore it, be rational, move on. Then he blew the smoke that was stuck inside his mouth, shook his head and smiled, all the while staring at the ashtray on his table.

“You two used to hate each other.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it some kind of kink? Love-hate stuff?”

You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head and mirroring the smirk he threw in your direction. 

“At least it wasn't on my table,” Steve teased, as if coming to the realization just seconds before. “Isn’t that fucking considerate?”

As usual, you both laughed with an almost hopeless acceptance surrounding what little humor you shared. Not that it was fun, or worthy of such genuine laughs, just… That. Rational complicity. And you didn't want to ruin the moment, but inside there was another reason for your amusement - when you and Carrillo were making out in the building back in the day, maybe you bumped into something or other on Steve's desk, and you almost broke his desk lamp.

Rational complicity then, you decided, averting your gaze from Javier, who entered the office with nothing more than a grumbled ‘good morning’. 

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

The landscape became more arid, spaced out - at the very least, isolated. You stared at the bodies splayed out on that cave, trying to somehow decipher what could not be deciphered. There was a morbid but equally cold atmosphere surrounding this discovery; you watched five Carrillo men taking one by one out of that hole, placing them side by side for further identification. The youngest of them was nothing more than 20 years old; at some point, you just turned your head to the side because the ones with more time there were already smelling. 

You stomped to a distant spot and, making sure no one was looking, you threw up. Years of experience or all the circumstances of that job didn't always make you have such a strong stomach. Later that day, you found yourself in your apartment just to brush your teeth - that led to a few minutes of a shower you thought would clean all of those images inside your head. 

Again, you sat alone in the office with more than enough whiskey inside a cup and a third cigarette ready to be lit between your lips. Steve rushed home to Connie; Javier had a puzzled expression on his face when he noticed that you would stay, but you assured him that it was okay, that nothing would happen. For the first time in days, you felt sure of something. 

“Stechner will follow Juan Marcos' lead.”

You turned your eyes from the mountain of papers in front of you, brows raised at the sudden intrusion - out of politeness or not, your father didn’t ask what you were doing there. At worst, he took the cigarette out of your mouth and made you tsk.

“He can be more persuasive than the rest of us, I suppose,” You said nonchalantly. “Or just more than me.”

Again, if he noticed the way you eyed him up and down, probably too full of bitterness, your father decided to keep it to himself, both hands behind his back.

“You agree, then?”

“That's not a question you associate with someone like Stechner.” It sounded almost like a warning, a subtle message of how your ‘soft spot’ used to lead your conceptions and moral judgements to a place way more complicated for that line of work. 

He hummed. Nodded his head. You thought that the conversation was over, of course, but you always should know better than to believe your father could be less than suffocating.

“I figured we could have dinner. I know a place nearby, still discreet enough.” 

“Trying to make me feel better?”

“We're past the stage of understanding that this is your mother's job.” 

The blunt honesty with which he said it made you consider the possibility more; it would be more than enough, spending some time with your father, to understand that there were people in life who knew how to make moments more bitter - or bitter enough to distract your mind from the worst. 

So you accepted. 

Frijoles Rancheros, he said with the best accent he had. 

“Didn't you stop with that?” He said, again, this time without the flirty smile to the waitress or the good Spanish of his.

“Tried to,” You shrugged, cigarette finally being lit and the smoke flowing through the air. 

“Not tryin’ anymore?”

“I needed to keep my list of disappointments with you,” With a smirk, you leaned more comfortably against the chair you sat at, legs crossed and eyes with that devilish spark he hated so much. “What brings you here? Stechner missed you licking his balls or something?”

“... We talked.” He said in a low, stern tone. “Apparently even the CIA knows how to recognize your work around here.”

“So you talked about me.”

“About your achievements, that is. Too emotional-”

“Of course,” You scoffed, dragging more of your cigarette with sarcasm dripping from your tone.

“-But efficient. The one raising your voice to the stubborn Colonel Horacio Carrillo.”

The mention made your stance falter, but just for a moment. You gave him a side-eye, then got back to look at anything but his face - not wanting to fail in your attempt to not show how affected you felt. It sounded like a sin, the fact that your father would use such an indifferent manner to talk about Horacio. How it was so easy for him, a man with so many flaws, to talk about Carrillo as if he was just as insignificant as… Anything. You grew defensive. The guy could still have that way of his, but you didn’t act (even before) like he was nothing. 

“Is it supposed to be a bad thing?” You decided to ask instead, watching him sip his beer faster so he could answer. 

“Have I already told the story of Cúcuta?” 

Probably, but you didn’t pay enough attention back then and wouldn’t pay there. Still, he kept talking. 

“We had discovered that some communist groups were regrouping and we took the National Police guys there. You know, for fact-finding.”

Or killing. Whatever he called it to make him lay his head on the pillow every night. 

“We stayed there for two weeks. Maybe Carrillo was involved, I can't be sure,” But then he got quiet, as if it was the end of the story. After a few beats of silence, you made a face.

“And…?”

“Ah, well, I didn’t know he had that in him to become what he is now. Not the most remarkable cop, but committed to the cause. Very Catholic, however, he called his mother every day. It amazes me that he has come as far as being on the front lines to catch Escobar. It takes a certain obscurity to be good at this job.” 

You considered it silently, watching your dad's grimaces as he just talked about the situation like it was a normal thing. Maybe it was after all. Reality was lighter if you took it as a routine, using conformism as a shield. You wondered if he knew about what happened with you that afternoon - if Carrillo, once, was the type of guy who would throw up because of it. You even wondered, with the space your father gave while simply not paying attention to you, what it would be like to meet that version of Horacio and whether he would make the same decisions, or think that this would be his future.

“I'm sure he has his own demons just like anyone else,” You said out of nowhere, taking in the way the man just watched your motions. “No one gets away with this kind of shit.”

“This shit is catching a communist pig like Escobar.”

Communist, you almost laughed, but you didn't argue. You couldn't even count the number of Americans involved in the lists of secondary cartels in the States, nor how many white-faced people who signed Republican votes negotiated with these 'communists', which only made you more skeptical of the idea of ​​what you were really doing there or the kind of person you had the pleasure of not being raised by.

Under the circumstances, Carrillo's revulsion was understandable.

“You know, you really look like your mother.”

“Conscious?”

“Naive. Maybe not all the violence in the world will make you realize that we are not always the villains.” 

“... No,” You puffed out more of the smoke, arching an eyebrow. “Sometimes you find a shallow ditch full of bodies and it turns out to be Escobar's fault.”

Because everything, from the bastard son who was hidden in the bowels of that country to the resistant hands of Juan Marcos against your neck, had a finger of the communists. If the pain you felt earlier or the pain you felt in childhood with his absence existed, it was because of the communists.

Damn communists.

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

You threw the other two packs of cigarettes in the trash that same night, as soon as you got back to the office.

With effort, you would remember to look for nicotine patches or anti-smoking gum in the morning.

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

Carrillo was familiar with the feeling of self-repression, and for some reason, he too deserved the strict discipline. Never a hair out of place, but that same hair wouldn't be styled any other way than the way he saw fit; short, practical, that was not an interruption but also a form of imposing.

This discipline made him learn that the way we present ourselves says something about us. That's why he really didn't understand why he saw you with a subtlety that definitely didn't exist in that job and, consequently, in you.

That day, you were at one of those reunions. The atmosphere was tense, as always, but Carrillo watched you climb on a small step to gain access to a higher part of the discreet shelf in the corner of the room to reach a cup, all the while laughing at something Peña was saying. It wasn't just the way your thighs flexed in the material of your jeans or the way everything felt tight enough that you had the flexibility to move; your manner changed, your modus operandi. There were no delicate mannerisms in your posture, nor in your approach - the harsh parts made you look like a hedgehog, even with that smile on your face.

If the whole situation had hurt you the way it seemed to him, if… that moment, inside the office, had a similar meaning, he didn't know, but he understood the mystery. There was so much going on and suddenly you had your dad and your issues and your life; Carrillo knew better than anyone that neither he nor you would want to bring up yet another drama. 

He valued that effort, was familiar with it. As at other times when Horacio had to be the rational figure, the loneliness of being dedicated to a discipline was something he knew well how to live with.

Carrillo also knew your frustrations about your father were bubbling to the brim. You tried to cover it up as best you could, always scratching the back of your neck or looking away when a CIA decision interfered with the DEA's. It was obvious that hanging out with guys like him could be like idle work - he, of all people, knew that being here on the ground following more archaic strategies wasn't your style. Or worst: that his presence there meant that he was almost always a flawed tool of a plan he was never fully a part of.

For him, watching you was like watching all the energy that walked beside your manners when you arrived disappearing because, in the end, it sounded as if only he, Horacio, saw the full magnitude of your achievements and efforts. Like an awed spectator of a hungry muse, all teeth and claws for what she believed but cutting off by… the others.

“You know that’s bullshit, right?” You said then, sitting at the edge of the table after serving a good amount of coffee. “I remember seeing you there and I’m pretty sure the night ended really differently.” 

“Well, we didn't say goodbye on my doorstep.”

Carrillo frowned at the suggestion, especially at the way you two seemed to forget he was there too, watching Javier using that natural flirty personality with you. And then you turned to see Steve walking in with Trujillo, away from the commotion, and when Horacio decided that it was his sign to stop staring at you, he saw Peña himself sending him a curious gaze. 

That day, Horacio discovered that Javier had been measuring the situation like a scientific project.

“No tenemos tiempo para esto.” We don't have time for this. 

Was all Carrillo said as soon as the reunion was over and they were walking side by side down the corridor. 

“No se de que estas habl-” I don’t know what you're talking ab-.

“Tu sabes.” You know. 

They both stopped in their tracks, interrupted by the Colonel's gruff voice and the way he jerked him around with a shoulder pull. Javier frowned, tried to understand where that all came from, then raised his eyebrows at the realization. He sighed, looked around and put his hands on his hips.

“¿Alguien te ha dicho alguna vez que no eres la persona más sutil que hay?” Has anyone ever told you that you're not the most subtle person around?

Horacio kept quiet. Caught. 

“Su padre es un gilipollas, quizás uno de los peores con los que me he cruzado. Ha dejado muy claro que quiere la oportunidad adecuada para sacarla de aquí.” Her father is an asshole, maybe one of the worst I've ever come across. He's made it very clear that he wants the right opportunity to get her out of here.

And for a moment, Carrillo almost understood those motivations. If he was a worried parent, he wouldn't sleep easy knowing his only daughter was putting herself in front of bullets or curled up in the arms of a fucking narco, nearly suffocated to death. He himself didn't like to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't gotten there in time. 

“... No estaba coqueteando con ella, si eso es lo que te preocupa. Nunca saldríamos bien, esa mujer es una diabla.” I wasn't flirting with her, if that's what you're worried about. We would never work out, that woman is a devil.

True. So true. 

“Pero es mejor que decidas qué va a ser de eso, porque está bastante claro que te estás engañando a ti mismo.” But you better decide what's going to become of it, because it's pretty clear you're kidding yourself.

Javier didn't elaborate, and despite not being the most sensitive of men, Carrillo knew when he was being put up against something he was avoiding. As Peña walked away with a frustrated posture, he wondered if that was the effect he had on you, of disappointment at being… him.

Of course, he didn't openly mention this to anyone, nor did he feel able to do so; to the fullest, he reinforced his serious expression when he saw you leave the operating room and look for someone. You looked one way, then the other, and saw him standing there. Something must have gone through your mind with the way you swallowed hard and clenched your fists - Carrillo wondered if it was the same memory of that night in your apartment, when you were still fresh from sex and with other perspectives.

For an instant, just one, he felt it. Like a replica of that same night.

When he was the first to look away, smothered by the idea and tempted by the sensation you offered those days, Carrillo knew he was probably letting you down again.

As he should. 

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

You felt frustrated. You'd been having that feeling for a while before the whole Carrillo situation, but it wasn't like you could deny that that disappointment had lessened dramatically once you'd spent time in his bed.

They began to monitor letters sent by employees exported from the States. Peña always walked around with an even more frown on having the letters he sent to his father being invaded in this way and, as much as Steve didn't complain while having Connie there, he complained about the intrusion just like Javier.

You felt suffocated. 

That’s how you ended up getting fucked inside a restroom stall, legs attached to the sides of the hips of a guy named Carlos and dress hiked up to make it easy for him to access… you. Or your decency, if such a term existed at the moment. There was an effort there, though. Carlos made the time well spent. When you went home that night, maybe you really were more relaxed, your shoulders less rigid and your spine relaxed.

But there was a reason you couldn't sleep a wink that night.

Carlos was Carlos, not Carrillo.

Perhaps, you tried to justify, it was because there was a greater reason than just the attraction with the two of you. There was an almost paranoid fear that the days were uncertain, the daily stress of a job that seemed to be failing and the frustrations - Carlos was Carlos, not Carrillo. The kisses, the touches, the look; two opposites. You would close your eyes if you were Horacio, you would sleep like you haven't slept in days. Surely you wouldn't wash yourself so vehemently after sex either if it was him. 

It wasn’t though. It was Carlos. 

So when the phone rang around two, you got up without difficulty and answered it on the second ring. There was no need to rub your eyes to chase away sleep because it didn't exist, even if physical fatigue made you massage your shoulder while listening to a brief recorded message from a woman saying it was a private and recorded call.

“¿Es usted responsable del caso de Juan Marcos de las Puentes?” Are you responsible for the case of Juan Marcos de las Puentes?

The voice was too Latin to be Javier's and too different to be Carrillo's; even if it were one of them, they wouldn't use Spanish or act like they didn't know you. Your first reaction was frown - and the second, unconsciously, was to look around as if the answer to the as yet unspoken question was in your living room. 

“... Sí. ¿Quien habla?” Yes. Who’s speaking?

“Soy Frances Tenorio, directora encargada del Centro Especial de Detención de Medellín.” I'm Frances Tenorio, director in charge of the Medellín Special Detention Center.

The last time someone called you this late at night, five years ago, was when the family found out that your grandmother had passed away. Your uncles, two other men who lived in the South, asked if it made sense for you to help them with the funeral arrangements - not that there was any intimacy to it, but because she would like to be treated with a delicacy that none of the three had. You took responsibility because you knew your father wouldn't do it out of hurt. He never had a good relationship with his mother.

Still, all that cold commitment to ensuring that the body was well treated and the ceremony well organized, such as the mass that took place seven days later, did not compare to the coldness with which you reacted to Frances' words.

There was no clarification and you didn't ask; just requests you weren’t so used to having, but obliged anyway. You listened to the instructions, hung up, got dressed - gun in the holster, badge on your belt. When you left, you locked the apartment door as usual, walked down the hall, got in the car and realized that the radio was still on a specific station, at that time of night repeating romantic songs. You didn’t turn it off. 

Your mind hesitated to do the call - you didn’t want to. Circumstances did not have an exact logic in the chronology of the facts that you knew. Juan Marcos wasn’t supposed to be there, least in Medellín. Whatever the fuck Stechner tried to do wouldn’t be placed there for obvious reasons. There were at least five people who received that kind of information before you, and suddenly the director of a place you didn't even know was part of Juan Marcos' punishment had your phone number. It was statistical to know that no one died like that at a time like this - the guy was a bull, healthy from head to toe, with at most a late tetanus vaccine.

Then, all of the sudden-

“As I said, dead.” 

Frances didn't have the best of English, but the heavily accented words made a lot of sense in your ears, even if they didn't make sense on their own. His office was poorly lit, and generally speaking, you had a lot of questions, but you just stared at that death certificate with nothing but open confusion on your face. Perhaps it was the way you lagged to say something, because Frances kept talking.

“The National Police was already warned about-”

“The National Police?” You abruptly raised your head. 

“It's the norm. Rules. I couldn't let another gringo into my jail alone.”

Before you could ask what he meant or process the information, you noticed someone entering the door and, of course, it needed to be Carrillo. The National Police. He looked at you with a big frown, then at the officers behind and Frances - mad. 

“¿Desde cuándo es este un protocolo aceptable?” Since when is this an acceptable protocol? Horacio asked in a harsh tone, standing right beside you. Looking at the door again, you spotted Trujillo, confused and a little taken aback by the sudden situation. 

“Llegaron los gringos y tenían orden de interrogatorio. Eso es protocolo, tú lo sabes mejor que nadie.” The gringos showed up and had an interrogation warrant. That's protocol, you know that better than anyone.

“Que gringos?” 

The silence that followed, short but helpful, was like an obvious answer to an even more obvious question. You faced the early death certificate, then Carrillo, who didn't express any reaction. You, by yourself, couldn’t express any reaction.

“I want to see the body.” 

“Qué?” What?

“Do you think that’s a good id-”

“Quiero ver el cuerpo. ¿Ahora me entiendes?” I want to see the body. Do you understand me now?

Carrillo wasn’t combative with your interruption, nor with the way you were snappy with Frances; otherwise, he nodded in approval of your request, as if none of that hadn't already been the same as everyone in that jail dropping their pants for the CIA's threats, as if they needed just Carrillo’s approval. 

At some point in your education, you learned about the special rooms for political prisoners during the communist uprising and the government's quiet work of putting down Sierra Maestra-influenced guerrillas. 64, the formative year of half the men inside those halls and, arguably, the golden memories of that Frances Tenorio. With the 'peace sealed' by right-wing groups, you knew that many of these rooms became normal interrogation spaces or, as in the case of that institution, an improvised mortuary that looked more like a shallow spawning pit.

Fractured skull from a fall, the obituary said. They were opening an internal investigation into a possible gang rebellion.

Juan Marcos was a man nearly six feet tall, with truly thick arms, long legs, and robust from head to toe. You knew his weight, strength and physical skills like no one else. The hands, you noticed, did not bear a single mark of retaliation or defense. You would know if he had; moreover, healed from the clash with you months earlier. Looking from there, with nothing but a pale, lifeless face, motionless, you noticed that Juan Marcos looked no less frightening or dangerous or… Well, the face of a criminal. 

You wondered how many guys came to do the job. Two to tie, one to intimidate - maybe one more to watch. They used to had this one.

“Is your father in Medellín?” Carrillo asked in a low tone, not daring to disturb the intense staring you’re giving the guy right in front of you two. 

“Nn-nn,” You shook your head slightly, then turned to Frances. “Stechner.”

“Protocol.” Was all he said, already turning to leave the room but probably standing still on the other side of the door. 

Three fingernails had been torn out and there were electric shock marks on his nipples, groin and mouth. The face was disfigured and torn by what looked like blows; if you turned him on his side, you probably would see the marks on the backs of the knees just as you saw them on the wrists and heels. The corpus delicti examination, still unsigned as well as the obituary, only recorded the head injury that didn't really exist - done with a typewriter that probably came from the office you had come not so shortly before.

When you raised your head, Carrillo was watching you carefully, measuring every reaction that could come out of your neutral expression. He knew how it was. He did it himself. You could see that, probably, he was just mad that he wasn't responsible for it. Maybe you were too, just a little - deep down, better saying. 

“I need a cig.”

The conversation must have lasted ten, fifteen minutes? You only managed to finish the first one, leaning against the hood of the car and alone in the side parking lot of the prison. The nicotine patch must have been lost somewhere in those hallways and his arm was still marked by the glue. When you went to take the second cigarette in your mouth, you saw Horacio approach and also the way your hands were shaking. He chose not to be at your side, but in front of you; as soon as you lit the cigarette, you kept both elbows resting on the car hood behind you.

No one said anything for a good minute. When you dared to give him a look, just once, Carrillo was lighting a cigarette for him - something way stronger than yours, as always. 

“What was it?” You broke the silence with a single question, one he just shrugged at first. “I’ll give it an hemorrhagic shock.”

“I’ll give it a fractured skull from a fall.”

“Please,” You scoffed, raising the cigarette to your lips again. 

“The CIA put in their report that the last operation didn’t suffer any casualties. I had to sign two letters of removal and I almost signed one of death. So yes, a fractured skull from a fall. ” 

It was difficult. You knew it was. When you started to get close to him and understand a little more of what was there, under the skin, you could see that his biggest frustrations were in the fact that the potential of his work was limited. There would always be a Stechner, a CIA, a DEA, a bunch of outsiders with funny accents and shitty Spanish. That he, as a man and as a professional, always had the cards in his hand but would only play them if someone from above said so; that when he started to overcome this hierarchy, he was banished to Madrid and then back with a freedom tied in very loose halters, under conditions that you didn't know, out of sheer whim.

Carrillo knew those marks and those consequences - many had his name transcribed. And he could say it was hemorrhagic shock or whatever the fuck fucked up Juan Marcos' life, but you both knew that outcome held particular satisfaction for him. At least enough to accept it unchallenged.

“... He was my suspect,” You said in a defeated tone, blowing smoke in the air. “It's pretty stupid of me to think they'd at least consult me ​​first, right? To say they would come here to destroy the guy?” 

“Yeah. But you’re smart all the same.” 

“Not enough to not do the math on why my dad pretended he wanted to have dinner with me.” 

“He wanted?”

“He did it.” You responded vehemently, tapping your thumb on the end of your cigarette to knock out more of the ash. “I should have known better when I saw him there in the office so late at night. Talking about Stechner taking the lead as if he wasn’t already planning on killing the motherfucker.”

“And do you think it would have made a difference if you had known?”

“... No.”

You didn't say it was because you were witnessing what your father could do for the first time and that it scared the shit out of you; they were childish thoughts. After years of paddling against the tide, seeing him miss his own mother's wake and even all the disappointments he could’ve caused you, everything was more tolerable when his stories were just that: stories. You also had your share of lives under your belt: one guy in Compton, one in South Beach, one more in a warehouse during a drug traffic operation. Still, you learned to live with them because it was your job. Yours only. And sometimes you could forget that someone who was supposed to give you a little more petting reduced you to one more small obstacle to doing his.

Again. And again. And again. 

You felt stupid. Naive. Again.

“It’s like fucking Hotel California,” You muttered, eyes closed and fingers massaging your temple. 

“Like what?” He asked in sincere curiosity, making you look at him in time to spot his own cigarette mid air. 

“Like the song. On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair…? Nothing?” Your hands gesticulated. 

“Too gringo for me,” Carrillo inhaled on his cigarette and pretended (pretended) he was keeping a straight face. You rolled your eyes.  

“Your friend Frances must agree with that.”

“By your time here, you should know that not everyone trusts you.” 

“There’s a few exceptions.” You defended. 

“Yeah, some people might lose certain opinions for one person or another.”

With another drag on your cigarette, you let out a low 'huh' and shook your head, but when you glanced back at Carrillo, you saw that he was watching you with a very wide gaze. Again, measuring your reactions, as if trying to send a message with his silence. You did the same. 

It's been a while since you've been like this, with time to observe each other and capture details that captivated your encounters. He was more tired, visibly fresh out of his static spot in the office on the upper floors, probably with a couple of glasses of whiskey in his system. Damn pretty, you could add. Prettier than Carlos - poor Carlos. 

He broke eye contact first. 

“You’ll talk with your father?”

“Well, at least to know if it was hemorrhagic shock.”

“I don't know if this will make you sleep better.”

“Nah,” You shrugged, tilting your head to the side. “Just looks like I forgot the guy can be sadistic as fuck.” 

“Habit.”

“Personality.”

Again, silence. This time though, you were the first one to break eye contact, mostly because that thing got into a place you wouldn’t like to go. You didn’t tell Carrillo, probably wouldn’t, but your mind was building scenarios and creating perspectives about something you really preferred to forget. 

Your mom always knew better - you wished you weren't so curious as to choose the same career as your father to know what kind of shit he did.

“You’re going back to the office?” 

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He walked in your direction, but went straight to the door to open it. Before he could do it, though, Carrillo turned to you. “I would do the same.”

You nodded. 

“I know.”

“And you too.”

“Not with the same motivation,” You looked at him nonchalantly. “I have personal reasons. The type I could understand.”

“He don’t?”

“Well, we’re not the same,” Another shrug, this time dragging more of the cigarette before blowing the smoke out the side. “Perhaps I’m more different for not being adept at this, but is it really that different? I don't feel guilt, but I do feel angry that he disappeared with a guy who could give me information. Screw his life, right?”

“... Sometimes this type of life makes us forget that we are humans. You're not Gandhi or any shit like that, you're you. Flesh, bone and a gun in hand, ready to fire at the right time. I would do it, because I know what he's done to other people, but I've also seen what he's done to you.” 

He took a step closer - just one. And when you instinctively backed away with your eyes closed and a hurt murmur coming from your throat, Carrillo froze in place. 

“We don’t need to talk-”

“I know.”

“But stop playing with me, Horacio. Stop.” For a moment, he looked confused, then noticed something that perhaps even you didn’t and nodded in defeat. “Don’t be like him. Not now.”

Don't be opportunistic like him, don't be selfish like him, don't be capricious like him, don't use you like he always did. That's what you meant. That he shouldn’t pretend he didn’t say no twice and approached you later with some kind of warm conversation because it seemed convenient. You didn't need it - what you wanted and what you accepted he denied too quickly.

“... I’ll be back in the office.” You said after a time, eyes on the floor right where the cigarette landed and hand brushing your left eyebrow. “Body identified, death certificates and stuff like that. It's just, isn't it? Do you proceed from here?” 

Carrillo gulped, considered your face like a brave man and said a simple ‘yes’ before insisting on opening the goddamn door for you. And you let him, even when he stood there, the door now closed, staring at you through the open window. 

“Good night, Colonel.” 

“... Good night.”

He tapped the opening twice, took three long steps back and inhaled on the cigarette which, as you had barely noticed, was still lit in his hand. You watched him through the rearview mirror, just for a moment longer, and after that split opportunity you also stared at your own eyes - coming to a conclusive revelation. One you already knew, in fact. 

Carlos was Carlos. Carrillo was Carrillo. 

And damn you for always choosing the complicated ones. 

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

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons ​

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

@mysoulisasunflower​ 

[talvin-muircastle]

Wise Men Fear

Another story from my November Habit, this from 2013. Not entirely satisfied with it, but it works.

“They are a mile away now!”

“Alright! Take your sisters and get to the top of the cliff. And do NOT stick your head out to watch, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”  

Amara cinched the straps tight on her armor and sheathed her short sword. She slung her quiver and picked up her bow. She took one last look at the house that she and her late husband had built together, the house where she had conceived and borne three children. “Ashes soon enough. I’ll save what matters.” She walked out.

In the distance she could see the marching troops. About a hundred of them, a company’s worth. She picked up a torch, tossing it into the thatch where she had earlier spread some oil. The others had taken all the supplies they could carry, and she would leave nothing for the invaders. She turned her back on the blaze and sternly reminded herself to weep later, if there was time.

The farmstead lay up against a tall cliff, with no natural passage to the top for many miles on either side. She and Bran had chosen this spot because a stairway had been crafted by some ancient hands—dwarves, perhaps, by the workmanship. It cut into the cliffside and wound slowly up to the top, turning generally clockwise to favor defenders retreating up the stairs. Landings gave places for defenders to group together and slaughter those who sought the top; the first was just past the first turn, so neither arrow nor spell could reach it. Spells she did not fear: mages traveled with Kings and Dukes, not with Captains.  

Time to begin.  

She had placed her arrows in the ground at the bottom of the stairs. Steady and sure, she nocked, drew, aimed, released, nocked, drew, aimed, released. Again and again until her small store of arrows was gone. As the first arrows found their marks, she cut the bowstring, broke the limbs with her sword, and turned for the stairs. She had other business to tend: the arrows would find flesh, or they would not.  

“The Captain is dead, sir.” “Dammit!” The Lieutenant glared at the burning cottage and the crack in the cliffside ahead. “Sergeant, these people are born holding a bow in their hands, I swear! We must take those stairs, it will shorten our march by a week!”  

The Lieutenant was a small man—in more than one sense of the word, reflected the Sergeant. The Sergeant was the opposite: over six-and-a-half feet tall, he towered over every other man in the company, and he was the veteran of more battles than the Lieutenant had years. If only that arrow had been a foot to the right, he thought. Aloud he said, “The Captain said we were to take it if it was undefended. We have two dead and have not even seen the foe, sir: clearly, it is defended.”

“Farmers! MY company is not going to run from mere farmers! Get the men moving, Sergeant!”  

Your company? Well it was now, gods preserve us. And those farmers were born with bows in their hands, and spears up their arses to stiffen their spines. But the Sergeant did not say these things. Instead, he ordered the least of his troops into the gap. Let’s see what these farmers are made of, shall we?

Amara waited at the first landing. Her eldest had placed a fresh shield and a spear and some other things at each landing: unlike in the tales of the bards, in real life a warrior’s tools were used up in battle. She braced with the shield and hefted the spear, listening to the men racing like fools up the stairs. The first appeared.

Thrust with the spear. Push with the shield. A swift kick to send him into the man behind him. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Don’t overextend, just sink the blade in a bit and pull it back, move to the next target. They could only come at her one at a time, let them tangle up in one another and stab into the mess. The dead slid down the stairs in their own blood, and the wounded screamed and dragged themselves away from the stabbing bitch if they could. She wasted no time on those: let them make the going harder on those to follow. She stepped back and grabbed a swig of water from the mug on a small shelf. They’d be back.

The Lieutenant heaped curses on the wounded men as they stumbled out of the stairway. “How many? How many defend the stairs!”

“Just one! A woman! A woman out of Hell!” 

The officer stared at the wounded man dumbly. Then he kicked the man where he lay on the ground clutching a wound in his side. “Idiots! Incompetents! Gods forfend I should tell this lot to storm a whorehouse, the whole lot doesn’t know what to do with a single woman! SERGEANT! Get some real men up those stairs!”

The Sergeant smiled grimly. Farmers. He had seen the things the fleeing farmers had dropped in their haste, and he knew his foe. This was going to be bloody. “You six! Up the stairs!”

Amara had moved up to the next landing, scattering caltrops in her wake. A bag of them had been set at each landing by her middle child. She watched as the first two men found the caltrops with their feet and jumped backward, tangling with those behind. The next man swept the steps with his blade and advanced, and she left her first spear in his belly. She grabbed for the ready spear and it was busy work for a few moments. Another man died, the next one cut her right arm in exchange for a serious wound to his shoulder, and the last one helped him away. She grabbed the caltrop bag and retreated again, sowing the steps as she went.  

At the next landing she held them twice, the second time breaking a spear and resorting to chopping with her sword until they backed off again. She hurled her hacked-apart shield after the last one, grabbed the next board and backed slowly up the stairs. No caltrops this time, they were getting bolder.

“Sergeant, what is wrong with these men? I know the way is narrow, but she is only a woman!”

“Yes, sir. A woman. And we all fear her.”  

The Lieutenant scoffed. “You go up there, Sergeant! You fear nothing!”

“I fear that woman, sir. I am no fool.”

“I have watched you wrestle feathered drakes in the water! I have seen you kill bears! I have seen you fight champions! You fear a WOMAN?”

“Lieutenant, I have done all of these things. But did you see me challenge a she-drake on her nest? Have you ever watched me tangle with a bear sow protecting her cubs? I tell you, sir: I am no fool. Up those stairs is a Mother, and her children are behind her. We, for our sins, are in front of her. Gods preserve us.”

“Ridiculous! Sergeant, you will personally go up those stairs and kill that woman or I will have you broken on the wheel for cowardice!” The Sergeant looked down at the small man in front of him.  

“Of course, sir, if you so order. But a good officer sets an example. A good officer leads his men into battle.”

Amara had had a few minutes to catch her breath and drink from the mug waiting for her. They were probably organizing a massed charge. They should have done that from the beginning, not given her a rest. Maybe this time they would get through. She heard some manner of angry screaming from down the stairs. She had not bothered with battle cries. A waste of breath needed for other things. The cries came closer, sounded almost frantic. She braced her shield and raised her spear. Work to be done.

Around the corner stepped a giant of a man, hiding behind a towering shield. Strapped to the front of that shield was a small man, his armor stripped from him, his sword tied into his hand and then strapped to his leg. The "battle cries" must have been him screaming. A booming voice from behind the shield, “There she is, sir! Lead us into battle! Show us how a real man faces down a mother defending her children! We’re right behind you, Lieutenant!” Amara stood stunned for only a moment. Then she smiled.

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.  

The farmers were dug in too well. A detachment of the wounded was left to watch the bottom of the stairs to ensure no enemy force sought their rear by that route. The Lieutenant himself had sought to achieve the top, and he had died with his sword in his hand. The price was too high.  

The Company marched on, the Sergeant in the lead.

[pinksirensong]

B.F.F.

Finale

At the waking world Y/N's body was found by Austin, since he left the room her painting didn't get out of his head and something told him to come back and see it once more. The boy was far away from an artist, yet all that sadness portrayed there connected with the once inside him. His friend Pietro once said that they painted thinking of something that might be the complete opposite of that the espectador will have, but somehow he knew they shared the same pain.

Her body was cold, yet she was far from being dead and quickly an ambulance was called. The noise was enough to wake many students from their dorms, soon they all made a crowd trying to figure out what happened. Austin didn't know her friends or family, so he could only call Pietro and, after explaining everything, ask for him to find anyone close to the girl.

Owen and Daniel arrived at the hospital when she was already inside being treated. Dehydration. Malnutrition. Reaction to non-prescribed drugs. Blood loss. All things that could be fixed, it wasn't past the point of saving. It wasn't the craziest thing the staff saw, so many students had a mental breakdown and did something extreme that by now they didn't get shocked by it. It wasn't normal the pressure their patients had and before leaving the hospital a psychiatrist would speak to them, but there was only so far they could help.

Y/N should've woken up when it was over, everything was a success and her body was fully healed, yet the artist was still sleeping. Father and son didn't understand why she was in a coma or why Death couldn't find her. A soul could be inside her both or in Dream's sister domain, yet it wasn't in either. Days passed by and no answer was given to them, the doctor said that perhaps she just wasn't ready to come back. Mind and body do not always agree with the necessary time to do things.

Orpheus felt even worse than with what happened to Eurydice, with his lover he at least knew where she was and had the chance to try to bring her back. Yes, he failed, but he went to the Underworld and fought as much as he could. Now, with Y/N, he couldn't do anything to even try helping her, because no one knew where she truly was. After all those years she was the constant in his life, his best friend and family, she was always there when he needed and with all that was happening Orpheus felt like he failed her.

Morpheus shared the feeling of impotence with his son, he was Dream of the Endless and yet couldn't find the one he loved. Perhaps he was being punished for all he had done in the past, for all his last relationship that ended badly because of him. His pride and his arrogance. Ever since Dream met Y/N he started to change even more, his heart was full of love and everyone around him could see it. When he came back from their dates the climate at the Dreaming was always the brightest and most beautiful one, even the dreamers could feel in their dreams the love he felt. How dare destiny try to take this away from him? Destiny. Yes, he could've asked his brother, but even if he didn't answer in riddles…Dream feared the response he would get. If she was truly gone, could the Endless be able to move one? Many came and go in his life, but with Y/N he could see a future…a life. Morpheus wanted to marry her, make her his queen and have children. Children, ever since Orpheus he never thought about it, but now he didn't have to feel guilty for wanting this because his son was right there and he cared for his carus deeply.

During her second week at the hospital, Austin came to visit her, only to find the two men at her bedside. Ever since he found her that night he weirdly started to sleep better, Austin could have sworn that she was in his dreams. It wasn't in a weird or perverted way, she was there like a kind soul leading him to the right path…inspiring him to follow his dreams. Maybe it was his brain reaction to what he felt seeing her painting or the passion she had for her work, but it made him want to do something he loved. Austin wanted to be a doctor, yes, but unlike the future his parents envisioned for him, the man only wanted to help people in need.

"I don't know you." the youngest of the two men, who Austin thought could only be Owen, said.

"Yeah, right… I'm Austin, the one who found her that day. I had just met her, actually." her face was as pale as when he found her, he thought that maybe after two weeks she would look better. "Is she okay? It's been weeks."

"The doctor said that although her body is healed, her mind might not be." for Orpheus' was almost impossible to explain the complexity of the situation. He wished it would be as simple as that.

Austin wasn't the only one having weird dreams, even some people who never met her were having dreams with the kind stranger that inspired them to follow their dreams. It was hard getting out of the bubble to chase the unknown, but it was also necessary to be happy.

Meanwhile, Y/N had no idea what was going on even since she was sucked into this place. Wherever that was she never even saw it in all her years alive, but then again she never saw much of the world. It seemed like a farm away from the urban part of whoever city it was, the people around were unknown to her and once one small child could actually see and talk to her. The boy was cute and sweet, full of dreams to archive in the future.

For days they would talk and she would encourage him to persuade whatever made him happy for without happiness there is no worth in doing something jus to please others. When she was pulled out of it, Y/N hoped that this times helped him see reason. Next was an older girl, no more than 18 years old, with a similar problem to the young boy. Why were people in such a need of help in finding their way?

It wasn't like Y/N knew all the answers, but with her experience and perseverance to do what she loved the most it was easier to help them. A few wise words, but most importantly words from the heart. Courage to do it, to free themselves from other's wishes wasn't something easy, it was painful and took time and effort, but at the end it was worth it. All of it.

Time passed by, perhaps days or months, it was unclear to her as she as puller towards so many people. Sometimes it was day and others night. It could be too warm or too cold. Big city or small town. It was like living many lifetimes, yet none were really hers. Was it bad that she enjoyed it all too much? She belonged there, doing exactly what she was doing. Now her art meant so much more than before.

"Hello, dear. Have someone ever told you that you are a hard person to find?"

"I am deeply sorry, lady Death. It was not my intention to come here…wherever that might be." it felt good to not be afraid of the future, if it was her time then so be it. She inspired and left her legacy, she loved and was loved back…Y/N was happy, if she died now it would be as a happy woman.

"There's no need for formalities, dear. Before we talk perhaps it would do us some good in waiting, I'm sure by brother sensed my presence and is coming to question it."

"Why would he question you for doing your job?"

"Because this is the Dreaming." Dream's deep voice echoed through her ears.

"You came faster than I expected, brother." Death came closer to the young woman, who didn't understand a thing about what was happening. Morpheus didn't seem to like it, afraid of the outcome. "Your soul came to the Dreaming, Y/N L/N. At this instant you're neither alive or dead. I cannot take your soul, but you are not able to come back to your body."

"I don't get it…it just happened. This really strong force brought me here and I've no idea what's going on. There's this people I don't know, but there's this connection to them…like I need to help, to inspire them to become their better version."

"I believe that would be my fault." Morpheus approached her and grabbed her hand with his. "The Dreaming and I are the same, we are an extension of each other. You have always been my dream, my love, my carus. When I thought that…I would lose you the Dreaming pulled you here where it would keep you safe. The rest it all you, your essence of helping others with their passion." while he spoke, Dream didn't stop caressing her hand.

"And now you must choose your path." said Death, she didn't want to interrupt the moment or be the one to break her little brother's heart, but it was her duty.

"Sister, please."

"You know it's necessary." the kind woman turned to the artist. "Y/N, you have a choice to make. You can either stay here on the Dreaming as one of my brother's subjects or you might come with me."

"Wait! Do not answer yet, Y/N. Please, hear me first." his other hand came up to her cheek, she closed her eyes at the contact, happy to feel him close. "I will not take your choice, no matter what know that I will support it. But I cannot let you answer before asking. No. Begging you to stay. Please, carus, choose us. Choose the Dreaming so we shall be together forever. Choose to be my dream, my love, my wife. Let me spend the rest of my endless life by your side, I will do anything in my power to make you happy. Choose me. Please." never once Death saw her brother beg for something, much less for someone. It broke her heart to be the one making this to him.

"Oh, Morpheus." it was the first time Y/N had called him by one of his names and hearing it was ever better than he imagine it. Her eyes now open were full of tears they she couldn't contain. "I choose you, today and for the rest of my life. I will be your dream and your love, just as you're mine. And yes, I'll be your wife. You have me, you've always had all of me. I love you, Morpheus." not being able to hold back for another second, Dream pulled her by the waist and they kissed. They put all lf their feeling in the kiss, how much they missed and loved each other, how they wished to never be apart from the other. It felt like seconds and yet also like centuries. It wasn't enough, but for now it would have to be. After separating their lips, Y/N turned her head on the direction of Death. "I choose to stay at the Dreaming, but I thank you for all your kindness and patient. It's nice to know that the last face we will all see will be your."

"She's a catch, brother. Don't ruin it." it was a bit of threatening towards him, but somehow also a joke.

"I would never." that was a promise he made to himself that day, Morpheus would worship you the way you've always deserved, love you like no one else ever would. He will, for the rest of his days, take care of his queen in every possible way.

"Oh, I can't wait to tell Orpheus that I'm actually your dream now."

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a/n: and that's it... clearly I don't know how to make a properly happy ending, sorry...

*Carus is dear or beloved in Latin (source: google)

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