#To have your brother die in your arms gruesomely and to turn that into a quest to find the value of life.... Something something honorable

[kojoty]

Thoreau did not go to Walden Pond to discard humanity. Those that purport a Divine Masculine Self Sufficiency are deliberately misreading his work, and I get the annoyance, but a toxic fan base, as we're all well aware, should not fully discontinue the value of the source work. And sure, on a reread, I more than likely would find points of his to quibble with-- if you read literature from the 19th century and agree with everything there, I'd be concerned for you-- but to take his words and say he was trying to disconnect from humanity rather than to, in his words, live deliberately, aka find the value of one's own life and place within the grander scheme of life, which includes human society of which he is a part of... Well, I think perhaps you should either reread his large breadth of work, or at the very least, stop using Twitter threads as your primary historical source. Simple as

[lanadelnegan]

hyperfeminine reader x negan? he goes to alexandria to take their supplies and reader is just walking around looking all pretty and he CANT resist.

ily 💕💕

ily more bby. xx

Pretty in Pink

S7 Negan x Reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, public sex (in front of Dwight.. like literally in the car while he's driving), Negan being overly caring and sweet with you, character death (negan kills your brother Spencer)

Note: this is dark and twisted ngl.

I watch Negan like a deer in headlights as he whispers into my brother's ear.

"It's because.. ya got no guts." The rest of us are silent as we watch Negan slash his knife through Spencer's stomach, revealing his insides. My stomach churns as I watch him fall to the ground.

Negan chuckles as he looks around, eyeing the crowd as if he's daring us to react.

"Oh, there they are! They were inside of you the whole time." He smirks down at Spencer's lifeless body before his dark eyes roam up, meeting mine.

I quickly look down, biting my lip and fighting back tears. My nails dig into my skin as I try to remain calm.

"Well hello, princess." He slowly approaches me. "Forgive me for the gruesome scene you just had to witness." His hand rests against his chest sympathetically as he stands in front of me now, at least a foot above me.

My fingers lace together in front of me as I continue looking down, digging my dirty white shoe into the gravel.

"I don't believe we've met, sweetheart... In fact, I know we haven't because I definitely would have noticed you, looking all pretty in this little pink skirt."

I look up at him innocently through my lashes. His head cocks to the side as he subtly leans back, noticing the tear slipping from my cheek.

"Shit, darlin'. I am so sorry. That wasn't your boyfriend I just ripped open, was it?" He motions towards Spencer.

I softly shake my head no, earing a grin from him as he tilts my chin upwards to meet his stare.

"He - he was my brother." I sniffle, feeling another tear slide from my cheek.

Negan's jaw ticks and his eyes shut painfully tight as his hand slowly retreats from my chin.

"Goddamn it... If I woulda known.." He shakes his head with disappointment, noticing everyone still standing around us. "Enjoying the fucking show, people?!" He gestures for everyone to clear out before turning his attention back to me.

Sighing loudly, he delicately picks me up in his arms, holding me like a baby. I allow him to carry me as I bury my face into his shirt, soaking it with my tears.

"Ssshhh, babyyy." He whispers against the top of my head as he walks us to his van.

"Dwight! Let's go, you're driving."

"Boss? The supplies.. we don't have them loaded yet." Simon interrupts.

"I'm sorry." Negan's voice vibrates through his chest and into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "Does it look like I give two fucks about supplies right now?"

He doesn't wait for Simon to answer as he opens the passenger door, joining Dwight in the van while carefully maneuvering me in his lap. My legs face towards Dwight while the side of my body leans into Negan.

"Hey, sshhh. It's okay, baby. What's your name?" He rubs my back comfortingly.

"Y/n." I whisper, sniffing my runny nose.

"Y/n, you're gonna stay with me tonight so I can make sure you're okay. I truly am sorry about your brother."

I nod my head, leaning against him. This is the first physical affection I've had from anyone since our parents died. Although it's from a man I'm supposed to hate, I can't deny how nice it feels to be touched.

My brother and I drifted apart when our family found Alexandria and made it our own. He turned into someone I didn't recognize, all power-hungry and selfish.. and although he probably deserved to die, he was still my brother. I'll always love him.

I allow myself to snuggle into Negan, my face against his neck as I inhale his scent of leather and citrusy hair gel.

"Gonna make you forget all about that asshole brother of yours, darlin'." His large, veiny hand glides up my thigh until it settles just underneath the frills of my skirt. He rubs circles on my smooth skin with his thumb, comforting me sweetly.

The drive back to the sanctuary seems to last a decade and I watch the way Dwight zones out at the road in front of him, not paying attention to us.

My hand bravely drifts on top of Negan's and I slide his hand deeper underneath my skirt, watching it disappear completely. I know how wrong this is, but I can't help my attraction to him. I've watched him from the window of my room too many times to count, wondering what his lips feel like. Doodling his name next to little hearts in my diary. This is what I've wanted, even if it's under these circumstances.

Negan's eyes widen a little as he looks at me, surprised by my forwardness.

He glances at Dwight before looking back up at me, his heavy eyelids slightly covering his hazel eyes as a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

I reach my finger up to graze over his puffy bottom lip in a "shush" motion before leaning in to kiss him. His body remains still as his lips part, letting my tongue slip past his. He groans softly and Dwight glances at us, bringing his eyebrows together.

"Eyes on the fucking road, Dwight." Negan says with our mouths still connected. I let my hands explore him, roaming them up his body and feeling his chest through his t-shirt.

His hard cock presses into my ass as I turn myself to face him, bringing one leg over until they're both hanging over each side of him and I'm straddling his lap. He grips my ass under my skirt as his head falls back slightly, waiting for my next move.

"Negan.."

"Yeah, baby?" His voice is low and raspy.

"Touch me."

His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he urges my back into the dashboard. My mouth gapes open when he pulls my panties to the side, revealing my pussy to him.

"Look at this pretty pink pussy, baby." He breathes out as his finger slides through my wet folds.

"So wet for daddy. Wish I could fucking take you right here."

I look at Dwight, who's trying his best to pretend we're not here, but the sudden sensation of Negan curling his finger inside me snaps my attention back to him.

"So do it, then." I urge him.

His eyebrows raise. "Ohh, sweetheart. So desperate for some cock." His hands find their way to my hips, tracing over them slowly as I lean back up.

"Just yours." I admit and he chuckles softly.

"Is that right, baby? You've thought about me before, huh? Touched yourself to the thought of my cock inside you."

I nod, letting my fingers run through his slicked back hair and I can't help but grind myself into him, desperate for some friction.

"Take it then. I'm not stoppin' you."

That's all the confirmation I need before reaching for his belt and unbuckling him until his pants are a few inches down his thighs.

My hand reaches in his boxers, pulling out his hardening cock. Negan watches my face as I tug on him a couple times, admiring the way he grows longer and thicker in my hand.

I don't waste any time hovering above him as he slides my panties to the side again, helping me me sink down onto him. I moan out at the fullness as my head slightly falls back.

"Thaaat's it, baby." He groans, digging his fingers into my hips while I bounce on him.

A pothole in the road causes the van to dip suddenly, and my hips collide with his completely, causing the tip of his cock to push violently against my cervix. I cry out loudly at the sharp pain, but continue riding him faster and deeper until tears fill my eyes.

His head rests against the back of the seat as he watches me ride him. "Such a good fucking girl. You wanna be my wife, baby? I'll take such good care of you."

My eyes widen a little at the unexpected offer. "Uh, I - I dunno."

"That's alright, baby. I have all night to convince you. Don't think it'll take much, considering how desperate you were for my cock." He smiles up at me arrogantly.

My moans get faster and louder along with his. "You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?"

I nod as his finger finds my clit with ease, rubbing it just the right way to send me over the edge. He kisses me hard right when my pussy floods his dick, causing a wet spot on his black jeans.

"FUCK. Look at that." He dips his finger in my wetness before bringing it up to my mouth, making me taste myself. I moan around his finger, sucking gently.

"You ready for my cum, baby?"

I nod, wanting to taste him so badly. As if he heard my thoughts, he lifts me off of him until I'm on my knees in the floorboard between his legs.

I watch as he strokes himself a couple times, my eyes darting back and forth between the tip of his swollen dick to his handsome face. His head falls back while his lips part, letting out a deep groan before long ropes of warm cum splatter onto my face and tongue. I close my eyes, savoring the taste of him as I suck his tip dry.

"Goddamn baby. Look at the mess you made." He reaches for my face, wiping his load off my chin with his thumb and sliding it into my mouth. I moan around him again, loving his salty unique taste before climbing up into his lap and leaning my head against his chest.

I close my eyes to the sound of his rapid heartbeat and feeling of his gentle hand stroking my hair.

How can the same hands that ended my brother's life be so... gentle with me.

Dwight shuts the engine off, exiting the van awkwardly once we arrive. Neither of us move, but I smile softly when Negan fixes the white bow in my hair, pinning it back in place and causing my heart to front flip in my chest.

"Negan..." I whisper.

"Yeah, baby?"

"... I'll be your wife."

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Hope

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader, Crowley & Winchester!reader (platonic)

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: (very very loosely) set during 5x10 when Sam and Dean get killed and go to heaven (doesn’t follow cannon really)

Crowley took in the room before him, a pit opening up in his gut at the gruesome scene. Sam and Dean were splayed out on their respective beds, chests gaping open from near-identical bullet wounds. And then there was you.

The brothers’ young sister was sitting on the floor between the two beds, the demon-summoning ingredients in front of her. She was shaking from head to foot and her eyes were red-rimmed and wild with desperation. Her eyes met Crowley’s, and he nearly staggered back just seeing the haunted terror residing there.

“Darling…” Crowley’s voice was quiet, apologetic.

“You have to bring them back,” you whimpered. “Please.”

“I…I can’t,” he sighed. “Just because I’m king doesn’t mean I can just reanimate whoever I want. Not without…” Crowley stopped suddenly, but it was too late. Your eyes lit up with realization. “No,” Crowley said, but you were already nodding.

“I’ll do it,” you said. “You can have my soul, just bring them back!”

“It’s not that simple. If the demons find out that I brought their biggest threats back to life…” he was stalling, and you both knew it. He didn’t want your soul in hell, but he would never admit that.

“Please,” you pleaded. “Crowley, I-“ your voice cracked. “Please. I-I can’t live without them.”

Crowley looked from the boys’ dead bodies to you, then back again. You followed his gaze, your eyes settling on Sam first, then Dean.

“It was hunters.” Your lip quivered. “They-they said Sam was evil, and-and he had to be stopped. Then-then Dean recognized them, so they said that…” your voice cracked as tears slid down your cheeks. You took a deep breath before continuing. “They said they had to kill him, too, so that he wouldn’t come after them. De-Dean didn’t even care.” A sob wracked your body, and Crowley had to resist the sudden surprising urge to comfort you. “He didn’t care that they were gonna kill him, he-he just told them over and-and over not to kill me. I guess they thought I couldn’t be much of a threat.” You pulled your knees up to your chest, and your next sentence was so quiet that Crowley had to strain to hear. “I wish they got me, too.”

Crowley had been ready to leave you here, to turn down your deal and walk out and leave you with your brothers’ corpses. He didn’t want to make this deal, he didn’t want Sam and Dean screwing things up for him in hell, and he didn’t want you, just a kid, to give up your soul. You didn’t deserve hell.

But the last thing you said—your wish to die alongside your brothers.

Crowley couldn’t turn away from that.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

…

Crowley was gone before Sam and Dean opened their eyes. They sat up simultaneously, identical gasps leaving their throats as they breathed again for the first time.

You were off the floor and in their arms before they even knew what was happening.

…

“What happened?” Dean asked after he had gotten his bearings. “We were caught by Zachariah, how did we…” Dean caught sight of the summoning ingredients on the motel floor, and it hit him like a truck. Sam and him hadn’t gotten out by themselves.

“No…” Sam breathed, his gaze following Dean’s. “Y/N, no, tell me you didn’t.”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the same,” was your response.

You flinched when Dean slammed his hand against the desk.

“What were you thinking?” He demanded.

“That I wasn’t about to let the two of you die,” you shot back.

“We could’ve gotten out ourselves!” Dean exploded. “The angels need us alive!”

“Yeah, but they would’ve tortured you until you said yes to Michael and Lucifer first!”

“How long did you get?” Sam’s quiet voice interrupted you and Dean’s shouting match. His tone sobered the room.

“A year.” Your voice was no longer strong or defensive. You were scared, and the boys could see it instantly.

“We’re gonna get you out of this,” Dean promised. “You’re not going to hell. I’m gonna call Crowley and—“

“Who do you think I made a deal with?” You sighed. “He may be the king of hell, but there’s only so much he can do. It was dangerous enough for him bringing you guys back as it was.”

“I don’t care,” Dean said. “He helped get you into this, he’s gonna help get you out.”

…

The year passed faster than anyone had anticipated. Crowley never answered when the Winchesters summoned or called, and they hadn’t been able to track him down or summon any other demons either.

You were on your last day, sitting on a motel bed next to your brothers, when he finally made contact.

“Hello, boys. Y/N.”

All three Winchesters nearly jumped out of their skins at the sudden appearance of the king.

“It’s about time, Crowley,” Dean growled. “We’ve been trying to contact you for—“

“Three hundred sixty-four days, twenty-three hours, and twenty-six minutes,” Crowley interrupted. “Y/N’s almost out of time.”

“Exactly,” said Dean. “Now fix your mess.”

“I can’t undo a deal, Squirrel.” Crowley couldn’t meet your eye as he spoke. “There’s nothing I can—“

While his gaze was focused on Dean, he didn’t notice Sam pulling out the demon knife until it was up against his throat.

“Then why are you here?!” Sam demanded.

“I can’t undo the deal,” Crowley said, his hands raised defensively. “Nor can I tell you about the hidden escape hatch out of hell. It would be utter treason for me to accidentally leave Y/N’s cell door in hell open in exactly seventeen hours and twelve minutes, when the guards change. It would be an affront of all I stand for to give you boys this address,” Crowley reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to Dean while Sam kept the knife on him. “It also wouldn’t be possible for me to tell Y/N to take two lefts and a right, and that the escape hatch is behind the giant rock shaped like a nose—trust me, you’ll see it.”

The trio of siblings was silent for several long seconds as they took in Crowley’s words.

“Why are you doing this?” Dean asked.

“I didn’t want to make this crummy deal in the first place,” Crowley sighed. “But you Winchesters are stubborn, so I made it. Now I’m doing the little I can to un-make it.”

The Winchester brothers began questioning Crowley about the specifics of the plan, but you remained silent. The men seemed to forget your presence until you suddenly interrupted them.

“So I still have to go to hell?”

All eyes turned to you.

“I’m afraid so,” Crowley said, still unable to look you in the eye.

“Dean?” Your pleading voice had your big brother in front of you in an instant. “Does…” your gaze focused on your fidgeting hands, and your voice came out in a tearful whisper. “Does dying hurt?”

Dean’s heart lodged in his throat. He wanted so bad to lie, to tell you that you wouldn’t feel a thing, and that you’d be reunited with your brothers before you knew it. But you didn’t want just assurance, you wanted the truth. You needed someone to trust more than you needed comfort. So he did the last thing he wanted to do; he told you the truth.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed heavily. “Yeah, it’s gonna hurt like crazy.” Dean’s hands found your fidgeting ones, and he held them tightly. “And those seventeen hours are gonna feel like a whole lot longer. And it’s—“ Dean’s voice cracked. “It’s gonna be real dark, and you’re gonna feel like the only person in the universe for a little while. Then the demons are gonna come, and it…it’s gonna be really bad for a while, kid.”

Tears were steaming down both of your cheeks now, but still Dean continued.

“But you just gotta hold on, ok? Hope is the only thing you’re gonna have down there, so you can’t let it go for anything, understand?”

“Ok,” you choked, holding Dean’s hands in a vice grip.

“Ok,” Dean forced a fleeting smile. “Good girl.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You’re gonna be ok, alright?”

You nodded, leaning into your big brother’s touch.

Dean felt you flinch in his arms, and he pulled back to see you glancing around wildly.

“Did you hear that?” You breathed. You glanced up at Sam and jerked back, gasping in surprise.

“Hey, hey,” Dean tried to grab your arms, but you backed away from him, trembling. “What you’re seeing, it’s not real, ok? Y/N, it’s me.”

“I have to go, they can’t see me here.” Crowley was gone before anyone could comment.

“Y/N, it’s Sam.” Sam appeared on your other side. “It’s ok, you’re ok.”

“Baby close your eyes.”

You looked up to see Dean staring down at you.

“Just close your eyes,” he repeated. “It’ll be ok.”

You closed your eyes tightly before the hallucinations started again, your last visual memory being that of your big brothers holding onto you. You felt Dean’s hand squeeze yours, and your breathing turned to hyperventilating when you heard the hellhounds burst through the door.

Your instincts were screaming at you to open your eyes, but Dean seemed to read your mind.

“Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart. We’re right here, we’re not gonna leave you.”

You couldn’t help the terrified gasps that were escaping you, but you listened to your big brother and kept your eyes closed, even as you heard the vicious bark of the hellhounds.

Even as you felt their claws rip into your flesh.

You shrieked in pain, and you struggled to back away from the hounds, to no avail. But you never opened your eyes.

And you never let go of your brothers’ hands.

…

Seventeen hours later, Sam and Dean were waiting at the address that Crowley had given to them. Your body was laid out carefully in the back of the Impala, having been carried there by Dean. Dean told himself over and over again that you weren’t dead; they were just waiting to get your soul back to your body.

“Is there something we should be doing?” Sam asked, glancing around.

“Not according to Crowley,” Dean sighed. “He said as long as her body is here, and she gets through that escape hatch, it should be a done deal.”

The brothers had done what they could for your body; Sam had stitched up your wounds, and Dean had done a homemade blood transfusion using his own blood. They could only hope that your soul returning to your body would somehow help the more internal injuries that they couldn’t fix. Dean insisted that they do this, since Cas wasn’t around to heal your injuries, they didn’t know what state you would be in when you got back to your body.

“So we just sit he—“

Sam’s question was cut off when your body suddenly jerked upright, a deep breath filling your lungs.

“Y/N!” Dean was by your side immediately, Sam coming to stand beside him.

“Dean? Sam?” You were out of the Impala and in your brothers arms before you even finished getting their names out.

“Hey kid,” Dean breathed a sigh of relief as you relaxed completely in his arms. “Miss me already?” He quipped, but his forced easygoing tone dropped at your response.

“It felt so long.” You held Dean tighter and started to cry into his shoulder.

“I know, I know it did sweetheart.” Dean brought his hand up to cradle your head. “I know. You’re safe now, ok? We’re right here.”

“Hey,” Sam pulled you away from Dean and held you at arms length to look at you. “How do you feel?”

You touched the stitches running up your stomach.

“It feels sore, like-like it’s healing.”

“Ok.” Sam sighed in relief. “Ok.” He pulled you into his arms, letting you relax against him.

“Let’s get going,” Dean said. “We don’t need any demons figuring out what happened.”

Dean regretted his words when he saw you tense in Sam’s arms.

“Hey.” Sam noticed too, and he pulled away and brushed your hair away from your face. “We’ve got you, ok? You’re not going back to hell. Ever.”

For the first time in months, a smile found its way onto your face.

“Let’s hope so.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl

[hyperfixat]

day 14 of ai less whumptober: No Anesthesia

supporting these posts helps encourage my writing and creating, thanks!

(@ailesswhumptober)

The sound of one of your joints popping and the breaking of a bone are terribly similar.  Too similar, in fact.  The brothers have broken many bones in their infinite time. 

The first snap, crackle, pop of your joints had made everyone in the room freeze.  Leviathan, in the middle of talking about some new limited Ruri-chan figure, stopped.  All seven pairs of eyes stare at you in horror.

 Did the human die?  Are they broken?  Fragile thing, what would Lord Diavolo say?  

You freeze as well, hands intertwined and held above your head.

Lucifer seems to have gotten even paler than his usual pale-ness.  Mammon’s gaze catches yours and is filled with absolute horror, and Asmo.  Asmodeus looks on the verge of illness, eyes wide and face sickly gray.

“Ohmygod,” Levi breathes out in absolute shock.

“What’s wrong?” You’re a little nervous at their odd behavior, and as to what happened to make their moods flip so suddenly.

“Are you okay?”  Satan is on his feet, walking over to you, attempting to inspect you for any injuries.  Mammon flies to his feet as well.

“Hey, hey hands to yourself!  The Great Mammon can do that.”  He pushes Satan aside without any real force.  Together their hands and eyes cover you, like a TSA pat down.

“Does anything hurt?”  Lucifer asks while you’re nearly being groped.

“No?”  Confusion fills your voice.

A worried whimper comes out of Beel and he turns to Belphie, “so bad it’s numb.”  You think you hear him say.

“Nothing seems broken,” Satan says, he’s squatting down to check your legs and feet.  He lifts himself to standing.  His eyes are somber as he gently takes hold of your shoulders.  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Mammon shifts on his feet behind you, hand brushing over your shoulder blades, where you popped.

“Yeah?  I was just stretching…”

Asmo inches over to you, crawling on the floor slowly like you’re a landmine that could detonate at any second.

“You cracked.”  It’s an accusation.  Lucifer near glowers at you.

“It happens.”  You shrug.

“No it doesn’t,” Lucifer glares this time.

“Maybe not to you, but it’s normal,” you side eye him.  

A hand on the hem of your pants.  Asmo looks up at you, horror still plastered on his face.

Dramatic.

You pat his head and some color returns to his face.

“What happened then?”  Belphegor challenges you.

“I cracked my back.”

“How?”  Mammon’s jaw drops.  “That’s horrible.”

“It feels good.”  You defend.  “You guys can’t crack things?”

“No!”  Asmo cries out.  “That sounded horrendous.”

“Oh.”

It’s confusing, demons and angels don’t make sounds like that.  No one hasn’t let themself grow used to the noise, they’ll never let themselves.  Because the haunting what if? will never leave.

Eyes always fly to you the second one of your bones shift; it’s sweet they care, but they’re worried over nothing!  You’ve never broken a bone, ever.

You jinxed yourself.

Today you broke a bone.  Well, you’re pretty sure you’ve at least done something you shouldn’t have to your bone.  The splintered edge of the bone sticks out gruesomely from your forearm.  Yeah, that’s not normal.

Blood drips onto the bathroom floor and you don’t know why you aren’t crying right now.  The demon had handled you too roughly.  Shoved you out of the way too hard and you hit the air dryer bolted into the wall then this happened.

They had looked at you with a mixture of shock and fear as the sickening crunch of your arm registered, and the coppery scent of blood began filling the air.  Panic took over the stranger and they ran out of the bathroom, leaving you to sit on the floor and stare in shock at your horrible looking arm.

Your stomach churns and you look towards the ceiling and blink to try and clear your mind.

The demon fled the second his actions dawned upon them, fleeing the scene of the crime.  Smart fella.

The scent of blood permeates the air and you know you won’t be alone for long.  A hungry demon is bound to find you the way you are just bleeding.

And just as the thought hits you, the bathroom door flies open and Asmo is rushing towards you.  Concern and panic lace his features as he places a gentle hand on your injured arm.  You wince.

“Sorry, dear, but I need to get this tied off.”  His voice is sweet and your head rolls to the side as you relax, because your Asmo is here.  Things’ll be alright now.  Mammon stands anxiously behind him, avoiding looking at your wound.  

The bathroom door has swung closed again and you relish in the privacy of having you Asmo and Mammon take care of you.

“Oh, who did this, MC?” Asmo keeps the lilt in his voice, although it is strained.  “Hmm?  Who would hurt you?”  Golden eyes attempting to meet yours.

You crane your head further back to avoid the lure of Asmodeus’ eyes, “it was an accident.” 

There’s a tug at the junction of your elbow. 

He makes a displeased hum, “Mammon, fetch Satan for me, he’ll know how to fix this better than me.  Oh, Barbatos too if you happen across him.”

Mammon gives your uninjured arm a pat and follows orders.

“Alright sweetheart,” Asmo kisses your cheek, “this might hurt a bit.  I’m gonna have a little bit of help to fix your arm up.  You’re in good hands, doll.”

You hear ripping fabric then have to hold back a scream as Asmo begins to wrap the exposed gore.

“I know,” he sighs sympathetically.  “I know.”  He keeps it tight on your arm and you take some deep breaths.

The door swings back open and Satan and Mammon come in, Barbatos in tow.  Satan’s face twists into a grimace as the scent registers.  The two that Mammon fetched kneel at your sides adjacent to Asmo, Barbatos tears his white gloves off and takes hold of your upper arm, applying firm pressure.

“Fuck,” Satan hisses out, fidiling with his pockets.  He pulls out something silver and metallic and you wince and turn away.  

When you do so you bump your face into Mammon’s chest, where he’d taken to holding you steady.

You do your best to keep quiet when you feel them begin to work on your arm, but you can’t help a pained, breathless moan.

“Sorry, your pain cannot be helped,” Barbatos puts his bare hand on your knee and attempts to give it a comforting squeeze.  It doesn’t do much, but you're grateful.

You feel sharpness cutting away at flesh and muscle.  Your eyes bulge and you grip Mammon’s forearm with all the strength you can muster.

Fuck, it hurts so bad, it’s all you can do not to scream or passout.

“Shh,” Asmo soothes, you peek an eye open and glare at him.

“I can’t,” you stutter out.

“Yes you can, I’m almost done.” Satan says, voice plain.

You feel Barbatos stand and walk to the dryer you were shoved into.  Peeking out the corner of your eye you see him crouch and investigate.  His bloodied white glove runs through the half dried viscera painting the floor.  You’re torn away from watching him when a new pain rocks through your nerves. 

A sharp crunch resonates through your body as Asmodeus and Satan shove your bone back into place.  You let out a hoarse squeal and there’s a fresh round of hushing from Asmo and Mammon.  Your breaths come in wheezing bursts and Barbatos comes to kneel a bit in front of you.

“I trust these  three with fixing you up for now.  I must report this to the Young Master.”  Barbatos gives a sympathetic smile and stands to leave.  “I will tend to you at a later point, MC.”

A sharp, pointed pain in, and a sharp pain out.  Steeling your nerves you peek at your newly shoved back inside arm to see Asmo sewing your flesh shut as Satan holds it closed.

It takes an excruciatingly long three minutes for them to finish and tie off the stitches.

“Now, darling,” Asmo’s stained hand reaches to cup your jaw, “when we get home, we’ll talk about finding whoever did this to you.”

“Don’t be too harsh now, Asmodeus.”  Satan chides, holding your injured arm soothingly.  “They’re sure to be in a lot of pain right now.  Save that conversation for when they’re feeling better, okay?”  When he finishes the sentence, he nuzzles into the side of your head affectionately.  

“Let’s get you home now,” Asmo says, blatantly ignoring his older brother.

As Mammon helps you to your feet he speaks, “we should probably stop by the student council office and let Lucifer know that they’ll be missing from classes.  And,” Mammon turns his attention to you.  “Don’t you worry, the Great Mammon will be with you the whole time you’re healin’ up!”

[syllvane]

familiar hearts- tolya yul-bataar x reader

a/n: half based on a request but kind of took on a life of its own! gender neutral, Nikolai’s sibling. can be read as a sequel to soldier, poet, king, but can also be read separately. marche is the reader’s privateer name.

They kill the Healer first, hands bound and throat slit, ruby red blood staining their garments and nothing they could do except scream, alert the rest of the ship that there are intruders.

They have Grisha of their own as well, ones who engage the Grisha on the Volkvolny.

And the Grisha on the Volkvolny are outnumbered, but they are excellent.

Tolya and Tamar fight in complete synchronization, perfectly able to predict the others move before they’ve even done it. 

Tidemakers work in tandem to try and keep the sea calm while knocking off the otkazat’sya pirates, trying their best to even the numbers, Durasts bend the metal of swords and rifles, making them all but unusable.

Even you and Nikolai are in the fray, as much as he would prefer that you stay safe, you would hear none of it.

The crew of this ship are more your family than the royals preening in Os Alta and besides, you’ve never been one to shy away from a fight. 

Nikolai is swordfighting the captain of the other ship, though he seems to be verbally jousting as well with them, judging by the remarks that you’re able to overhear.

You make your way through several of the otkazat’sya pirates- they are good, but they are not you. 

You are a flash of blade and blood and for a moment, you see that Tolya hesitates while he’s admiring you, doesn’t block when he should and a blade plunges into his flesh.

You don’t allow yourself to scream, to distract anyone else as you dashed towards him, blades tearing at your skin, and put yourself in front of him, protecting Tamar’s blindside and her brother.

You’re easier prey for the Heartrender that Tolya was fending off, and you can feel your heart begin to slow as you swing wildly.

You don’t allow yourself to fall, even when you should be unconcious on the ground next to Tolya, and when you think you’re about to, a gunshot rings out and the Heartrender falls dead. 

Your brother, livid, holds the smoking gun and with the rest of the pirates dead, rushes over to you.

“Are you okay? Do you realize how stupid-” His sentence stops, his gaze going behind you, to Tamar kneeling over her dying brother. “Oh.”

You collapsed to your knees as well, looking at the man that you would’ve died to save.

You put your hands on his arm gently, shaking your head.

“You can’t go. You can’t die.” You said, your voice breaking.

“You looked… magnificent out there.”

“No, Tolya, you don’t get to die. Not yet.” You said, more assurance in your voice and Tamar looked at you miserably.

“There is nothing you can do.”

Nikolai grabbed your shoulder, as if to pull you away and you shook him off.

You closed your eyes. 

You can’t die. Don’t leave me.

You don’t see it, of course, but tissue begins to stitch itself back together- slowly, a Healer with no experience at all was trying to mend something that they loved.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

“Marche.” Nikolai said hesitantly. You ignored him.

It’s gruesome to watch, how flesh moves like thread to reconnect itself.

“Marche.” Tolya said, his voice no longer weak and you opened your eyes in surprise to see him sitting, leaned against his sister and everyone on the ship looking at you.

And before you can notice your handiwork, your head hits the deck of the ship and the unconsciousness that you’ve been staving off greets you like an old friend.

When you wake after what feels like the longest sleep in your life, it is in Nikolai’s chambers and with Tamar sitting next to you.

Before you can say anything, she turns to look at you, feeling your heart speed up.

“You saved my brothers life,” She said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’ll spend my life repaying that debt.”

You shook your head.

“Whatever I did, I did freely. Out of love.”

Tamar smiled and sniffed.

“He’s been in here reciting poetry to you, whenever he isn’t above deck.” She said, a smile appearing on your lips before she looked up at the ceiling. “He’s been listening for any differences in your heartbeat, so I’m sure Nikolai and him will be down here any moment.”

As if on cue, there was frantic knock on the door and without wait for an answer, the door opened, revealing Tolya and Nikolai.

“Be gentle.” Tamar said sternly. Tolya paid no attention, rushing forward and embracing you tightly, nearly knocking the wind out of you.

“Thank you.” He mumbled quietly, his words a prayer against your skin.

“It was nothing.”

Nikolai cleared his throat and Tolya smiled, pulling away from you and granting Nikolai access to you.

He smiled at you, striding across the room to hug you, more gently than Tolya.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like the Volkvolny ran me over while I was asleep.” You half-joked before realizing your mistake as Nikolai began to fret over you. “Nik I’m fine, I feel fine.”

“You scared me. You scared all of us. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t know either. Is everyone else okay? How many losses did we suffer?”

“You need to worry about getting better before you start worrying about others. I say this as your brother and as your Captain.”

“Tolya?”

“We’re in rough shape, but most of the crew survived.”

“Since when have you started taking orders from her?” Nikolai frowned. “Don’t answer that. Promise me that you’ll get your rest before you start healing others.”

“I don’t even know how I did it the first time.”

“Exactly, all the more reason to rest and wait until we can make a stop in Novyi Zem where you can learn from teachers.”

“Nik, I can-”

“No. I love you, and I know you just want to help our crew. I want to help them as well, but I can’t lose you. You have no idea what it was like, watching you fall unconcious.” 

You didn’t say anything before nodding silently.

“Okay.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead before taking a step back.

“Well, I better go make sure that the crew hasn’t mutinied.” He said lightly and you rolled your eyes.

He smiled, giving you a nod before exiting. Tolya made to move but Tamar reached her hand out, shaking her head.

“I’ll go. You two can chat.” She smiled and Tolya gave her a grateful look, moving to take her seat as she exited, the door clicking shut.

“How did you heal me?” He asked slowly and you sighed, shaking your head.

“I… I don’t know, I just kept thinking over and over again that I couldn’t lose you. So, sheer willpower, I guess.” 

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Loving you has always been easy.”

[bloodycassian]

I got a lot of traction on this post and decided to make a short oneshot out of it.

 Reader x Rhysand

Omg imagine… dying in the fields of the first war.. You’re looking up at the sky, wings broken and while rhysand is looking for cas and az he turns you over, and falls backwards at the bond immediacy snapping into place when he sees your bloodied face

“Are you willing to die for your happiness?” 

The Suriel had asked you that, so so long ago now that you weren’t sure if it was a dream or some shattered illusion that made death easier. Or if it was The Mother playing those words back to you now, to make embracing her seem fated. 

You were dying. You were sure of it. 

It wasn’t peaceful. Not when it was like this. So drawn out and bloodied and slashing pain ripping through every last tattered breath your lungs gave. 

Your vision went dark at the edges, narrowing down to a small circle of branches above you. The leaves were long gone, hurried away by an unforgiving storm at some point. You wished you could be brought away like that. That your death could be easy, and quick.

You closed your eyes, and consigned yourself to the throes of pain.

+

It was getting harder and harder to move the bodies. Rhysand’s arms tired, and his hands soaked in blood made gripping armor plates difficult. But still, he searched. Waiting to see if any of the bodies were his brothers. He recognized most of the Illyrians that lay across the killing fields, and noted every single one that he couldn’t identify. Tried to make out any identifiable features from them, so he may one day offer their families comfort. 

A male with a blank stare, jaw broken, unknown. He moved to the next pair of wings. Nearly unidentifiable among the wreckage of bodies and weapons, he dug the limbs from the pile of others. Hauled the body up by the shoulders, keeping far from the wings that Folded in on themselves. the victim had been face down in a pile of males, friend and foe alike.. His heart thrummed as he rolled over the strangely light victim.

He prepared for something gruesome. Some wound that made the face unable to be seen - but his head went fuzzy at the first sight. 

She seemed to glow. Despite the pale features and filth coating her, his heart squeezed in his chest, swelling to the point of pain. He clutched there, where beneath his armor his dread turned into something far worse, and deadly. Care. He reeled backwards, immediately regretting it because your shoulders fell back against the mound of bodies. A weak groan escaped your lips, and he breathed a sigh of relief. You were alive enough for that, at least. 

He fell to his knees there, in the gore that already coated his armor and hands. A feeling that reminded him of his own wrath rose, deep in his stomach. Different than the power that collected at his finger tips, but scored with the same intensity.

He denied the feeling - the pull of your essence at first. He refused to fall into it’s embrace, though fighting it was as pointless as warring with the tides. The moon would have her way, whether he swam against the currents or not. 

But if he stopped fighting, he’d drown. He’d fall beneath the waves and be consumed by this heated ferocity that bubbled inside of him. He could see it already, could imagine himself so easily falling into the embrace of this dangerous feeling - something this tender, this delicate was not reserved for something as dangerous as himself. 

To emphasize this fact, darkness surrounded him. A portal of night opening over his shoulders, his wings appearing. Every part of him being laid bare, here among the wounded and dead. How was it over the centuries of peace, he only finds his one now, with death lurking so near? Perhaps it was penance. For the amount of power the mother had blessed him with, he would find his mate only at her end. 

Bleak tears rolled down the plains of his face. The cold ache of the mud seeping into his knees was distant, incomparable to the pain in his temples. Like his body warred with something. With the acceptance of the scene before him. Limply, one of your hands went to your belly, where a speartip jutted out. Your eyes squeezed tighter together. He wondered if you could feel him now. If your mind was fighting off him, as well as death. Black dried blood stained your lower half from the exit wound. Defiance bellowed in his mind, thrumming in his head like a drumbeat. Mother be damned. 

He was moving before he knew what he was doing. Perhaps he was drowning himself. Perhaps this would be the end of him. If you died here or in his arms, he knew it would destroy him. But on the off chance you lived…. He wouldn’t get his hopes up. Couldn’t. He knew just how much worse it would break him if he did.

He picked you up, gently enough, then with a wisp of his power sliced the long part of the spear from the blunt arrowhead. He carried you as best he could, readjusting as you slid out of his grasp. The mud made this harder, but he dared not use another scrap of his power to try to clean it away. He may need it to end himself, if you died.

He only spared enough to open a portal, and winnow through the darkness he conjured, wondering if the moon watched him amongst the stars.

[enigmatist17]

Angst that turned into something based off of this and this

When Fives opens his eyes, he can see the stars.

He's not trembling from exhaustion, the hunger cramps due to not feeding his accelerated metabolism the nutrients it needed are gone, and the tears he'd shed in despair trying to explain everything are gone. While he's not lying down, he's not standing up either, just looking at the millions of shining stars as he tries to figure out where he is.

"Fives?"

"Tup?"

"Hey there." Tup is standing, floating, ???, beside him, a smile on that face he'd seen go still days ago. His long hair is free of its bun, idly floating around his face with its familiar teardrop tattoo. "Did you die from the chip too?"

"No, I died trying to tell - well, anyone about it." Fives said, and Tup hugs him when the tears streaming down his face float out among the stars. "I failed."

"You did your best." Tup hugs the ARC as he falls to pieces, his anguished cries making the stars around them dim. Fives cries until three sets of arms seem to come from nowhere, hugging him tight as familiar voices whispered to him in comforting mando'a.

He doesn't have to look to see who it is, letting out a weak laugh as he's hugged even tighter, feeling the first shred of joy since waking up.

But wait, it should be four of them?

"He's still alive." Droidbait answers his unbidden question, and Fives finally turns to see the long dead Domino's he and Echo had seen die so long ago. Droidbait, Hevy and Cutup are smiling at their old batchmate, looking just the same as the day he'd lost them, happy and sad that Fives had finally joined them. Fives wanted to scream at the knowledge that Echo was alive, but instead started to cry again when he's embraced yet again by the four around him.

"It's okay vod'ika, he'll join us eventually." Cutup pressed his forehead against Fives', and watches the former ARC let out a strangled sigh.

"We have so much to show you." Hevy hums when Fives stops crying again, feeling as if he'd been crying for years at this point. "The universe is so big."

"There are also so many friends who are going to be delighted to see you again." Tup smiles, offering a hand that's taken and held like a lifeline.

"Lead on then."

It doesn't stop the pain of Fives' failure as the stars begin to fly past the group, a planet they'd only seen on holo's soon appearing below them as if in orbit. No one can see the dead men as they seem to appear on some beach, and somehow Fives can smell the salty air and feel the warm sand beneath his feet as the Domino's pull Tup and Fives towards a group of troopers that seemed eager to accept them. Old friends who had died, and shinies that had fallen cheered at Fives' arrival, and while it hurt to smile, he was glad to see them in a way.

Time marches on, and then they come in so many numbers.

Thousands and thousands of brothers begin to appear in the stars, all frightened, confused and screaming in anguish when they realize it's over. The chips and its knowledge just clicked into their minds when dead friends and brothers began to appear, and the Force rang out with sadness and agony as the guilt hits them all.

The 501st cry when they reunite, some of their numbers missing but most having died on the Resolute while trying to murder both Ahsoka and Rex. It takes a long time to realize they had been doomed from the start, and in batches more and more brothers appear as years pass.

Some had died fighting the new Empire, some had been test subjects that had gone gruesomely, and not enough died of old age.

Rex and Kix are the last two to join the millions of souls drifting among the stars, and the Force sings with a bittersweet joy when the very last brother finally opens his eyes.

Kix had been alone for so long, fighting a war that had finished so long ago, and died alone for a Resistance that hopefully won their war. He's not alone when he looks around, so many brothers crying with joy as the medic is embraced, and for the first time since they'd lost, he falls apart in their arms.

Then

Then the Force sings to each soul, and the stars vanish, and every clone closes their eyes at a gentle voice.

You have another chance, take it for yourselves my children

When they open their eyes, they're on Kamino in bodies that were far younger when they had left them.

They had a second chance

They had a second chance

[xxchumanixx]

Paralyzed

Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: mentions of character death, angst, hurt

Where is the real me? I'm lost and it kills me inside. I'm paralyzed.

Authors note: This one is angst and pure sadness. Dean's death was devastating for me, as Supernatural accompanied me whilst growing up. I loved him in many ways and he taught me a lot about life. We all lost a great person (character) that day.

Based on the song "Paralyzed" by NF. Listen to it here

Word count: 634

Goosebumps covered your skin, the cold air hugging you like a bad omen.

Still you ignored it, thankful for feeling at least something. Since the day he had died you felt paralyzed.

When did I become so numb?

When did I lose myself?

To you, the answer was clear.

The hunt that led to you giving up your “career” as a hunter. The hunt that took everything from you. The love of your life, your will to live.

All the words that leave my tongue feel like they came from someone else.

Grocery shopping, something you used to love, became a mere necessity.

The little moments were you and Dean felt normal, like you belonged there. You used to look forward to it.

Now, your days and nights were like a program – played by someone else.

Where are my feelings?

I no longer feel things.

I know I should.

I’m paralyzed.

Sam’s attempts at getting you back on track backfired on him – still he didn’t give up.

No matter how many times you leashed out at him, trying to get rid of him he stayed adamant on not losing you, too.

He already had lost his brother, the one that meant the most to him in this gruesome world. He didn’t want to lose the person that was like a sister to him as well.

The cold air blew in your face, causing your hair to get messed up even further than it already was. But you didn’t care. You stopped doing so a long time ago.

Where is the real me?

I’m lost and it kills me inside.

When did I become so cold?

It was a long way for you and Dean.

From the moment you had met the famous Winchester brothers you knew there was more to the older brother.

It took a lot of effort and time to crack his steel like shell and get a glimpse inside. You weren’t disappointed in what you’d found.

He was soft, caring and the sweetest person in the world to you. And the one you loved the most.

You knew it would be risky, your love for one another gluing a target onto your back. But you gladly took the risk if it meant even the shortest of times of happiness with him.

And short it was.

I’m paralyzed, I’m scared to live, but I’m scared to die.

And if life is pain, then I buried mine.

A long time ago but it’s still alive.

And it’s taking over me, where am I?

When he took his last breath, telling you how much he loved you and that he wanted for you to be happy, everything inside of you shattered.

A pain so unbearable rippled through you, that it tore you apart. Still, you couldn’t do anything besides watching the love of your life die right in front of your eyes, doing something he had done his entire life.

Had you known how it would end, you would have convinced him of the apple pie life a lot earlier. Even if it would have meant staying in the bunker instead of getting a white picky fence.

I wanna feel something, I’m numb inside.

But I don’t feel nothing, I wonder why.

“Hey, Baby.” His baritone voice greeted you, causing a lump to form in your throat; tears burning in your eyes and blurring your vision. “Why are you here already?”

You turned around to him, neglecting the beautiful view down the bridge you landed at.

“I couldn’t handle it any longer.” You replied, the tears now flowing freely. “I felt so numb, lost.”

He sighed heavily, before embracing you in a hug. Suddenly his warm body replaced the cold air you had felt moments before.

“I was paralyzed without you. Now, I’m okay. I’m in your arms again.”

[bracketsoffear]

Bolo (Keith Laumer et. al.) ""Bolos might fail. They might die and be destroyed. But they did not surrender, and they never — ever — quit."

A series of stories, originally by Keith Laumer, that were later expanded into a Shared Universe by other authors. They detail the exploits of the Bolo, autonomous AI tanks that are supposed to have evolved from the standard main battle tank of the 20th century.

These aren't your normal tanks. For one, their designers decided that bigger was better, and since the only thing that could really take down a Bolo was another Bolo, they just kept building the Bolos bigger and bigger, to the point where even the stealth tanks mass 1,500 tons. Or in some novels the Mark XXXIII weighs 32,000 tons.

There are plenty of examples of why this is Slaughter, but the aptly-named Final War, culminating in a mutual campaign of total extermination between humans and Melconians that turned a whole spiral arm of the Milky Way into a lifeless waste of dead or hopelessly contaminated planets, takes the cake. It is notable that plans of Operation Ragnarok, the human half of the equation of genocide, were based on a scenario initially created to illustrate utter madness of such campaign. Even the eponymous sapient supertanks start cracking under the weight of their orders by the end, succumbing to bloodlust. When one of the very few surviving Bolos, Shiva, reawakens, he is horrified by the atrocities that he himself had not been above committing under the pretense of following orders."

The Iliad (Homer) "(Unless otherwise noted, translations are by Peter Green.)

"Goddess, sing of the cataclysmic wrath of great Achilles, son of Peleus, which caused the Greeks immeasurable pain and sent so many noble souls of heroes to Hades…" (translation by Emily Wilson)

The Iliad is the archetypical war story. It traces the destructive path of the demigod Achilles, who sets in motion a devastating series of events when he refuses to fight the Trojans in a pique of pride. The infamous catalogue of ships in Book 2 gives a sense of the mind-numbing scale of a war fought over something as intangible as the pride of men and gods. The lavish descriptions of battle and the accounts of individual deaths and wounds give a sense of the utter devastation of war and the grief it leaves behind:

"Not in vain from [Diomēdēs's] hand did the missile fly, but struck Phēgeus full in mid-breast, threw him clear of his horses. Then from the fine-crafted chariot Idaios sprang down, but dared not make a stand over his slain brother, nor would he himself have escaped the black death spirit without the aid of Hēphaistos, who saved him, hid him in darkness, to ensure that aged Darēs [father of Phēgeus and Idaios] was not wholly undone by grief."

Without the help of Achilles, the Trojans begin to gain ground on the Greeks. Torn between his pride and his concern for his comrades, Achilles agrees to let his beloved Patroclus disguise himself in Achilles' armor to hearten the Greeks and scare the Trojans:

"All at once [the Greeks] came charging out like a swarm of wasps by the roadside that boys have a way of provoking to fury, constantly teasing them in their nests along the highway, as children will, creating a widespread nuisance, so that if some traveler passing by should happen to annoy them by accident, they with aggressive spirit all come buzzing out in defense of their offspring-- like them in heart and spirit the Myrmidons now streamed forth from the ships, and an endless clamor arose…"

Hector, prince of Troy kills Patroclus and unleashes the unbridled wrath of Achilles, who becomes so enraged he slaughters every Trojan in his path so gruesomely he enrages the River itself:

"Achilles, scion of Zeus, now left his spear on the bank, leaning against a tamarisk, and charged in like a demon, armed only with his sword, horrific deeds in mind. He turned and struck at random, and ghastly cries went up from those caught by his sword: the water ran red with blood…"

"My lovely streams are currently all awash with corpses; I can't get to discharge my waters into the bright sea, I'm so choked with the dead, while you ruthlessly keep on killing!"

When the River almost drowns Achilles, he's terrified--not of death, but of being robbed the glory of his promised death at the hands of the Trojans: "If only Hektōr had killed me, the best-bred warrior here, / then noble had been the slayer, noble the man he slew…"

In The Iliad, war is destruction and grief but simultaneously honor and glory, and Achilles is only one of the many characters who move through its battlefields like the incarnation of Slaughter itself."

[carolinetano7567]

Homeward Bound (Pt. 1) Female Jedi General x Fives

Word count: 1,173

Warnings: None.

“Now, y/n…I’ve gotta caution you.” Rex quietly began, readying his blaster. “We don’t know that Fives is in there.” You shut your eyes, and exhaled in a rough attempt to calm your shaking nerves. For years, even long after the report came out that Fives was dead, you could not bring yourself to believe it. You had tried to find whatever evidence you could to lead you to him, but that all halted when Order 66 came to pass. Hardly escaping with your life, you fled Coruscant…only to return upon finding Rex. Upon doing such, you realized that maybe Rex shared your speculation. He did, but knew not where to start searching. After Echo joined Rex’s cause, the three of you were able to compile enough information to get a potential location where Fives was being held and experimented on. Now you were here, after years of longing and waiting on Mount Tantiss. Anxiety, fear, and excitement coursed through your veins along with adrenaline from a recent storm trooper encounter. There was a metal door between you, and a massive lab that belonged to Doctor Hemlock, and Echo strained to try and get it open. 

“Almost…” he muttered. You unhooked your lightsaber from your side and ignited it, the blade’s familiar blue glow settling your spirit. “Got it!” Echo cried as he leapt up.

The door slid open, and what you saw made your stomach turn. It was as if an Kaminoan facility had been entirely corrupted by all things black, and gruesome. There were Bacta Tanks, all manner of needles and surgical equipment, tubes full of questionable substance, and a dim white light that gave the room a small bit of humanity. Scanning it carefully, a shiver runs down your spine causing goosebumps to prickle your skin. 

“Rex…” you breathe as you see a table at the far end of the room. There is a still figure tied down to it, and Rex’s breath hitches. Echo takes a swift step in front of you both, his eyes wild, and alight with raging feelings and memories. 

“It’s him…” Echo near sobs. Before you can say another word, Echo dashes as fast as his legs can carry him to the table, with you and Rex on his heels. 

“Fives,” Echo mutters, leaning over the table. Your eyes fill with tears. Alive…alive after all these years. The lines in his face had grown ever deeper, and dark circles loomed under his eyes which were shut in a slack expression. 

“Fives.” Echo’s voice shakes. He rapidly begins undoing the bonds that have Fives bound to the table. “Fives—I’m here.” He lays his hand on his brother’s shoulder, and gives it a gentle shake. Fives stirs, and your hands fly to your mouth to muffle a sob. Rex squeezes your shoulder comfortingly. 

“Go kriff yourself, Hemlock,” Fives’s words are slurred, but deadly. “I know you’re here.” 

“No, Fives. Fives, it’s me! It’s Echo.” Echo’s eyes are full of bright tears as he looks down at his long lost brother. Fives sluggishly opens his eyes, and a look of shock contorts his face. He looks like he hasn’t slept in months. He heaves, and grasps Echo’s arm as his whole body started trembling. 

“No…no, it’s not true. The chemicals are making me insane.” Fives’s hand digs desperately into Echo’s arm. A heartbroken, sorrowful look of melancholy drowned away that of doubt. “Alive.” Fives heaves. “What—what did they do to you, Echo?” His voice breaks as tears run like rivers down his thin face. Echo leans down, and gathers Fives to himself, elevating his torso off of his metal resting place. Fives’s arms wrap around Echo’s neck, and back, clawing desperately as if he were about to die. “You’re alive….” Fives wept bitterly into Echo’s shoulder. Echo’s entire body shook violently in a sob, and he nodded. Fives was complete unhinged. 

Suddenly, Rex’s blaster clatters to the ground. You look up at him through tear blurred eyes, and see his cheeks are wet. 

“Fives,” He whispers, and his lower lip trembles. He takes an unsteady step forward, and has to stabilize himself against the side of the table. “C-Captain Rex?” Fives chokes. He reaches out a quivering hand towards the Captain, and Rex receives it in his before encircling both Echo, and Fives in his arms. “You’re safe now, brother.” Rex’s voice is quiet. “We’ve got you.” They stay enclosed in each other’s embrace for a long while before pulling away and looking at each other. “You…came for me…” Fives grins through his tears, looking from Rex to Echo. “Of course we did.” Rex whispers, his voice hoarse. “And we brought someone who we wouldn’t be here without.” Echo gave a wry smile. Fives’s eyes widen. “Do you mean…?” He turns his head, slowly but steadily, to your direction. Your chest heaves, and your shoulders shake with the weight of your weeping when his shocked eyes meet yours. “Help me up.” He demands. Echo, and Rex do not hesitate, but hoist their brother up onto his own two legs. “How long since you’ve walked…” Echo’s voice was stale. Fives gives a bitter chuckle. “Too long.” He nods. He knits his brow and gazes at you. “Far…too long.” Rex and Echo back away leaving you staring at the man you loved, and lost. The man you never lost faith in…and now had found. 

“Y/n…” He utters in a voice barely above a whisper. “Fives!” You sob as your voice breaks. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you rush into him, entrapping yourself in his embrace. He runs his fingers through your hair he so often recalled. He feels your gentle hands wiping his tears…a touch he had longed for when the nights were dark and cold. As he grips you tighter, it seems if he let go he would lose you forever. “Fives, I tried to come sooner, I promise I tried—” You choke. You burry your head in his chest, and feel every rise, and fall of his breath. You can hear his pounding heart which overwhelms your senses, a sweet reassurance that he’s flesh and blood; alive before your very eyes. “I know, baby, I know.” He soothes, his voice dripping with relief. “Hemlock told me about…about the Order. I thought you’d been killed.” He whispers, holding you tighter. He plants a kiss on the crown of your head, and you rub the back of his neck with your hand. “How did you find me?” He breathes. You pull away and press your hands to his chest. “We just didn’t stop looking.” You smile up at him. He cups the side of your face, and gently rubs along your cheek-bone with his thumb. “Thank the Maker that you didn’t. I thought I was done for pretty soon here.” He shook his head, still in gleeful disbelief. “You’re coming home, Fives.” You beam, resting in his arms once again. “How does a place called Pabu sound?” 

[arctrooper69]

A Duty of Forgiveness

Commander Fox second guesses his decisions. You contemplate Fives' final words.

A/N: Welcome to Whumptober 2022! I'm here to make you feel things 😎 Today's prompt: A Little Out of the Ordinary : "This Wasn't Supposed to Happen"

Disclaimer: I may not do all of Whumptober but if you'd like to be tagged in what I do for it, message me!

Warnings: I guess it's a little dark. Both Commander Fox and the Reader are not in great mental places. Self blame. Mentions of canonical character death.

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

When Commander Fox removed his helmet, you expected to see the sharp, angry eyes of a killer. Instead, you were met with the unassuming face of a man. He sat down heavily behind his desk, motioning for you to sit. The air in the room was thick, each waiting for the other to speak first.

Fox was tired. No, he was more than just tired, he was exhausted - both physically and mentally. The dark circles under his eyes made you wonder when he last slept. They were the eyes of a man who'd seen so many of his brothers die terribly gruesome deaths both on and off the battlefield. They were haunted eyes - ones full of regret, self-hatred, and resignation. They were the same honey-brown eyes as him.

The same eyes as Fives.

Your stomach turned. I can't do this. You got up quickly, not meeting his eyes again, not wanting him to see the tears. "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come."

Fox opened his mouth to reply but you were already gone.

***

Kriff! Fox slammed his fist on the desk, watching as the door closed forcefully behind you. He hadn't meant for this to happen. In fact, he hadn't meant for a lot of things to go the way they did in the past few months. A small cleaning droid bumped against his shin, chirping indignantly. He angrily kicked it away, sending it flying across the room straight into the caf machine by the door, knocking it to the floor. Fox wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something. He almost wished someone would yell at him, dress him down, punish him for his mistakes. Maybe they'd decommission him and erase everything from his memory - send him back as a fresh-faced shiny so he could start over. No more regret. He wouldn't be himself, but it would be what he deserved.

***

It was never supposed to happen this way.

"Stand down soldier! Stand down! Get on your knees!" Fox yelled the commands as he motioned for his men to flank his crazed younger brother. Fives was panicking, he could tell. Fox knew panic often came with irrational behavior. He wanted to calm things down before Fives did something stupid. But calm things down to what end? The orders were shoot to kill. They came straight from the Chancellor himself. Fox felt sick to his stomach but orders were orders. He was a good soldier and good soldiers didn't question their orders. Right? At least outwardly they didn't.

"Get away from me!" Fives was reaching for a blaster. He was shaking.

"No! Don't do it, soldier. Don't do it!" Everything happened so fast. Fox didn't even remember pulling the trigger. Fives was dead and there you were, screaming at him with tears streaming down your face, hitting the plastoid on his chest with your fists.

"I hate you!" you screamed at Fox, letting out the pain and anger coursing through your veins. You screamed because if you held it all in it would kill you. Captain Rex grabbed your arms and you fought him with everything you had, trying to get back at Fox. Right now you'd do anything to have Fives back in your arms again. "I hate you! You killed him! You ruined everything!"

***

You rushed from the Commander's office, tears blurring your eyes. The air felt too stuffy to breathe and you collapsed against a wall as soon as you made it outside. He killed Fives! Commander Fox pulled the trigger. He killed him. It was all his fault. Your pain was all his fault. You never should have come here, you weren't even sure why you had come here to begin with. Maybe you wanted some kind of closure.

"Fives, I'm so tired..." you whispered to no one, "I'm so sorry." You closed your eyes, resting your chin on your knees. You could almost feel his arms around you if you believed hard enough that he was there. "I should have been there. I should have saved you. I should have believed you. Please don't hate me." Tears soaked your knees as you hugged them to your chest, sobbing. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh Cyar'ika. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. We all did our duties. I could never hate you. I love you so much, ni karta."

***

The sky was darker when you opened your eyes. Speeders flew by and the city lights began to twinkle on. Laughter drifted through the air as the bars opened up to the Coruscanti night-life, seemingly oblivious that there was anything wrong in the universe. It seemed surreal, seeing life go on while you felt so stuck. It was never meant to be like this.

"I only wanted to do my duty." Fives' final words played in your mind. Duty was a funny thing, you thought. Both Fox and Fives had a duty. Both were men who knew that they were just a number to the majority of the public - worth no more to them than a droid, and yet they served proudly anyway. Duty first - the good of the Republic over everything else. Fives fought for a Republic who refused to believe the truth. A Republic that sent countless clones to fight hopeless battles on far off planets, not caring if they lived or died because they could simply write a check for another batch. Fox protected the very same citizens who hurled insults and physical abuse at his brothers on every level of Coruscant.

It had become harder and harder for you to believe in that kind of blind patriotism after Echo died on Lola Sayu. You didn't blame Fives of course. You'd held eachother and cried more than a few times. But then he was gone again with the 501st and you'd begun to wonder if you were the only one still truly grieving his brother's death.

***

"I'm a clone, y/n!" Fives exploded, catching you off guard. He never yelled - not at you anyway, and you knew his anger wasn't directed at you now either. The mission on Umbara had hit him hard. "We don't get to mourn! The Republic doesn't allow us that luxury. We're expected to get up, wipe the blood off of our armor, and keep fighting!" He avoided your eyes and you kept silent. He needed to do this. He needed to let it all out and you understood. You understood more than most would. "Of course, we all grieve in our own way," he said softly."

"Oh Fives," you held him tight as he melted into your touch, battle-worn shoulders shuttering as he sobbed in the privacy of your apartment.

***

You needed to do this. If not for Fives, then for yourself. It was a new day and you stood in front of the same building you'd run out of the night before. You took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Fox had fallen asleep at his desk again. He grunted, wiping the sleep from his eyes - not that he'd actually gotten a good nights sleep, he almost never did nowadays. A knock on the door dragged him to his feet. He groaned, and grabbed his helmet, preparing himself for whatever the day would bring. "Come in."

"You okay, vod?"

Fox sighed in relief as he set the helmet down. It was Thorn. He rubbed a hand down his face noting his brother's concerned look. "Yeah. Yeah I'm good." Thorn didn't look too convinced and held out a steaming cup of caf. Thank the Maker. Thorn raised an eyebrow seeing Fox's own caf machine in pieces on the floor by a broken cleaning droid. "What'd you do to yours?"

Fox snorted, "Damn droid broke it."

"Ah, good thing I brought the caf for your lazy shebs then."

Fox rolled his eyes. "Thanks vod."

"Don't mention it."

Thorn left a while later to attend a security briefing and Fox was left to tidy up the mess and get back to work. He glared at the mountains of paperwork awaiting him. Probably another sleepless night. There was another knock at the door as soon as he sat down.

"Come in."

You slowly came into the room and sat down. Fox wasn't sure what to say.

"I..." you started to speak and your voice cracked. You took a shuttering breath.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Fox watched you carefully.

"I wanted to hate you..." you spoke so softly that Fox had to strain to hear you.

"I wanted to hate you but I don't. I can't, not if I believe in..." your voice cracked again and you swallowed, trying to restrain your emotions as they threatened to bleed through. "Not if I believe in what Fives died for." The tears were flowing freely down your cheeks now. You couldn't stop them.

Fox shifted in his chair - it had suddenly become very uncomfortable. He'd been expecting to be yelled at - expecting you to assault him again just like you had that night and just like so many senators and their constituents did. Instead, he found himself unsure of what to do so he looked away.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, barely audible. He looked up expecting you to be offended. Instead of anger or blame, he just saw grief and something else he wasn't sure of. Compassion. You were looking at him with compassion. Not many people did that anymore - at least not to him. Not to a clone. You kept your gaze on his for a bit longer. You hoped this would bring you a small amount of peace. The start of closure for both of you.

"I forgive you."

[bookwormscififan]

The Amethyst Files, Part 8

Read on AO3!

First part | Previous part

A/N: Let's find out who shot Mad, shall we?

Warnings: Gruesome description of bullet removal.

--

He was falling. Why was he falling? The ground kept giving out under him, and he just kept falling. There was a ringing in his ears, a dull echo reminding him he could still hear things, and the wind whistled past his face as he fell. Everything seemed so dark, so cold, except the burning in his shoulder, and oh, that ringing isn’t ringing, it’s—

 Mare yelled in anger as he charged at the figure on the other side of the clearing, wrenching the gun from their hands as he tackled them to the ground, hand against their throat as he snarled in their face. His heartbeat roared in his ears, and he turned his head to snap at Phantom’s arms as his brother tried to pull him away.

“Mare, let him go!” Jackie’s hand on his shoulder finally dragged him away, shaking his head at Mare’s rabid snarl before turning to look back at the person on the ground. “Go tend to Mad. I’ll deal with this.”

Mare gave a final growl, looking at the man on the floor, before his gaze softened and he ran back to Mad’s side, brushing his hair off his sweaty forehead and propping him onto his lap. He held Mad’s hand tightly as his free hand pressed against the bullet wound in his shoulder, shaking his head to dispel any tears threatening to fall.

“Mad, darling, please don’t die,” he begged, leaning over the vampire to check his back for an exit wound. “No exit wound. Bullet’s in there still.” Tearing the sleeve of his shirt, Mare pressed the fabric against Mad’s back, applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding.

--

“Help Mare,” Jackie told Phantom, not looking up as the human crouched beside him. “This is my own mess for me to fix. Go help your brother save his mate.” Taking a steadying breath, Jackie turned to the man on the ground, setting his jaw as he crossed his arms. “We thought you were dead.”

“Very nearly,” the man replied with a chuckle, dusting off his jacket as he sat up, frowning when Jackie’s hand on his shoulder forced him to lean back. “Jackie, it’s just me. There’s no need to be scared.”

“Robert,” Jackie began slowly, looking into his eyes, “You should have written once you’d reached the shore. Chase was so sure you were dead that he practically went insane. You just shot a friend,” he emphasised the word with a squeeze to Robert’s shoulder, gaze changing from angry to helpless. “My only friend in this country.”

“I don’t trust him,” Robert confessed, shaking Jackie’s hand off his shoulder so he could sit upright. “There were… people, they wanted this land to develop weapons. They wanted a way to overpower him. To weaken him, so they could experiment on him. Jackie, he’s dangerous.”

“He’s lived on his own for over two centuries,” Jackie replied, looking at Mad across the clearing. “He didn’t make trouble for anyone, focused on protecting himself. I’ve seen his home; he just wants to exist without being hunted. The only thing dangerous about him is how much he cares for Mare.”

“Mare’s the one that attacked me?” Robert asked, frowning at the two men hunched over Mad’s body. “How long has he been a vampire?”

“At least a year,” Jackie laughed softly to himself, hanging his head in amusement. “His brother’s still human, been looking for Mare for a few months.”

--

“He can’t be dead,” Mare said helplessly, looking at Phantom as he held Mad close. “He’s too smart to be killed by a gunshot.”

“Mare, the best we can do right now is try to get the bullet out,” Phantom stated, focusing on helping Mad instead of dwelling on his brother’s broken sobs. “I need you to help me get him to the creek, so I can wash his back and get the wound clean.”

“If he dies, I’m going to rip that vampire’s throat out. I don’t care how Jackie knows him,” Mare growled, effortlessly picking Mad up and carrying him to the creek, setting him on his lap with his back up so Phantom could clean.

“Do whatever you want,” Phantom replied, cleaning Mad’s back before biting his lip. “This is going to be hell.” Giving Mare a short nod, he poked his fingers into Mad’s wound and searched for the bullet, pulling a face as he pulled it out.

The twins flinched at the animalistic yell Mad let out as Phantom pulled out the bullet, Mare clutching his mate to his chest while Phantom essentially ripped the bullet out, both covering their ears as Mad’s yell turned into a screech, echoing through the clearing and making the birds fly from the trees. Just as Mare and Phantom thought they’d lose their hearing, Mad went deathly silent, going limp in Mare’s lap with an occasional twitch to his fingers.

“What… the hell was that?” Phantom asked, setting the bullet down and dunking his hands into the creek to clean the blood off them. A glance across the clearing told him Jackie and his friend were heading his way, so he tied a torn strip of Mad’s shirt around his back to cover the wound.

“I have no idea,” Mare said breathlessly, staring at the unconscious Mad in front of him. “He’s never made that sound before, but I kind of like it.”

“Mare.” Jackie’s voice distracted Phantom from his brother’s words, and he turned to look at the vampires curiously. “This is Robert. He’s a member of my family that we thought were dead. He wants to help.”

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

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch @dungeon-dragons-dragons

[koopzilla]

M!A there will be a volcano eruption!

T'was a bellowed threat from a pale magikoopa. Out of place, but It was not a sort to be taken lightly. Chronically active, each chuff from the mountain eternally threatened their home. Every eye in the army raced to Dark Land's largest volcano. It loomed quietly.

"It's not going to erupt--"

As if the deniers dared it, the ground rumbled at their feet. Cowardly foot soldiers rushed into each other arms and fliers tore their feet from the ground. The heat rose, yet a chill ran down their spines. Once more did the demons howl, clawing at their boots beneath the crumbling earth.

"Why'd you have to jinx it!?" A captain shouted into the ether. Their messenger had vanished, dissipated as quickly as they had arrived. To question it now was to die. Many of the soldiers had been reduced to Koopa Village panickers, running in circles, hands surrendered to the heavens, ready to join the undead of their nation.

It began: molten rock launched from the mountain tops and rained down like meteors! They were doomed. The first was heading their way! A pack of koopas slowed, averting their eyes as they awaited the collision.

"RAWWWWRGHH!" At last, the roar of reason! It buried the shouts of the crumbling as it stepped over them. The mighty shadow caught the meteor in both claws, biceps bulging as it nearly pushed him to the ground.

"LORD BOWSER...! You saved us?"

There was no time to appease the peanut gallery. His Majesty catapulted the rock back into the sky. His finger followed, along with his first order. "MAGIKOOPAS. SHIELD!" It was like he had simply pressed a button and it happened; an angelic blue light became their umbrella beneath fiery rain. Kamek led a pack of wizards, all mounted on their broomsticks, supporting the parasol.

A second crash was a gruesome reminder that meteors are not the only concern. Lava rushed from the tip of the volcano, oozing like melting ice cream. It smothered the peaks, burying them in burning reds. It would take the Keep. They cannot stay here.

"Paratroopas! Get pilots to the airships! Captains! Soldiers in single-file lines! We're getting out of here!" Beneath their king's booming demands, order was restored. Pilots raising their arms were stolen by their brothers and guided by Magikoopas to the Keep. Scrambling and shouting became silent and structured. Fire drills had been practiced before-- soldiers quickly found their place as Bowser shout familiar orders.

The time limit ticked in kilometers: lava raced downward like water erupting from a dam. It ravaged guard towers, toppling tanks. Bones and fiery beasts surfed the destructive wave. Air ships arrived, ladders dangling from their edges. The army began their evacuation.

Yet, the hands of the clock swirled faster and faster. Most of the army docked, but waiting captains still sit at the bottom with their king, urging stragglers up the ladders. Magma wait for no Koopa-- they weren't going to make it...

"FLIERS. GET THE REST UP THERE NOW!" Paratroopas swoop downward, grabbing footsoldiers by their arms and slowly fluttering them skyward. Magikoopas whisk them forth by their feet. Bowser pitched soldiers by their shells into the high-flying ship. Chaos ensued until only one remain: the king himself. There is no time to collect him though: lava consumed his heels. The burn traveled quickly.

The futile hand of a paratroopa reached for Bowser, knowing all too well his king would be too heavy to carry. His master took him by the hand, only to pitch him into the skies. "GET OUT OF HERE, MORON!" Recovering in the skies, the army could only observe as their king began a mad dash toward their doomed castle. The echo of a snapped finger trailed behind him.

Eat your heart out, Sonic. Anyone can run at the speed of sound with a knife at their throat. Fiery boulders turned his path into an obstacle course. Shoulder bashing broke through the large, leaps conquered the small. Alas, their moats of fire overflowed, the earth crumbled at his feet. Bowser slowed, his available space thinning quickly.

His most trusted ally came to the rescue at last: the Koopa Copter! Swooping right at him as if it sensed the danger, it did not slow as it approached him. A fist pump is his sole preparation. Lava once more consumed his heels, searing his soles.

A quick jump smashed his stomach into the flying bowl, and he flopped over, head crashing into a pit of chocolate wrappers. His ship carried him into the skies, expertly evading volleys of boulders until it was high above it all, where the skies were once more blue...

--

Cheers exploded as the Copter, with Bowser's butt crammed in its center, pierced a cloud and joined the several ships in the sky. They endured an eruption without losing a single soldiers. High fives ring out. Soldiers brag of their bravado: nothing could scare them! Cheeky paratroops badmouthed the mountain. It had nothing on them!

The king did not carry this cheer. After amending himself, he leered downward toward their veiled home-- a blip of bulging pulsating red beneath a sea of clouds. Certainly, his castle would be reduced to rubble... again. It came with the territory. Yet, they would be tasked with rebuilding it and it is that concept which peeved. When he ruled the world, it would be those uppity snotty toads upscaling their homes, with chains anchoring them to the spot!...

"Your Hotness! Where to?" From beyond, a voice roar from the ships.

They would need a place to stay... may as well have fun with it. "... Sky Land. Hope you're all warmed up. Time for a raid, boys!"

[idksmtms]

The Only Way... (District Mentor!Aemond Targaryen x Tribute!reader)

(first Aemond pic was found on tumblr and edited by @kyloremus)

A/N: Yes, I did pick a random HoTD name for the male tribute, sue me

Summary: There were only two past winners from your district, and one of them didn’t even bother with his mentor duties anymore. But this year, for one last time, Aemond decides to attempt to mentor one of the tributes, not expecting how it would change his life. 

Word count: 6.5k

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, slight age gap (I made the reader a couple years younger than him for story purposes), vague p in v s*x, oral f receiving, mentions of blood, discussions of death, discussions of trauma, discussions of disfigurement, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

Aemond Targaryen was reaped for the Hunger Games in his first year of eligibility. At 12 years old he had been shipped into the arena, and he had won. Though he had lost an eye in the process, he deemed it a worthy sacrifice for getting out alive. He had been responsible for half the cannons that sounded in the arena, had gotten his revenge for the eye taken from him, and had emerged the victor. He strongly believed the world was against him at every turn, (how else does one explain getting reaped and losing an eye?) but he knew that he was strong enough to fight back against fate. 

The first couple of years after his victory, he had attempted to mentor tributes alongside his own mentor, Rhaenys Velaryon. But each one had met their own gruesome end in the arena and eventually he had given up on his duties altogether, much preferring to stay in his home at the victor’s village with his family. 

It’s not that he wasn’t a good mentor, he truly believed he taught them a decent amount in the short time he had with them, and that allowed them to live longer than they would have without him, but they all lacked his ruthlessness. He had a certain cold-hearted quality that allowed him to kill without batting an eye in the arena, and he could happily admit to it. Every single victor had either gone in with that quality already bred in their veins or they had built it in the arena. He wasn’t sure which side he fell on, but he knew he possessed it. After two or three years of watching kids he had gotten to know, most older than him, die at the hands of others who had been just like him, he had gotten tired and decided to step away. He knew Rhaenys could handle it, she had been doing it much longer than him anyway. 

But this year, something felt different. Maybe it was the long speech his mother had given him about doing his duty, regardless of his own feelings. Maybe it was the thought that it was the last year of eligibility for his brother Daeron and he wanted to be there to ensure that if he was reaped he would at least have a mentor he knew. Whatever it was, he decided he would attempt mentoring one last time and do his utmost to make his tribute a victor. 

A part of him was worried to start showing his face in public again. Though he was used to his eyepatch and he didn’t shy away from venturing out of the house if need be, this would put him directly in the limelight once more after many years. Everyone in Panem knew he wore an eyepatch, everyone in Panem had seen the initial wound he had been dealt, but he had kept away from the scene for so long that he felt self-conscious about his appearance. People would stare, people would be horrified, and- and he would just have to deal with it anyway. 

On reaping day he put on his best suit, a beautiful two-piece made of fabrics of black and dark green and ventured into the square with his mother on his right arm and his sister on his left. He didn’t say a word to either as they entered the space and he left them to go stand near the back of the stage. Old memories of his own reaping day were flooding back in. The nervous energy that had thrummed through him, the sudden stillness of his body when they had called his name, his mother screaming and sobbing, pleading for it to be anybody else. Aemond closed his eyes and swallowed, ignoring the sudden pain that throbbed where his eye should be. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked across to where Rhaenys stood on the other side of the stage. 

She was staring out at the gathering crowd with a blank face. Her hair was neatly braided at the top then flowed down her back in a white similar to his own. They were relatives, somehow, he could never quite remember the relation. He could see the signs of age on her face now, the wrinkles around her mouth had multiplied since she had last been here with him. Her dress was a deep blue, matching her eyes, and covered her arms until her wrists. He knew she bore scars on those arms from her own fight in the arena, but he felt a bitter pang of jealousy at how easily she was able to hide them. He would never have that luxury. 

Aemond waited as the bustling died down and everyone was gathered in the square. He could see the lines of peacekeepers all over, their guns shining in the watery sunlight. He could see his brother standing among the men, a shock of white hair in a sea of brunettes and blondes. He wanted to smile at Daeron, to try and reassure him somehow that everything would be alright, but that was a lie and he would never be able to promise him that. Instead he looked away and began searching for his mother’s and sister’s faces as the anthem played and the formalities ensued. They were harder to find, but eventually he spotted his mother standing next to a girl in an emerald green dress. It was you. 

Aemond was shocked for a moment to see that colour in the crowd. Everyone else was dressed in varying shades of grey, with the odd yellow popping out from somewhere in the crowd. Even his mother was more unique than most by wearing a completely black outfit, but you stood out like a flare. The dress was made of some satiny material and shined in the light. It was a relatively modest dress, with a collared neckline and short sleeves, the hem falling below the knee, but it was so… green. 

Aemond stared at you, at your pretty hair and apprehensive eyes, posture straight but so tense he was sure your muscles must hurt. This must have been your last year of eligibility as well, he thought, you looked to be about Daeron’s age. Your name was populating that bowl, just as Daeron’s was, and he could understand the dread. You were so close to freedom, but if fate decided to be against you today, there was nothing you could do but face it. 

“Alright! It’s now time to pick one young man and woman for the honour of representing this district in the next annual hunger games! Our courageous young man will be…” the brightly dressed capitol man reached his hand into the bowl and began mixing it around. Aemond silently prayed to the seven that he would accept anything, even his name being pulled again, as long as it wasn’t Daeron. He didn’t want to see the pain on his mother’s face if her youngest child was reaped. He didn’t think he could stand idly by if they picked Daeron. “Jasper Wylde! Come on up!” There was a moment of commotion as people looked around to try and find the unfortunate boy and eventually he stepped warily out onto the path made for the tributes. The capitol attendant clapped happily but no one joined in, watching with morose faces as he walked up to the stage and stood beside the bowl full of male names. 

First Aemond breathed a sigh of relief. He truly did feel like smiling this time because Daeron was free. His family was finally free. They could live in their house in the victor’s village on his salary and die peacefully, a luxury. Then a wave of solemnity washed over him once more and he bowed his head slightly. He knew what it felt like to be reaped, he knew with what hatred that boy now stared at the bowl full of names, wondering why it was him and not the thousands of other names piled in there. No one should celebrate at this moment, a child was still being sent to his death. 

“And now, last but not least, the ladies…” the representative hopped across the stage and shoved his hand into the other bowl. He swirled it around a few more times than he did for the boys, then picked a piece of paper right from the bottom. He slowly peeled it open and you could hear the way the paper stuck together slightly in the silence. “Y/n L/n!” Murmurs again filled the crowd but Aemond knew exactly who it was. You were the only one that didn’t move. People began turning and looking but you stood still. His mother gently rested a hand on your shoulder, whispering something in your ear. You turned to look at Alicent then tipped your head down in a swift nod. Then, back straight and head held high, you stepped through the crowd and onto the path. 

You were a sight to behold. A girl in green striding down the path. A bright spot of paint on a white background. Aemond hadn’t realised his breath was held in his chest. Somewhere in the distance he could hear weeping, but you didn’t turn back. You stared at the stage and kept walking until you stood beside the capitol representative. It was only when you had gotten near that Aemond realised he could see your lip wobbling, that your hands shook like trees in a storm and tears made silent, shiny, tracks down your cheeks. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, here are our district’s tributes! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour…” 

In the time the tributes were given to say their goodbyes to their families, Aemond took the opportunity to make his own farewells. He had already said goodbye to his father and Aegon who had stayed behind at the house during the reaping ceremony. His father was too ill to leave the house and it was Aegon’s turn to stay behind in case peacekeepers came asking for the health declaration. Though Aemond knew this wouldn’t happen as they were all here, and it gave Aegon a good excuse to laze around the house. 

Helaena, Daeron, and his mother had been sad to see him go, though they took comfort in the knowledge that if no one else, at least he would return. Helaena shed a tear as she hugged him, making him promise to eat well and stay strong. Daeron’s goodbye was quicker, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t want Aemond to see him upset or because he wanted to go celebrate his newfound freedom. He hugged Aemond quickly then dragged Helaena off to home, chattering to her about something or other. 

Aemond watched his siblings walk away then turned to his mother who watched him with sombre eyes. She was silent for a moment, then reached out and gently folded his hands between hers. She looked down at them then back up at him with a sniff and he wondered if she was about to start crying. 

“Take care of her, Aemond,” she finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Until the end, you must take care of her.” Alicent looked him in the eyes until he nodded before squeezing his hands lightly. She pulled him into a hug and gently rubbed his back. “She needs you, Aemond, and if anyone can help her, it will be you. Leave that boy to Rhaenys, hm? She can handle him, and he will do what he will regardless. But Y/n has potential to win. People may not see it, but I believe, and only you can get her there.” Alicent let him go and stepped back, blowing a kiss to her son and beginning to walk away. 

“Wait, mother-” 

“Time to go,” the capitol representative came up beside him and clasped his shoulder but Aemond was quick to shove him off. He couldn’t threaten a capitol citizen, but gosh was he close. 

Aemond still had so many questions for his mother but he was being herded toward the train and she had disappeared among the buildings. He let out a sigh of dejection and allowed himself to be brought onto the train, sitting down in the lavish room and pressing his head into his hands. The eyepatch was digging into his skin and he just wanted to rip it off and itch at his scars. But he couldn’t, because he didn’t want to look at what was underneath, and he didn’t want anyone else to walk in while his face was completely bare. So he pulled the leather away just slightly and scratched at the edges then let it snap back into place. He stared at the floor as he tried to sort out the pieces in his head and come up with a plan. He always had to have a plan. That’s how he survived his first games, and that’s how he would survive his last. 

The doors to the compartment opened and Rhaenys walked in, her dress swishing around her ankles. He stood to greet her and she smiled, a small dejected thing that was as pathetic as he felt. She walked over to the bar and poured herself a glass of sweet alcohol. He remembered the taste from his first train ride, sickly sweet to the point of pain then fiery as it slipped down your throat. One taste had been enough for his whole life. 

“I see you’ve returned to your duties,” Rhaenys said, voice full of mirth as she sipped from her glass. Aemond nodded, watching as she sat down on a plush velvet chair. He followed suit, sitting opposite her across an ornate glass coffee table. 

“Yes, one last time,” Aemond replied simply, turning away from her to stare out the window as the train began to move. “I have a request, concerning the tributes.” 

“Oh?” Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, lips pulling up into a smirk as she brought the glass to her lips to drain the rest of her drink. “Do tell.” 

“I will solely mentor Y/n, and you can take charge of the boy,” Aemond said, lacing his fingers together in his lap. 

“Why?” Rhaenys furrowed her brows and put the glass down on the coffee table. 

“It will be easier on everyone, focus all your energy on one tribute and do what you can to get them to win.,” he shrugged, as if the answer had been there all along. 

“Yes I know that, but why do you want to mentor her?” Rhaenys asked, and he went quiet, staring at her as he tried to think of his answer. All his mind conjured was the image of you walking to the stage, the green dress and the tear tracks. 

“I’m sure you see the potential in the boy. He has muscle, he has experience from the mines which means he already has the brute strength that can be honed with skill, but I see potential in her. I’d like to see what I can do with it.” He stared directly into Rhaenys’ eyes and sat up straight. 

Aemond believed what he said. If his mother saw potential in you, then so did he. He would do what he could to get you ready for the games, then he would do whatever he could to help you survive in the arena. The world was always against him, but if there was one thing he knew, it was how to survive. Now, he would make sure you did too. 

“Alright, have it your way,” Rhaenys shrugged, and this time Aemond allowed himself to smile. 

Aemond and Rhaenys walked through three train compartments before they found the tributes. You were sitting at the right wall on a purple velvet sofa, legs curled up under you, staring out of the window. Jasper was busying himself at the bar and the air was heavy with silence. Both of you refused to acknowledge the other, and Aemond cleared his throat to draw your eyes to him. You merely raised your eyes to them while Jasper made to rush around the bar as if they had caught him doing something he shouldn’t. 

“Oh don’t stop on our account, it’s only right you drink what you will before you die,” Rhaenys smiled genially, and Jasper had enough sense to look sheepish. “Alright, you come with me, I’ll be your mentor,” she pointed to Jasper then motioned for him to follow her before walking back out of the room. Jasper hesitated, looking around as if he was unsure what the protocol was, but Aemond just motioned his head to where Rhaenys had disappeared and Jasper jogged after her. 

The room was quiet again. You had returned to staring out of the window, and Aemond slowly made his way over to the sofa you were sitting on. He left a seat between you and sat down, only turned slightly toward you. You finally tore your eyes away from the landscape and looked at him and he could see how red and puffy they were. Red veins crawled over the whites of your eyes and your nose was shiny and a pang of something painful hit his chest. 

“Did you get to say goodbye?” He asked quietly, lacing his hands together in his lap. You nodded, gulping and opening your mouth once, twice, before a croaking voice spoke. 

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat before speaking again, “I only have my parents so… it was a quick goodbye.” Your lower lip began trembling and your whole face crumpled as you began to sob once more. 

Aemond had seen tributes cry before, it was normal, but not this much. By the time they got on the train they usually gathered themselves up and began trying to concoct a plan. But you, you seemed to be completely lost to despair. Your face was the picture of pain, and you brought your knees up to your chest and rocked yourself slightly. His mouth turned down in pity. 

“My mother bought me this dress,” you finally said through the tears, voice slightly blubbery and high-pitched as you began breathing in to calm yourself. You looked up to meet his eyes and he could barely make out your irises through your crinkled lids and the heaps of water pouring over your lashes. “She wanted to get me something special for my last year in the reaping and she spent a whole salary on the fabric. She toiled night after night, coming home from work to painstakingly stitch every piece together.” You gently caressed the fabric and smiled through the tears and somehow this sight was so much worse than the frown. Aemond’s chest clenched so tight he thought his heart might stop beating altogether. You let out a huff of a chuckle, a watery sound that was quickly followed by a sniffle as you pressed your hands to the fabric before looking up at him and directly into his eyes. Your own were open now, wide as they could go, serious as they could be. 

“I know I can’t win. You know I can’t win. Everyone who watched the reaping knows I can’t win. I’m a girl who’s only skill is dressing pretty. So, Aemond Targaryen, tell me what to do?” You looked at him in earnest, as if he held all the answers, and for a moment Aemond began to question what his mother saw in you. What was this potential she spoke of? All he saw was a weak little girl who couldn’t even be bothered to believe in herself. But then he remembered your walk up to the stage, the strength with which you had held yourself even while you had cried. Now he understood what his mother wanted him to do.  

“You think you can’t win.” He turned to fully face you and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “There’s more to the games than just surviving the arena. You’re good at looking pretty? Then you’ll survive the parade, you’ll excel at the interview, you’ll get sponsors and I’ll be able to help you for longer in the games with that. Not everything is about brute force and murderous intent. You’ll have some time to train before going into the arena, we can use it to teach you a few things. Don’t think about winning, just try surviving,” he watched you as he spoke, noting the way you seemed to breathe easier and your eyes seemed to lighten slightly. Your hands stopped trembling and you uncurled from around your knees, instead spreading your toes out over the plush fabric. 

“Ok,” you breathed out, “I can try,” you affirmed, nodding to yourself, and he allowed you a small smile before becoming sombre again. 

“I won’t lie to you, you will have to do things in the arena that will haunt you if you manage to make it out. The games are designed to turn you into an animal. Even if you go in there without the intention of killing, no one comes out unscathed. So, the real question isn’t about if people believe you can win. Are you willing to do what it takes?” 

Aemond had thought about all the people he had killed for a long time. He remembered every detail about them, from district and family history to what they had looked like the moment life had finally drained from their eyes. He often thought about his final victim, the only person he had gotten along with before they had entered the arena. He thought of the way she had grabbed his wrist and forced the knife into her own stomach, the way she had smiled as she fell to the floor, the eternal smile as the cannon sounded and her blood warmed his hand. The realisation that he was alone in the arena. 

When he saw the smile on your face as you wiped at your tears and brought your feet off the couch, nodding your head and repeating the word yes until you seemed to believe yourself, he thought of the final girl. 

When you reached the capitol, you were separated and attendants led you off to… somewhere. You were stripped bare and forced into a roiling bath filled with all sorts of serums and scents and oils. Your scalp was scrubbed until you could feel each individual hair follicle growing and your skin was pink. They cut and polished your fingernails and toenails and waxed you all over until your skin burned. You were moved onto your stylist who greeted you with kisses on your cheeks before whirling you around to scrutinise your body. He had a gentle smile, and conversed with you all the while you stood on a pedestal in the middle of his room. He told you about the dress he had made for you, all the jewellery available to you and how you had the next few hours to prepare yourself for the parade. 

You allowed yourself to revel in this one luxury. You loved to dress up, to wear fancy clothes and beautify yourself whenever you could. The opportunities had been few and far between back home, despite your parents doing their best to provide you with them. Even if you were going to die in a few weeks time, at least you could enjoy the luxuries offered until then. 

Ursa brought out a garment bag and one of his attendants rolled in three carts covered in jewellery one by one. Ursa hung the bag up right in front of you and zipped it open, to reveal the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. “I watched the reaping and just knew what I would make,” he whispered as both of you stared at it. You brought your hand to your mouth and stepped forward to touch the fabric. 

The dress was dark green, like leaves in the deepest, darkest, part of a forest. A sweetheart neckline with off the shoulder straps that led into long swaths of tulle that would flow behind your arms. Rhinestones were sewn into the fabric almost at random to look like sunlight falling onto the fabric. It had a long train that you knew would drag behind you on the ground and force the carriage behind you to keep at a distance. You realised how he wanted to single you out. The organisers would keep everything symmetrical, so the long gap behind you would mean there was a long gap ahead of you too. Spectators would be drawn to the sight of you two taking up so much space. You would be the centre of attention. 

Ursa helped you into the dress and set the sleeves for you as you gazed at yourself in the mirror. It truly was made for you, each measurement perfect. All the effort Ursa had put into this… you began to tear up but he just hushed you and began fussing over the jewellery carts. He suggested putting a tiara on you but you were hesitant. It felt presumptuous to already wear a crown at the tribute parade. 

“Darling,” he held your chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced you to look into his eyes. “Act like you’ve already won. Nothing else will make it easier, and nothing else will grab their attention more.” He slid the comb of the tiara into your hair and forced you to hold your head up high. 

In the next few hours, you were draped with necklaces and bracelets and rings. Just before you were helped up onto the carriage, Aemond appeared at your side. You looked up at him and for a moment he didn’t say a word. He just stared at you, at the dress and the crown and the whole picture of finery. You couldn’t read what was in his eyes and you looked down nervously, trying not to shuffle back out of embarrassment. 

“You look like a winner,” he finally said. 

When training started, your confidence began to wane. You watched all the other tributes heft axes, shoot arrows, slice swords or destroy dummies with their bare hands. You watched other tributes practice building traps or gain strength in their legs for running. It felt like you were the only one starting from rock bottom. You wanted to yell at Aemond, to say “look! Look at my glaring lack of ability! Whatever belief you had in me must be dead!” But everyday he came back, dressed in black athletic wear ready to teach you something new. 

He didn’t bother with any weapon bigger than a dagger, telling you it would only weigh you down. He made you run until you were sick for the first half of every day, then run some more. The second half was spent learning how to use the simplest of supplies to make traps or alarms. He would use rope or wire with a handful of leaves he had gathered from outside the facility. He taught you about plants and water sources and made you list every possible terrain and the best possible strategy to handle it before you could leave for the day. 

Despite the intense rigour with which he attacked your training, he was endlessly patient. He listened to every complaint before forcing you back onto the treadmill. He rubbed ointment on your fingertips after you cut them on the wire but made you rebuild the trap. He made sure you ate a full meal but quizzed you about everything he taught you while you sat together. And on the nights when you missed home, when the world felt like it was ending and your mind could only play the sight of your mother’s face crumpled with tears, the sound of your father crying, he held you and whispered stories of history long past into your ears until you slept. 

He had so quickly become everything to you. At times you thought about how only a little while ago he had been nothing but an image on a screen, a name whispered around town, and now he was your comfort, your nourishment, your whole life, your very soul. You tried to imagine doing this without him, and you simply couldn’t. You knew you would have given up a long time ago if he had not been there to carry you through. 

As the time to enter the arena crept closer and closer, the training got harder and harder. It was on a particularly difficult day that you returned from the facility and began rummaging in your closet for your reaping day dress. You hugged it as you slept sometimes, imagining that you could still smell the faint scent of your mother’s perfume on it. But it wasn’t there. You threw out every scrap of cloth that the capitol had provided for you, opened every drawer and pawed through every nook and cranny like a desperate mouse searching for food. It was nowhere to be found. 

Aemond heard all the noise coming from your room and decided to venture in to figure out what was wrong. He found you sitting on the floor in a pile of underwear and training gear, hair still wet from the shower and tears streaming down your face. You were sobbing quietly, shoulders hunched forward and body bobbing slightly with every hiccuped breath. Your hands were clenched in the clothes you were surrounded by and he could see the chaos that had occurred. Aemond knelt down beside you and gently unclasped one of your hands from the clothes. 

“What’s happened?” He asked quietly, softly touching each one of your fingertips where they were still red from working with the metal wire. 

“My dress is gone,” you whispered hoarsely, looking up at him with big teary eyes. You looked like a child then, the way Daeron had when he used to fall down outside the house and cry until mother soothed his cuts and bruises. Aemond reached up and collected a tear with his thumb. 

“They must have taken it for a wash, I’ll call down and find it,” he soothed, wiping the tear on his pants before repeating the gesture on your other cheek. 

You continued to stare up into his eyes, and he let go of your hand to cup your cheek. He moved closer until his nose gently touched yours. You closed your eyes and waited, feeling his breaths brush over your lips. You waited and waited but he still didn’t kiss you. You opened your eyes again and he was staring at your face with such pain, such sadness that it crushed something in your chest. 

Aemond had never felt such guilt for loving someone. He had happily loved his family and happily loved the one girl who had kissed him while they were still in school (though that had ended quickly). But here, with you, he felt the crushing weight of helplessness as he looked upon your face. He loved you, yet he could do nothing to get you out of this. He loved you, yet all he could give you were a few days, a few kisses, mere moments before everything was thrown into the air. 

You leaned forward and slid your hands into Aemond’s hair. You pressed your lips to his mouth and gently kissed him then pulled away. You did it once more, staying just longer than a peck then pulling back. Then he was kissing you, pressing his tongue into your mouth and leaning over you so your neck tilted back. The tip of his nose pressed into your cheek and he kissed your lips like they should be cherished. 

You pulled away and caressed his cheek, smiling then gently bumping his nose with yours. He smiled back, huffing out a sad little chuckle. You pressed your nose and mouth to his cheek and kissed him before mumbling against his skin. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

It was your final night. Tomorrow you would be tossed in the arena and expected to survive for the entertainment of the capitol citizens. While you had done well with the parade, and people had immensely enjoyed your interview, you had scored appallingly low on your assessment. Aemond told you not to worry, that it was a good thing for people to underestimate you, they wouldn’t worry about killing you first because they believed you would end up dying on your own. You at least had cover for now. 

You had eaten in silence, all four of you gathered for your last supper. Jasper had talked and talked, asking last-minute advice and making commentary about the other tributes, but you felt like any energy you might have had before had been completely zapped away. You drank three glasses of water, then walked to your room without a glance back, sitting in your bed to wait for Aemond to come to you. 

It was as you began to doze off that he stepped into your room, the lights dimmed and casting shadows over his face. He walked over and sat in front of you on the bed, reaching over and gently caressing your head for a moment. You didn’t speak for the first few moments, what could you really say? Aemond cleared his throat. 

“Don’t run for the cornucopia, just run for cove-” 

“No advice please,” you interrupted, “not tonight. Tell me everything you can tomorrow morning, speak to me even as I’m being lifted away, but not tonight.” He nodded and shifted closer to you, watching as you reached out to hold his hands. “Will you show me?” You finally asked, and his heart stopped in his chest. 

He knew what you were asking for, but somehow this still terrified him. It was… grotesque, horrifying, and a million other gruesome words. What would you say after seeing it? Aemond gulped and turned away from you to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“When he slashed my eye, that was the most pain I had ever felt in my eye,” he began, voice rough. “Rhaenys sent me bandages and I was able to keep it wrapped up until the end of the games, but after I was lifted out, they took me straight to the hospital. I was delirious, but I remember the medics said there were a million things that could have gone wrong. I was lucky it wasn’t infected, and I was lucky they could perform surgery quickly.” Aemond closed his eye as he spoke but his fists were clenched on his knees. “When I finally woke up, blind in one eye, they brought me a mirror to show me their work. They said they were so proud, that not only had I been given the best care but they had made me seem truly capitol. You know what they did to my eye?” He snapped in your direction and you jumped. He stared at you with his one blue eye, unforgiving as steel. “They shoved a huge chunk of sapphire into the empty socket. There’s no eye in there, no cavity, not even scarred over skin. Every time I take off this eyepatch, the evidence of the games stares back at me. The thought that I have been forever changed by the capitol, disfigured by them in the name of beauty…” his chest was heaving and he had gone deathly pale. You reached over but he swiftly grabbed your hand, grip tight. He stared at your face, at the look of earnest care and pure love in your eyes, and slowly peeled away his fingers. 

You didn’t make a sound as you gripped the strap of his eyepatch and lifted it over his head. You didn’t say a word as you looked upon the rough cut sapphire that sat where his eye should have been. All you did was lean over and kiss him, smiling against his lips and kissing him again. He pushed you onto your back and kissed you until you were breathless. He kissed over your neck, and after removing your nightgown, he kissed down your chest and over your stomach. He pulled down your pants and kissed you between your thighs until you could only call out his name. He kissed your thighs, your stomach, your breasts, and back up to your lips. He pressed into you for the first time, and you whined into his mouth. You dug your nails into his shoulders and he pressed into you once more. He did it again and again and again until you were overcome with pleasure. Then he did it again. 

You stood beside the tube that would take you up into the arena. You couldn’t explain how you felt. Your entire body felt like it was thrumming but your mind was quiet. There were a million things you wanted to say, but not one word passed your lips. 

Aemond had come down with you even though he wasn’t supposed to. You held tight to his hand and he didn’t say a word. He had spent the morning rapidly telling you things you were sure you would forget the moment the horn went off. He had stopped occasionally to kiss you, to caress your hair and hold you until he started breathing normally again. But he could do no more. The countdown had started, and you had a minute before you had to get into the tube. 

“You know what you’re doing, you can survive,” he said simply, holding onto your hands. But you only shook your head and hushed him. 

“Aemond, if I don’t make it out-” 

“Don’t say that,” he spat out, gripping your face in his hands, but you just shook your head as much as you could in his grip. 

“If I don’t make it out, I want you to know how much I love you. I need you to know. It’s the only thing that will let me die peacefully in the arena. I’ll fight, and I’ll try and make my way back to you, but if it should happen that I can’t… I need you to know.” Your lip trembled and you smiled at him, nodding as if everything was fine and you would be back in a minute. 

“I know, I know, of course I know,” he whispered, pressing his lips so tightly to yours that when you pulled away they throbbed. “But you…” he gulped and shook his head and you saw the tears begin to collect in his eyes. “You just make it out,” was all he whispered, and kissed you again. 

He kissed you until you had to rush to get into the tube. He stood by the glass as the final countdown began, ten seconds ticking by faster than they ever had before. And just as you began to rise, hands slipping against the glass, he mouthed ‘I love you,’ but he didn’t know if you had seen it. 

Endnote: I truly believe Rhaenys would win the shit out of the hunger games 

[the-travelling-witch]

You know Holly, seeing you talk about Childe so much as of recent...got me wanting to ask a serious scenario...so here goes (please forgive me for making it so long)😭

What if a one day, a dangerous weapon is discovered. No-one but the gods and other beings that have been alive for over 2000 years are aware of its existence and abilities. And so, because of its rediscovery, the gods (like Zhongli and Venti) begin to seek it out before its to late. Keep in mind, this weapon is so dangerous, that even gods and adepti couldn't run from its power; once hit, they would surely die.

Unfortunately however, as news spreads of the weapon's return, everyone is trying to get it, and it somehow ends up in the hands of the Abyss Order. Now, their goals of threating and overtaking the Gods and their nations is at hand. And so, it begins. Nations fight Nations, the powerful against the powerful, mothers fighting children, brothers fighting brothers, sisters against sisters and so on. Complete Chaos.

But, being the powerful witch you are, you know something has to be done, and so you obviously rebel against the Abyss Order and begin winning and kicking ass too. But, they find your weakness...and after you are captured when trying to infiltrate their hideout, they bring before you, two young lads, both tired and obviously beaten like dogs by an abusive owner. They point the weapon directly in the middle of them,

"Shit! Xiao! Childe!" You scream, as you fight for freedom against the enemy holding your arms tightly behind your back.

"Its- its alright comrade, its just a- a little scratch" Childe groans, its obvious that the pain isn't doing his physical state any good.

Xiao on the other had, says nothing. The green opened cuts, litter his body indicating that this is somewhat more than even he alone could handle. He is ashamed; Ashamed to have the woman who he cares so much about, see him in this state of weakness and vulnerability, and do he says nothing but his eyes shoot daggers at the enemy holding your arms so tightly as you wince because of the pain.

Finally, the person behind this entire altercation appears and things take a turn for the worst.

"Witch Holly of Inazuma" he begins, "I'm not surprised to see that you of all people have decided to come here and detroy my weapon, though I am impressed to made it this far"

"What the hell do you want you psychotic bastard?!" You growl.

"Silence when the master is speaking!" The man holding your arms shout and tighten his hold.

"What I want? So kind of you to ask, my dear, I'm quite a simple man you know. I only desire to see the world that had taken so much from me, succumb to the destruction it deserves." he grins menacingly "And this also means, that I cannot have any interferences in my plan either, for this is would be my intentions for them."

You stare at him, as he points over to a giant boar in a cage at the end of the room and points the newly found weapon at it before firing. It is gruesome, like a scene straight out of a horror movie, the creature lets out a pained scream as its skin begins to turn inside out and ita blood leaks to the ground; its eyes bulging and soon enough it is resolved to nothing but a puddle of flesh and blood in the cage.

The boss laughs, seemingly amazing by the works of this weapon. You on the other hand, you tremble feeling the urge to throw up after being witness to such a horific scene; but even that feeling becomes nothing compared to utter dread that coincides with the next statement he makes.

"Now then, as punishment for infiltraing my base and eliminating half of my men, I shall give you the honor of choosing the fate of these wretched fools before me whom you know all too well."

The looks on the ginger and adepti's faces are cold, but laced with fear. To have to endure such pain for that sake of punishment and sadistic pleasure, absolutely disgusting.

"Alright then, make your choice then Witch Holly...Will you sit here and witness the death of your beloved yaksha or the energetic fatui harbinger? Either way, their screams will be delightful to listen to."

Mwhahahahahhaha

-Cookie Customer🍪

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Songs I was listen to when I thought of this scenario (yes, I blame the music for my maladaptive daydreaming disorder):

Lost on You - LP

Goodbye - Ramsey, Arcane, League of Legends

As The World Caves In: Sarah Cothran

And for the revenge arc (｡･ω･｡):

Pandora - 2WEI, Edda Hayes

Paint It Black (Epic Trailer Version) - Hidden Citiziens and Rånya

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

“Leave them out of this,” I bite back. “They have nothing to do with this.”

“Oh but they do, you care about them, don’t you?” The guy smirked, obviously relishing in the control of the situation. “That’s what makes all of this so interesting. So which one of these pathetic dogs should it be?”

“Holly, I-“

“Ever since the beginning I have been ready to give up my life to prevent the chaos brought by this weapon. Don’t hesitate to sacrifice me.”

“Just kill me already, you bastard.” I spit, desperately wracking my brain for a way out of this mess. For now the only plan is to bluff and buy time. “It’s your only option anyway.”

“My only choice, you say?” Scratching his chin, it’s clear he doesn’t believe me in the slightest but there is a gleam of intrigue in his eyes. “Why would that be? I can already see more than three choices where to point my little toy, so what possibly could you mean?”

“I mean that if you make me choose right now,” it is hard to hear myself speak over my boiling blood, “I will be back to kill to other half of your men as well and tear your stupid organisation brick from brick.”

It is clearly an empty thread but the furious spark in my eyes seemingly makes him falter. But then he laughs. “I like you, little witch, you have drive. What a waste of potential; why don’t you work with me hmm? Together we could achieve great things and overturn this world. What else can you do, sitting there on the floor, vision blocked by those handcuffs? You can do so much more.”

Vision blocked? Don’t tell me…

“No thank you, I’ll pass.” And with that one of the supporting beams came crashing down, burying the guy holding me down underneath its weight. Summoning a spear of ice, I break the chain linking the cuffs together before knocking down two more advancing guards.

“What in the Abyss is going on?” Their boss bellowed.

“I took your words to heart, you were absolutely right. I can do so much more,” I grin, the adrenaline pulsing through me, sending shivers down my spine. “Did you really think I call myself a witch because of my Vision? Oh please, how stupid can you be?”

“You little brat. Fine, if that’s how you want to play.” Charging up the weapon again he first pointed it at Childe. “I was going to show mercy and eliminate only one of these idiots but I have changed my mind.”

This is going to be extremely taxing but…

“You should really know your enemies better.” Focusing on the still tied up men, I willed all my power into this spell. The runes of two teleportation circles appear under their knees before they are whisked away in a flash of bright light. “Especially if your enemy is me.”

“You—“ The way his head turns red and his eyes bulge out of his head, I almost suspect he hit himself with the weapon instead. Where Childe had just been sitting, the ground is throwing bubbles and smoke is rising in the air. “You’re going to pay for this.”

“I told you this was inevitable.” My palm crackles with pure elemental power as I level him with challenging grin. “Face me head on, you coward.”

｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ˎˊ˗

cookie i am so sorry ㅠㅠ

this has been in my inbox forever but i couldn’t think of any other ending than this, so i always procrastinated on it because i felt like it was a cop out ending to your amazing set up; please forgive me for taking my sweet time, i hope you’re not too upset with me and at least like where i took this a little bit >///<

[alrightberries]

Hi! So like what if Levi & F!Reader are like cuddling, and Levi over slept (maybe misses a meetings?) and Eren and his squad have to go find him and they see Reader and Levi all cuddly and stuffs. AND THEN Levi become super pissed bc they went into his quarters without permission and blah blah blah (you can decide the rest lolll) basically crack, fluff and humor lol. Please& thank uuu

the short end of the stick

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff, semi-crack ❈ word count: 3.3k

❈ summary: In which the 104th cadets were not prepared to find out that the terrifying and ever-intimidating Captain Levi... is a little spoon.

❈ trigger warnings: implied sex. brief mentions of blood and death. profanity

a/n: i made the reader gender neutral, hope y’all don’t mind. i had too much fun writing this and got kinda carried away. this is my first request ever and i’m glad that i finished it. enjoy!

Eren was shaking.

Sweat dripped down his forehead and his knuckles turned white from how hard he was clenching his fists, nails piercing his skin so harshly he swore it would draw blood. His heart angrily pumped inside his chest, every beat so strong he nearly anticipated for it to jump out of his ribcage at any given moment.

Fear.

He felt fear.

He puts a name to the feeling and it doesn’t make him feel any better. Ears ringing, lungs breathing rapidly as he tries to steady his fear-induced heart. He was hyperventilating. His eyebrows crease from his anxiousness and he feels his knees weaken, daring to give out beneath him. Was he actually shaking right now? He couldn’t even tell.

Vulnerable.

He felt vulnerable.

Eren had seen many horrors throughout his short lifetime. He saw the colossal titan rear its ugly head over Wall Maria as its foot smashed into the wall’s gates, debris flying throughout the district as a boulder crushed his home with his mother still inside. He saw his mother get snapped in half and eaten by a titan right before his very eyes at a tender age as he sat by and could do nothing but watch.

He was orphaned. Forced to grow up too soon, too fast just so he could say he survived. His entire district was left homeless, forced to become refugees as titans rampaged throughout the outer walls, forced plow the fields to combat the famine and hunger, forced to have 250,000 people go on what was essentually a suicide mission to appease the growing population.

He trained in the military. He trained for three gruesome years and had his physical and mental psyche crushed into dust beneath the boots of the commanding officer, only to be thrown into a battle—completely unprepared— with the titans once more before he could even graduate.

He saw his friends, his family, his brothers and sisters in arms get eaten. Killed. Murdered. Swatted away like flies by the very beasts he swore he’d kill.

And yet, nothing could prepare him for this.

Nothing could prepare him for the blood-pumping, adrenaline-induced terror at the mere thought of having to carry out his mission.

Nothing could prepare him for having to wake up Captain Levi from his nap.

Jean groaned. “Dammit, just fucking do it already.”

Eren is snapped out of his reverie, suddenly reminded that he wasn’t alone. His fellow soldiers stood behind him.

“Well if you’re so brave then why don’t you do it, horse-face?” He grits back, turning around and clenching his fists at his side.

He glimpses around the hallway and his eyes loom over his teammates’ amused faces, each painted with a shit-eating grin. Everyone was relieved that they weren’t the ones tagged with waking up the Captain from his nap.

Rumor around the base is, the last person from his original squadron (may they rest in peace) who had to wake up Captain Levi almost had his ear sliced off. Levi wasn’t even carrying any gear or anywhere near a knife.

One look at Mikasa told Eren that even she was glad she didn’t get picked for this task, and he shudders at the thought of being the poor bastard who had to lose his ear just so the Captain wouldn’t be late for his meeting. He quite liked having both of his ears attached to his head, thank you very much.

“It’s your task.”

“Yeah but why is it my task?!”

“Because you drew the short end of the stick, genius.” Jean replies easily.

Oh. Right.

“There has to be something we can do! Another plan. One that doesn’t involve waking up Captain Levi.” His eyes are pleading as he looks at his fellow soldiers, yet none of them seem willing to switch places with him.

Dammit. They were really going to make him work for it.

All his dignity is thrown out the window as Eren quickly gets on his knees and starts begging his friends, the shit-eating grins on their faces turning into wicked smiles as they watch him beg for mercy.

“Mikasa? What about you? Are you seriously going to let them send me to my death?” He asks, but Mikasa simply turns her head the other way as she speaks.

“He won’t kill you. Just sever your ear.”

Eren’s eye twitches.

She looks at him once more. “I’ll pick up your ear and ask the medical unit to sew it back on you. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

As proof, she holds up a glass jar and some tweezers. She had gloves on her hands.

God, he was going to kill his teammates.

Jean, apparently fed up with Eren’s incessant whining, marches towards him and grabs him by the collar, forcing him to stand up.

“Yeager, you trained in the military for three years. You’re a goddam titan shifter. You got kidnapped and held hostage. Three times. Waking up a growth-stunted man won’t be the last of you.”

Jean’s words are reassuring but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. No, his eyes are still amused. Very amused.

Scratch that, he wasn’t going to kill all his comrades. Just Jean. Jean and his extremely punchable horse-face.

Before he could even reply, Eren is shoved inside the Captain’s office with a quick “Off you go!” and the door is quickly shut behind him.

Fear.

This was truly fear.

Captain Levi’s office is empty, Eren notices. It’s spotless as always and tall shelves line every wall, each filled to the brim with books and documents. A lone door sits at the far right wall.

The Captain’s bedroom.

Slowly, with bathed breaths, he forces his legs to walk closer to the door that held his fate. Briefly, Eren thinks about getting some protective ear covers (just in case) but he quickly shoves that idea aside when he realizes that Jean and Conny were likely blocking the door from the outside.

That, and he concludes that the Captain would just break another part of his body. Maybe his hands. He didn’t need ears for handling ODM gear but he did need his hands.

“Captain?” Eren’s voice is weak but clear as he knocks on the door. “Captain Levi, you’re late for your meeting.”

He holds his breath for a few seconds, and there’s no response. He tries once more.

“Captain,” he repeats, louder this time. “Captain, you really need to wake up. Commander Erwin says your attendance is required for the meeting to start.”

But there’s still no response.

His hands are shaky and he’s still extremely nervous, but he knew Captain Levi’s presence was urgent to the meeting. Classified, Commander Erwin had said when he asked what it was about. 

The third time Eren repeats his fruitless endeavors, he realizes that Captain Levi really wasn’t waking up any time soon.

He runs back to the door he came in from.

“Let me out!” He yells, hands throttling the doorknob as he tries to pull the door open but just as he suspected, Jean and Conny are sealing the exit and pulling at the doorknob as well.

“Let me out, dammit! Captain Levi won’t wake up, I don’t wanna die— just let me out!”

His feet are pressed up against the wall at this point and he manages to yank the door open by a few mere inches. A quick glimpse outside confirms his worse fears: all his friends are holding onto the doorknob as well, trying to keep the door closed. Even Mikasa.

He’d never felt so betrayed.

“You got this Eren!” His eyes drift to the back of the group where Sasha was smiling at him with a cheeky grin. “I’m sure the Captain won’t hurt you too badly when you wake him up.”

“No, fuck that! He’ll murder me and say it was because I went ape shit in titan form. He won’t even get arrested!”

It was when he made eye contact with Mikasa when he realized what true betrayal felt like.

“Good luck, Eren.” “No, don’t—!” Mikasa yanks the door close with one strong pull and he falls to the floor, on his ass.

The room is quite once more (save for the cheeky giggles on the other side of the door) and Eren brushes himself off as he stands up. He eyes the door to the Captain’s bedroom and he breathes in deeply when he comes to terms with what he has to do to wake the Captain from his deep slumber. He has to go inside.

He finds himself in front of the door once again, and this time his knocks are a little louder, a little more unsure, as he speaks. “Captain? I don’t think you’re waking up soon. I’m coming in.”

Slowly, he tells himself. Slowly.

Eren wasn’t sure what to expect when he opened the door to Captain Levi’s quarters. Maybe a torture chamber. Maybe swords and skeletons on the wall. Maybe a book on How To Murder With One Glare on a coffee table. He didn’t know.

But oddly, he thinks as he glances around, the Captain’s bedroom is... normal. The room’s dark, with its curtains drawn and the candles unlit. Tall shelves holding an impressive collection of books still line a portion of the walls. A bed is pressed up against the wall opposite the door, and there are two lumps underneath the blankets—

Wait.

Two lumps.

Two.

Captain Levi’s in bed with someone?

“Captain Levi,” Eren quietly calls out. He wonders who the hell managed to catch the Captain’s attention... or if someone even caught his attention at all. Captain Levi could just be hugging a pillow, he reasons. But Eren’s curiosity overtakes his fears and his legs start to walk closer towards the bed. “Captain?”

The blanket was pulled over the two sleeping lumps, and Eren gently tugs it down to reveal their faces.

No way.

No fucking way.

Briefly, Eren is speechless. His words get caught in his throat, hand frozen mid-air as he marvels at the sight of Humanity’s Strongest Soldier cuddled up within the arms of his lover. His normally stoic face is gone, replaced by relaxed eyes and a slightly ajar mouth, one cheek puffed up as it’s squished into his lover’s chest and his head is nuzzled into the crook of their neck. His arms disappear underneath the blankets, but judging by the fact that his lover’s arms were around him, Eren surmised that the Captain’s arms were most likely wrapped around his lover as well.

He looked innocent— cute, almost, and if Eren didn’t have to train under him everyday he might have actually believed that the Captain’s innocent sleeping face could be taken at face value.

Eren recognizes you, as well. He’s seen you around the base with your own squadron, an elite soldier with your own team of other elite soldiers. You’re known around the base as the squad leader who works their team to the ground, training your members so hard that they genuinely considered going to Captain Levi for comfort. But it wasn’t for naught, of course. Your squad’s survived longer than Captain Levi’s (again, may they rest in peace), barely making it out complete when the fiasco with the Female Titan occurred.

“Oi, Eren.” A voice behind him speaks, and Eren is briefly caught off guard as he turns around and makes eye contact with his comrades. Most likely, they got impatient with waiting for him and decided to see if he’d been murdered already.

Great, so now they decide they weren’t scared of going inside the Captain’s room.

“What’s taking so long?” Jean asks.

Eren is still speechless, opting to instead shakily point his finger towards the bed where Levi lay wrapped in your arms.

“H-he’s... he’s—“ “He’s what?”

He gulps and sighs deeply, speaking out so quietly his friends almost didn’t hear, speaking out in a mere shaky whisper as he utters his words.

“He’s a little spoon.”

Chaos is what Eren would use to describe what happened next. His comrades immediately jumped to stand next to him and take a look at the sight on bed, crowding around them as if they were a soap opera.

“Oh my god, he looks so...” Sasha starts in awe, hands on her cheeks and stars in her eyes but unsure how to finish her words.

Eren nods his head, understanding her speechlessness. “Innocent.”

Silently, his friends nod as well. But he couldn’t just stand here and gawk at Captain Levi’s sleeping form, he came here with a mission. “We need to wake him up. He’s already really late.” He says, more to himself than to his friends. He doesn’t wait for his comrades to exit the room as he gently places a hand on the Captain’s shoulders to shake him awake.

“Captain Levi—“

Eren learns his mistake too late as Levi’s eyes immediately snap open, hand clamping down on Eren’s and twisting it behind his back to disarm him.

“Eren!” Mikasa yells behind him, making a move to free him from Levi’s iron clad grip. From the corner of his eyes, Eren sees the person lying down next to Levi quickly sit up and throw something silver, flying past his comrades and towards Mikasa’s head, embedding itself deep within the wood next to her face.

Eren stares at his friends, all silent, frozen with fear, and rooted to their spots as their mouths hang open.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Levi sneers, pushing down on Eren’s arm.

“C-captain, you’re late for the—“ “Holy shit, we’re late for the meeting.” You cut in, eyes wide in realization.

The Captain briefly glimpses at you and clicks his tongue as he releases Eren from his grip, the young soldier immediately slumping to the ground in relief. His arms and legs felt like jello and he could already feel himself melting into the wooden floor.

“Can someone explain to me why you brats thought it would be a good idea to enter my private quarters?” Levi glares. “Without my permission?”

Oh shit. They didn’t think this through.

A cold shiver runs down the soldier’s spines as they unanimously realize their mistake, something that Eren undoubtedly would’ve felt as well if he wasn’t too busy gawking at the realization that Captain Levi was shirtless (probably naked underneath the sheets), and you were shirtless as well (also probably naked underneath the sheets).

Levi catches Eren’s eyes staring at you, and he silently pulls the blanket over your chest and up to your collarbones without breaking his glare at the cadets.

Fuck. Eren thinks, eyes snapping to the ground as a blush creeps up his neck. Captain Levi’s definitely going to cut off both my ears now.

Conny, apparently already cracking under the pressure, flails his arms and yells as he tries to make a run for the door. Before anyone could even blink, another silver blur whizzes through the air, stabbing the wood directly in front of Conny as he freezes.

It was a knife. A fucking butter knife. Why the hell the Captain and his lover keep a butterknife next to them on the bed is something Eren doesn’t want to know.

“Since none of you lot have tongues,” Levi speaks. He’s not going to get an explanation soon. “We’ll discuss punishment later. For now,” He stands up, grabbing a still flustered Eren by the collar and dragging him towards the door, pushing out the rest of the team as well.

Eren doesn’t have time to be relieved about the fact that Captain Levi was not, for a fact, naked and was wearing black boxers. He was too busy getting pushed out the Captain’s bedroom and dragged through the office before finally getting thrown out into the hallway.

“For now, you leave me alone. I have a meeting to attend to.”

Levi slams the door shut at his awestruck soldiers, breathing in a frustrated sigh as he rests his hand on his forehead. He was getting a headache. He feels arms wrap around him from behind, hands resting on his chest. He sighs once more, this time in content, as he leans into your touch.

“Hey,” you kiss neck. “Thought you said you locked the door.”

“I did.” He turns around, still in your arms, and gently places his hands on your face as he kisses your nose. “Someone must’ve accidentally unlocked it when they were trying to grab onto something. Y’know, when they were getting fucked from behind.”

You chuckle. “Well, I’m sure that someone probably got sweet talked into getting fucked against the door.”

You break away from his arms after giving him a kiss, making your way back inside Levi’s bedroom, no doubt to get dressed for the meeting.

He stares at you as you walk, still naked and looking gorgeous. His face may be stoic but his heart was leaping, the gold ring on your left hand that matched his own glimmering in the light.

Your head peaks out from behind his bedroom door. “Round two before the meeting?” You ask cheekily.

Levi rolls his eyes as he makes his way to the bedroom as well, patting your bum as he passes by. “No. We’re already late.”

Eren clutches the pillow to his head, exhausted from the laps he’d done. He glances around the room, eyeing the tired faces of his comrades.

As punishment for invading your privacy, Captain Levi assigned them laps around the base until sundown plus two weeks of stable duty. As punishment for invading his privacy, Captain Levi deemed them unworthy of having their own private space and made the entire squadron bunk together in the small room beside his own. 

Well, the entire squadron except for the Captain himself, at least.

Eren was pretty sure the room they were made to sleep in indefinitely was supposed to be a supply closet of some kind, but it fitted enough bunk beds for the entire team and was deemed a worthy location to carry out the rest of their punishment.

“How long do we have to sleep here?” Sasha asked dreadfully, hands covering her ears in attempts to block out the noises coming from the other room. The sound of a squeaky mattress and a wooden bed slamming against the adjacent wall continued.

“Until we learn our lesson,” Jean quotes the Captain. He himself looked extremely tired but he wasn’t trying to cover his ears like the rest of them were, undoubtedly because he’d already given up on getting a good night’s rest if the bags underneath his eyes were anything to go by.

“I don’t even care how long we have to sleep here anymore.” Conny interjects tiredly. “I just want to know when they’ll ever stop.”

As if to prove his point, a moan is heard through the walls. The soldiers flinch, still not accustomed to the sound. Mikasa silently runs her hands through Eren’s hair to calm him down.

“They’ve been at it for hours,” Jean whispers in horror. “How much stamina do those two have?”

Armin sighs, the bags under his eyes feeling heavier by the second. “They’re elite soldiers who’ve trained for years. They have more stamina than all of us combined.”

The whole room heaves out a collective groan, finally accepting that they weren’t getting any sleep tonight. 

In the other room, Captain Levi bangs his fist against the shared wall. “Oi,” he calls out. “Shut up, you brats. We can hear you.”

Levi thrusts his hips, eyes glancing down at your pleasure-struck face as he grinds into you more. The action causes you to throw your head back and let out a desperate moan, finger nails scratch down his back. He grabs your hands to pin them to the sides of your head, leaning down to whisper “Not too harsh, darling. We don’t want you leaving marks now, do we?” He continues his pace, the bed’s wooden frame slamming against the wall as he once again speaks to his soldiers.

“We have thin walls, y’know.”

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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