#a suffocatingly lonely death

[mostlyfate]

“A Suffocatingly Lonely Death. Only the ash-like snow knows that you were there.” 

FURITSUMORE KODOKUNA SHI YO 降り積もれ孤独な死よ 2024 — dir. naito eisuke, ninomiya takashi

[questintheskies]

[hopkei]

A Suffocatingly Lonely Death - Episode 7

[hisfavegirl]

Closure - Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader.

summary : Aemond was consumed by his anger and hatred, leaving you alone and lonely once again. You made a risky decision and put your life in danger.

It had been days since you locked yourself away in your chambers. The weight of grief, guilt, and exhaustion pressed down on you like a crushing wave. The once lively space around you now felt suffocatingly silent, broken only by the occasional knock from Alicent or the maids bringing in food you barely touched.

Aemond had yet to return. Each day you glanced at the door, hoping he would walk in, his presence a balm to your frayed nerves. But he never did. You tried not to think about it too much, but the ache of his absence settled deep in your chest.

Then came the news. Whispers of it echoed through the halls, carried on the hurried voices of servants and the low murmurs of guards.

One of the men responsible for Jaehaerys’s death had been captured.

He called himself “Blood.” The name alone made your heart clench with dread. Rumors spread like wildfire — Blood had confessed under interrogation. He claimed he and his partner, “Cheese,” had been hired by none other than Daemon Targaryen. Their orders were clear and cruel: Kill a child of the Greens as payment for the death of Lucerys Velaryon.

The words struck you like a physical blow. Your breath hitched, and your hand flew to your stomach, the phantom ache of your lost child flaring to life. Blood for blood. Son for son. It was justice in the eyes of Daemon, but for you, it was nothing more than horror and senseless cruelty.

Your mind spiraled. Did my mother know? Did she agree to this? The thought sent a sharp pang through your chest. Memories of your childhood with Rhaenyra flashed in your mind, of how she used to hold you close, call you her little flower. But that image clashed with the Rhaenyra who had sent assassins after children.

It didn’t matter that it was Daemon who ordered it. Daemon and Rhaenyra were one.

Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of anger, sorrow, and betrayal. You pressed a hand against your mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to escape. You thought of Helaena, of how she cradled her children every night, whispering soft lullabies to them. You thought of Jaehaera’s hollow, haunted eyes after witnessing her brother’s murder. You thought of Maelor, too small to understand but forever scarred.

A knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. This time, it was not a servant. It was Alicent. Her voice was gentle but firm.

“Please, my dear. Let me in,” she said softly, but there was urgency beneath her calm tone. “We need to speak.”

You hesitated for a moment before slowly walking to the door. You unlocked it and stepped back. Alicent entered, her eyes filled with concern, her face weary from sleepless nights. She approached you carefully, like one might approach a wounded animal.

“They caught him,” you said before she could speak, your voice hollow. “He confessed. He said it was Daemon.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line. She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Yes. He did.”

Silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. The weight of loss, of betrayal, of helplessness hung in the air like a storm cloud.

“Do you hate me?” you asked suddenly, your voice breaking. “For being her daughter?”

Alicent’s eyes shot up, wide with shock. She stepped forward and cupped your face in her hands, her touch gentle but unyielding. “No,” she said firmly, her eyes searching yours with fierce determination. “You are not her. You are not her. Do you hear me?” Her thumbs brushed away your tears. “I see you for who you are. A kind, loving girl who has suffered far too much. None of this is your fault.”

Her words broke something in you. You crumpled into her arms, and she held you tight, like she had done so many times before. But this time, it felt different. This time, it felt like she wasn’t just holding you up — she was anchoring you to the world.

You remained for a moment, lost in the embrace of Alicent’s comforting presence, the weight of her words settling in your chest. She was a lifeline, a thread of reassurance in the storm that was your life. But before long, she gently pulled away, her face now etched with determination.

“I must go to the council,” she said, her voice soft but resolute. “There are decisions to be made, and I cannot delay any longer.”

You nodded in silence as she made her way to the door, her footsteps heavy with purpose. As the door closed softly behind her, you remained seated, your thoughts racing. The raw pain of everything you had lost, the children, the life you thought you would have — it all felt like too much. But you couldn’t stay in this room forever.

Rising from your bed, you walked toward your wardrobe, your feet feeling heavy with the weight of everything that had happened. Reaching into the cabinet, you pulled out the dark, soft hooded cloak that you had set aside earlier. The familiar weight of it comforted you, grounding you in a way that the endless grief could not.

You paused for a moment, staring at the cloak in your hands. The fabric was rich, a deep shade of black, embroidered with small patterns of silver threads that glimmered faintly in the dim light of the room.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. A moment of clarity broke through the fog of sorrow. You needed to find a way to move forward. To find your place in this world of treachery and shifting allegiances.

Tying the cloak securely around your shoulders, you made your way toward the door, your mind still heavy with questions. What would this council meeting bring? What would the repercussions be for your mother’s involvement in the death of your nephew?

With each step, your resolve solidified. You would not allow yourself to be a passive observer in this game of power. Whatever was to come, you would face it — head held high.

You moved cautiously through the halls, your footsteps light and calculated. The heavy weight of your heart still lingered, but you focused on your goal, trying to push aside the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm you. Your hands gripped the edges of your cloak, tightening the fabric around your face, concealing yourself as best as you could.

You hoped the deep hood would mask your identity, that the shadows would keep you hidden. The last thing you needed right now was to be noticed. The corridors were mostly empty, the soft echoes of your footsteps the only sound that filled the space as you moved with swift determination.

Every corner you turned felt like a risk, but there was no turning back now. You had to get to the gates, to find a way to leave the Red Keep without anyone knowing. The weight of your own emotions mixed with the dangerous path you were now walking.

Soon, you reached the grand doors of the Red Keep’s outer walls, and you hesitated, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one had followed you. The quietness of the moment made your heart race as you stepped toward the gates. You hoped the night would cover your tracks, that no one would question your sudden disappearance.

As you approached the gate, your nerves were at their peak, but you kept your head down and continued forward, trusting the shadows to protect you for just a little longer.

You moved through the dimly lit streets of King’s Landing, each step taking you further from the safety of the Red Keep and deeper into the unknown. The weight of your decision pressed heavily on your chest, but your resolve to reach Dragonstone and find your mother. The cold night air bit at your skin, but you ignored it, focusing on the path ahead.

The sounds of the bustling city faded as you neared the harbor, the scent of saltwater and the creak of ships in the distance filling the air. Your heart beat faster, the familiar feeling of uncertainty creeping in, but you pushed it aside. This was something you had to do, for yourself and for the future.

You approached one of the docked ships, a small vessel with a weathered crew. The captain, an older man with a hardened face, eyed you warily as you walked up. You didn’t hesitate, offering him the coins in your hand. “Take me to Dragonstone,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you.

He regarded you for a moment before nodding, accepting the payment. “Aye, that can be arranged,” he muttered. “But it’s not a short journey, and there’ll be no turning back once we’re out on the water.”

You nodded in agreement, your resolve unwavering. This was your only chance. As you boarded the ship and the crew prepared to set sail, you glanced one last time at the distant lights of King’s Landing, unsure of what awaited you, but certain that this was the right choice.

The ship began to pull away from the docks, and you could feel the weight of the journey ahead, but also a strange sense of freedom, as if, for the first time in a long while, you were in control of your own fate.

You stood at the edge of the ship, gazing out at the vast, endless sea before you. The gentle crash of the waves and the salty breeze brushed against your face, carrying with it a sense of bittersweet calm. For a moment, you closed your eyes and let the wind surround you, as if it could blow away the ache that still lingered in your heart.

Your hand slowly drifted to your abdomen, fingers lightly tracing the place where life had once grown within you. The pain of that loss was still fresh, sharp as the sting of cold sea air, and for a moment, it felt unbearable. You bit your lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. Was this punishment? Was this fate? The questions swirled in your mind, unanswered and unrelenting.

Your thoughts shifted to Aemond and Alicent. You could still see Aemond’s face the night he found you bleeding, the way his eyes had filled with something beyond grief—regret, guilt, and something deeper. You could hear Alicent’s voice as she cradled you, whispering words of comfort like a mother soothing her child. They had stayed by your side, and now you had left them with no warning, no explanation. Guilt gnawed at your heart like a slow, unyielding burn.

But your resolve was firm. You had made your choice. You had to see your mother. Why did she send them? you thought, gripping the edge of the ship tighter. Why did she send Blood and Cheese to slaughter children in revenge? You needed to hear it from her own lips. You needed to understand why this bloodshed had been necessary, why your brother’s death had to be repaid with such horror.

The wind howled softly as the ship rocked gently beneath your feet. Your eyes remained locked on the horizon, where the sea met the sky in a line as sharp and endless as fate itself. You didn’t know what you would find at Dragonstone. You didn’t know if you would be welcomed or cast aside. But you knew you couldn’t turn back now.

For better or worse, you were no longer just a pawn in this war. You had made a choice, and soon, you would face whatever waited for you on that distant, stormy shore.

Aemond’s boots thudded heavily against the stone floors as he marched through the corridors of the Red Keep, his breathing sharp and uneven. His hair was still tousled from the ride, his face lined with exhaustion, but his pace never slowed. The only thing on his mind was you.

He reached your shared chambers, pushing the door open with more force than necessary. His eye scanned the room quickly, searching for the familiar sight of you — sitting by the fire, resting on the bed, or perhaps simply standing by the window. But none of that greeted him. The room was empty.

His brows drew together, and he stepped inside, his gaze darting to every corner. “Love?” he called, his voice firm but laced with unease. Silence answered him. No warmth of your presence, no reply from your voice.

His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. He strode to the side chamber, then to the dressing room. Nothing. You weren’t there. His breathing grew heavier, his movements faster. He checked behind the bed curtains, even glanced toward the window as if expecting to see you outside, but still, there was no sign of you.

“My love!” he called louder, his voice carrying a sharp edge of frustration. He stepped back into the hallway, his gaze darting left and right. His mind churned with possibilities. Did she go to see Alicent? Did she go to visit Helaena? But doubt crept in. You would have told him if you planned to leave. You always told him.

Aemond’s heart pounded faster as he moved with renewed urgency, his steps now echoing with force. His frustration turned to unease, and unease began to fester into dread. Servants flinched out of his way as he stormed down the corridor.

“You,” he barked at a passing maid. The girl froze, eyes wide with fear. “Have you seen her? Have you seen my wife?”

The girl shook her head frantically. “N-No, my prince. I… I saw her last night, but not since then.”

Aemond’s lips pressed into a hard, thin line. His gaze flickered with cold calculation. He didn’t waste another word on her and spun on his heel, continuing his search. He checked Helaena’s chambers, the sept, the library — each room more frustrating than the last. She was nowhere to be found.

His patience snapped when he returned to the Great Hall. His hand slammed against the table with a loud bang, making the maids jump in fear. His eye was wild now, his mind spiraling with dark thoughts. Did someone take her? Did she run away? No. No, she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t leave me. She wouldn’t leave.

Just then, the heavy sound of footsteps echoed from behind him. Alicent entered, her eyes weary from the hours spent in council meetings. She tilted her head in confusion at the sight of her son, disheveled and tense like a lion ready to strike.

“Aemond,” Alicent’s voice was steady but curious. “What’s the matter? Why are you in such a state?”

Aemond’s head snapped toward her, his face a mask of barely controlled panic and fury. “She’s gone,” he muttered, his voice low but dangerous. “She’s not in our chambers. She’s not anywhere.”

The words hit Alicent like a slap. Her eyes widened, her calm demeanor fracturing. “What do you mean she’s gone?” she asked sharply, stepping forward. “Did you check the gardens? The library? Perhaps she’s with Helaena and the children—”

“She’s not there,” Aemond cut her off, his voice louder now. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling with each sharp inhale. “I searched everywhere. She’s gone, Mother.”

Alicent’s eyes darted around, her mind racing as she processed his words. Her breathing quickened, panic seeping into her voice. “Did anyone see her leave? Did anyone see her go to the harbor or the gates?”

“I don’t know,” Aemond hissed, his frustration boiling over. He raked a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands as he paced. “If she left, someone would have seen her. Someone had to have seen her.” His words were more for himself than for his mother. He turned to one of the guards stationed nearby. “Find the captain of the gates. Find every guard who was posted today. Now.”

The guards exchanged nervous glances before bowing and running off to follow his orders.

Alicent moved closer to Aemond, placing a gentle hand on his arm. Her eyes were filled with concern, not just for you but for him. “We will find her, Aemond. She could not have gone far.”

But her reassurance did nothing to calm him. His breathing was still harsh, his eye darting back and forth like a trapped animal searching for an escape. His fingers flexed at his sides, hands itching for something to grip — a sword, a throat, anything to release the pressure building in his chest.

“She wouldn’t leave me,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper now, his eye fixed on the floor. “She wouldn’t.”

Alicent frowned. “Of course not, my son. She loves you.”

But Aemond wasn’t listening anymore. His mind was already moving ahead, calculating every possible reason for your absence. If someone took her, they would pay. If she left, she would be found. If she ran from me… His nails bit into his palms as his fists curled tightly.

“Mother,” he said slowly, lifting his head to look Alicent in the eyes. The weight of his gaze was heavy, filled with something more dangerous than panic — certainty. “If she left… I will bring her back myself.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat at the intensity in his voice. She knew that look. It was the same look she’d seen in him the night of the incident at Storm’s End. It was the look of a man who had already decided what he would do, no matter the cost.

After a long and exhausting journey, the ship finally reached the rocky shores of Dragonstone. The salty sea air filled your lungs as you stepped off the ship, your boots crunching against the rough stones of the beach. The crash of waves echoed behind you, but it was the sight ahead that captured your attention.

The guards were everywhere. Their sharp gazes followed your every movement as you pulled down your hood, revealing your face. Their eyes widened slightly in recognition, but none of them moved to stop you.

“I wish to see my mother,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the cold air like a blade.

One of the guards nodded, gesturing for you to follow. The path leading up to the fortress was steep, each step heavier than the last. Your heart thudded in your chest, a storm of emotions brewing within you — grief, anger, and something colder, something sharper.

As you reached the main courtyard, you saw them.

Her.

Him.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, stood at the top of the stone steps, her silver hair glinting like molten silver in the dim light. Her eyes locked onto you, wide with surprise and then something softer, something closer to relief. But she was not alone.

Daemon.

He stood beside her, his presence as commanding as ever. His gaze was piercing, his face unreadable as he watched you approach. His hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword, Dark Sister, and his stance was one of ease — as if he had not a single regret in the world.

But you were no longer a child seeking safety. Not anymore.

Your steps quickened, your breath coming faster as anger surged in your chest. Your heart felt as if it would burst from the weight of it all. Your eyes fixed on Daemon, and before either of them could speak, you let your voice ring out like thunder.

“How could you?!” Your words echoed across the courtyard, and the guards turned to look. Your voice was raw, sharp with fury and pain. “How could you be so cruel, Daemon?! To kill Helaena’s children? To kill my child?”

Silence.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, her face frozen in shock. Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but no words came out. Her gaze shifted slowly to Daemon.

Daemon’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. He stood there, unmoving, his violet eyes fixed on you like a predator watching prey.

“What nonsense is this?” Daemon’s voice was calm, too calm, like the eerie stillness before a storm. He tilted his head slightly, a hint of curiosity in his gaze. “You come here throwing accusations, but you’ve yet to say anything that makes sense.”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Daemon!” you snapped, your voice cracking with the weight of your grief. “Blood and Cheese. Does that sound familiar? Because it should. They said they were sent by you!” Your chest heaved with every breath as tears welled in your eyes. “They said it was revenge for Luke. But it wasn’t just Jaehaerys they took. They took my child too.” Your voice broke on the last word, raw and filled with pain.

Rhaenyra’s gaze darted to you, her face contorted with shock and confusion. “What child?” she asked, stepping toward you, her voice rising with urgency. “What are you talking about?”

But you didn’t look at her. Your eyes stayed locked on Daemon. “I was pregnant,” you hissed, your nails digging into your palms. “I was going to tell Grandsire that night before he died. But I never got the chance. I lost the baby because of them. Because of you.” Your eyes narrowed into slits, your voice filled with venom. “I hope you’re proud.”

For the first time, something flickered in Daemon’s eyes. It was not guilt. Not sorrow. But something sharper. Realization.

“That child was mine to protect,” you continued, stepping forward until you were mere feet away from him. “It was mine and Aemond’s. And you took it from us.”

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched. Her gaze darted back to Daemon, her eyes narrowing, her mouth pressed into a hard, thin line. “Daemon,” she said slowly, her voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and growing suspicion. “Is this true? Did you—”

“Enough.” Daemon’s voice cut through the air like the crack of a whip. His eyes snapped to Rhaenyra, his jaw set in a hard line. “Don’t look at me like that, Rhaenyra.” His gaze returned to you, colder now, sharp as broken glass. “I did what had to be done. Blood for blood.” He stepped forward, his presence overwhelming, like a shadow growing larger. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?” he asked quietly, his eyes narrowing. “I see a girl blinded by love. Do you know what Aemond sees? A pawn. A piece on the board to be moved at his whim. He doesn’t love you. He loves control.”

His words struck like daggers, but you didn’t falter. Your feet stayed firmly planted, and your eyes met his with unwavering resolve.

“You think this was justice?” you asked, your voice low and dangerous. “You think slaughtering an innocent child is justice?”

“Luke was innocent,” Daemon snapped back, stepping closer until you could see the cold fury in his eyes. “Was he not? When Aemond took his life, did you cry for him too? Did you weep for your brother the way you weep for Helaena’s son? No.” His lips curled into a sneer. “You weep now because it suits you.”

Tears streamed down your face, but your eyes stayed sharp as steel. “Luke’s death was an accident, Daemon,” you hissed, your voice low and filled with venom. “Even Aemond didn’t want it to happen. But what you did—” Your voice broke. “You planned it. You watched it happen. You sent monsters to kill a boy and my unborn child. You had no mercy.”

“That is where you are wrong,” Daemon said quietly, his face deadly calm. “I had all the mercy in the world. If it were me in that room, I would have killed them all. Jaehaerys. Jaehaera. Maelor. All of them.” He stepped back, his gaze turning colder still. “Because that is how you win a war.”

“This isn’t war, Daemon!” Rhaenyra’s voice thundered across the courtyard, her eyes filled with fury as she stepped between the two of you. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “This is slaughter! You took my daughter’s unborn child. You butchered my sister children. This is not how we win. This is how we lose.”

For a moment, Daemon said nothing. He stared at Rhaenyra as if he were seeing her for the first time. “Everything I do, I do for us,” he said softly, his eyes locked with hers. “For you.”

“You did it for yourself,” Rhaenyra spat, her eyes filled with disgust. “Don’t hide behind me, Daemon. If you wanted blood, you could have spilt it yourself. But you didn’t. You hid in the shadows. You sent monsters to do the deed.” She stepped closer to him, her face inches from his. “You will answer for this.”

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with danger. “You’d condemn me? Me? After all I’ve done for you?” His smile was slow, sharp, and dangerous. “No, my love. You will not.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, she looked every bit the dragon she was born to be. “Watch me.”

Daemon’s gaze shifted to you once more. His eyes were filled with something cold and ancient, like something far older than men. “Be careful, girl,” he said softly, his voice like a shadow brushing against your ear. “You’re playing a dangerous game. And in games like these, the innocent die first.”

He walked away, his footsteps echoing across the stone.

Your heart pounded as you watched him leave. Your breathing was shallow, your hands trembling at your sides. You felt Rhaenyra’s hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but gentle.

“I will not let him harm you again,” she said quietly, her voice firm with quiet resolve. “He will pay for what he has done.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes stayed fixed on Daemon’s retreating form, watching him disappear into the darkness.

But one thing was certain.

You would never forget.

And you would never forgive.

You stared at your mother, her figure strong yet filled with a quiet sadness as she stood at the top of the stone steps. Her eyes pleaded with you, her voice soft but firm.

“Stay,” she said, her tone heavy with both authority and love. “Stay here with me. I will protect you. No harm will come to you under this roof.”

Her words hung in the cold air like a gentle lullaby, but they did not bring you peace. Your gaze dropped to the ground, your eyes filled with unshed tears. You shook your head slowly, each movement more certain than the last.

“No,” you whispered, lifting your head to meet her gaze. “No, Mother.” You took a step back, your breath shaky but your resolve unshaken.

Her brows knitted together in confusion, her hands reaching out slightly as if to pull you back. “Please,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “You don’t have to go back there. You don’t have to suffer alone.”

Your heart ached, the pain of loss and betrayal still fresh in your chest. The weight of it pressed down on you, suffocating and relentless. You glanced away from her, your eyes distant as you stared at the endless sea.

“Maybe the debt of blood was never truly even,” you murmured, your voice hollow, each word sharper than any blade. Your gaze lifted back to hers, your eyes filled with something far colder than before. “You only lost Luke.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, her breath hitching as if you had struck her.

“But I…” your voice trembled as you placed a hand on your stomach, feeling the phantom ache where life had once stirred. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you did not let them fall. Your voice hardened like steel. “I lost Jaehaerys. I lost the child I carried in my womb.”

Her lips parted in shock, her face stricken with pain. She stepped forward, but you took another step back, your eyes sharp like broken glass.

“Two lives for one,” you continued, bitterness lacing every word. “How is that justice, Mother? How is that fair?”

Her hand dropped, and for the first time, you saw something break inside her. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. Guilt, regret, and sorrow warred on her face, but none of it could change the past. None of it could bring them back.

You turned away from her, your feet crunching against the stone as you walked away. Each step echoed louder than the last. The cold wind from the sea whipped at your cloak, your hood falling back to reveal your tear-streaked face. Your steps were heavy, but you did not stop.

“Wait,” Rhaenyra’s voice wavered, thick with desperation. “Please. Don’t leave like this.”

But you didn’t turn around. You didn’t look back.

Not this time.

“Don’t let this hate consume you,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper but loud enough to reach your ears.

Your steps slowed, just for a moment.

“Hate?” you repeated, your voice bitter with a hollow laugh. “You taught me hate, Mother.” Your eyes glanced at the stormy sea ahead. “You taught me that blood must pay for blood.”

Your hands curled into fists, your nails digging into your palms until they ached. “Now I know what that truly means.”

You took another step forward, ready to leave Dragonstone behind.

But then—

“Wait!”

The voice that called you wasn’t Rhaenyra’s. It wasn’t Daemon’s.

It was Jacaerys.

You froze in place, your body going rigid at the sound of his voice. The sound of his footsteps echoed behind you as he hurried down the steps. He was close now, too close.

“Please,” he said, his breath ragged from running. “Please, don’t go.”

You clenched your jaw, your heart twisting with emotions you could barely control. Slowly, you turned to face him.

There he was. Jace.

His face was filled with desperation, his brows furrowed deeply, his eyes fixed on you as if looking away would shatter you like glass. His breath came in sharp puffs, his chest heaving as he tried to catch it.

“Don’t do this,” Jace said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “Don’t leave like this. Stay. Please, just stay.”

Your eyes met his, filled with so many emotions that you could barely breathe — grief, rage, love, and the bitter ache of betrayal.

“You want me to stay?” you said, your voice eerily calm. “Did you stay when they killed my child? Did you stay when they killed Helaena’s son? Tell me, Jace. Where were you?”

His lips parted, but no answer came. He looked away, his eyes filled with shame.

“You didn’t come for me then,” you said, your voice cracking. “Don’t ask me to stay now.”

His eyes snapped back to you, his face contorting in frustration. “I didn’t know,” he said, his voice shaking with raw emotion. “I didn’t know what Daemon had done. If I had known—”

“—You would have stopped it?” you finished, eyes narrowing. “You would have saved them? No, Jace. You wouldn’t have. You follow Daemon like a loyal hound, and you know it.” You stepped forward, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Don’t you dare stand there and pretend you’re innocent.”

He didn’t move, didn’t push you away. He took it all, his face falling into something close to defeat.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours. “You’re right.” His voice was low, filled with pain. “I didn’t stop it. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t know.” He took a breath, his gaze searching yours. “But I know now.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. The crashing waves below filled the stillness like thunder.

Jace lowered his head, his eyes closed for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. When he opened them, they were filled with something new. Resolve.

“I can’t undo what’s been done,” he said, stepping closer to you. His eyes stayed on yours, steady and unwavering. “But I can stop it from happening again. I swear it. I will make Daemon answer for what he did. I’ll stand with you. If you’ll let me.”

His words hung in the air like a fragile thread. You stared at him, searching his face for lies, but all you saw was raw honesty. Guilt. Regret. Shame.

But also something more.

“Why should I trust you?” you asked, your voice hollow but sharp.

Jace’s eyes burned with defiance. “I am your brother.” His voice was hard, fierce, unyielding. He stepped closer until he was only a breath away. “I can’t change the past, but I can fight for you now. I swear it on my life.”

For a moment, you said nothing.

The cold wind tugged at your cloak, carrying the salt of the sea with it. Your heart was heavy with doubt, grief, and anger, but as you stared at Jace, you saw something else.

A part of you still wanted to believe him.

But belief was dangerous. Trust was dangerous.

“Words are cheap, Jace,” you said softly, your eyes hard as steel. “Show me.”

His gaze didn’t falter. “I will.”

You stood there for a moment longer, letting the weight of his words settle into your heart. The ache of loss still throbbed in your chest, and your hand briefly hovered over your stomach, remembering what had been taken from you.

Finally, you turned your back on him once more, your heart colder than it had ever been.

“Then show me from afar,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “Because I’m done standing in the shadow of dragons.”

You didn’t stop this time.

Not when you heard Rhaenyra call your name. Not when Jace called after you.

Not when you felt the tears burning in your eyes. You kept walking, your heart as cold as the sea wind.

Because blood had been paid with blood And the debt would never be even.

You walked along the shores of Dragonstone, your steps slow and unsteady as the sand shifted beneath your feet. The waves crashed softly against the beach, the cool sea breeze brushing against your face. Your eyes stayed fixed on the endless horizon, thoughts swirling like a storm within you.

The weight of grief still sat heavy in your chest, but the gentle sound of the sea brought you a fleeting moment of calm. Each step left behind a mark in the sand, only to be washed away by the tide moments later. Just like everything else, you thought bitterly.

But then—

A sound.

A deep, resonating roar that echoed through the skies.

Your heart froze for a moment, your eyes snapping upward. It was loud, sharp, and familiar — a sound you knew better than any song. It rumbled through the air like thunder, causing the guards stationed at the cliffs to turn their heads in alarm.

Your gaze followed the source of the sound, and there, circling the skies, was your dragon.

Its silver-gray scales glinted against the dim light of the cloudy sky, and its large wings stretched wide like the sails of a great ship. The sight of it was enough to draw the breath from your lungs. Your dragon let out another deafening roar before diving downward in a spiral, heading straight toward you.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your chest filling with something warm. It wasn’t much — just a spark of joy in the midst of all the pain — but it was enough to make you feel alive again. You were not alone.

The force of the wind swept around you as your dragon landed with a loud thud, its claws digging into the sand. The gust blew back your cloak, and you shielded your face from the stinging grains of sand in the air. Your dragon’s great head turned to you, its sharp eyes meeting yours with an intelligence far beyond that of any beast. It lowered its head, pressing its snout gently against your side.

You exhaled shakily, placing both hands on its warm, scaly snout, feeling the low rumble of its breath beneath your palms. It was like feeling the pulse of the earth itself.

“You found me,” you whispered softly, your voice trembling as you ran your hands over its snout. Your fingers traced the familiar grooves of its scales, the ridges you had touched so many times before. “You always find me, don’t you?”

Your dragon let out a low, soft growl in response, nudging you gently with its head. It was a silent promise, one it had made to you from the moment it bonded with you.

You stepped back, lifting your eyes to meet its gaze.

“Take me home,” you said, your voice steadier this time. There was no doubt, no hesitation. “Take me back to King’s Landing.”

The dragon lowered its body, its wings folding inward to give you an easy path to climb. You didn’t think twice. You grabbed hold of the leather reins and pulled yourself up, settling into the saddle with practiced ease. The warmth of the dragon’s body seeped into you, chasing away the cold that had lingered in your bones.

You took one last glance behind you. From the cliffs of Dragonstone, you could see the shadowy figures of your mother, Daemon, and Jace watching from above. Rhaenyra raised a hand, calling out your name, but you did not answer. You did not look back.

Not anymore.

You tapped the side of your dragon’s neck, and it let out a powerful roar that shook the air. Its wings spread wide, blocking out the gray sky above. With a powerful leap, your dragon launched into the air, the wind rushing past your ears as the ground fell away beneath you. The sea below became a blur of blue and white, the island of Dragonstone growing smaller and smaller behind you.

The cold air bit at your cheeks, the salt of the sea sharp on your tongue, but none of it mattered. The weight on your heart began to ease, replaced by the fierce certainty of purpose.

You would return to King’s Landing.

And this time, you would not be silent.

Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind consumed by a storm of fear and rage. His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts as he marched through the corridors of the Red Keep, his single eye scanning every shadow, every figure, every face. Servants cowered as he passed, too afraid to meet his gaze.

“Where is she?!” he barked at the guards stationed by the main gates. “Have you seen her?! Speak, or lose your tongues!”

The guards shook their heads, stammering apologies, but none could give him the answer he so desperately sought. His jaw clenched in frustration, his fists curling so tightly his nails dug into his palms. Where could you have gone? Why would you leave without a word? The thought alone was enough to drive him mad.

But then —

A roar.

His body went still, every muscle in him freezing at the familiar, thunderous sound that echoed through the skies. His heart skipped a beat as his head snapped upward. The roar cut through the air like the call of a war horn, commanding attention from all below. He knew that sound better than any other. It was your dragon.

His eye widened with realization, and he spun on his heel, running toward the nearest courtyard with the clearest view of the sky. His gaze locked on the figure above. High in the sky, your dragon soared, its powerful wings cutting through the clouds with ease. The silver-gray scales shimmered under the pale light, a flash of brilliance against the dull gray sky.

But it wasn’t the dragon that seized his attention. It was you.

There, atop your dragon, he saw you. Cloaked and hooded, your figure was unmistakable. His heart squeezed in his chest, equal parts relief and fury. He saw the direction your dragon was heading — not toward the sea, not toward the city — but toward the Dragonpit.

His mind raced. She’s coming back.

Without wasting another moment, he turned and sprinted toward the stables, his boots thudding hard against the stone. His breathing was sharp, uneven, but he didn’t stop. He had to reach you. He had to see you.

When he reached his horse, he barely gave the stable boy a glance, yanking the reins from the boy’s hands and mounting it in one smooth motion.

“Out of my way!” he snarled, spurring the horse forward with a sharp kick. The animal whinnied, rearing for a moment before galloping at full speed. The streets of King’s Landing blurred around him as he rode, his eye fixed on the path ahead. He didn’t care about the crowds he scattered or the shouts of merchants cursing him as they leapt from his path.

His mind was focused on one thing only: you.

The closer he got to the Dragonpit, the louder the sounds became — the roars of other dragons, the thundering of wings, and the growing buzz of people gathering to witness the arrival of a dragon. When he finally reached the base of the hill leading up to the Dragonpit, he dismounted with a reckless leap. He didn’t care that the horse hadn’t stopped moving. He didn’t care that his boots slid on the loose gravel.

He sprinted up the hill, his breathing sharp and harsh, his gaze locked on the entrance to the Dragonpit. His heart was a riot of emotions — anger, relief, confusion, desperation — all colliding at once. The only thing he knew for certain was that he had to see you. He had to know why.

When he reached the top, he stopped just short of the entrance, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He looked around wildly, his eye scanning the pit. The great shadow of your dragon loomed ahead, its massive wings folding in as it settled on the ground. Dust and loose gravel still floated in the air from its landing. The other dragons within the pit roared in recognition, their calls echoing off the stone walls.

And then he saw you.

You slid down from the saddle, your movements slow but deliberate. Your hood was still up, but as you turned, the fabric slipped from your head, revealing your face. His breath caught in his throat.

You stood there, gazing at him with an unreadable expression. There was no anger, no sorrow, no relief. Just a cold, quiet stillness in your eyes.

He took a step forward, his breathing still uneven. His mouth opened, but for a moment, no words came out. His mind was a mess of confusion, worry, and disbelief. Finally, he found his voice.

“Where were you?” His voice was hoarse, his tone hard but not loud. “Where in the Seven Hells were you?”

You didn’t answer right away. Your gaze shifted toward the dragon behind you, your eyes softening for just a moment as you reached up to touch its snout. Slowly, you turned your eyes back to him.

“Dragonstone,” you said simply.

Aemond’s face twisted with disbelief, his eye narrowing. “You left?” he hissed, his voice sharper now. “You left without a word — without a guard — after everything that’s happened?” His tone rose with each word, his anger bleeding into every syllable. His eye darted down to your stomach for the briefest of moments, his gaze flickering with something raw and unspoken.

“You could have been killed,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. He took another step forward, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Do you know what you’ve done to me? To my mother? I scoured the Keep for you, I—” He stopped himself, clenching his jaw so hard it ached.

But you didn’t flinch. You stood your ground, your eyes meeting his head-on. The air between you was tense, thick with words that neither of you had spoken.

“I went to see my mother,” you said, your tone even, but there was a cold edge to it. “I wanted to hear it from her lips. I wanted to know if she was the one who ordered it. Aemond’s eyes widened, realization dawning on him.

“I had to know,” you said through gritted teeth. “I had to know if my mother had a hand in murdering Helaena’s son—” Your voice broke for a moment, but you steadied yourself, lifting your chin. “—and our child.”

He winced, his gaze dropping to the ground for a second too long. Guilt hung heavy on his shoulders.

“What did she say?” he asked quietly, barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, your eyes flickering toward your dragon, as if drawing strength from its presence. When you looked back at him, your eyes were cold, harder than he’d ever seen them before.

“She didn’t deny it,” you said, and those words were like a blade through his chest. “Daemon gave the order, but she did nothing to stop it. Nothing.”

Silence fell between you like a chasm, too wide to cross.

Aemond took another step forward, his face filled with something raw, something close to desperation. “You should have come to me,” he said through clenched teeth. “Not them. Not her.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I would have gone with you. I would have done anything for you.”

Your eyes softened for the briefest moment, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“I know,” you whispered, “but I needed to face her myself.”

He let out a harsh breath, his anger still simmering beneath his skin, but he understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood.

“Don’t do it again,” he said, stepping forward until there was barely a breath of space between you. His gaze bore into yours, hard as steel. “Don’t leave me like that again. I will not lose you too.”

You searched his face, your eyes flickering with something vulnerable, something that hadn’t been there before.

“Then don’t give me a reason to leave,” you replied softly, placing a hand on his chest, just over his heart. You could feel it beating beneath your palm, wild and uneven.

He grabbed your hand, his grip firm but not harsh. His single eye locked on yours, his jaw set with determination.

“Never,” he promised, his voice rough but certain. “Never again.”

You and Aemond returned to the Red Keep, the familiar sight of its towering walls and sharp spires looming ahead. The weight of everything that had happened pressed heavily on your shoulders, but you stood tall, your gaze steady.

Word of your return had already spread. As you approached the entrance, there she was — Alicent. She stood by the grand doors, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her eyes scanning the distance until they found you. Her face shifted instantly. The sharp worry that had etched lines into her features melted away, replaced by pure, unrestrained relief.

Her breath hitched as she stepped forward, her pace quickening with each step. Her eyes, filled with both love and quiet reproach, never left you. Before you could say a word, she was upon you.

“My sweet girl,” she breathed, pulling you into a firm embrace. Her arms wrapped around you tightly, as if she feared you would disappear again if she let go. Her cheek pressed against your hair, and you could feel her breath tremble as she exhaled.

“What were you thinking?” she asked, her voice strained with a mix of relief and frustration. Her hands moved to cup your face, tilting it up so she could look directly into your eyes. “Leaving without a word, without a guard, after all that’s happened? Do you have any idea what you put us through?”

Her eyes searched yours, flickering between anger, worry, and something deeper — something like fear. She brushed a hand over your cheek, her thumb tracing the faint lines of exhaustion on your face. Her gaze softened even more. “We thought we’d lost you too.”

Behind you, Aemond stood silently, his eye fixed on you both. His jaw was tight, his hands clasped behind his back, but his gaze betrayed him. He was watching you intently, every shift of your face, every word his mother spoke.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, glancing away for a moment. “I just… I needed to know.”

Alicent blinked, confused. “Know what?” she asked softly, her brows furrowing.

You glanced at Aemond before returning your gaze to Alicent. “I went to Dragonstone,” you admitted, voice steadier now. “I had to see my mother. I had to know if she had any part in… in this madness.” Your voice cracked slightly on the last words, but you stood firm, not allowing yourself to falter.

Alicent’s lips parted in shock. She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours as if to confirm she had heard you correctly. Her eyes darted to Aemond, who merely lowered his gaze, his face unreadable.

“Did she…?” Alicent’s voice was strained, her breath barely above a whisper, as though she feared the answer.

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to speak. “Daemon gave the order, like that man said” you said, each word cutting like a blade. “But she did nothing to stop it.”

Alicent’s face crumpled with something close to devastation. Her hands trembled slightly as she lowered them from your face. She turned away for a moment, blinking rapidly, her lips pressing into a thin line as if trying to steady herself.

“I see,” she murmured, her voice distant. She exhaled slowly, her gaze distant as she stared ahead at nothing. Then, she turned back to you, her eyes filled with fierce resolve. “You will not go back there. Not alone. Not ever.”

Her voice was firm, like an order, but it was laced with worry and love. Her hands found yours and gripped them tightly. “You belong here. With us. Do you understand me? You belong here.”

Her words echoed with such certainty that, for the first time in days, you felt the weight on your heart lift ever so slightly. You squeezed her hands back, nodding slowly.

“I understand,” you whispered, glancing briefly at Aemond. He was still watching you, his eye unwavering, his expression softer now.

“Good,” Alicent said, her voice more stable now. She pulled you close for another embrace, resting her chin on top of your head. “You’re home now. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

But deep down, you both knew it wasn’t over. Not yet.

You walked slowly toward your chamber, your steps quiet but purposeful. The soft patter of your feet echoed in the stone hallway, but behind you, there was another sound — heavier, more deliberate. Each step thudded with weight, sharp and tense, like thunder rolling in the distance.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Aemond.

His presence was unmistakable. You could feel the heat of his gaze boring into your back, and the intensity of it sent a shiver down your spine. He followed close, his breaths steady but heavy, as though every step he took required restraint. There was an energy around him, an unspoken storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. Anger. Grief. Guilt.

When you finally reached your chamber, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. For a moment, you hesitated, your hand still resting on the doorframe. You could hear him stop just behind you, lingering for a heartbeat longer. Then, with a slow creak, he followed you in and shut the door behind him.

The silence in the room was thick, heavier than before. The air felt stifling. You turned slowly to face him.

Aemond stood there, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. His eye locked onto yours, sharp as a blade but flickering with something deeper. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitch beneath his skin. His lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

He didn’t speak. Not at first.

But his eye told you everything. Anger. Not at you — never at you — but at the world, at himself, at fate. And sadness, deeper than any wound.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything that might ease his pain, but before you could, his face crumpled. His breath hitched, and before you knew it, he sank to his knees before you.

It wasn’t a graceful descent. It was a collapse. A man stripped of every wall he’d built around himself. His hands fell to his sides, and his head bowed as if the weight of it had finally become too much. His silver hair fell forward, hiding his face from you.

Your heart ached at the sight.

You stepped forward, slowly, watching him with wide eyes. You had seen Aemond in battle, in fury, in cold calculation — but never like this. Never so broken.

His shoulders shook. Barely at first, then more violently. The sound of his breaths grew louder, more ragged, and then you heard it — a sob. It tore from his chest like a wound finally bursting open.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. His head tilted forward, and he pressed his hands flat against the cold stone floor, his fingers curling into fists. His whole body trembled, and his breath came in shallow gasps. “I’m sorry… I almost lost you.”

His words struck you harder than any blade ever could.

You knelt down slowly, your movements careful, as if afraid to startle him. Your eyes never left him. Reaching out, you placed your hands on his face, gently cupping his cheeks. He flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. His eye, still wet with unshed tears, met yours, and you saw it all laid bare — fear, love, desperation.

“You didn’t lose me,” you whispered firmly, your voice soft but steady. “I’m here. I’m right here, Aemond.”

He squeezed his eye shut, another tear rolling down his cheek and soaking into your palm. His hand lifted slowly, wrapping around your wrist, holding it there as if you were his only tether to reality.

“I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice hoarse and broken. “When I came back and you were gone… I thought you’d left me. I thought—” His breath caught, and he gritted his teeth, his face twisting in pain. “I can’t lose you too. I can’t.”

Hearing him like this shattered something in you. The man who always seemed so untouchable, so unyielding, was now falling apart right in front of you. And he had fallen for you.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you breathed him in — his warmth, his pain, his love.

“You won’t lose me,” you promised, your voice unwavering this time. “I’ll always come back to you.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. You stayed like that — two broken souls holding each other together in a world that seemed so bent on tearing you apart. His breathing eventually slowed, his trembling eased. He stayed on his knees, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer.

No words were needed. This was enough. For now, it was enough.

There, in the stillness of your shared grief and relief, Aemond lifted his head just enough to look at you. His eye, red from tears, gazed at you with a raw, unguarded tenderness you had never seen before. His lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but for a moment, he hesitated. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his breath shaky.

Then, finally, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, he said it.

“I love you.”

The words hung in the air like the soft glow of dawn after a long, endless night. Your breath caught in your chest. Time seemed to stop.

You stared at him, eyes wide with surprise. You had known he cared for you, perhaps even loved you in his own way, but he had never said it before. Never like this. Never so openly, so vulnerably.

His eye searched your face, watching for any hint of your reaction, fear flickering in his gaze as if he’d just bared the most fragile part of himself. His grip on you tightened, as if afraid you would pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you cupped his face with both hands, your thumbs gently brushing away the lingering tears on his cheeks. Slowly, carefully, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. Your eyes closed, and you breathed in the warmth of him, steadying your own heart.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice soft as a prayer, but every word was filled with certainty.

You felt him exhale, his breath warm against your skin, the weight of his fears slowly lifting. His arms around you grew firmer, pulling you closer, grounding himself in you. For a moment, the world outside the room didn’t exist. No war. No blood. No grief. Just the two of you, holding on to each other as if the very gods themselves had tried to tear you apart.

No words were spoken after that. None were needed. The truth had finally been spoken.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack

[moronkombat]

Baraka needs some more love for sure. Can I request some sfw and nsfw headcanons please? Thank you again! Super excited to see what you write! ❤️ You can write him however you want!

it is time

SFW

Baraka has lost everything and everyone. He may not have yet lost himself completely but there not much left to lose

Finding a partner after the death of his family not even a thought in his mind

He had come to accept his role as leader of those afflicted with this sickness.

The other choice was to lay down and die and there many moments in the past where Baraka thought that would he should do but never did he commit

Acceptance of his disease the only solace found for a long and lonely time

He'd never dreamed to be meeting somebody like you

It had not been instantaneous, nothing of the sort. Just a chance encounter to slowly becoming acquaintances over time

The two of you work together, trying to benefit the people in the colony he leads

You were the only one willing to bring supplies. Everyone else is far too fearful but you wanted to help

That is essential in Baraka's partner. They must be helping and kind. He has been hated by many so a glimpse of kindness really catches his attention

It is that kindness that blooms his attraction to you but he is reserved with this new feeling

Baraka is very aware of his situation and health. This holds him back from approaching a potential partner and, instead pines for them quietly

He is so touch starved, unable to make contact with anyone really

Then he looks to you and how desperately he wants to hold you in his arms. Baraka wonders what you'd feel like close to him or if you would be worried he's mutations would cut you

Baraka never intends to know as he will not approach his partner first. He would be eternally pining for you in despair

So his partner must be willing to seek out Baraka's company instead and even then there is hesitation

He is exceptionally cautious with his partner, almost refusing to make physical contact with you

It not that he doesn't want to touch you, he very much so does. He wants that more than anything but he is scared

Baraka needs a partner who can validate his apprehensions and truly listen to them

There are many emotions hiding inside him and to have a partner slowly bring them to the surface and then just let him release them is a true gift

Slowly Baraka begins to indulge in those ghostly touches as time goes on

They are very light and subtle, just lightly brushing his hand to yours and this is how things will continue for sometime

His partner must be very patient and understanding with him especially when he apologies for his hesitation

It is during one of those apologies where a first kiss is shared. While his disease has mangled his face, his partner will still find ways to normalize all the typical physical sensations lovers engage in

Baraka cannot kiss you but you can kiss him. Lips places against teeth while hands hold each other dearly

How he reciprocates the gesture is to lay his forehead against your own. He does this to feel close and exposed to you

Baraka is a very caring lover but also shy and reserved in his affections

He does worry about his partner's safety and health, terrified that he will condemn you to death just as his wife and children were

A resilient partner helps settle those constant fears and when he feels your hands hold his and your lips against his teeth, the world feels a bit safer

He is also very protective of you but not suffocatingly so. He would prefer for you not to participate in dangerous situations but just you being next to him could be considered dangerous

Baraka becomes anxious when you are away from him. He worries that you may not return, that something may happened to you. He is so used to losing that it will take him time to accept that you are here to stay

NSFW

He is not immune to the call of pleasure. He too is but a man and one so desperate to feel the touch of another

Yet Baraka still hesitant and careful but he cannot help himself from trembling under your touch

He longs for you, taking in your scent as he holds you close

Wild thoughts circle in this head about what hides from him under those fabrics you wear

Hands seem to grip onto tighter but it is a merely fleeting second before he withdraws from you

Yet he cannot ignore the lust in his loins and so he masturbates quite frequently

He makes sure he is completely and utterly alone, not wanting anyone to discover this indecent sin

He is very vocal when masturbating, grunting and groaning as he hand pumps and squeezes

Baraka thinks of all he wishes to experience with you and how he wishes to explore your body

He will masturbate for quite sometime, going multiple rounds in one setting until finally he is sated

Still, Baraka is quiet about these ever lingering desires. He does not approach you with them

It is only when you catch him pleasuring himself that he can no longer hide

His partner is happy to help Baraka relieve himself, your lips coming to wrap so snug around his girthy length

Baraka is a rather large fan of receiving oral. He cannot get enough of your cheeks hollowed out around him or those gagging noises you make as he thrusts his hips

Prefers to cum on your tongue and face, painting you oh so sticky and then watching as you lick his cock clean

Baraka's tempo in the bedroom tends to shift and vary

He often starts out tamed and even, fucking his partner missionary so that he feels close and intimate with them

It does not last, however. Blood is pumping and his thoughts become so corrupted

He moves faster, harder and with command. The grunts become snarls and his grip on your hips begin to bruise

Baraka's sense of control is thrown to the win, his bestial and carnivorous fury taking hold of his mind

He is fueled to breed you, to fill you up again and again with his seed and Baraka has lost himself

You are fucked like a whore, like a dog, with him driving into you from behind and a hand at the back of your head forcing you down

He finishes inside you again and again, ravaging all that you are

Once he has finally drained himself empty the madness subsides and his senses return

Baraka will cradle you in his arms then, holding you close as you two lay together

[oddsandends-dirt-to-dust]

The World Ender

Masterlist - (chapters, link to ao3 post, moodboard, and spotify playlist.)

I’m The World Ender, baby, and I’m comin’ for them

Ellie x F Reader - no physical descriptions used apart from afab body parts (though, r is referred to with she/her pronouns), and clothing if necessary. Use of y/n as little as possible.

Summary:

Birthed in fire and shaped in shadows, a survivor in a world that can no longer forgive. Haunted and cleansing, you walk the line between savior and monster. In Jackson – a town that dared to hope, a girl who dared to see you. Blood-soaked hands reaching for redemption in a world that offers none, a peace you can’t uphold.

You never meant to let her in. She finds you where you flee, and together you carve a path through the ruins of the earth, bound by loyalty, pain, the hope of something more.

You’ve taken so much from the world. Will you destroy her too?

Reader is inspired by Jinx (arcane), and the song The World Ender - Lord Huron. Reader is not supposed to be Jinx, just heavily inspired by her character.

Word count: 6k

Warnings(for part1): angst, violence, death, gore, swearing, mental illness (hallucinations and ptsd symptoms), weapons.

A/N: Bored and miss my beloved crazy characters (Jinx) and apocalypse media so I decided to start writing for Ellie.

——————————

PART 1 - The Reckoning Begins

Sunlight emptied into the barn through the open hay-door, soaking the brown wood of the loft golden like whiskey. The barn was an old and dusty thing, with missing planks of wood all over its walls, and jagged holes in its high gable roof. It had been retired long ago; forgotten hay bales and rusty farm equipment lay ragged throughout. There was an abundance of ancient, crumbling barns in the fields around Jackson, but this one was your favorite. It lay so close to the walls it was almost an insult, but then again, you had long learned that Jackson had no use for broken, half-empty things like this barn.  

It was a refuge to you now, the old beast of timber and rotting oak. You came here often, when you needed the space, away from the bustling town and its all-embracing people. Jackson was nice, it was homely, and steady, and it worked. Jackson was too nice.  

When you’d arrived a year ago, the community was welcoming, the parties were jolly, the walls were comforting. Suffocatingly so. After a while, you couldn’t help but long for the city, the giant buildings and endless possibilities. You had never wanted for a home.  

You watched the dust curl in the gilded air below, tapping a ringed finger on the gauged and chipped support beam beneath you. You had a nice view from up here, right in the shadowed brain of the barn. You could see the whole loft below, littered with your trinkets and most important belongings, and right into the swarms of green hills and rocky mountains that rested outside the wide hay door. Bigger than most, it almost reached the roof. It was definitely one of the main selling points, when you were searching for your safe house weeks after moving here.  

You had never intended to stay, just wanted a break from the things that crept up during the lonely nights in the cities you travelled through. The silence had been driving you crazy, and before long even the loud music you’d blast through your headphones couldn't quell the screaming voices, the roiling fire in your gut, the images that danced behind your eyes. But you’d never intended to stay. 

Creaks burst through the barren barn, accompanied by the throbbing thuds of footsteps on wood. Someone was climbing your ladder. Hands reached the lip of the balcony, and the person pulled themself over and onto the weathered wood of your loft. The only person who knew what lay in this useless, unassuming place.  

You watched Ellie walk over to the open doors, examine the scenery beyond. You imagined her winding thoughts of scribbled trees and steeps, imagined the beautiful illustration she could render into her battered notebook. 

She turned, tucked a stray auburn lock behind her ear. She looked around. She didn’t touch anything. 

“You gonna come out? You have a guest, it’s rude to hide.” Her low voice reverberated through the leached, crooked planks around you both. 

“I don’t hide.” You replied. 

Her eyes found you, lighter in the sun that warmed the right side of her face. She sparkled. 

“How do you even climb in those heavy-ass shoes?” She asked, eyebrows knotted as she gazed up at you, head tipped like something holy. 

“Practice, experience, inane talent.” You tilted your head.  

Her eyes drifted, and before she could articulate whatever smart-ass response lay on her tongue, they latched onto the rope hanging from the beam you perched on, swaying softly in the breeze. She paused; mouth open. Her eyes scrunched and something like concern painted her perfect features. 

“Is that a noose?” She asked, voice strained.  

Ellie stepped back, found you again, hands fisted on the bottom hem of her plaid shirt, white-knuckled. 

You reached down below the beam, grabbed the stray rope and heaved your body from the safety of the wood. You slid down the rope, hooked your foot into the looped noose, hands burning from the tough fibres. You held yourself there, hanging high above the straw-strewn floor, before the loft where she stood. You pulled at the rope, pushed with your foot, until you were pendulating like a branch in a storm. 

“It’s a swing.” You grinned at her. 

She looked down to the floor way below, back up to your precarious position on the rope. 

“Uh...” Her soft voice trailed off as her verdant eyes burned into you. 

You rolled yours in return. 

“Relax. It’s a metaphor.” You said. “A reminder.” 

She blinked. Silence settled for a while, before she sighed loudly. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ellie turned from you, hand rubbing at her face as she sat down against the back wall. 

“Want a real answer?” You rocked back and forth through the empty air. You had never been scared of heights. High places were good – safe. 

“Yes.” She played with a stray thread that poked from her tattered, stained jeans. 

You ignored her. There was something wrong with everyone these days, and you didn’t engage in pointless conversations. 

“Why are you in here?” You asked. 

Ellie shrugged.  

“Why are you in here, tying a noose?” She asked, voice hard with faux animosity.  

“Told you why.” 

“Okay, a reminder of what?” She jerked her chin at the rope supporting you. 

“A reminder of what’s waiting for us all. Nice things don’t last in this world.” You said, legs aching with effort. 

She licked her lips like she was tasting the cryptic statement, trying to decipher its meaning. 

“Nice things?” She relented. 

The wind blew through the barn, soft and cool. It ruffled your hair. 

“Jackson’s been here too long.” You said, simply. 

You almost felt sorry for entering the town. Witnessing the place, its residents, everyone working so hard to run something so dangerous. Bad things followed you, always had. You normally let communities be, didn’t dare to cross their gates, left them to rot in their ignorance. But you’d needed a rest from yourself and the isolation. You hadn’t intended to stay this long. 

“Jackson’s strong. The people who run it, they’ve been living in this world since the beginning. Since before. They know what they’re doing.” She said.  

You blinked at her. 

“Everything has an ending. The valuable things have the most violent ones.” You said, eyes breezing over her freckled face. Something ached in your chest. You tried not to grimace at the unwelcome feeling. 

Frustration barrelled through you. You swung back on the rope, tensing for impact, and let yourself fly as it lurched forward. Your feet landed on the loft with a clunk, sending dust into the air around you. The thick chains weaved through your chunky black boots, fashioned as laces, rattled and tinkled with the force. Ellie just watched; you couldn’t read her face.  

You stretched your stiff fingers, stalked forward towards your music collection. You jammed a CD into your player, hit a button, and soon the jumpy melodies whirled gently through the old beast encompassing you. Cobwebs, dust, and old bits of hay pulsated as another breeze ebbed through, stronger this time, strong enough to make the barn creak and sing. The walls breathed and the air was filled with an earthy smell, and the barn seemed more alive than you would ever be. 

Shadows danced. Your head buzzed. 

No place tranquil as this in the cities. Always groaning, screaming, dried blood and desecrated bodies. Always bones and rot, not gentle rot like the barn’s, just wounds and the omittance of aliveness. Always buildings, full not empty, full of personhood, full of days gone and memories burned, and ownerless belongings, and things that were not yours but just yours to take. Did it count as stealing if everyone was dead? 

You’d long left morals behind, left feeling, left thinking. Left humanity behind – but now here you were in the budding, pounding heart of it. Your throat tightened as you paced around the space. 

“So why do you stay here?” Ellie asked, breaking through the cloak of rumbling around you. 

Your eyes darted to her; you stopped dead in the middle of the loft. Her face held some sort of emotion you still couldn’t make out. Probably worry, or discomfort. Your words were too blunt for most. Crude, dangerous, they whispered around town. The people were sheltered, clueless, had been stagnant too long. That was the real danger. 

You couldn’t answer her question, couldn’t find an answer in the swirling jumble of your mind. 

“Something must’ve changed for you. You’ve been here a year. You really don’t believe in this place at all?” She pushed, toeing an old rusty bolt with her dirty converse. 

You tipped your head, considered for a moment. You’d never had a problem with socializing, despite your reclusive nature, you knew how to talk to people. Probably thanks to the countless books you’d read and discarded over your life, and the small settlement you were raised in, before it had crumbled like most things, and you'd been launched into the slanted world outside its fences alone – too young. You knew you had your issues, but you were normal enough to get by when you wanted to be. On the outside. 

Things inside you were certainly not to be described as remotely normal or personable, hardly human in fact. It wasn’t your fault. The world was harsh, cruel, empty. You’d learned that at an early age. You had adapted. 

Had you now adapted to communal life? The thought bred something sharp in you. Had you truly let yourself get weak, needing, attached? 

Clearly.  

Leaving had always been easy. You were the thing that couldn’t stay. You were smart, and had now grown stupid. So stupid. Because, now, leaving felt hard, and empty. And some small part of you lurched for the auburn-haired girl staring at you, lurched for the place she belonged to, full of people and things and life.  

“I don’t know.” Your head lowered. Your hands ached for violence, for breaking and undoing. “I guess.” You admitted, tone sounding alien to yourself. 

Ellie stood. She edged closer to you. Her body language reminded you of the deer you hunted, dragged into town by their ankles. 

“Look, I get it. The city’s... cool. But dangerous.” She spoke. “You can’t have a life out there. You can’t live like that forever.” 

Your face twisted as something beat at your gut. 

“Jackson can’t live forever, Ellie.” 

She looked like she was going to argue, just for a moment. It was one of the things you liked about the girl – her fierce loyalty and the fervency with which she defended it. 

But then her face softened, before that familiar mask of playful bravado slotted over her features. 

“Wanna bet?” She smirked – but you could see the hesitance lurking beneath. “Seriously, I bet one day we’ll be nasty old ladies with no teeth and diapers and you’ll owe me your whole comic collection.” She looked pleased with herself, as she crooked her head at you. 

You let her have that one. She was trying so hard to combat the cynical taste of your voice, and it brought such sickening softness to your gut. You needed the weakening feeling gone – needed it replaced with something hotter, something burning. 

“Not a fair bet.” You teased. “If I win, you’ll be dead, and won’t be able to give me what I want from you.” 

Her brows flicked up – her smile seeming less put on now, but not any less tentative. 

“And what would that be?” She asked, voice thick. 

You raked your eyes over her body, slow and deliberate, noting the way her feet shifted against the old wood. 

“I’m sure you can figure it out.”   

Her lips pressed together, eyes scrunching slightly. She seemed to be winded – or deliberating some silent thought.  

You couldn’t control your words. This feeling bubbled up inside you sometimes, alone with Ellie, alone with yourself and the residual thoughts she left in you. It was an easy thing, instinctual, the most natural thing you’d felt in many years. It was hard not to give in to it – to her. 

“Of course I can figure it out, I’m not a socially-inept hermit like you. You want me to help you lose your virginity because you probably won’t get another chance out there.” She looked amused, despite her rambling words. “I just wanted to hear you say it.” 

You stepped closer to her. Closer. She didn’t falter as you came to a stop inches from her warm body. You looked into her pretty face. She stared back, ghost of a smile on her mouth, eyes glistening in the afternoon sun. 

She’d grown braver in the recent weeks, as the intensity of your flirty comments had heightened. The tight-chested breaths, avoidant eyes and blushing cheeks had filtered away, and it seemed she’d somewhat tightened a grip on her flustered nature around you. You sort of missed it, but then again, the hungry look growing in her eyes was just as much fun. 

“You want to hear me say all the things I want to do to you?” You asked, heat curling around your insides like a cat purring before a fire.  

Her eyelids lowered; plump lips pressed into a line.  

Your words grew bold and brazen at her unbridled reaction, the air turning heady and electrified, and you couldn’t fight through it – couldn't find the sense to stop yourself.  

“And all the places I want you to feel me... touch me?” You asked, voice low and smooth. 

Her breath trembled. Those hungry eyes drifted to your mouth.  

“Are your lips one of those places?” 

You bit your bottom lip, nodding. Your stomach tightened – burned deliciously with a feeling you didn’t care to name. You just wanted more of it. 

Her face inched forward for a moment, before an echoic sound met your ears and she turned painfully far away from you, to the entrance of the barn across the low floor below.  

“Can you two get your asses to town? You’re needed.” Jesse hollered up to you, hands on his hips like a disapproving parent. 

Ellie’s eyes shuttered. 

“You have the worst timing, you know that?” She shouted back. You admired the little spikes of shining hair sticking out of her bun, her sloping neck and the pale chest it led to, disappearing beneath her t-shirt. 

“I have the worst timing? The vote is happening – right now, the vote you were supposed to be getting y/n for, and instead you’re getting hot and heavy in a shitty, old barn.” He retorted, turning back towards the entrance. 

Ellie scoffed. 

“We- we were not getting hot and heavy.” She said, lurching past you, aiming for the ladder. “God, how old are you? You sound like Joel.” Her voice faded as she lowered herself to the floor and marched towards the doors where Jesse was now exiting. 

You sighed, turning for the ladder. You slid down it swiftly, not bothering with the rungs. Your legs felt weak as you echoed their departing, walking past the many abandoned stalls of the barn. Once through the doors the sky opened up, bright and vast, nowhere to hide from it. 

The field around you was yellowed and dry, but the trees far beyond were green like Ellie’s eyes. 

They waited for you in the scratched truck Jesse had claimed his own. Through the open door you could hear Ellie complaining at his dramatics, since town was only a twenty-minute walk away. 

“Didn’t want you two getting lost in the woods.” He simpered, as you edged into the truck, filling the only empty seat left beside Ellie. 

“Shut up, dude.” 

You slammed the door shut and the whole truck rattled with it. 

“Are you two ever actually gonna do anything? Or just torture everyone else with your empty flirting and intense stares?” He asked, twisting the keys. The truck rumbled to life harshly. It sounded like it was choking. 

“When would we ever have time for that? You’re so needy.” Ellie grumbled. She slouched in her seat, legs spreading. Your thighs pressed together, hers warm and steady against you. Your heart throbbed. Neither of you looked at each other but the tension felt thick and strained between you. 

The truck started moving, tumbling over the rocky ground. 

You weren’t sure what you were doing with the girl. You had made quick friends, enjoyed each other's company along the boring patrols, and boring nights in town. You weren’t sure exactly when the feelings inside had morphed into something different. Something sickly and aching. Something dangerous. But you wouldn’t let it go too far. You never had, and you never intended to. Because attachments were dangerous, like a bear trap or quicksand, and you had always been careful not to feed them. 

The truck was silent aside from the droning of the engine. Trees shot past the dirty windows. 

“Was that a noose hanging from the support beam?” Jesse broke out. 

You looked to your feet – the footwell where your dark boots rested beside those well-loved converse.  

“It’s a metaphor.” Ellie said. 

You almost smiled. Almost. 

“You should borrow it.” You said to Jesse. 

Ellie looked to you then, gaze drifting over your face. She didn’t say anything. 

“Such a kind offer, y/n, but I have one at home already.” He shrugged. “I tighten it a little every time I have to come and save one of your sorry-asses before you invoke Maria’s wrath again.” He drummed his fingers on the worn-out steering wheel. 

“Seriously, Jesse. You should take my advice, before you invoke my wrath.” You spoke, with no trace of the sarcasm that he'd held in his tone. 

He sighed lowly. 

“The vote is the fair thing to do. You can save your advice for the ballot box.” 

“Fair?” Anger prickled in you, sharp and brittle – dangerous. 

You thought back to Ellie’s words and scoffed. They were going to get the whole town killed. 

“See why I didn't want to be the one to get her?” Ellie mumbled. 

“You know you agree with me; they should hang him.” You told her, bitingly. 

Ellie sighed a little, but didn’t deny your claim. Her quiet allegiance only strengthened your resolve. 

“We don't execute people.” Jesse said. 

Maria's words. She'd looked at you like you were crazy when you'd suggested it. And maybe you were. So, you'd tried to see things her way, but all you had were your eyes, and the things they'd seen – of the greedy people you'd encountered, the things that greed drove them to do.  

Punishment or banishment. Those were the options for the vote, she’d reiterated. Let the criminal stay in the town, revoke privileges and keep a careful eye. Or cast him out.  

Idiocy. 

“What did the guy even do again?” Ellie asked, staring through the windshield. Her leg bounced. 

“You would know, if you were at the hearing like you were supposed to be.” Jesse scolded. 

She threw him a look you couldn’t see. 

“He stole. Food, ammunition, whatever he could get his hands on. He’s been warned before. Too many times before. Maria says he’s done.” 

The world outside the windows opened up into dirt roads, meaning you were nearing the town. Your insides soured. 

“What did you vote?” Ellie asked. 

Jesse rested his elbow on the window edge. He rubbed at his face. 

“The option I think is best.” He said. 

Ellie pursed her lips. 

“They won’t seriously let him go, will they?” 

“If that’s what the people decide.” He muttered.  

You deigned to stay silent, writhing with fire and frustration. 

“Maria doesn’t want to play dictator. Or God.” Jesse added. 

The gates rose up ahead of you. 

— 

The vote had been cast and the verdict reached.  

Banishment.  

As you stood before the gate with the other residents, your vision writhed blurrily. Your head swam with a whirlpool of vile thoughts. The floor beneath you felt like marshmallow.  

The community gathered around you buzzed with whispers. The morons had signed their own death warrants and now watched idly, murmuring like school children, as that asshole got ready to walk from their gates and into the poisonous world beyond. Humans were hopeful things. Hopeful, and trusting, and ignorant. That was why so many now lay dead, and the world crumbled around their corpses. 

The man, who Tommy was now handing a bag filled with basic necessities and weapons, was a sickness. Those who stole out of greed and not desperation, those who were filled with selfishness and corruption, could not be trusted with life. You had seen him around town often, his fake smile, pretty words, helpful gestures. A mask.  

Your bleary eyes were stuck on him, in-between the decorated storefronts, pubs, and eateries around, the sickness they were letting go free, instead of stomping out before his disease could spread. His face showed a mask of trepidation, shame, sorrow. But you could see the real man in the dark pits of his eyes. Sparks flickered in your gut. 

Someone came up beside you, stood there wordlessly. She smelled of musky pine and something homely. 

Jesse stood with Maria and her husband, before the man with death in his eyes. Memories lurched forward.  

Men with the eyes and the grins and the foul smell. Knives and bullets and blood. Blood, blood, blood. Eyes that always searched, always found, always took. Hands that ended, mouths that laughed. Your head swayed. 

Snaps and cracks echoed through you. Bones that shattered and heads that popped and lifeless eyes of corpses and the men that made them. 

His eyes. 

you’re going to let him walk? are you insane? they're going to come here and rip this place to shreds 

DEAD DEAD DEAD 

Your body was numb and your gun was heavy in your waistband. Your gaze was stuck on him. Even as Ellie attempted to rouse you, even as she pulled at your arm softly and spoke into your ear.  

You blinked. 

“Y/n?” Her voice echoed. 

You turned to her, finally, offered a small, ghostly smile. 

“Don’t worry.” You spoke. “It’ll be fine.” 

Her face held confusion. Her auburn hair glowed in the fading sun. And her eyes glowed too, emerald like a summer tree and just as alive.  

You turned back to the sickness. He began his march to the tall, logged gate, and your feet followed. Down the dirty path, past the residents, past the little stores and markets and lights hung around. People stared, unassuming, but curious nonetheless. Everyone stared here, everyone watched you. You ignored it. 

The man was close now, your feet latched into his footsteps, your legs carried you forward. 

You passed Maria and the men, heard her whispered commands but didn’t stop. Tommy reached for you gently, trying not to cause a scene. His warm hand encircled your forearm, his body trailed beside you as you strode for the man. The wind blew right through you 

“What are you doin’, kid?” He asked. His voice droned like thunder, too far away. 

Your hand reached behind your back. The man ahead of you, no more than five feet, began to turn.  

Your right arm snapped up, metal comfortable in your palm, your finger tensed and the trigger clicked before a shot rang out, causing birds to flee from their branches and voices to shout. 

The sickness before you turned to red rivers and splattered thoughts. His empty body thudded to the floor, half-turned and mouth agape. 

Then you were on the floor like him, your gun skidding away into the dirt and your arms held into the path below. A face stared into yours – Tommy, a moment too late. His eyebrows high and eyelids wide. Something warm soaked into your scalp, your shoulder, as the carnal rivers made their own paths through the dirt and rocks and found their maker.  

He pulled you up then, your body felt too heavy for your legs but they didn’t falter.  

“Get her inside, now.” Maria ground out; her aging face filled with something fiery. 

The people around stared still, some at the empty thing on the floor, some at you, their faces filled with horror, shock – such juvenile expressions. They had become accustomed to the soft flow of life inside the walls. For too long, they had only known the gentle deaths of the seasons, of the days and nights. They had forgotten what real death looked like. What the world really held beyond their humble town, its forests and hills. 

You found refuge in the patrol-men, the handful of people in this place who were still subjected to the cruel earth and its greedy things. You knew they, at least, would understand. 

You knew Ellie would understand, as you caught her gaze in the crowd, and her face held no horror. No terror. Her face was just her own, just watching. And you just watched back until Tommy stepped into your vision, arm around your shoulder as he guided you towards his shared home. 

— 

Maria sat behind her desk, hands clasped tightly on the surface, her posture as rigid as her expression. Her blue eyes bore into you like winter. You slouched in the stiff chair beneath you, arms draped over its own, fingers dangling limp. The air between you stretched taut and silent, holding the weight of your actions like a brand. 

It was a while of that before she spoke. 

“I don’t even know what to say to you.” 

You let out a sharp huff, rolling your eyes. 

“What? All the kids were inside.”  

Maria’s face twisted, the muscles in her jaw flexing as her lips flattened. She leaned back in her chair, exhaling through her nose in a way that screamed exasperation. 

“The people in this town came here to escape the kind of violence you exhibited today.” She said, her tone clipped. 

“You mean they came to hide from it.” You shot back. “It'll find them eventually. They need to be ready.” 

Shadows danced in the corners of the room. Your gaze flicked to the window to your right, where dusk spilled into the room, soft and hazy like a faded bruise. The last golden light of the dying sun clung to the edges of Maria’s face, deepening the lines of her weariness. 

“We're still people. Humanity is what we're trying to uphold here.” She said, voice low and steady. “They took a vote and you disregarded their decision, that isn't fair.” 

Her words pricked at you, but you didn’t let them land on your features. Instead, you shrugged, a smug smile curling your lips. 

“You’re supposed to be leading these people. You know he couldn’t be let back out there with the knowledge of this place, what you have and how you work.” You said – smooth, calculated. “You should be thanking me, I know you wanted rid of him too.” 

The words spilled slick as oil, satisfaction followed. You glanced at her face, searching for some crack of acknowledgement, some proof that she knew you were right. But her expression remained drawn, her mouth pressed into a hard line. 

It didn’t matter. The tension in your gut had disappeared, the blood drying tight onto your shoulders felt like a hug. The town was safe again, for a while at least. Until some other monster found it. 

“You aren’t allowed guns inside the town, y/n. That was the deal.” She reminded you, voice twinged with a sharp edge. 

You laughed, dry and humorless. 

“Oh man, are you gonna banish me too? Bummer.” 

Maria stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. She braced her hands on the desk, leaning forward as her shadow stretched long across the room. 

“You think I want to send a young girl back out there alone? I’m trying to help you but you’re making it impossible.” Her voice rose, tight with frustration. “You just killed someone in front of the whole town – with a gun you weren’t supposed to have.”  

Her words struck like hammer blows. You wet your lips, head quirking. 

“I only raise my gun to danger. You might think I’m crazy, but I can assure you – I have morals.”  

Maria let out a breath, heavy and worn. She turned away, pacing behind her desk with her arms crossed. 

More shadows gathered in the corners of the room, curling and swaying. Your head dizzied in the silence. You tried to focus on the stiff chair beneath you instead of the way your chest hollowed out and your throat tightened up. You let out a breath. 

You flicked your eyes to the corner behind Maria’s contemplating form. There was nothing there. 

this town is dead, why are you here? the people are gone; they’re bags of bones and blood and memory 

You sat up straight. Blinked through the blur. 

She stopped pacing and turned to face you; her expression softer now but no less firm. 

“I need to take a few days to think about your next steps here.” 

“Come on.” You drawled, feigning disbelief. “You know he needed to go. You know you’re grateful.” You carved a grin across your cheeks. 

Her face was so fake. Her words were such bullshit. There was no way in hell she was intending to let him get through the east woods alive. 

You were glad to give the residents a real show. A real reminder. 

Maria’s face was unreadable now. Her blue eyes narrowed, sharp, like she was seeing something you couldn’t. 

“Careful.” She warned. 

The satisfaction in your chest fizzled to ash. Your throat felt dry; your pulse uneven. There was no use in arguing. These people were blinded with blissful fantasies, feeble dreams. 

“Can I go?” You blurted. “I don’t like walking in the dark.” 

Maria stared at you for a moment – these people were always staring. Then, something softened her face. Something like pity. It made your skin crawl. 

You stood swiftly, turning on your heel. You pushed through the door before she could say anything else, letting it slam shut behind you. 

The hall beyond was dim, the air thick and cold. Your steps echoed as you moved toward the front door, your chest tight with something unbearable. The buzz in your body had shifted to something sharper, something angrier. Air couldn’t quell your lungs and annoyance breached in you. Why were you here?  

Shadows swirled at the edges of your vision. You passed a strung-up mirror, glanced into it as you passed, feet freezing mid-step. The reflection staring back was jarring. Bloody. Deathly.  

Blood streaked your shoulders, dark and dried in your charred and fizzled hair, staining your skin. Your skin... your skin worn away in great, blistered patches. Red and angry, weeping and sizzling. Burned down to the bone – wan white planes peeking out from your cheeks, your nose, your chin. Your eyes black pits of death – not like the sickness – just gone. Empty. Missing. 

Musky smoke cloistered your nostrils, tears dribbled down your face. The smell turned to taste in the back of your throat, thick and acrid, bitterly sweet on your tongue. 

DEAD DEAD DEAD 

You rubbed at your face, your hands trembling against the heated, raised wrecks of your skin. You stumbled back, a shudder running through you. You didn’t belong here – with the people. Your heart battered your ribs as you flew through the front door, gasping for air. 

Outside, the streets glowed faintly under lamplight and strung bulbs, but they were quiet as you made your way past houses and into the town center. 

It was barren, despite the early hour. The sun hadn’t long left and normally there would be people shuffling around, in and out of the pubs and eateries. Your battered body carried you through the buildings, feet moving on instinct. 

You skirted the edge of the cemetery, kept your gaze forward on the path, refusing to look at the rows of weathered headstones.  

where you belong. you're just as dead as the town. deader. ashes and bone, and nothingness. nothing in you to leave behind. nothing left to rot. nothing 

You quickened your pace down the dirt path, around the corner, down the next empty street, teeth clenched. Finally, the outline of your little house came into view. Its white wooden panels gleamed faintly under the glow of the string lights you’d hung haphazardly across its outer walls. The garden lamps scattered across the grass of the lawn lit up the dark like tiny beacons.  

Some neighbors had complained about the brightness, you had helpfully enlightened them to the concept of curtains. You needed the light. The shadows that hunted you grew hungry in the deep of night. Sometimes night was useful - the cover of darkness a helpful tool. Other times… it was a cage.  

You scaled the porch with stiff fingers and unsteady feet, heaving yourself onto its roof. You found the window of your room, dragged it open and slipped inside. The cold air followed you in, curling against your cheeks as you latched the window shut behind you.  

You turned to your room. 

It was a strange sight, even after months in Jackson. A room of your own, a place you could truly claim, most of your belongings all together – a space untouched by ash, blood, desperation. The air was cold but clean, the faint smell of paint and paper lingering beneath the chill. Unclaimed by the mayhem outside the walls of the town, a fragile thing in a fragile place. 

You’d even decorated. Carefully, deliberately - not like the hastily strung string-lights you would set up in your abandoned buildings as you trekked through cities. And more of your things littered the desk to your right, claiming it. Your bed rested to your left, covered in plushy pillows and linen blankets. 

In Jackson, you’d had time to craft little paper stars to hang along with your lights. And you’d even painted designs on the walls, swirls and spirals and doodles. Not like the graffiti you left in wrecked malls and broken-down hospitals. Real art, a claim that said – I am here. This is mine. 

The feeling the strange sight left in you was conflicting. It was nice to have a place, with a comfortable bed, in a cosy town.  

But it made some other part of you sick. You felt as much a fraud as that man you’d ended today. Like you were pretending, ignorantly bliss.  

You were a warring person. 

Sighing out, you pulled your heavy boots off, letting them clatter to the floor.  

A startling chirping sound echoed through the home below you, jarring you from your thoughts. You knew only one person would be ringing your door at this time.  

You slung the window open again, stuck your head through, the chilled air swarming your face as you peered down.  

Ellie stood on the path below, hands shoved into her zipped hoodie, head quirked as she watched you. 

She was bathed in warm amber from the lights; the complete opposite of the dark silhouettes you’d usually catch roaming beyond your window.  

“Do you want me to climb up again?” She called, a smirk tugging at her lips. Her voice was low, teasing, but there was something soft in the way she looked at you. 

She held no judgment in her tone. But you supposed it was strange to keep making her enter your home through the upstairs window, when you had a perfectly working front door.  

“The key’s under the pot.” You called back.  

Ellie arched a brow, her smirk widening. 

“Seriously? I thought a paranoid, street-smart person like you would have a less generic hiding spot for her keys.” Ellie shouted.  

You sent her a crude gesture before slamming the window.  

You listened as the front door opened and shut, listened as her gentle footsteps travelled up the stairs. Something spun in your stomach as she approached. Something that tingled, stole your breath. 

You crossed the room to the heavy bookshelf wedged against your bedroom door. Its edges scuffed from years of use, by someone other than you. Your fingers curled around the wood. With a low grunt, you dragged it aside, your muscles straining under the effort, the sound of scraping wood cutting through the silence. 

You reached for the handle, the door creaking as you pulled it open. Ellie’s face came into view, her eyes searching yours, cautious but familiar. She hesitated on the threshold, her feet scuffing softly on the worn floorboards. The corners of her mouth curled into a small smile.

[mythicamagic]

Death Comes Knocking

AN: Not finishing projects seems to be the norm right now- so just take this lil 1,000 words of Lobo/Muerte x reader bc he gave me brain worms okay? Puss in Boots The Last Wish was so good you guys omg.

Pairing: Muerte x Female Reader

Rating: T

Summary: She's given a stern warning. 'No more of your kind are allowed' so she extends an offer to Death in return.

---

She’s seen him before, on the faces of those she’d loved. Their eyes would glaze over and become empty, void of all animation, becoming quiet and still as they took their last breaths. There- in the right hand corner of that glassy void in their pupils- the shadow of Death could be briefly seen, passing over and stealing all light.

The silk spinner has witnessed this countless times- from the luxury of these people’s bedsides as they peacefully passed, to freak accidents involving one too many drunken unicorns and a travelling puppet show. The world she inhabited was colourful, vibrant and endless- so it stood to reason that in this world, Death himself could be a real, breathing creature.

She just never expected to gain a personal audience with him.

“You’re becoming lonesome, inmortal.”

The woman jumped, startled so badly she lost grip on the white sheet she’d been taking down. A large hand snapped out to catch it mid-air, slowly lowering it back down to her in offering. It took a moment for her frozen hands to accept it, gazing up at the creature looming over her washing line. His shadow swallowed her whole. He gazed at her with a kind of unblinking- red eyed fixation- the kind that betrayed his identity before the suffocatingly still atmosphere did, as if time itself had frozen.

A wolf had entered her garden.

“Hate to be a bother…but when you get lonely it becomes a problem for me,” he continued in his perfectly polite tone. There was a faint, gravelly edge to his voice, but it hummed pleasantly in her ears rather than frightened her.

Recovering from her shock, the silk spinner folded her sheet and placed it atop a waiting pile.

“How so?” she found her voice.

“Well, you repeat the cycle, of course- the one that led you here,” he wandered around her humble garden, taking care to weave around bird feeders and windchimes without so much as a strand of fur brushing them. He moved on two legs like any human, not an odd sight. The graceful fluidity of his movements was alarming though. Deliberate and predatory. He was looping around her in a lazy circle that was slowly tightening. “It’s only natural…everyone’s predictable in a few certain ways: one of them is the universal truth that when you get lonely, you seek company,” he mused, finally stopping before her. “And the company of mortals just isn’t cutting it anymore, is it? Hm, my friend?”

He stood a good several feet taller than her. Not even attempting to crane her neck up, the woman tidied her basket and lifted it as if readying to walk back into her tiny cottage. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone. They all die eventually, I’m not sure why you’re worried.”

With that said she took a step, only to find her wicker basket snagging on something- a sickle. The wolf practically used it as a fish-hook, turning her back to face him, and this time she had no choice but to gaze down the grey expanse of his muzzle straight into those vibrant red eyes.

“You’re not listeniiing~” he sing-songed in a gentle, cajoling tone full of too much teeth. He tilted his head with a patronising smile. “What cycle led you here?”

As if she could forget. “My creator was…lonely,” she murmured. “So, he made me, and eventually more of my kind.”

“Right you are! And I’m not such a big fan of that. Of your…kind,” a single deadly claw skimmed her cheek in a whisper of steel on flesh. The suggestion of it sent her heart racing. “You’re all so heavy. I can feel you.” All at once the playfulness vanished from his expression, leaving only a quiet sense of malice and frustration in his tight whisper. “The world won’t withstand the weight of too many of you.”

“So you’re here to stop me before I can even think about creating more immortals, is that it?”

“Bingo! My work here is done,” the wolf leaned back with satisfaction, and it felt like the garden could breathe again. Air entered her lungs, and the silk spinner shuddered quietly when his shadow drew away, allowing sunlight to kiss her skin anew.

With his silent warning given, the wolf swung his previously concealed sickle up onto his shoulder and happily strolled toward her humble gate, whistling an eerie tune.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she murmured, so quietly it was a surprise he heard her at all. But he halted immediately in his tracks. She could see his hackles rise a little just beneath the folds of his hood. “I’m not afraid, so there’s no reason for me to listen to you- Muerte.”

Death turned and met her even gaze. His silver fur fanned gently in the breeze, his tail flicking with agitation.

“Oho I really don’t think you want to go there,” light glinted off his sharp rows of teeth, the points glinting like treacherous mountain peaks. “True I can’t harvest your soul, but you’ve seen the life flashing before people’s eyes as I’ve taken them.”

He was suddenly there before her again, tilting her chin up with the flat of his blade. Her body automatically tensed, watching as the black specs of his pupils shined white, two moons hanging in a blood-soaked sky. “You were there, just as much as I was. You know- cordera- how painful it can be. How painful I can make it,” hot, panting breath fanned over her upturned face. Those rows of teeth were now inches from her ear as he leaned in close. “You won’t die, no- but are you really prepared to suffer me, over and over again, for breaking the rules?”

She swallowed. It was impossible not to picture the numerous grizzly ways she’d seen or heard people die.

Satisfaction leaked into his animalistic features. “Heh, thought so. Be seeing you.”

But I…I’m still alone.

Before he turned away, Death seemed to notice her expression. “If you’re really that hungry for company, then find the other heavy ones weighing this world down.”

“I don’t uh- get on well with the others,” she admitted weakly, knuckles relaxing from her death grip on the wicker basket. “We’d be living together if we enjoyed each other’s company.”

“Touché.“ He shrugged his large shoulders, resting a sickle on one with a bored look. “Well it’s not my problem, figure it out on your own time.”

Alarm flashed through her chest inexplicably as he finally turned away.

“Wait-“

“Carajo!” he hissed, glaring at her like she’d overstayed her welcome despite him being the one to approach her home. “What is it now?”

“Since you’re the one who has a problem with me creating fellow immortals- but I’m still hungry for company- the solution is right under our noses, no?” She smiled and dropped her basket to spread her arms wide, gesturing to the humble space situated on the mountainside. “You will become my companion.”

It amused her to see his dark features become blank with genuine surprise. His triangular ears perched upon his head flicked and flattened to his skull as if he’d tasted something sour.

“Cómo fue?”

“You are Death incarnate,” she said, confidence filling her tone the more she spoke. Yes- why hadn’t she thought of it before? This was perfect. “You won’t die- and I can’t be killed and won’t age. It makes sense to keep each other company.”

“You want…my company? Mine?” He shot her a look like she was crazy.

“Is that a problem?”

He tilted his head, falling silent for a long, silent moment. His eyes narrowed, sweeping over her frame as he stalked closer. “…You must be starving very badly, if your need has driven you to beg for me to be in your midst. Only the souls of the suicidal and desperate call for me.”

“I’m not quite that far gone in my apathy for life. I’m 500 years young,” she smiled, offering her human hand out to his monstrously large, silver furred one to stop him from baring too harshly down on her, stopping him in his tracks. “But yes, I am…famished,” the admission slipped out oddly breathlessly, though she was uncertain why.

His mouth slowly upturned, sizing her up in an entirely different way from before. Intrigue, perhaps? He looked just as hungry as she felt.

“Well, well. What big eyes you have,” he purred, gazing at her intently with a wicked gleam in his own red hues.

She returned his smile with one full of teeth as her hand became engulfed in fur and warmth.

From that day on, Pygmalion’s immortal bride kept Death’s company whenever he had a moment to spare.

---

End

[nikamuhlstattoo]

in a good way (1)

"i didn't know that i was capable of being happy right now...but you showed me how."

cw: angst, mentions of death/su!c!de, mentions of self-harm, marijuana usage, drinking, explicit language, slow burn (im so sorry), panic attack(??), dad joke near the end, idk what else

a/n: this isn't really my first time writing angst (not on here) buttttt im still nervy. idk how to feel. i spent a dumb amount of time on this and it still sucks!! this series is also gonna be long so i apologize. but its necessary i promise! i just feel like ppl don't write about ellie falling in love enough. all of it. i wanna see and write all that stupid lovey stuff, from the start. idk how to write so be nice (ori'llcry) also listen to this song i love it sm.

you shoot awake, beads of sweat forming on your forehead and your breath quick. in out in out in out in out. for the past month you've been plagued by nightmares, making you wake up hyperventilating nearly every night. earlier this month marked the one year since your best friend passed away.

lucy meyer, the only person who truly understood you, took her own life last year on november 3rd. there's no word in the entire dictionary to express the pain you constantly felt. you tried so hard to cope, therapy sessions after therapy sessions. nothing helped. nothing could replace the comfort of being with lucy, just knowing she existed used to bring you happiness. lonely wasn't even a good word to describe how you felt, it was so much more than that. you felt so empty without her.

you had been doing "good" before now. you made a few new friends, dina, jesse, abby, and you left your house more. but the sudden reminder of lucy's absence sent you tumbling down again. it had only been a year. how were you meant to live a whole lifetime without her? without your best friend? the dull ache you felt in your chest worsened every day without her.

your eyes stung with tears as you slowly caught your breath. you were sitting up in your, almost overwhelmingly so, cozy bed. your eyes blinked quickly and rapidly, your eyes darting across your pitch black room. you eventually shoved the suffocatingly thick duvet off your body and stood from your queen bed. you lumber over to your bathroom, flickering on the warm lights and squinting from the brightness. you slowly adjust to the nearly blinding light, rubbing your tired eyes.

what you see in the mirror looks like a whole different person. you frown, seeing the dark under eye bags and sunken face. your hair's all frizzy and messed up from the terrible sleep you were having, you flatten it with your hands. your weary eyes glance down at the picture frame that sat on the sink, picking it up to get a better look at the photo in the frame. the photo was one of you and lucy two years ago in june, it was a selfie of you both in a pool. her long and curly black hair was pulled up into a high bun on top of her head. her dark blue eyes store into yours as you examine the photo, making you let out a choked sob as a tear runs down your face.

lucy was always beautiful. she was the most beautiful person you had ever met, inside and out. she had fairly pale skin and soft features. some acne was on her chin and left, rosy cheek. she had fluffy, arched eyebrows with a slit in her left one. you remember the day she put it there. she claimed she wanted to "look more edgy" with a giggle as she lifted the razor to her eyebrow, exposing her slit wrists when her long sleeves accidentally slipped down a little.

you set the picture frame back down and wipe the tears that must've fallen from your face at some point. you didn't exactly remember when they did. you quickly piss and wash your hands before you shut off the light and walk back into your bedroom, flopping onto your warm bed. the time on your phone said 4:24 am in a bright white font. you laid on your back in your bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. you didn't fall back asleep that night.

you were so glad you had no classes today, you rarely had fridays off but you just so happened to today. you were fucking lucky too, having something as drastic as your best friend dying happen and being a busy college student wasn't for the faint of heart. currently, your closest friend at the moment, dina, was dragging you to a party with her boyfriend jesse and one of their friends, ellie, who you've never met.

"damn...i'd hit. seriously though, you look hot." she winks at you after you exit your closet, dressed in a tiny jean skirt and see-through, hot pink, long sleeved shirt. since it was fairly see-through, you could see the pink bra you paired with it underneath.

if you were being honest, you didn't want to go to this stupid fucking party. you wanted to stay home, and maybe cry a little. most of all. you wanted lucy. you needed lucy.

while you fix up your hair for the party, dina's phone buzzes. the message was from jesse, telling her that he was there and ellie was gonna meet you guys there. as you stand, dina gives you a wink and playfully smacks your ass as you roll your eyes and walk out the doorway. walking up to jesse's black jeep ranger, you slide into the back seat and dina sits in the passenger seat, dina mumbling a small "hi, babe" with a giggle. jesse smiles at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he turns his attention to you.

"yn! you hoe! i missed you, where've you been!?" jesse practically yells at you, making you flinch slightly before chuckling. you really had missed jesse.

"y'know...i have a mysterious reputation to uphold. gotta go ghost every now and then." you jokingly huff out, looking down at your lap and flattening your jean mini skirt. the words them both chuckle out a small laugh, it was comforting to hear that noise again. but you knew dina knew. she always did.

already feeling nauseous, the car pulled over and parked on the street near the house. the cool night breeze burned your exposed legs, making you shiver slightly. people were spilling out of the front door and sitting on the lawn, most people smoking with a drink in their other hand. the base boosted music could be heard from outside the house, making your head hurt already. you felt sick, you needed a drink or something.

walking past loads of drunk young adults, all three of you make it into the house, finding it fairly crowded. jesse goes off to find a place to sit while you and dina make your way to the kitchen, finding it slightly less crowded. dina poured you both shots, which you downed immediately, cringing as the liquid burned your throat. you perk up when you notice a stack of red solo cups, quickly grabbing one and pouring whatever drinks there was out into your cup, making a brown drink that hurt to swallow.

dina leaves you to find and probably make out with jesse, leaving you alone to babysit your drink. bad idea. you never could drink responsibly, finding it impossible to stop once you've started. the warm feeling that grew in your lower stomach and how your mind melted into mush was unbeatable.

"hey, you were lucy meyer's friend right?" a voice rang from in front of you, urging you to look up at the stranger. it felt like you've been here for an hour, your heels aching from the constant standing. "were". your chin quivered at the reminder of your best friend's permanent absence. you look up at the stranger, blinking away the haze in your eyes.

"uh, yeah...w-why?" you mumble out with a chuckle, tripping over your words. while drunk, everything was funny, letting you feel something good for the first time in a while.

"oh, no reason, you just looked familiar. um...sorry about what happened n' stuff.." and suddenly nothing was funny anymore. it was too crowded, too many people. you found yourself overwhelmed and suddenly you felt like you couldn't breathe. constantly breathing in warm, used air, you thought you might choke.

you don't even reply before stumbling away, almost frantically trying to get to the back door. you elbow your way through the crowds of people, not bothering to apologize to the people who curse at you. you quickly slide open the glass door to try and get fresh air. you plop down on the top step of the back porch and attempt to catch your breath, completely unaware of the person who was sitting beside you, curiously eyeing you up and down.

your elbows rest on your knees, your face in your hands as you try not to cry. maybe you were overdramatic, but just hearing lucy's name made you tear up. still unaware of the girl next to you, you sniffle and huff into your hands. suddenly there was a soft tap on your shoulder, making you jump a little as you pull your face out of your hands, looking over to your left at the mystery person.

"hey, uh...you alright?" the girl asks, scratching the back of her neck. you want the world to swallow you, bury you in a hole to never be found again.

you take a moment to take in her appearance. she had auburn hair that stopped a little above her shoulders, the layers made it almost look like a mullet and it was styled in a half-up half-down bun. she had mossy green eyes, the kind you could easily get lost in. the way her right eyebrow was slightly raised made you notice the small scar through it. you immediately thought of lucy. you wonder how she got it. her face was covered in pretty freckles, clusters of them painting constellations across her face. she had a half-burnt blunt in her left hand, her elbow resting on her bent knee.

you stare at her with wide, teary eyes, mouth slightly agape and seemingly out of breath. you blink a few times before haphazardly wiping your eyes -- trying not to smudge your makeup -- and looking away, looking up at the night sky. "fine... sorry, have you been sitting there this whole time?" you ask, your eyes drifting over to her again.

"kinda, yeah.." she responds with a quiet chuckle, huffing a small laugh through her nose. her smile makes a warm feeling flutter in your stomach. even though you literally just met her, you felt sorta comfortable around her. she had some weirdly nice presence. "you look familiar, what's your name? i'm ellie."

ellie. what a pretty name for such a pretty girl... seriously, she was crazily handsome. wait. suddenly it clicked in your head. "ellie? as in ellie williams or...?" you asked hesitantly, snapping your head to look over at her. she was already looking at you, silently admiring the way the moon hit your face.

"yeah... how'd the fuck you know that?" she asks with a laugh, her eyes narrowing at you. she shifts on the step slightly, turning to face you a little more. your knees almost touch, both of you angled at each other. there's a small smirk playing on her lips, a playful glint in her jade eyes.

her smile makes you dumbly smile as you explain, "dina and jesse told me about you, they really wanted us to meet." you're not sure why you're smiling. there isn't really a reason to smile, especially not when you think about the whole reason you came out here in the first place.

"oh shit! are you y/n?" the blunt in her hand was completely forgotten about. she put it out on the spot next to her on the old wooden steps. she shifted to face you even more, her body nearly completely turned. you did the same. you nod at her, a small smile still on your lips.

you both talk. and talk. and talk. for what feels like hours. strangely enough, being around ellie made you forget about everything. all the shit that went down last year, this dumb fucking party. all of it. you felt sorta free. you didn't think about lucy, about what you two would be doing right now, if she was still here. no. none of that. you're in the present for once in your fucking life. you didn't even think about how cold it was outside, you didn't care.

ellie made you feel free. even though you only just met her. thinking about it too hard made you feel a little crazy. 'you only just met this girl, how do you already feel so good around her?' so you don't think about that either. a loud buzz buzz came from your handbag, pulling you away from the conversation you were having. you open your phone to a text from dina.

dee 🩷: wgere tf r u girl

you: outside

you: r u guys trying to leave?

dee 🩷: yss

dee 🩷: hrry my feeet hurt

you look back over to ellie, frowning. "i gotta go."

"aww, you didn't even get to hear the rest of my cool dad jokes."

"i knowww. this stinks."

"can i at least get your number... y'know, to show you all my cool dad jokes?"

you huff a laugh through your nose and wait for her to pull out her phone. you quickly put in your number as you hear your own phone buzz again. dina was so impatient. you save your contact name as "y/n :)"

"can't wait to hear 'em all!" you joke to her as you walk back into the house.

the drive home was fine. they blasted some pop music dina loved, she screamed along to the lyrics, still plastered. they quickly arrived at your house.

you walk up the carpeted stairs to your apartment room, keys jingling in your hand. as you open the door, you flicker the lights on and kick off your shoes. fuck high heels.

home. a lot of people say "home is where i'm happy." or whatever. but its kinda the opposite for you. home is where you allow yourself to feel, where you think. your mind's not mush anymore, you can think and feel again. and all you feel is hurt. that stupid ache is back. the dull feeling in your chest that just won't budge. at home you feel like you're slowly being sucked into a black hole.

you huff and toss your bag onto the table, phone in your other hand. you shuffle to your bedroom, turning off the main lights and on your bedroom lights. you strip from your uncomfortable clothes and into comfy clothes, sleep shorts and a big t-shirt. you flicker the lights back off and flop onto your big bed, letting the comforters consume you.

you sit there for a few minutes until your phone buzzes. it's a text from ellie. she texted you on your ride home so you already saved her contact.

you stupidly smile at your bright phone screen, shaking your head and turning it back off. you plug it in and set it on your bedside table. you lay back in your bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. your hand reaches up and grabs the necklace you were wearing. it was lucy's. you rub the L shaped charm between your pointer and thumb, turning to lay on your side.

that night you dreamt of green eyes and short, auburn hair.

[skygemspeaks]

one thing i love about hive mind is amber's relationship with her strike team. I love how protective they are of her

i can't stop thinking of a time travel au where amber ends up back in her 17 year old body a year before lottery, and with her telepathy still blocked

At first she thinks she's the only one, but then she finds out that forge had broken up with shanna, and he starts hanging out with amber more and more.

Amber, after having gotten used to having the support of her unit, of being able to dip into their minds whenever she needed reassurance, is feeling horribly lonely trapped in the confines of her own mind

And now Forge is paying attention to her, and she doesn't know if she's reading the signs properly, or if elden's imprint is making her see things that aren't there. But she figures she has to give it a shot.

she asks him if he remembers lottery

And forge, who had been under the impression all this time that he was alone, is immediately elated. He picks her up in a crushing hug and spins her in an excited circle

It's hard for them both, to live their carefree lives on teen level knowing just how desperate a situation their hive is in at the moment due to claire's death. But there's nothing they can do about it.

Amber is still lonely, but at least she has one of her strike team members with her.

He's being suffocatingly protective of her though, to the point that shanna corners her one day and berates her for breaking up their relationship.

Amber had already long lost any feelings of affection she'd had towards shanna, but it still hurts to know what her once best friend thinks her capable of.

Over the course of the next few weeks, several members of her strike team slowly start making an appearance.

None of them had known where exactly hers and forge's corridor had been on teen level - all they'd known was that they had been in blue zone. Which is why when Forge and Amber arrive at blue zone's centre-point shopping area on teen level one day, three young men shout their excitement as soon as they step off the belts. Amber has only a few moments to recognize eli, rothan, and matias before they come barreling into her and speaking over each other about how excited they are to see her. They hadn't known how else to get in contact with her, but they'd figured she'd have to go shopping eventually, so they'd each shown up here separately, whenever they had the free time, and had eventually come in contact with each other.

Over the next year, they slowly make contact with more and more of the strike team, as well as the liaison and tactical members who are the same age as them

By the time Amber goes into lottery, she's already reunited with half her unit.

[ardentpoop]

hi!

I’m curious about your “redundant lightkeeper” tag. Is it dedicated to Sam&John in general, or specifically to Something Wicked?

What’s the significance of “redundant lightkeeper” as a description?

just curious. It’s a very unique tag name :)

thank you for the question I love talking about my silly little tags lmao

it is my tag for sam & john! sometimes there’s too much in my head re: a particular dynamic to adequately summarize why I tag it/describe it the way I do but I’ll try.

“lightkeeper” is a bit of irony bc it is sam’s Innate Darkness that john has to prevent from Corrupting The Family

“redundant” is bc this duty passes from john to dean and bc samndean’s suffocatingly close relationship is what eventually enables dean to do a far better job of controlling sam than john did (thru this lens stanford was a massive failure on john’s part. comparatively sam always goes back to dean!)

I also like Light for sam bc as I’ve mentioned before sam and dean’s Light and Dark roles are intentionally muddy. the Innately Dark character (sam) serves as moral compass to the Innately Light character (dean - as in supposedly “the righteous man,” supposedly the michael to sam’s lucifer, no innate “uncleanliness” to purge). but also sam is the guiding light thru the dark swamp of this canon for me <3

also also, “lightkeeper” was a striking image for john for me bc I liken him to - for example - the lonely keeper of a lighthouse. he haunts the narrative so well after his death and even before that he’s such a tortured spirit of a character; endlessly wandering, revenge-driven to his own detriment, always observing. I love him :) one of my favorite abusive patriarchs of all time <3 he can’t touch dean in terms of narrative impact and rage/terror struck into my heart (lol) but they’re both such good characters and all three - sam dean and john - are inextricable from one another. awful family 💕💕💕

[locketharted]

hiiiii manga recs with mimi time !! i read “a suffocatingly lonely death” and i honestly have enjoyed every moment of it. people have said they don’t like it because of the female lead but i adore kanon, she seems very sweet but obviously there’s something odd about her due to her circumstances growing up. i like how her and the male lead have gotten closer together though because of their connection through saeki’s brother. as of right now there’s only 23 chapters but im super interested to see where it goes from there :)

[mostlyfate]

A Suffocatingly Lonely Death. Only the ash-like snow knows that you were there.

FURITSUMORE KODOKUNA SHI YO 降り積もれ孤独な死よ 2024 — dir. naito eisuke, ninomiya takashi

[questintheskies]

[tiraviarp]

Where There is Love, There is Pain

(WARNING: this story contains implications of past character death and gender dysphoria.)

It was halfway through the annual Valentione’s Day celebrations, and Arden was in a mood.

Not any of his usual moods, anyway, the kind that would make him scramble for his ideas list and find something to sate his mind. Not a mood where he felt on the verge of exploding, or at least approaching it, and preparing himself for the fallout that would inevitably ensue.

No, it was a particular mood, one that he hadn’t felt since June of the previous year.

It was Valentione’s Day. An inescapable tidal wave of red hearts, lovey-dovey couples, and romantic marriage proposals happening in front of aetherytes for all to see.

He was here, in Gridania, at the heart of the celebrations, strapped to the side of a veritable child to promote the event, because he sucked at money management and he was promised a nice sum to be warm and excited to random people on the street.

Why did he even come here in the first place? He knew what celebration was going on at the amphitheater, yet in this mood of his, his feet took him here anyway.

And it really, really was not helping him at all.

“Valentione’s Day celebrations are being held at Mih Khetto’s Amphitheatre! There will be costumes and merrymaking and a special congregation wherein participants profess their love! Please join us if you have the time.”

The little Elezen girl, Emilie, at his side was a chatterbox once he’d shown her how to hawk something confidently. Why was he like this? Why was he seen as a good person to do this kind of job? Just because he spoke loud and brashly and was easy to grin, didn’t mean he had passion.

And certainly not passion for this. He was just here for a paycheck. As soon as the gil was in his hands, he was ready to teleport back to his sad little cottage on the edge of the cliff and deal with all these squirming, writhing feelings of frustration (and sadness?) that were threatening to burst out of his chest.

“There’s no shortage of Valentione’s gifts to choose from at the markets. By all accounts, the most popular chocolate is from the Bismarck.”

Because why wouldn’t those feelings take a break for the season? They were always there, fluctuating in strength day by day, and they just had to notice the decorations and clamour all around. Hiroc was never far from his mind, and likely never wouldn’t be.

Would Hiroc have liked chocolate? He didn’t know. He liked savory things, with lots of spices, but that was hard to come by. Maybe chocolate would’ve been too sweet for his diet of hardtack and soldierly rations. Why was Arden, of the two of them, gifted the blessing to even have the chance to know what chocolate tasted like?

And could his mind please give him a break from thinking about him this time of year?

“Are you planning to give a special someone a gift, too? Assuming you have the skills, they say nothing conveys your feelings quite like chocolate you made yourself. And if you’re thinking flowers, a red Azeyma rose never fails to please!”

Apparently not for as long as he stayed in this suffocatingly sweet place, on this job he shouldn’t have taken.

The hilarious thing about how his mind turned over and over the thought was that who was to say what they’d had was love? It wasn’t, at least not to Arden. One lonely rainy night, he’d opened up his tomestone and searched for what is love. Besides the great music that’d turned up (he’d found himself humming along with ‘baby don’t hurt me’ for a few days after that, thinking of all the people like Hrudolf that he’d - well, he didn’t need to think of that, either, and open that can of worms), he’d read through the numerous sites that came up to help poor saps figure out if they were in love or not.

Do you feel charged and euphoric around them? Check.

Do you feel like you can’t wait to see them again? Check.

Do you always make time for them? Check.

Do you idealize them? Check.

Do you mind making sacrifices for them? Check of all checks.

Yet, deep down, he knew he didn’t love Hiroc. Even if all the words were right. Love implied something…else that he didn’t know, and Hiroc and him weren’t that.

“Um…are you okay?”

Love, at least, implied that there’d be a wholehearted attempt at making chocolates and getting special roses. He’d tried, yet everything he cooked comes out as inedible cinders and burnt pans, and all of his Azeyma roses turn out black and dry, never getting the chance to bloom. If he even had the mind to make chocolates to set out at Hiroc’s grave, or gave enough care and attention to grow even a single flower right for someone, maybe that would be considered something, but he never ever had thoughts like that, so that meant -

“Arden…?”

Arden snapped out of his rumination, grunting a single “Aye” and refusing to look down at Emilie. “Let’s get this job done.”

He could practically feel the girl’s nerves return, and all that was doing was rattling around the already-jumbled thoughts in his head. Good Emperor grant him strength and resolve, he was going to have to convince her now that he wasn’t some loveless lunatic stray she’d had the misfortune of picking up off the street.

Ugh.

______________________________________________________________

“A very good day to you, miss! Do you not simply adore this sweet season of ardor and affection?”

Arden recognized that he was a horrible liar. But in place of that, he was a terrific performer, and he was putting on an award-worthy showing of an excitable Valentione’s emissary.

“It only comes around once a year, aye, but it’s such a wonderful time. When else can ya let loose the flames of passion in front of a crowd and not get gaoled fer - ow!”

Emilie’s surprisingly sharp elbow jabbed him in the side, her happy smile dropping into a disgruntled scowl for a moment. “Ignore him,” she said, picking back up her expression for the woman in front of htem. “He’s new to being an emissary assistant, and can get a little lost in the fun himself!”

“Hey, I was doin’ great,” he hiss-whispered, just as the woman laughed, “It’s quite alright! It’s great to see young ones like yourselves having a good time. Now, tell me, are you here about the Valentione’s celebrations?”

“Indeed we are!” Emilie brightened, the chance of reading from the script seeming to smooth over her annoyances. “Over at Mih Khetto’s Amphitheatre, we are hosting a delightful event with gorgeous costumes to try on and an opportunity to speak of love to your heart’s content!”

The thoughts that threatened to rampage all around his mind again, he shoved away into the farthest recesses of his mind as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Be a brat, be an annoyance, do whatever it takes to keep his mind in the now - with any luck, the woman would be offended and threaten him, and he’d be able to preoccupy himself with trying to de-escalate her before she called the Wood Wailers on him.

Unfortunately, the woman was a sprightly one, only waving him off and snickering. “Well now, what passionate, dashing, and daring emissaries you are! Thank you for the invitation - and good luck with the festivities!” And then she wandered off, leaving just the two of them.

Where Emilie previously was dragging him about too and fro, a little stammer in her voice as she announced their next target, she was now still and staring off into the distance.

Maybe all of this was done, and she was going to announce that they were done, and Arden could take his pay and leave. If that were the case, maybe he’d actually start believing in miracles and gods watching over people.

Instead, all he got was disappointment. “...Dashing?” she murmured under her breath, sighing long.

“What’s the matter?” he drawled out. “We’ve hawked t’ everyone all around. Ye’ve earned the compliment.”

Emilie turned to him, startled. Did she think that he couldn’t hear her? “I…I know it was said in kindness, but I just…” She shook her head. “No. This is no time to complain - not when Astrid’s trying so hard to do her sister proud.”

He raised a brow. Did she not like it?

“She was hesitant about the dress - said that such attire doesn’t become her - but she donned it anyway in order to be like Lisette. And she positively shines in it, don’t you think?” The girl smiled almost wistfully, picking at the cuffs of her tuxedo jacket. “It was to help her shine even brighter that I decided to wear this suit. I believed it would serve to provide contrast when we’re side by side onstage.”

Ah. He had an idea of where this was going. Something unpleasant prickled at the back of his mind, but he shoved it away.

“But this - this simply isn’t me. I’ve always preferred to look ladylike. Adorable. And being called ‘handsome’ and ‘dashing’ reminds me of how far from myself I am right now. I need to persevere, I know this. It isn’t the time to be selfish. And yet -”

Ah, there is was. Of all the times for dysphoria to rear its ugly head, it had to be now, too? Not only a big festival dedicated to love, but now gender presentation was a thing he had to deal with.

This was the worst holiday. And the worst part was that he couldn’t just leave her like this, as much as he wanted to leave and deal with his mind suddenly remembering oh yeah, you have a problem with that too!

“Yer allowed t’ wear whatever ya want, y’know? If it feels better t’ wear a dress, wear it. Hells, go swap with what’s-her-face - I’d bet she’d be thankful.”

Emilie blinked slowly, staring up at him. “You…think so? But what about our roles? It’s always been a ladylike lead, and a gentlemanly assistant. Lisette created Valentione’s in the image of herself and her partner.”

“People aren’t gonna get excited about a holiday if the leads are sufferin’,” Arden snorted. Would logic appeal to her? “Just go and offer t’ swap. I know I’d be excited t’ swap on my bad days.”

“...you too?”

Shite. That is not what he wanted her to say. He knew he was a master of digging himself into holes on purpose, but this was not the time to enjoy climbing out of it. The only way this could be worse is if he saw his reflection in a pond on the way out and see himself looking like this, instead of what he really looked like in the past and in his mind’s eye, and, ah hells, now he was intimately aware of the fact that he wasn’t feminine enough for his tastes switching at just that moment.

If only she could just go home and change into something that would feel right and get him the right type of attention. People would just see him as some stray, feral guy right now, and people like Emilie would see him as some stray, feral guy that preferred feminine to masculine, and neither would be right in this moment because nothing could ever settle down in his brain, could it? Always hungry for ideas and stimulation, always thinking about Hiroc and what could’ve been, always jumping around between different presentation styles as if it had to matter. It didn’t have to matter, if only his body actually performed right and did what he wanted it to do. It didn’t have to betray him, now did it? And it didn’t have to betray him in such a simple, way, no - it had to be extra, just like he himself.

He often wondered if this was his ultimate punishment. Never knowing what to expect and never feeling comfortable, always looking at the past for the comfort he’d never have again. It popped up in all sorts of unexpected ways - first Hiroc and this stupid festival filled with red hearts and people feeling passionate about each other, now being reminded by a tiny Elezen girl of what he lost and what she still could have, if only she would just take it.

“Yeah,” is all he said in a clipped tone, crossing his arms. “I ain’t talkin’ about it with ya, though. Go talk it out with her. I’m goin’ fer a walk.”

Without waiting for Emilie to reply, he turned on his heel and stalked away. He needed to vent some steam, quickly, before he boiled over.

______________________________________________________________

When Arden returned to Mih Khetto Amphitheatre a bell later, sweaty and undignified with thunder still tingling his fingertips, he saw that something had changed.

Obviously, the two Elezen girls had swapped clothing. At least, he thought so - even if he couldn’t remember which was which, they both looked happier, which he doubted would be the case if Emilie didn’t speak up. But there was also a different vibe around the stage, an expectant one.

Of course, the expectant vibe was pointed directly at him. He saw it in the ways both girls locked eyes before waving him over. Well, the good thing is that he’d be out of here soon, whether they liked it or not.

“I’m here fer my pay,” he said before they could say anything first.

“Arden, you’ve returned!” said the one he thought was Emilie, now dressed in an adorable suede leather dress. “We were worried about you, you know. 

“Haw? Nah, ya don’t have t’ be worried about me. I take care of myself plenty fine.”

“Do we need to be worried for the Hearers?” the black-suited one said, eyeing his still-crackling fingers. He quickly shook them out. “I hope you didn’t disturb any of the elementals.”

Arden rolled his eyes. “Just because I’m a thaumaturge doesn’t mean I go around destroyin’ things, kid. I was just tossin’ a lightnin’ ball around.” They didn’t need to know that the ball was ready to explode at the slightest touch, and that he was flinging it around trees and beasts to keep his mind occupied.

Emilie coughed into her hand at the resulting silence, offering him a small sack. “W-Well…we’ve got your pay right here. Thank you for all your help! I wouldn’t have learned to talk like an emissary if you weren’t there. Were it not for your encouragement, Astrid and I might have continued to be miserable, trying to be someone we’re not. You helped us be true to ourselves.”

“Good, good,” he replied without much thought, reaching for the bag. It felt like a nice sum, more than he’d been promised. They’d thought he’d done a good job, then, which was fine by him; that just meant he could save more for that nice ring he’d found -

“...Actually, before you go, we’d like to propose something.”

Arden stopped his motion to pocket the bag, raising an eyebrow at the girl called Astrid. “...Ya’d better not be askin’ me t’ do more.”

“We were, in fact!”

Oh, for the love of - Would this day ever end?

“Why?”

“Because I told Astrid what you told me,” Emilie declared. The traitor. “About how you felt similar to us. You didn’t say how you felt, but your words inspired us to have a conversation. As emissaries of love, our duty is to help people embrace their hearts - but how were we to do that if we didn’t embrace our own, and didn’t love ourselves and pursue our own happiness? That is what led us to swap clothes, in the end. But do you love yourself and pursue your own happiness?”

“I can’t fit into yer tiny clothes, kid, so I don’t know what yer talkin’ about -”

Emilie continued as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “I wasn’t blind to your frustration while we worked together. First it was the festivities itself that you clenched your teeth at, especially when I asked you if you had someone special in mind. Then, you got frustrated with my nerves about asking Astrid to change, saying that you felt similar.”

“We aren’t asking you to make you madder,” Astrid placated with arms outstretched. “We’re asking because the best way to learn about and understand something is to work with it, rather than hide away from it. You’ve lost someone special to you, haven’t you? And you still struggle with feeling comfortable in your own appearance?”

He could feel all that frustrated energy he’d spent time working out building back up, writhing and seething. More than that, though, a memory was bubbling to the surface, one that he unashamedly clung to as soon as it appeared:

“Yer not gonna get any better if ya don’t try, Hiroc,” she said, towering over him lying on the ground. “Don’t ya wanna be a hero? Get up - they won’t accept ya as one unless yer good.”

Hiroc closed his eyes, heaving a slow sigh. “I want t’, aye. But we’ll have t’ hurt them. I know I signed up fer this, but…”

“They’ll learn. As long as yer gentle and let them learn, they won’t see ya like they see the Garleans. Ye’ll be the bridge between Ala Mhigo and Garlemald, and they’ll thank ya! And ye’ll  be famous!”

“We’ll be famous, Arden. I’m not taking the title all for myself.” Hiroc’s eyes snapped open, and as he went to sit up, she backed up. “If I’m going to be a hero, ye’ll be right up there with me.”

“Aye, aye. Fine.” Though she rolled her eyes, she was grinning. “I’ll be the sidekick. Happy?”

And Hiroc smiled right back at her. “More than ye’d ever know.”

“Valentione’s isn’t all about being a festival of romantic love. While it can be, and it can be very passionate and bold, it’s about all forms of love. Romantic, platonic, and anywhere in-between, a love for life or something you’re passionate about…and as we’ve just remembered, a love for yourself. By working our festival and talking with our guests, we think that you could benefit.”

Which of the girls was speaking? He couldn’t tell. As he shook off the memory, his vision was a little blurred. All of that pent-up energy was suddenly gone, leaving him feeling drained.

“Not to mention, you wouldn’t go empty-handed! You’d earn a nice sum each day, plus have access to our wardrobe. You could wear whatever style you’d feel comfortable in, and switch whenever you want. You’d have time to explore that part of yourself, too, in a comfortable environment. You already know you aren’t the only one who’s felt that way!”

It was all ridiculous. A week-long event filled with red hearts and passionate professions of love everywhere was affecting him more than an entire month and a flag he’d hidden under the broken couch at his cottage, and certainly more than the technical research he’d done about himself.

Why? Why was it this way? 

“O-Of course, we wouldn’t want to pressure you into making a decision now,” said the one in the dress. Emilie. Right. “You’re welcome to think it over, or even decline outright. We won’t think less of you.”

Arden sighed long and heavy. “...Gimmie time t’ think.”

______________________________________________________________

The next day, as the sun was just beginning to rise over the Shroud treetops, Arden returned with bitten-up lips and a sobering look. Astrid and Emilie watched as he made his way to the stage.

Well. Here goes.

“...Gimmie the heart stencil”.

[sometilememes]

i've been hit and it was by @wolfythewitch's zombie au

He refuses to believe it. He ignores Phil’s skin as it changes from pink and alive to a pale, pasty gray. He dismisses how Phil’s bones begin to poke through his skin. He looks away when Phil stumbles and groans. He ignores the obvious until he can’t anymore. 

The highway stretches on for miles. Sooner or later they will arrive at a town. With that come new challenges and benefits. First, they acquire supplies. After that, they flee as quickly as they can. The more populated a town was before the more zombies now. A larger settlement means more resources but also more zombies.

It all began to blur. The past months felt like a cruel time loop. Walk. Raid a town. Walk. Raid a town. Walk. Over and over again. Nothing ever changes.

The highway was empty and quiet. It was peaceful and vast; almost suffocatingly lonely. The horizon appears a lifetime away and as he stares at the line, everything begins to fade. 

Until he sees Phil trip.

He’s lungeing before he even realizes he’s moving. His legs and arms move faster than he can think. He blinks and his hand is wrapped around Phil’s wrist. He feels nothing but the freeze of death. No blood pumps through his father's veins. His arteries have been long out of use.

The illusion is broken.

But he can’t let go.

[pulausemakau]

i know it’s been a year but does anyone still randomly get mad about random little aspects of s2 that aisling fucked with for no conceivable reason 

like i’ve ranted multiple times about the irony of aisling claiming that the show at its core will always be “about two sisters” when she literally decided to skip past the conversation aine and shona presumably had in 2x06 that led to them lying on the floor in vish’s living room... i once compared it to basically if she hadn’t shown us aine and shona’s fight in 1x06, only their heart to heart in the bathroom at the women in wealth event afterwards 

and like?? asking us to believe aine “i’ll fucking kill her” o’keefe, who screamed at shona right before her big event because shona rejected vish’s proposal and betrayed her confidence to charlotte, wouldn’t lose her mind over shona’s confession that she was fucking the woman who told her ex-boyfriend about her mental health issues? 

and like i’m so 100% behind canon braine if s3 ever comes out now, but now it’s been a year i’m just heartbroken that she made the choices she did about richard’s character

like... in s1, richard isn’t freddie’s foil. he’s shona’s. 

shona loves aine unconditionally, codependently, suffocatingly. she willingly takes on that responsibility to hover endlessly over her baby sister. someone she perceives to be weaker, more helpless, who needs her. richard is a very lonely person, who is entirely on his own, who is not naturally nurturing, who has a child foisted upon him in a situation he did not expect nor for which he was prepared. shona loves so much she gets it wrong. richard has no idea what he’s doing. his idea of care is getting etienne an english tutor, giving him books with themes of death and crime, and asking him to dinner like he’s hosting a black tie event

and it translates over to aine? richard is the only character in s1 with any meaningful screen time to hold aine truly accountable for her actions, for her self. richard has no patience for her fuckups and for her crossing any lines. richard respects her as an equal but doesn’t coddle her. 

like, the whole of s1, that’s what aine’s struggling to get. shona doesn’t respect her agency or her time. vish doesn’t respect her presence, her intelligence, or her importance in shona’s life. eileen doesn’t respect her feelings. tom and freddie don’t respect her boundaries (freddie is cheating on his girlfriend with her, he doesn’t respect anything about aine). to an extent, even brad (and emma) don’t respect her space. richard gives aine all of that, in his quiet subtle way, while also asking aine to give him that basic respect he deserves as well. he doesn’t ask her to change for him, and neither does he change himself just for her.

and above all, my fucking god, the thing about richard in s1 is that HE LISTENS!! not just to aine but to etienne! and that is the whole point!! why do aine and freddie have such shit sex? why do shona and aine end up having that explosive fight in 1x06? why is aine so frustrated with eileen and conversely why doesn’t eileen understand her youngest daughter? the entirety of s1 revolves around communication, the lack of it, and how that lack poisons every relationship we see in the series. love is nothing without communication. love is nothing if you can’t hear what the other person is saying. charlotte, at least, listens to shona. but NOBODY listens to aine. until richard. 

and i just still can’t believe that, in s2, with one single awful out of character line -

“i can’t stop her talking”

- aisling would throw all of that away.

and for WHAT?!