#all this to say that she is in a state of grieving internally

[outdraws]

between shady belle and lakay is when abigail starts seriously planning to leave the gang. ( i make adjustments depending on what events i want her to experience or remember later down the line. )

the nature is intentionally abrupt. meant to sever ties like one would a limb afflicted with necrosis. the reason why, is she doesn't really want to give herself time to think on it and potentially reverse. she does it while fully understanding she needs to live with that decision, and she does. she has to.

it does visit her sometimes, and little by little it gets easier to think about. although she does try to avoid those hypotheticals as they don't come cheaply. one of her regrets, will always be not doing enough with the other members. closing conversations too early or leaving just a second too soon.

[shotanzz]

is it me or do i like men groveling

can i request riize second chance romance if that makes sense:’)

(ur work is amazing pls continie keeping us happy^^)

i love groveling men too it’s ok anon 😗

RIIZE SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE ~ based on their birth charts

reminder this is just based off of my opinion after looking at their birth charts and what I think would happen from my own observations these things are not exact fact unless they said it themselves !

Shotaro

SO MUCH ANGST OOOH MY GOF. Would be the most mature on the outside but on the inside he’d be ☹️☹️☹️. “I don’t even care about what she’s doing” [checked your instagram and other socials to see if you’re grieving as well or seeing someone new] He wouldn’t necessarily go out dating looking for a rebound he’d focus on his craft in all honesty and might even seclude himself a little bit. I see him taking a break with his s/o instead of just flatline breaking up and once he feels like he has emotionally healed as far as he can he’d return and it would be pretty serious like in a private closed space he’d want to talk everything out and NEEEDS you to be honest abt everything but he’d just want you guys back together and for both of you to be happy.

Eunseok

(I feel like Eunseok is aware that he could potentially fall victim to the “the one that got away” trope) but anyway. He’d be the biggest nonchalanter to ever nonchalant 😭 might even try to stay mutuals/cordial with you. Would date, see other people, have a mini roster and fwbs going on. But as soon as he realizes everyone else is boring him and wasting his oh so valuable time (And he hates. To waste his time.) he’d get so irritated at himself for letting go of such a good thing and would criticize criticIZE CRITICIZEE himself. Forces himself to not run from/internalize how he feels he’d reach out again, wouldn’t be the most sappy return ever he might even joke about what happened but he’d be as honest as he could ever be and would surprisingly admit where he fucked up.

Sungchan

His pride and the hurt he carried during the time apart would hold him back so badly. Would improve himself and boss up similar to Shotaro to show you what you were missing; try to find attention and praise elsewhere. But when he realizes you did the same thing and also became better in every way possible physically, mentally…and that people still have their eye on you like they did when he first met you..he’d cave. Would HAVE to shamefully put his hurt and pride aside. Cue his dramatic serious text at 11pm and him asking how you’re doing to see if the good things he’s heard about you were true (prays you say no when he asks if you’re seeing anyone) would ask you to meet him somewhere that was important to you two and nostalgic. Almost kills him to be wrong but has to accept it 😭

Wonbin

He’d be like “whatever” since he knows that so many girls want to be in your place, might even consider sliding back to that one ex. Would be torn between just letting things go back to normal but his stubborn stagnant attitude would leave him stuck in a victim state. But then once the pain slowlyyy seeps in and that what you two had was something genuine and you were one of few people that actually understood him and physically compatible with him then on the inside he’d lose it. Would have a wayyy more sappy lovey dovey way of coming back. Cue him using music in some way shape or form as his way of coming back. Would probably want to physically see you in a place that he’s most comfortable with.

Seunghan

So so sassy. Honestly he’d walk away pretty fast but would miss you pretty fast right after. He’d hesitate but only because he knows that he probably got a little mean when you two split and that you might not even want to talk to him. Tries to go dating around but wakes up and gets it together once he sees/hears that you’re talking to someone new (10 extra points if it’s someone he doesn’t like or thinks isn’t even close to how attractive he is ) . Tries to be cool about it but is hurting inside, would ask everyone for advice. The emotional side would take over and he’d just have to listen to how he feels and think later. His way of coming back is essentially him outdoing whoever has you on their sights or him showing you the epitome of affection. He’d have to force his virgo mercury to work and speak UP and apologize.

Sohee

Would seem pretty ok and normal compared to everyone else similarly to Eunseok. Talks about you but wants to jump someone if THEY try to talk about you. (“can’t believe she’d do this” “yea she’s crazy asf” “Don’t say that ���.” ). (Cue him singing “When I was your man” by Bruno Mars 😭). He wouldn’t want to constrict and limit himself or you after the breakup so he’d also try to date/talk to other people. Has to give in and accept that thinking about you while hanging out with someone else is a CLEAR indicator that he needs to get off his high horse and return. He’d probably word vomit about how he feels about everything and apologize but also goes on this passive lecture on how you two shouldn’t allow each others feelings to rip you two apart like that again and the principle of it all.

Anton

Word vomit pt.2. Could go two ways. Way one if the breakup was on good terms/mutual after the breakup he’d probably remain friends or still be in contact with you, then once he realizes he can’t just move on at the snap of his fingers and realizes that every person he’s with has resemblance to you whether it’s physical/personality he’d impulsively talk to you and get right back if he can. If it was on bad terms it’d feel pretty cruel ngl like you’d feel like he kinda just disappeared and made his way elsewhere..but once he’s alone with his thoughts he’d have to realize the errors of his way or the faults on his side he’d IMPULSIVELY come forwards with how he feels, would probably ask you to dinner and have the conversation there and says everything that he has to.

[witchofhimring]

Loyalty Chapter 16

Synopsis: Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Ellyn Baratheon

Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

Jaecerion Targaryen x Reader

Jason Lannister x Reader (minor)

(more to come!)

Y/n Tyrells Profiles

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, childbirth, emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external), brief depictions of smut, moontea/abortions, suicide, mentions of rape (not to the reader), Plot twist at the end!

They say when one dies there should be as few regrets as possible. Many spend their lives making sure that when the hour comes, they can look back with satisfaction. You were not dying, but your living days were over. With the sentence came the end of life. Your body may be breathing, your mind conscious, but your state of existence would be of less than a ghost. Your room was a tomb and your dull green dress funeral garb.

Regret was a heavy cross to bear. Tossing and turning you thought of all the moments you could have done something. Every interaction was analyzed, baked in your seething impotent hatred. Sometimes you wished for death. Others you imagined bursting out of the prison cell and killing every last one of them. Eating, drinking and sleeping in woe you wondered if this was madness. If it was you greatly lamented it. Could your madness have not made you unaware so as to spare you further suffering?

They say the gods punish those non believers. And your subs had been great. In hell you were, no need to die. Every day yawned onto a new dark night where you lingered in purgatory. You might have prayed. ‘But none can hear my prayers now.’

You were beyond the help of men.

To say you had no visitors would be a lie. Every few days Cerilla would come in and read from The Seven Pointed Star. Her favourites were on whores and adulteresses who met bad ends. At times like these you tuned her out. It was easier in a way. Being locked alone made you so used to the silence it could be overwhelming. She was like a fly you could not catch. Irritating, but so miniscule. The trial and constant anguish had drenched your fire. Where once you might have spat and clawed her beautiful white face, oh those days. Their like would not be seen in this life.

'No!' With a great wail you were wrenched out of sleep. A horrid agony seized you with such ferocity it was painful. Doubled up you moaned; 'No...no...' Slipping off the bed onto cold stone floor you were a lowly creature. Burning tears streamed down a cold worn face. The day before Cerilla had read Fate of a Sinner, a story where an evil queen was locked up for the rest of her days. Grieving over her loss the queen raged unrepentantly, for she had been evil. When the last of her hope was killed the queen shriveled up, never to set out again. You felt like that queen, crumpled to dust on the ground.

All night you remained on the ground. Not even the cold could encourage you to get up. 'I fear I shall never get up again.' Despair triumphed over sadness.

Only thoughts of Owen kept you sane. 'She will not kill him. Jenna needs him.' Then you would go to sleep, for that was the only way to escape. Mercifully your dreams were sweet. Small mercies.

What would Owen think of you in the years to come? One day he would be Lord of Highgarden. Should you be alive in such a time, then who knows. So much could happen. There was a small glimmer of hope at you imagined freedom in the future. It was not something you wholly believed in. Maybe when you were younger, but the years had stripped that from you. You contented yourself with the knowledge that whatever happened, Owen was safe.

'Your son is dead.' Cerilla did not even give you any warning. She simply came in and mentioned your only childs death as if it were the weather. Immediately you understood the truth. The glint in her eyes and the crow of her voice said everything. Owen, your son, was dead. 'Di you kill him.' The voice was not your own. Pitched and ragged it belonged to a mad woman, someone who was not you. All you could think of was Owen. Owen who was your son. Owen who was dead.

Cerilla did not stay for long. She mentioned about just having gotten back from King's Landing, something about Tyshara. And then she was gone. There was no need. Cerilla had succeeded in utterly break you. She would not visit you, there was no reason to. Now you were just some childless madwoman left to die alone and unloved. All the dead swam before you and into the arms of despair you fell. And there the specter of Owen, Jeacerion, your father and all the dead stood, blue dripping from their mouths.

Alicent Hightower was breathing her last. Day and night merged into one as the hour of her death drew nearer. She was so, so cold. Her sight was unfocused. There was a window and sunlight, but her eyes did not register these things. Someone was sitting by her bed, murmuring.

The white dress she was felt soothing against skin. When all the green was cleared she felt a sense of relief. Only white adorned her room, pure innocent white. Alicent had not worn white except to bed since her wedding day. She had always thought death would be scary, but right now she welcomed it. She was drifting away from this sad world of men. She only prayed regret would not follow her to the afterlife.

She mumbled something in the midst of her delirium. Her eyes burned from crying. The figure leaned in forward and said something. The former Querns mouth opened as wispy words tumbled out. And she saw their faces….oh their sweet faces. ‘I want to see my sons again, and Helaena my sweet girl, oh…and Rhaenyra. I will read to her under the Weirwood tree as we did when we were little. Flying around on Syrax eating lemon cakes.’ And ahead she saw clouds. Soaring above she saw them flying on dragons. And she was amongst them, older, but happier. There was a dull ache as she dreamed of what could have been. A world where women had a say in their destinies. 'In another life, pray I make the right choices. Let me be happy in heaven.' Happy as she had not been in life. As Alicent drifted away her thoughts were of those she loved.

Tyshara stood above Owen’s crib. She had never met her younger brother. He was small and very cute. Despite that woman’s colouring the babe looked very much like her father. Tyshara had entertained the possibility of Y/n having an affair. But she had never truly given it any real credence. Reaching down Tyshara brushed hair out of Owen’s face. Tyshara wondered if she could hate the babe. But now the very idea seemed ridiculous. Picking him up, Owen rested his little head against her shoulder.

‘He has no mother now.’ And something heavy fell into her stomach. Yes, there was a reason, and she had seen to it. Tyshara comforted herself with the notion Owen was better off without a murderer for a mother. That night she slept.

Highgarden was everything she dreamed of. Lucious gardens, flowers large as her head, tea parties with lemon cakes, warm night with stars twinkling. She missed her sisters but Jenna Tyrell and Cerilla Swann were always nice. Two of her friends joined. Karina her cousin and Lolly Payne joined and provided a blanket of security. She made new friends, including Jenna Tyrell’s good-daughter Florice Swann. She had been nervous when told she would be sent to Highgarden as a ward. But so far everything was very nice indeed.

‘Did you hear that Y/n Tyrell is coming back to Highgarden?’ Startled, Tyshara gapped at Cerilla Swann. ‘Truly? How come?’ Tyshara did not much look forward to seeing Y/n Tyrell slinking about the castle. ‘Yes. We have suitable room for a woman of her….situation.’ ‘I won’t have to see her, will I?’ Cerilla laughed. Unlike her other laughs this one sent unpleasant tingles down her spine. ‘Oh, no. Y/n will never be free again. I assure you that.’ Somehow this did not cheer Tyshara up. Something ugly stirred within. For now Tyshara decided to ignore it.

'A letter from my father's uncle?' Tyshara was paying a visit to Jenna Tyrell as she normally did. Once a day Jenna summoned her to speak over tea. These gatherings were very nice. She enjoyed cakes and treats from Essos. Jenna was kind enough. They flipped through books and Jenna gave her advice. 'Always keep your ears open, my child. A man may have his sword, but we posses other weapons.' Thinking it sage advice Tyshara hung onto every word. Jenna sat in a great oak chair. Tyshara had never met a queen before, hand queen Helaena or Alicent lived she might have been a lady in waiting. All she had were picture books of queens long past. Her favourites had always been Good Queen Alysanne and Visenya. Alysanne had been a just queen in her day, and Visenya had answered every challenge with bravery. It may be odd to idolize both women, as one gave birth to the man who terrorized the other. Maybe she just admired bravery. As a little girl Tyshara dreamed of meeting such a queen. Seeing Jenna sitting there looking every inch regal Tyshara was nearly blown away.

'My Lady.' Tyshara dipped into a curtsy. The great lady gave a smile and Tyshara blushed. To have the attention of such a woman. 'Lady Tyshara, please sit.' Tyshara sat down, careful to straighten out her dress, discretely. Jenna had given her a new green dress. Hanging off her shoulders the silk flowed behind her. A golden ribbon adorned her hair holding it up. Tyshara noticed the rings on Jenna's fingers. There were several, glittering and standing out. The one that caught Tyshara's attention, however, was the most plain. Well, by most standards it would not be considered plain. The gold circular disk had a rose embedded into it. Long ago the Tyrells had been stuarts of Highgarden. Tyshara found it funny that the Gardeners were gone only for a flower to be the lands symbol. It rested, shining on Jenna's finger. The ring had been passed down through the past hundred or so years, to be worn by the Lady of Highgarden. The Lady of Highgarden.

Wait.....was it not Florice Swann, Cerilla's elder sister, who was Lady of Highgarden. Granted she had hardly seen the true Lady of Highgarden. Cerilla told her Florice was a reclusive sort. Still it was rather odd that the ring remained with Jenna.

Jenna set aside the parchment. 'As mentioned, your great uncle has sent word from Casterly Rock. You are to attend the Maidens Ball as a candidate for queen." Tyshara nearly leapt from her seat with joy. Her a queen! Tyshara's noble heritage had always entailed prospects of a fine marriage. But to be a queen! There would be others of course. She had no doubt Lady Baratheon would put her girls out. But she had seen the Baratheon girls (at least the two remaining, Ellyn having died of poison and Floris in childbed). Sugars knew she was by far the prettiest.

‘While you are there I want to hear what is going on at court. Normally I would go myself but these troubled times call for certain sacrifices. Could you do that for me?’ Rushers readily agreed, of course she would. It felt good to be so important, bring a future queen and companion of Jenna Tyrell. ‘I will be a great lady.’ She thought.

Later that day Tyshara ran up to Cerilla’s room. Upon arrival she noticed Cerilla sitting with her sister Florice Swann. There were few similarities. The elders hair was the colour of straw and had a drowned quality to it. Her pale parlour gave her no glow that young women of her age were said to have. While Cerilla’s brown eyes sparkled nearly like gold Florice’s own looked dull. Never before had Tyshara seen such an unhappy woman.

‘Tyshara, how good to see you.’ Graciously Cerilla stood up and took Tyshara by the hands. She lead her to the table where cakes and tea were laid out. Florice’s thin boney hand stretched out taking the cup. Shaking she brought it to her lips. Was she ill? Worried, Tyshara looked to Cerilla. Yet Cerilla looked unbothered. Tyshara wondered if she should say anything. Finally, she decided to remain silent. Of course they would realize Florice was less than healthy. And anyway it may be rude to inquire on such a personal matter. So Tyshara said nothing.

‘That is a lovely dress you are wearing.’ Cerilla smiled with a simple ‘Thank you.’ Cerilla’s dress was similar to Jenna’s with long draping green sleeves. Today Cerilla’s long reddish gold hair was in a half up-do which Tyshara admired. She considered doing the same some time. ‘You look lovely yourself.’ Florice’s voice was wispy and the only reason Tyshara heard it was because of how few people were there. Tyshara quickly composed herself. ‘Thank you, My Lady.’ Tyshara sat down and the three of them ate and talked. Though the talking was mostly done by Cerilla and herself. ‘Tell me, where did you get that bracelet?’ Tyshara looked down at the ruby bracelet sparkling in sunlight. ‘It was a gift from my father, passed down through generations.’ This explanation was not entirely truthful. It was an heirloom but it belonged to a collection passed down to every Lady of Casterly Rock. When she heard her father was remarrying Tyshara took what she could. It gave her satisfaction to know Y/n would not get everything that belonged to her mother. ‘A worthy lady of Casterly Rock may have this bracelet, no one else.’ And so Tyshara kept it for herself. She fully intended to give the bracelet to Owen’s future wife, but that was years away. For now, however, it remained with her, a worthy lady of Casterly Rock.

‘And that is The Mother, see?’ Tyshara held Owen in her arms. He was old enough to hold his head high. By now Owen had gotten used to her presence and so no longer fussed. Tyshara was thrilled to have a brother, even if that woman was his mother. There had been another brother. The birth that had taken her mother’s life produced a boy, weak, who only outlasted their mother by a day. The only thing that gave Tyshara comfort was that her mother had died thinking the baby would live. It made Tyshara angry that her mother tried so hard for so long to have a son only for some woman to sweep in and triumph in only a year. The bitterness was still there, dwelling like a malignant tumor.

'I will be this boy's mother. He won't need her.' Tyshara convinced herself. And with that woman gone she could pretend there was no other woman, that they shared the same parents. It did not matter that they looked so different. He was her beloved brother and she would do anything to protect him. Her beloved baby brother.

She read to him all the stories her mother once had. They were all happy tales with no sad ending. Just light, justice and good triumphing over evil. Just as the world was made to be. Tyshara enjoyed, at night, hiding in her room and having Owen snuggled up in the sheets. A makeshift fort was built like she was still a little girl. Safe and cozy under blankets she slipped into another, happier, world. 'You will be just like one of those knights, Owen. A brave true man who stands up for justice.' It sounded so silly but Tyshara liked to think of herself as a sort of mysterious guardian. Like the handmaidens of The Mother. Looking after the young. With those sweet sentiments, she was lulled into sleep, blocking out the waking world.

She had thought that while those stolen nights allowed her to dwell in dreams, daytime was not so bad. Tyshara could look in those picture books she loved so well and compare them to her life. Jousts, masked balls, fabulous dresses, feasts and laughing the night away. She even had several suitors. At ten and six Tyshara was a woman now and had been turning heads for years. Like most Lannisters she was golden haired with green eyes. Tall and lithe with a slender waist she stood out amongst all the others. It gave her a great deal of joy to be the center of attention. Being fabulously wealthy also helped. New dresses for ever night, glittering in moonlight. 'I am a princess in a story, soon to be a queen.' swept up in the moment Tyshara could only think of how happy she was. Oh how happy she was! 'Let it never end.' She prayed.

Maiden's Day Ball was to take place at the heart of power. With little Jaehaera Targaryen's death Aegon the Third would need a wife. It did not matter than he was miserable, or that every night he awoke in terror, he was king. There was never room for things such as emotions, or pity for a little boy. Tyshara thought of none of these things. Not that he was just a boy, or that her father helped defeat his mother. Not once did she even truly consider him. Sure, she did not expect to bed him, or even feel love. She just saw the crown un all its splendor. When little the idea she might marry Aegon Targaryen, firstborn living son of Viserys, had floated around. That had fallen through with the insistence he marry his sister. At the time the refused had hardly bothered her. Being so little Tyshara had other matters. Such as what was for desert that night. But now and then she considered it. In dreams Tyshara dreamed of bring like a fairytale princess. And now she would be one for real. A beautiful queen coming after war and bloodshed.

They set out in great splendor. After spending months in Highgarden it would be hard to leave. But leaving for King's Landing! There would be celebrations there too. Jenna Tyrell would not be coming, to Tyshara's surprise. Jenna had been invited. But being busy with post-war matters was an understandable reason. No one else was surprised. Apparently Jenna rarely left the confines of her castle. Thankfully Cerilla would be coming along with several other ladies, including Katrina. All bundled into carriages they feasted on sweetmeats and cakes, playing cards and telling stories. They all talked about who was wearing what. They took the greatest interest in gossip and idle chatter. It was a blessed relief after two years of war and misery.

As much as Tyshara looked forward to the ball it was starting to get cold. Highgarden had a cold tinge that was easy to ignore. But despite going south, Tyshara found that the closer to King's Landing they were, the colder it was. Thankfully she had several sturdy cloaks Tyshara had done up. The weather was no true issue. Excitement was so infectious Tyshara cared not a fig for something such as weather. There were greater matters.

Whispers Tyshara paid little head to were the beginning. Of course the roads were not totally safe after a was such as this. Some maidens died or were horribly injured, so they said. But their retinue was so large that Tyshara cared not. Certain maidens were pleased to hear of such morbid details, including a rumor that one girls had her face slit open, nose in half, as it meant less competition. Tyshara tried to put it out of mind. 'Likely a rumor.' One day Tyshara went out of the wheelhouse to ride horses instead. Accompanying her was Katrina and other such friends. Naturally she was not without guards so they were all perfectly safe. Riding on ahead Tyshara enjoyed the wind rippling through her blonde hair. She truly looked a sight, so beautiful with tumbles of hair in curls. 'Katrina, hurry!' They sped on, Katrina laughing. Tyshara was filled with happiness. Soon she would be in King's Landing and Gods willing be queen.

Crack!

There was a scream and Tyshara's horse bolted forward. With a great cry she clung on. The world became a haze of panic and confusion. Fingers slipped and with a thrill of fear Tyshara realized she was falling. Wind was knocked right out of her as Tyshara landed. Both teeth and brain rattled, every bone shook. People were all over her when Tyshara needed space. Someone picked her up and in her pain did not realize immediately what had happened. When the world was back in focus Tyshara realized a great tree had fallen. And under its great body was the crumpled form of Katrina.

She was not celebrating anymore. The horror of seeing Katrina being crushed under such a weight tore at Tyshara. Her dear sweet friend was gone. Any joy there was dissipated, replaced by the feeling of something cold. Staying in the wheelhouse Tyshara held a figure of The Mother. May she guide Katrina in the after life. News of other mysterious deaths were no longer simply speculation. She cursed herself for not paying attention. Otherwise Katrina might be alive. Cerilla seemed oddly detached from the situation. The normally fun loving woman seemed to not care that such a young girl had died. 'At least it was not you.' Cerilla said as if that were comforting.

People grieved but they forced themselves on. Suddenly Tyshara wanted to flee home. Casterly Rock was her haven, not this castle Tyshara had only visited once before, during the trial. This journey felt so much worse. In stoic silence Tyshara remained for the rest of journey. The absence of Katrina widening.

King's Landing was silent, eerily so. The smallfolk looked out through their windows at the lavish procession before them. A chill had descended over the quiet city. Tyshara had heard the stories of riots. Angry smallfolk sweeping through the streets killing all in their path. They had even managed to kill dragons. And yet now these people remained hidden. Perhaps they had enough of fighting.

The Red Keep, on the other hand, was bustling with life. Decorations of white lilies festooned red stone. Silk draped from windows like banners. Perfume emanated from lanterns in an attempt to disguise the stink. Carriages had been pulled and people were escorted inside. When Tyshara arrived she was helped out and could hear music. The scene was truly beautiful, and there was a painful pang as Tyshara thought of how Katrina would have loved it. What Katrina would not have liked was the very clear tension. Something was off and Tyshara felt someone come up behind her. Alarmed, Tyshara spun around to see a large horse, its rider proudly sitting. Unwin Peake bore the crest of his house, imperiously looking down on her. 'Lady Tyshara.' His voice dripped with pomp. 'I am a Lannister you fool.' She thought. Who did this man think he was? Behind him was Myrielle Peake, a little girl with pale feeble features. In her hands was a doll, why he let her Tyshara did not know.

After that frosty reception Tyshara was ushered inside to get ready. Every candidate was expected to present themselves before king Aegon the Third. Bathed, Tyshara was dressed in Lannister finery. Proudly on her wrist glittered the bracelet. Walking though the halls she truly felt like a queen. Unlike last time she was here for a show and dressed as such. During Y/n's trial she had been advised to dress modestly. The double doors were thrown open and a herald bellowed 'Lady Tyshara of House Lannister!' The crowd parted and Tyshara's self importance doubled.

King Aegon shocked Tyshara. She had not seen the king before. Of course she had not expected to see a warrior or a strong handsome man. What she saw was not a boy, less than a ghost. Never had she seen a such a miserable child. His silver locks hanging limply, King Aegon looked forlornly out at her. She knew he was still a boy, but by the Gods he looked far younger than his years! He looked about ready to topple over with a single gust of wind. Tyshara pulled herself together. 'Think of queenship.' She suffered his dark look and curtsied. He gave a nod and then just like that it was over. Relived, Tyshara blended into the crowd. Another name was called and Tyshara knew that had Katrina lived, she would have been next.

The next few days were filled with banquets and dances. She was not obliged to attend the king, thankfully. In fact, Tyshara could have spent the rest of her life without seeing the forlorn boy. Thoughts of queenship abandoned she resolved to enjoy the festivities. Plays bawdier than she had ever before dared to see, costume parties and hunts were carried out. Rings set with emeralds were passed around and Tyshara wore in on her slim finger. But every now and then, no, more often than that, she remembered Katrina. In those moments she paused in her tracks. Before bed she prayed for Katrina's soul, and in those dark hours thought of others. One must unburned themselves before The Seven, otherwise how can they be truly clean? Tyshara had always tried to be good, dutiful daughter and sister. But something nagged at her conscience. They say when a death happens one becomes thoughtful. Unbidden, Y/n came to mind. She had tried to banish the image of that bedraggled sickly looking woman. Before it had been so easy to hate her, the woman who wore her mothers things. Gold and ruby had been replaced by rags. It was harder to hate her.

Tyshara found Cerilla giggling over a letter. Curiously she walked over. 'What is it?' With a grin that sent Tyshara's stomach clenching Cerilla shoved the letter into her hands. 'You will be glad to hear of this I recon.' Jenna's wax stamp still lung to parchment. The woman's small curved writing was hard to read, but Tyshara managed. What she read was not pleasing, not in the slightest. 'Is this not cruel?' Tyshara protested without thinking. Surely, even with who she was, Y/n did not deserve such treatment. A murderer she might be, but something did not feel right and Tyshara could not put her finger on it. Alone in a dark cold cell made her shiver. As a little girl her septa showed pictures of damnation. 'This is where the bad go.' One image that stood out was a cell. It had only one sole occupant, doomed to eternity in solitude.

Cerilla's laughter shook Tyshara. For the first time Tyshara was afraid of this girl. It had been easy to talk with Cerilla and lambast Y/n. She told her all sorts of things. Of how Y/n was with Jaecerion every waking hour. Or perhaps it was that way? Or not? Tyshara could not truly remember. Only that she had said the words. Savage anger had coursed though her. An anger deflating by the day. 'We will not let her die, not yet at least.' Tyshara felt she may be sick. 'Why do you hate her?' Tyshara had always assumed it was because of Y/n's true personality. A scheming evil little whore. But Tyshara was finding the rage Cerilla held quite alarming. Horrifyingly so. Cerilla tossed her head sending red locks cascading down. 'Lady Jenna tells me everything. She is a horrid creature who tried to steal my sisters husband. 'I thought Y/n grew up in King's Landing.' Tyshara knew that Y/n grew up in the Red Keep and Jenna's son in Highgarden. 'My lady's son came to King's Landing on occasion.' Cerilla shrugged as if this was no big deal. She did not seem to realize how truly disturbed Tyshara was.

Tyshara brought the subject up no more. It was not needed as Cerilla could not see, to keep Y/n out of her mouth. There was just something not right about Cerilla's hatred. And the stories she told started to not make sense. She still remembered how Cerilla had prodded for stories about Y/n before the trial, how she herself had spilt out words, suspicions she told a fact. And as Cerilla spun tales of Y/n, and others, Tyshara felt caught in a web.

Owen's nanny had written on his progress. Tyshara was glad to hear he was well. By now Tyshara was torn between returning to Highgarden or Casterly Rock. She missed her little sisters, even the bastard ones. More than ever she missed Katrina and wished to pay her family a visit. Already a letter had been sent yet that felt insufficient. She considered summoning Katrina's younger brother over but decided not to. Soon she would leave.

Tyshara sat in her bed fingering the ruby bracelet. So many times she had seen it on her mothers wrist. Cerilla entered and Tyshara placed it on the table. The silk sheets were soft and the bed heavenly. Despite that she was careful to remain stationary. Cerilla slid in next to her and pulled up the covers. Cerilla seemed quite unbothered, as usual. 'Who do you think the king will marry?' Tyshara shrugged, she had not been keeping track. 'There are a lot of pretty maidens this year.' Cerilla continue. Tyshara did not want to continue the conversation, because Cerilla held the tone of one setting..... something up. Tyshara was too tired and too weary to carry on at the moment. Laying down her blonde head Tyshara tried to fall asleep.

'You knew, they say the king may marry you.' Her eyes flew open. Not turning around, Tyshara's ears were shop. Suddenly it was like sleeping next to a panther. Feeling Cerilla slide closer, the bed dipping, Tyshara suppressed a shudder. How could she ever have liked this girl? 'Lets see, you, Cassandra Baratheon, a few others I recon. Do you wish to marry the king?' This time Tyshara turned around. The question made her feel invaded, and slightly indignant. 'And if I did?' Tyshara rolled over and closed her eyes, praying for sleep.

Tyshara had taken to watching Cerilla's moves. There was just something off about her. There was something else that off put her, apart from Cerilla's malice towards Y/n. Cerilla was watching her too. A tension had grown between the pair of them. Of course Tyshara was not fool enough to voice any of this. By now she was sure going back to Casterly Rock was for the best. First, she would gather Owen. It was about time he come to his seat. Jenna would hopefully be understanding.

Dear Lady Jenna,

I hope this letter finds you well. I would like to thank you for your patronage these past few months. Owen, I am sure, is under the best of care under your supervision, which is why it pains me to say he must leave for Casterly Rock. Your hospital is greatly appreciated and I will always be grateful for your kindness. I will return to Highgarden once I receive permission from Lord Leon Lannister. I pray to The Seven that our friendship shall remain.

Sincerely,

Tyshara Lannister

Thankfully Tyshara did not need to write a letter to Leon Lannister. Her great uncle resided in King's Landing thanks to this ball. After sending the letter out Tyshara headed off to Leon Lannister's rooms. They were situated in the Hand's Tower, although he was not part of the council. Dressed in Lannister finery, bracelet included, Tyshara sought an audience. Looking surprised, Leon met with her. They exchanged pleasantries before getting down to business. 'My brother should take up his seat. Naturally you will remain regent but the west should get to know their lord, should they not.' Leon had a thinning goatee that Tyshara found slightly ridiculous. He stoked the hair while pondering quietly. 'I suppose.' He did not sound totally sure, which made Tyshara nervous. Why should Owen not go back to Casterly Rock? Seeing the look on her face Leon quickly agreed. But Tyshara was warry.

Each morning Tyshara would wake up and write letters. Her sisters wanted to know about the ball , her friends the same and she wrote to Jenna. It was just small things, the comings and goings of the court. Tyshara wrote about her discussion with Leon Lannister, how he had consented to her return. What Tyshara did not enclose was his odd behavior, but Jenna did not have to know that.

'Getting ready to leave so soon?' Cerilla appeared by the door as Tyshara was taking an inventory of all her things. Not looking up from the list Tyshara said 'Yes. Then I will be leaving.' Cerilla raised an eyebrow. 'Some other ladies are leaving. The ones that are not injured or maimed have started packing. They may fear that once chosen to be queen they will be harmed. Tyshara was only half listening, thoughts of her siblings. 'It is a pity your sisters are not here.' Cerilla took a step forward. 'Too young.' Even then Cerilla did not look up. She did not leave, instead hovering like some malignant specter. 'Is there something you would like to tell me?' Tyshara was starting to get impatient, sounding more aggressive than a lady of her standing aught to. 'Do you still wish to marry the king?' And Cerilla was right behind her, breath blowing at the back of Tyshara's slender neck. Tyshara said nothing.

She should have said something, anything to derail Cerilla from her plan. Tyshara might have noticed Cerilla's malice, but not the depths it would go. For the next two days they said little to one another. As her departure time came closer Tyshara looked forward to seeing Owen. One night she was packing away the gifts, dressed for the girls and a little wooden sword for Owen. Once that was done Tyshara washed her face and get ready for bed. A maid came in and laid out the next days clothes. As Tyshara drifted off to sleep she did not notice that the door remained unlocked.

She woke up to rough shaking and shouting. Groggily she stirred awake to find an angry face over hers. A septa was shouting overhead, shaking Tyshara by her shoulders. With a gasp of pain Tyshara was awake. Crying out Tyshara launched herself back in fright. Hitting a body, she turned to see a boy, not much older than herself. Surrounding her bed were three others. Screaming, Tyshara hit the boy. 'Who is this!?' 'Do not play the innocent with us Tyshara Lannister. He was spotted sneaking into your chambers several hours hence.' 'But I am not at fault!. This boy is unknown to me!' Her pleas fell on deaf ears. She was quickly forced to changed and taken to the office of Lord Unwin Peake.

If Unwin Peake scared her before it was nothing to the fear she felt now. A snarl played on his thing worm like lips. In the room with him were two guards, Leon Lannister and, to Tyshara's surprise, Cerilla. 'Lady Tyshara, sit.' Under any other circumstance Tyshara might have reminded this man who she was. But alone and friendless she felt so small. Tentatively she sat down on the chair. 'This very morning you were caught abed with a stable boy. And do not lie we all saw it.' Tears rose in Tyshara's eyes, both from the unfair accusations and distress.' 'I...I swear I have no idea who this boy is I....' She could not continue any longer. 'Lady Cerilla told us you had been having carnal relations with this stableboy since your arrival. Tyshara gave Cerilla a horrified look. Surely she wouldn't have....

'You will be sent back to Casterly Rock immediately. You are a shame to your family and house.' Cerilla was quick to interject. 'My Lord, pardon my interruption but Lady Tyshara resides in Highgarden.' 'Very well. Lady Tyshara you will go to Higharden to collect your brother.' Leon Lannister was the next to speak. 'I see no need for her to go to Highgarden. We can have her things brought to Casterly Rock.' Unwin nodded. ' But My Lords, my brother-' They did not care what she had to say. 'You will go back to Casterly Rock.' Unwin Peake ordered. There was no pity in his eyes, only a sick triumph. Stung by the anger and injustice of it all Tyshara called out 'wait'. They all scrutinized her. 'Let me prove my innocents.'

When Tyshara asked to clear her name she had not imagined this. She was brought into a room where several septas laid her back. When they entered the cold metal all Tyshara felt was pain and humiliation. It was over in a moment and afterwards she was cleaned up and brought before the lords. Humiliation coursed through her veins as she hobbled into the office and needed help sitting down. These cold hard men were staring her down, the little insignificant girl she was. Her hymen was broken, although no one mentioned that a hymen could easily be broken upon a horse. Most noble girls lost their maidenheads to such activities. Cerilla then got up and mentioned that Tyshara was up late into the night. This was the truth but Cerilla was alleging something she knew not to be true. A maid was brought in and probed. The things in the beginning she said were true, that Tyshara stayed up late, that she requested tea and went for nighttime walks. The the story was spun, so that these walks and staying up awake were spent in sin, that the tea was of a certain type. And by the end they all thought her guilty.

She was finally leaving. Despite the disgrace she had endured it was a relief to leave King's Landing behind. There was the double satisfaction of having Unwin Peake's plans being foiled. Despite all the deaths and mutilations to make his daughter queen it was Daenaera Velaryon who would be queen. By new Tyshara was sure he had Katrina killed. Oh how she desired vengeance. But what could a woman of her position do? A Lannister she might be, but still a woman.

Tyshara would be heading right back to Casterly Rock. Her companions sat in stony silence all the way there. If only Katrina were here. It wounded Tyshara how not a single one of them spoke up in her defense. Now they all thought her guilty despite all the years spent together. Counting back the days till she arrived at Casterly Rock Tyshara thought of her siblings. Cerelle would be glad to have her back. Caren had been so little when she last saw her. Briefly her thoughts went to Crissa, her bastard half-sister. She had died the day the Ironborn invaded the Westerlands, along with her mother Lady Redwyne. She had hated her fathers mistress too. But after finding out the woman's grim hate it was hard.

The moment she arrived back at Casterly Rock she fell into Cerelle's arms. They hugged each other and cried. 'I missed you so much.' Tyshara sobbed. 'I too. And I am so sorry.' 'Oh Cerelle, you have nothing to apologize so.' Hugging her tighter, Cerelle said 'Owen-' Tyshara quickly broke apart. 'Owen? What happened?!' The look on Cerelle's face was pure horror.

When Cerelle told Tyshara Owen was dead she could not truly comprehend what she meant. Dead? Owen? And then suddenly she was screaming, a long drawn out wail. Everything was dark and wretched. Somehow she was taken to bed and left there to whither. Every breath was agony. This had to be some horrid nightmare. At some point Tyshara asked if Y/n knew. She probably did.

The days dragged on like she was being hauled over sharp stones. Sinking into the soft covers Tyshara was in purgatory. She thought of a storybook in which a queen was punished and locked up left to whither alone. And there she dwelt within herself until Owen's body arrived. Taking off every piece of finery, including the bracelet, Tyshara now wore black, was draped in it. During his funeral in the sept she was beyond the tears. Statues of The Seven looked down upon Owen's body with care, hers with judgment. Once the funeral was gone and everyone left Tyshara watched as they loaded his body into the stone casket. He would sleep for eternity bellow Casterly Rock, in the great Lion Vault.

Late that night Tyshara headed out alone. She crept through the silent passages, keeping to the darkness. When her own mother passed Tyshara visited the crypt one final time to gaze upon her face. After that she had never done it again. Same with her father. Tyshara wondered if Y/n would lay here when dead. Probably not, likely in the garden in they were kind. The entrance to Lions Vault were two iron carved lions, rubies set into the metal. They let her in without a word. As a Lannister this was her right. There was a long gallery held up by marble pillars. Tapestries worn by centuries depicted the arrival of House Lannister. Some of these tapestries hailed back to a time where the Lannisters were kings, not mere lords. She walked passed the countless carved statues until she arrived at one newly built.

Owne was depicted as a child, his likeness sending a shard of pain through Tyshara's heart. 'I am sorry.' She said. Hopefully he could hear her. Tyshara then fumbled around the edges of his crypt. The Lannisters had a small secret few others knew. But every coffin was built so that the cover could be easily moved. She found and pulled the pulley. With a crunch it slid open to reveal her brother. He looked so tiny, even for his young age. Tyshara reached down and shuddered when she felt his stiff skin. Her thumb crushed his lips and she smeared off skin. Recoiling back Tyshara thought there was dead skin on her hand. But upon closer inspection she realized it was not her brothers remains, but paint. Leaning in Tyshara inspected her brothers face. There was blue on his lips.

Tyshara stumbled back. Not even breathing her heart was bumping furiously. A hand went to her mouth. Taking off the blindfold Tyshara now saw clearly. The world was in colour and now she knew the truth. And it was too late.

'Novice Joan.' Tyshara, now a novice prepared to take her vows, get up. Gone were the jewels and her mothers bracelet. Here she stood in septas garbs. Most thought this was a choice made by Leon Lannister, the new Lord of Casterly Rock. Little did they know this was made of her own volition. A life of penitents. She stood alone in her room, a prison. Behind her were two candles. A silent prayer still lingered, along with two names. Owen Lannister, and Y/n Tyrell.

It was over, she had won. Jenna stood on the balcony overlooking all that was hers. Ever since she was a girl Jenna had dreamed of greatness. So when her father married her to the son of a second son Jenna had been bitterly dissatisfied. She had wanted greater but was forced to settle for him. She remembered when Amelia Tarley arrived shortly after for her wedding. On sight Jenna loathed her. This thin weak looking woman who was to be Lady of Highgarden. She had been overjoyed when Amelia gave birth to only one little girl, Y/n. She attempted to betroth the girl to her newborn son. But it was reflected and Jenna’s hatred grew.

Jenna had been reborn when married. The youngest of three sisters, Jenna had always been in their shadow. Cristina the eldest was beautiful, Justina was clever, and then there was her, just Jenna. So when Jenna was married with a second chance at a family she swore she would be great. ‘One day they will all kneel to me.’

She would not be marrying the Lord of Highgarden or his heir. Some cousin, but close enough to that great seat. At the time she married Owen Tyrell was the heir, a man slightly older than herself. She did not think much of that wife, some Tarley girl named Amelia. Even the girls looks were meager, although she was not ugly. So thin was she Jenna wondered if Amelia even have children. Her own son, strong and healthy, showed Amelia's bareness for all to see. That satisfaction had been oh so sweet.

Of course the Gods were fickle. Shortly afterwards Amelia was with child. Bitterly Jenna had prayed the babe would be born dead, or at least a girl. The latter turned out to be granted and that night Jenna stayed up in anticipation. If Amelia could have one child, even some squalling daughter she named Y/n, there could be others. But they never came and as the years went by Jenna became more hopeful.

Although Lord Owen Tyrell had no more children from that weak simpering fool he had no intention of divorcing her and remarrying. Jenna considered that a good thing. A new pretty wife may very well provide sons. Amelia was not the only one having fertility issues. Jenna herself had not gotten with child since Gerald. She consulted midwives, maesters and even woodswitches but to no avail. Once, she had visited a traveling wise woman with green eyes. When Jenna demanded assistance the woman only laughed. 'You will strangle the vine and spread the seeds. Or perhaps you will be wise.' Her words Jenna did not care to understand. But the bit about 'strangle the vine' always remained. Yes. She should strangle the vine. Nothing else mattered

Jenna’s first husband Gerion had passed from fever and soon after Jenna looked about. For a time Jenna fancied Owen Tyrell might marry her. It never happened. So Jenna simply removed a piece and Owen Tyrell was a widower. Her intention had been to attract him. One night she came upon with great ardor. It was not hard, so wealthy and handsome. But Lord Tyrell had dismissed her with great fury. Jenna was sent away with her son and bitterness as companions.

When she found out Owen Tyrell passed Jenna nearly collapsed with joy. Immediately she raced to Highgarden. It seemed the poison and her allies had done their work. In no time her son was Lord Paramount of Highgarden. It was suggested that her boy marry Owen's little girl. 'You had your chance Owen, my blood alone will rule Highgarden.' That did not mean the girl had no uses. Jenna was quick to utilize this new tool. it was easy to tether the girl to her. And she did her work well. When Y/n was old enough to comprehend the world around her Jenna received news. Because of her birth and good standing with the royal family Jenna learned much. 'Your girl is mine, all mine Owen.' Jenna mused.

Everyone but Viserys saw the upcoming war. As the king slowly crawled towards his grave Jenna planned for the future. Alliances were built and none were so great as those made through marriage. Alicent Hightower wanted the Lannisters. Although already silently pledged to Aegon a marriage was decided. There were no Targaryen princesses and Jenna had no daughters. So she put forward Y/n as a bride for Tyland Lannister, so conveniently in need of a wife. The thought of Owen's daughter being Lady Lannister galled her. Jenna contented herself that Y/n would still be under her control. Whatever name the girl took she was still a mere pawn.

She spent the war in Highgarden, in the safety of its walls. It was much light being a gardener, plotting every location. But by the Gods she was good at it. Y/n was brining daily new of the comings and going of Casterly Rock. One day she had asked Y/n to intercede on her behalf to Jason Lannister. It was so useful to receive assistance from Casterly Rock. Some complained, it was said, that Lady Y/n of Casterly Rock was favouring her Tyrell relations. Resentment was stirred. This had the mixed effect of concern as Jenna did not want the dislike of House Lannister heaped upon her. At least the dislike seemed focused on Y/n rather than herself. And it felt good for Owen Tyrells little spawn to suffer as he should have.

When she got word that Jason Tyrell had passed Jenna seized her chance. She had wanted Y/n, pregnant, brought to Highgarden. This had been counteracted by Prince Regent Aemond having her placed in Harrenhal. Why he placed her there she could not say. Word came that a boy was born. 'Owen Lannister.' She spat. The letter was flung into the fire. Y/n having a boy suited her plans. Her sons wife had given birth to a daughter. The idea of having a granddaughter as Lady of Casterly Rock was tempting. Finally she had been able to have Y/n brought. With the political ground shifting Harrenhal was no longer a safe option. Better news was to come. Leon Lannister, uncle to Jason Lannister, had a son. A confirmed bachelor, many had marveled when he finally settled down. And so another heir to Casterly Rock was born. This opened another possibility. She had only consented to her granddaughter being married to Owen Lannister to gain power. But now the boy was no longer needed as he was. Thanks to Y/n intercepting on her behalf to House Lannister Jenna knew Lord Leon. The pair had met and decided on marrying the tow little ones. But this had all been kept secret. Then it was time to rid herself of Y/n.

Some might have said it was unnecessary. Some could say it was the girls own fault. Y/n had behaved rather foolishly with Prince Aemond, and made enemies. Jenna's spies brought together all those who may provide incriminating evidence. By the time the trial happened all of Y/n's friends were either gone, banished or dead. Jaecerion had been taken care of quickly. She had been rather surprised to find the prince truly did kill Ellyn Baratheon. But it all worked out in the end. Owen Tyrell's daughter was locked up forever. Her time had come and Jenna felt dizzy with excitement. Another case of Winter Fever and swept through Westeros, and the final stone was laid. One cold night she had Owen brought to her. A little less than a year old Jenna observed him. He slept soundly, unaware of what was to come. From a small wooden box under her bed Jenna withdrew a thin vile. Thick blue liquid sloshed around inside. Carefully she uncorked the bottle. A small scent of mint was whiffed. Then, she turned upon Owen. Every step sounded like a trumpet of victory. Her heart pounded victoriously. Extending an arm clothed in green, Jenna poured the poison into Owens mouth. It was all over in but a moment. The babes eyes flew opened. He shook violently and all healthy colour drained. Then his panicked eyes rolled up, lips turned blue, and lay still. For a few moments she looked to the still figure. A thin finger checked, there was no pulse. Then a great gasp of jubilation broke free. And that gasp turned into a laugh. Turning her face to the sky and raced to the window. Throwing open the balcony window she burst into the windy cold night. And her crows of victory were heard only to the wind, and Alys Rivers.

Alys Rivers stood under the three Weirwood trees in Highgardens forest. It was not the forest that interested her but the Weirwood. Right above her, looming like a Spector of death the tree gently swayed. She could see their faces in its wood. One might wonder why she chose to go north, especially during winter time. Especially with a babe. Her son, his silver hair swaying in the breeze, slept peacefully. Aeron was small as his father had been at birth, and just as strong. He would thrive in the north. The other world ruled here as the one who held power dwelled beyond the wall.

But as much as Alys loved this place there was work to do. Aeron would be safe. This would be an ambitious assignment yet it would all be worth it in the end. The dreams that haunted her could not, must not, come to pass. Otherwise an eternal night would reign.

Tucked beneath her clock was a scabbard. It was well concealed in its sheath but it was not the blade which worried her. The Valyrian steele with a hilt imbued with the remains of the First Children, laced with venom, was the threat. She would need to be very careful because the effects were neatly instantaneous. Alys had built up an immunity but would still need caution. It had taken her lifetimes to set everything into place. Carrying on the wind Alys heard a cackle of laughter. Alys turned back to her son. ‘We are almost there.’ And then the battle for Y/n’s soul, and the world, would begin.

Notes: A grim ending for part one. But part two is coming. The epilogue will be out tomorrow, and the teaser at a later date. Book 2 will be out in a few months because I want to write some of it first. I am so excited because it is gonna be crazy!

I begun writing this book back last summer on a whim. Back then I did not know how much this story would mean to me. Writing and all the support I have received has truly provided me with a new experience. Thank you to every last one of you who has read, reposted, liked and discussed the story with me.

Epilogue (Coming tomorrow!)

If you want to join the taglist please let me known!

@daenerysqueenofhearts

@le-petit-lulu

@aemondswifeisme

@mandiiblanche

@gknj9495

@minakay

@strangersunghoon

@iilsenewman

@moonlightfoxx

@gknj9495

@heartb8k2

@dahlias-and-marigolds

@dumbhxeredrose

[starker-raving-mads]

For You: Part III

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX

›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹

It was two months since the day Peter Parker's life changed for the second - third - fourth time.

He'd gotten more sleep over the last month than he had in the previous two months. It was partly due to sheer, never-ending exhaustion. His life since taking on the mantle as 'the new Tony Stark' - a title he balked at, mind you - had become pure chaos. At first, it was a relief. The instantaneous knowledge that money was no longer a problem. May could quit her job and devote her time to FEAST, he could complete his honors-GED (which many of the Blipped teenagers had chosen to do) and immediately hop into online college courses at Columbia with Ned and MJ.

Immediately following that relief, though, was his face splashed across every newspaper, tabloid, blog, and TikTok page in America.

He would never say it, and he couldn't prove it, but he was 99% sure it was Pepper's doing. After her initial outburst at the lawyer's offices, he'd hardly heard from her. His lawyers - god, his lawyers - had advised that he shouldn't respond to any comments on the subject of Pepper Potts being snubbed by her husband for Peter's heir status. While she had no legal leg to stand on since Tony's will was air tight and definite, that didn't stop her from digging her claws into all the ways she knew would hurt him.

Every time he saw something outrageous with his face on it on an article somewhere, he had to remind himself that she was grieving and in pain about a perceived betrayal by her husband. Her husband, who was Tony Stark, who did not belong to him.

No matter that the man had figured out time travel for him, had risked the universe, had given him billions of dollars and the most coveted job in the entire world. Tony only gave him this because there wasn't anyone else better that he trusted, but Peter knew that didn't mean he was Tony's true first choice, and he had to squash every niggling feeling and whisper of a thought that said he was. It would only make it hurt more when all he wanted was the pain to stop.

He'd finally found a moment, though, where things weren't quite as bad. He'd recently reconvened with Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Rhodey and they had a steady if not solid pact. They were all unsure of the situation, still, and Peter didn't blame them. He'd been…questioned, more politely than Pepper had done, on how he and Tony's relationship had unfolded.

When he'd explained that he was 14 when he met Mr. Stark, Steve and Bucky both winced, apologizing for the disaster that was Germany but Peter shrugged it off. He really hadn't been hurt and it was a foundational moment for his and Mr. Stark's relationship. He couldn't bring himself to regret it.

After that, they'd had a few meals together, talked more about his life - and theirs, to an extent, though he was far more privy to them than they had been of him.

"He never mentioned you," Steve said, shaking his head, baffled. He held a cool beer in his hand, leaning back from the patio table they had gathered around at the newly rebuilt SHIELD headquarters in upper state New York.

"Oh he mentioned Pete to me all right," Rhodey disagreed before reaching over and ruffling his curls lightly. Peter liked Rhodey, liked how hands-on he was, how relaxed but also somehow by the book, liked his humor. He could see how he and Tony had been such good friends. "But he'd only told me about his 'brilliant new intern'," they all chuckled. "He really kept the whole Spider-Man thing close to the chest."

"I'd asked him to," Peter admitted, peeling the wrapper off of his bottle of lemonade. "First because I was still like so young, yo know? And then later, after a few - pretty major - mistakes I made, I guess he thought I'd proved I was finally ready to be an Avenger."

"Well I never heard Tony trying to recruit anyone," Rhodey commented and they all looked at him quizzically.

Peter let out a single huffed laugh. "Yeah, uh," he tried to keep down the blush rising on his neck. "You remember the day that Mr. Stark proposed to Ms. Potts?" Rhodey and Sam both laughed long and hard.

"Even over in Wakanda we saw that," Sam chuckled. "It was the Tony Stark special - a huge thing wrapped in a tiny, chaotic package. Not unlike yourself," he raised his eyebrows at Peter, who flicked his bottle wrapper at him.

"Pepper had no idea it was coming," Rhodey agreed before taking a long drink of his own beer.

"Yeah, well I don't think Mr. Stark had really…planned it," he grimaced. At their faces, he continued. "He'd taken me up to Stark Tower and gave me this speech about having graduated to the 'big leagues' after my last big wrap up," he shrugged. "He gave me the Iron Spider suit and said I was ready to be an Avenger." He frowned, rubbing at the glue and paper residue on his bottle. "And I told him that I just wasn't ready yet. That I needed to stay in Queens for a while more, be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Help the little guy, you know?" He raised earnest eyes up to the group and they all nodded, slowly. "So I asked him to just keep helping my identity to stay quiet," he shrugged.

"So, then what happened?" Bucky asked, long hair tilting with the rest of his head in curiosity. He didn't speak up often, but when he did, it was always because of something he really wanted to know.

"The next thing I knew I was being ushered downstairs to wait at the car for Happy," he shrugged. "I pulled out my phone and there on live broadcast Mr. Stark was proposing to Ms. Potts at a press conference." He chuckled. "It was - really, really weird."

He expected everyone else to laugh with him, but he was met with contemplative silence. He looked around at each of them before Rhodey finally met his gaze. "What?"

"I think," the older man said slowly, "that press conference was meant to be for your reveal as Spider-Man."

"No way - I mean," he shook his head as the rest of the guys started nodding their heads, agreeing thoughtfully. "He wouldn't propose to her just because - just because I said no to - "

" - to his proposal," Bucky finished.

It was another revelation that Peter could hardly bear the weight of. These things kept stacking and he wasn't sure how to balance all this knowledge he had, about the things Tony had done - and undone - for him. This one, though…this new information didn't hurt, not like the others did.

It actually made a strange amount of sense. At once, it both stung to feel like he was replaced with Ms. Potts so immediately, but also it was like the first fresh breath after being buried underground for so long to know that Peter's answer that day was so important to him that the only thing he could possibly trade it out for in equivalency was getting engaged.

Did this mean that if Peter had said yes Mr. Stark wouldn't have gotten married? It made his head spin, but it also made his heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

Light enough to finally enter the last bastion of refuge that Tony Stark ever took comfort in.

His lab.

Despite being uninhabited for who knew how long, when the familiar glass doors slid open the air wasn't musty, stale, or any such thing. It was as fresh and crisp as it ever was. Off in the corner the long L shaped couch that he and Mr. Stark had often collapsed into opposite ends of, exhausted, lay half-made with fluffy pillows. The coffee pot was empty but clean, and every other available surface covered in notes either figuratively, having been decorated with papers scribbled on with hundreds of lines of equations and code, or literally, like the side of Peter's work station, where he'd dropped to a crouch to finish writing something out when he ran out of paper, mid-idea. He knew he could've just kept writing mid-air thanks to the lab's complete holographic setup, but it wasn't the same as having something solid under your hands.

There was pain in the familiarity of the lab but there was also a feeling of home he hadn't quite gotten the first time he stepped back into his and May's apartment. Plus -

"Hello, Peter."

"Friday!" He exclaimed, smile breaking wide across his face. With a pang, he didn't realize just how much he'd missed the AI until this moment.

"Yes, Peter?" the AI asked, voice warm and if he dared to think it, amused.

"Nothing, nothing, I'm just excited to see you again," he chuckled, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He started walking around the lab, taking it all in for the first time in what, to him, had been months. The longer he thought about that the more his brow furrowed. "Hey Friday?"

"Yes, Peter? Or would you like me to call you Boss as Tony had?"

"Oh! Um," he shook his head. "No, no Peter's fine, or whatever."

She hummed. "Would it be all right if I picked a name for you, Peter? Being able to distinguish between Boss and Others by a more specific title helps me with my internal hierarchy and understanding of individuals. If you would prefer I do not, though, merely say such."

"I mean if it helps you then, yeah, sure I guess."

"Thank you, Mini Boss," she said. He laughed again.

"You might wanna work on that," he smiled wide.

"Yes, I think it might take me some time, Father."

His eyes widened. "Father?"

"Hm, you're right," she said. "Boss was more like my Father, I suppose."

"Uh, yeah, definitely," Peter nodded. He gave her a beat to let her figure out what she wanted to call him as he walked over to his desk. He'd let her go through her process before he started asking the questions that sat burning in his mind.

"Would you be opposed to me calling you Mother, Peter?" Friday asked. He spun in his chair, smile wide again.

"If Tony was your Father, wouldn't he also be your Mother?" he asked, amused. "You know, having done 100% of your coding, and all."

"If one were to look at my original codebase as the only part of what makes me, me," she agreed. "However, would you not say that those that raise you are more worthy of such a title rather than just those that created you?"

He immediately thought to May and how, if he'd been younger when he came to her, he'd be calling her by that name.

"That's true enough, sure."

"And outside of Boss," she went on, "you are the individual most involved in my growth. So it stands to reason that if Boss is Father, then Peter is Mother."

"I - " he really didn't know what to say to that. It had never occurred to him that outside of Mr. Stark he was the one who interacted with Friday the most.

"If you would prefer I find a name not so closely connotated with females," she continued, "I can endeavor to do so."

"No, no, it's fine, Friday," he replied, quiet and in his head again. "You can - can call me Mother if you want." A not-so-small part of him felt absolutely, transparently happy that Friday considered him her parent. More than Mr. Stark leaving him the company, more than having all this financial security and ability to mess around with Tony Stark's labs, more than all of that - this meant something profound to him.

"I also thought," she said and that amusement was hinted at in her lilting Irish, "that it would be a nice subversive reference to the spacecraft from Alien."

He laughed out loud at that. "I love that movie, that's perfect."

He could feel her smile, then. "I know you do, Mother."

He slumped onto the stool at his table in the lab and finally asked his question. "Friday, can you tell me - why isn't the lab more different?"

"Different how?"

"Well it's just," he struggled to articulate the sentence, the feeling he was pulling at. "I was - gone - for five years. But it almost looks like this place never really changed?"

"I see," she said. "Boss spent a lot of time here after the Blip first happened, once he was home from Titan. He slept primarily on the couch in the corner and had me refill his coffee orders more than anything else. However, he never touched your things, Mother."

Peter frowned. "Why?"

"I could not say," she replied, tone ponderous. "Based on his patterns of movement, he seemed to specifically avoid your work areas. Though he did take a jacket you had left at her table to the couch. From my archival footage, he seemed to sleep with it, perhaps for warmth?"

It occurred to the teen, then, that Friday probably had thousands and thousands of hours of Tony on video and he could pull it to watch them at any time. The feeling of want was a fever in his blood and he asked, "Can you show me?"

"Of course, Mother."

Faint blue light lit up the couch and Peter walked over to it, seeing that more than merely just show him the video, she played it out in holographic projection. His breath hitched as Tony walked into view, Peter's hoodie in clutched in his hands. Staring down at it, he slumped onto the couch and brought the fabric to his face. Less breathing it in and more suffocating himself with it.

"I'm sorry," he heard muffled through Friday's speakers. "I'm so sorry, Pete."

Tony then curled up onto the couch on his side, face pressed to the hoodie, back toward the room. The projection cut off.

Peter didn't realize that he was crying until Friday asked, "Mother, are you okay?"

"I - " he tried to say, throat clogged with tears. "No," he admitted, jacket-covered wrist swiping away at his tears. He sniffled and sat where Tony had, finding his hoodie wedged between the cushions and the back of the couch. He pulled it out and, like Tony, smashed it to his face, breathing in the faintly lingering spicy scent of Tony Stark.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Friday said, speakers low, tone regretful. "I did not mean to cause you pain."

"You didn't, sweetheart," he shook his head, voice still clogged with tears. "I'm just sad."

"Why?" she asked, her natural curiosity shining through. Much like a child, she did not always know when it wasn't the right time to ask questions. But Peter had always liked indulging her and feeding her curiosity. The first few lab sessions they played 20 Questions back and forth until Tony would tell them both to shut up, though the amusement when he said it always shone through.

"I'm sad because Tony's dea - " he cleared his throat. "Because Tony - "

"It is okay, Mother," Friday cut him off. "I understand."

At that, he let himself fall back into the couch like Tony had. Above him, Friday dimmed the lights and stayed quiet, letting him cry out his grief in silence.

[the-s1lly-corner]

If it's alright (and if it doesn't make you uncomfortable, but if it does then feel free to skip, as it's completely understandable),

Could I request a Caine, Ragatha, Zooble, and Gangle x reader (separately) where the reader might have been grieving over someone before entering.

Again, it's completely understandable if you don't want to do this one, so do whatever you feel comfortable doing.

Either way, have a good day.

Various TADC characters x grieving!reader

So so so sorry for the wait! Writers block is hitting GRRHRRGRR

Characters: caine, ragatha, zooble, gangle

Notes: reader is GN, can be seen as a platonic post or a romantic one, written on mobile soooooo

CWs: grief

CAINE

Theres a bit of a disconnect when you come to him about your feelings about the topic

It's not that he doesnt care about your feelings it's just that he doesn't fully understand the gravity. Hes an AI and as far as we know hes never lost anyone significant to him

Tries to make light of the fact you're in the circus and that some of your memories are blurred

Its... not at all as comforting as he thought it would be, especially since you seem to want to keep those memories of the person

Tries to take your mind off of things by making adventures more full of energy and chaotic

Also tries to keep your attention on him or something else to keep your mind busy... probably not the best long term solution but hes too happy for your temporary relief to stop

Admittedly not the best with emotional support but hes trying his best

RAGATHA

Very patient and understanding with you, let's you come to her whenever

Shes going through her own feelings but she doesnt have the heart to shut you out- given she canonically internalizes things as well as I personally headcanoning she has the "x has it worse, so my feelings need to come second" mindset

Let's you talk about them if it makes you feel better, getting to know who you lost makes helps give the feeling that they're still here in some way

Keeps an eye on you to make sure you're doing okay as well as checking in on you whenever you have a moment alone

Keeps what she knows to herself if you dont want it to be aired out for everyone to see

Reminds you to take care of yourself as well and to keep thriving

ZOOBLE

More of a listener than a comforter, they struggle with finding the right words to say in a situation like this

They let you know that they're paying attention to you and you're feelings though by bluntly stating so

Let's you talk about your feelings as well as the person you lost as much as you want, zooble was never much of a talker anyway so you tend to fill the silence

Let's you stay with them in their room if you need some company, even if you dont feel like talking

Becomes slightly more protective of you and is more likely to stand up for you if theres anything stressing you out

GANGLE

Very hesitant to ask questions not because she doesnt care but because she doesnt want to make you feel worse, it's such a delicate topic that she doesnt want to accidentally push you back on your healing journey or otherwise hurt you

Gets better with those feelings with time and shows that she does feel for you and your situation

Let's you draw your feelings out, you're open to all of her supplies.. or if you would like, you can write them out

If you'd like she can turn around so you can have some privacy, or she can outright leave the room if you need alone time

Can see her making a paper bouquet of flowers or something along those lines so the two of you can leave something to grieve, even if what was lost was.. lost before the circus..

A little service of sorts to help sort out your feelings and organize them, if that makes sense

[raayllum]

What really makes Rayla's ghosting f*cked up to me is the Silver Groves reasoning behind it. It was the simple fact that she was the only member of the team who survived (to their knowledge). Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I'm getting the impression that they (Ethari obviously being the exception) expected her to die on the mission as "redemption" for her parents supposed cowardness.

To me I think it's worse, somehow, because I don't think the Silvergrove expected Rayla to die for her parents' sins (at least not on that level, but Rayla does internalize a lot of it that way in 3x08 pretty directly).

The Ghosting is a punishment for if you don't die, or 'kill' yourself (die in the line of duty accordingly), we'll kill you ourselves (metaphorically in the show, more literally in the book one novelization). Public collective shaming and ex-communication and all that. There's a reason, I think, why people have been able to pretty smoothly read aspects of religious, particularly Christian, trauma onto Rayla and her attitudes towards sacrifice/suffering and the response(s) of her village to her.

That said: the Silvergrove wasn't wrong to be mad or grieving. They'd just lost 5 members of a clearly close knit and fairly small community, all of whom had families/loved ones. However, the issue is:

They had no way of knowing any of what had happened was Rayla's fault

They had no way of knowing she hadn't just been captured and escaped, or injured and taking a longer time to get home

She was 15 years old

As Callum says, "You didn't even give Rayla a chance to explain herself," which means it's a collective punishment without a trial

Rayla states that "They think I ran away, just like my parents" which means there probably is a societal shame/linking "guilty by association" aspect coming into play, too

Thereby, what the Silvergrove based their entire, seemingly irreversible judgement on was 1) everyone else on Rayla's team died in a timely fashion and 2) for whatever reason, she didn't, and they assumed it was because she was too afraid to die for their cause (when if anything, Rayla is routinely a little too willing to die for any and all causes she thinks is worthy of it) despite having zero tangible evidence for it.

Runaan and the other assassins were counting on having the element of surprise, wanted to make it home (ofc / "I promise I will return your heart to you"), and expected to: "We can accomplish this mission without sacrifice" (1x01). But once Rayla lets Marcos go, as Runaan says, "You let him live, but you killed us all" (which yes they could've, at any point, just called off the mission for their own wellbeing, but they were 1. already bound and 2. Moonshadows don't usually work like that, nevermind Moonshadow assassins).

Which could be decent, if still brutal, grounds for Ghosting Rayla, but like - the Silvergrove doesn't even have that, with even less proof than they had for Lain and Tiadrin (egg stolen, no bodies found).

It's like... either you all die for the good of the cause, or you all survive, and anything in between is unacceptable. Nothing like an extreme, steep hell heaven divide y'know?

[emonaculate]

Smoke Slow (S?ABT universe)

Author Note: Drabble that was in my head real bad and I could not help but to write it out now. This may or may not be added to the actual fic later, but as of right now it is non-canon.. I just really like my version of Gojo right now.

❥ Rating: PG-13

❥ Pairing: Spiderman!Gojo x Black!Y/n

❥ Warnings Include: Cigarettes, Y/n feels survivors guilt, Jealousy, Miscommunication, Alcohol consumption, ANGST, Hurt-comfort, Gojo and Y/n really need a hug, past-established relationship, Violence, OC-mentioning, Major character death mentioning

❥ Synopsis: Upon returning to Japan, Y/n realizes she can no longer escape her past. Conflicted by past events, she must reunite and have an honest, heartfelt conversation with the her former lover; the beloved webslinger.

Y/n walked the streets of New Tokyo, familiar yet strangely foreign now, her heart weighed down by the passage of time. Six years had passed since she left for the States to be with her mother, and the city, though unchanged, felt different.

As she silently moved through the downtown streets, groups of teenagers raced by, their laughter echoing against the towering skyscrapers that glittered like jewels in the night sky. She watched them with a soft smile, amused, as memories of her own youth flooded back—when she and her friends had done the same, running wild without a care, with no thought of the future.

Y/n would give anything to return to those days, when she was a quick-witted teenager, unafraid to challenge authority, surrounded by the loyal friends who backed her every word. But that was over now.

Y/n's somber thoughts pulled her away from memories of the past as she made her way to the Shibuya memorial. What had once been a beautiful park, filled with tranquil lakes and winding trails, had been transformed into a burial site to honor those who lost their lives during the Shibuya incident six years ago. She held the white lilies she had been carrying tightly in her hand as she approached the plaque, where a collection of flowers, cards, and candles lay in tribute.

No doubt, others were grieving for their loved ones as well. Y/n watched as families dressed in dark clothing spoke quietly among themselves, still mourning the tragedy. A wave of nausea rose in her throat; she longed to comfort the strangers still affected by that day, but she knew there was nothing she could say. After all, it was her fault in a way—at least, that was how she perceived the situation.

“Y/n?” A hesitant voice called out.

Y/n placed the flowers gently in front of the pillar and turned toward the sound, offering a weak smile to the shorter brunette woman standing before her. It was Shoko.

Shoko had been one of Y/n's closest friends during her time in Japan. Their relationship had begun on shaky ground, rooted in the circumstances that had led Y/n to move in with Shoko's family. When Y/n's grandmother passed away shortly after her sixteenth birthday, her mother, struggling with a devastating divorce, was in no condition to care for her daughter. As a last resort, she sent Y/n to live with the man who had uprooted her life in the first place: Ken Ieiri, the renowned international doctor with whom Y/n's mother had been having a seven-month affair.

Ken tried to cover his tracks, keeping both his daughter and Y/n in the dark about his actions, claiming that he would be the host parent for Y/n during her time in Japan. When the truth finally came out, it only made things more complicated. The issues he had been having with his wife also came to light, much to Shoko's surprise.

Through it all, Y/n stood by Shoko, providing support during the tumultuous times, and their bond deepened. They became as close as thieves, referring to each other as sisters and siblings.

"Hi, Koko."

The nickname slipped from Y/n's lips more easily than she cared to admit, watching as Shoko’s posture shifted and her eyes clouded with unspoken emotions. Despite the casual atmosphere, Y/n realized she hadn't spoken to Shoko in nearly four years. They had kept in touch for two years after Y/n left, but something had changed; the weight of guilt had consumed her, making it impossible to respond to Shoko's messages or daily check-ins. That third year back in the States had been the hardest for some reason.

“Let me treat you to coffee,” Shoko replied, desperation creeping into her voice as she looked at Y/n, a flurry of questions racing through her mind.

Why was Y/n back? Why had she stopped replying to any of Shoko's texts? Did Satoru know she was back?

The two women sat across from each other in the booth, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Y/n wasn’t sure where to start; she knew she owed Shoko some sort of explanation, but deep down, she felt there was no way to truly convey what had happened.

“Hasn’t been this silent since Dad admitted he was in love with your mom,” Shoko said, breaking the ice as she lifted her carefully crafted cinnamon brown sugar latte.

Y/n blinked in shock before a smile broke across her face, laughter bubbling up at Shoko’s comment. “Oh my god, don't bring that up!”

As the heavy tension lifted, the two began to chat about how life had treated them. Shoko shared her excitement about opening a veterinary clinic as a passion project, while Y/n explained her internship as a reporter for The New York Times. So much had happened in the six years since they last connected that it felt almost impossible to cover it all.

“So, why are you back in New Tokyo?” Shoko finally asked, taking a sip of the hearty soup she had ordered to combat the chill outside.

Y/n shifted in her seat, picking up her own cup and taking a long sip from the black coffee, nothing added to it. The familiar taste brought her comfort, reminding her of her childhood spent on her grandparents' farm in the southern heat. Every morning without fail, her grandma would sit on the porch, watching the sunrise with a steaming mug of black coffee in hand.

“I’ve had some time to reflect, and I’ve been speaking with my psychologist,” Y/n said. “She suggested that my best course of action would be to come back here. I’ll never find peace until I forgive myself and allow myself to move forward.”

Shoko nodded quietly, truly looking at Y/n for the first time in years. It had been so long since she had seen her favorite person. Dark circles under Y/n’s eyes rivaled her own, and her copper curls had grown well past the shoulder-length she used to maintain. Y/n's face appeared thinner, the familiar roundness of her cheeks almost completely gone. The gray oversized turtleneck she wore seemed so out of character, but Shoko knew better than to comment; Y/n was still grieving, and the path to healing was far from over.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Shoko replied softly.

Y/n nodded, fidgeting with her mug before meeting Shoko's warm brown gaze.

“Have you heard from Gojo...?”

Y/n picked at the holes in her ripped and faded baggy jeans as the crisp night wind tickled her nose, standing outside the maroon-colored apartment door with the number B7 crafted in silver. Shoko had given her this address, revealing that Gojo had been living here for the past four years. Located on the shadier side of town, Y/n was surprised that someone like Satoru would be okay with living in such an area, regardless of his abilities and persona.

Yet, it made sense; being in a rougher neighborhood could allow him to save more people and keep the criminals at bay.

Taking a deep breath, Y/n closed her eyes and raised her hand to knock on the door, butterflies swirling in her stomach. Would Satoru even want to see her? What would he say? They had ended things on such bad terms, and the thought of his reaction made her nervous.

A moment of silence followed her knock, and embarrassment crept up her cheeks. The gift bag of snacks and treats she had prepared, things she remembered Satoru liked, suddenly felt like a thousand pounds. What if he wasn’t even home? He could be out on patrol for all she knew.

Suddenly, the door swung open to reveal a tall, slender Black woman wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt that hung seductively off one shoulder. The woman’s feline-like hazel eyes narrowed into a glare as they fell on Y/n and the basket in her hands.

“Can I help you, sweetheart?” The unknown woman's voice was sharp and curt as she placed a manicured hand on her hip, sizing Y/n up.

In the past, Y/n might have called out the hostile energy this woman was projecting over something as simple as answering the door. But now, on her path to healing, she knew better than to cause a scene over something so trivial.

“Does Satoru Gojo live here? My name is—” Y/n started, but the woman cut her off, waving her hand dismissively.

“Yeah, I know who you are. He’s not here at the moment, but you can wait if you want,” she stated rudely before turning on her heel and stepping back into the apartment.

Y/n’s eye twitched as she watched the woman walk away into the apartment. This was clearly going to test all of her practice in patience and understanding. Anger bubbled beneath the surface, eager to be released. Taking a deep breath, she followed the woman inside and closed the door behind her.

To her surprise, the apartment was cozy. Hues of green, brown, yellow, and orange dominated the decorations, creating a warm atmosphere. Various pottery creations were scattered around the living room and small kitchen area, adding a touch of personality.

“Set that shit down on the counter beside you,” the woman called out, not even glancing back at Y/n, who was still standing by the door.

The woman perched herself on a high bar stool at the dining room table. She sat in a way that seemed almost uncomfortable, her feet resting in a catlike stance as she stared intently at Y/n.

Y/n had to admit the woman was strikingly beautiful—model-worthy, even. Her hair was styled in a messy white pixie cut, and her ears were adorned with numerous piercings. The moles on her face were artfully placed: one along her left cheek, another beneath her right eye, and one on the left side of her chin.

"Salomé." The woman gave her name, as she continued to dissect Y/n with her eyes.

Y/n had a myriad of questions she wanted to ask Salomé regarding Satoru. Though she knew she had no right, jealousy bubbled within her at the thought that this woman seemed to be staying with him, and judging by the decorations, it appeared to have been for a while.

“You dying or something?” Salomé asked, amusement evident in her voice.

“Excuse me?” Y/n shot back, annoyance creeping into her tone.

She had tried to be polite, but Salomé's holier-than-thou attitude was starting to get under her skin. Whether Salomé sensed this was unclear, as she maintained her emotionless demeanor, continuing to test Y/n’s patience.

“I mean, you’ve been gone for a fucking long time with no contact, so I’m trying to figure out why you’re in my home,” she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Last I checked, this is an apartment, not a house,” Y/n snapped, glaring at Salomé.

Despite her efforts to remain civil, Y/n found it increasingly difficult to tolerate Salomé’s nasty attitude. Therapy be damned. Salomé clicked her tongue in response to Y/n's petty retort, a smirk spreading across her face.

“You’re right. It is an apartment, but it’s home to Satoru. After all, he chooses to be here instead of that big ole, lonely penthouse he has downtown.”

Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. She stalked toward Salomé, her ears burning with anger, ready to chew her out and leave this frustratingly beautiful apartment.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Y/n yelled.

Salomé hopped off her chair, towering over Y/n, crossing her arms over her chest. She seemed oddly relaxed despite the aggression radiating from Y/n.

“Mm, you trying to solve it, little miss perfect?” Salomé taunted.

Without thinking, Y/n reacted and swung, her fist connecting with Salomé’s face. The nickname had struck a nerve; she hadn’t heard it since Geto’s passing, and she sure as hell wasn’t ready to hear it from some woman sizing her up. Caught up in her emotions, Y/n hadn't realized Salomé had gone deathly quiet, holding her cheek as the taste of copper filled her mouth.

“You don’t know me. Don’t talk to me like you do, bitch,” Y/n shouted, anger boiling over as tears welled in her eyes.

She had been doing so well at not thinking about him—the bane of her guilt: Geto Suguru. It was her fault. All her fault. If only she hadn’t been there that day. He was the one who should be alive.

In the blink of an eye, Salomé closed the distance, her presence overpowering as a wave of bloodlust radiated from her. Y/n was jolted from her thoughts by the sheer intensity in Salomé’s gaze, her nails lengthening and sharpening as a low growl escaped her throat.

“I’m gonna have so much fun,” Salomé purred, her voice dripping with malice.

Y/n's eyes widened as Salomé lunged for her, only to be halted by the familiar sound of a THWIP connecting with the back of her hand, pulling her backwards.

"That's enough, Sal," Satoru called out sternly as he appeared through the now-opened kitchen window.

Salomé's plump two-toned lips formed into a frown as she turned her attention to Satoru, who had only just removed his mask, rolling her eyes in annoyance. She absolutely hated that he always interrupted her fun.

“Whatever, disconnect your fluid, spider-boy. I wasn’t going to do anything but scratch her,” she retorted.

Satoru shook his head in amusement, seemingly used to Salomé’s spoiled attitude. He tugged the web closer, pulling her further away from Y/n and closer to him.

“Sure, you were,” he replied sarcastically.

Once Salomé was close enough, Satoru removed the webbing from her hand, taking in the bruise forming on her cheek and her split lip. Both of them knew she could have easily dodged Y/n's punch, which meant she had let it happen on purpose. Satoru could only assume it was so Salomé would have a reason to retaliate. Thankfully, he had arrived in time to prevent what could have been a disaster.

“It will heal. I’m fine,” Salomé interrupted his thoughts, pulling away from Satoru and turning to head into her room.

“Where are you going?” he questioned, still not addressing Y/n, who stared at him in silence and awe.

“Out,” Salomé yelled back, slamming the door to her room. Her departure usually meant trouble for Spiderman to deal with.

Satoru cursed under his breath, realizing this was going to be a problem later. A riled-up Salomé was a recipe for disaster; she was definitely going to create a scene outside as Black Cat, and he would have to clean it up.

Y/n looked at the man Satoru had grown into. His suit was different, red with accents of blue and black, and it looked handmade. He was beyond muscular, no doubt a result of his years as a masked vigilante. His hair was shaggier but still untamable, styled with a clean undercut. His cerulean eyes met her dark ones and just like that, Y/n was teleported back to being a teen blindly in love.

It had been six long years since their messy breakup, a turbulent chapter of their lives that still lingered in the corners of his mind. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air, thick with the tension of unresolved feelings.

Y/n felt her heart race under the intensity of his stare, the memories flooding back like a tidal wave. She remembered the laughter, the whispered secrets, and the raw passion that had once defined their relationship. But she also recalled the pain—the arguments, the misunderstandings, and the hurtful things they had said.

Satoru's expression softened as he took in the changes that time had wrought on Y/n. She was still beautiful, but the years had etched lines of experience around her eyes. He could see the remnants of her past struggles reflected in her gaze, a mix of resilience and vulnerability that pulled at his heart.

In that moment, neither of them needed words. They stood at the precipice of their shared history, each lost in their thoughts yet connected by an invisible thread of familiarity. It was as if time had folded, collapsing the distance between their past and present into this singular moment.

Finally, Y/n broke the stillness, her voice barely above a whisper. "Satoru…" But the sound hung in the air, unfinished, as if the weight of everything they had been through held her back.

Satoru’s heart thudded in his chest, emotions swirling within him—regret, longing, and a flicker of hope. He opened his mouth to speak, but words eluded him. Instead, he took a step closer, his eyes searching hers for answers.

Y/n felt small under Satoru's towering presence; he had grown so much taller in the years since they last saw each other. Subconsciously, she placed a hand on his cheek, her touch tentative, as if she were afraid he might dissolve into nothing if she pressed too hard.

“Satoru—”

“You smoke?”

They spoke in unison, the intensity of their eye contact unbroken. Y/n couldn’t help but smile as she nodded, and Satoru responded with a nod of approval, the corners of his lips curling up ever so slightly.

Finally, he stepped away from her, granting Y/n a moment to remember how to breathe.

“Let me change, and I’ll meet you on the balcony,” he said, heading toward his room.

Y/n couldn’t help the wave of relief that washed over her at the thought of Satoru going into a separate room instead of the one Salomé had entered just moments before. The prospect of having even a little space felt like a reprieve, a chance to gather her thoughts before facing the complexity of their reunion.

As Satoru disappeared into his room, Y/n took a deep breath, allowing herself to feel the mixture of anticipation and anxiety that swirled within her. It was a small step forward, but it felt monumental, like the first light breaking through after a long, dark night..

Satoru emerged from his room, clad in a fitted black compression T-shirt that accentuated his muscular frame and gray sweatpants that hung comfortably on his hips. He balanced a couple of cold beers in one hand and a pizza box in the other, the savory aroma wafting through the air as he stepped onto the balcony.

“Here,” he said, tossing a soft blanket over Y/n’s shoulders. “Just in case you get cold.” The warmth of his gesture wrapped around her like a comforting embrace, igniting a flicker of familiarity that eased the tension in her chest.

They leaned against the balcony railing, the city skyline sprawling out before them, glittering under the starry sky. Satoru opened a beer and took a long sip, his gaze drifting momentarily into the distance. Y/n followed suit, the cool drink refreshing as it slid down her throat.

After a moment of silence, she pulled out a cigarette, her hands slightly trembling as she lit it. Satoru joined her, the flicker of the lighter illuminating his face for a brief moment. Their eyes met, and he offered a small, hesitant smile, a silent acknowledgment of their shared history.

With each puff, the smoke swirled between them, mingling with the winter night air. They began to catch up, their conversation flowing hesitantly at first, filled with light-hearted anecdotes about their lives over the past six years. Each laugh felt like a small step toward bridging the gap that had grown between them.

Yet, beneath the surface, the weight of their unresolved issues lingered. They both knew that the elephant in the room—the reason for their breakup—loomed large, unspoken but ever-present.

Y/n could feel the tension mounting as they danced around the topic, their laughter mingling with the underlying anxiety of what needed to be addressed. Satoru’s occasional sidelong glances caught her off guard, sending a rush of warmth through her, but she quickly masked her feelings with a playful smirk.

“Your girlfriend is a mutant?” Y/n finally asked, trying to mask her curiosity with casual indifference.

“My friend,” Satoru corrected, taking another drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling into the night air. “And yeah, she is.”

“Yeah, well, tell her that. She seems awfully fond of you,” Y/n retorted, rolling her eyes, unable to hide the jealousy seeping into her tone.

Satoru paused, nodding as he considered his relationship with Salomé. “We’ve hooked up a few times,” he admitted, his voice steady but tinged with something Y/n couldn't quite place.

Oh. An awful feeling washed over her, but she knew it wasn’t fair to voice her discomfort. It had been years; expecting him to wait for her when she hadn’t even given any sign of wanting to get back together was unreasonable. Still, the realization twisted in her gut.

“Oh.”

“Don’t do that shit, Y/n.” He rubbed his temple, balancing the cigarette between his fingers as frustration flickered in his eyes.

“Do what? The bitch you’re fucking attacked me—”

“You hit her first, and I stopped her before she could touch you,” Satoru replied, his voice firm despite the irritation creeping up his neck at Y/n's attitude.

Why did he always seem to gravitate toward the most spoiled and entitled women?

“Yeah, but what if you weren’t there in time?”

“Dammit, Y/n. You know I’d never let anything happen to you,” he snapped, cutting her off, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart race.

In that moment, the air between them crackled with unspoken tension, a reminder of the bond they once shared and the walls they had both built in the years since their breakup. Y/n felt the weight of his words, but the jealousy still lingered, battling against the flicker of warmth that came from his unwavering protection.

“Yeah, well, I still don’t like her,” Y/n shrugged, trying to act nonchalant despite the way his piercing gaze made her feel.

“She’s just protective. She wants to make sure I don’t get hurt. I’m guessing she was trying to scare you off before I got here,” Satoru replied, his tone steady but laced with an undercurrent of irritation.

“Or maybe she’s just a bitch. Whatever image of me you’re feeding her to make her act like that is wrong.” The words slipped out before Y/n could think, and she instantly regretted mentioning Salomé, especially in the context of their breakup.

“So I’m wrong to say you broke up with me after my best friend died?” Satoru’s voice turned icy, his eyes hardening as they bore into hers.

“Satoru—”

“I was wrong to say that you didn’t even have the guts to tell me in person? You left a letter in my apartment the night before my college entry exam?” His tone sharpened, cruel and unyielding, as he crushed the beer can in his hand effortlessly.

“Sator—”

“I was wrong to say that Shibuya haunts me too, but I was there for you in any way I could be, while you only cared about yourself. You didn’t even give me a chance to fight for us, for this.”

“IM NOT STRONG LIKE YOU!” Y/n screamed into the night, her voice echoing off the buildings. She felt drained, the weight of Satoru’s righteous anger crashing over her like a wave.

In that moment, the truth of her words hung heavy between them, a testament to the scars their past had left. The air surrounding the pair was overflowing with tension, both knowing they were standing on the precipice of a conversation they had both been avoiding for far too long.

"Y/n-"

Now it was Y/n’s turn to be heard, to explain what she should have said years ago.

“Satoru, I’m not like you,” she began, her voice trembling. “You hold the weight of the world on your shoulders and balance it gracefully. I’m a mess. I can’t get his face out of my head. Every night, I have nightmares about Shibuya and how it wouldn’t have spiraled out of control if I hadn’t been there. All those people died because you chose to save me. Geto died because you chose to save me.” She choked back sobs, gripping the metal railing tightly, silently grateful that the night sky shielded her tears from view.

“Hey, Shibuya was not your fault. Nobody could have known what was going to happen,” Satoru replied softly, but Y/n shook her head vehemently.

“Yes, it is. Satoru, you had the choice to let me die or let thousands die, and you chose to save me.”

Satoru fell silent, memories flooding back to that fateful night. He recalled the six villains he had taken down in the past, now teaming up to try and end him once and for all. Among them had been his best friend, Geto. Their friendship had crumbled after the death of Riko Amanai, that had changed them both forever.

As Spiderman, Satoru had easily dispatched five of the attackers. But when it came to Geto, he hesitated. The love he felt for his childhood friend was a bond that ran deeper than he had ever felt for anyone else. When Geto realized that Satoru couldn’t bring himself to hurt him, he issued an ultimatum: let Y/n die or stop the bomb that would blow up the busiest highway in all of New Tokyo.

Satoru had begged Geto not to make him choose. He even offered to sacrifice his own life in exchange, but nothing he said could satisfy his friend, who had been too far gone. Geto wanted Satoru to feel the same despair he had endured when Riko died, the helplessness that had consumed him.

But what had gone unaccounted for was Satoru’s profound selfishness and skill. Just as he was good hero, he couldn’t bear to lose Y/n too—not after losing Sayori, his sister, who had sacrificed herself to stop a villain too strong for Spiderman to face alone. Yet, he managed to do the impossible and do both; stop the bomb and save Y/n.

Enraged, Geto set off another bomb in an undisclosed area in the city and proceeded to launched himself at the couple, his fury fueled by the belief that Satoru’s choices had led to his suffering. He was tired of bearing the weight of the consequences alone. Despite the threat Geto posed, Satoru couldn’t bring himself to deliver the final blow.

As they engaged in a fierce battle, Satoru quickly realized that Geto wasn’t in control of his actions; he was being manipulated by an alien symbiote named Kenjaku. In that moment of clarity, Satoru understood that he wasn’t just fighting his best friend—he was fighting for his soul.

Desperation surged within Satoru as he recalled all the moments they had shared, all the laughter and dreams that had once bound them together. With a heavy heart, he made the agonizing decision to fulfill Geto’s final request: to ensure that no one else would be harmed by his hands.

In an act of mercy, Satoru focused his energy, channeling it into a powerful blow that would free Geto from the symbiote's grasp. As he struck, he felt a pang of sorrow and regret, knowing that this was the end of an era—a painful farewell to a friendship that had meant everything to him.

Y/n and Satoru had been there with the real Geto during his final moments, each of them holding one of his hands, sobbing uncontrollably as he took his last breath. The weight of their grief hung heavy in the air, a tangible reminder of the bond they had shared and the tragic loss that now enveloped them.

“Y/n, people were going to die regardless,” Satoru finally said, his voice trembling with the remnants of emotion. “The point was to make sure I would fall into the same despair that Geto had experienced. The symbiotes feed on the hopelessness of their hosts.”

His words echoed in Y/n’s mind, a bitter truth that cut deep. She felt the anger and confusion swirling within her, struggling to reconcile the pain of losing Geto with the reality of what had transpired. The symbiote’s twisted motives had ensnared them all, dragging them into a cycle of despair and loss.

“So you’re saying it was all part of their plan?” Y/n's voice cracked, the vulnerability creeping into her tone. “That you were meant to suffer like he did?”

Satoru nodded, his gaze distant as he wrestled with the implications of his choices. “That’s what they wanted. To manipulate my emotions, to turn me against myself. Geto was just a pawn in their game, and so was I.”

Y/n took a shaky breath, trying to process the enormity of it all. She had witnessed the destruction caused by their battles, the lives lost, and the scars left behind. But hearing Satoru articulate the symbiote's twisted intentions brought a new layer of anguish.

“I just wish…” she began, but the words caught in her throat, unable to fully articulate the depth of her sorrow.

“I know,” Satoru replied softly, his eyes reflecting a mix of pain and understanding. “I wish things could have been different too.”

“I’m sorry I left,” Y/n finally said, her voice barely above a whisper as she avoided making eye contact with the man she loved so dearly. The weight of her apology hung in the air between them, a fragile acknowledgment of the pain that had defined their separation.

Satoru remained silent, the tension thick as he processed her words. He could feel the regret emanating from her, a mirror to the guilt that had plagued him since that fateful day. It was an admission they both needed but had been too afraid to voice until now.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” she continued, her hands fidgeting with the blanket draped over her shoulders. “I thought distancing myself would help you heal, help us both heal. But I see now that I was wrong.”

His heart ached at her confession, the sorrow in her eyes resonating deeply within him. “You don’t have to apologize,” he finally said, his voice steady yet tinged with emotion. “I should have fought harder to keep you by my side. We were both hurting, and I didn’t know how to reach out.”

Y/n finally met his gaze, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I should have communicated better, should have told you how much I was struggling. Instead, I just… ran away.”

Satoru stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking as he searched her face for understanding. “We were both caught up in our pain, but we can’t change the past. What matters is that we’re here now.”

.

.

.

.

Another author's note: This was super sad but was an idea I was testing out, I'm still on the fence I want to use a plot line to this and I'm still tweaking how I want Black Cat to be introduced because any spiderman fan knows you cant have a spiderman story without a good ole two women one peter.. or Gojo. I had a hard time deciding on who should be Black Cat but I figured the best bet would just be creating a character for it. Let me know what you guys think in the comments. I'm so excited to share my story with you all <3

[lazyyogi]

My mother is in Hospice passing away from stage four cancer and only has about two months to live. I feel that grief can feel like death to a perceived reality. My family has always been dysfunctional and her passing is bringing out this dysfunction. My parents were emotionally abusive in my childhood but I made sure to forgive them as much as I could. Do you have any insight on detachment, grief, forgiveness, loss of a parent at a young age or anything of that nature? Blessings!

Hello again my friend. This must be an immensely challenging time for you. I’m eager to help however I can.

My dad died from melanoma the summer before I graduated high school and the resulting trauma is what catapulted me onto the spiritual path. While every loss is unique and different, there may be a few useful things I can share.

I think firstly an important point is that there isn’t one particular way you should be feeling. Rather, you should endeavor to be aware of your feelings however they may be. When our feelings remain subconscious or semi-conscious, they can sneak up on us and cause problems. Instead, prioritize mindfulness of your internal state continually and touch base with that often.

Secondly, you mention detachment. There are many ways to conceptualize and discuss detachment. Most relevant here is regarding judgments and conclusions. You may be inclined to draw conclusions or form judgements from your feelings of grief and sadness. When we start analyzing and extrapolating from our feelings in this way, that is when they attach or get stuck inside us. And rather than making our feelings more clear, it tends to have the opposite effect.

When we can be mindful of our feelings and allow ourselves to feel them without adding our own judgments and analysis, we tend to find a wider and wiser perspective. Not only that but also those feelings are then processed in a more healthy and efficient manner. It is almost as if you experience those feelings intimately as they pass through you without getting caught or stuck anywhere within.

That is why rather than calling it detachment, I prefer to think of it as a kind of inner transparency.

Lastly, I would say that all of this is a spiral process. Walking a spiral is like walking in a circle except that once you’ve come full circle, you have a slightly different vantage point than before; you aren't standing exactly where you had started. You will feel shitty and grief-stricken and then you will recover. And then at some point you will feel a new wave of grief.

But in time and with self-work, the feelings of grief change and mature. There is a Jewish saying I was told after my dad's passing, which I liked: “Let their memory be for a blessing.” When we have grieved and grown, the memory of our loved one becomes a blessing. It will forever be colored with sadness, but that’s okay. That’s not so bad when it means we also get to cherish their love and blessings.

After my dad died, I did all the things. I spent some time talking to a psychologist, I shifted my path from the occult to the existential, and I tried every meditation practice I came across. It wasn’t just that I was trying to address my grief, it was also that my dad’s death really drove home the reality of my own mortality, that I am going to die. And rather than simply wanting to feel better, I wanted to obtain the kind of insight that would free me entirely. Perhaps you may feel similarly, perhaps not.

I do hope your mother’s passing is peaceful and that she does not suffer. May she be blessed and guided through whatever comes next.

If I can ever be of help, always feel free to reach out.

Much love,

LY

[she-karev]

The Pregnant Resident (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister Imagine)

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: One of Four

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

Canon Episode: Season 19 Episode 2

AN: Hey guys I decided to show some soft pregnant Amber Karev chapters. The next three chapters will be released once daily with the next one coming out tomorrow morning.

Summary: Amber becomes the chief resident while six months pregnant where the interns underestimate her abilities due to her condition, but she proves them wrong.

Words: 1335

September 12th, 2022

“Finally, the world is in balance.”

Amber says as she puts her baby blue scrubs on for the first time in six months. The residency program shut down in March due to complaints about the methods. But they reopened it with a new batch of interns. Amber DeLuca has been appointed as the new chief resident of this group and it makes her excited to finally getting back to the job she was meant to have. Her visions from when she was an intern did not include a six-month pregnant belly, however.

“You know you can start maternity leave at any time, Grey and Marsh said it was fine.” Amber turns to her husband, Andrew DeLuca, sitting on the bench behind her clearly hovering to her annoyance.

Amber grabs her antacids from her cubby, “We’ve got interns who look like they came straight out of a gen z teen show and their resumes could only be accepted by a state penitentiary infirmary. Maybe.”

“I know these guys didn’t get straight A’s like us and they aren’t as tough and able to take a punch like you, but they show promise.” Andrew stands up to face Amber in his navy-blue scrubs and lab coat, “They did pretty good for their first day on the job in the middle of a crisis.”

Amber narrows her eyes, “Adams almost cost life saving organs for a patient because he didn’t know to use full names when addressing grieving loved ones. And Kwan reminds me of my brother when he was in intern.”

Andrew hisses at that comparison knowing how his brother-in-law was when he was Amber’s age, “Ouch I feel bad for him when he’s on your service.”

“Oh you should.” Amber pulls out a candy bar and devours it in two bites to Andrew’s shock, “I’m eating for two don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging I know better than that. And I also know how you’re getting crankier as the due date draws near. Being a chief resident at a major hospital your bound to snap and cause a scene that can make you look…”

“Aggressive?”

“I was gonna say passionate.” Andrew mends before giving his wife a concerned look, “Are you sure you can handle working here today? We do have other residents.”

“We have Parker, Qadri and Schmitt and I only trust one of them to operate on me if I was dying.”

“I know Schmitt is dead last.” He says amusingly.

“I’ll be fine babe, it’s the ER today where Hunt is working so I’ll be fine.” Amber’s smart watch beeps and she groans, “I gotta get to the locker room and greet the interns. I’ll see you tonight where I can brag how I’m a much better chief resident than you were.”

Andrew chuckles at that, “You know those hormones make you cocky too, more than usual at least.”

“You were the one who knocked me up this is all on you pal.” Amber teases before walking away from her husband who watches in amusement at his wife’s waddles.

Later

“How bad do you think this is gonna get?” Casey Parker asks his friends and fellow residents Levi Schmitt and Dahlia Qadri as they wait inside the intern locker rooms for Dr. Nick Marsh to present their chief resident who will give them instructions for the day.

As they wait they watch the interns change and are astonished by how young and innocent they look. It makes them wonder if they looked that way their first week and how they perceived the residents in charge of them.

Dahlia shrugs, “Well Amber is sixty months pregnant, the residency program started up and these guys are from a generation of backtalkers and privilege seekers. I think we’ll be fine with her as our boss.”

Schmitt eats a granola bar and asks with his mouth full, “What about the interns? How are they gonna feel under her rule?”

“Oh they don’t stand a chance.” Dahlia confirms after years of working with Amber and being close friends with her.

Casey chuckles in agreement, “Ten bucks says she makes an intern cry at the end of the day.”

Levi joins in, “Twenty says she yells at one so loud they faint.”

“Fifty says those hormones of hers yells at the first person who pisses at her, intern or attending wise.” Qadri bets with confidence.

“Oh you are so on, I’m gonna be rich.” Casey smiles at that before Marsh walks in and stands in front of the interns with the residents behind him except for Amber.

“Listen up. Dr. DeLuca is your chief resident.”

Mika Yasuda whispers under her breath, “She's our only senior resident.”

Marsh continues, “She is not here at the moment but she will be. She's gonna be handing out your assignments while I'm doing a kidney transplant. Who can name the top three causes of end-stage renal disease?”

The interns raise their hands except for Kwan who answers immediately, “Hypertension, diabetes, glomerulonephritis.”

Jules Millin calls out to Marsh, “He didn't raise his hand.”

“Yeah, I don't care about any of that.” He says dismissively.

“Am I correct?”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Do I get to scrub in?” Kwan asks causing the residents to roll their eyes at the eager puppies.

“No, uh, you cannot. Where is Dr. DeLuca?”

Qadri explains, “She’ll be here soon she’s just…a little slow nowadays.”

Kwan scoffs dismissively, “And they made a slow person chief resident?”

Casey chuckles at that knowing Amber will hate him, “Oh you are gonna make me some good money Kwan.”

Kwan furrows his eyebrows at that just as Dr. Amber DeLuca enters the room exhaling deeply due to how winded she is from her power walk there.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s no problem.” Marsh turns to the confused interns who look at Amber curiously, “Okay this is your chief resident, Dr. DeLuca.”

Most of them look at the pregnant woman shocked to have her as their boss. This causes Amber to grin sarcastically at the young doctors while her friends next to her shake their heads knowing the interns are in for a ride today.

“Have fun, DeLuca.” Marsh leaves the room causing Amber to walk to the front with her tablet in hand.

“Okay people here’s the deal. I am in charge of the ER today in a major populated city, I have to watch over interns, I am six months pregnant with my first baby and the heartburn stops for five minutes a day. So, nobody complain or we will have words and they will be one’s you’ve never heard in the same sentence before.” Qadri grins at that threat as the interns look taken back while Amber explains their duties for the day.

“Adams, you're with Dr. Pierce. Kwan's with Ndugu. Yasuda you’re coming to the pit with me and you will report to Owen Hunt. Millin and Griffith you will join us and do surgical consult in the pit.”

“Uh, two of us for one consult?” Simone Griffith asks causing Amber to glare at her.

“This is a world class hospital and your interns on your first week. Leaving one of you to care for a patient would be like giving a loaded gun to a coked-out monkey.” Casey and Schmitt snicker at that comparison that makes Millin and Griffith look offended but Amber ignores it, “Now, don't embarrass me or kill anyone or drop anything inside a patient. I am dead serious about that last one.”

“Oh trust me she is.” Schmitt states knowing it’s from his rotation at the hospital when he and Amber first met. This makes Parker and Qadri smile while Amber frowns at the interns who are still standing there frozen.

“What are you all waiting for? Chinese New Year? Go!”

The interns scurry off in fear leaving the residents in the room where they nod in approval of Amber’s first moment as the chief resident. Amber ignores them however and heads to the pit.

Next Chapter Here

[sokkastyles]

Hi,

Hope you are doing well.

Thank you for the answer to my previous query. I had another query about Aang.

I once recall reading a meta that Aang getting hit by Azula's lightning was a punishment for him choosing power instead of love. I can't recall the whole thing, but from what I remember, it seems like Aang was punished because he chose the power of the Avatar State over his love of Katara. But that has me confused, because this power he needed to save the three nations from the Fire Nation. So, it makes no sense why him choosing this power was wrong, over his love for Katara.

I would like your thoughts over this.

This is a place where I get what the show was trying to do, but they framed it in absolutely the wrong way. I think Aang going into the Avatar State in Ba Sing Se was supposed to be him choosing power over love, hence the "I'm sorry, Katara," line. I think we are supposed to think that in his desperation to save everyone from Azula and the Dai Li, he chooses power, contrary to what the show earlier framed as the wise choice of choosing love over power.

The problem with this is that it's a false dichotomy. It supposes that what the Guru was telling him about giving up earthly attachments to unblock his chakras and enter the Avatar State meant giving up love altogether and choosing power over love, when it shouldn't mean that at all.

Giving up selfish attachments means accepting love, the kind of love that is giving and not taking. Aang can still love Katara, but he should not be using Katara as a replacement for his people or seeing her as someone who will come around eventually because he wants her to. This kind of love is sacrificial because it requires letting go of entitlement to the person, and if they really love you, they will come back to you on their own.

I really actually thought that this was the narrative being built for Aang and Katara at the tail end of season two, especially since it mirrors Zuko and Iroh's narrative so well. It also fits so well with the show's theme of setting up false dichotomies in order to later prove them false. See: earthbenders cannot bend metal, firebending is always destructive, the elements themselves as always seperate from each other, etc. The Guru gives this same advice to Aang, so why would he advise Aang to choose power over love, to choose another dichotomy? Because Aang understanding it as a dichotomy is a misunderstanding of what the Guru was trying to teach him.

But then Aang just "decides" to go into the Avatar State and we're supposed to believe the "I'm sorry" is him giving up his love for Katara. How did he accomplish this huge emotional work, since it was so hard for him before? We don't know. Especially in a moment when Katara is being threatened, a moment when he should realistically feel more attached and possessive of her than ever. You're telling me that after all that, Aang was able to grieve his people and reconcile his attachment to Katara and reach enlightenment all in, what, two seconds, when five minutes before he was saying he couldn't do it?

It makes no sense. Especially since he is at this point still misunderstanding what the Guru was trying to teach him.

Especially given his talk with Iroh in which Iroh said it was wise to choose happiness and love. It makes no sense, without any build up, for Aang to suddenly make the opposite decision, and the idea of him being punished for it makes even less sense, since we don't know why he did it. There was no visible internal conflict going on because Aang had already decided not to choose power over love. If he's supposed to be uncertain leading up to a wrong choice, show me that. The way the show has Zuko visibly torn between his love for Iroh and Katara's compassion and the power and validation he craves from his father.

It also makes no sense as a choice between power and love in the first place because he chose the power FOR Katara, because she was in danger. In the exact same way he rejected the Guru's advice because he had a vision of Katara in danger. So he actually didn't change anything. So being punished for choosing power doesn't make sense, because the thing he still needs to learn is that it was never a dichotomy in the first place, and that was supposed to unlock the power.

I said before that I think a real narrative punishment as a consequence for not understanding the Guru's advice would be Katara actually getting captured as a result of Aang's inability to go into the Avatar State. After that, Aang would spend a time more attached to Katara than ever, still unable to go into the Avatar State until he reconciles this internal conflict within himself, until he learns not to choose power for power's sake, or love for the sake of validation. Until he learns that his duty as Avatar is a duty of love, and that both of these things go hand in hand. The responsibility of power meeting the responsibility of what it means to love another human being.

Instead, the show has Aang just decide to go into the Avatar State, and replaces the internal conflict with "well Azula shot him so now he can't go into the Avatar State," so his internal conflict never actually gets resolved.

I also wrote about this here. And I think the fact that that asker saw a post claiming that this scene is Aang letting go of his attachment to Katara while you saw a post that framed it as him getting punished underlines the confusion over what the writers were trying to do with this scene and the sloppy way it's written, especially in comparison to other places where the writing is phenomenal.

[jessread-s]

✩🏜️🚗Review:

Jessica Joyce’s debut novel is every bit as emotional as it is steamy.

“You, with a View” follows Noelle Shepherd, an aspiring photographer who is grieving the loss of her grandmother. After stumbling across letters and photographs that reveal a secret relationship in her gram’s past, she jumps at the chance to learn more, even if that means spending two weeks on the road with her high school rival Theo, who just so happens to be the son of her gram’s lost love. 

Noelle and Theo’s love story is like no other! Through Noelle’s perspective, Joyce shares the details surrounding their rivalry. I enjoyed learning about their intertwined pasts and. was thoroughly entertained by their bickering while they were on the road. Joyce slowly builds up to the moment their rivalry turns into something romantic, their intense hatred unmasking itself as intense love. I adored their more intimate moments and their less spicy ones, namely when they traded secrets, danced at the closest bar they could find, and wiped away each other’s tears when times became difficult. Most of all, I love how the two ultimately support each other as they work through their own internal conflicts. Instead of fixing each other, they embrace one another, flaws and all. 

I also found this book impactful because it broaches the topic of grief. Joyce takes great care in sharing the state of Noelle’s mental health after the loss of her grandmother. She struggles to cope and puts her life on hold until she comes with the idea of going on the roadtrip her grandmother never got to. But grief does not go away within the span of two weeks on the road and I appreciate Joyce for communicating that. The pain only lessens with time, as seen in the novel’s epilogue, which leaves the reader feeling hopeful. 

I would be remiss if I did not mention how much I love Paul and his meddling. Without him, this story would feel incomplete. I adore that man for picking up on Theo and Noelle’s intense attraction for each other before they did themselves. I also appreciate him for becoming Theo’s father figure and a constant in Noelle’s life. 

It is safe to say that I am a Jessica Joyce fan! I cannot wait to see what she puts out next!

Cross-posted to: Instagram | Amazon | Goodreads | StoryGraph

[darkdemeter]

*deep sigh* this cover is friggin amazeballs.

And I'm gonna go on a bit of a rant here (Warning! Darksiders stuff, Lovers In Eden fic discussion)

-- Also this is all just from my interpretation of the song. I'm not saying that this is what the song is actually about or anything, this is just how my mind reads into the music for this fic in particular. I can listen to a song that has absolutely no lyrical contact with the subject I'm writing, but I rely on the song's delivery of emotion and melody in order to convey the theme I'm writing for.

For me, this female cover reflects an equal intensity behind it as the original but it carries a (very obvious) feminine cadence to it almost like a sort of dreamy hello and reunion while also lamenting from reader's pov. Whereas the male variant is suited to Strife's perspective. The male version has this solemn approach, hopeless, reflecting how he's caught in his past; stuck in the dark field of dead lilies and unable to move on.

The added and slight echo within the lyrics also gives me this imagery that his internal thoughts and voices are present. He's actively engaged constantly in replaying those memories in his head and as a result, it's echoing him with the haunt of his past sins and that of killing reader.

And when that chorus hits with the instrumental, it sounds so aggressive and pleading like he's wishing, shouting at the top of his lungs, to be taken back to that one moment which was in Eden. Of course there are plenty of moments he'd like to go back to, but that moment in Eden is the one he yearns to return to the most.

Overall, the male variant just has this chaotic regret to it, this dark melancholy. Even though he often deflects what's really going on in his head when in the presence of others, internally he feels like he is drowning. Dying.

It hurts him to think that if he could go back, he'd not just be returning to reader but to the monster he once was. The monster that killed you.

From beginning to end, the song progressively and noticeably becomes more bold and loud, more... desperate to be heard and answered. I like to think that the song reflects Strife's mental state throughout the story, alongside and I think I've skimmed over this, it also loosely portrays the flow of the story as well.

Going back to the female version. Boy oh boy, was I ecstatic to find this cover! It is everything I could ask for in a female version of this song. As I've said, this one vividly gives me insight to reader's pov. Though it possesses that same strength and bite to it as the original, its delivery is softer and more regarded with this gentle and calm femininity in the beginning. And it has this essence that reader is lamenting for that connection they had but also... aware of what happened. Understanding.

It isn't just a shared union with him where she longs to return to those tender moments or that wonderful moment in Eden despite what was occurring around them. (huge lore piece, ain't spoiling that), but it's also a very tender "I know." She knows he is suffering because of what happened. She understands that it has -- in blatant terms -- psychologically fucked him in the head.

And she grieves for that.

I hear in the male version that Strife is pleading, the female cover is reader answering. Both are singing the same lyrics to the song of their past together, but each side has a differing perspective, an otherwise hidden level beneath what was seen then. In the song's middle arc, or second chorus, it sounds more distorted like a reverbed gargling, a melodic turning inwards. An internal reflection of a fractured psyche revealing more than what meets the eye; that of the darker truth.

Ok and I'm gonna end it there.

[doctoratecuddles]

recently ive been watching true crime cases, specifically medical ones and holy shit is it tragic. from negligences and malpractices which can completely change or seal a person's life, its honestly one of the most horrific things I've seen, especially considering how so many people are completely dependent on doctors to save their lives, but they cannot be sure whether or not to fully trust them. and all of this is just making me think of sparklecare and its frankly pathetic state.

i apologize for sounding morbid, but i wish barrys condition slowly became worse and worse after the negligence he suffered at the very start of the comic, and the surgery scene was the very last straw and he died. that would show how intense these malpractice cases really are.

and how about patients who believe they are in an institution which will actually help them, but as time passes they realised they're slowly being killed? patients who died and their families now have to live in grief, settling in with their loss?

this is probably one of the reasons i like the volume where the patients escape briefly so much; no matter how much they yell and scream to be heard, the public will always show deaf ears since the media is being paid to show this facade. it's such a heart-breaking and grieving moment, but i love it since it's true. it reminds me of rhe case of that one surgeon who installed plastic tubes on people saying they helped improve a rly serious condition, and the media praised him for he hid the truth, the plethora of dying and suffering people behind the scenes; but a few years later he finally got payback.

and how about hospitals' transphobia? this is more so of personal headcanons but i wish we had more characters who were trans but had internalized transphobia, like doom or cuddles, who neglected trans patients looking for healthcare.

smth I appreciate abt cometcare is how it shows how the past affected the patients' current lives. thats something ill give kudos for tbh

i just feel like sparklecare can be used to project a really powerful, dark, yet truthful message, the evils of the medical industry, which people often ignore or don't see it actually happening. and if i may add i hate how kittycorn changed the purpose of the fucking comic to rather than being a (failed) social commentary to coping/comfort comic because she was getting criticism. fuck off

anyways sorry for rambling its 2:42AM i stood up the whole night binging true crime im tired - 🐌🌴

Here's another ask where I don't even need to add anything because it's phrased so freakishly well. Snailnon I fear your writing skills and I will read any books you happen to publish in the future.

[roeyliteratiforever]

Regarding the GG virginity plot line., ASP wanted Jess to be around in season 4 and for Rory and Jess to have some form of semi friendship following the ILY bomb. The Dean stuff with Rory was planned but not the sex part. Think of it like she uses L*gan like a security blanket in AYITL. She would have ultimately had a moment with Jess and lost her virginity but would still have met and been with L*gan. That's pretty much what ASP has hinted to over the years. But would she have done it? She said she would make Alexis and Milo be in another revival for the endgame and that's never hapenning lol

Hi Anon,

Yeah ASP says a lot of things. I heard things about her saying that she did want Rory to lose her virginity to an ex while they weren't together. Maybe originally it was going to be Jess but since he was primarily gone and Dean was still in the picture they maybe just went with it. I hate it that Rory has to remember that as her first time! 😢 I agree she was using Logan like a security blanket and something familiar to distract her from the real things she was dealing with internally which was grieving her grandfather's death. Rory doesn't process her emotions well all the time and similar to her state of mind in season 4 how she felt she was going to break because she kept pushing her feelings down because she was still heartbroken over Jess, and her dad starting a whole new family and he was going to be the father to his new daughter that she never got from him, and her feeling overwhelmed by school on top of it, and all of these things led to her breakdown in season four and Dean was like a security blanket for her at that time similar to how she was in a year in the life. She was grieving and she reached a burnout in her career due to the depression she was in from losing her grandfather and turned to Logan for comfort as her security blanket similar to season 4. I think if Jess stayed she would have eventually probably had a moment where her and Jess did have sex, but I think Milo still would have left and it would have led to Rory being heartbroken more afterwards. If only we knew what could have happened if Milo had signed that six year contract it may have been a better outcome for them. I've also heard that ASP would have wanted them to eventually be endgame, but she also said about ayitl "what would you have rather see Rory end up with Jess what's the fun in that" she thought the drama would be more fun apparently and having Rory struggling 😒😔 I do still think Rory and Jess would be endgame if the show continued but ASP likes a lot of drama that stops her ships from getting together or tearing them apart when they are finally in a happy place she did it with Luke and Lorelai throughout the show and Jess and Rory too. She finally gave Luke and Lorelai their happy ending but it took a while similarly I think that is what ASP was going for with Literati too. She definitely did want them both to come back and probably does want them to be endgame but she also loves drama! 😑 Why won't she just let my babies be happy! 😭💔

[thatgirlonstage]

Hey have a fucked up TAZ thought for the day. Gently pushing aside Merle and Gundran somehow literally being blood related, the people that the seven birds like grew up with and knew before the IPRE obviously wouldn’t… exist on Faerun. Or even if we take Griffin’s hand-wavey explanation of Gundran and accept that there are some of the same people in this particular planar system, these versions of those people wouldn’t have the faintest goddamn clue who the birds are. From what we’ve seen of the voidfish, it will to an extent overwrite its own inconsistencies, but it doesn’t have the ability to implant totally false memories in disconnected people. Lucretia couldn’t have done that.

And I know we kind of generally agree that all of our birds are orphaned and generally solitary people, which is borne up by none of them (LUCKILY FOR GRIFFIN LMAO) ever randomly being like hey let me roll to see if my dear childhood friend Claire lives in Goldcliff now or something or otherwise referencing connections from their childhood, but like— they couldn’t possibly have known no one at all who was still alive and in touch with them when they blasted off to space.

So like. What if, after the destruction of Raven’s Roost, Magnus actually tried to do the healthy thing first. He’s devastated, he’s not thinking straight, but he’s not quite at fling himself off a cliff in despair levels, so he does what you’re supposed to do: he reaches out to a friend. No one from Raven’s Roost, obviously, but an older friend, someone he met on fantasy study abroad and had maintained a pen pal relationship with for years. He hasn’t written to them recently, of course, bc he’s been so busy with the rebellion, and Julia—he sent them an invitation to his wedding but they must not have been able to come. Or it got lost in the fantasy mail! Shit happens—but he feels sure they wouldn’t turn him away, certainly not in this state. They’d at least give him somewhere to crash for a week, let him sleep through some of the worst of the grief.

He turns up on their doorstep and they’re—not there. According to the gnome couple that live there, they’ve never been there. This has been the gnome couple’s house for 120 years. No one of the name Magnus is giving has lived here since before he was born.

He asks around town. Goes to the school he studied at and asks for records. Literally hires a divination wizard to try a scry because he’s fucking desperate at this point.

This person, this person Magnus got sloppy drunk with, who got into a bar fight back to back with him, who helped him struggle through Elvish grammar and cantrip lessons, who wrote to him about the gorgeous half-orc boy they wanted to marry, who sent him chocolate every Candlenights, this person doesn’t. Fucking. Exist. Has never existed, as far as Magnus or anyone else can tell.

Spooked, and grieving no less, and seriously afraid for his friend’s well being, Magnus thinks okay. Okay. He needs help. He needs perspective. He tries someone else, someone maybe a little more distant but still reliable. An old school coach, maybe. Someone who gave him his first sparring sessions when he was training to be a fighter.

That man did exist, but he’s been dead for eight years according to people in town. Which isn’t fucking possible, because Magnus saw him for lunch four years ago.

Okay. Okay. Okay. Someone else. Who else can he talk to.

He goes to a town where he once spent a summer interning for a dog trainer. He learned so much there. It would be good to be around dogs again.

The woman he trained with has no memory of him at all. She doesn’t recognize him, she doesn’t recognize his name, she doesn’t believe him when he says he knows her. She doesn’t recognize half the dogs he talks about. She chases him off her property, accusing him of trying to steal from her, although he hadn’t asked for anything.

The next one was dead too.

The next one didn’t know him either.

The next one didn’t exist.

Magnus’s family, friends, and acquaintances are a string of “dead” “don’t remember him” or “apparently, never fucking real” until he says fine, fucking fine. He’s not the type to spiral into despair. He’ll do some good before he goes out.

But he is going to go out.

Because if no one still alive even knows who he is, what is he living for?

[yikesbin]

13 ways of looking at a fat girl : a review from an actual fat girl

**CW: eating disorders, body image, fat phobia, sexual fetishizing

Mona Awad invented the "fat girl gaze" with this book. Or at least, she put it into words.

I have never felt more seen & understood through a work of fiction in my entire life. I've struggled with body image and its effects on my females friendships since I hit puberty. And although I have never been an actual bitch straight to the faces of my skinny friends, this novel captures a perfect rendition of my internal monologue. Here's some of my thick girl thoughts about some of the themes discussed!

The Fat Girl Sexual Experience™️ :

The fat girl sexual experience is highly discussed throughout most of this book, and it is as similar to real life as it disgustingly could be. Because what is being a fat woman if not constantly being perceived as a piece of meat merely used for fucking? Or maybe it's the constant older-male sexual gratification that seals the deal. Either way, Awad does not shy away from the raw truth that dating as a fat girl is packed with weird fetishizes & the constant stripping of innocence. And something I find that this book does well, is explaining how fat women lean into a sexualized culture. Although that is not a want or a goal for me, it almost feels like I've had to appear from sexual to get any "attention" from men at all. Even if I'm not wanting to be sexual. And if attention is received, it's almost always in a negative, two-toned connotation, because apparently being a woman with boobs means I'm only here to fuck you. You can throw interpersonal communication out the window - my top says "skip the gentleness & just get to work!". So you lean into it. You become a sexual fantasy. At least you're not alone anymore. It's easier this way.

The Fear of Fat Loss :

But then comes after. Awad paints a picture of one my my greatest fears; losing my all my weight & somehow becoming more mad at the world than before.

When scrolling through many weight loss videos online, I often am reminded of how cruel society is, in ways that seem almost ingrained into the start of a person. How people become kinder to you after the weight is gone, or how those around you seem to keep the fat girl you once were in the back of their head. People hold open the door for you now, or they smile at you more.

And then I'm remember that looking at myself after weight-loss would be more grueling that being fat itself. Because you now feel foreign in your own body. You begin to judge others that looked like you at one point, and question how they can live such a happy life when they look like that. I finally got what I wanted, why am I so miserable? The truth is, you are not happy. Because skinniness does not equal happiness. It merely makes shopping easier. And maybe you can feel like you fit in with your friends more. But it's hard to accept yourself as skinny and happy when it took you bitterness & internalized fat phobia to get there. "Congratulations!" they say, and you sit there wondering how strange it is to congratulate someone on their own self-hatred. You are haunted by the fat girl inside.

As a final conclusion, I'll state that these are my opinions based on experiences I felt connected with the topics addressed in this work of FICTION. You don't have to agree, and I don't care if you disagree. Be kind. I'll leave this post with some one my favorite quotes, feel free to analyze them in the comments.

*Content Warning Reminder : eating disorders, body image, fat phobia, sexual fetishizing

“I’d spend hours hunting for something—anything—that would render me moderately fuckable. And if not fuckable, something in which I could grieve over the fact of not being fuckable with unbaubled dignity."

“Later on I'm going to be really fucking beautiful. I'm going to grow into that nose and develop an eating disorder. I'll be hungry and angry all my life but I'll also have a hell of a time.”

“My father has always felt that being fat was a choice. When I was in college I would sometimes meet him for lunch or coffee, and he would stare at my extra flesh like it was some weird piece of clothing I was wearing just to annoy him. Like my fat was an elaborate turban or Mel’s zombie tiara or some anarchy flag that, in my impetuous youth, I was choosing to hold up and wave in his face. Not really part of me, just something I was doing to rebel, prove him wrong."

“There was always that shadowy twin, thin when I was fat, fat when I was thin, myself in silvery negative, with dark teeth and shining white pupils glowing in the black sunlight of that other world." - Margaret Atwood