#control the fire that is anger? like you controlled the fire that killed your wife right

[deadwardianpoltergeist]

if Raph has 1000 fans I’m one of them, if he has 10 fans I’m one of them, if she has 1 fan it’s me, if he has 0 fans I’m dead

she genuinely is a good person, and I love 2003 tmnt for how they portray him

her anger is never demonized, and the way splinter handles it in 2003 is LIGHTYEARS better than how 2012 splinter does, 2003 splints reassures and comforts raph when she’s upset, because she actually understands why raph acts the way he does

versus in 2012, where splinter reprimands him and never actually helps her with his anger, only telling him to just control it, lest it destroys her, but never actually says how he’s supposed to do that

in 2003 raph’s character is so well handled and it’s what makes this show so special to me

the way they have tender moments with him and her siblings, the way that he’s shown being a genuinely compassionate creature, and most of all the way his anger in “Meet Casey Jones” is put

he loses her temper with mikey, who won’t stop fueling her irritation, until he completely goes red(haha, red) and almost seriously hurts angelo

instead of her siblings getting mad at him for losing her temper, they just pull him off mikey, and splinter simply tells raph to go above ground to cool off some steam

no “what the (s)hell is wrong with you” or “you need to just chill out and stop being angry” just them moving in to de-escalate the situation, while still having understanding

and then he goes off in the city, saying “what the shell is wrong with me” and it just. it’s so painfully real(other than the turtle pun but it’s a kid’s show), and then she sees casey and goes “hey this guy’s like me” and then tries to help casey, trying to tell her that, hey, you have to take a minute to step back because letting your anger get to you like that only hurts people, and hurts you too

and her temper never causes a rift between him and her siblings, only differences in mindsets in “A City At War” where raph is convinced they have no obligation to stop the gang fights(although that is weird because it literally is their problem, they help innocent people and innocent people are getting hurt in the cross fire) causes an big thing where raph won’t listen to leo

and raph and mikey still very much get along, even if mike is kind of an annoying little shit(/aff)

I love 2003 raph so much, even more than other versions of raph, which is saying something because he’s is my favourite turtle in almost every version

[novaursa]

Where Honor Burns

- Summary: After the tragedy Above the God's Eye, you decided to go to King's Landing, in hope to prevent more bloodshed. Even if it means your death.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwanye Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Chains We Break. To read all parts in chronological order visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Also, in this AU Rhaenyra never sized King's Landing.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 017

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs @sachaa-ff

- A/N: you guys liked this so much I've decided to push next part out early again, since I have the entire thing finnished already for some time and I feel unfair to keep it from you, as it's very well recived series. There will be one more part of this posted, then it's done. Enjoy. ❤️

The day dawns with gray skies, heavy with the weight of impending rain, as if the gods themselves mourn what has been lost. You stand at the edge of Dragonstone’s cliffs, fingers tightening around the rough parchment in your hand. The inked words smudge slightly from the salt in the air—or perhaps it is the tears you refuse to shed.

Daemon is dead.

The news is sharp and bitter on your tongue, like ashes. You should feel grief, yet what blooms in your chest is nothing more than an emptiness edged with relief. Daemon’s death severs the last frayed threads binding you to him, a marriage that was doomed from the moment it began. The years of ambition, control, and quiet disdain have left scars deeper than any sword could carve. The day you and Rhaenyra agreed to release Gwayne to Otto—sealed your doom as Daemon’s wife. He never forgave you for that. 

The sound of footsteps draws you from your thoughts. Vaeron approaches, his brow furrowed, his usually confident stride hesitant. He’s grown into a fine young man—strong and determined, the fire of Old Valyria running hot in his veins, a fire that no doubt still confused him, born as he was not of Daemon’s blood but of Gwayne’s. The tension between them had only worsened in recent months, yet Vaeron was still the same boy Daemon had taken under his wing, raising him as his own.

“Mother,” Vaeron’s voice is tight, the pain behind it unmistakable. “Is it true?”

You nod, unable to bring yourself to repeat the words. “Daemon and Aemond both perished above the Gods Eye.”

He inhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, full with the silver of his true heritage. “He was a fool to challenge Aemond alone,” he murmurs, but there is no triumph in his voice, only a deep-seated sorrow. Despite everything, Vaeron still sought Daemon’s approval, still yearned for some semblance of affection from the man who had twisted the role of father into something cruel and cold. 

You reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his skin. “He made his choice, just as we all have,” you say, your voice soft yet firm. “This war has gone on long enough. Too much blood has been spilled, and more will be if we do nothing.”

Vaeron’s gaze sharpens as he looks at you, the young warrior ready for battle in his eyes, but beneath it lies uncertainty. “What are you planning, Mother?”

You straighten your back, steel in your voice as you declare, “I’m going to King’s Landing.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Vaeron’s eyes widen in shock, a flicker of fear quickly masked by anger. “You can’t! They’ll kill you the moment you set foot near the Red Keep. You’re the one who crippled Aegon at Rook’s Rest! They’ll flay you alive for that alone!”

A bitter smile touches your lips. “Perhaps. But we cannot keep hiding behind dragons and armies, waiting for a decisive blow that may never come. Rhaenyra has the right to the throne, but we cannot burn the realm to the ground for it. Someone must act before there’s nothing left to rule.”

“Mother, please,” Vaeron’s voice breaks with desperation now. “If not for yourself, then for me. You’re all I have left.” 

You feel the sting of tears prickling at the edges of your vision, but you blink them away. You’ve made your choice, and there is no room for doubt. You cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm, and see the boy you once cradled as a babe, a child of love born in secret. “I am doing this for you, Vaeron. For you, and for the realm. The bloodshed must end, and if it is my life that brings peace, then so be it.”

He looks at you, eyes shining with unshed tears, his jaw clenched. “You can’t do this alone.”

“No,” you agree, your voice softening. “But I must be the one to start it.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The wind howls around you, the sea crashing violently against the rocks below. Vaeron pulls away, shaking his head as if trying to ward off the inevitability of it all. “I’ll go with you,” he finally says, determination hardening in his voice.

You shake your head gently. “No, my son. You’re needed here. If things go wrong, Rhaenyra will need someone she can trust—someone with a clear head. You must protect your family, no matter what happens.”

He clenches his fists, trembling as he battles between wanting to protect you and knowing you’re right. “I hate this,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I hate all of it.”

“So do I,” you reply, your voice breaking. “But sometimes, we must do what is necessary, even if it costs us everything.”

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his brow, and for a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to hold him close, the way you did when he was small, and the world was far simpler. When you pull back, his face is set in a mask of determination, so much like yours when you were younger, filled with dreams and desires that have long since turned to ash.

“Stay strong, Vaeron. For our family. For the future.”

With that, you turn and walk back toward the fortress, your steps heavy with the weight of what you must do. Behind you, the wind carries the sound of your son’s quiet sobs, a painful reminder of all that this war has taken and what it will still demand before it is over. 

You do not look back. You cannot afford to.

You have a realm to save.

King’s Landing reeks of decay, the stench of rot clinging to every breath. Gwayne Hightower stands on one of the parapets overlooking the city, the once-proud banners of the Greens fluttering lifelessly in the breeze. His gaze is fixed on the distant horizon, where storm clouds gather ominously, but his thoughts are elsewhere—always elsewhere. No matter how far he tries to distance himself from the past, it haunts him relentlessly, like a ghost that refuses to be exorcised.

It has been months since his return to the capital, and yet every corner, every shadow in this city, reminds him of her. Of Y/N. His beloved, and the sister of the woman the Greens have fought so bitterly to keep from the throne. He grips the stone ledge tightly, knuckles white as he remembers the day he was brought back, humiliated and paraded like a traitor, a stain upon his family’s honor. 

He had expected death. He would have welcomed it if it meant sparing him from the hollow gaze of Ser Criston Cole, who had demanded his execution for treason. The memory of Cole’s cold sneer, his self-righteous fury, still makes Gwayne’s blood simmer. The man had practically salivated at the thought of executing him, of making an example out of the “traitorous” Hightower who had saved Rhaenyra’s sister from the flames at Rook’s Rest. He would never regret that decision. Not for all the power, gold, or prestige in the world. 

But it was not Cole who held Gwayne’s fate. It was his father, Otto, and his sister, the Dowager Queen Alicent, who intervened, silencing Cole’s demands with a forceful refusal. Yet, they had not been merciful. No, they had allowed the rotting head of Silverwing to be mounted for all to see, a cruel display meant to drive a wedge deeper into Gwayne’s heart. Silverwing, Y/N’s dragon, who had died protecting her—left to wither and decay like a forgotten relic. It was an injustice that Gwayne bore like a festering wound, a humiliation barely concealed beneath the mask of duty.

He shuts his eyes, and her face comes to him unbidden—the softness in her eyes that had never wavered, not even in the face of Daemon’s cold disdain, or the harsh realities of war. He remembers the warmth of her hand in his, the way her voice had soothed the fear in his heart, even when the world around them was crumbling. How could he not have saved her that day? How could anyone expect him to do anything less when it was her life at stake?

The rustle of skirts and the subtle scent of lavender and rosemary pulls him from his reverie. Gwayne opens his eyes, finding his sister standing beside him, her expression unreadable. Dowager Queen Alicent still carries herself with the grace of a woman who has shouldered too much, yet refuses to break beneath the weight. Her once fiery determination has dulled into a cold resolve, a woman shaped by grief and loss, and the endless machinations of court.

“Brother,” she greets softly, her voice carrying the echoes of weariness. “It’s been too long since we spoke.”

He offers her a tight nod, forcing the tension from his jaw. “It has, Your Grace.” The formality is deliberate, a barrier between them. Though they share blood, the distance between them has grown insurmountable over the years. 

Alicent’s eyes flicker with something—regret, perhaps?—before she turns her gaze to the city below. “I’ve heard whispers that you’ve been restless of late. The men say you spend too much time brooding alone, staring into the distance as if searching for answers the gods have hidden from us.”

“I am where I am needed, as you and Father commanded,” he replies curtly, unwilling to entertain her probing. He knows what she’s doing. She’s always been good at drawing out what’s hidden beneath the surface, even when he wishes she wouldn’t.

She sighs softly, a sound filled with unspoken words. “You blame us for what was done to Silverwing.”

Gwayne’s grip tightens on the stone again. He doesn’t deny it. “It was a needless cruelty. She was a noble creature who died protecting her rider. Displaying her head like that—it was an insult to the memory of what she represented.”

“An insult, perhaps,” Alicent admits, her tone carefully measured. “But it was necessary. The people needed a symbol, something to remind them of the cost of defiance.”

He scoffs, bitterness curling his lips. “Defiance? Is that what you call saving someone I love?”

The admission slips out before he can stop it, the rawness of his emotions slicing through the air between them. Alicent’s eyes widen slightly, surprise momentarily breaking through her composed mask. But she recovers quickly, her gaze softening as she studies him. “You still think of her.”

“Every day,” Gwayne says quietly, the ache in his chest tightening. “I think of her every godsdamned day, and I regret nothing. You can have me stripped of titles, cast me into the black cells, and I would still choose to save her.”

For a long moment, there is silence between them, broken only by the distant clamor of the city below. Alicent’s eyes are misty as she watches him, her lips parting as if she’s searching for words that won’t come.

Finally, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Love makes fools of us all, Gwayne. It blinds us to what is prudent, to what is wise. I once knew a man who would have risked everything for love, but time and circumstance have a way of teaching us that such devotion often leads to ruin.”

Gwayne meets her gaze, defiance burning in his eyes. “Then let me be a fool, Sister. I would rather be a fool than a coward who sacrifices what is right for what is safe.”

A flicker of pain crosses Alicent’s face at his words, but she doesn’t flinch. “I pray that the choices you’ve made do not bring you to ruin, Gwayne. We’re all caught in this web of power and bloodshed, each of us trying to hold onto what little we have left.”

Her words linger, heavy with the weight of their shared burdens. Gwayne looks away, his heart still tethered to thoughts of Y/N, of what might have been had the world been kinder, had fate been less cruel.

But the world is what it is—a place of suffering, where even the most noble acts are punished and love is a weakness to be exploited. Yet, even knowing that, he would still choose her. Every time.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” Gwayne says after a long pause, his voice thick with resignation. “Daemon and Aemond are dead. The game we’ve all played has grown cold, and soon it will be Rhaenyra or Aegon who claims the last move.”

“Perhaps,” Alicent murmurs, though her eyes are distant, as if she’s looking at something far beyond this moment. “But war has a way of devouring everything in its path. Whatever happens next, we must be ready.”

Gwayne doesn’t reply. His thoughts drift back to Y/N, to her strength and the resolve she must be clinging to now. He wonders where she is, if she’s safe, and if she ever thinks of him the way he thinks of her. 

But such thoughts are a luxury he cannot afford. He is here, bound by duty, trapped in a city where his only solace is the memory of what once was—and the unshakable knowledge that he would do it all over again, consequences be damned.

The clouds overhead break, and the first droplets of rain begin to fall. As the chill seeps into his bones, Gwayne turns away from the edge, leaving the ghosts of what might have been behind, even if they’ll never truly leave him.

The streets of King’s Landing are thick with discord, and the air hums with the whispers of the crowds. The cobblestones are slick with grime and spilled wine as people press closer to watch, their eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. The moment you arrived at the city gates, there was no ceremony, no dignity—only the iron grip of Ser Criston Cole’s men as they dragged you from your mount, jeering insults trailing in their wake.

“Look at the whore! Just like her sister!”

The words sting like poisoned arrows, yet you hold your head high, refusing to break. The crowd surges, pressing closer, feeding on the spectacle of your humiliation. You’ve been paraded through the streets like a common criminal, Cole’s grip never loosening as he drags you closer to the Red Keep, his eyes alight with vindictive satisfaction. It’s clear he’s been waiting for this moment, to claim victory over the woman —Rhaenyra— who once defied him and the family he serves so devoutly.

He stops abruptly before the gates of the Red Keep, turning to the gathered throng with a sneer curling his lips. “Behold! The dragon’s whore, sister to the pretender queen, come to grovel for mercy she does not deserve!” His voice carries, cold and mocking, inciting the crowd further. They howl their approval, eager for blood—yours or anyone else’s. It makes no difference to them.

But you do not bow your head. You meet Cole’s gaze with icy defiance, refusing to let him see how your heart hammers in your chest. The memories of Silverwing’s rotting head flash in your mind, a stark reminder of the cruelty that awaits you here. But you force yourself to stand tall. You’ve faced worse than this.

You’re brought into the throne room, where Alicent Hightower and her father, Otto, wait. Aegon’s absence is notable, but you know the reason. The rumors speak of his broken body, of his delirious cries as the milk of the poppy steals his sanity away. The once-proud king is now nothing more than a husk, a shadow of the tyrant he once was.

Alicent’s expression is tight with a mixture of weariness and caution, her eyes flicking between you and Cole as if assessing the weight of this confrontation. Otto stands beside her, his face carved from stone, every line etched with ambition and ruthlessness. It’s clear they intend to wring every ounce of leverage from this moment.

“You have a great deal of nerve coming here,” Otto begins, his voice clipped, “knowing the crimes you’ve committed against this family and this realm. You crippled the king, threw the Greens into disarray, and now you slink back like a beggar, expecting what? Mercy? Forgiveness?”

You square your shoulders, refusing to cower. “I came to end the bloodshed. How many more sons, brothers, and fathers must die before you realize that this war has no victors? Only ashes.”

Alicent’s eyes darken, the mention of sons clearly striking a nerve. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, the doors burst open, and Gwayne strides in, his face a mask of barely-contained fury.

“Enough of this!” he bellows, his voice reverberating through the chamber. He moves to rush toward you, but Cole steps forward, his hand already on the hilt of his sword, blocking Gwayne’s path.

“Stay back, Ser Gwayne. This is not your concern,” Cole snaps, his disdain for Gwayne evident in every word.

Gwayne’s eyes blaze as he turns his glare on Cole. “Not my concern? You dare speak to me of what concerns me when you’ve dragged the mother of my son through the streets like some common criminal? You’ve no right to degrade her like this!”

Otto’s eyes narrow at his son, but his voice remains calm, almost condescending. “You forget your place, Gwayne. This is not a matter for your heart to decide. The woman stands accused of treason, of crimes against the Crown.”

“I care nothing for your accusations, Father!” Gwayne’s voice cracks with the intensity of his emotions. “I will not stand by while you humiliate the woman I love—while you let her suffer when this war has already taken too much from all of us!”

There is a silence that follows his words, thick with the weight of what he’s just confessed. Alicent’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, her gaze softening with a flicker of sympathy as she studies her brother’s desperate expression. She’s lost so much—Aemond to the skies above the Gods Eye, Daeron at Tumbleton, and Aegon reduced to a broken shell. For a moment, her mask of cold resolve cracks.

“What would you have me do, Gwayne?” she asks quietly, almost pleading. “What resolution is there, when every path leads to more bloodshed?”

Gwayne takes a step forward, his voice gentler now, imploring. “Let me marry her. Let Viserys’ refusal be buried with him. If we end this cycle of vengeance, perhaps—just perhaps—we can stop this madness. Rhaenyra’s forces are strong, but even she tires of the bloodshed. The realm cannot survive more of this conflict.”

Alicent’s lips press into a thin line, uncertainty warring with her long-held beliefs. “Marrying her would be an insult to the Greens, to everything we’ve fought for. How can you ask me to allow such a union?”

“Because you’ve already lost two sons,” Gwayne says, his voice raw with pain. “Daemon is dead, and so is Aemond. Aegon is no longer fit to rule. You know it, Alicent. We’re fighting a war for a crown that no one truly wants anymore—not in the way it once mattered. The people starve, the dragons die, and for what? The Iron Throne is a curse, not a prize. Let there be peace. Let us find some measure of hope before it all crumbles to dust.”

His words hang heavy in the air, each one a plea, not just for your freedom, but for an end to the suffering that has stained this realm. Alicent looks away, tears glistening in her eyes as the truth of his words gnaws at her heart. 

Otto, however, is unmoved. “You would throw away every gain we’ve made for the whims of your heart? This woman’s marriage to Daemon was a slight to our family’s honor from the beginning. To accept her now would be to admit defeat.”

But before Gwayne can respond, Alicent raises a hand, silencing them both. Her voice is quiet, but it carries the full weight of her authority. “No, Father. Perhaps Gwayne is right. How much more can we lose before there is nothing left worth protecting?” Her gaze turns back to you, and for the first time, you see not just a queen, but a mother who has lost almost everything. “If there is a chance to end this, to save what remains of our families, then we must take it.”

Gwayne exhales shakily, relief flooding his features as he steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Let me marry her, Alicent. Let this be the beginning of something better—something that might actually last.”

Alicent stares at you for a long, agonizing moment, weighing the choice before her. Then, finally, she nods, her voice laced with exhaustion. “Very well. The marriage will be sanctioned. But know this—if this decision leads to more chaos, more ruin, it will be on your head, Gwayne.”

Gwayne bows his head in gratitude, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Sister.”

Cole steps back reluctantly, anger simmering in his eyes, but he knows better than to openly defy the queen. As the tension in the room finally begins to ease, Gwayne moves to your side, his fingers brushing against yours, a touch meant to ground you both after everything that has happened.

You meet his gaze, the storm of emotions within you barely held in check. This was not the path you envisioned, nor the life you had dreamed of, but it is the one before you now. And perhaps, in this fragile truce, there is a glimmer of hope—for your son, for Gwayne, and for the future you might yet carve from the ruins of war.

For now, you allow yourself the comfort of his presence, knowing that whatever comes next, you won’t face it alone.

The room is dimly lit, the flickering light of candles casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The scent of roses and herbs wafts through the air as the servants bustle around you, their hands quick but gentle as they prepare your bath. You can barely focus on their movements; your mind is still spinning from the events of the day, from the jeers of the crowd to the cold fury in Otto’s eyes. Your body aches, the cuts and scrapes from being dragged through the streets stinging sharply with every brush of fabric against your skin.

When you finally lower yourself into the steaming water, a hiss escapes your lips as the heat bites into your wounds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out, determined not to show even the smallest sign of weakness. The water slowly works its way into your muscles, easing some of the tension, but your thoughts remain a tangled mess. You think of Vaeron, of what he must be feeling, and of Gwayne—the man who risked everything for you, who still fights for you.

The sound of the door creaking open draws your attention. You glance up, expecting one of the servants, but instead, you see Gwayne. His presence fills the room, his eyes blazing with barely-contained anger. The servants freeze, their hands mid-task, exchanging nervous glances.

“Out,” Gwayne says, his voice low and commanding.

The servants hesitate, torn between obeying their orders and respecting the strict instructions they’ve been given by Otto. But Gwayne steps forward, his gaze hardening. “I said out,” he repeats, more sharply this time.

The authority in his voice leaves no room for argument. The servants bow hastily, gathering their things and scurrying out of the room, leaving you alone with him. The door closes behind them with a resounding thud, and the room suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker.

You watch Gwayne as he strides toward you, his expression softening as he takes in the sight of you in the bath. But there’s still a dark fury simmering beneath the surface, a quiet rage barely held in check. He kneels beside the tub, his eyes raking over your body, lingering on the cuts and bruises that mar your skin. His jaw tightens as he reaches out, his fingertips grazing a particularly nasty scrape on your arm.

“They did this to you,” he murmurs, his voice trembling with barely-suppressed anger. “Cole did this to you.”

You can see the guilt in his eyes, as if he blames himself for not being there, for not stopping it before it happened. You reach out and touch his hand, trying to reassure him, but the moment your skin meets his, something shifts between you. The air grows thick with tension, a tension that has been simmering for far too long.

“Gwayne,” you whisper, but it’s all you manage to say before the words are stolen from your lips by the intensity in his gaze.

Without a word, he leans forward, cupping your face with both hands, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. His touch is soft, almost reverent, but beneath it, you feel the tremor of barely-contained desire, of need and longing that has been held back for far too long. He moves closer, and you feel his breath against your lips, warm and ragged.

“I can’t bear seeing you like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t stand knowing what they did to you, how they hurt you.” His eyes darken, his expression raw. “You deserve so much more. You deserve everything, and all they’ve ever given you is pain.”

His words are laced with a desperation that pulls at something deep within you. You’ve both suffered so much, sacrificed so much, and yet, here you are, still drawn to each other with a pull that’s stronger than duty or fear.

You don’t know who moves first—whether it’s you or him—but suddenly his lips are on yours, and the dam that’s held back your desire for so long shatters. The kiss is not soft or tentative; it’s fierce, fueled by months of longing and years of denied affection. His hands cradle your face, and you respond with equal fervor, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, turning frantic, as if you’re both afraid that if you stop, the world will tear you apart again. You can taste the salt of your own tears mingling with his as he kisses you with a passion that’s almost overwhelming. Your bodies move of their own accord, and before you know it, you’re both reaching for each other with a desperate urgency.

Gwayne pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes searching yours, filled with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation. “Let me have you,” he breathes, his voice husky. “Let me show you how much I need you.”

You nod, the words caught in your throat, and he rises to his feet, his eyes never leaving yours as he sheds his cloak and begins to unlace his tunic. You watch, your heart pounding, as he strips away the layers, revealing the body you’ve longed for, the one that’s haunted your dreams. There’s no more hesitation, no more fear—only desire, raw and unbridled.

He steps closer, helping you out of the bath, his hands warm against your damp skin. You undress him as he guides you toward the bed, your hands trembling with anticipation. The kiss is reignited the moment you’re close enough, fiercer now, more demanding. There’s no gentleness this time—only a primal need to feel each other, to claim and be claimed.

When he finally presses you down onto the bed, there’s nothing slow or tender about the way he moves into you. It’s not like the times you’ve been together before, where every touch was measured, every caress deliberate. This time, it’s raw, almost rough, driven by months of pent-up desire and longing. He thrusts into you with a desperation that makes you gasp, your body arching beneath him as you cling to him, meeting each of his movements with your own.

It’s frantic, unrelenting—a tangle of limbs and fevered kisses as you both give in completely to the storm that’s been brewing between you. Every thrust is a declaration, every kiss a vow unspoken. There’s no room for words, only the sounds of your shared pleasure, the feel of his body against yours as he takes you with a hunger that has no end.

You’re both lost in it, in the release of everything you’ve held back for so long. The tension, the heartache, the desire—it all spills out in this moment, leaving you breathless, trembling with the intensity of it all. You give yourself over to him completely, letting him take you in every way you were once denied, and he meets you with the same fervor, as if he’s been starving for you.

And then, in the midst of it all, you reach your peak together, a wave of pleasure crashing over you both. The world narrows down to this single, perfect moment—where there is no war, no crowns or thrones—just the two of you, lost in each other.

Afterward, you collapse against him, both of you breathless, your hearts pounding in tandem. Gwayne wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He presses a lingering kiss to your hair, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your back.

“I should never have let you go,” he whispers, his voice filled with regret.

You lift your head, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the world outside seems distant and unimportant. “You didn’t let me go,” you murmur, your fingers brushing over his lips. “We were both trapped by the choices others made for us. But now… now, we have a chance.”

His grip tightens around you, a silent vow in the way he holds you close. “I won’t let them hurt you again,” he promises, his voice low and fierce. “No matter what happens, you’ll never be alone. Not anymore.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself believe in that promise, even if it’s only for this fleeting moment.

[let-me-sleep-or-die]

I’m not sure if it’s been stated whether Cassandra or Ankarna was like corrupted/killed/forgotten first but I think Ankarna went dark after losing Cas, especially after this most recent episode. Brennan saying Arkana flew into a rage and wrecked a guy who asked if she was still married? Think about this:

You marry someone, her sister is who she chooses to have represent her family, the people who have raised and loved her, at the wedding, and later on that sister, that sister who loved your wife so much?, her followers, trick your wife’s loyal devotees into forgetting her. Her sister tried to kill her.

And what’s maybe worse? She doesn’t Die. She becomes this awful thing, the worst version of herself in an effort to stay alive, she is someone you don’t know. Yeah she’s still there in a way but the person you loved? They are gone.

And you can’t even talk about her. Her name is erased from existence. Your wife is worse than dead someone else now haunts her soul and you can’t tell anyone about who she used to be.

And the world becomes angrier. And so you do too.

The moon killed the night, destroyed doubt and mystery and curiosity. And you no longer feel any control over the day, you feel no connection to your family, who have I to hold close during the winters cold, my wife is gone.

All you have left is the anger, the contempt, the conviction. You can’t be curious anymore, can’t doubt what you do, questioning anything reminds you of her. So you step forward, never looking back never questioning whether what you are doing, what you are becoming is what she would want.

You make your own warmth. Light fires that fuel your just actions. You find new magic, things you can know and be certain of. And you get angrier, and angrier and one day

The rage is all you are.

yeah, I’d try to kill anyone who brought up my wife too.

[kckt88]

Perzys se ānogar II

Summary:

In the aftemath of Rooks Rest, Aemond arrives on Dragonstone to bend the knee but tensions soon erupt when Vaeda stands against her family to defend her husbands life.

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Langauage, Disagreements, Vulnerability, Confessions, Death Threats, Imprisonment, Physical Violence, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, Oral Sex (M & F Recieving), P in V, Breeding Kink, Referenced Character Death,

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C NIECE

Perzys se ānogar - Fire and Blood.

Word Count: 7800

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

"Aemond Targaryen, you stand before me charged with high treason and murder. How do you plead?" said Rhaenyra, her voice firm and commanding.

Aemond lifted his head, meeting Rhaenyra's gaze. "Guilty, Your Grace-" he replied, his voice steady but laced with sorrow.

Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned forward. "Do you have anything to say in your defence?"

Aemond took a deep breath, his eyes flickering to Vaeda for a moment before returning to Rhaenyra. "There is nothing I can say to excuse my treason. I helped to steal our father’s throne-as for what happened to Luke-” His voice broke slightly, but he continued, "-It was an accident. I never meant to kill him, I lost control and I-I’m sorry."

“Lost control?” asked Rhaenyra.

“All I wanted was his eye-in payment for the one that he took from me, but he refused. After he left, I chased after him. I just wanted to scare him, to make him feel as helpless as he made me feel that night on Driftmark. I lost sight of him and was about to turn back when Arrax attacked Vhagar, I could hear Luke shouting, but Arrax wouldn’t listen. Vhagar was angry and she lashed out-I tried to stop her but she wouldn’t listen”

The room fell silent, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air. Vaeda's eyes were filled with a mixture of sorrow and hope, her hands clenched at her sides. Jace's face was a mask of barely controlled anger, while Baela, Rhaenys, and Corlys watched with guarded expressions.

Rhaenyra's gaze bore into Aemond, assessing him. "You claim it was an accident," she said slowly, "-Yet my son is dead, and your actions have plunged this realm into chaos and war."

Aemond nodded, his expression pained. "I know that, and I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions. But I ask, Your Grace, to consider my regret and my willingness to stand here before you, confessing my guilt."

Rhaenyra's eyes flickered to Vaeda, who stepped forward, her voice steady. "Mother, Aemond is willing to bend the knee, to swear his loyalty to you and to your cause. He came here knowing the risk, but he did so because he wanted to make things right."

Rhaenyra's gaze softened slightly as she looked at her daughter, then back at Aemond. The tension in the room was palpable as everyone awaited her decision.

Finally, she spoke. "-You have confessed to your crimes and expressed your regret and while I cannot bring back my son, I can choose to show mercy. Your fate will be decided by myself and my counsel, until then you will be held as my prisoner-take him to the cells."

As the guards moved to take Aemond away, Vaeda watched, her heart heavy. The sound of the chains echoed around the throne room, a haunting melody of loss and regret. Aemond's eye found hers one last time, and he whispered, "Avy jorrāelan ābrazȳrys" (I love you, wife).

Once Aemond had disappeared and the doors were firmly shut, Rhaenyra turned her attention to Vaeda. "What exactly happened at Rook's Rest?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing.

Vaeda took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Lord Staunton was under siege by the Greens' forces, led by Criston Cole. I had Cannibal burn as many of them as I could. But then Aegon arrived with Sunfyre, and we engaged each other in aerial combat."

The council members exchanged concerned glances, the tension in the room palpable.

Vaeda continued, "Then Aemond arrived with Vhagar, and he directed her towards Aegon and attacked him."

Gasps of shock rippled through the council. Rhaenyra's eyes widened in disbelief. "Aemond attacked his own brother?"

Vaeda nodded. "Yes, Sunfyre fell from the sky and whilst I could have fled, I knew that getting rid of Vhagar was a chance I could not pass up. So, I had Cannibal attack. The two dragons fought and were evenly matched. They crashed into the ground, and I was thrown from the saddle."

Rhaenyra, still seated on her rock-carved throne, leaned forward. "Then what happened?" she asked, her voice firm but laced with curiosity.

Vaeda took a deep breath before continuing. "I regained consciousness and discovered Aemond injured. I could have left him to die, but I didn't."

Jace scoffed loudly, "You should have left him to die."

Rhaenyra shot him a silencing glare. "Continue-"

"I saved Aemond's life," Vaeda said. "We talked—he told me what happened that night in the skies above Storm's End, and why he attacked Aegon. He also killed Cole to protect me."

Jace's eyes narrowed. "That's not all he did, given the love bite on your neck."

Vaeda blushed deeply, but she held her ground. She turned back to her mother, who shook her head in disbelief. Jace wasn't finished, though, his anger bubbling over. "So Aemond tries to kill his own brother, then sets his dragon upon his own wife, and she not only saves his life but fucks him in the forest like some animal."

"It wasn't like that," Vaeda protested, her voice rising. "Aemond thought that by coming here, he would be executed. We thought it might be the last time-”

“Vaeda-” muttered Rhaenyra, her voice soft yet firm.

“Muña kostilus, ziry emagon issa prūmia, ziry iksos issa idañnykeā perzys” (Mother please, he has my heart, he is my twin flame).

“Jāhor bona lua zirȳla pazavor?” asked Rhaenyra (Will that keep him loyal).

“Ziry jāhor, nyke kivio” exclaimed Vaeda (It will, I promise).

Jace sniggered angrily, but Baela elbowed him in the ribs, silencing him.

Rhaenyra looked at her daughter with a mix of emotions. "Vaeda, your loyalty to Aemond complicates things. His actions have caused great pain to our family, and yet you speak on his behalf."

Vaeda's eyes welled with tears. "Mother, I know what he has done is unforgivable, but he is still my husband and the father of my child. He came here to make things right. He deserves a chance to atone."

Rhaenyra sighed deeply, the weight of her crown pressing heavily on her. "Vaeda, this war has torn us apart, and every decision we make carries immense consequences. Aemond must remain in the cells until we decide his fate. But I will consider what you’ve said”

Vaeda nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Thank you, Mother."

Rhaenyra looked to her council. "We will meet in the council chambers on the morrow to discuss our next steps. Vaeda, you may return to your chambers and bathe-I will send Maester Gerardys to check on your injuries”

Freshly bathed, Vaeda sat quietly in her chambers as Maester Gerardys examined her injuries. Rhaegar sat on a blanket at her feet, playing with his toys.

Gerardys’ experienced hands moved carefully over her bruised ribs, noting the few minor scrapes.

"You've a small but deep wound on your forehead, Princess," Gerardys said gently, his fingers probing the area with care. "It will require stitches; I can prescribe milk of-"

"-No" replied Vaeda, her voice steady despite the pain.

"As you wish." Gerardys prepared his needle and thread, his movements precise and practiced. He began stitching the wound, his touch delicate yet firm. Vaeda winced but bore the pain silently, her gaze fixed on a distant point, the sounds of Rhaegar happily playing filtered through the air.

As he worked, Gerardys noticed the love bites on her neck. He paused briefly, then continued stitching. "Princess, do you require moon tea?" he asked, his tone respectful.

"No, thank you," Vaeda replied softly as she placed a hand on her stomach.

After a moment of silence, Vaeda's thoughts spilled forth. "Do you think I'm crazy for defending Aemond after everything he's done?"

Gerardys paused in his work, meeting her eyes with a kind and thoughtful expression. "Princess, I have known you since you were a small child. Not once have I ever thought you were crazy. Stubborn, yes, but never crazy."

His words brought a small, grateful smile to her lips. He finished stitching the wound and carefully tied off the thread, ensuring the stitches were secure. "There, all done," he said, stepping back to admire his work. "Do you require anything else?"

Vaeda shook her head. "No, thank you".

He nodded and gathered his supplies. "Rest well, Princess. Call on me if you need anything."

As Gerardys left the room, Vaeda leaned back in her chair watching as Rhaegar still played contentedly with his toys on the floor, his silver hair shimmering in the candlelight.

Suddenly, a distant, deep grumbling roar echoed through the air, causing Rhaegar to look up, his bright eyes wide with recognition. "Vhagar," he said, pointing towards the window.

Vaeda nodded, her smile bittersweet. "Yes, darling."

Rhaegar's face lit up with excitement. "Daddy here?" he asked eagerly.

Vaeda took a deep breath, her heart heavy. "Yes, he is."

"I want see daddy," Rhaegar said, pulling himself to his feet. He toddled towards the door; his small hands outstretched. "Daddy!"

“Rhaegar-we can’t” whispered Vaeda as she quickly scooped him up, holding him close as he buried his face in her neck.

"Pease, mummy—want see daddy," pleaded Rhaegar, his voice muffled and tearful.

Vaeda stroked his silver hair, her resolve wavering. "Alright, my sweet. I will take you to see your daddy, but you must be very quiet. Can you do that for me?"

Rhaegar sniffled but nodded, his tiny hands clutching his stuffed dragon teddy tightly. "Yes, mummy. Quiet."

With a deep breath, Vaeda adjusted Rhaegar in her arms and headed out the door. She moved silently through the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, her heart pounding with each step. The castle was eerily quiet, the shadows long and foreboding.

Vaeda held Rhaegar close as she descended the winding staircase towards the cells. The stone walls emitting a soft warmth as she passed.

Rhaegar clung to her, his small fingers gripping the fabric of her dress. His amethyst eyes looked around curiously, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with a mix of wonder and apprehension.

As they approached the cell, Vaeda saw two guards standing watch. She walked towards them, her heart pounding. The guards stepped forward, blocking her path.

"You are not allowed to be here by order of the Queen," one of them said sternly.

Vaeda took a deep breath, her eyes pleading. "Please, just for a few minutes. Rhaegar wants to see his father."

The guards exchanged uncertain glances, clearly torn between their orders and the heartfelt request. After a moment, one of them spoke. "You have five minutes. No more."

Vaeda thanked them with a relieved nod as they unlocked the heavy door and moved aside. She stepped into the dimly lit cell, her heart aching at the sight before her.

Aemond was chained to the wall, his face turned towards the small window, the faint light casting shadows across his sharp features.

"Daddy!" Rhaegar's voice broke the silence, filled with pure joy.

Aemond turned at the sound, a smile breaking across his weary face. "Byka zaldrīzes" he breathed; his voice choked with emotion (Little dragon).

Vaeda set Rhaegar down, and the little boy ran to his father, throwing his small arms around Aemond's neck as best as he could.

"Miss you, Daddy," he said, his voice muffled against Aemond's tunic.

Aemond struggled against the chains, the metal clinking as he tried to move his arms. But the chains were too short, preventing him from fully embracing his son.

"I miss you too" he said, his voice thick with emotion. He managed to lower his head and press a kiss to Rhaegar's hair, his eye shining with unshed tears.

Vaeda stood by the door, watching the scene with a heavy heart. She knew their time was limited, and every second felt precious. Rhaegar looked up at his father, his small face full of concern. "Daddy, why you here?"

Aemond sighed, his gaze shifting to Vaeda for a moment before returning to his son. "Daddy made some bad choices-”

Rhaegar nodded solemnly, not fully understanding. He nestled closer to Aemond, his little hands clutching at his father's tunic.

Vaeda stepped forward, her voice soft. "We have to go soon, Rhaegar."

Rhaegar looked up, his eyes pleading. "No, mummy. Stay with daddy."

Vaeda's heart broke a little more at his words. She knelt beside them, placing a gentle hand on Rhaegar's back. "We can't stay, but we'll see daddy again soon”.

Rhaegar nodded and then quickly pressed his stuffed dragon teddy into Aemond’s hands, the soft fabric contrasting sharply with the cold metal of the chains.

“Keep, daddy. Safe,” said Rhaegar.

Aemond’s eye widened, as he clutched the stuffed dragon close a single tear slid down his cheek, glistening in the dim light.

Rhaegar reached up and wiped the tear away with his tiny hand. “No cry, Daddy,” he said softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Aemond’s cheek.

Aemond looked at Vaeda, his eye filled with gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you," he whispered.

Vaeda nodded, her own eyes glistening with tears. She stood and lifted Rhaegar into her arms, the little boy protesting weakly. "We have to go now, my love."

As they turned to leave, Aemond's voice stopped them. "Rhaegar, be a good boy for your mother? I love you both so very much."

Rhaegar nodded; his face buried in Vaeda's shoulder. “Love you daddy”

Vaeda carried Rhaegar out of the cell, the door closing behind them with a heavy thud.

Later that night, Vaeda woke with a start. She could have sworn she heard Aemond's voice calling out to her in the darkness. As she sat up, straining to listen, her attention was captured by the sound of Vhagar roaring in the distance, followed by the unmistakable high-pitched whistle of her father's dragon, Caraxes. A cold dread settled in her chest. Something was wrong.

Pulling on a robe, Vaeda ran down the halls towards the cells. As she approached, she noticed the guards were conspicuously absent, replaced by the sounds of pained groans. Her heart pounded as she flung open the door to Aemond's cell.

Inside, she found her father, Daemon, his fist connecting brutally with Aemond's face. Blood spattered the cold stone floor.

"Stop!" Vaeda screamed, rushing between them. She placed herself protectively in front of Aemond, who was slumped against the wall, blood trickling from his nose and mouth.

Daemon's eyes blazed with fury. "Move, Vaeda. Let me deal with the kinslayer. This boy killed your brother. He deserves to pay for his crimes."

Vaeda stood her ground, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. "If that is the case, then you should pay for yours. You may not have taken the blade to young Jaehaerys' neck, but you paid the men who did."

Daemon's face contorted with rage. "That was a mistake"

"Leave Aemond alone," Vaeda insisted, her voice steadying. "It is for the Queen to decide his fate."

Daemon snarled, his eyes narrowing at his daughter. After a tense moment, he stormed out of the cell, his heavy footsteps echoing in the corridor. Vaeda exhaled shakily, turning to see the guards had returned, their expressions conflicted.

"Unlock his chains," she demanded. When they hesitated, she added, "By order of the princess, or I will have you fed to Cannibal."

The threat worked. The guards moved quickly, freeing Aemond from his bonds. He slumped forward, barely able to stand. Vaeda reached out, helping him to his feet.

"Lean on me," she whispered, her voice soft but firm. "I'm taking you to my chambers."

Aemond nodded weakly, his body trembling with pain and exhaustion. As they made their way out of the cell, Vaeda cast a final, defiant glance at the guards, who quickly averted their eyes. If they wouldn’t do their job and guard Aemond then she would do it for them.

They moved slowly through the darkened corridors, Aemond leaning heavily on Vaeda. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the unspoken gratitude and vulnerability. When they finally reached her chambers, Vaeda helped him to the bed, gently easing him down.

"Thank you," Aemond whispered, his voice rough.

Vaeda sat beside him, her hand resting on his. "You're safe now," she said softly. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

The next day, Vaeda left Aemond in her chambers, having summoned Maester Gerardys to assess his injuries. The maester had cleaned and dressed the previously cauterized wound on Aemond's stomach and reset his broken nose, whilst administering a dose of milk of the poppy to ease his pain.

Now, Aemond slept soundly, his breathing even and steady. Vaeda took a deep breath, steeling herself for the council meeting that would decide Aemond's fate.

As she entered the council chamber, the room fell silent. Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her face stern and regal. Daemon, Jace, Baela, Rhaenys, Corlys, and the other lords were present, their expressions a mix of concern and determination.

Rhaenyra's eyes softened for a moment as she gazed upon her daughter "Vaeda, I have talked extensively with my council, and we all agree that it's too much of a risk to allow Aemond to live”

“Are you being serious?” exclaimed Vaeda.

“I’m sorry-but his past actions have proven that he can't be trusted” explained Rhaenyra.

Vaeda scoffed, her frustration boiling over. "Like you can stand there and talk about trust after all the lies you've told. The consequences of which stand before you, in the form of your children."

A shocked silence fell over the room. Rhaenyra's eyes widened in disbelief. Daemon's face darkened as he commanded, "Be mindful of how you speak to your Queen"

“Or else what?” challenged Vaeda.

“I shall have you punished” threatened Daemon.

“Wonderful-” mocked Vaeda clapping her hands together.

“Carry on and you will suffer the consequences-or your kinslayer husband will” snarled Daemon.

Vaeda's eyes flashed with defiance. "You dare after all the trouble you've caused over the years, and yet you dare to label Aemond a kinslayer when you're guilty of the exact same thing?"

Daemon slammed his fist down on the table, rising from his seat with fury. He charged toward Vaeda, his hand wrapping around her throat. "You know nothing of what I'm truly capable of” he hissed.

Vaeda smirked, her voice steady despite the pressure on her throat. "Oh, I know exactly what you're capable of."

Daemon felt a pinching sensation in his side, and he looked down to see the dagger Vaeda had pressed into his side.

“A bold move daughter-” said Daemon smiling, almost as if he was impressed.

"Stand down, both of you. NOW!" Rhaenyra's voice cut through the tension, commanding and firm.

Vaeda put the dagger back inside her sleeve as she stood before her mother, the anger still seething within her. "-This is all your fault," she began, her voice shaking with emotion. "Maybe if you had remained in King's Landing and actually spent time solidifying your position as heir instead of hiding away on Dragonstone, it wouldn't have been so easy to usurp you and maybe if you had bonded with your siblings instead of scorning them, our house wouldn't be so divided."

Rhaenyra's eyes widened in shock, but Vaeda didn't stop there. "And maybe if you had made Luke apologize for slashing out Aemond's eye, he might still be alive. You’ve helped to sow the seeds of discord, and now we’re the one’s dealing the consequences. But I will not stand by and let you sentence Aemond to death-"

"Vaeda," Rhaenyra started, her voice strained, but Vaeda cut her off.

"No! There has to be another way”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Rhaenyra's face was a mask of pain and regret. "Vaeda, I never wanted any of this," she said softly. "But we have to think of the realm. Aemond's actions have threatened our cause and the lives of our people."

Vaeda's eyes filled with tears, but she stood firm. "And what about my family? What about Rhaegar growing up without his father? What about me, losing the man I love? There has to be another way. Because if you give that order, then I swear you will never see me or Rhaegar again"

“You are heir to the Iron Throne” muttered Jace.

“FUCK THE IRON THRONE!” declared Vaeda savagely.

Rhaenyra looked at her daughter, the weight of her words sinking in. She saw the determination and pain in Vaeda's eyes, and it broke her heart. "I don't want to lose you," she whispered.

"Then don't make me choose-because it will be him. It will always be him" Vaeda replied, her voice trembling.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her expression firm yet sorrowful. "I cannot trust Aemond, this you know" she began, her voice steady. "But I will not lose my only daughter." She paused, searching Vaeda's eyes for understanding. “Aemond may keep his life, but he is to remain on Dragonstone for the rest of his days."

Vaeda's breath caught in her throat, but she said nothing, waiting for her mother to continue.

"And when the time comes for you to be crowned Queen," Rhaenyra continued, her tone resolute, "Aemond will not sit beside you as your Consort King. You will rule the Seven Kingdoms on your own, until your son ascends the throne after your natural passing"

Vaeda stood before her mother, heart pounding. She knew how much was at stake. The fate of her husband and the future of her family rested on her next words. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her decision weighing heavily on her.

"Alright," she said, her voice barely above a whisper at first, but then she found her strength. "I agree to your conditions”

Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and relief. "I know this isn't easy, but it's the only way."

Vaeda's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts as she made her way back to her chambers. How would Aemond react? Would he understand the necessity of this compromise? Her heart ached at the thought of telling him, but she knew it was either this or see him executed and she couldn't bear the latter.

Entering her chambers, she found Aemond still resting, his face peaceful in sleep. She approached quietly, not wanting to startle him. Sitting beside him, she gently took his hand in hers, waiting for him to wake.

Aemond stirred, his eye fluttering open. He looked up at her, confusion and concern evident in his gaze. "Vaeda?" he murmured.

"Aemond," she said softly, squeezing his hand.

He sat up slowly, wincing slightly at the pain from his injuries. "What is it?"

Vaeda took another deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation. "My mother has made her decision-”

“Am I to meet the stranger?” asked Aemond quietly.

“That was to be your fate, but I managed to convince my mother otherwise-” replied Vaeda as she reached forward and tucked a lose strand of Aemond’s long silver hair behind his ear.

“How?”

“I told her that if she ordered your execution then she would never see me or Rhaegar ever again. Plus, I may have told her a few home truths whilst I was at it, and I might have gone slightly overboard-” said Vaeda smiling sheepishly.

“Hmmm”

“A compromise was reached. You will be allowed to live, but you must stay on Dragonstone for the remainder of your days and when I become Queen, you will not be my Consort King. I will rule alone."

Aemond's eye widened slightly, processing her words. Silence stretched between them as he absorbed the news.

Finally, he nodded, his expression a mixture of relief and resignation. "I understand," he said quietly. "If it means that I can stay with you and Rhaegar, then it doesn’t matter”

 “No matter what-you will always be Issa dārys” (My King).

“Issa dāria-” muttered Aemond (My Queen).

"Sounds like someone is hungry," teased Vaeda at the sound of Aemond’s stomach growling.

“Little bit” replied Aemond.

“I'll go request some food for you” said Vaeda as she started to move from the bed.

But before she could get far, Aemond's hand shot out, gently taking hold of her wrist. "I'm not hungry for food," he said, his voice low and filled with intent.

Vaeda's cheeks flushed a delicate pink as she realized what he meant. Her heartbeat quickened, as she allowed Aemond to pull her back onto the bed.

"Aemond," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and affection.

He moved closer, his eye locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Vaeda," he murmured, his voice soft but filled with longing. "I need you."

She nodded, feeling a wave of love and desire wash over her as Aemond's hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb gently brushing over her skin. "I love you," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

"I love you too," Vaeda replied, her voice filled with sincerity. She leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick tender kiss.

Aemond watched with a hooded gaze as Vaeda moved off the bed and began to untie the laces of her gown, letting it fall to the floor, with the material pooling at her feet.

Whilst she removed her shift, Aemond hastily pulled off his breeches and small clothes, he sighed in relief as his already hard cock was free from its confines.

Vaeda smiled slightly as she hooked her fingers around her own small clothes and slowly pulled them down, Aemond could feel himself salivating as he stared at her cunny.

“Come here-” growled Aemond, as he reached out and tugged Vaeda back on the bed.

“Let me take care of you” muttered Vaeda as she placed kisses along Aemond jaw and then down his neck, making sure to gently nip and suck his skin as she went.

She carried on moving down, pausing as she reached his chest, she grinned as she took one of his nipples into her mouth, her tongue teasing it before she bit down gently.

“FUCK” moaned Aemond.

“Does issa dārys like that?” asked Vaeda as she moved across and gave his other nipple the same attention, (My King).

“Oh. Gods” whimpered Aemond as she moved further down his body, her tongue and teeth grazing his pale skin.

When she reached the trail of hair from his belly button down to his cock, she pressed her nose against him and giggled when she felt the hair tickle her skin.

“Kostilus issa jorrāelagon” begged Aemond (Please my love).

“Ao līs umbagon issa zaldrīzes” replied Vaeda (You must wait, my dragon).

Aemond stared down at his naughty wife, his mouth hanging open as Vaeda’s warm, wet mouth quickly wrapped around the head of his cock.

Her tongue gently moving around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Vaeda!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through his wife’s silver hair.

Vaeda ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

Aemond’s heart almost stopped when she sucked his stones into her mouth, one at a time.

Her hand moving slowly over the hard length of him.

When Vaeda moved and engulfed Aemond’s cock in her mouth again, he squeezed his eye shut. She was driving him crazy.

But Aemond forced himself to open his eye, he needed to watch as his wife sucked his cock. 

“Your taking me so well. Such a good girl” moaned Aemond.

Aemond knew it would push the limits of his control, but he did not care. He just had to watch his cock disappear into Vaeda’s mouth and see it come back out, shining with her spit.

Her head moving back and forth, her perfect pink lips stretched around him.

“I’m not going to last if you carry on” Aemond admitted, though it pained him to do so.

Vaeda smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth. 

“It feels so good-that’s it” groaned Aemond.

Vaeda responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his stones.

“Shit-Vaeda. I’m going to come. Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

His wife took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean.

When he recovered, Aemond saw Vaeda’s self-satisfied smile.

“Was that to your liking husband?” asked Vaeda.

“Y-Yes. Now get up here and ride my face until I’m ready again” gasped Aemond.

“But your nose” whispered Vaeda concerned.

“I don’t care-get up here and sit on my fucking face” ordered Aemond, his cock already twitching with interest.

Vaeda hovered above Aemond’s face; her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Such a pretty cock sleeve" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Vaeda’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Vaeda her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it Issa dōna. Let me hear you” (My sweet).

“YES. It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Vaeda.

“FUCK” growled Aemond.

“Ooooh A-Aemond” shrieked Vaeda.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Vaeda, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Vaeda "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh" whimpered Vaeda; her chest heaving as she began to gently roll her hips against him.

“That’s it baby, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond, his cock was so hard that it was boarding on painful.

Vaeda was giving off a slew of loud swear words, moans, and pleas, that anyone passing her chambers would surely hear.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me baby, come for daddy” moaned Aemond.

Finally, he felt Vaeda’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Vaeda’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife’s centre as she came.

After a few minutes, Aemond gently urged his wife to move down, so she was hovering above his cock.

Her hand wrapped around him, running the head of his cock along her warm wet folds.

“Your such a tease” moaned Aemond as his hips jerked involuntarily.

But it feels so good” replied Vaeda as she slowly sunk down on his cock, so only the tip of him was inside her.

“P-Please” whimpered Aemond.

“Uh-uh” said Vaeda shaking her head from side to side.

After a few torturous minutes Aemond couldn’t take it anymore and seized his wife’s hips, before surging up and ploughing his hard cock into her soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" screamed Vaeda.

"Gods. You feel so good" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Vaeda, her tone bordering on desperate as she rolled her hips against his.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

“P-Please. Husband” whined Vaeda as Aemond began teasing her pearl with his thumb.

“That’s it-take all of me”

“OH-MY-“ shrieked Vaeda Aemond began to move.

"Faster, please" begged Vaeda.

“Like this?” replied Aemond as he gave a quick deep thrust.

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Vaeda.

Her hands ran along his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.

“Gods, Vaeda" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond" whispered Vaeda "Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me, filling me up. Give me what I need. Give me your seed. I want it”.

Aemond knew exactly what Vaeda was doing, and he couldn’t help himself.

Vaeda wanted faster and he was going much faster now, his feet planted on the bed to give him more leverage and his pace increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips as he pounded into her.

“Aemond-I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Vaeda; not caring if anyone could hear them.

Vaeda always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her amethyst eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

“I’m going to put another babe in you-See you full of milk-”

“Y-Yes A-Aemond-I want another. Give it to me” whined Vaeda as she clamped down around his cock so hard he could hardly move.

That, combined with how glorious Vaeda looked, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“God. Vaeda” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed inside his wife’s wet heat.

Afterwards, as they lay together, tangled in each other’s arms, the door to Vaeda’s chambers suddenly opened.

Aemond instinctively moved to cover himself and Vaeda with a sheet, but the sudden movement caused a sharp pain to shoot through his stomach, and he hissed in discomfort.

"Easy," Vaeda murmured, her fingers brushing against his cheek, concern etched in her eyes.

Jace stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on his sister and Aemond, watching as Vaeda fussed over Aemond, the tenderness in her actions surprising him.

He had always known his sister to be fierce and unyielding, and seeing her reduced to a cock struck woman made his stomach churn. He hated the hold Aemond had over her.

Aemond caught Jace staring at Vaeda, and his lips curled into a slight sneer. "It is not appropriate to covet another man's wife, especially in the presence of her husband," he said, his voice dripping with condescension.

Jace's face reddened, and he looked at the floor, muttering, "The Queen has asked that you both attend dinner." Without waiting for a response, he hastily left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Aemond scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "She expects me to break bread with—"

Vaeda placed a gentle finger over his lips, silencing him. "She has allowed you to keep your life. Let's not give her cause to change her mind," she said softly, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

Aemond sighed, his hand covering hers. "Very well," he relented, though the resentment in his voice was unmistakable. "For you, I will endure this."

Vaeda smiled, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. "Thank you,"

Vaeda and Aemond walked into the dining room, with Rhaegar nestled securely in his father’s arms. The air was thick with tension as they took their seats at the long table. The faces around it—Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jace, Baela, Rhaenys, and Corlys—were a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and barely concealed animosity.

Even though he was hungry Aemond hesitated to eat, his eye flicking to each dish with apprehension.

Daemon noticed and couldn’t resist a jab. “Fear not, nephew. It would not serve to poison you now, not after your wife fought so valiantly for your life.”

Vaeda’s eyes flashed with anger as she scowled at her father. “Enough,” she said through gritted teeth.

Aemond reached for Vaeda’s hand under the table and gave it a gentle squeeze before he reached for some bread and meat.

The entire table of guests were silent, the only noise was the sound of cutlery on the plates, and as the awkwardness progressed, Rhaenyra found herself watching Aemond as he interacted with Rhaegar. Despite the tension, he appeared to be a very attentive and loving father.

Rhaegar openly vied for his father’s attention, and even when the boy threw a tantrum and refused to eat his peas, Aemond remained patient and calm, and Rhaegar eventually gave in and ate his food, much to the quiet amazement of those watching.

Daemon, never one to let an opportunity for a snide remark pass, said, “Surprised to see that you’re actually a decent father.”

Aemond’s expression hardened. “I simply wish for my son to know he is loved, something Viserys never managed to show all of his children. That right was exclusively reserved for his favourite child”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, Daemon openly declared, “We set out for King’s Landing on the morrow. Do you wish to beg for the lives of your traitorous kin?”

Vaeda’s patience snapped. “Father, stop.”

Aemond’s voice was steady but filled with restrained anger. “Aegon will pose no threat, as he will more than likely succumb to his injuries, Daeron is but a boy in Oldtown. As for my mother and Helaena, they are innocent of any wrongdoing. Perhaps that’s something you should’ve remembered when you ordered the execution of Jaehaerys.”

Vaeda slammed her hands down on the table, her frustration boiling over. “ENOUGH!”

She took Rhaegar from Aemond’s arms and stormed out of the dining room, her movements swift and determined.

Aemond rose to follow, his eye burning with a mix of anger and sorrow as Daemon sniggered into his cup of wine, clearly enjoying the chaos he had sown.

The next evening, Aemond was pacing around Vaeda's chambers, his steps echoing in the dimly lit room. The heavy burden of uncertainty pressed down on him as he thought of Rhaenyra and Daemon taking King’s Landing.

Vaeda had been reluctant to take Cannibal, as he was still tired from the battle at Rook’s Rest, but her mother’s insistence that she needed her daughter by her side had ultimately swayed her, and Vaeda had spent many hours making sure Cannibal gorged himself on as much food as he could in preparation for the journey to Kings Landing.

Aemond had asked to accompany them, but Rhaenyra had refused.

Now, he found himself left on Dragonstone with Rhaegar under heavy guard. Throughout the day, he made sure his son was fed and entertained.

They played dragons, and he read to him, but no distraction could keep his mind from wandering back to thoughts of his mother, Helaena, and the children. He had faith in Vaeda’s advocacy for their safety, but Daemon was such an unpredictable wildcard that not even the gods would know of his plans.

He did not mourn his grandsire or the others on the council—the seeds of their treason had been sown long before he ever existed. Yet, the uncertainty of their fates gnawed at him.

As night fell, Aemond found himself unwilling to part from Rhaegar. He lay in bed with his son cuddled up to him, the child’s soft breaths a soothing rhythm in the dark room.

Watching Rhaegar sleep, Aemond couldn’t help but notice how much he resembled Vaeda. A fond smile touched his lips as he remembered how she drooled in her sleep too, a detail he would never dare to mention to her of course.

The moonlight filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room. Aemond’s thoughts drifted to the precarious future ahead. He whispered a silent prayer for Vaeda’s safety, hoping that her presence would be enough to sway any harsh decisions made against his family.

Aemond stirred awake, the feeling of a soft touch on his face bringing him out of his slumber. He opened his eye and saw Vaeda sitting on the bed, her hair windswept and falling free from its braid. She looked weary but determined.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Vaeda nodded quietly, then whispered, "Follow me."

Gently detaching himself from Rhaegar, he carefully rose from the bed. Elana, the handmaid had entered the room to look after the still-sleeping boy.

Aemond followed Vaeda through the dimly lit corridors, his heart pounding with every step.

"Is everything okay? What about my mother? Helaena and the children?" he asked repeatedly, but Vaeda remained silent, her expression unreadable.

They reached the throne room, its vast space cloaked in darkness. Vaeda led him to the centre of the room and stopped.

Aemond looked around, confused and anxious, when he heard a voice that made his heart skip a beat.

"Brother."

He turned swiftly to see Helaena standing there, her face illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the windows. Overwhelmed, he walked toward her, his voice trembling.

"May I?"

Helaena nodded, and they embraced, the weight of their separation melting away in that moment. Tears welled up in his eye as he held her close.

"Uncle!" came a chorus of little voices.

Aemond looked up to see Jaehaera and Maelor running toward him, their faces lit with joy. He knelt down, opening his arms wide to gather them in a tight embrace.

He looked over their heads at Vaeda, stunned and grateful. She stood watching them, a tender smile on her lips.

"Thank you," whispered Aemond, his voice thick with emotion.

Vaeda walked over to join them, her hand gently resting on his shoulder. "They are to reside here with us-I hope this is pleasing to you husband"

Aemond, still holding his niece and nephew close, looked at Vaeda with an intense gaze. "What happened in King's Landing?"

Vaeda took a deep breath. "My mother has successfully claimed the Iron Throne. The traitors have been culled, with much enthusiasm from my father and your mother has been confined to her chambers, but she is safe."

Aemond's jaw tightened, and he nodded slowly, processing the information. "And Aegon?" he asked, his voice strained.

Vaeda hesitated, glancing at Helaena. Aemond noticed the exchange and felt a knot form in his stomach. Helaena stepped forward; her eyes filled with sorrow.

"Aegon is dead," she said quietly. "He was in much pain. It was kinder to let him slip away while he was sleeping."

Aemond's eye widened, and he looked at his sister in shock. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The feathers in the cotton took his breath” whispered Helaena.

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what she meant. He stared at her, as the weight of her words began to sink in.

He didn't say anything. Because he had no right. Aegon's injuries had been his fault, and now his brother was dead. The realization left him hollow, a deep ache settling in his chest.

“The seed will bear many fruits-the dragon’s line is long; the unburnt mother will fight the ice and fire song”  muttered Helaena softly.

“What?” asked Aemond.

“The stories’ in the steel” uttered Helaena as she reached into her long overcoat and pulled out the Valyrian steel dagger that once belonged to Viserys and then Aegon.

“Helaena, how did you-” exclaimed Aemond his singular eye widening.

“The heir knows, passed down from one to the other” said Helaena as she handed the dagger to Vaeda.

“What do you mean?” asked Aemond.

"I'm quite tired. It’s been a long day. Might I go to bed?" asked Helaena, her voice soft and almost childlike.

Vaeda nodded. She turned to a nearby guard. "Please escort Princess Helaena and the children to the guest chambers," she instructed.

“I do not fear my dreams this night-”

As a guard appeared and gestured for Helaena to follow. She picked up Maelor, his small arms wrapping around her neck, and took Jaehaera's hand.

Aemond watched them go, a mixture of curiosity and relief washing over him. He turned back to Vaeda, his expression softening.

“What was all that about?”

“As me again sometime and I will tell you” replied Vaeda.

Aemond simply smiled as he pulled her close and kissed her, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude he felt into that kiss.

Vaeda melted into his embrace, her own emotions swirling. When they finally broke apart, “I love you," Aemond whispered, his voice full of resolve.

"I love you too," Vaeda replied softly, her fingers gently tracing his scarred cheek.

Many moons had passed since Rhaenyra had reclaimed the Iron Throne and establishing her rule as Queen was not an easy task. While she had her supporters, others still rallied behind Aegon. Rumours of his demise had sparked calls for Aemond to press his own claim, but he steadfastly refused.

Confined to Dragonstone, Aemond found solace in the ancestral seat of House Targaryen. The vast library, filled with ancient scrolls and Valyrian texts, captivated his mind, satisfying his thirst for the knowledge of his forebears.

His days were filled with training and sparring with the guards of Dragonstone, honing his skills. He also took to teaching Rhaegar High Valyrian, cherishing every moment spent with his son.

Helaena, Jaehaera, and Maelor were thriving on Dragonstone, and to Vaeda’s horror so was the spider colony that Helaena had cheerfully installed in her chambers.

Vaeda of course made sure to actively avoid that part of the castle, fearful of what she might encounter.

Another thing that was flourishing was the babe currently nestled within Vaeda. Aemond had been ecstatic when she informed him that his seed had taken root once more and he was by her side as she birthed their daughter, a tiny little dragon who lungs were well in working order as she announced her arrival into the world very loudly.

As he cradled his sweet Elaena in his arms, any doubts over the decisions he had made in the past just melted away, for he knew this was where he was supposed to be.

Especially when Vaeda gave him the news not even eight moons later, she was carrying another child, that pregnancy was quite hard on her and she spend many weeks abed with aches and sickness, but in the end, they were blessed with another son named Aerys.

Given Vaeda had suffered during her term, Aemond vowed not to get her child again, at least not for a while, but the gods obviously had other ideas as when Aerys was but a child of one name day old, she gave him the news of another expected babe.

Helaena found the whole thing hilarious and was quick to remind Aemond that ‘the seed would bear many fruits’.

And well she wasn’t wrong, as in the end Vaeda and Aemond were blessed with six sons and six daughters.

It was just as well that Dragonstone was big enough to accommodate such a large family, but in the chaos of squabbling children and the endless headaches that came with convincing them that their lessons were useful for the future, he knew he wouldn’t change it for the world.

All his children were treated equally, and as often as his sons trained with the sword so did his daughters.

He wanted things to be different, he wanted to be different.

The children, would always know of his love, his attention and they would know how wanted they were.

As would Vaeda, she was his heart, his soul and his greatest love, and everyday he made sure to tell her that he loved her.

Aemond had everything he had ever wanted, he was happy and more importantly he was loved.

And if Vaeda changed the previous Queen’s ruling and installed Aemond as her consort King the moment she was crowned in the Dragon pit well that was just fine with him.

[imtryingbuck]

Never Giving You Up Again

~ gif not mine credit goes to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is in an abusive relationship and calls Bucky (the man shes in love with) when something bad happens

Word Count: 1,436

Warnings: Angst. Domestic Abuse NOT BUCKY. Don’t read if it makes you uncomfortable. And the endings really bad – I’m sorry.

Masterlist

Staring at herself in the mirror Y/N didn’t recognise the person staring back. The blackish purplish bruise on her cheek was too dark and big to cover up, the open cut on her eyebrow stung ever so slightly. No matter how much it pained her seeing her own reflection, she simply couldn’t pull her eyes away.

It started four months in to their relationship, it was just a smack across the face which he apologised profusely for and the next day she had woken up to flowers and more apologies. A few months or so later the smacking turned to punches, punches turned to kicking, kicking turned to having objects thrown at her. At first there was a “reason” for the abuse she suffered, but now all she had to do was breathe in his direction and she would be on the receiving end of his rage.

He controlled every aspect of her life especially her food intake, she was so skinny now because of him. The reason for the most recent beating was because the woman he was interested in refused his advances, and because of that Y/N was black and blue with cuts littering her very slim frame.

During the meal she had prepared for him she sat in her usual spot - the floor - whilst he ate and spoke about his shift at work, she paid no attention until “we arrested the prick, he beat his wife up! He beat his pregnant wife up and had the audacity to tell us it was her fault! Y/N he blamed her that prick!” It was ironic that he was calling another abuser a prick but when he did the exact same thing to her, it was out of love.

Later on that night he was getting mad at the football game that was on, his team was losing and she knew she was going to be punished.

After the game had ended the only sounds that filled the apartment was the muffled cries and pleading and the sounds of his fists plummeting down on her timid body. Bless his poor little heart, his fists started to hurt but his anger was still at full force, so he made his way to the bedroom to grab his “favourite” belt. On his was he kicked her in her chest.

She knew, she knew that if she didn’t get away she was not going to survive and with his finding the belt she managed to drag her frail body into the kitchen, surprising herself with the strength she had left of pulling her body up against the counter to grab the knife. She was going to end it all.

His footsteps echoed loudly in the now quiet apartment, he stops and stares at her with nothing but fire in his eyes. “Whatcha gonna do with the knife bunny? Huh? Gonna stab yourself? You wish bitch! I’m the one that gets to kill you!” And then he lunged himself at her. Letting out a scream with her eyes closed she felt warm liquid on her dominant hand, slowly opening her eyes she sees him gasping for breath, his eyes darting back and forth between her eyes and her hand, where the knife was wedged in his stomach. It’s felt like forever with them both looking at the knife until she finally pushed him backwards. They both fell to the ground at the same time.

Y/N couldn’t take her eyes from him even long after his chest stopped rising and falling. Before she knew it the sun had made an appearance, decorating the destroyed space in a warm orange, rosy hue. The pain throbbing her entire body faded rather quickly and was replaced with panic. She murdered her boyfriend, albeit he was abusive but mutrdered him nonetheless. 

Pulling up her weaken form of the ground she took fearful steps to where she knew her phone was, picking it up with shaking hands she dialled the only number she knew off by heart.

“Hello… Y/N? You there doll?”

“H-hi I know we hav-haven’t spoken in a while but B-Bucky I need your help”

“Where are you doll?”

“My um my apartment”

“I’m on my way okay, don’t worry”

Not even 5 minutes later there was a knock at the door which made her jump, when she gathered what little strength she had left, she opened the door. Standing in the hallway was the only man she was ever in love with, the first person to ever break her heart - not that he meant to - the man who she hadn’t seen nor spoken to in two and a half years. Bucky.

Oh and the rest of the avengers was standing behind him.

His face dropped and paled at the sight before him - the only woman he was ever in love with, the first person to break his heart, the woman he hasn’t seen nor spoken to in two and a half years. But this woman wasn’t necessarily the same woman who captured his heart the second he laid eyes on her. No, no this was a woman covered in blood, bruises and cuts. Whose eyes held so much pain and terror. 

Stumbling a little bit and refusing to pull his eyes away from her “baby wh-what happened”

“I-I-I-I ki-killed him Bucky didn’t mean to I swear just wa-wanted him to sto-p” Her whole body shuck whilst stuttering, trying to get the words out without spluttering was extremely difficult for her to do with the tears pouring out and a hiccup here and there.

“Breathe doll! Baby calm down it’s okay I’m here, don’t worry”

At her confession Tony and Steve pushed everyone into the once cosy apartment, they all saw the chaos, blood and finally the body of the man they all hated. Bucky gently took Y/N hand in his and made his way to the bedroom with the team trailing behind, he sat her down on the bed and knelt in front of her. Once she had finished telling them what she had been through the past few years and what she had done to him in the early hours, there wasn’t one single dry eye. The anger radiating off the team was justifiable.

Steve made Bucky and Wanda take Y/N back to the tower and get Dr Cho to take care of her wounds, whilst the teams stayed to clean up the mess.

It was late in the afternoon her body laid in the hospital that seemed way too big for her, she slept peacefully. Bucky had refused to leave her side and held her hand, every now and again he would place kisses to her knuckles. When she awoke her nonbiological family was dotted around the room. He was the first one to noticed she had woken up, he cooed her back to sleep with the promise that everything was okay, that no matter what he wasn’t leaving her ever again.

For once in two and a half years she was finally free and safe with the man she loves.

It’s been a year since that dreadful night. The cuts and bruises had long faded, the nightmares came in waves. No charges were pressed against her, but she did have to go to therapy which obviously she was grateful for. Tony refused to let her go back to the apartment, giving her her own room in the tower, even gave her a job. The whole team did their part in her recovery in anyway they could. Bucky refused to leave her side for weeks, always on guard even when he didn’t need to.

“I let you down Y/n I should of protected you”

“don’t be silly Buck, it was my own fault”

“No it wasn’t! don’t think that please baby”

“Well stop blaming yourself then”

It took a while for both of them to realise that what had happened was neither of their faults.

Falling asleep in Buckys arms she hears him whispering “I love you, I promise you I’m never going to give you up again”

“I love you too and I’m holding you to that promise Bucko”

~ banners credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[harusaki-hugo]

Calling Them By Real/Full Name.[ARCHON VER]

Headcanon:- Calling someone you close/love by their full/real name can sometime strike fear inside them.

Warning: Pure Crack , some characters real name spoiler.

Characters:- Zhongli , Raiden , and Venti 

ZHONGLI: 

You stare at the bill passed to you by Shitou, apparently, your husband just spends thirty thousand mora on a few boxes of jade under your name. The seller stands there fearfully when he sees how your face darkens, crushing the paper you give him a chilling empty smile.

“I’ll be back.” Is the last thing he hears you mutter strainedly before storming down the Liyue Harbor.

“Morax save him.” Though the one who going to get it is Geo Archon himself.

Zhongli takes a sip of his tea as he listens to a story told by Iron-tongue Tian. 

“Thus is the story of the Geo Archon-”..”MORAX!”

He’s been in a war before and fought in a thousand battles, he knows a battle he can’t win when he sees one. Looking down the road he sees you marching toward him with an angry expression.

And just like how he faked his death at Rite of descension, he fake his way out of your anger.

Raiden Shogun: 

Yae Miko comes to you saying that your beloved wife finally leave her domain, feeling happy you decide to visit her again after a long time but something just snaps in you when Miko slyly added, 

“A young traveler manages to convince her to come out and currently they having a ... date~” That fox has a gut to laugh at your expression. 

Taking a deep breath, your expression turns blank as you descend the shrine, Miko wave at you smirking deviously. “Good luck~ and don’t kill the poor child~”

Raiden Shogun stood there emotionlessly, after the outing with the Traveler, Ei decide to let her take control back of the body. Walking down the road she decides to head back to the castle when she suddenly feels a murderous intent heading toward her.

“ RAIDEN EI!”

Wanting to do nothing with her creator spouse, Raiden quickly forces Ei to take over back leaving her creator confused, though her confusion turns to fear when she sees the angry you heading toward her with a crackling sword in your hand.

VENTI:

Diluc watches how your body trembles at the amount of debt your husband create in the wine industry. You can buy a whole mansion with this mora.

“...T-that..” You rip the paper into pieces luckily Diluc knows this going to happen so he gives you a copy, holding your hand out toward the younger male he sighs before giving you his weapon. 

He just stares as you storm down the road with his weapon blazing with fire. 

Venti giggle drunkenly [though he is not actually] as he continues telling Traveler about a random story of you, which is awkward since Paimon already dozing off and the Traveler stops listening to him two minutes into the story.

The drunkenness of the patrons inside the shop is gone when the tavern door gets kicked down, “BARBATOS!” 

Venti let out a fearful shriek when he sees you heading toward him with a weapon.

[veryripebanana]

Yall know like "the indominable human spirit trend"? But like this one is from human perspective.

"Fuck... "

Wrath, Pain, Agony, Fear.

"Fuck this..."

My vision blurred, my leg limping, i feel blood crawling down my body from head to toe, mine and theirs. They kidnapped my family and I, and while i was sitting there, locked in forced paralysis but conscious enough to hear, see, and feel their pain as these fucking bastards do their wretched experiments on my family. My wife, FORCED TO BREED AND CARRY OUT SEVERAL DIFFRENT LIFEFORMS WITHING MINUTESALL WITHOUT EVEN A DROP OF ANESTHESIA! My children forced to live several thousand, even MILLIONS OF DIFFERENT LIVES in a short span of time just to see how it CHANGES THEIR MENTALITY...

EVERY NIGHT, THEY WERE CAGED IN WITH ME, I HEAR THEIR CRIES, THEIR WAILS, BEGGING, ASKING, TELLING ME TO HELP! But how can i? These demons injected something in my spine that rendered my entire body immovable...

"WHY? WHY ONLY ME? Why was i disregarded in these torture trials that my family had to go through? Put me in there instead! Let them go... please... i beg of you..."

I can't talk, but i hope my thoughs can go through to them all...

...

Days later, my family were killed. I guess the stress was too much for them... my children had their brains explode from the inside, my wife had her body so messed up she mutated and barely even looked human at the end...

The doors of the cage open.

It's my turn.

They dragged me out and put me in a chair, injected something in my spine again and moments later i gained control of my body once more. But i was restrained. Locked in place with braces on my hands and feet in the chair.

"The fuck is this shit? Medieval interrogation? All these goddamn tech you used to torture my family and now just this?! I didn't know even a superior lifeform's tech can only last a pathetic amount of time."

I wanted to anger them. I wanted them to want to kill me.

"Human, you are now named no.4 as the fourth and final testing on human species limitations and biology. In our next experime-"

i spat on its face.

"No.4, coordinate without resistance."

"Bitch please motherfucker, kill me. Do your best shot." Kill me.

"Precisely, your testing will revolve around the fragility of bare human body without external armour."

Fuck. Well, i wanted this.

Several carts go in the room, with racks filled with diffrent types of artillery, blunt weapons, and spears, all with diffrent abilities ranging from medieval spears to modern guns, from heat that can go against the core of a star to absolute zero temperatures, from bombs that condenses matter into nothingness to bombs that delivers an impact close to a meteor strike. All were tested and all wounds were healed.

Every. Single. Day.

I lasted for weeks, months even. In agony, hoping that they one day make a mistake and target my brain.

Unfortunately for me, they did, but i did not die. And fortunately for me, the shakles that bind me from the chair came loose, now i can stand.

Beaten, and tired, i tried to go for one of the guns and shoot myself on my own. When i finally got one, one of them saw, and they opened fire.

Lasers, or bullets, or projectiles i don't even know at this point peirce through my body one by one, i fell.

But i did not die, my body is littered with holes and blood gushing throughout them.

And i had a gun.

One thing i learned after all these time was, their weapons wasn't easy to reload and it takes time to fix 1 magazine into one artillery weapon. But mine is loaded, so i opened fire.

I shot one in their "head", they got up.

I shot one near the area of their "heart", they got up.

I shot one near the area of the neck, gotcha bitch.

One by one, i went through all 20 of them in the room, one shot kills to their "necks". Some finished reloading their guns and shot me and some managed to break one of my legs and arms but then again, it is only I who walked out of that room, alive.

And i took another reloaded gun just in case.

Now i wander this ship, it looks barren but I do not think so, there were 24 diffrent aliens here based from them all taking turns trying on the experiment with me and especially my family. And i took note of one, one special alien, one with the most colored garments out of them all. I assume it's the captain.

I wandered the ship for a few minuites before...

A message, on repeat, i couldn't understand hut i assume they already know where i am.

...

I walked for a few more minuites and hear footsteps, fuck yes.

I see one of them, a scout i presume being guarded, alert and alone.

It engages fire and i fire back in return, after a lengthy exchange we were both out of ammo, but now it's wounded. I rushed into it with my hand clenched into a fist, but i was fainting, loosing my hold on my body.

I was drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Finally" i thought to myself...

So what the fuck is this? Why am i engaging in brutal hand to hand wild fight with this bastard using both my arms and legs. My broken appendages flopping around but i do not feel pain from any of them. I fight, and in the end, i grabbed my gun and stabbed it into the fucker's neck.

"let me die"

Toughts racing through my head, begging, yearning for my demise. Yet my very own mind cages me in this flesh, for what?

it says "to fight."

I reach an open room, i went around and look what i saw, the last three motherfuckers hiding in the dark. Too bad my eyes have already adjusted to it.

1 of them attempt to shoot me, 1 of them rush to me, and the last, well it just sat there.

Again i was shot, grazed by bullets, beaten with the other one, but fuck, if i can't feel shit i will let them express pain for me.

I grabbed a nearby glass and shattered it, then stabbed the one near me with a piece of glass and used it'sbody as temporary shield as i walked towards the last two...

The other? Well it just ran out of bullets.

I stabbed it again in the "neck", i was now panting, i start to feel everything again, it's like something is wearing off...

I slowly dropped the glass and the alien to the ground, but i will not let the last one go.

I walked, to the best of my ability and through the pain of many broken bones, i walked.

Nearer and nearer i can see that shit shivering.

I slowly go near it, and it pushed something near its "head".

-translator on-

"Please, i am sorry. I beg of you let me go..." it said.

"Fucking cliché bitch", well we all know what the fuck I should do right?

But this time without breaking eye contact, in fact i widen them, let this shivering little cunt look into my bloodied unyielding eyes as i slowly, very very fucking slowly push that shard of glass into it's "neck" as i watch the light from its eyes wash away in blood.

"Finally..."

It only took a few steps away but, as expected i too fell and enjoyed my peace at last, in this drifting, lost, and soulless spacecraft that i pray never reach the sight of any living organism ever again.

[fanartka]

It seems that you are holding on, that all the pain that surrounds you is permeating you, under control. And then you see the pain of a person from your country, but from another city, and it is felt as personal, as general, it is too much and it becomes impossible to contain it.

Here I usually don’t publish anything from my life, from the horror in which we live. Here for me is a place where I can get distracted, live a normal, ordinary life, discuss what I like, share what I want to share. It's so easy to be a little happy here. Warm, friendly place. It’s a pity, I haven’t had much strength to draw lately, I feel exhausted.

We are almost used to it, it has become such a part of life, a routine. As it seems. But someone experiences grief and you realize how many wounds there are in your soul, because they all start to bleed.

I live in Odesa, Ukraine. It's a beautiful coastal city and I'm not leaving no matter what. This is my home. And it is being shelled very heavily because we have a port through which huge reserves of Ukrainian grain sailed to all countries of the world. And to this day our grain, which farmers grow under fire, die while collecting it, feeds a huge number of people. Who knows, maybe the bread on your table has traveled this path.

russian occupiers fired at granaries, at our residential buildings, at civilian facilities, at power plants. They deliberately terrorize civilians to force them to surrender or leave.

A few weeks ago, a shell hit a residential building. The entire part of a residential building from the ninth floor to the first ceased to exist.

It’s good that yesterday I had almost no electricity, no Internet, and no water either due to the fact that the russians again shelled the city power plant, depriving the residents of my city of normal life for some time, because massive shelling of Zaporozhye and other the cities of my country have stirred up too much grief in me and what I could have published yesterday, I’d rather keep to myself. Too much pain and anger.

I will only say that over the past few weeks in my dear Odesa there have been several tragic events that are painfully felt.

In early March, a shell hit a residential building with sleeping people. It seems that this was one of the Iranian "Shaheds" that iran so generously sells to russia. The entire part of house from floor 9 to floor 1 was crushed, many people, many children died. A wife and newborn baby were killed by the ceiling, while her husband and eldest daughter slept in another room and escaped. In this photo, this poor man still hopes that he is still a husband and not a widower, and that he is the father of two children, not one. Do you know what the occupiers do in the comments with such news? They laugh and mock.

A whole family - husband and wife and three children died there. Only the eldest boy, who was visiting his grandmother, survived, and I don’t want to imagine what it’s like to lose two parents and all brothers and sisters.

This house is of a standard construction, there are dozens of them in the city, and at first I thought it was my mother’s house.

I knew about the dead children and it was painful, but yesterday I saw a photo of one of the children killed by the russians and that was the last straw that simply tore me apart. I saw the photo without blur, but if anyone is interested, here is the blurred photo.

My little son sleeps the same way sometimes, curled up. And many kids around the world have such pajamas with Batman. And all mothers try to do everything to protect their children. But I won’t be able to protect my child from an iranian piece of iron launched by russian monsters that can destroy 9 floors. There is no metro in my city, and it is impossible to dig such deep and fortified shelters in a built-up city. All we can do is hide in the corridor so that we are not cut down by glass fragments or shrapnel shells, as happened on March 15th, when these orcs first hit one house, waited for rescuers and emergency services to arrive and then hit him. Terrorists.

I want to say thank you to everyone who supports us, because without your help, they would have destroyed all our cities, as they have already destroyed many on the border with them, along with their inhabitants. I want to say that the UN is the most useless organization in the world, but ordinary people from all countries have shown us what compassion and support is, thank you. And I know several residents of the russian federation who are very pure in soul and are themselves horrified by what is happening, but why the majority of russians so happily supported the war and the next genocide that they are again committing here is a mystery to me. And I’m not interested in solving it, just as it wouldn’t be interesting to sort out the psychological problems of orcs. They do not spare their inhabitants, and destroy their neighbors with pleasure.

I didn’t want to spoil this weekend for you with my grief, my plans were to show some sketches, discuss ideas stored up during the week, show some great screenshots and very beautiful or funny AI generations. But I just can't do it yet. Because sometimes you feel as if most of the time you continue to try to enjoy life, despite everything that happens, as if you are splashing on the very surface of the ocean in warm water under the sun in a cheerful company, and you can temporarily forget about the dark waters in the depths and all the monsters below until they grab you and drag you down.

Our vanished cities

So I think I need to catch my breath a little. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

[gatheredfates]

17. — audience (Elandervier)

ONE WORD WRITING PROMPTS. Funnily enough, I was playing with a concept similar to this that hasn't amounted (yet). Consider this a prelude of sorts if I end up writing it. CONTENT WARNINGS. This fic deals with mature themes including, but not limited to: pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of abortion and women's bodily autonomy, misogyny and my personal interpretation of a woman's place in Ishgardian high-society. Please do not read if any of these are personal triggers. I have done my due diligence to warn ahead of time.

i'm glad i met the devil because he showed me i was weak, and a little piece of him is in a little piece of me.

The rage of the girl banged on the bones of the woman, all bared teeth and frothing anger. She knew her well, this outraged daughter — kicking, screaming, wailing in her hysteria, ungovernable and unknowable.

Unsightly. Unbecoming. Fifteen years on and her mother's words were ever the knife she dug into her breastbone as if to sever a rib and deliver it to the daughter. 'Yes, we are ugly. Bide your time,' it said, 'There will be deliverance soon, be still. These lessons will be useful to us.'

"I didn't know where else to go."

Elandervier didn't like that she recognised the girl's name — that she watched stony-faced and set-gazed her deliverance onto the marital bed, the third daughter in a line of women and still-born sons. The babe was passed haphazardly to her, a hiss to bathe and swaddle while the lord of the house screamed and tore down the nearby torchères like he intended to deliver them to the Hells himself. "The gods themselves fuck with me!" He declared while his wife cried and consoled him from his bed, "Of the duties you perform, you give me useless fucking women!"

This useless woman was a pragmatic woman for making it this far. The bobbin lace on her cuffs were bare and browned now, hanging by single threads in some places, but it did not waste in the snow gnawed at by the wolves. She was thin but not emaciated, the vigour in her gaze undercut only by the hand that pressed to the swell of her belly, and she looked to the witch with her mother's brown eyes — the very same which plucked her from her arms all those years ago, soothing her that she would be loved.

She would be safe.

The first lie in a thread woven by Ishgardian society, another falsehood added to the tapestry of violation — white, in that it was pure and born from a fervent wish — but would not stay when the blood was doused over the frame.

The lordlings were never pragmatic. When their sons were killed by fire, famine and fatigue they fought over the scraps of their lineage like carrion birds — all to the machine. But never their daughters. A daughter who fought was a daughter of the Brume, she lived and died destitute, but their daughters? Pretty girls waged wars on their wombs and the hearth of their houses; they were too empathic, too gentlehearted, too emotionally intelligent for the field. Ratatoskr was but a woman killed by men for seeing through the propaganda.

Control the womb, control the war.

"Whose?" Elandervier did not bother with a proper introduction, ink-dyed fingers gesturing to the pregnancy. The girl looked down and pet her skin so tenderly, even as her voice warbled with her rage.

"My lord husband's," bitterly replied, "That I should give him the pleasure."

The girl in her bones banged painfully on the filaments. That this should be what she was known for; devourer of children, the witch in the dark, the last bastion for desperate women choosing between three kinds of death; the man, the tundra or the severing of the soul. El sighed and rose to her feet, sliding a knife free from the belt on her waist as she stepped towards the girl. When she recoiled the witch shook her head and gestured for her to open her palms.

"You have choice to make," she said, settling the blade on her skin, "A sacrifice must be made."

Six months later two lords lay dead in their beds — eviscerated at the abdomen, disembowelled as if something was trying to tear it away. 'What a travesty!' the gentry declared, looking at the hysterical girl, 'That she should be delivered from the wilds by Halone's grace mere weeks after their death! What savagery, what witchcraft!'

The void knew its kin better than most: the all-consuming hunger, the revel in wild panic. Imbued in an animal and fed the blood of the babe, parricide was a indulgent taboo that fed its aether and stole their souls for the witch.

A little boy was discovered on the doorstep of a peasant house desperate for a child. After the war, they were funded by a wealthy noblewoman who kept her distance, wishing only the best for the babe. In her home, the skull of a wolf bared teeth over her fireplace where she told stories of how she fended off the wilds with naught but a knife.

One soul distilled into raw aether, given to a 'useless' girl to help her survive. The other Elandervier fed to Gobnip.

After all, she told the girl inside her bones, these lessons were useful to us.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Halt & Catch Fire: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: You're done being a puppet in their plans. You're done letting them control you. You're finally going to take back your life by becoming something you didn't know was possible. your eyes are opened to something better and God forbid anyone who disrespects you.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Where is the damn thing? There are only so many places one can hide a remote. God, you could have sworn Dean had it here. You yank the mattress of the bed and haphazardly let it fall back onto the box spring. You open his dresser drawers and start flinging clothes out of it. I'm gonna fucking kill him. I'm going to fucking KILL HIM. Where is the damn thing?!

For the past month, you've made sure to be on your best behavior in hopes he would give up the remote for the thing on your neck. They're both still on edge with you being around but that's not your problem anymore. Your hands are itching to break something so you grab the first thing you can reach which just so happens to be a picture of you and Dean on your wedding day.

You pause to look at the picture and allow the memories to come flooding back.

"Do you, Dean Winchester, take Y/N Singer to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," he said.

He took your engagement ring and slid it onto your left ring finger, and you admired how it shined brightly as if it were meant to be there.

"Do you, Y/N Singer, take Dean Winchester to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," you sniffled.

You took out John Winchester's wedding ring and slid it onto Dean's left ring finger.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Dean pulled you in by your waist, and you met him halfway. Your lips molded together, fitting perfectly together. There are no two people better suited for each other than you and Dean. Your minds, bodies, and souls melded together so that you're one. There was no one else you wanted to spend the rest of your life with than Dean.

Now you can't think of anything worse than being his wife. You toss the picture onto the bed just as the bedroom door opens.

"What the hell did you do to my room?"

"I've been nothing but good this entire month. Get this damn thing off my neck."

"Not until your soul is back."

You take two deep breaths to calm yourself otherwise you'll strangle him.

"Baby, I'm fine. I'm okay now. I'll be good."

You slither up to his side and grab the sides of his face gently. You pull him down and kiss him to prove to him you'll do what you say you're gonna do. Dean knows this is a ploy but he can't help but kiss you back. Damn, he misses kissing you. You feel so good against him and he momentarily forgets what you're asking of him.

As your lips move against him, your hands roam his body. You make it seem like you just want to touch him when you're really looking for the damn remote. Something snaps in Dean's brain and he pulls away from you slightly.

"It's not on me."

You huff out in anger, push him away from you, and storm out of his bedroom. Dean starts cleaning his room when he spots the picture of you two at your wedding. Seeing that causes a headache to form. The headache gets so bad that he sinks to the ground with his head in his hands.

"Hello?! Dean!" you yell. "Anyone??"

The room you're in is pitch black but there is a white hue of it that isn't quite breaking into the room. You can barely see one foot in front of you so you have to walk around with your hands out in front of you. You hit the wall and feel around for a door or a window. Maybe a light switch if you're lucky.

All four corners and nothing. You're trapped inside of this box with nowhere to go and no one to talk to. Blue magic swirls around your hands with the hope of lighting your way. There is nothing in this room. Nothing to do. No one to talk to. No Dean. No Sam. You're completely alone.

"Please let me out, someone," you cry. You slide down the wall in tears. "I just want to go home."

A single tear leaves Dean's eye and he snaps out of this trance he's in. He shakes his head and wipes his tear in confusion. He gets off the floor and continues to clean his room. Once done, he leaves his room and finds Sam in the library.

"Hey, where's Y/N?"

"Kitchen. Cas got back to me. Good news and bad news. The bad news is that he discovered riverboat gambling. The good news is he thinks he's closing in on Cain."

"He thinks?"

"Yeah, just east of the Mississippi River in Illinois."

"So, what do you suppose we do when we find Cain?"

"We get him to tell us how to get rid of the Mark."

"Don't you think that if Cain knew how to remove the mark, he would have done it like centuries ago?"

"We won't know until we try."

"You're right. I think Y/N is getting worse. We need to figure out a way soon."

"We will," Sam nods. "On another note, I found us a case in Iowa. A teen claims possessed pickup truck killed the driver."

You cry out in pain from the kitchen and the brothers immediately head in there to see what you're doing. You have a knife to your neck to try and dig the device out. Sam snatches the knife away from you at the same time Dean grabs you so you don't go anywhere.

"Come on!"

"Not gonna happen. Come on. We have a case."

"Like I care about saving some stupid people."

"I don't care. You're going."

Ah, college. To be that young again. All of these students don't think anything bad can happen to them. Dean keeps his eyes to himself but Sam checks out a few of the girls who seem older than the rest. You don't hide how much you're checking out some of the young men walking around. Dean sees two girls walking outside with bookbags slung over their shoulders and approaches them.

"Which one of you is Janet Novoselic?"

"I am," the brunette says.

"Agents Grohl, Cobain, and Channing."

The blonde girl Janet is with says goodbye and leaves so Janet can be alone.

"I already talked to the police like nine times," Janet sighs.

"Yeah, this is just a follow-up."

"I have finals tomorrow."

"Then we'll make it fast. I promise," Sam smiles.

Janet takes you three to the library so you can talk in semi-private. You're browsing the books because you have no interest in hearing what she has to say while the brothers sit with Janet at a table nearby. Maybe one of these books will have something to do with getting this damn thing off your neck. One can hope, right?

"It's like I told the detective. I was drunk but I wasn't hallucinating. The truck had a mind of its own."

"How so?"

Dean looks at you in thought. You take a book off the shelf and flip through the pages. When you're not satisfied with it, you slam the book back on the shelf angrily. You scratch at the device on your neck and continue looking. What is he going to do with you? Sooner or later, you're going to fight back. He doesn't want to be on the receiving end because you'll fight to kill.

"Like the air went full blast even though it wasn't on, and Trini and the radio went crazy"

"Who is Trini?" Dean asks.

"You'll have to excuse my partner," Sam chuckles. "When it comes to technology, he's a little behind. He just learned how to poke on Facebook. "

"Okay. Trini is the navigation app we were using. It's this talking map. Look, I don't expect you to believe me, but I swear that truck was hell-bent on killing Billy."

"Did Billy have any enemies? Anybody who might have had a beef with him?"

"Maybe his brother Joey. They fought all the time. It's so sad. They never got to set it right."

"Because Billy died?"

"No, Joey did in Afghanistan."

"Do you know where he's buried?"

"He's not. Poor guy never came home. IED."

"Did Billy happen to have anything of his brother's on him when he died? Dog tags, a hat, something?" Dean asks.

"Just his pickup. The truck belonged to Joey. Billy got it when he died."

Dean looks back at you and locks eyes with you. Something sparks between you two and he's suddenly watching a movie of your entire life together.

You open the door and see the broken young boy by the bathtub. Upon seeing you, he tried to get himself to stop crying even though his tears wouldn't stop flowing. His eyes have a broken look in them that leads to a broken soul. You get tears yourself because you hate seeing him like this.

You close the door and join him on the floor.

"Why are you crying?" He shakes his head but keeps eye contact with you. "Come on, Dean, you can tell me. I'm good at keeping secrets. I even brought Legos with me so we could play with them."

"It's my mommy," he whispers. 

At the mention of his mom, he sobs. You overheard John talk about how his wife died recently to your mother. You don't know how she died but you know how much Dean loves her. You reach out to Dean with a tiny hand and place it on his even tinier shoulder.

"Don't cry."

"I just miss her so much."

You're not sure how to help so you do the only thing you can think of. You pull him into you and place his head on your chest. Even at five years old, you know how to comfort someone when they're sad.

"It's okay, Dean. I can share my mommy. She's great. She makes my lunch and reads me bedtime stories and sings with me. She can come over here and she can help you. I promise I won't be sad. I don't want you to be sad so I'll share my mommy with you."

Dean sniffles and looks at you with the tiniest of smiles on his face. He nods after a moment and wipes his tears.

"You can come over again and you can even sleep there. We can share my bed! It's very comfy and I'll even let you hold my blankie. I can share my toys and you can have half my sandwich."

Dean gives you a real smile, feeling much better now that you are with him.

"You said you brought Legos with you?"

You put the bag of Legos in front of him. If he wants to play in the bathroom, then that's what you'll do. You like seeing him smile.

You walk into the freezing cold bedroom knowing that is a sign the spirit is occupying the room. Before Dean can follow you in, the door slams shut, locking you in. You scream and jump back from the door with your gun out in front of you.

"Y/N! Stay calm! I'm going to get you out!"

The room is silent except for the sounds of your heavy breathing. God, it's so cold in here. Suddenly, the closet door creaks open and you turn with wide eyes and a pounding heart. You make the stupid decision and walk into the closet. It slams shut causing you to turn around and face the spirit you're haunting.

The spirit throws you against the wall and your gun goes flying out of your hands. You aren't fast enough to grab it and the spirit grabs you by your throat. He slashes your ribs with his sharp claws and you scream out in pain. Well, the scream is strangled due to the ghost holding you up by your throat.

"DEAN!" you manage to scream.

The closet door busts open and the spirit drops you to the ground to face the other hunter. Dean shoots the spirit and rushes over to you. He lifts your shirt to see the damage the spirit did. Three long and deep gashes run across your abdomen that are oozing blood. He sheds his jacket and places it over your wounds to stop the bleeding.

"I don't want to die," you cry.

"You're not going to die. I will protect you. I will take care of you."

The spirit appears behind Dean with an evil look. Before you have a chance to say something, the spirit goes up in flames. John must have burned the thing it's attached to. You need to get this wound sewn up quickly. As much as you love Dean, you don't trust him with a needle yet. 

"I won't let anything happen to you. You're going to be okay." Dean says, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

John and Dean help you out to the car but instead of sitting in the front like he always does, Dean joins you in the back. You lean against Dean's chest as he holds you, and you look down at his ruined jacket.

"Sorry about your jacket," you grunt.

"Forget the jacket. You're more important," he says and kisses the side of your head.

x

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[annie-creates]

My beautiful nightmare

Pairing: Lady Lesso x reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 800

Note: Hi darling, as I've said I don't wanna write another part of that story as I would have probably killed someone and I don't wanna make anyone (including myself) cry. I left the ending open so everyone can imagine the ending they want. But I've written a different family piece for you, hope it will make up for it a bit.

Lady Lesso was a force to be reckoned with. She was respected by all and feared by most. Nevers went silent when she stepped into the room and Evers cleared out of her way. No one wanted to be the center of her attention, much less her wrath. She was known to be cruel, coldhearted and firm. The smallest mistake or fault in her mood could earn you hours in the doom room, and that was a fate no one wanted to challenge. But she was also collected and deliberate. Almost anyone could get to her nerves. Except for you.

You were a shy little mouse when you started teaching in the school for evil. Quiet, subdued, and seemingly scared of everything and everyone around you. Even your students had fun of you sometimes for being too tranquil to be a real Never. But as soon as you got facilitated around the place you became the real devil in disguise. Not only did you pester your students to prepare them for all the dangers of the outside world, but you also caught out your colleagues and other authorities.

Lesso didn’t exactly appreciate that as you were showing her the fatuous incapability of her own staff. All the complain about your tricks and traps bored her to no avail. The moment she fell into one of your snares herself was the cherry on the cake of her anger. But the more you annoyed her the more you enjoyed yourself and your little shenanigans. Soon it became your personal mission to get her as many times as possible. Your highest score was two times a day so far. It annoyed her to the highest levels yet firing you wasn’t much of an option. The Nevers strangely took a liking to you, or at least appreciated your wit. And then, you were the best teacher she had here, as you have so inaptly shown her.

“You are my worst nightmare Y/l/n,” she told you once, but you took it as a compliment.

What’s better than misguiding the devil herself? She almost got used to it… so much that the moment you fell ill and couldn’t leave your bed for a week, she found herself missing your pranks. Not that she would ever admit such thing out loud of course. Your artifice and cunning was something she started to admire. She found herself enamored by you. You were still her worst nightmare tho, and she made sure to tell you every time you angered her.

Now you were sitting at the terrace bench, your back supported by cushions, looking over the magnificent mountains. You loved the peace and quietness of the place, one of the reasons you decided to move here. Whoever said Nevers can’t enjoy nice things must have been really really wrong. Sometimes you missed the busyness of the school, but you moved on in your life and you had more important pressing matters to attend to.

“How’s out little spider doing?” Leonora asked as she walked up to you, hands full of chopped wood and sleeves pulled up.

“Taking his after-lunch nap,” you replied with a smile, controlling the baby you were rocking in your arms.

“Mama I wanna play,” your daughter whined as she came back from the trip with her mother.

“You have to wait till Y/s/n is a bit older my dear viper. I promise you he’ll be in all the trouble with you then,” you assured the little girl. “Don’t worry, he’ll be running around before you blink.”

“How do you know? It’s taking him too long,” Y/d/n wasn’t having your excuses.

“Because that’s what you did to me and mommy. You grew up before we turned around to wipe your chin,” your wife laughed at that as your daughter got obviously tired with the conversation already and ran into the house to do god knows what.

“Well she’s not wrong, I can’t wait for out little demon to run around causing trouble either,” Leonora admits as she sits next to you, taking your son in her arms.

“I’m sure you can’t. Maybe you should be cleaning up all the mess this time,” you taunt her leaning your head on her shoulder.

“Hey, they got that after you!” Lesso argues with an amused smile.

“Yeah sure, cause the dean of evil and wickedness herself is a good little angel who wouldn’t hurt a fly,” sometimes she was just as annoying as you could be, but you loved her for it none the less. “But I love you with all your devilry and spite.” you assure her, you adored and sometimes even envied her troubling cruel talents.

“I love you, my beautiful nightmare.” Leonora exclaimed as she kissed your head, admiring the little vicious family you’ve build together.

[peachesofteal]

I SAW UR WITCH FOLLOW UP LAST NIGHT AND I COULDNT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT FFSAKEEEEE

Alright. Hear me out.

you really hadn’t meant to bind him to you. Between the anger that shifted to panic and the way he pinned you up against the wall, the spell had just slipped between your fingers and threaded through his magic, and before you could say anything, give some sort of warning or ask him to wait, he was gone. The only remnant was the string of magic, and the faint smell of sea salt mixed with pine needles and cinnamon.

Fuck.

You stumbled back home, already feeling the drain on your magic. Bound to a fucking fae. And based on how your own magic was reacting, he was back in the fae realm. A place that you had no access to. It would only be a matter of days before you were drained if you couldn’t contact him. And knowing how the fae worked, it could be years or centuries before he even deigned to glance at the mortal realm. Your entire magic pool would be like a drop in the lake compared to him. He would survive the bond, and it would kill you.

So you got to work. Any low level fae you found you would bully and wheedle into revealing the location of one of the bridges, and they would sneak off before you could get any real info. You were exhausted, your magic draining fast, so you turned to what you knew best, your books. Humans had been recording fae names for centuries, and there was no doubt in your mind you had someone’s true name in your library, you just prayed it was a fae who was still alive, and could take you to the fae realm.

And that’s where Soap found you, laying face down, surrounded by open books and empty mana bottles.

He called Ghost and his wife, the nereid was the only one who knew about the old magics and could help him unfuck this situation.

It wouldn’t take long, she explained, but the two of you would be stuck together until you recovered enough of your magic to unbind the two of you. You were unconscious for a few days, only a faint shimmer of magic remaining of the tidal wave Soap had seen a few weeks ago. And it got worse before it got better.

Overburn, the nereid had called it. Your body was panicking at the lack of magic, and was now overproducing it. The plants scattered around your shop and your apartment began to grow out of control, the English ivy had taken over the staircase, and your mint had all but exploded out of its pot. Not to mention the random floating objects. Books would often go flying past Soap’s head (or hitting him if he wasn’t paying attention), and he would walk into your rooms some mornings to find most of your furniture drifting around the room, like you had turned off the gravity. It was infuriating. Here he was, reduced to a fucking nurse, and for a mortal! But- he couldn’t help but feel a little… twist of guilt when he saw your peaceful face. He was reluctant to admit it, but he missed your fire.

And then on the fifth day, you woke up.

(also if you wanna use the prev ask I sent or this one and just turn this into a whole fic whenever you feel like please feel free it is all urs)

I had to post this before Which Witch drops. I love your brain. I could kiss it. You are a marvelous creature. 🩵

I did in fact, use inspiration from this and the previous ask while writing fae!Johnny / witch!reader. I’m so excited for you to read it! I was especially inspired by the burn of a binding spell gone wrong… 🪄

[evita-shelby]

They didn't know we were seeds

Chapter 4

Cw: snakes, death, murder, suicide

@justrainandcoffee @emotionalcadaver @call-sign-shark @peakyswritings

When she accepted Laurie’s outstretched hand that morning, it never occurred to her that she may have to kill him.

Eva had been too caught up in being safe while she was with him playing the love-struck girl ---only partially as Laurie was every teenage girl’s dream and she was no different--- that it never crossed her mind.

Not when he killed Tullia when she tried to drown her while they bathed, not when they broke away from Mink and Diamond while they sabotaged them and not even when Marlin was killed for what they did.

They are barely at the seventh day of the games and now they were down to four.

Basil, the boy from eleven, never arrived for his pack at the Feast. Neither did Diamond, only Mink so frantic in opening his pack that he didn’t notice Laurie behind him until he slit his throat.

There are bites on Mink’s legs, little bites that spell death within the hour.

Their clothing provided some cover, but these fangs had torn through the fabric and by the looks of the blood still leaking through the bites, these were venomous.

Mutations even Eva had never encountered in her life. Eva knew what to do with tracker jacker stings, with the wasps that mixed with them and had a similar effect, and even how to make anti venom for all sorts of snakes, but this bite was too fine and too deep to be a regular snake.

“Snake mutts,” she warns as a canon goes off along with Mink’s. There is no way of telling who it belonged to until nightfall and it was still noon. They take the remaining packs with them to ensure they give chase.

Only three people left in the game. Eva prays her murderer is not Laurie.

“Do you have snakes in your district?” Eva asks as they return to the only source of water left in the arena, where Diamond or Basil will come even if it means their death.

There had been a fire to force the survivors to the oasis and end the games before sundown it seems. The same oasis that Mink had left covered in snake bites.

“Towards the south, I grew up in the north with my mom and my brother.” He answers as he leads the way back, trusting her not to drive her knife into his back.

Laurie really likes her, so much he stole a kiss from her when they set the stockpile of supplies on fire, and she kissed him back like she meant it. They hold hands sometimes; she always makes sure to sleep near him. First because she was afraid the others would attack her in her sleep and then because she enjoyed it too much to stop.

He could kill her if he wanted to. Slit her throat with her own knife while she is snuggled up beside him in their shared sleeping bag, snap her neck when he hugs her close in his sleep.

She could kill him too.

Poison their water supply, his food or even take advantage of his bad choice of trusting her.

If they killed whoever the hovercraft picked up, it would be down to the two of them. He is much stronger and faster than her, better fighter than even the Peacekeepers back at 10.

“Jack said he saw a man kill one with a stick while he was there on his tour last year.” He mentions. His twin’s victory had elicited some envy and admiration from him. Jack was born first, slightly taller and a favorite of their grandfather who saw the son he never had.

They had no father; their mother had wanted a family but never a man to control her like her father did. Their granddad, a stonemason, was harsh, he’d survived the dark days as a boy, and it had never given its hold on him.

Servilla Plinth, Strabo Plinth’s wife was his grandmother’s elder sister and that made them kin to the Plinth Family who earned their way into the Capitol and later made President Snow their heir. Made their granddad resentful to the point Laurie’s mother got a job at the main city just to get away from him and his anger before it rubbed off on them.

Instead, the old man’s influence had made Jack volunteer at his next reaping to show their mother was undeserving of their grandad's derision. Turns out Jack never liked the way the old man treated her and his wife.

And now Laurie was here to leave no doubts that their mother would never be looked down on by anyone. No one else has had two victors in their family in their district.

“I heard about it. One of the maids at the Justice building told us about it when she came to buy more calming tea for the mayor’s wife, they gave the rattle to your brother as an apology gift for interrupting dinner, I think.” Eva wonders what his strategy is to get rid of her. Will he wait until she is distracted or asleep enough not to hear him? Will he finish what Tullia started and drown her?

Then she thinks of Clemens' advice.

It’s not difficult to make a boy or a girl fall for her, Eva doesn’t even have to know she’s doing that to get someone to like her that way. It just happens, just like it did with Laurie.

Could she turn the tables on him and have him completely at her mercy?

Her two kills had been with tricks, with a cactus with too much alkaline. The others had been Laurie’s doing.

Eva never thought she would have to kill him and her heart breaks because as much as she’d tried to stop it, she likes him.

Perhaps not love him, but had they ever had a chance, she could have.

“He still has it, said some cryptic shot about how the games never truly end. Life is just another big arena.” He continues talking as if nothing had changed.

He hopes whoever is already at the oasis will kill her and he can be the hero who avenged her. Diamond will want her dead because of Mink, because she and Tullia distrusted her from the beginning.

Basil will kill her anyways because he knows he stands a better chance at killing Laurie than she can.

“He’s not wrong about that, if you don’t work you starve, if you aren’t careful you die. I suppose we don’t have to worry about another human being killing you as much as we do here.” Incredibly wise words from a boy engineered to kill for entertainment. “Actually, this gives me an idea.

Use me as bait.”

That way they don’t have to kill each other.

Laurie is so taken aback by it that it takes him a while to sputter a no.

“They could kill you!” he says as she makes them stop as they load the important things each pack has into one of them.

Theirs had a food, water, anti-venom, and armor. Well, his had armor, she had stolen the one meant for Diamond even if she was taller than her.

“But you would kill them in revenge. If one of us must die here, it should be me. You have your family back home. I don’t.” They had felt bad when they saw the photographs of their family in them to remind everyone that Eva didn’t have a mother, a father, or a sister or even a brother to come home to.

She had her aunt and her cousins, but her pack only had a scarf that doubled as a shawl that her mother once owned.

She could strangle someone with it. Or she could be killed with it. A painful death either way.

If it’s not Laurie who kills her, she will be fine.

“If I have to die, I don’t want you to be the one holding the knife.” Eva says quietly, taking the pack with the big number 1 on it and leaving before he can stop her.

The capitol must be eating this up, tragic romances always play well in the games. Even gets people in the districts to root for them. She wonders who is rooting for them back home.

She wonders who they upset at the Gamemaker’s table when she sees the oasis overrun by colorful snakes. The trees, the grass and even the rocks are overrun by these colorful monstrosities.

Eva only sees Basil run to her like mad with snakes wrapping around him, slithering up his legs and some even standing about half their height in effort to find something to bite. But its too late, some have already bitten him and his only way to survive was the anti-venom in the backpack.

And he won’t have that, because the moment he tackles her, Laurie’s managed to lodge a knife into his shoulder.

Eva hadn’t needed saving, all she needed was to let the venom take its course or help it along by taking one of the mutts and letting it sink its teeth into Basil’s neck. She also could’ve let herself die here and give Laurie a clear chance at winning.

But she hadn’t. Because all her talk about dying was just that, talk.

Eva’s hand is still holding a mutt by its head when Laurie comes to help her up.

He’s in love with her, she can see it in the way his face is marred with worry for her, how relieved he is that she is okay and the realization that one of them is going to die for the other.

And because it hurts her to know he loves her even if he’s never said it, Eva is going to make history by denying the games their victor.

“I’m sorry, Laurie.” Eva kisses Laurie like his love is returned and he is so caught up in it as he tries to dry her tear with his thumb that he doesn’t feel the snake until it bit his neck.

Laurie is too disorientated to react with anything but a harsh shove and the last thing he sees is her using the same mutt that bit him on her own wrist.

Only one canon sounds. Eva knows it’s not hers. How stupid of her to think the Capitol would allow their games to have no victor.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of the 61st Hunger Games, Eva Smith of District 10.”

End of Part 1: Tribute

[callsign-owl]

An Impossible Choice

Edinburgh, Scotland - 1990

The late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows of the living room, casting long shadows across the ornate furniture. The air was thick with tension as Bartholomew and May stood facing each other, locked in yet another bitter argument.

Bartholomew, stood tall and rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. His eyes, cold and unforgiving, bore into May with an intensity that could have shattered stone. "You're neglecting your duties as a mother. This family deserves better than your pathetic excuses and weak resolve," he spat, his voice a low growl that echoed through the room. "Percival is old enough to notice your absence, and *redacted*... He’s barely a year old. They need their mother, not a reckless, self-absorbed woman who can’t even fulfill the simplest of maternal duties."

May stood defiantly with her arms crossed over her chest. Her petite frame seemed almost fragile beside her husband's, but there was a fire in her eyes that refused to be extinguished. Her wild auburn hair, as untamed as her spirit, fell messily around her face, and she made no attempt to brush it back. She flinched at the mention of the children, a flicker of guilt passing over her face, but she quickly buried it. "And what would you know of what they need, Bartholomew?" She shot back, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and sorrow. "You don’t spend time with them. All you do is dictate and control, like you do with everything else. You think that money, status, and discipline can substitute for love and warmth."

Bartholomew’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t you dare question my commitment to this family. I’ve done everything in my power to ensure our legacy, to provide for you and our children. What have you done, besides indulging your every whim, shirking your responsibilities, and—"

"Responsibilities," May interrupted, her voice rising. "You talk about responsibilities as if they’re all that matter. But I never wanted any of this, Bartholomew! I never wanted to be your dutiful wife or the mother of your perfect little heirs. You trapped me in this gilded cage, and you expect me to play along like some obedient doll? Well, I won’t." Her voice broke slightly, and she swallowed hard, regaining her composure. "I was never meant for this kind of life. You knew that, and yet you trapped me here, with all your talk of duty and obligation. You never cared what I wanted."

Bartholomew took a step forward, his face a storm of restrained fury, his patience wearing thin. "You’re weak, May. Pathetic. You can't even handle the simplest of responsibilities. Look at you—turning to those vile substances like a coward instead of facing your obligations, abandoning your children. What kind of example are you setting for Percival and *redacted*? You're ruining everything I've worked for."

"Everything you worked for," May scoffed, her voice dripping with bitterness. "This was never about us or our family—this has always been about you. Your legacy, your reputation, your empire. You never cared about what I wanted, or how I felt. You only ever cared about yourself."

Bartholomew took a step closer, towering over her, his expression darkening. "I cared about giving you a life of comfort, a life most people would kill for. But you—you're too selfish, too reckless to appreciate it."

May’s eyes blazed with defiance, though her voice softened, betraying the depth of her internal struggle. "I never wanted your life of comfort, Bartholomew. I wanted freedom. I wanted to see the world, to explore, to be my own person. But you—" she shook her head, her voice trembling with emotion, "you took that from me. You trapped me here, suffocating me with your expectations, your rules."

Bartholomew sneered, his lips curling in contempt. "So, you drown yourself in drugs, abandon your children, and call it rebellion? You're destroying yourself, May. And for what? To prove a point? To punish me?"

May's eyes welled with unshed tears, but she blinked them away, refusing to show any more vulnerability in front of him. "I don't need to prove anything to you, Bartholomew. I just... I just wanted to be me. But you never understood that. You never tried."

Bartholomew’s face hardened, his voice a cold, unforgiving whisper. "You’re not fit to be a mother. You're not fit to be anything at all."

The words hung in the air between them like a final, irreversible judgment. May’s breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t let him see the full extent of the pain his words caused. Instead, she straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze with the same defiance she had shown from the beginning.

"I won’t let you break me, Bartholomew," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "No matter what you say, no matter what you do— I’m not going to let you destroy what little is left of me. I won’t be molded into the perfect wife or the perfect mother that you and this cursed family demand. I won’t sacrifice who I am just to fit into your narrow world."

"And what kind of world do you think you belong to, May?" Bartholomew’s voice was cutting, a sneer playing on his lips. "The world of addicts and failures? Because that’s where you’re heading."

She met his gaze. "Maybe I am. Maybe that’s the only place I can find any semblance of freedom in this prison you’ve built around me. But I will not let you, or anyone else, dictate my life any longer."

Bartholomew looked at her with a mixture of disgust and disappointment, his eyes cold and unforgiving. "You are a disappointment, May. To this family, to our children, and to yourself."

May bit her lip, the sting of his words cutting deep. But she didn’t let him see her falter. "I may be all of those things, Bartholomew, but I am still me. And that’s something you will never control, no matter how hard you try."

Bartholomew's expression darkened further, a storm gathering in his eyes as he took a slow, deliberate step closer. The distance between them was mere inches now, the tension between them palpable. "You’re right, May," he said, his voice low and cold, "I can’t control you. But I control everything else in this household."

May’s heart pounded in her chest, but she stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated. "Our children need more than just your control and your suffocating expectations, Bartholomew. They need love, warmth—something you clearly know nothing about."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes—was it regret? Anger? Pain? But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the hard, cold resolve that had defined him for so many years. "This is your final chance," he said, his voice as unyielding as iron. "Go to rehab. Get clean. Do your duty as a mother. Or you’re out—cut off from this family, from everything. And you’ll never see Percival or *redacted* again."

May felt a chill run through her at his words. She hesitated, her thoughts racing. She could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on her—the lives of her children, the life she would leave behind. But then she thought of the endless days trapped in this house, the crushing expectations, the life she had never wanted. The prospect of being free, of finally escaping this gilded cage was too tempting. It called to her like a siren’s song, promising relief from the suffocating weight of her existence here.

She took a deep breath, feeling the resolve harden in her chest. "You think you can scare me into submission, Bartholomew, but you’ve already lost me," she said, her voice steady and strong. "I won’t be your prisoner anymore."

Bartholomew’s eyes narrowed, a mixture of fury and disbelief flashing across his face. "You’re choosing to abandon your children? Your family? For what—your so-called freedom?"

May’s heart ached at the mention of her children, but she forced herself to remain resolute. "I’m choosing to finally live my life on my own terms. I’m choosing to be free from you, from this life that’s been nothing but a nightmare for me. And maybe one day, when they’re old enough, Percival and *redacted* will understand why I had to leave."

Bartholomew’s face twisted in disgust. "You’re a disgrace, May. A disgrace to this family, to your children. I won’t allow you to poison them with your weakness and your failures."

"You don’t have to worry about that anymore," May replied, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I’ll be gone before the sun rises."

Bartholomew straightened, his expression hardening into the cold, emotionless mask he had perfected over the years. "So be it. You leave this house tonight, and you never return. You no longer part of this family."

May nodded, a strange sense of calm washing over her despite the gravity of the situation. She had made her choice, and there was no turning back now. "Goodbye, Bartholomew."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room, her footsteps echoing through the silent halls of the grand estate. She didn’t look back, didn’t allow herself to feel the weight of the decision she had just made. All she could think about was the freedom that awaited her—the freedom to finally live her life on her own terms, no matter the cost.

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #294: "If Wishes Were Horses...”

August, 1988

WHO leads the Avengers?!

-vibrates in anger-

You suck, Anthony Druid.

Let’s get into this.

Last times in Avengers: Despite having shown herself to be competent previously, leader of the Avengers Monica Rambeau Captain Marvel actually sucks and you’re a fool if you think otherwise. She spends all of her time thinking to herself about how incompetent she is and she never accomplishes anything without someone telling her to do it.

Grumble.

Also, Namor’s wife and former member of Alpha Flight Marrina turned into a giant sea monster for some reason. How mysterious. Dr Druid wanted them to murder her immediately if not sooner due to the damage giant sea monster Marrina was doing to shipping and coastal settlements. The other Avengers wanted to at least try to cure her, which Dr Druid saw as a foolish sentiment.

So after Druid mind manipulated into attacking Atlantis to get Namor on board, the Avengers tried a cure Hank Pym whipped up.

It worked for a hot minute before Marrina started turning into a monster again.

Thor and Captain Marvel shocked the transforming Marrina with electricity to try to stop her from transforming. But when it didn’t work, Namor took Black Knight’s extremely cursed sword the Ebony Blade and killed Marrina. With disastrous, to be revealed consequences for Black Knight because the extremely cursed sword had a blood curse on it and whoops slicing Marrina’s head open got blood on the blade.

Only after the fact does Dr Druid notice that Monica disappeared after she tried to shock Marrina.

Where could she beeeeee?

And what will happen to Black Knight?

This will happen.

So, at the end of last issue, he passed out on his Atomic Steed flying device. So when they brought him into the Quinjet, why did they put him near the controls? Don’t they have a medical bed or something in the back?

Anyway, Black Knight is freaking out and thrashing so hard that even Thor and She-Hulk - who can probably throw buildings - are having trouble holding him down.

Cough cough bullshit cough.

He calls out for this sword so Thor being Thor decides nothing wrong with giving a man a sharp object when he’s having a fit.

AND THOR IS RIGHT.

How dare you doubt Thor!

Dane immediately calms down once he has the blade in his hand. So he’s able to explain to the Avengers (who at least knew that the Ebony Blade was extremely cursed) that despite not being the one who did the deed, the curse is upon him as the owner of the sword.

And the first part of the curse is that he feels like his blood is on fire if he’s not holding the extremely cursed sword.

So, that’s going to be a little awkward. Carrying it around everywhere. At least he’s shown in the past that he can magically summon the sword to his hand. Buuut I’m pretty sure the pain of not holding it is so severe that he can’t focus to do that. He couldn’t even focus to pull it from its scabbard at his waist.

Yeah, this is going to suck. You should just go ahead and get one of those locking gauntlets or tie your hand to the hilt. Otherwise, you’re just asking for it to get knocked from your hand to incapacitate you during fights.

Now that he’s not writhing in pain, Black Knight remembers that Monica is missing.

She-Hulk proclaims that Monica has got to be alive! And they really have no reason to jump to the assumption that she’s dead.

Dr Druid, proving himself the worst, thinks to himself: “And good riddance, if she’s not [alive], She-Hulk. Captain Marvel was too soft to have been an effective leader of the Avengers. And her departure from the active ranks couldn’t have been more timely for me.”

I hate you, you fuckboy.

Anyway, Druid proclaims he’s laying in a course so She-Hulk interrupts to insist that they not leave until they find Monica.

Dr Druid: “Please, Jennifer. Don’t let your emotions run away with you. I was about to say I’ve already laid in search pattern coordinates... and calibrated our instruments for a total electromagnetic spectrum and radiation scan. If there’s... anything left of her to find, we’ll find it.”

This reminds me when that future Captain Marvel, Carol Danvers, was on the Avengers as Ms Marvel. When a writer change brought with it disdain for Carol’s feminist roots. So she started taking things people said the wrong way and blowing up at them when really they hadn’t meant it that way at all.

But since Dr Druid is secretly hoping Monica is dead and because he changes his wording from laying out a course to laying out a search pattern, he’s probably just gaslighting She-Hulk.

The Avengers search the Atlantic for hours for a sign of Monica but can’t find anything. With the Quinjet quinfuel running low, She-Hulk finally agrees they’ve done all they could.

Can’t believe Monica is gone forever. And yet Dr Druid is still here for some reason.

Boo.

Back at Hydrobase, She-Hulk and Thor discuss Monica’s disappearance. She-Hulk argues that energy can’t be destroyed so Monica has to be somewhere, right? And Thor don’t know. She just vanished after the big electricity attack.

Meanwhile, Dr Druid excuses himself because, remember, he doesn’t give a fuck and hopes Monica is dead.

Plus, it’s Sex Dream O’Clock.

Dr Druid sits down in an uncomfortable looking chair and immediately feels like someone is calling out to him.

Nebula Kang appears saying she’s the one calling him “for danger threatens at every hand and you are needed.”

Dr Druid goes hey wait you look different from the other sex dream and Nebula realizes, shit, she forgot to turn on the generic blonde filter.

So she does and Dr Druid doesn’t ask follow up questions.

Possibly because Not-Godzilla is attacking.

I should contextualize.

That’s actually Destructikon. He’s come to destroy this ancient sex dream civilization.

And only Super Druid can stop him.

Because this crisis has brought out his Real True Power and given him a slightly better costume.

Super Doctor Druid: “Mine is almost the power of a god! And why not? Is Dr Druid not a man gifted above other men? Older? Wiser? Stronger of spirit? Is it any wonder that ultimate power must be mine?”

Destructikon doesn’t go down in just one punch. And starts smashing up the city.

Super Dr Druid angrily shouts that Destructikon is threatening his people and smashes the beast in the chin.

Sex dream Nebula Kang tells Dr Druid to wrap this up already.

Pfft.

Like, okay. Jumping ahead a little, this whole thing is playing to Dr Druid’s ego. It’s working like a charm. Just scroll up a little and see his speech about how he’s the best dude of all dudes and deserves to be the best.

Consider how as a newbie to the Avengers, he was already thinking “if I ran the zoo!”

Dr Druid is soooo vulnerable to flattery and Nebula Kang is playing him like a fiddle with this savior of the world scenario.

And no surprise that she feeds him a scenario where its good and right to kill a giant monster menacing a world considering he’s just been through the Leviathan Marrina stuff. It doesn’t just play to his ego in a general sense, it’s affirming how he acted recently.

But even she can only take so much before going ‘lets move this along.’

So Druid punches Destructikon’s teeth in and then uses the eye beams that he totally has to explode the beast like a parade float.

Super Doctor Druid: “It is over! Virtue has triumphed over evil. Let those who would enslave humanity in bondage tremble. For the vigilance of Dr Druid is unrelenting... and he shall crush the serpent beneath his heel!”

And after the victory parade, Blonde Nebula Kang waggles her ass at him for him to finally get to the sex part of these ominous power fantasy sex dreams.

I hate this storyline but I do love this extended sequence of Dr Druid turning into Superman and fighting Godzilla. Its so dumb that its great. And the sucker fully buys into the fantasy.

Blonde Nebula Kang tells Dr Druid that he’s now king of whatever place this is because he’s won the right to rule by trial of combat. And suggests not just this world, you’re going to save Earth too and be the big sexy ruler of that planet too.

Once again, he eagerly buys into this.

Dr Druid: “Finally I understand. This is the realm of precognition and I have been granted foreknowledge denied lesser men. You’re right. It is time for Dr Druid to step forward.”

He’s so dumb.

Later, at Hydrobase, She-Hulk bemoans what has happened to the team.

Marrina is dead. Namor is off somewhere chasing monster babies. Captain Marvel is missing. And Black Knight is super cursed.

With bad fashion.

Also with curses.

Holding the Ebony Blade stops Dane from feeling all the cursed agony but his body is slowly paralyzing.

To work around this, he’s built an exoskeleton he can wear over his armor.

It looks bad.

The light purple of whatever its made of messes up his color palette and hides his tunic or whatever with his crest. It looks baaaaaaaaad.

Why not build an exoskeleton that can fit under his armor so he doesn’t look so bad?

His armor is fused to his body and can’t be taken off.

Truly, this is a lot of curse.

Also, the curse gives him a bad attitude.

When She-Hulk suggests calling reserve members since they’re down to four people, Black Knight explodes in a torrent of insults at everyone who isn’t him.

Black Knight: “The Waspis no brain surgeon, Hercules was an airhead, Mantis became a cosmic valley girl, the Black Widow was always a waste... Starfox a mincing fop, and the rest of them weren’t worth a tinker’s dam! Not a decent warrior among the lot! Would Good King Richard have countenanced such wastrels in his legions? Aargh!”

How dare you speak ill of the Wasp!

Go to your room and think about what you’ve done!

(Oh, and he’s back to thinking he’s from Crusade times. Except now its explicitly something happening because the curse is fucking his brain, and not because Simonson didn’t get the character.)

The curse also apparently gives Black Knight A SIXTH SENSE OOOOooooOoooOOO spooky. Because he senses an intruder in the building when none of the security systems do.

This curse sure does a lot.

But Black Knight is insistent that there’s an intruder so the Avengers decide to form a search party and go room by room.

(Also, Jarvis is here. He delivers the exposition about Black Knight being fused to his armor. He doesn’t do a lot else so I wanted to just say Hi Jarvis! I appreciate you!)

It doesn’t take long before the Avengers find the “intruder” that Black Knight sensed.

A plume of energy erupts from the floor and forms into the shape of... Captain Marvel!

Hi Monica! I appreciate you!

But she’s not looking food. She looks emaciated and is at death’s door from exhaustion.

What could have happened to her??

Bad writing? Web MD says these are the symptoms of bad writing!

The Avengers call the hospital and Thor personally flies her there. Very alarmed that she feels lighter than a feather in his arms.

But have you considered Thor that your arms are massive? You’re really strong. Maybe that’s why she feels so light?

But now we look into the Kang subplot.

Nebula Kang is preparing to ditch.

She changes out of her Kang armor and into a casual outfit. Casual but just loaded with cleverly hidden technology. Perfect for the modern terrible lady on the go.

Nebula Kang: “Farewell, Kangs great and small. You may all be masters of temporality, able to travel at will through and across time without limit... But your collective times are running out! When next we meet... it shall be without compassion, without compromise, without facemasks!”

Her only regret is that she didn’t find the time to give Fred Kang a fuck but doesn’t think he has any information or technology that would be helpful to her.

Then she disguises herself as Blonde Sex Dream Lady again and gets in the warp hatch.

Where she selects the Far Out option.

... That seems way too whimsical to be Kang technology. They all hate whimsy.

But as she warps, Fred Kang (Kang-123488.23497) is spying on her. He didn’t trust the way she flirted with him so he watched her change clothes and go to use the warp hatch.

He’s very confused that she’s going to Earth and specifically the Earth of his own time stream. (Fred Kang is from the current Avengers time stream? Huh. But she specifically goes to the current day and to Hydrobase.

But while Fred Kang has been spying on Nebula Kang, Beard Kang and Yellow Mask Kang have been spying on him.

TOO MANY KANGS!

Beard Kang is apparently called Lord Kang and Yellow Mask Kang is apparently called Kang Cobra but we’ll see if I use those names instead of Beard Kang and Yellow Mask Kang.

Beard Kang has a beard and its coming out of his mask somehow. Why wouldn’t I call him Beard Kang?

Anyway, Beard Kang and Yellow Mask Kang have been spying on Fred Kang, as the newest Kang in their Kangllective. I can’t believe they went with the name Council of Cross-Time Kangs when Kangllective was right there. They could do Kangllective Action.

Anyway again. Fred Kang seemed like any other Kang, except for taking a shorter time to adjust than usual. But when Yellow Mask Kang was spying on him, he became unable to pinpoint Fred Kang’s actual physical location because Fred Kang is “jumping randomly back and forth through nanoseconds of time.”

Y’know, as ya do.

But the result is, Yellow Mask Kang isn’t able to figure out what Fred Kang is up to.

Beard Kang decides that its time to have a talk with their new pal Fred Kang.

Meanwhile, AT THE ACTUAL PLOT,She-Hulk and Grumpy Black Knight have gone to pick up Monica’s parents to take them to the hospital.

Did Monica ever mention that her parents were in on the secret? Because this would be really presumptive if she didn’t.

She-Hulk gives the explanation for what happened with Monica, giving the poor woman one last kick while she’s down.

As I said last East Coast Avengers post, when Captain Monica tried to electrocute Leviathan Marrina the same way Thor did, Monica fucked up because god forbid she do anything right ever. She somehow managed to electrify the entire Atlantic Ocean, vaporized trillions of tons of water which will surely do something to the climate, and dissipating her energy so that when she managed to reform she was all emaciated.

IN FAIRNESS, this is following up on an established downside of Monica’s powers. If she overuses them, she loses some of her own mass. This happened when she overexerted herself to knock down the shields of the Sanctuary II.

In unfairness, she did that to help take out an enemy that was willing to and capable of blowing up planets. This recent happening happens because by editorial mandate, she’s a dipshit who can’t even tie her shoes, one imagines.

Sigh.

Thor greets the Rambeaus before they see Monica and tries to set expectations for what kind of shape she’s in.

Because she looks like she’s terminally ill.

Maria declares Monica should come home with them so they can nurse her back to health. With home cooking.

Monica admits that she’s not capable of Avengersing right now so that’s probably a good idea.

Leading Dr Druid to smoothly butt into this family conversation to insist that a new chairman be selected right now. I mean, they’re all already here, right?

Then he kicks the Rambeaus out of the room so the Avengers can talk shop.

She-Hulk: “For crying out loud, doc.”

For real.

As soon as the concerned parents have been booted from the room, Dr Druid nominates himself.

Why shouldn’t the newest person on the team not lead?

Okay, I’m being very critical. Monica was newish to the team but not the newest. This is not like that.

But as Dr Druid argues:

“The Black Knight is partially incapacitated, Thor has other concerns than just the Avengers... and the SHe-Hulk, with all due respect, fails to project the proper image of leadership while wearing purple leotards.”

... GET HIS ASS JEN.

Fucker in his feetie pajamas thinks he can throw stones about someone’s costume!

I CANNOT believe.

Black Knight chimes in to say that he admires the image She-Hulk projects.

So some people in this room have taste.

Thor privately wonders if any of the people on the team can handle the responsibility of leadership.

And Dr Druid starts panicking when Thor asks Monica her opinion.

Generic Blonde Nebula Kang pops into his thoughts to tell him not to let his dreams be dreams so Dr Druid decides to be like every other Marvel psychic. An invasive asshole.

He uses his powers to force Monica to say that Dr Druid would be a wise choice. When a skeptical She-Hulk asks Thor what he thinks, Dr Druid uses his powers again.

I can’t tell if Druid fails or succeeds in this attempt. Thor somewhat suspects that his thoughts are being manipulated and shouts NO! unprompted. And then says that as the most experienced person still on the team, he’d make the best choice. But: he’ll agree with the majority decision.

Democracy! It’s good! When the votes aren’t manipulated!

Dr Druid makes She-Hulk says that he’s the best man for the job. Black Knight seems about to go into one of his Crusades adjacent rants about Dr Druid but a little bit of the ol’ psychic razzle dazzle and Black Knight is instead saying Dr Druid is the best candidate for chairman and in fact, Richard the Lionheart would think he was really cool.

So that’s four votes for Dr Druid and one for Thor.

Thor is suspicious about the way things played out but doesn’t seem willing to call it out.

(I will say that having Druid’s thought bubble merged with the speech balloons is a good way to show psychic manipulation.)

New Chairman of the Avengers Dr Druid arranges for the Rambeaus to be sent back to Atlanta. By public plane, not by Quinjet. Pssh, sure Monica was the former chairwoman but she doesn’t require the Avengers’ personal attention any more!

Dr Druid: “But the Avengers must prepare themselves for battle! The cosmos reverberates with the approach of unseen foes. Our enemies are gathering and the time is coming when we must face them together as a team. All of us! For the Avengers have a new leader. And the future is going to be much different than anyone expects!”

I wish him a very stub his toe.

Follow @essential-avengers​ and you too can wish bad occurrences on Dr Druid. Like and reblog and maybe comment. I’m lonely down here in the italics.

[abbatoirablaze]

Fire & Ice, Chapter 4

Word Count:  647

“What the hell happened?”

“That’s what happens when we don’t keep an eye on mutants,” Reed grumbled as he examined the people that were frozen with some of his tech.  He was trying to figure out what had happened to them, and if there was a way to fix it.   He shook his head and looked at his wife, “they’re gone, Sue.  There’s no sign of life in the ones that are frozen.” 

“They’re dead?”

Reed nodded, and Johnny felt his stomach turning as he walked down the street, seeing more and more people turned into human popsicles.  

“She wouldn’t do this!” he said defensively, “I-I don’t know what’s going on but this isn’t her.  She’s a nice gir-”

“You don’t know the girl, Johnny!”

“She works at a coffee shop,” he said quickly, “She uses her powers to make blended lattes, not murder people.  People don’t just change like that, Reed.”  

“Didn’t you think it was curious that no one else noticed it?” Reed asked, “people don’t tend to react well to mutants.  That’s why they hide their powers.  Why was every person in that coffee shop okay with it?  It’s because she was already using her powers on them.  She was controlling them the second they walked into that building until the second that they walked out.”

“Reed, you-” 

“Why are there people on their knees looking in the direction of the Baxter Building?” Sue asked, pointing at the rows and rows of people that were looking behind them just ten blocks back. 

“I’ve been watching you for weeks, April,” the people echoed all at once, “ever since they last saved the city.  I saw how you were being coy.  I saw how you showed him your powers but kept everyone else in the dark.  You wanted him to see you…to chase you…

Johnny felt his stomach turning even more as thoughts of you crossed his mind.  The voices all echoed in his head until he couldn’t make sense of the words. 

You were showing him parts of yourself so freely. And no one batted an eye.

Were they under your control like Reed had pointed out?

Glass smashed from the top of the building just as he was about to look away, and his jaw dropped as he saw you standing at the top. 

“WHO IS THAT?”

“FLAME ON!” Johnny yelled, speeding towards the Baxter building.  

His eyes remained locked onto yours while he sped towards the victim.  His heart raced. 

How could he let himself be tricked by you?

Were you using your powers on him?

He screamed in anger as he fought to beat the victim hitting the pavement. 

Swooping up at the last second, he caught the woman and the two of them went tumbling across the street, rolling in an oddly frozen, normally busy intersection. 

He looked back up to the top of the building but you weren’t there. 

“Miss…are you okay?” he asked, turning his attention back to the woman he’d just saved. 

You looked beyond terrified as he hovered over you.  Your eyes were wide, and there were tears streaming down your cheeks.  You reached up, your hands stroking his chest, and making their way to his face in disbelief.

“Johnny?” you whimpered softly, “J-Johnny?”

He looked, wide eyed, between you and the broken glass at the top of the building, “you were-the destruction-“

“I-I don’t know what’s going on,” you admitted, stuck in your own confusion, “but she-she tried to kill me.  She’s evil and she-”  

“Who?” he asked.  The two of you sat up as he continued to question  you, “who tried to kill you?”

“He-her.” You answered, pointing to the carbon copied version of yourself as you came out the doors storming towards you and him “m-me…”

“YOU SHOULD BE DEAD!” she screamed as she hurtled an icicle at you, “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DIE!”