#day 8 frail

[caitlynmeow]

Yeah okay even in modern/human au the daughters are sensitive to the cold but they don’t die from it like in canon but they do get sick easily if they’re not dressed warmly.

It’s always one falling sick soon after messing around with the cold outside especially Cass and Dani because they think they don’t need to dress warmly and Cass even wear short skirts/ dresses thinking she can survive the snow outside but barely twenty four hours later she’s in bed nursing an upset stomach or dealing with a cold because she thought she’s stronger.

Alcina tried not to be that mom, but she can’t because a) she’s totally that mom and b) she needs to check what her daughters are wearing before they go out (and force them to change if they’re exposing a lot of skin for no reason). But this only works when she’s at home because when she’s out her youngest two daughters think that rules don’t apply and they neglect dressing appropriately and it’s always always them coming to her room in the middle of the night complaining that they’re not feeling well.

After a lecture including a lot of ‘I told you so’ mama goes on to take care of the sick daughter until she’s all better in a few days (sometimes longer depending on how long they plan on milking mama’s love and care)

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Guilty Plea

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1) and Innocents Among You (Part 2)

Verdict Due (Part 4) Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: As you're discharged from the infirmary, under watchful eye, you head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Running your fingers along the raised, pink scar across you cheek, the feeling of it...it really looked terrible. A part of you thought it would disappear, hoped it would, but it didn't. It just became severely more noticeable. Looking at this, you knew you'd always have to think of it. You'd sport this reminder for the rest of your life.

Looking away from it, you find your own tired eyes in the mirror, you haven't been sleeping well. Or at all. You can't remember the last time you got 4 hours, let alone 8. Dark circles still surrounded them but at least the bruising and the swelling had gone down.

You couldn't recognize yourself. Not really.

This woman looked so exhausted, so frail and so goddamn angry. It was accurate, it was how you felt. All of it. So, you supposed that the mirror's reflection was the truth, this was you indeed.

"If you need another day or two, no one will ask questions."

You glance over towards your psychologist, your fucking therapist, a nice little 'gift' sent over by the bureau to check in on your mental state after your ordeal. Glaring at him through the reflection of your mirror, he sighs, putting down his pen that slaps against his notepad, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"I'm going to Laswell." Ignoring his statement, you speak. "I'm ready. I'll pack up. Get back to base. Vera had me discharged from the infirmary. I can start ov--"

"Vera?"

"My nurse. You met her," you continued, annoyance spiking at the interruption. Your wrist brace squeaking quietly under the pressure of your fist tightening beneath the table.

"Right..."

"Do you listen to a word I say outside of...my 'trauma'?" You wonder, bluntly.

Your psychologist blinks, surprised, before clearing his throat, appalled. "If you feel I can be more attentive to your state of well-being throughout our process, than by all means--"

"Oh, so 'no'?" you lean back into your seat, a strained laugh leaving you. His lips press together and you continue before he can find the words. "Because whenever I mention leaving this fucking team, you either adjust our schedule for another two weeks or suggest hypnotic therapy, as if I need anyone else digging around to fuck up my mental state."

"I never meant to imply--"

"Oh, you implied it," you interrupted, gritting your teeth. "I know what I want. And I want off Task Force 141."

He taps at the leather of his notebook. "Scars heal, just remember that, Ms. (L/n). The reminders of your experience shouldn't have to haunt you."

"It's not the scars, I've had my share way before this," you admitted, rising to your feet. You exhale deeply that tells to the effort of it, the steel gear hinges along your leg braces shift with your change of position. Still getting use to them. "It's the person."

"Has she changed, you think?" the psychologist begins to write, getting somewhere.

"She doesn't exist anymore."

Finally, placing the mirror down and onto the side table, you pushed off of the table, rolling your IV pole along with you. Passing the chair your psychologist sits on, he closes his notebook with a frustrated huff, looking over his shoulder. "Session over for you already, Ms. (L/n)?" he sighs. "We've still got the hour."

"I'm done," you take the knob in your hand. Turning.

In more ways than one.

"You understand that, informing your captain on your leave is required of you. Have you spoken to any of them, in the last few weeks?" he spoke up, quickly. "I'm sure giving them a space to open up, share from their view--"

"Why should I care--"

"--will give you better understanding, better clarity of the situation they were in--

Appalled. "What the fuck?" Jamming the door closed with a loud, shuttering thud, you whip around. "IT'S NOT ABOUT THEM!" you could just rip your hair out. "Who--who says that to someone?!"

Your psychologist sits there, eyes wide in confusion. "What--"

"Christ, can you hear me? Can you--can you see me? I've got metal plates in my spine, braces holding my knees in place and nerve damage that'll never heal! Who gives a fuck about them!" your skin feels red hot, your face twisted in rage. "I gave my life! My life to this! And then I'm tortured, I'm threatened, drugged and beaten by my own team, my f--my family for eight fucking years..."

You continue with a heavy chest. "And I'm supposed to invite them for dinner to talk and listen them bitch and moan about why they thought it was necessary to beat me to death for two weeks?! Fuck you!" you spat. "I don't owe them anything!"

"That's not what I was trying to say, Ms. (L/N). I apologize, I overstepped. Come sit down--"

"Of course you meant it," you interrupted, mock humor. "Don't be a pussy, own up to it. Revel in your truth. Be tter yet--" you snatch a journal from the cabinet. Tossing it his way. "Make a note of it."

Turning the knob, you leave the room with a slam of the metal door.

---

You were officially famous. On the base, you were now a legend.

A story that would be mentioned and told at lunch for months. Probably years.

First, you were a rat. Next, you were innocent. This was the most gossip any of those in service had ever seen in their years of service.

An interesting reminder to those in service that you weren't safe off duty either.

You learned a few days ago that there was an update put into the interrogational unit, something about how to properly go about dissecting evidence and being on the lookout for enemy spies in the militia.

You guessed you had been told about it in an effort to be appeased by the thought that the head of control paid attention to anything beyond their own noses for once. But, you had little to no faith in a system that's nearly killed you on and off the field by now, so it didn't matter.

You doubted the new rules would be followed though, there was a plethora of things they'd done to you in that cell that were both illegal and unsanctioned. Most of all, that were expected towards an enemy, a prisoner of war at best, and not a fellow marine.

You arrive at the housing quarters, swiping your key card, pulling the handle and entering the wing. Immediately, you're greeted by a dozen eyes, conversations stopping short and clothes ruffling to silence, suddenly whispers fill the space and eyes turn away.

"Oh, god, it's her..." says one man in the far corner.

"Shut the fuck up, man!" came a harsh whisper back.

"I didn't know it was that bad..."

All those eyes on you, makes you pause in your step, looking around at all of your fellow soldiers, the men and women you've served with for years. Many you recognized, ate with, fought beside that turned their backs to you now. Out of respect? Out of distaste, morale, nerves, pity, it all didn't matter. It all felt the same.

The wheels attached to your IV pole suddenly sounded much too loud on the polished flooring, as you walked down the hall as fast as you were able to.

Breathing out deeply, you get to an elevator, pushing on the button, once, twice, three times, just open goddamn it.

With a ding, the metal doors open, and suddenly you're aware that people could be in the elevator, they could be in this elevator, he could be in this elevator. Your eyes flicker down to the floor, your grip on the pole of your iv tightens, your shoulders stiffen, waiting for a blow that will never come.

You stand there as the doors open up, the small space empty, the metal walls reflect only her and a streak of lighting from the ceiling.

Looking up slowly, finally taking a breath, before sliding the iv up and onto the elevator, following it as you press your floor number along the way.

The ride up is fast, a little rumble as it stops, and then the doors open. Faster than you were prepared for.

Peeking out down the hallway, luckily no one to bump into, which you were thankful for. But, it didn't make this hall any less haunting. You'd been cornered in this same hall, you could recall being hauled out of the room after the solid handle of a knife hits your temple.

You don't go down fast enough, whipping around as you stumble to take the wrist of your attacker, mostly for balance, it's Price. In shock, you're unprepared as Johnny's arm encircle your neck, locking you into position as you both stumble backwards onto the floor. He blocks your airways, hushing you harshly as you struggle, feet kicking out and your vision blurring as your team surrounds you. Your family.

That was quite the headache to wakeup with afterwards.

You hadn't quite remembered until now. Being back served as a hell of a kickstart to your memory.

Just a few more reasons to get the fuck off of 141.

Getting off the elevators, the metal doors sliding closed behind you, you make your way down the hall. The polished flooring creates a subtle squeak through the wheels of your iv pole, your hand absently running over the fading stitches along your side.

Passing the shadows of your tortured memory, the doorway of the office was closed, locked.

You pass Kyle's room.

Johnny's.

Finally, you rush up to the next room on the left, grabbing the handle, before beginning to twist, but then you're yanking your hand back as if the metal had burned you. Your back ramming into the back wall, catching yourself, this wasn't your room.

It was Simon's.

You'd spent hours, days, in that room. More than your own.

Why wouldn't you? You were about to get married to the man. You had more in this room than you had in yours.

Sharp breaths leave you, shivering in your effort to keep yourself together, your head goes back into the wall, swallowing down the ache in your chest.

You wait, muscles tensed and your body pressing back into the wall, hoping it'd absorb you if that door opens. Listening for every sound, any pin drop, even an exhale from beyond that doorway. Luckily, Simon seemed to be out for the day.

Hurriedly, nearly running, you steady yourself against the wall as you rush down to the corner of the hallway, finally finding your room.

Turning the handle, it's not locked, it's broken. It opens with ease.

Entering the room slowly, pushing the doorway aside, the crackle of glass beneath your boots as you step forwards, clothes and picture frames laying scattered.

The mattress flipped and ripped open, springs and cotton cut from it. Your wall of metals and certificates, from acts of bravery and mementos of valor, discarded, later you'd find them in the trash, one with a bullet lodged into the gold.

Sniffling as you leaned down, picking a specific frame off the ground, the only one that hadn't been broken. Laying along the ruined rug, with no care for the glass digging through your jeans, you stare at the still shot of your family.

The only family you had outside of Task Force 141, your father and his sister, military brats themselves, until their retirement. Your mother had passed, or just up and left, days after your 5th birthday, you weren't completely sure, the story kept changing every year. But, these two were the only family you've ever known, ever had, until you joined the military, following in their footsteps.

They'd been so proud when you arrived back after your first assignment, in truth you were heavily traumatized, but seeing them, you just had to smile. Having a family that understood the harsh toll on the line of a trooper, now a lieutenant, it was always easier to bring your troubles to them. But, they were also military nuts so "suck it up" was also a quick go to answer from your aunt, while your father was the smoother talker.

They had met Simon, loved him, his rank, his love for you, his seriousness. They trusted him completely with your heart.

So, when he called them, after the evidence leaked...

They believed him.

"What're you talking about?" You took the handle of the chair in your grip, easing you down into it as your legs do weak at what you were hearing. "I didn't...I didn't do it, Dad."

"Do you know how humiliating and disappointing--how it felt to hear him say that to me, hm?" he says, static crackles on the reciever. "My daughter...my own flesh and blood...working with terrorists--"

"I'm not working with anyone! Are you-" you huff out a breath of disbelief. "Are you even listening to me? I've never betrayed the code. How can you think that way of me?"

For a moment, he's silent. "Alright, then," he began. "Than, what'd you do? huh?"

"What--what..."

"Oh, come on, (Y/n)!" your father yells. "What did you do?! What could they possibly have had on you that made you the most likely target? You had to have had done something, been somewhere, were with somebody you weren't supposed to be with! They didn't just get that information from anywhere."

"What the fuck--" Your expression twists with frustration and misery, running your hand through your hair, pulling at it. "I've sacrificed every part of myself for this job, for this team, what do I have to gain from throwing that all away? They send me everywhere, places you've never heard of, places you'll never hear about and people you'll never have to meet, because of me! Why would you just believe Simon? Why couldn't you just wait to talk to me?!"

Hearing your father scoff at your words was painful. "What reason do I have not to believe him? He knows you, maybe even better than any of us. Besides, he was going to be my son in law--"

"I'm your daughter! Fuck Simon, what about me? You'd believe him instead?"

He sighs. "Listen, you're upsetting Cass. We didn't expect your call. I gotta make this brief..."

"You're upset?" pulling at your hair, sucking in sharply. "I'm the one who's permanently fucking altered here. What do either of you have to be upset about?!"

"Watch your fucking mouth!" he seethes. The anger in his voice isn't new, but the way he spits it at you is. "You did this to yourself, I didn't. Maybe that's what your nightmares were about, am I right? Your guilt?"

Wiping the streaks of tears that had fallen down your face, lips quivering and chest aching with sobs you frustratedly shoved down. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I don't deserve the disgrace that will come with you as my kin, I've lived my part of this war. No daughter of mine should even be in this fucking position," your father spat, disgusted into the receiver. Suddenly, he was the cruel, bitter old man your mother had always known him to be, you wished she had stayed to at least remind you of that. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much. "You should be ashamed of yourself, but at least you got yourself out it. The least you could do for us."

"Well--what does that mean?" you spoke, quietly.

"Don't call again..."

"Dad, no--" you break this time, a sob escaping you.

"Me and your Aunt Cass..."

"Daddy please, don't do this--"

"..We've decided to cut ties. We're not taking any heat from this, you're on your own," he finishes, clearing his throat, waiting a moment, listening to the pleads and cries of his only daughter, his once pride. "You take care of yourself. Goodbye, kid."

"Why can't you just believe me? Why?!" you cried.

"Don't come to the house."

"No, no,--" the line goes dead. And staring down at your phone, his caller id going blank and the call disconnecting.

Your phone all of a sudden feels heavy, the device and your hand falling down to your thigh, before the phone slips out of your grip and onto the floor. You sit there silently, until your tears drop up and even after.

Staring at the photo now was haunting in its own way, it was just another painful reminder.

Using the bed frame to stand to your feet, your grip on the frame is painful as you squeeze it, the glass cracks audibly.

"Bonnie..."

Whipping around at the sound of John MacTavish's voice, you back up a few steps at the sight of him, your back hitting the edge of your desk.

He reaches out as you stumble, before his fingers curl back into his palm as you find your balance, his hands receding back to his sides. He doesn't enter the room, just lingering just beyond the doorway, his eyes flickering around the room, guiltily.

"I didn't know--we didn't know you were out," he speaks quietly, as opposed prideful personality that translated into his voice usually.

You say nothing.

In the dark, your eyes are wide and your shoulders are tensed up, he can see the glint of your leg braces, the iv pole at the side, the scar beneath your eye. You looked terrified to see him.

"We were coming back to clean up today, just got back from...from a mission..." he stutters on his words, shifting his feet.

"It's been a week."

His lips press together hearing your voice. "I know..." Johnny glances around at the room he'd let those officers destroy, it hadn't been them, but they might as well had done it. "I know...we just...didn't know it was so bad."

"Really?" your voice is mockingly sweet, drawing out the word. "You didn't know? Well look..." you hold up your family photo, the light in the hallway catching on the glass. "You missed one."

Your hand dropping, the heavy frame comes down just as fast, ramming into the ground, the glass practically exploding on impact.

Johnny flinches, the photo of your family...He looks back to you, surprised. "Bonnie..."

Snatching the next closest thing from your desk, a ceramic cup. "Oh, wow, can't believe you guys missed this one," you chuck it into the wall. It breaks on impact, the remains scatter along the flipped mattress and onto the floor. "That used to be my favorite mug by the way."

The Scotsman worriedly steps forwards, 'Lass, I'm sorry--"

"FUCK YOU!" you spat, coming into the light. You're sure you look deranged, and you didn't care. You could've wrapped your hands around his throat, killed him right on the floor and you wouldn't have blinked. "It doesn't mean anything! 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', over and over and over again! As if you shouldn't be! Your apologies mean fuck all."

"I know...I know," he breathes. "But, I've gotta say it anyway, bonnie. I should've believed you, there was no reason not to. I know that now. I just--"

"Believe me!" you cut him off with a yell. "Trust me! Fucking 'HELP ME'!" you screamed with the same fever as your days in the interrogation room, that terrible cell, the cold, the burn and pain. "I cried it all to you, to all of you, and nobody came. Nobody came for me," you breathe in sharply. "It doesn't matter what you should've done. You didn't do it!"

Johnny's eyes are red, he opens his mouth, closes it and then swallows down whatever chokes him up as he looks at you. "I should've came for you. I wish I did. I wanted to, Bonnie..." he steps forwards, and you recede back away from him, your eyes narrowed with violence. "I'll never forgive myself for not listening to you. For not coming to help you. For laying a hand on you. I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I'm sorry..."

I'll never forgive myself... "That makes two of us," you assured.

Johnny's eyes widen, before they close, his guilt ever consuming. He can't help but understand, to respect your decision, to know things can never be ok again. "(Y/n)...."

Grabbing hold of the nearest thing, a pencil cup, you hurl it at Johnny. He doesn't put his hands up, flinching as it hits him, the metal clinking against his kevlar, eyes closing then opening, he stands still. "I don't forgive. I don't accept your apology. I don't fucking care about it!" with each sentence you throw something else his way, a broken frame, the trash bin, a pillow, the CD player.

His hand has to come up for the knife you unsheathe, a memento from one of your missions, it's rusted, ancient probably. But, you hadn't given it up to a museum or to pawn, you had nearly died on this mission, saving Johnny ironically. You had to keep it.

Seeing the weapon, his defensive position is instinctive but his hands drop just as fast, he understands, you need this. You deserve this. "If you need to..." he speaks. Your eyes flicker up to him, away from the knife. "If you need to, I get it..."

And you need to. You really fucking do.

Your grip on the knife is dangerously hard, it hurts.

Looking at Johnny, he'd been your brother in more than a few ways on and off the field, he had been your comfort, your friend, your family. You had bled with him, held onto him as he carried you from the battlefield, joked, laughed, screamed and cried. You've loved him for years.

He'd had a rough few nights you could see that. He was quieter, reserved. Almost as terrified to see you, as you had been of him.

And you could kill him right now and never bat an eye.

And so, throwing that knife was so fucking easy.

Johnny's eyes close as you do just that, fists clenching and teeth biting down on his tongue to prepare for the pain.

The ancient weapon whiz's through the air, the sound is sharp and he knows it will cut through him like butter.

The thud rings in the room, and Johnny's eyes blow open wide, holding his breath as he collapses to his knees, before turning to you.

You dig into the pile of clothes that had been cast aside, a pair of sneakers and a new shirt. You don't look at him a single time as you take it all, stuffing them in a bag, and leaving the room, passing him completely, a limp in your step.

Johnny releases a pained breath, tears finally leaving him as he looks up, the knife lodged into the frame of the doorway, just barely missing him. The sleeve of his uniform ripped open.

He sits there in the quiet, destroyed room. A testimony to the relationship he's destroyed between you.

Part 4!! OUT NOW

[mothusband]

if i have to be the one taking care of my abusive grandma for ONE more day im gonna kill myself

[sknow-and-ink]

2019

Day 8 - Frail

"And you are not to ever cut a flower," they'd say. "To injure one is to wish that none of us ever be happy, to harm one is to harm us all and that can not ever be forgiven."

Then what is he to do when they consume him? People look at him and beam because of how many flowers have grown out of him, how many times he's been blessed to get another, and another. Can they not see? He can't anymore, but even he knows now that they're not what they seem.

He can feel their stares as he rips them out, but most of all, he can feel the roots growing deeper inside of him.

[tinylittlebab]

ill be skinny and dying and ill look beautiful and people will like me it has to happen or id rather die

whats the point of being lonely and in pain all the time and then having to get a job and hate doing that if i have no friends and hate myself. the one thing that keeps me wanting to live wont be good enough once u have to work and in that case id rather just die

:(

[perlelune]

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | i.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Bitterness burns in your gut as you watch the yellowed pages of one of your favorite books curl and blacken amidst the weak flames of the hearth.

You want to cry. You really do. But it wasn’t the first and it won’t be the last. The winters of District 8 are infamously harsh and long.

You wouldn’t have survived it. So you stare with dry eyes and an empty chest as your childhood memorabilia turns to ash.

A wheezy cough tears through your melancholy. Panic rips through you as you get up and whirl. You dash to a small bed across the room and hunker down near your cousin.

You hold her hand, despising how tiny and feeble it feels in yours. 

It wasn’t always like this. She used to drag you around the cabin, eager to play, her high-pitched laugh bouncing off its molded walls.

Tears you managed to quell before now rush to your eyes.

You cup her face. Sickness has drained the color from it.

“You’re gonna get better, I swear.”

She gives a weary smile, but it’s interrupted by another fit of wet coughs that makes her entire frail frame shake. Your stomach plummets at the sight. Even you struggle to believe the words that crossed your own lips.

Everyday your younger cousin seems worse off than the one before it. Her medicine has long since run out. So has the food. Your modest wages from working in the factory won’t come for another fortnight. And there are little to no wares left to trade in the rickety wooden cabin. 

Nothing except you. 

The mere thought sends a shudder through you.

Though the virtue of some lowly district 8’s guttersnipe isn’t worth much, you bet you could easily find a buyer. A warm body is as good as any after all. Besides, you haven’t missed the lascivious glares wandering your way sometimes when you hasten through the streets of the city at night. 

You shake your head.

No.

While your virtue isn’t worth much in this awful world, you will hold on to it for as long as you can. Some modicum of dignity. Maybe it’s too much to ask for someone like you, too…greedy. But it’s the one thing you get in this life. Your one gift. You belong to yourself and no one else.

“Hungry…” your cousin whispers between pained exhales. The orange glow from the chimney outlines the sickly grayness of her skin and the sweat dotting her forehead.

You squeeze her hand, rubbing her fingers against yours. Maybe some of your warmth will seep into her. You can only hope.

“I know, Tilly… but there isn’t any food left anymore.”

At the mention of food, your shriveled up stomach reminds you of its unfortunate existence. Hunger twists your insides, vicious and relentless. As always.

Determination sparks inside you, tiny embers shifting into a furnace of iron hot will.

You rise to your feet. 

Tilly will not die. You will not die.

You plant a soft kiss on her forehead. Her eyes flutter closed as she drifts away, her glassy gaze finding the cracks and webs scattered across the ceiling.

She seems to look at nothing at all. It worries you. Tilly’s all you have left, the rest of your family having succumbed to disease, failed uprisings or some accident at the factory.

“I promise to bring food, and something to cure your cold.”

A cold. 

Another lie. For her or for you… who knows this time. Deep inside, you’re aware no common cold lasts this long or is this nasty. 

But you cling to the lie. Because you need it. Because without it you have nothing. 

Nothing to wake up for, nothing to go work another unending, grueling day at the textile factory, nothing to suffer another day in the hell that District 8 is. 

A few minutes later, you’re at the door. 

Outside, the winter winds swaddle you in their cool embrace. White clouds surround you as you unleash a deep breath. Through the thin soles of your shoes, you can feel the icy stones with each step. You slither through the narrow alleys, hood low on your brow as you ponder the plan you hatched less than an hour ago. 

It’s beyond stupid. You could get thrown in jail if caught. Or worse. 

But what else is there to do? 

You’re past the age to sign up for tesserae, and you’d never subject your cousin to the disturbing possibility of being chosen in the next reaping just to fill your stomach. 

You finally reach the grand marketplace. It’s crowded with folks, like every morning. You remain hidden by a brick wall, a strategic spot where shadows engulf you, where you can survey the place as you wish. The perfect way to begin enacting your stupid plan. 

Anticipation has your fingertips twitching against the stones.

You note how easy it’d be to mingle with the crowd, how some of the merchants don’t keep a perpetual eye on their wares.

And most importantly, you note the lack of peacekeepers. You squint, seeking a glimpse of the terrifying blue uniforms. Disbelief flutters through you at the realization none of them is here.

Such a chance never presents itself…yet it’s prancing right before you today. 

As your eyes land on a luscious spread of colorful fruits sitting on a stand a few feet away, your mouth waters.

How easy it would be.

When’s the last time you ate anything solid? You can hardly recall.

Slow, ginger steps drag you right before the stand. Busy chatting with a customer, the merchant doesn’t see you. 

Hope blooms inside you. This is your shot. You just need to be quick, so quick he won’t even notice before you’re long gone.

Your tremulous hand creeps out of your coat. The uproarious drumming of your heart fills your ears, louder as your fingers get closer to the tantalizing skin of the fruit.

Just a few inches. 

“What are you doing, little bird?” 

Startled, you release a sharp breath. Long, pale fingers cinch around your wrist, causing you to drop the fruit. It hits the wet cobblestones with a soft thud, sending your hopes crashing down alongside it.

You whirl to the stranger beside you.

“You little thieving whore…”

Numb with fear and shock, the merchant’s irate curses dwindle to a faint echo. 

The stranger’s towering frame forces you to lift your gaze to the sky, and you are met with eyes bluer than its expanse. 

Lost in his unsettling stare, you take entirely too long to notice his uniform. The gear is unmistakable. You have threaded your fair share of the fabric over the years, sewn hundreds of uniforms just like the one before you.

A peacekeeper. 

A wave of snow ripples through your back. 

Your entire body turns to stone in his grip, your eyes as wide as plates.

This is exactly what you feared would happen. And now it has.

As stormy irises take you in, you see your miserable life melt in a smoldering sea of blue.

Run.

It’s the only thought in your head as you jerk your hand away from his fingers.

Your body leaps into action, adrenaline pumping through your veins. White puffs of your short breaths flow around you as you dive into the nearest dark alley, hoping to disappear through a drain hole and lose your pursuer. 

But you don’t get far. 

Only a few minutes into your panicked race, the hard sole of a boot connects with the back of your knee. A shriek of pain tears from your throat as you tumble to the floor. 

Wincing, you lift your head.

The tall, lanky figure of the peacekeeper looms over you. Your chest seizes. He holds up the bright red fruit you tried to steal in his right hand. Sunlight limns his frame, threading silver in his white hair, making him appear almost angelic.

How deceptive when he is your doom.

If it weren't for him, you’re convinced you’d have gotten away with it. 

“Hey, I think you forgot this,” he deadpans.

Your brows knit at his casual tone. You wonder if he’s toying with you.

“Please, I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Mirth illuminates his cerulean gaze as he scoffs, “So you meant to pay?”

Unsure what to respond, you choke on your words.

“I…”

Silence expands, its oppressive weight clogging your airways. 

You could lie, or try to. But he saw you, stopped you. He knows exactly what you attempted to do.

So instead of stating your case, you bolt to your feet. Ignoring the needles pricking at your knee where he kicked you, you attempt to flee again.

This time it’s barely seconds before he catches you.

He picks you up and slams you against the wall with frightening ease. Fighting him would be for naught. There is no strength left in you. Still, you try.

The pitiful attempts to claw at his bicep leave the peacekeeper unfazed.

His deathly grip on your neck doesn’t relent.

“Where do you think you’re going, birdie?”

“Please, my cousin needs me.”

He studies you and your stomach sinks at how empty his eyes are. An errant tear makes a slow descent down your cheek.

He plucks it, the soft pad of his finger tracing the salty trail.

“Stop crying. I’m not like them. You can trust me.”

“You’re a peacekeeper,” you retaliate, forehead creased in confusion. Peacekeepers exist to enact the Capitol’s will by any means necessary. Their name couldn’t be more misleading, as peace is rarely how they go about solving an issue. 

The blond’s cheek flares ever-so-slightly.

To your utter shock, his hold on your neck slackens.

You gulp a wide lungful of air, rubbing your throat where he held so tight. It’s sore. You wouldn’t be surprised if it were to bruise the next day. 

“My name’s Coriolanus. What’s yours?”

While he backs away, he’s still crowding your space in a way you don’t like. 

Stubborn lips remaining sealed, you glare at him. He steps away from you.

“You don’t want to say?” The corner of his plump lips twists upwards. “I’ll keep calling you bird then, since you keep trying to fly away from me.”

You gasp when he suddenly tosses the crimson fruit in your hands.

“Eat.”

His steely inflection is more order than suggestion. You scowl down at the fruit. Every cell in your body longs to take a bite of it…but you don’t.

“What?” you reply dumbly.

It has to be some kind of trap. Is the apple even safe to eat? Maybe this peacekeeper is the sadistic type and he wants to watch you wither in agony for his sick pleasure.

Still, the longer you peer at the luscious, colorful flesh of the fruit, the more your stomach growls, begging you to just take a bite even if it means running headlong towards your possible death.

Coriolanus heaves out a deep sigh.

“I can tell from the way you were eying that apple earlier that it’s been a long time, right?” he guesses, all too accurately for your liking.

His gaze holds yours.

“I know what it’s like to be hungry, sweet bird…” You go statue-still as he bends over to whisper in your ear, “So hungry, you’d do anything for it to stop.”

The faint scent of roses tickles your nose. You smelt it once before, on a lavish dress you spent hours sewing meant for one of the fancy ladies at the Capitol. You recall shoving the tiniest piece of the silk in your pocket and smelling it every chance you got. But the nice scent quickly faded.

Yet that same scent, that crisp, delicate, slightly dizzying aroma…It clings to the boy in front of you.

You glower at him.

“How would you even know? You’re one of them.”

His jaw ticks as his eyes flicker.

“Eat,” he insists, this time more firmly.

Your insides wrench. You could fight him on it, again. But you have an inkling that this boy, this Coriolanus, usually gets his way.

So you bite into the apple. 

The sweet juice that coats your tongue and chin afterwards is heaven. The savors explode in your mouth. You could weep. It’s been an eternity since you ate something this fresh and delicious.

But once you realize his curious stare is on you, you stop eating and hastily wipe your mouth and chin. 

“See? Isn’t it better?” he inquires smugly.

You don’t tell him how good it felt, especially after so long. Days, maybe weeks. You don’t know anymore. Every day tends to blend into the other here.

Instead, heated words pour out of you.

“Why are you helping me?”

He shrugs. “Why not?”

You don’t like his cryptic demeanor. Nor his nice smell. Nor his striking eyes. Nor his sharp, handsome features.

Everything about Coriolanus seems so out of place in District 8.

After a few minutes of silence, he nods and walks away.

“See you around, sweet bird.”

A shiver travels along your spine.

You wish for the opposite, to never ever see him again. And though the words never escape the confine of your lips, it’s as if he could hear the unspoken venom sizzling the tip of your tongue.

Coriolanus smiles at you as he leaves.

[monarchofdreams]

Familial

This is my grandson, Joseph. He has always taken care of me since he was a little boy. I would always appreciate him helping me clean the house, walk to the kitchen, or even buy me groceries. When he was young, he loved to play sports. He'd say he'd grow big and strong just so he could help me. I was always so proud of him when he showed me his medals and trophies. Unfortunately, I was always too old and frail to see his football games. He did well with academics as well. He was athletic, intelligent, and not to mention his looks, but he was also gorgeous. I love him so much, but it bothered me to see him lonely. I mean, he's very popular and has plenty of friends. However, even with his good looks and charm, he doesn't have the confidence to ask a girl out. He would always say that he would never get a girl or they wouldn't want to date him. That's just ridiculous! He is wasting those amazing genetics. If I had thise looks back in my day, I'd have women from all over town begging to get into my pants. Fast forward a few years, I was stuck in a hospital bed waiting to kick the bucket, and Joseph was taking care of me. He's a grown adult with his own life, yet he never left me behind. He was devastated when I passed away. He locked himself in his room for days just to cry. I reached out to comfort him, but suddenly, in that moment, everything went blank.

Slowly, sound starts to return, and I can feel a draft against my skin, across my entire body. As I slowly open my eyes, I realize I am in my grandson's apartment. As I take in my new surroundings, my eyes drift toward my large arms and hands... they aren't mine! They are nicely tanned and without a wrinkle in sight! I have tattoos decorating my now bulging biceps. I am only wearing a pair of Nike briefs, fully exposed, leaving little to the imagination. I quickly ran to the bathroom, and to my disbelief, I was greeted by Joseph's reflection, displaying a shocked expression, but it was not long until that confusion shifted into curiosity and arousal.

I started to gently touch the soft skin of my face and torso, which was now blanketed in thick slabs of muscle mass. My hands glided down my chest, fondling my massive pecs and washboard abs. As I felt myself up, a massive bulge started begging for attention. I bit my lip as my hands began to move down, as if they had a mind of their own. My fingers glide across my pecs, brushing against my firm nipples. My body began to shudder the more I touched them. Damn, they are very sensitive. I felt my raging cock stiffen against my briefs, and a damp spot started to form. Without wasting more time, I quickly reached down the damp briefs, my hand breaking past webs of pre built up from the past few minutes. My fingers wrap around my manhood, but just barely. Holy shit, I am massive. I take my thumb nad massage my tip, feeling more slick juice coating my hands. Without warning, my hips suddenly buck forward, causing a soft masculine moan to escape my lips.

I haven't felt this good in years, and I am hungry for more. I continue to grind my cock against my massive rough hands, my breathing growing heavier with each pump. I can feel pressure building up as I get closer to finishing, but I won't allow this to end so soon. I release my hand from its cum soaked prison, and take a wiff of my spunk. It reaks of the musk of a true man. I feel my cock soften just enough to get my briefs to loosen its grip. I pull down the elastic, letting my 8 inches of pure manhood to spring out and breathe, dripping with white spunk and sweat. I know I'm taking this too far, violating Joseph's body, but I can't control myself. I wrapped my hand once again around my shaft and began pumping my that dick. As I pump, it continues to inflate an extra 2 inches in my hands. My rough hands stroke the ridges of my fuckstick, driving me insane with each pass. "Ooof. Oh fuck, yes..." My moans of pleasure grow louder and louder. Hearing the sexy voice of my grandson spout lude words from my mouth and feeling the base of his vocal chords vibrate within my throat is sending me over the edge. More and more pressure begin to build up as I feel cum rise up my piping hot rod. Nothing else mattered right now. Only thoughts of sex and pleasure filled my mind. My grandson's well-being was no longer a concern. "This is my body, Joseph. You love your grandpa, right? So I'm sure you'll be thrilled if I stay. You like that, don’t you? Ohhh, yes. Unnghh, " I yelp out in my new sexy voice as I reach my limit. "Im coming. Oh yes, baby, I'm coming. Nnnngg..." It was not long until my cock finally erupted, my white juice coating my sweaty body. The smell of musk continued to turn me on, and without hesitation, I brought my cum cover hand to my mouth, licking my fingers clean. The thick juices slid down my throat as I enjoyed the salty taste of my youth. My dick was still rock hard and leaking. I can really go for a second serving.

[nudibro]

The Silent Bell First / Prev

And done! Decided to put the last two parts into one! Thank you to all who have been really really REALLY patient for this!!

---

Very long ID under cut!!!

[ID: Image 1: The Lamb faces away from the camera, reaching up the the lantern above to turn down the light, a slight scar is shown on their right arm. The Lamb says, "I don't know why you're so worked up over my bell, It's not that big of a deal." Image 2: The Lamb's arm and head lower after turning down the lantern, making the space darker. They continue by saying, "The sound is just.... bothersome. I can't focus with the ringing in my ears." Image 3: A close up of Narinder's face, looking at the Lamb with a doubtful expression. The Lamb continues to talk off screen, "It certainly doesn't help with crusades, let alone tending to the flock." Image 4: Narinder glares at The Lamb and tilts his head to the side, replying with a simple "Uh huh." Image 5: The Lamb is facing the camera, head turned away. The crowns eye looks down at the lamb. They continue with, "I still wear my bell because you restored it after my execution. O that day, you have me more than I could ever ask for. I have gone through centuries of deaths hoping that I will someday repay you... Despite our fight in hell, I hope I gave you the freedom you asked for-" Image 6: The crown's eye stares directly at the camera. The Lamb is seen flinching and also staring right at the camera shocked as Narinder cuts them off by yelling, "I never asked for this!" Image 7: Narinder starts to walk towards The Lamb, making them back away quickly. Narinder continues yelling, "Damned Lamb! You think I am a fool?! This is not freedom!" Image 8: The camera shows the back of The Lamb and Narinder gripping onto his shirt with one hand and holding out his other one, he yells at The Lamb while inches away from them, "I have waited millennia to be freed from my prison, just for you to put me in another one." Image 9: Narinder lowers one hand while still clenching onto his shirt, his speech bubble now shaky, "In the gateway I had my godhood, but this weak and frail mortal form gives me nothing." Image 10: Narinder's face is fully visible, all three of his red eyes glaring at The Lamb. Furious. White crosses replace his normal pupils. His speech bubble back to normal as he talks sternly. "The crown that lays upon your brow will return to me soon enough to grant the freedom I deserve." Image 11: The Lamb is seen staring directly at the camera with a nervous expression, the crown on top of their head glows a soft red while staring at the camera as well. They grip onto their cloak as Narinder ends with, "Usurper." With his speech bubble shaky. End ID.]

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch.1

WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Ch Notes: Minor character death, Near death experience, Parental Neglect/Abuse, Graphic descriptions of violence

Summary: The passing of your older brother forever changed your relationship with your parents. After a particularly brutal incident with your mother, the Maximoffs welcome you into their home.

An: It's been a minute, but I said I was coming back with a vengeance. I've already got multiple chapters of this drafted so be ready for weekly releases. Thanks for sticking around and I hope you enjoy this series!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Often the word delicate is used interchangeably with fragile. The only main difference is an obvious and inherent beauty that comes with something delicate. Something fragile on the other hand is viewed as predominantly breakable. Glass is fragile while a flower is delicate. Some items have a duality to them like a vase or feelings.

You were fragile.

Not entirely frail, there was some strength to your bones. It was more so from your unwillingness to be perceived as weak than anything else that kept you semi-strong. You were aware that life could be unkind, but also knew that it took pity on no one. There would be no exceptions made for you, no matter how much your mind craved it.

You were young when you learned the cruelty of life. The memory lives in your mind as clearly as the day it happened. It was summer, the sun was high in the sky, beaming down ferociously on your hometown. It was well over 90 degrees, the perfect weather for swimming. Your parents suggested that you and your brother get in the pool to cool off.

Lucas was wearing blue trunks while you had on a black and white one piece. He was 12 and you were 8, merely children. Left unsupervised, you played in water as you always had with each other.  You couldn’t swim so you always stayed on the shallow side of the pool.

After spending the majority of the day in the pool, you wanted to get out. You hoisted yourself out of the pool by the side, instead of going to the steps. You were successful in getting out of the pool. It was walking along the side of the pool that made you slip. Your head hit the cement and you felt your body hit the water.

You couldn’t recall much from there. The rest had been recounted to you more times than you could remember. You sank 12 feet to the bottom of the pool. Lucas hadn’t noticed immediately but once he did, he sprang into action.

He could swim, but he wasn’t a strong swimmer. Regardless he swam to the bottom of the pool to retrieve you. He found you there unconscious blood surrounding the water by your head. On the darkest days you speculated about the moment he knew that he was losing air.

He was only 12, but he used his strength to get you out of the water. You had laid on the cement unconscious, while your brother passed out in the pool water. By the time your parents decided to check on you, your head was resting in a puddle of its own blood on the concrete and your brother was face down in the pool.

They called 911 and by some miracle, you had survived. Lucas didn’t make it. You could never forget the look on your parents’ face when they told you. The pity in your father’s eyes and the hatred in your mother’s.

You could recall nearly every time your mother said you killed your brother. It was her favorite thing to throw in your face. She said it so much that it was hard not to believe it.

Your father would argue with her for talking to you this way. It never led to anything other than a screaming match between the two. It only took a few months for divorce papers to be filed. With the divorce papers came a nasty custody battle. The courts decided on 50/50 as your mother became the actress of the century claiming that she couldn't stand to lose another child.

Handling her cruelty forced you to toughen up. The words she spoke to you were nothing compared to the violence she inflicted against you. The bruises were endless with her. Even when you grew taller and stronger than her, she'd taken to throwing things at you.

When you were with your father things were calmer, but he worried a lot. So, you spent a lot of time alone when you stayed with him. It was better than your mother's and you were always grateful for that even though you wished he was more present.

The only thing that helped soften your reality was your friend Pietro. You met him in high school. He knew about everything. He was your only friend, the only person who had taken a liking to your semi-stoic personality. You were by no means an open book, but Pietro showed that he could be trusted. So, you found yourself telling him about your life.

He hated the way you lived. Any time he could, he’d invite you to his place to remove you from your situation. You gladly took his house as a safe haven. His family was affluent. He lived in a home with too many rooms to count. It was a stark difference from either of your parents homes. His family was also the most caring group of people you had ever known. It was evident after the first few visits that they had taken quite a liking to you.

It took you a long time to understand just how much the Maximoff’s cared for you. There was one instance that solidified how much you meant to them.

“Y/n, come over later tonight. Mama misses you, she said she'd make your favorite,” the then 16-year-old Pietro commented as you exited school grounds.

“I’ll try, but this is my mom’s week.”

Pietro frowned, “That just means you should come over earlier.”

You gave him a sad smile, “You know I want to, it’s just- you know how she is.”

His jaw clenched, “Abusive.”

Your gaze lingered on the floor. You heard him sigh loudly before you felt his arms wrapped securely around you. His chin rested on top of your head as he hugged you like you were going to disappear. You fight the urge to say that you were sorry, he hated when you apologized for no reason.

“I’m sorry, you know I just don't want you getting hurt,” he mumbles into your hair.

“I know,” your voice was smaller than you liked it to be. Pietro always found a way to show your more vulnerable side.

He released the hug and looked at you with soft eyes, “Be safe, Y/n.”

You nodded curtly, “I will.”

The walk home was as anxiety provoking as it always was. Dread filled your body as you approached the run-down apartment complex. You tried to be quiet as you entered your mother’s apartment.

“Well, where have you been all day?” You knew that tone indicated that your mother was already drunk.

“School,” you answered shortly, attempting to continue to your room.

“Don’t walk away when I'm talking to you,” her words made you freeze in your tracks.

There was venom in her glare as she looked at you, “Lucas would've been in his second year of college this year, if you weren't so fucking careless.”

You inhaled slowly, knowing there was nothing you could respond to her with.

“Probably would've been top of his class. He would've had friends and a girlfriend, but because of you he's been rotting in the ground for 8 years because of you.”

You balled up your hands into fists, digging your nails into the skin of your palm. You needed something to ground you, to keep you from crying as your mother continued to speak.

“If he could see you now, he would regret saving your life. You’re stupid, you’re ugly, and you’re disgusting. Still dressing like a little boy at your age, like the sinner I know you are.”

You couldn’t hold your tongue, “He wouldn't even recognize you, you drunk piece of shit.”

She slapped you, “Don’t you dare speak to me like that.”

Your cheek stung and your gaze hit the floor.

“You should've died instead. You’re hardly even a girl, we could've had another daughter.”

You couldn't take it anymore. Walking away from her, you went to your room.  She followed you, but that didn't deter you from throwing all of your things into a duffle bag.

“Where do you think you're going?”

You ignored her and continued to grab the things you cared for.  She screamed more as you packed but you didn't give her an answer. Once you were done, she was stood in your doorway with a wild look in her eyes.

“Leaving,” is all you said as you roughly pushed past her.

“Did you just put your hands on me?”

Her tone was hysterical. You kept moving through the apartment calmly.  It wasn’t until she threw a glass bottle at the wall near you that you flinched. It shattered right by your head. Glass shards flew towards your face, and you felt one slice through your cheek.

You weren’t stunned by her actions. She had done this before in her drunken rage. The glass shattering was just what she needed to get within arms reach of you. Her bony fingers wrapped around your wrist tightly. You hissed at the feeling, knowing there would be bruising.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” she attempted to pull you back, but you were stronger than her.

You pried her fingers off of your wrist. The freedom didn’t last for long as she grabbed a fistful of your hair, using it to slam you backwards onto the ground. While you were on the ground, she kept one hand wrapped in your hair as she started to stomp and kick you.

The pain was immense. You struggled against her, trying to find her hand that was holding your hair. When you found it, you grabbed her arm similarly to how she had grabbed yours. You squeezed as hard as you could, and you heard her shriek. Her grip on your hair dropped and as soon as it did you pushed the woman away from you.

“No one wants you; no one cares about you. You don’t even have anywhere to go, you worthless fucking murderer,” your mother stood still where you pushed her to. She tried to bluff you and you knew it.

“Anywhere is better than here,” you rushed for the door.

She threw one more bottle near the exit and you felt a sharp pain in your side, but you kept moving. Your entire body was burning, but you didn’t stop moving.

You let your feet carry you until you realized you were standing in front of the Maximoff’s house. Usually, you'd text Pietro and he'd get the door for you, but instead you rapidly knocked on the door before ringing the bell.

You didn't wait too long before the door swung open, revealing Pietro’s older sister, Wanda. She looked happy to see you until she noticed your state.  She gasped silently before gently pulling you into the house. You could hear the light family chatter happening in the dining room.

Wanda took your bag from you and led you to the rest of the family. Fear coursed through your veins as your heart started to pick up speed. You didn’t want them to see you like this. Wanda sensed this shift in you and spoke.

“We’re going to help, I promise,” her words were few but there was a conviction in them.

You took a deep breath and let her take you into the room with the others. When they saw you, the chatter stopped. Your eyes locked on to Pietro’s. There was a fire in his eyes as he looked at you.

His voice was shaky as he spoke, “She did this to you?”

That’s all it took for you to burst into tears. You collapsed into Wanda’s arms, and she held you upright.

“Wanda, Flora, take her upstairs get her cleaned up and prep a room for her. Pietro, come with me,” Dragos softly ordered his wife and kids.

Without much effort Wanda picked you up and carried you to the upstairs bathroom, her mother trailed behind her. Wanda sat you on the bathroom counter before rummaging through a few cabinets.

“Mama, I can patch her up while you get the room ready,” Wanda said, already prepping to help you.

Flora left the room, leaving just you and Wanda. You were hardly there; your eyes were cloudy as Wanda looked into them. She could tell you were far away.

“Y/n, I need to know where you’re hurt. I see you’ve got a cut on your face and some bruising on your arm, anything else sweetheart?”

You were hesitant and Wanda saw you fiddling with the end of your shirt. Her hands were delicate as they rested on top of yours, “You’re hurt under there?”

You nodded slightly.

“Can I take a look?” Her eyes looked into yours begging for permission.

You lifted the shirt up not only to reveal a bruise forming but a shard of glass sticking out of your side. It was like seeing the glass triggered something in you as more tears began flooding down your face.

“I’m going to fix it ok, sweetheart. You can trust me. It might hurt a little, but you’ll feel loads better after.”

The most painful part was Wanda removing the glass. Your hands gripped the counter until your knuckles were turning white. The red head talked you through everything she was doing, which gave you a little comfort. She also praised you for being as still as possible as she knew how much this was hurting. Though she imagined it wasn’t worse than the wounds being inflicted.

Once she was done, you felt a lot better. You could tell that she wanted to ask you something by the way her eyes wouldn’t leave your figure.

“Y/n?”

Your eyes locked on to her eyes. They were a soft green tone; they held a certain warmth to them. It was easy to get lost in them.

You hummed in response to her.

“Can I ask, what happened?”

Your thumb tapped the pads of your fingers and you focused on them as you answered Wanda, “My mom got mad at me because I wanted to leave. “

You saw Wanda’s jaw clench and it was almost identical to Pietro’s from earlier in the day, “She’s never going to lay a finger on you again.  We’re going to protect you.”

Leaning forward slightly you rested your head on her shoulder. She smelled good and it calmed your nerves. She let you stay in that position until there was a knock on the door.

“I brought some pajamas and towels for a shower. Do you think you'll need help or can I steal this one for a moment,” Mrs.Maximoff peaks through the door.

Wanda looked at you for an answer, “I can do it myself.”

The older woman sent you a small smile, “Very good dear. Just holler if you need anything.”

Wanda paused before she exited the bathroom, “After your shower I'm going to bandage your torso, ok? Be gentle around the tender areas.”

“Thank you, Wanda,” she smiled at your words and left at that.

When you were finally alone with your thoughts, your tears began to fall again. You let the hot water of the shower cascade down your back. The stinging sensation felt good on your skin. The words your mom said were echoing through your head. You knew they wouldn't be going away any time soon.

While you showered Pietro gave his family some insight into your life. He had told them your brother died in an accident and your mother blamed you. He spoke briefly about your father’s busy working schedule but went into details about your mother’s abuse.

Even the short version of events was heartbreaking to the family.

Flora met her husband’s eyes, “She can’t go back there Dragos.”

He nodded his head in agreement, “She’s not.”

There was a dangerous look in Wanda’s gaze, “What’re we going to do about that bitch?”

Dragos looked at his daughter with a slight smile on his lips, “We’re going to take care of her. She’s not going to bother Y/n, ever again, unless she's got a death wish.”

“If she’s going to stay here, she needs to know the truth,” Pietro said looking down at the table.

“What good would that do her? She’s already had enough,” Wanda defended.

Pietro’s glare matched Wanda’s, “She’s my best friend and we all know there’s a danger that comes with being in this household. If she’s at risk to be hurt, then she deserves to know, and I will tell her.”

“We can keep her safe without her knowing,” Wanda argued back.

“I am not lying to her,” Pietro said with finality.

Wanda scoffs, “You have for all this time, what’s the difference?”

Pietro slammed his fist down on the table, “I would’ve told her from the start if it was an option. She has barred her soul to me, entrusted me with her deepest fears and secrets, you don’t know her like I do.”

“I know she came here barely able to talk, a piece of glass lodged in her side, a cut under her eye, her entire midsection is a bruise. “

“That doesn't mean she doesn’t deserve to know the truth.”

Neither of them was backing down.

“The truth about what?”

The family shifted their attention to you. Pietro crossed his arms over his chest while looking at his family expectantly. Wanda turned her attention to her father to see what he would do.

It was actually Flora who spoke, “Y/n if you’re going to be staying with us there is something we must tell you dear.”

Pietro started, “Remember when you saw my house for the first time and asked what my parents did?”

Wanda rolled her eyes at Pietro’s prolonging of the situation, “Y/n we’re a part of a crime syndicate.”

Dragos quickly corrected Wanda, “We aren’t just a part of it. I’m in charge of it. We aren't so bad either, we do a lot for the community.”

You wanted to laugh, but they looked so serious. They were waiting for your reaction, but you were still processing. This clearly wasn't a joke.

“Ok,” was all that you could muster up.

“Do you get what we’re saying dear?”

You nodded slowly. “You’re criminals,” your eyes cut over to your best friend, “All of you?”

Pietro tore his eyes away from you.

Wanda saw the hurt in her brother’s eyes and tried to take over, “Beyond criminals, Y/n we’re the same Maximoff family that you know. We care about you and your safety. We would never let any harm come to you.”

“Do I have to be involved with that stuff?” You questioned.

The family all eyed Dragos, seemingly searching for an answer of their own. His eyes met yours, “I will never make you do anything you don't want to do. However, if this is something you're interested in all you have to do is ask.”

You took in a deep breath, before exhaling, “Thank you for letting me stay.”

Flora shook her head, “You’re family Y/n.”

For once that night you held back the tears. You let Wanda redress your wounds and then went to bed. Sleep came easier than it should’ve, you believed the Maximoff's when they said you were safe. That was the first time in your life where you felt delicate and not fragile. However, things change consistently, and life moves fast, even faster when you’re entangled with the biggest crime family in New York City.

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Unconventional Flowers Event - May

Mother's Day Lilies ft. Megumi

A/N: May prompt for my Unconventional Flowers Event. Note that Megumi is still a young child here, like maybe 8 years or so. Rating: E, safe, fluffy, cute Word Count: 939

Megumi had technically lost not one, but two mothers. His birth mother, frail in health, passing away shortly after his delivery, and then Tsumiki’s mother, who abandoned them. All in all, not a great experience on the mother front.

It was hardly a surprise that Megumi withdrew from you when you and Gojo started dating. Tsumiki, more in need of a maternal figure, grew attached quickly, but Megumi avoided you altogether. You didn’t blame him. After getting the whole story from Gojo, you felt your heart going out to the little boy but decided to give him more time to approach you.

You started slowly, asking him to watch a movie together, bringing back his favorite snacks whenever you visited Gojo, and helping him with his homework. You never tried to fill that motherly role, and eventually, Megumi started warming up to you, realizing you were not trying to pretend to be anything more than Gojo’s girlfriend. It gave him the emotional reassurance he needed, that you were not trying to fill the shoes of his lost mothers, but that you would be there if he needed you. 

You made sure to show affection to him and Tsumiki though, doing little crafts with them, taking them to the park, and poking fun at Gojo whenever it was appropriate. They grew attached to you, and they weren’t your kids, but they were yours. 

You hadn’t planned on unintentionally becoming a maternal figure to Gojo’s wards, but now you couldn’t imagine a day without them. Your heart almost floated out of your body with joy when Megumi asked you what your favorite flower was. 

“Lillies,” you said with affection in your eyes as you looked at the quiet boy, tall and slim for his age. He nodded solemnly and you couldn’t control your actions and pull him in for a squishy hug.

“You’re so adorable Megs.”

“Stop that! And don’t call me Megs!” Megumi wriggles only half-heartedly, trying to escape, before quieting down and letting himself be hugged. Deep down, he’s glad you’re here.

Megumi hunts down the prettiest lilies he could find in time for Mother’s Day. His eyes are alight with excitement. Gojo said you were around somewhere on the estate, and he's practically running to find you, carefully cradling the bouquet so that it doesn’t get crushed. He passes Tsumiki on the way, who sees the flowers and quickly stops him.

“You’re giving these to Nee-san?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t she’ll like these for Mother’s Day. Lilies are usually given at funerals. Do you want her to get the wrong idea? What if she leaves us?”

Megumi’s face crumples at his sister’s words. “But…they’re her favorites…”

“It’s not too late to get her something else.”

Megumi quickly runs back towards his room. How could he have known? He’s glad Tsumiki stopped him. What if he had found you…and given you the lilies? It was the first time he and Tsumiki had anyone even closely resembling a mother for an extended period. The thought of you being upset because he had been dumb enough to get such sad flowers for Mother’s Day…

“Megs?”

He freezes when he hears your voice and tries to hastily hide the flowers behind his back as you walk up to him. 

“What’re you doing?”

“Nothing!”

You see his shifty nature and the heads of the white flowers sticking out from behind his back. 

“Who are the flowers for?”

“No one!” He backs up a few paces, trying to put distance between you two.

“Megumi.” You catch up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Why are you being weird?”

Caught, he looks away, trying not to tear up. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Mad? About what?”

“I got you flowers.”

You look at him quizzically. “Why would I be mad that you got me flowers?”

“They were for Mother’s Day.”

If your heart wasn’t already full, it certainly was now. You feel warmth expanding in your chest at the admission. 

He was giving you flowers for Mother’s Day?

You try not to tear up and clear your throat. “And why do you think I’d be mad?”

Megumi’s face carries so much guilt that you want to pull him into his arms and reassure him but you give him a minute to find his words.

“I got you lilies. Because you said they were your favorite.”

“They are my favorite! Megs, why do you look so upset?”

“Well…I was told that lilies are given at funerals and that you’d be mad if I gave them to you today. Please don’t be mad.” He looks at you with such sad eyes that you can’t contain yourself any longer.

You pull him into your arms, cradling him protectively. “Oh, my dear little Megs. I’m not mad at all. You got me flowers? On Mother’s Day? Do you have any idea how happy I am?”

Megumi’s eyes widen in realization, comforted by your hug. “Really?”

“Yeah! I’m so happy you like me enough to get me flowers for this holiday.” You can’t find the will to let go of the boy and he doesn’t try to break free.

“You’re not mad?”

“Not the least bit.”

“So you won’t leave us right?”

You nod, feeling like your body is made of air. “You’re stuck with me I’m afraid.”

Comforted, Megumi finally shows you the bouquet which you accept delightedly. “You’re better than Gojo. He didn’t get me anything.”

“He’s a moron.” Megumi shakes his head. “I’ll talk to him.”

“I know you will.” 

You ruffle Megumi’s hair before the both of you start walking back to the house. 

all banners and dividers by @/ cafe kitsune

@estarlias @daswanj @actuallysaiyan @whatshernameis

@byul9158 @mirrors-musings @Mangiswig

@that-goth-bisexual @connorsui @jadedjane @darkstarlight82

@soft--cherry @galactict3a @hunnie-lily

[yandere-romanticaa]

trigger warning: abuse, animal death, malnutrition, my horrible writing. not proofread, we die like men!

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍 - part 1. (you are here!)

masterlist.

The bitter scent of nicotine clings to him wherever he goes, his cold, brown eyes devoid of life as he wakes up and gets ready for another day. Every day is the same - wake up, get ready for work, work, head back home, rinse and repeat. He was living. But, he was not alive.

As long as he could remember, this was the life which Viktor Martinović (read as Martinovich) was leading.

Growing up his family was always distant. Cold. Even scattered at times. He had some siblings, some alive, others long gone from the Earth. To him they were all like air, non-existent and invisible but yet oh so relevant. His father hailed from Croatia while his mother was an American. Viktor could recall some more peaceful times as he would sit on the front porch of his house, his grandmother serving him tea while his grandfather told him many stories. Be it folklore, urban legends, random stories he made up, Viktor loved them all. Unfortunately, he could not see his grandparents very often as they lived in the US and the cost of travel was a rare luxury to him.

The time he spent with his grandparents was precious. He was positive that it was the only time he felt true joy and tranquility. With them he could be a little boy and do what all the little boys did - run around the streets with his feet bare, fall hard onto the ground and skin his knees, find dead animals on the ground and poke at their remains.

That last thing became a favorite past time of his.

Be it birds, dogs, cats, hedgehogs, no tiny critter was safe from his clutches. At first he did nothing but poke the dead critter with some random stick. Its lifeless eyes would stare back at Viktor, taunting him to take more action. However, one day his father caught him poking a mangled little bird which Viktor did not understand was wrong. The anatomy of the animal had caught his interest and he had no other children to play with. What was so wrong with having a hobby? His horrified father dragged Viktor by the ear back home that day, his grip so tight that crescent shaped marks were left behind on the soft skin due to his fingernails.

His father was an awfully conservative man. Everything and everyone had their place in the home and that included Viktor, who just happened to be at the bottom of the food chain because he was the youngest. Viktor does not remember his fathers face very well.

He never liked him.

All meals would start with prayer and would end with his mother and sisters putting away the plates, sometimes with Viktor's aid. He wanted to be good. He wanted to be useful. His father always taught him that he was a man and that men needed to be strong. This is not something you should concern yourself with, his father told him one chilly autumn morning.

This is a woman's duty, said his stone-faced father.

He was around 8 years old when his beatings started.

Despite his young age, Viktor was a very gifted child. He understood that something was off about his family. The way in which his siblings would flinch away once father entered the room, the way mother was always in a hurry to serve him coffee and a hot meal the moment he got back home despite being on her feet all day set him on edge.

He was very sensitive when it came to his mother.

She was his first and only real friend. She was his rock, his hero. Viktor was often sick which caused him to be physically frail and weak. His complexion was always pale as a ghost, his lips always thin and bloody from him gnawing on them and his tiny hands were always covered in cuts and bruises. The eldest brother in particular always just loved to make fun of Viktor when it came to his lack of strength. You can't even break into a sprint!, the cruel boy would taunt him as he held Viktor's book high up in the air, tearing pieces of the pages in the process.

Viktor hated his brother. He loathed him. Religion was not something he was 100% sure he believed in but during evening prayers, Viktor would always put his concentration on the fact that he wished his brother was dead. A grizzly thought indeed.

He wished for him to die the cruelest, most painful death imaginable.

The older he got, his dream only seemed to grow further and further away.

His two sisters never paid any attention to Viktor unless it was absolutely necessary, such as clothing or bathing him. Viktor was not capable of doing many things on his own because he was like a little doll. Frail and easy to break. He lived in a big house in coastal Croatia, an old city known as Dubrovnik, where the summer was long and the sun shined so bright that Viktor never wanted to go outside because his pale skin would turn a disgusting red even with the tiniest of exposure. He would spend his days locked away in his room, reading, studying or maybe playing a game which he had stolen from his brother.

He always took a little pride in the fact that his brother never caught him being so sly.

His sisters would usually be in school in the afternoon or somewhere out and about while his mother took care of the chores. Despite his fathers words, Viktor wanted to help her in any way he could. His heart would melt at the sight of his mother as she would lean down to give him a kiss on his forehead, her tired eyes shining with love. She would never give him tasks which could tire him too much which the young boy silently was thankful for. His favorite chore was chopping up vegetables and meat and in no time, he became quite skilled with using the blade. If it was possible Viktor even started to carve intricate shapes from fruits and vegetables, usually roses because his mother was very keen on them.

She never had the heart to eat any of them.

The outside world was filled with squeals of laughing children, frustrated fishermen and the bustling tides but Viktor did not need that world.

He had his own little bubble which he was more than content with. It was also convenient for him that he was homeschooled, which allowed him to spend even more time with his beloved mother. She was a doctor and a really good one too. Other than teaching him the basics such as reading, writing and mathematics, she would often throw in some more obscure things such as philosophy and anatomy. She taught him about the human body, where each organ was and their purposes.

Viktor was always enamored with this vast sea of knowledge.

The human body is like a machine, his mother would say. Treat it well and it will operate well.

Time passed. Viktor had started to grow and was 11 years old now. He was still sick, still useless according to his father. The man was a renowned fisherman and would always bring home the biggest and best kills. He would take his eldest boy with him and teach him everything he knew, hoping that one day his son would become a master at this craft as well.

Viktor hardly ever went on these trips. The sea was a cruel mistress and weak men could not be near it. His father had barely managed to teach him the basics but the scorching sun and the bustling activity was too much for him. Viktor's skinny little fingers would always be injured from carrying the heavy cargo, which his brother always made sure to make even more difficult for him by giving him even more to carry.

He was a lost cause when it came to fishing, which was his family's main source of income.

No matter, Viktor would think.

He had his own skill sets which those baboons could never understand.

Viktor would hone his skills with the blade in secret, his usual victim for practice being the very fish which were caught earlier that day. Sometimes he would stay up all night and sneak up back into his room at the crack of dawn, his hands smelling horribly which caused his sisters to gag a little if they caught a whiff of the air. Viktor studied the insides of the fishes, taking dutiful notes and hiding them all in the wooden floorboards where nobody could find them. Scattered carcasses of other animals become precious to him as he always had to be swift lest he wished to be caught by someone. Hiding them was always a pain and concealing the smell was the hardest task he could just barely pull off.

Not all secrets can be kept hidden though. Viktor found out that the hard way when his brother caught him dissecting a dead poodle. Viktor fell to his knees and begged his brother to not spill the beans, fat tears caking his face as he hiccuped horribly, his whole body shaking like a leaf. His brother merely looked down at him with a sneer as he shouted for their father to come to the garage. As Viktor heard the approaching footsteps his heart was beating so hard that he was positive that he was going to die of a heart attack right then and there.

His brother was the devil. The exact replica of his father. He was in every way, his son.

Viktor could not walk or talk properly for three months after that incident. He became something akin to a dying houseplant, unmovable and withering away in the darkness. He stopped eating completely and became skinnier than ever. His father locked him in his room but took his books away just to add more salt to the wound. Countless days passed and Viktor was rotting in bed, slowly dying from the lack of sustenance and the massive sorrow which took over his very being. Spring had been long gone and summer was over as well. He didn't even realize that it was October.

It was his birthday.

On October 31st, Viktor was woken up with a soft knock on his wooden door. It was his mother, who was holding a tray filled with food. There was even a little chocolate flavored cupcake with a single candle sticking on top, the whick not quite lit yet. His mother wished him a happy birthday and shared the meal with him. Viktor ate the food quietly, his appetite not quite out there but was still grateful for the miniature feast. His mother took out a small lighter and lit the candle.

Make a wish dear, she said softly.

Viktor gripped his sheets with all of his remaining strength, his knuckles so tight that he almost injured himself. He could feel the delicate touch of his mother who sat next to him, her presence like the calm evening breeze. With a sigh, Viktor closed his eyes but before he could blow out the candle a thought popped into his mind -

Just what was he going to wish for?

He did not see himself making it far in life despite his top notch grades. His family, father in particular, would always drag him down back to the ground. All of the money they had would most likely go to his siblings with just a tiny inheritance left to his name and when his parents both eventually passed the entire estate would go to his brother.

A lump formed in his throat as Viktor came to the realization that he had nothing to live for. He had no one on this Earth other than his mother.

He was no better than a ghost.

However, ghosts could not rest until they fulfilled some sort of quota in their lives, that one last thing for them to do so that they can finally take their final breath and bid their old life goodbye.

That goodbye came in the form of a cough.

It was his father.

His dark eyes stared down at Viktor, a strange glint of determination shining brightly inside them. With his arms crossed and mind set, he spoke:

"The weather may not be ideal but it is advantageous for your.... condition. You will not rot away in the sun, nor in this room like some coward."

His father took a few strides closer towards him, his footsteps so heavy that he could feel the floor creak beneath the heavy pressure. Viktor felt his whole body tense up as he was forced to look his father in the eye, his teeth clenching so tightly that it felt as though his jaw was going to break from the pressure. The only thing that gave him an iota of comfort was the fluffy blanket across his body, its softness a weak shield in stark contrast to the rough man before him. Viktor felt his fathers hand land on his shoulder, his touch disturbingly friendlier than usual.

"You will head out with your brother soon, to the sea. It is time you start pulling your own weight properly. I won't ever allow any son of mine to be weak."

Viktor's eyes widened - Christ, how could this be happening? Why was this happening? Cold terror came over him as he felt his lunch threatening to be spilt all over his parents.

It was soon prevented by a thought. A very devious thought.

On this little excursion it was just going to be him and his brother. All alone, at sea. The only thing keeping watch over them would be the grey stormy clouds high above them.

And just like that, Viktor had hatched a plan.

There was no going back from this moment.

🔪 TAGS: @shamelessdarkprince, @latolover, @yandere-wishes, @moyazami, @sunhareskies, @connorsui

Ahaha, here it is, the long awaited backstory for my OC, who finally has a full name! I decided to split it into several parts because it was getting kind of long and I really just wanted to post something about this guy. The demand for him is honestly kind of silly... Dare I say overwhelming even.

If you have any criticisms, ideas, complaints, literally anything - I'm all ears! My askbox is always open for a chit chat!

[esggs]

Obeisance to the Arrow - Noritoshi Kamo

#9 : The Lady Kamo  

[could you ever be more than just his wife?]

[tw: noritoshi kamo x reader, arranged marriage, forced marriage, child marriage, mentions of adultery, feminist theory, misogyny, fluff]

#8 : Ice-cream Date

“Wake up, wake up!” Kamo Noritoshi raps his knuckles against your forehead. “Your chambermaid is here to get you dressed up. C’mon–” he’s ripping the blanket away from you, pure torture at 6 am. “– You’re to shadow me today.”

A day before you leave for Jujutsu High. Usually, Noritoshi’s already at the breakfast table by the time you wake up, washing down toast with hard coffee, newspaper spread out on his lap. He sleeps after you too, grumbling about the indignity of a futon and his achy back. After all, he’s the one with any expectations on him. You’re as useful as a flower vase.

“The Lord and Lady Kamo invited us for tea. My grandparents, or rather ours, I suppose, but remember to address them formally.” He fidgets with his thick-fabric kimono. “... Listen, I know this is not in my rank to ask…”

But it is, you both know that, he’s just being polite. Not only ask for it, but he’s fully entitled to demand it, expect it. That in front of others, you act wifely. Servile, if we want to get accurate. It wouldn’t do for a man, especially in front of other men, to have a wife untrained, off the leash. 

You nod. It’s a request– one of those requests you can’t really say no to. Whenever you and Noritoshi dress up in formal traditionals, it’s Noritoshi who chooses his own kimono, and then you being dressed in whatever compliments his outfit. Right now, as you two walk down the hallways to the meeting-room, your butterfly-patterned obi was tied after he picked that pattern for his own outfit. Not that he’d ever notice something small like that. Not when his life is busy with bigger things, things like– 

“The meeting to decide which sorcerer goes after which curse report. Next is a grade assessment of a couple first year sorcerers, and then after lunch we’ll look to expand our stock of cursed weapons. That’s the broad agenda for the day.” 

“Sounds boring as fuck.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Oh c’mon, there’s no one here. I’ll play nice when we get there, I promise.” 

It’s true. You bow to the ground in front of the clan heads, the venerable Lord and Lady Kamo, your forehead brushing at their toes. The greetings come and go; you pour the tea out for everyone and sit back down, a little behind Noritoshi, womanly elegance and delicacy personified. The prettiest flower vase.

It’d be easier to imagine The Lord Kamo wrapped in open casket funeral attire than the summer-silk shawls overtaking his frail figure. Alive for over 120 years, Noritoshi would tell you later, before he gave up counting. Over 120 years at the seat of power. 

Your hasty marriage makes sense now: Lord Kamo is expected to be dead sooner than later, and the second that he is, Noritoshi would be right there, wiping his grief-stricken tears with one hand and taking reins of the clan with the other. 

Unlike you, his life has changed a lot in one week. It’s as if your union has washed away all illegitimacy from his bastard skin, the confirmed Clan Head to be adored and obeyed. “And hence you take my place for the meetings today,” croaks out his grandfather, clapping a hand on Noritoshi’s shoulder. “The gardens beckon me, it’s right for my season of life.” 

You two have perfected the art of communicating only with your eyes. 

Noritoshi: I’ve got to go with him, make an excuse and come with me or you’ll be stuck with grandma.

You: I’ll catch up with you later, send a servant to look for me. 

Noritoshi: She’s old and ornery, you won’t have a good time here. Come.

You: As I said, you narrow your eyes at him, digging your feet in. Wild dog tugging at her collar. I’ll stay here for a bit. 

A cough; The Lord Kamo and the Lord Kamo-to-be leave together, followed by a retinue of servants. 

“Enjoying life, little one?”- comes her gentle voice. You’ve never seen her before, despite growing up in the Kamo household. Compared to her husband, she looks to be simply old, not disintegrating, late-80’s at best. The kind of grandma they paint in children’s books. Chubby-cheeked, sweater-knitter, cookie-baker. There’s no bite in her words, simply dainty interest. You’re the next her, after all. 

“With your grace, your Ladyship,” you bow to her, waiting for her to tell you not to bother with all these formalities, you’re family after all. It doesn’t come. “Would you require more tea, madam?” Come on, take the hint. 

“Yes, now that I think of it.” So you want to talk in private? The maid leaves to fetch some.  

Teeth part her face, nicotine-stained smile deepens her wrinkles. She drops her act like a theatre curtain. “You’re fucked, girl. The old man’s going to die any day soon, what do you think you’ll do after that? There’s no point going to Jujutsu School if you won’t even get to be there for a week.” When you don’t reply, she nudges you with her tea cup. “You’re not stupid, are you? The second the boy becomes the head he’s gonna want kids, and- ” she snaps a finger at you, “-kids are how they trap you.” 

And even though you know that she’s completely right, you need to defend Noritoshi. “He’s not like that!” You feel like an idiot even saying these words. Of course he is. Maybe not now, but he would be. All of them are. 

Lady Kamo just sighs. “See, women like Miyumi, that blithering weepy fool, they can run away. I’ve told her so many times, I say, ‘divorce that man’, and she says, ‘and go where?’ and I say, ‘anywhere, you knucklehead!’ I admit, I raised a son most terrible, but it’s not like I didn’t want to help her, alright? Who do you think gave her all the pictures of his adultery? Made a whole dossier of it, with printed photos, mind you! She could’ve taken millions in alimony and live on the beach with that useless son of hers, but no, she’d rather stay and mope.” 

She’s completely gone on a tangent, but you don’t stop her, sipping the tea quietly. She probably never gets to talk to people frankly. 

“But us, we don’t get to run away, you understand? Once you’re The Lady Kamo, and that’s not too far off in the future, you’ll forget everything else about you. I believe you can justifiably delay bearing a kid till you’re- how old are you again?”

“15 in a month, my Lady.”

“-ah, not that long then. I had my firstborn at your age.” Genuine panic blooms inside you. It’s as if she’s dunking your head into cold water, waking you up to your reality. “Well, in that case, I tell you this: instead of wasting time on that school, pick up books on politics, economics, history, and culture. Learn logic, negotiation, philosophy. I could arrange a good tutor for you. You’ll be the head of a good third of our society, girl. You’ll be Lady Kamo, so practise for that. That’s not what Miyumi was. She’s useless, that woman. Useless technique, too.”

You’ve never asked Miyumi-san what her jujutsu technique was. It just didn’t cross your mind. You’re suddenly interested in Lady Kamo’s, and so you ask. 

“Fission.” Your jaw hangs open. “Nuclear fission.”

—------

A long time ago, no one understood Kazuko’s powers, not even her. She travelled all over the world, meeting scientists in Soviet, China, France and Britain, trying to decipher the hidden secrets of atomic physics. A new field, at the time. But that was all before the bombings, of course. 

She remembers those flower-patterned poplin dresses that she’d wear, walking down Cambridge, styling it with rabbit-fur caps that she’d shot herself. Then she clad the wedding furisode, even though she can’t remember how exactly it came to fall on her. Then came a child, then another and then another, and in her overflowing happiness of a noble life, she lost track of how time passed long enough that now she’s looking at herself from back in those poplin-dressed days, decades later. The next Lady Kamo. 

Sometimes she wished that things were different. She wished that she could give you better advice. 

The tea-cups lie empty. You walk to the room where Noritoshi is heading a meeting by himself for the first time. Makes sense, you guess, of course the Lady Kamo would be an incredibly powerful sorcerer. She was selected to be so. Powerful women bear powerful heirs. And no such women should be left unleashed, after all. 

You’re beginning to understand why Gojo Satoru is that terrifying: he’s uncontrollably free. He’s everything Kazuko could never be. 

Noritoshi greets you when you enter the meeting-room. Everything has been going well, as you can see. He makes rational judgements, fair yet pleasing: a prince worth the crown. Unlike what you said earlier, it’s actually awfully interesting (you reckon you could do it better than him). You take your seat behind your husband. 

Curses boil resentment in your viscera. 

Bonus: 

“Did you get along with her?” The day done, you two are back in the safety of your bedroom, slumped against the headboard, feet under blanket, watching Gravity Falls. You wanted the Japanese dub, while he (ungrateful, in your opinion, about being allowed bed privileges) whined about ‘preserving authenticity of the original language’. So subtitled it was compromised to be. (“Plus, it’s good to practise your English, you know.”)

He wanted to say that he’ll miss hanging around you once you’re gone tomorrow. That he’s concerned if you’ll be able to do well in school, make friends and grow strong. That he picked the butterfly-print kimono thinking of you. That he’ll have ice-cream stocked for you whenever you come to visit. 

But he couldn’t say all that, so he said: “She’s not the nicest to me, you know. Though I hope she was with you.”

“She’s mean. Rambled. Talked shit about others. I like her a ton.”

Noritoshi doesn’t get it, but eh, who is he to judge? He pats your head. Cute kid. The bed does his back good.

masterlist

a/n: the recent VS fashion show was ass, they're clearly not adapting with the times at all, the pieces were 90s and should've remained there. tacky plastic that looked cheaper than instant ramen. boo on the clothing side, boo on the weakly attempted diversity (one normal sized lady, two heavily botoxed nail thin milfs, one east asian nepo baby and one !black! lady) man fashion has truly moved east cuz god that was disappointing

[novaursa]

Part 2

- Note: This work was fully published on AO3, so expect steady updates. I'll post regularly to engage more readers.

- Title: zōbrie ānogar

- Rating: Explicit (18+)

- Romance: (Aegon II/OFC)

- Warning: All flags are up for this work. Aegon is also a warning on his own.

- Summary: It was written by Archmaester Gyldayn that on the day Princess Vaella Targaryen was born she was supposed to die. Until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. And when she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal, in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. And Archmaester had written a lengthy thesis on how wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in the Princess, as they both dined on their kin.

- Word Count: 9 000+

- Parts: 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Final

In the quiet sanctum of the Red Keep’s library, the flickering candlelight illuminated rows of ancient tomes and scrolls. Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, and Vaella sat around a large wooden table, listening to Maester Mellos. The rare presence of Aegon in such a studious environment, with Kingsguard standing watch nearby, was an unusual sight. However, Aegon paid little attention to the lessons, his focus entirely on Vaella. He sat beside her, absentmindedly playing with her long, pale hair, winding it around his fingers.

Maester Mellos, already irked by Aegon’s lack of interest, glanced over and cleared his throat pointedly. "Prince Aegon, please pay attention. This is important history."

Aegon gave a dismissive shrug, his fingers still entwined in Vaella's hair. "I’m listening," he lied, though his eyes never left Vaella.

Vaella cast a sidelong glance at Aegon, her lips curving into a small, amused smile. She had grown used to his antics, even if they occasionally annoyed her. The atmosphere was tense, broken only by the rustling of parchment and the occasional exasperated sigh from Maester Mellos.

The door to the library opened, and Alicent Hightower stepped in. She looked at her three children and said, "Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, come with me. Your father wants to speak with you."

Alicent’s gaze lingered on Vaella, her expression unreadable. Vaella sensed a hint of disappointment, though she knew it wasn't directed at her. She remained seated as Maester Mellos resumed his lesson, clearly uncomfortable with Vaella’s presence but bound by duty to continue.

Aegon looked at Vaella, his expression one of reluctance. He seemed ready to protest, but Alicent’s stern gaze silenced him. He hung his head and reluctantly stood, following his mother and siblings out of the library. Vaella watched them go, a sense of unease settling in her chest.

Alicent led her children to King Viserys’s chambers. The King, looking more frail than ever, sat propped up with cushions, his face lined with weariness. He smiled weakly as his children entered, though the gravity of the moment was clear.

"I have come to a decision," Viserys began, his voice thin but firm. "Aegon, you will marry Helaena. This union will strengthen our family and bring stability."

Aegon automatically stiffened, his face contorting with anger. "What?" he barked, unable to contain his outrage. "No, I will not marry Helaena! She should be wed to either Aemond or Daeron, call him back from Oldtown. I will marry Vaella."

Viserys opened his mouth to respond, but Aegon continued, his voice growing louder. "I will not marry Helaena. Vaella is the only one I will wed." He turned to his mother for support, but Alicent averted her gaze, her expression pained. It was clear her voice had not been heard, and she disagreed with her husband's decision.

Viserys sighed weakly, his eyes closing briefly as if summoning the strength to continue. "Vaella will be wed to a noble lord to further our House's standing. This is my final decision."

Aegon's face flushed with fury. "I will not wed anyone besides Vaella," he shouted, his voice echoing through the chamber. He turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by Viserys’s labored breathing. Alicent looked at her husband, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and resignation. "Viserys," she began softly, but he raised a hand to silence her.

"This is not up for debate, Alicent," Viserys said, his voice tired but resolute. "The decision has been made."

Aemond and Helaena stood quietly, their faces a mix of confusion and concern. Aemond glanced at Helaena, who looked pale and uneasy at the prospect of her new betrothal. Alicent gathered her composure and turned to her remaining children.

"Come, let us leave your father to rest," she said gently. She led them out of the chamber, her mind already racing with the implications of Viserys’s decree.

…

Alicent found Aegon in his chambers, pacing furiously. His anger was palpable, the air thick with his frustration and hurt. As she entered, he turned to her, his eyes blazing with fury.

"How could you let this decision stand?" he demanded, his voice trembling with emotion. "You’re my mother! You should have stopped him!"

Alicent sighed deeply, her own frustration mingling with sadness. "Aegon, I tried. I have spoken to your father many times, but he is adamant about keeping Vaella away from you."

Aegon’s face twisted with anger. "I will not wed Helaena. I won’t do it."

"Aegon, please try to understand," Alicent pleaded, stepping closer. "Your father believes this is what's best for our family."

"I don't care what he believes!" Aegon shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "He doesn't understand what this means to me. Vaella is the only one I want to be with."

Alicent’s expression softened with empathy, but she knew the futility of arguing against Viserys’s decision. "Aegon, I know this is hard, but you must try to accept it."

Aegon's panic grew, his eyes wide with fear at the thought of being separated from Vaella. "What if they marry her off to someone else? What if she's taken away from me?" He began to hyperventilate, his chest heaving with panic. "I can't lose her, Mother. I can't!"

Alicent reached out, trying to calm him, but he recoiled, his fear turning into blame. "This is your fault!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "If you had fought harder, this wouldn’t be happening!"

The accusation stung, and Alicent’s patience snapped. She slapped Aegon across the face, the sound sharp and shocking in the quiet room. Aegon stood frozen, his hand slowly moving to his cheek where her palm had struck.

"Aegon," Alicent said, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and sorrow. "You do not understand the complexities of ruling, the sacrifices that must be made for the good of the realm. Your father’s decision is final. You must learn to accept it."

Aegon’s eyes filled with tears, his anger momentarily eclipsed by the shock of the slap and the depth of his despair. "But I love her," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Alicent’s heart ached for her son. She stepped forward and took his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I know, Aegon. I know how much she means to you. But you must find a way to be strong, to honor your father's wishes. This is the burden we bear as members of the royal family."

Aegon closed his eyes, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "I don't know if I can do this, Mother. I don't know if I can live without her."

Alicent pulled him into a tight embrace, her own tears threatening to spill. "You are stronger than you think, my son. And no matter what happens, you will always have my love and support."

Aegon clung to his mother, the anger and fear slowly giving way to a deep, abiding sadness. The future seemed bleak and uncertain, but in this moment, he found a small measure of comfort in her arms. 

As they stood there, wrapped in a silent embrace, Alicent prayed for the strength to guide her son through the difficult times ahead. 

…

After her studies, Vaella wandered through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, her mind still preoccupied with the events of the day. She turned a corner and spotted Aemond and Helaena standing together in a secluded alcove, their expressions troubled and somber. Concerned, she approached them, her brow furrowing with worry.

"Aemond, Helaena, what happened?" she asked, her voice gentle but filled with urgency.

Aemond glanced at Helaena before meeting Vaella’s eyes. "Father has decided that Aegon will marry Helaena," he said, his tone flat.

Vaella’s eyes widened in shock. "What? When did this happen?"

"Just now," Helaena replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mother and Father called us to his chambers. Aegon was furious."

Vaella was left speechless, the weight of the news settling heavily on her shoulders. She turned to Helaena, her concern deepening. "Helaena, what do you think about this?"

Helaena sighed, looking down at her hands. "I don’t know, Vaella. I never imagined marrying Aegon. He’s always been so... difficult."

Aemond scoffed softly, shaking his head. "Difficult is putting it lightly. He’s impossible."

Vaella nodded, her thoughts racing. She knew how possessive Aegon was of her, and the idea of him being forced into a marriage he didn’t want was troubling. But her immediate concern was Helaena. "Are you okay with this?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Helaena looked up, her eyes meeting Vaella’s. "I suppose I don’t have much of a choice. It’s Father’s decision. But it feels... wrong."

Vaella reached out and took Helaena’s hands in hers, squeezing them reassuringly. "I’m here for you, Helaena. We’ll get through this together."

Helaena gave her a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Vaella. That means a lot to me."

Aemond sighed, his expression conflicted. "I hate seeing Aegon like this. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel relieved that it’s not you who has to marry him."

Vaella nodded, understanding his feelings. "It’s a difficult situation for all of us. But we have to support each other, no matter what."

Helaena nodded, her eyes filling with determination. "We will. We’re family, after all."

Vaella smiled, feeling a surge of affection for her siblings. Despite the challenges and uncertainties ahead, she knew they would face them together. "Let’s go for a walk in the gardens," she suggested. "It might help clear our heads."

The three of them made their way to the gardens, the fresh air and the scent of blooming flowers providing a much-needed respite from the tension within the castle. As they walked, they talked about their fears and hopes, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

…

Later that evening, Vaella sat in her chambers, trying to find solace in the quiet after the tumultuous day. She was lost in thought when the door creaked open, and Aegon stepped inside. His face was a picture of despair, his eyes red and swollen from crying. He looked utterly broken.

"Aegon," Vaella whispered, her heart aching at the sight of him. She knew Alicent had forbidden them from sharing a bed, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn him away. She stood and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around him in a comforting embrace.

Aegon clung to her desperately, his body trembling with sobs. "Vaella, I can't do it. I won't wed Helaena. Father is trying to keep you away from me," he cried, his voice breaking. "He thinks I'm not good enough for anything, let alone you."

Vaella tightened her hold on him, her heart breaking for her brother. "Shh, Aegon. It's going to be okay," she murmured, stroking his hair gently. "We'll find a way through this."

She led him to the bed, and they sat down together. Aegon buried his face in her shoulder, his tears soaking through her gown. Vaella held him, her own eyes filling with tears as she felt his pain.

"I can't lose you, Vaella," Aegon whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "You're the only one who understands me, the only one who cares."

Vaella kissed the top of his head, her heart aching for him. "You won't lose me, Aegon. I'm here, and I'll always be here for you."

Aegon’s sobs gradually subsided, replaced by deep, shuddering breaths. Vaella continued to hold him, offering silent comfort. Eventually, they lay down together, Vaella cradling him in her arms.

"Father just doesn’t understand," Aegon muttered, his voice hoarse from crying. "He’s always thought I was a disappointment. But you, Vaella... you're the only one who makes me feel like I'm worth something."

Vaella’s eyes filled with tears as she listened to him. "Aegon, you are worth everything to me. Don’t let Father’s words define you. We’ll find a way to be together, no matter what."

Aegon sighed, his breath warm against her neck. "I hope you're right. I can't imagine my life without you."

Vaella stroked his hair, her heart full of love and determination. "We'll make it through this, Aegon."

As they lay there, the room filled with a sense of peace and comfort. The world outside their small sanctuary felt distant, and for a moment, all that mattered was the bond between them. Aegon’s breathing slowly evened out as he drifted into sleep, his tears finally spent.

Vaella watched over him, her heart heavy with the weight of their shared burdens. She knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but she was determined to stand by Aegon’s side, no matter what. As she closed her eyes and held him close, she whispered a silent promise to herself: to protect him, to support him, and to fight for their future together.

And so, they fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s embrace, finding solace in the one person who understood and loved them unconditionally.

…

A few days later, Vaella found herself in the presence of her stepmother, Alicent Hightower. The interactions between them had always been awkward, strained by the complicated relationships and the familial tensions that seemed to pervade the Red Keep. Vaella knew that Aegon’s attachment to her was a point of contention, something Alicent had long tried to break but had recently begun to accept, realizing that Vaella’s presence had a stabilizing effect on Aegon’s more destructive habits and impulses.

The two sat in a quiet chamber, the air thick with unspoken words. Alicent was working on some embroidery, her movements precise and measured, while Vaella sat nearby, her hands folded in her lap.

"Vaella," Alicent began, her tone formal yet not unkind, "how have you been finding your studies?"

Vaella looked up, meeting her stepmother’s eyes. "They have been well, thank you, Mother. Maester Mellos has been very thorough."

Alicent nodded, her focus returning to her needlework. "That is good to hear. Your education is important, especially in times such as these."

There was a pause, the silence growing heavy. Vaella took a deep breath, deciding to speak her mind. "Mother, I wanted to thank you."

Alicent looked up, surprise flickering across her face. "Thank me? For what, child?"

"For taking care of Father all these years," Vaella said softly. "I know it must have been difficult, especially with everything that has happened."

The stern lines on Alicent’s face softened at Vaella’s gratitude. She set aside her embroidery, her hands resting in her lap. "I only did and do my duty, Vaella. As a wife, as a queen."

Vaella nodded, her expression earnest. "I know. But I am thankful nonetheless."

Alicent studied her for a moment, her eyes thoughtful. "You have a kind heart, Vaella. It is a rare quality, and one that I hope you never lose."

Vaella smiled faintly, the warmth of Alicent’s words comforting her. "Thank you, Mother. I try my best."

After a moment's silence, Vaella’s expression turned somber. "I often think about my twin brother, Baelon."

Alicent’s gaze sharpened, her interest piqued. "Do you, now?"

Vaella nodded, her voice tinged with sadness. "I feel responsible for his death. If I could, I would change places with him. Perhaps then, Father would be less miserable, and he would treat everyone better. Even you."

Alicent’s face softened with understanding, her stern demeanor giving way to compassion. "Oh, Vaella. You mustn’t blame yourself for what happened. It was a tragedy, but it was not your fault."

Vaella’s eyes filled with unshed tears. "But sometimes it feels like it is. If I had cried when I was born, if I had been stronger…"

Alicent reached out, placing a gentle hand on Vaella’s. "You were a newborn, Vaella. There was nothing you could have done. Your father’s sorrow is his own, and he carries it for many reasons. Do not take that burden upon yourself."

Vaella nodded, grateful for Alicent’s words, though the weight of her guilt still lingered. She stood, feeling the need to leave before her emotions overwhelmed her. "Thank you, Mother. For everything."

Alicent watched her stepdaughter leave, her mind swirling with thoughts. She recalled the words of Maester Mellos, the strange circumstances surrounding Baelon’s death. Vaella had not cried until after her twin brother had passed, and there had always been an air of mystery and unease about that event.

As Vaella’s footsteps faded down the corridor, Alicent sat in the quiet chamber, her needlework forgotten. Her thoughts drifted to the past, to the fateful day when Baelon had been found lifeless in his crib next to Vaella. The Maester’s words echoed in her mind, speaking of omens and strange occurrences.

Alicent sighed, feeling the weight of her responsibilities and the complexities of her family’s history pressing down on her. She had done her best to navigate the treacherous waters of court life, to protect her children and secure their futures. But some burdens, she realized, could never be fully laid to rest.

As the evening shadows lengthened, Alicent resumed her embroidery, her fingers moving deftly through the fabric. The quiet chamber was filled with the soft sounds of needle and thread, a moment of calm amidst the storm of their lives. In her heart, she carried the hope that somehow, they would all find a way to heal and move forward.

…

As Vaella made her way down the dimly lit corridor of the Red Keep, she was lost in thought about her recent conversation with Alicent. The weight of her family's turmoil pressed heavily on her shoulders. Her mind was filled with worries about Aegon, Helaena, and her father. She barely noticed the figure approaching until he was right in front of her.

"Princess Vaella," Otto Hightower's voice was smooth but commanding. He was the Hand of the King, and his presence always demanded attention.

Vaella stopped and looked up, her expression polite but guarded. "Lord Hightower."

"Have you seen Alicent?" Otto asked, his piercing eyes scrutinizing her.

"Yes, my lord," Vaella replied, maintaining her composure. "She is in her chambers, attending to some letters."

Otto nodded, his expression unreadable. As Vaella turned to leave, he spoke again, stopping her in her tracks. "My son, Ser Gwayne, has been asking about you."

Vaella's heart sank, but she kept her face neutral. "Oh, has he?" she replied politely, her tone carefully controlled. "Please send him my regards."

Otto's eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to gauge her reaction. "You should consider speaking with him more often. He is quite fond of you."

"Thank you for letting me know, Lord Hightower," Vaella said, eager to escape the conversation. "I will keep that in mind."

With a polite nod, she turned and walked away, feeling Otto's eyes on her back until she rounded the corner. The moment she was out of sight, she quickened her pace, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't want to think about Ser Gwayne or any potential suitors. The idea of marriage, especially after her conversation with Alicent, felt like another weight pressing down on her.

Vaella finally reached her chambers and closed the door behind her, leaning against it with a sigh of relief. The silence of her room was a stark contrast to the chaos in her mind. She crossed the room and sank onto her bed, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes.

Everything felt overwhelming. The responsibility of supporting Aegon, the tension with her father, the absence of Rhaenyra—it all pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe. She missed her sister terribly. Rhaenyra had always been a source of strength and guidance, and without her, Vaella felt adrift.

She curled up on her bed, hugging a pillow to her chest as the tears finally spilled over. "Rhaenyra," she whispered into the silence, her voice trembling. "I need you. I don’t know how to do this without you."

The room offered no answers, only the quiet sound of her own breathing and the occasional creak of the wooden beams above. Vaella closed her eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace. She thought of Aegon, of his broken expression when he had come to her that night. She thought of Helaena, who faced an uncertain future with a strength Vaella admired. And she thought of her father, a once-great king now frail and weary.

"I have to be strong," she whispered to herself, wiping away her tears. "For them. For our family."

With renewed determination, Vaella sat up and took a deep breath. She knew the path ahead would be difficult, but she was a Targaryen. She had the blood of the dragon in her veins, and she would face whatever came her way with the strength and resilience that defined her family.

As she prepared for the night, Vaella felt a small flicker of hope amidst the darkness. She might be young, and the world might be filled with trails, but she was not alone. She had her family, and she had herself. And that, she decided, would be enough.

…

The news of Lady Laena Velaryon’s death had arrived in King's Landing like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the royal family. The raven brought with it the grim details of her passing, having died giving birth to her third child. Preparations for the funeral at Driftmark were underway, and the Red Keep was a flurry of activity as servants rushed to ensure everything was in order.

Vaella, Aegon, and Aemond were together in one of the quieter rooms, away from the chaos. Vaella was seated at a small table, carefully finishing the painting of a dragon model that Viserys had helped her create. The dragon was a tribute to her twin brother, Baelon, a way for her to feel connected to him despite his absence.

Aegon, restless and bored, lounged nearby, watching her with growing irritation. "Why are you fussing over that thing, Vaella?" he asked, his tone sharp.

Vaella didn’t look up from her work, her focus intent on the delicate details. "It’s a dragon for Baelon. It helps me feel close to him."

Aegon’s reaction was immediate and harsh. He had grown tired of hearing about the brother who had never lived, the one who seemed to hold so much of Vaella’s affection. "Enough about this dead twin of yours," he snapped, striding over and snatching the model from her hands.

Vaella’s eyes widened in shock and fear. "Aegon, please give it back," she pleaded, reaching out for the dragon.

Aegon examined the model with a sneer, his jealousy and frustration boiling over. "This is rubbish," he declared, flicking it away carelessly.

The dragon hit the stone floor with a sickening crack, breaking into several pieces. Vaella gasped, her eyes welling up with tears as she dropped to her knees, frantically trying to collect the broken parts.

Aemond, who had been quietly observing, sprang to his feet, fury in his eyes. "Aegon, how could you?!" he yelled, his voice filled with outrage.

Vaella’s tears spilled over as she gathered the pieces, her heart breaking along with the model. "You didn’t have to do that," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

Aegon, still fueled by jealousy and now regret, crossed his arms defensively. "You’re just being dramatic, Vaella. After all, you’re the one who killed your precious brother."

The words hung in the air like a curse, stunning everyone into silence. Vaella’s head snapped up, her eyes burning with a mixture of pain and fury. Aegon realized his mistake too late, the weight of his cruel words sinking in.

Vaella stood abruptly, her face a mask of anguish. Without another word, she rushed out of the room, her sobs echoing in the hallway. Aemond turned on Aegon, his anger palpable. "What’s wrong with you? How could you say something so vile?"

Aegon’s bravado crumbled, replaced by guilt and self-loathing. "I didn’t mean it, Aemond. I was just…"

"You were just being a selfish, jealous brat," Aemond interrupted, his voice cold. "Vaella’s done nothing but care for you, and this is how you repay her?"

Aegon hung his head, the enormity of his actions hitting him hard. "I’m sorry," he muttered, but the apology felt hollow even to his own ears.

Aemond shook his head, his disappointment evident. "Sorry won’t fix this. You need to make it right with Vaella. She doesn’t deserve this from you."

Meanwhile, Vaella fled to her chambers, her heart aching with the weight of Aegon’s words. She collapsed onto her bed, clutching the broken pieces of the dragon to her chest. Her sobs wracked her body as she mourned not just the destruction of the model, but the harsh reminder of her brother's death and the blame she had carried for so long.

The memory of Baelon, the twin she had never truly known but felt deeply connected to, was a wound that never fully healed. Aegon’s words had torn that wound open, and she felt the raw pain of it all over again. The one comfort she had, the one thing that helped her feel close to Baelon, was now shattered, just like her heart.

As the night grew darker, Vaella’s tears finally subsided, leaving her feeling hollow and exhausted. She knew she had to be strong, but in that moment, she allowed herself to grieve, clutching the broken pieces of her dragon and whispering a silent promise to Baelon that she would find a way to heal, for both their sakes.

…

Aegon stumbled through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, his heart pounding with a mixture of guilt and desperation. The realization of what he had said to Vaella weighed heavily on him, and he knew he had to find her and make things right. His steps were uneven, his emotions a chaotic storm within him.

As he rounded a corner, he saw Ser Criston Cole speaking with his mother, Queen Alicent. The knight's stern expression contrasted sharply with Alicent's worried gaze. Aegon considered approaching them but decided against it, knowing that his mother would likely scold him rather than help. He pressed on, determined to find Vaella.

"Vaella!" he called out, his voice echoing through the stone halls. He received no response, only the distant murmur of servants going about their duties.

Eventually, he encountered Haelena, who was quietly observing a tapestry depicting a dragon's flight. "Haelena," Aegon panted, his breath short from the hurried search. "Have you seen Vaella?"

Haelena turned to him, her eyes distant and dreamy. "I haven’t seen her, Aegon. But you should watch out for Vaella, as something might eat her."

Aegon sighed, used to his sister's cryptic ramblings. "Thanks, Haelena," he muttered, not really listening. He continued his search, feeling the weight of time pressing down on him.

As he walked, he passed a platter of wine goblets left by a servant. Without thinking, he grabbed one and drank deeply, the wine burning his throat and dulling the sharp edges of his panic. He repeated the action with another goblet, feeling the effects of the alcohol quickly. His steps became more unsteady, but he was determined to find Vaella.

Eventually, he found her in a secluded corner of the castle, sitting on a stone bench near a small garden. She looked up as he approached, her eyes red from crying. The sight of her made his heart ache even more.

"Vaella," he called softly, stumbling slightly as he approached her. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of what I said. Please, you have to believe me."

Vaella looked at him, her expression a mix of hurt and resignation. "Aegon, you can’t just say things like that and expect everything to be alright. You broke my dragon, and you blamed me for Baelon’s death. How could you?"

Aegon fell to his knees in front of her, his eyes pleading. "I know, Vaella. I know. I was jealous and angry, but I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry." His voice broke as he spoke, the wine and his emotions making him almost incoherent.

Vaella sighed, tears welling up in her eyes again. "You always do this, Aegon. You say hurtful things, and then you apologize, and I always forgive you. But you have to understand how much it hurts."

Aegon reached out, his hands trembling. "I’ll do anything, Vaella. Just please forgive me. I can’t stand it when you’re upset with me."

They argued back and forth, Aegon’s desperation clashing with Vaella’s hurt. The conversation grew heated, their voices rising in the quiet garden. But eventually, as always, Vaella’s resolve softened. She saw the genuine remorse in Aegon’s eyes, the way he was truly sorry for his actions.

She sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping. "Alright, Aegon. I forgive you. But you have to promise me you’ll try to control your temper. We can’t keep doing this."

Aegon nodded vigorously, relief flooding through him. "I promise, Vaella. I’ll be better. I swear it."

Vaella gave him a small, sad smile. "You need to get yourself together. We’re leaving for Driftmark soon, and we need to be strong for our family."

Aegon rose unsteadily to his feet, his heart lighter but still burdened by his guilt. "I will. I promise, Vaella. Thank you."

They embraced, Vaella holding onto him tightly as if to reassure herself that he was truly sorry. As they stood there, the sounds of the Red Keep faded into the background.

Eventually, they pulled apart, and Vaella looked into his eyes. "Let’s go back. We need to prepare for the journey."

Aegon nodded, the alcohol in his system making him slightly unsteady but determined. Together, they walked back towards the heart of the castle, ready to face the challenges ahead. 

…

The funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon was a somber affair, the sky over Driftmark heavy with clouds that seemed to echo the sorrow of the occasion. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and mourning as the royal family gathered to pay their respects. Vaella stood between her father, King Viserys, and her half-brother Aegon, who barely concealed his boredom. She nudged him discreetly, hoping to remind him of the gravity of the moment as Vaemond Velaryon began his speech in High Valyrian.

Vaella listened intently, her eyes fixed on Vaemond as he extolled Laena's virtues and spoke of the purity of their bloodline. When he reached the part of his speech that touched upon blood purity, Vaella’s gaze shifted to her uncle Daemon, standing apart from the rest of the mourners. Daemon’s quiet chuckle drew several curious and disapproving glances, adding an undercurrent of tension to the solemn ceremony.

As Laena’s body was prepared for its final journey into the sea, Vaella felt a mixture of sorrow and unease. The circumstances of their gathering were dark, but she was grateful to see her sister Rhaenyra after so long. Once Laena’s body was committed to the depths, the guests began to move, offering their sympathies to Daemon, Laena’s parents, Corlys and Rhaenys, and her twin daughters.

Ignoring Aegon’s insistent nagging not to leave him alone with Aemond and Helaena, Vaella slipped through the crowd, her heart set on finding Rhaenyra. She weaved her way past grieving nobles and courtiers, finally spotting her sister standing with her sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys.

“Rhaenyra!” Vaella called out, her voice a mixture of joy and relief.

Rhaenyra turned, her face lighting up as she saw her sister. “Vaella!” she exclaimed, opening her arms for an embrace. The two sisters hugged tightly, the warmth of their reunion a small comfort amidst the sorrow.

“It’s so good to see you,” Vaella said, pulling back slightly to look at Rhaenyra’s face. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Rhaenyra replied, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “These have been difficult times.”

Vaella nodded, then turned to her nephews. “Hello, Jace. Hello, Luke,” she greeted them warmly.

“Hello, Aunt Vaella,” Jacaerys said, managing a small smile despite the somber occasion.

Lucerys nodded, his expression serious but pleased to see her. “Hello.”

Vaella ruffled Lucerys’s hair affectionately, then turned back to Rhaenyra. “How have you been holding up?”

Rhaenyra sighed, glancing at her sons before answering. “It’s been hard, but we’re managing. The boys have been a great comfort to me.”

Vaella squeezed her sister’s hand. “I’m glad you have each other. And I’m here now, too.”

Rhaenyra smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “Yes, you are. And it means the world to me.”

They stood together, drawing strength from their reunion, even as the mourners around them continued to offer condolences. Vaella felt a sense of peace being with her sister, a small respite from the constant pressures and tensions back at King’s Landing.

Meanwhile, Aegon stood with Aemond and Helaena, casting anxious glances in Vaella’s direction. He wanted to follow her, to ensure she was safe and to draw comfort from her presence, but he knew better than to disrupt the sisters’ reunion. Aemond, noticing his brother’s discomfort, smirked slightly.

“Miss her already, Aegon?” Aemond teased, his tone light but knowing.

Aegon scowled. “Shut up, Aemond.”

Helaena, lost in her own world, looked up suddenly. “The sea takes and the sea gives, but the heart remembers always,” she murmured, her voice distant and cryptic.

Aegon sighed, his frustration growing. “I just wish this was over.”

Back with Rhaenyra, Vaella felt the need to address the elephant in the room. “Rhaenyra, I heard about what happened with Harwin and Lyonel. I’m so sorry.”

Rhaenyra’s expression darkened briefly, but she nodded. “Thank you, Vaella. It’s been a challenging time, but we must carry on.”

Vaella nodded, her heart aching for her sister. “If you need anything, anything at all, please tell me.”

Rhaenyra smiled gratefully. “I will. Thank you, Vaella. Your support means more than you know.”

As Vaella talked with Rhaenyra, their father, Viserys, joined them, his presence lending an air of solemnity and gravitas to their conversation. They discussed the funeral and shared memories of Laena, finding comfort in each other's company. Nearby, Aemond took the opportunity to address his brother, Aegon, who had already managed to snatch a goblet of wine.

"Aegon," Aemond said sharply, his voice low but firm, "you should at least try to spend some time with Helaena. She will be your wife."

Aegon scoffed, his gaze drifting over to Vaella, who was deeply engrossed in conversation with their father and Rhaenyra. "I've already told you all, I will not marry her," he said dismissively, taking a deep drink from his goblet.

Aemond's eyes narrowed in frustration. "You have no choice, Aegon. You can deny it all you want, but it is Father's decree."

Annoyed, Aegon retorted, "Then you marry her, Aemond, since you defend her so much."

Aemond's face hardened. "If she were given to me, I would marry her. I would do my duty."

Aegon rolled his eyes, the word "duty" like a bitter pill. His mind flashed back to a conversation with his mother a few months ago, a memory that still stung. Alicent had found him in the gardens, her expression stern and her tone urgent.

"Aegon," she had said, "you must understand your duty. As the firstborn son of the king who should’ve been named heir after your birth, you are a threat to Rhaenyra’s claim. By simply living and breathing. You need to start behaving more reasonably."

Aegon had looked at her, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and frustration. "I don't want any of that, Mother. I just want Vaella."

Alicent's reaction had been swift and harsh. She had slapped him, the sound echoing in the quiet garden. "You will do your duty," she had said, her voice cold and unyielding.

After that confrontation, Aegon had left, seeking solace in Vaella's chambers. The memory of that slap and his mother's words haunted him now as he stood in the dimly lit Driftmark hall.

"Do you even understand what duty means, Aegon?" Aemond asked, his voice cutting through Aegon's reverie. "It's about more than just what you want. It's about the family, the realm."

Aegon glared at his brother, his frustration bubbling over. "I understand more than you think, Aemond. I just don't care."

Aemond shook his head in disbelief. "You are hopeless."

Aegon took another deep drink, his eyes once again drifting to Vaella. "Maybe. But at least I know what I want."

Meanwhile, Vaella was deeply engaged in conversation with Rhaenyra and Viserys. They reminisced about happier times, their shared laughter and stories a brief respite from the grief that hung over the funeral.

"Father, you remember how Laena used to challenge us to races on the beach?" Rhaenyra asked, a wistful smile on her lips.

Viserys nodded, his eyes brightening at the memory. "She always had such a fierce spirit. It's a great loss for all of us."

Vaella listened, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging in their shared memories. She glanced over at Aegon and Aemond, noticing the tension between them but choosing to stay focused on her conversation.

Rhaenyra placed a comforting hand on Vaella's shoulder. "It's good to see you, Vaella. We need each other now more than ever."

Vaella smiled, feeling the love and support of her family. "I'm glad to be here with you all."

The conversation flowed, a blend of sadness and comfort, as they found solace in each other's presence. The evening wore on, the weight of their responsibilities and the loss of Laena ever-present, but the bond between them offered strength and hope for the days ahead.

Aegon, feeling the effects of the wine and the emotional toll of the day, finally made his way over to Vaella. "Vaella," he said quietly, his voice tinged with vulnerability, "can we talk?"

Vaella looked up, concern etched on her face. "Of course, Aegon." She excused herself from Rhaenyra and Viserys, leading Aegon to a quieter corner of the hall.

"I'm sorry for everything," Aegon began, his voice trembling slightly. "For what I said about Baelon, for not supporting you the way I should."

Vaella's expression softened, her heart aching for her brother. "Aegon, I forgive you. But you need to understand, we all have a duty to our family."

Aegon nodded, his eyes downcast. "I know. It's just... so hard."

Vaella reached out, taking his hand in hers. "We'll face it together. But you need to be strong, for all of us."

Aegon looked up, meeting her gaze with a mixture of hope and determination. "I'll try, Vaella. For you."

They embraced, finding comfort in each other's presence. As they held each other, they knew that no matter what lay ahead, they would face it together, united by their love and loyalty.

…

As the evening gave way to night, the royal families began to retire to their chambers. The air was heavy with the weight of the day’s sorrow and the undercurrent of familial tensions. Otto Hightower, ever vigilant, was overseeing the last of his family’s attendants when he caught sight of Aegon, clearly drunk, clinging to his half-sister Vaella. His face twisted with anger and embarrassment at the sight of his grandson bringing shame to their family.

Otto strode over, his expression severe. "Vaella, get him out of here," he ordered sharply. He then turned his ire on Aegon, his voice a harsh whisper. "You are an embarrassment, Aegon. Pull yourself together."

Vaella nodded, gently pulling Aegon away from the gathering. "Come on, Aegon, it’s time to go to bed."

Aegon, his steps unsteady, leaned heavily on Vaella as they made their way through the corridors of Driftmark. He muttered incoherently, his words slurred by the wine. Vaella remained patient, her grip on him firm but caring.

When they reached the chambers designated for Aegon, he suddenly pulled Vaella inside with him. The door closed behind them with a soft thud, sealing them in the dimly lit room.

"Aegon, what are you doing?" Vaella asked, her voice filled with concern.

Aegon, his mind fogged by the alcohol, didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled her onto the bed with him, his movements clumsy but insistent. He pressed his lips to hers in a fervent kiss, his desperation palpable. Vaella tried to break the kiss, pushing against his chest gently.

"Aegon, stop," she murmured against his lips. "Mother will be furious if she finds us like this."

Aegon dismissed her words, his focus solely on her. "I don’t care about Mother," he muttered, his voice raw with emotion. He pulled back slightly, his violet eyes searching her indigo ones. "Vaella, do you love me?"

Vaella’s heart ached at the vulnerability in his gaze. She looked into his eyes, seeing the depth of his longing and the pain he tried so hard to mask. Her own feelings were a complex web of love, loyalty, and the heavy burden of their family’s expectations.

"Aegon…" she began, her voice trembling. She cupped his face in her hands, her thumb brushing gently over his cheek. "You know I care about you deeply."

Aegon’s eyes pleaded with her, his hands gripping her waist as if afraid she would slip away. "But do you love me?" he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vaella took a deep breath, her emotions swirling within her. She felt the weight of their shared history, the unspoken bond that had always connected them. She knew that her answer carried immense significance, a promise of loyalty and support amidst the chaos of their lives.

She looked into his eyes, her own filled with a mixture of tenderness and resolve. "Yes, Aegon, I love you."

Aegon’s relief was palpable, his tense body relaxing slightly as he leaned into her touch. He kissed her again, softer this time, his desperation giving way to a deep, abiding need for reassurance and comfort.

As the night deepened, Aegon muttered into Vaella's neck, his voice filled with despair. "Nobody else loves me, except for you. You heard what Grandsire Otto said—I’m a disgrace."

Vaella held him tighter, her heart aching for him. "Aegon, you are special to me. Don’t listen to them. They don’t understand you like I do."

Aegon buried his head further into her neck, savoring the closeness before he began kissing her again, his childhood rivalry with Rhaenyra resurfacing. "I won’t let Rhaenyra take your attention again," he murmured between kisses.

Vaella closed her eyes, choosing silence over words, not wanting to ruin the moment or send him into another spiral. She cherished the connection they shared, a bond they had to hide more and more as they grew older. She wasn’t naive; she had heard the whispers of the servants comparing her to Rhaenyra’s rumored promiscuity in her younger years. It was one of many rumors she had learned to ignore.

As Aegon's kisses trailed down her body, Vaella's soft moans began to fill the room. His kisses were eager yet familiar, evoking sensations she had come to know well. When his kisses reached her thighs, her breathing grew shallow with anticipation.

Aegon lifted his head, quickly undoing his own attire. They shared a look filled with longing and determination, a silent understanding passing between them. Just as they were about to join, the chamber doors burst open. Commander Harrold Westerling, alarmed and taken aback by the scene before him, stood in the doorway.

Aegon and Vaella scrambled to disentangle and cover themselves with the sheets. Harrold averted his eyes, his voice urgent. "There’s been an incident. The king demands your presence in the throne room immediately."

Their intimate moment shattered, replaced by a cold dread. Vaella nodded, her heart pounding. "We’ll be there right away."

Harrold turned and left, leaving the door ajar. Aegon and Vaella quickly dressed, the urgency of the situation sobering them. They exchanged a final glance, their connection momentarily overshadowed by the gravity of the call.

As they left the chambers and approached the grand doors of the throne room, the faint murmurs of the gathered nobles reached their ears.

Aegon squeezed Vaella's hand, a silent promise that they would face whatever came next together. She squeezed back, drawing strength from his presence. The heavy doors loomed before them, the threshold to yet another challenge in their complex lives.

…

Aegon and Vaella walked into the throne room, their hearts pounding in their chests. The sight that greeted them was one of chaos and bloodshed. King Viserys stood fuming, leaning heavily on his cane, his face a mask of fury and grief. Jacaerys and Lucerys were standing in front of the angry and tearful Baela and Rhaena, both boys bloodied and battered. But the sight that shook Vaella the most was Aemond, sitting in a chair with the Maester just finishing his work. Aemond's eye was gone, replaced by thick, bloody stitches that adorned the empty socket.

Before Vaella could fully comprehend what had happened, Aegon was suddenly struck hard across the cheek by Alicent. The force of the slap sent him stumbling back a step. Alicent's face was a mixture of rage and despair as she hissed at him, "Where were you?"

Commander Harrold, who had followed them in, spoke up hesitantly. "Prince Aegon was in bed... with Princess Vaella."

Alicent's eyes flicked to Vaella, giving her a pained grimace and a look that promised a severe conversation about the broken promise they had made to the Queen. Turning her fury back to Aegon, she accused him bitterly, "While you indulged in your desires, your little brother was attacked and maimed!"

Aegon, holding his stinging cheek, looked around the room in a daze, his eyes wide with shock and guilt. "I didn’t know, Mother. I didn’t know," he muttered, his voice breaking.

Vaella stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding his head against her. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Viserys's attention shifted briefly to Aegon and Vaella, his expression one of deep disappointment and sadness. "Aegon, Vaella, we will discuss this later," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "Right now, we must address this grievous injury to Aemond."

Vaella's heart ached as she looked at Aemond, who was staring blankly ahead, his face pale and drawn. She wanted to go to him, to offer some comfort, but she knew that her presence would only complicate matters further.

Just then, the doors to the throne room opened again, and Rhaenyra entered with Daemon following closely behind her. Her face was a mask of alarm as she took in the scene before her, her eyes widening in shock and fear.

"What happened?" Rhaenyra demanded, rushing to her sons and inspecting their injuries. "Jace, Luke, are you all right?"

Jacaerys and Lucerys nodded, though their faces were marked with cuts and bruises. "We're fine, Mother," Jacaerys said, his voice steady despite the pain.

Daemon's gaze swept the room, taking in the blood, the tension, and the wounded Aemond. His expression darkened, and he stepped forward, his presence commanding and intimidating.

"Who did this?" Daemon asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Alicent, her eyes filled with tears, pointed a trembling finger at Rhaenyra's sons. "They did. They attacked Aemond."

Rhaenyra's eyes flashed with anger as she turned to her sons. "Is this true?"

Then all hell broke loose just as Rhaenys and Corlys arrived, their faces etched with concern and confusion. Jacaerys and Lucerys began to shout, their voices rising above the din. "Aemond attacked Rhaena and Baela!" Jace cried.

Baela, her face flushed with anger and tears streaming down her cheeks, yelled, "He stole our mother's dragon! It was Aemond who attacked first!"

Aemond, bloodied and battered but defiant, shouted back, "I did not attack them! I claimed the dragon because no one else had the courage!"

Alicent, her eyes blazing with fury, stepped forward, her voice ringing out. "It should be my son telling the tale! Look at what they've done to him!"

Viserys, his face a mask of anger and desperation, banged his cane on the floor, his voice booming, "Enough! Silence, all of you!"

The room fell into a tense, uneasy silence. Aegon clung to Vaella, who looked around the room with desperation. Helaena stood nearby, looking lost and bewildered, her usual serene detachment shattered by the chaos. Vaella noticed that Laenor was absent and her sister Rhaenyra had entered earlier with Daemon, his presence a silent threat to anyone who might harm her sons.

Rhaenyra, her voice trembling with controlled fury, said, "It was my sons who were attacked. Heavy insults were levied against them."

Alicent scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "How does an insult justify my son losing an eye?"

Viserys turned to Alicent, ignoring her outburst, and asked, "What insults?" His voice was calm but laced with barely restrained fury.

Luke, his voice barely above a whisper, said, "He called us bastards."

A heavy silence descended upon the room. The weight of the accusation hung in the air, everyone feeling its implications. Rhaenyra stepped forward, her voice strong and clear. "I am the heir to the throne, and to question the birth of my sons is the highest treason."

Viserys turned to Aemond, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and anger. "Look at me, Aemond," he commanded. "Who told you these lies?"

Vaella noticed Aemond's gaze shift briefly to Alicent before he quickly averted it. "It was Aegon," Aemond said, his voice steady but his eye betraying his fear.

Vaella stiffened, her heart pounding. Aegon lifted his head from Vaella's embrace, his face a mask of confusion. "Me?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

Viserys quickly turned his attention to Aegon, who still clung to Vaella. "Why do you spread such lies about your nephews?" he demanded, his voice filled with disappointment and anger.

Aegon looked at his mother, then at his brother, and finally at his father. "Everyone knows," he said, his voice low and resigned. "Just look at them."

Vaella's grip on Aegon's hand tightened. The truth was undeniable and dangerous, a reality that could destroy Rhaenyra's claim to the throne. Vaella hung her head, unable to defend her sister. It was all up to their father now.

A long silence filled the room, everyone waiting for Viserys's response. The tension was visible, the future of their family hanging in the balance. Viserys, his face lined with pain and sorrow, finally spoke. "This fighting must stop," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "If not for my sake, then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all so much."

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, the silence deep and oppressive. Vaella felt the tension in Aegon's body, the fear and uncertainty that mirrored her own. They could only wait and hope that their father would find a way to hold their fractured family together.

Alicent's eyes blazed with fury, her voice trembling as she spoke. "That's insufficient!" she declared, her anger boiling over.

Viserys, his desperation evident, asked, "What would you have me do, Alicent? Children fight."

Vaella could see Alicent's rage reaching a dangerous peak. "I demand an eye for an eye," Alicent said, her voice cold and merciless. "I want an eye from one of Rhaenyra's children in return."

The room erupted in shocked gasps as Rhaenyra quickly moved to shield her children. Alicent turned to Ser Criston Cole, her voice a command. "Bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon."

Ser Criston, his expression conflicted, shook his head. "I am sworn to protect you, Your Grace, not to carry out vengeance."

Viserys, his face contorted with a mix of anger and sorrow, hissed at Alicent. "This matter is closed, Alicent."

Vaella watched in horror as the scene unfolded before her, almost as if she were in a dream. She saw Alicent's eyes narrow in determination as she grabbed Viserys' dagger from his belt as he turned away. With a cry of rage, Alicent rushed towards Rhaenyra's sons. Everyone in the room backed up in shock, and Vaella screamed her sister's name, her voice piercing the chaos. "Rhaenyra!"

Aegon's grip on Vaella tightened, his own fear palpable. Rhaenyra, reacting quickly, blocked the dagger with her hand, the blade drawing blood as she halted Alicent's advance. Otto yelled for his daughter to stop, but Alicent continued, her eyes wild with fury.

Rhaenyra and Alicent faced each other, the dagger between them, their faces inches apart. A tense silence fell over the room as everyone held their breath. "You would destroy this family for your pride," Rhaenyra hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

Alicent's eyes were filled with tears of rage and frustration. "And you would see it torn apart for your lies," she retorted, her voice shaking.

Suddenly, Alicent pulled the dagger back, slashing Rhaenyra's arm. The blade clattered to the floor as Rhaenyra clutched her bleeding arm, her face a mask of pain.

Aemond, who had been silent until now, spoke up, his voice steady and resolute. "Do not mourn for me, Mother," he said, turning to Alicent. "It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

The room fell silent once more, Aemond's words hanging in the air. The weight of his sacrifice and the implications of his gain settled over everyone present. Vaella felt a mix of fear, sorrow, and a strange sense of admiration for her half-brother's resilience.

…

As the chaos in the throne room began to settle down, Vaella slowly let go of Aegon, who called softly after her, "Vaella, don't go."

But she gave him a reassuring squeeze before stepping away. "I need to check on Rhaenyra," she whispered, her eyes filled with concern. Aegon nodded reluctantly, watching her go.

Vaella moved through the crowd, her heart pounding. She found Rhaenyra surrounded by their family, with the Maester already working on her wound. Rhaenyra winced as the Maester cleaned and dressed the cut on her arm. Vaella knelt beside her sister, gently touching her shoulder.

"Rhaenyra, are you all right?" Vaella asked, her voice filled with worry.

Rhaenyra managed a strained smile, her eyes softening at the sight of her sister. "I'll be fine, Vaella. It's just a scratch."

Vaella stayed with her until the Maester finished his work, offering quiet words of comfort. Once Rhaenyra's wound was tended to, Vaella turned her attention to Aemond, who had moved to stand closer to Aegon. She approached him cautiously, her heart aching at the sight of his injury.

"Aemond," she said softly, "does it hurt?"

Aemond, trying to put on a brave face, shook his head. "It doesn't anymore," he replied, his voice steady.

Vaella smiled gently, her admiration for his strength evident. "Congratulations on claiming Vhagar," she said, her tone sincere.

Aemond nodded, a flicker of pride in his remaining eye. "Thank you," he said softly. "Rhaena told me I stole her mother's dragon."

Vaella frowned slightly, shaking her head. "Dragons can't be stolen, Aemond. They choose their riders."

Aemond's lips curled into a small smile. "I know. I hope you get a dragon soon, too, Vaella."

She returned his smile, feeling a warm sense of connection with her younger brother. "I'm content for now, Aemond," she said, her voice gentle.

Aegon, who had been watching the exchange, stepped forward and placed a hand on Vaella's shoulder. "Can we go back to bed now?" he asked, his voice laced with fatigue and longing.

Vaella nodded, giving Aemond one last reassuring smile. "We'll talk more later," she said softly.

As Vaella and Aegon turned to leave, she exchanged a final look with Alicent. The Queen's eyes were filled with a complex mixture of emotions—pain, regret, and a touch of resignation. Vaella held her gaze for a moment, silently acknowledging the unspoken understanding between them. Then she turned and walked away with Aegon, their footsteps echoing through the now silent throne room.

As they made their way back to their chambers, Aegon leaned into Vaella, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude and exhaustion.

"For what?" Vaella asked, glancing up at him.

"For being here. For always being here," Aegon replied, his eyes softening.

Vaella smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. "Always, Aegon."

They reached their chambers, the tension of the night's events still hanging heavily over them. But as they settled back into the familiar comfort of each other's presence, a sense of peace began to wash over them. The world outside their small sanctuary was filled with turmoil and uncertainty, but in this moment, they had each other.

As they lay down, Aegon pulled Vaella close, his arms wrapped protectively around her. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity.

Vaella looked up at him, her indigo eyes meeting his violet ones. "You'll never have to find out," she replied softly. Aegon sighed, his tension slowly melting away.

They closed their eyes, the warmth of their bond shielding them from the harsh realities of their world. And that, for them, was enough.

[sunflowersbones]

The Hand That Feeds - I

Warnings: This fic will contain eventual NON-CON, eventual DUB-CON, abuse of power, violence, emotional manipulation, guns, alluded to Mafia!Bucky. My warnings are not exhaustive, proceed at your own risk.

18+ only. This is a dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary : Your best friend’s and yours entire lives have revolved around violence, death, greed and fear. You’ve always had each other and took comfort in the fact that none of this was your doing; you never had a choice. But what happens when time winds its roots around you, such that even when given the opportunity to leave, he neither leaves nor lets you leave. {mafia au}

NOTE: So this is my very first fic on tumblr!. i wanted the first to be a one shot but, oh well. Do feel free to send me your thoughts!. Reblogs are really appreciated, this is tumblr after all. I hope you enjoy!.

DIVIDERS: @firefly-graphics 

*

You’ve always loved Bucky, since the very beginning and you’ve always known it, he was your best friend after all. It was your responsibility to love him, to protect him, and to take care of him— you’ve always tried your best.

Whenever Steve would take it upon himself to start unnecessary fights with the older boys, Bucky would step in to support him, to save him and both idiots would end up getting their ass’s whooped. You were the smarter one you knew how to pick and choose your fights, you would run to find the nearest teacher and complain about the senior boys and they would take care of the rest.

So you always knew that, when he needed you; you’d be there for him. But you never knew if he felt the same way, or if he even liked you at all, Steve always did seem to be his first priority.

You were badly jealous of the boy, but you never wished ill on him, especially because of how frail he was and how often he’d fall sick. You supposed everyone prioritized him…

Both your father and Steve’s worked for Bucky’s dad. Considering how dangerous it is and how enemies would stoop so low as to hurt the children, Steve’s mother’s paranoia seemed valid.

But you were too young to realize all of that; after all, there’s only so much an 8-year-old can understand. You seemed quite content with your life; little did you know that everything would change soon enough. 

You remember that day very clearly, even now, long after the incident. You’d had a big fight with Bucky, about him leaving you to see Steve because he was sick again! In his defense, he did ask you to come, and you did want to visit Steve. But Sarah was not your biggest fan; she simply tolerated you and was more often than not, not very welcoming of your family. You remember your mother saying something about them being more rich due to old money.

Although you supposed that it was mostly, due to the fact that while other kids were out playing; her son was more than often stuck in bed.

As you opened the door and entered your house, you hadn’t noticed the stillness in the air. The house was very quiet, but then again, it always was. Your dad was out for work, your mom; busy with the housework, you were quiet the small family.

Just as you enter the kitchen, you’re alarmed as somebody holds you and covers your mouth, and just as you are ready to scream; as much as your trembling voice will allow you to, you stop. Mortified to see your wailing mother screaming and crying to let you go, her hand’s tied; as 3 men stand around her.

You had never seen her so scared before; seeing tears in her face scared you even more; she had always been the brave one, the one you run to, whenever you had a nightmare.

Right next to her was your dad, his forehead bleeding and his lips split. The man questioning him seems to have stopped in your presence; he stared at you and his face seemed to hold a mixture of pity and guilt.

He continues to question your father. It’s all too much; Your mother’s cry, your father’s helplessness, and the tight grip of the man holding you—your mind starts to get hazy.

All of a sudden, the front door crashes open, a ear-bleeding, loud bang resonates through the air, and the person holding you falls on to the floor. By now, a lot of men are in your kitchen, their guns pointing to each other.

You hear none of their conversations; you try your best not to look at the dead man lying beside you; you get a glimpse of the blood splattered on the wall, terrified; you close your eyes for a second and look straight ahead, only to find the man questioning your dad on the floor, his head underneath the sole of Bucky’s dad’s feet.

Somebody helps your mum up, and she runs to your side; she holds you close to her as they escort the two of you outside into a black limousine. Just as you climb up, you hear another gunshot; you no longer wish to know who was shot.

Time seems to be moving in a different pace and before you know it, you’re at the Barnes household. Your parents seem to be discussing something but you couldn’t pay any attention to it.

All you could feel was the ringing sensation in your ear.

Bucky entered the mansion just around that time, his initial reaction to seeing you at his place was surprise; a small smirk forms on his face, but it slowly turns into confusion as he looks around.

He slowly comes up to you, takes your hand in his, and leads you to his room. As you sat on his bed, he prepped his pillows up to make you more comfortable and sat down next to you.

You assumed that he would ask you what was wrong or what happened. Your disheveled state would have made the distress obvious. But he never did; he just sat next to you, staring at you, yet you felt more comfortable sharing this silence, than you did the whole day.

Eventually he left and came back after some time with a glass of water in his hand. He gave it to you as he sat down next to you, even closer this time; and hugged you .

He’d been out for much longer than what would be required to get a glass of water.

So you assumed that he must have pestered around and made his mother spill everything. Mrs. Barnes was a sensitive women and Bucky always had his way with people.

He hugged you a little tighter as he said “It’s OK; you’re safe now. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you, ever.”

And in that moment, you realized that he loved you back as well.

~

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Plastic hearts - (8)

<<<Prev Next>>>

---

It's new, the shape of your body

It's blue, the feeling I've got

It's a cruel summer

---

Your eyes fluttered open, it took you a while to recognize your surroundings. The school nurse came into your line of sight with relief on her face.

“Oh good, the IV has worked. She must have just been dehydrated.”, she stated.

The last thing you could remember was Ken running to you, his arms encasing around you to prevent your fall but as you rubbed your forehead, you were sure your low sugar levels had contributed to having a hallucination.

“But it also looks like a common occurrence. All the girls have complained they’ve lost sleep and in most cases, can’t dream.”, she went on to explain. You hummed in response, you haven't been able to sleep well too.

Hopefully it wasn’t another virus because you couldn’t afford to take days off. Melissa’s house needed to be maintained and renovations were expensive affairs. She had come to see you as her own daughter and therefore bequeathed everything she owned to you.

You weren’t worthy of her kindness, you were a nobody and yet she made a way to look out for you even in a time she would not be here. So you just had to live up and work hard to feel worthy of that love. Thinking about her made you feel sad but then in a way, it would make you feel better.

That in Barbie land, everyone was sheltered from the experiences that occur here. But as you fell back into the pillows, feeling a little frail, you also enjoyed the fact that you could feel these emotions completely. So your eyes began to tear up and you let them fall down your cheek.

“You need to take a break, dear.”, the nurse placed a loving hand on your shoulder.

But could you take a break?

After all the work you put into yourself and still not feeling quite whole, to think of yourself as an individual, you were still questioning your own value, even here.

“It’s sweet how your boyfriend stayed by your side even while managing the parents who wanted to meet him.”, she said as she discharged you.

“I don’t have a –

“Is she alright?”, you heard him as he stormed into the room with worry ingrained in his eyes.

“She is. Just needs a lot of rest and care. Which I assume you are going to see through?”, the nurse gave him a knowing smile as he nodded his head with a solemn resolve.

Your legs felt wobbly and needed support to walk around, you had taken care of yourself. And yet you weren't sure how you ended up in this situation. The nurse placed your hands in his and as he took it, he took up your bag to sling it over his shoulder, collected the medical papers and thanked the nurse. All of which you were truly tired to do.

You waited till you got to the corridor but until then you couldn’t help but look at him. It was uncanny, the resemblance, but he felt like a whole new person. He was secure, stable and mature in the way he held himself. You were sure this wasn’t the Ken you had known.

“Look, sir. I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else.”, you came to a stop in the empty corridor.

“Your name tag says ‘Castilian Ryder’ and I don’t know anyone by that name.”, you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to validate the doubt you felt.

“I don’t like to use my first name here but it’s me, Brie.”, he said with a sense of unbelief.

Could you have really forgotten him?

“It’s Ken, from Barbie land.”, he stepped closer to you, to whisper.

He still smelled like the sea, even in a dingy school corridor in a metropolitan city that smelled like tarmac. You wanted to lean closer, to rest your head on his chest, to admit you were tired of running but maybe he was just this happy because his dream had come true. You had seen a newspaper clipping of him and Barbie, here in Los Angeles that many let it pass as a funny incident but you knew it was him. Maybe he was here, settled in life with his girlfriend and is just being nice because he had known you once.

Having experienced this world, you quickly learnt it was very difficult to trust men and their motives. They played sweet to turn out sour, their words sound like honey until you give in to their charms and then every single one of them that you’ve met so far finds a new way to let you down or betray you. All while finally stating that you weren’t enough.

You stepped away from him but his hold around you was firm, he held you up as the medication began to wear off.

“I can take care of myself from here. Why don’t you go back to where you came from?”, you peeled away his fingers from your waist, somehow even after all these years his touch burned your skin.

“And stop telling everyone you’re my boyfriend.”, you pointed a finger at him as you took the papers from his hand.

“Only someone who knew you well enough could sign the papers for your treatment. That’s why I lied.”, he replied and it stunned you.

He didn’t feel like he was from Barbie land, he held himself like a real person.

“So you can lie now?”, you scoffed and took your bag as you watched him furrow his brows in confusion.

“What?”, you snapped at him.

“I just thought at the very least, we would still be friends.”, he said but his eyes softened with sadness.

“Sorry, Ryder. You’ve just been lying to yourself.”, you turned away from him and it felt good to be mean. To have the power to hurt him. So you used it.

But it didn’t seem to stop him. He caught up to you.

“I need to get back to work and I also need you to leave me alone.”, you said without looking at him.

“The school’s closed, it’s 5pm and your staff were dismissed by this man called Sam.”, he narrated to you with his hands held behind his back.

You had missed the whole event?

Panic began to set in, this was not good, you pushed open the doors to only be proved right, the sun had set and no one was around. Except for a man leaning against the streetlight.

“You told me you could handle it.”, he spoke to you.

“You got me to trust you with this event and then, to get out of it, you act sick.”, Sam began his tantrum and you didn’t have the time for it.

“You didn’t tell me we had this event in the first place.”, you lashed out to which he pursed his lips.

“Excuses, excuses, excuses. That’s all you’ve been saying since Melissa passed.”, he flailed his arms about.

“I expect my staff to be put together. To not be tardy and all you’ve been doing is just that.”, he yelled.

“Somehow feeling the fatigue of being worked overtime is my fault?”, you argued to which he folded his arms and shook his head as though you’ve done a grave mistake.

“Maybe I need to cut back a few of your shifts.”, he tilted his head and you couldn’t push past that. This was his way of putting you in place because he had the power to do so.

“No, I’ll pull myself together.”, you said through gritted teeth which eased Sam.

“Good girl.”, he scoffed as though he was elated by the act of making you feel small.

“However, the school wants us to cater their lunch and maintain the cafeteria. I’m busy with handling the business side of things so you’re in charge of this venture.”, he said in a matter of fact tone.

You wanted to say no, that running the restaurant and the school order who be the death of you but he sensed it.

“And before you say no. Either take it up or you’re fired.”, he said it without feeling, with no empathy and there was nothing else you could do.

You agreed and he left, leaving you bear the weight of your decisions again. Maybe you should have just stayed in Barbie land, instead of thinking this place would be any different.

“What an idiot.”, Ken chuckled behind you.

“You still haven’t left?”, you turned to him with a scowl, not wanting to cry in front of him.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”, he said softly as he walked up to you, to take your bag and belongings.

You felt lighter and oddly consoled. To know that atleast one person could see through Sam’s cruelty.

“You have your own car?”, you smiled as you sniffled.

“Sure do.”, he winked as he held up his keys that where held together in a horse keychain.

His vehicle came into view and it wasn’t like what you had thought he would own. It was a regular sedan that had a few areas where the paint had worn off but the smile on his face as he unlocked it made you feel guilty. For having tried to hurt him before.

It looked like he had been here for a while, he put his phone up after entering your address into it. His taste in music was more nuanced and it amazed you that he even knew the lyrics well enough to sing to Taylor Swift’s songs. He was a whole new person, one you were only getting to know now.

You searched for signs, a ring on his finger, a picture in his wallet, the wallpaper on his phone, anything to confirm your thoughts on him having a life with Barbie. He couldn’t exist without her.

As he pulled up into the carpark, he snapped his fingers as though he finally had made a connection.

“All this while, we’ve been neighbors.”, he said with surprise.

He held up his phone to show you where his home marker was on the map and it was astonishing. He was in the apartment block next to you. For a brief second, his eyes caught yours and you could sense he had more to say or that he wanted to.

“Brie.”, he began with a serious tone and in the vacuum of his car it felt as though he was about to say that the world was about to end. But he sighed to remove his keys to then say,

“So you have your own dream house?”, he smiled and that brief moment was lost.

“I do.”, you said.

“but its not dreamy.”, you gave him a tired smile.

“Is it girl’s night, every night?”, he asked quietly, his eyes finding yours even in the dark and the only revelation from this was that you couldn’t erase him from your memories. Even after all this time, that connection you felt with him didn’t fade.

You shook your head to his question, it was hard making friends outside of work.

“I’m sorry.”, he said. His hands now gripping the steering wheel, he looked away.

“For hurting you. I didn’t know what I was doing before but I never wanted to hurt you.”, he continued and you could feel your heart in your throat.

“You don’t have to be nice to me, but I know how it feels.”, he said with a sad smile and distant eyes.

“It feels good to finally be able to inflict the same pain you felt.”, he reminisced to when he took over Barbie’s dream house.

But seeing you here, knowing the reason behind why you left, he lacked the courage to tell you the truth behind why he was here. Looking into your dark eyes even for a second reminded him of what he had done. It was unfair, to just come in, to state his business and in the desperation of clearing his name, to take you back. It had to be your choice, he was only the messenger. What you choose to do, was up to you.

“So if you don’t want me around. I understand.”, he said finally, and embraced the uncertainty. Saving Barbie land was important but then so were you.

You didn’t know what to say, in all your time here, no one had given you a choice. You were at a loss for words because this wasn’t what you had expected, for him to not attach himself into your life.

“Thank you for saying that, Ken.”, you felt the anxiety wash away as you pushed back your hair. To say his name after so long, felt good, felt like home.

“I just need a little time.”, you replied sinking into the seat.

“To process all of this.”, you caught his gaze as he nodded sweetly.

The blue of his eyes still held that glimmer, his smile, still perfect that it made you jealous even in a world that was imperfect and harsh, he wasn’t touched by it. And as you stayed in that second, forgiving him was easy. Because his actions were never done with the intent to be malicious. It still however didn't change you fate though.

He wasn’t yours, but you wished for it nonetheless.

---

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[days-until-burnout]

Day 8 -

Characters - Bdubs/Etho/Joel Words - 750 Time - 24 mins Content - Hermicraft | fluff | sleeping

“You look awful.”

Bdubs blinked a couple times, taking almost a full minute to clear his vision, which should’ve been his cue to rest. But his eyes focused on that stupid smirk, and his exhausted body has a surge of energy flow through, pushing him to startle himself awake. 

“Me?! Look at you!”

Joel, in fact, did not look at himself, already knowing what he’d find. (And no, it wasn’t his handsome, tall, sexy, clever, witty, and extremely rested self.) Instead, if he looked at himself, he’d find himself a replica of Bdubs, both exhausted to the bone, at this point staying up out of sheer pettiness and stubbornness. And ego. Very much ego. Because whoever stayed up the longest would get the title of taller of the two, which was very important. Very important. To them. Of course. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, B-double-short.” 

Bdubs jumped to his feet, the sudden movement making him dizzy, and his weakened body swayed. Or the world did. He wasn’t sure. After that big moon accident (which he wasn't sure was or wasn’t a mass hallucination or bad dream), anyone could be possible. And sudden earthquakes seemed more than plausible. 

Joel cringed, Bdubs sudden movement making him dizzy too. 

They should sit down, maybe. Lay down even, sleep. Very likely. That was something to do when tired, sleep. Rest, close their eyes and cease being stupid. 

Especially when they had a very peculiar friend. 

Etho. 

Etho who happened to be a phantom hybrid. 

Joel thought that it would be funny to annoy Etho their whole ‘not sleeping’ thing, and because he liked annoying Etho, he figured it’d help him stay up. It had been a good plan, when he was lucid (if he ever was, in the last two or three days), but he hadn’t counted on it also helping Bdubs. So there they stood, around his mailbox while a very pissy phantom hybrid glared at them, neither of them aware enough to feel an ounce of guilt. Or thought. Maybe. Joel started tasting colors a while ago, and he was colorblind, so that was something. 

“You think this is funny?” Etho asked, directed at both of them though only one of them took the bait. 

“Very!” Joel chirped, slowly turning to face him, blinking a couple of Ethos away. There was only one Etho, that much he knew. Though the thing standing in front of him didn’t look much like Etho, a very big and slim phantom more like it. And when he squinted, he could only see mismatched eyes. Ah, Etho! “Eefo! When did you come by? What are you doing here? You’re obsessed with me, don’t lie to me!”

The phan– No, Etho– Etho only glared. Bdubs chuckled, falling back against the wall. Standing on the steps on their state probably wasn't a good idea. Not that they could think about it. Maybe if they put together whatever remained of their braincells together they’d have enough to spark one line of common sense. Maybe. Though not likely. 

Etho turned around, threw his tools and redstone components back in the shulker, making the executive decision to take matters into his own hands. Sure, being this close to them was painful and it was practically ripping him apart, but these were his idiots after all. And his sole consolation price as he threw them both over his shoulders, carrying them up the steps (and promptly ignored how weak and frail they were), was the after they were back to their senses, guilt would rip them from the inside as their sleeplessness shredded him. 

That was something to look forward too, at least. 

He kicked Joel’s door open, kicked it close with the heel of his boot, then climbed the stairs to Joel’s bedroom, throwing both of them on the bed. He could almost feel the change once they touched the bed, though they were out cold between the moment he picked them up and before taking one single step. He sighed, shrugged his jacket off and climbed onto the bed, falling between them as his wings phased through them. As little as they deserved it, he pulled them close, held them against his chest and decided to take a nap, even if it was midday. He wasn’t counting on them waking up until a day later, but it didn’t matter. If this being stuck to their side got them to rest, then he didn’t care about wasting his own day. 

_____

i am [deity of choice]'s eepiest soldier. i did something so incredibly stupid, and i am without braincell. and extremely tired. this fic was a call out post to me and me only also, do these 3 have a ship name i feel like they do but i have 0 braincells rn also also, good night nate the hoof guy (i wonder if anyone got that reference pls say someone did) unrelated, but my time was 15+9, and i genuinely thought it was 26. like, i was so sure until i went to add up all my writing time and realized and came back to edit this. someone save me pls