#death is always an unwelcome guest

[fairuzfan]

19 October 2023: In Gaza, we have grown accustomed to war

Horrific experiences of death and destruction have permanently impacted Palestinians’ culture, language and collective memory. “Is it war again?” asks my little Amal, 7, memories of the previous Israeli assaults still fresh in her mind.

The wording of the question shows the maturity she has been forced to develop. Last year, Amal asked her mum if it was “another war.”

Yes, it is war again in Gaza! In Gaza, we have grown accustomed to war. War has become a recurrent reality, a nightmare that won’t go away. A brutal normality. War has become like a grumpy old relative, one that we can’t stand but can’t rid ourselves of either.

The children pay the heaviest price. A price of fear and nonstop trauma that is reflected in their behaviors and their reactions. It’s estimated that over 90 percent of Palestinian children in Gaza show signs of trauma. But also, specialists claim there is no post-war trauma in Gaza as the war is still ongoing.

My grandmother would tell me to put on a heavy sweater because it would rain. And it would rain! She, like all Palestinian elders, had a unique sense, an understanding of the earth, wind, trees and rain. The elders knew when to pick olives for pickling or for oil. I was always envious of that.

Sorry, Grandma. We have instead become attuned to the vagaries of war. This heavy guest visits us uninvited, unwelcomed and undesired, perches on our chests and breaths, and then claims the lives of many, in the hundreds and thousands.

A Palestinian in Gaza born in 2008 has witnessed seven wars: 2008–2009, 2012, 2014, 2021, 2022, 2023A and 2023B. And as the habit goes in Gaza, people can be seven wars old, or four wars old. My little Amal, born in 2016, now holds a BA in wars, having lived through four destructive campaigns. In Gaza, we often speak about wars in terms of academic degrees: a BA in wars, an MA in wars, and some might humorously refer to themselves as PhD candidates in wars.

Our discourse has significantly changed and shifted. At night, when Israel particularly intensifies the bombardment, it’s a “party”: “The party has begun.” “It will be a horrific party tonight.” And then there is “The Bag,” capital T and capital B. This is a bag that is hurriedly prepared to contain the cash, the IDs, the birth certificates and college diplomas. The aim is to grab the kids and one item when there is a threat of evacuation.

The collective memories and culture of Palestinians in Gaza have been substantially impacted by these horrific experiences of war and death. Most Gazans have lost family members, relatives, or loved ones or have had their homes damaged or destroyed. It’s estimated that these wars and the escalations between them have claimed the lives of over 9,000 (it was 7,500 when I started drafting this last week!) Palestinians and destroyed over 60,000 housing units.

Death and war. War and Death. These two are persona non grata, yet we can’t force them to leave. To let us be.

Palestinian poet Tamim Al-Barghouti summarizes the relationship between death and the Palestinians that war brings (my translation):

It was not wise of you, Death, to draw near.

It was not wise to besiege us all these years.

It was not wise to dwell this close,

So close we’ve memorized your visage

Your eating habits

Your time of rest

Your mood swings

Your heart’s desires

Even your frailties.

O, Death, beware!

Don’t rest that you tallied us.

We are many.

And we are still here

[Seventy] years after the invasion

Our torches are still alight

Two centuries

After Jesus went to his third grade in our land

We have known you, Death, too well.

O, Death, our intent is clear:

We will beat you,

Even if they slay us, one and all.

Death, fear us,

For here we are, unafraid.

23 October 2023: Five stages of coping with war in Gaza

Our familiarity with war in Gaza has led us to develop a unique perspective and unique coping mechanisms.

We can identify five major emotional stages that Gazans go through during these grim conflicts. The stages are denial, fear, silence, numbness, hope, despair and submission.

This is day 16 and Israel has killed more than 5,000 Palestinians (many are still unaccounted for under the rubble), including over 2,000 Palestinian children, Gaza authorities tell us. More than 15,000 were injured and over 25,000 Palestinian homes were destroyed. And Israel says it is ready for ground invasion.

Stage one: Denial

In the early stages of a crisis, there is often a sense of denial. We convince ourselves that this time won’t lead to war. People are tired of the recurring conflicts, and both sides may appear too preoccupied to engage in warfare. As missiles fall and soar, we maintain a form of partial denial, hoping that this time will not be as lengthy or devastating as past wars.

No, this time it’s not going to be war. Everyone is tired of wars. Israel is too busy to go to war.

Palestinians are too exhausted and too battered to engage in a war. It could just last five days, give or take, we hope.

Stage two: Fear

Soon, denial turns to fear as the reality of another war sets in. Gaza is paralyzed as civilians, including children, are attacked by Israeli bombs. The pictures and videos of massacres, of homes obliterated with the families inside, of high rise buildings toppled like dominoes turn the denial into utter terror.

Every strike, especially at night, means all the children wake up crying and weep. As parents, we fear for our kids and we fear we can’t protect our loved ones.

Stage three: Silence and numbness

This is when Israel particularly intensifies the bombing of civilian homes. Stories are interrupted. Prayers are cut short. Meals are left uneaten. Showers are abandoned.

Therefore, amid the chaos and danger Israel brings, many in Gaza, especially children, withdraw into silence. They find solace in solitude as means of coping with the overwhelming emotion and uncertainty that surrounds them. Silence prevails.

Then numbness follows. As people attempt to protect themselves from the constant onslaught of distressing news, they grow indifferent. Because we could die anyway, no matter where we go. Emotional numbness sets in, as individuals attempt to detach from their emotions to survive.

Stage four: Hope

In the midst of despair, glimmers of hope may emerge. Even in the darkest moments, Gazans may hold onto the belief Israel might at least kill fewer people, bomb fewer places, and damage less. The most hopeful of us wish for a lasting ceasefire or an end to the siege or even the occupation. But this is merely hope. And hope is dangerous.

We hope that politicians will man up. We hitch our hope to the masses taking to the streets to reassure their politicians and warn they will be punished in future elections if they support Israeli aggression against Palestinians in Gaza.

Stage five: Despair and submission

Unfortunately, hope can often be fleeting, and many Gazans have experienced recurring cycles of despair. The repeated loss of life, homes and security lead to deep feelings of helplessness.

In the final stage, there is a sense of submission as Gazans accept the reality that they are unable to change the situation. That they are left alone. That the world has abandoned us. That Israel can kill and destroy at large with impunity. This is a stage marked by endurance, as Palestinians strive to adapt and persevere in the face of ongoing challenges.

These stages of war have become an unfortunate part of life in Gaza, shaping the resilience and perseverance of the Palestinian people in the face of unimaginable hardships imposed by the Israeli occupation.

27 October 2023: What it’s like when Israel bombs your building

I have six children. And so far we have survived seven major Israeli escalations, unscathed. We are an average family. My wife, Nusayba, is a housewife, I have two children in college and my youngest child, Amal, is 7. In Gaza, Amal is already four wars old.

We are an average family in Gaza, but we have had our fair share of Israeli death and destruction.

So far, since the early 1970s, I have lost 20 (and 15 last week) members of my extended family due to Israeli aggression.

In 2014, Israel destroyed our family home of seven flats, killing my brother Mohammed.

In 2014, Israel killed about 20 of my wife’s family including her brother, her sister, three of her sister’s kids, her grandfather and her cousin. And destroyed several of my in-laws’ homes.

Combined, my wife and I have lost over fifty 50 members to Israeli war and terror.

2023 war on Gaza

As the bombs fall and Israel targets sleeping families in their homes, parents are torn between several issues.

Should we leave? But go where, when Israel targets evacuees on their way and targets the areas they evacuate to?

Should we stay with relatives? Or should our relatives stay with us, whose home is relatively “safe?” We can never be sure. It’s been more than 75 years of brutal occupation – and over six major Israeli military onslaughts in the past 15 years – and we have so far failed to understand Israel’s brutality and mentality of death and destruction.

And then there is the fear of what to do if – when – we are bombed. We try to evade them. But how can you evade the bombs when Israel throws three or four or five consecutive bombs at the same home.

The big question Palestinian households debate is whether we should sleep in the same room so that when we die, we die together, or whether we should sleep in different rooms so some of us may survive.

The answer is always that we need to sleep in the living room together. If we die, we die together. No one has to deal with the heartbreak.

No food. No water. No electricity.

This 2023 war is different. Israel has intensified using hunger as a weapon. By completely besieging Gaza and cutting off the electricity and water supplies and not allowing aid or imports, Israel is not only putting Palestinians on a diet, but also starving them.

In my household, and we are a well-off family, my wife and I sat with the children and explained the situation to them, especially the little ones: “We need to ration. We need to eat and drink a quarter of what we usually consume. It’s not that we do not have money, but food is running out and we barely have water.”

And good luck explaining to your 7-year-old that she can’t have her two morning eggs and instead she will be having a quarter of a bomb! (Israel later bombed the eggs.)

As a parent, I feel desperate and helpless. I can’t provide the love and protection I am supposed to give my kids.

Instead of often telling my kids “I love you,” I have been repeating for the past two weeks:

“Kids, eat less. Kids, drink less.” And I imagine this being my last thing I say to them and it is devastating.

Israel bombs our building

If we had a little food last week, now we barely have any because Israel struck our home with two missiles while we were inside. And without prior warning!

My wife Nusayba had already instructed the kids to run if a bombing happened nearby. We never expected [our building] to be hit. And that was a golden piece of advice.

I was hosting four families of relatives in my flat. Most of them were kids and women.

We ran and ran. We carried the little ones and grabbed the small bags with our cash and important documents that Gazans keep at the door every time Israel wages a war.

We escaped with a miracle, with only bruises and tiny scratches. We checked and found everyone was fine. And then we walked to a nearby UN school shelter, which was in an inhuman condition. We crammed into small classrooms with other families.

With that, we lost our last sense of safety. We lost our water. We lost our food and the remaining eggs that Amal loves.

We are an average Palestinian family. But we have had our fair share of Israeli death and destruction. In Gaza, no one is safe. And no place is safe. Israel could kill all 2.3 million of us and the world would not bat an eye.

[starminzoo]

╭──────────────────✎

╰─▗ ▘➤𖥸 obsession in the shadows

꒰ risa's note ꒱ was just watching a show and the sudden inspiration hit so i thought why not just write it down but with yunho. I love my pretty boy sm <3 hope you guys enjoy!

warnings: stalking (not cool), fingering, consent (not verbally but it's there), dirty talk, pet names, pervert behavior, threats, creepy behavior (not much) , not proof read

it all started when yunho the quiet yet charming, shy yet talented student from the art department asked you to be his muse for his painting project which was due in 3 weeks. you said yes and how couldn't you, when he asked you in such polite and hushed manner your nearly folded when he said a silent 'please' for you to become his muse. since that day you started visiting his apartment for the project, you always went to his after your classes, first few days were spent in finding a perfect pose, clothes, and sketching. during that you guys made small talk here and there. since yunho was mostly quiet in college and he used to talk when spoken too you were charmed by his voice soft and smooth as you barely talked with him. when you were posing for him he always made sure you were comfortable or you could try another pose, he always kept his distance and remained respectful which drew you more close to him.

the reason yunho decided to choose you as his muse was that he had enough of hiding in the shadows he had enough of admiring you from a distance, he wanted you in his arms, to kiss you, to love you, to make you his, your enigmatic smile, captivating eyes casting a spell over him, at first it was small crush but slowly it turned into a dangerous obsession, he started to study your every move, kept his eyes on every action he started invading your privacy. he had lost count of how many times he had climbed up the window of your room, lost count of how many hours he had spent sitting on your bed, lost count of how many panties he had stolen from you, he knew this was dangerous but did he backed down? no but the real question is that he thought he was the only obsessed one? wrong as his obsession deepens he also started to take in the strange happening around him, his hoodies, sweatshirts and some other things started to vanish one by one,he started to receive love letters in his locker which were really creepy alongside with a black rose, he had gifts left at his door with no address or name, he was not alarmed and just took it as prank until he received a package as usual no name or anything but as he opened it his jaw slightly fell seeing his black hoodie shredded into pieces, he was wearing this just yesterday as he contemplated on his thoughts , his eyes fell on a note opening it he read it "Next time it will be the girl not the hoodie"

you had just arrived back from yunho's house it had been a long day for you and yunho was mostly done with his painting so the sessions had gotten longer to perfect the painting you took a shower and got ready for bed you decided to go commando and just threw a hoodie over yourself and went to bed. the familiar scent lulling you to sleep, it hadn't been long since you started to drift to sleep when you heard some soft rattling outside your window you smiled slightly in your pillow knowing who it was, to make sure the unwelcomed guest doesn't get the hint of you not sleeping you moved to turn on your back slowly while face snuggled in the pillow, few minutes later you felt the bed dip near your feet as he sat down hands landing your naked legs, warming your body up "you look like an angel, so innocent so pretty" his whispered out his words, god you wanted to ruin him so bad and show him how much innocent of a girl you were there was silence for sometimes before he started to drag his hands further up, you pretended to stretch and spread your legs a bit causing your hoodie to ride up providing him with the view of your bare wet cunt "fuck angel no panties today, you are gonna be the death of me" you chuckled in your mind you wanted to test him you wanted to see if he would give in his urges as he never did anything against your will well except for stealing your panties causing you to buy more and more. you heard his breath becoming shallow as he continued to stare at your cunt, you slowly felt a finger press against your clit causing a soft moan to leave your mouth " i am sorry baby so sorry" you wanted him to have you but you didn't wanted him to be guilty of it so you opened your eyes and stared straight at him. "fuck yunho I want you baby please please touch me" you begged in a sleepy voice.

his face became beet red when his eyes made contact with you, he felt so guilty and embarrassed but as he heard your words he was shocked. you were ok with this? you wanted him? were you sure or just in sleep? weren't you going to call the cops on him? he had many questions but when he felt your on his rubbing it against your cunt , he watched you hump his hand as soft moans left your mouth as you did you he sat there shocked but you snapped him out of it quickly "I don't have my legs spread just for you to qawk yun fuck do something please" as you begged him pathetically your whining and lust filled eyes sending blood to his dick. he wasted no more time climbing up on you kissing your lips furiously one hand holding your throat and the other swatted your hands away as he pushed two fingers inside your gaping hole the action ripping a loud moan from your throat as he swallowed it, his fingers scissored you hitting your g-spot. god bless yunho for having long fingers as they drove you insane his lips busy painting another masterpiece on your neck, your hands in his hair as one attempted to get him naked but before you could he fastened the pace of his fingers bringing you closer to the edge you held onto him for dear life, legs threatening to close but he kept them apart with his thighs "fuck you look so gorgeous falling apart for me angel" his name fell from your mouth like mantra as you finally reached your high your legs twitching, around his hips, eyes rolled back from pleasure, while mouth wide open as moans and whimpers left your mouth. yunho pulled out his fingers and put them in mouth "hmm as sweet as i had imagined" he kissed you making you taste yourself on his tongue. you both laid there him on top of you, both too mesmerized by the soft kisses you shared.

after cleaning you up he climbed back in bed removing his jacket and now just in his hoodie. you pulled him close to you snuggling in his scent which was more strong then the one on the hoodie "so what are we now yun" "whatever you want baby" he smiled and softly kissed your head " but wait is that my hoodie" he glanced down at you as you sheepishly snuggled in his chest and giggled " oh god so it was you, my little stalker" "oh don't act like you are innocent ok you climbed up my window several times, stole my panties which were expensive by the way, so if I didn't had my own little obsession with you I would have called the cops on you long time ago ok mister" you retored back as you playfully glared at him, he put his arms up surrending himself before you both fell asleep peacefully in each others arms.

[writingsofwesteros]

Hey, can I request a fic where Alicent's innocent daughter finds Alicent and Gwayne in bed together, so Alicent and Gwayne manipulate Alicent's daughter that it's fine (even though Alicent raised her with the faith of the seven along with the gods of old valyria) so they have her join them so she won't tell anyone about them

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

NSFW

The young Princess moved with careful urgency, her breath quickening with the mingling of fear and anticipation.The dim light from her chamber barely illuminated the hidden entrance as she pushed it open, the cool, damp air of the passageway greeting her like an unwelcome guest. The stone walls, rough and unforgiving, seemed to close in on her as she stepped inside, the silence amplifying her every movement. Thankfully, the secret passageways Aegon had revealed years ago now were finally put to use by her who always followed the letter of the rules. But the dark days since Jaehaerys’ death had shattered some of the peace she had at night. Now, the darkness seemingly haunted her; disturbing her sleep as she fought with the covers and nightmares.

Her night shift clung to her frame, a fragile barrier against the chill that seeped into her bones. She clutched at the fabric, seeking solace in its familiar softness; all she desired was her mother and the safety she always provided. And the warmth. She would finally be able to find sleep, she knew in her mother’s arms. A shiver ran down her spine at the cold evening wrapping around her as she struggled to push the secret passageway open; Aegon had always been much stronger somehow. The hidden door creaked open, revealing her mother’s chamber bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. The sight brought a rush of relief over the Princess.

Gracefully, she stepped further into the familiar chambers; ones she always seeked refuge in. Even now. Her lips open to call out for her mother as those bright eyes of hers adjust to the dim lighting. Her heart began to calm now as she sighed in relief; the sight of her mother allowed a sweet smile to tug on her soft looking lips. “Mother..” The words finally escaped her as she stepped forward; it was only then that she realised her Lady mother was not alone. “Uncle?” Her voice was etched in confusion as she noted that familiar colour of hair. She cocked her head in confusion whilst also realising the state of undress they were both in. “Princess..” Her Uncle seemingly groaned as her mother not so gracefully moved to sit off him.

A part of her remembered a time her mother had caught her and Aegon in bed; once again her nightmares had returned and he offered her an embrace. His hands had wandered but thinking of it only brought her confusion. Her mother had been terribly upset when she found them tangled in the sheets the next morning. “My love..” Alicent whispered; brushing those thick curls of hers out of her face whilst her young girl only stepped closer. “Is something wrong?” The Dowager Queen continued as she wrapped the sheets around her naked body but she could not stop the desire moving into her brown eyes and she imagined her brother’s eyes mirrored herself. 

“I could not sleep.” Gwayne finally turned around after recovering from his near release. Gods, it did not help to have her so close. Even his pretty niece smelt good and she looked so much like her mother in this light. “Oh my sweet girl.” Alicent whispered; arms already spreading as the Princess gracefully moved into the bed.

She burrowed into Alicent’s neck almost instantly; arms wrapping around her mother as Gwayne tried to keep himself from watching the intimate moment. “Shhh, you are safe.” Her mother whispered whilst gently stroking her hair like she used to. The Princess hummed; her hands stroking up and down her mother’s side until she realised there was no clothing.

As she moved away; Gwayne only cornered her like one would do a prey. She was soon between the pair of them. “Wha–what were you doing together?” The words fell from her soft, pouty lips without thought as she stared wide eyed at the siblings. Alicent’s hold on her only tightened as a soft gasp escaped the Princess at the feel of Gwayne’s bare, throbbing member against her back. She nearly whined; wiggling closer to Alicent as their soft breasts brushed against each other in the act. Her sweet, pink nipples pebbled at the mere touch; she had always been such a sensitive girl and this was no different. “We were praying my love.. What better way to do so than pray to the mother with your mother?” Alicent purred into her ear; her tone dripping in seduction that the Princess did not realise.

“And the maiden could also be worshipped, hmm?” Gwayne whispered from behind; his lips brushing against her soft skin causing goosebumps to flourish. “The maiden?” She gasped out; wiggling in their hold once more. Gwayne’s larger hands reached for her hips now, keeping her steady as her mother leaned in. Their noses brushed together as a soft gulp escaped her. “Let me show you, hmm? Just like I always have.” Alicent whispered sweet nothings into her ear. This time the Princess reached as the feel of her mother’s soft lips down her neck caused her to react, alas, her uncle was much quicker and captured her delicate hands.

The soft shift began to fall from her body; her sweet scented skin easily becoming on display for them both. Gwayne’s hands that felt so much rougher against her soft body began to palm at her sweet, perky breasts. “No..I –I do not think this is right.” She babbled out; eyes so wide as he captured her pebbled nipple between his knuckles. “Do you not think you should worship the mother?” Gwayne purred and it was only then that she realised Alicent was gracefully laid on her back; her lovely body on full display. The shock of such a sight had her whimpering especially as she felt his hand slowly move south. Goosebumps follows his movements as he slowly guides her body to bed; her face closing in on her mother’s body.

“Good girl…always so good.” Alicent whispered her praises; those soft, brown eyes watching the Princess with hardly concealed desire that was only growing. “This is just our little secret.” The dowager Queen hummed with her head falling back onto the pillows. Gwayne’s hand rested on the back of her head and pushed her between the Queen’s thighs. “There you go.” Her whine of argument was muffled and her eyes flashed open at the feel of her uncle’s hot mouth pressing a kiss to her lips between her legs. His hold on her body tightened as she jolted, much to his delight. “It seems you have so much to learn, my precious maiden.” It was the last words she heard before his mouth captured her sweet, dripping pussy. The new sensation rushed through her body as she arched; her hands reaching for the silk sheets around her. It was not long before Alicent’s soft hand was at the back of her head, pulling her to where she desired her sweet love. “Just our little secret.” The dowager Queen repeated as mewls of pleasure soon escaped her too. Gwayne only hummed against his pretty girl; his fingers spreading her puffy lips apart for his tongue to dive in. His cock twitched and he could not help but bring his hand down; stroking himself as he brought the little maiden pleasure. Her body could not help but react as she began to rock back and forth against his tongue.

[lookismfanfics]

(Y/N) uses her and Gun’s engagement party as a last ditch effort to hook up with Goo

𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧... 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠

Goo x Reader x Gun

Notes: I did an accidentally changed the request a little. Writing things. Sigh. It’s pitifully short. I kind of hate it.

Warnings: Implied smut? Angst? Fluff ? (Idk lol) UNEDITED.

It was so hot in the penthouse.

Every corner you turned you bumped shoulders with yet another guest. Hands crawled to grip the small of your back; unwelcome hugs came from left and right. More champagne was shoved into your hand. Fingers caressed the hair you had worked on all day. Gun had a wide variety of friends… surprisingly enough.

You’re stumbled towards one of the plush seats, overwhelmed by the attention. That plastic smile on your face could only last so long. Your body practically melded with the chair cushioning. You closed your eyes.

There was still lots of noise. Voices buzzed in your ear like a hornet’s nest. Glass clinked and clattered. The harmony of a European song faintly echoed throughout the room. Footsteps. There were lots of footsteps.

Cologne.

You recognized some cologne. Opening your bleary eyes, you lifted your head. And there he was.

Not your fiancé, though. Gun would be caught dead with a bleach like that. The cologne was too glamorous for him, too. Too much lemon in the scent. Gun wasn’t that handsome, either.

“I thought you weren’t coming…” you mumbled, staring up at him with round eyes.

“Aw~ you’re not disappointed? Are you?”

You snorted, sitting more upright in your chair and facing Goo fully. The blush you had caked on your cheeks that night didn’t compare to the natural heat you felt burning your face. Your lips curved into a smile.

“No. Does Gun know you’re here-“

Goo rounded the chair and knelt beside you. Those long, slender fingers of his wrapped around your wrist and beckoned it forward. His eyes narrowed and his brows knit together. He made a face you had seen plenty of times- he was scrutinizing.

His lips puckered. “Who chose your engagement ring?”

“My fiancé?” You retorted. You watched the muscle in his jaw twitch, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours. His fingers traced over your new and shiny ring, brushing over the diamonds and rubbing on the band.

Goo let out a heavy, somewhat obnoxious sigh, “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it, bitch. You’re not the one wearing it,” you countered.

Goo clenched his jaw. The knit in his brow released a little, but he began pouting again. You reached out your right hand and brushed back some of his stray strands of hair. You cusped his ear.

There was still talking in the background. The room still felt hot and crowded. The guest’s laughter was turning from polite to rowdy with the more drinks they had. Despite the large group of people in that big room, you and Goo were practically alone.

Goo broke his eye contact with you. Suddenly the windowsill was super interesting, apparently, because he stared at it long and hard. You saw that pout on his lips melt away; he was just frowning now. His gaze was blank. The usual spark of energy in his movements had extinguished.

“Goo…” you began hesitantly. He leaned into your hand, which had slowly shifted from the side of his head down to his cheek. “Gun told you not to come. Didn’t he?”

“Only because he’s a jealous bastard,” Goo replied. His eyes met yours again, and a smirk twitched on his lips.

You could stare at that mouth of his for ages. His lips always looked so supple and pretty. There was no better way to describe it. His perfect teeth and perfect smile would be the death of you.

“(Y/N), where is your… fiancé? Mm?”

“I don't know. I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t think any of my friends showed up to this engagement party- so I don’t know anyone that’s here either.”

Goo’s hand had let go of your wrist. It rested comfortably on your lap, gently gripping your thigh. Now, you glanced around the room nervously. You tried pushing his hand away, suddenly hyper-aware of how many people could be watching.

Goo wasn’t dumb. He knew what you were doing. He grabbed your hand again, feeling for the engagement ring. There was that bitter look on his face, again. He didn’t know why you said yes. Neither did you.

“Is the guest bedroom off limits to the other guests?” Goo asked in a honeyed voice.

You narrowed your eyes at him. The ring in your finger was slipping off ever so slightly. A look of scorn overtook your face.

“You better know what you’re doing, Kim Jongoo.”

“Believe me, (Y/N)! This’ll make us both feel much better.”

You pushed through the group of guests that crowded all around you. Hands no longer clawed at your dress and hair now that you were walking with a purpose. You felt warmth welling in the pit of your stomach, maybe even a little lower.

You opened the door for Goo to slip in, and promptly locked it behind yourself.

Alone, you turned to face Goo. His hands were shoved in his pockets, a smirk tainted his lips, and he leaned back comfortably. You walked up and yanked him by the tie, pulling him over to the bedside. “You better listen to me, Kim. If I tell you to stop you have to.”

“Your dialogue cringier than the Fifty Shades of Gray script, (N/N)~”

Goo’s zipper buzzed as you pulled it down. His hands abandoned his pockets and occupied the inside of your dress.

Things got very hot in the penthouse after that.

Your head laid on his chest. The hair you had spent hours on was now sweaty and ruined. You slid your leg under one of Goo’s, so that you were squeezing it with both of your thighs. Your skin was still damp. It was a little sticky when the two of you touched. Goo’s hand snaked around your shoulders and entangled in your hair.

“Where did put my ring?” You whispered into his chest.

Goo let out a groan of annoyance. “It’s so ugly…!”

“Goo. I’m serious.”

“Ugh. It’s on the table.”

You let out a sigh of relief. For a few moments there was silence. You could faintly hear the noises of the crowd dying down. No one seemed to notice the missing hostess. You lamented that that was probably the new norm. Goo squeezed you a little tighter to him. He rubbed his thumb against the grooves of your arm. His touch was delicate and careful, which was a bit uncharacteristic. He has been abnormally serious this evening. There usually wasn’t a serious bone in his body.

He planted a kiss against the crown of your head. What followed was an obnoxious sigh.

“That thing is so ugly and boring. I would’ve gotten you a ring with a lot more bling,” Goo mused.

“Wouldn’t that look kind of gaudy?” You asked. You brushed your lips against his skin, feathering a kiss against his collarbone.

Goo let out an offended scoff.

Outside the music had begun to fade. You imagined some of the somber guests were filing away and going home. The frequent clattering of glasses had died down now. You peered up at Goo. You had to refrain from chuckling; he looked funny from your angle.

“You should probably go,” you whispered. “Gun will start looking for me pretty soon.”

Goo grunted. He looked down at you and squinted. “Can’t I just enjoy the moment a little longer?”

“No~ you need to go. I’ll help you find your clothes…”

The door clicked, creaked, and swung open. Your fiancé was scowling.

“Ohh- hey Gun~”

End

I’m back! (Momentarily lol)

Writers block sucks and as you can see- I still have it! :)

[wonder-mei]

The star has fallen (Honkai : Star Rail’s Gepard Landau)

@Chokore_4 on Twitter/X

Reminder : I do not write accurately to the lore of the world I am writing. I write whenever there’s an idea

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The moment Gepard was given a task to guard the Belobog Opera House he was excited to be this near to his crush of years. It was when he was still a trainer in the Silvermane Guards,he went to visit Serval. The moment he stepped inside Neverwinter Workshop, he was greeted by a gentle singing voice; if he could eat the voice he would taste carefully combined flavors of all the sweets he favored. They are all combined into one, the most anticipating sweet he wanted to have. 

But he can’t.

That is what he thinks. 

She was Serval’s friend and still is. She was from somewhere far away from Belobog,came here to achieve her dream to be an Opera singer. Serval found her through the talking of her mutual musician friends. From that, they both become friends. 

Gepard now stands cold in the chilling night with only the moon accompanying him in the dark guiding the entrance of the building from unwelcome guests. His heart screams telling him to go inside and watch her perform. But he has a duty to do. As a captain he needs to obey the orders. 

Gepard’s ears focus too hard listening to the faint opera singers sing inside making him so unfocused on his task but luckily the night went well. The guests departed from the building after the opera ended. His eyes wanders into the crowd to see if she is there. She is not.

With disappointment he sighs loudly. His task was finished so he went to the garden to smell the famous jasmines that have a strong fragrance at night. He takes a few deep breaths inhaling and exhaling the flower scent that soothes his disappointment a little. He walks around viewing the well-structured garden. Gepard stops walking exhaling. He closes his eyes and inhales again, smelling the desolate cold and fragrance night. 

“Evening,Captain Landau” 

The sudden voice made him jump. Gepard turns around raising her gaze. There she was wearing the most beautiful dress he had ever seen. Or is it beautiful because she is wearing it? She stands on a high porch eyeing down him with a smile

“M-miss!--” without thinking Gepard salutes. He quickly puts down his hand when he realizes. The blond captain is madly in the shade of red now

“Salute to you too,Captain Landau” 

“Gepard…”

“What?”

“Please just call me Gepard,miss”

“If i have to call you by your name. Call me by my name too”

Gepard’s hitches at her words. He has been calling her by her last name since they met. It’s too strange to call her name…too embarrassing…too intimate in his defense. 

“I–uhh–” He stuttered his words. Shaking out of nervousness and red from embarrassment. The woman of his dreams is closer than ever. From looking at her far away through TV’s screen,phones and newspapers. She is now in front of him. 

He did have a lot of chances to be near for over the years of her being close friends with his sister. But he will always runs away with stupid excuses ‘The Colonel called me!’ or ‘I have trainers to train!’ and many more excuses. She is so close to him, his mind is blank. Cannot process to either run away or just went invisible.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, tilting her head. ‘She will be the death of me’

Gepard snaps from his deep thoughts “Oh, just wandering around… It is very beautiful here”

She looks around and nods “I’ve been here for quite a few times but never got the chance to walk around”. Her eyes from looking around the garden to him. 

She is staring for too long in his liking.

“Oh ohh!” Gepard asked for his hand which she gave her right hand. His other arm wraps around her waist then lifts her from the high porch to the ground. Gepard carefully places her on her feet. He can smell her perfume. He thanks the night with all of his heart or she can see how red he is right now. 

“Thank you,Captain Landau”, she thank him taking a step back 

“Don’t call me that…” he mumbles looking away. Too shy to look at her

She chuckles “Okay,Gepard. My apologies. So, the flowers does smell refreshing at night” she turns facing the bushes 

“Yeah they do…” 

They both looks at the flowers for awhile and then-

“Flowers blooms and withers,

But she blooms for eternity…”

Gepard’s mouth gapes open widely. That poem. He wrote that. How does she know that?!

“What?!” his heartbeats faster looking at her with wide eyes

She just laughs at his reaction “Serval told me your poetry. They are very romantic,Gepard. You are a very romantic man. She is very lucky to have you”

“I don’t have a girlfriend..or anything like that”

“I know. I’m just teasing you” 

He slaps his face and hides his red face but she holds his hand lowering it. She stares at him with a smile “Don’t hide your face. You are cute…i always love to see your face” 

Gepard gasps at her confession “You do?”

“Yes. The Captain of Silvermane Guards, the tough and disciplined captain is actually a shy and easily flustered man. Which made me find it cute” 

“Don’t tease me please…”

She intertwines their fingers holding tightly onto him “I've always wanted to talk to you,Gepard. I thought you hated me or you think i’m ugly. I was hurt at first but then Serval showed me your poems. They are all so sweet and so heartfelt” she tightens more “I thought they were all for your partner but no. I have noticed you have been always watching me from afar” 

“Really?”

“I like you too,Gepard Landau”

Those words send him into space. So unreal like in a dream he always dreamed of every night but now this is reality. Their feelings are mutual.

“Say it. Say the words you have been dying to say”

“From the moment i see her,

The glimpse of my lifespan flash in my eyes,

And you were there in every moment,

My love and soul”

He picked the first ever poem he wrote about her. The day he knows love. “I love you too”

I do not need a compass, As my heart knows where she is, As for her, She needs guidance, And i willingly to do so, Just like she guided herself into my heart. ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

I listen to a song that matches on the story idea on loop just to feel that vibe from the beginning until the end. I listen to I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys for 2 hours or so.

Like and follow me. And my requests are always open as long you give me an idea for it. Thanks for reading!

[lvrdrafts]

Rescued by Love Part 3

★ Summary: Your brother Steve always hated you after your mother's death and when he finally gets the family's empire he is ready to sell you off to some toxic marriage but will the knight and shining armor save you or make it worse?

★ Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

★ Warnings: Arranged Marriage

★ Genre: Angst/ Fluff

Masterlist

The transition from your childhood home to Bucky's mansion felt like stepping into a different world. The ornate decor and vast rooms were a far cry from the modest surroundings you were accustomed to. As you unpacked your belongings, the air seemed to carry a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

One evening, as the soft glow of the setting sun cast warm hues across the room, Bucky found you standing by the window. His presence was like a shadow, his steps quiet as he joined you.

"Y/N," he started, his voice a mix of hesitation and sincerity, "I want you to know that I never intended for things to be this way."

You turned to him, uncertainty clouding your gaze. "Then why did you agree to this arrangement, Bucky?"

He sighed, his gaze averted for a moment before meeting yours. "It's complicated. There are things... expectations that I can't ignore."

Your heart sank at his words, the gravity of the situation becoming clearer. "You mean, being a housewife and having children."

Bucky's expression softened, regret evident in his eyes. "It's more than that, Y/N. I'm trying to protect you, in my own messed-up way. But playing the role is.. its on the list"

The weight of his words settled upon you, a reminder that your identity had been reduced to that of a housewife, devoid of agency or aspirations. You felt your voice falter as you spoke. "Is that all I am to you, Bucky? A role to play?"

His eyes seemed to harden, the distance between you growing more tangible. "It's a role that benefits both of us. There's no point in pretending otherwise." Bucky says walking away.

The isolation settled in like an unwelcome guest, the mansion's halls echoing with a silence that seemed to underscore your solitude. Days blurred into one another, marked by routines that grew monotonous. The mansion became a symphony of routines, from managing the household to preparing meals that you hoped Bucky would enjoy. Your attempts to prepare meals went unnoticed, the table often empty as Bucky's absence stretched into hours.

The hours slipped away, the warmth of the meal gradually turning cold. When Bucky finally walked in, his exhaustion was evident, his gaze weary yet conflicted.

When he finally walked in one evening, exhaustion etched into his features, you found yourself facing a moment of truth. The meal you had prepared lay untouched on the table, a visual representation of the growing void between you. The sight of a hickey on his neck was a dagger to your heart, the sting of jealousy and hurt almost overwhelming.

"You're home late," you managed to say, your voice a mixture of accusation and vulnerability.

Bucky's eyes flicked to the untouched meal, his jaw clenching momentarily. "I got caught up in work."

The tension in the room was palpable, unspoken words heavy in the air. Accusations and retorts seemed to dance on the tip of your tongue, but it was the realization that your relationship had deteriorated beyond repair that cut deepest.

As the conversation escalated, your emotions erupted like a tempest. "Is this what we've become, Bucky? Strangers passing each other in the hallway, playing house without any semblance of connection?"

Bucky's gaze remained fixed on the ground, his emotions masked by a veneer of indifference. "You knew the terms of this arrangement from the beginning."

The words echoed in the room, a bitter reminder of your lack of agency in this situation. "Yes, I remember the terms, be a maid and have kids" you replied, your voice carrying a tinge of bitterness. "But it wasn't a choice, Bucky. I didn't agree willingly; I was forced"

Bucky's eyes hardened, his expression unforgiving. "We all make sacrifices. This is the life we've chosen."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you met his gaze, a mixture of frustration and pain in your voice. "But I didn't choose this. I didn't choose to be treated as a prisoner in this fucking cage."

He turned to face you fully, his gaze cold and unyielding. "Don't play the victim, Y/N. You knew what you were getting into."

"I can't give you something I don't have. I won't pretend for your sake. This is our arrangement, and you will abide by it, that's final"

The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. "Really is it really so much to ask for a bit of care? Or that you pretend your not cheating on me? Or is that too much to expect?"

Bucky's features darkened, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Watch your words, Y/N. You're playing a dangerous game."

The tension between you was palpable, the unspoken resentments and long-buried desires bubbling to the surface. "So, this is our fate? A loveless marriage, a distant husband, and a life that's become a hell?"

Bucky's restraint snapped, his expression twisted with rage. "Enough, Y/N! You can't pretend you didn't know what this was all about! Your brother made damn sure of that!"

Fury ignited within you, burning through the fear that had held you captive for too long. "Fuck you, Bucky," you spat, your voice trembling with a mix of rage and desperation. You turned on your heel and walked away, determined not to let him see the tears welling up in your eyes.

But as you moved to leave, Bucky's grip on your wrist was like a vise, his fingers digging into your skin. A gasp escaped your lips as he left behind a painful mark, a physical reminder of the power he held over you. You winced, struggling against his hold, but his grip only tightened.

"Bucky, let go!" you cried out, a mixture of pain and fear coursing through you.

He released you, his jaw clenched, his eyes cold and unrelenting. With a rough push, he shoved you, and you stumbled, unable to maintain your balance. The force of his actions sent you crashing to the floor, pain shooting through your body as you hit the ground.

"Sleep on the damn couch tonight," he bit out, his voice seething with anger as he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, aching both physically and emotionally.

The couch felt like a cold and unforgiving bed as you lay there, tears staining your cheeks as you tried to make sense of the shattered pieces of your life. You needed to find a way out.

★

The morning light spilled into the kitchen, illuminating the room as you moved around, preparing breakfast with a sense of quiet resignation. The clinking of utensils and the sizzle of food filled the air, a routine you had grown accustomed to. As you set the plates on the table, Bucky's presence entered the room, his demeanor more cold and irritated than usual.

"Morning," you greeted softly, the tension between you practically palpable.

Bucky grunted in response, his eyes scanning the table briefly before landing on you. "We need to talk."

You tensed, your heart beating a little faster. His abruptness was unsettling, and you braced yourself for whatever news he was about to deliver.

"I'm leaving on a business trip," he stated curtly, his tone devoid of any warmth.

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden announcement. "A business trip?"

He nodded, his jaw tight. "Yes, for about a month."

"During my absence," he continued, his gaze unwavering, "you are not allowed to leave the house."

The words hung in the air, a heavy decree that seemed to echo with finality. You felt a surge of frustration and helplessness, the walls of the mansion closing in around you.

"But Bucky, I..." you started, your voice tinged with a mix of defiance and desperation.

He cut you off, his irritation was evident in his tone. "I don't want to hear your excuses, Y/N. This is not up for negotiation."

Anger simmered within you, but it was the realization of your powerlessness that hit you the hardest. The isolation, the restrictions – they were a stark reminder of the gilded cage you found yourself in.

"I have my own life, my own dreams," you retorted, the bitterness in your voice impossible to mask.

Bucky's gaze hardened, his jaw clenched. "This is not the time for your idealistic notions, Y/N."

The exchange left an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air, the weight of your conflicting emotions settling heavily upon you. You pushed back your frustration, not wanting to provoke him further, not wanting to feel the repercussions of his anger.

As the minutes ticked by, you realized the futility of arguing. The walls seemed to close in around you, the mansion's rooms feeling more suffocating than ever.

Bucky pushed his chair back, his expression unreadable. "I've said what I needed to say. Make sure you follow the rules while I'm gone."

He stood up, and as he walked over to the counter to pour himself a mug of coffee, you couldn't help but feel his gaze linger on you. You felt a flush of discomfort, your instinct to hide the evidence of last night's altercation kicking in. You had chosen to wear long sleeves in an attempt to cover up the bruise he had unknowingly left on your wrist.

For a moment, his eyes seemed to narrow, his gaze drawn to your attempt at concealment. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the table instead, your heart pounding in your chest. He reached for his coffee, his fingers brushing against the handle of the mug as his voice broke the silence.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow," he said, his tone still cold and distant. "There are some things you need to take care of while I'm gone. I'll leave you a list."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The tension in the room felt suffocating, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You could feel his gaze on you, an unspoken awareness that hung heavy in the air. The weight of your bruises, both physical and emotional, seemed to press down on you as he left the room without another word.

Taglist:

@cjand10 @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @marvel-ous-miss-maisie @hereticdance @kentokaze @bruher @tupperwarefullofdirt @unaxv @learisa @emerald-writes @aya-fay @stinkerbelle007 @scifinerd1818 @paarthurnax59

[lendeah]

Last Deception

Pairing: Astarion x FemReader

Summary: in which Astarion grows attached to one of his victims, and Cazador takes revenge on him for it.

Tags: Angst. So much angst.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: NSFW (minors dni), mentions of death, death of main character, mentions of blood.

Astarion had appeared in the Tabern like a mirage, his presence immediately capturing your attention. He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen, with a lithe frame and wild, white curls that seemed to glow in the dim light of the tavern. He moved with a fluid grace, navigating the crowded room effortlessly, and your eyes followed him like a moth drawn to a flame.

You couldn't help but stare, mesmerized by his ethereal beauty. It was as if he didn't belong in this world, and you couldn't tear your gaze away as he approached your table. He flashed you a dazzling smile, revealing a set of perfect teeth that seemed to sparkle in the low light.

"May I join you?" he asked, his voice smooth and velvety.

You nodded dumbly, unable to find your voice as he took a seat across from you. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you knew at that moment that this would not be the last time you saw Astarion.

In the following weeks, Astarion became a constant presence in your life. He would meet you at the Tabern, taking you on long walks through the city and showing you all its hidden wonders. He seemed to know everything about this place and its people, and you couldn't help but be drawn to his view of the world.

He also made you feel beautiful. In his eyes, you were not just another person in the crowd, but someone special. He would compliment your every move, your every thought, making you feel like the most important person in the world.

You had never felt so connected to someone before. Being alone for most of your life, it was a new sensation to have someone truly listen to you and care about what you had to say. Astarion would hang on your every word, making you feel like your opinions and thoughts actually mattered.

And Astarion's presence in your life only grew stronger. You found yourself constantly thinking about him even when he wasn't around. The way he looked at you with those intense red eyes sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

But as much as you enjoyed spending time with him, there was always a nagging feeling at the back of your mind. A part of you knew that Astarion was not just an ordinary man, there was something mysterious and captivating about him that drew you in even further.

Despite this feeling, you pushed it aside as Astarion became more than just a friend to you. You had never been kissed before, but it was filled with such exquisite intensity that it left you breathless and longing for more. And the first time he made love to you, he carried you to heights of pleasure that you had never known existed. Each touch, each caress, was like a symphony conducted for your pleasure alone.

Sometimes you thought you could see a sad flicker in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by his usual sultry demeanor. With each passing day, Astarion's enigmatic nature began to surface more prominently. There were times when he would disappear without a trace, leaving you wondering if it had all been a dream. And then, just as suddenly as he vanished, he would reappear as if nothing had happened, his mischievous smile never leaving his face.

You couldn't help but question his motives. Was he toying with you? Playing some sort of game? The doubts lingered in your mind like an unwelcome guest. Yet, despite this unease, you found yourself unable to resist his charm. His witty banter, flirtatious remarks, and undeniable charisma drew you back into his orbit time and time again.

One day, while laying tangled in bed together, you threaded your hands in his hair, feeling the soft strands against your skin. His head was laying on your chest, warm breath brushing against it.

"I wish it could be like this forever," he whispered. And at the time, you didn't fully comprehend what he meant by that.

"We can," you replied, happily unaware. "I will always be here for you."

Astarion lifted his head to look into your eyes. There was a sadness in them that made your heart ache.

"But we can't," he said softly. "I am not meant for this kind of happiness."

You didn't understand what he meant by that, but before you could ask him to explain further, he leaned up and kissed you passionately. In that moment, all thoughts of sadness were pushed away as you lost yourself in his embrace.

But as time went on, these moments of withdrawal became more frequent. It was like Astarion was carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders that he couldn't share with anyone. And as much as it pained you to see him like this, all you could do was hold him tight and remind him that you were there for him no matter what.

Until one night, one month after he met you for the first time, he came to your home in a frenzy, his eyes were wild and he seemed on edge, something you had never seen before.

"You need to leave" He told you, more altered than you had ever seen him. You were taken aback by Astarion's sudden outburst.

"What do you mean I need to leave?" you asked, feeling a knot form in your stomach.

"I can't explain it right now," Astarion said, his voice strained. "But trust me, it's not safe for you here."

You could tell that something was seriously wrong. It was like he was genuinely afraid for your safety.

"Okay," you said slowly, feeling a sense of unease creeping over you. "I'll pack some things and go stay with my parents for a while."

Astarion nodded, his eyes never leaving yours as you quickly gathered some clothes and toiletries into a bag.

As soon as you were ready to leave, Astarion grabbed your hand and pulled you close. He looked into your eyes with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

"I don't know when I'll be able to see you again."

Your heart clenched at his words. You knew deep down that whatever was happening, it was serious and dangerous.

"We will, see each other soon, I am sure." you promised, squeezing his hand tightly.

With one last kiss goodbye, Astarion watched from the door as you left your home and made your way to your parents' house.

As you walked down familiar streets in the moonlit darkness, a sense of unease crept over you. You couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching.

And just as you turned onto a quiet street, a shadowy figure pulled up beside you

"Did no one tell you not to go out alone at night" they sneered, their eyes glinting with malice.

You squared your shoulders, trying to appear brave. "What do you want?" you demanded, fighting to keep your voice steady.

The figure chuckled darkly as they took another step closer, closing the distance between you.

"Astarion sent you away, huh?" they said with a chuckle. "He always did have a soft spot for pretty things."

As he takes a step closer, you can see that he is a man of middle age, with striking red eyes and an unnaturally pale complexion. His jet black hair cascades down his shoulders and frames his sharp features. "I am Cazador Szarr," he introduces himself with a deep, commanding voice.

Cazador Szarr, the name sent a chill down your spine. You had heard whispers of him before, a notorious figure in the underworld, known for his ruthlessness and cruelty.

"What do you want with me?" you managed to stammer, trying to maintain your composure.

Cazador's smirk widened, revealing sharp teeth that glinted in the moonlight.

A twisted smile crept across his face as he spoke, his tone dripping with mockery. "Oh, my dear," he taunted, "You see, Astarion owes me something, and when he sent you away, he sealed your fate." As he stepped closer, a cold shiver ran down your spine. His breath tickled your ear as he whispered, "He should have given you to me before reaching this point."

Before you could even muster a response, his fist connected with your face with such force that darkness consumed your vision and rendered you unconscious.

Agonizing jolts of pain surged through your head, causing you to groggily open your eyes. The room was shrouded in shadows, lit only by a faint flickering light. The pungent scent of dampness and decay filled your nostrils, and you could hear the constant drip of water somewhere nearby. As your vision slowly cleared, you became aware of your surroundings - chained to the cold stone floor, two looming figures standing before you in the dimness.

"You're awake," Cazador said with a sly smile. "Good."

Why are you doing this?" You demand, trying to mask the terror in your tone. "Astarion will hunt you down for this!" You retorted fiercely, determined to keep the fear out of your voice. But a chill still crept down your spine as you faced the man with a cruel smile on his lips.

Cazador's grin widened at your words, his red eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, I highly doubt that," he said, walking around you as if inspecting a prized possession.

His eyes flickered to his side and, with a nod, the woman standing beside him disappeared into the shadows. Moments later, she returned dragging another figure, their hands bound tightly behind their back. Your heart dropped as you recognized your lover. His face is bruised and bloodied, a stark contrast to his usual gentle features. Their clothes are torn and dirty, and his crimson eyes are filled with fear and pain as they are dragged into the flickering light.

"No! Leave him alone!" You screamed, desperation and terror lacing your words. The sound echoed through the dark, empty room, bouncing off the cold stone walls that she slowly recognized as a prison cell. The man only laughed in response, reveling in your anguish and helplessness.

Astarion, on the other hand, just looked at me sadly.

"Ah, Astarion, it seems you have finally brought this one to me." Cazador says "I began to wonder if you had grown attached"

"Astarion..." you begin, your voice barely a whisper.

"Why? What does he mean?"

Astarion's gaze meets yours, and for a fleeting moment, you see a glimmer of regret in his eyes. But just as quickly he looks away, not daring to meet your eye.

Cazador's laughter echoes through the room, taunting and cruel. "You don't want to speak, little spawn? Fine, I'll do the talking instead." His eyes bore into mine with ruthlessness and malice. "Do you remember all those times when you thought you had found your soulmate, wrapped in sweet words and flattering compliments? Well, it was all a ploy to bring you to me."

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as the realization dawns upon you. Astarion, the man who had once whispered sweet nothings and showered you with compliments, had been playing me all along. You looked at him with disbelief, hoping he would deny the accusations. But his eyes were downcast, avoiding your gaze.

"I-I don't understand..." You stammered, struggling against the chains that bound you to the stone floor. "How could you?" your voice trembles with hurt and betrayal, unable to comprehend the depths of his deception.

Astarion finally meets your gaze, his expression pained. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I had no choice."

"You always have a choice!" you cry out, your heart breaking at his words.

Cazador laughs loudly at the scene before him. "Oh please," he scoffs. "Did you really think he loved you? He's been playing this game for decades, using and discarding women and men like pawns on a chessboard. This is nothing but a slip up, one that he will pay dearly for"

As Cazador's words hang in the air, a mix of devastation and anger washes over you. Your mind is reeling, trying to process the truth that has been unveiled before you. The weight of betrayal settles heavily on your shoulders, as tears stain your cheeks mix with anger and sorrow.

"No," you manage to utter with a shaky breath. "No, I refuse to believe this. You're lying!" Your words waver between denial and desperation, clinging to the last fragments of hope that this nightmare might still unravel into a dream.

Everything is silent for a few seconds, and then you hesitantly asked "What do you want from me?"

Cazador's twisted grin widens, revealing razor-sharp fangs that glint in the dim light of the room. "Oh my dear," he purrs, voice dripping with malice. "I am going to drain every last drop of your precious blood and force him to watch as I slowly suck the life out of you."

Shock courses through you at the discovery of Astarion's true nature. You turn to the man, who looks paler than ever before. "Y-you're a vampire?" you stammer, feeling your heart race in terror. Cazador's booming laughter echoes off the walls, filled with cruel amusement. "So you didn't know," he taunts. "How sweet, to watch love crumble so easily under my power."

Your vision blurs with hot tears, a searing pain spreading through your chest. The room feels like it's closing in on you, the weight of the truth suffocating your every breath. All the memories, all the moments you thought were real and genuine, now feel tainted and stained by Astarion's deception. The anguish within your heart turns into a blazing fury, hotter than any fire that ever burned.

With trembling hands and a voice filled with raw emotion, you manage to stand up against the chains that bind you. "You bastard!" The words escape your lips like venom, seething with a mixture of rage and hurt. "How could you do this? Was any of what you ever said real?"

Astarion's eyes meet yours, his face a mask of torment and regret. His voice trembles as he speaks, struggling to find the right words to ease your shattered heart.

"I... I never wanted this," he chokes out, his voice heavy with remorse. "I was forced into this life, into this body. But I swear, what we had…it was real."

His words hang in the air, caught between the love you once shared and the jagged edges of betrayal. The conflicting emotions claw at your heart, tearing it apart with every beat. You want to believe him, to hold onto the fragments of what was once a beautiful connection. But doubt has planted its seed, and trust seems like a faded memory.

Cazador smirks wickedly, reveling in the chaos he has sown. "Oh, how touching," he sneers. "But love is a mere illusion in our world, my dear. Astarion may have played his part well, but he is still bound to me. And he still will be, after I get you out of the way"

Cazador takes a menacing step towards you, his wicked grin twisted into a cruel snarl. Astarion's movements get wild and erratic against his binds, pleading desperately for your release.

"No! Please! Let her go! I'll do anything!" His voice cracks with desperation as he offers himself up as sacrifice. "I'll never see her again! I'll bring you a hundred others!"

But as your eyes meet Cazador's, you see only cold malice and the absence of humanity. You realize this is not about gaining anything; it's a punishment for Astarion's defiance. A message to remind him of who holds the power.

You lock eyes with Astarion once more, seeing both love and agony in his tortured gaze. And then his master drops to his knees before you, without warning plunging his fangs deep into your throat, sending waves of excruciating pain through your body. This is not just physical torture, but a soul-shattering violation that leaves you trembling and gasping for air.

The poison from Cazador's fangs courses through your veins, as you convulse and choke on your own blood. Your heart races wildly, and your mind struggles to comprehend the betrayal and the pain that has just consumed you. You feel your heartbeat slowing down, your breaths growing more shallow, and your strength draining from your body at an alarming speed. The room starts to spin, and the world becomes a blur.

Astarion's screams are almost primal at this point, clawing at the woman next to him like a wild animal. But it's no use; the damage has already been made.

"I'm sorry!" He screams. Or so you think, your consciousness fading rapidly. As your lungs struggle to take in even the thinnest breaths of the cold, damp air, you feel your life slipping away from you. The feeling of your warm blood trickling down your neck and pooling on the cold stone floor is both chilling and unbearably hot at the same time.

Astarion's anguished screams and pleas for your life are muffled, as if heard from another world. But amidst the chaos and pain, there is one final moment of clarity. Just before your consciousness is snuffed out, your eyes meet Astarion's once more. Through the haze of fading vision, you see Astarion's beloved face, contorted with pain and grief. His wide eyes, usually filled with mischief and charm, are now filled with tears and agony. His white hair is matted with sweat and blood, and his features are illuminated by the flickering torchlight. In that last, fleeting moment, you are transported back to the countless times you had shared with Astarion. You remember the way his laughter would fill a room, how his touch would send shivers of delight down your spine, and how his eyes, full of passion and desire, would burn into your soul for eternity.

Your final breath escapes in a desperate whisper, "I love you," as the darkness consumes you. The only sound left echoing in your mind is Astarion's anguished cries, a haunting reminder of the pain and loss that will accompany your passing. Everything fades to black, leaving behind nothing but emptiness and sorrow.

[hiatuswhore]

𝒪𝒻 𝒮𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓉𝓈 — 𝒸.𝓈

♕ A/N: I have mixed feelings about the movie but I adore the book. My favorite character is Sejanus, ugh my heart bleeds for this character. Never stop I’d be writing a fanfiction for this story. Coriolanus Snow is an evil but interesting villain. I thought I’d dive into the dynamic of him essentially taking what should’ve been Sejanus’s life.

♕ SUMMARY: Poor Sejanus. Poor sensitive, foolish dead Sejanus. A good son, loving brother, and amazing friend.

♕ WORD COUNT: 1K

♕ WARNING: Death

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𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

Father had not left his study since word reached us. Every time Mother looked at me, I knew it was not me she saw. The tremble of her lip and mist of her eyes reminded me of my new reality. A reality where I drew breath as my twin did not.

I could not process it. Not at first. I would wait for a letter from him in the mail. His ramblings of doing good, of being better a constant any time he opened his mouth. Oh my good brother. Miles away. Hung in the districts for treason.

The first few weeks the house was silent. I could make out Mothers frequent sobs through the day. Other times the deep gait of Fathers boots from his room to his office. Rarely from his office to his room. Our home became much like a graveyard. Empty and cold.

This remained until the day Mother and I woke to every picture of Sejanus in the foyer gone. Mother sobbed for her baby, one would think Father was withholding her actual child. Still, my Father, the stern unforgiving statue of a man, refused to return all that remained of her son to her.

The first thing I began to forget was his voice. All the hours he spent in my room ranting angrily about our father. I’d lay on my bed watching him pace, his passion fueled and furious. I thought maybe he’d be president someday. Panem needed the likes of him.

“Well eventually Fathers time will come to pass and it’ll be you in the position of wealth and power. Be patient sweet brother. You’ll do great things, I just know it.”

He’ll hang in the poorest district branded a traitor. Some say he cried for Mother. Others say he cried for me. Oh how it was few and far between but make no mistake, I wept for my brother. My kind, sweet, sensitive dead brother.

As his voice faded over time so did the small details of his presence. How his curls always stayed so effortlessly in place unlike my own that would become frizzy in a moments notice. The way he his nose would scrunch when he laughed. His obnoxious snores he would deny whenever called out on it.

See, Father was happy to erase Sejanus from our home. His memory a reminder of everything our Father could never be. A compassionate soul. A loving brother and son. A good man.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐭 𝐌𝐲 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫

Then came Coriolanus Snow. His gaze distant as he stood in our foyer, my father greeting him like a son returning home from travels. Long gone the hand made shirts and boots a size too tight. The messy haired Snow appeared far different, he too have died back in twelve. I wondered if he hung too or perhaps his fate was far worse. A mystery to never be solved, especially not if Coriolanus Snow could help it.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” His gaze bounced between myself and Mother. My Father said nothing while Mother embraced Coriolanus as I stared at him.

“Are you?” My words earned a stern tone from Father and scoldings from Mother. I offered a forced apology my eyes never leaving the leech standing in my family home. Gaining the world from the misfortune that befell my dear Sejanus. My father’s new pride and joy. At dinner Father was thrilled to announce his replacement son would join my side at University come the new term.

I left the table without a word. My father yelled for me to return as Mother assured our unwelcome guest it was not personal. Yet it was. Sejanus was to be with me for my first day of University. Not Coriolanus Snow.

Perhaps it was unfair. My brother was dead and I had already spent a lifetime despising my father. So who better to bear the brunt of my anger than the man who gained it all as I suffered my deepest loss.

𝐈 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐈, 𝐈 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐆𝐨

The night before our first day I stayed in my room. A knock at my door was an unexpected and unwelcome one. Mother was never a night owl and never in all my years had Father come to my room. Opening my door I crossed my arms leaning on the jamb. He stands holding a white rose his blue eyes piercing into my blank stare.

“I know you aren’t thrilled about me being here. I uh—I just wanted to wish you a good first day tomorrow,” Coriolanus spoke slowly. The rose still lingered in the air between us. I did not grab it.

“What happened to my brother?” His eyebrows quirked at my question, his lips parted as though he wanted to speak but nothing could leave him. I tilted my head my eyes narrowed before I retreated into my room leaving the door agape. At my shelf I rifled through the few papers and momentos of my own before finding the crumple paper stained with faded ink. The smudge writing typical for my left handed counterpart. My eyes on the paper as I return to the jamb, “…Coriolanus is here too. It’s nice to not be alone. His songbird is here, he plays it cool when I mention her but you can tell he cares for her. We’re like brothers, after what he did for me during the games. I’m going to protect him—“

𝐌𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

“Are you accusing me of something?” His own eyes narrowed down at me. The glint in them something I could not put into words, at the time I had no knowledge of the nerve I struck.

“Did you know of his plans?” I asked crossing my arms, my tone lowered. Father was always a light sleeper, if he had even been sleeping.

Coriolanus sighed, his gaze locked on my own unblinking. I narrowed my eyes and stared up at him. He shouldn’t be here. In my family home, enjoying all the luxuries owed to my brother, not him.

“I did,” Coriolanus confessed. He wet his lips, as he shared his knowledge of treason so casually.

“Then why is my brother gone and you’re here?” The waver of my voice cracked my hardened resolve. My body trembled beneath the weight of too many emotions to sort. Confusion. Rage. Grief. Disbelief. I choked back a cry and allowed Coriolanus to pull me in his arms as I sobbed into his shoulder.

“Sejanus loved you more than anything. I promised I’d look after you,” Coriolanus touch was soothing as he poured honey in my ears. Capitalizing off my vulnerability. My brother’s true final words to me slipped from my grasp as I took comfort from the source of my grief.

“—I have already requested a leave of absence for your first day of University. Look at the bright side sister. You won’t have to fuss about my hair being better than yours on your big day. They have buzzed my curls from me. We’ll be together soon, sister. Give Mother my love. With love. Your brother, Sejanus.”

𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐁𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞

[yourlazykitkat]

I don’t know why but I always imagine azris falling in love in the the winter court.

They’d both be there for work- Eris seamlessly stringing people along with his silver tongue, Azriel spying through the pale shadows of winter. There’s a mutual understanding that when Eris notices a few rebellious shadows, he looks away with a blinding smile so that whatever courtier he’s charming doesn’t see a thing, that when Azriel watches Eris slip into the private rooms- he calls his own spies off and attends himself so that whisper of a conspiracy does not bleed out. They don’t get along at all but they are reluctant allies.

Which makes things confusing when Eris catches a glimpse of Azriel from his guest room windows. The sharp, dangerous edges of an imposing Ilyrian softening in the gentle rain of snow, sleet falling on a beautiful face which shifts from cold stone to quiet wonder. Things are confusing when Azriel as a spy, an extremely unwelcome guest, has no place to stay but cold abandoned rooms and empty rafters. Illyrians are resistant to the colder more than others but it doesn’t stop Eris taking pity on Azriel who’s shoulders are stiff and fingers are blue. Eris is warm, his hand drags Azriel to his own quarters- Azriel has never held someone who’s blood runs so hot. He wonders if all autumn fae are like this or if it’s just Eris. The autumn prince will hide Azriel in his room and it gets confusing when late nights when either of them can sleep, they start talking about Eris’ dogs, Azriel’s shadows. They argue until they have to go to bed furious at each other (but keep each other warm) on some nights and others, they confess forgotten dreams and weak promises.

It’s confusing because they’re both workaholics who know better than this. There’s no playing at work- that just leads to horrible choices and decisions that they can’t afford to make. They act on behalf of their courts, they’ve learned better than to listen to their thundering, traitorous hearts.

It was useless to fight it, the surge of emotion, the falling in love. Azriel has never felt more helpless when he treks the wintery forests with Eris one day for no other reason than the fact he wants to- watching Eris scale a tree with a fire flickering beneath his feet. Eris shakes the tree, ice and snow falls on Azriel and he can only look in the same wonder as that first night. Eris slips, on purpose or on accident, and Azriel rushes forward to soften the other’s fall. The flash of lovely red hair again the pure snow, warm laughter ringing out and Eris as an anchor in his arms- Azriel has never been more helpless.

Or Eris, who plays along with the winter nobles, with the high lord and lady. By the end of the day, he’s exhausted with these games. He doesn’t want to play with the mask. In quiet moments of respite, he sits in the cozy libraries with a book and by the frosted windows. He never finishes a book because by the time he opens to the first page, writing appears in the frost. Telling him he looks stupid, telling him he looks like a pretentious fuck. Telling him that they’ll bring back liquorice tonight from the court’s premiere confectionary even though liquorice fucking sucks Eris. Eris will write back. They’ll spar with a thesaurus: brute, prick, pain in my ass, the bane of my existence, the death of me- and one day the frost answers back a word Eris doesn’t recognise. But he is in a library and he hunts down the answer and when he does, his ears are red all through dinner. It was too much effort, he thinks to himself when laying in bed with Azriel who sleeps soundly with a strong arm over Eris, too fight against this.

[blinkngone]

light years.

Silence resides like an unwelcome guest in the Burrow. On the days he doesn’t go to the Ministry, Harry mostly sits at the table in the Burrow’s kitchen, picking the skin on his lips. New post-war commodity at the Burrow: dirty dishes populating the a sink that has always been spic and span. A glass of water on the table that he never drinks. Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding World, rotting in the kitchen of a crooked, sun-bathed house. Out of the corner of his eyes, past the kitchen window, there is a blur of red and ivory. Sometimes he watches this blur flit back and forth between the frame of the window, sometimes he puts his head on the table, closes his eyes. Wills himself to remember her skin on his, the smell of her on his jaws. She feels a lifetime away. Centuries pass before he lifts his head back up again. The slant of the sun lengthens on the table. Near the edge, G.W is inscribed on the wood, below it, the initials of her brothers. These words belong to another time, when pain came from breaking elbows in the yard, gnome biting their toes, bee stings from the hives sticking to the trees. These days, pain comes from things they shouldn’t have even experienced.

“Your childhood was robbed from you,” Kingsley told Harry one time when they were repairing the greenhouses at Hogwarts. Amid the havoc of the war, green plants shot up regardless.

So much more than just his childhood was robbed from him, Harry wanted to tell the Minister. His life was almost snatched from him. His future, his people, all the love he could’ve had. He didn’t say anything, just shrugged. After, as he stood near the lake smoking a cigarette, squirrels scampered away from him. Like they knew this life he had, was more tinted with death than any eighteen year old life should be.

/

Now, the sounds from outside populate the silence of the Burrow. With Ron and Hermione in Australia, Mrs. Weasley at the Shell Cottage, and the others at the Ministry, the house seems to be an extension of the aching loneliness he feels. Lately, he is consumed by the need to do something, anything except attend hearings at the Ministry and helping at Hogwarts. There is a constant restlessness between his ribs. In bed sometimes, he cannot feel his body anymore, feels like he is becoming more and more unmoored from this plane of existence. In the bathroom that mostly smells of shampoo that Mrs. Weasley makes from the flowers from the Burrow’s orchard, he looks at the reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink, and is unable to locate himself.

Ginny, he observes, embodies his restlessness. She is wild that summer, Ginny. He sees it. She prowls around the Burrow at night, lithe and haunting. A ghost. In daylight, she is as fleeting as an afterthought. She is gone before he’s up, and thinks no one notices how she is beginning to disappear, parts of her falling off and getting lost. Untended grief settling in those empty spaces. Harry becomes increasingly concerned, but no one has taught him how to prevent another person from disappearing into darkness. Framed in the window of his room in the attic, he too, looks ghastly. If it weren’t for the throb of pain in his open wounds, the sting of summer on his red burns, he wouldn’t be able to tell if he were human, Harry thinks.

He remembers their days at Hogwarts, how she’d demand he sit against the trees and watch her fly. Eyes glinting, and a wicked grin on her face, she’d deftly braid her hair into a plait. Broom between her legs, she’d say, “Top this, Potter.”

And he watched, because how could he not. After everything he’d seen in his sixteen years of life, she was a miracle. Later, he’d unbraid her hair, lips on the column of her neck, tasting the wind on her skin.

These days, the only forms of interaction between them are: their dirty cups stacked on top of each other, strands of hair she sometimes leaves in the bathroom sink, her clothes and his tangled in the laundry hamper.

/

It happens on an ordinary afternoon. He stops a few feet away from the Burrow, near the chicken coup to smoke a cigarette. Today, he met Kingsley at the Ministry. He offered Harry a spot in the Auror Department.

They sat opposite each other at the table in the Minister of Magic’s office. He told the Minister, “I have to think about it.”

“Yes, Harry. Take your time. Maybe wait till Ron and Hermione are back.”

“Ron and Hermione, yeah,” he said. It dawned on him that he’d never taken an important decision without them by his side. He was so wholly inadequate without the two of them.

The birds chirp in the orchard now, the breeze heavy with humidity. Dragonflies buzz over his head. Hermione once told him, when she was little, she’d look out the window of her bedroom in the hopes of seeing dragonflies.

“Dragonflies mean heavy rain!” her Mum used to tell her. In his last letter, Ron wrote Mrs. Granger’s memory was proving difficult to be restored. She was still unable to remember Hermione.

It sure feels like heavy rain today. He blows the smoke out, slowly. Taps his finger against the cigarette and watches the column of ash fall away.

“What’s that?”

He turns around to see Ginny, broom against her hip, standing where the orchard gives away to tall and wide grass blades. Her voice sounds different, rusty from the lack of use.

“Cigarette,” he tells her.

“What?”

“Muggle shit.”

She just lifts her eyebrows, her mouth perched on the brink of laughter. Her hair is wild, sweat shining on her face. For a few seconds they look at each other. He is afraid to look away.

“Want to try?” he asks her.

She shrugs and steps forward. He covers the distance between them in three long strides.

/

The floating foliage of the leaves makes shadow patterns on their bodies. The sunlight feels old, slightly muted. She he likes the way the yellow light catches the tiny hairs on his arms, bringing out the dark butterscotch of his emerald pupils, makes his face look unbelievably beautiful. They pass a cigarette back and forth, the both of them lying on a patch of asymmetrical sunlight, the dew from the grass wetting the back of their thin shirts. He blows the smoke from the corner of his mouth, so that the left side of his face disappears momentarily in this white smoke, then reappears in the very next instant. She can smell the scent of her own hair, like wildflowers, and wishes he smells it, too, over the smell of his cigarette.

He doesn't speak much, nor does she. But his lingering looks burn into her skin, make her feel more than a wound that won’t scab, not even at the edges. Yesterday she took him to the pond, and they sat near the edge, with their feet in the water. Green weeds curled around their calves. Their shoulders were touching.

He said, “I thought about you, a lot. You know, when I was away.”

She blinked at him and wondered if it was too early to tell him about hurting in his dorm, seeing his face every time they shot a Cruciatus at her, willing to die than divulge any information that might be used against him.

“Oh.” She touched her chest with her palm. She looked out at the pond, listened to the croaking of the frogs on the green pads of leaves bigger than the sun in the sky. She wanted to give him her heart, knew he’d cradle it in his rough palms delicately, with the kind of tenderness that touches you once in twelve million light years.

“I stole your jumper,” she told him. “Wore it to bed.” Every night.

She turned to look at him the same moment he looked away. She caught the shy upturn of his smile sideways, for a fleeting moment, and revelled in it for the entire night.

She turns to him now, props herself on her elbows. He looks up at her. There are a million things she wants to tell him. The most important of which, perhaps, is that she loves him. Wants them to heal together.

“Harry.”

He stubs his cigarette in one quick motion. The contours of his lips, the wetness of his tongue are painfully familiar. Beautifully so.

[three--rings]

OFMD and Rime of the Ancient Mariner

I have to shout out @nonsensicalramblings79 who wrote their own analysis of the connections. It's very worth reading. But I want to talk less about symbols and more just bits of the poem that vibe with the season so far.

The "impossible bird" that Ed references in ep 1 immediately made me think of an albatross, because there was a sailor legend that albatrosses always flew across the ocean and never stopped on land.

And because there's a strong connection between sailors and albatrosses, most famously as a result of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (1834).

So because the other post linked above didn't quote the actual poem much, that's what I'd like to do to point out WHY it feels like this is an actual connection.

First of all, the poem takes place At a Wedding, in which the Ancient Mariner is a fairly unwelcome guest. We learn at the end that he is cursed for the rest of his life to forcibly spill out his story to people when he sees someone who he's Meant to tell. So he's talking to a Wedding Guest in the middle of a wedding party.

It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din.'

This is how it begins. The mariner has a "long grey beard and glittering eye." Okay, Ed-core. He's at a wedding and stops this bridegroom's next of kin, who complains why are you making a fuss, the party is going on right now, they're going to hear you. Definitely evoking Ed crashing the wedding in ep 1.

So the Mariner was on a ship, a storm came and blew them off course, then they saw an albatross in the sky and were able to get free of the ice. I find it interesting that the albatross:

It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew... And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo!

The albatross ate the food it had never eaten, it flew around and came everyday when they called it for food and play. This evokes Ed and Stede in their honeymoon days on the Revenge, Ed trying new food, them playing different roles and eating good meals...

Then more fog and ice came and so the Mariner shoots the albatross. Everyone is happy about it because they think it brought bad weather until they become becalmed. We get the most famous lines of the poem:

Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink.

That has nothing to do with OFMD it's just Good Poem. I do find the next stanza evocative:

The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea.

Very Kraken-y. It will come up again. The crew decides the Mariner did this to them by killing the albatross that had been their friend and good luck. They tie the bird around his neck as a mark of his crime.

It goes on to describe them all dying of thirst and how then Death comes on them and all the men on the ship, 200 of them, die EXCEPT for the Mariner. All of them die looking him directly in the eye, cursing him in death.

Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.

So I said the slimy things would be back, the Mariner is relating himself to them, again like Ed and the Kraken. Here we get to the part of the poem that is about the Mariner's inability to die. He's been cursed and so he cannot die, despite his desperate situation. This is where it really resonates with Ed in the early eps of S2. He desperately wants to die. He feels he is a curse on humanity, which he acts out in his violence, and also a curse on his crew, who he is ruining. He wants to die but cannot, despite all his attempts at getting someone to kill him.

An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die.

He tries to pray, but his heart is "dry as dust" and he cannot. But after seven days he starts watching the snakes in the water and enjoys the beauty of the world around him, and the albatross falls off of his neck and he can pray. He prays and basically a spirit or God or Mary answers him. It rains and he drinks water and then the corpses of the crew, which have not rotted at all, stand up inhabited by spirits and begin working the ship again. Wind carries it back to his home.

Yeah zombie sailors, dead men crewing a ship, WAY before Pirates of the Carribean.

So anyway, eventually he hears two voices speaking on the air.

'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.' The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.'

I find the lines about the spirit who loved the albatross, who loved this man, who shot him. So the Mariner killed something who loved him, and that was his sin that brought the curse on him. But now he's done penance and will do more and that's why he can be saved.

Could make a connection to Ed shooting Izzy, but also it feels like Stede is also the albatross, but rather than Ed killing him, the albatross failed to love him? IDK Maybe Stede is the spirit who loved Ed the albatross and Blackbeard killed the Ed that Stede loved....that fits best. And it's the spirit who saved him ultimately. As Stede in mermaid form saves Ed.

Getting to that, the boat approaches land.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree?

Lighthouse imagery, of course. So a boat approaches this ship, with a "Good Hermit" in it. The ship however basically cracks in half and sinks right in the bay, and they fish the Mariner our of the water and think he is dead, but he wakes up and scares the crap out of them. Then he starts to row for shore.

'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, The Devil knows how to row.'

They call him The Devil, which I point out because Ed calls himself that.

Basically he tells his whole story and here is where we learn he's compelled to tell his story when he meets the right people. He closes by talking about how alone alone alone he was and how he appreciates being with people and walking to church with them, going to a wedding. And also learned how important it is to cherish all creatures in the world.

And finally the Wedding Guest who heard this whole story:

He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn.

IDK I just like this image of being sadder and wiser when you wake up in the morning, which again feels evocative to how Ed is going to wake up maybe?

IDK. I don't think we can say "oh clearly they had this poem in mind while writing these episodes", but they feel to me like they were written with this somewhere in the back of their minds. The reference to the impossible bird feels very much like a literary reference to an albatross, which would immediately conjure the "what happens if you kill an albatross" from this poem.

If you're still reading, hope you enjoyed this little journey into poetry. I'd encourage you to read the whole thing. It's very very weird and unique.

[waywardangel-wilds]

Cyclamen

I've decided to make this a short story with maybe 3 chapters. I finished the first one:

“Oh hush, you.”

“Stranger tales have been woven.”

“What can a no-good fool know about such things,” the woman hmphed, “To speak of them.”

“I may be a fool, but I’m no less wiser,” the man winked. His eyes were riddled with cataracts, but they sparkled. The children huddled close by; their little heads eagerly tilted with the promise of a story.

“Papa, please tell us,” One of them begged, her little hands pulling insistently at the old man’s knee. “Please!”

“You’ve done it now,” his wife turned back to her knitting needles.

“Well, it’s as they say. Once, long ago, on a winter night just like this one, old man Everdeen heard it.”

“What did he hear?” one of the youngsters gasped.

“Three knocks,” he whispered and slowly, so slowly, brought a fist aloft.

“One,” he struck his knuckles against the arm of his chair.

“Two,” the children’s eyes followed his every movement.

“Three.”

The howling winds were ferocious that night. They screamed and scratched against the walls, rattling the window shutters, and pushing up against the door. The cold was like no other. The cruelest winter in three generations. With it, hunger and illness stole in, unwelcome guests to every household, perfumed with the stench of death.

The house was small, a cottage of just one room. There was a fire, a table for eating, two beds, and nothing else. That was all there was, in those days. All there could be.

Old Man Everdeen had a wife and two children. Two lovely daughters, one fair and golden and one bronze and ebony. He loved them, dearly. They were all he had. He would have done anything, sacrificed anything, his health, his life, his sanity, but that was not what the bear wanted from him.

Old Man Everdeen had a daughter made of iron. She took care of him and their family without complaint. Every day, without fail since the mineshaft took his legs. It troubled him, to be so useless, to be cumbersome. But his daughter, his lovely daughter, she was as radiant as the sun.

That evening, desperation was their guest. The cupboards were bare, and the coal would run out. The wind kept screaming, screeching, all around, as they huddled close to the fire. Waiting. For death? For an unknown guest?

And then it came.

The knocks were heavy. Final. They sucked the air out of the room and hushed the blizzard. He ceased breathing.  Even the mice paused. It came once, twice, three times.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Papa,” his youngest daughter whispered. “Who’s there?”

“Everdeen,” the voice spoke inside his mind. “Everdeen. We must all pay our debts.”

His iron daughter stood.

“No!” he reached out, but she was a step too far. “Katniss!”

“They might need our help,” she replied earnestly. Innocently. Kindly.  He would have stood if he could. “I’ll be alright, Papa.”

“Everdeen,” the voice spoke to him again.

His daughter’s feet whispered against the floorboards. She never made a sound. His little lynx. She was his little hunter, his little Katniss bloom. She already had twenty summers, but to him, she’d always be his toothy girl, bobbing in the river, all sharp knees, and elbows, shouting Papa! Papa! Look what I can do!

The door creaked open, but only slightly, to keep the cold air out. His daughter gasped and scrambled backwards, tripping over a chair. She fell hard on the ground, but that was the least of their concerns. The door swung open as flurries of snow blanketed the wooden floor. His wife cried out at his side and his other daughter screamed. But he didn’t make a sound. Somehow, he had known. He’d always known things would end like this.

The white bear took one step and then another into the house. It stared at him, unblinking, with eyes the color of the northern sea. Yes, he’d known, how could he have forgotten? We must all pay our debts.

“You are a poor man, Everdeen.” The bear spoke to him alone. “What have you for me?”

“Nothing,” he whispered in reply, to his wife’s bewilderment.

“Spruce?” she asked, staring at him as he remained calm before the bear. She stood, shaking, but with their youngest hidden behind her. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Ah!” His eldest daughter screamed, rushing up behind the bear with one of their hunting knives above her head. It was reckless and desperate, but just like her to try and protect him once more.

“Stop!” he exclaimed, and she did. She stood wild-eyed and panting, the knife still brandished in her hands. “It means no harm.”

The bear turned its large head and gazed down at his daughter. She stared back defiantly but she was afraid. And how couldn’t she be? With a bear in their home and a debt to pay?

“I have nothing.” He insisted once more. “No gold, no riches, not even bread to break. Oh, Great Northern Bear, have mercy on my family, and take me alone.”

“What?” His wife shouted just as his eldest daughter gasped.

“You are an honest man.” The bear spoke again without moving its jaws. It remained speaking to him exclusively. “But my master demands fair payment all the same.”

“I understand,” he nodded and closed his eyes. “Please, Great Bear if you must strike me down, allow my family the peace of ignorance. Do not take me here.”

“Your life is not payment enough, Everdeen.”  The bears’ words rocked him to his core. “You must give me your greatest treasure. From your two daughters, chose one, so I might take her with me.”

“Never,” he declared. “Strike me down where I stand, but never, not my daughters.”

“Papa!” His youngest exclaimed.

“You are a poor man, Everdeen.” The bear repeated. “Give me your eldest daughter and I will bathe you in riches. Your wife and child will have enough to eat for the rest of your days. But you must give me the eldest Everdeen, and never see her again, so your debt will be repaid.”

He choked on a sob, “No.” He insisted. “Take me and wipe my old debt clean and never darken my door again.”

The bear made a growling noise and turned its great head once more. His daughter gasped and he knew, it spoke to her alone.

“Katniss,” he begged. “Don’t.”

His daughter took her time straightening her spine and putting down her knife. She fixed her hair. She glanced at the bear once and strode up to her mother.

“I love you,” she whispered and embraced her once, doing the same to her sister a moment after.

“Katniss,” his voice turned desperate. “Please.”

She came up to him last. He was sequestered to the sofa unless someone else moved him first. She embraced him and his sobs escaped. His daughter was made of iron, and he knew nothing would bend her.

“Goodbye, Papa.” She whispered, squeezing his shoulders. “I love you.”

“Katniss!” He cried after her, his voice bouncing off against the walls long after she was gone.

[ghxulsnskxlls]

tell me.

a/n : i cannot stop thinking about this prompt/premise...grrr, had to create a new tumblr acc for it

tw : nsfw, mdni, dead doves do not eat, f!reader, afab, interrogation, dubious consent, dom!alejandro, porn WITH plot

prem : you had been alej's closest subordinate in los vaqueros, second only to rudy. more than a year ago, all alejandro remembered was that you disappeared from the base one day, and rudy gathered enough intel to prove that you had turned sides to work with valeria's cartel instead.

valeria's been dead for months now, and you were finally captured to be put through interrogation instead of getting thrown into the nearest maximum security prison. alejandro's determined to find out the real reason why you deserted the base and he'll stop at nothing to coax (*groans* *rolls eyes*) the answer out of you. 8.8k words for a single fic omg wtf

You always knew he was going to catch up to you sooner or later, so it had been foolish of you to start to feel a little safe, becoming lax in watching your back when it had only been eight months since you were on the run from Los Vaqueros, and Valeria now dead.

You had settled in your temporary refuge after spending two months being on the run, a charming house in a small village near the foot of the forest hills. Away from the bustling Las Almas, now flourishing even as it slowly rebuilt itself after El Sin Nombre's death, and Los Vaqueros picking off the men of the cartel one by one like they were trophy hunting.

You were washing your fruits in the sink when you heard your front door being opened. You turned around and froze in place to see that your unwelcomed guests were Alejandro and Rudy, your past commanding officers when you were still a Vaquera, before you deserted and joined Valeria's cartel.

They were holding their rifles, and your hands were empty, still wet from washing the papayas. They weren't raising their firearms however, and you knew it was their last bit of mercy for you.

"You either don't resist, or we shoot your Achille's heels and drag you by your hair. We advise you to choose the former option, niña." Alejandro warned heatedly.

You clenched your jaw, and proceeded to kneel on the floor with your hands behind your head.

••••••••

They treated you like how they treated Valeria. Shoved into a container unit with nothing but a chair and table under the dingy lights. You rested your hands on your thighs, and touching the fabric of your skirt made you realise how out of place you looked at the moment.

You wore a brown maxi skirt, and a simple white blouse with short sleeves, looking like any other civilian, sitting in the middle of an interrogation unit located at a military base, looking so out of place in a place where you had once considered your second home. You realised how wrong it was that you're being detained here and not thrown to the nearest maximum security jail. Hell, Alejandro had probably received a shoot on sight order on your head.

With you being held captive in this cell, you knew he was going behind the authorities' backs for this. They're not even aware he had retrieved you from your hideout, that you were still alive and breathing.

Unfortunately, you were also aware why exactly did he throw you into this interrogation cell in the first place. Frankly, you have no valuable intel to give to him anymore since Valeria's already dead, and her men dropping like flies because of Los Vaqueros hunting them down like it was trophy hunting season. Her cartel was grinded into dust—Alejandro threw you here to gather something more personal than that, and he wanted to hear the truth from your own mouth.

You didn't want to tell him anything. You were too ashamed of the truth.

The door being slammed shut broke you out of your thoughts, and you see Alejandro entering the room. Your heart thundered against the confines of your chest when he snapped his head in your direction, making you meet his glare.

He was furious, that was obvious, in the way the corners of his mouth was threatening to dip low and turn into a nasty snarl. You held his stare despite the fear pulling your guts into knots, because you knew him well, of who he was and how he acted.

"Thought you could escape us? You should've known better. Even Valeria died by my hands in the end." His voice boomed and echoed in the container unit.

"It still took you eight months to find me, Coronel." Your voice stayed even, defying him from the get go.

"Doesn't matter if it took eight months or eight fucking years—it would still end the same; with you detained in this unit, answering to me." He raised his voice slightly, a vein making itself known at the side of his head.

You didn't even flinch, your palms stayed flat on your thighs.

"You're going behind people's back keeping me detained here. You're supposed to hand me over—" You were cut off when he slammed his fists on the table, making you close your eyes at the sound.

"You have the gall to be talking about how I shouldn't be going behind people's backs? You, the person who went behind my back to desert this base and go work for a drug lord?" He roared, slamming one fist on the table by the end of his sentence.

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but since he knew all you were going to do was defy him and his every word, he didn't give you the opportunity to speak this time.

"And you don't have the right to tell me how to do my job. I don't want to hear it from a deserter like you."

Your eyes flickered to the surface of the table, clamped your mouth shut and clenched your jaw. Your fear was still there, but know what other emotion would accompany fear? Anger. Hearing Alejandro interrupt you to berate you was getting on your nerves, even though his points were valid and justified.

The Colonel made his way to your right side, passing by the table. He bent down, placing his hands on his knees as he searched your eyes. When you refused to meet his gaze, his hand went to your jaw, gripping on it with the warning that he wouldn't hesitate to dig his fingers into the flesh of your cheeks if you kept avoiding his eyes.

He let out a grunt when you met his eyes, finally, but didn't let go of your jaw.

"You know why you're here. You know what I want to know."

"Unfortunately for you, Colonel, I'd rather be thrown into a prison cell straight away than tell you." You bit out, and you held back a wince when his grip tightened.

"Do you think I give a fuck whether you'd be willing to tell me or not? You're not leaving this unit until you tell me what I want—"

"You're already going against orders having me detained here. Even Valeria was handed over to a prison."

"After she told me what I wanted to know."

"Because Valeria had relevant intel that your mission needed. You're holding me here for a personal grudge—"

"And I'm not denying that." He hissed, his gloved fingers sinking into the flesh of your cheeks.

He pulled on your face, until you could feel his breath fanning against your face.

"Do you honestly believe I would let you go just like that? After you betrayed me? After you betrayed Rudy and your brothers?"

You finally gathered the strength to place your hands on his shoulders and pushed him off of you. As Alejandro stumbled back, you soothed your jaw. You can still feel his fingers digging in your cheeks.

"You're going too far, colonel."

Alejandro quickly recovered and took hold of your collar, dragging you up and slamming your back against the metal walls of the container unit. A loud 'BANG' produced from it. Your hands went to his hand that was now gripping on your collar, panicking slightly that his knuckles were pressed against your throat to keep you pinned to the wall.

"Then tell me. What I want to know." His low voice a stark contrast compared to the resounding 'BANG' produced earlier.

"You can go fuck yourself." You gasped out, struggling to wheeze out a laugh just to infuriate him. Only then did you realise your toes were barely touching the floor.

He flared his nose and let go of your throat, watching as you sink down to your knees and holding on your throat as you choked on air, learning to breath properly again. In a spark of anger, just pure anger scratching through the thick oily surface of your fear, your eyes snapped up to look at him staring down at you. At his mercy, kneeling before him, cornered by him—

And then your anger was then accompanied by a feeling—a sensation, that you didn't wholeheartedly welcome into your mind and being.

He observed you, staring up at him with glossy eyes kneeling before him, your cheeks flushed due to the blood rushing back to your head since your airways weren't blocked anymore, the blouse you wore not that high cut enough; he could see your cleavage from above, your chest rapidly going up and down—

You exasperate him, truly.

"You are going. Too far." You struggled to talk. Even so, your hoarse voice uttering words of defiance at him in a self righteous attitude, deflecting from your own wrongdoings by calling out on his abuse of power made him lose his goddamn head. His rationality breaking through the glass window panes and out of it.

You infuriate him so much.

His hand slid down to grip on your arm and pulled you up to your feet, then it moved forth to grab on your shoulders and dragged you, pushing you and slamming your back against the cold surface of the table. He slotted himself between your legs, making it difficult for you to kick at him. It didn't help that his hand was on your throat again, giving it a warning squeeze, but you didn't care and your hands gripped on his wrist in an attempt to pry his fingers away.

You really hated just how big his build is now compared to yours, when in the past you used to fantasise about it all the time. How he would tower over you, and completely hide your body from other's view just by standing in front of you.

"What the fuck, Alejandro!" You snarled, and despite how useless it was, you still tried to kick him.

His cold fury turned into something more sinister at your words, and your heart skipped several beats when he let out a low laugh, and how it fanned against your face with how close he was to you.

"So you do remember my name. Thought you only remembered my ranking, kept calling me coronel since the beginning." He taunted, and it made you gulp.

You made it a point to avoid using his name. In the distant past, when you were still his second favourite subordinate, you had called him Alej. You only allowed yourself to call him 'Alej' and Sergeant Major Parra 'Rudy' when it was just you three nursing coffee at the pantry late at night. They would scold you together, talking about how unhealthy your sleeping habits were, and how the caffeine addiction didn't help. You were still young and budding, and you needed sufficient sleep.

You would roll your eyes and tell them to stop fussing over you like a child since you've always performed well regardless, and Rudy would huff at you that no man would approach you with the eyebags you'd have. Alej would bark out a laugh, telling Rudy your eyebags weren't the biggest issue regarding your appearance and appeal, and you'd hold yourself back from stomping on his foot under the table because he was still your CO—

You could feel gloved fingers digging into your cheeks, holding your jaw in a tight grip, and it snapped you out of the nostalgia that had momentarily hazed your mind for a second. You blinked, only to see Alejandro with his eyes narrowed on you.

"You have the gall to daydream at a time like this?" His voice rasped in bated fury, and you frowned, cursing at yourself for your slip-up.

You scolded yourself for treading into fond memories when it was probably meaningless by now. Alejandro hated you, and Rudy probably shared the sentiment too. Your heart ached in pain at the fact, but you tried to will it away. The memories, the heartaches—all of it didn't matter anymore.

You still deserted the base, you betrayed them anyway, and for someone who had already broken Alejandro's trust in the first place.

"What are you going to do if I refuse to tell you, Colonel?" You spoke evenly, a sudden sober attitude surfacing even with the current position he had placed you in—a little compromising, and breaking so many rules already just because of the fact he's standing between your legs.

However, Alejandro's anger didn't dissipate at the sudden change of your attitude, nor was he taken back by it—instead, he got angrier, for even suggesting that you were going to leave this cell without telling him what he wanted to know so desperately.

He pulled away from you, but he merely pulled his upper body away, he still stood between your legs. You cautiously sat up, letting your elbows prop you up against the table. You watched as he bit on the tip of gloves and took it off of his hands, leaving it bare, and then taking off the other one.

"Bold of you to assume I wouldn't use every interrogation method in the book to beat the answers out of you."

He rested his skin nude hands on your lower thighs, and it made you gasp in mortification.

You were shocked the first time he pinned you on the table and slotted himself between your legs to get a leverage against you fighting back, but you were finally reminded you had been wearing a maxi skirt when he did it. Because of him standing in between your legs as you were pinned on the table, your skirt had rode up your legs and up to your upper thighs.

Your legs were exposed, and his palm was warm against the sensitive skin of your thigh. When you snapped out of your shock, you tried to get off the table but he was quicker. He lowered his upper half on you again and placed an arm across your throat, pushing his face close to yours. You cried out at being encased against the table again.

"You've gone mad! This is wrong, and you know it. This is absolutely insane behaviour!" You hissed, hands going to his clothed shoulders that weren't covered with a bulletproof chest plate, sunk your nails in and dragged it down his shoulders.

You reminded him of a feral cat.

He let out a deep breath at your scratches, willing himself to withstand the sting. He was sure you managed to tear open his skin, probably shallow—but you probably made him bled regardless.

"Wrong? You wanna talk about wrongs? How about when you wronged me—when you deserted Los Vaqueros, when you went to work for a drug lord that painted your hometown's streets with blood." He sneered, sliding his palm higher up your thighs from under your skirt.

You let out an undignified cry when he did that, and it was bordering on a moan too—because, goddamn it, you always harboured an attraction for this man, but this wasn't the time. He raised your thigh and pressed his hips to yours. When you squirmed, he held your hips still with the hand whose arm was pressed against your throat earlier, letting you breathe properly again.

"I lost sleep wondering why—just why did you leave like that, why did you betray us? You left without a word!" He growled, and since it was Alejandro speaking, it really did sound like a growl.

Your hands went to his shoulders again, hissing at all of the stimulation you were feeling at the moment. His hips pressed against yours, his clothes rubbing against your inner thighs, one hand under your thigh, and the other holding your hip still under him.

"You crazy bastard, I thought you were a righteous soldier." Your hoarse voice bit out. One of your hands was tucked into a fist, slamming against his chest pathetically.

And the more sinister side of his anger appeared again at you calling him out on his power trip. He let out another low baritone laugh, and that surge of heart-stopping fear took grip of your being again just hearing it.

"I'm righteous to the people who deserve it—and you, niña? You're worse than Valeria herself, for betraying Los Vaqueros and Las Almas to go work for her. You deserve nothing good." His hand that was holding your hip still went to brush his finger pads on your cheeks, grinning at your expression.

That struck the fear of god in you, incredibly. You just clamped your mouth shut, but you continued to squirm and struggle beneath him. He grunted, annoyed at you pounding your fists against him, so he went to pin your wrists above your head. Because of that, all you could do was try your best to push his hips away, but you stopped when he let out a deep groan. You realised right away why he groaned, and your stomach fluttered and dropped to feel something growing against your hips, throbbing.

Fuck me, you cursed at yourself, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb—fucking dumbfuck. Of course his dick would get hard after being literally grinded on.

You let out a mortified gasp when he pushed his own hips against yours this time. In retaliation, you pressed your legs around his lower torso. Not to encourage him—but to encage him tightly enough so he couldn't move so easily...however, it backfired, though. He huffed out a breath of laughter when you did that, and smoothly maneuvered his hand so only one was required to keep wrists pinned above you, and the other slid down your body to grip on the flesh of your thigh that was currently encasing him tightly against you. The squeeze making you gasp again.

"Seems like you're asking for nothing good from me. Do you enjoy this? Being manhandled without care? I always knew you kinda had a crush on me, but this is just embarrassing. It's either a kink, or you just enjoy letting the men you're attracted to do whatever they please." He taunted from above you, and you feel your face heating up at the taunt.

"Stop it, you're being cruel." You wanted to slap yourself at how petulant you sounded, but his smirk dropped.

"You were cruel to me first. Your betrayal drove me insane, ripped my heart out—I'm like this because of you."

You stared back at him in anguish, in fury, and he could even see guilt slipping through your cracks. He was being sincere, but now he's taking notes of what's disarming you little by little. Because of how quickly the mood shifted, he ground his hips into yours more roughly this time. If you were whining at how cruel he was being, then he took it upon himself to live up to your expectations and show you just how cruel he can really be.

When you felt him grinding his covered hard-on against your thin panties so harshly, you faltered, dropping your face to the side. With your head turned to the side, exposing your neck to him, Alejandro couldn't hold back from dipping his face in to take a bite of your skin, sucking on the spot, nibbling on it. His dick throbbed along with the pulses he could feel against his tongue, could feel just how fast your heartbeats were.

You felt a little overwhelmed, a little overstimulated. Even in all that haze of pleasure you had been trying so hard to reject, you felt like crying. You weren't allowed his touches back then because he was your superior—but even now that you had long abandoned your post as his subordinate, this was still wrong because of your current dynamics; you, a criminal, and him, an authority figure.

Fuck, who knew something so wrong could feel so right?

So you surrender.

Your legs loosened around his waist to let him move more freely now, you let yourself go pliant under him. Alejandro, however, was a little taken back when he felt it. He let go of the spot he had been suckling on to pull his face away from your neck and study you, but your cheek was still pressed against the table, your eyes were screwed shut, and you were nibbling and biting down on your lower lip to not let any shameful sounds escape.

Based on his observations, his mind jumped into the wrong conclusion; you were trying to mentally detach yourself from the situation. You weren't facing him, not fighting back anymore—he thought of it as you dissociating. At that assumption, he felt his mind snap. You dare to run away from him again? It was as if his rationality was a bomb, and the bomb squad had cut off the wrong wire.

So it was set off, exploding, consuming everything.

He let go of your wrists to grip on your jaw, turning your face to him so he could pull you into a kiss. It was so rough and sudden, his lips were already pressing against yours, you let out a squeak. You squeaking against his lips was the leverage he needed to slip his tongue in, and just like that, the kiss turned into something more carnal and overbearing—like he was now trying to devour you whole. He ignored the way your nails sunk into his shoulders again—in fact, he welcomed it, he wanted you to leave your mark on him.

He could imagine your nails scratching down his naked back, with your ankles crossed behind him, and a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies as he fucked into you mercilessly, the pace unrelenting and your choked voice begging him for mercy. His pants couldn't feel any tighter than now.

He grinded against you again, his clothed bulge was harsh against the thin fabric of your panties, and you sobbed into his mouth at the grinding. His hand that wasn't gripping on your jaw was gripping on your hips under your blouse, skin to skin, his fingers dipped under the hem of your skirt that was now pooled all around your waist, leaving the entirety of your legs exposed.

Your legs were around his waist once more, ankles crossing each other to make him slow down a little, encasing him tightly against you. He was content to feel your legs around him again. He released you from that filthy kiss once he could tell you were going lightheaded at the lack of oxygen, and pulled away to see your eyes blown out and glossy, lips swollen and parted slightly as you panted, your soft chest heaving up and down against his. You were a sight to behold.

Inside his mind, Alejandro made a snarky comment on how Rudy would've laid his life down to see this exact sight, it made him scoff—he could let Rudy and you go at each other some other time.

Right now, you were under his mercy.

His hand left your jaw to hold the back of your head, entangling with your hair that was now longer than he remembered, now two inches into reaching your mid back. Back then, you always kept it neatly cropped just right above your shoulders, and always kept it tied into a low ponytail around the base. Now when he looked at you, he couldn't see a soldier anymore, when that has always been his main deterrent from just ravaging you back then.

You wearing your uniform with the gloves on, your bulletproof chest armour around your upper torso, and small gloved hands holding an assault rifle—that was always what held him back from just bending you over his office desk and fuck into you. Because despite being your superior officer, you were equals on the battlefield—but now, with your untied hair longer than ever and forming a broken halo behind your head, the white blouse and the skirt, your body pinned on the table under him, he's fantasising about you being a nice little housewife in a house under his name.

Bent over the sink, skirt pushed up to your waist, grunts and moans filling the kitchen.

God, you were so fucking annoying—he could never get that fantasy out of his head now, and he would surely get a boner every time it would get replayed behind his eyes. He closed his fist with your hair entangled between his fingers, pulling at your scalp, it made you wince softly at the stinging pain. He almost cooed.

"Muñeca, if you tell me why you left, I'll be nicer. Do you still want to be stubborn and defy me more than you already did?" He plastered on a deceptively kind smile, the hand that was gripping on your waist was squeezing the ample flesh, like he was squeezing on a stress ball.

Your eyes were beginning to water since the longer you stayed silent, he would slowly pull on to your hair more and more until your head was tilted back. He searched your eyes, and he could see that yes, you were still going to be stubborn.

His smile dropped, eyes shifting to something animalistic, and now you couldn't find the Alejandro you could recognise anymore. Something grew at the base of your belly at the fear, when you could recognise his face but not who he was anymore.

"Coronel—"

"Then so be it. That was your first chance by the way, out of three."

Swiftly, he let go of your hair and ripped your blouse open. You let out a choked cry, tried to cover your chest with your own hands but as always, he was quicker, stronger—he went on to pin your wrists above your head again, with one hand only like before.

"I can't—I don't know who you are anymore." You whispered in a petrified manner, searching for a man you once knew so well in a distant past in his eyes.

But beloved Alej who was your strict but caring Colonel from back then was nowhere to be found. All that's left at the moment was an entity made of vengeance, carnal desires, and ice cold fury placed inside his husk. Black voids containing a violent snowstorm inside stared back at your teary eyes mockingly.

"What? Did you honestly think I would treat you like I used to?" He chuckled, his free hand gliding up your thighs from under your skirt, teasing the hem of your panties on your hip.

"You're nothing more than a traitor. You deserve to be treated like one, you deserve nothing good."

He glanced down at your bra—simple white thing, the only laces in sight were the ones stitched at the edges of your bra. It made you look innocent, reminding him of the age gap between you two. You were currently 25, and he was 38—oh, yes, that big age gap. It was what made him feel so disgusted with himself when he realised he was attracted to you back then. Made him feel lecherous.

Him always referring to you as niña just served as another reminder as to why he shouldn't drag you by your waist and kiss you senseless. All he would ever allow himself is to pat you on the head or shoulders, or ruffle your hair, or rest his elbow on the top of your head to tease you. The farthest he could go was patting your cheeks, and that was only one time, since you were crying over Rodriguez's death.

Now, you were acting like a brat after letting him down big time—he supposed a bout of disciplining could shape you back into line again.

He tore his eyes away from your chest to your face, staring into your eyes. Your lower lips were trembling, your eyes swelled with tears—and the carnal beast inside him that was so starved for answers and vengeance wheezed out a cackle.

He shushed you, cooed at you like you were a child.

"I haven't done anything yet, and you're already crying? I'll give you something to cry about soon."

He pulled you into another devouring kiss that was hellbent to consume all your rational mind. You hitched a breath against his lips when you felt his hand leave your hips to go under the top of your cups, tugging your bra down. Your spine shivered when you felt the air hit the naked skin of your whole chest, but then you felt his warm skin on your right nipple, and your mind slipped, accidentally bit down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Your mind was racing when you tasted the metallic tang, and he pulled away from you right after. He smirked at the sting, licking away the tear and the blood seeping out of it. You wanted to say it wasn't on purpose, but judging from his smug expression, he could tell it was without you saying it.

His fingers moved to pinch on your nipple, tugging on it, and you felt your face flush. Biting down on your lip and pushing your chin down, you held back from letting your sounds escape you, the shameful moans you let be trapped in your throat. Alejandro wasn't so fond of that. In retaliation, he replaced his fingers with his mouth, biting down, and was satisfied that managed to pull out a squeak out of you.

He moved to leave his mark and hickeys all over your chest, with you still fruitlessly squirming under him. So he let go of your wrists, knowing you weren't capable of pushing him off you, and traced that hand up your thigh again.

You placed your hands on his shoulders again, digging your nails in like before, and you jolted when you felt the pad of his thumb press against your clothed clit harshly, your hips buckling up at the sudden stimulation. It also made you let out a moan, and you snaked your arms around his back. Your left hand rested on the back of his head, tugging on his hair to ground yourself, and your right arm was around his shoulders.

You breathed out his name, and he was content with himself at the sound of his name leaving your lips. He lifted his thumb and instead went to tease your slit, cruelly, no trace of gentleness as he rubbed against your cunt mercilessly. Fully intent to ruin your panties with your own slick. When your panties were now completely soaked, he pushed your panties aside and pushed a finger in. You felt how you choked on your own breath at the intrusion, and he sighed feeling your tight insides wrap around his pointer finger, pushed in up to his knuckle. His fingers were long compared to yours, bigger, and just one of his fingers was about to push you over the edge.

"Alej..." You gasped out.

He pulled out a little, then plunged back in with another finger in, making you feel so full just with his digits. Right away, he fucked his fingers into you at a merciless pace, not letting you take a breath in between—all he wanted was to push you to the edge. Your head was thrown back again, mouth open wide. Your reluctant moans were a sweet song in his ears.

Just when you were just about to reach your climax, he pulled out completely, making you release a sob as your tears streaked down your face.

He brushed away the hair that stuck to your face, pushing it up past your forehead, then patting your wet cheek patronisingly. He sighed at your expression, so disoriented, so lost, so anguished—how he wanted you to be after he just robbed you of your climax.

He pushed his two fingers that had been inside you just moments before—still drenched in your slick—past your lips, not bothering to verbally command you to suck on them because he knew you were a smart girl, but whether you were obedient or not was another thing.

To his delight, you sucked on them like he wanted you to. He let out a chuckle at the stray tears leaking out your glassy eyes.

"What's wrong? Sad that I didn't let you cum? Or angry that I managed to make you feel so good when you don't want to?"

All you could let out was a sob, making him snort. He didn't think he could make you speechless with just his fingers, but he can't say he wasn't proud of himself for it. A big huff of ego stroking his enraged flames of lust and vendetta.

"Second chance, niña, second chance. Tell me what I want to know." He whispered, once he saw the haze behind your eyes cleared a bit. He yanked his fingers out of your mouth with a 'pop'.

You thinned your lips at his demands, and looked to the side, but his hand was quick to grip on your jaw. He focused your face close to his, and you watched how his snarl made its way back to his face.

"Now—I'm starting to think you're being difficult just because you can. Fucking brat."

He dove in for another filthy kiss. He bent his right leg and placed the knee on the table, then gripped your hips to press your cunt against his clothed thigh. The action made you squeal into the kiss, and you let out smothered, broken sobs when he moved your hips up and down his thigh. It was devastating when you felt him flex his muscles, hardening up as he forced you to grind against it just to push you over the edge. Your hands were holding on to his forearms like they were your lifeline, and again, your nails sunk in.

He'd adore the marks you'd leave on him, be it on his shoulders or back or on his arms.

He let go of the kiss with his teeth letting go of your bottom lip last. Watched as you clamped your eyes shut at the pleasure, but no longer biting down on your lips to block out the moans. Oh, your moans. Your moans, your sighs and whimpers—he wanted to consume all of it. A sight for sore eyes and a sweet tune for his ears, to see your red and swollen lips chanting his name in reverie.

"You want to cum, don't you? Come on, I know you want to. Do it—cum on my pants. Ruin them, I dare you." He taunted with a smirk.

It was shameful on your behalf that him degrading you so cruelly managed to make you cum so easily, creating a sticky wet patch on his pants like he had dared you to.

And it made him laugh. You couldn't even come down from your high yet and he's already humiliated you again. You're too hazy to even block out the sting behind your eyes when you hear him laugh, so you just let yourself cry for the nth time since you've been shoved into this interrogation cell. He held your cheek, a malignant smile painted across his face.

"You acted all uppity before, but look at you now. I didn't even have to fuck you to make you cum, and you're crying again. Ah, Valeria chose the wrong Vaquera. Maybe that's why she died so easily, because she had someone as pathetic as you among the cartel's ranks. You're making me pity a dead woman."

How can he be so cruel?

Did your betrayal caused this? Did you make him this heartless? Was this your fault?

Your bottom lip trembled at the questions that were going around your head, just because of how callous he was to you. You could take an angry Alejandro, screaming his head off and cussing at you like a madman—but him being so cold and so apathetic tore you up. Your already brittle heart stuttered when he rubbed his thumb on your cheek so tenderly, but you could see it in his eyes that he held nothing but hatred for you at the moment.

Somehow, even though your tears were blurring your sight, you could see that his once warm brown pupils had turned black.

"This is your third chance—your final chance to tell me what made you turn your back on us. Or else, I'm fucking you so hard, you'll be begging me to stop." His whispery, tender tone didn't match his words at all.

Alejandro has never been the guy to beat around the bush or sugarcoat anything. He was straightforward with his feelings, always. If he was happy, he'd boast about it, and if he was angry, he'd erupt into a yelling fury. Some would call it being simple, but Alejandro always felt that there should be sincerity in everything he would do— whether it would be in carrying out his duties, or interacting with the beloved citizens of Las Almas. Whether he was interrogating cartel scum, or helping an old lady carrying her groceries.

He was either warm or white hot, as if he was a human personification of ember—but now at this very moment, he was cold. So cold it gave you frostbite.

God, what have you done?

But you despairing over this couldn't outweigh your determination. No, it wasn't enough to make you crack, but the fact broke your heart.

He was driving himself insane for your answers and you were allowing it to continue.

"I can't. I can't, Alejandro, I'm sorry."

His eyes darkened completely, and you prepared yourself for his next command. For his next punishment. For pain and pleasure to intertwine so tightly you couldn't tell the difference between them anymore. Your fear and excitement now crossing each other's borders when you see just how mad he became at your refusal to give him what he truly wanted out of you.

But his next words just made you freeze.

"Get down. Bend over the table."

Anything but that. You couldn't let him see your back. You have to stop now. Once he would see what was on your back, there'd be no turning back—he would understand that you didn't go to Valeria willingly. He'd see the materialisation of your mistakes.

The scars that Valeria had carved onto your back, and the branding of her cartel's logo.

You knew freezing up would test his already paper thin patience, but you weren't in your head like before—you were panicking, hyper focused and cornered. When Alejandro's hand went to grab you, you were quick to hold up your arm to prevent him from manhandling you. You could sense his cold fury was beginning to warm up at your bold display of defiance.

Good.

"You really think you could fight against me?" He snarled like a beast, but your current fear wasn't because of him. You were scared of him uncovering what you were desperately trying to hide.

When he went in to grab you again, you actually fought him hard. You were actually putting up a real fight now.

"Stop it. Stop it. Let me go, you bastard. Let me go!" You screeched, and you managed to get off the table this time to avoid him.

You pulled your bra up as you backed yourself to a wall. Now you were really a cornered animal inside your cage. Your eyes were open wide, hyper aware of his every movement.

"I already gave you three chances—THREE! Out of mercy. You knew there would be consequences if you refused to tell me what I wanted to hear, so you don't get to run away from them anymore." He roared and stalked toward you.

You moved to run away to the corner of the cell, but he took hold of you when you were mid stride. He hugged you from behind, holding your arms and keeping them stuck around your torso as he carried you, didn't let go of you even as you swung your legs wildly. He walked to the table again, and placed you as he had ordered you to— bent down on the table.

"Stay still. Stay fucking still, or else I'm taking drastic measure." He threatened, pressing something against your back.

Even if you were desperate not to let him see what you were trying to hide, your self-preservation kicked in once you felt that cool metal pressed against your clothed back. If you move too suddenly, the knife will cut through your blouse and skin—and it'd just be another scar.

"Alejandro, please. Please."

Your pleas didn't really faze him. Instead of being concerned, he was just curious.

"You were being so good earlier—why do you have to act up now? You were taking your punishments so obediently, surely, you could handle this one." The hand that wasn't pressing the blunt edge of the knife against you slithered to your front side, sliding up your naked torso and slipping underneath your bra, rubbing on your nipples.

Then it went south to your cunt, rubbing circles on your clit, making your hips buck involuntarily. He smirked at your involuntary actions, and the smirk widened into a grin when you whined as he slipped a finger between your slick wet folds, then two, feeling your inner walls pulsing around his digits. He bent down till his chest was pressed against your back, and placed his head between your neck and shoulders as he whispered in your ears.

"You still want this, don't you? Tell me, why did you run away earlier? Hm? Maybe then I would know what can make you stay." You squirmed as he bit on your earlobe.

This was your wildest, filthiest, darkest fantasy coming to life. The cold metal pressed against your back contrasting the warm fingers that was lazily pumping in and out of your cunt, and the warm breath blown into your ear as he whispered so closely to it. Oh, yeah, you definitely need some psychosexual therapy for your kinks and fetishes, but right now, you were grasping at your rational mind by the straws, trying to remind yourself you could not let Alejandro see your naked back at all.

"I don't want to be bent over. Please. It'd be too—too humiliating."

He laughed again, and the fear that struck into you just from hearing it went straight to your ovaries too. You wanted to curse at your lust addled mind, but everything seemed to be turning you on when you're getting finger fucked by the man who's been haunting your dreams for years. He put away the knife, slipping it under the straps around his thigh, then unbuckled his belt. The sound of metal clanking made you squirm, putting in some miniscule effort to pull your cunt away from his fingers.

"Ah, but you deserve that, no? You humiliated us first, made us out for fools when we suddenly see you again after weeks, fighting on El Sin Nombre's side. Just be grateful there's no audience watching us—because that'd be true humiliation. Don't you think so too?" He spoke a little too harshly by the end to sound like a mean taunt, his anger for you never once had left his body even while you're bent over for him.

You wanted to plead more, but he literally fucked the words out of your mind when he plunged his cock in, bottoming out inside your cunt in one thrust. It made you moan so deeply, you couldn't even register it was your own voice making such noise. His breathing stuttered when he could feel you sporadically squeezing him, while you were turning into an unintelligible mess, your walls fluttering around him.

"Fuck, you're tight." He spoke through gritted teeth, his fingers around your hips clamped down in a bruising grip.

Your mind had flown right out the window by then, his words making you clench around him. He hissed at your walls collapsing around him.

"You're trying to smother me, niña. Fuck, stop that. It's difficult to even fucking move." He grunted by the end, pressing his forehead against your shoulder blade.

"Alej... it's too much. I feel too full." You groaned, and it made him groan at your words, your voice, the subtle whine you held back by the end of the sentence.

"Take it." He flared his nose, pulling out completely and bottoming out in one thrust again, pounding you against the table and making the table move.

He set a relentless pace right away, making him lose his mind just how tight you were each time he thrusted in. Something sparked inside his head, and he had to ask just how long did you go without sex? Because you felt too good, even if it was a little uncomfortable for him to maintain a fast pace. He wanted to chalk it up to you being tense, but you looked pliant and soft under him.

When he pulled up your arms so he could hold it behind you as a handle of some sort, he noticed how lax you really were. Snidely, inside his head, he mocked you for actually feeling pleased despite the fight you put up earlier—but on the other side of his mind, he became more curious. Just how long has it been since you last got fucked?

"Feels like I'm fucking a virgin. How long has it been since a man fucked you like this." With the way his thrust was particularly harsh at the word 'fucked', you moaned at it and tried to process his words.

When you stayed silent, he rolled his eyes to the side and slithered a hand to the front of your throat, giving it a squeeze.

"I asked you a question. I expect an answer no matter how fucked out you are." He snarled, delivering a harsh slap on your ass, "Now answer my question."

Your bottom lip trembled, gathering your words and hoped that it didn't come out too unintelligible, even as Alejandro continued with his merciless pace that had you gasping and panting, "I—I've never fucked anyone while I was un—OH—under—under Valeria."

And Alejandro was enthralled. That would make it a year and a half? It had been a year and a half since you fucked anyone?

"Why?"

"B-Because—GOD, ALE! Because I wasn't interested. They wanted me but—but I didn't want them."

Alejandro chuckled hearing your answer and tilted his head back, sensing his climax getting closer. The hand on your throat slithered back down to your bundle of nerves, pressing on it harshly to push you over the edge. That sudden burst of pleasure made you jump, and you whined as your hand went to his, trying to pry it away from rubbing rough circles on your clit.

"Too much. I'd cum again, and I d-don't know if I can handle that." You sobbed, digging your nails into the flesh of his palm, but he didn't budge. In fact, he somehow began thrusting into you even rougher and faster, making you gasp.

"Then do it. Cum with me, suck me dry. Your pussy's already so fucking tight anyway—you need the release, niña." He nipped the tip of your ear, before soothing it with his tongue.

And that had been the trick. Your ears have always been sensitive.

You came with a cry, making his one free hand glide to your chest and squeeze one of your breasts as you came around him. He hissed, cumming just after you did, and his rough fast circles on your clit became slow and gentle, wanting to let you ride your orgasm out in waves.

He dropped his head in the crook between your neck and shoulder, licking away your sweat and nipping at your skin as he emptied his balls inside you. As he pulled out and wore his pants properly again, he was fascinated to see his cum spilling out of your cunt, dripping to the floor below. After he fastened his belt, he plunged a finger in, making you squirm over the table, and ignored your whines as he fucked his cum back into you.

He had been to fixated in keeping his cum inside you, that it took him a minute to notice your white blouse had gone transparent after being soaked in your sweat. You were too fucked out to even notice that your worst case scenario was being played out as Alejandro stopped finger fucking you to focus on the myriad of scars painted across your whole back.

Horrific scars. Discolored. The darker, more reddish discoloration is a stark contrast to your usual skin tone. Alejandro's mind was slowly ridding itself of the post orgasm haze as he focused on them.

You let out a cry when he pulled up your blouse, finally realising why he had stopped thrusting his fingers into you and had gone quiet, no more taunts reaching your ears. Because he had been stunned into silence.

You flipped yourself until the table's edge dug into your back and your face was finally facing his again.

"What was that?" He uttered, voice sounding like a whisper.

You shook your head, hugging yourself, your own arms wrapped around you. He took a step closer, and quickly attempted to turn you around again but you fought against him. Pushed him off of you, and he finally noticed just how desperate you looked.

"What the fuck were those?"

"None of your business, Coronel."

"Bullshit. I know you didn't get them from when you were still under me."

"So what?"

Alejandro's vein on his forehead made its appearance again at your indignation.

"They looked like WHIPPING SCARS! WHERE DID THOSE COME FROM, Y/N?"

You flinched back at his yell, and your hands went to bundle itself above your chest. You tried to calm yourself down, but you're so horrified and ashamed that Alejandro got to see them, because they reminded you of the worst memories you had serving under Valeria. Your tears rolled down your face and you tucked your chin under, shame making your whole body numb.

"Please..." You begged pathetically, and Alejandro knew what you were actually begging for was his questions to stop.

Because all this time, you didn't tell him what he wanted to know out of shame. Just pure shame and guilt.

You didn't turn to Valeria willingly.

Alejandro walked closer, ignored you flinching back at his close proximity, and gripped both of your shoulders as he bent down to your shorter height to stare directly into your eyes. You closed your eyes shut, and started to shake your head as you struggled to escape his grip, but he didn't relent.

"...why were you whipped, y/n?"

"No, Alejandro, please—please don't make me admit it."

"You owe me answers. You owe me. You owe Rudy, you owe Rodriguez—you owe all of us the truth, y/n. The fucking truth. I need to hear you say it with your own mouth because I know you'd never lie to my face." He spoke in a grounded tone of voice, strict and even, but softened as he continued, "It wouldn't erase what you did, but it's the least you could do. You know this, you know you do. So, please, just tell me the truth."

You opened your eyes again to look at him, and how come he never noticed just how devastated you really were?

"Each whipping was for every Vaquero I didn't kill every time we exchanged gunfire...Valeria knew how skilled I am with a sniper, so she knew it had been a deliberate choice on my part to not shoot each and every one of you dead on the spot." You sniffled, and you see Alejandro's strict expression falling at the implication, his grip on your shoulders going slightly loose.

You never wanted to join Valeria in the first place. You never stopped considering Vaqueros your brothers. Out of shame, you covered your face as you felt your eyes hurting at the onslaught of tears coming out.

"...now you probably figured out I didn't join the cartel willingly." You sobbed into your palm.

Alejandro's hold on your shoulders tightened again, and you knew what he wanted to know next.

What dirt did Valeria threaten you with?

"I messed up, Alejandro. I didn't leave because I wanted to, but I had to. I had to do it. To protect them—"

"Protect who?"

"...there had been a sicario following my every movement while I was on break, and they had followed me to my family home. Valeria had uncovered who my family was, where they lived—I either joined the cartel or let my flesh and blood die—"

It's worse than he imagined. His blood ran cold when he heard your next words.

"—but I couldn't make me deserting Los Vaqueros be for nothing. I had to do something, so I leaked some info from time to time to sabotage her business...and Valeria found out."

Alejandro let go of your shoulders completely when your eyes became so haunted, and he could see the wretched memories reflected against it.

"...no. No, y/n, don't tell me...no...Valeria didn't..."

Your hands went to his chest, pulling on the fabric of his clothes. Your face crumbled, looking utterly devastated as you tilted your head up to look at him more clearly.

"She made me the last surviving member of my family in one night."

[bohemian-nights]

Arlī(Anew) Chapter 9

Word Count: ~10,044

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest; violence; blood

Description: Envy is a disease that festers. Rotting the mind like a wound that was never tended to. Becoming gangrenous as it spreads throughout the body. Infecting each limb and tissue along the way until the body is overwhelmed. Succumbing to the sickness at long last.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact

The finale.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

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131 AC- Kings Landing

War is inevitable. Peace does not last forever. It can not. The nature of man will not allow it. The very nature that brings about men’s volatility and propensity for violence. Conflicts always arise. Old grudges are hard to forget. The sins of past wrongs bubbling to the surface. Our emotions can not be so easily pushed to the side. They can only be repressed for so long before we must give in. The cost being too high to not do so.

Nothing in life is without its costs. We are in a constant battle of give and take. When we do not get what we want we become hungry. Greedy for what we feel is ours. Seeking glory and redemption no matter the cost or the burden. Seeking to protect what is rightfully ours. Though the matter of what is yours or mine is a subjective one. Entirely fueled by our boundless wants.

Envy is a disease that festers. Rotting the mind like a wound that was never tended to. Becoming gangrenous as it spreads throughout the body. Infecting each limb and tissue along the way until the body is overwhelmed. Succumbing to the sickness at long last.

Such is the case with war. Those who yearn for power claim it through less-than-honorable means. Harvesting the seeds of discontent that were planted eons ago. The starving man can not help but feast upon its ripe flesh. Curing its weary soul and broken body. What is honor compared to desire? For he is hungry and has long since been denied. Envy makes bastards of us all.

Were envy and greed the reason why it had all come to this? Peacetime at long last ending across the Seven Kingdoms in the wake of Viserys death. Petty grievances and blood feuds perhaps killed it. It had been a slow painful death as was the late kings, but he had found relief in his departure from this mortal plane. That would not be the case for the Kingdom he had left behind.

For the first time since the dreaded bloody reign of Maegor the Cruel war was on the horizon. There was no stopping the not-so-distant sound of swords being drawn, shields clashing upon the battle, of dragons roaring above them, firing down upon them. There was no stopping it all. Not unless something drastic were to happen, but the balance was rapidly tipping in favor of the Warrior. One could only accept their fate and pray to the Gods that they would be spared. War was what was coming for them all.

“We hold twelve full-grown dragons to Rhaenyra’s five.” Daemon's voice reigned around the small council chambers that were already beginning to take on the image of that of a war room.

While the lords and ladies of court celebrated Aegon II's crowning, the prodigal son succeeding his father upon the Iron Throne, his chief supporters were called to the small council's chambers. There was too much to be done to leave it for the morrow. Drinking and feasting would be postponed. Their guests could enjoy the merriment for now. There was too much at stake. Too much that could go wrong. Too much that had already done so.

The king himself had chosen to sit in on the council meeting. His presence at his council was a shock though not necessarily an unwelcome sight. Some measure of duty must have snapped into him from his crowning. The adoration of the people was more sobering than any tonic that Grand Maester Orwyle could concoct and give to Aegon. He was king now. For the first time in Naerys nephew's life, he had a true purpose.

All eyes were upon Daemon as he lectured the council. Even Ser Otto who listened to the Targaryen man with a clenched jaw, but otherwise he too let the Rogue Prince lead on. A certain stilted truce had been erected between the two men. A common goal did wonders for their ability to tolerate the other’s presence though both took to glaring at the other in scorn when his head was turned. It was hard to forget the history that stood between them. Naerys strongly suspected that if given the chance they would strangle each other.

Nonetheless, the Hand of the King had offered Daemon a position upon the small council. His pick between his old position of Master of coin or Master of ships. He could be by the king's side, but it was the wrong king.

He declined both. For accepting any post would mean leaving Dragonstone in the care of Daenys and Aemond for the foreseeable future. Their daughter was more than capable of ruling in his stead. She had been groomed as heir since she was four name days old and by all accounts had the makings of a thoughtful and firm steward.

However, baseless as it may be, Daemon did not fully trust their new good-son with the sole care of their daughter nor did he see him as deserving of the position. The boy had been corrupted by his grandsire. He was not to be trusted. Who knows what he might do if he was not there to watch over her. It was a matter that Naerys would put aside to deal with later. They had more pressing concerns to deal with.

Aegon’s crowning, though successful, had almost been overshadowed by Rhaenys and her dragon. Uninvited guests. Crashing through the Dragonpit with no care for the small folk or its other occupants. It was not them who she spared. No, it was the king himself this time. A warning. He would not be so lucky the next.

“My niece will want to claim Dragonstone for her own.” Naerys recalled how Daemon and Otto spoke with hushed voices earlier that day. The older man walked beside them as they made their way out of the now-ruined Dragonpit back to their wheelhouse. Her husband’s grip on her loosened somewhat, but he had not let her go.

Rhaenys' stunt had shocked him enough not to. He kept her arm and hand resting in his, rubbing circles into the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb. She had to confess, it had been a comfort.

The Rogue Prince had tried to grab ahold of Daenys as well, but the girl remained glued at her new husband's side. It was a battle he folded to Aemond with a clenched jaw. There was not much he could do on that front anymore. Their daughter was undoubtedly not just theirs anymore.

Daemon cast his violet gaze down at Naerys. Giving his niece-wife a small smirk as she had shifted where she stood. He knew exactly who would put it into Rhaenyra’s head to make way for Dragonstone. Sixteen years of marriage would tell him if nothing else. Ser Otto no doubt had his suspicions as did the rest of those present. It was more than obvious.

Naerys was the most likely person to aid in her aunt's ill-timed escape. She herself would not correct their assumption. The princess had intended on smuggling Rhaenys out of the Red Keep. Albeit under a different set of circumstances, but she was in part to blame for her flight. They all might have paid the consequences for her sentiments had not the elder princess exercised caution or her husband acted with haste.

Dragonstone had no dragonriders to speak of upon its shores then. They had an urgent need to remedy their seats' present circumstances. It would not do to let such an asset fall into the hands of Rhaenyra and her ilk. The small island presented too much of a temptation, a goldmine for her to turn a blind eye to.

“It is what I would do.” Rhaenyra would grieve for her father that could be sure. Her greatest supporter. The man who put her before all others was lost to his sick bed, but she could not grieve long. With Rhaenys flying for Hide Tide, they could be sure that the older princess would inform her that Dragonstone’s Lord and Lady were presently absent from their keep. “Naturally, she’ll try to install Jaecerys as Prince of Dragonstone.”

Driftmark was only a half-hour flight from Dragonstone. It did not take a military strategist to see that the Black Queen had a chance. A small window of opportunity that she would not be able to miss. Could not miss it. The island after all possessed an edge Rhaenyra desperately needed if she were to turn the odds in her favor.

Four unclaimed dragons called Dragonstone their home. Sheepstealer, Grey Ghost, Cannibal, and Vermithor. The first three were wild, having never been claimed by man, but the last, though not wild, had not been claimed for near on thirty years. For his last rider had been no other than Naerys' great grandsire, the Old King Jaehaerys.

Silverwing would often wander off to coil herself around Vermithor in his cavern beneath Dragonmont where he had taken up residence, but he was a fearsome thing. It would be a difficult endeavor to tame all the dragons wild and old alike though not impossible.

Riders would of course have to be procured. Dragonseeds were not so hard to find. One need only look for their silver heads, or their many shades of violet eyes, or both, upon the shores of Driftmark, Dragonstone, and the alleys of Kings Landing. The Targaryen’s had always been more than generous with their favors and amorous attention upon the small folk of the realm. It was a gift to bear the fruit of a God. Or as close to it as mortally possible.

The capture of Dragonstone could easily turn the tide of the war in Rhaenyra’s favor if she moved quickly. If she had enough sense and foresight to employ its treasures to their fullest extent. The Greens had precious little time before the Realms Delight would gather her strength and strike. They could not lose their advantage to the hands of the would-be queen and her allies.

The castle had been left in the care of Maester Orlys. The kindly old man was as loyal as they came. As were the rest of their household and islands’ occupants, including a small garrison numbering less than five hundred. Daemon had always inspired a certain level of loyalty in his men, from his time as lord commander of the city watch to now. Always rallying their spirits.

Their soldiers would defend the ancient Targaryen seat in their prince and princesses name, but what was their loyalty to the might of a dragon? Or better yet two full-grown dragons? The Blacks would take the island under threat of their queen's house words' reigning true.

Daenys volunteered to journey back to father's seat. She was to be Lady of Dragonstone after him. The island was her home. The young princess would not see it fall into her cousin turned half-good-sister's clutches. She had been born on its smoky shores and she would rule over them when the time came. Why should she not insure its safety?

Her father was needed in the capital and he would not want her mother out of his sight. The two rarely parted from each other. He would not wish for her to defend, but they did not have much choice. Aemond had his mission at Storm's End. As much as she loathed to be parted from her husband so soon after their nuptials, Daenys was well-equipped to handle the issue on her own.

Helaena, who had looked and sounded more than elated at the prospect, extended her own services. “Two dragons are better than one and Dreamfyre is swift as is Moondream.” Neither her good sister's parents nor her brother would allow Daenys to go by herself. The little queen would more than makeup for her brother’s temporary absence.

At any rate, the she-dragons, apart from Daeron's Tesserion, with rider and dragon alike gathering support in Oldtown, were the fastest dragons in their possession. Both were lithe nimble things that would take the new queen and her good-sister to Dragonstone before Rhaenys or Rhaenyra could rally their own dragons and ships to make way for the fortress.

Truth be told, Naerys thought that the young queen was a great deal overwhelmed with her newest occupation. Helaena had always been a girl who preferred the close intimacy and company of those she loved best. Not unlike her good-aunt.

Her ladies, her family, and her non-human companions shined brighter in her violet gaze than all the dazzle of court. She had never taken to the spotlight as her sister or even her now good sister had. The now queen would have made an excellent lord's wife. Somewhere in the Reach or the Westerlands mayhaps.

She would have done well to marry into her mother’s house. In the comfort and safety of Hightowers towering stonewalls. There was much entertainment and less idle tattling to be found outside the barrier erected by her crown. Alas fate had other plans for Helaena.

Although it was done with care, Aemond shot down his sister's assistance. “You are needed here sister. Kings Landing can not be left without its own protection.” In her own words, just as Dragonstone would be better off with two dragons instead of one so would the capital. “I shall journey with my wife.” The pale girl’s eyes lost some of their brilliance, but she conceded with a small nod of her silver head.

The one eyed prince would give Rhaenyra more of a pause than either Daenys or Helaena. She would hesitate to strike Dragonstone with her half brother and his dragon upon its shores. Slow and old Vhagar might be, but she had seen war. She was the largest dragon in the world and though her rider was untested in battle, he was a force to be reckoned upon dragonback with or without a sword in his hand.

Of course his business at Storms’ End could not be delayed. With Daeron away in Oldtown gathering the support of the Reach lords alongside their cousin Lord Ormund it fell down to him to insure an alliance with the Storm Lords. He was to propose a betrothal between one of Lord Borros’ daughters and his younger brother on his behalf.

Time could not be wasted on the onset of war. Aemond could only stay long enough to cement his wife’s position on Dragonstone before taking to the skies for the Baratheon seat. He would only be gone for a few hours, but that would be more than enough time for Rhaenyra to try something if she was alerted of his absence from his Daenys’ side. His wife would have her fathers guards, but Aemond, as men often want to mark their territory, wanted a man of his own with her.

The prince asked his grandsire for leave of Ser Criston. He was a valued friend and mentor. It was clear to all that he trusted the Dornish knight with his own life. He would be up to the task of guarding his little wife while both himself and her parents were away from Dragonstone. Should the need arise he would be able to whisk her away to safety.

A resounding no was the answer to his request. From his goodsire and grandsire and surprisingly Naerys. The first and viewed the knight with the utmost distrust. His wife was prone to agree with him. While she did not think she did not believe him to be a malevolent man as her husband would describe, she did not believe that he would do all in his power to defend her daughter if it came to it.

Thankfully, Ser Otto had need of him. As the new Lord Commander of Aegon’s Kingsguard Ser Criston could not leave the capital. Not while their new king's reign remained tested and the exact whereabouts and plots of their enemies were yet unknown. Aemond was given his uncle Ser Gwayne Hightower instead.

Though he was no Ser Criston he was a worthy and honorable knight. Unlike in the case of the Dornish knight, his regard for his nephew extended to Daenys. He viewed her as her mother’s daughter rather than her fathers. The issue was settled when no objection was given. While it pained him to admit to it, viewing him to be over familiar when it came to her, Naerys knew that her husband trusted him enough to see to their daughters welfare. For a short while at least, Ser Gwayne was safe from Daemon’s suspicion as long as he kept to his person and minded his post.

“Helaena mentioned a beast underneath the floorboards.” Daenys had leaned in to not so subtly whisper to her mother on the walk up the hill where Vhagar and Moondream rested. Apart from Naerys and her husband, who were to see the newlywed’s and the Hightower knight's departure, the rest of their party had gone back to the Red Keep.

The now queen in question had always been a unique child. Insects called to her more than people, even animals. Dragon dreams. A gift to some or rather a curse for others. She was a sweet girl, but it was clear that the Dreams had taken a toll on her.

Giving the appearance of a half-scattered mind. Daenys the Dreamer had been half made they say. Prone to getting lost within the rich fancifulness of her imagination rather than the solid reality that stood in front of her. Her imagination was what ultimately led to House Targaryen’s continued survival. Past the doom and beyond.

“Nyke gaomagon daor pendagon bona ao istan se cause hen skorion massitas? Muñnykeā. Nyke pāsagon ziry istan va moriot meant naejot massigon.” I do not think that you were the cause of what happened mother. I believe it was always meant to happen.

Naerys felt her face heat up as Aemond and Daemon guffawed at Daenys remark. Ser Gwanye could neither speak nor understand Valyrian, but he seemed to infer what had been said when he added his own chortles to the fray. Whatever doubt they had at her part to play in the incident vanquished. If both Daenys and Helaena could see what she had inadvertently caused, there could be no uncertainty.

“Do stop fussing kepa. You look so grim.” Daenys laughed lightly when her father placed a kiss into her curls after she had saddled her dragon. “My husband will see that I am comfortable before he leaves and he won’t be gone very long.” It went without saying that Ser Gwayne would deal with both Daemon and Aemond’s ire should anything happen to the young princess.

Daenys then went to place a kiss upon her mother's cheek as Naerys pulled her in for a hug. Letting out another round of laughter at her mother's tight grip. “Don’t fuse either. I shall see you both soon enough.” The newlyweds and Ser Gwayne, who climbed upon Vhagar’s back with some hesitation after his nephew, were off to Dragonstone.

With both Aemond and Daenys away securing Dragonstone and Storm’s End the present agenda rested on their strengths and allies in relation to Rhaenyra’s. The chief among them being their dragons.

The loss of Meleys was a greater inconvenience than her rider. There was always a danger that came with the opposition gaining an additional dragon, but they held both more dragons and dragonriders than Rhaenyra. They were at the advantage in the skies as Daemon had reminded the council, but he, and Aemond, would hesitate to send either herself or Daenys ride into war. In all likelihood they would not need to.

The Blacks' five dragonriders comprised mainly of the would-be queen's children. They all knew that Rhaenyra, like her uncle and second brother, would be reluctant to send any of her boys into battle unless need demanded it. Jacaerys and Lucerys, who while were more than adequate riders, were learning the commands and capabilities of their beasts as well as themselves. Joffrey's dragon was too small to be ridden into war. Rhaenys would no doubt hesitate to send her granddaughter the Lady Baela into battle as well.

Lady Rhaena had no dragon to speak of. Only three dragon eggs, given to her from one of Syraxes clutches that had all yet to hatch. Though the sweet young lady did pray to the Gods every night that she would be made a dragonrider as her mother the late Lady Laena had been. To join the fold beside her grandmother and elder twin. Naerys had heard that the youngest Lady Strong could seldom be parted with her eggs.

Dragons of course were not the only way to win a war. They were an advantage sure enough, but they were to be the last option on both sides. They brought more danger than they were worth many times over. For when dragons dance, the destruction can be endless.

It could not go without saying that the Rhaenys' escape had left them with little time to execute the Greens' more diplomatic plans. Plans which depended a great deal upon the older princess’s temporary captivity within her guest quarters. It was a setback, but not one that they would not be able to recover from.

Ser Otto had sent a raven to Driftmark for its maester. A man, who in addition to studying as a novice alongside Grand Maester Orwyle many ages past, was a great friend of Naerys' late uncle Ser Vaemond. So much so that he often sought his counsel ahead of that of his own brother. Of course, this tendency to seek guidance in the form of Hide Tide’s maester was helped by him being a blood relation to the Velaryon knight's now widowed lady wife.

When an acolyte takes his vows and forges his chain to become a maester, a degree of impartiality is expected to follow. One’s previous allegiances to their house, their name, and the lands from which they come from must fall to the wayside, but the call of blood is a hard bond to break. He had been shown to hold his lord's brother’s opinions and interests on matters relating to the Driftwood throne. The maester kept council and advised his sons in the wake of their father's untimely end.

Driftmarks maester would have alerted Ser Vaemond’s sons of recent events in the capital upon receiving the hands' letter. A king had been crowned. A king who was sympathetic to their woes. Knowing all too well of the plight of the rightful heir against that of their enemies.

Offering the hand of friendship if needs be. The need only to embrace said friendship and a hand would be lent to place one of Naerys' cousins upon their rightful throne. However, with Rhaenys traveling back to Driftmark they could no longer be so sure that their friends would be able to act on their good faith.

With good weather, the Queen Who Never Was could be back on Driftmarks shores by the day's end. Meleys was older now, but she rose to the task when needed. There could be no doubt that Rhaenys would alert Rhaenyra of the Greens' treachery and treason. Of the danger that would soon be upon her and her sons. Bringing her a worthy ally and a much-needed dragonrider. However, the situation at present was temperamental.

Naerys could not doubt that if she were to transport herself within High Tides' white stone walls she would find a den of discontent. Unease brewing from an unwelcome guest upon its shores. An interloper. Filling up every chamber within the castle. Waiting. Building up dread until the cup would overflow.

What was supposed to be a time of triumph had become a time of mourning for too many reasons to name. They had been made a fool. The sons of House Velaryon. The blood of the seahorse and old Valyria. The rightful heirs of their uncle’s throne. First Ser Vaemond and now they too were being pushed aside. Their pain was being paraded over by a feckless woman and her bastards.

If nothing else, the disquietude should unsettle the Black queen. She was an island surrounded by enemies. It did not occur to her that she had made a mistake coming to Driftmark. She had thought herself safe even with her sole advocate, the formidable Sea Snake lying in his sick bed. She had another that would scare off the monsters for her a thousand leagues away within the Red Keep, but he was dead now. Gone to the seven hells. If Rhaenys did not make it back to her husband's shores in time, Rhaenyra could find herself fighting her own battle within her chosen place of refuge.

A series of what-ifs had overtaken fate. Naerys cousins’ would not speak a word against Rhaenyra and her sons for fear of the king's might and reach, but their silence would only last for so long. They would not forget who made them so low. Never mind if it happened a day ago or ten years.

If Ser Otto’s letter was received before Rhaenys arrival it would only take to gag and bound the would-be queen and her sons. Delivering them to the Red Keep. To Aegon to do with as he pleased. All would be right with the world then. Driftmark returned to its proper heirs. If not, a fight would commence for another day.

“Our support lies heaviest in the south.” Ravens had been sent to houses small and great alike throughout the Seven Kingdoms but had yet to receive replies in mass. It was the early days yet. The lords of Westeros waited to see where the deck would land.

The Riverlands were divided at best. It had always been that way. The support of the Reach and the Westerlands were all but guaranteed. Aemond was dealing with the Stormlands. The North was unlikely to join their cause, but they were unlikely to be of much help to Rhaenyra either.

Winterfell and the lords of the North were a long way away from Driftmark much less Kings Landing and as the Starks' house words do so dutifully remind both friends and foes, winter is coming. With the heavy snows of winter, the journey south would be a long one. The fighting might be down before Lord Cregan Stark ever reached the neck. The Vale was without a doubt lost.

“Perhaps we might send the princess to parlay with Lady Arryn?” The new Master of Coin Ser Tyland suggested, but he backed into himself once Daemon began to glower at him from the opposite side of the small council table. “Or mayhaps a messenger or a raven might be better suited to offer terms of friendship.”

“Jeyne Arryn would sooner see the Prince of Dorne as king than Aegon.” Jeyne Arryn’s blood was Rhaenyra’s. Enmity remained well within the lady’s mind. Her opinion of Daemon remained sour. He was reason enough to side against the Greens. The Rogue Prince had twice done her kin over. Leaving Rhaenyra to fend for herself. Turning his back to her when she needed him most. The business of him marrying his daughter to the son of a traitor would further leave a foul taste in her mouth.

Lady Arryn neither trusted Ser Otto nor Alicent to keep her interests at heart. They had crowned an unworthy man, a usurper, all because he had the luck to be born with the right appendage betwixt his legs. She herself had to contend with countless attempts to unseat her as Lady of the Vale from her own less-than-worthy male relations. If they were to send an envoy it would be a wasted effort.

“We should send an envoy to Hide Tide.” Daemon turned to Ser Otto. “Before we do anything. We might be able to settle things peacefully.” Ser Otto held his tongue though he did narrow his eyes at the Targaryen man's suggestion. “She’s at a disadvantage.” War was a last resort or rather it should be, but for the Hand, Naerys had found that he believed war to be their only option. They were dealing with an unreasonable foe blinded by her emotions and entitlement.

“She has the support of House Velaryon and House Arryn at the least.” More houses were soon to follow. “She is not so weak.” Ser Otto said as his light eyes flitted to the map spread out in front of them. “The princess will not give in so easily.”

Rhaenyra was a proud woman. If she believed herself wrong or denied what was hers she would not give up. From where she stood, damn the laws of men and Gods alike. Her father had seen to such. The Iron Throne was hers. She would not turn her back upon it now. Or ever if she had the means to. She would fight. For as long as she could, but no one fights a war which they could not win.

“We still might reason with my aunt.” Rhaenyra had the support of House Velaryon, but without them, even with her four dragons, she would surely lose. No allies would come to her rescue if the Velaryon’s left her out to dry. Taking away her support would stop the chaos before it began. If they were to take away the Velaryon’s and their fleet, this war could be over by the end of the day.

Rhaenys did not want war herself. Not truly. Not a woman who had sacrificed her own crown near thirty years past to prevent one, but what could they offer her? She sided with Rhaenyra for her granddaughters. For their just due. Naerys did not doubt her aunt's words. Everything she did was for them. They could not offer her eldest granddaughter the crown, but perhaps they might offer Lady Baela Driftmark to rule over in her own right. By all the natural laws in the land, it should be hers.

“Rhaenys has made her decision.” The dowager queen kindly reminded her. Painfully so. The Dragonpit would take weeks to repair from her choice of action. Alicent gave her a soft smile and pulled her brown hand in her pale one before turning to face the rest of the council. “My good daughter has not. We might still reason with Rhaenyra. We offer her fair terms. Jaecerys will be the lord of Driftmark after Lord Corlys if he so wishes.”

It would anger Naerys' cousins, true enough. Though it was a necessary sacrifice for the time being. Surely a future betrothal could smooth things over when the time came to. War was too much of a burden to give into her cousin's demands as honorable as they may be.

“Lucerys a Lordship of his own. Joffrey may become Aegon’s cupbearer or Aemond’s squire at Dragonstone or your own Daemon.” Her husband snorted, throwing his violet gaze at the king's mother. However, he did not say anything against the proposal. Ser Otto looked as if he too wanted to object, but he once again stayed his tongue. The Hand of the King was increasingly becoming outnumbered.

“They all will be welcomed at court.” She gave a pointed look to her father who stiffened in his chair, “and they may keep their titles. On the condition that Rhaenyra journeys to Kings Landing, bends the knee, and swears loyalty to our king.” Alicent turned her eyes toward her son in acknowledgment. Aegon’s violet eyes seemed to liven at the image that his mother painted. “She is Viserys' eldest daughter. Not his son. It is time she recognizes that.” If Naerys' cousin were to give in she would stand as no threat. The once crown princess had bastards for heirs. She was a woman. She was not a threat.

Ser Otto conceded as did the rest of the council. The right course of action dictated it. Diplomacy demanded it. If there was any way to solve this matter civilly then by all means. The dragons may not dance yet. They must first exhaust all of their options before declaring war upon Rhaenyra and her allies. Only then if she rejected their offer of a truce. Their offer of kinship, would they have no choice, but to pursue less than peaceful measures.

It had been ten odd years since Naerys had last stepped foot onto Driftmarks shores. The castle remained unchanged. She wondered if it was even a possibility that it ever could. Some things were stuck within the ages. Remaining a static fixture in our memory. Hide Tide stood as a reminder of youth. An echo of a distant past. Of the joy and naivety she had in it.

The people, however, were a different story. Hide Tides' occupants were more changed than the castle in which they resided. Very much so. Seasons came and went and they were weathered by the passing storms of time. Weary from the days that stained and left their mark upon their skin and in their eyes. The hauntings of past lives and lost chances.

Rhaenys and to Naerys' shock her uncle Lord Corlys were waiting for them. Her mother's eldest brother's umber complexion looked dull in the dusk from his sickness. His neck had been wrapped in gauze. He should be resting, but the man had become especially obstinate in old age. No warm words of welcome were exchanged between the two factions upon the beach where they had landed Caraxes and Silverwing. The only greeting they received were weary looks. Her aunt would not fully meet her eye as she looked on ahead past them.

“Where is Princess Rhaenyra?” Ser Otto was the first to speak. His raspy voice sounded out over the crashing waves. Naerys and her uncle-husband were well suited to offer terms of alliance to Rhaenyra, but the older man had insisted upon journeying with them. His trust in Daemon was fickle at best and Naerys relationship with her cousin was less than idyllic. If they were to choose diplomacy, the occasion called for a steady hand to guide them which is what the Hightower man believed himself to be.

Lord Corlys lips parted in reply, but then there was no need to supply an answer. A roaring could be heard above them. Syrax’s. On top of the golden she-dragon sat Rhaenyra wearing her fathers crown.

Rhaenys was not the only one to have made a half-mad escape from the Red Keep during Aegon’s coronation. Ser Errk had turned his white cloak. At least in service of the new king. The last anyone had seen of him was brother seeing him off Blackwater Bay aboard a ship to Driftmark no doubt. To his queen. He had taken Viserys crown with him that now rested on top of the Black queen's white head. If Rhaenyra could not have the crown of the conqueror, her fathers would have to do.

“I wish to speak to my uncle.” Rhaenyra kept her eyes trained upon Daemon as she climbed off her dragon to face them. Only briefly strained her lilac gaze down at Naerys. She looked the part of queen. Had made her entrance as such, but she was ever herself. Queendom would only make her more so. “Alone.”

Daemon made to answer her. Something crude judging by the smirk upon his pale brow, but Naerys beat him to it. “Go with her kepus.” She met her cousin's narrowed stare with one of her own. A crown upon Rhaenyra’s head would not change her. Her father’s death would not bring her humility, but their was something upon her pallid visage that did show a chink in her queenly armor. She would not deny her closure. Let this be the last of it.

Daemon did not listen to his niece-wife. “My wife can wait in the hall dear niece.” He sneered at the realms delight as he grabbed Naerys small hand. Her husband pulled her along towards the castle without sparing the Black Queen a second glance. Rhaenyra fummed, but she held her head high when she saw her cousins’ dark amethyst eyes turning back to glimpse at her.

The rest of their party attempted to follow them, but guards blocked a positively vexed Ser Otto and his men from doing so. The Lord and Lady of Driftmark scampered off when they were back behind the safety of their stone walls.

They came to a standstill at the heavy oak doors leading to her uncle’s Great Hall. Her husband placed a kiss on her brown forehead smoothing back her silver coils before pushing her towards a bench outside of the hall. Her cousin took care to slam the door shut after Daemon went through.

Naerys did not know how long she remained sitting on that bench. Time seemed to become immaterial.There was nothing to mark it by. She did not worry herself with her thoughts. There wasn’t much Rhaenyra could do or say that would move her husband. There was no harm in leaving the two alone. Good may in fact come from it.

Her cousin cherished their uncle’s opinion above all. She was obsessed with it. If anyone could make her see sense it would be he. She heard no noises coming from behind those shut doors. Not until she heard a loud bang. Dread made her pull open the door. The scene she walked into was a half-surprise.

Daemon and Rhaenyra stood on opposite sides of the long table which occupied the center of the room. Much like a map of the Seven Kingdoms was spread out on top of it. Naerys' husband was leaning over a chair. Seemingly trying to control his breathing. Her cousin stood pacing around her side of the room. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Whatever queenly veneer she had slipped out from her.

“Leave us.” Rhaenyra turned her head to hiss at her. For a brief moment, Naerys was transported back sixteen years. Back to Dragonstones shores. A distant memory of her happening upon them when she went to fetch a book she left in the painted table’s chamber. She had told her the same then.

Naerys was frozen. Trapped in time. Mayhaps people change less than the chambers and halls in which they take up, but she wasn’t a girl anymore. She herself needed reminding of that. Her husband's voice snapped her back to the present.

“Do not listen to her little one.” Daemon breathed harder than he would have had he been sparing with his men around their training yard. He held out a white hand for her to take. His face had lost what little color it had. still leaning over the chair as he motioned her to him “Come here my sweet girl.” He kissed her forehead again before burying his face into the top of her coils when she had reached him. Drinking her in. He seemed to calm somewhat. “That’s a good girl.”

“Kepus.” Naerys tried to begin, but he only buried his head into her neck. The princess sighed as she brought a hand to run through his silver strands. Grazing the scars that ran down his neck. She would let herself bring him comfort once more. Questions on what had upset him could wait for when they were behind the safety of their own walls back at Dragonstone.

“Sweet kind Naerys, you’ve done everything that’s been expected of you.” Her face had turned sour. As if she had bitten into a lemon cake made without sugar. She spoke through clenched teeth. It was a wonder how they did not break from the strain. Her lips screwed up into a frown. “Everything apart from giving our uncle sons. I guess your womb is where it all comes to rot. You were never worthy of that.”

“You are a placeholder.” Rhaenyra continued on. Hurling half-truths in rapid succession. Her mask was put back into place. The appearance of ease. Of self-surety, but her eyes, the eyes always tell. Frustration. Neither darkness nor truth, but her displeasure was unrestrained. “That’s all you really are Naerys. My replacement. He couldn’t have me.” She would never let her forget that. My father wouldn’t allow it, so he took you.”

Why was she still here then? There was no need to have her still. If she had overstayed her welcome there was nothing tying him to her. Apart from what her dear cousin did not want to name. Daemon loved her. He was not an easy man, but she pleased him. She was sorry for it. Naerys pleased him beyond measure and that was what haunted the would-be queen. She made him happy as he did her. It was unexpected, but she would not feel ashamed for it.

“Rhaenyra, dear niece I couldn’t have your father.” Daemon let out a snigger that resounded around the room. No longer leaning upon Naerys to stand. while placing a hand to stroke down her arm. “We could have been each other’s everything had circumstances been different.”

Rhaenyra blanched at their uncle's words. Her thin mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish. “I even pictured Viserys in your place on occasion when we fucked. Naerys was the first time I hadn’t the need to.” Rhaenyra collapsed into a nearby chair. Naerys herself felt as if she too might collapse at her husband's admission had he not held her up rubbing circles into her back to calm her.

“You’ve bewitched him!” Naerys could not help but laugh at the utter ridiculousness of it. She had no tricks up her sleeve. No wiles which to capture him by. She had been a girl ten and five when she had married Daemon. Whatever she had done to make her husband care for her she had done unknowingly. One could not take what was freely given.

The anger came then in Rhaenyra’s pale glower. A frown dropped across her brow as her eyes darkened. A spark. Lit by scorn. By rejection. “Do not take it as a compliment dear cousin.” She spat the next words at her. Leaning over her chair to do so.

“I chose her.” He removed himself from his wife’s side to stride over to where Rhaenyra sat. “She does not know her power over me. She does not know she wields such a thing.” Rhaenyra sank further into her chair at her uncle's approaching form. She recalled the last time she had stoked his temper. Her dress's neckline covered the evidence of it. “Naerys did not climb into my bed in the middle of the night to seduce me away from you.” It had never been about her. “Have you actually ever loved anyone Rhaenyra?”

He came to a stop to bend down to meet her cousin's eye, but the woman avoided him. Taking to staring at Naerys instead, before Daemon yanked her head to face him. His eyes were grim. “I have already told you that if you had her you would understand. She’s given me more than I deserve.”

He reached out to take her wrist in his hold. Her cousin struggled against his strength, but he only tightened his grip. “She would have given me a son, but what good is a son without her?” Rhaenyra wasted no time in snatching away her hand when Daemon released his grasp. “I admit I am a selfish man, but I would do everything for her.”

“Nyke sorry ziry gaomagon ao.” I am sorry he used you. Naerys spoke out. Having to take a breath to steady herself. Both sets of pale violet eyes turned to face her. “Nyke sorry syt bona.” I am sorry for that. Her cousin was a victim in her own way. That could not be denied. Her husband had greatly misused Rhaenyra. He had used and discarded her when he had seen fit. More than either suspected. She knew her uncle. He would never apologize for it.

“Yn nyke emagon dōrī ōdrikagon ao.” But I have never hurt you. She had not made him do the things he had. Daemon was his own person and he had chosen to bend to her. He chose her own on his own violation. He had strung her cousin along, but Naerys was not the cause of it. The Rogue Prince had started his games long before her husband had set his gaze upon her.

“Nyke emagon dōrī jeldan ao ōdrikagon.” I have never wished you harm. Despite everything she had done to her to the ones she loved, Naerys could only feel pity for her rather than true contempt. Tried as she might to rid herself of the sentiment she could not hate her. To do that would mean she resented her. Rhaenyra had nothing of value that she wanted except for her surrender.

“Ziry does daor emagon naejot mōris bisa ñuhoso.” It does not have to end this way. Honey words. The call to kinship. The Lady of Dragonstone could not forget why they were here in the first place. Peace. It was for peace. It was up to the would-be-queen. They could avoid the destruction of their house. If she bent the knee to Aegon and gave up her claim to the Seven Kingdoms. She could live a life here among House Velaryon. Make her court there or wherever she wished. “Ao kostagon sagon dāez Rhaenyra.” You may be free Rhaenyra.

For all her posturing, Rhaenyra was not a warrior queen. She rode a dragon, but she was no Visenya. She was not even Queen Rhaena. She was a princess of leisure. Preferring the comforts of court and its admirer’s than the endless toil of battle. She was not a political woman either. She was no more suited for war than she was to sit upon the Iron Throne after she waged it and paid the price in blood she did not have.

Rhaenyra glared at her. A shadow blotted her face. She sensed her pity and she did not want it. Pride. It would keep her cousin from doing what was right. Her conceit would not fall today. It would be her undoing.

“You are considerate to try little one, but Rhaenyra is just as mad as her father.” Daemon removed himself from looming over the Black Queen, sauntering over back to Naerys. “Believing in dreams.” Letting out a chortle at her cousin's sullen expression. “Even if that prophecy my brother obsessed over is true, we are all the conqueror’s blood. It could mean any one of us. In case you have forgotten, my wife has given me a child. My blood, my grandson shall sit upon the Iron Throne.”

He grabbed her hand before Naerys could process the meaning of her uncle's words. So much had been said she felt as if she was being thrown from one revelation to the next. Barely keeping a hold onto her head. “If all you wish is to talk of is riddles, then there is nothing left to discuss.”

Daemon gestured to the Dark Sister at his side.“I could end it all here. I’d be doing the realm a favor but for the love I bore your father. I spare you this kindness. Let it be my last.” He left the chamber doors wide open as they made their exit. Storming out the castle at double the rate which they had entered into the halls of High Tide.

“You shall do as you please Lord Hand.” Daemon snarled as they passed Ser Otto. He had been proven right. The Hightower man’s eyes gleamed beneath his solemn face as he gave the signal to his men to move out. Naerys' husband helped her onto Silverwing before mounting Caraxes who was just as tempestuous as he rider. They took flight for their smoky shores without another word exchanged.

Dragonstone was quiet when they arrived back. Their welcoming party consisted of Maester Orlys and a couple of servants. The genial old maester informed them that Aemond had not yet returned back from Storms End. Daenys had retired to their new apartments in the Sea Dragon Tower far enough away from her parents in the Stone Drum.

That did not stop Daemon from ordering a servant to fetch Aemond as soon as he arrived so that he may enlighten him of the outcome of his mission. “It can wait kepus.” Naerys uncle’s mood remained foul, but that did not mean that he needed to bother the boy. It would be well past a decent hour whenever he and Vhagar landed. Whatever business he had with their good son could wait until the morrow.

Both he and their daughter deserved the night to themselves. He did not argue with her, but being reminded of their daughter's recent nuptials seemed to set him off further. Leading him to march up to their chambers while whispering curses under his breath.

Naerys could recollect that Daemon had kept her in their bed for a week after they had wed. He had not even loved her then. Of course love had very little to do with attraction. “I believe I have broken you.” He had laughed then when she frowned in confusion as she pulled slightly off his chest after their lovemaking.

She had been mostly frightened of him and the emotions he invoked in her. Emotions he likely shared. “Issa iā sȳz run dōna riña.” It is a good thing, sweet girl. He pulled her back down to lay her on top of him, lining her heat up again with his hardening member. Bringing the back of his rough hand up to caress her face. “Pāsan emā pryjatan nyke tolī.” I believe you have broken me too.

Naerys called for a bath to be brought for their chambers. It had been a long day. The first of many to come. They could worry about what would happen in the coming weeks tomorrow. For now, they needed to rest. They would be no good in the agitated state they were in.

The steaming water calmed their nerves. They sat in quiet contemplation. Daemon had taken to pulling her onto his lap after they had finished bathing the grime of the day off of each other. Resting his chin on top of her head. Stroking a warm hand up and down her bare arm while the other took her hand in his to play with her fingers. Naerys closed her eyes daydreaming of a not-so-distant future.

“It shall be nice to have children running around here again.” Daemon hummed in reply kissing her forehead. Naerys recalled that even in the darkest days when she was laid up in bed the little patter of Daenys feet and her laughter bouncing off their walls had been the most blessed sounds she heard. It had kept her sane in spite of her failures. “Future kings I suppose.” She would not pressure him for an explanation, it would come naturally.

“Aegon is not worthy to sit upon the throne.” Her husband looked at her as if it was obvious as she turned her gaze up to him. He was right about Aegon himself, but their nephew's line did not end with himself.

“Aegon has sons.” Jaehaerys and Maelor. Sweet little cherubs. They held their mothers' temperament rather than the impudence of their father. With the proper training, Jaehaerys could be an honorable heir. “Our nephew is healthy.” Their king was a lustful drunkard, but he otherwise was in perfect health.

“Men die every day as do children, especially in war.” Daemon breathed into the shell of his niece-wife’s ear. “In any case, they would need a regency.” It would never come to that. They both knew it. The lords of Westeros would rather seat a grown man upon the throne than boys even in peacetime. It was why during the Great Council Ser Laenor was passed over in favor of Viserys claim. “We would need a strong king to lead us.”

Aemond. He was next in line and conveniently married to their daughter. An overstep that Ser Otto and Alicent had missed in their haste to secure Dragonstone for themselves. An advantageous position for an ambitious man. For a second son.

“As well as a strong Hand to lead our king.” Her husband let out a chortle at her musings. Aemond no more liked his new good father than Daemon liked his good-son, but he was not too fond of his grandsire either.

Daenys would no doubt convince her husband who was besotted with his little wife that her father would make an excellent hand should it come to it. Naerys did not wish for her daughter to find herself in the precarious position of queendom, but our fate is rarely within our control. The Gods have the final say.

“Viserys was a weak man little one.” He sighed into her hair. “I will not let my affection for him blind me to his faults.” More than brotherly love by his own admittance. Or rather more than brotherly worship. It had been an obsession. “He is the reason why we find ourselves in this mess. My brother was never meant to sit upon that damned throne. He let vipers rule his court for him.” Daemon would not allow the same mistake to happen twice.

“From my blood come the prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire.” The riddle. The one that had caused her husband to spiral before she arrived. Daemon let out a snort. “The conqueror’s blood. My brother thought it referred to his line as does Rhaenyra.” Presumptuous given that neither he nor Rhaenyra were the only ones with the blood of the man who united the Seven Kingdoms running through his veins. The folly of their house. A lack of hubris. “It could just as easily be ours.” Their blood upon the Iron Throne. A call to right the past wrongs. The idea was too great to ignore.

“Ziry dōrī ivestretan issa.” He never told me. Daemon took to gazing at the flames from their chamber’s fire. Its light cast shadows across his pale face. He squeezed her hand. Bringing it to his lips to place a kiss upon the back of it absentmindedly. Giving her a half smile. “Hae baseless hae ziry istan ziry dōrī ivestretan issa se nyke istan zȳhon dārilaros.” As baseless as it was. He never told me and I was his heir. Dreams were not always so baseless. Naerys wondered if her uncle truly believed his own words. Surely he could not. His face was too troubled for him to believe it was pure conjecture.

A knock sounded at the door. Daemon barked at the poor soul on the other side of their door to bother them in the morrow, but the interruption came with urgency. Aemond had arrived back worse for wear. Rambling. His Hightower uncle Ser Gwayne had been the one to greet him. Whatever condition the young Targaryen Prince returned in had stoked his uncles’ distaste. The two quickly found themselves in a shouting match within the Painted Tables Chamber.

Daenys was called for and she had tried her best to diffuse the situation, but she could not make sense of it and had descended into her own mutterings. They did not need to be told twice when their daughter was in great distress. Daemon Hastily jumped from the bath helping his wife dress before grabbing Dark Sister. The two bound for their map rooms chambers across the Stone Drum that remained eerily muted.

The reason for Ser Gwayne's repulsion and their daughter's distress was apparent to the naked eye when they entered the chamber. “What have you done boy?” Aemond was soaked to the bone. Half drowned was more like it. Drenched by rain from the Stormlands and something darker. Crimson specks scattered across his face and into his long silver strands. He paced the room running his hands down his face while his young wife was comforted by her lady’s maid. Ser Gwayne stood.

“I was owed an eye.” His expression, red with irritation and rage, was as wild as the rest of him. Turning to face his good-fathers assessment. Rancor had clouded his judgment. The fury of a vengeful God. Or rather a young man who thought himself such. “The debt has been paid nuncle.” At the cost of their lives.

“Lucerys was there.” Ser Gwayne supplied with his hand still furiously rubbing his temples. Bringing up the other to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Delivering a message from his mother. He had left. The boy had left, but he chased him down.”

“I was owed an eye!” Aemond repeated. Daenys tried to go to him, but her mother held her back. Pulling her daughter's head to her side. Petting her silver strands like she did to soothe her as a girl. The young princess had worked herself into a frenzy. “I had every right—”

“Were you owed his life as well?” Naerys' husband met the younger man’s wroth with his own cold fury. The boy backed down some. Glancing at Dark Sister strapped to his good-fathers person. Aemond played the part of a God Daemon was every bit a malevolent Valyrian God of old.

“Aemond did what he thought was necessary kepa.” Only Daenys came to her husband’s aid. Breaking free of her mother's hold. The young girl put her hand in his. Her honey face was pale and her violet eyes were red-rimmed. The first blush of a new bride was gone.

Aemond had the veracious nature of a man of his house. Feed by the fire of youth. He did not know how to control his temper. Rash anger rather than reason Daenys had gotten her first taste of the violent passions that a man such as her husband possessed. A Targaryen man in his prime. Naerys herself had married one. He had mellowed over the years, but sleeping dragons do not lie dormant forever.

“He was her son.” Aemond went rigid at Naerys' chiding. Not expecting his good-mother's reprimand. It was as if his mother was in the room with him and not in her chambers in the Hands Tower oblivious to what he had done. “Rhaenyra would gladly die for any of her children.” Her cousin was many things, but she was a mother above all else. Naerys knew what a mother's love could do.

“As would I! As would your mother!” He was a boy beyond his depth. He was not a mother. He did not understand the depth of that bond. To carry and give birth to a child only to have him snatched away from you. He could not know. His half-sister would repay them in kind ten times over.

“A son for a son. That is what she will want. Do you have any idea of what you have done you half-blind fool?” It was Naerys who had to rest her hand upon her husband to calm him. To stop him from throttling their good-son. “Aōha mandia jāhor emagon aōha bartos valonqar!” Your sister will have your head boy! The Lady of Dragonstone thanked the Gods Daemon had the good sense not to reach for Dark Sister.

Understanding that her new husband provoked her father's ire and that nothing good could come from staying in his company, Daenys dragged Aemond to their apartments. Putting some distance between the two Targaryen men was for the best. Ser Gwayne rushed from the chamber to the rookery to inform his father and sister of the events that had unfolded tonight.

Rhaenyra would not stop until she had her fill. Her feast upon their innards. Until they felt as she did. They would know her pain. A mother's broken heart. The sound of Valyrian steel slicing through bone and flesh alike played in Naerys head. Dragons flames. Burning everything in their path. Colliding with each other in a crimson blaze beneath ash and ruin. Only blood would pay for what was spilled today. The price of vengeance.

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[paarthurnax59]

Little Sparrow: Chapter 6

  WARNINGS: Some swearing, brief description of childhood trauma 

Dark. Dark and cold, which is how Dracula, the lord of the undead, preferred it. The demonic prince looked out from the now abandoned Castle that once belonged to Doctor Viktor Frankenstein, who died centuries ago. Killed by a mob for robbing graves of the dead. Rumor has it among the locals, that the Doctor himself had conducted unholy experiments, making him unwelcomed in normal society.

   The people of the Transylvanian were led to believe the Castle was now haunted by the ghosts of the past. Strange events occurred when people tried to enter the castle. People disappearing as soon as they enter the castle, never to come out again. Which was the reason no human has set foot in that castle in decades. Made it the perfect place for an outpost for Dracula and his brides for the outside world. The immortal vampire prince walked around his quarters, waiting patiently for the news from his informants about the spear. It had been over a week that he sent the letter to the Order and still no word from that old bastard about the ransom. The spear for his best hunter’s freedom. While Dracula looked out the widow, he heard the door pounding. 

“Master! A letter has arrived for you!” said a raspy voice coming from the side of the thick wooden door. Dracula grinned has he looked to the door.

“Enter, Igor!” He demanded, causing the doors to burst open, revealing a short, ugly monster walked in. He sported on tattered old, tattered clothing and matted, light-blonde hair at shoulder length. On his hands he wore fingerless gloves with chipped fingernails. In his hands, was a parchment envelope with red seal in the back that held it together. The creature Igor raised his hand with the letter and handed it to his undead master. Dracula took it and opened the envelope. He scanned through the letter, reading every word as the grin on his face grew. “So, the old man had sent someone to bring the spear to me. It was about time they made the right decision. Who is it that we are expecting?” He asked looking at his hideous servant. Igor held out what looked like a photograph. Dracula took it and examined the picture. It was of a young woman with beautiful, (H/C) hair, (Skin color) and (E/c) eyes. She was gorgeous, which made the vampire smirk with glee. “So, Jinette sent this little bird to deliver the spear to me? The Order should have known that I have a weakness for fragile, little things like her. May I ask who this lovely little dove might be?” 

“Her name is (Full name). She is the ward of Cardinal Jinette Moretti, and a huntress. Our associate says that she had been gone for some time and had been living in America.” He answered making his master laugh.

“Her? A hunter? bah!! Look at her! She is far too delicate looking to be hunting such monstrous creatures. Things like her would be eaten alive. The old man must have a death wish for her.” He licked his lips as he placed the picture aside onto a table next to him. he gazed at the picture of the girl. “I trust that our informant has given us her estimated arrival?” He inquired the short hideous little man.

“Yes, they wrote that she is to arrive from Rome in a day. The letter also told us of where she will be staying at the oldest inn in the village. The Morning Dove Inn.” He answered his master.

 “Good…and how…is our guest behaving?” the lord of death asked the grotesque man who had snarl to his sneer. 

“He had finally quieted down. Fought the dwergi for a bit, but we managed to put him to sleep after giving him a good shock.” He grinned maliciously when he saw the pleased smile on his master’s face. Igor had always been a sadistic individual. He was often rejected as a child due his fascination for experimenting on dead corpses of animals. He would even torment innocent animals, just to see what happens went they were at their most vulnerable. Birds were often his favorite to torture, manly he watched to see what happened when he would cut off their wings.

   Over time, he started targeting other children and had been sent to an asylum. Everyone, even his own family felt he was too much of a danger to others. His father said to him that he no longer had a son. Years later, he escaped and hunted down his parents. He slaughtered them as they slept. He never returned to his childhood home again. More time passed and Igor found Dracula, or Dracula found him. He started to work for him and his brides, been working for him ever since. One of his main duties is to torture any prisoners that get unruly. If the payment from the vampire prince wasn’t enough, then the pleasure to torture people would be enough. Including hunters. 

“Good. Make sure to keep him in line, Igor.” Dracula ordered his head henchmen. “Also, I don’t want him to get too damaged before we have a chance to put him too good use.” 

“What of the girl?” He asked the dark Prince. “What shall we do when she arrives?” Igor looked at the vampire and see the smirk now reappear on his face. 

“Don’t worry, Igor. Hunter or not, I believe she won’t be too much of a disturbance for our plans.” He picked up a glass from the table, which contained a dark red substance and drank it slowly. Once the glass left his lips, he sighed in satisfaction. “We will wait until she arrives. We know what she looks like and where she will be staying. Send to one of our allies to keep an eye on our little bird. I need to find out more about her. I have given the cardinal clear instructions for the tradeoff. She is to come alone and when she does…I will be sinking my teeth into that lovely neck of hers.” He said as he finished to contents of his glass and set it down on the table next to the picture. “Now go, we have plans to make. Our guest of honor will be arriving soon, and I want to give her a proper Transylvanian welcome.”

....

    Yours and Carl’s plane landed within five hours after you both left Vatican City. Standing outside the small airport, the two of you finally were able to track down a cab willing to take you both to the bus station. There it will lead you to Transylvania, where you will be looking for Van Helsing. The two of you sat in the back of the car not making a sound for a while, before you decided to break the silence. You wanted some answers as to how Van Helsing could caught. 

“Carl, there is something that I had been wanting to ask.” You got straight to the point as the redhead priest looked in your direction. “I need to know…Do you have any idea on how Van Helsing was able to be captured?”

“You’re asking this now? While we are on our way to Transylvania?!” He shrieked as he looked down at you with wide. “To think that Jinette had me come with you when you didn’t even get all the information.”

“Sorry! I got caught up with everything and I just never bothered to ask. I had been through a lot in the past week and a half. I don’t need you berating me because I didn’t get all the facts before leaving!” You yelled back to defend yourself, making Carl flinch a little from your sudden outburst. 

“Hey, keep it down back there! Or I will kick you out of my cab!” shouted the middle-aged cab driver as he looked at the two in the rearview mirror with a deadly glint in his eye. Apparently, not a lot of people find that Romanians were very friendly.

“Sorry, sir.” You apologized to the man up front, and Carl said nothing as the man looked away with an annoyed huff as he looked at the road. With man now looking away from them, you lowered your voice to speak. “Anyway, you still didn’t answer my question…How did Van Helsing get captured?” You asked the man and he sighed.

“He was sent on a hunt here a few weeks ago, he decided that he wanted to go alone.”

“What? Was he suicidal or something?!” You demanded in a yell-whisper, shocked by your life-long friend had been so careless and irresponsible by breaking the one rule of the Order. Never go on a hunt alone. Ever. Had Van Helsing lost his mind since you had left? Carl then sighed heavily as he heard you get so upset over the news had broken to you. Why hadn’t Father Jinette told you about Van Helsing getting kidnapped he wondered. 

“Over the past few years, Gabriel had not been himself. He had been losing sleep and claiming that he had been having nightmares. He wouldn’t tell me specifically what he had dreams about, but I could see he was extremely affected by them.” He looked out the window, looking away from you. Your worry grew more as he spoke so solemnly about Van Helsing. “He refused to tell me everything, but I heard him one night screaming someone’s name. Father Jinette, sister Rosa and Rabbi Goldstein ran into the room to check on him that night. He was flaying and shouting out the name repeatedly. he was trapped in his own nightmare and couldn’t escape. It was like he was having a seizure, even hit Jinette once. It was terrifying.” Carl then looked back to you after, with some water threatened to fall down his face. 

     Far as long as you known him, Carl was always the person that made you laugh.  One time, as he was tutoring you in science, he had accidentally set Father Giovanni’s robe on fire. The bitter, old priest was claiming you were too much of a distraction and wasn’t paying attention when one of Carl’s Bunsen burners. Making him dance around and having Jude throw water on him. The two of you and along with the entire lab laugh their heart out that day. One way or another, Carl knew how to put a smile on your face. To see him in such a state with so much sadness was very rare. Whatever Van Helsing went through, it had rippled on to those around him. 

“Did he tell you anything?” You asked him with furrowed eyebrows.

“No. He wouldn’t say anything about it. To anyone really.” Carl admitted sighed as his eyes slowly began to dry up. “But I did see that all of it affect him throughout his day-to-day life, in his work and on hunts. Nothing truly deadly or dangerous…well, until now at least.” Carl said sadly as he took a breath. You nodded, still not quite believing that he would be so carless, but it explains how he got here. One thing still nagged at you while Carl explained, thinking maybe you can understand more of what was going on with your lifelong friend. 

“Can you tell me what name he was saying? Then name he kept on screaming in his sleep?” You pleaded quietly to the ginger haired man. He looked slowly back to your direction.

“Your name, (Name). He was saying your name.” He confessed remorsefully, causing your eyes to widen in disbelief. Did this mean Van Helsing still cared for you? Did he miss you as much as you missed him? More questions swirled in your mind as the Cab driver announced that you and Carl had arrived at the Morning Dove Inn that was out on the boarder of Wallachia and Transylvania. The inn was located 50 miles away from the village where Gabe had been seen last, called Peonari village. The two of you said nothing after the driver of the cab got all of your things to the Inn. You and Carl carried your bags and walked up to the Building. The Inn was old and seemed a little rundown. The building didn’t have a lot of windows and made the atmosphere dark and cheerless. Your guess is that they don’t get that much business around here due to it be nearly in the middle of nowhere as the high mountains surround the area. Walking up to the reception desk with following behind, you ring the bell. 

“Yes! I am coming!” Shouted the voice of a male voice coming from the back. He sounded a little irritated by how he yelled from a distance. A few moments later, a middle-aged man with black hair and brown eyes with a tall build. “Can I help you too?” He asked you both.

“Yes, we have a reservation under (Last name)?” You told him and then the grumpy man asked for your passports. After he verified your identity, he gave you the room keys. Not before he gave you a look that put you on edge. 

“You be careful around these parts, girly. Strange things have been happening in these parts lately.” He looked at you as dropped the keys into your hand. You closed your hand and gave him a leering look.

“Thanks. I will keep that in mind.” You told him and the man proceeded to tell you two where your rooms are. You brought your things up and opened the door with your room numbers.  As soon as the two of you got up, you handed Carl his key. “Meet me in my room in an hour, Carl. We need to start planning before we enact our plan.” You said before Carl went into his room.

“Of course, by the way, how are we going to go about this? Where do we start looking?” Carl questioned you as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulders. 

“We are going to meet someone in town, or rather some people. The ones that were the last to see Van Helsing. I’ll tell you more when you get to my room. We need to wash up and then we can begin making connects with them.” You answered formally.  He nodded and went into his room, locking as he closed it. You went into your own and closed the door behind you. the bag fell to the floor along with the case the held the spear. You opened your bag and grabbed your hygiene products before heading to the shower.

     After you walked out of the shower, you noticed that it was already getting dark due to the room growing darker. Your curiosity ate at you and caused your feet to walk to the window to watch the sun go down. Opening the widow, you scan the scenery of the mountain terrains and saw the beautiful nature scenery. The forest the surrounded the open field was lush and green, adding a deep richness to the earth. The mountains scaled high to the clouds, tops with pure white snow. The colors of the dying daylight that reflected onto the high peaks of the mountains truly took your breath away. 

    When you lived in Kansas, you often yearned for the high mountain tops and celestial beauty that you were used to when you lived in Europe. The American Midwest, though had beauty of its own, was lacking compared to you saw now. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath of the mountain fresh air. You sigh in content before you opened your eyes again. Carl was going to meet you in fifteen minutes, and you needed to get dressed. You closed your window and got out your clothes for the night. After the remaining fifteen minutes, you heard a knock on your door. You opened it and saw Carl in casual entire. 

“Come on in, Carl.” You said and gave Carl chance to enter your room. You closed the door and Carl then faced you as he stands you in the middle of your room. 

“So, we do we start? What’s the plan, (Name)?” Carl asked you as you closed the door.

“It’s getting dark, so we will have to wait until tomorrow. You know very well that these lands are infested with monsters, and we’ll be much more vulnerable if we go out now.” You explained and sat on your bed with your arms folded. “Make sure you get plenty of sleep because we are getting up early tomorrow. We don’t have a whole lot of time. We only have only a few weeks before Dracula’s deadline is up.” 

“Who are we meeting tomorrow? You mentioned that we were meeting some people that will help us finding Van Helsing?” Carl asked after you finished explaining your plan.

“The Valrious family.”

“They Valerious family? The famous monster hunting family that have been defending this entire region for over five centuries?” Carl’s eyebrow rose in shock.

“Yes, they were partnering with Van Helsing when he went missing. They are the only ones that know all the places where Van Helsing had been. They were also that last people to see him. They are our only leads to finding him.” You answered him. “Go get some sleep and tomorrow we will go down to the village.”

“Right.” Carl said as he took a deep breath. You noticed as he got agitated with every word the two of you spoke. You got up to meet him at eye level.

“What’s wrong, Carl?” You asked him with your voice laced with his concerned. 

“It’s just, I’m worried about Van Helsing. I don’t know if we will be able to find him again.” Carl shakingly said as he rubbed his hands. You have seen him do this time and again when he was worried about something. He had every right to be nervous. You were too over not being able to find Van Helsing.  For all you know, this all could be in vain. Dracula was the lord of the dead and a vampire. You don’t expect a monster like him to keep his word. However, something inside you told you to try and find him. 

“Carl.” You placed a hand on the priest with a sad smile. “We will find him. I know it seems like a slim chance at this point, but we have to try. Van Helsing is strong, and he will hold on until we get to him. I promise we will find him.” Your words seemed to ease him as he gave you a small smile. He nodded and started to leave the room after he bid you a good night. As he closed the door, now leaving you alone. You got your sleepwear together and got yourself ready for bed. 

 Watching from afar, Dracula’s head bride, Alera, eyed the girl’ window with intense curiosity. Her lord and husband was right, she was beautiful. It had almost made her snarl at the fact that Dracula had grown a little obsessed with the human female. Dracula had instructed her to keep a close eye on her when the sun was down, and give him any details about where she might be going. When the girl closed her window, she quickly made her way to the inn. Thanks to her acute hearing, she was able to hear everything about the plan to find Van Helsing. (Name) planned on seeing that wretched family, known as the Valerious family. She wanted to growl at the mere mention of the family of hunters that have killed so many of her kind for centuries. Still, Alera knew she had to stay quiet. She cannot have her cover blown over her hate filled emotions. 

    After she bid her companion good night, the woman was now left alone to sleep. When she knew (Name) were asleep, she quietly and swiftly crawled up to the window and opened it gently. Alera knew very well on how to remain as silent as the wind when entering a house. She had done it for centuries to pray on her unsuspecting victims. Suddenly, when she tried to reach the opening, her hand began to burn. She shirked in pain as she drew herself away and clutched onto her hand.

“Who’s there?!” The young woman shouted from her bed and the light in your room went back on. Alera knowing her cover had been blow, fled away from the seen before you could spot her in the night. Once she was far away from the Morning Dove Inn, Alera transformed into her demon form and fled away into the night sky. 

...

(Name)’s POV.

  As soon as you heard the ear-piercing scream, you jolted from your bed. Grabbing your gun and holy water.

“Who’s there?!” You demanded to whoever was invading your room. You looked around and noticed the window was opened. Your eyes widened as you quickly ran up to the window and locked the shutters. Not long after, Carl came bursting through the door panting like crazy.

“What happened?! Are you okay (Name)?!” Carl yelled in a panic.

“I’m fine, Carl. I believe that someone had tried to break in here.” You explained as you put your gun down on your nightstand. 

“Break in?!” He cried as you told him what had just happened. 

“Yeah, and by the looks of it, it wasn’t human.” You said as you pointed at the window. “I blessed the window frames with holy water and use ancient warding symbols that were specifically to keep vampires away. It one of the most efficient ways to keep vampires out.” You explained to the priest as looked at the now closed window. Carl then looked at the wards that surround the window in a foreign language that he had never seen before.

“Brilliant.” Carl looked at you with great astonishment at your careful preparation. “Where did you learn all this? I don’t remember the Cardinal teaching us these skills.” He asked you as he saw the 

“A man named Sam did. He is one of my best friends in the States.” You answered honestly.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, he taught me a lot during my time there. He taught me some of the most effective ways to hunt monsters that I never heard of before. I have fought a lot of vampires and werewolves in the States and Sam taught me a lot.” With your words, you face fell as you thought about Sam. It hurt to talk about your time with the Winchesters. You shook that off for now, trying to focus on what was going on in the moment. “Carl, I believe Dracula knows we are here.”

“Already? How?”

“I don’t know, but I have a feeling we need to be more cautious. I was hoping that it would have taken time for his to catch on, but I laced these wards on my window just in case. Turns out, I was right to do so. We should do the same to yours, Carl. In case they come back.” You suggested. Soon, you grabbed all your tools and headed to Carl’s room. After drawing the sigils around his window, you bid him good night once more and headed back to your room to sleep. You had a long day ahead and you were running out of time. With Your eye lids growing heavy with sleep and let yourself succumb to the darkness. 

   Standing in the large crowd, you felt as if your ears were starting to bleed. The people were all together in a large square with hundreds of people. Young, old, men and women. All of them chanted angrily, throwing fists in the air with a violent rage. 

“He’s a fraud!”

“Hieratic!”

“Liar!”

  Shouted the angry masses as they all look up at the balcony. A man emerged, dressed in fine robes. He had a circlet crown upon his head. The mob like crowd cheered as the man appeared in front of them. You stood far back, but you were able to see enough of this man to see that he displayed a significant amount of authority. With a simply wave of his hand, the people were silent. With the wave of his other hand, another man had come forward next to him. You could barely make out his face, but you could see the silent strength that you had witnessed once before. 

“Ye has brought this man unto me not guilty of any wrongdoing!  I have examined him before ye and found no-fault with his man of which ye have accused him! Of Which I shall release him!” Said the finely clothed man and the crowd around you muttered in shock and were beginning to shout “No”.  “Then what shall I do with this man, if ye will not let me release him?!” He said pointing to the man next to him.

“Crucify him! Release Barabbas!” Shouted one of them men in fine priest robes and jewelry standing in the front of the crowd along with other men that were dressed the same. Your eyes widen in the direction of the heartless priest.

“No.” you uttered to yourself, tears now streaming down your face as you look back up to the direction of the balcony once more. 

“Would ye have me release Barabbas?! Over him?! An innocent guilty of no crime?!” He pointed back at the man in white standing by him. 

“No, please.” You quietly cried again, not wanting to see this going they way you prayed it wouldn’t. Watching the man in fine garbs take a deep sigh and then turned away from the mob. He has a servant bring out a bowl and poured water in it. The man then washed his hands in it and turn back to the people once more.

“I wash my hands of this innocent man’s blood! See to it yourselves!” He shouted and then proceeded to walked away from the crowd. The people cheered violently as you cried out the man on the balcony. 

“No! No, let him go!!” You ran to the front and try to fight your way through the crowd. As soon as you reached the front, the cheers faded away and it all went dark. 

“NO!!!”

….

Holy crap! It's been over a year since I have updated! I really hope you guys like this chapter! sorry it's not as great as others but I really appreciate your guys feedback and follow me for more!

[siriuslychessi]

Day 02 - Quizzical

AO3 || FF

There was a knock on the door. It didn’t sound urgent but it was persistent. So persistent that it had woken up Sirius from his nap on the sofa.

He had had a long night chasing some false tip on a Death Eater and he had sat to have a drink, which ended up with him falling asleep on the spot and the drink served but untouched.

Sirius barely registered the knocking at first, until finally he went to the door, guarded about who might be on the other side.

Grabbing his wand he stood next to the door asking: “Who is it?”

“Marlene, I’ve known you since you were 11, and we went to have matching tattoos last week, not even James knows. Now open the door.”

Sirius sighed in relief and opened the door, getting to look at a recently dyed brunette Marlene, lately she had a different coloured hair almost every month. He supposed it was her way of going through the recent events. 

Her blue eyes on him, looking at the bags under his eyes, he was almost sure of it.

“You look like rubbish,” she said, pulling him close and pecklink his lips, “I’m glad that you’re back.” she added softly, like saying it outloud would make her break. 

Sirius his arms around her, “Rubbish tip, nothing happened, just a lot of non sleeping, you just woke me up.” he pointed, pressing his forehead on hers and closing his eyes for a moment, letting his body relax, he had been tense before opening the door. These days no one could be sure of who might come to visit.

“No wonder your breath stinks, like something died in there” she joked, pulling away just a bit. “C’mon, help me with something.”

Sirius looked at her, frowning at the comment, it didn’t sound urgent. “Can it wait? I’m beat.” he admitted.

“No, someone might take it before you wake, it’s just downstairs.”

He rose an eyebrow, like asking ‘what the fuck do you want help with?’ which she replied by taking his hand and pulling him downwards to the street. There was a desk, next to a pile of literal rubbish, which made Sirius consider Marlene’s sanity for a second. 

He looked at her, “Why are you sorting through rubbish?”

“It’s not, the desk is in good condition, and I would have levitated it to your flat, but you decided to live in muggle London.” she replied carefully, taking the pieces of glass from it. “You always say you need furniture. Here you have some for free. Now help me get it up.”

Sirius frowned, “You know I have money right? To buy a new one?”

Marlene rolled her eyes, “Yes, but you never have time, this is right here, and with the right spell we can make it new. Now stop being an arse and help me.” Sirius didn’t move, he just stood there staring at her, like she had grown a second head. “Not everything needs to be brand new. Some things can be a little broken and still be beautiful, if you give them a chance.” she offered, “Also you can’t not have just a sofa and a bed, that’s not a home.”

It doesn’t feel like one. He admitted to himself, before sighing, “If you give rats into my place you are getting rid of them.” He grabbed an end of the desk.

“I thought you like rats, you always hang out with Pete.” she teased, grabbing the other end.

Sirius rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips, “That’s different, Wormtail is family, there would be unwelcome guests.”

And with that they made their way back to the flat.