#did she feel the need to justify her actions to herself. that she's NOTHING like dahlia and she had reasons for acting that way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arabellasleopardcoat · 28 days ago

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Threefold cord (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon’s wife is presumed dead. But is she?

A/N: Blue beard, to finish my Halloween celebration because I cannot write on schedule. Also @just-some-random-blogger look! The fic I told you about.

Warnings: Hightower!reader x Daemon. Smut. Alicent, Gwayne and reader as siblings. Death of Rhea Royce. Happy ending!

“ARE YOU TRULY about to wed him?” You set your teacup down on its saucer. When your father had summoned you to the capital, you had known it was important news. But Alicent becoming a Queen? It surpassed everything you had imagined.

Your father wanted to make sure you were there to witness her triumph. Alicent lacked allies in court, beyond the Princess. And that relationship would sour as soon as the other girl heard just who her father was to wed.

Alicent was too naive to see it. Or purposefully blind. She claimed to not know what she had been doing when visiting the King, too. You guessed the thought made it easier to bear for her.

You didn’t blame her. King Viserys was old and beginning to show signs of being sickly. The thought of offering yourself to such a man, twice your age, on your father’s orders, wasn’t pleasant. You would rather pretend you were just being kind.

“It is for the best. Father says that he…” Alicent begins justifying her actions, and you tune out. You know it will just be a repetition of your father’s lectures. Duty. Bearing children. Women knowing their place.

You pitied her, for believing in his bullshit. It wasn’t as if either of you could escape your fate, but you at least tried not to lower yourself into thinking you were a lesser, gentler being, made to be bred. Instead, you enjoyed thinking you were a person. Just as human as any man, just as smart, just as strong. Only one trapped by your status as a noblewoman.

You sip at your tea. You are cautious not to make a sound when doing so, and not take too big of a sip. Anyone who gazes at your courtly smile and comely manners would not guess your innermost thoughts.

Alicent continues her tirade, describing animatedly how much she wants to do her duty and birth children. How she knows her body will not fail her as it did for the late Queen. She has an unfortunate thirst for proving herself, your eldest sister.

“And King Viserys asked me about you, the other day. He would like for you to marry Prince Daemon…”

The tea you are drinking goes down the wrong way. You start coughing, and have to hurriedly set down your teacup as to not burn yourself.

“Excuse me?” You say, once the coughing fit subsides a bit, and you are able to wipe your mouth with a napkin. “I will… What? Does father know of this?”

She looks at you, concerned, but says nothing about it. She pours herself another cup of tea.

“Prince Daemon’s wife has been missing for a while. They think she might have…” Alicent leans in, voice lowering. You are in the Tower of the Hand, surrounded by men loyal to your father, and yet she feels she cannot say it freely. You wonder what has Lady Royce done to scandalize her such. “Ran away. With a lover.”

“You prude!” You laugh. You had thought it much worse. “She wouldn’t be the first woman to do so, don’t be nai…”

“A female one.” Alicent interrupts, setting down her own teacup. The movement is a bit harsh, making the porcelain screech.

You open and close your mouth. You had not known that was even a possibility.

“How does one..?”

“Be as it may…” She raises a hand, halting you. “Father says you shall marry him, if he finds you agreeable.”

There was not much you knew about politics, but you were pretty sure the Prince despised your father and your house by extension. You doubted he would find you agreeable. Your father would doubt it too, but he was too blinded by the hope of getting Runestone.

Lady Royce had no heir. Her castle had gone to Daemon, the King needing little convincing to award it to his beloved brother. Imagining all that bronze in your hands, in House Hightower’s hands, would have him salivating. At getting his enemy away from court? That was only an unexpected bonus. If the man liked you and decided he wanted to play Come-into-my-castle with you, you were sure your father would dance a gig.

You wouldn’t. If it did happen… You shuddered, thinking of the man with the lecherous grin, always whoring. Twice your age, and crass as they came. The only times you had crossed paths, he had been busy ogling Alicent or his niece.

“I am not marrying him.”

Alicent frowns at you. Her eyes turn sad. When she gets contradicted, she looks much like a kicked puppy.

“I have never met him.” You explain, feeling guilty over upsetting her. She is just so much like your father, sometimes. It angers you, even when you know it is not her fault. She doesn’t have the same anger in her veins as you do. All she ever wanted was to please your father.

“He is looking for a wife, and King Viserys thinks it would be marvelous if you married him. I have told him all about you.” Alicent sounds excited about the whole thing, and just… No. You do not want to marry a man twice your age. Gross. Her tone turns softer. “I think it would be nice. To belong to the same House even after marriage. To be never parted from my sister.”

The want in her expression makes you soften. It is not often that Alicent admits to desiring anything, and you do not wish to discourage her.

“I’ll meet him.” You decide. “Just that.”

“Oh, how wonderful!”

And the Seven bless her, she actually seems delighted to hear it.

THE WEDDING IS awfully dull. The Septon drones on and on about the Mother and the Father, and the duties of marriage. Alicent looks stunning in her silk gown, beautiful but modest. It is no use. People already speak of what she has done to trap the King into marriage.

Princess Rhaenyra keeps sending her glares during the feast. Sometimes in anger, sometimes in hurt. She is not quite sure what to feel. You can tell from the way she pauses when looking at Alicent. You pity her too.

Losing a mother is a terrible thing. You can only imagine how much it hurts to see her replaced by a girl your own age.

The Princess is a woman who has everything and yet, it's still a woman. No power to stop her father from bedding her best friend, no power to change anything at all. The realization of her powerlessness is clear in her features.

In contrast, you doubt you have ever seen your father this happy. Ever. He is alight with pride. As if throwing his daughter to an old man is some great accomplishment. He has spared no expense on this wedding, the ceremony and feast lavish in a way that feels almost tasteless.

The pomp and luxuries have you feeling morose. You sip at your hippocras, tucked into a corner of the high table, and try to pretend you are invisible. Gwayne has left you far too soon, off to dance with some ladies.

He has always been the courteous sort, just like you. You enjoy watching him charm the ladies, and enjoy more the fact that he hasn’t tried to drag you to the dance floor.

For that, you are grateful. Some ladies are lively and dance as if gliding through water. You do not. Dancing had not been on the list of abilities you had acquired during your etiquette lessons.

It had always felt like peacocking to you. Showing yourself to others, showing how pretty you smiled, how graceful you were. The attention it brought made you uncomfortable. You much preferred blending in.

“Strange choice of drink you have there.” Prince Daemon says, sitting across from you. “Even stranger that you are still sitting at your sister's wedding.”

“I could say the same.” You reply, colder than you planned to. The hippocras is hitting you already, making your temper shorter. You have little interest in Daemon Targaryen.

There is a secret plan in your head. When you reach thirty, you will claim a sudden awakening of Faith and retire to the comforts of life as a Septa. You have done enough charity to know that Septas don’t do as much as they like people to think. The only thing you will miss will be the alcohol.

“Ah, but I am just sitting now.” He idly reaches for the carafe of hippocras you are monopolizing, and serves himself a goblet. “Is this any good?”

“At least it’s not dornish swill.” Dornish wine has to be the worst thing you have ever tasted, not even fit for pigs. Bitter and watery, the mere thought annoys you.

Prince Daemon barks out a laughter.

“Good Gods, where was Otto hiding you?”

“Probably in the same place as your decency.”

“Thread carefully.” Daemon’s expression turns far colder. His hand tightens around the stem of his goblet. “I might like your cheek, but I am still a prince of the realm.”

“One soon to be displaced.” You toast. A bit of hippocras spills from your goblet. You are far too drunk to care about his thoughts. “Be it by my nephews or your niece.”

His face reddens.

“Bitch.” He spits the word from clenched teeth. You laugh loudly.

“Knave.”

“You are an insolent little thing, aren’t you?” Daemon snarls, leaning over the table as if to throttle you. Drunk as you are, you don’t feel any fear. You have just enough rational thoughts left to believe you will be alright, since even the darkened corner you have chosen to sit in is too public for him to murder you without repercussions.

“I am small but fierce.”

“I can see that. Do all Hightower cunts have teeth?”

You smile at him, lazy and warm from the drinks you have had.

“I don’t know, care to find out?”

And Daemon laughs. He asks you to dance instead. As he twirls you and dips you, you come to find he is not bad company after all. And if you laugh a tad more than necessary, and accept his offer to walk the gardens the next afternoon, no one can blame you.

“IT IS BUT a couple of days.” Daemon says to you, softly. You lay on your stomach, head propped up on your arms. You twist your head just so to force him to see your sad little pout.

His hand comes to rub at your shoulders, as if you were a spooked horse he is trying to soothe. His touch is warm and calming against your bare skin.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

He has soothed you into complacency, this husband of yours. He allows you to indulge in fine wines, and be as frivolous as you wish. The only thing he asks of you is that you are warm and willing when he is. It is no chore.

Long gone is your rage. Now, you exist in a perfect bubble, where no one constricts your freedom. There is no screeching father to tell you that you are a disaster, nor is there a horrified Alicent. Instead, Daemon encourages all your eccentricities, and teaches you some new ones.

“Will you?” You roll on your side, stretching. You have done nothing today, not even dress. Daemon and you have spent the whole morning tangled in each other, warm and naked.

He smiles. That same grin that had once seemed so lecherous to you, now looks inviting.

You bite your lower lip, already anticipating what is to come.

“Minx.” Daemon laughs, before leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. The contact of his lips against your skin makes you shiver, a delicate sigh leaving you. “You won’t even notice I am gone.”

“Of course I will.” You whine, as he kisses a path down your spine. “Who will bring me such pleasure?”

A sudden, sharp pain on your arse makes you yelp and sit up. Daemon smirks, and feigns taking another bite out of you.

“You are so spoiled.” He laughs. “Cannot take even a little pain. I’ll leave you some coin, and you can invite your sister to keep you company. How does it sound?”

“Think the King can spare his Queen?” You have not seen your sister since your wedding. The ravens fly fast enough that you know the news already, but you doubt King Viserys will allow her to be out of his sight for long. Not when pregnant.

Daemon nips at your thigh. You jerk, but he coaxes you back into laying on your stomach.

“Before she gets too round to travel, yes. In a few moons, it will have to be us making the trip.”

“Gods, I hate babes.”

“So do I.” He rubs at your inner thigh, slowly prying your legs open. “So? Is my spoiled wife happy?”

“Very.” You rub your face in the pillow, all kittenish. You like being called his. “Do I get the keys of the castle, too?”

Daemon kisses the place where your thigh meets your arse. You can feel his smile against your skin, promising sin.

“Of course. Just don’t go into the room with the red door, alright? I forbid it.”

“You do?” You challenge, thinking it part of the game. So far, you have yet to explore all of Runestone, always too entertained by him to do so. There are a few rooms he is cagey about, but you have always blamed it on Daemon being very private and needing his space. He has never allowed you into his personal library, either. Says you would ruin the books.

You have never minded it. You understand your place here, the dumb young wife. Men never like thinking the woman they are with can be more interesting than them. To think you can also have an interest in books, apart from being frivolous, would be too much for him to handle.

The warning about the red door only registers to you as part of the games you usually play in the bedroom. Something he can punish you about later on, something that might excuse a round of rough lovemaking.

But his expression turns into a frightening mask of utter rage. He pinches you in the thigh, and this time, it really hurts.

“Fuck!” You cry out, fighting his hold. His grip has turned from the sweetest chains into unforgiving iron around your hips. You cannot move. Not even as he slaps your thigh, hard enough to make your eyes water. “Daemon, what the..?”

“I mean it.” He is cruel about it, slapping again the stinging flesh. “I do not want you in there. If you disobey, I’ll know.”

You stare at him, open-mouthed, You cannot comprehend how fast he has flipped, from kind lover to whatever this is. The rogue Prince is mercurial, you think, echoing the letter your father had once written complaining about him, his moods dangerous.

“Fine!” You cry out, desperate to evict this creature that has taken sudden hold of your husband’s body. “Fine! No opening the red door.”

Daemon softens then. His shoulders slump, and his face goes back into a mask of devotion.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” He presses a kiss to your thigh, to the place he slapped. You tense. “It is dangerous for you. Like the Moondoor in The Eyrie.”

Yet, as his touch turns back into loving, you do not forget. There is something about what lies beyond that red door that turns him into a monster. A creature capable of hurting even you.

You intend to find out what it is.

THE FORTNIGHT SPENT with Alicent is by far, the best of your life. Runestone is grand, with intricate tapestries and artwork decorating the walls. Your sister has always loved art, and the time spent surrounded by beautiful things seems to rejuvenate her.

Her pregnancy appears to be easy and without fuzz. There is no nausea preventing her from having as many lemon cakes as you two wish, or from exploring the Vale’s markets, trying on dresses and tasting expensive food.

The money Daemon has left you is enough to fund your shopping sprees. You have so much fun, running in the halls and trying on dresses, it feels as if you are little girls again. The only thing missing from your childhood is Gwayne.

So you send for him.

Despite how much joy your time spent with your sister brings you, you cannot shake the thought about the red door.

It is situated in one of the towers, near the place where Daemon keeps his books. You pass by it daily, for Alicent’s rooms have been placed in the same tower. Housing a Queen is no easy task, much less when she carries the heir to the Iron Throne inside her. She had come with servants and guards, who had to be housed too. There was no space but that tower.

That tower. Each time you pass it, you have to clench your fists hard to stop yourself from reaching towards it. Every time you open a door, your hands linger on the only key you will never use.

What lies behind the red door? What can possibly upset your husband such and change him from a careless hedonist into a violent man?

When no one is near, you kneel by the door and try to look through the keyhole. The lock on the door is old and smells faintly of iron. The only thing you can see looking through the keyhole is rust.

Trying to look under the door gives you the same results. Rust and iron, and a nagging curiosity that will not leave you alone.

You try to forget about it. You owe obedience to your husband, and you remember all too well the tale of the woman who owned a jar that should never be opened. It had been a favorite of your father during your youth.

A wife must never pry. For she might find something she doesn’t like.

Yet, when you think of Daemon grabbing you hard enough to bruise, you realize you already have found something you do not like. It is that thought what helps you make up your mind. One afternoon, when Alicent claims to be too tired to keep you company, you decide to open the door.

Your hands are slick with sweat, and shaking so much it takes you two tries to fit the key into the keyhole. Your heart feels like it will leap out of your chest. Suddenly, you are paralyzed.

You cannot turn the key. Your hands have gone rigid. Your fear overwhelms you. What could possibly be in here, if not a terrible secret?

You turn it. The lock clicks, and the door gives with an ominous creak. You step inside, as careful as you can. The floor is slick and sticky. When you look down, your shoes and the hem of your gown are tinted red.

You scream. You turn towards the walls, only to find more blood. Bloodied rags, stains, a bloodied dagger. You begin to feel lightheaded. When you stumble towards a corner, you see her.

A corpse of a woman, hugging her knees to her chest. Her body is rotting, half of her face gone, but enough of it remaining so you can see that it has frozen in an expression of utter horror, much like your own. She wears a rune covered armor, and has several cuts all over.

This time, you fall down. The keys slip from your grip, and you scream so loud, you are sure you wake the whole castle.

The missing Rhea Royce.

“Good gods!” Alicent cries out, behind you. You stumble to your feet, terrified. She cannot see it. Daemon… Daemon was going to kill you both. “What is this? By the Seven, is that..?”

“He is going to kill me.” You say, wiping the blood clinging to your hands on your dress. You try to clean the keys as well, but the stain won’t come out. No matter how hard you try. “He’ll know.”

“He is not going to, we can go to the King, and I am sure there is…” Alicent sounds horrified. She lingers on the doorstep, already on her nightshirt. Her belly is barely beginning to show.

“Alicent!” You say, sharply. “He’ll know. You have to run, Alicent. He will kill us both.”

“And leave you to die?” Your sister sounds indignant. “I cannot. You cannot…”

You cannot run, you wish to say. You cannot because if you do, Daemon will know even quicker, and chase you both. If you stay, maybe you can fool him. Or at least, give your sister a fighting chance.

“Please!” You cry. “Do it for the babe.”

Alicent’s lips turn white from the force she uses to keep them closed. She looks into your eyes, and hesitates. You fear she might not go through it.

“Go!” You cry, slipping on all the blood.

And Alicent, big brown eyes wide, hikes up her skirts and runs.

DAEMON NOTICES AS soon as he asks for the keys. You have never been a good liar, and the blood still stains them. When handing them over, you shake.

His smile drops. He no longer is the happy husband, but the creature that had frightened you the other night. The creature that had killed Rhea Royce, and took her lands.

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” He grabs you by the neck, snarling.“I told you to leave it alone.”

Your pulse begins to race. You cannot speak, and you can only take shallow breaths. Your panic must show on your face because Daemon smiles at you, coldly. He squeezes a tad harder, enough to cut off your breath.

You gasp. It comes out more like a choked hiccup.

“Look at what you are making me do.” When you are starting to feel lightheaded, breath coming out in desperate wheezes, Daemon gives you a shove. “I never wanted to do this. This is all your fault.”

“You don’t have to kill me.” You plead, voice shaking. “I’ll keep your secret.”

Daemon looks at you, and laughs.

“I assure you, I have not gotten away with it this long because I believe every pretty thing telling me they will keep their mouths shut.”

Your eyes widen. The phrasing is strange. Every pretty thing…

“There had been others?” Daemon scoffs at your question, but doesn’t answer. You look into his eyes, and try pleading once more. At this point, tears are streaming down your cheeks. You are sure you make a very pathetic sight. “Just… Don’t kill me.”

“Good Gods. Are all Hightowers this dumb or is it you and Aliwhore?” Daemon grasps your face, roughly. You cannot believe your ears. Where is all this hatred coming from? It seems like the man you loved, the one that had courted you for endless summer days, is gone. All that is left is his profound hatred for you and your family. Had he only pretended not to hate you, and was showing his true colors now? “At least die with some dignity, you pathetic cunt.”

Dignity. Dignity could buy you time. You need it, to think of a way to survive.

“Allow me to pray, then. To make my peace with my death.”

Prayer wasn’t your strong forte. But you guessed you could possibly buy an hour with it. You had never been as devout as your siblings, but you could pretend well enough to fill the time as you tried to make your own miracle happen.

Daemon studies your expression closely. He tilts your head up and down, and then gives you a patronizing little pat on the cheek.

“Fine.” He spits out. “Pray. Only a few minutes, not a second more.”

You walk past him, intent on going back to the tower where a statue of the Mother stands. You watch his face carefully when you pass by him, worried he is only toying with you and has no true intention of allowing you to pray in solitude. But he doesn’t stop you.

You make your way to the highest tower, kneel by the feet of the statue and weep. Your weakness only lasts you a moment because when you lift your gaze, you catch sight of a green standard approaching the gates.

Could that be..?

“Are you done?” Daemon asks, from behind the closed door. You can hear the drag of steel against steel, and picture him in your mind’s eye. Taking Dark Sister out of her sheath, face full of bloodlust.

“Just a minute more.” You beg, watching the rider stop at the gates and being allowed in by the guards. “Don’t kill me, please! Not yet!” You cry out, as loud as you can, hoping your voice carries.

Daemon bursts in, Dark Sister held by his side. His smile is cold, his face the image of calm. One would never guess he is about to kill someone by watching his expression. You notice the dagger he carries at his hip, but do not dare to try to take it. Not when Dark Sister’s reach is much longer.

“Oh, spare me the hysterics. More prayer will not spare you.” He lunges at you, and you evade him, but there are only so many places one can run to in a small room. Daemon catches you by wrapping your braid in his hand, giving you a harsh tug that makes you tumble down. You scream.

“Shut up. Seven Hells, quiet.” Daemon places the sword at your throat. “You will…”

The door is thrown open by a kick, the loud bang startling him and making his grip falter.

“She will do nothing.” Gwayne says, firmly. You can see Alicent standing behind him, wrenching her hands together. You have never been more grateful to see them. “Or I’ll gut you like a fish.”

“Oh?” Daemon shoves you. You do not fight his push, laying limply on the floor. He turns towards Gwayne, sword no longer focused on you. “You think you can beat me, boy?”

Gwayne cannot. He had lost to him in a tourney not even six months before. You do not hesitate. You grab the dagger at Daemon’s hip and stab him in the stomach, hard. And you do it again, and again, until your hands and face are covered in blood, and Daemon does no longer move.

You look up at your siblings, then. Alicent’s face is horrified, but when she senses your eyes on her, she smooths down her expression. Gwayne watches with vague interest. At some point, he seems to have taken Dark Sister from Daemon’s hand because he now holds it.

The three of you stare at each other. The blood on your hands is rapidly cooling and turning sticky. You wipe your hands on your dress.

You had thought you would feel something if you killed another person. Instead, you only feel numb. Empty. Daemon is gone, and so are his things. His kisses, his threats, the monster that lurked beneath.

It’s Alcent who first speaks, face pale. “The red room. We need to get to work.”

By the end of it, it is as if he never came home at all. The three of you hug, on the brink of tears. Another string tied you now, beyond the sibling bond. The man you had murdered, and the duty to forget him.

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icallhimjoey · 2 months ago

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Not sure if you've done this but it fits the general mood of the fandom lately: I want grovel-y Joe. Knows he really fucked up but he's a guy so he doesn't know how to fix it so he just throws anything at the wall to see what sticks. And honestly we're not sure if we'll forgive him but we're definitely sticking around to see how far he's willing to go.

(yes I am in therapy 🤣)

okay im using this request to fix whatever that bullshit was that i wrote before this - hope you enjoy! Wordcount: 3.8K

---

I'll Let The Sun Decide

Joe realises it in the morning. Feels like the biggest fucking idiot in the world.

Correction: the biggest fucking idiot on the moon.

He watches you walk out of his bedroom after leaving a perfect cup of coffee, exactly how he likes it, on his bedside table and everything about that makes his heart ache.

After the way he behaved last night, he knows he doesn't deserve a sweet gesture from the girl who looks like she only managed to sleep for about two hours.

You look exhausted.

He only catches a glimpse of you, and a few seconds later he can hear the coffee machine go again. You're making a coffee for yourself after making him one, and Joe can't help but groan his face into his pillow.

Fuck.

He didn't reach out for you in the night.

Your one fucking rule.

He vaguely remembers going, "Hmm?" after he raised his head off his pillow in a jolt.

"Just me." You'd whispered, nothing malicious hidden in your voice, because it was after midnight and it wasn't the time to continue whatever you'd started earlier that evening.

He should've reached over then.

He hadn't. Not even a knee to your thigh, or a toe to your foot.

Nothing.

He should've been happy you'd come back to his flat instead of going to your own. You could've so easily decided to avoid him for a bit, but you didn't. You said you'd come back, and then you did, and, fuck.

He hadn't reached out.

He hadn't even read the texts you'd sent. Left you with a bunch of grey ticks.

Well.

He had read them, but only in the notification bar.

He'd seen the messages about you making it to the office safely. Of how Charlotte was there too - you'd do the work together and you'd be done much faster that way. A little later of how you'd just be another hour, and of how you'd let him know when you'd leave.

He wanted you to feel bad about choosing your work over him, so he withheld the coloured ticks and had felt real fucking smug over it. It was sickening how right he'd felt about his actions in the moment. Every petty little thing justified, just because you'd hurt his feelings.

You'd climbed into bed after he had already fallen asleep, and the feeling of movement next to him pulled him from his slumber. And then, instead of reaching over like he should have done, he had sighed all heavily, like he was really fucking annoyed that you'd woken him up as you got comfortable under his covers. He'd rolled over and ignored you. Turned his back and festered in his own anger like a moody teenager because he truly believed you deserved it.

What a fucking loser.

Didn't touch you all night.

The realisation slaps him in the face unexpectedly, and your early-morning kind gesture is what flips the entire script. What a fucking loser of a boyfriend.

You've made the deadline.

Joe sees it when he opens his messages after taking a perfect sip of hot coffee, and it's weird how he feels awful about himself and proud of you at the same time.

He didn't need to let the world burn over such a tiny inconvenience.

Joe hates the moon.

Longs for the sun.

The moon is cold and dark and he's all alone up there, only warmed by the light the sun will bring him.

The sun. Or, the messy-haired girl with tired eyes in soft clothes too big for her body who brought him a hot cup of coffee before she even made one for herself. Either or. Same thing.

Joe stares at your messages in silence, gives you the coloured ticks he should've given you last night, and feels heavy guilt find home in the pit of his stomach.

You finished all the work in time. Probably have done a real good job at it too. Did it at the office, away from Joe's bad temper, and managed to actually focus and forget about how he told you to fuck off when you were already on your way out anyway.

What a dick-move.

Fragile ego syndrome, you'd guessed then.

That dick-move is what had you second-guessing going back over to Joe's for a while. Maybe going back to your own flat was the smarter idea. Avoid the confrontation and just text him the next day, after he'd cooled off a bit.

Maybe he'd actually read those then.

Another dick-move.

Joe could be so annoying sometimes, but it was easy to read him and you knew that just a little consideration of your time would fix whatever this silly issue was. With that in mind, you'd made your way back over to his.

You knew his dick-moves only meant he was going to feel bad about himself come tomorrow morning.

And you were right.

Besides an annoyed sigh and a soft grumble, you didn't get much else from him when you got into bed.

That was fine.

Again, you didn't think it was the right time to continue a fight anyway.

But the morning brought something new.

You woke up before Joe did and it took a few seconds for you to remember. To realise your prediction was right. Joe hasn't reached out in the night. No silent I still love you touch under the covers for you.

And it stings.

Could make you cry if you thought about it long enough.

Joe's stayed on his side of the bed, facing away from you, and you tell yourself that at least you've come back to his flat like you said you would. You finished the work you had to finish, and did the right thing by returning.

But then, you concluded, you also haven't reached out to him at all, and immediately felt bad.

Joe can be so annoying sometimes, but you do still love him, and a warm palm to a shoulder blade could've at least let him know.

It would've made you the bigger person.

Which, you still were. You came back, didn't you? But Joe was being an absolute child and you didn't want to sink down to his level.

You should've reached over. Should've touched him. You have no good excuse for not following the one rule you came up with after your first real argument, and now you feel bad.

Shit.

The coffee is to make up for it. At least a little. To say, I'm sorry I didn't reach out, here's me doing that now.

"Morning," you whispered when you saw him stir and open a squinty, confused eye.

You didn't wait for a reply. Just left the coffee there and walked back to go and make yourself one too.

Joe watched you leave and the moon came crashing down.

He knows what the coffee means.

He's read your messages, can hear you make breakfast in his kitchen and decides he needs to reach out too. With his coffee in hand, he gets up and makes his way over to his living area where he finds you rubbing your fist into an eye through a yawn, with a carton of eggs in the other hand.

"Morning," he croaks, and sees how it's only just starting to get light outside, it's so early still.

It feels a little weird and embarrassing to speak to you right now. To remember how you'd been in this same room just a few hours ago, and he'd told you to fuck off.

Fuck off, he'd said. To his girlfriend. Had meant it with his whole chest too. What a fucking idiot.

You turn your head to give him a small smile that doesn't reach your eyes, and ask, "Do you want some eggs?"

The moon can die.

He doesn't want the moon.

The moon is too far from the sun. He wants you closer and happy and well-rested and for your smile to overtake your whole lovely beautiful face when you see him and he hasn't got the faintest clue where to even start to fix it.

He doesn't know how to turn all the feelings in his chest into words to convey how sorry he feels. Has no idea what to say. Has no idea how you'll react to a verbal apology either.

But you look so soft, shoulders slouched, the scrunched up bit of fabric that held your hair up and out of your face as you slept about to slip out. And, even though he can tell it's not a real smile, you're still giving him a kind face. You're being civil.

You've made him a coffee how he likes it and just offered to make him some eggs and, Jesus, he's just the most awful person ever, isn't he?

The overwhelming need to wrap himself around all of you takes over.

Joe leaves his coffee on the side and steps closer to attach himself to your back. You accept it, and he can feel how you let your head rest against the side of his as he hugs you, arms tight around your waist.

He's glad that you let him.

But he also feels the defeat there.

The, Joe what the fuck, that's waiting to slip out of your mouth. Maybe it's why you're keeping things surface level. No time or energy to get into an actual conversation right now. Just breakfast eggs and perfect coffee.

That's okay.

Joe doesn't know what to say anyway, and he'd love some eggs, actually.

"I'd love some, but," Joe kisses the side of your face, does it quick so he doesn't have to feel you pull away from it, and then gently moves you aside. "Let me."

A first attempt at fixing it.

Joe finishes breakfast whilst you go for the quickest shower of your life. When you turn the water off he asks what time you need to leave from the kitchen. His eyes find your coffee that's going cold, and he thinks it's so stupid that you have to be back at work so soon.

This time he doesn't feel sorry for himself, though. This time he feels sorry for you.

It's a big difference.

You've only just left the office, Joe thinks. And sure, sometimes he makes long hours and feels like he lives on set, but you're in an office.

He knows that's different.

Worse.

You've got to go and present all the things you've finished and he knows you like it just as much as he does. That being: not at all. There's no use in getting angry at you.

He sees that now.

You're just as much at fault for not being able to go out with him last night as he is. That being: not at all.

Joe watches you take a few hurried mouthfuls of egg on toast, and he wants to tell you sorry before you leave.

He doesn't.

Isn't sure how, and feels like a literal child because, Jesus Christ, they're just words.

But you smile at him, even though it's only small. And you let him kiss your cheek on your way out. And when you've left, it's not even eight o'clock, which is too fucking early, and he decides he needs to give you more quiet I love yous that he didn't give you under the covers in the night the way he should've done.

You get flowers delivered to the office that afternoon.

It's a large bunch, beautiful colours, and you can't lie; it absolutely makes you smile. You can tell it's expensive, and you know he's paid extra for the same day delivery, but... he didn't reach for you last night, and you didn't reach for him either, and whenever you think of Joe, that's all that comes to mind.

You'd seen him turn to stone.

So cold and careless.

Had seen in his face how he didn't give a single shit about how inconsiderate he was being.

A bunch of flowers isn't going to magically make that visual go away, but it's nice that he' tried's trying, and you try to hold onto that.

When you leave the office that day, you text Joe that you're headed to your own flat because there's food in your fridge that needs eating before it goes off, and your dishwasher is half filled with dirty dishes that have been in there for about a week already, so you kind of need to go turn it on, and there's probably also a load of laundry you could do, plus a quick pass of your floors with a vacuum, maybe.

Joe doesn't get to read it for a few hours. Busy day on set. When he eventually does, sort of annoyed that you had to wait for his coloured ticks again, he texts back, "Yours?"

And you text back so quickly, it makes his guilt grow.

"don't forget your key, im gonna lie down "

Perfect, Joe thinks. He'll sneak in and maybe get some of your shit sorted whilst you kip on your sofa.

But when he walks in, you're not on the sofa. You're already in bed, and that's sort of heartbreaking, because it's so early, and Joe finds the food that's about to go off uneaten in your fridge still. Finds the dishwasher still half filled, smelling rank, dirty dishes growing mould in there. He also sees the full hamper that needs sorting and washing, and, how had he even had the gall to assume that you could just make time for him at a moment's notice when you hadn't even been able to take care of any of this?

Joe starts the dishwasher.

Sorts your dirty laundry and starts a dark wash.

Cooks the food that's about to go off and places it in plastic tubs to have at another time.

Notices you've not taken the flowers that he had express delivered home and tries not let that affect him, but fails.

You're not sure what it is that wakes you. The beeping of the dishwasher, or the clanging of plates as Joe places the clean ones back into their cupboards. When Joe comes to find you, you're on your side, facing away from the door, but Joe can see you're awake by the light from your phone that silhouettes you.

"You're awake," Joe says, voice surprised, and it makes you turn to look over your shoulder.

"Hey," you say softly, and Joe's eyebrows knit together automatically at how sad you sound.

"Thanks for the flowers," you turn in bed to let Joe kiss you as he bends over to place a small one to your forehead. "They got delivered during my presentation."

"Was it embarrassing?" Joe asks, sitting down next to you, one arm either side of you as he leans over. Kisses you again, but on your mouth this time.

"Very. Vanessa just barged in with them."

"Did you like them?"

"Hmm," you nod and give a little smile. Joe's glad for it, but he feels there's a distance there still. You're keeping your hands to yourself, even though his bare arms are right there.

"I um," Joe starts, and wants to start listing all the things he's done. Wants to tell you how he's been sweet, and kind, like you were with him this morning, and he wants those things to be the silent I love yous he should've given you last night.

But then he changes his mind and says, "Did the, um... did the presentation go okay?"

You nod, because it did go really well, actually. Thank fuck. But Joe doesn't ask any more questions about it, and he seems to hesitate to even speak at all. Seems to want to say something that he's clearly not saying. Afraid to say the wrong thing, maybe. You wonder if there's a sincere I'm sorry hiding in there somewhere.

"You seem tired..." he skirts around the issue, and it's disappointing, but not surprising.

"I am tired."

Then Joe looks at the empty space in your bed for a moment and gets up. Starts undressing. Leaves his clothes in a neat pile on your dresser and goes to brush his teeth.

When Joe looks at himself in the mirror, he frowns.

Fucking idiot.

Look at that coward.

He rests both hands on the sink, hangs into his shoulders, breathes through flared nostrils, and feels like a failure. You must think he is one too.

He didn't reach over last night.

With his toothbrush still in his mouth, he steps back into your bedroom and inhales a deep breath through his nose before he mumbles a barely audible and a very foamy, "I shouldn't have..."

He hears himself, grumbles low in this throat and turns on his heel, spits the toothpaste out and comes back.

Starts again.

"I shouldn't have said those things. Last night. I was being a dick, I shouldn't have done– well, anything, really. I was being mean just to be mean, I'm–"

"Joe," you interrupt, your voice soft.

You didn't reach out either.

"No," Joe argues, moves to sit back down next to you, arms back either side of you, hands pressing into the mattress. "You have nothing to be sorry for, I just," Joe sighs. Frowns. Doesn't know what to say.

What can he say to make you run a hand up one of his forearms?

"I didn't..." he tries once more, but falters again. Drops his head and knows he can't cry because he is not the person he's hurt.

He didn't reach over last night.

"Hey. I didn't either."

You read between the lines, even though your vision goes blurry with tears. You can hear the words Joe isn't saying and can read the thoughts he's not communicating. Joe's face always tells you a million things. You wonder if he's aware how easy he is to read.

You also wonder if he's aware that it's not going to be enough.

Joe swipes a thumb across your temple, close to your eye, and catches a tear that was about to slide into your hair.

He swallows thickly. Tries to swallow down whatever's hurting his throat.

"I don't want to live on the moon..." he then mutters, regretting how he set the world on fire. He wants to live on planet earth, even though it's all grey and black ashes now. He'll plant flowers there. Will feed them water, and will politely ask the sun let them grow.

Will ask you.

You're the sun.

You get to decide.

You don't fully understand what Joe means, because it sounds ridiculous, actors and their theatrics, but you tell him you don't want to live on the moon either and he huffs a laugh at how absurd that sounds coming from your straight face that's pretending it's not actively crying.

You're the sun.

Of course you don't want to live on the moon, silly.

"Your priority–" you start, breath hitching, but Joe is quick to interrupt.

"You. You. Us. I'm... it's us. I promise, it's us..." Joe sighs again, seemingly upset at remembering his own behaviour.

"Saying that is easy, though," you start, finally letting your fingers slowly wrap around one of his arms.

A touch.

It's enough to make Joe's whole face crumble.

He ducks down. Lets his arms find your shoulders to pull you up a little so he can hug you properly, both arms wrapped tightly around your frame, his face hidden into your neck, and you know Joe's only crying because of your fingertips touching his wrist. The smallest things can get him sometimes – so dramatic.

But you continue, "I believe that you believe that your priority is us, but when you're stomping around your kitchen, blaming me for shit I have no controll over, telling me that it's my fault that I–"

"No," Joe mumbles into your skin, and pulls back just enough to press his forehead against yours. "No."

And you give his forehead a slight push with yours and you want to say, yes.

Yes that's what you were doing.

Yes that's what happened.

Yes you got caught up in all of your own feelings and forgot that I have a whole set of my own.

But then Joe whispers, "I'm sorry." and you can't help but go absolutely lax in his hold.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I love you, I'm sorry." he whispers his apologies against your mouth through heavy breaths because he's doing his best to not cry, but he's failing, because then he feels you shake with a sob, and, fuck that, he'll banish himself to the moon, actually.

He'll live up there no matter how miserable it is, and he'll take whatever sunlight he can get, and he'll be thankful for the rays you'll allow to even reach him at all.

"You didn't t-touch–" you stutter, and immediately feel Joe squeeze you tighter.

"I'm sorry, I love you. I'm so sorry." Joe whispers right into your ear. Keeps repeating it, over and over and over.

Your one rule.

He should've never broken it.

It's good to hear the words, the I'm sorrys tumbling over his lips, and you'll accept them for now. But actions speak louder than words, and you know that there will probably be a time where the way the world treats Joe will make his head grow to twice its size again. He'll do and say similar shit. Won't want to meet you halfway, but will demand that you make the trek all the way over to him, won't care what the ground will look like, and won't care if you're wearing shoes for it or not.

Joe doesn't know it right now, but you can see into the future and know it will happen again.

And when it does, you'll grow a little colder.

Let some of your rays die out.

"Here. Lay back." Joe says after holding you for a while, and when your head finds your pillow again, Joe curls around and uses every body part of his to touch yours under the covers.

Every inch of skin touching yours is a big fat quiet I love you that he'll repeatedly tell you all night. He's not gonna let go.

He knows he's on the moon still. Up there, all alone. Cold. In the dark.

He said he's sorry, but knows it's not enough.

Wants off, but is smart enough to not set foot somewhere he's not allowed yet.

He has said that he's sorry, and now he needs to wait for the sun.

Wait for you.

And he'll touch you under the covers until you're ready.

Whispers the promises into your hair as you fall asleep.

You get to decide.

He'll let the sun decide.

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevitalifestyle, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @gri959

@hanahkatexo, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

@kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr

@munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid, @readergf, @royale1803

@skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfic #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfiction #joe quinn x Y/N #joseph quinn x Y/N #icallhimjoey #rpf #i'll let the sun decide

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destinysbounty · 1 year ago

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A lot of people like to gripe that Harumi's motivations didn't make a lot of sense, but honestly? To me, I feel like that was kinda the whole point. She's a traumatized kid lashing out at the world, trying to justify her actions with a false veneer of morality - when it truth she just wants everyone to suffer like she did. She wants to feel like she is doing something good, that she's saving the world, but in truth those are just lies she tells herself to help her remain in denial of the fact that she is just a scared, broken child.

"I want you feel the emptiness that I feel!" Of course she didn't have a motivation that made sense!

The thing we need to take away from this isn't "well Lloyd's been through way worse trauma and he turned out okay". The takeaway should be, "people have the power to heal from their pain, but only if they're given the support needed to do so." Lloyd had the ninja there to guide and support him and show him love. Harumi only had her gilded cage of the palace and the emotionally distant royal family.

It's important to note that Lloyd and Harumi are inverse parallels of each other. Where Lloyd's arc began, hers ended (in s9 at least). Lloyd started off as a lonely, traumatized kid with no support system, who unleashes forces beyond his control out of a misguided idolization of Garmadon. But then he's given a home and a loving family, and he's able to become the hero we all know and love.

Harumi's the inverse. She started off with a home and a loving family and a support system, but it all got torn away from her. And in her isolation and neglect, Harumi languished. And when we meet her in s8, what has become of her? She's a lonely, traumatized kid who unleashes forces beyond her control out of a misguided idolization of Garmadon.

She hates Lloyd for the same reason Lloyd never gives up on her, even as late as Crystalized: they see themselves in the other. They're equal and opposite reflections of each other. I think on some level, both of them are subconsciously aware of this.

Harumi resents Lloyd for receiving the life she was robbed of, and Lloyd pities Harumi for falling victim to the life he left behind.

Harumi looks at Lloyd, son of Lord Garmadon, and thinks it should have been her. Lloyd looks at Harumi and pities her, seeing nothing but a broken shell of his past self. This is why Harumi wants to break him and revert him to that past shell. This is why Lloyd never gives up on her, always holding out hope that she can change.

So yeah. Harumi's motives don't make sense. And personally, that's one of the things I find most interesting about her.

#ninjago #destiny post

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crossfandomslut · 6 months ago

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At Peace in Your Fire pt. 3

part 1 and part 2

Summary: Hewn City bs and lots of Eris screen time haha

Pairing: ErisxArcheron!reader

Word Count: 4k

Notes: I am so so excited that people are liking this story so far !!! I love all your comments and am so appreciative of the likes and reblogs ! For this chapter, I did use a big chunk of the direct dialog from ACOWAR for the Hewn City meeting with Eris, because I think its important context and I wasn't about to rewrite SJM's mastery. So disclaimer, I do not own any of SJM's characters or speak for her or them in anyway ! This is just for shits and gigs and I hope y'all enjoy this chapter ! Also please let me know how we feel about the Eris POV :)

Amber eyes and a pale face littered in freckles, framed by fiery red hair, stared wildly at her. Eyes full of fear and confusion contorted his beautiful features. He was stunning, truly. Rakish, almost lanky, but toned muscles rippled under his well-fitted clothes as he fell to the ground gripping and clawing at his throat, trying to force air back into his lungs. Y/n did that to him. She made another being feel that pain and suffering. But he was hurting her sister. He was hurting Feyre. Y/n didn’t know why she had to remind herself of that fact so often to justify her actions that day on the frozen lake, but she had fallen asleep thinking about the male every night since.

Now that Feyre was home, things started moving pretty quickly. Hybern was making moves in the Spring Court to bring down the wall to the human lands, and thus putting Prythian on the brink of another war. Everyone was hard at work planning, coordinating, and scheming, but Y/n was told to just keep training. She wanted to be useful when the time came, so she was going to need to hone her powers and her physical abilities. She finally got to be a part of the plans when Rhys announced at family dinner that everyone would be taking a trip to Hewn City.

Y/n wasn’t afraid per-say, but she wasn’t sure what to expect. Feyre had told her that Amarantha’s ‘lair’ for lack of a better term, was designed after the city. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see that firsthand after hearing about everything that Feyre and Rhys went through. She was going to put on a brave face though. It’s not about her. It was about helping this court, her new family, and potentially the fate of the world as they knew it.

She studied herself in the mirror after selecting the right dress. Rhys had told her to wear whatever color she wanted, but she knew that this visit to Hewn City was all about appearances and she needed to help show that they were a united front. She had never been fond of black. It always looked so good on her twin, but Y/n preferred softer, neutral tones that helped her blend into the trees and underbrush. Tonight however, she would step out of her comfort zone. Adapt. Her constant mantra. So, she studied herself in the mirror, eyes gliding along her body that was no longer too thin, but now tones and showing real muscle. Her hips were wider, her arms and thighs thicker. A body to fill out such a fine dress. It was a floor length gown, as black as obsidian. It had see-through long sleeves and a modest neckline. Nothing flashy, she didn’t need to draw attention to herself, she just needed to blend in and help silently from the dais. But as she looked at herself, she thought that she looked quite pretty. She always thought she was the most plain of her sister, even now as Fae, but tonight, Y/n would try to wear this dress with confidence and that casual coolness that came so naturally to all the others.

Eris’ POV

That beautiful female on the frozen lake haunted him every waking and sleeping hour of Eris’ life. The way she literally took his breath away. If it weren’t for her power actually stealing the air from his lungs, her beauty alone would have stopped him in his tracks. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his many centuries of existence. He could help but laugh when she stormed up to him in the Winter Court wearing little more than pajamas. He shouldn’t have laughed. If the Illyrians thought she was important enough to bring along, he shouldn’t have underestimated her. He saw her face every time he closed his eyes. Her y/e/c orbs staring straight into his soul. It ratted him, which not much did anymore.

Eris hated Hewn City and he hated Keir. He was so tired of playing these court games and scheming behind the scenes. He knew Rhys liked to make an entrance, but he was growing bored and restless. Until he saw her. She was just as beautiful as the first time he saw her, but now, dressed in a night court black gown, she didn’t glow like she did when she was comfortable in her chestnut brown pants and a forest green sweater. Who is she?

Y/n’s POV

Stood atop the dais behind the single throne that Feyre and Rhys shared, Y/n scanned the room. Doing her best to keep her face carefully neutral, she stood there while Rhys addressed the court introduced Feyre as their High Lady, and coolly demanded that they kneel. After a long pause, the whole room on their knees before them, he released them to enjoy the festivities.

A man with blonde hair, that Y/n identified as Keir, Mor’s father only by blood, approached the dais. Then, the last person she expected to see approached as well. The male from the lake, with the glowing amber eyes and hair that reminded her of a maple trees falling red leaves. She swore her heart stopped beating when he made eye contact with her as he bowed. Not to Rhys or Feyre, but to her.

“Keir. Eris. So kind of you to join us. But don’t be so eager to get our meeting over with, go enjoy the evening. Azriel’s shadows will find you when we’re ready.” Rhys slid his bored gaze over each male and waved a hand in dismissal.

Eris. That was his name. Eris Eris Eris. The name clanged around her brain, and she had to choke back the desire to know how it felt on her tongue. She knew his name now and it made falling asleep to picturing his face feel like she was violating him in some way. She knew she shouldn’t have been thinking about him in the first place. He tried to kill her sister, or bring her back to his father who was a known tyrant and took brutality to another level. She should definitely not be thinking about him. But there he was. And gods damn he was even more devastating than she remembered. For starters, he wasn’t covered in blood, and she wasn’t choking the daylights out of him. But more than that, he had this air about him. He exuded a confidence that was purely Fae male and came from centuries of a life lived. Then she remembered the way that fire had danced from his fingertips. He could wield flame like an extension of his own body. It was beautiful. Y/n once again had to reprimand herself, because those same beautiful flames coming from his long, calloused fingers, were causing harm and pain to her own sister. That light and radiance that fire had was diminished in the context of it’s use. How dare he make Y/n fear something she loved so dearly? How dare her use fire, which is the root of all life, use it to hurt and destroy?

Y/n was snapped out of her daydreaming by the sound of someone clearing their throat. She realized Eris had not broken eye contact with her and was now starring at her expectantly. With no small amount of embarrassment, she realized she was probably just standing here gazing into his eyes while her whole family stood there and watched. He cheeks heated and Eris’ smirk grew.

“I asked you for a dance, lady…?”

“Y/n, you do not have to dance with him. Honestly, you don’t even have to talk to him.” Rhys said.

“Y/n...” She hated how much she liked her name falling from his lips. “Just once dance, Lady Y/n, and I’ll share what I know of the Spring Court in our meeting this evening.” Still smirking, he held out a hand.

“Fine.” Y/n unceremoniously slapped her hand into his. Just because she was practically vibrating with anticipation of being so close to the male, didn’t mean he needed to know that. And neither did her family. For all anyone else knew, she hated Eris as much as they all did. She certainly should if she knew what was good for her. Gods, what was wrong with her!?

That smirk turned into a cocky grin as Eris led Y/n to the dance floor. He tugged on her hand still held in his and pulled her close to his body. Not pressing against her, but close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his body. He was unnaturally hot being a fire wielder, but Y/n never minded the heat. Even found herself having to hold back from pressing every inch of her against the warmth. He stood close to a foot taller than her, and she had to tilt her head up to lock eyes with him. She was met with amber eyes dancing with amusement, and he was met with a cold hard glare.

Eris blew out a soft laugh and asked, “why, little dove, do you hate me so much? We don’t even know each other yet.”

Y/n tried not to linger on the ‘yet’ as she leveled him an incredulous glare. “You mean aside from the fact that you chased my sister across a frozen lake, blasting fire at her and then restrained her with said fire?”

He had the audacity to laugh again. “Yes, Y/n, aside from that. I would very much like to know you. You hating me makes that slightly difficult.”

Gods that smirk. Y/n was trying to think straight as he floated her around the dance floor like it was nothing. She hoped he didn’t realize she was using her magic to keep herself from tripping over her own feet or stepping on his. He was such a beautiful dancer. And the truth was, she wanted to know him too. But instead she said, “you use your gift of fire to hurt others. You use that delicate flame to inflict pain and fear.” She desperately hoped her voice was staying steady, but then he scoffed at her and the leash she had on her temper slipped from her fingers. She feels her voice raising and her cheeks heating as she goes on. “Fire is not meant to cause pain, Eris!”

He halts their movement. That was enough to make her blink and remember where they were. Her eyes and her voice soften as she tries to look straight into his soul and speak directly to it. Her hands drift to hold both of his in her much smaller ones. “Fire is beautiful and lovely and soft and warm. Fire is nurturing and breathes life into everything. Fire is a gentle protector and a kind companion. I am so sorry someone told you otherwise and that you’ve been told to use it as a weapon.” He just blinked at her for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly the music stops, and the room erupts into applause for the musicians. “Eris…?” Y/n sys his name as gently as she can, but he pulled away from her so fast and muttered an ‘excuse me’ before he turned on his heels and practically ran out of the ball room.

Y/n stands there until someone accidently bumps into her and jolts her out of her head and back into her body. Slowly, she makes her way back to the dais staring at her feet, still not totally present. She looks up when she reaches her family only to see them all with a hand over their mouth to choke back a laugh. “What?” Y/n’s brow scrunches and she tilts her head in confusion.

Cassian is the first to break, laughing so loud a few partygoers jump and glasses shatter. The next is Mor, and finally, Feyre asks through tears in her eyes and a barely concealed giggle, “What the hell did you say to him!?”

Y/n just took her spot on the dais next to Feyre and Rhys as they laughed and laughed together and resumed staring at the floor trying not to be eager to see Eris at the meeting later this evening.

Eris’ POV

He had to get out of there. Had to get out of that room that felt too similar to under the mountain and away from that female who was far too gentle and kind to be anywhere near him. ‘The Mother must really hate me’ he thinks as he reaches the city’s edge and can finally breathe again. He knew the shadowsinger would find him soon and call for the meeting, but before then he needed to regain his composure. Y/n didn’t need to use her power to stop his breathing and make his heart race.

He took a few deep breaths and the shaking in his hands and the ache in his chest eased slightly. His mind drifted to the feeling of her in his arms, how well they danced across the floor together and how lovely her hands felt pressed to his chest. ‘Fire is not meant to cause pain’ Y/n had said. The words had come from her mouth with such passion and determination that he almost believed her. He wanted to. Gods did he want to believe her and her kind words and her cold calloused hands that soothed his burning skin. There was no way for Y/n to have known his father had struck him across the chest just this morning. A show of power after his father bested him during sparring. The punishment for winning would have been far more gruesome. Y/n’s cold unassuming hand placed directly over where his father’s had left the flesh raw and painful. Her lovely hand placed there while she looked him in the eyes and told him that fire wasn’t meant to cause pain and that she was sorry. He couldn’t believe she was real, and his need to know her just grew tenfold. But he wasn’t good enough for her. He wasn’t good. He should keep his distance and save her the misery of his company again.

Eris was dreading the mask he would dawn in this meeting and the monster she would think of him as afterward. A shadow wrapped around his wrist and tugged. It was time. Eris schooled his features into the calm, bored, arrogant heir, winnowed back into the halls of the palace, and sauntered his way into the meeting.

Y/n’s POV

The meeting was nothing of what Y/n expected. Eris came in, and straight up avoided eye contact with her. She couldn’t lie, that stung a bit.

He sat across from Rhys, but looked to Mor with a knowing glint in his eye and said, “you look well, Mor.”

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.

Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”

Y/n was so confused.

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys spoke, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”

Feyre glanced between her mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”

Apparently, Feyre was just as lost as you were.

Eris explains that he caught Azriel’s shadows snooping around the Autumn court after they returned from the frozen lake, and that his brothers ‘mysteriously’ forgot about Feyre’s powers. He said that he had taught himself a few things about daemati powers and how to block them out. He says that he didn’t tell his father because he knew that Baron would want to hunt Feyre down and kill her for his belief that she stole part of his power. He doesn’t believe that Baron knows just how much of a threat Hybern is, but that he wont join forces with them if he finds out about Feyre’s powers.

“So what’s the asking price for you silence then, Eris?” Mor demanded. “Another little bride for you to torture?”

All the blood drained from Y/n’s face as her eyes darted between Mor and Eris. Her head hurt from trying to put this puzzle together without having all the pieces. She knew that Mor’s father had tried to marry her off and Mor took control of her own fate by sleeping with Cassian, but she hadn’t known the male she was sold off to was supposed to be Eris. The pounding in her head did not cease.

Something flickered in Eris’ eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.”

A sneer from Azriel. And a sharp intake of breath from Y/n. If he had looked at her she would have seen the brief flash of guilt in his eyes.

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“You hunted me like an animal,” Feyre cut in. “I think we will choose to believe the worst.”

Y/n didn’t know how to feel. Couldn’t think of anything to say or do, so she just dropped her gaze to the floor. She shouldn’t come to Eris’ defense. She just met the male and apparently her gut feeling about him was wrong. Her family hated him and he hurt Mor. Something didn’t feel right, but what would she even say? There were literal centuries of bad blood between her found family and this male who for some gods forsaken reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about. This arrogant, spiteful, male who attacked her sister! Not just Feyre it seems, but Mor as well. Even if he didn’t have direct hand in harming her, he didn’t help her. Why didn’t he help her? Her head was still spinning trying to sort through all these conflicting feelings. She felt like she needed to come to Eris’ defense, but why? Maybe because she felt deep down in her soul that no one ever had. She could feel that he was good, so why were his actions such the opposite? The pounding in her head wouldn’t stop and she felt as if she might faint. The conversation starting to sound like they were underwater.

“I was given and order. And sent to do it with two of my…brothers.”

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?” Feyre accused.

Eris slammed a hand on the table, which did nothing to help Y/n headache. No one seemed to notice her flinch and start to sway. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

“Indulge me,” was all Feyre said in response.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” Eris’ voice had returned to its normal low and sharp nature. “I wasn’t there- when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the firs and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free… They were going to kill him too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word- anonymously- to get the hell over to his own border.” Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket, “not all of us were as lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

Sharp, stabbing, shooting pain ran through Y/n’s head and it was so surprising that she let out a yelp as she dropped to the floor, and everything went black. The last thing she remembered hearing was the voice of Eris’ panicked voice crying her name.

Taglist: @abysshaven @myromanempiree @lilah-asteria @96jnie @ivy-34 @minaethrym

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #autumn court #eris acotar #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris x y/n #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction

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theprettynosferatu · 1 month ago

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CONTENT WARNING. NO, FOR REAL, READ THIS FIRST.

This story contains strong themes and graphic non-consensual sex. If you feel they might affect you adversely, skip this one.

Andrea is being tormented in college by a bigoted popular girl. Her daddy has always helped her... maybe he can help her get some justice...

CW: Incest, non-con, SA, orientation play (F-straight to bi)

I - No Expiration Date

She felt ridiculous. She probably looked ridiculous too, sitting against the wall, grabbing her knees, almost shaking, all in the middle of the hallway. Most made a point to not look at her, rushing to their classes, their dorms or wherever the hell they needed to be with such haste. Well, Andrea knew they only rushed because of her, to give themselves a plausible excuse to avoid doing the right thing and checking up on the poor, weird girl hyperventilating on the ground.

The worst part was that Andrea knew she shouldn’t let it get to her. If anything, it was Kate that should be ashamed of herself, not Andrea- fuck, to say such things in these days was almost quaint in its ignorance, and if Andrea chose to make a stink, grounds for expulsion. Would it be considered a hate crime? Maybe. But going up to the dean or whoever like a poor little victim felt so… humiliating. Perhaps more so than Kate’s constant, whispered words and stories. And some idiots actually listened to her!

Andrea supposed that was the big perk of having a rich, connected daddy. Even the most moronic and bigoted statements found an audience eager to please, if only for the unspoken promise of future gifts, recommendations, networking opportunities. Shit, even the dean might sweep the whole thing under the rug just to please her family. Andrea could feel the rage building up inside her chest, making her almost sick. Part of it was the stench of injustice that surrounded the whole deal. But most of her anger was directed at herself. It wasn’t as if any of this was new to her: she had come out in highschool. Every insult and every joke and every slur had been thrown at her a thousand times over already.

But… college was supposed to be different. Even the teachers that saw the abuse in her younger years had told her so. It will get better. You’ll get out of here, and in college all this will be a distant memory. That hope had kept her going even as everyone forgot her name and simply called her “The Dyke” her entire senior year. But those were kids. Kate was a fucking adult. And yet, bigotry seemed to have no expiration date.

Fuck. The bullying wasn’t even fucking accurate! Andrea had been openly bi for years, but apparently the nuances of sexual orientation were irrelevant when it came to making one person the butt of every facile joke, a stepping stone to get some sweet, addicting attention. And Kate loved nothing more than attention. Good, bad, who cared? As long as the spotlight was on her, whatever hole she had in what she called a soul was temporarily filled. Fucking go to therapy, you cunt! Did daddy not hug you enough? Used dollars as a substitute for affection? Boo-hoo. It didn’t justify a goddamn thing.

Andrea took a deep breath and managed to get up. Her Social Psych lecture was about to start, and Andrea knew she would skip it, even if she tried to fool herself for a moment, to force her legs to walk towards the classroom. Step by step, she headed for her dorm room. Fuck. Another absence. Kate was even fucking up her academic life. But what could Andrea do? Go to the professor and explain that, sorry, I couldn’t make it because the rich girl made fun of me?

She threw herself on the bed with punishing force. A miniature form of self-harm, she figured. Sometimes she hated majoring in psychology: that little voice that analyzed her actions almost made her feel like she was performing her suffering, rather than feeling it fully. And that distancing might also be a defense mechanism. Well, shit. How does one turn their brain off?

Andrea felt a pang in her chest, a familiar longing for home. Sure, it wasn’t a perfect place and money was always tight. Sure, her mother had vanished when she was barely one year old. Sure, the old place was in dire need of repairs and an update. But it was home. Of course, she knew she was lying to herself by omission. She was trying not to think of the one person that made it a home, and inevitably, in trying to suppress the idea, it came to her twice as strong. Daddy. Her father was her home, and it made her feel childish, helpless, as if she was ten and running to him whenever things went poorly. That her mind still went to him filled her with shame.

Oh, bullshit. You know damn well why you don’t want to think about him.

She couldn’t tell when it had happened, exactly. It had been something slow, growing inside her, indirectly pushing her subconscious. If she looked back at her dating history, a pattern emerged, one hidden at the time but blindingly obvious in retrospect: similar to dad, similar to dad… and then, when an errant comment by a friend (“All I’m saying is, like, for an old guy… you’re dad is kinda hot”) opened her eyes, she swerved in an attempt to escape her feelings. Different from dad, different from dad… The problem with “different from dad” was, of course, that those guys were, well, different from her dad.

The summer before college had been the worst. She did her best to be home as little as possible.

Before she knew it, twin emotions were boiling over inside her. The first made her feel sick to her stomach, made her muscles tense up, made her breathing shallow and quick, as if she was about to leap and bite some animal’s neck. It was rage, pure and shining, clad with the garment of a righteous need for justice. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fucking fair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. That fucking bitch. She needs to suffer. She needs to be punished. She needs to fucking learn some humility. And at the same time, the second feeling snuck up on her, traveling in the shadow of the first, mingling with it until they became one, like snakes mating. Dad. She needs to suffer, dad. Make her suffer for me. Please. Please, daddy. Do this for me and I’ll…

Andrea snapped back to reality, horrified. She moved her hand from between her legs, not even knowing when she had started playing with herself. Fuck, she was soaked. Shame almost brought her to tears, until Kate’s sneering face popped back in her mind. She had endured enough for one day. She had earned a little bit of fantasy. Just that. It wasn’t as if she’d ever do anything about… well, anything. But she could imagine, couldn’t she? She wasn’t that much of a coward- she could dare to imagine Kate, and dad, and…

Fuck it. Who cared if it was wrong. She needed release.

Andrea let her hand go back between her legs.

II - The Call

Mike found himself staring at his phone. His morning coffee had gotten cold, but he took a sip anyway, almost as an automatic action. He couldn’t stop playing the conversation back in his head over and over.

“Dad, I’m on my way. I need your help. I… I’ll explain…”

“Andrea, are you okay? What happened?”

“I… I’ll be there in about an hour. I kinda… I don’t want to talk over the phone. Dad, I… nevermind. We’ll talk when I get there.”

And that had been it. No clues, no hint, nothing to guide him except the tone in his daughter’s voice. She was scared, and she was suffering, and that was all that he needed to know. Whatever it was that was harming her girl, he’d move Heaven and Earth to make it better. That much he knew, deep in his heart. Still, he couldn’t stop picturing the worst possible scenarios.

He tried to remain calm. Sexual assault on college campuses is…

Mike pushed the thought away.

Restrictions on reproductive rights have…

Snippets of news stories slapped him. The world could be a terrifying place for a young woman. But that was why they had chosen a college close to home. So Andrea could always come to him if she needed help. And she clearly needed help. Stay focused, old man. She needs you to be strong. Don’t let her see you panic.

He needed to be strong for her. That was all he always wanted to be, more than anything: a rock, a place of stability, a North Star for the one thing that mattered in his life. They had faced the world together. They had survived poverty together. They had endured the pain of an absent mother and wife together. They had managed a retrograde high school that tormented Andrea together. She had saved his life as much as he had fostered hers. Without his girl, Mike wasn’t sure where he would be- perhaps underground. She had been the reason to dig deep, to find strength, to endure, always.

Don’t let her see you panic.

Don’t let her see you looking at her.

He shook the intrusive thought off. Andrea needed him, not his fucked up neuroses, not the secret shame the last months of living together had awakened in him.

One hour stretched into a year, and Mike practically leaped out the door as soon as he heard the car pulling over. The first thing he noticed was his daughter’s panicked face, and that alone was enough to make his heart feel like it was about to burst out of his chest. The second thing he noticed was the other girl, passed out in the passenger’s seat. Andrea rushed into his arms, and he held her tight, trying to will some degree of peace into her mind. First things first.

“Are you okay?”, he asked.

“Yes, I’m… I’m fine.”, Andrea sobbed.

Good. Now to do what he did best: fix things.

“Ok, so, your friend…”

“She’s not my friend.”

“What did she take? Did you take anything? Look, I’m not… I won’t get mad, I just need to know what she may have taken… is it just booze? No, couldn’t be… Benzos? Or… Christ, I don’t know what you guys take these days in college…”

“Dad! She didn’t take anything!”

“Are you sure? Maybe she went into some bathroom and did something… okay. First things. We need to call an ambulance…”

“Dad, please! Listen to me! I’ll explain everything. But we need to get her inside before anyone sees-”

“Andrea, this girl is passed out! She needs medical attention! Who knows what-”

“I know what she took because I gave it to her, okay? She’s just asleep! And she should be asleep for… maybe another couple of hours. Daddy, please… I swear I’ll explain. Just help me get her into the house, okay?”

Mike felt dumbfounded. The idea that his Andrea had roofied some other girl was so distant from his image of her, from the girl he had raised, that the contradiction felt impossible to resolve. It was a paralyzing feeling, one he couldn’t entirely put into words. All he knew was he didnt like it one bit. He was a man of action. He needed to do things, more than ponder feelings. And the thing to do, if only to escape that horrid sensation, was to get the poor girl out of the car.

They dragged Kate into the house, and laid her down on Andrea’s bed- a task that, Mike noticed, his daughter undertook with less care than he would have liked. Back in the living room, he looked at his daughter and put on his best stern face. Stern was good. It hid other ideas that came into his mind when he looked directly at Andrea.

“Explain.”

Andrea broke down in tears.

“Daddy, that girl… Kate.. she’s… she’s making my life Hell! She tortures me every day, makes fun of me, spreads rumors about me… people think… I don’t even know what they think about me anymore. So I can’t make any friends. Just like high school. It’s the same damn thing! And they all said… you said college would be different! But it’s not! Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I’m just… I don’t know. Broken. Maybe people can smell I’m weird, or weak, or… and they know they can abuse me and mock me and… It’s not fair! And I didn’t know what to do, I wasn’t thinking straight… I just put a couple of pills in her tea, and… I freaked out. I needed to feel safe, and I feel safe here… with you.”

Mike took it all in. He had to admit the sight of his precious daughter in such despair was enough to pierce any ideas of being tough he might have. And yes, it wasn’t fair. The world wasn’t fair at all. Andrea was beautiful, smart, creative… but there would always be those people who couldn’t understand someone being different, loving who they loved, being their authentic self. He got the anger. He got the frustration. He hated that Andrea had been driven to this point. But there was a big thing to address.

“Honey… I know… but you can’t just… just… kidnap someone!”

Andrea couldn’t help herself. She ran into her father’s arms, and hugged him tight.

“Daddy… I didn’t know what to do. I…”

She went silent. Mike couldn’t find the words to console her, to lecture her, to say anything at all. All he could do was feel the warmth of her body pressed against him, intuit her soft curves, take in the smell of her shampoo, her skin. It was intoxicating, and for once he let himself feel… whatever it was he was feeling. He let himself enjoy the moment, and even the sleeping girl in the bedroom seemed to fade away from his consciousness. They simply lingered, holding each other, taking it all in.

Such a moment couldn’t last. It shouldn’t last. Mike forced himself to speak, to say… whatever he could muster.

“What… I don’t know what you expect me to do…”

He felt Andrea’s hands on his back holding him tighter. He felt her warm breath on his ear, sending shivers down his spine as she whispered before the words even registered in his brain.

“Daddy… please… fuck her for me. Fucking rape the cunt… show her her place. Daddy… break her with your cock. For me.”

III - Persuasion

Andrea couldn’t tell exactly what happened to her, what shifted within herself in that embrace, what damn had finally broken in her mind. Even as her father pushed her away with a horrified look on his face, she could see him- almost as if for the first time. A veil that had been dulling her sight for so, so long had finally vanished. Yes, she saw everything so clearly now, with such simple purity, devoid of fear or shame or silly excuses. It was a bizarre sensation, to finally be able to accept without doubt or hesitation the truth, so long buried.

She wanted to fuck him.

He wanted to fuck her.

So obvious. So simple. So powerful. Andrea wasn’t going to run away from it anymore. And she could see, under the mask of horror worn by her father, beneath the shock in his eyes, something else. Stirring.

Suddenly, Andrea felt powerful. Immense. Sexy. In control. The fact that she had become one with her secret desires and he hadn’t brought a predatory joy to her chest… and something else, both an anger and a need. In her heart she could see not just what her father was but what he could be, what he could become, what he needed to be. She could almost smell it- the strong, conquering Man suffocated by the dull veneer of morality and social norms. Yes, she felt powerful- but she didn’t need to be strong. She needed to be taken by him. She needed to bring the beast forth, somehow. To make him see himself as she saw him. To make him see her as she wanted to be seen.

She smiled inside, even as her father almost recoiled from her. It was all a game, now. One she intended to win.

In the blink of an eye her entire demeanor, her posture, the way she looked at her father shifted. For a second she was the perfect picture of innocence, of a young woman in need of rescue.

“Daddy… please… I need your help. Won’t you help your little girl? I promise I’ll be good. I’ll be so… so good to you, Daddy. I’ll be your good little girl. Your obedient… slutty… little daughter”, she smiled as she took one step towards her father, her body now swaying like a cat slowly approaching its prey. She took a moment to delight in the confusion in her father’s eyes, the tension increasing almost to a breaking point.

“I… what are you…”, managed to mumble Mike. Oh, it was so pathetic it became cute.

“Daddy… you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me recently? It must be so, so hard for you… to see your little girl all grown up, and you all alone… that’s not fair, is it?”, said Andrea as she closed the distance with her now paralyzed father. Oh, this was too much fun. “You have been a bad daddy in your mind, haven’t you? That sounds so painful! Knowing it’s soooo wrong to think about your little girl like that… having to pretend you don’t want to… Fuck. Your. Daughter. Oh daddy, don’t blush! Surprised to hear such naughty words coming from my cute mouth? Or… do you like me having such a potty mouth?”

Andrea, in a swift motion ran her hand over her father’s crotch. Yes. She could feel it. So hard. So warm. She was right. He was breaking.

“Feels like your daddy cock likes me talking like a dirty slut! Don’t be ashamed! I love to imagine your cock getting so hard for me… I love to know I can make it so, so happy… And only using my words! Just talking like the hopeless little fucking whore I am… for you… just knowing you can use my tight holes whenever you want… however you want… and I’ll take it like a good girl! I am your good girl, daddy. You made me, after all… you own me… you can own every inch of my slutty, smooth body…”

Suddenly, she took a step back, her eyes almost in tears. She was the very picture of anguish, of despair, of vulnerability. Mike opened his mouth to speak, but he found no words came to him. He just watched, fighting his need to hug her, to protect her, to tell her he would make everything right again.

“Daddy… I’m so sorry… I don’t know what got into me. I just feel so confused, so disoriented, and… I don’t know. It’s like I have all these feelings inside me and they get all mixed up and I can’t really tell what I feel anymore, and it hurts so much. It hurts, Daddy. And that girl… Kate… I can’t tell you how much she’s hurt me, how she has been messing with my mind and making me so miserable… and… and I guess, I’m not sure, just… I thought you could help me, Daddy. You always could help me. You always could make me feel like everything would be okay, that I wasn’t a freak, or…”

“Honey, you are not a freak! You know this. You’ve been so brave, so strong, so true to yourself, even when everyone gave you grief over it!” He couldn’t help himself anymore. He held his sweet girl in his arms.

“But I… I did a bad thing, Daddy. I brought Kate here… I couldn’t think of anything else to do to make her stop, to make her leave me alone…”

“I know. And yes, you did a… wrong thing. But that doesn’t make you a monster, or evil or anything like that, okay? We’ll… I’ll find a way… I’ll help you. I’ll… fix it, somehow.”

“Will you rape her for me? Will you punish her with your cock for hurting your little girl? I’ll be so, so good for you if you do it, daddy… I’ll be the bestest daughter ever for you!”

Mike tried to pull away before he was interrupted by the sensation of warm, soft lips on his own. Time stopped. He felt dizzy, trapped in the feeling, the scent of skin, the rush of adrenaline in his chest. He panicked as he realized he didn’t stop it in time. He didn’t stop it as time stretched. He wasn’t stopping it even as the thoughts flooded his mind. It took Mike every ounce of willpower to push his daughter away.

Oh, it was so fun to see her Daddy so confused, so aroused, so disoriented. But Kate would wake up soon. Andrea needed to land the killing blow on whatever resistance her dear dad had left.

“I’m sorry Daddy… it’s just that I love you so, so much…” One slow, seductive step towards him. “I was bad, Daddy. I shouldn’t have done that, right? Does that make me a bad girl? A bad daughter?” Another step. So close now. “I’m so, so sorry for being bad, Daddy. I’m sorry I made your cock all hard for me and teased you and used all those dirty, dirty words. Will you punish me, Daddy? Will you make me good again, show me my place? I think you should. I think you should take your cock, and-”

One final step, and Mike snapped. For the first time in his life, he slapped his daughter. Horror set on his face, and it became a mixture of bewilderment and fire when he noticed Andrea’s reaction. She was smiling.

“Mmmmh… so strong, Daddy. Do it again. Punish me. Show me you own me. Make me your bitch!”

It was over for Mike. Something primal, something awful had taken hold of him.

His hand on her neck. Hers rubbing his cock over his pants. Her soft moans. Kisses that turned into bites. His own mumbled, jumbled words. Little cunt. Evil fucking bitch. Her words, playing off his. Your little cunt. Your good little girl. Her face against the wall. Her movements, grinding her ass against him. Her hands on his chest, pushing him back.

So many lines crossed. Mike knew, deep down, he had broken something inside himself. Or maybe she had broken it in him. It didn’t matter. He looked down at the beautiful, perfect woman kneeling and smiling. He saw his daughter, yes, but his eyes were now different. The barrier that kept the idea of “daughter” and “sex” apart simply didn’t exist anymore. He felt adrift, caught by a whirlwind he couldn’t stop- one he didn’t want to stop.

Victory. It looked like victory. Victory over herself, over her old fears. Victory over his attempts at doing the “right thing”. Further victory to come, as well. And it didn’t hurt that the cock that made her was a rather large one, veiny and beautiful. He tried to keep herself in check. She knew exactly what to do, which went against everything her body was screaming for her to do. No matter how much she needed to feel that cock deep inside her pussy, no matter how much she longed to taste his cum on her tongue, she would have to wait. She couldn’t risk some post nut clarity throwing further objections to her plan. She kept her mind on Kate as she licked, kissed, loved his member. She was alert, ready to stop before he went over the edge. She did let one hand slide between her legs- just a treat, and a bit of a show for Daddy. She took him deep in her throat, deeper than anyone she’d ever blown. He deserved it. He was her one true love.

She did manage to stop herself when she felt him getting close, heard his moans getting stronger.

She stood up and simply, gently, gave his Daddy her soaked hand for him to smell. It was a promise of the pleasures to come… if he did as she asked, as she needed him to. She could see it in his eyes. He had been unleashed. Andrea smiled, and with a moan sucked her fingers clean, keeping her green eyes fixed on her Daddy’s gaze.

Punishment would finally come to the one that had wronged her.

IV - Melody of Madness

Slowly, Kate started to regain her consciousness. It was a gradual thing, messy, disoriented. The first thing she noticed was a scent- the kind of smell that tells one they’re no longer home, but in a place inhabited for years by some unknown Other. Her body felt heavy, sluggish, weighed down. She wasn’t afraid, not at that point. She was too out of it to register such an emotion.

Only when her vision cleared a bit and her body started to feel more like her own did the true horror begin. She tried to remain calm. Okay, Kate. Just… try to figure things out. You’re in a bedroom. A girl’s room, judging by the decor. Shit, did you get wasted again? Wait, no… a room, yes, but not a dorm room. Bigger than the dorms. Oh, fuck. Did I party in town? Did I black out and some random girl decided to help me?

A part of her screamed. Assuming that this was just another regrettable morning after too much liquor was only a pleasant delusion, and she knew it. As painful as it might be, she would have to face another possibility. What was the last thing she remembered? She was getting up, ready for class… then she was picking up her morning coffee… a bitter taste, more than usual, and then… nothing.

Kate needed to get out. Wherever she was, it was not where she wanted to be, that much she knew. She’d have time to figure things out later. First, get out of bed, and then…

She couldn’t. She was bound to the bed by improvised ropes made of sheets. Her legs were open, held in place. She noticed the way the air felt on her skin. She was in her underwear. This final fact froze her for half a minute- thirty seconds that felt like an eternity.

Finally, she screamed.

“Shut the fuck up, or things will get very, very messy for you. And I don’t want to ruin my sheets, thank you very much.”

The voice was calm. Cold, yet expressing a hint of anticipation. And it was a voice Kate would never have expected to hear in that place, not in a million years.

“Andrea?”

“Oh, I’m ‘Andrea’ today? Are you sure you don’t mean to call me one of your usual nicknames? No ‘dyke’? No ‘carpet muncher’? No ‘cunt licker’? Isn’t it interesting, how something as simple as a little bit of metal and a few sheets are enough to teach you manners?”

Metal? Kate lifted her head as much as she could. There was Andrea, holding a knife. Shit. Shit. Shit. That little, insignificant bitch! And what was it with the outfit? Black lingerie, full face of make-up, devilishly sharp stiletto heels… Kate had never seen the stupid dyke looking anything like a real woman. Huh. So she had curves hidden under her usual baggy hoodies. Good for her. But she was still a fucking loser, and Kate knew how to handle losers.

“What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch? Let me go, now! What the hell are you thinking? People will hear…”

“Oh, don’t make a sound. I don’t want my father to…”

“Really? You brought me to your own home? You really are that stupid, huh? Let’s see what your dad thinks of his dyke daughter when she sees what you’ve done! Help! Sir, please! In your daughter’s room!”

Steps stomping outside. A man entered the room. Finally. Victory! Now the crazy dyke would get what was coming to her, and Kate would have a brand new story to bury the little cunt’s reputation even further. Maybe even hold the possibility of jail over her head.

“Andrea! What the hell is this? What are you doing?”, the man said, suitably shocked.

“Daddy! I’m so sorry! I… I just…”

“Didn’t I tell you to let me know as soon as she woke up?”

“You did. Sorry, Daddy. I’ve been a naughty little girl… will you punish me later?”

“Later, yes. Now we have work to do, don’t we, baby girl?”

“Yes we do, Daddy!” she chirped before giving in to a long, deep kiss with the man.

What. The. Fuck.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”, laughed Andrea. “Did you think he would help you? Kate, Kate… Ignorant as always. For one, I’m not a dyke, I’m bi- not that you care, but I figured a little education can’t hurt. And another thing about me: I have the bestest Daddy in the whole world! And my Daddy would do anything for me, because I’m his perfect, slutty good girl… and he’s very, very good at training good girls! Well, maybe ‘training’ isn’t the right word. How about… ‘breaking’? You know, like a horse! And we’ll make you such a good, good girl!”

Panic set in.

“Crazy! You’re both fucking crazy!”

Kate squirmed, a scream dying in her throat as Andrea crawled on the bed, swaying like a terrible feline, giving her dad a marvelous show. She lightly touched the inside of Kate’s thighs as she made her way up… before flashing the knife in front of the poor captive’s eyes.

“If I were you”, cooed Andrea, “I’d be very, very still for this part.”

Kated hated that her body seemed to instinctively do as the fucking dyke told. She froze, every muscle locked tight. She closed her eyes, and prayed to no deity in particular. Please. Please. Make it stop.

Kate shuddered as she felt something cold barely grazing her, almost between her legs. Terrible images flashed inside her mind. I might die here. A second later, she felt air caressing her private areas. She opened her eyes, only to see Andrea’s mad smile as she held the remains of Kate’s panties in her hand, skillfully cut off her body.

“Not the sexiest of panties, I must say. I’m a bit disappointed! But…” Andrea brought the panties to her nose and took a deep, gratifying sniff. “There’s something alluring there. Oh! You’ve never had the pleasure of smelling a nice cunt, have you? No, you’re so very, very straight… you’d never do that, right? Well, you’ve been missing out. Time to fix that.”

Andrea carefully, almost lovingly, tied the panties around Kate’s face. Every breath now was an assault, a reminder of how powerless she was. A humiliation.

“Better get used to it, you stuck-up slut. You’ll be tasting the real thing soon enough. But…” Andrea leaped off the bound body of her foe. “What am I thinking? You’re straight! So, I take it you’d enjoy a big, hard cock more than my… dyke attentions, won’t you? Well, how about some Daddy cock? Won’t you love that? I know you will.”

Andrea skipped, child-like to her father. He was watching the scene before him, almost panting. A beast ready to be unleashed.

“Look!” chirped Andrea. “He’s so, so hard for you already! You should be flattered! Well, no point delaying the inevitable, I say. Ready to feel this big cock ramming into that tight pussy, you bitch?”

“No… no, please, don’t… I’ll… I’m sorry for… for everything! Please, please, please…”

“A little late for that, you evil cunt! Now get ready to be used like the fucking cumrag you are!”

Kate tensed up and shut her eyes hard enough to make them hurt. She braced herself for pain, for agony. She tried to somehow make her mind escape somewhere, anywhere else. Wasn’t that something that happened in these situations? Some sort of protective dissociation? And yet her mind was nailed in place, as stuck to the bed as her body. She waited, shaking… and nothing happened.

“How rude of me!”, mocked Andrea. “I almost made my daddy take that pussy dry! That would hurt a lot! I could help with that situation, you know… but you’re not a filthy pervert like me, that likes cock and pussy alike… so… I have to say, I’m a bit conflicted! Wouldn’t want to make you a dyke against your will! But you can choose. Dry or dyke? Huh? Too shy to speak now, you cunt? Answer me! Dyke. Or. Dry.”

Kate couldn’t believe her ears. An image of the knife flashed in her mind. Fear took hold. Feel of pain, primal, deep. The promise of less pain seemed like an imperative, and her mouth spoke before she could stop it.

“Dyke…” she mumbled.

“Sorry? I couldn’t quite hear that”, saud Andrea.

“Dyke! Dyke! Dyke, goddamn you!”

“She’s out! She’s loud! She’s proud! Welcome to the club, sister! Now relax and let me introduce you to a brand new world…”

It felt gross. It felt odd. Kate tried to reframe it. It’s just lubrication. It’s just making it easier for later. It means nothing. It’s just a tongue. It’s just…

Andrea was good. Extremely so. She took pride in her oral skills and was using all her talents, all her tricks on Kate. Not because she wanted the little bitch to feel good: simply because she knew that pleasure would make her suffer as much as the pain to come. Every involuntary thrust of Kate’s hips, every muffled moan that escaped her lips was a step towards conquest… and Andrea felt like a warlord, like a terrible goddess exacting just revenge…

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she giggled. “But we can’t have you cumming like that… not when dear Daddy has been so, so patient!”

Fear crept from beneath the disgust Kate felt with herself. A part of her had enjoyed it, and she hated herself for it. Her body was starting to betray her, and that, more than anything, was terrifying. But now the pain would come. She knew that for a fact.

“Daddy, my sweet, sweet Daddy… break the cunt”, said Andrea.

“Please… don’t…” managed to mutter Kate.

It was in vain.

It did hurt. The man was a beast, savage, thrusting into Kate without the slightest care for her pleasure or comfort, using her body like an object to take out all his messed up frustrations, his fantasies, whatever was mixed up in the storm inside his brain. Kate whimpered and yelped and tried not to scream. And in her ear, a warm breath, whispering to her constantly.

“Good girl… won’t you cry for me? Like you made me cry so many times? You fucking slut… don’t fight it… you know what you are, deep down… don’t you miss my sweet tongue on your cunt? Relax… let it happen… you deserve this… and I’ve earned it… your pain… and what you will be for me later… when the pain is gone…”

Part of her mind was aware enough to realize Andrea was rubbing herself right beside her. But most of her mind was focused on the sensation between her legs, the burning, the feeling she was being torn apart… and something worse, slowly creeping its way into the strange mixture assaulting her consciousness. Andrea saw it immediately.

“It’s better now, isn’t it? You can feel it… it’s okay. You don’t have to lie. Not to me. We are sisters now, after all. I, made by the cock that is remaking you! It’s so… poetic, isn’t it? You are a slut. You’ve always been a slut, deep down… all you needed was someone to prove to you that a slut is all you need to be. All you deserve to be. No more queen bee at college for you! And I know you will be such a good little girl for Daddy…”

“Fuck… fuck you…”

“Oh, you’ll get to do that too! Want a taste?”

Andrea started slowly, kissing Kate’s neck, nibbling it, giving her victim goosebumps. Then she delicately removed her bra, and lips met sensitive skin. Kate’s nipples, hard against her will, were assaulted by kisses, suction, skillful licks. Andrea toyed with Kate, varying the pressure, the speed of her tongue, inserting playful little bites into the game. Measuring. Learning. Deciphering every preference, every weak point. To Kate’s horror, the pain was starting to feel duller, as if coming from far away. The pleasure, on the other hand, was sharper, demanding, a hungry thing coming from her own traitorous body. It was hard to think. Hard to keep any single idea in frame inside her mind. Too many stimuli, coming from too many places, attacking different parts of her idea of self. She felt as if she was drowning in sensation.

Andrea made her way down, slowly, as her father’s thrusts became a bit slower. Stamina wasn’t infinite, but she was quite confident that together they could get the job done. Together, they could do anything. It took a bit of careful positioning, but soon the tip of her tongue was able to tease the little cunt’s clit and even give her dear Daddy a little extra lick when he pulled his beautiful cock out, only to ram it into Kate again. Oh, if only this moment could last forever. Father and daughter locked eyes for a moment, in something that felt like a twisted perversion of love. It was time to move on to the next step.

Kate couldn’t stop squirming. Couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t stop her fucking body from reacting to the big cock inside her, the tongue playing her pussy like a violin, her own shame turned into a corruption of pleasure, disgust with herself that swirled and shifted and somehow enhanced the feelings that were eroding her sanity. And then, it snuck up on her.

Kate came, harder than ever in her life. Any pretense was undone at that moment. Her body was too honest. But the fucked up father and daughter team didn’t stop. No, they paused for only a second or two before resuming their work. It was too much. Kate shook as she came again. And again. And again.

She was exhausted. Too exhausted to fight anymore. Too confused to protest anything Andrea said. Her words just permeated, unfiltered, into Kate’s mind.

“...tell you? You can be such a good little whore… and we can be Daddy’s sluts together! Don’t you think he deserves it? His cock made you cum so much… your pain gave it so much pleasure… it owns you now. And you’ll love it, I know you will. We’ll make you love it so, so much, until you forget what a fucking bitch you were before…”

Kate didn’t even notice when the restraints were removed. There were stronger ones in place now, and she could feel them. Inside her head. She had been defeated. She had been conquered. She had surrendered.

“On all fours”, Daddy said. He didn’t have to say it twice. Kate complied.

“Word on campus is that your little ass is the one hole you’ve been saving up for someone special! Well, I say you’ve met someone very special! So now Daddy will take the last bit of you and you’ll finally be entirely his! Isn’t that exciting? But… what about your poor fellow slut? I mean, I gave you pleasure too! I say I deserve a treat. So… you get pain for Daddy and he gets to watch you eat a pussy for the first time! What a show it will be! And we’ll make it a show, won’t we, sis?”

Yes. Whatever Andrea said. It was easier to comply. Easier to obey. Easier to just accept. It would hurt. Good. If her pain was what they wanted, they would have it. She would have sex with another girl. Good. If they wanted her to dyke out, she would.

Kate’s screams sent vibrations through Andrea’s pussy, only making Kate’s inexperienced attempts at eating her out so much more delicious. Andrea felt like a queen, being serviced as she deserved. Mike was a beast, finally letting out something that had been suppressed in shame for far too long. Kate let her body take over, turning even pain into something else, something like purpose, or atonement. In a single day, all three had changed. Forever.

The tight, virgin ass, paired with the spectacle of this girl pleasuring his sweet little girl sent Mike over the edge. He barely managed to pull out before cumming with an intensity that shocked even himself. Kate’s back was soaked, and some drops had even landed on his own daughter’s breasts.

Andrea licked her lips.

“Kate… sis… why don’t we clean each other up for Daddy?”

V - Epilogue

Mike woke up to the sensation of tongues on his cock, as was the norm. He let himself relax and sink into pleasure. To think that half a year ago, the idea of even looking at his daughter had felt revolting! How silly he had been. They loved each other. They made each other their best versions of themselves. Their most perverted versions.

And Kate… how lovely it had all been. Sure, it had taken a little while for her to fully enter the family, but now she and her adoptive sister were inseparable. They went shopping for slutty outfits, they did their camshows together to make Daddy money… they had even made out in front of the Dean when they announced they were dropping out of college to be full-time whores. It was tender, in a way. Kate’s addiction to pain and humiliation had come as a bit of a surprise, but a welcome one- especially by Andrea, who had started to explore her sadistic side more and more.

Of course, they both adored Daddy. They were always ready, always willing to please him. After far too many years of gray, dull effort and solitude, Mike felt happy. He let himself enjoy that fact.

After he came, the girls licked each other clean, moaning as they savored their Daddy’s cum. With bright smiles, they leaped on the bed with Mike.

“Good morning, Daddy!” they said in unison.

Did you enjoy this story? You can get access to the full library and support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

Every bit helps!

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frazzledsoul · 2 months ago

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Honestly, this is kind of strange to say about a story as completely fucked up as what goes on in HOTD and GoT, but the more I hear the writers/directors of HOTD talk the more I just feel they are divorced from any basic understanding of logic, morality, or common sense.

Seriously, Aegon is "maniacal" for wanting to execute the people who brutally killed his four-year-old son and thus Alicent is completely justified in betraying her ENTIRE family and offering all of its male family members up for slaughter? Not just Aemond, who has legitimately done horrible things in the service of war or Aegon, who had done legitimately horrible things before the war started but Gwayne, Daeron, Criston, who have done nothing to her whatsoever? Alicent and Gwayne went on and on about how decent and kind Daeron was because he gets to exist offscreen and Alicent STILL is onboard with her beloved Rhae Rhae killing him. She doesn't care because she's now "herself" and she's got a chance to get rid of them and cuddle with Rhaenyra (who doesn't have to give up shit) and I'm supposed to think this is the... reasonable perspective? Because Aegon wanted the people who killed his son dead? Nah. Fuck that noise. It all leads back to Condal and Hess believing that murdering that child was justified and that Aegon had no right to be angry because it was what Team Black needed to do.

Oh, and just because everyone's forgotten: Alicent specifically targeted Mysaria's home/headquarters and likely killed a lot of innocent people because she did not want her to have power. She was aware of the damage that Aegon caused and she still forced him on the throne anyway. Now that she's changed her mind, she wants him gone...but she already has done way worse things than execute a couple of rat catchers who may or may not have killed a four-year-old boy. Aegon's "maniacal" actions that the showrunners consider worthy of his death are not nearly as bad as what she did to Mysaria last season (and she prostituted her feet to do it!)

So yeah, I just can't anymore with these writers. GRRM's fully justified in cutting them off at this point.

#anti hotd #hotd critical #i can't even

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strawglicks · 6 months ago

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Misty isn't selfish for wanting friendship with toons.

Misty is selfish for her lack of consideration of toons, their feelings, their perspective. She only focuses on herself and how she has been hurt.

She feels hurt by Bessie's actions, claiming "there was no reason" for her to do such a thing. But toons and cogs are at WAR. Bessie didn't see Misty, she saw a COG approaching her and retaliated. She did not see them as an individual, she saw them as the enemy that's been terrorizing and colonizing their land. And rightfully so.

That being said, Misty did not have ill intentions approaching Bessie. Because of this, they feel hurt that she responded in such a violent way. Misty can feel hurt, but they need to understand why toons feel the way they do towards cogs. They are at WAR. And Misty just doesn't seem to realize that.

She feels entitled to play with toons and garner sympathy from them despite their ongoing battle against the cogs.

It's all about "you still tried to hurt me" and "i've done nothing wrong". Misty truly believes she is the victim and thinks she's entitled to sympathy from toons. But she's not.

Misty genuinely wants friendship with toons, which is why she feels so hurt when they reject her, even if they are right in doing so. Much of her dialogue implies she really is oblivious to the gravity of this war and why the toons, obviously, don't want to engage with her:

Misty may want to befriend toons with no bad intentions, but that doesn't erase what the cogs are doing to the toons' land. And the toons are still justified in fighting Misty. She is a cog at the end of the day.

Misty is so focused on her own, personal pain that she is completely disregarding that a WAR is going on. She disregards what the toons endure due to Cogs Inc. and thinks, just because she doesn't personally hate toons, that they owe her friendship.

I think Misty is probably the main reason for the fandom's villainization of toons and woobification of the cogs. But it's not the fault of how she's written, it's the fault of people who feel bad for a character and suddenly think all their morals have to align with that character. Now, they all have to adapt to Misty's way of thinking: that she is an innocent victim who has done nothing and doesn't deserve any of the treatment she's gotten from toons, and that toons are just evil monsters who attack her for no reason.

THIS COULD NOT BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH.

You can enjoy a character, like Misty, and feel bad for her. It's obvious there is some real suffering happening here, but it does not justify her view or lack of consideration for others. They are so focused on their own pain that they never think of others. They are so focused on being the victim that no one else can be a victim.

This line of thinking is so flawed, and when a big chunk of fandom REPEATS it, it leads to wild mischaracterization and woobification of. colonizers.

You can like characters who are bad people and disagree with their actions. Misty is not a good person. I think they are suffering, they are hurting, but that cannot be the end of the story. There are others, like the toons, who are suffering and hurting as well. And that should not be erased for the sake of your blorbo. You can still love Misty while condemning her way of thinking. I do myself.

There's the opposite end as well, where people acknowledge this character is not a good person but suddenly think they have to hate the character as a whole because they are morally bad.

Misty Monsoon is very flawed as a person and suffering from her own victim mentality, which hurts others as well. But I love this character. They're fucked up and just want a friend, but they're going to need to be more considerate and aware of their own poor actions if they want to earn that friendship and respect from others. Give and take.

#toontown #toontown corporate clash #ttcc #misty monsoon #rainmaker #my big juicy brain in full effect #having misty thoughts tonight i suppose!#sick and tired of mistys treatment in fandom. i think by far she gets the worst next to chip #misty is not flat evil but they are not good either.#i dont think they wish to be a bad person but they are bc theyre so obsessed with being a victim and getting sympathy #bc they feel its the only way they can be understood and make connections with others #i hope she makes a friend one day. i also hope she massively improves herself before doing any such thing.#get therapy gurl!

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thatfeelinwhenyou · 11 months ago

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KINDRED — 33

It’s your final year of highschool, and your only goal is to graduate top of your cohort, as usual. Except as student council president, your advisor can’t seem to leave you alone. What happens when you take Decelis Academy’s top student, their star athlete and put them in front of a camera?

smau + written (5.1k words 💀)

❥･• episode 33 — the bane of my existence

The ceiling of your room is adorned with handwritten notes of keywords you were supposed to memorise for your mid-terms. The notes are large enough for you to easily read them, especially as you lie flat on your back on the bed, as you are now. Throughout the term, you had gradually covered the ceiling with these notes, dedicating the last two weeks before the exam to repeating them over and over again in your head as you drifted off to sleep.

Despite the exams being over, you have yet to take them down to be replaced by new notes you’d be curating for the new term. With nothing but time, you find yourself spending hours staring at the section dedicated to your English Literature notes, wondering why you never noticed it. You can't help but reflect on the 30 minutes before bed that you could have spent memorising the highlighted words. Perhaps then, you wouldn't have fumbled so hard in the vocabulary section, and you wouldn't be in your current predicament—separated from your friends, from Jungwon, forced to skip your own farewell party, and school itself.

You never expected your mother to willingly let you stay home, especially during your final semester at Decelis Academy. You thought she'd prefer you practically living in school. On what grounds did she choose to ground you? Because you ended up second on the scoreboard? That’s bullshit.

As a matter of fact, it seems counterintuitive for her to keep you at home for self-study as a disciplinary action. The situation is baffling to you—as a senior in high school with less than three months left until finals, it doesn't make sense that you're wasting time at home instead of being in school.

In truth, your mother is perplexed, even a bit terrified. But what exactly is she terrified of?

Change, that’s what.

Changes that manifested after Jungwon came into your life. How, instead of returning home late from the library after a long revision session, you now return late after spending the entire day with him. He’s a constant presence; waiting at your gateway, observing as you consciously stroll down the gravel to your doorstep, turning back to thank him for walking you home and bidding him goodbye.

Moreover, you divert your attention from your own studies, putting in extra effort to tutor him so he could compete in his upcoming competition. Instead of sharing the events of your day with your mother, you find yourself engrossed in texting him at the dinner table—something you’ve never dared to do before. She would nag at you over the smallest details, and you no longer quietly listen even if you are in the right, but rather engage by talking back, defending, or justifying yourself.

As a consequence, you've shifted from being at the top of the pyramid to now occupying the second position, trailing behind a library secretary. Yet, it seems like these changes haven't affected you in the slightest.

It feels as though you are finally managing to form your own opinions and make your own decisions. It's as if you no longer need her.

These changes, this departure from the routine she had come to expect, terrifies your mother. The fear of losing the daughter she thought she knew, the fear of a new chapter that doesn’t align with the plans she had envisioned, leaves her bewildered and uneasy.

When she looks at you, she sees a reflection of herself from years ago when she was a student. She recalls the time she met your father, fell in love, and sacrificed her dreams to follow his path and have you, only for him to later abandon both of you to pursue his own endeavours.

So, the mere thought of you, broken and lonely after what she assumes will be Jungwon eventually leaving you, intensifies her hatred for him. The déjà vu becomes too real, and she firmly believes she's doing what's best for you, even if you end up resenting her for it.

At some point, you started living your life for your mother rather than yourself, and you're aware of this subconsciously—the paradox of being both the subject and object in her pursuit of validation. Even then, it’s hard to let go of everything you once believed in altogether.

No, rather, you want to believe it's true. You want to believe your mother is right, and the status quo she has set for you is genuinely for the best:

Your goal is to enter an elite local university.

You aspire to be a doctor.

Mother is not controlling.

You don't need a man to validate your worth.

Which seem rather ironic as you contemplate how, essentially, you are a pawn in your mother’s subconscious quest to prove your father wrong about her. Her motives, however well-intentioned, have inadvertently moulded your path.

It's a narrative in which she’s determined to show that even in his absence, your mother is fully capable of nurturing a child, specifically her child. The belief embedded in her actions is that one day, you will emerge successful, surpassing what she might have achieved had she chosen to pursue her own dreams back then. This belief, however, unravels into a conundrum because, if your mother could turn back time and choose a different path, you wouldn’t be here.

As these thoughts weigh heavily on your mind, you find yourself truly overthinking it. You sit up on the bed, your body leaning against the frame, and your surroundings seem to echo with the gravity of your contemplation.

It's barely past 10 in the morning, and you can't help but wonder about the mundane yet comforting routines of your friends. Beomgyu is probably relieved that Chemistry is over, recalling him perpetually complaining about having the subject for their first period. Chanelle and Yunjin are likely engaged in their usual ritual of placing bets on the lunch menu. Gyuvin is probably sleeping again, and Riki is likely disturbing some poor kid by launching staple bullets from the back of the room.

And then there's Jungwon, perhaps experiencing a quiet sense of relief at your absence, no longer subjected to reminders to pay attention or being shaken awake just as he teeters on the edge of drifting off into dreamland. The vivid details of their potential activities form a contrast to the complex musings clouding your thoughts.

The room, once a sanctuary, now bears the weight of aching tensions. With a sigh, you rise from your bed, a restless energy propelling you forward. Just then, you hear a slight knock against your window.

Wait, your room is on the second floor; what could be banging against it?

Tok. There it is again. The sound echoes throughout your room. You approach the window ledge with apprehension, visibly flinching as a small rock flies towards you, knocking against the glass that separates you from the tiny projectile.

Determined to catch who is disturbing your peace on this calm Friday morning, you march up to your window frame, planning to give whoever it is a piece of your mind. Your gaze follows the direction from where the stone came, and to your surprise, you see Jungwon excitedly waving towards you from behind the giant tree in your front yard.

As you open the window, the sounds and sights of the outside world flood in. The pre-winter morning sun casts a warm glow on the scene, highlighting the details of the landscape outside. The gentle rustle of leaves, distant chirping of birds, and the distant hum of the town come together in a natural symphony of morning sounds. The tranquil scene outside your room stands in opposition to the turmoil within, amplifying the surreal nature of the moment. It's really him.

"Hey! Sorry for the wake-up call. Come on down; I wanna bring you somewhere.” Jungwon’s voice rises above the ambient noise.

“What are you doing here?! Aren’t you supposed to be in school right now?” You attempt to raise your voice just enough, afraid that your mother would overhear.

“I was, until I realised how boring it is without you nagging at me every five seconds. So, I thought I'd bring a little adventure to your day.” The spontaneity of the gesture catches you off guard, momentarily eclipsing the complexities of your internal monologues.

Being deprived of any form of human interaction left you craving, and for a second, you almost accept his proposal without thinking.

“I can’t leave, Won. I’m grounded; my mom is going to kill me if she finds out.”

"Then we'll make sure she doesn't. You'll be back before you even know it, Y/N." The idea is tempting, yes, but you are also unsure if you are ready to face the consequences if, for some reason, things do not go the way you want them to (as always).

"I skipped class for this. I think it shows how much I really miss spending time with you, Y/N."

"As if you never skipped class before we started filming for the documentary." Jungwon sheepishly smiles and subconsciously rubs the back of his neck. The memories of those carefree days filming the documentary flood back, adding a nostalgic touch to the present moment.

You were about to decline for the second time when he skilfully pulls out those cat eyes that you dearly admired. Those captivating eyes that Jungwon knows you can never say "no" to. It's the only efficient method he remembers using to convince you to watch a movie with him everytime he wanted to get out of your long study sessions.

And he's right; those cat eyes works like a damn charm. Because you are now desperately climbing out your window, clinging for dear life against the rusty pipes. As you navigate the unconventional escape route, Jungwon tries hard to suppress his laughter, not wanting to discourage you.

As your feet touch the ground, you become acutely aware of the brisk chill in the air, a stark contrast to the period spent locked up in your makeshift jail cell. Only when you stand before the boy do you fully realise how cold the weather has gotten since the last time you saw him. And unlike Jungwon, who is covered from head to toe, you find yourself in just trousers and an oversized t-shirt.

Promptly, he detects the tiny hairs on your arms standing, and without a moment's hesitation, Jungwon removes his padded jacket, swirling it around your shoulders, instantly enveloping you in warmth.

But It's not just the jacket; it's the proximity of Jungwon that warms you up, his closeness palpable as he adjusts the padding to sit perfectly on the blades of your shoulders. You can practically feel his breath on your neck as he fusses with the collar.

As he fidgets with the article of clothing, Jungwon's actions appear purposeful, yet in reality, he is merely using it as an excuse to draw even closer to you. But he’s not the only one taking advantage of the moment, though, as you seize the opportunity to embrace him. Your arms winding around his waist beneath his uniform blazer and you softly whisper a grateful "Thank you," eliciting a subtle shiver that courses down his spine.

"For what? I’m only lending it to you, you already have a few of my hoodies stocked up. Which reminds me, when are you returning them?" You pinch his sides playfully, and he flinches, the playful exchange bringing the two of you even closer. As if there were any more space between you in the first place.

“I’ll return them back to you, soon. But that’s not what I was referring to.”

“Then, you’re grateful for… making you climb down some rusty-ass pipes?”

"No, you idiot. Thank you for coming to see me. I missed you, really, more than you think. You have no idea how close I was to just running over to you.” The emotions from having the opportunities to spend time with the boy ripped away from you must have been stronger than you thought for those words to come out of you like that. Jungwon senses this, and you feel him tighten around the frame of your body.

"Then, it’s a good thing that I ran over here first.”Jungwon gently pushes you away with a heavy heart. Moving away the few strands of hair stuck onto your cheeks that are turning a shade of rosy pink, most likely from the cold (or not).

The pace picks up again as he locates the palm of your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours,“Let's get out of here before your mom finds us." Luckily for the two of you, you manage to get away with your secret rendezvous, at least for now, and you can only pray that it stays this way.

The world beyond your little bubble beckons, but in this moment, the connection between you and Jungwon feels like the only reality that matters.

Time with Jungwon feels like a pocket universe where seconds slip away unnoticed. Before you know it, the sun slowly begins to dip beyond the horizon, ushering in the cool embrace of the evening air and casting a gentle twilight glow upon the buildings.

The Friday night air is crisp, and the streets come alive with the vibrant energy of the neighbourhood transitioning into its nocturnal rhythm. Jungwon confidently navigates through hidden shortcuts and familiar alleys, the lively sounds of people and distant music replacing the lingering heaviness from your room.

As you walk leisurely through the dimly lit streets, Jungwon animatedly shares anecdotes, laughter, and stories of incidents that unfolded in school during your absence. The glow of street lamps casts a warm ambiance, highlighting the joy in his eyes as he recounts the tales. You are not only relieved to hear that your friends are working hard, but also reassured that the council is thriving under Gunwook's leadership��a responsibility you earnestly insisted on passing down to him.

Eventually, you find yourselves at a serene bench overlooking the river. In the distance, you spot couples on little boats doing whatever couples do on little boats. The two of you sit in a contemplative silence, not awkward, but a kind of loud silence filled with unspoken words—where there is so much to say, but neither of you knows where to start.

Breaking the quietude, Jungwon eagerly rummages through his bag. Curious, you sneak a peek, and a soft giggle escapes your lips at the unconventional contents within. Instead of the expected textbooks, you see a stash of your favourite gummies and an abundance of pencils, which explains why he always has spares on hand whenever you ask for one.

You also spot your fall gloves that you had momentarily forgotten about until now. You recall leaving them with him when it got too uncomfortable for you to wear, and the memory of him playfully nagging you to put them back on, complete with a cute pout when you refused, brings a fond smile to your face.

It’s a touching realisation when you see these tangible tokens. It’s as if little bits and pieces of you and your habits are slowly finding a place in Jungwon’s life. His world, once dominated by Taekwondo, effortlessly accommodates you and the fragments of your existence, just as he seamlessly wove himself into the fabric of your life, which was once burdened with the heavy expectations of achieving stellar grades.

“People might think this is my bag that you’re carrying,” you remark, your tone playful.

"With the amount of things that are yours in here, it might as well be," Jungwon replies, laughter dancing in his warm gaze. He pulls out a hot pack, rubs it between his hands, and extends it to you—another subtle gesture that unleashes an entire zoo inside your stomach. The gentle warmth of the hot pack mirrors the blossoming warmth within as you mumble a quiet “Thank you”.

"Can't believe we'll be graduating soon; it still hasn't hit me just yet," Jungwon says, his voice carrying a tinge of absentminded reflection.

"Believe it or not, sooner or later, reality will come crashing down on you like a meteorite," you jest, attempting to lighten the sudden solemnity of the mood that has settled between you.

"Yeah, then you'll be off to a great local uni, and I'll probably get into the youth Olympics team. Who knows when our paths will cross again?" You turn to look at him, finding his gaze locked onto the calm waters of the river, though you suspect his mind must be anything but calm, straying far from the placid surface of the water.

"I thought we agreed to remain close even after the documentary? You're speaking as if we'll never see each other again," you remark, shuffling closer to him on the bench. The fluttering of your heart intensifies as the skin of your arms comes into contact with his. The connection between you, both physical and emotional, echoes the desire to linger in each other's presence despite the uncertain paths that lie ahead.

"At first, it really was a nightmare having to be around you everywhere," he confesses, leaning forward, his fingers lightly gripping the edge of the bench as he reflects. A tiny pout forms on his thinking face, and you can't help but coo at the endearing sight—a habit you discovered and cherished as you got to know him.

"I don't know if I should be finding that offensive or not," you retort and Jungwon laughs lowly, the husky tone of his voice sending subtle shivers down the back of your neck. "That's why I used 'at first,' idiot."

"But now, I guess it's not that bad to have you around sometimes," he shrugs, attempting to play it cool while ignoring the fact that his heart is pounding relentlessly against his chest.

"Only 'not that bad'? I'm disappointed," you tease, a mischievous sparkle in your eye.

The night envelops both of you in a quiet embrace, the air thick with unexpressed emotions. Jungwon's eyes, once fixed on the distant river, now meet yours. Only this time, there's a vulnerability in his gaze, a silent admission of something more complicated.

"You know," he begins, his voice softer now, carrying a weight of sincerity, "it took me a while to figure out why your presence felt like a storm at first—chaotic and unpredictable. But now, I realise it's more like the calm after the storm. The kind that leaves everything refreshed and new."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the gravity of his confession sinking in. The atmosphere seems to hold its breath, each passing moment brimming with anticipation as you almost impatiently wait for him to phrase his next words, watching the thoughts flicker across his face as he carefully composed the sentiments in his mind.

"I never expected you to become this important to me," Jungwon continues, his eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions. "But now, imagining my life without you feels like trying to picture a world without sunlight. It's just not the same."

A warm breeze rustles the leaves above, and if there were some stranger watching you right now, you probably wouldn’t even have noticed as you slowly tuned the world around you out. On the contrary, you're acutely aware of the shared space between you on the bench, the closeness that has become second nature.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is... I like having you around. A lot more than 'not that bad,'" he confesses, a shy smile playing on his lips.

Your heart swells with a rush of emotions, and you sense the urgency to respond. "Jungwon, I—" But before you can complete your response, his fingers gently find their way to yours, intertwining them in a silent gesture, as if he's saying you don't owe him anything.

But no, you do owe him everything. You owe him for coming into your mundane excuse of a life and allowing you to realise that sometimes, breaking away from routine is the first step towards discovering your own narrative.

Thus, a smile mirrors his on your face as you say, “I can’t let you say all the cool things yourself. I wanna be cool too.” Jungwon scoffs and you feel his grip on your hand tighten.

"Go on, I'd like to see you try," he challenges, a subtle glint of encouragement in his gaze, knowing you're not one to shy away.

Taking in a deep breath, you confidently look into his eyes as you say what has been on your mind. “Thank you for changing my life, and I don’t ever want to lose you, Yang Jungwon.”

As the echoes of your confession linger in the night air, both of you become aware of the tangible shift in the atmosphere—something profound has unfolded between you. The moonlight paints a soft glow on Jungwon's face, emphasising the earnestness in his eyes, as they remain locked onto yours. The touch of his fingers on yours warms up your skin, a comforting sensation that surpasses any heat pack he could ever give you.

“Okay maybe that wasn’t very cool after all… I just never thought a simple change in routine could lead to all this." You muse, your voice carrying a mixture of awe and gratitude.

"Life has a funny way of surprising us, doesn't it?" Jungwon responds with a playful twinkle in his eyes.

You nod, smiling genuinely. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

As you sit on the bench, hands still entwined, there's a gentle pause—a moment suspended in time, as if the universe itself is waiting. The world around you, once ordinary, now feels touched by a magical essence, and the stars above seem to glitter with the promise of a future written in a language only both of you understand.

Jungwon leans in, and you can feel the beating of his heart aligning with yours, the soft warmth of his breath as he closes the gap between you. The scent of the night air, infused with a hint of his cologne, adds to the sensory symphony. His lips meet yours in a tender, unhurried motion. It’s a kiss that carries the weight of the world’s expectations on the both of you, only for it to melt away as he smiles against your lips.

Time seems to stand still as you savour the softness of the moment, the warmth of his touch resonating through every fibre of your being. As you sit there, wrapped in the warmth of his lips on yours, the world feels limitless, and the journey ahead, uncertain but exciting. And as you break apart, breathless but filled with an exhilarating warmth, that’s when you realise you have finally come to terms with and chosen to accept your emotions that are now clear to you that it is not borne alone—Yang Jungwon, who was once the bane of your existence, is now the centre of it.

tw! depiction of violence

You smile to yourself as the sweet memory of that magical first kiss plays in your mind like a cherished melody. Your hands remain interlocked with that of Jungwon’s as you walk through the same alley that you came from. The difference being the absence of the vibrant lights of the night market, which had already faded by now, leaving only the soft glow of the moon and the distant street lamps that barely bleed into the alley to guide your way. Yet, you feel safe and protected when you sense Jungwon’s presence beside you.

As you turn a corner, the alley widens, revealing a quieter stretch with fewer distractions. However, just as you start to relax, a familiar voice cuts through the tranquillity.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Y/N. Didn't think we'd run into you two lovebirds tonight. How cute.” Hana's voice, laced with envy, echoes through the alley. She steps into view, flanked by her two loyal lackeys who wear matching smirks.

However, they were not alone as you spot a few familiar faces perched up against the brick wall—they were the same group of boys known to wreak havoc among the underclassmen. You know this having seen their faces in detention multiple times when you were supervising.

You didn’t expect Hana to be hanging around them, it’s like trouble mixing around with even more trouble, a recipe for disaster.

In the dimly lit alley, tension hangs thick in the air as Hana and her lackeys close in, their predatory grins revealing a hunger for confrontation. Jungwon instinctively tightens his grip on your hand, pulling you behind him as he stands his ground, a subtle signal that he's prepared for whatever comes next.

Hana takes a step forward, her voice dripping with malice. “It’s unfortunate really. You skipped a whole week of school; I thought I finally managed to get rid of you, but alas.” Her lackeys snicker, emboldened by their leader's confidence.

You square your shoulders, determined not to let Hana's provocation rattle you. “What’s your problem, Hana?”

Hana's eyes narrow, her jealousy fuelling the fire. "My problem? It's you, Y/N. Always meddling where you don't belong."

In disbelief, you step out of Jungwon’s shadow. “You know what, fuck you. I don’t even remember ever offending you. I also had a really shitty week, and I don’t need you making it worse than it already is, so please just get the fuck out of my face.” The words fly out of your mouth before you can even comprehend, and Jungwon seems to be equally shocked, hearing you curse for the first time. The shock quickly turns into admiration as he smirks at your bold proclamation.

"We're not looking for trouble, Hana. Just let us pass," Jungwon says cautiously, not wanting to provoke Hana any further, but it only seems to rile her up even more.

Hana's frustration mounts, and she takes a step closer to you, invading your personal space. "You think you're so special, Y/N? Jungwon can do so much better than someone like you." The words sting, but you refuse to let her get under your skin. Before you can respond, one of her lackeys makes a move, attempting to grab your arm. Instinctively, Jungwon steps between you and the aggressor, blocking the advance.

Despite their attempts to provoke a reaction, Jungwon remains composed, his experience evidently shining through. The underclassmen, however, aren't as restrained. One of them lunges at Jungwon, but he swiftly sidesteps the attack, using his fast reflexes to evade without retaliating.

However, the group, instigated by their leader's resentment, launch a coordinated attack. One of them goes straight for Jungwon, aiming for his lower abdomen. Despite his fast reflexes, the underclassman manages to land a blow, catching Jungwon off guard.

A sharp pain courses through Jungwon's side as he winces, the surprise attack taking its toll. He stumbles backward, trying to maintain his composure. The underclassmen, emboldened by their success, taunts him. "Looks like your taekwondo skills don't mean much in a real fight, huh?"

You, torn between defending Jungwon and avoiding further escalation, plead with Hana. "This is unnecessary, Hana! We don't want to fight!"

Hana, however, revels in the chaos she's created. This is her way of saying that if she can’t have Jungwon, nobody can—much less lose him to the likes of you.

"You should have thought about that before getting involved with Jungwon." In truth, she never truly liked Jungwon. Just his reputation and the attention she’d get if she managed to crack the academy’s most mysterious boy. Enraged, Hana signals them to continue, escalating the confrontation.

Jungwon, though injured, refuses to retaliate recklessly; something about physical fighting one against a whole group of well-fit boys with a sport designed for self-defense doesn’t seem very smart. Instead, he focuses on defending their attacks, hands wrapped tightly over his head, as he lay cradled on the ground. His determination remains unwavering, but the odds are stacked against him.

The underclassmen, seemingly relentless, taunt Jungwon with malicious glee. "Thought you were tough, huh? Looks like you're nothing even with your precious taekwondo skills."

He shouts for you to run (as if you were about to leave him behind) but you’re forced onto your knees and held in place by her two lackeys. As the scuffle intensifies, the alley echoes with grunts and the shuffle of feet.

The chaos attracts attention, and the distant wail of approaching police sirens grows louder. The approaching alarm prompts Hana and her lackeys to scatter, disappearing into the shadows, leaving behind a battered, bruised and disoriented Jungwon.

As the police car arrives, its flashing lights casting an unsettling glow, you find yourself cradling Jungwon, who is visibly struggling.

“Please tell me you’re okay, Won.” Urgently, you call for an ambulance, realising the severity of his injuries when he could barely reply you.

The journey to the hospital is filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the wail of sirens. Jungwon, laid out on the gurney, appears vulnerable under the harsh hospital lights. His eyes meet yours, conveying gratitude and reassurance amidst the pain. As Jungwon is wheeled into a room for further evaluation, you can't help but reflect on the unexpected turn the night has taken—from stolen kisses to the harsh reality of a hospital emergency room, a scenario straight out of a drama.

The hospital transforms into a surreal space where time seems to both stretch and contract, leaving you suspended in uncertainty. Every passing minute feels like an eternity as you anxiously await any updates on Jungwon's condition.

Your friends, Jungwon’s family, and even his coach start to arrive, having informed them about his condition through Jungwon’s phone that you somehow remembered the passcode to from the last time he told you. The reunion with your friends, especially Chanelle, who runs up to engulf you in a hug, brings a fleeting moment of joy. However, the thought of Jungwon lingers, casting a shadow over the otherwise happy encounter.

Finally, a doctor emerges with updates. Jungwon's injuries are serious, though not life-threatening, requires thorough treatment and a period of recovery. Hearing the news, relief washes over you knowing he will receive the care and medicine he needs. However, your relief is short-lived as the reminder of his upcoming competition the following Saturday floods you with renewed stress.

How can he possibly compete in his current condition? The thought of him being covered in bruises, or worse, questioning if he can even participate at all, weighs heavily on your mind.

The national team coach is going to be there, and Jungwon's entire future hinges on him performing well in that godforsaken competition he worked so hard to compete in.

The unfairness of the situation becomes glaringly evident, casting a shadow over the initial relief. The stress that momentarily lifted now returns with even greater intensity, leaving you grappling with the looming uncertainty of Jungwon's athletic future, and maybe even your own.

prev | masterlist | next

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

authors note: feels like i just wrote a kdrama… as usual i cba to proofread so i apologise yall 🥲

perm taglist. @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee @artstaeh @sleeping-demons @yuviqik @junsflow @blurryriki @bobabunhee

taglist open! @uuzhanggggggg @jayhoonvroom @en-flirt @missingemobeomgyu @jiawji @ocyeanicc @s7noo @asterizee @nwjws @noascats @yunwonie @saturnmooonxx @enhaz1 @jiaant11 @clairecottenheart @i2lain @miumiuoi @zhounauts @hoey2k @neocockthotology @nanuer @yenqa @ahnneyong @chanhee-hee @yanqiiuver @yujmelon @beomsbeanie @sloobydooburmomjungwon @keiisu @jaeyunniesimp @jiamini @jihanniee @lilriswife4life @i-yeseo

*white = cannot tag

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kobitoshiningneedle · 1 year ago

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I think the tumblr Ace Attorney fandom has a weird stance on Dahlia Hawthorne. Even more so, on her culpability, to the point that some people claim that she was justified in killing Terry Fawles and even Valerie

First of all, we need to consider the main message of the games first and our personal sense of justice second, because Dahlia, as much as any other AA character, operates within the games' own narrative, and has consequences according to it. And Ace Attorney makes it quite clear that any human life is valuable and no one has a right to take it (illegally). This message was accentuated in TGAA mostly, but even in the trilogy we have Edgeworth who says "everyone deserves a fair trial"

And (I think I need to say before someone throws tomatoes at me) I'm not here to defend Terry Fawles and say that he didn't do anything wrong. He pretty much did, and the fact that he started to date his young pupil is pretty horrible and brow-raising, even if it's unclear who initiated it. It's also possible that Valerie was a neglectful sister, and that Dahlia's whole family was abusive and insufferable to her. The most important thing to understand here is that even if Terry and Valerie were all-round terrible people, killing Valerie and manipulating Fawles made Dahlia a criminal. Objectively.

The second point I see people miss is how disastrous was the collateral damage Dahlia caused in her attempts to cover herself. Poisoning Diego. Killing Doug. Attempting to kill Phoenix. Attempting to kill Maya. And the question is: in what way did any of these people do Dahlia injustice? What is their fault?

They didn't have any. By the time of T&T timeline she was pretty much a person poisoned by her hatred and fear. The main tragedy of her character is that she spiraled down from a mistreated schoolgirl who wanted to run away to a malicious woman who would stoop to crime whenever she needs to. I think this is a solid example of an anti-arc, in which Dahlia's fate was indeed shaped by her unfortunate circumstances in many ways, but! She still had agency in her actions, and having agency means having responsibility

To clarify: I don't hate hate Dahlia, even though my disagreement with the fandom lies in the amount of her hateability. I think she's fascinating and is a good foil to Mia. She pretty much IS a tragic character, and we actually have a good insight into her via Iris' recollections before the final trial segment - the person who probably understood Dahlia the most. Realizing that Dahlia was yet another victim of Fey family drama, much like our Maya (even if in other ways) adds some sympathy points to her. But I have a firm opinion that she wasn't exactly redeemable at the end of her criminal path

So, do I think Dahlia's character goes beyond the crazy-psycho femme fatale? Yes, even if the game wasn't really forthcoming about her childhood misfortunes as much as we would want to. Do I think Dahlia deserved condemnation in the end of BTTT? Yes, and I personally didn't expect Phoenix or Mia to pat her head after being responsible for the deaths of 4 people and (the other important part that adds to her hateability) feeling absolutely no remorse towards people that had nothing to do with her tragedy. Having complexity doesn't necessarily mean Dahlia is secretly better as a person, and understanding why a character became the way they are doesn't mean we should sympathize with or forgive them

#ace attorney #aa3 #dahlia hawthorne #meta #ace attorney critical #sorry if it came out preachy #i didn't wanna #and probably i just overreacted #but i think there is much nuance to dahlia even without justifying her actions #i do feel bad for her #but i feel more bad for Maya and Iris sorry

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spacerockfloater · 4 months ago

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Hi.

It's so disheartening to see how a big chunk of TG turned on Aemond and Alicent and only support Aegon now. I deeply dislike most of the writing decisions this season, but people seem to forget that these decisions didn't harm only Aegon's character, but also Aemond, Alicent and Criston's, I would say even more than Aegon's. Nevertheless, after the last week episode I've seen a lot of TG hate directed towards Alicent and Aemond that reminded me of TB discourse and it's just sad.

I would love to hear your opinion on this. Thanks in advance.

Hello there friend! Thank you so much for sending me this ask!

Sigh. This is such a complicated issue. As a fellow TG supporter said recently in one of my posts, us turning against the Targtowers and hating them was exactly what Ryan Condal wanted.

They accidentally made them too sympathetic and righteous in the first season, so they had to ruin them to remind the public of whom they are supposed to hate. It’s sickening.

Alicent’s whole journey was about understanding that she needs to be more fierce and demanding to help her family survive. The first season ended with her being ruthless and ready to sacrifice everything for her children. But now she has regressed back to herself from the first half of S1, a scared little girl that doesn’t have the guts to do what must be done and loses all hope the moment the first tragedy comes her way.

Aegon’s whole journey was him overcoming his bullying tendencies and genuinely supporting his brother and his family. He may have initiated the pink dread incident but when his mother told him to cut the bullshit and stop acting like his nephews are his friends, he had no problem knocking Jace to the floor during practice. He stood tall when his brother was disabled and refused to name his mother as the one who spread the rumour(!) of Nyra’s children being bastards. He spoke his truth with his whole chest. Years later, the moment Aemond rose to answer to Lucerys’s mockery, he was right beside him, toasting with him and smashing Luc’s head on the table. And finally, when everyone turned on Aemond for taking his revenge, it was Aegon who demanded Aemond remain in his council, because that was his brother, his best sword and he wanted him there, even if their mother could not bare to look at him. Aegon rose to the occasion and was ready to become a better person, he seemed to genuinely want to serve his subjects. He loved nothing more in the world than his son and his death tore him apart. But suddenly, next episode he has forgotten all about it and is back at bullying Aemond again? That’s just none-sense. All that character development for nothing.

I did feel like Aemond burning his brother alive went from 0 to 100 real quick. He already got his lick back when he made a fool of Aegon in front of his own council. Aemond is a calculating person. He would know that talking Aegon out of the way would cause more harm than good.

Their relationship has been destroyed. Every TG member hates the others. Ultimately, I think we just have to accept this is bad writing and let go of the show because yikes.

However, if we want to discuss show canon, we should keep the characters accountable for their actions and unfortunately, I am displeased with all of them except from Criston. I’ll keep supporting Aegon, Aemond and Alicent but I must also criticise them for the things that they do if I want to be fair.

That being said, I can see why Alicent is horrified by Aemond’s actions. I can see why people think Aemond went too damn far. At the same time, I can see that Aemond would never just sit down and accept being abused. Add to that his not so secret desire to be king, and you can see why he wouldn’t think twice about turning his brother to ashes.

All in all, I think that every opinion is justified and that we must wait for the new episode to air (Aemond’s interactions with Aegon and Alicent are essential) for some additional insight on the incident of Rook’s Rest.

#house of the dragon #pro team green #hotd #team green #anti team black #pro alicent hightower #alicent hightower #pro alicent stans #pro aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #pro aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #anti rhaenyra targaryen

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infernalodie · 1 year ago

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𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐏𝐭.𝟐 || 𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

"𝘐𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘥"

Inspo: Jacob Banks - Devil That I Know Sabrina Claudio - Frozen

Pairing: Abby Anderson x Black!Fem!reader

Summary: Trouble in paradise...

Warning: Fluff with angst at the end.

Part One - Finale

Words: 4829

The love you had felt a day ago had been deeply invested in the soil of your mind. Roots interweaved and twisted until they met one solid structure that stood strong and tall. Supplied with nutrients that were needed; love and care.

That was what love stood for and represented. Something strong, unmoving, and beautiful. Yet, in less than 24 hours, Ellie’s actions had been able to break that tree down to a rotting, hollow trunk. The roots able to retract and give supply to another tree had done so. Leaving the remaining ones to stand still as a flame burnt them to a crisp.

She’d done that. She’d managed to bring a firestorm to what was fine and unique and destroy it. A burnt forest left to take what was once beautiful.

You were broken. Sadly, that was a truth you had admitted when Issac had you locked up once more. Left to craft a makeshift bandage from the wound in your leg and just wait. Wishing there was some way you could alleviate the weight in your chest.

Abby hadn’t said anything to you after you gave her the info she needed. Truthfully, you were too exhausted and hurt to care either. All you cared about was sleep and hopefully being allowed to leave this cell soon.

“We shouldn’t have left her as we did.” Dina’s words shook the auburn-haired girl from her empty stare. Turning her head to the other to find her sitting up from the couch, still feeling the sickness from her pregnancy. “Maybe it was a mistake for me to ever tell you how I felt. If it saved me from feeling the weight I do, I would’ve kept everything to myself.”

Ellie chewed on her bottom lip, shaking her head as she replayed those few moments. A large vent pinning your foot and restricting your movements. And when the foul screech of a Clicker sounded, silencing the trio, raising the anxiety in their bodies. It all just happened so fast. You were trapped. If they tried to do anything, they would’ve been dead as well. Then this would’ve all been for nothing, and Ellie couldn’t have that.

But maybe she was just saying that to herself to justify the purpose of her selfish decision. An argument could be made that she felt something for Dina and everything between you two had been fizzling out like water to sugar. But that would also mean her having to admit she led you on because she had. And maybe this was the easiest way for her to non-verbally tell you that things were different now.

“She’s dead, Dina,” Ellie finally spoke, turning her head half-heartedly toward the ill girl. But ever meeting her guilty eyes. “She knew what she was signing up for when she came along.”

Dina pursed her lips, wiping away the tears that slid down her cheeks. “But you aren’t acknowledging the obvious, Ellie,” she pointed out. “She was your girlfriend and you chose me over her. Do you not feel any guilt over that?”

Licking her lips, Ellie reached over and took Dina’s hand. “All I know is that I chose the girl that I love.”

The city streets were quiet. Way too quiet for Abby. There was the occasional conversation with Manny and Mel, but not enough to ease her cautious awareness that they were out in the open and a perfect target for the Seraphites.

Hearing a quiet grumble behind her, she peeked over her shoulder to see you holding your stomach. “Do you want me to carry your pack?” She inquired, surprising herself with how soft the question was.

But you raised your hand, exhaling heavily. “If we get in a firefight, I need you to shoot. The pack helps keep me planted when I’m firing,” you pointed out, able to spare a faint smile toward the girl. “But a shot of Vodka might be good right now.”

Abby smiled, placing a large hand on your lower back as the both of you moved up the steps of the old warehouse that stored a boat. “When we get to the F.O.B., I’ll be sure to get you that shot.”

It’d been some time since you were locked in that cage. Since you had to piss in a bucket or eat food off the dirty floor. But since then, your intelligence of Ellie and Dina had convinced Issac to task you with Abby for patrols or any deployments. And it wasn’t like you saw any choice in the matter. You couldn’t be banking on some sort of hope that someone would storm the stadium, kill everyone and save you. It was unrealistic. So, you did the thing you were good at. You helped people. You helped Nora and Mel where you could and stayed in that cell with the addition of a dirty mattress until Issac trusted you enough to go out on patrols.

And now, with everyone being called to the front, you were deemed needed for whatever came next. Abby reassured you, seeing this as a way to earn your keep and be considered a part of the WLF. But you knew full well where Manny stood with your presence now added to the group.

In fact, many people were indifferent about your contributions to the force. You were a doctor and started aiding the wounded from attacks then you were going on small skirmishes with fellow WLF soldiers. But they were simply waiting for the moment they could put a bullet in your back.

You held no particular fond spot in anyone’s mind. You were an anomaly. Walking a lonely highway hoping to find a new place to call home.

That’s why you stuck to yourself when moving with the trio. Mel tried to strike up some sort of conversation, but you kept your mouth shut. And you kept your eyes averted whenever Manny wished to show you his distaste for you accompanying them. Abby was really the only person you were willing to spend time with and talk to. She was the only person not looking to tear your head off. She taught you how to properly handle their rifles and taught you what you needed just in case something were to happen out in the field.

She was your only friend.

Moving through the warehouse and moving down a slope leading to a few box carts where you took notice of voices further down the tracks. With the density of bushes and tall grass, the approach was made easy, but the execution of taking the Serphaites down wasn’t. You are stuck near Abby, not trusting yourself on your own. And once she killed the first and Manny killed the second, the Seraphites took notice. Then all hell broke loose.

Gunfire sounded throughout the overgrown enclosure with you seeking refuge inside of a box cart. Taking pot shots and beginning to feel the ache in your shoulder from the recoil of the rifle. Mel, Manny and Abby handled the situation like pros. Taking one down after another until the only sound to be heard was your panting. Adrenaline coursing through your system.

“All clear!” Abby announced, shouldering her rifle. “You good?” Abby inquired, appearing from behind cover and walking toward you.

With a sheepish nod, you hopped out of the box cart and followed behind the group. Climbing up a mound of dirt and onto a broken landing that held a gate ahead of them.

Walking over, Abby pushed against one of the sides and created big enough of a gap the chain would allow. “Through here.” Abby moved out of the way, allowing you to step through first before she followed and the other two did the same.

The moment you stepped through, barely able to take account of your surroundings, a distinct whistle sounded. And before you could respond, a hand grabbed the back of your pack and yanked you inside the gas station just as the sound of gunfire appeared. Bullets whizzing past you, the wall behind the front register was slowly becoming riddled with bullets. The trio were quick to return fire and keep the Seraphites off of them for as long as they could.

But you were stuck with that constant tremble in your joints. Much like when you had your first run-in with the cult, you couldn’t pull the trigger. This fieldwork wasn’t where you belonged. You preferred being stuck inside a tent smelling like metal and injured bodies all around you. That was when you were in your zone. But this? This shit isn’t ever going to be where you exceed.

By the time the gunfire stopped, you were already being hoisted to your feet. Faced to look at all the dead bodies of cultists, which were a lot more than you were expecting. They had the upper hand, the same firepower and large able bodies. But you were beginning to discover the pattern with Abby that she was practically invincible and a lot better than most people in this day and age were capable of being.

“We got wounded in the truck. Mind giving us a hand with that, outsider?” The title had stuck rather quickly in the short amount of time of you being “recruited” into the WLF. Everyone didn’t call you by your name or consider you a human being. If anything, you were a dog on a leash, being tugged along by Issac to do as he ordered. Because if you weren’t going to give him any info on Ellie or Dina, then he would make you useful.

Nodding, you followed into the truck after Manny. Moving to the center relinquishing your pack and quickly pulling out some gauze. Glancing up at the injured WLF soldier, he was shot right through the hand. Nothing that could limit his capabilities to work, but it would make him have to put down the rifle for a few weeks at best.

“Hold your hand out for me. This isn’t going to hurt, but bear with me, all right?” The man nodded, straining as you began to wrap the gauze around the wound. “You might think this part is the worst, but I’m going to need you to squeeze this as hard as you can.” Placing the roll of gauze in his hand, you slipped back into the seat behind you and sighed. Holstering your rifle and securing it whilst ejecting the round from the chamber. Out of everything Joel taught you and what you picked up, it was never wrong to make sure a gun was extra safe.

“You froze.” Lifting your gaze, you found Manny staring at you with almost a look of empathy. It was new coming from him. Constant badgering and snide remarks were all you got from the man. “In the train yard and gas station. You froze.”

It took you a moment, letting out a breathy laugh as you nodded sheepishly. “I’m not good with guns.”

“That’s hard to believe considering how you discharged your weapon.” He motioned to the rifle in your grasp. “Who taught you that?”

With pursed lips, you looked down. “Joel. Joel Miller.” That created a riveting silence amongst the “Salt Lake” group that stared at you. Still, the vivid imagery of that night still haunted Abby to this day. And to think that you travelled all the way here with your ex and a friend to kill her and everyone there that killed Joel was hard to grasp. She guessed this was some sort of act of torture. Forcing her to see the pain she indirectly caused with her decision. “But my father taught me how to handle a rifle–the basics, you know? His father taught him since he was a Vet before the world went to shit and whatnot. But Joel taught me to how to shoot, how to clean a gun, and how to kill someone.”

For the rest of the ride, the group was silent and you enjoyed it. Often, you felt like the outcast during most conversations with Abby’s group. The point being; they killed a close friend of yours. So, it wasn’t like you could talk about getting beers or having a barbeque with them. Instead, you would stand there in silence and only talk when someone attempted to converse with you. So, the silence was slowly becoming your best friend each day.

Arriving at the F.O.B., you hopped off the truck and assisted the injured man and Mel off. But it wasn’t long before a man came running over. “Hey, Outsider! Issac wants you in his office, pronto!”

Abby smiled. “No rest for the wicked, huh?” She teased.

You scoffed, nudging her softly. “I’ll see you up there?”

“You can count on it.” You smiled once more at the woman, feeling your guys’ gaze linger on one another a moment too long before you turned. Cheeks warm as you followed the soldier through the front barracks of the base.

From the gate, WLF soldiers were piled up under tents to avoid the sun. Some were working with faulty weaponry and supplying ammo, assisting with teammate’s gear. Others were working on battle plans and zones occupying Serphite forces. And in the center was where the fresh scent of food caught your senses. Men and women seated on dirty benches feasting on one of the few meals they could get in a day. It made you wish you got to stay back at the stadium. At least then you got to eat some fruit and not starve.

Entering the central compound, the dim lighting of fires blossoming from barrels did very little to give you a view of the interior. It wasn’t until you reached the lobby made into a jail of sorts that you could see clearer. The backup generators set up outside gave the fluorescent lights power with them occasionally flickering. But your eyes shifted to the prisoners. Seraphites and outsiders. All of them sitting in their own piss and shit. The sight of it was more enlightening than disgusting because you were in their place a mere few days ago. You were sleeping on concrete in your own filth. The only difference was Abby had specifically requested that you be given a bucket. The point was, seeing it from the outside gave you insight into what you must’ve looked like. And safe to say, you weren’t planning on it ever happening again.

Riding the elevator up to the office, the soldier opened the door for you. But you found no sign of Issac and as if the man was reading your thoughts, he said, “He’ll be up shortly.” And he left without hearing your response. Leaving you in a cleansing silence that you slowly eased back into. Collapsing onto a counter and staring out the window. The sunset hit your face nicely and allowed itself to warm you from the cold inside the office.

It took a few minutes, but Issac soon arrived. But when he entered, he turned around and stopped Manny and Abby. “The both of you wait outside.”

You frowned, sliding off the counter and looking past your leader at a confused Abby who looked like she wanted to protest but was stopped by the door closing on her.

Issac then turned to you. “Y/n,” he sighed, walking to his desk. “I heard you’ve been a great help at the Stadium.”

“Um, yes, sir. I’ve been picking up jobs where I can.” You hated these types of conversations with the man. It wasn’t too long ago that he had you tied to a chair and was extracting information from you. Cutting you up and probably was planning on doing worse. But you hated how intimidating he could be at times. You weren’t the confrontational type and he solidified it with his constant hollow demeanor.

“That’s good. Good.” Lifting up a paper, he waved it with a smile, scoffing to himself. “This job is going to kill me.”

“What can I do, sir?” You asked, taking a step.

He sighed, turning to sit on the edge of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “In the next coming days, I’m going to need you to stay here.”

The order nearly made you laugh. But finding his expression unchanging, you felt your own smile slowly drop. “May I ask why, sir?”

“We’re staging an assault against the Seraphite’s island and when we come back, I’m going to need a medic ready to patch our soldiers-”

“Is Abby going, sir?” The question slipped without much thought being put into it. Judging by the look on Issac’s face, he wasn’t exactly expecting it either. But he’d seen and heard about the two of you. How the both of you were nearly joined to the hip since you were released. He wasn’t sure how his most trusted soldier was able to grow attached to an outsider like you.

But he brushed it off. “This isn’t up for debate, Y/n,” he said. “They go, you stay.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded. “Affirm’, sir.”

“Good.” He turned back toward his desk, saying over his shoulder, “Your room is down the hall. Last door on the left.”

Biting your bottom lip, you walked to the door and swung it open. Finding the two soldiers standing talking to one another. But when they found your defeated expression, their conversation halted. Abby is the one to step forward and place a hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Sniffling, you nodded, jutting a thumb over your shoulder. “You should go. He’s waiting.” Slipping past her, you were quick to wipe your cheeks as you followed the directions provided by Issac and entered your quarters for the next few days.

You didn’t know why you were crying. You didn’t want to. If anything, you were glad to be out of harm's way. Protecting and saving people was where you excelled. But you couldn’t take a life. No matter the person, it still meant that you were killing a part of yourself to survive. So, shouldn’t you be feeling relief instead of dread?

With a shaky exhale, you hit yourself in the head. “Stop!” The answer to such a simple question was Abby. It felt so wrong to care for her. After everything she’s done, she was supposed to get a bullet in the head or a knife in the stomach. But you hadn’t done what you were tasked with doing when you came to Seattle. That promise to Ellie had fallen through the moment you smiled at Abby. Then again, did you have to keep a promise with someone who couldn’t even keep theirs?

Storing your gear in the corner of the room by the bed, you made quick work to occupy your attention from the daunting thoughts and eventual conversation with Abby. Going into the fridge and pulled out some bread and eggs. Placing a pan on the stove and turning on the burner with butter soon following.

A knock sounded at the door before it slowly peeked open. Abby’s head slipped through the crack, glancing around before finding you standing in front of the stove, cracking open an egg and letting it hit the pan. Its loud sizzle and pops make you step back and look at Abby. “Do you want some?”

She smiled, shutting the door behind her. “Sure.” Walking across the room, she placed her gear with yours before looking around. Eyes staying transfixed on the single bed in the room.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” You frowned, looking over your shoulder at the girl who was already unrolling her sleeping bag. It made you laugh.

“Scared you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself, Abby?” You asked, chuckling to yourself.

“I’ve been keeping self-control since I met you, Y/n,” Abby muttered. “But I want you to be comfortable and I would take up most of the bed.”

“But what if I don’t want to sleep alone?” You inquired a hint of mischievous intent in your voice.

Your arms crossed over your chest as Abby tilted her head slightly, smirking. This game that the two of you have played has been going on since the moment Abby saved you from imprisonment. Or maybe it started a few days after she found you helping Nora and Mel in the medical bay. Either way, it was a cat-and-mouse game that neither of you wasn’t afraid of indulging in. And, at the deepest part in your core, you knew this wasn’t okay. To sleep with the “enemy”. But she was attractive and had been nothing but caring to you since she met you. And maybe you fell for people so easily before looking at the red flags, but you wanted to enjoy life for a little while longer. At least until she left for the attack against the Seraphites. Because if she didn’t come back, you wanted to have one last night with her.

The steam of the stove grabbed your attention once more. Smirking to yourself, you flipped the egg. You could feel her gaze bore into your figure.

And it only took a few moments before you felt her hulking figure press into your back. Her pelvis is flush with your ass and her hands holding your hips. Her finger dipped further, gently pressing into your pelvis. It made you smile.

With her face pressing into the back of your head, you muttered, “If you’re wanting to fuck, then just say so, Abby Anderson.”

“Is it obvious?” Your only response was to gently shake your head, dreadlocks hitting her face, making her laugh.

With a deep guttural groan, Abby spun you around and lifted you onto the counter. A yelp fell from your lips as your hands fell to her shoulders, legs interlocking around her waist. Abby let out a deep sigh, staring up at you with a small smile.

“So, are you going to make the first move or do I have to?”

The two of you laid side by side with one another. You were still trying to capture your breath and savour the taste of Abby’s nectar on your tongue. Gently pressing kisses into her side. Your legs were tangled amongst one another with a bedsheet lazily draped over the both of you to escape the cool breeze that slipped through the window.

A sweet sheen covered your guys’ bodies that didn’t at all seem to bother either of you. If anything, it made the moment seem to carry on a little longer.

Letting out a gentle laugh, Abby sighed. “I’ve never done it with a girl.”

You smirked, rolling onto your stomach and resting on your forearms. “Did I impress?”

Abby grinned, nodding eagerly. “Oh, yeah. You did more than impress.” A soft laugh fell from your lips as you chewed on your nail, shaking your head.

Although you knew there might be some sort of clarity that hits you, making you regret your decision, you still enjoyed it. There had been something primal and intimate with Abby that you forgot what it felt like after months with Ellie. This felt way too different

“You ever think about running away?” You asked, looking at the taller girl. “

“Where would you want to go?” Abby inquired, staring up at the ceiling.

“Canada sounds nice. I mean, the winter would be shitty, but it’s nothing I’m not used to,” you said.

Abby hummed, eyebrows slightly pinching together in thought. “I think anywhere with you would be nice.”

Your lips rolled, corners pulling upwards as Abby huffed. “Flirting is not my thing, huh?”

A graceful laugh fell from your lips, forehead resting against the other side. “Baby, stick to flexing and being all sexy and flirting won’t ever have to be used.”

Another break of silence took its place with the two of you enjoying one another’s company. Holding one another softly. And it felt true. Like this is where you belonged.

Despite everything that happened leading up to this point, you liked this. It was a simple way of life working with the WLF and you wished this had been what you experienced in Jackson and with Ellie. But there always had to be something relating to Ellie’s pent-up anger and Maria tasking you with patrols. At least now you could do what you had trained yourself to do for years and feel like you might be making a difference.

And Abby made it better.

“I want you to know that I care about you.” Your confession came suddenly and caught Abby off guard. “Like, despite what we both went through. I care about you so fucking much and I know I shouldn’t. But, If I can, I want to be here with you.”

“Then stay.” You looked up at Abby, finding her smiling softly down at you. “I mean, who else is going to wake me up by throwing books at me.”

A laugh fell from your lips as you nodded. “Yeah, I guess I have a role to fulfill, huh?” She smiled, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before leaning back.

But Abby’s smile slowly faltered as she sighed. “I have to go out and find Owen soon. Any WLF soldier that finds him will likely shoot him on sight for what he did.” Despite her saying this, she made no move to start getting ready. She continued to stroke your hip slowly, occasionally reaching around to grab at your ass possessively. In all honesty, she didn’t want to waste any time away from you considering she was going to be putting her life on the line against the Seraphites.

You picked at the fabric of the pillowcase, adjusting your position on your forearms. Pursing your lips, you asked, “You still love him, don’t you?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t have done this.” Sitting up with her back against the headboard, you adjusted to lay between her legs with your chin resting on her pelvis. “What I and Owen had is history. Young teenage love that faded out. Right now, I’m focused on you. I want to make sure I have something to come back to.”

“The attack on the Seraphites,” you measured your words, almost cautious of what you might say. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I’ll radio you if anything comes up, all right?” She kissed you on the corner of your lips and you nodded. Reach up and grab her ponytail and forcefully tug her back down to meet you fully. Tilting your head and pressing further into the kiss. Only parting with your teeth gently at her bottom lip. Warm breaths intertwined with one another as you looked up at her with those eyes that tempted her to forget Owen for a little longer and spend some more time with you

“Make sure you come back to me.”

It’d been a day or maybe two. It was hard to tell at this point with the workload given to you. What you did know is that there had been little to no communication from Abby. And laying awake in your room, thoughts of the prior night kept you up and wanting more.

In full honestly, it’d been a while since you got laid. Ellie had been rather busy before Joel even passed and most of the time she wasn’t in the mood. So, you had to deal with the pent-up stress and bottled it. Abby helped you release it and always seemed to be ready to give a “helping hand” with your situation.

So, maybe out of desperation, you grabbed your walkie-talkie and held it close. Smiling to yourself as you pressed the button and whispered, “Abby.” There was no response. “Abby, are you there?”

Again there was another long pause, making you realize how late it actually was. Making you sigh, sitting up in your bed with your legs curling into your chest. “I guess you might be sleeping. I’m pretty lonely here. I just wish you were here with me, you know?” You sighed. “I will say that if you don’t make it back to me, I’m going to go to hell and kill you again, all right? Let me know if Owen is alright and when you guys are on your way back.”

Silence filled the void, letting you hope that maybe your words had drifted into your sleepy daze and would be at the back of her mind when she woke. The idea of it made you smile. So, with a sheepish smile and a heat growing across your body, you whispered, “I love you.”

A pause before the radio clicked on with audio.

“Y/n.”

The voice made your body tense up as you stared at the device in horror. A cold chill ran down your spine, shivering as you shakily brought the device close and muttered,

“Ellie?”

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