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the-common-cowgirl · 1 year ago

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Greater of Two Evils - Part 2

Summary: Aemond’s presence looms within you like a bad drug. You can’t deny him, you can’t run from him. He confines you to your own, private circle of the seven hells like you’re his property. His broodmare. His trophy.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit, +18, MDNI

Warnings: Modern AU, DUBCON, Smut (fingering, p in v), manipulation, pregnancy test, forced pregnancy, misogyny, swearing, defensive dissociation, DD;DNE

Word Count: 4K

A/N: I wasn’t originally going to make this a series but y’all liked it soooo…..

Series Masterlist

Negative.

“Fuck yes,” you nearly cried as you held up the pregnancy test in disbelief. Covering your mouth, trying not to draw attention to yourself in the apartment’s bathroom. Your brother was home; on the phone and upset about a deal a certain politician had blocked.

You were so happy though. You squealed into your hand as you looked at the door, hoping he wouldn’t come barging in and wondering the reason for your happy squeals.

He couldn’t know. Fuck. He couldn’t know.

Taking the test box and the strip, rolling it in toilet paper, you snuck to your own room down the hall without a second glance from your brother in a heated argument in the kitchen with Gods knows who.

You stuffed the rolled up test strip and box into your backpack before grabbing your Political Science book. You had a plan to throw the test away in a University trash bin and if your brother questioned you, you’d have an alibi: Political Science study group, meeting at 4 a.m. this afternoon, in twenty minutes. But thankfully, you went unnoticed as his discussion was heated and he paced the kitchen.

You hadn’t waited long for the bus -you had refused your brother’s offer of a private driver when you started University and for once, he accepted your refusal - before a strange black car pulled up. With no one around in the broad daylight, you weren’t frightened but you did take a step backward as the back passenger’s side window rolled down and then, your heart sank when you saw familiar silver locks.

“Get in,” Aemond commanded.

“I’m waiting for my bus.”

“Where are you going?” He nearly chuckled as if he knew you didn’t actually have a study group to get to.

“None of your business.” You looked anywhere but the car, trying to stop the bus that was due to come.

“Get in or I’ll have my people send pictures of you buying a pregnancy test to every media outlet in Dorne.”

Fuck.

You had no option but to open the door and slide into the car next to Aemond. Unfortunately, there was a dividing wall between the driver and the backseat and you grew nervous in Aemond’s presence alone. Silently hoping he just wanted information on your brother.

“What was the result?” He looked at you expectantly as you stared at the wall in front of you.

Oh Gods, oh Gods, no.

“Negative.” Cold, terrified.

“Hmm,” unamused, as if you told him a bad joke. He then placed a hand on your knee and every hair on your body stood at attention.

“And what did your brother think of my little game?”

He was referring to blocking your brother’s trade deal, not backing it, making it fall through.

“He was on the phone when I left,” seeing no reason to lie to the literal Devil, he’d find out one way or another. “He’s,” you paused, gulping as Aemond moved up your thigh, “angry.”

Aemond let out one dark chuckle, “Good.” He looked out the window, the car was driving aimlessly, “Where were you going?”

His question, this time, proved an opportunity to escape so you gave him the same lie you had prepared for your brother. “Political Science study group.”

Before you could think, Aemond grabbed your backpack and pulled it into his lap. You were too stunned to reach for it as he opened the bag and pulled out your Political Studies textbook. It was a heavy book, thick with a hardcover. If you didn’t hold it in two hands, your hand would cramp but Aemond, of course, held it in one, turning it over to confirm it was as you had said. He hummed and set the heavy book aside before digging through your bag to find the rolled up pregnancy test box with the negative strip inside.

Fuck.

Aemond procured the single lined strip and carefully inspected it before scoffing, “You’re going to a study group with a pregnancy test in your backpack?” He looked at you carefully, waiting for you to explain yourself.

You gulped, “Well, I-”

“Stop,” he cut, putting the negative test in the inner pocket of his suit jacket, “I don’t want to hear your lies. Driver-” he rolled a small window down and leaned forward, “Take us back to her apartment complex.” Aemond grabbed your phone from between your thighs and unlocked it, showing your face. Again, you were too stunned to do anything in retaliation, feeling like a dumb little girl in Aemond’s presence. You could see that he added your number to his phone and sent you a text, handing your phone back to you.

Tomorrow. 8pm. Tell your brother you’re going to a fall dance. Wear the green dress.

You looked from your phone to Aemond, wondering what he wanted you to do tomorrow and a pit started to form in your stomach. “My brother will never let me go to a dance.”

He chuckled, “He’ll be too preoccupied with tomorrow that he won’t care.” The car rolled to a stop, you looked out your window to see your apartment complex and every fiber in your being made you want to leap out of the car as fast as you could but you knew, deep down, it wasn’t safe to show Aemond how scared you were. He seemed to be a man that fed off the fear of others. You slowly opened the door and stepped out with your bag, phone and book - not entirely everything you had when you first entered the vehicle.

“Remember,” Aemond called from the car and you leaned down to look at him, “do as I say. Green dress. 8pm. Look presentable.”

You didn’t know why but his last words seemed to cut you deeper, look presentable. Did you not look so now? And why did you care what this psychopath thinks? Why did he have this invisible hold on you?

You didn’t know, but you nodded and watched the car drive away.

The next evening, you had showered, done your hair into loose waves, and fixed your makeup sultry but subtle. You paired everything with red lipstick and finally, it was time to slip into that damn green dress. The green dress that started everything. As you pulled it on, you felt your stomach lurch with the memories of that night. That night when Aemond played a game with you in the event space for the public’s eye only to play an even more, more sinister game with you upstairs. Gods, you were an idiot for allowing him to play with you. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let him do it again this time, but silently wondered how serious you were as you looked at yourself in the full length mirror of your bedroom. You looked ravishing, honestly, and you wondered why you let yourself look this nice with a man that had done what he did to you.

Before you could think deeper about your situation, your phone pinged with a text.

Outside. Don’t keep me waiting.

You grabbed your handbag and walked into the apartment where your brother was sitting in front of the floor to ceiling windows that made up the entirety of the west wall of the apartment. “I’m going out,” you called and your brother only raised a glass of whiskey in reply, not taking a glance your way as he worked away on his laptop.

He was stressed. He only drank at home when he was stressed. Whatever Aemond had done to make your brother’s night miserable had worked. You wondered what all Aemond had a hand in. He did not seem to be like a regular politician, or really, what you believed politicians should be.

Walking out of the apartment complex, you spotted a black sport’s car parked where the larger black car had been the day prior and you wondered if Aemond had driven himself.

Confirming your suspicions, a silver head got out of the driver’s seat and walked around to the passenger’s side to open the door for you. He was in all black, adorned with silver accents. His long silver hair was pulled into a low bun and his suit jacket was slim fitting. He looked hot. Of course, he always did.

You slipped into the passenger’s side but not without asking, “Where are we going?”

Aemond chuckled, “To make us official,” before shutting the door. You gulped in dread at his meaning of that comment. He slid into the driver’s seat beside you and started to drive. You noticed he was an aggressive, defensive driver, which was on par with everything else about him. “You’re not going to say anything that would indoctrinate me.” You started to sweat, worrying about where you were going. “Not if you want your brother to have a job tomorrow.”

You looked at Aemond this time, “What did you do?”

He chuckled and kept his eye peeled on the road, his large, pointy nose shielding his scar from view. “Rhoynar Industries is looking at a major split if Targ Co. keeps getting intercepted by failed trade legislation.”

You took in a deep breath that filled your lungs soothingly, worrying for your brother. “You’ve got your hands in a lot of different things don't you? It’s not just politics.”

Aemond’s hooded gaze flits over your silky green dress from your collarbone, to your breasts, to your knee at the slit of the fabric. His large, warm hand comes to rest on your bare knee and your hairs stand on end. “By the end of the night, I’m sure they’ll be in you too.”

HIs promise was revolting but for some reason, your body betrayed you and you felt a slight twinge of heat in your core.

He pulled up outside a fancy, five-star restaurant you’ve eaten at with your brother once before on a work dinner. Opening his door and giving his keys to the valet, you wait for him to come around and open the door for you, trying your best to please him and make him look like the perfect gentleman from the very start so maybe tonight, he’d just drop you off and leave you alone. You walk together toward the front of the restaurant, your arm wrapped snugly around his as he gives his last name and a waiter escorts you through the building to a private dining room where you notice some other silver headed people. Aemond pushes your chair as you sink down into it, only to sit beside you. A dark haired man is sitting next to you on your left and he offers his name, “Criston Cole,” before you offer him your own.

He eyes you suspiciously, that is, until Aemond leans forward and addresses him, “Mr. Cole.” It’s cold. Aemond is always cold but this is colder.

Criston’s lips thin, “Aemond.” Not, Mr. Targaryen, Aemond. Something akin to resentment was shared between those two men in their simple words and long stares.

Aemond’s hand snaked around your waist and he leaned in, “Be good,” he warned. You started to sweat.

“Aemond, when can we expect this trade legislation to be resolved?” A brown, curly haired man said from across the table. Smiling between you and Aemond suspiciously, as if he knew something that no one else in the room did.

Aemond straightened, seemingly all eyes were on him, “Roynar Industries is currently under a little….”he chose his word carefully, chuckling softly before he said it, “heat. We are expecting it to be resolved if all goes well tonight.”

Another silver haired man leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, “And what are we banking this on? If all goes well tonight with whom?”

You shifted in your seat, uneasy. “I believe my date’s brother is currently working on that.”

And suddenly, all eyes were on you. Heat pooled in your cheeks. Embarrassed and stunned, unsure what to say. It felt like the members of, what you believe Targ Co, were staring at you for several minutes, waiting. Knowing you’re different and also, the frenemy.

Finally, you procured a thought, “Yes, he’s working hard tonight.” You grabbed your water glass and sipped it slowly, hoping that your simple sentence would be satisfactory.

The silver haired man across the table chuckled, “Your date is the sister to an exec at Rhoynar? Isn’t that a little bit of a conflict of interest for you?”

“I don’t see why that concerns you Daemon.” Aemond’s tone was flat with finality and although the older silver haired man seemed like he would like to go on about this, he decided against it for whatever reason.

Dinner was served. Aemond had ordered for you. Lamb chops with mashed potatoes and green beans. A fancy version of a cheap meal, interesting. You did not eat, too sick with worry. Too worried to do the wrong thing. The group disbanded and said their goodbyes.

While you waited for the valet to bring Aemond’s car, you subconsciously rubbed your arms in the chill. Dorne was naturally a very hot place but the nights were cool. The brisk night air nipped at your exposed skin and suddenly, your arms were draped in Aemond’s coat. His scent surrounded you, his cologne spelled expensive, sharp, sultry, with a hint of cigarette smoke. You muttered a weak, “Thanks,” as he stepped around you and put his hand on your lower back as he guided you toward his car.

Ever the gentleman in public, he opened the door for you, allowing you to slip in gracefully before he walked around and slid in, firing up the loud engine and pulling away from the restaurant.

You had hoped you were good enough that he'd just bring you back home. You had hoped you were on a good date and played him up well, just wanting to go home. You had hoped you answered the questions you got perfectly and he’d let you go home.

But he didn’t.

Aemond pulled along the coast to a secluded area and you felt like you could cry.

Killing the engine, he stared over at you and you gazed down at your shoes. “You did good tonight,” he praised.

“Then let me go home,” you retorted almost angrily if you hadn’t been so scared.

Aemond chuckled and leaned over to you, grabbing the side of your face harshly and forcing you to look at him. You did and saw his eye was blown nearly black with lust, power, control. Barely any blue visible. “Get in the backseat, finish being a good girl and I’ll let you go home.”

You shivered as he released you, getting out of the car and wondering if it would be smart to just make a break for it, sprint as fast as you could down the coast. Could he chase you there? Was he faster than you on sand? You’d have to take off your heels beforehand and Aemond would know something was up then. But if you-

Your thoughts were cut short by him grabbing your forearm, looking down his nose at you, “Run then, run if you like. I like the chase.” Chills ran up your spine and you figured it would be safest to do what he said.

Aemond opened the door and sat in the backseat, pulling you atop him as he spread his legs and forced your legs over his own. He hiked up your dress to your hips unceremoniously and tore your underwear off you, making you gasp at how quickly and desperately he was working. He plunged two of his thick fingers inside you, making you whine in pain as you had not been prepared nor were the least amount of wet. Grasping his shoulders for purchase as he thrusted his digits inside you mercilessly.

“Please,” you begged, “please-gentler.” You knew you couldn’t beg for him to stop, he wouldn’t, but he might be kinder to you.

He purred a dark chuckle from his throat, looking at you through his hooded gaze. “Not my style baby,” pumping a few times even harder, “get used to it or don't. I don’t fucking care.” He leaned forward and sucked in your collarbone, neck, jawline, underneath your ear, and though, he did not ease up on your aching pussy, you did become wetter and wetter, relaxing around his and even pleasure building in your abdomen before he completely pulled out and away from you. His absence nearly made you whine and you immediately wondered what had come over you, whining for this demon’s fingers inside you again.

He pulled his throbbing, hard length with his freehand and pumped himself twice before lining up with your entrance then grasping your hips and forcing yourself down on him. You both moaned in unison once he bottomed out. You both sat in silence as the pair of you adjusted to the other. “Fuck yourself on me,” he demanded huskily, “ride my cock and I might let you come.”

The promise of an orgasm on the best dick you’ve ever taken outweighed the fact that it was attached to a monster and you began to spell your name on his dick, just like your friend in your English 400 course had said. You gripped his shoulders harshly, trying to steady yourself as you felt like everytime you sunk onto him again, you were splitting yourself in two; like a wedge hammering into a firewood. He’d make you burn. You knew it. You felt it in your very being as you left your morals and fears aside, your value and freedom aside, and gave in so quickly to this sadistic fucker. He was going to make you burn in his own, personal ninth circle of the seven hells.

“What a good girl she is,” he cooed, grasping a hip with one hand, beginning to grope your breast and play with your clothed, hardening nipple with his other hand. “Such a good girl for me this time around.”

He thrust up gently against your motions and made you gasp, pushing deeper than you were riding him initially. “Fuck,” you moaned and threw your head back, lost in ecstasy, lost in the fire he was setting upon you, lost on him.

Aemond’s long thumb traveled from your breast, up your throat and crooked into your mouth, hooking on your bottom jaw to harshly pull your head to look at him. “A dirty mouth on her,” he thrust up against your hips, kissing your cervix roughly, making you gasp against his thumb. “Not very lady-like. Not how the future Mrs. Targaryen should act.”

You stop your minstations to look at him, feeling the heat within your abdomen dying quickly, even against the spasms of his cock still inside you. “What?” Then immediately remembering he wanted to marry you, but only if you were pregnant- and you weren’t. He had no hold over you now, at least, none that extreme. “No, no, I’m not marrying you.” You moved to slide off of him but he gripped your hips firmly, feeling his cock bounce in you. “Aemond, what the fuck! I’m not fucking pregnant. This is a one-time thing!”

“I think you need to look at that test a little closer,” he grabs his phone from his dress pants around his thighs and unlocks it, sliding through his photos before clicking on a negative image of the pregnancy test you had taken afternoon before… and there it was, a bright line next to a faded, barely there line.

But how had you missed it?

Aemond clicked his phone off and threw it in the front seat, “I thought I saw another line, though faint,” he began explaining, “research is a wonderful tool to use and it only took a little bit to find that turning an image negative makes faint HcG lines prevalent.”

You felt numb, blank, barely absorbing his words.

“How many days late are you?”

Unless this was another manipulation tactic, not even your own test. Maybe he just grabbed a test from online.

“I asked you a question,” Aemond said more sternly this time, causing you to look at him like a deer in the headlights. “How many days late are you?”

Four. You were four days late. Only four days late…that’s nothing. “Four.”

Aemond nodded and thrust his still hardened cock into you, nearly taking the breath out of you as you had completely forgotten about the foreign object in your body, focusing on another.

Aemond sighed, “I suppose you don’t believe me.” You only looked back into his eyes, blankly, still too stunned to form a word. “I bought you another to convince yourself.”

Another test. A second chance at a negative.

He pushed you off of him and stuffed himself back into his pants unsatisfied and frustrated. Leaning forward into his glove compartment, he grabbed a box and handed it to you.

“Take it,” he ordered sternly and you could only look at him, blankly. “Now.”

“Here?” You were so confused, looking out of the window of the car, suddenly worried about other cars that were not there.

“Go behind the car or something.” He instructed, leaning across you and opening your door, and shoving you out.

You walked, confused and still shocked to the back of the car. Shaking legs carrying you the entire way. You felt numb, but also, your entire body shook with anxiety at what the test would read.

Bending down shamefully, feeling dirty, you urinated on the test strip and just leaned against the back of the car, watching the digital reader dance back and forth as it read your text for two minutes.

Finally….it read.

Pregnant.

Dread pooled in your stomach, sweat procured from every orifice in your body, you felt your legs nearly buckle.

Unsure of what to do, how to process anything, you climb into the backseat again, not taking your eyes off of the test that read your life-sentence.

“Satisfied?” Aemond asked, looking over at the test too and smiling.

“Why me?” Your voice was broken, far away.

“You’re his sister.” He said it simply, as if it made sense.

You looked up at him, glassy eyes with tears threatening to fall. He leaned forward, running a thumb through your pooling tears. “I need a good image. I need a family. A good wife.” Your brow furrowed, wondering why he chose this fucked up way to obtain it. “And your brother is in my way, it’s like a two for one deal for me.” Of course, everything was about him. His family, his wife, his life. Nothing was about anyone else to him. “Just help me bring your brother down and we will live happily-ever-after. I’ll give you everything you could ever want.”

You gulped with trepidation, “I just want to be happy.”

“Then I’ll buy you whatever happiness you need. Just give me what I need. I can’t buy that.” He always spoke as if everything he said made perfect sense, like you were a child and him the adult. “Marry me.”

“I don’t want to.”

Aemond huffed a sinister, frustrated chuckle, “Then you, your entire family and most of all, your brother is ruined. I have my finger on the trigger right now.”

“My mom and dad have nothing to do with this-”

“No but you love them,” he smirked at you, “and that’d hurt you.”

You threw your head back, covering your face with your hands. You wanted to cry, scream, hit him, hit yourself. “What,” dragging your hands slowly from your face, “happens if I say yes?”

Aemond smiled, grabbing one of your hands and bringing it to his pointed lips, kissing softly, “I’ll arrange for a wedding soon.”

You jerked your hand away from his hold, “I never said yes.”

He furrowed his brows, both scarred and untouched, and looked at you as if you were a circus act to amuse him, “Do you really think you have a choice?”

Taglist: @croatianprincess @toodlesxcuddles

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#fanfic #house of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #gameofthrones #smut #aemond targaryen #game of thrones #hotd aemond #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon aemond #aemond #prince aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #aemond one eye #aemond x you #aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen #dark fic

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sporadicthingcollection · 1 year ago

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Eppur è d'uopo, sforzati! (Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: In which a stork arrives early, Buggy has a rough day, and you get what you deserve. Pairing: Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Clean. Word Count: ~1.5k. Warnings: Pregnancy, childbirth, exploitation of a Devil Fruit power. A/N: good news is that i'm not ovulating anymore bad news is that i got a mental image in my head that wouldn't go away so i'm subjecting you guys to it too. also, this buggy has more of the anime version in him, so just a heads up!

---

It was a power move, plain and simple. Boa Hancock, Warlord of the Sea, refusing to negotiate with anyone away from Amazon Lily. And Buggy, having drawn the short straw, gets ordered under threat of revocation of his title to go do it.

So not only does he have to brave Sea Kings in the Calm Belt, he doesn't even get to go ashore when he gets there. No, he has to send the female crew to deal with it.

And, to make matters worse, you insisted upon going with them. You, with swollen ankles and an aching back. You, waddling around and damn near ready to pop. You, eight and half months pregnant with not just any child, but his child.

How could you be so callous and cruel to him like this? Where do you get off on tormenting him with the knowledge that, if something happens, he won’t be able to get to you? It’s pure sadism is what it is, and he’s wearing a rut in the deck trying to get his mind off of it.

A distant scream splits the air.

Your scream.

---

Nine months. Babies come out at nine months. That's how it's always been, that’s how it always will be.

So then why, oh why, does this little asshole decide to pop out at eight and a half?

A wave of pain wracks you. You double over in your chair.

You suppose you're lucky. You’re in a palace in a private room with a bed, a tub of warm water, anything you could possibly need. The midwife, Cassandra, has gentle hands and comforting words. Dozens of women show up to fuss over you and encourage you, a number of them mothers themselves. Dahlia brings food, Gloriosa sings songs, Marguerite and Sandersonia hold your hands when the contractions get worse.

Even the Pirate Empress herself pays the occasional visit, albeit under the excuse to scold you for making a ridiculous amount of noise. But she always lingers with a curious gaze, and commands that more bedding be brought or that “I must be prepared for when I bear the child of my beloved,” whatever the hell that means.

Too bad they don’t have any morphine.

---

The only thing stopping Buggy from collapsing into a million parts is that he has completely locked up. He cannot move his head, his fingers, his eyes, everything is frozen stiff.

Fortunately for him, Galdino asks the question for him. “She’s what?”

“I just told you: in labor.” Alvida is way too calm. She dusts her coat, adjusts her hat, buffs out a scuff on her fingernails. “Her water broke right in the middle of the discussion. Three hours of political maneuvering, wasted.”

“I think we got it sorted, though.” The strongwoman shakes her head. “Poor gal. Of all the dumb luck.”

Another scream rips the air. Everyone flinches.

It cuts through Buggy like a knife through... well, himself. He gets his senses back and only one thing consumes his mind.

He vaults over the side of the ship. Kuja laws be damned, he needs to get to you, even if he has to swim for it. Before you get hurt. Or killed. Or worse.

He only realizes the mistake he’s made when he hits the water.

---

You blink in disbelief. “It’s what?”

“Upside-down,” Cassandra says. She adjusts her glasses. “If my intuition is correct, it’s coming out rear end first.”

Breech birth. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised. Your grandmother was a breech, your mother was a breech, your niece was a breech... Breeches all the way down in your family.

And, considering its father, of course the little fucker’s an acrobat.

You groan and fall backwards. Part of you is glad he’s not here. You’d strangle him. The other part wishes he was here. So you could strangle him. And rip his balls off. Hell, you might just do that anyways. DIY orchiectomy.

A contraction wracks you and you yelp.

---

What do you do with a distraught sailor, when the sun is highest?

Hold him back from swimming to the island. He’ll kick and thrash and escape all three of the strongmen and throw himself overboard and Cabaji will have to jump in and fish him out.

What do you do with a distraught sailor, early in the evening?

Lock him up in a cage with Richie. He’ll cut himself to ribbons and slip through the bars and sneak past everyone on deck and throw himself overboard and Cabaji, having just finally gotten himself into dry clothes, will have to take another dip.

What do you do with a distraught sailor, at the witching hour?

Clamp him to the mast with Seastone handcuffs. He’ll pick up a nail on deck and pick the lock and outrun everyone trying to catch him and throw himself overboard and Cabaji will make Mohji jump in this time because he’s getting really sick of this bullshit.

What do you do with a distraught sailor, early in the morning?

Hack off his hands and arms and noggin, throw the Seastone cuffs on his ankles, tie his torso to the mast, stuff his own bandanna in his mouth, then post up guards.

Even gagged, Buggy’s screams rival yours.

---

Just when you’re ready to give up the ghost and will yourself into unconscious bliss, you feel it. Something gives. Then something else. With one mighty push, one mighty curse, and one mighty splat, your child is born.

The baby howls like a beast. You suppose you’d be screaming too if you were covered in shit and viscera and had a full head of hair.

You want to hold it. You need to hold it. "Give-- Gimme it," you sputter.

Cassandra, hands it to you. "A boy," she says.

You’re ashamed to be a little disappointed. Based on the talk, you were hoping for a girl. But it all fades as you hold him in your arms and bring him to your chest, overwhelmed by a tide of hormones and emotion.

He’s a little funny-looking, with his pink skin and little stretched face and his legs at weird angles. But he’s here. A baby. Your baby. Buggy’s baby.

You start to sob.

---

Buggy is once again frozen stiff. He wants nothing more than to help you back aboard, hold your hand as you step over the railing, and escort you to his cabin. It would be the absolute least he could do.

But no. He’s stuck up here on the quarterdeck, doing even less than that. He watches as you make your way up the stairs, clutching a bundle wrapped in a floral-patterned blanket. Dark circles ring your eyes and your gait is stiff and exhausted.

Say something. Anything. “You look like hell,” he says. Goddammit.

Fortunately for him, you huff in amusement. “I’ve certainly been through hell.” You stand closer and angle the bundle towards him. “Wanna see what I found there?”

His hand hovers over the corner of the blanket. What if it’s dead? What if it’s got a dog’s face? What if its hair is red? What if it’s got its father’s--?

“Just look, Buggy,” you scold.

He swallows. He pulls back the corner.

Nestled in the blankets, blinking in the light, is a miniature you. A head full of thick dark hair, already starting to curl at the ends. Dark eyes, peering at him the same way you do. And, right in the middle of its chubby little face, your delicately curved nose.

Heat fills his belly with smoke. He recognizes this emotion. It’s the same one as when he sees someone waving around a treasure map. When he spies a chest overflowing with gold. When he first laid eyes on you.

He can hardly hear his own voice. “She’s gorgeous.”

“He,” you say. Buggy looks at you. You smile. “He’s a boy.”

A boy. A boy. His boy. Your boy. He has a son. You gave him a son.

The smoke catches fire and sets his whole body alight. He snatches the baby -- his son! -- from your arms and holds him -- his son! -- up high, presenting him -- his son! -- to the assembled crew like a boxer holding up a champion belt.

He shouts, bellows, screams for the whole world to hear: “I have a son!”

A cacophony of cheers goes up from every man and woman on the deck and, for a few moments, everything is right in the world. Mohji throws his arms around Cabaji. The strongwoman picks up Galdino and spins him around. Alvida smiles as she leans against her mace. Richie roars. Even the Kuja who escorted you back whoop.

Wait a damn minute. You did all the work. You made his son. You pushed him out. All he did was be in the right place at the right time with a bad pullout game.

He places the baby back in your arms and sweeps you into his own, separating his trunk from his legs to raise you up even higher. He wants to shout something eloquent, an ode to your strength and beauty, a paean to your power, a declaration that you are the greatest treasure he’s ever stolen.

But all that comes out, through snot and tears that he didn’t even realize were flowing, is a garbled, blubbered, “I love this woman!”

The cheers only grow, joined by your clattery laughter.

---

To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x reader #kiss marry kill #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece live action #fan fiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #emberly writes #smash or pass #the curious courtship of buggy the clown #keeda the clown

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rottendollface · 9 months ago

Text

The Horror of Our Love. Chapter 4.

Co-author: @bigtimesalt8196

Character: Childe Tartaglia | Ajax.

Image: Picsart Al.

Warnings: NSFW; Ajax is older than in canon;

broken time line and age line for the sake

of plot; female virgin reader, incestuous

relationship, family abuse, self-harm,

misogyny, mentions of rape, unprotected

sex, black magic, blood and flesh magic,.

body horror, sacrilegious, Foul Legacy

Childe, breeding kink, miscarriage, marriage

grooming, pregnancy, erotic lactation.

murdering, abyssal soulmates, serfdom

system in Snezhnaya; all the characters are

adults; 18+.

Time was running mercilessly and the date of Ajax's departure was getting closer. Your mental state improved and you opened to your family, but the common joy ended quickly, as you hid into your wordless shell again, frustrated with a hollow feeling of upcoming loneliness.

Ajax was stressed out. It wasn't rare for you to find him talking to himself, discussing plans for the future and even arguing. Ajax's short temper and unreleased anger were showing at these moments: he was gesticulating in an excited manner; if not, he was walking back and forth, and sighing heavily.

It happened again when you were searching for Ajax to tell him to come and help others on the stable. You heard his heavy footsteps on the second floor. Before you knocked on the door, you overheard him saying something about grandmother.

“How in the world could an uneducated hard-working woman become a witch? Still can't get it right in my head.”

You shouldn't be heeding to his words – you were taught not to eavesdrop, but something in your mind told you to stay and spy on Ajax. You pressed your ear to the door and leaned on it. It was unusual and exciting for you until you heard someone answering him.

“You don't need to have specific knowledge to become a witch. She was in so much despair and pain it made her prayers especially sweet and strong. We couldn't ignore such a broken soul. After she got the power, she got the education as well – we taught her to read and count in one hour.”

You frowned, trying to understand who Ajax was talking to. You didn't hear that voice before and it sounded strange: loud, deep and hoarse. At first you couldn't even understand what the person was talking about – their speech was gibberish without words. You heeded, then your mind translated it to a normal humanly sounding state.

“Brilliant. And who was she praying to?”

“She was praying to the devils, young master. The disadvantage of her choice is simple – you never know who will answer to your call.” The person chuckled. You frowned. “In her case, it wasn't just a deal. It was a salvation. We saw a potential in her: her hatred and thirst for vengeance were commendable. She wanted someone from her family to inherit the power and continue the legacy. Just like in the prophecy.”

“A prophecy?”

“Not now, young master. You want to ask me about the diary and the missing part of the power, I can feel.”

“Don't you dare tell me what I want to do.” Ajax hissed. “I had enough of this! One more time you and your fucking henchmen show me these lousy dreams I'll send you all to the deepest of the Abyss and let the guards have some fun with you all in the same manner. Speak and then get lost, son of a bitch.”

“So, part of the power was passed to your dearest sister and there is no way for you to get it back from her, but she will share it with you.”

“What?!” Ajax was stunned.

“Ask her yourself. Not in my duties to explain everything to you. But I must confess she has a rather beautiful birthmark on her pretty back. Such a pleasure to watch her dressing up in the morning.”

You felt that someone pushed the door and jumped back so as not to fall into the room.

“Ajax! Father needs your help on the stable.” You spoke first and played like you didn't hear anything. Ajax froze with an aggressive expression on his face, but his gaze became softer when he looked at you.

“'Thanks,” He didn't wait and rushed to the stable. You stood aside to give him enough space, then looked into the room.

You made a step into it. The atmosphere here was different. A cold sweat broke out your body when you realized whom Ajax was talking to. In a second you felt that everything around you was hostile and hurried to get back to your room, but the door closed right in front of you. In fact… you had questions too, but you were afraid to build up communication with those ghoulish creatures.

“How can I get rid of you?” You asked into the fake emptiness.

“There is no way.” The answer was given to you immediately. You cried out, regretting your decision. “We serve your brother.”

“What about me? You said I have the same power as him.” Your brain was running fast, as you tried to rate the risk of the situation. You didn't want to repeat your recent journey of escaping demons, so you stayed alerted. Just a reminiscence of it made you weak in your knees.

“You stole a part of it from him. We mean no harm to you because of the master's order, but we have no desire to help you.” A mocking voice said, leaving you angry.

“You caused me a lot of harm.” You flared up. You realized that you wanted to play dirty on them. “I'll ask your master to execute his threat. You'll get what you deserve.” You grinned, imagining the torture Ajax promised to them. “Open the door.”

The door opened with a creak. You stepped out and the daze fell from your mind. Your heart was beating like crazy and your limbs started shaking from the fact that you commanded those demons.

“I hope you are suffering in a sulfur flame, grandma!” You couldn't keep the sudden outbreak of anger inside your throat. It all was her fault. Ajax and you were doomed to repeat her miserable fate because of her selfishness. The old fool believed in some prophecy – you were sure it was just a fiction of the demons to trick her into selling her family's souls to the devil as well. “Stupid cunt! Why couldn't you kill your husband without this fucking heresy?!” You screamed and froze. You opened your eyes so wide they hurt and pressed your palms to your mouth, trying to understand what you just said.

You made it to your room, feeling dizzy from the overexcitement. You laid down to rest. You felt so disgusted by your attitude you couldn't even believe that you let these words out of your mouth. Guilt was gnawing at your heart. Your head and your chest were heavy, you were about to doze off to sleep. Recently you got health issues: no matter what, you always were sleepy. With every day it was harder for you to wake up and get out of bed. You slept for ten and more hours, skipped meals and house work, as you felt completely drained out of energy. Even father stopped bothering you: despite his strictness, he was concerned about your health.

Suddenly you remembered about the diary and your attention focused on it. You got up but sat down on the edge of your bed, because your vision blacked from a sudden move. You took the diary from its secret place and started reading from the very beginning. You didn't know what you hoped to find, and everything you read didn't make any sense. The words were written in a normal human language, but you couldn't understand a thing from it, as if the diary itself didn't want you to know its secrets.

You stopped in the middle part to examine a magic circle that was drawn on a page. It was a simple circle with two smaller size circles inside of it. The smallest one had inside two triangles merged in the shape of a star, and in the free space in the middle of the triangles there was an eye; outside the smaller circles there were four crescent moons. You looked at it carefully, then read through the text on the next page and managed to understand it. The text was about an astral plane – an experience of lucid dreaming with the astral projection of your soul traveling through the spiritual world. Flashbacks of grandmother's house attacked your mind right after you decided to explain to yourself the definition of the spiritual world. There was no other useful information to gain and nothing was said on how to get into another world.

You returned the diary to its place, then realized that there was something wrong with it. It seemed like the diary was deciding which information to give to you, and which one to hide – maybe it was some sort of magic. Bewildered, you took a deep breath and laid for a nap. You were in a slumber when Teucer opened the door and came to your room on his tiptoes. He looked around, then stared at your face.

“Older sister,” he whispered and shook you by your shoulder. You woke up with a scream, making him jump back. “There is a noise inside your room!” By Teucer's tone you could tell he felt as scared as you.

“What? I heard nothing.” You rubbed your sleepy face, hardly understanding what he was trying to tell you.

“No! I could swear I heard something inside!” In a second Teucer turned into a whiny boy, his voice got crying notes – it was his usual strategy to attract attention to his words. “'Like someone was scratching on the wood!”

“It was mice, probably.” You tried to wave him away. You were too tired to talk: your whole body was heavy and your eyes were closing on itself. You couldn't sit anymore and lay on your side. Teucer's ginger hair irritated you with its bright color, it made your eyes hurt. You couldn't hear him anymore, simply ignored everything he tried to tell you. Teucer ran away, as he got no response from you.

Just a moment after he came back with Ajax, lamenting on your behavior. Ajax sighed, patted Teucer's head and promised to take a look at the situation. Teucer, who was feeling like a hero, left Ajax and you alone. “What's wrong, dove?” Ajax closed the door and sat on the bed. He brushed away hair that fell on your face. You could feel his peculiar look with your skin.

“Nothing.” You mumbled, hiding your face in a pillow. “I just want to rest.”

“Don't want to seem rude,” Ajax's voice was anxious. “but you are resting too much. Are you okay?”

You didn't answer him, as you fell asleep already. All Ajax could do was to cover you with a blanket and leave, tormented by conjectures. He asked the devils by his side about your health, but their answer was vague – an eclipse was about to happen. Ajax spent the day without you, hoping that you would wake up, but you didn't.

As usual, he came to your room at night when everyone else was asleep. Ajax found you awake, reading the diary. Two candles were illuminating the room; the wind was howling behind the window, bringing chilly air through the loose shutter. Your room was the coziest in the whole house to Ajax, because it was you to leave here. It was located in the back of the house, poorly furnished and cold, but your presence made it comfortable and welcoming. You closed the diary and put it in the secret spot.

“Do you mind sharing something interesting with me?” Ajax blew out the candles and made himself comfortable in bed. He laid on his side, so he could face you.

“Just a magic book paired with an autobiography.” You did as well, looking at your brother in the dark. “Ajax,” you started, but stumbled, afraid that your question would make him angry. Still, you continued. “Is there any chance for us to return to a normal life?”

“It is our normal life now. You better get used to it.” Ajax sighed. “It is our fate, dove, and we can do nothing about it.”

“I don't want fate like this. I would better die, than…” you bit your tongue, realizing how foul your words were.

“We were talking about the diary.” Ajax replied with a stern voice that sent shivers down your spine.

You got nervous and scratched your clavicle. “I don't understand what is happening. Why are we talking so casually about something like this, ignoring all the devilry that is surrounding us?”

You were the voice of sense, and Ajax lost all his words. You were right – for him it was a usual topic, but for you, who almost lost one's mind contacting the devils and was contaminated with abyssal power against one's will, it was a delirium of polluted brain.

“That's not something we should discuss for a night. I'll tell you everything later.” Ajax put his pinky finger towards you and you did so, sealing the promise.

In a small talk you were the one to lead the conversation. Ajax kept you in his tight embrace, replying leisurely. His warmth and soft smell of his sweat made you feel relaxed – in this chaos of life Ajax's hands were the only space you felt safe in. It was selfish, it was unfair, but Ajax was the only reason that kept you in this world. His love was your motivation to live and become better. You wanted to protect Ajax in your own way by giving him solace he needed. No one could replace you in his life, no one could love him and comfort him better than you. Was it jealousy? It definitely was. You couldn't even imagine Ajax doing the same things he did for you to another woman. Those fantasies made you feel angry and reckless.

You turned your head to him, his lips were dangerously close to yours. You looked at him, waiting for something more – out of sudden the desire to be closer awoke in you. Ajax tarried, taken aback by your sudden move, so you pressed your lips to his gently. He slightly opened his mouth, helding your lower lip between his. You felt Ajax fingers brushing over your jawline, that made you hold your breath. An unusual drawing feeling curled in your lower belly; it made you thirsty for more than a kiss – your nipples hardened, full of lustful sensation.

“This is wrong…” he whispered, pulling away from you. The two extremes were fighting inside his soul – being on the verge of another Fall, Ajax suddenly remembered that he was a virtuous man once. Even his corroded heart contracted nervously. He desired to have you, but you were his sister.

Perhaps, he just needed a little push into this abyss.

Ajax quickly got on top of you, his trembling hands caught your hips. It was the first time he touched a woman in such a private place, that left him overly excited: the beast he was restraining broke out. His mouth covered yours, he placed heated kisses across your face, got down to your neck, biting soft skin, then traveled lower, until your night dress. Ajax's ardor surprised you, the way he forcefully pushed his tongue inside your mouth and squeezed your breasts with tenacious slender fingers made you squeak.

Ajax lost his mind: all the moral borders were broken and he was striving to push his erected member into your hot, wet place. Afterall, you were a woman in the first place, so it was nothing wrong in sharing bed with you and making you bear his children.

It was hastily and clumsily, as arousal and thrill of being caught took over both of you. Ajax pulled down his pants quickly; you felt the tip of his cock pressing to your entrance. It was more painful than you expected it to be, so you bit on your index finger to ease that stinging feeling.

“Please, relax…” you heard your brother's husky voice. You did as he asked, and Ajax showed more of his member into you. It was hard not to cry, as it felt like you were about to split in half from this burning and stinging ache. Ajax's lips were trembling, as he was close to climax already.

You kept silent when Ajax started bucking his hips into yours. The process wasn't pleasurable at all and left you praying for it to end soon. Ajax, unlike you, couldn't keep his voice inside his throat, and moaned quietly: your quivering wet walls wrapped him around, sucking his cock deeper inside your womanhood. He had never felt more pleasure in his life. It didn't take long for Ajax to cum, staining your walls with his seed.

The following fuss went in a shy and wordless atmosphere. You left to clean yourself up, and Ajax stayed in the room to fix the bed. Intimacy proved to Ajax that you loved him the way he loved you – and your relationship should result in marriage. He was ready to marry you right now, but it was impossible to his own regret. Demons suggested Ajax take you to another village and introduce you as an orphan to a priest, so the marriage would be possible. His mood lightened – it was the first time those devils recommended something good to him.

You came back and curled on the bed, as your lower tummy still disturbed you. Ajax hugged you and fell asleep right at the moment, soothed by your warmth. Your brain was restless. For demons it was a triumph, you thought. Despite the fact that this night was calm, you still felt their presence. They were a part of your normality, so you tried to think positively of them. It was very convenient to have servants like them, probably: all the dirty and impossible work was on their shoulders and they couldn't say no.

You snapped out of your cogitation. You got an awareness that it wasn't your thoughts. They belonged to your head, but were planted in here artificially. You knew yourself well enough (at least you thought you were) and it wasn't in your character to have such destructive ideas. You didn't want to end up like Ajax – losing yourself over uncontrollable animal impulses that were implied to him by demons. They were trying to take control over you, you were sure, and Archons did nothing to protect you, which led you to a painful question – was there any point in praying to someone, who didn't respond to you? Slowly you started to understand your grandmother, and it sent shivers down your spine.

To calm down you got out of bed and came to the window. Looking out, you saw the Moon. It was unusually bright today, you could see its surface in detail out of your window. It was exciting, for a moment you forgot how to breathe, beholding celestial beauty. Was it possible to reach it? You never heard of experiments of entering outer space, but you were sure it was possible. Why didn't Archons try it? Or, maybe, there were experiments, but in your obscure village no one heard of it. You sighed heavily. You were jealous of Capital citizens, they had everything on their plate by birthright. Ajax promised you that he would find a school for you in the Capital, but you were sure it wouldn't happen. He would be a regular soldier, no one would even think about doing him favors at the beginning of his career. If only you had access to actual knowledge and science… you brushed it away. You had enough disappointments in your life and didn't want to focus on sadness before going to bed.

Unexpectedly, out of nowhere, you saw a green lightning in front of you. It disappeared before you could react, and something fell on the floor, making a sound of fallen glass. You picked up what turned out to be a trinket, something similar to a pendant by its shape and design, but it lacked a chain.

Shadows in the room started shifting chaotically.

“What happened?!” Ajax jumped on the bed, aware of a strange sound. He quickly made it to the window and looked out, then he rushed about the room. “I heard something.” Ajax was turning his head, his eyes peering into the darkness.

“I don't know…” You came to him and showed the find. “It appeared here.”

“A Vision!” Ajax exclaimed and covered your hand with the trinket. “You should hide it, okay? Don't let someone see it.”

“Why? Is it bad?” You got scared and wanted to throw it away, thinking of it as some kind of cursed treasure.

“No. I don't know what you wished for, but Celestia found your desire worthy of attention and granted you Vision. It allows you to manipulate a certain element of nature,” Ajax took his hand off and looked at it. “Dendro, in your case. I have one too. Mine is Hydro.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” You spoke with an offended tone. You thought Ajax would share such a great thing with you, but he chose to conceal it.

“I was told not to. I'm sorry, dove.” He got a guilty face and scratched his head. “But it means we became even closer! You and I both have extraordinary powers. I'll teach you how to use them.”

“I thought we were close enough already. Thanks, I guess.” You looked at the Vision again and decided to hide it in the same spot with the diary.

You had no idea on how to use it and why you needed it, but at the same time it gave you a hope – if Celestia counted you as worthy, then your future was determined to be interesting and wasn't bonded with this gloomy village.

One day was left until the set date. You thought parents would prepare some kind of celebration or a farewell dinner, but nothing was done. Everyone took it as a natural part of his life, as if nothing had to happen. You were puzzled, until you realized: for them Ajax's enlistment in the Fatui was a shame. Instead of saying proper goodbye to Ajax and spending time with him, father brought his friend, Pavel Korneevich, into the house and introduced him as your groom to everyone.

You could swear: you physically sensed the immediate tension and confusion coming from Ajax. Your opinion wasn't welcomed, so you stayed silent, afraid to stand up for yourself. You weren't just shocked – you were scared to death. All your dreams for a happier life were about to be broken with a marriage.

It was scandalous: Pavel Korneevich was old enough to be your father. You were indecently younger, yet it didn't stop father from bringing this man into his own house. With this gesture he showed how little respect for you he had had, and the scanty amount of good things he had ever done to you was immediately forgotten by you. That grain of love you had for him was destroyed and turned into pure hatred. But Pavel Korneevich… How could he even think about marrying you? He was out of his mind, if he thought of you as a suitable wife for himself.

“Is this some kind of a cruel joke?” Ajax's aura gave you shivers. His tone was serious, yet soft and sickly sweet, while his slightly narrowed eyes were fixed on the guest and father. “Don't you dare to put a ring on her while I'm out. I want to see my dear sister walking down the aisle with my own eyes.”

Ajax's words didn't make sense and you hoped that he said it only to win time. Ajax stood behind your back and put his heavy hand on your shoulder, that almost broke at the weight and a tight squeeze that he gave you. You portrayed a labored, trembling smile.

“Of course,” Pavel Korneevich nodded. “We need no rush in such things.”

“Sure,” Father grunted, munching on his wrinkled dry lips. “You are free to go. We have business to discuss.” Then he looked at you and, without calling your name, addressed you. “Pasha will talk to you later.”

On numb legs you made it to your room, Ajax following you like a shadow. As soon as you entered the private area, you cried out and fell on your knees, helpless and miserable. All he could do was hold you in his arms and remain silent.

A familiar shadow appeared in front of Ajax, waiting for instructions. Ugly, ridiculously slim and tall, the demon in the shape of a man with a pig's nose was looking right into Ajax's soul. A second shadow, small and stout, showed up right near the first one: the same pig nose, but also small sly eyes. It was too late to pray, so Ajax made an order – to ruin the wedding and kill Pavel Korneevich, but his death should seem natural. By sinister smiles that bloomed on twisted faces and revealed sharp, abnormal teeth, Ajax figured out that the order was taken. They disappeared to prepare their nasty trap.

“Worry not, dove,” Ajax nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. “I'll take care of it. Your brother will never leave you. I'll always be here to help you.”

On the contrary, Ajax's words made you feel even worse than you did before: dragged away from his home, he would think about you without the opportunity to communicate with you properly. You wanted to disappear, to dissolve, to stop existing in a physical way only to escape from this agony. If not Pavel Korneevich, then somebody else would be chosen as your groom. Parents wouldn't miss an opportunity to get rid of you. What could you do?

“Take me with you!” You clutched at the collar of his shirt, your gaze crazy behind the clumped lashes and redness of the eyes. “Take me with you, or I will run away!”

Ajax hardly endured your emotional breakdown. Your broken voice and hysterical ideas were impossible to listen to; at this point he wished for the night to come sooner and take him from this cursed house – he didn't tell you that Fatui would take him in the night to avoid unwanted attention. Ajax stayed until you cried yourself to sleep. The last day with you was meant to be tragic, for his own regret. When the clock struck midnight, Fatui appeared in the yard, waiting for him. Mother gave Ajax a heartless kiss at his cheek, and father remained uninvolved. Ajax left without looking back not to torture his soul. For the first time of his life he found calmness.

The gate grated, soldiers in heavy boots left, leaving deep footprints on the snow; a small lamp went out inside the house. The moon was unusually bright, its agily light oozed into the house through every crack. Your room was filled with moonlight, making it as bright as day. In your dreamless sleep you heard someone calling your name, and your body, hit by impulses, stood up on its own, pursuing the voice; step by step you made it to the front door.

The door opened on itself and closed, when you walked out. Your bare feet touched the snow; it melted from your heat. A bigger celestial body closed the Moon, causing the eclipse and hiding all the blissful light that Illuminated you. You felt like falling: the horrifying hungry maw of abyss opened under your feet, swallowing you into the darkness and covering your body with snow. You opened your eyes and saw nothing. You landed on the stone floor, all your body responded with pain.

It was a big room with just one chair and a burning fireplace. Cold walls of unknown color were hidden in the dark, as well as other spaces of the room. You heard steps and a woman appeared in front of you. She had long white hair and manic crimson eyes. Her expressionless face scared you.

“This must be a joke.” She smiled to herself. “How could a worm like you deserve the Forgotten God's blessing? This is ridiculous.” She turned back on her heels. The cape on her bony shoulders followed her moves, and you noticed dozens of death masks that froze in scream on the hemline.

“Where am I?!” Your voice broke on scream. It couldn't be that the nightmare from your grandmother's shack found you in Morepesok.

The woman sighed irritably. “He had one job – yet he failed. You are in the Abyss. The power you stole from your brother brought you there.”

“I want to go back.” You stated. Unusual hardness in your voice made the woman laugh. “This ain't funny! I'm tired of these devilish tricks I'm being involved in! I swear this time I'll fight you instead of running away!”

“Then fight.”

At an impossible speed she made an attack that struck you into your shoulder and made you fly to the nearest wall. You couldn't breath at the pain you felt – it seemed like your clavicle, scapula and ribs were crumbled into tiniest pieces. You were opening and closing your mouth with no sound, just like a fish that was taken out of water and left to die on the surface. It was a pure shock that paralyzed you and concentrated your brain on the inhuman pain.

The woman sat in the chair and looked at the fireplace, as she immediately lost her interest in you. You didn't know how much time had passed since you were left to suffer, but it felt like decades to you before you were able to stand up.

“You possess great power, yet I bet you know nothing about it. That's why you should think before stealing.” She spoke, watching the fire. “I heard a prophecy about brother and sister, who would free us from the shadows we were trapped in and restore the ancient order. It doesn't matter anymore – deep inside I stayed skeptical, and it proved that all prophecies are lies. Look at your right hand.”

You did as she said and staggered. One of your wrists was abnormal: your fingers, palm and veins got black, traces of the same color ascended until your elbow.

“I'll teach you the concept of ritual – that's the starting point of your journey. Then, you will be on your own.” She let out a short chuckle, full of sadistic anticipation.

#genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin fic #genshin impact smut #childe x you #childe x fem!reader #childe x reader smut #childe smut #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader

106 notes · View notes

mushiemellows · 4 months ago

Text

✨UPDATED!✨

All of my Frobin fics I have written from December 2023 when I first started writing, up through my most recent work posted October 2024, stored in one convenient place! 🌸

🍔 Staying Right Here (and not a step closer)

RATING: E

words: 317,056 status: COMPLETE chapters: 14

Set the week Post-Enies Lobby. The core lore mostly canon compliant getting together fic. Weird sex, fast food, and an accidental wedding. My first big fic, and an adventure into writing smut. Epilogues go up through timeskip/Fishman Island reunion.

🐊 These Foolish Things

RATING: M

words: 14,178 status: ONE SHOT

Includes the Wanihana ship to tell a story of Robin's healing over time. A songfic that uses a whole catalog of Frank Sinatra songs to frame Franky and Crocodile's differing relationships to Robin. A bit more serious, as it discusses abuse. This one was a practice in writing in complex tense.

✈️ Floating Through the Stratosphere

RATING: E

words: 30,742 status: COMPLETE chapters: 2

Modern day airplane pilot AU except they are only rarely on the plane. Half one-bed-rom-com, half amnesia medical drama. This was a really fun world to build up, and I've been considering writing more stories within this world.

🕵🏻‍♀️ The Sunday Affair

RATING: E

Words: 68,078 status: ONGOING chapters: 8 (/10)

Robin is a Russian spy, Franky is an American spy. Its 1967 Cold War DC. Franky is assigned to find and kill an assassin named Sunday, Robin has to assassinate an agent named Flam. Oh, and they're married.

⏱ Another Day in the Sun

RATING: T

words: 43,413 status: ONGOING chapters: 7/ ???

The crew is stuck in a time loop, living the same day over and over again, but only some can tell. Matchmakers Robin and Franky have to get everyone to kiss each other. A thinly veiled fun little excuse to make everyone make out. And also its a bit (lot) poly (Paradise+EB5). An adventure in keeping things T.

🍼 Super Troupers

RATING: M

words: 11,130 status: ONGOING chapters: 1 (/3)

A baby fic! Chapter 1 is mostly set up, pregnancy, and delivery. But I'm still working at the follow up chapters, I want to tell more little stories with each of the boys. A bit sweet and sappy and emotionally indulgent but I don't care I love this fambly. M rating only for blood and a few intense discussions around pregnancy.

⚡️ What Makes a Man

RATING: M

words: 47,592 status: ONGOING chapters: 14 (/20?)

Putting the Franky in Frankenstein. A reanimation fic. Franky dies at Laugh Tale but leaves behind instructions for Robin to put him back together. Mainly meant to be little pocket character studies. BACK FROM THE DEAD, NOT ABANDONED FIC! I told ya I'd update it.

💀 For the Thrill of It

RATING: E

words: 46,551 status: COMPLETE chapters: 2

Nasty spooky Thriller Bark monsterfucker erotica. Brook joins the party and things get Weird. 5+1 but more like a 5+2. Established Frob with added skeleton. Chapter 2 has now been added, Robin's pov + bonus scenes. And perhaps a chapter 3 still lives in the back of my brain.

🤖 Handle With Care

RATING: E

words: 13,365 status: ONE SHOT

More nasty erotica for the sake of itself. Franky gets hurt, needing significant repairs and a full service tune up. This one is distinctly T4T. This one was written simply because no one else had written like, proper robot shit with Franky on ao3 and I was so appalled to see the hole in the market that I just HAD to fill it.

🧰 Showoff (the devil’s in the details)

RATING: E

words: 16,929 status: ONE SHOT

Even MORE pwp. Post-Egghead on the run to Elbaf, Franky shows Lilith Sunny and all of his little inventions. Things heat up between him, her, and Robin, but Vegapunk keeps all the praise to herself. This one was written in gut reaction to the most recent chapter, and I think I wrote it for entirely personal reasons lol. Franky just wants to be told he did a good job.

That's all I wrote! 610,000 words this year (of just my posted fics, not counting other works and wips) (and 45,000 words posted Halloweek alone!). I'm really proud about how my writing has developed over the year, I hadn't written much in the past so this was a huge journey, but a really fun one. Thanks for growing with me! Enjoy the works!

#yes my ao3 and tumblr names are slightly different #its bc this is where i chill tf out #long post #my fic #one piece #frobin #nico robin #op robin #cyborg franky #op franky #one piece franky #ao3 #fic masterpost #I have written TOO MUCH this year #mdni #UPDATED #need to be put down for posting 600k in 11 months

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papastarion · 1 year ago

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Papastarion Headcanons

Because I have been plagued by visions of Astarion with a dhampiric horde of children for the past few weeks, and now I must inflict it on others. (These are based in my own personal canon for the postgame, so Thea = Tav.)

He’s initially terrified of the idea of having a child, but he plays it cool, because of course he would. Dhampirs are uncommon, and he worries about losing the love of his life if something happens. Having someone else to lose now, too, doesn’t make it any easier to turn his mind back to rational thinking.

Once the idea settles, gods help everyone. He’s proud as a peacock, and cautiously optimistic about this new part of his future. It helps that he’s known how badly Thea has wanted a family for almost as long as he’s known her. He just never thought he would be able to give it to her, and he can’t quite put into words how grateful he is that she didn’t have to give it up for him, after all.

It also helps that they’ve been functional coparents to their adopted daughter (my friend’s Tav) since they met the girl post-nautiloid. As far as he and Thea are concerned, she’s just as much theirs as this one is.

She’s not their only adopted child, either. While Thea is pregnant with their first biological child, they also end up adopting a newborn Mephistopheles tiefling they name Mina. She’s the biological daughter of Thea’s ex-husband, in fact. When Thea finds out said ex plans on doing away with his newborn child to hide the fact that his family has made deals with devils, she and Astarion jump in to take the girl.

Dalyria is also a major help. Research on dhampirs is limited, so not only does she get to add to the woefully limited information with her own observations, but she also gets to be there for her brother and Thea, who she’s become good friends with. As a druid, Thea likes to discuss medical herbology with Dalyria while Dalyria likes to teach her more complex medical skills. Dalyria is also the one who delivers all of their children. Thea and Astarion don’t trust anyone else like they trust her when the time comes.

If Astarion thought Thea was the most beautiful person in the world before, then there’s no word for what he thinks of her over the course of her pregnancy, and after.

The first time he holds their firstborn, a boy they name Nero, he’s smitten. As far as Astarion is concerned, he’s perfect. He never wants to let him go. It takes him a while to reconcile the fact that he could have had any part in making someone so innocent.

He loves taking catnaps with his kids, especially while they’re still really small. They’re so warm and the feeling of them tucked against his chest, completely trusting of him, never gets old.

He was never one to give much thought to children before Thea. He never really considered having his own, especially not after Cazador. But he’s the type to think his kids are perfect and everyone one else’s should be like them. Very proud dad.

He’s very protective, too. Nothing could stand between him and protecting his family. He’d tear down Faerûn if it would keep them safe. However, he doesn’t keep them out of all trouble. He can be quite the partner in crime when it comes to pranks.

I refuse to believe they don’t find a way for him to walk in the sun again. He loves traveling as a family. They definitely have their place they call home, but there’s too much world to stay in one place, and he wants their children to see it all, too.

Dhampir teething is a nightmare. They’re already miserable about the whole ordeal, but it gets worse once their fangs start to come in, too. He tries to make sure if they’re going to bite, they’re biting him, not Thea or one of their siblings.

He tells the best bedtime stories, hands down. It’s because his voice is so animated.

He and Thea have a total of seven children to their name - their two adopted daughters and five biological children. He’s never less awestruck about how his life has turned out, not by Thea or by their children. The irony of the total coming out to seven is not lost on him.

#I just think Astarion would be a good dad and I think he deserves to have the most chaotic brood of children in the Realms #he’s the Vampire Ascendant to YOU to me he’s a PTA Dad who would dominate a bake sale #Astarion #my Tav #bg3 #Thea

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scarletttries · 1 year ago

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The Apple Falls Far From The Tree (Roman Roy Succession Request)

Pairing: Roman Roy (Succession) x Preg!Reader

Request: "I loved the pregnancy head-canons! Could I request an extended one for Roman, or perhaps a one-shot? I love your writing!!"

Word Count: 1.1k of angst and fluff :)

Author's Note: Thank you for this very cute request, I'm glad you enjoyed the pregnancy headcanons and want more fluff for our boy Roman 🥰

The Apple Falls Far From The Tree

Whenever a couple gets pregnant in the movies, it's the mother that locks herself in a bathroom, unable to face this reality until she's had her moment of quiet acceptance. But in those films no-one has a father like Logan Roy, or quite the range of bathrooms to lock themselves in across their sprawling penthouse landscape. And so you find yourself sat on the floor outside one of Roman's many bathrooms, back pressed to the cold lacquered wood of the door, quietly listening to the desperate gasps of your other half cowering on the other side of it.

This hadn't exactly been in yours and Roman's plan. Hell, you and Roman had never really had a plan. It had taken him months to even kiss you, and you quickly learned that discussing the future left him feeling closed in like a rabid animal trapped in a hunter's cage. His life had left any sense of joy and optimism in shreds when you found him, and as you lured him away from his toxic family and into the safety of your love, you had tried to make only careful moves so as not to spook him and leaving him running back to the devil he knew. But months had turned into years, and slowly his home became yours, and his future became promised to you in every way but verbally. Tearing down the walls around him, carefully taking brick by brick apart, Roman learned what real love was, reassured every time he lashed out and you stayed to help him through it. Finally he'd even grown to crave physical affection from you as well, a once repulsed recluse now wishing more than anything he could feel your body pressed against his, in the salvation he'd grown dependence on.

But when he'd come through the door that day to the news of a little cross on a test and a big change to your safe and comfortable life, it was like he'd gone back to being a five year old boy fighting back tears to avoid his father's swift hand, running to the bathroom and locking the door as he chanted over and over again that's "he's fucking fine." The moment the door was secured behind him, his knees gave out, the cold marble floor catching his fall in a way that would leave his forearms bruised for weeks. He tugs his knees up to his chest, letting sobs break free to drown out your gentle knocking, until the other side of the door goes quiet and he's left alone with his own sense of panic and dread.

Every inch of him feels cold as he pictures himself in his father's cruel shoes, a tiny version of you looking up at him in tears, expecting nothing but cold disappointment in the place of love and affection. The thought turns his stomach, knowing with every fibre of his being that he couldn't ever lay a hand on a child, let alone one that reminded him of you. As his breath finally coming back under his control, Roman starts to sit up, picturing who he might have become if he was raised by someone like you; kind, understanding, patient. You were everything a child would need, and you certainly didn't need him in the way. As he listens more closely, he can't hear anything outside the bathroom door anymore, an aching disappointment tearing through his heart at the possibility that you've done what's best for that child and just left him. The hopeless disappointment brings a new flood of tears as he realises just how much that's not what he wants, your perfect family of two not necessarily imploding by the mere fact of its expansion. He wants to be with you, through everything, gradually rising to his feet with the need to follow after you, to chase down his future happiness and tell you he'll do whatever it takes to be what your family needs.

He rips the bathroom door open with every ounce of strength that remains in his trembling body and watches as you come with it, sliding down the wood until your head reaches the bathroom floor, staring up at Roman with wide eyes as you try to take him in.

"How are you feeling?" You try to ask sensitively, ignoring the absurdity of your head resting between his feet as he looms over you. His face contorts in the strange, struggling way it does when he's trying to let himself feel things, and suddenly that familiar hyena laugh erupts from inside him, his body surrendering to your gravitational force and sinking back to the ground. He sits with his legs crossed, looking more like a boy than a man as he gingerly pulls your head into his lap, stroking strands of hair from your face where your own tears have framed them.

"You know me, cool as a fucking cucumber, nothing to worry about." He chokes out in laughter, watching your chest rise and fall as you fight back a teasing laugh, relieved to see him smiling again. "But I'm ready, let's fucking do this. Let's have a baby."

You almost can't believe the words as they spill from his lips, but his cheeks flush with colour as he smiles, and his eyes glisten through tears and you get the impression that this isn't a dismissive Roman acceptance, but real and genuine enthusiasm, your heart growing at the man he's become in his time with you.

"You know you're going to be really good at it." You whisper warmly as you rise from his lap and turn to face him, capturing his face in your gentle hands, and wiping away the sheer volume of tears that threaten to render him dehydrated.

"Well I was already so good at the baby-making part." He quips sarcastically, wiggling his eye brows as you smooth your thumbs over them.

"That too. But I mean you'll make a great dad Rome, I know it." His eyes are almost pleading as they meet yours, begging for the sentiment to be true, for you to have faith that he can be the kind of man you deserve. Slowly his hand will fall to your stomach, another choking sob echoing through the bathroom as he lets himself feel hope, that his future might contain yet another bright thing he never could have imagined for himself before he met you.

#writing #fanfiction #one shot #requests #succession #succession imagine #succession hbo #roman roy angst #roman roy fluff #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #roman roy

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tellmeallaboutit · 2 months ago

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knock knock (Raphael x Player)

Chapter 16, In Which You Take The Pills and Stop Seeing Things

Read on AO3

Apollonia Saintclair - La paix des profondeurs

"How bad?" you asked, rolling a cigarette between your fingers.

Angus sighed and adjusted his round glasses.

"How bad, Dr Bambauer?" you repeated, your eyes drawn to the rhythmic chiming of the antique clock on his desk.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

He cleared his throat, fingers intertwined on the polished wooden surface of his desk. "Well, in our line of work, there isn't really a benchmark for such severe cognitive turmoil, Mr. D'Avergni."

Translation: it's bad. You sank back into the plush upholstery of the guest chair, running a hand over your face.

"Ms Berger is suffering from an intense case of delusional psychosis. She's heavily invested in her fantasies, I am afraid," Dr Bambauer began, his voice as dull as a lullaby. "She has invented her own elaborate universe centred around your alter ego - you might know him as Raphael".

At first, you found it strangely endearing - flattering - that Anya saw you as the literal devil. Less so when you found out the character who she was actually referring to.

"Not only him, though. Other characters include a certain being she refers to as Mr Goat - possibly a manifestation of her Catholic guilt - as well as Agent Cooper and the dwarf from Twin Peaks..."

"The TV show?" You raised an eyebrow. "Anya genuinely believes Twin Peaks is real?"

The office was dimly lit despite the midday hour, the walls lined with bookshelves and framed pictures of Bacon-esque paintings that were clearly meant to unsettle rather than reassure.

"Ms. Berger's understanding of the concept of "real" seemed tenuous at best," Angus nodded. "And I too seem to have been cast as a character known as 'The Dollmaker'. According to Ms Berger, I perform lobotomies on children and sell them to sex trafficking rings”.

"And you've done nothing of the sort, I trust?" You gave him a wry smile.

You had always found Angus a little eerie, but the family would never associate with someone who fiddled with children. Plus, he did manage to keep Uncle Giovanni off the bottle.

"Do you find it appropriate to joke about this, Mr. D'Avergni?"

There was probably no scenario on Earth that Angus would deem appropriate to joke about.

"I don't know what's appropriate in such situations," you said.

Dr Bambauer rose from his chair, his hands clasped behind his back. He was skinny as a rake, not a muscle on him. You could learn anatomy on him, the outlines of his skull very visible through his gaunt cheeks.

"What would be appropriate is a daily regimen of olanzapine, under my strict supervision. Ms. Berger will have to stay here for at least a month”.

A month?..

How are you supposed to go a month without Anya?

“There is an issue we need to discuss, however”, he continued.

A month.

Dr Bambauer's eyes drifted across the clinic courtyard. "Mrs Berger is expecting a child. I'd say she's in her first few weeks of pregnancy; her hCG levels are just beginning to indicate implantation."

You re-played his phrase three times in your mind before it finally registered.

"Are you serious?" you asked, sounding more choked than you intended.

Could this really happen? Anya had made some casual remarks... You hadn't bothered with condoms, true... But she never seemed worried, or even to mention it; you assumed she must have been taking birth control pills, and if she wasn't, well, that didn't bother you either.

"Why would I joke about such a thing?" said Dr Bambauer.

Then it's true. It's true. Anya was with a child; your child. Your firstborn.

"I mean..." you laughed, your hands spreading with joy. “This is brilliant news! The best bloody news I've heard in ages! That’s what you should have started with, doc!"

If only your father would have killed himself half a year later to live to hear the news.

Angus did not smile back.

"I'm not sure you're following me, Mr D'Avergni," he said. "Mrs Berger needs to be heavily medicated with antipsychotic drugs in the first trimester of her pregnancy. Do you follow me now? There is an imminent risk of serious birth defects. I recommend a pill-induced abortion”.

The urge to grab this man by his collar and slam him against the wooden desk until his skull cracked suddenly became absolutely irresistible.

"Dr Bambauer," you said, rising from your chair, "you are talking to a Catholic man about his firstborn. Choose. Your. Words. Carefully. Anya and I will make the decision, and I can already tell you what our decision will be. We are keeping this child.”

You drummed your fingers on the table.

"I'm afraid Mrs Berger is not in a position to make a rational decision at the moment," Angus interjected. "She's unaware of her condition, and given her current psychological state, informing her could trigger catastrophic delusions. Carrying the Antichrist, for example."

He went on, seemingly unaware of the thinly veiled threat in your eyes.

"So, without an appointed guardian - and as a lawyer you are well aware what a long and complicated process that can be..."

Well, he was right.

It is a long and complicated process unless you have a psychiatrist with the right connections behind you.

"Let's say that would be me," you interrupted.

Dr Bambauer visibly stiffened (a feat considering his already rigid posture) and gave you a long, hard look.

"Mr D'Avergni, I have to say…"

“Let me have my say first”, you interrupted.

You snatched up his notebook and pen, scribbling across the next page - two million Swiss francs in cash.

"A small donation to one of the most prestigious mental health institutions in the world," you said as you pushed the note towards him. “God knows the world needs sanity now more than ever”.

His expression barely changed.

"Your generosity is truly boundless”, he said. “I suppose we could speed up certain procedures. I have no doubts you act in good faith and Mrs Berger's welfare is your priority."

"Seeing right through people is your job description," you replied. "Listen, Dr Bambauer... I need to get Anya out of here immediately. She can't be cooped up in this hospital all alone while she's pregnant. She needs to be with me. I can keep an eye on her."

"You cannot be serious, Mr D'Avergni. You are still taking your medication, aren’t you?"

Your muscles tensed at his comment as you gave him a stiff nod. You watched these videos from Davos over and over again. You fiddled with the cross on your chest, your mother’s; the night Anya was hospitalised, you pulled one out of the old jewellery box.

It wouldn’t hurt, you thought.

And it didn’t.

"Mrs Berger is not well. At all. She has to stay under my direct supervision," you tapped on the paper you promised money on, so that Angus corrected himself: "Mr. D’Avergni, at least until she somewhat stabilises. We are still keeping her restrained in case of another attempt at self-harm".

"Well then, do everything in your power to give her the best treatment”, you said. “I expect quick results".

"Mr D'Avergni," Dr Bambauer sighed. "I don’t think you realise… Let’s put it this way: I don't think Mrs Berger even knows what you look like".

"I beg your pardon?"

He shrugged his shoulders and said, "One of the nurses overheard Ms. Berger describing her fiancé. Let me say, I was surprised with certain… deviations… from reality”.

***

They said if you behaved better, they would stop strapping you to the bed.

Which, of course, turned out to be complete bullshit.

"We are so sorry that we have to restrain you, Mrs Berger”.

Like hell they were. They were not sorry at all when they tied your ankles and wrists to the bed in your solitary confinement suite, a postcard view of the Matterhorn through the window. They were not sorry at all when they forced more pills down your throat, as if you were a cat fighting against its bitter medicine, and when you spit them out, they actually stripped down your trousers and injected something in your asscheek.

How disgustingly polite they were about it only made things worse; people are only polite like that to fucking crazies, and you were not crazy. You would definitely cooperate if they stopped treating you like one. It was a mistake, you told them, a terrible fucking mistake and misunderstanding, and it should not be happening to you.

No way Raphael would allow that.

He won’t treat his little mouse this way. You know him. They do not know him, so they would regret what they are doing very, very much. You did what he wanted. You killed that woman. You deserved a treat, not a punishment. You did what he…

"You didn’t kill anyone, Ms. Berger, please, calm down. We don't want you cutting your wrists again, Ms. Berger."

Fuck you, was your eloquent reply, fuck you, and where the fuck was Raphael?

I wish he was here.

I wish you all would die. I wish, I wish, I wish.

You passed out before you could see if your wish had come true.

***

You were half asleep when it came true and you saw Raphael again. Black waistcoat over a crisp white shirt, a bunch of roses in his hand. He looked so sorry, as if he hadn't been the one who had thrown you into this madhouse in the first place.

"You're here at last," you murmured from your sleep. "Now tell me why I've been trapped in this hellhole."

Next you tried to reach out to him, only to be held back by your restraints. He glanced at them, clearly torn between freeing you or leaving you trussed up like a Christmas turkey, and chose the latter, gently stroking your shoulder as if that would make you feel any better.

"You have too much faith in my bondage kink," you tried to joke. Didn't really land.

"Anya, mia piccola," he said softly. "I'm so sorry this is happening to you."

No, not Raul. Not him, not now.

Where...in...the...bloody...hell...is...Raphael!?

"I never wanted to kill myself," you said. "I swear, I only cut myself with broken glass because I panicked and wanted to snap back to reality. Not because I wanted to die. Please tell them to stop strapping me to this bed, it's ridiculous. You believe me, right? You don't think I'm crazy?"

There was a very long pause.

Much too long a pause.

What the hell have you done to deserve such treatment? Yes, you cut yourself, yes, you wanted with him to talk about Mr Goat (you still do), you... Oh no. Was this Raphael's twisted form of revenge for fondling Mr Goat's horns? It seemed the only explanation for why he'd thrown you into this five star prison.

"Anya," Raul finally said, "what colour are my eyes?"

This is a trick question, Anya, don’t trust him. This is a trick question. He is trying to set you up and make you think you are crazy. Go for something noncommittal.

"Hazel? Honey?" Raul’s expression twisted painfully and shit - what colour were Italian men’s eyes supposed to be? You quickly corrected yourself: "Brown! Definitely brown!".

He looked at you as if you'd slapped him across the face, and not in a sexy way.

"Light. Blue." He spoke every word as if he had difficulty breathing. "Quite unusual, I know. People have been complimenting my eyes all my life. Can't you see that?"

You could not see that. You didn’t want to see that either.

Damn, of all the Italians in Italy, why did you have to end up with the one who had blue eyes? What were the chances?

"Shit," was all you could say.

"I thought you were in love with me," Raul said. "you didn't even know what I looked like."

Damn. What were you supposed to say to that?

He got up from the chair next to your bed and repeated, his voice hollow: "You still don't know what I look like. You still… CAZZO!"

He slammed his fist against the window frame so hard that you flinched, but the glass held steady.

He looked on the verge of tears. Please don't cry. How were you supposed to handle a grown Italian man crying? You are the one who should be crying right now!

"CAZZO MALEDIZIONE!" Raul shouted again, his voice shaking. “MERDA, MERDA, MERDA!”

Great, keep screaming and we'll have nurses rushing in here, and you bet your ass it’s not him they would be sedating.

"I'm sorry, Raul." You said as you watched him try to regain control of himself. "It doesn't mean... Doesn't mean... Just because I see you differently doesn't change how I feel about you. Looks aren't everything, right? Who cares?"

That didn’t sound right.

He must have thought the same, because he did not say anything for a good minute and then gave you a very formal smile, all business nothing personal, which was way scarier than his outburst.

“I am sorry…”, you tried again.

"You don’t need to feel sorry for anything, Anya”, he interrupted. “You're sick, that much is clear. It's my…. responsibility to do everything I can to help you heal”.

You don’t need to heal, you opened your mouth to say, but he cut you off YET AGAIN:

“But I do think now it would be best if you stayed under Dr. Bambauer’s supervision for now."

Holy fuck no not the Dollmaker you are not stepping into his therapy room never

“No-no-no, baby, please”, you pleaded, struggling against the restraints. “Angus is… not a good man. At all. I swear he isn’t. And not because he lobotomies children or something. He just… isn’t. Don’t leave me alone with him. Baby, please. He will fuck me up”.

“I believe Angus to be a competent specialist”, Raul said, arms crossed over his chest. “Whether he is a good man is a different matter. I will have my people monitor this place - and your state - at all times, don’t worry. I won’t let anyone harm you”.

He placed a very chaste kiss on your forehead.

“I wish you all the best and pray for your swift recovery, Anya”.

FUCK YOU AND YOUR PRAYERS YOU PASTA-GOBBLING ASSHOLE!

That’s not what you said, no. What you did was put all your most “baby please” face and plead:

“Raul…”

“Don't argue with me, Anya,” He interrupted. “I know what’s best for you.”

read the rest of the chapter on ao3

#raphael bg3 #knock knock

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who-datgirl · 7 months ago

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Who IS Ruby Sunday?

My head is spinning over the secret identity of 15’s companion. Ruby is only in one season as Millie Gibson, something very important will have to happen to have her only appear in 8 episodes. At first I wondered if maybe Ruby was The Master hiding in plain sight as a human. Davies confirmed recently that The Master is taking a break from the plot, so that knocked them out of the running for Ruby’s identity. I am left with one headcanon that, regardless of it winds up true or not, exists rent-free in my mind.

I believe Ruby Sunday is the child of 12 and River Song. I think during their 24 years on Darillium, River wound up pregnant. Once she realized she was carrying The Doctor’s child, she took the TARDIS while 12 was busy with something (In the Husbands of River Song special she confirms that she often steals the TARDIS with The Doctor none the wiser). River carried out her 9 months of pregnancy in secret and used the Chameleon Arch on newborn Ruby. The TARDIS then chose the coordinates that landed her at the church on Ruby Road on Christmas Eve (A clue chosen by the TARDIS for The Doctor since River and 12’s time on Darillium started on Christmas Day). River then popped the TARDIS back on Darillium mere seconds after she left and lived out her remaining happy years with The Doctor, with the truth about Ruby weighing on her heart.

Why would River do this? Simple. The TARDIS is no place to raise a newborn. The Doctor would have stopped running and settled down on Earth to raise Ruby. River knew her time was almost up, but with a child The Doctor would have continued his 24-year vacation and extended it into Ruby’s adulthood. River loves The Doctor for their gallivanting around the universe and saving countless worlds through their travels. The thought that an untold amount of stars in the sky would vanish without The Doctor’s help broke River’s heart: “Maybe The Doctor would never have travelled again” was her fear. Rather than raising Ruby out of a mix of love for Ruby and grief for River, River chose to let The Doctor’s grief of River be their fuel for saving worlds instead. Also, River figured by letting a Ruby live a human life on Earth she would get a quiet and good life that is without Daleks, Cybermen, The Yssgaroth, Weeping Angels, and all the other horrors that The Doctor and his companions deal with. For anyone interested in seeing how I imagine 15 and River’s confrontation about Ruby playing out, I will post a dialogue I wrote between them at the end of this post.

NOW, onto the little easter eggs that I have noticed so far that give credence to Ruby being River’s child:

15’s run has had a ton of talk with Ruby about family and being adopted, The Doctors biological ties are definitely a theme of the season.

Ruby’s initials are R.S. Same as River Song.

As mentioned above, Ruby is born Christmas Eve. 12 and River’s time on Darillium began Christmas Day. The TARDIS chooses coordinates that best suit a Time Lord/Time Lady when a Chameleon Arch is used. I believe The TARDIS chose that time and place as a clue for The Doctor to eventually find Ruby.

Coincidence seems to be forcing Ruby and The Doctor together. Almost as if 15 is the answer to her question about who her actual parents are.

When viewing Ruby’s memory, her hooded mother points at 15 which alters the memory. River and The Doctor’s connection has been shown to transcend laws of time and space before (I.e. 11 being able to see River on Trenzalore and even kiss her projection from the Library).

There is such a pervasive theme of music between 15 and Ruby. The Christmas special kicks this off with a fun musical number which seems innocent enough. Since then, all the talk of music has caused the words “Melody” and “Song” to come up quite a few times in the latest season. The Devil’s Chord episode to me felt like a slap in the face with deliberate wordplay. Timothy Blake begins the episode by discussing melody with Henry Arbinger (and Melody is River’s birth name). Towards the end of the episode Maestro finds “A hidden SONG” in Ruby’s soul. If she is River’s daughter that would literally be her last name.

I listened to the hidden song in Ruby’s soul that she sings before the Christmas music several times. Melodically it is quite similar to the melancholy tune “sung” by the Towers of Darillium in the “Husbands of River Song” special.

In “BOOM” the ambulance could not identify 15 properly as a life form. The ambulance had the same error when trying to identify Ruby’s next of kin.

I think if I am correct, once restored to a Time Lady Ruby gets fatally wounded and regenerates into the next season’s companion. This is why Millie Gibson is only in one season. I think Ruby lives on, just as the new actress Varada Sethu (Also Millie and Varada are both credited in next season’s first episode, perhaps we see the regeneration then?)

Is there any truth to this theory? Ultimately, that is up to Davies. As I said before, for me it will live as true in my head rent-free regardless.

As promised, my headcanon confrontation between 15 and River at the church on Ruby Road

*15 stands in front of the hooded figure on Ruby Road, demanding that she pull down her hood*

15: I know who you are! I know who Ruby is. I just have one question that I cannot understand……..*tears forming in 15’s eyes* WHY…..River…..

*The hooded figure pulls down her hood, revealing the saddened expression of Professor River Song*

River: Hello, sweetie.

15: Why River, why did you hide her away from me?!

River: Do I need to make you a list of reasons a baby on the TARDIS is a horrible idea? Traveling the way you do is no place for a child. And that was my greatest fear. I know that for you, you lost me long ago. If, if you knew we had a child. You would’ve stopped immediately. You’d do the one thing you’d never do in a million years.

15: *Angrily* What’s so —

River: You’d stop running, Doctor. You’d park your TARDIS on some corner of London. You’d sweet talk yourself into a quaint home, in some quiet city. You and her would spend years on Earth while she learns to walk, to speak. Long enough that the day would come that she’s old enough to ask why she doesn’t have a mother. I couldn’t do that, but not just to her or you. Do you have any idea how many worlds would see their final dawn if you are not around to pop in and interrupt some horrible disaster? Why, I couldn’t risk every star in the sky going out due to some mix of love for our child and grief for me!

So I did what was best for her, and best for the universe. I used the arch. I landed here. A time and place where she would grow up to be loved and to have one thing neither of us ever had, a normal life. I gave her the gift of a life free from Daleks, from collapsing stars, from the cold of space. I did that, and then I hid her time lord essence in the safest place I could, the one place you’d never go. Nine months have passed for me but for The Doctor on Darillium, I will return after a few seconds. We still have a few more years to go in the long night, and you haven’t a clue I left. You’re the smartest man I’ve known, but also the stupidest.

15: Well the universe didn’t seem to want us to be apart did it?! Coincidence pushed and pushed until I found her, or she found me, I’m not even sure which happened first. Everywhere we went together there was children, mystery, belonging, family all practically forced into my view. I was the answer to her question. Every time she asked who were real parents were, coincidence nudged my foot in her direction. It nudged and nudged until we found each other, and then the answer to her heart’s song screamed itself out in silence. I was meant to be in her life and I got there…..it, it was just the long way around.

River: In my heart I knew, if anyone could find her with no clue to go on, it would be you. I don’t regret the actions I took to hide her, but I’m so glad you are with her now. You, at least, can know her. My diary is out of pages. I don’t have any room for adventures with my daughter. You Doctor, you have all of time and space. Show it to her! If the universe doesn’t want our daughter to live a life of domestic bliss on Earth, teach her to be the Time Lady that she’s clearly meant to be. For the first time in a long while, you don’t have to be the only one of your people on the TARDIS. You finally don’t have to be alone in this universe, and for that I am so happy.

**The Doctor gently grabs River, holding her in his arms**

15: River…if I could do anything to save you, you know—

**River wipes away her tears and slowly backs away after the embrace**

River: Oh sweetie. Hush now. You and I both know how this works. We’re always rushing by each other in reverse. You have the beginning of the rest of your life with her ahead of you. Me? Well……all I have is the time with you on Darillium. I really must be getting back. Eventually you’ll stop entertaining yourself or impressively monologuing to some poor sap on that planet and notice that the TARDIS is gone. I must be back before then.

**Rivers walks into the distance, fading into the darkness of Christmas Eve night. A lone stream of light appears as she opens the 12th Doctor’s TARDIS. River takes one last look at baby Ruby on the church steps, and then one last look at 15**

River: Until next time Doctor.

15: NEXT time? Wait, River. How in Earth do you mean?

*River grins widely at The Doctor, and says one word before shutting the TARDIS door*

River: Spoilers

*15 stares a long while at the now vacant space of their former lifetime’s TARDIS until the glimmer of an idea appears in their eyes. 15 dashes to their TARDIS. 15 slows their approach as they go deeper and deeper into the halls of the space-and-time-ship until they stop at the door. This is the one door on the TARDIS they refuse to walk by, to even think about. With tears forming in their eyes, they open the door for the first time in centuries. Cautiously they walk into the bedroom that 12 and River shared in their time on Darillium. The room’s lights slowly hum on, the bed still unmade on the side River slept so her imprint can be seen in the sheets. Atop her pillow, rests a Time Lord’s pocketwatch. 15 opens it and hears the hum of a Time Lord soul. Inside it are two holographic pictures, one on each side of the watch: one of River, one of the 12th Doctor. On the bottom of the watch 15 can see something inscribed in the Gallifreyan tongue. It reads a name: Amelia Song*

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randomfoggytiger · 1 year ago

Text

"Proving" Mulder Knew He Was the Father of Scully's Baby

(Had to get this out before the next part of Mulder's Alien Baby Baby Trauma series; so... here we go~!)

Mulder knew he was the father of Scully's baby before Three Words began; and his reticence had everything to do with his PTSD, guilt, and fear and nothing to do with feeling replaced by his partner's child. His ending monologue in Existence further proves this, concluding Mulder's emotional turbulence: "I think what we feared were the possibilities. The truth we both knew."

But how is that to be proven?

Cutting Out Context to Bait the Mystery

According to the script (uploaded here by @x-files-scripts, thank you~), Scully very casually mentions how far along she is separate from her concerns about (and to) Mulder. Mulder doesn't react to this information at all, meaning whatever his reticence and withdrawal were rooted in had nothing to do with feeling replaced as the father of her child.

Throughout their conversation, Mulder tries to keep Scully from digging deeper into his emotions or trauma, deflecting with humor or emotional separation. Scully finally directly addresses his distance; and (though a bit out-of-order from how it aired), the scene below makes two things very obvious:

SCULLY: Mulder --

MULDER: (cutting her off) -- whatever you're going to say, Scully, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be cold. Or ungrateful to you.

SCULLY: I don't know if you can truly understand what it was like.... And now to get you back....

MULDER manages a smile, finally. But only barely.

MULDER: You act like you're surprised.

Scully manages a chuckle, but she's truly worried about him.

SCULLY: I prayed so many nights. And my prayers were answered, Mulder.

MULDER: In more ways than one.

MULDER looks to Scully's stomach. Which she touches.

SCULLY: Yes.

MULDER: I'm so truly happy for you. I know what it means to you --

SCULLY: Mulder --

MULDER: (cuts her off again) -- but I'm having trouble processing any of this. I don't know why I'm here, or where I fit in anymore. I feel strange. Like this can't be happening.

SCULLY nods. Anything she had wanted to tell him will wait.

SCULLY: That's what I've been saying to myself for the last eight months.

What Scully "had wanted to tell him" had nothing to do with her child's paternity nor was that even a concern because she, as mentioned above, says "the last eight months" effortlessly. (An important note: because they kept no show bible, the writers forgot Mulder was missing three months and buried another three; but the intent behind that line is the same even if there isn't or wasn't a numbers problem to quibble over.)

"The last eight months" comes at the tail end of the conversation without a remark or quip from Mulder's perspective, meaning this wasn't news enough for him to comment on or even react to. Scully's statement bookended their discussion, meaning she wasn't drawing it out longer or forcing information down Mulder's throat that he wasn't ready to process. Since that is the case, both knew the problem wasn't her pregnancy (though it was a stressful factor) but was another, bigger concern.

Devil's advocate: Scully was trying to tell Mulder the baby was his-- Gillian Anderson's expressions debunk this theory, but we'll press on-- and the months referred to was how long Mulder was "gone": in which case, Scully being hugely pregnant would have been a huge tip off for her partner regardless; and Mulder, for as much as he is avoiding the obvious this episode, is not stupid.

By cutting up the script-- taking out important context and removing crucial lines-- the audience is left to speculate on information that what was intended to be understated yet obvious (though unconfirmed until the finale episodes.) Chris Carter and Spotnitz have already stated they'd baited Scully's pregnancy as much as they could (one such interview here, credit to @babygirlmulder1018 for the upload~) while always planning for Mulder to be the father. The problem with their method is that they sacrificed necessary clarity for ambiguity, leaving the actors to scramble or fill in the butchered gaps as much as they could with implied body language. Three Words Mulder's affectionate, though fleeting, glances at Scully's belly or Scully's heightening worry for his well-being are debatable clues, all dependent on the viewer's interpretation (even when rewatched with hindsight.) The key to any good mystery is to have all the puzzle pieces in place so that it makes sense when you go back and see them all line up. Cutting out important clues early just to bait the mystery is foolhardy, especially when those gaps are never filled-in with any answers; and The X-Files show, while built around unsolved or unresolved mysteries, always provided a likely explanation (even if that explanation was later revealed to not be entirely true.) It's a shame that this premediated action thoughtlessly skewed the reading of the scene so badly that it took away from its original intent-- Scully's worries over her partner as he becomes more and more lost in his trauma-- and turned it widely into a "bet he's jealous or feels left behind because Scully moved on without him" interpretation, muddying it for viewers over the decades to come.

It's not the first time a script has been stripped of its original intent to fit the vision of the showrunners (often to the frustration to the various writers, actors, directors, etc.); but there is a marked difference between the tampering done to, for example, David Duchovny's personal ideas and scripts in keeping with the mythos of the show (Cinefantastique: David Duchovny on "The Unnatural" and "Hollywood A.D.") and specifically removing an important piece of dialogue to intentionally blur a scene for "the mystery" without that action serving any goal other than obfuscation... and, ultimately, confusion.

Mulder Himself Proves He Knew

According to the script, Scully's concerns started in her partner's hospital room when Mulder's non-reaction snags her notice twice in a row:

"His reaction is so underwhelming that Scully has to laugh"; and

"The doctor has to chuckle, looking to Scully. But Scully isn't humored now. She reads something in Mulder past the humor. And Mulder catches her sensing it. That he is deeply troubled."

"Mulder catches her sensing it" is a crucial piece of information, smoothly setting up the scene at his apartment-- Mulder doesn't ice Scully out (always responding to her pleas with mustered up but genuine sympathy and sorrow) but he avoids her eyes as much as possible, not wanting to be read, to be "exposed." THAT is what concerns Scully-- never before in their partnership has he evaded eye contact, likely seeking it more often than any other person on the planet. But Mulder (also likely more than anyone else) knows that eyes are the windows to the soul; and he doesn't want his bared (yet.)

The tricky part of the ensuing scenes is not to mistake his avoidance of Scully's detection with his avoidance of the baby. Mulder is avoiding everything equally-- but he will still spare a moment for his partner or his baby here and there before snatching away his focus again, dodging any opportunity that might lead to vulnerability.

At his apartment, Mulder turns aside whenever he can or spreads a plaster-fake grin on his face when in conversation;

but it melts into sincerity after he finally acknowledges the baby in the room. It's not quite happiness, but it is a form of contentment and a little pride (similar to his look on the couch in Empedocles.)

When Scully wants to commit anarchy over Kersh's tyrannical terms, Mulder squashes that impulse flat, sparing a strained but still sincere smile as he directs her attention to the pragmatic fact of her baby.

(It's not until "Agent Who?" comes across Mulder's radar that he starts to stiffen against Scully's reticence. Again, not about the baby.)

The last significant mention of Scully's pregnancy in Three Words is in her kitchen. TLG drop in to do their research... and to refocus Mulder on his impending miracle ("a certain blessed event") and away from his crazy mission. Mulder's amused at first by their commentary (as is Scully), giving an exaggeratedly suspicious, comedic squint (which Scully follows up with a witty repartee on his investigative methods)--

until he figures out his partner's ulterior machinations. (The tensions that trail them both the rest of the episode are because of Scully's interferences and not-- again-- because of the baby.)

Those are the only direct references to the baby in Three Words, (although Scully does tag along on his madcap mission with TLG); and Empedocles starts out in the spirit of the kitchen scene above-- Mulder squinting about the pizza man, ribbing Scully lightly, and enjoying getting ribbed in return-- but with the added bonus of some unfiltered, heartfelt moments of a man fully embracing fatherhood.

So why, if the original intent of the struggle of Three Words wasn't about the paternity question, does Mulder still struggle with doubts the rest of the series. Well... what were his paternity doubts?

Paternity Doubts

Mulder knew (logically) that his partner wouldn't run into the arms of another man or through the doors of the nearest IVF clinic just because he was chucked six feet under; but that reassurance gave him nothing to stand firmly on since both of their lives revolved around clones, aliens, and even a little girl that was born (and died) to serve an agenda.

Scully had been used over and over against her consent and was ultimately stripped of her fertility; and even though Mulder once said "never give up on a miracle", the IVF had failed, and there had been months of regular extracurricular activities since without even a thought of a baby on either of their radars. But somehow, the minute he vanishes off the planet, she finds out she's pregnant? The exact same somehow he was abducted and somehow returned and somehow resurrected? It doesn't add up; and Mulder's motto has always been "I want to believe."

"I have the same doubts you do, Scully," he said in the Pilot; and those doubts haunt him in Three Words; and (although they are temporarily set aside during the off-screen conversation Mulder has with his partner before Empedocles) they remain, along with his fears, buried under the surface-- as demonstrated by his opening monologue in Essence: "Is it the product of a union? Or... an answer to prayer-- a true miracle? Or is it a wonder of technology, the intervention of other hands? What do I tell this child about to be born? What do I tell Scully? What do I tell myself?"

Furthermore, the events of Essence and Existence make a bit (only a bit) more sense if those events-- Zeus Genetics, Billy Miles, Lizzie Gill, Krycek, the Super soldiers, and other such nonsense-- are put through another lens: trauma.

The Other, Bigger Concern

If Mulder knew the baby was his, why did he distance himself?

Simply put, PTSD.

Three Words very specifically chooses Mulder's flashbacks as his first scene (post here), providing motive to any future decision he makes. Being torn apart for three months and buried another three before being resurrected on a chance is a lot to grapple with; add in a pregnant partner who is clearly expecting a miraculous baby amidst a set of tragically unmiraculous events and looking to her recently resurrected partner for not only their old relationship but more and you get a PTSD-riddled, paranoid, and very panicked Fox Mulder.

Empedocles begins after the aforementioned off-screen conversation; and quite plainly establishes Mulder in his new paternal role, bringing Scully (and the baby) gifts like he has any other significant moment in their relationship (and also because it's no longer acceptable to bring triumphant caveman hunting trophies back to the domestic den.) This episode not only goes out of its way to give him a first-time "feeling his baby move" scene, but further cements Mulder's role by showing him standing sentry outside of Scully's door, doting on her hand and foot back at her apartment, and including their baby nonverbally in Scully's gratitude speech. These benchmark moments are then followed up by him briefly forgetting his baby in Vienen, not wanting to leave its side in Alone, and cycling back to his paternity worries in Essence-- further proof that his initial distance and on-again-off-again dance is rooted firmly in trauma rearing its ugly head to continually mess up his temporary peace.

That trauma follows him (mostly unacknowledged) the rest of Season 8, coming to a head (and exploding) during the events of Essence and Existence. When his security in Scully's science (and himself) is completely eroded, Mulder is left blindly grappling for any explanation from the nearest and newest source currently in front of him (handing Scully to his sworn enemy should have been the tip-off point to both she and Skinner, prompting them to put a stop to his spiraling before doing anything else... but I digress.) His hot-and-cold attitude is back (referring to their child as "your baby") even though his fiercely protective love and interest hasn't faded one bit ("will do anything to protect it.")

Deep down, Mulder always knew (or at least hoped) the baby was his-- "the truth we both know," after all.

So, What Does This Mean?

Probably nothing in the grand scheme of things, but a rippling domino effect in the minutiae. It explains Mulder's distant-then-doting attitude, the manifestation of his PTSD and impending parenthood, and even why he was happy to have Scully firmly glued by his side throughout Three Words (even if he couldn't meet her eyes at times.)

Scully's pregnancy was a change for both: almost overnight she needed more from their relationship. However, once she realized how displaced and harried Mulder was, Scully relaxed the pace (off-screen...), allowing Mulder to finally recover, regroup, and continue on. Once that understanding was reached (again: off-screen), Mulder started to take his journey more gently (upsetting and resettling himself whenever Scully had health scares or his impulsive actions blasted him up, down, and sideways) while Scully refigured how to fit their new normal into the life she built in his absence. Like always, teamwork and their unspoken; and, overall, it makes Season 8's there-and-gone-again MSR bits that much more in-character and enjoyable.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #meta #xf meta #Mulder #S8 #“Proving” Mulder Knew He Was the Father of Scully's Baby #Scully #Deadalive #Three Words #Essence #Existence #Empedocles #x-files #xfiles #the x files #mine #dailytxf #xf30th #analysis

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