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syoddeye · 5 months ago

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the warren part three - trouble

price x f!reader | 4.6k words part one/prologue - bait | part two - fix tags: alcohol, animal death (mentioned), animal sterilization (mentioned), weird and unsettling vibes. while this part is fairly tame, this is darkfic. a/n: it's been 84 years. banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

“Car trouble?”

You barely miss braining yourself on the hood, swiveling to catch John lumbering up the drive from the hill, pairing a smile with a concerned look.

“You’ve...” he trails, head dipping in appraisal.

Looking down, grime and grease blotches your dress and skin. “Shoot.” You mutter, throat achy with suppressed, frustrated tears. “Yes. Car trouble.” You wipe your palms on your thighs. The outfit’s ruined anyway.

John’s brow furrows. He stares at the engine and hums a ponderous noise before procuring an archaic brick of a phone from a pocket. Punching a number, he jerks his head toward the cabin. “Clean up and I’ll phone a friend.”

You hesitate, thinking of money. “Friend? Like a mechanic? Listen, John…”

“Nik? Got a minute?,” John stares, listening to whomever this ‘Nik’ is on the other end, nodding at the door again as if to say hop to it. Embarrassingly quick, you do.

Inside, the soiled dress goes into the tub, and you furiously scrub your arms and hands in the bathroom sink. The filth stubbornly clings to your arm hair, your nails gumming up with sludge. Over the tap, you hear John call from the front door.

“Mind if I come in? The house, that is.”

You check the lock in the mirror, and shout through the door. “Yeah, sorry. Stuff doesn’t want to come off.”

John’s heavy footsteps announce his path. “My friend Nik’s gonna pop by while we’re out and take a look.”

You rake your nails in small circles over a thick patch of muck. “I hope he’s only looking. I can’t uh, exactly pony up for a repair right now.”

He doesn’t immediately answer, and over the water, you listen to him move around the kitchen. “He won’t do a thing without my say so. Try this.”

Beneath the door gap, you see John’s shadow. This is the second time he’s in your house, first time invited, and you’re in your underwear. You grab a towel to cover up, and, with a breath, crack open the door. A green-blue bottle knocks into the jamb, his hand attached. Dish soap.

You take it, stifling a laugh.

“Heard it works on ducks.”

You glance at the side of his head. It’s sweet he’s looking away. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Mind stepping into the bedroom and grabbing the orange dress? Should be on the corner of the bed, might be a few things on top of it. Don’t judge the mess.”

There’s a smile in his voice. “Back in a jiff.”

A minute later, the gauzy cotton appears pinched in his fingers.

“Thanks. I’ll be quick.”

“There’s no rush, not like we have a reservation. When you’re ready, we’ll walk down and take my truck.” His footsteps ferry him away, and you hear the swing and slam of the front door.

Despite his reassurance, you hurry, grabbing your bag and smoothing the dress when you emerge. John leans against your dead car and pushes off with a growing smile, clearly taking you in. He lets out a low, appreciative whistle.

“Think I like this one more.”

“Yeah?” you ask, adding a smidge more honey to your voice. It’s been a long time since a man’s admired you, even longer since one’s treated you kindly. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn't mean it. Sunset suits you.” John’s gaze takes its time arriving at your face. “And don’t fret yet. Nik’s got a way with machines.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Early evening birdsong serenades the journey downhill, the slap of your sandals on asphalt punctuating it. The adjustment from living in the thick of it to the middle of nowhere was difficult at first, accustomed to the white noise of sirens and mystery booms, but here, silence prevails.

“How’re the kittens?”

John cracks another smile. “Bigger. Clumsy, but movin’ more.”

“Will they be fixed when they’re older? I saw the veterinary office. I was thinking I’d reach out regarding some of my feline neighbors.”

He huffs, the noise emanating deep from within his chest, as if your question is a personal affront. “They’re not hurting anything, are they?”

A nervous titter of laughter escapes. “The local bird and rodent population.”

You turn onto the road, his store within view. “Sounds like pest control and the natural order of things.”

He picks up the pace, approaching an older, red Chevy on a mission. You’re gobsmacked, with a few butterflies in your stomach dropping stone dead. Growing up watching Price is Right reruns over your mother’s shoulder, a woman who all but canonized Bob Barker, you’ve never met someone against animal sterilization.

Breathe. Not weird, just different.

“I suppose,” You wince at the angry creak of the door as he yanks it open, the sound too familiar. “I’m tired of scraping their work off the step.” You spare a parting glance at the makeshift shelter where the kittens live and climb in.

John snorts and starts the truck. “No reason to permanently alter the creatures. Hunting, killing, breeding. It’s all part of life.”

The certainty with which he says it gives you pause, the seatbelt’s tongue poised over the buckle. Your face burns, thrown by the shift in conversation. Reaching for the pleasantness from earlier, you remind yourself that John’s rough around the edges. You knew this when you accepted, or rather, suggested, the date. Gruff and blunt, yet possessing a homespun charm impossible to feign. You hope it shows itself again. He pulls out of the shop’s row of parking spots as you buckle in. It’s probably fine you’re in his car, not like you have a choice at this point.

You muster a belated response. “Natural doesn’t always mean correct.”

The notion diffuses John’s tension. He chuckles, shaking his head. “You say that now. Few months in the woods will set you straight. I used to think the same. Being out here changed me.”

You watch him search for a station between working the stick shift. “You said you’re retired, but you’re a little young for that, aren’t you? What did you do before running a store?”

“Military, medically discharged.” He says plainly as if that explanation’s enough.

And you suppose it is. Another sensitive subject, one he does not owe you divulgence. It’s not as if you don’t harbor your own secrets, but politeness doesn’t overrule curiosity.

“Right. How long have you lived in Grouse Bay?”

“Years. Where were you before this?”

It’s fair he returns the question. It’s why you rehearse. “Iowa.”

“Field of Dreams?”

“Yessir.”

“And what work lets you spend a summer holed up in a cabin?”

You briefly debate telling the truth and how much. John alluded to Kate’s loose tongue and hasn’t given reason for it not being a reciprocal feed. “I’m between things, but I’m a penny pincher.” You bite your lip to stop yourself from elaborating, taking a page from his book. A shiver of guilt still wracks you whenever you think about money.

“Is that why you haven’t been back to the store?”

“I paid the invoice for the light, didn’t I?”

“By giving Kate the–”

A big, defensive smile curves your mouth, placating in anticipation of anger. “She said she was going to see you.”

“Don’t interrupt.” he scolds. “I meant that you haven’t stopped in since you arrived.”

The way John speaks toes the line between kind and patronizing; maybe with practice, it’d be easier to put your foot down. If he only knew the amount of groundwork you put into this ‘vacation’. The nights spent car camping in parking lots. Rummaging for coins abandoned in vending machines. Sneaking small bills from the offering plate. “I brought some groceries with me. I’m not completely helpless.”

“I didn’t say that. It’s a small town. I’m worried about our newest resident.”

“Guest.”

“Guest. Which reminds me,” He lifts off his seat to fish out a billfold. Without averting his eyes from the narrow and winding road, he pries the old leather open and roots something out. “Been meanin’ to return this, found it on the floor of the shop the other day after fixing the light.” He pinches the corner of a card and holds it out.

Your face stares back at you, and your stomach draws to your spine in a deep, terrified breath. When did you lose your ID? Whatever ounce of pride you felt moments ago dissolves. Rationing your supplies and avoiding town to save money meant you hadn’t opened your wallet in days.

“Thank you.” You take the card, biting your lip at the last name printed next to your first. John must’ve seen it, and if Kate’s given him one name, he knows you by another now.

Worry thrums in your chest, settling into place like one would collapse into a favored armchair. You can hear it practically groan in relief, reclaiming its monopoly on your person.

“Know much about Ponderosa?”

You swallow the lump forming in your throat. “The basics.”

Before the move, you dug into the town across the lake and learned very little. Although founded roughly at the same time as Grouse Bay, Ponderosa’s the bigger, wealthier sister. The population drain following mine closures impacted both locales for the greater part of the century, but the cheap sale of land in the eighties led to a boom in tourism and development. You waffled between the towns, ultimately choosing Grouse for the lower rent and smaller population. Less chance of being found.

“Ponderosa’s a fine town, though folks are cowing more and more to greed. Greedy shits buying up and bulldozing pristine land to build mansions they call ‘cabins’.” He rants, chewing his words with a pinched expression like his teeth found the gristle. “Very few are decent. Though, you’d be hard-pressed to find better people than those in Grouse.”

It paints a picture you’re familiar with. Decades of architectural character and history replaced by boxy houses kissing property lines. It underscores John’s apparent, deep-seated opinions and judgment. How he wields them as a cudgel and gavel all in one. You’ve never felt strongly about one place or another, at least positively.

“Like vultures, huh?”

“Vultures have their use.”

The rest of the car ride, John fills in the gaps. When there were still children in the Bay, they attended school across the lake. He drives over weekly to retrieve inventory for the store. The single helipad for a hundred miles resides at their medical clinic, also the only one of its kind. It leads to a story. Last year, a hiker went missing for forty-eight hours from Ponderosa, but popped up on the summit of Mount Grouse. Dehydrated and delirious, claiming to have met angels.

“He scared the shit out of a hunter checking on traps,” John chuckles. “But he was alive. Got airlifted to civilization and last we heard, he’s recovered.”

You laugh uneasily. Once, as a kid, you were separated from a babysitter—but that was at the mall for half an hour. Alone in the woods, on a mountain? You shudder at the thought.

Eventually, the road evens out into well-maintained asphalt. A sign crops up around a corner, Ponderosa sticks out in big gold letters, flanked by meticulously carved trees. John turns the dial down, the crackling rock and roll station fizzling into silence. He cranks the manual window down and drapes an arm out. Not for the first time, you admire the muscle beneath his slightly tanned skin and hair.

The view of the main street steals your attention. John slows to cruise down the block. Like the vantage outside Grouse, downtown Ponderosa looks like a postcard, albeit hedged by construction and development. It’s the July spread in a calendar celebrating Americana. Barely June and ribbons and banners decorate pristine storefronts for the Fourth of July. Sunset paints the promenade in sherbert oranges and pinks while old-fashioned street lamps buzz to life.

If John finds your gawking amusing, he doesn’t mention it.

The sign for The Echo Diner gleams, a fresh coat of crisp white paint stylized with red highlights to make it pop. The building’s pristine, too, with symmetrical flower beds along the walls. It's nothing like The Foxhole, beyond its glory days. Ponderosa, it seems, is as moneyed as John described.

The entry funnels into the fairly crowded restaurant, a sea of capped heads and wraparound sunglasses tilt in conversation or up at the big screens mounted above the bar. A woman hunches over a jukebox. Nobody pays you any mind until John steps into the small space behind you, his hand finding your shoulder. It takes a gentle nudge for your feet to move, wary of the several sets of eyes suddenly pointed in your direction.

“John, good to see you.” A man cracking open a couple of light beers nods as you pass, attention bouncing off you as if you aren’t worth seeing.

“Likewise.” John rumbles, the single word breaking the spell, allowing the other patrons to return to their conversation and game.

He’s a regular. Ambling for an empty table beside a porthole-style window, you angle toward the side that looks out into the restaurant, but John’s hand flexes on your back.

“I’ll sit there. Can’t eat comfortably unless I can see the door. Old habit.”

Who are you to argue? You’re the outsider, and with the awkward tension brewing since you left for dinner, you’re eager to make nice with John. You take the opposite seat, offering a placative smile as you bump knees. He manspreads, bracketing your legs with his own. You try not to think of how much space he fills.

The familiar nostalgia you felt riding into town resurfaces. The diner is charming, from the tacky checkered floor to the billiard lights over the laminate tables. Classic. Not a hint of intentional curation. Even the cracked, boomerang-pattern vinyl booths inspire a strange fondness. It all speaks to its age, its lived-inness. What it’s seen and weathered. The name of the feeling arrives with the single-page menu John hands you.

Homesick. You’re a little homesick.

It’s ridiculous, the notion. There is no main street to recall. There isn’t a house to miss. What you have is a series of cheap apartments that run together in your memory, with leaky pipes, roaches, and thin walls. Yet you relish the borrowed sentimentality. It’s a balm. Raised on a diet of neglect like a dandelion pushing through cement, you reach for whatever good thing comes your way. It’s how you ended up in—

The waitress interrupts to take your order, just yours. She knows exactly what John wants, boredly reciting the tab, minding a crossword instead of the ticket. As she shuffles behind the counter, the bartender approaches, placing a pitch-black pint glass on the table in front of a pleased John.

“The usual.” The bartender hovers, his grin beaming beneath his mustache.

John’s eyes flick between him and you. “Thanks. Get my girl the cherry cider.”

You stiffen, automatically reaching for the bartender, and blurt a correction. “Wait. No, thank you. That won’t be necessary. Water’s fine.” Your fingertips graze the stranger’s elbow, and he jerks away as if burned.

The immediate vicinity falls quiet. You didn’t raise your voice or stand, but doubt blooms when the bartender freezes in place. The men at the counter closest to you peek over their shoulders, and another waitress stops refilling a napkin dispenser, watching sidelong. You scan the odd bystanders, whom you notice are not looking at you. They look to John. So you do, too.

That same intensity from earlier is plain on his face. Mouth drawn tight in a line, blue eyes flat but focused. You think he means to insist until he nods. “Water it is.”

The bartender’s chipper grin reappears. The others go back to their business.

“Great. One minute.”

The unease returns tenfold, smothering whatever daydream you entertained. The smile you offer is conciliatory. “Sorry, I don’t drink on first dates.”

It softens him. “First, huh?” John smirks. “That a hard and fast rule, the drinking?”

It is one of the only things your father taught you. Shy of fifteen, mistakenly mumbling a hope of attending a school dance. Sadie Hawkins. There was a boy, you don’t remember his name now—another blur, a collage of faces—who introduced himself on your first day and tempered your latest bundle of new school nerves. Your father set upon you like the Spanish Inquisitors you’d read about in history. You were in shock, too stupefied by his sudden interest in playing parent to remember anything beyond: Girls don’t drink on first dates, makes them loose. Surely, it came with a postscript, but that, too, is lost to time.

“I’m afraid so.”

John huffs a short laugh, the sound enough to flip your belly.

Heat spreads across your face, which makes the bartender’s timing especially helpful. Your requested glass of ice water appears, and relief creeps through palm-first. John introduces you, prompting a polite smile, only for it to swiftly fall. “...and she’s staying at the old Warren place. Darl, this is Alex.”

You nearly kick his foot. Telling a stranger, another man, where you’re staying?

Above, Alex finally acknowledges you, eyebrows lifting as if you suddenly materialize. “Really. Did you meet the cats?”

“The cats?” You blink, annoyance quelled in an instant. “Are you…Are you familiar with the property? Do you know how many there are? I’ve counted–”

“He’s heard stories from Kate. Isn’t that right, Alex?” John interjects, staunching the conversation.

Alex smiles sheepishly, already moving toward the bar. “Yeah. Stories. Heard it's pretty as a picture.”

You pivot to John for a follow-up, but he steamrolls ahead into a different topic entirely: The mystery of what you do all day.

“Nothing interesting.”

He hums, disbelieving. “You’re new meat. Everything you do is interesting.”

You search the ether for words, knowing he’ll badger something out. “I read, though I’m running out of books. I draw, poorly, so don’t ask to see anything.” A grin splits his face and jumps to yours, infectious. “I rockhound, swim, write, apply for jobs…”

“Any luck with work?”

Aside from filling out surveys for pennies and cobbling together speeches for strangers online, no. You tell him as much, leaving out the fact you spend hours each day, digital hat in hand.

John glances toward the door, focus stolen for a second before inhaling deeply through his nose. He straightens, arms folding over his barrel chest, puffing up. “Y’know, I could use an extra pair of hands at the store. Busy season’s here.”

You know you ought to jump at the offer, considering the state of your account. How difficult would it be to help mind a tiny store? Yet, the idea of working with John sparks concern. As an acquaintance, as a date, he’s—assertive, though that feels too weak a word.

“I don’t need an answer now, but if you’re interested, I’ll need to run a background check, given I sell ammunition.”

The world rapidly contracts. The one time you shopped, you focused on necessities. Tunnel vision. You didn’t see the entire inventory. The sip of water you take burns off fast, throat drying and excuses evaporating.

John’s face softens, reading your obvious panic. “Regardless of what turns up, the job’s yours if you want it.”

“That’s not–I don’t–John…” You try to focus on a break in the laminate, on the music drifting from the jukebox. A rich laugh from the bar about turns your head, but John’s hand darts, snatching yours in an unyielding grip. It’s like a bear trap, palm almost completely enveloping yours. It might as well latch into bone.

He lowers his voice, steadily pulling you to lean over the table. “I’ve got an eye for runaways.” His fingers squeeze gently when you flinch. “Sympathy, too. So whatever it is you’re running from—” He ignores your tug. “—you’re safe with me.”

John’s eyes shift, yours follow. A man stands at the bar, a holstered firearm on his hip, a business card proffered in hand. Clearly some type of law enforcement. Your heart stutters, a rock skipped over water, plunging when he, sensing your staring, glances over. You pretend to check the game, swallowing when the bartender takes the card and reclaims the man’s attention. The man dips his head, then wordlessly exists.

Air expels from your lungs in a full-body shudder.

“Skittish thing. Wonder what that was about.” John teases, rubbing a circle into your wrist before releasing it with a quiet chuckle.

There isn’t a chance to catch your breath as the waitress returns with a tray. Your face tightens with forced niceties, accepting your meal with a murmured thank you.

You eat in relative silence. A mercy. There’s more than food to digest.

John focuses on his meal, giving you time to think. Losing your ID was sloppy. Not checking your wallet sooner was sloppier. Yet if John’s kept quiet with his suspicions, maybe you are safe with him. It may not keep him from looking into you, but perhaps the job is worth the risk. He clearly likes you. You can’t bite every hand.

“I’ll take the job. If you meant what you said, about sympathy.”

He dabs at his mouth with a napkin. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn't mean it.”

“Then what would the schedule be?”

John’s eyes crinkle with a grin. “Thursday through Sunday. Noon to close.”

The uneasiness settles some, but not entirely. A lesson yet another man taught you echoes from the recesses: No kindness is free. Everything has a price. You feed him his own line. “And the background check? Is that…a hard and fast rule?” If your worthless car won’t take you anywhere, you hope flattery will.

He polishes off his beer with a contented sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Better than outright refusal. John’s proven stubborn. He doesn’t bend, he gives. Your thoughts flit to the armed man at the bar. It’s probably nothing, probably just the local sheriff making rounds. Despite your mistakes, it’s too soon for the trouble you left across state lines to find you.

John excuses himself to settle the bill with Alex and tells you to get some air. You rest against the passenger door of his truck, mulling over the evening, too distracted to notice the man until a hand plants itself above your head. You jolt, clutching your bag.

“Pardon me miss, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” A voice drawls.

Sandy hair and blue eyes, paler than John’s. A short, straight scar on the cheek with a notched ear to match. His smile is a practiced thing, like he’s had to rehearse it in a mirror. “Name’s Phil. Couldn’t help but notice you inside. You new to town?”

Your expression naturally mirrors his, eyes going big as saucers, but the hair on the back of your neck stands. It takes control to not peek at the weapon on his belt. “Hi, um, yes. I’m new.”

His cheek bulges from his tongue, his stare jumping from feature to feature. “Thought so. Just visiting or are you the newest Ponderosan?”

“She’s with me,” John answers in your stead, coming off the short walk in front of the diner. “Across the lake, that is.”

Fingertips dance on the metal over your head. “Grouse, huh?” Phil smirks, chewing his lip in assessment. “And how’re you, sir?”

“Swell. Darling, get in the truck.” It’s the same tone he used when discussing the cats. It brooks no argument, an order tied with brittle endearment.

You tear your eyes away from John to meet Phil’s gaze, who, after a moment, chuckles and slides his fingers down the car. The tinny squeak of flesh on metal shoots down your spine, then tunnels to your stomach, churning dinner. Your body moves automatically when Phil opens the truck door, forcing you to duck his arm to climb inside.

“Have a nice night.” Phil says as he shuts you in, pivoting to dig out and offer a card to John.

The men exchange words, their voices too low to be audible through the truck’s solid frame. Phil rocks on his heels, enjoying himself; John’s stiff and humorless. The former isn’t small, but he’s dwarfed by your date. The card hovers between them in Phil’s knuckles and remains there when John peels off to join you.

John hoists himself into the driver’s seat, grumbling. You stare at Phil, who shoots winks as he pockets the card. He remains on the curb until The Echo is firmly in the rearview.

“Who was that?” You manage as the lights of Ponderosa disappear beyond trees.

“Haven’t a clue.”

It’s a warning. You’ve heard the line before from another mouth. Different tone, different voice—but the edge is the same. Don’t push it. Keenly aware of where you are, in the sticks with a man scarcely a hair above acquaintance, you don’t. You talk about nothing, instead.

The rest of the conversation is stilted, swimming upstream against a mighty current. John is firmly lodged into the silty creekbed, unmoving regardless of your idle chatter. The source of his ire isn’t clear, so you default to keeping things light. As your new employer and the town’s resident Jack of all trades, the last thing you want to be is on the outs.

By the time the truck swings slowly up the hill to your cabin, it’s pitch black outside. A dozen cats scatter as the headlights shoot over the short drive, landing on the familiar red walls. John idles the truck.

“Thank you for dinner, John.” You linger in your seat, uncertain if you ought to kiss him. It’s been so long, you don’t know the protocol, especially for dates you’d consider middling at best and turbulent at worst.

“My pleasure.” John makes the decision for you. A compromise. He plucks your hand from where it fidgets with the hem of your dress, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. His mustache tickles and his lips quirk at the sight of your squirming. “I’ll let you know what Nik says about the car.”

“Right. My car.”

“And I’ll sit here ‘til you’re in.”

A second thank you ekes out of your mouth, and you hurry out. From the door, you wave, blinded briefly by headlights, as John turns around. His silhouette raises a hand in goodbye, and then he’s off, the truck disappearing into the dark.

You make quick work of readying for bed. Both dresses go into the laundry to be washed in the morning, and you hunt for your book with your toothbrush still in your mouth. The living room and bedroom turn up empty, leaving the screened porch.

Poking your head through the door, you hum, frowning as you cannot recall where you put the thing down. Just as you pull inside, you freeze at the sudden, low snarling of cats poised for a fight. Your blood turns to ice.

Gravel crunches across the yard, past the exterior light’s range. Your eyes bulge in your skull, trying desperately to adjust to the dark. The toothbrush slips out from between your teeth and clatters to the ground. Another crunch spurs a renewed chorus of hissing and growling, primordial fear straightening your spine. Then, something kicks up rock and dirt, skidding and charging across the crushed stone. The sound propels you backward, scrambling to throw the bolt.

Even through the walls, the sharp, sudden yowling chorus of cats pierces the air. Nails on chalkboard. Earsplitting. You hit the lights and shelter behind the couch, palms pressing to your head until the commotion tapers off.

The ensuing silence beckons like a siren. Tries to entice you back to the front door for a peek. But instinct prevails. You flee.

Only when you're shaking in a ball under the sheets, having barricaded the bedroom door with the dresser, do you remember your cell phone.

Which you left in your bag on the kitchen table.

Outside your window, something scratches at the cabin's walls.

#price x reader #price x f! reader #john price x f!reader #john price x reader #the warren

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hier--soir · 1 year ago

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sun don't set

ellie williams x f!reader

rating: sfw, not explicit summary: life in the little house is calm - quiet. days pass in a blur of fruit and sunshine and companionship. slow mornings, afternoons, and evenings. ellie is slowly rediscovering her love for music, and on that journey, she writes a song about you. warnings/tags: late twenties ellie, set years after the events of tlou2, no spoilers or discussions of plot points in tlou2 - except perhaps the description of an old injury but the way it happened isn't described, established wlw relationship, food and eating, brief description of skinning animals for food, soft soft soft ellie. word count: 1.3k masterlist a/n: this short little thing poured out of me after a nice sunny day and it's maybe one of the softest, sweetest things i've ever written. a slice of life type thing based on the happy ending i hope ellie got x [ALSO the song ellie sings is ronnie's song by odie leigh]

The little house lives in the basin of a valley, circled by sycamore boughs and juniper bushes.

A shallow stream trickles close by.

In the mornings, you eat berries drizzled in honey, sipping warm tea while watching the water. The air is still and quiet, filled only with the sounds of the dribbling brook and teeth sinking into ripe fruit. The first rays of sun arrive and they are safe and warm against your skin, and time moves slowly. Gently.

You sit on the patio in chairs that she built. Ones that creak and whimper as your weight settles upon them; rickety wood and worn old nails. On the armrest, hers or yours, fingers catch and hold. Thumbs and indexes and pinkies looped together.

In the afternoons, she peels an orange. Spindly fingers tear thick skin, pulling apart perfect segments of flesh – one for you, one for her, one for you, one for her. Together you bite and chew and swallow, jaws and mouths and teeth working in sync. In the silence, you relish the feeling of tasting this together. That burst of juice across your tongues. Wisps of pulp that catch in the cracks of your incisors.

When it’s warm you splay out on the grass, stretching and purring like two cats in the sun. She’s a calico, splotches of white and brown and beige, and you’re a tabby, mottled streaks of burnt orange – wiling away what’s left of your nine lives together.

In the evenings, she returns from her walk. Some days empty handed, others with rabbit or duck or deer trailing behind her. On those days you sit with your knees pressed together, sharp knives peeling back hair and skin and feathers. You eat as the air turns cooler and the sun sets over the hill, an almost endless—always wondrous—burst of oranges and pinks that taint the sky before it turns to black.

Often, you turn in first. Tuck yourself away inside the little house, swathed in blankets; keeping her side of the bed warm. Alone, she reaches for the guitar. Takes it outside and closes the door behind her, so that those soft melodies won’t carry to your ears. With heavy eyelids, your ears pique and strain, eager to listen. But she must stray further than the patio, for you never hear a thing.

Time passes and she joins you soon enough. Her long limbs coil around yours beneath the covers; cold toes press into the skin of your calves. Her hand on your back, those fingers tracing a tickling portrait. The tip of your nose rests in the base of her neck and you breathe in the scent of pine and rosemary and honey on her skin. In the darkness, sinking into her warmth, you feel tenderness thicken the lining of your throat. And together you sleep; at peace knowing that another morning awaits you.

Ellie found the guitar in your fourth year together. Deep brown, layered in dust, the sound hole and fretboard decorated with cobwebs. She didn’t say a word as she slung it over her back and carried it the entire way to the little house. Didn’t offer any explanation when she stashed it away in an empty room. And when you caught her one night, long after sunset, wiping away the dust and tightening the strings, you didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t ask if she was thinking about him – you already knew the answer.

“It’s hard,” she told you one morning, lips and chin shining with berry juice. “Learning how to play again. How to play… like this.”

Your fingers ghost over the palm of her left hand, splayed on the armrest of her chair. Tracing lines and scars on pale skin until you reach the shortened stumps of her ring and pinkie finger.

“Sometimes the hardest things,” you pick up her hand and lay a soft kiss to each finger, lingering a little longer on those two. “Are the things most worth doing.”

She hums a short response, eyes trained on where your lips touch her skin. Then her hand cups your jaw and brings your face to meet hers, and she smears the taste of blueberries into your mouth.

It’s not until a morning in your fifth year together that you hear it for the first time.

She wanders in from the chicken coop, white and brown eggs cradled in the well of her palms. The wind tousles that short auburn hair, loosening it from behind her ears, and carries her voice through the door to you.

“She’s my… I’m… she’s a coffee cup, I’m tea.”

Your fingers still against the page of your book, and you glance up as she walks through the door, still murmuring under her breath.

“What’s that?” you smile.

“Eggs?” She holds them up, eyebrows pinched defensively—secretively.

“Ellie,” you laugh. Dog ear the page of your book and tuck it away on the kitchen counter. She nestles the eggs carefully into a bowl and sidles up beside you, hooking an ankle neatly around yours.

“It’s nothing,” her nose brushes against the apple of your cheek, lips chapped and dry from the morning air as they lay a kiss to your jaw. “How do you want your eggs? I��ll make a fire.”

Months pass after that, and you hear it as she bathes. Hear it as she hangs your socks on the clothesline.

“She’s the salt,” she sings faintly. “And I’m the sea.”

Hear it as she builds her arrows, hunched over the table, tired fingers fiddling. Hear it grumbled through a mouthful of mint as she brushes her teeth.

“She’s a dog, and I’m her fleas.”

One day in Summer you walk together, following that little stream all the way to the lake. You hear it then too. Softly, under her breath, your hand held loosely in hers as the sun turns her shoulders pink.

“If she’s creamer, then I’m jooooe,” the voice you love purrs, her thin lips pursing and parting as she drags out the vowel. “Sun don’t set, wherever we go.”

And then one night, as the two of you sit admiring the sky and all of its pinks and blues and yellows and oranges, you abandon your chair for hers. Slink two steps across the patio and into her lap, welcoming the way her arms drape around your shoulders. She kisses the bone at the top of your spine, the sloping side of your neck, and watches the sky from over your shoulder.

And then she sings quietly, her voice a delicate and hoarse thing against the back of your head.

“She’s a pistol.” A breath in and a breath out. “I’m a bow.”

“Is that from your song?” you ask, voice a hushed whisper. Scared to break the softness of the moment; the sunset trance that rests in a warm shroud over the patio.

“Hmm?” she murmurs. You feel her lips trail the shell of your ear, the edge of your jaw. You shiver and go lax in her lap.

“Will you sing me your song?” you say louder, eyes focused on the waning horizon.

“My song?” Ellie laughs. One of her hands slips from your shoulder to play with the hairs at the nape of your neck. Twisting a strand around her finger and tugging gently. “It’s your song, babe.”

“Well, I’d like to hear it,” you murmur, and you can hear the smile in your own voice. “Properly, I mean.” Feel the heat that rises in your neck at the mere thought of it. Your song.

“What about…” she says, fingers thrumming a beat against your stomach now. “What if I sing it for you in the morning? I think it’ll be warm. Sunny. We can see if those strawberries you planted are ready to eat.”

You consider it for a moment—her lips stained pink; eyes bright as she croons your song in the morning sunshine.

“With the guitar too?”

A pause.

“With the guitar,” she agrees.

You nod once and turn to kiss her. Smile into her mouth.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Strawberries and my song in the morning.”

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: sun don't set #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fluff

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ariseur · 8 months ago

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This is a stupid request so iUEOE IF U DONT LIKE IT ITS FINE but . A cloud x reader where Cloud, even after months from the start of their relationship, keeps getting a bit flustered, all blushy, whenever he gets kissed? ITS STUPID ITS LILE. IT COULD BE A DRABBLE TBH CAUSE ITS YEAH. BUT YEAH . Sow wy.

red kisses 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

cloud strife x fem!reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

ughhh this request was so cute!! i made it into a fic instead because i just had some ideas :) hope you guys enjoy 💕!!

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

mentions of kissing, cloud gets flustered, intended lowercase, tifa teasing cloud for having a big fat crush on you, reader is referred to as clouds girlfriend, lmk if i missed anything!!

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

1186 words, 6519 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

“shit!” you yelled, ducking under the rapid gunfire on the shinra infantryman. your hand reached for your sword before a gloved hand came to stop you. eyebrows furrowed, you looked back at cloud who just shook his head before pulling out his buster sword and stepping out into the gunfire, using his weapon as a shield from the bullets as they ricocheted off the metal.

you watched in awe as he cleared out the group. you knew he was always good at his job but seeing him in action never failed to make your jaw drop.

“hey, you comin’ or not?” he called out for you, his extended leather clad hand beckoned you after the coast was clear while numerous infantrymen laid on the ground unconscious below him. snapping out of your thoughts, you peeked your head out from behind the storage container and jogged your way towards him, beaming.

“my hero.” you extolled, leaning closer to lay a quick chaste kiss on cloud’s cheek before skipping over towards a metal door, eager to continue your mission. he made a noise of surprise, hand ghosting over where your lips had touched his face as a shade of pink tinted his freckled skin. his eyes followed your footsteps as he turned around and caught up with you, quickly following behind just in case you were caught off guard. you couldn’t help but smile as you heard him pitter-patter after you.

you definitely noticed the faint blush on his cheeks when he returned, and thus began your journey to flush cloud whenever given the chance to.

more time had passed, and cloud had actually gotten to know you. even if you never let him forget that one instance on the mission to the mako reactor.

and here cloud sat— in a bar stool at seventh heaven drinking the strongest of whatever tifa’s got while she talked about the newest mission avalanche was planning. she cut herself off mid-sentence, noticing how cloud continued to swirl his drink around while his eyes stayed glued to the ripples created in the glass, mind clearly elsewhere.

she put her arms behind her back as she leaned forward and tried to get his attention. “cloud?” she called, causing his eyes to peer back up at her. he made a small ‘hm’ sound in response.

“what’cha thinkin’ about?” she asked, inquisitive smile still painted on her face as usual. resting her arms on the wooden bar countertop, she watched as cloud contemplated to say what was really on his mind right now. he exhaled through his nostrils as he took another sip of the red liquid in his glass, “nothing.”

tifa’s brows raised as she finally understood. “so,” she began, “thinkin’ about your girlfriend, huh?”

“what makes you say that?”

“every time she’s around you, i never hear any of that ‘hard-ass’ complaining you’re always doing, as wedge would call it.” she grins, now knowing she hit the head right on the nail. “it’s like she placates you.”

“‘m just tired, that’s all.” he huffed, throwing his head back and downing the liquid as a weak attempt to try and hide the growing blush that grew across his face.

tifa simply laughed, standing up straight and greeting marlene as she walked in through the double doors with her dad, squealing about whatever new things she found today. always so excited to explore even in the slums of midgar. he placed a few coins on the bar counter as a payment for the drink, walking out of the bar and praying that tifa didn’t notice the money on the counter in hopes that she wouldn’t try and sneak it in his room like last time.

as for your new “mission” of trying to fluster cloud, it grew harder for him to ignore as everyday you’d press a kiss to his jaw or his hand or even the tip on his nose. he started to take his behavior into consideration after what tifa said. did he really act all that different around you?

your goal started making more progress as time went on and your relationship got more serious. often, your invites to your place ended up just being a torture chamber for him as you had managed to root yourself deep within his brain. he couldn’t get you out, and although he acted like he didn’t care, it haunted him. you were everywhere around him. but maybe, he thought, just maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to get close to someone.

he’d look at marlene and his mind would think back to you. the way you’d sit with her and talk to her about her weird dreams where she’d become a dolphin or something like that. barret would throw a glare at him and all cloud could think about was how you mentioned how barret scares the absolute shit out of you. you were everywhere, your presence, your perfume, your—

“hellooo—?” earth to cloud?” your hand came into view, once again snapping cloud out of his thoughts. he hummed.

“space out there?” you smiled at him, and ugh, that smile. it made him feel obnoxiously warm. he never got used to those butterflies that would travel along his stomach, even if you guys had been together for a while.

he huffed as he looked away, lolling his against the soft pillows you had on your bed. “yeah, uh.. yeah.” he finally said, eyes trailing off as he narrowed his eyes at shinra’s public service announcement that broadcasted on tv. cloud let out quiet groan at the man’s face and turned it off, the remote dropping from his hand and onto the blanket as he turned back to you.

“you always seem to glow, cloud. did you know that?” you blurt out, finger tracing the taut muscles of his arm.

“well.. maybe it’s just because of the mako—? SOLDIER, remember?”

“no, not like that,” you giggle behind your hand, “i’m just saying i think you’re handsome, cloud.” that makes him let out a small noise of surprise, stiffening as he’s unsure what to say next.

“oh.” he said, ears heating up as he looked away from your intense gaze. he crossed his arms, trying to avoid the way your head craned to try and see his face.

“and you’re so fit,” you lifted a finger up with each compliment you listed, just trying to get a rise out of cloud, “and intelligent, and sweet, and—“

“okay, i think that’s enough.” he must’ve been flushed right now, he though.

“and you’re just so breathtaking.”

“you are such a liar.”

you dramatically feigned offense, putting a hand on your chest as your jaw dropped. “how dare you assume such things about me? i am simply loving my boyfriend, is that such a crime?”

he scoffed as a weak smile made its way to his face, “you’re loving torturing your boyfriend, there’s a difference.” however, his eyes widened as he felt your lips press against his jaw. he gave you a pointed glare, “see what i mean?”

“oh hush, you love it.”

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beansprean · 1 year ago

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🎶take myyy hand / take my whoooole liiiife toooo🎶

My Familiar’s Ghost part 45

Masterpost

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Close up on Nandor from the front on the beige background of the Panera break room. He ducks chin and screws his eyes shut, shaking his head quickly as if to dislodge unpleasant thoughts. He continues his sentence from part 44: '-But that does not matter anymore!' 1b. Repeat. Nandor ceases his shaking but keeps his head down, eyes opening to stare off down and left, an anxious resolve creasing his brow. He says, 'I am willing to act as your sire now. To start you off on the right path in your vampiric journey.' 1c. Close up on Nandor's right hand from the side as he lifts it, palm up, as if requesting a dance. The panel splits in a strike of diagonal white light, turning to sepia tones as we go back 14 years one more time. There is a close up of past Nandor's left hand in the same position, reaching from the opposite side of the panel. In the present, Nandor says, 'So please...' In the past, Nandor continues his sentence, 'Come home with me...' 1d. Knees up in sepia tones of past Guillermo and past Nandor facing each other in profile on a lightening beige background. Nandor is holding his hand out, lips curling faintly in a confident and reassuring smile as he finishes, '...and in time, I will make you a vampire.' Guillermo stares up at him with reverent eyes and parted lips, cheeks flushed and hands clutched together over his stomach.

2a. Close up again of past Nandor's hand reaching out from the right, this time with past Guillermo's hand reaching from the other side, placing his fingers into Nandor's as they curl together, pact sealed. 2b. Back to the present - close up on Nandor's hand reaching out from the left. From the right, a large splinter of wood flies into frame and buries itself into the back of Nandor's hand, splitting through his palm as he curls his wrist back with a shout of pain. 2c. Close up on vampire Guillermo's left hand in the foreground, dangling at his side and adjusting its grip on a second stake. The stake is already stained with someone else's blood and his nails are sharpened to claws. In the background, Nandor stands stooped over, clutching the wrist of his wounded hand, which is now freely bleeding. He looks up at Guillermo in startled disbelief, question marks and anxious sweat popping up around his head. He stutters, ' Wh-what? Why-?!' The background darkens behind him. 2d. Knees up on vampire Guillermo, dark brown background spattered with dark red like old blood. A shadow slashes diagonally across his face as he drops into a predatory stance, right hand raised and curled to bare his claws and left hand clutching a stake at the ready. His steady eyes, having never left Nandor for a moment, glow a burning orange as he snarls, grinning at the prospect of a chase. Offscreen, Nandor shouts desperately, 'Guillermo?!' /end ID

#wwdits #my familiars ghost #nandermo #mlm #vampire guillermo #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #blood tw #my art #fanart #fan comic #image described

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spnbangbang · 15 days ago

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Werewolf and the Vamp

Author: queerwerewolf

Artist: sidewinder

Primary Ship: Garth Fitzegerald IV/Benny Lafitte

Other Ships: Past Dean Winchester/Benny Lafitte, Past Garth Fitzgerald IV/Bess Fitzgerald, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester

Length: 10,098

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence

Tags: Canon Compliant Through Season 15 Episode 10, Canon Divergent/Adjacent, Finale Fix It, You're Welcome, Romance, Smut, Handjobs, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Anal Sex, No Prep, Unsafe Sex, Top Garth/Bottom Benny, Werepire Lovin’, Yes the Title is Meant to Remind You of Lady and the Tramp, Love is a Battlefield, Literally

Posting Date: November 22, 2024

Summary The world is coming to an end, Chuck has gone full blown cartoon villain, and is destroying every universe in a temper tantrum of epic proportions. The Winchester brothers may have a solution, which includes a very special ingredient from Purgatory. The blood of a creature that has been sent to Purgatory twice. It just so happens, Dean knows a vampire with those exact qualifications.

When Garth is asked to go to Purgatory to find this vampire and help the Winchesters face off with the biggest bad of them all, he isn’t the type to say no, especially when every universe is on the line. What Garth doesn’t expect is to find so much more than a world saving ingredient. Excerpt “So, what I’m hearin’ is, you’re single?”

To Benny’s pleasant surprise, Garth’s response was damned adorable, his cheeks coloring a rich red as his heart rate spiked. He cleared his throat and simply nodded, again ducking Benny’s gaze. “Yeah, I… I guess I am.”

With a soft huff of laughter, Benny pursed his lips in amusement. “Don’t you worry, I was just askin’. Meant nothin’ by it.”

Another surprise; Garth then appeared a little disappointed from the journey of his facial expressions. A worried lip that released with a small bounce, turning into an almost pout before his features were schooled to a more neutral position. “Ye–yeah… Of course. I knew that.” The intonation was the first time Benny heard a lack of confidence and assuredness this wolf seemed to exude without any damn effort.

Benny kept his gaze trained on Garth for a beat. Time really was strange in Purgatory, what would simply be a handful of seconds, could feel like minutes… hours even. There was a strained tension in the air, and not just because this place was crawling with cretins and leviathan. Finally, Benny said, “If you want me to’ve meant somethin’ by it, I ain’t opposed.”

Garth’s eyebrows popped up to that ugly hat brim and he quickly pulled the thing from his head, bracing it over his lap as those baby blues widened. His fangs grew a little and Benny could hear the rhythm of his elevated heart rate. It reminded him of a sea shanty from a life once lived. “You… what?”

Damn, Benny really did love him a dense beauty. He leaned in close, using his elongated nails to gently rake them along Garth’s pulse point before he drew him closer by the palm of his hand. “Like I said, I ain’t opposed,” Benny murmured as he closed the gap between them. The kiss was chaste, permission seeking, because while body language hinted at Garth being accommodating, he still hadn’t heard a consensual yes.

Just as Benny was about to draw back, Garth gasped against his lips and wrapped his arms about Benny’s neck, giving him opportunity to deepen the kiss, vampire tongue wrestling with werewolf tongue as they began to explore each other. While this wasn’t Benny’s first time kissing a man, or kissing a visitor from another dimension even… It was his first time kissing a werewolf.

Now, perhaps it was his learned prejudices from his clan’s own misconceptions about werewolves, or perhaps the mere fact that they turned into actual wolves… But Benny had expected a little more of a sloppy kiss. Instead he got an ardent urgency that caused a tingle through a bloodstream that hadn’t flowed since he kissed sweet death all those centuries ago. Garth’s soft lips, tasting of a sweet spiciness that rivaled fresh blood, parted like a split open fig.

Benny’s hands found their way into short, scruffy hair, and he tugged the wolf even closer. The world around them faded into the bland grays and blacks of the eternal background of a supposedly purifying plane. Benny found himself a little lost, nary a breadcrumb in sight, but he felt anything but fear. When he drew back with a soft gasp, he was met with such a vision, Garth, expression dazed with dilated pupils and kiss swollen lips. Beautiful.

#spn bang bang #spn bang bang 2024 #spn fanfic #spn bang #spn fic #spn art #spn fanworks #supernatural #spn

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sporesgalaxy · 9 months ago

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what's uppppp I have some backstory writing for Pierre I've been fiddling with for aaagesss & I mostly like where it's at now. so I show you :)

short life history intro + Devil Fruit aquisition origin + little blurb from on the way to the Grand Line. enjoyyyy

warnings: animal death, bfrb (nail chewing)

•••

Tiny Pierra lets ants crawl all over her. She watches them tear apart a dying grasshopper in the garden, piece by piece.

Pierra looks with wonder in her eyes at a rotting fish covered with maggots. At a dead baby bird that fell from its nest too soon. At a bag full of bloody ducks her father shot.

Pierra gets too upset sometimes, and too frightened frequently. Pierra hides as often as possible.

When Pierra starts getting big, she wishes she was still small. She used to like squeezing into tight spaces; inside a box, under a small desk, under a bed. She doesn't fit anymore. Sometimes she feels like she's stopped fitting anywhere at all.

Pierra sneaks into places she is not supposed to be when she's alone, just to look around. Just to hear the silence.

Pierra takes food she is not supposed to eat, just to get away with it. Just to test how far she can go without being noticed. Just to be unnoticed on purpose.

When Pierra is 16, she goes to the market with her mother. While her mother speaks to someone, Pierra breaks off a tiny piece of the most interesting fruit at the stand. No one notices her do it this time. Pierra chews and swallows the piece of fruit, and it tastes bad, but Pierra is pleased to have learned what it tastes like without permission.

Later that evening, alone in her room, Pierra thinks she is dreaming, or maybe losing her mind. She wonders half-heartedly if the fruit was poisonous and she's dying. Then, she does what she always does when she thinks she is losing her mind: distracts herself and waits for it to pass.

It passes, eventually, but this won't be the last time. She learns that it's not madness, but the curse of a Devil. She learns she can't swim anymore. She prays for forgiveness. She tells nobody.

When Pierra gets too upset and admits it her mother a year later, she is begged never to transform again. To hide it forever, for her own safety. Human traffickers could be anywhere, her mother says, and Devil Fruit users fetch a high price. Pierra promises to keep hiding. Pierra wonders if it will be easier now, having someone who understands.

Pierra's mother goes back to acting like nothing ever happened. It doesn't get much easier.

----

Pierra Piper is currently one of many passengers on a large Navy escort vessel, which is in the process of entering the Grand Line through the Calm Belt. Pierra is trying very hard not to look at the water or think about Sea Kings. Her nose is buried resolutely in a short book.

The book isn't exactly comforting, though; it's about a man who transforms into a bug and finds himself useless and helpless and burdensome to his family, unable to continue working at his job or caring for himself. Pierra knew the book was about this, and chose to read it anyway. She reminds herself of that as she bravely turns the page rather than closing it.

It still feels surreal that Pierra is making a once-in-a-lifetime journey into the dangerous waters of the Grand Line for something as droll as her lab assistant job.

Pierra digs her nail into the book's spine restlessly.

She wonders if somehow, the Marines who interviewed her had known. Had been able to tell, just by looking at her, that she's been cursed by a Devil Fruit. Maybe there's some dead giveaway that she just doesn't know about.

More realistically, Pierra had been chosen for transfer despite her inexperience simply because she's big. She isn't especially athletic, but maybe being 7 and a half feet tall was deterrent enough for some pirates. Or maybe it was about being sturdy and able to reach things in a large laboratory.

Pierra chews her thumbnail and makes a great effort not to think about the sorts of biological research experiments she's read about the World Government allegedly subjecting prisoners to, or just how many prisoners the Marines have access to on the Grand Line. Those reports might not even be true. Pierra's thumb begins to bleed.

She wishes she had turned this job down. She wishes her mother hadn't been so encouraging despite the danger. She wishes her dad hadn't sounded so happy for her. She wishes the job didn't pay so much. She wishes it didn't promise a free return trip in 6 months. She hopes she'll meet a rich Zoologist while she's on the Grand Line.

#1pc #adddna #centipierre

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sustinentiae-spei · 3 months ago

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Bri's LOTR Musical Memories Part 2

Featuring a blurry picture of me hey-daying with Legolas aka Tilbert Bracegirdle aka my third cousin twice removed on his father's side.

Part 1: here.

Can we talk about that opening scene in Bag End?

Sam is so pure. He sounds so earnest as he talks about all his gardening plans.

Frodo's enthusiasm. The man literally hops off whatever he was sitting on. "My [hop] feet have got a journey longing!" And the actual longing in his voice as he talks about wanting to see the mountains and beyond. I truly believe that he is Bilbo's nephew.

When Rosie showed up and she and Sam had their whole exchange about what food they were excited for...Sam's little "Oh" was almost, dare I say it, sexual. The tension was very real. Real enough that Frodo stood there just awkwardly looking back and forth from one to the other and it was such an obvious third-wheeling scenario that everyone cracked up.

The hey-daying is, of course, adorable.

The affection between Gandalf and Frodo was so obvious. The way Spencer always ducked a little to hug Gandalf, to emphasize the height distance between them, while essentially body-slamming Gandalf, was so perfect.

Gandalf's explanation was fantastic. He was grim but not grouchy. He knew he was relaying bad information and he knew he had to do it very quickly and I've seen their conversation described as two people who are clearly very used to having a teacher-student sort of relationship, and that is so true. Frodo was so respectful with his listening and his questions, but also Gandalf seemed respectful in his explanation. He clearly respected Frodo enough to tell him some scary stuff.

Sam's evesdropping! He popped his head over the fireplace and was hauled bodily into the rest of the room and it was so cute.

Sam backing desperately into Frodo in fear of being turned into something, and Frodo laughing and clearly not being concerned, yet putting his arm around Sam and giving him a reassuring arm-rub all the same, just nailed one of my favorite things about Frodo and Sam: they are very different people, but they care about each other so much. Sam trusts Frodo to protect him from a wizard, and Frodo is caring enough to reassure Sam even though he doesn't believe for a minute that Sam is in any danger.

When they decide to go Adventuring, both of them seem so excited. It's quite a deliberate difference from the movies and it's fun. We get to see a more lighthearted (and very bouncy) Frodo, and we get to see more of what their friendship looks like when they're not under duress, and that's Important.

Their overly-exaggerated "After you, Mr. Frodo" / "Why, thank you, Sam" was such a sweet way to add a bit of comedy (and show the depth of their friendship) with a line that could otherwise have been played perfectly straight, and it is one example among many of the actors choosing to go above and beyond with the script.

#lotr musical #lord of the rings musical #chicago shakespeare theater #bri's thoughts

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thedeathofduty · 2 years ago

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Motion Sickness

I hate you for what you did

And I miss you like a little kid

Summary: You went for a morning ride in the Kingswood, as you sometimes did when you were a young girl in King's Landing. Unfortunately, you'd barely enough time to enjoy your hard-earned solitude before Prince Aemond arrived and started trying to speak with you. Reluctantly, you agree to work with him to mend the bonds that were broken years ago.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!F!Reader

Word Count: 8,305 (I got a little carried away)

Warning(s): Mentions and very brief description of child abuse, detailed description of a fight between two kids (not the eye incident), vague references to sexual trauma (Aemond)

A/N: So in the canon, Aemond claims Vhagar and gets his eye cut out when he's 10 years old, but I decided to change things a bit here and make it so that it happened when he was about 12. I messed with the canon timeline a few times here and aged Aemond up (babygirl is ~22 here), but every other change is actually addressed in-text. Also, I'm not 100% sure what the technical difference is between and OC fic and a Reader fic, but I am definitely on that line here. If anyone has an actual answer to that conundrum for me, please DM me and explain it to me, I am desperate to understand. I've been editing this as I go, but there might still be a few issues, so just be forewarned.

Though it had been close to ten years since you had ridden your white mare down this twisted path in the Kingswood, you found that the memory of it was deeper than you thought. Despite the years, you still knew where to turn, where to slow down, and where to duck your head so a stray branch would miss your face. You'd been gifted Nymeria at the tender age of only twelve and, now as you were a young woman of twenty-two years of age, she was every bit an extension of you as the short nails just barely peeking past your fingertips and the golden braid bouncing off your back as you galloped through the forest.

The crisp morning air nipped at your flushed cheeks and your steady breaths came out of your mouth in thick clouds. You were grateful you had not left your riding gloves in your chambers or else you knew your fingers would be too stiff. As the trees around you thinned, you tugged on the reins and brought Nymeria to a slow walk. Soon enough, the two of you reached your destination: the apex of the little rivers that ran through the Kingswood. As a girl, you had loved this place, though you'd only laid eyes on it a mere handful of times. Back then, you had been too young to go out riding on your own as often as you did now.

You jumped down from Nymeria's saddle, your muddy riding boots crunching in the pebbles below. The soothing murmur of the water was a balm on your senses after the extravagant feast you'd been forced to attend the night before. With a deep breath, you led your horse to a nearby tree and hastily tied her there with the soft rope you'd grabbed from the stables in the Red Keep.

"Here you go, sweet girl," you crooned, petting her under her chin as she usually liked. After planting a kiss on her dark gray snout, you grabbed your book of poems from her saddlebags and wandered off to sit near the edge of the small river. It was shallow, barely a river at all, and perfectly clear. From your spot on the bank, you saw a few peach-colored fish swimming against the gentle current. Around you was the sound of a cool breeze stirring the tops of the trees, the rising chirping of morning larks, and a faint crunching off in the distance. It was far enough that you could ignore it for now.

You settled into your seat, balancing your book in your lap and humming contentedly as your face slowly warmed with the clear sunlight. With the cold still nibbling at you, the light did not feel golden so much as it did silver. Almost like moonlight. You wanted to truly soak in every moment you had left alone out here. After the unfortunate journey to King's Landing from Casterly Rock, then that overwhelming feast last night, you were desperate to have some time to collect yourself. It would inevitably be interrupted, though.

The crunching in the distance got closer and you could feel the pounding of hooves through the earth beneath you. You sighed, already pushing yourself up to stand as the sound behind you came to an awkward halt.

"Prince Aemond," you said, not even bothering to turn towards him as he struggled to get his horse to stop completely. He had always been a clumsy rider, at least when it came to horses. You hoped for the sake of the realm that he was better with his dragon. "It is both a pleasure and an honor to see you again." You refused to look at him until he had finally dismounted, considering it a great mercy on your part. As a child, he had fallen out of his saddle enough times that any attempts to help him would just infuriate him. Granted, he had been much smaller back then, bigger only than Princess Rhaenyra's second son.

When you did fix your gaze on him, it was without a warmer greet or even a smile, just your hands clasped together in front of you over your book and your chin held high. His riding boots were cleaner than yours and still held some shine, unlike yours, which had been dull and scuffed for some time now. Just as he had been the previous night, he was clad entirely in black. His thick overcoat had little splashes of mud along the bottom and the sight of it did admittedly cause your lips to curl a bit. He was fixing his eye patch, trying to adjust the strap over his windswept hair with one hand while the other held tight to the reins of his dark horse. Unlike you, he had forgotten his riding gloves.

"It did not seem to be either last night, Lady Y/N." His eye met yours and you snorted, shaking your head in disbelief.

He was referring, of course, to your refusal to dance with him. Given the farewell he had gifted you before you left King's Landing nine years ago, he should hardly have been surprised at your cold demeanor. It was, in truth, because of his harsh farewell that you and your family had been compelled to leave. After the way he had treated you, it was clear he no longer wanted you and so the royal family had no use for you and your ilk either. To say your father had been cross would be entirely inaccurate. No, he had been well and truly raging, swearing to the gods that you must have done something to displease the Prince.

You had, though you never shared it with him. Your mother, at least, had been kind to you in those early years, even as you pulled away from her. No matter how kind she was, though, or how close you sometimes felt to any of your sisters, you never told any of them the truth of it.

"I was weary from my travels and did not wish to be paraded around like a jester." It was not a complete lie. You probably would have danced with someone else, if a desirable hand had been offered to you. Prince Aemond's hand, however, was little more than an insult, a thick glob of spit in your left eye. "Come," you sighed, walking towards him and grabbing the reins from his hand. This close to him, you could feel how warm he must be under his layers of thick clothing. He was standing rigidly like a little wooden toy. "I will fasten your horse."

You redid your rope tie for Nymeria so it could hold both, smoothing another hand over your mare's soft face before putting your book away. Maybe you would have the opportunity to read later, but you doubted the Prince had lowered himself to come out here just to sit in silence with you. Though you were not eager to, you would listen to him. He was more than just your childhood companion now. He was the King's younger brother and possible heir to the throne.

"There are matters," Prince Aemond paused, rubbing his hands together before balling them into stiff fists at his sides, "matters we must discuss." He was having a hard time meeting your eyes, only being able to meet your gaze for a brief moment before looking away again.

"And what matters are those, Prince Aemond?"

"The manner of your return to King's Landing."

"Well, I came mostly on horseback, but whenever I grew tired, I rode in the carriage with my mother and sister." You offered him a cheeky smile as he sighed wearily and rolled his eyes.

"Gods, you are still just an intolerable as you were when we were children."

Intolerable? And yet he had spent nearly all of his time with you as a boy? Oh yes, that sounded quite reasonable. You crossed your arms over your chest, forearms digging into the golden lion's head clasps in your crimson riding coat. "Perhaps you would find me more tolerable if I was simply able to divine your motives for questioning me. Alas, I cannot."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before speaking. "It has been many years since we have last seen each other. I am simply trying to get reacquainted."

On your last day in King's Landing, you had woken up before the sun and scrawled out a simple note asking him to meet you in the courtyard when he awoke if he wished to speak. With a thundering heart, you had given the folded paper to Ser Criston who stood guarding the door to Prince Aemond's chambers. He had promised to pass on your message, though he could scarcely look you in the eye.

Your family had planned to leave as the sun set to avoid the heat. He'd had all day to respond and to speak with you, but he had chosen not to even send a response. All you had wanted to do was apologize to him, but you knew now as a woman that you truly had nothing for which to apologize. In truth, what you had been feeling back then was a deep sense of shame and guilt for having hurt and angered the Prince as much as you had, but it had not been your fault.

You uncrossed your arms with a heavy sigh. "What is it you wish to know?" He pulled his hand away from his face.

"Did your parents tell you why you've returned?"

You shrugged. "In truth, I can see a few reasons why my family has dragged me back to this circus. There may be a war coming, after all."

"The Princess accepted our terms."

You smiled at him with feigned pity. "The Princess, yes, but what of her husband? Do you think they call him the Rogue Prince for his mild disposition and penchant for peace? Perhaps he'll kill her, return to King's Landing on dragonback, and burn the whole thing to the ground under cover of night."

He visibly swallowed, his pale neck bobbing. "Perhaps. But I doubt it."

"Let us hope you are correct, Prince Aemond."

He squared his shoulders and stood up straight, towering at his full height. There was enough distance between you that you did not feel dwarfed by him, but you knew it would be different if he were close enough to touch. As children, you had been the taller one for a time, until you stopped growing. When he had asked you to dance last night, your neck had actually hurt a bit at the strain of looking up at him. Your heart had been in your throat, breath hitching at the way the orange light in the grand hall danced on the side of his chiseled face. Prince Aemond was truly a man now, and the sight of him so grown twisted your insides.

"My brother is King now," he declared and you nodded with a slight smile on your face. "There are few who would dare stand against us."

If war was not an immediate concern, there was only one other reason for your family's return that seemed feasible to you. As a girl, you had been promised to the Prince who now stood before you, but the betrothal had been broken shortly after the loss of his eye. To this day, you were not sure who had finally decided to sever that tie. You only knew that before Prince Aemond left for his cousin's funeral on Driftmark, you were betrothed to him, and then a mere fortnight after his return, your father was screaming at you with his large fist in your hair, demanding to know what you had done wrong as your mother corralled your youngest sister out of the room. A lady only in station, as your mother often said of you, you refused to cower or cry whenever he flew into one of his rages. He was your Lord Father and you were the first in a line of five daughters, and the least ladylike girl at court. Was it any surprise he was often angry with you? In his eyes, you were his first failure as a man. Even with that, you were the only one of his daughters to inherit his temperament.

"Hm, then perhaps we are to be married off just as when we were children."

He wet his lips. "Does this displease you?"

"Oh, yes. Deeply." Something stirred in your chest then, some deep threatening rumble. Prince Aemond had written to you for years after your return to Casterly Rock and you devoured each and every word he wrote, but never once did he impart upon you the words you had wanted to read most of all. For two years now, he had stopped, and you would be lying if you said the loss had not broken your heart anew. "To be married to a man so proud and self-satisfied that he cannot even apologize?" You chuckled cheerlessly. "Gods, how unfortunate."

The atmosphere between the two of you grew heavy and oppressive. It seemed as though the trees around you were leaning closer to catch every single word exchanged. The water rushing behind the man in front of you grew louder, or maybe you were the one growing more tense and ready to strike back if he raised a hand to you out here.

His nostrils flared. "I was a child, Y/N."

"So was I," you hissed, jabbing a finger into your chest and baring your teeth at him. "You promised me that-"

"When you saw what had been done to me, you looked at me with so much-"

"I was devastated, Aemond!" Gods, your voice sounded so wild and shrill even to your own ears. You felt yourself get hot, tears coming to life in your clear eyes as you desperately blinked them away.

His mouth curled downwards in disgust. "Yes, I am aware of what you thought of the sorry state I was in."

You glared at him, your body vibrating as you fought to keep it in place. "Oh, and what is that exactly?"

When he spoke to you, he looked you up and down as if you were covered in manure and offending him just by being where he could see you. "That my deformity would shame you and your family, that I was incomplete."

"You are such a fucking imbecile!" you bellowed, your scream echoing briefly and then being swallowed in the cold air. "You were ashamed, you felt incomplete!" You swung your arms in the air, aching to punch him in the face, to climb on top of him and strike him as he had you all those years ago.

When Aemond's hand had made contact with your cheek back then, you remembered feeling an absolute, resounding emptiness inside yourself for one eternal moment before he was on you again, making you howl in pain as he fought you with all the desperation of a wounded animal. Thankfully, the milk of the poppy the maesters had given him had weakened him. His tears were hot and thick as they landed on your face wet with your own tears. You had managed to claw at his hands and neck, slashing blindly to try to create space between your bodies.

When Ser Criston stormed in with his sword drawn, he immediately sheathed it and separated the writhing tangle of screams and violence the two of you had become. You were only thirteen at the time, but you felt so much younger as you cowered behind the knight's white cloak, clinging to the fabric with your hands wet with blood, snot, and tears. It took nearly an hour before you could stop shaking. The Prince was not supposed to have visitors so soon after his injury, but nobody would tell you what had happen and you had gotten curious, so you had scaled the tall tree outside his chambers and climbed in through the open window. How you had grown to regret that curiosity...

You were both trembling in front of each other now, your legs and arms feeling like they were filled with tight copper coils. What would happen if you were to release that tension? Would you really attack the Prince? Would he attack you? More importantly, did he not deserve your ire, your ferocity, and your violence?

"You knew about the sort of man my father was," you said in a low voice, "And you..." You pointed an accusatory finger at Aemond and he flinched, looking at his shiny boots briefly before meeting your gaze again. "You promised me you would never raise a hand to me. You promised me that violence was not an inevitability. We were both children back then, yes, but were you still a child when you stopped writing to me?"

"Oh, spare me the theatrics," he groaned, "you never even wrote back!"

"I was waiting for an apology! Just one. That was all I wanted, all I would have needed. I know you were in pain, that you were not yourself, and I can forgive that. But I cannot forgive this lack of an apology."

"Did it ever occur to you that I was too ashamed to ask for your forgiveness?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I looked at you the way I did when I saw what that boy had done to you because it pained me to see you that way?" Neither of you said anything for a few long moments before you continued. "Nobody would tell me what was going on. All I knew was that you were not to be allowed any visitors, not even me. I begged your brother and sister to share their knowledge with me, but even Aegon kept the secret." You rubbed your arms as you felt yourself start shaking. Whether it was from the wind rushing through the clearing or the emotions surging through your body, you were unsure. "You were my only true friend in this ridiculous place and I was afraid for you and when I showed you my fear, you punished me for it. And then you never once offered any sort of apology, you just continued living your life and writing me those stupid fucking letters."

Guilt settled onto his pained face as he pursed his lips. "I am sorry, Y/N. Hurting you like that, it has been my biggest shame."

His words were like a lance through your heart. Why could he not have written that to you years ago? You shook your head, blinking away more tears as they twinkled in your vision. "I don't want it anymore. You had years for that, Aemond." Your lower lip trembled and you turned away, placing your hands flat on Nymeria's flank and focusing for a moment just on matching her breathing. It was an exercise you had tried for the first time after an explosive fight with your father and it was now one of the few things that could ground you when you were in genuine distress.

"What must I do to earn your forgiveness? Tell me, and it will be done. Please, Y/N, you were my friend as well. I wrote to you because I could not forget you."

You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead against your horse, your face rising and falling with her breathing.

When Aemond had allowed you to peek under his bandages to see the damage, his eye had been closed tightly. The angry cut underneath, coupled with the swelling, the thick black stitches, yes, it had all unnerved you. A deep primal feeling roared in your chest, a possessive need to both destroy and protect. You had never felt that way before. A sob had torn its way out of your throat, your eyes drowning in angry, impotent tears. If his own mother could not help him, what could you do? It seemed your look of horror and anguish was too close to disgust or, as was more likely, Aemond's own pain distorted your expression into one of pure revulsion.

It mattered little now. You had no marks anywhere on your person from that unfortunate day, not from Aemond or from your father. If nothing else, you were thankful for that. You never climbed again, having more than learned your lesson about curiosity and how little you stood to benefit from it.

You turned to him again, your heart clenching at the sight of his open, unguarded stare. "You broke my heart," you said simply, "but I read every letter. I wanted so badly to know that you were all right. What I wanted then was to protect you."

"You wanted to protect me?"

You nodded. "Do you not ever feel that way for someone in your life? The desire to defy time, to go back, and be there when they needed you most?"

"I often feel that way for my mother and sister, and... for you. Cole gave me your note that day, though..."

"You did not read it."

"I did not. What did it say?"

The years had washed away the specific words. "I wanted to see you in the courtyard before my family left. I had been hoping to beg for your forgiveness for having angered you so, and perhaps to salvage our betrothal. It's funny, I look back now and all I see is a scared little girl who just wanted her father so stop being mad at her. I am glad you did not come. I owed you no apology."

"You did not, I saw that even back then."

If only you had been able to see it, too.

You were the only one of your sisters to be born at Casterly Rock, but you had spent the vast majority of your life here in King's Landing. Your father traveled back and forth between the Rock and the Keep, leaving your uncle to look after the family in his stead. It was because of your uncle that you had even had the opportunity to meet Prince Aemond, his brother, and Princess Rhaenyra's sons in the training yard.

Your uncle did not care that you wore pants, thinking it to be a silly habit of childhood that you would willingly outgrow as you blossomed into a woman. He would be wrong, but freedom was always welcome. You had scaled the high stone walls around the training yard, carefully climbing up into the high branches of a tall tree to lounge in a cloud of bright green leaves and watch the boys practice. It was a few days before any of them even noticed you.

You had known Prince Aemond almost your entire life. The trust you'd had for him had been near-infinite before he hurt you. But you were a woman grown now. It had been nine long years since your departure and you had grown to understand why it had all happened the way it had. If Aemond understood that he had to earn your trust again and you understood why he reacted to you in such a cruel way, then what else was left but to continue in some simple way? If you knew your father at all, the reason he had dragged you back here was for a marriage pact.

"I think it is best to begin to make our peace with each other out here, away from prying eyes."

"Shall we say I left for Driftmark all those years ago and never returned?"

Your heart clenched. "It seems near enough to the truth to bring some comfort."

You both nodded, your bodies shuffling awkwardly before he broke the silence. "Shall we go for a ride?" You snorted when he gestured to the horses behind you. "What?"

"My Prince, it is not my wish to humiliate you."

"I'm not so bad."

"Some might find that to be just another way of saying you are not so good. Dragon riding and horseback riding are not the same. I cannot simply tell Nymeria to obey me and have it be done. She must know me first. It has nothing to do with me being worthy. I must earn her trust, her obedience, and her love everyday. What is your horse's name?"

He shrugged. "I haven't the faintest notion. He was the first horse I was able to find in the stables."

You nodded sagely. "Ah, so you are a fool." When he sputtered and opened his mouth to argue with you, you held your hands up with a laugh. "It is only a jape, my Prince! I would prefer to go for a walk along the water, if it pleases you."

In a few minutes, the two do you were walking side by side along the riverbank with your respective horses. When you looked down at your feet, you noticed that you and Prince were walking in step together and it brought a faint smile to your lips. You had missed him for many years, those letters he sent you making it near impossible to move on. After two full years without them, you had declared yourself cured of any affection for or attachment to the man beside you, but it was clear to you now that you had been deluding yourself. All your emotions had just been pushed into the darkest depths of your heart and being around him again brought sent them floating back to the surface.

"Is it true that you have an ever-burning blue flame under that eye patch?"

He snorted. "Obviously not. Is that what people are saying about me?"

"It's mostly just the women." You both smiled at each other. "You have striking features, it is no surprise you find yourself the subject of idle gossip."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Merely a neutral statement of truth, my Prince."

The apples of his cheeks were a dusty pink like the inside of a rose, but you were sure it was just the biting wind. "I must admit, my Lady, I never thought I would see you in a dress." At the mention of it, your ears burned red and hot like irons in a fire. You only wore dresses when your Lady Mother demanded it of you. Whatever your differences, you knew everything about you reflected on your house and it was not your desire to have a relationship with her that was full of constant strife. Because of that, you had acquiesced and worn the uncomfortable, form-fitting dress your mother had presented for you.

It was pretty. The fabric was a deep crimson and it hugged your curves, exposing you in a way that make you feel weak and irritable. Your breasts bulged over the top with every inhale, so you'd hunched your shoulders to try to hide it. Your mother had noticed, though, and corrected you with a firm hand on your back. Your bare neck and shoulders felt too much like an invitation to you and, as you'd expected, more men let their gazes linger on every bit of exposed skin and even worked up the nerve to speak with you. Of course your appearance emboldened them. You'd felt like a prey animal lost in the woods, naked and trembling in the breeze.

When you retired to your chambers last night, you had the servants draw you a hot bath and practically ripped the dress off your body. It seemed to cling to you like a desperate lover, but you took great pleasure in throwing it on the floor, along with your dainty golden rings, your ruby earrings, and the thin chain one of the servants had wound into your braids. You were not a doll, not a decoration, not a flower. You were a lion.

"My Lady Mother has me very well trained." If you so much as suggested wearing pants to any sort of gathering, she would immediately start wailing about how you did not love her and lived every moment of your life as a ploy to personally humiliate her and destroy your father's standing. After a few years, it became tiring to constantly be accused of plotting to overthrow your own house, and you learned to simply smile and wear a dress for a few hours.

"Hm, I thought it would be your father."

"No, he only demanded I dance with you, but I told him I would sooner put my neck on the executioner's block than agree to that. He told me he could arrange for it if I truly wanted it." The fights you had with your father now frequently bordered on the ridiculous.

"So you and your father still fight."

After your return from Essos six moons ago, it was not infrequent for him to threaten to cut out your tongue if you spoke out of turn, to which you would respond with a similar threat to his manhood. Whatever fear you'd had of him had worn away throughout the years, finally fading into nothing after your travels.

"Not as much. Maybe he's grown bored of the constant struggle, but my mother has taken up the mantle for him. I suppose that is what marriage is all about: sharing burdens. In truth, I do not believe the gods fashioned me for that."

"The gods fashioned us for love." You bit your lip to keep from laughing. Aemond had always been the pious sort, forever dutiful and tangled in his mother's skirts. It seemed time had not changed that, and it endeared you to him.

"Love, perhaps, but marriage? Childrearing? Do you truly see yourself in that?"

"I have always known it was my destiny to be married off to a Lady of a Great House and have children with her."

"But is it what you want?"

"I do not think those in our position can ask those sorts of questions. It is my duty, so it will be done. It is your duty as well. We should see ourselves as lucky that we have been able to outrun fate as long as we have."

You hummed, looking up towards the muted sunlight streaming through the tops of the trees around you. "An easy thing for you to say, my Prince, when you will never have to face the threat of bleeding to death in a birthing bed. Were we to have children, I would be the wound and you the knife."

"It needn't be that way," he said softly and you looked at him curiously. "A child can grow strong without a father, but he needs his mother. I would never risk that."

"So if it came down to it, you would not cut me open to save the babe?" It was a bold question, yes, but a necessary one. You had a right to know if your Lord Husband planned to kill you someday. If nothing else, you could make better use of your remaining time alive.

"Never."

You knew most men, considering the wife's use to be at its end, would kill her to keep the son. Your own grandsire had done it to his first wife and had even boasted about his unflinching, steadfast commitment to having an heir. What a barbarian. When he finally died and your father was named the new Lord of Casterly Rock, your cheeks had hurt from how much you grinned at his funeral.

You gifted Aemond an affectionate smile, looking back down at your feet still marching in step together when he gazed back at you. "If you are being truthful, then you are a unique man indeed, peerless and without equal."

"You are kind, my Lady."

You let silence fill the space between your bodies, listening to the crunch of grass and pebbles beneath your boots as you walked together. The river felt even quieter now, a mere whisper in your ear. The sun was settling into its spot high in the sky, the light hitting you now closer to gold than silver. Though the day was still cold, you were starting to grow a touch too warm under your coat.

"What have you done with yourself these past few years?" You turned your head to Aemond in surprise. Curiosity was normal, you supposed, but it still confounded you. "You never answered my letters, so I was left to piece together gossip and tell myself stories."

"In truth, there is little to share. After my return to Casterly Rock, my relationship with my father was... difficult to manage, at first. I often felt that he saw me as little more than a failed son, but he grew to accept me in his own way. He allowed me to train with the sword, and to study nearly whatever I wished."

"You are fortunate. Perhaps when we return to the Red Keep, we can explore the library together." You could not help but grin sheepishly at his invitation, the fluttering in your stomach making you feel young and girlish. "You can show me your book, if you'd like."

"I would like that very much. I am afraid I do not have many peers. Though I love my sisters, we do not understand each other."

It felt as though your sisters and your mother all lived in their own world and had their own language-the language of girls, you'd heard it be called. Whatever it was, your tongue could not shape any of the words. You had been born a girl, but you did not fit with them or with the men. Mostly, you fit only with yourself.

"I feel the same way with my brother. Though we are both men, that is where the similarities end." Aemond at least felt a strong kinship with the women in his family. You... Well.

You supposed you did feel a certain strength in the bond you had with your father now, a certain comfort you could never have hoped for as a child. When you returned from your travels, the two of you spoke at length about Aemond, since he had found your hidden cache of old letters. There was nothing indecent in them, nor was there any mention of what had happened in the Prince's room that fateful day, so you were not punished for keeping the secret.

The two of you were in his study, where he managed the taxes and most of the trade out of Lannisport. For the first time in your life, you were sharing a pitcher of wine with him. 'It seems the boy still holds a torch for you, so why have you not answered him?'

'If he truly wanted me,' you'd said, swishing your drink around in its cup absently, 'he would have ridden his dragon out here to speak with me himself. These letters are nothing but the words of a craven masquerading as a romantic.'

He had leaned his head back then, and looked down his nose at you with a curious glint in his eye, as if he was regarding you for the very first time. The next morning, he gave you a present: a golden ring just like his but smaller. It was a signet ring with the Lannister crest on it held in the mouth of a lion with bright ruby eyes. Unless you were unable to wear it, it never left your hand.

"Yes, you and I have always been alike. Both dragonless."

"Both lonesome."

Your chest tightened at the memories his words brought back: memories of the rejection you had both faced for the ways you were different, but also of the comfort you had been able to find with each other. Mostly, you fit only with yourself, yes, but you had once fit with Aemond as well.

"You stopped writing to me," you grumbled. "I left Westeros with a cousin of mine for a time and upon my return, I expected a stack of letters to be waiting for me. To my surprise, there were only a few. Did you stop because I did not answer?"

"In part, yes."

"And the other part?" you pressed.

"I met a woman." Stupidly, you felt your mood sour, a bitter taste coating your tongue. Silly though it may be, some part of you imagined him to have been loveless and celibate all these years as a form of penance for you. The fact that he had well and truly gone on to live a life without you felt so indecent and wrong. Of course, you were being hypocritical. You, too, had lived your own life.

"Oh? May I ask her name?"

"You may not." Shame spread through your chest like spilled ink on parchment. "She is gone now anyway, and the less said about her, the better."

"She was not good to you?"

He hesitated before speaking. "She was lowborn, a witch, and a bastard."

You gaped at him. "Oh my. Your mother must not have liked that."

"No, she was furious with me." He sighed. "Looking back on my indiscretions now, I just feel foolish. Never in my right mind would I have pursued someone like that woman."

"But you did pursue her."

"She chose me, I did not choose her."

Slowly, you worked to complete the puzzle he was laying out for you. If he could speak plainly, it would be easier. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

He gave an exasperated sigh, twisting his mouth. "She bewitched me somehow, Y/N," he said slowly as if he were explaining the mixing of colors to a child, "I do not know how, but I know I was not myself. When I finally left her to return home, it was as though a great fog had been lifted from my mind and I could see her clearly again. By then, it was too late."

"Too-"

"But you needn't worry about her. My grandsire helped to secure her and her son safe passage to one of the Free Cities. I did not ask which one." You stopped walking abruptly, your eyebrows furrowed in frustration. After a few steps, he too stopped and turned to face you. "Is something wrong?"

"Her son or your son?" He didn't answer. "Aemond. Did the child look like you?"

His gaze turned upwards, towards the sky, the trees, the gods. Away from you. "He was my son, yes. I don't know where she is now, but I hope never to see her again."

You smacked your lips together, rolling your eyes. It was true that jealousy was likely muddying your thoughts, but you could not help but feel anger towards him for sullying that unnamed woman's honor with a bastard child and then washing his hands of her so carelessly. Otto Hightower was an intimidating man with a steady, calculating gaze. As a child, you had been so scared of him that you could never even look him in the eye, much less speak to him. If he was intelligent, he had sent assassins to clean the Prince's mess instead of allowing her to flee to the east. It was what you would do.

It was more likely that the girl and her bastard son were cut from ear to ear and dumped in a river than that they were living a peaceful life in a manse on the coast of Pentos. Of course, if the Prince wanted to continue to delude himself, you would let him. The fantasy likely served as a way to ease a guilty conscience and, though you were unfamiliar with that feeling as a woman, you remembered it from your girlhood.

"I hope he sent her to Myr," you finally said and at your words, his body visibly relaxed, "I spent a few months there and I found it to be quite beautiful. The beaches are lovely at night."

"You will have to tell me about it, my Lady. I have never been to the Free Cities."

"That is very unfortunate, my Prince. Travelling broadens the mind and strengthens the spirit."

"If that is all it does, I've no need for it. I see enough of the world from atop Vhagar."

"You lack imagination, my Prince." Either that or he was afraid. You were not sure which option was pitiful and which deserving of sympathy. "Would you like me to regale you with stories of my travels? With a dragon, you could arrive in Pentos in mere hours. Perhaps my tales will light a fire in you and you will grow more adventurous."

"My last adventure ended with me as a witch's thrall," he muttered. Though the thorn of jealousy still pricked your chest, you softened at the bitterness in his voice. If the two of you were still children, this would be the moment where you reached out to take his hand or pulled him into a tight embrace until his breathing matched yours. Instead, you bit your lip and looked down at the dry grass below your feet.

"When I traveled with my cousin, I was rarely alone. We kept each other safe."

"Are you saying you would keep me safe?" There was a bemused smile on his face and the melody of his voice was soft like the song of a silver syrinx.

"I did tell you that I wanted to protect you when we were children. It appears you still need it." His eye swept over your face and down your body like a paintbrush over canvas. Though you tried, you could not help but squirm as he stared.

"How fortunate I am to have such a champion," he chuckled, gesturing for the two of you to keep walking. As you continued your aimless trek through the woods, you worked to swallow the pulsing lump in your throat. The day was warming up noticably now.

The Prince asked you about your studies and your time in the Free Cities, to which you responded with open enthusiasm. His blue eye sparkled in the warm sunlight like a precious jewel, the edges wrinkled by the easy smile on his lips. You knew you looked very much the same. The anger that had been bursting in your chest the night before was almost entirely forgotten as the two of you meandered back to where you had started.

Even on the other side of Planetos as you stood in the gardens of a lavish manse on the coast of the Narrow Sea in Pentos, your drooping eyes had been fixed on where you knew King's Landing to be on the horizon. For years, you had assumed the story you had begun to write with Aemond as a child was over, though you had not truly wanted it to be that way. A fantasy of him riding in on the dragon he had traded an eye for had filled your head with longing all that time. Despite all your various failings as a Lady, it seemed you still had some of the same dreams other women did: dreams of being a muse, of being love, desired, and adored completely, of being a home someone could return to and find comfort in. Though you had taken a few lovers during your travels, none truly moved you in the way you wanted.

You did not tell Aemond any of this. Instead, you simply answered the questions he asked you and offered him some of your own. Wherever his heart had lead him during your time apart, he was here with you now. If nothing else, you would have your friend back. You longed to reach a hand out and run your fingers along the strap of his eye patch, to slide it off his face and look upon him in a soft, restrained way.

Had his witch woman seen what lay beneath the dark leather? Had she been kind to him when he showed it to her? You hoped she had been, almost as much as you hoped he had not shown her. Despite the distance that had separated you all this time, he had remained in a class of his own in your mind. You wanted to cling to the idea that somehow, in some way, he had felt the same.

It was time to part and go back to the Red Keep and you were lingering, knowing you would immediately lose him the moment you starting riding. The sun was high in the sky now and you had unfastened all the ornate clasps in your coat to allow the breeze to cool you.

"Do you still wish to come to the library with me?"

"I do," you said. "I will bring my book of poems." You both swayed in place, unable to look at each other directly. "I suppose... we should ride back now, yes?"

"Yes," he murmured, but the moment you grabbed Nymeria's saddle, he spoke again, "wait. I... I have a question for you, so that I may understand what you hope to gain from this arrangement." His hands were flexing open and closed by his sides and you remembered the habit from childhood. He was nervous. When he noticed you looking at him hands, he hid them behind his back.

You dragged your eyes back up to his tense face. "What is your question?"

His face grew flushed and he opened his mouth once, twice, before finally asking, "did... did you think of me in our time apart?" His eye darted back and forth between yours, seemingly hoping to find the truth buried inside them.

There was a sharp tug in your chest, pulling you forward as you took a careful step towards him like you were approaching a frightened child. With your heart pounding the way it was, you very much felt like a frightened child. You cut the cord that was trapping you, allowing yourself to reach out to him slowly. If what he desired was to stop you, he had ample opportunity to do so, but he did not. With a shuddering breath, he allowed you to lay your hand on his cheek and cup the side of his face, the tip of your thumb brushing against the edge of his eye patch.

"I thought of you," you confessed, "long and often." Your eyes drifted down to his lips and the short breaths coming out of them.

As a girl, you had never kissed Aemond, though you had often wanted to as you both grew older. You considered it for a moment, tilting your mouth towards him so slightly, until you noticed the tension he was holding in his body, the way his breathing was still erratic, and how he could not seem to look at you. Gods, he looked terrified. This wasn't how you wanted it. A bit crestfallen, you retreated and granted him his space once more.

His hand darted out to grab yours in a grip so tight, it was nearly painful. "Aemond?" His eye was fixed on your joined hands, his hold loosening as his thumb gently glided over your knuckles. Just as suddenly as he had grabbed you, he released you. Something was wrong, though you could not venture a guess as to what it was. He seemed so brittle in front of you, like a thin shard of glass or a lone snowflake.

Silently, Aemond nodded once, as if steeling himself before his transformation. His shoulder squared at once, his hands carefully tucked behind his back, and an easy smile graced his lips without reaching his one blue eye. "My Lady," he stated as if reading off a bit of parchment, "I will meet you in the stables, so that we may walk to the library together."

Your skin bristled at his formal tone and you opened your mouth in protest, then thought better of it. "I look forward to it," you said with a tight smile. After giving him a polite nod, you climbed into Nymeria's saddle and charged forward without sparing him a glance.

The wind on your face was warmer now, but no less fragrant. Your stomach was in tight knots as you rode through the Kingswood, your heart filled with excitement, confusion, and embarrassment. You wished you could make some sense of it and just feel one thing then another, arranging your emotions in a neat column so they may be easier to digest.

Though Aemond still felt familiar to you, there were parts of him that were foreign and hidden. You did not know his witch woman's name or his son's or why he had seemed so timid and frightened just before you left. It was as if he was a home you had lived in your whole life, only for you to awake one morning and discover that someone had changed something in every room.

You hoped he could truly be your friend again. No, you knew he would if you were only to be given the time necessary to nurture that bond.

Your hands tightened on your reins as you quickened your pace.

After all these years, Aemond was to finally be your Lord Husband. There was a slight chance you were wrong, but you did not see the value in entertaining the possibility just for the sake of self-doubt. You knew your father, you understood the importance of your own house, and... Well, it was what you wanted. You were correct. You knew you were.

You and Aemond would have nothing but time to connect and explore. In time, he would once again be as familiar to you as the air in your lungs or your own face in the mirror. You could hardly wait.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #mine #aemond fic #i actually wanted to make this so much longer because i ended up falling in love with this reader/oc/whatever #but good god it's already so long #and i wanna write other stuff but i'm not good at juggling in that way #anyway i love writing aemond being incompetent in certain things and i will be doing it more often

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justalonelybitch · 2 years ago

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Luxurious Love, Lust & Lies

Chapter Three ~ Curiousity Kills

~ Series Masterlist ~

A twisted tale of the young and rich attending an elite private academy for academic scholars, the finest athletes and aristocrats. Follow these upperclassmen on a journey to uncovering the dark secrets their academy has fought tooth and nail to conceal from the public. No one will make it out unscathed, for everyone is at risk of falling for the deceiving facades of those around them.

Multiple K-pop Love Interests x F!Reader

“Do you hear that?” Mr Kim’s mistress whispered, pulling away from his embrace with a look of panic reflecting in her eyes. He quickly shook his head, too caught up in the moment, rushing back to press his lips to her once more, addicted to the taste of her lips. But she pushed him back, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip with growing concern, glancing around the area. The faint whistled tune in the distance alarming her, eyes widening as she shooed him away, forcing him to take a look.

Upon hearing their panicked whispers, you picked up your pace, rounding the corner of an old school building. Assessing the area with a sense of panic, your eyes flickered towards an conveniently opened window glancing into one of the abandoned classrooms. Upon hearing what was undoubtedly Mr Kim’s heavy footfall as his shoes scuffed along the dirt path, leaves crunching beneath his feet, your brows furrowed contemplatively. Heaving a sigh, you reluctantly climbed through the window, rushing to pull it shut and duck out of sight just before Mr Kim could reach you. You released a breath of relief upon observing him wander past carelessly, completely unaware of your presence.

Once you were sure the coast was clear, you reached forwards to push the window back open, but much to your dismay, it wouldn’t budge. Taking a moment to glance around the room, you scrunch your nose up at the dust covered desks and cobwebs that had crept out from the corners. “Gross,” you muttered upon catching sight of magnets swarming around what looked to be rotten fruit and someone’s mouldy old sandwich. Pausing, you debated options, opting against breaking the door open, that would draw too much attention. Inhaling sharply, you traipsed towards the classroom door, prepared to further explore the building.

Your brows raised in curiosity upon catching sight of a faint change in dust patterns along the tiled floor. Head tilting in confusion, you squinted in the darkness, eyes lighting up in realisation. Someone had been here recently. Following the indistinct trail, you found yourself venturing further into the old building, ignoring the eerie silence. The faint flicker of light that inconsistently lit up under the door of a locked storage room raised the hairs on the back of your neck. Picking up the pace, you skipped up the stairs, struggling to follow the near invisible footprints in the darkness. You resisted the urge to shout in surprise as quiet music crackled to life on the speakers.

Briskly walking up the final steps, you arrived in front of a barricaded door that led to the roof. Only the wood was broken by an undeniably strong force, wind blowing the door ajar with a loud creak that left you wincing. You hesitantly stepped forward, slipping through the gap and coming face to face with a cloud of smoke. Suppressing a cough, your gaze darted to the source, brows furrowing as you were greeted by a familiar leather jacket clad back. “Jeon Soyeon?” You questioned into the darkness, approaching your classmate who sat on the ledge, legs dangling in the breeze.

“Kim Y/n,” she hummed in acknowledgement, not sparing you a glance as she stared into the distance, joint between her lips. “I thought I told you that was bad for your health,” you muttered, swinging your legs over the edge, occupying the space beside her. “You did,” Soyeon merely turned to you with an uninterested stare, lips parting as she blew the smoke into your face. Scrunching your nose up in dissatisfaction, you shook your head in amusement, holding your hand out expectantly. Huffing, she handed over the joint, her mouth tugging up in a proud smirk as you brought it to your lips.

She chuckled in amusement, punching your shoulder with her ring clad fingers. “What about all that health crap?” She asked, shoving her hands into her pockets as the wind picked up. “It’s bullshit,” you huffed, gently massaging your throbbing forehead. “I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses,” Soyeon smirked, tugging the joint from your lips. “Just when I was beginning to think you were boring,” she hummed, ignoring the faux offence that graced your face. “Rude,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. You perked up at the faint sound of rustling leaves, forgetting all previous thoughts.

Glancing down to the ground, you squinted, struggling to make out a faint silhouette in the darkness. “What is it?” Soyeon asked, following your gaze curiously. “Not sure yet, hand me your phone.” She rolled her eyes at the absurd demand, but nevertheless she passed over the battered device. Tapping away at the screen, you open the text chain between you and Soyeon before clicking the camera icon. Leaning over the edge eagerly, you zoomed in, snapping a picture and sending it to yourself. A rough grip on your collar pulled you back, keeping you from toppling over the edge in your excitement.

“Idiot,” Soyeon muttered, snatching her phone from your grasp, gazing at it intently. Swinging your legs over the ledge, you planted your feet on the roof, wandering towards the opposite edge of the building. “Hey Y/n?” Soyeon called after you, hands stuffed into her pockets as she followed after you. “Yeah?” You hummed, glancing up at the tree that towered above the roof. “How did you know my password?” She questioned, brows raised inquisitively. “Lucky guess,” you excused with a shrug, carelessly climbing onto the ledge. “Until next time, Jeon Soyeon,” you saluted with a smile, stepping backwards to gracefully fall over the edge.

Soyeon’s eyes widened as she blinked in shock, rushing towards the ledge, curiously leaning over. She let out a relieved laugh upon seeing you dangle from a feeble branch by one arm, waving up at her with the other. “You’re fucking insane Kim Y/n,” she chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. “You know there's a ladder, right?” She asked, watching you nod dumbly, wondering what possessed you to suddenly jump from a roof. Letting go of the branch, you landed on the ground with a thud, dusting off your uniform before casually strolling away, hands stuffed into your pockets. “I was wrong, you’re far from boring,” Soyeon muttered to herself as you disappeared into the darkness.

Sooyoung stared perplexed as you held your phone up to her face, brows furrowing at the blurry image. “What does a photo of Kim Yerim have to do with any of this?” Your roommate huffed, plopping down on your bed with a confused grumble. “The photo of Mr Kim and his mistress, she took it the night this photograph was taken.” You explained simply, shrugging nonchalantly as you flopped down beside her. “That still doesn’t explain why you have it,” she groaned, abruptly gripping you by the shoulders, attempting to shake some sense into you. “I made a new friend,” you grinned, paying no mind to Sooyoung’s bewilderment.

“And she just handed you a photo of your teacher with his tongue down a student's throat?!” She yelled in disbelief, forehead creasing as she tried to wrap her head around the perplexing situation. “Well, I’m simply borrowing it for the time being,” you uttered, glancing down at the crumpled photograph. “For fucks sake! you stole it, didn’t you?” Sooyoung accused, eyes narrowed as she awaited your answer. Carefully contemplating, you tilted your head to the side, scratching your head thoughtfully. “I suppose so,” you muttered with a nod, wincing as Sooyoung landed a slap on the back of your head. “Idiot,” she grumbled, falling back against your mattress.

“I still don’t understand any of this,” Sooyoung complained, raking a stressed hand through her long dark locks. “You don’t need to,” you muttered, leaning back against the wall. “I want to though,” she huffed, briefly letting her eyes flutter closed as she tried to piece together this unique puzzle. “You always do weird shit like this, I’m just finally curious,” Sooyoung mumbled, by weird she meant suspicious. “I’m doing someone a favour,” you revealed, watching as the gears in her head began to turn. “A favour? For who? Why?” She questioned rapidly, abruptly sitting up straight. “I received an anonymous letter on the first day of school, I thought I’d play along for a little fun.” You explained calmly, staring out the window and into the starry night.

“Just what have you gotten yourself into, Y/n?”

Students flocked around the auditorium doors, flooding inside as excited chatter bounced from the walls. You shuffled mindlessly through the crowd, arm linked with Yerim’s, who had caught you by the arm amidst the sea of students, dragging you past endless bodies. “Best seats in this fancy old building,” Yerim declared as she plopped down on the red velvet chairs. “I’m not so sure,” you muttered doubtfully, pointing a lazy finger to the private balcony above, reserved for various significant figures within the academy. “I beg to differ,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

“Shouldn't you be up there with them, miss student council historian?” You teased, eyes swirling with curiosity as she gazed longingly at the balcony above. Hints of red and gold accents travelling up the pure white walls, historical patterns adorning each pillar supporting those who sat above all others. “That privilege is reserved for senior council members,” Yerim mumbled with a wistful sigh. The students all quietened down at the steadily paced clacking heels that captured the attention of the entire student body with a mere eight twelve steps. The headmistress cleared her throat before leaning forwards to speak into the microphone that sat atop a podium perfectly centred on stage.

“I know you’re all excited, but I’d appreciate it if I could have your attention.” Taeyeon requested, patiently awaiting the stall of hushed chatter. “I’m sure you’re all well aware of the upcoming annual sports festival,” she paused, quirking a smile at the excited cheers that echoed through the auditorium. “The board and I have been discussing factors for a while now, and I’m pleased to announce that there will be an additional incentive this year!” The headmistress declared proudly, prompting cheerful claps from those on the lower seats, while the privileged merely sat stoically above. “The champions of the rigorous battle between homeroom classes will earn an advantage in the next competition.”

Taeyeon’s announcement earned a rally of cheers and joyous shouts. While academics were incredibly important values to an advanced academy, they also believed in challenging their students in ways most schools couldn’t dream of. The school year consisted of several advanced trials that tested the students' individual capabilities and teamwork throughout the years. The academy’s annual sports festival was only the beginning of this year's various trials; you could only assume there would be plenty of twists and complexities to come from such a highly regarded school. You’d only heard whispers of challenges from the past years, but the serious nature in which the seniors viewed it told you there was much to anticipate.

“Thank you all for your time, you may now head back to your regular classes.” Your eyes wandered to the crowd as Taeyeon droned on, curiously flickering up to the loges in which the esteemed bunch were seated. The President sat stiffly, eyes hardened as he stared ahead. A stark contrast to the Vice President seated beside him, her shoulders relaxed, an easy-going smile adorning her lips. Your eyes then found the familiar face of your Swim Captain, who nodded along with the headmistress's words, listening attentively. Lastly your gaze landed on Kim Jennie, her arms and legs crossed, expression reading as uninterested.

You blinked in surprise as her intimidating cat-like eyes met yours, her brows raising as she tilted her head upwards ever so slightly. Daring to hold her gaze, you stared blankly at the girl who matched your expression, inquisitively raising a perfectly sculpted brow. It was as if the devil herself had challenged you to a staring contest, one you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from. Jennie’s sharp features staring back at you with an unreadable expression, one you tried tirelessly to decode, but to no avail. Brought back to the real world by a soft tug on your blazer, you briefly glanced away, looking curiously at Yerim.

“Everyone’s leaving,” she grumbled, pushing you out of your seat to follow after the bustling crowd. Stumbling forwards, you craned your neck to glance back at the balcony in wonder. Your brows furrowed as your eyes landed upon the now empty chair that Kim Jennie was seated in mere seconds before. Interest peaked within you at the strange encounter with the Student Council Treasurer, blindly following behind Yerim as your mind wandered back to the exchange. Something about the feline eyed girl was oddly familiar, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it. A harsh tug on the back of your collar yanked you from Yerim’s grasp, tugging you through the crowd as you struggled in protest.

“What the fuck,” you exclaimed, shrugging off their hand before whipping around to face them. “Watch your language,” Kim Hyoyeon scolded, shaking her head in disappointment. “Watch my language?! You just dragged me by the neck and I’m not even allowed to swear?” You seethed, glaring up at your professor and swim coach in disbelief. “I had no choice, you weren’t replying to any of my messages.” She reasoned, voice lowering as she glanced around the corridor cautiously. “I was busy,” you huffed incredulously, feigning ignorance to the numerous messages you’d received days prior. “What did you say to Taeyeon?” She questioned, arms crossed over her chest authoritatively.

“Straight to the point as always,” you rolled your eyes, leaning against the nearest wall. “Just answer the question, Y/n. I don’t have time for your games today,” she gritted her teeth, lips drawn into a scowl. “No fun,” you whined sarcastically, a faux frown plastered on your features. Hyoyeon shot you a warning glare, taking a menacing step closer. “You're worried,” you observed, brows furrowed pensively. “Something’s off, I haven’t seen her like this since..” Hyoyeon trailed off, biting her tongue as she watched your jaw clench in vexation. “Whatever the problem is, it hasn’t got anything to do with me.” You grumbled, spinning on your heel, but Hyoyeon caught you by the wrist with a firm grip.

“It has everything to do with you,” Hyoyeon pressed, releasing your wrist as you slowly turned to face her, eyes narrowed. “Let me rephrase. It’s not my problem to deal with, she can fix it herself.” You seethed, hands curled into tight fists. “But you know she won’t,” Hyoyeon tried to convince you, but to no avail. “I don’t owe her anything,” you didn’t fold under her now pleading gaze. “Now if you’d excuse me, I have to get back to class Professor Kim.” You spoke formally, releasing a sigh of relief when she didn’t stop you. But just as you were about to round the corner, Hyoyeon tried one last time to sway you in her favour. “She’s your sister, Y/n,” her voice echoed throughout the corridor, but you didn’t bother to face her this time.

“No she’s not. Not anymore.” You whispered, but Hyoyeon heard you loud and clear, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

~ Previous | Masterlist | Next ~

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goddessofroyalty · 2 years ago

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Fandom: House of the Dragon

Finally at my computer again after posting another chapter of Blood for Blood so take my favourite part of it - Luke looking Aemond dead in the eye while telling him he named their latest kid Harwin.

Pairing: Aemond/Luke

Warnings: omegaverse, mpreg, uncle-nephew incest, abelist comments (I tried not to go too hard but I also needed to keep it in character)

-------------

Aemond is not surprised it is his sister waiting for him and not his mate when he finally makes it back to their home. Luke has the seemingly never-ending responsibilities of his seat to keep him busy while Helaena only has her insects and her children.

“How are they both?” Aemond asks as the two make their way towards the main hall where Luke is hearing petitions from the various peoples under their rule. He never likes leaving when Luke is pregnant but rebellions are more easily quashed by dragon-fire and it is better to remind others who may think of also trying to buck their Lord of exactly how out-powered they are.

“They are both well,” Helaena says with a nod that’s almost a bow. “You have another son.”

Aemond nods at it. They have a good spread of both genders among all their children and hopefully will see all three designations as their children present. But it is good that both Luke and their latest made it through the birth.

Helaena glances away from him, picking at her nails in the nervous habit she picked up from their mother.

“What’s happened?”

Helaena ducks her head again, muttering something under her breathe before daring to meet his eyes.

“It is not my place to say. Just, promise me you won’t be mad at him, okay?” she asks and Aemond is suddenly back in the early days after his father died when everything and everyone was at risk.

Halaena had said they were both well so surely that meant their child had not been born sleeping. But well still leaves a wide space. Aemond is well, but he is still forever missing his eye. Even their family is not immune from children born deformed.

“Of course.” There is nothing even a dragon can do against the gods wills. They just must hope that this is not an omen of more bad things to come.

Halaena eyes him doubtfully but doesn’t say anything as they finish their journey. Entering the main hall as they are announced.

Luke smiles at them both at it. Standing from his seat and gesturing at one of the maids to bring their child over to him as Aemond approaches his Seat.

“I assume you were successful in your venture?” Luke asks as Aemond kneels to him with well-practiced ease.

“Yes. I doubt there will be even any whispers of rebellion from the region for at least a generation.” Aemond had made sure to leave a painful mark on the landscape itself to ensure that anyone who stepped foot in the area would know what the price of going against their rule was.

“Good. I do regret I had to leave it to you alone.”

“You had more important duties to tend to,” Aemond says standing again.

“I suppose,” Luke says with the cheeky smile that he will apparently never grow out of. “Do you want to meet him?”

It is a stupid question but there is no doubt in Luke’s voice. He knows Aemond will want to. The pride of a child born from them something that does not fade with each birth.

The maid brings the babe over to him as soon as he nods. A boy still young even if no longer new born. Weeks of his life Aemond missed because of the traitorous rebels.

“What is his name?” Aemond asks as he runs his eyes over the light eyes and dark hair of their child.

“Harwin,” Luke says and Aemond hears the maid gasp at the look he shoots his omega.

Luke stares back at him with unflinching eyes.

“I named him in honor of the man who was loyal to my mother until the day he drew his last breath,” Luke continues. Which sounds perfectly reasonable if not for the fact that Luke had named their child after his true father.

It’s just short of a declaration of the truth of the bastard claims.

You promised Helaena mouths when he glances over at her.

“What do you think of it?” Luke asks because he knows Aemond can’t say what he is actually thinking. Not without admitting to the treason they are all complacent in.

“It is a good thing we have our dragons.” Anyone foolish enough to use the name as a rallying cry to try and take the Seat from Luke will die by dragon-fire.

#Lucemond #aemond x lucerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #omegaverse #GOT omegaverse #mpreg #GOT mpreg #HOTD #House of the Dragon #House of the Dragons #I accidently a ficlet #Usual this is GOT stuff warnings apply #While it's overall softened from its first chapter #this fic still very much is sticking with it's theme #of exploring power dynamics and exchanges of power in scenes

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spinchip · 1 year ago

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NEVER THE DARK

Chapter 8

Read on Ao3

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

warnings: body horror, grief

GRIEF IS NOT A FEELING// BUT A NEIGHBORHOOD.

Jay wakes up to the smell of something savory wafting to his nose. He sits up slowly, stretching his arms over his head until his joints popped loudly, swallowing against the dry taste in his mouth. He looks over the campfire. A small pot has been strung up over the flames with a series of branches tied together with black lichen, a thick brown soup bubbled away inside and gave off a frankly mouth watering smell.

Lloyd is sitting at attention, stirring the soup every few seconds.

“Morning. You made breakfast?” He asks, running his hands through his hair to de-tangle it.

“Absolutely not.” Lloyd informs him, “Birdy’s the brains of this operation. He went to forage for spoons.”

“Spoons?”

“That’s what he said.” Lloyd shrugs, “He and I caught some fish this morning, and he dug up some beans too. He’s been preparing it for hours.”

Birdy appears a few seconds later holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Are those for me?” Jay jokes, “Or should I wake Cole?” He teases, smiling as Birdy ducks his head in embarrassment.

“They’re for everyone.” He tells him, sitting down and breaking off a petal. It literally snaps free from the stem, “Spoon flower. They get stiff near the end of their season, perfect for make-shift utensils.”

“Huh. That’s pretty cool.” He comments,”You sure know a lot.”

“I have been here a while,” Birdy reminds him, popping off the rest of the petals, “And it was not all my findings. There’s a self-proclaimed polymath high up in Oasis’s hierarchy. Samiras right hand man. He has made a lot of significant discoveries… Hopefully you never get to meet him.”

The smell of food finally rouses Cole, who sits up already drooling, “That smells amazing.” He hums, inhaling deeply.

“I don’t have bowls, so we’ll just have to split the pot.” He says apologetically as Lloyd wakes Nya and Kai.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting anything. I’m not complaining.” Cole says easily, scooping up the first bite of soup and tossing it down the hatch. “Oh, wow! This tastes like pot roast.”

“Fish here is more like a red meat.” Birdy nods, pleased as the others dig in.

“So what’s the plan to avoid Oasis?” Lloyd asks once everyone ate their fill and camp was sufficiently broken down.

Birdy brushes any leftover sand off his pants, “There is no plan. There is only one exit that will not detour our journey by weeks, and it leads directly into Oasis’s territory. We are relying on pure luck that a patrol doesn’t stumble on us coming out of the caves. If we’re caught, they will take us directly to Samira.”

“Luck.” Jay echoes, “I don’t know if you know this, but it was our lousy luck that got us stranded here in the first place. I think we’ll be making an appearance in Oasis’s jail today.”

With a shake of his head, Birdy starts to lead them through the tunnels. The river at the bottom swells and shrinks randomly, to the point where there are times they’re wading through it. Jay drew the short straw of the bunch, which really was just him realizing too late the team was splitting into pairs. Kai and Nya were walking side by side behind Cole and Lloyd, leaving the only empty spot right next to Birdy. His spot. It’s not like he doesn’t like the guy- he’s been nothing but helpful this whole time- but the mask is… well, it’s creepy. And Birdy is awkward. All attempts at conversation outside the oddities of the realm had really fallen flat, and if there’s one thing Jay liked to do it was talk.

He looks around the caves, swiveling his head every which way, trying to find something to catch and keep his attention. He so badly wants something to fidget with. He finds himself rubbing his hands together and caving around the urge to pick at the skin around his nails. His mood darkens as they walk. He can’t help but think that this shouldn’t have happened. The museum fight was just such a mess. She ran right past them for FSM’s sake…

“Are you alright?” Birdy asks near silently, able to speak lowly enough that the others don’t catch on.

Jay feels himself bristle, “Oh, Yeah,” He snorts, “Like i’d spill my heart to you. You won’t even show us your face.” He lashes out. Birdy flinches barely, just enough that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren't a specially trained ninja with eyes like a hawk.

Birdy moves on quietly and doesn’t say anything else unless it’s a warning about treacherous ground. Despite himself, Jay starts to feel bad. He wasn’t technically in the wrong. Birdy didn’t really have the right to ask about that stuff. He’s a total stranger! Just because he’s leading them through the Realm doesn’t mean Jay has to spill his heart to him! But he can hear his moms voice in the back of his head- You could at least be polite, Jay! We have manners in this house! There’s no need to get snippy.

“We… lost someone a few years ago,” He starts quietly. Birdy turns his head ever so slightly, enough to signal to Jay he’s listening, “He was home. He kept us all together. We’ve just been going through the motions without him, pretending to be this big happy family and no one acknowledges that we’ve been barely hanging on since he died.”

Birdy crosses over a wide branching path from the river, reaching back to grab Jay's hand for stability over the wet stepping stones, “You are not happy here? With your partners?”

“I…” He sighs, “It’s different now. I love Cole and Kai with everything I have, but it’s not right without Zane. We aren’t balanced. Kai moved out of our bedroom. When we argue Cole never has my back anymore.” Jay struggles to find the right words.

Birdy stays quiet so Jay can finish, “I just don’t think we’ll ever have the strength to fight without him. Not for our relationship, and certainly not as Ninjagos greatest heroes. Even this mess here and now is proof. We only ended up in this place because we still haven’t compensated for his loss.” He looks down at his red nails beds, bitten to bleeding, “And then what? Do we die too? What’s the point of that?” he says bitterly.

Long moments pass as Birdy waits. Jay doesn’t go on. He actually thinks Birdy isn’t going to say anything in response- which, well, fair. It was kind of a lot. Pretty heavy stuff. He hadn’t meant to spill like that, but once the ball was rolling he couldn’t stop it and Birdy was just so surprisingly easy to talk to. He opens his mouth to apologize when Birdy finally breaks the silence.

“It is hard,” He begins slowly, “To feel so alone.”

Its Jays turn to flinch. Birdy sliced right down to his core, looking at the things he said and picking out the root of the problem instantly.

“I understand.” He says carefully, “When I was sent here, I lost everything. My family. My home.” He runs his thumb over the handle of his staff, feeling the grooves in the metal, “I spent so much time just surviving, putting one foot in front of the other. I had no one in this world, and I never will. I was truly alone- but there is understanding in loneliness when there is no one around. It is a unique type of pain to feel lonely surrounded by the people you love. Hiding behind grief, Putting up a barrier and pushing them away, it feels better because at least then the loneliness feels justified.”

Jay doesn’t look at him.

“When you saw the beast in the forest, you were ready for a battle.” Birdy says meaningfully, “It did not look like you wanted to run away.”

“I was just surviving.” Jay parrots simply, for once at a loss of words.

“No,” Birdy says immediately. He reaches out and grabs Jays hand, stopping him from picking as his nails, “You were fighting for your family, and you must let them in so they can fight for you too. Do not throw this away, Jay- You do not want that.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” Jay reminds him sharply, jerking his hand back defensively.

Birdy pulls away and looks straight ahead, ”I know.” He moves forward several long strides and Jay has to half-jog to catch up.

"What about you?" Jay pivots, "You lost everything. You're basically in hell. Why keep going? Why go through the trouble of helping a bunch of strangers?"

There's another long pause, this time Jay's sure Birdy's not going to respond when he breaks the silence, "This isn't hell." Is all he says, and nothing more.

He jogs forward suddenly, breaking away from Jay fully. In front of them, a wall of vines has grown thick and long, tendrils dragging along the stone floor. Birdy pulls them aside like a curtain to reveal a thin shaft of natural light, and a tall cavern climbing sharply into the sky. A few feet above Birdys head the purple-gray stone transitions to dirt and earth where the walls are covered in deep black holes. Jutting out of the patches of soil between burrows are long, fat tubers. The ends are sliced down flat while still allowing a substantial chunk to poke into the corridor above them. At the very top Jay can see the now-familiar rolling clouds.

“This is our stop.” Birdy announces, craning his head up to the sky.

The others filter in through the vines, the hole wide enough for them all to fit comfortably. “So where’s the elevator?” Jay asks.

Birdy dips his head in a way that implies a courtesy smile before railroading on, “We climb.”

“Oh, this’ll be a piece of cake!” Cole grins, stepping up to the wall and prepping the best pathway up in his mind.

Reaching out to stop Cole's hand from touching the wall, Birdy chokes up on his staff and informs them, “You must not put your hands or feet into the holes.” He says seriously before sticking the tip of his staff into the closest one. Immediately a spray of fire lights up the cave, a slender headed animal darting halfway out before retreating back inside, huge slicing claws leaving gouges on the side of its burrow. “Magma Moles. They do not attack unless threatened, and encroaching on their home is the easiest way to do so.”

Cole gulps, “Noted!” He laughs awkwardly, restarting with a different pathway in mind. After a moment, he nods to himself and leaps up into action, scaling up the wall like he was born for it.

The others go after him. Birdy starts second, using the vegetables as hand and foot holds to haul himself up on the other side of the pit. It’s a slow, arduous process. Jay takes a deep breath and starts up, pacing himself because the climb is a long one. He glances around at the others, all of them in different stages of the climb. They’re all doing as expected despite the slickness of their handholds. Steady progress. Cole leads Kai and Nya up slowly and carefully while Jay skitters up after Birdy.

In the mouth of the burrow right next to him the darkness shifts. There’s half a second of fear before Jay realizes he’s not under attack, “Aw, hi little fella!” He greets, face to face with one of the mole-like rodents. It’s far tinier with any adult with fluffier spotted fur- a puppy!

It’s not one of his smarter moments. He can admit that. He reaches out and pets it.

The little thing allows it for a moment before it gets a good whiff of Jay's human-stink and connects the dots that the loving stroke is not from a beloved family member. At this realization, it lets out a long high pitched squeak, one that makes Jays ears ring- and below them, the cave erupts into fire.

“Climb!” Birdy orders frantically, “They are pack animals, that was a cub's distress call!”

AKA, they just threatened a baby, and now the village was ready to roast them alive. Jay's heart rate jacks up as he begins to scramble up the wall, dodging streams of fire by a hair's width. Despite the panic, he realizes there’s a pattern- about 3 seconds of fire max with a 5 second minimum cool down time. He watches each hole and, in the brief moments after the fire stream stutters out he uses the holes as launch points to haul himself up quicker. Cole grabs him by the hand the moment he’s close enough and yanks him out of the hole hard enough to make his shoulders ache, the others clawing their way up heart beats after.

They scramble away as the moles all synchronize their next blast and a pillar of fire shoots up from the pit, scorching the trees on the edge of the clearing they found themselves in.

Kai groans as the fire putters out and flops on his back, exhausted, “Way to go Jay!”

“No one warned me the babies would be so cute!” He defends where he’s sprawled out in the dirt, trying to breathe.

Birdy on his feet, leaning on his staff. “You forgot the first rule already.” He laments.

Nya and Lloyd huff out a laugh, leaning against each other. The cave entrance is only just now returning to dim darkness, the streams of defensive fire finally dimming as the animals chitter and chirp to each other. The light, however, was a beacon to anyone who might be passing by. It would have been less obvious to shoot off a flare gun and announce I’m over here, come get me! Through a megaphone.

They hear them coming moments before they see them, the thick forest hiding them from sight for a few precious moments. Birdy straightens and adjusts his grip on his staff, but when he glances back, his grip loosens. Jay looks at them- exhausted from the mad scramble, singed or burnt, tired because well, let's face it, sleeping on rocks wasn’t exactly comfortable… they weren’t the strike team they usually were, and the band of warriors approaching them sounded fresh and ready for a fight.

There is a familiar swishing sound that Jay registers half a second too late to warn anyone about. Birdy hisses in pain, dropping his staff. The throwing knife thankfully bounced off his fingers instead of severing any, but Birdy still has to shake out the sting as the patrol group finally emerges from the woods to surround them.

The apparent leader of the little group swaggers forward, “Well well well, what do we have here? Little Birdy's come back to play?” He’s a wolf armed with a huge morning star in one hand, but what sticks out most to Jay is that he sneers at them with teeth that have grown together into chunky blocks of bone. His mouth doesn't close right because of it, the smirk lopsided.

“Wox.” Birdy greets, squaring his shoulders and standing tall, “You’re looking well.”

Wox throws his head back and laughs, the roof of his mouth studded with more rows of flat bone teeth, “Flattery won’t win you any mercy, mate.” He crosses his arms, and it’s only now that Jay realizes that what he initially thought was a flail was just the man’s hand, the bones of his fingers fused and studded with random claws and bits of shattered bone.

This is the first set of people since Maurice that they’ve gotten to see the effects of entropy in action. Wox is not the worst off of the group. Jay has to will himself not to flinch as he continues to notice new and unique ways the people around them have been mutated horrifically. The girls to his left- he can’t look at her hands. He thinks he might be sick. Exposed bone, extra limbs, Cronenberg body horror that will haunt his dreams he’s certain. He’s sweating.

The others in the patrol spread out, and the Ninja get to their feet immediately. They huddle together as the crew herds them into the center of the clearing like sheep. Jay's hand rests on the handle of his weapon, but Birdy glances back and shakes his head minutely.

“We’re just passing through.” Lloyd explains, stepping up beside Birdy.

“Passing through?” The girl at Wox’s side snorts, her jaw hanging on by only a few thin pieces of elastic looped around her head, “You can’t just pass through Oasis, greenie. You gotta talk to the boss, get permission, you see?”

Wox steps forward, “Which Birdy knows, don’t he?” He says pointedly, glaring at the man. “But I suppose that’s where you were heading, weren’t ya- to see Samira. You wasn’t gonna just sneak on by, right?”

Birdy stays quiet, thinking. “…That is correct.” He says tensely.

“Well good. We’ll lead you there, make sure you arrive safely.” Wox uncrosses his arms, the mass of bone that was one his hand dragging across the dirt.

Birdy glances back at them, holding the look like he wants desperately to tell them something but can’t, before turning back, “Lead the way.” He grabs his staff off the ground as they’re wrangled through the woods.

Jay’s close enough that when Lloyd turns his head to Birdy and asks, “What’s the plan?” He can plainly hear when Birdy says nothing at all.

They pass through the trees in tense silence.

Jay squares his shoulders and prepares for the worst. That's how it always goes, after all.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #jay walker #lloyd garmadon #nya ninjago #kai ninjago #cole ninjago #zane julien #spinchip fic #ninjago never the dark #ninjago au #body horror #grief #spinchip posts

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popculturebuffet · 2 years ago

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Ducktales Reviews: Last Christmas!: FINALLY

Happy Holidays All You Happy Ducks! Today we have a special one for you as we're FINALLY talking about Ducktales first full christmas episode, Last Christmas!

This one has a bit of a history with me. For starters I.. didn't see this one when it came out. I have a bad habit of storing christmas episodes for next year if I don't get to them.. and the next.. and the next. Yeah my tendency to let things I need to watch pile up does NOT go great with episodes that have a timer on them. Eventually I ended up watching it a few years back on Disney+.

This episode ended up being cursed for me apparently as this is the THIRD christmas i've tried to put it on the schedule and the first it's actually gone up. I tried doing it the first year I did this, last year, every year something comes up and I had to put this aside. Well it's finally here.

This also has the honor of being the first episode reviewed after getting my copy of Art of Ducktales, which gives a lot of background info into the show, how it was made, that sorta stuff.

It's especially useful here as it turns out Last Chrismtas was orignally planned for season 1, serving as another piece of the Della mystery. Dewey goes back to try and talk to her.. but ends up with her as a kid instead. It was decided it was too early in the series and honestly.. that was probably the right call. Shows CAN do good holiday episodes in their first season, as we'll see with the Ghost and MollyMcgee soon, but most shows tend to wait till season 2 to break out Halloween and Christmas/Hannukah episodes. It makes perfect sense to me as to why: By Season 2 your characters have fully settled into their characterizations and who they are, making it funner to play with. It's especially true in animation: while sitcoms and such will likely get one a year and thus have multiple attempts to do whatever, usually with a cartoon you get ONE holiday episode they can reair forever and ever. This is becoming less of a thing these days as both this show and big city greens have had two, but there's still no guarantee your release will synch up to where you can do christmas twice. Amphibia only got the one and while they nailed it, sometimes that one shot can misfire pretty badly. Ask My LIfe as A Teenage Robot. I.. I dread the day i'l lhave to deal with that mess of an episode but I know it's coming.

So saving the proper holiday episode to season 2 was a smart move and worked out: as the creators put it it allowed them to give us a preview of Della before her full spotlight episode next time out, as well as reintroduce the stakes of her returning from the family's perspective since they woudlnt' be around next time we saw them. Add in a clever twist on a christmas carol and you've got a holiday classic. I will say the Santa episode is better.. .but it dosen't mean last christmas isn't still a masterpiece. They just somehow outdid themselves the nexdt time around As you can probably tell I like this episode so let's get on with the long awaited review under the cut.

Something I forgot is that this episode.. is really two diffrent 11 or so minute stories. Their interconnected and start at the same point, but since the show usually just has it's two plots play off one another, I had it in my head the two went back and forth. In reality it's just two diffrent shorts covering two very diffrent plots with a shared message, theme and antagonist. It's a neat way to do it do: just let Scrooge and Dewey's seperate stories breathe as while their learning similar lessons, their still their own journeys. It also makes the twist less obvious. So starting off

The Setup: The episode starts with Scrooge doing what you'd expect: throwing a big tantrum about not liking christmas. We eve I think eget a ba hum bug. Only Micheal Caine or Dylan Saunders has been this cranky a scrooge. We do get some nice bits thougH: Donald not only being super into christmas to honor his sister, but fighting with an inflatable snowman, Webby only decorating a small portion of the tree, and the fact the ducks have an annual christmas viewing of night on bear mountain, a stellar nod to the story that introduced scrooge which I covered my first christmas. It also implies it happened in SOME form in this universe though how I don't know. Meanwhile Dewey is also not feeling the Christmas Electricity, but mostly because he's missing his mom, sadly looking at a photo of her like he's wolverine. Donald comes in and while he's combative at first because A) he's donald and B) He sees Dewey hiding something once he sees it's a picture of Della he understands and gives the boy space, saying he can join them when he feels like it. Dewey's mopey solo time is interuppted by laughter.. and following it Dewey finds.. Scrooge.. eating, drinking and being merry with three strange figures. There turn out to be the Ghosts of Christmas Past (A cricket similar to Jiminey voiced by Jack McBrayer), Present (A wild pig…)

I know and I missed you. Voiced by Bil Frabrake, of Patrick Star and nailing a nutsack to his door fame, and the Ghost of CHristmas Future Played by

Turns out in a nice twist, the three came to scrooge one holiday, implied to be during the decade Della was lost judging by some Dialouge from past later, thinking he was the other guy, and ended up liking him. So they've come back every year after their usual spiel to party with Scrooge through time and space. Well mostly time but i'm sure they can travel through space too.

Scrooge also explains why the whole hating chistmas deception: He dosen't really.. well except Santa , ex boyfriend troubles amirite?, and that'll be fixed next holiday special. He's just so exausted from taking care of his family, his company, keeping the world serpent Jormungandr at bay, which is still one of my faviorite lines in the series. Fun Fact from what the art of book tells me they didn't have a concrete plan right away, but they did throw this out here knowing they'd do something with it eventually.

Dewey agrees to keep his secret at least for this year as he understands needing some me time, and thus our stories splinter off: Scrooge heads with his boys to the past.. and as we find out later Dewey grabs on to tag along but ends up falling off into the past. We'll catch up with him later. For now

Party of Christmas Past

So Past's idea this year is to go where they left, the mansion but not when (Scrooge is done with all the time travel puns). I also love the touch of Dewey later making the exact same pun in his story.

It's the First Annual McDuck Industries Employee Christmas Party, sometime in the 1960s. So clearly this is when Scrooge Conglomrated everything. HE also wasn't as succesful yet, but they had fun. It's honestly a nice subtle parallel to the party from A Christmas Carol, our hero visiting a happier time. The only diffrence is he's the boss. OH and he meets his past self who brushes it off with an "older me" and a hat tip.

This works out well enough for Present (Who naturally goes to destroy the buffet) and Future (Who Mrs. B, whose got it, hits on), but not so much Scrooge, who can't relax as he has to deal with his board, who apparently decided to going to the office party was part of their evil plans. Look it's free food and booze even evil masterminds and their clones have to eat and get embarasingly drunk. Even seeing Goldie.. ends up going nowhere as buisness calls and he's up to his ass and shit. What is this buisness? A bunch of people pitching stuff. Scrooge is annoyed, feeling he shoudl've stayed with his family and planning to leave. Past melts down a bit over that nad comes up with another idea: Scrooge's very FIRST christmas in duckberg. Just a tend the stars and no one around. Scrooge likes this.. for about five minutes. He realizes that as a lot as they can be.. .he misses his family, and christmas should be with them. It also makes sense why it took so many years: As I said past hints about in a second that Scrooge's family returning changed him. It was a nice escape when he had an empty mansion with only his best friend and someone he barely knew who turns out to be his daughter later for company. He was keeping everyone at arms length. Now his mansion is full of life again: He's let Beakley back in as a friend, taken Webby as surrogate family, reconciled with donald and met and got to know and mentor his nephews. There's also Launchpad whose like the dumbass himbo son he never knew he had nor never wanted but accepts anyway.

Thing is Past.. is a bit of a clingy bitch. It's also a nice take on the character: Past wasn't trying to teach Scrooge the meaning of christmas.. he's pissed someone is going to leave him AGAIN. It shows the strain this job would have on someone: getting to know them, helping them.. only to never see them again because as a better man, they dont' need you anymore. His behavior isn't RIGHT, he's trying to trap scrooge in the past for his own selfish desires and not getting that he can't keep scrooge here and maybe he shoudl find other firends or take solace in his fellow spirits, but it's sympathetic enough. We still want scrooge to win but we at least get why Past has sunk this low. Jack McBrayer also does a great job as a villian. Part of casting him as this was to see if jack could pull it off and boy does he. It's also a nice smokescreen: Given Jack hadn't played a ton of villians at this point, it gets you to drop your guard and not realize Past is going to be a problem till it's too late.

Scrooge of course being scrooge eventually beats him. When a straight up fight just goes in cricles, he simply asks to go back a minute to live the fight over.. thens teals Past's umbrella and strands him. Classic Scrooge. Past thinks Scrooge will just come back..b ut he undferstandably doesn't. Which leads us into

Siblings of Christmas Past

Dewey picks up like I said falliing off future, making a pun, that sort of thing. But now he realizes he's here in the past.. his mom might ALSO be and goes to look for her. instead he finds Grunge Donald Duck

Yeah this came about from Frank realizing the timeline being adjusted meant Donald would be Dewey's age in the 90's, and given he used to be a musician.. he would totally be a grunge kid. Maybe we'll see teen donald on that 90's show. Fingers crossed. At the very least Kev has given me the idea of Della, Donald an the Cbas doing a circle. I guaranteee Donald would be the one who talks about a car that runs on water man.

This was also a golden opportunity for them to bring in a legend that they'd left out of the series thus far. See the one downside, and really the ONLY downside to making the boys unique characters instead of the hive mind that will one day loom over us all as our cruel overlords in all their 90s misogny, was that Russi Taylor wouldn't be playing them. So like most classic actors who weren't reprising their parts in favor of new talent in the roll, the crew found something else for Russi to do: voice a young donald. And once again , just in time as sadly she had passed by the time the episode aired. Just like her apperance on OK KO it was only through sheer luck and good timing that she got to be a part of this and god bless it. She does a terrific job, as you'd expect and it was a nice way for her career to go out: doing something new with a voice she'd perfected so very well.

At any rate Della is apparently out front camping and Donald is moping about christmas. And this brings up a recent problem. See when the episode aired, I like most of the fandom, assumed the Duck Parents were dead. This episode was my biggest evidence: The kids are here on christmas, alone, and Donald moping in his room is clearly supposed to parallel Dewey doing the same because Della, while not dead, is lost to him.

So here comes Art of Ducktales (Or specifically the suplimental interviews I didn't get because I only bought the standard edition because it was almost double the dollary doos. Thankfully fine folks like you put the info from it out there and yeah.. turns out Quackmore and Hortense are alive.

YEAH. I mean i'm fine with it as had Disney not pulled a Disney, and maybe with someone compitent in charge we might get a second chance at season 4, we would've gotten an episode with one of my faviorite disney Ducks and the husband whose atomic hate sex helped them create two of my other faviorite ducks. And Grandma Duck, whose just the best. But even then it raises a LOT of questions that, given the show is over and MAY not come back even with Iger in charge now, I don't think Matt considered when he dropped this fucking bombshell.

Why did they live with scrooge so much then? (As kids anyway). Why did it seem like Scrooge saw them? Did the triplets know them? Did they know Della was lost and if so howd they react? Do they know she's alive? Do they know they have a clone niece now? Why weren't they there at christmas? Were they just going to show up? Were they stuck in the duck version of planes trains and automobiles? Why haven't I written that? And do I know that film was about thanksgiving and not christmas?

We don't know..except the last one. I do but I like that film better than i'll be home for christmas and it fits the situation better. I like to think they were both steve martin and john candy was Goofy's dad. Not the point. It just kinda delutes THIS episode a bit. I thought it was about Donald being in mourning and having to accept that his sister needed him too. About both of them coping. Instead it's just.. Donald bein ga bit of a dick. Which is usual for him but not exactly as satisfying.

That's not to say it still dosen't work: Donald having to get over himself as well as the implication that their parents and Scrooge were both too busy, leaving them alone, still works well enough, especially with the irony that Dewey would give ANYTHING to see his mom in some form while Young Donald is just throwing it away, adding weight ot WHY Dewey is so instiant.. and his relization he's done the same thing. Sure he's in pain, that's fair.. but so are his siblings. And shutting them out is just hurting them. It's a godo message and still works, but maybe they shoudl've thrown in a line or something about his parents being gone just to make it seem like the twins were a touch less orphaned.

Like I said though this segment still slaps. While it's on the crew it came off like Hortense and Quackmore were dead, likely as a deleberate misdirect, it's still a lot of fun. There's a nice load of hints Della wanted Donald to come stay with her and hunt santa: the adult sized tent, snacks for more than one, the letter for him. It also makes her holding him hostage evne as the Wendigo is a comin make more sense: she'd likely cut him and Dewey down if it got too close.. but the answers are BLINDINGLY obvious and only Donald's own arogance and selfishness, rarely seen in this version since he'd largely grown out of them by the time we meet him, force Dewey to hammer it home.

It's still heartbreaking too. Dewey does meet his mom.. but it's not a proper meeting and he ultimately and tragically isn't allowed to warn her. Not because of some contrivance either: Della outright stops him as she's savy enough to know anything Dewey told her could destroy time and space. And the saddest part is there is no right answer: Dewey tells them and Della gets to raise her kids, live her life and Donald isn't under the pressure of raising the kids.. but it also erases the GOOD memories he has raising them and being their dad. I'm not saying Della going to the moon was WORTH all that, but I am saying it's the double edged sword of fucking with history: you loose any good that came iwth the bad and you can't predict how things will change. But your still letting something awful happen to make that happen and not break time over you knee.

The Wendigo itself is clever. This version, for obvious reasons dosen't have the creature formed from Canablisim. And yes that's what makes a wendigo in mythology. And marvel comics. Fun fact that's how Wolverine debuted: hunting a Wendigo and then ending up fighting the hulk.

So instead it's a being created by intense sorrow and regret.. i.e. Past. And luckily our heroes can beat christmas past turned into a mythgical creature because this is the duck family. This is an average christmas for them. Scrooge apologizes, which he really shouldn't have to and gives past his umbrella back and he takes our present day heroes home, where they celebrate with their family.. and Scrooge invites the spirits to join. I'd say this is suprising but the amount of people who have tried to kill scrooge that he now casually parties with is probably pretty tall. IT's a sweet ending though as Dewey and Donald hug with Donald welcoming him back, clearly remembering his help all those years ago, Beakley hits on the ghost of christmas future and we end on something truly special: Mike Peraza, who did Mickey's Christmas Carol drawing and end credits sequence in that style, nicely doing it in the classic style and even using the same parchment he used. Seriously he still had it lying around. Holy shit. Oh and Della wishes her kids merry christmas from the moon I guess that'll be important later.

So yeah as I said up front and will again Last Christmas is great. It's two great character pieces with a good message at the core: Don't push your loved ones away, celebrate with them, Cherish them. Enjoy your time with them. And for god's sake don't befriend jiminy cricket's bastard brother you'll regret it. IT's heartfelt, well acted and a nice twist on an old classic christmas formula. Check it out if you have'nt and have a happy holiday.

#ducktales #christmas #scrooge mcduck #dewey duck #della duck #disney channel #disney xd #disney #donald duck #a christmas carol

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