#he's trying to make peace with his very nature being a threat to his life inherently inescapably

[dvrast]

a thing about jesper is that he is constantly afraid. angry and frightened— that's what the fjerdan had called him. what had matthias and inej seen in jesper that he didn't understand ? / [ stop treating your pain like it's something you imagined. if you see the wound is real, then you can heal it. ] / you taught me to lie. [ to keep you safe. ] i had a gift. you should have let me use it. [ it's not a gift. it's a curse. it would have killed you the same way it killed your mother. ] i'm dying anyway, da. i'm just doing it slow. it's a genetic disease, father to son. inheritance. power, from his mother. fear, from his father.

it was one thing to be born zowa in his father's house, a weight impossible to tip - toe around with the old farm floorboards creaking under every step, something reaching deep down in his chest to hold his breath from a young age. it was that easy, as breathing, as long as it kept the fear off his father's face ; even easier, whispering truths like pearly whites tucked inside unassuming seashells with his mother. she was brave, braver than the both of them, and she made it easy, until she couldn't. after her death, colm's fear deepened, widened, and it swallowed jesper whole.

the world was always too small for jesper, too big, for grisha of any kind, an open range with traps and snares littered every few feet like landmines. you're born as prey animals native to every continent, or trained into predators in ravka. there isn't a single hill or meadow that's safe, not really. this is a part of why he leaves for ketterdam in the first place, no matter how afraid he is to leave his da, alone in a haunted house. but he can't stay there, not when it feels like the same thing that killed his ma is lurking under the floor, hiding in the rafters, breathing down his neck. but it wasn't the house. it was a part of him, some heavy, extra organ, and he takes it with him wherever he goes. it begins to feel like some kind of birth defect, something somewhere just a millimeter out of line, killing him slowly with every too - fast beat of his rabbit heart. sleeping, waking, this inescapable, primal paranoia. it'll kill him, just for being born.

jesper has what we would call generalized anxiety disorder on top of his attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, and it's at its worst once he realizes this feeling isn't something he can leave back home in his father's house. one could go mad with it, not a single place in which you can feel yourself, safe, whole, and he feels a little mad, at first, digesting this revelation ; this is his life, a blessed death. this is what it means to be zowa, his mother's son, his father's prodigal, home or far from it, everywhere, anywhere in the world. he can't ever catch his breath in ketterdam, since before even that, light and heavy all at once, a freedom you can only feel from falling. he feels like a dead man walking the streets, less to lose than even that, and it's easy, easy as breathing, to lay down what little money fit in his pockets with or without the promise of it earning any of it back. ketterdam is alive, though, and he learns quickly how fear is in the very air, but with it, an immunity in its people. something fearless in the water. it was almost inevitable, then, that the most fearless creature in the barrel is who jesper finds himself drawn to even more than the promise of a light burning brightest before it goes out, like a moth to flame. kaz brekker makes him feel like he could be brave for the first time since his mother. like he could survive.

fear is a lot easier to face if you don't ever look away in the first place. if you never come down from the high, there's never any crash - landing, and life with the dregs is a rollercoaster of ups and downs to simulate a freefall that's in his actions instead of his bones. joining the dregs, joining kaz, it gives a name to the grip in his chest— a false one, but a name all the same. he can't be afraid of living if he's dodging death left and right. this fear he has is for a bullet in his head, a knife in his back, dime lions or black tips or stadwatch or debt collectors instead of slavers or drüskelle or ravka or poisoned little girls in need of saving or his father's scared, scared eyes— ketterdam is where taking a deep breath could get you killed anyway, and it's the first place he feels he can live in. the first place he feels he could survive, because living in ketterdam demands it.

[lunartuness]

Spoilers for Book of Bill

Thoughts on Bill talking about Ford

I was not prepared for canon Billford in the year 2024 and yet here we are.

But seriously, I'm kinda surprised how much Bill actually liked and valued Ford? Obviously it's in a horrible, toxic, never come within the same continent as them kind of way but it's just, I always kind of figured their relationship (while obviously adoring from Ford's end due to Journal 3) was mainly just Bill humoring Ford long enough until he no longer needs him. Like, 'yeah, sure, of course you're special, I definitely believe in you' sort of nonsense.

But in Bill's book it's implied multiple times he had as close to a crush on Ford as he's probably capable of. I mean, the whole 'love cage' section is literally verbatim what he did to Ford (and just wait until they're mentally broken enough to confess their true feelings! Fear and love are basically the same thing!) And in the valentine's section he talks about leaving mice, which again, he did for Ford's birthday, and then when he wasn't happy about that, got him drunk enough to have a good time (implied kinda forcibly? since Ford declined beforehand). Then there's the fact he literally calls Fiddleford a third wheel (also coincidentally after we just learn Fiddleford spent hours on handmade gifts for Ford and forgot to get his wife anything).

And when Ford finally does catch on and things go bad? Bill tries first to talk with Ford through the zombies (to manipulate him, of course, but also Admit it, you'd miss me. I have missed you, and Bill actually smiles.) And then leaves little sticky notes asking nicely to talk. When he finally gets mad enough to escalate, he still does so in a very not-violent-for-Bill-way. Sure, killing Ford wouldn't help him but we know how messed up Bill can get. And yet what does he do? He leaves Ford's body to almost freeze, only to have a warm fire and a love song playing when he wakes up. He causes mild public disturbances and gives him an obnoxious tattoo. When he finally, finally snaps is when we start to see more of the Bill we got in the show when he tortures Ford a bit. But even that is mild?

Like, Bill rearranged a man's face for fun and takes joy in destroying the Nightmare Realm. But after threating Ford he leaves him unharmed. Very mentally scarred, yes, but safe and intact. He even gives him three days to get his life together. And then treats it like a messy breakup when Ford finally breaks free. Hell, it seems like he was more upset about losing Ford than losing the portal.

All this is to say that I think from Bill's point of view he was being genuinely kind to Ford. He gave him gifts, complimented him, and tried to work things out peacefully when Ford started pulling away (again, his very messed up version of peaceful, but the point still stands).

So when they do finally meet again? Bill still offers Ford a spot next to him. Again, I originally thought this was more playing into Ford's ego while taking a cheap shot at him (i.e. you'll fit in great with the freaks!), but by now it's obvious he wants Ford. He's petty and cruel and horribly abusive about it, but in his own twisted way he likes Ford. A lot. Enough to show mercy (or at least not be as violent as he could be) and to try and give him multiple chances to come back, no apology needed!

And the worst part is Bill knows this. Bill's trying to make this relationship work. He feels connected to Ford in a way he quite possibly hasn't felt with anyone else. And he knows its doomed to fail. In his mind he has to destroy everything he touches and everything he cares about. Any other connections he has are either superficial or dead to him (usually literally). This relationship will end the same way, it's just in Bill's nature. To him, that's all his relationships are capable of being.

All this just makes me sad and adds so much depth and I'm obsessed. There's just something about self-destructive and truly cruel characters having moments where they wish they weren't that way. Where they'll come the closest they ever can to apologizing for how they are.

(Also Bill literally wanted Ford to get a tattoo saying 'If lost return to Bill' like we cannot just ignore that oh my god)

[wannaeatramyeon]

Samuel Seo x Reader: Waiting

G/N. 3 separate fluffy scenes. Sammy just being sweet and not unhinged. Masterlists

"Sammy you don't have to come with me."

He gives you a look over the top of his glasses. One he reserves for when someone is being particularly ignorant and stupid.

(Jake Kim and Ryuhei Kuroda have been on the receiving end of this many many times.)

You think he's being a little unfair.

"I thought you were supposed to do something with your friend?"

"It's fine." Samuel responds.

It really isn't.

Goo had thrown something of a tantrum when Samuel said he wasn't able to accompany him on his latest errands. Threats of his secret (or not so secret) friend status was bandied about.

However, you have a medical appointment. Which is really more of a check up than anything, but Samuel still thinks he should be by your side.

He understands that it's standard procedure. Nothing is expected to come from it.

But there's a lot of things in his life that he regrets, and he's trying not to make any moves that would make you regret being with him.

"Sammy-"

"No." His tone holds no room for argument. "I'm coming with you."

.

-

Samuel, the absolute sweetheart, plays chauffeur without complaint and always walks you to your front door.

You had nearly swooned the first time he strolled around to your side, opened the car door for you to climb out as elegantly as you could (which was not very), and strode next to you with his hand resting on your hip.

Over time, it had become second nature for him to do so and every time, you find it just as sweet as the first.

"Did you want to come in?" You ask him under the porch light as you fiddle around with the keys.

That was also something you asked after you became better... acquainted. Nine times out of ten, Samuel would answer with a hungry glint in his eyes and a smirk that makes you want him to devour you.

Tonight-

"I've got an early morning."

It's a straightforward response. You know there's no game playing, yet you can't help the pang of disappointment and rejection. "Oh."

He chuckles at your response, the eagerness that was so clearly painted on your face then the way it dropped, "Were you expecting something?"

Samuel knows exactly what you were expecting, and relishes the way his question makes you blush.

"No!" Even to your own ears it sounds like a complete lie.

"Tomorrow," he promises, kissing you on the lips and leaving you breathless.

.

.

No matter what time your train gets in, Samuel is there waiting on the platform for you.

Sometimes it's with a bouquet, sometimes it's with a coffee. A little pick-me-up that he has thoughtfully prepared for you.

He really didn't need to do this, although you express constantly how much you greatly appreciate it. You've told him again and again but he insists on being there for his peace of mind. To make sure you've arrived safely, to make sure that you return back to his arms in one piece.

In the past he has cut off meetings with Eugene early, or heads back to the office to work late into night once he has taken you home.

For him, it's always worth it.

"Sammy!"

You're the first off the train, already impatiently gathering your things as soon as you recognised his outline waiting on the platform. Practically running off the carriage and full body slamming into his open arms.

He holds you like he hasn't seen you in years, like you're his lifeline and he's been adrift without you by his side even if it's only been half a day.

"Let's go home," he says, finally releasing you from his embrace. He offers up his hand and you happily intertwine your fingers together.

[aliidarling]

yandere!gojo with civilian reader

GOJO SATORU x fem!reader

— dark content / lil oneshot kinda blurb

summary; gojo is interested in you, a broke college student! aren’t you just the luckiest!… right?

warnings; gojo, no nsfw but gojos creepiness makes up for it, yandere, stalking and creepy gojo.., mentions of blood, cursed spirits, gojo being an asshole, no beta we die like satosugo, this isn’t too dark ngl

this is just a small thing i thought of, it’s very random and definitely not finished LMAO

let’s say your a civilian in tokyo. you’re halfway done with college and you work half time at the local bakery, always stuffing your face in pastries or books. not one moment of your life is eventful or ‘exciting’— it’s quiet, calm and mostly, peaceful. you wouldn’t have it any other day.

until one day a tall pale man with an odd hair color waltz into your bakery. he has snow-white locks and wears black sunglasses, the lenses completely hiding away his eyes for some reason. you found it odd at first but you’ve learnt over the years to not butt your nose in other peoples lives.

he’s absolutely gorgeous, sadly. tall, a lean build under his light blue blouse, with a cocky smile on his perfect pink lips. he was something straight out of a fairy tale. too bad you would never be the princess in one of those tales, instead the background character you’d walk pass and never think about again.

you greet him with your famous smile, your apron covered in flour with your lashes fluttering at him so sweetly he can feel his heart skipping a few beats. he had never seen someone so gorgeous, so pretty and cute. you had the cutest round cheeks with a natural pink tint, perfect hair with perfect eyes and perfect body and perfect everything—

“can i get a mochi filled rice cake with rainbow sprinkles? and a caramel frappe with extra whipped cream and caramel— ooh! and id love some strawberry pudding too, sweetheart.” he giggles.

your slightlyyyy taken off guard by his sugary appetite, but hey, at least he wasn’t an alcoholic or one of those ‘black coffee’ freaks. you smile and type his order in, your tongue sticking out slightly in concentration.

“that will be twenty six dollars and thirty nine cents, sir.” you smile politely, trying your best not to check this absolutely gorgeous stud out.

he grins, fiddling with his wallet. he makes sure to flash the wallet at you subtly, wanting to impress you. you spit the glimpse of something gold glinting in his hands and quickly sneak a side eye, the expensive brand name immediately making you flinch. rich people scare you.

“take the change.” he winks, handing you exactly twenty seven dollars. oh wow. sixty one cents tip. how kind.

“thank you, sir.” you nod in gratitude and stuff the money in the cashier, ringing up his order. your fingers quickly type in his order and print out the receipt, handing it to him. his clean nails and slender fingers catch you off guard as they brush against your fingers, obviously on purpose if you take a small look at the glint of smugness in his blue eyes(if he wasn’t wearing those stupid sunglasses.)

you don’t see him for a little bit after that. he’s completely disappears and you eventually forget about him, forget the fact he even exist. he was just another civilian after all.

but then one day on the way home you’re challenged with a threat to your life. it was a peaceful day so far, only three classes with the entirety of your evening spent in your bakery, cooking and baking and socializing with others as little as possible. you accidentally pricked your finger with a knife at one point which led to a small bandage wrapped around your index fingers, right under your gel-covered nails of your favorite shade.

a cursed spirit near by is strolling past with its jaw open, drooling at the scent of yummy cinnamon rolls and chocolate chips. you smelt so good, like a bakery, so tasty. it smelt something stronger in you as well; a familiar coming that belonged to the strongest. it wants a piece. it wants you.

it doesn’t take long to catch up with you, grabbing you from the back and sending you stumbling. you gasp as your thrown onto the hard concrete before you, blinking stupidly at the lack of people around you. what just happened? you scurry onto your feet, patting down your knees that were slightly bruised now, a frown on your quivering lips. no way a gust of wind had made you collapse so abruptly. it felt like someone had shoved you with full force.

a shaky sigh leaves your lips and you decide to move on with your night. you want to go home, after all. today was going to be movie night with you and your roommate. only ten more minutes till you reached the comforting presence of your apartment, you could do this.

you start walking back in the direction of your destination when you’re met face to face with the most disgusting thing you’ve ever encountered. no way it’s human, not with gouging eyes and melting skin, the distasteful scent of death attached to it. the aura around you became dark immediately, as if the entire street had faded into a dark abyss.

was this really how you were gonna die?

suddenly, the disgusting piece of crap literally explodes on you, covering you in purple blood. you immediately feel your lunch come up your throat, a shocked sob coming out of your throat as your knees buckle. you stumble back in shock, not sure on what the hell happened, before you feel your back collide with a firm chest.

you shriek and turn around quickly, blinking quickly and holding your backpack for dear life, phone to your chest. you’re covered in the purple blood and maybe a little bit of your own vomit, a completely distraught and terrified expression on your face.

and now the cocky bastard from a few days ago stands in front of you with his infamous cocky grin, holding up your keys with his finger, dangling it in front of your face tauntingly.

“you dropped this, honey!” he chirps, humming as he opens your backpack and stuffs your keys inside it obnoxiously, smiling down at you. he zips up your backpack and gives you a little pat on the head, cooing down at you like you were the most adorable little thing he had ever come across. you were. he wanted to grab you and kidnap you, keep you all to himself. his little secret.

“did you see that? the thing? it exploded— it’s all over me, i can’t— i can’t breathe, it’s so strong, the scent,” you ramble dumbly. you’re too sweet, he thinks. you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. you’re freaking out, your breath heavy as you hyperventilate. he gently shushes you, bringing his hand over your sticky hair and gently petting you.

“are you okay? you sound crazy, no offense.” he chuckles lightly, taking your hand in his. he’s very touchy for a man you’ve only met twice.

“let me walk you home, okay? we can’t have anything happening to a sweet little thing like you.” he soothes you. his charming tone and award-winning smile wins you over, sadly. you’re led home by him, trembling still. you don’t even realize the fact he knew your address without asking you for it.

he let you off that night with a simple kiss on the forehead. he came into your life like it was nothing, out of nowhere, seconds after you almost died— only to disappear once again like he never existed. you couldn’t process what was going on, what that disgusting animal was, what happened and how it exploded, and how he was there in the dark alley way.

all those thoughts clouded your brain, distracting you from reality. you couldn’t focus on your work, couldn’t focus at school, you accidentally spilled flour while you baked or tipped over a customers drink. your fingers couldn’t stop trembling whenever you’d look up and you’d see one of those disgusting animals on the ceiling of your bakery. sitting there. waiting.

they were everywhere. you’d go on the street and you’d see almost a dozen of them as you tried to walk home. there were some even clinging onto people, some stalking and others making their moves. you didn’t know what to do. what were these things? why were you the only one who could see them? were you cursed? damned?

meanwhile, satoru was having the time of his life. stalking you from the shadows, coming to your cafe every other day to ask for the same sugarized order, a big silly grin on his face. he made sure to play with your feelings. he thought this was so much fun.

“wait— before you go,” you suddenly spoke up one afternoon, stopping him right when he was about to walk out. a knowing smile tugs at his lips as he turns back to you, leaning against the counter.

“hmmm? what is it?”

you fiddle with your fingers for a moment, glancing anxiously around the shop and noticing how all the disgusting animals had suddenly disappeared. this happened every time he would walk in, the animals would scurry off in fear leaving just the two of you. it eased your worry but made you question as well.

“the other week.” you start hesitantly, leaning closer. “the alley way.. did you.. are you sure you didn’t see anything? there was someone— something!” you plead, a ting of desperation in your voice. of course you were desperate, you thought you were going insane.

“i’m sorry, but i don’t know what you’re talking about.” he coos sweetly, sipping his caramel frappe. the loud slurping fills the silence between the two of you. a few more weeks of this madness surrounding you and you’d have the courage to jump over the counter and pounce on him.

“..okay. have a good way, sir.” you mumble, sulking in defeat.

“satoru.” he corrects.

you blink in surprise. you peek up at him as he casually leaves the store, leaving you standing there in silence. soon enough, the dark animals come back and surround you, staring at you. doing nothing else but gaze.

[shwaesar]

More Caesar x Reader HCs

Still SFW but gets suggestive near the end (I'm working up to it ok I'm nervous)

You give him so many conflicting emotions and he never quite manages to come to peace with them. But he comes to peace with not coming to peace with them, if that makes sense.

He knows what he is and takes unapologetic pride in it. He's an ape. A creature forged by nature and nurture, a wild animal at his core, regardless of intelligence. Nothing can change that about him, and that's fine. He doesn't particularly want to change it.

But to love a human being feels almost like a rejection of all that. An ape can't love a human the way another human can. A human can't love an ape the way another ape can. So in a sense, you're both having to redefine your very selves just to try and make it work. To give each other what you want and need, while also adhering to your own wants and needs.

It takes a lot of time and patience to figure it all out, but you get there eventually. Or at least as close to there as you can get.

That thought still lingers in the back of his mind that he's not human enough for you, but on the rare occasion he lets those thoughts known, you're always quick to reassure him that you don't love a human. You love an ape.

'Love' is admittedly used in a nuanced way between the two of you. Love for humans means one thing, love for apes means another. But for you and Caesar, love means to choose one another, despite your many differences.

Maurice is honestly a life saver to have helping you both, educating you about ape romance and reassuring Caesar that his efforts in human romance are-..... well, it's the thought that counts.

He has no idea what he's doing but every now and then he'll pull something off that really cements his devotion to you. After all, he doesn't love an ape. He loves a human.

Flowers end up being his go-to gift, at least when he can get his hands on some. The forest is full of them if you know where to look, and he'll painstakingly pick the 'best' and bind the stems with twine before delivering them to you.

And you keep them in an old soda can filled with water, and about once every few weeks you'll have new ones to decorate your living space with, and Caesar can tell how happy it makes you so he keeps doing it and its honestly precious.

Gift-giving turns out to be a courtship ritual humans and apes have in common! But here's the thing-for humans, gifts are about sentimentality. For apes, they're about practicality.

Every now and then Caesar will bring you an 'ape' gift between more 'human' ones.

Once you've started eating more with the community and he doesn't have to bring you designated meals anymore, he starts surprising you with full on carcasses when he returns from a hunt. A testament to his ability to provide for you, at least in his mind.

They get progressively bigger too. Starts with a few hares. Then a boar. Then a stag.

He delivers you a fucking bear he found hibernating in the winter months, and you get a brilliant fur pelt out of it. Being able to keep you warm makes him swell with pride like nothing else, even if you can't help but feel a little bad for the bear.

You also receive a stone dagger after it's clear their usual weapons are too big and heavy for you. It's carved a bit clumsily, but the edge is sharp and there's a patch of rabbit skin wrapped around the handle to make gripping more comfortable. He feels a lot more confident in your ability to protect yourself once you have it, and seeing you use it is another thing that's makes his chest puff out proudly, because he has made sure you're safe, even when he's not around.

Of coarse, most of the time he is around.

And oh boy, when danger comes he is ready. Doesn't matter if it's a wild animal, another ape, another human- he will fuck a bitch up if they pose a threat to you.

The first time it happens is honestly a little scary. You run into a boar while foraging and it does not look happy, and neither does Caesar.

Blocks off your body with his own, fur standing on end, snarling and hooting aggressively at the creature to try and scare it off. His mind is racing with primal instinct the entire time- he has to protect his mate, has to be ready to go for the kill if it charges at you, he can't let his human get hurt-

It's also the first time you get a good look at his chompers, his lips pulled back to show them off in warning, and it suddenly strikes you how easily those teeth could be used against your own delicate flesh if he so desired, how effortlessly he could maul you, bite your fingers off one by one, rip out your throat-

Let's face it though, it definitely awakens something in you.

When the encounters over he has a nasty cut on his thigh from its tusks, and you get him home to treat the wound as quickly as possible. He's apologising the whole time for loosing his usual self control, for potentially frightening you. But then you tell him it suits him, and lord have mercy, once he processes it, you've awakened something in him too.

But that's a conversation for another post uwu

FOREHEAD KISSES

EXPECT THEM OFTEN

Even before anything's official, it's a gesture of trust and familiarity between the two of you. But when you're his mate, the romantic side of it is delved into more deeply.

Cupping each other's faces to hold the position of your temples touching, intense eye contact, deep breaths. It's a kind of intimacy that really burrows deep into you. Without words, he's able to tell you; I'm here. I've got you.

Human kisses are a bit trickier. He's familiar with the concept, he's seen humans kiss, but ape mouths are a lot bigger than ours and have a lot of different things to work around in order to really kiss something.

He's content to just receive them initially. Your lips are so soft and warm and feel so wonderful pressing against the corner of his own, or to his cheek, or to his open palm. Getting such a human form of affection from you carries almost a level of sanctity for him. Only you have ever kissed him. Only you will ever kiss him.

He'll take it to his grave, but he practices on the back of his hand sometimes so he can eventually return the favour.

Until then, the closest you get is him pressing his closed muzzle to your skin and just... inhaling your scent,

He tells you humans have a distinct smell, but individual humans have their own, more specific smell. When you ask what yours is like, he admittedly has to take a moment to think about it.

"You smell.... like home."

Sweet, right? WRONG. He just doesn't want to admit that he's been subtly making you smell more like him. Gotta make sure his territory is clearly his, after all.

AND SPEAKING OF MARKING TERRITORY

Biting.

He doesnt dare try it at first, too aware of the risks. Human skin is much too thin and sensitive for him to indulge in such a a way, no, he just can't bring himself to potentially do you serious harm, regardless of how badly he wants to.

You'd have to be the one to initiate a conversation about it. You can tell he's restraining himself here and there, from the low growls that slip out when he's embracing you, and with how his tongue drags across his canines, it's not hard to tell what he's holding back in regards to.

So you ask him to bite you. If it's a request, he won't worry that you're just trying to appease him.

He'd still cautious, mind you.

"Are you... sure?"

He says it while all but salivating, eyes dilated as he subconsciously scans your body for a good place.

"Don't want.... to hurt you. It will hurt. You... know that."

With just a little more insistence, he all but pounces at the opportunity.

Apes bite each other affectionately quite a bit, little nips here and there, harder ones usually reserved between mates. It holds meaning for them, displaying trust in the other person. You trusting him like that? He's never been more in love with you than he is in that moment.

He goes for the space between your neck and shoulder, carefully avoiding any major arteries. You feel his breath there first, as he does his usual snuffing and growling.

Then his teeth sink into you. Slowly, his broad tongue pressing into the flesh between them.

And the sound you make-

He pulls back abruptly, releasing you with a hoot of distress and grasping your upper arms to look over the mark left behind. Panic jolts through every fibre of his being, he thinks he seriously fucked up. Apes don't vocalise like that-it must be in pain, yes-you're in too much pain-he should never have-....

....

Oh.

....

Oh.

[shall-we-die]

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{Kill}

Would they kill for revenge?

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↬|Atsushi|

Atsushi is a kind-hearted person who has a strong sense of justice and ethics.

He believes in protecting those who cannot protect themselves and he has a deep respect for life.

While he may act impulsively due to his emotions, it's very unlikely that Atsushi would kill someone for his significant other in revenge.

Instead, he would probably try to find a peaceful resolution to the problem.

If pushed into a corner though, he would defend his loved one and might resort to lethal force if necessary, but killing is not something he desires or enjoys doing.

Atsushi is more inclined to defend and protect what he believes in than to take a life.

Killing is not something he takes lightly and it's something that goes against his moral beliefs.

If he finds himself unable to prevent a threat without using lethal force, he would likely do everything in his power to try and find an alternative solution, even if it means putting himself at risk.

Atsushi cares deeply about life and values the sanctity of human life, believing that life is a gift that should be treasured.

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↬|Dazai|

Dazai would probably not have a problem doing that if his S/O asked. If he found out that his S/O was in trouble, he will be like a lion protecting his mate.

He won't hesitate to kill anyone who threatens his partner. If someone has hurt his S/O in any way, Dazai won't let them get away with it.

And if anyone tries to hurt or manipulate his S/O, it will be their ultimate mistake. He won't stop until he makes sure his S/O is out of danger.

His S/O knows he has the skills to handle it. (He is an ex-mafia member after all) He is very protective of his S/O, and if anyone crosses the line by hurting them, he'll make them wish they were never born.

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↬|Chuuya|

Chuuya would most likely want revenge if someone has hurt his S/O, be it emotional or physical hurt. But he might stop if the S/O says he'd rather not get revenge.

If someone hurts his S/O, I'd imagine his reaction would be pretty extreme. Like, he'd go feral and would most likely stop at nothing to kill the person that hurt his partner.

He isn't the best at taking care of someone when they are sick or hurt. He can be pretty good at calming someone down if they are having a panic attack or anxious though, as he can help ground them and guide them back to reality.

I'd imagine if he gets really close to his S/O he'd start to get a bit softer and more gentle, and become more sentimental. So when s/o tells him to stop, chuuya will stop.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Akutagawa|

Akutagawa's loyalty towards his s/o is absolute, and if someone causes them harm, he would not hesitate to take revenge, even if it means resorting to lethal force.

While he values loyalty and trust in a relationship, his ruthless nature and dedication to his responsibilities might lead him to make extreme decisions if push comes to shove.

Ultimately, his actions will depend on the circumstances and how deeply he feels for his s/o.

If his s/o were ever in danger or harmed, Akutagawa would go to extreme lengths to protect them. This could include resorting to violence or even killing individuals he perceives as threats to their safety.

He is fiercely protective and would do whatever it takes to ensure their well-being. However, it's important to note that his tendency to act impulsively and violently might also put his partner in harm's way unintentionally.

Despite this, he genuinely cares for his s/o and would try his best to make them happy.

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Tetchou|

Tetchou isn’t a violent man usually, but if someone were to hurt his s/o, he’s going to get extremely aggressive.

If said s/o were to be killed, Tetchou will not hesitate to revenge his partner, and to the point of potentially killing his s/o’s aggressor.

He’d also blame himself for not being there for his s/o when they needed him most, and he would have a hard time letting go of the dead lover, to the point of visiting their graves regularly and keeping momentos related to them on him in the form of jewellery.

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↬|Jouno|

Yes, he'll kill in revenge. Though he tries to hold control, once he's pushed over the line, he'll go absolutely feral and slaughter anyone and anything in his way.

He is quite possessive of his s/o, the thought of someone hurting them makes his blood boil.

He gets incredibly envious of others talking to his s/o and will become extremely clingy.

He can a bit much, can't he?

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↬|Fyodor|

Yes, he definitely would. Fyodor is a possessive and protective man, after all.

He won't hesitate if it means protection for his loved one. He would probably do it in a very discrete way, not get caught and try his best to avoid any evidence.

But overall, yes, he would kill that bastard in revenge without hesitation.

(I have never used the word ''kill'' so many times like this, damn.)

┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅┅┅┄┄

↬|Nikolai|

Ah, revenge for his special person.. I would say yes. Nikolai would kill for his s/o if they were hurt.

He is a man of chaos and insanity, but he values love and compassion. So any hurt towards his loved one would be answered with revenge.

If someone hurts his s/o, Nikolai becomes enraged. He loses his usual playful demeanor and becomes a dangerous force to be reckoned with.

He will stop at nothing to confront the person responsible and ensure they never harm his s/o again.

He may toy with them, playing mind games and using his theatrical skills to torment them.

For Nikolai sees his lover as the most valuable thing in the world, and anyone who threatens them is an enemy.

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↬|Sigma|

If only he was absolutely confident and certain that he wouldn't get caught or punished for it...

And he would do so as efficiently and painlessly as possible.

He wouldn't want to leave someone on death's door, making them suffer more than necessary.

However, he would kill for self preservation or for the preservation of another who is defenseless.

He won't stand idly as they are put in danger, especially knowing he himself is capable of protecting those around him.

||[🄺ill]||

━●━━━━━━────────

     ⇆ㅤㅤ◁🄹ㅤㅤ❚❚ㅤㅤ🄻▷ㅤㅤ↻

[transingthoseformers]

Ooooooo for TFP Skystar you done know Megatron on some fucked up timing.

Example what if they after being denied funding to find Skyfire, falsely framed for his murder, jailed and stripped of all academic achievements Starscream was pulled in to the decepticon cause cause after freeing him from torturous years in jail Megatron promises Starscream they will find his partner.

Obviously it’s a lie but a desperate and pained seeker doesn’t need to know that. And then for millennia he uses that to control Starscream. Star never wanted to be in a war never wanted to do the things he did to get were he was now but here he is.

Imaging not long after the war comes to earth say Starscream is off ship for a mission and the crew of soundwave and Megatron found a distress signal in the artic. You know the rest but they don’t tell Starscream about it. Megatron contemplates how to use this discovery of the live bot. Obviously he has knockout place the Skyfire into a permanent stasis and threatens him not to tell Starscream that the stasis is medically induced instead of natural.

When Starscream returns and sees his lost unreciprocated love (he planned to tell him after the ice trip but you know) he is brought to literally chokes and screams as he runs to the body of the mech he loves. Before he could even get into an arms distance of him though Megatron grabs him roughly and starts the false narrative of his stasis and how he’ll need constant medical treatment to stay functional let alone wake up one day. And as much as he’d love to allow this they are at war and supplies like that aren’t cheap.

Que Megatron using Sky’s comatose body as some treat/reward for Starscream whenever he follows Megatron’s orders and if he were to disobey, a quick threat of having the “corpse” as Megatron refers to sky as scrapped for part, or sent to Shockwave for experimentation.

Unbeknownst to all though Skyfire is conscious, in a way. He can hear everything and sees the world around him via the sensors of his fields he wants to help Starscream and have them both leave but he isn’t strong enough for that. Maybe Megatron uses the neural link to gather info on Starscream from Skyfire’s mind to better manipulate Star and one day the link is left haphazardly and through some kinda luck Sky transfers himself either into A)The ship. B)A vehicon/eradicon.

A) Maybe one day the Autobots find Sky after using his new ship body he sends them coordinates and a potential happy ending.

B) In a new body he tell Starscream everything and they try to runaway together in a bit of a bittersweet ending or they stay years more to retry and get Sky’s original body back before they run off together.

Secret C ending) Starscream finds the neural link and enters Sky’s mind and together they live a life they always dreamed inside Sky’s mind. The mindscape making it seem like years but it is not. Outside Starscream set some kind of suicide device to take both him and Skyfire out one they’ve lived their fantasies or knockout and breakdown catch the encounter and either decides for the mercy kill after watching the fantasies play through on the monitor or they send Starscream & Sky into an ACTUAL perma-sleep so they can be together once more forever. Tell Megatron they fortune them like this Starscream probably did it and there is nothing they can do to fix it.

Maybe KOBD leave them like this or maybe they make it temporary and escape to defect to the autobots later taking the comatose bits with them to later wake up once the war is over.

Maybe they’ll use the neural link to talk to Starscream during their stasis and to take info on some con plans as they wait for the true peace time to truly wake them both up.

Oh wow, okay, damn

The inner scene of Megatron meeting Skyfire through the cortical patch for the first time has to be VERY interesting tbh

but also aughhhhh the idea of Starscream pursuing a psuedo-real new life with Skyfire within the cortical patch over the bleak reality on board the ship has me feeling things

Now, I want to give them a good ending, I want them to wake up when the war ends and they finally get to be together again in the real world too and everything works out in the end... but I feel like them dying in the cort patch is the most likely to happen.

Choices, choices

[hrodvitnon]

Just a thought: maybe the reason Godzilla was acting so uncharacteristically aggressive in GxK was because he is literally millions of years old, and the whole timeline of the Monsterverse basically took place over the span of ten years or so. Which, to him, probably feels like a few minutes.

So within the span of a few kaiju-minutes, he:

> had to fight his species' natural predators which very nearly turned him into a host for their eggs and overrun the world

> faced off against his ancient nemesis frozen in Antarctica, who ended up nearly killing him *twice* and almost ended all life on earth

> saw Mothra get killed right before his eyes, and even if he knows she can reincarnate she still doesn't reappear for quite a long time while all the current mayhem is happening

> was forced to deal with a Great Ape (a member of a species responsible for his own kind's extinction) being taken off Skull Island and brought into his territory while at the same time Ghidorah's telepathic signal had suddenly come back, then getting beat to within an inch of his life by a technologically superior machine *specifically* designed to kill him

> has to deal with the other titans constantly usurping his power while he tries to keep the peace by any means necessary with Scylla being the last straw

> detects the return of even more Great Apes awakening a dangerous power all the way from the Hollow Earth and is forced to prepare himself by stockpiling on energy and Tiamat wasn't giving up her stash without a fight

> Kong suddenly returning to the surface world, while Godzilla is preparing for a Great Ape invasion, and Godzilla has no context about Kong's intentions or if he has anything to do with the signals coming from the Hollow Earth

So yeah, I don't think I can really blame him for acting so vicious in GxK. Dude's had a very stressful time in such a relatively short timescale, as is clear by him *always* just trying to get back to sleep any chance he gets. We all saw the whole "tired old man" vibe he had back in 2014, and while he's become more action-oriented since then he is ultimately just desperate for a much-needed break he just can't get. And given Skar King and his previous actions, it's understandable he doesn't trust Kong right away. He takes the threat the Great Apes pose *very seriously*, and he has no idea if Kong had anything to do with it. He got a threatening signal from them from the Hollow Earth and suddenly one of them comes out of the Hollow Earth and directly challenges him? What else was he going to assume?

At the very least, he's open to some reasonable talking-to from Mothra. After she arrives to clear things up, he never again after shows any hostility to Kong because "hey, if Mothra trusts him, then I have every reason to do so as well, even if I personally don't like him."

And maybe he's finally calmed down because he's just glad to see her again. :3

Now this makes perfect sense because if maintaining balance is basically his job, he's going through the equivalent of the most draining and stressful full-time week at work imaginable with barely a moment to breathe. I've had to work the entire Christmas weekend at my job, and if that happened to me again I'd be just as pissed as Godzilla was.

[jounosparticles]

this feels really odd to ask but but what do you think the hunting dogs' thoughts are about death? specifically if they die and how? cause I feel like all of them share a variation of "I will go down guns blazing and with glory"

fukuchi definitely feels it and I feel like jouno as well. they've both had rough and violent lives so I feel like they've always thought death was just right around the corner.

I don't know about the rest of them though. teruko I feel shares the thought but not as intense as the other two, and I dont know about tecchou and tachihara.

anyway. it's a neat thought to me :3

ohhh i’ve been thinking of the best way to answer this for DAYS. this analysis will be long so ill put it under a readmore.

the hunting dogs and death - analysis

overall, it is shown that they can die. i assume due to their abilities and bodily enhancements that they do not die of injuries very easily. it makes me wonder how disease hits them? partially mechanical bodies may not respond to illness as well as natural bodies would? or maybe the opposite and they can heal more so internally? anyways here's my thoughts on how each hunting dog perceives dying!!

fukuchi

i see fukuchi as fairly self-preserving up until the end. he can't die in battle because he needs to make sure the decay of angels plot carries out.

remember that he was warned of this at nine years old. he had to spend his life preparing for this. he likely grew very wary of living recklessly and became great at fighting very fast and young; i assume that's why he went through dojos to fight as a child.

under no circumstances could he die until the world was safe.

i imagine he put on a selfless face and was willing to take serious harm in order to protect the peace, but i highly doubt he was ever willing to sacrifice his life until his plan worked out.

here we see his thought process and how things need to fall into place. his participation was essential because in no other situation would fukuzawa be the one able to get access to the one order. if fukuchi had died beforehand, the war would play out as the amenogozen warning claimed.

he had to leave the world to fukuzawa, the man he could trust most before facing his own demise.

of course, at this point in the series he has been killed since that was the final goal of his plan. a noble death for a fantastic hero.

jouno

im actually a little conflicted on his perception of death. i believe jouno is willing to sacrifice his life if absolutely necessary but is probably more self-preserving than the others. i believe he likely uses his confident and slightly arrogant attitude to hide this self-preserving mindset. someone who comes off as intimidating or nonchalant during battle is more likely to throw off the enemy whereas appearing nervous or angry will make them seem vulnerable. i believe jouno also sees himself as very strategic and able to get out of situations easily if needed. he's a quick thinker from what we've seen thus far.

lets look at when he confronted fukuchi.

he starts off very confidently accepting the offer. we know this is a facade but him immediately trying to throw fukuchi off guard seems so show he's pretty confident in his next move.

but when this doesn't work, he immediately tries to flee. this is fairly unique for a fight in bsd, many characters will often fight until they either get what they wish or they're too injured to move. despite jouno having an ability that could dodge fukuchi's, he still chose to try and escape instead of continuing to fight. this is a very normal human reaction to have but not one you see as often.

and at a disturbance, he begins to panic and needs to ground himself by reassuring himself instead of fighting back. he's not willing to put his life on the line to stop a global terrorism and his own escape is seen as a victory, which i see as him being more self-preserving. this all took place before the sword was set on fire, so it wasn't as if he had that threat to escape yet.

however, there's a chance he just didn't know how to fight the amenogozen; but his ability was definitely one of the best to fight against fukuchi with.

still, he's smart and made sure to plan adequately in case he was injured in the battle against fukuchi. he wants to keep himself safe, but he's still smart enough to take precaution.

i think jouno has probably been through a lot in his life and wants to spend a while living happily, making him more afraid to die than the others. this is even shown when he took teruko being angry as a threat while fukuchi laughed over it.

(as a small note, fukuchi's line in the anime was "haha. it seems our gremlin is angry today" which makes more sense in this context).

so tldr i think jouno would only go down if absolutely necessary and otherwise is fairly self-prioritizing.

tecchou

i believe tecchou would sacrifice himself if it brings justice.

however, he seems to see himself as one responsible for judgement, so i imagine he gives every single fight his all.

regardless of him acting as judgement, it's been shown that tecchou is willing to die if he fails at his work.

here he promises that if he were to fail he would commit seppuku (killing oneself via slicing through your stomach--an honourable death for a samurai fighter (which lines up with irl tetchou coming from samurai lineage)), which is an incredibly agonizing way to die. regardless, he is fully willing to do it if it is for peace. this shows a confidence in death and commitment to his sense of justice to an extreme manner.

and when he found himself in a situation where he was in the wrong, he immediately admitted defeat and asked his opponent to kill him.

he admits defeat, says his wrongs and is willing to accept the consequences.

he even jumps to the harsh conclusion that he isn't worthy of his title as a hunting dog. the stark white in his eyes show that his mind isn't corrupted and that he is doing what he believes is proper justice. incredibly noble.

luckily he was spared-and likely learned a lot about justice not always being as black and white as things appear.

overall, tecchou is a very noble fighter and is willing to put his life on the line for justice. he doesn't seem to fear death and will embrace it if he feels it is earned or deserved.

tachihara

i have less to say about tachihara than the others. i see him as the type that will go down over what's right and that's shown during his fight with fukuchi.

he isn't willing to fear death or beg for forgiveness. he will go down if it is worthy.

we also see that he keeps a argumentative spirit towards the enemy despite the circumstances. he will put down his opponent even in the moment of death, he just has the confidence to.

this panel also shows that he's more willing to die than to be defeated. he doesn't want to harm anyone and be controlled so he tries to kill himself first.

overall, he's a strong fighter who isn't afraid to sacrifice his life for what he believes in. his orders make him who he is, and if the orders are to win he either will or he will die trying.

(of course that last part doesn't really count when he was posing as a mafioso because he couldn't blow his cover by easily surviving everything).

teruko

much like tachihara, teruko seems to be very willing to put herself on the line to keep people safe. this is shown almost immediately in her introduction.

if ordered, she is willing to die. she's incredibly dedicated to her job and would go down if it saves people.

she's willing to go to drastic measures to keep herself alive as well, destroying her eardrum and continuing to try and fight sigma despite being under the directed resonance guns (which were made to destroy people like her). she didn't run, and she did absolutely everything she could have done in order to win.

she seems to also pride herself in fighting and being hurt in battle, likely to show her resilience and ability to do whatever it takes if it saves people.

she even goes on to call the hunting dogs "society's servants" and refers to the enhancement surgeries as "searing order into their own bodies."

this immense dedication makes me strongly believe that she would have no problem sacrificing herself if it is for the best. she killed fukuchi despite really caring for him, so i can see her being willing to put herself into that situation as well.

tysm for the question!!!!! this was super fun to read through the scenes again and try to piece together a logical guess on them all.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

I would like to request A gender neutral reader being a half titan (Greek myth titans) half mortal whose father is Oceanus (Because it only makes sense) and the ror universe greek gods being surprised about the fact that the reader is human looking and human sized despite their their father being a titan. Greek Gods Only please. (I.e. Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Hermes And Ares and/or Heracles)

It would be fun to see their reactions.

And Crossover is Heavily Implied But No Crossover here, Please.

How They knew and met is entirely up to your choosing.

-When it was revealed that there was a child of a Titan still out there in the world, the gods, naturally, panicked!!!

-Zeus was immediately giving out orders for this Titan child to be found, worrying about another uprising, wanting this to be dealt with immediately!

-They were not expecting their target to be brought in by Aphrodite, walking alongside her, about the same height, and looked basically like a normal human, except you had blue hair that was dark in some spots and lighter in others, like the ocean.

-You weren’t really sure why you were being called by the gods, as you’ve spent most of your life lounging on a beautiful tropical island you had converted into a massive luxury resort.

-Zeus looked up at you, his eyes wide, “This is the child of Oceanus?!” you grinned warmly down at him, “Hi there! That’s right, he’s my dad! I’m Y/N!”

-You were totally not what they were expecting, even Aphrodite, who had found you on accident, was stunned that you looked so… unlike your Titan father.

-Hades then spoke to you, his tone even but not unkind, “If you’re Oceanus’ child, why are you normal sized like the rest of us?”

-You shrugged your shoulders, “Not completely sure myself- oh wait- I know why! It’s because I’m only a demi-god, mom was a human!”

-That wouldn’t completely explain things, but they weren’t going to bother with it at the moment.

-Poseidon was rather leery of you, worried you were going to try to take over the oceans to avenge your father.

-You were immediately laughing, holding your sides as he scowled, looking rather annoyed before you gave him a grin, “Why would I want to do that when I have my resort to keep me busy?”

-This…did make sense, and Zeus was the first to apologize to you but you weren’t bothered, actually extending an offer to them to visit your resort!

-Zeus- He was instantly like your best friend, he was so funny and enjoyed as many activities he could at the resort, from partaking at the different restaurants and bars, learning to dance, you taught him how to surf yourself, at least the simple stuff. You were definitely nothing like the other titans he faced in the past, you were so much fun! He quickly joined your rewards program and was at the resort at least once a month.

-Poseidon- Watched you the closest while at your resort, which was very beautiful and you took cleanliness very seriously, not allowing any pollution from your resort to taint the beaches or oceans, and you were a constant diver in the ocean around your island, making sure there was nothing bad to disturb the reef or the wildlife. He relaxed after a few days, enjoying hard liquor as he floated in the lazy river pool that wrapped around your whole island.

-Hades- Was annoyed that he spent most of his time at the resort asleep, sleeping in his bed, sleeping in a poolside cabana, sleeping on the warm sandy beaches. He felt like he didn’t get a chance to experience all your resort had to offer, but he did feel extremely relaxed. Hades booked his next vacation as they were getting ready to leave. You were no threat; he was quick to realize this.

-Hermes- The resort was so beautiful! Hermes spent days exploring, from the resort to the beaches, scuba diving with you to see the reefs, and even the jungle that had a footpath the whole way through. He had no idea this place was even here! It was so relaxing and peaceful, he could easily tell that you were nothing like other titans, you were way too chill. He did however, enjoying watching you teach Ares how to scuba dive while he sat on the beach with a massive fruity-boozy beverage.

-Ares- Was hesitant and rather distrustful of you, thinking you were an evil titan like all the others. You were very quick to prove him wrong, given them all free reign of the resort, they could eat, drink, and have as much fun as they wanted! Ares, after a bit of goading from Hermes and Zeus, managed to convince him to go scuba diving, but only if you taught him. Ares found the experience different but eye-opening, although he didn’t like his father and half-brother teasing him afterwards.

-Hercules- You two were like you had been separated at birth, almost constantly together, getting along so easily with each other. He loved your resort, especially the options of food available from the six restaurants and nine bars, all with vastly different menus. He also enjoyed exploring through your jungle, seeing the signs you had put out, showing different landmarks. It felt so good to just be able to lay down, bury his feet in the warm sand, and relax the days away.

-Aphrodite- Was in heaven at your resort, taking full advantage of the spas, pools, and drinks offered; she spent her whole time there being pampered and treated like the goddess she was. You were definitely not a threat, despite your lineage, and she will not hesitate to defend her new favorite resort owner from others.

[twigg96]

I Should Have Been There

Daryl Dixon X Bitten Reader fic

Era: Alexandria

Pronouns: She/Her/You/[Y/N]

Warnings: Cannon divergent, talks of illness and zombie bites in detail, kidnapping, descriptions of limp amputation, blood, talks about prosthetics, Angst, Hurt/comfort

Summery: After Daryl goes out for a run, Pete Anderson asks you to help him carry some records back to his office for him. What you never expected of the doctor was to be locked up in a torture chamber with a walker as a punishment and statement for Rick to take heed to not fuck with him or his family ever again. It's up to Glenn, your best friend since before the outbreak, Daryl your boyfriend, the ingenious thinking of Maggie, the invisible nature of Carol's investigation skills, and Rick your over protective leader to find you. But will they find you in time to save your life?

Your POV

Walking around the walls of Alexandria for the 100th time that day you began to feel. The cabin fever beginning to take hold of you. Being out on the land for so long, free to go where you wanted, run where ever you wanted with the threat of walkers being the only thing keeping you awake at night truly was a luxury you were missing around now. Rick and Michonne had instructed everyone to keep your heads down. Keep to yourselves as much as possible. So you did as told even if you did wish Daryl had smuggled you on his bike on his latest run outside. But if anyone needed the escape more than you it was your boyfriend. With a deep sigh you tapped the metal of the wall with your wrench listening vaguely for any sounds of defaults or hollowness in the sound that reverberated back to you indicating a missing nut or rust that needed to be brushed away. Maggie, your chore partner for this particular job looked over her shoulder to you eyeing you with her dark eyes. "What? Am I not entertaining enough company fer ya?" She teased, knowing exactly what was bothering you. The poor brunette had her ear chewed off for hours the night before when you found out your boyfriend had taken yet another long run without even saying a word goodbye. "No..." You muttered, boredom dripping from your voice. "Just antsy." You replied not even looking to the walls anymore as the two of you continued your rounds. "How about this?" Maggie muttered, turning around on her heel so that she was walking backwards facing towards you. "We finish our shift, and I'll talk Deanna into letting us sneak past the gates for an evening stroll picking flowers?" She cocked a brow making the offer sound as enticing as she could. Picking flowers sounded like the most boring job a person could have especially when there were so many more exciting jobs to be had. But if it gave you an opportunity to escape this Hell for a little you would put up with anything. "Sure." You smiled, brushing some hair behind your ear.

"Morning ladies." A voice deep and sickeningly prideful called out to you both pulling your attention. You struggled to hide your disgust as you stared at the town's doctor, Pete Anderson. A dirty blonde towering idiot of a man who thought that using intimidation would get him places. Oh how wrong he had been once Rick had found out what he was doing to his wife... however his usual cockiness had returned and his air of superiority seemed to permeate even the space the three of you held, which worried you if you were being honest. "Can I have your help with something?" He asked, tucking his bruised hands into his pockets. "Just need help carrying some medical records and would appreciate the second pair of hands." He muttered meeting your eyes momentarily before turning them to the ground. Turning to Maggie you shared a glance, one that spoke more than words ever could. One of mistrust for the doctor but knew, in order to keep the peace with the town that one of you should at least try. Silently, Maggie glanced to the next wooden watch tower not even three tracker trailer lengths away. Atop it sat a very bored looking Glenn, his back pressed to the metal wall, his baseball cap pulled over his eyes, rifle resting comfortably over his lap. If you didn't know better you'd think the Korean was sleeping. But experience with your best friend had proved that the apocalypse had shaped him into one light sleeper. Maggie gave you a small almost indistinguishable look that told you to go. She'd stay and she and Glenn would come for you if she didn't see you by the time she reached her husband's post. Nodding you turned back to the doctor you shoved the wrench you carried deep in your pocket and stepped forward. "Lead the way, doc."

You watched the sky turn a ruddy orange as Pete lead you past rows and rows of very similar housing. If it wasn't for small lawn ornaments, flower and vegetable gardens growing, and hand made decorations you would have never been able to distinguish the houses apart. Placing his hand on your arm, Pete ushered you through a tight ally between two houses and into a space you never knew existed. Not that you ever explored beyond the main populace for fear of becoming eternally lost amongst the suburban hell. Beyond the pampered lawns of owned society were the untamed untended lawns of houses yet to find a owner. Their windows were dark and dust covered. Some were boarded with windows broken presumably from rocks thrown from the local hooligans that roamed the streets after dark. Pete lead you to one of the homes, a small nearly invisible basement door had been painted over making it nearly indistinguishable with the rest of the rest of the house's foundation aside from a rusted padlock that held the door shut and had warn with the elements. Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, Pete tried several of them with various levels of success before finally popping it open with a small click. Pocketing the lock, Pete unlatched the door and swung the door open with a loud squeak.

The basement was dark and dusty. Dirt laid on every surface that was bathed in light from the doorway. Mice droppings scattered the floor and the smell of stale air and mold filled the air making your stomach turn. The doctor however pushed forward into the darkness turning on a flashlight you never knew he possessed. Following close behind the man who craned his neck while swiping at spider webs that threatened to get in his face. "So where are these records at?" You muttered lowly, glancing at the man only now noticing how dark his bags under his eyes had gotten since your arrival. Dr. Anderson never responded instead he pointed his torch towards a wooden door locked with another series of padlocks. You cocked a brow but didn't question anything, HIPPA was a thing in the early world... you simply assumed he was one of the only ones who still adhered to it. Kicking an empty can of fruit to the side that must have fallen from one of the wooden shelves surrounding you, a sudden deep growl stopped you in your tracks. Grabbing the doctor's shoulder tight enough to bruise you quickly placed your finger to your lips. A walker?! Here in the town?! Maybe the house was inhabited at one point and the owner died? Grabbing the wrench from your pocket you wished you had been smart enough to grab your knife from the armory that morning. Pete swung his light around where you pointed. To the floor to look for crawlers then through the shelving. You saw nothing but the shadows that made you even more wary then you already were. Looking above yourself you assumed that the walker had died in the upper levels of the home... You'd have to come back with Rick later to deal with it... "Let's get these records. Just keep your voice down." You whispered gesturing to the door with the padlock. The doctor nodded pulling his keys from his pocket to unlock the lock.

As the lock knocked against the latch, the growling grew, and your patience dwindled. "Jesus can you be any fucking louder?" You whispered, glaring at the man. "Doctors are supposed to have steady hands... right?" You hissed, ready to rip the keys from the quivering man's hands yourself and do it yourself. "Shut the fuck up." Dr. Anderson growled back unlatching the lock at last. Flipping the lock and unlatching the door with one motion Pete too a step back behind you, shoving you forward through the door. The unexpectedness of it all made you trip over the high step in the doorframe. You lost your grip on your wrench and it flew from your hand and skittered onto the floor into the darkness of the room. "Ah... what the-" You called out turning to Pete, a devilish grin crossing his illuminated face. "Rick thinks he can save everyone... Lets see him save you..." He muttered darkly. Your eyes widened at the doctor's words and a deep low growl echoed from further into the room. The sickening smell of decomp hit you like a truck and the silhouette of something vaguely human limped into the light. Scrambling to your feet you tried like hell to reach the door before it was slammed shut. But only you were too late. Scratching and banging your palms against the wood of the door you could hear your heart beating in your ears. No! No no nO! This isn't how it was supposed to go! "Pete please let me out!" You begged hearing the latch close and lock click. "I wager you have three days before you die of thirst... lets see how long it takes Rick to notice you're gone." Footsteps leading away from the door were followed by a small rustling and a high pitch squeak from the other door closing.

The growls from behind you grew only louder but in the pitch dark you had no idea how close or how many walkers existed in the small space. Pressing yourself firmly to the grimy walls you slowly started to skirt along the permitter feeling the cold wet cement under your fingers. Faintly you wondered what it was that was wet before figuring it was better to live in ignorance than disgust. As you rounded the first corner you found the sharp corner of something tall and heavy protruding from the wall. An end table? No it was far too heavy for that and metal. Sliding your hand down the side of the object you found it was long and rectangular with drawers. Ah so a filing cabinet or a safe. Interesting. Skirting around the object you hugged the wall as closely as possible hoping you were near the rear of the room and at least halfway around. But as your foot came in contact with a metal can sending it rolling across the floor you felt your body tense as the deep growling came from mere inches from your face.

Glenn's POV

The sun had lowered far beyond the forest and the lights of the town began to light. From Glenn's place upon the tower he could see the approaching headlights of Aaron and Daryl returning from their run . A smile graced his lips as he sat up slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Should make [Y/N] happy to see him home safe. "Glenn!" Maggie called up the wooden latter as he stood. Looking down Glenn smiled down at his wife. Everyday was little brighter when he saw her beautiful face. "Hey Mags. Where's [your nickname]? She run off to be with lover boy already?" Glenn asked a smirk gracing his features as he climbed down the creaky latter. "No... I was just about to ask you if you'd seen her..." Maggie muttered worriedly. Glenn cocked a brow hopping the last step of the latter. It wasn't like you to skip work ever. "Why? Something wrong?" Glenn asked moving the hat on his head to wipe away the sweat that was building underneath. "Dr. Anderson came by earlier..." She drawled rubbing her arms and looking around nervously. Glenn frowned wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I saw them walk off together into the town a few hours back... want to take a walk with me up to the garage? I'm sure she just got caught up helping the doctor. She just got carried away talking with Daryl." Glenn muttered, although his voice didn't hide the worry that he felt deep inside.

Walking hand in hand with Maggie to the center of town Glenn couldn't help but notice the blinds on the Anderson home flutter closed or the way the doctor had been peeking through his front door's window at the growing group just across the road from his residence. But the skilled tactician tried his damnedest to shove his negative thoughts to the back of his mind as they rounded the corner to the garage. Surely [Y/N] would be there, pleasantly distracted by her one and only. Oh how wrong he was... Daryl stood leaning against the garage wall talking to Aaron looking to the open bay door expectantly as the two walked into view. However the small defeated sigh, and deflated stance wasn't lost on Glenn when he noticed it was just the two of them. But... Glenn tried to stay positive. He had to... for his own sake if nobody else's. "Hey guys!" He called out waving jubilantly. "How was the run?" He unable to hold back a snarky laugh as Daryl flipped him off and rolled his eyes. "How'd ya think it went? We're back early." Daryl grumbled. "Awe shit I'm sorry about that, Daryl." Maggie said softly letting go of Glenn's hand to step closer to the archer. Daryl shrugged looking past them both and into the night. "Ya'll seen [Y/N] round anywhere? Normally they're the first ta greet me. She pissed at me 'r somethin'?" Daryl asked chewing the side of his thumb. Maggie shook her head. "No... we were hoping you'd seen her." Daryl shifted uncomfortably scanning Maggie's face for a moment with sheer scrutiny. "What ya mean? I was on a run all day I just got back." Maggie nodded meeting Daryl's eyes sadly. "Yeah we were hoping she'd be here with you... and that was the reason why she missed our meet up after she went with Dr. Anderson." Daryl tensed looking past Maggie to the Anderson household. "So ya think..." Daryl paused his face morphing into something dark and possessively. More so than Glenn had ever seen before from the stoic archer. "That bastard did something ta her?" Aaron shook his head, placing the socket wrench down on the work table beside himself. "Dr. Anderson? What? No way... I mean... the man has his bad days... and he's prone to drink but everyone has their vices." But Glenn didn't think he sounded convincing, even to himself. "I-I'm not sure. But she was supposed to be back by now." Maggie muttered worriedly looking back over her shoulder. "Ok... look I saw the two of them walking through the town earlier but lost them around here... I say we get Rick and Michonne and start looking for them." Maggie sighed rubbing her arms. "I hear you Glenn but I don't want to jump the gun." Daryl huffed staring at Maggie as if she grew a second head. "Jump the gun? Ya gotta be shitting." He snarled. Glaring back Maggie simply shook her head. "No of course not Daryl. She told me earlier that she wanted to get out of the walls... she's been itching to get out, cooped up in here she feels like she's going crazy. Maybe... if we're lucky she snuck out after she helped the doctor. Hopefully she just needs to cool down and took a walk. Knowing her she'll be back by morning." Maggie muttered running her hands through her hair. It seemed to Glenn that no one trusted a single hopeful word anymore. Why would they... after everything they'd been through. "Well I aint about to just sit pretty while [Y/N] is out God know's where tonight... I'm lookin' fer her. Do what ya want." Daryl growled storming towards his bike. Anxiety surged through Glenn as he watched Daryl climb his bike. "Daryl you just got back! You should at least rest before you head back out!" Glenn yelled placing a hand on the larger man's chest. "Glenn... I apricate yer concern but I've stayed up much longer and this is more important than any rest I need... Now move Glenn." Daryl murmured meeting Glenn's gaze seriously. So with a solemn nod Glenn stepped to the side letting the bike roar to life and Daryl take off into the night.

Daryl's POV

The ride to the gate was a short one, but it felt like the longest drive Daryl had ever taken in his life thus far. Not even the last ride he and Merle took together to the safety of the Quarry felt so long as this. At least then he felt safe. Secure with a partner by his side, family. No. Now was different. Now he was in an unfamiliar hostile environment that threatened not only his very existence, but the very love of his life as well. He felt so alone and exposed. Not even the familiar sight of Rick and Michonne standing by the gate speaking to Rochelle standing guard could ease his anxiety. As Daryl pulled up to the gate's entrance, his best friend's face fell his dark eyes scanning the archer sitting atop the bike. "Leaving so soon Daryl? Ya just got back." Michonne called out over the roar of the bike. Daryl shook his head glaring straight ahead. There were no time for pleasantries tonight. "Open the gate. I gotta get outta here." He grumbled to Rochelle ignoring her furrowed brow. "Look Daryl you should rest even if-" Rick tried to reason, reaching for the key of the motorcycle to turn it off and talk at a normal level. With a swift motion, Daryl caught the deputy's wrist glaring daggers into the man. "I aint got time fer that Rick." Daryl bit out shoving Rick away. "[Y/N's] missin'. I'm gonna head out an see if I can find her." Daryl huffed gripping his bike tightly to hide the way his hands shook with anger and anxiety. The archer watched a the ease wash from Rick's face, a stern and intense concentration falling into it's place. It was a look Daryl had seen before. One Rick held when he lost Lori. "Missing? What do you mean missing?" Rick uttered the peremptory question. Daryl growled not shaken by his best friend. "Ask Maggie. I aint got time to chat." Daryl muttered, revving the engine of his bike as if to make his point clear, gesturing to Rochelle to open the gate for him. "Daryl... [Y/N] didn't come through this gate. I would have seen her if she did." Rochelle tried to reason as the archer walked his bike closer to her. "You know as well as I do that there are areas on this wall that can be climbed over. I've seen you and Abraham using the same makeshift latter [Y/N] and I do to get out of the city for a walk when we don't want to be pestered. Now shut up and open the damned gate before I do it myself." Daryl growled not missing the tiny nod Rick gave Rochelle. "Ok... but I don't like it. But, you can go. Just be back by morning... if you can't find her by then, we'll spread out. All of us. Keep your radio on. Hopefully she just got lost in town again and will stumble home sometime late tonight. I'll stay up and radio you if she turns up." Rick called over the engine of the bike. Daryl nodded feeling slightly reassured knowing that Rick was going to do whatever needed to be done to find you. With a defeated sigh the petite woman unlatched the lock to the gate, pulling them open with a metallic screech. With a flick of his finger, Daryl turned his head light on and sped into the night praying to catch sight of you somewhere deep within the woods around Alexandria.

Glenn's POV

Sleep did not come easy that night for Glenn. Worry seeped into this very bones and leaked into his dreams morphing them into venomous night terrors that twisted his body and shook him to his very core. Images of your body ripped to shreds like one of the thousands of corpses he'd seen before flashed before his eyes. A long stretch of road with you tied gagged and bound at the end. The road stretching ever longer the harder he ran to get to you. His heart pounding in his chest. It was his fault. You were his best friend. Had been since before the outbreak. You were his responsibility. You and Maggie. He should have kept a better eye on you. Especially when you went off with Dr. Anderson. Glenn woke up to early morning sun shimmering off the cold sweat that covered his body. Maggie slept restlessly beside him, her moaning and whining accompanied by subtly jerks were indication enough that she was having yet another nightmare. They seemed never ending nowadays. Sitting up slowly as to not disturb what little sleep his wife was getting, Glenn snuck out of bed, pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a clean shirt before slipping downstairs. With any hope, you had slipped back home in the middle of the night with hardly any notice to any of them. It wouldn't be the first time you had slipped away... but as he stepped into the empty kitchen to put a pot of coffee on and crept quietly into the living room to peer over the couch to see who preoccupied it, either Daryl, [Y/N] or both. He was almost astonished to find Rick laying on the plush cushions, his attention turned to the door and a sleeping Judith pulled tightly to his chest. A single glance from the grisled police officer told Glenn he was awake and alert. Yet the dark bags under his eyes saying that he'd been up way too long. "Hey." Glenn whispered, leaning over the back of the couch. "Anything yet?" he asked, still hopeful, still optimistic. But Rick just shook his head, brushing the hair back out of Judith's face earning a deep contented sigh from his daughter as she slept. "Not yet." He murmured. Anxiety tightened Glenn's chest as he shuffled his feet. "Well... it's still early." Glenn whispered, looking to the door, hoping that in that moment both Daryl and [Y/N] would come waltzing in the door like a couple after a particularly eventful prom night. But it never happened. Instead the door stayed dreadfully closed. A less than hopeful hum came from the graying man as he shifted on the couch. "We'll see once Daryl comes back... she aint with him when he comes back we're going on high alert and searching every square inch of this place. Inside and out." Rick's voice was dark and commanding. It sent chills down Glenn's spine and before he realized what he was doing. Glenn nodded in compliance. The smell of fresh roasted coffee reminded Glenn of his first mission of the morning. "Want any?" Glenn asked standing straight. "Please!"

[Y/N] was gone... she never came back with Daryl. The look on Daryl's face when he pulled up on the motorcycle was enough to make Glenn's stomach turn. It felt like the day Beth passed all over again. Daryl was beside himself, pacing and grasping at his hair, the archer looked ready to faint. "I looked all over the ridges, Rick!" Daryl growled, pulling back and punching a sizable hole into the drywall. Blood dripped from his knuckles and soaked into the plush carpet as he paced once more. "I went the whole way out to the fuckin' shoppin' district. I cleared three shops we hadn't got to yet. I looked in the library. I searched every inch of the woods I could from the walls to about three miles out each way! I crawled in the damn sewer for Christ's sake!" Daryl was in retrospect fucking filthy. He was covered in zombie guts and dirt. And now Glenn completely understood what that third smell was that emanated from Daryl. "She's not out there I just know it... somethin' had to happen in here." Daryl muttered only stopping making his track in the carpet when Carol came back with a wet wash cloth for him to wipe his face and hands off with. "I aint doubtin' ya, Daryl." Rick tried deescalating the archer. "I just think a pass in the daylight with fresh eyes would be good... " Rick started ignoring the resentful glare he received in response. "Ya think I woulda missed her? I was calling out fer her! She would have heard me!" Daryl hissed, taking a challenging step towards Rick. But Glenn knew more than anyone what Rick was insinuating... that there was a chance you couldn't have answered. Be it because you were in danger... or dead. Rick stayed silent staring Daryl down trying desperately to get this point across to him without actually being the one to say it. "I just think we need to send a fresh new team out... You need to shower... eat something... then you can join Glenn in the city looking for her." Rick muttered definitively. With a small nod Glenn tried to pull a confident nod. "Yeah! I'll head out right away ok... so don't worry." Glenn muttered stepping as close as his nose would allow to the archer. Daryl rolled his eyes but nodded heading up the stairs to take a shower. Rick watched him carefully before turning to Glenn and Maggie. "Listen... I'll need everyone on this. Maggie I need you to talk to Deanna and explain that some of our people will be searching for one of our own outside of the walls... don't go into details yet. We don't want Dr. Dickface catching wind that we're onto him. I also don't want you to tell her we'll be searchin' in the walls too. If anyone has a chore, have them search while they work to be less conspicuous. The rest of us need to be as normal as possible while we look. Carol. You need to ask about locations in the walls that anyone would know of that is secret. Or that is kept off limits for any reason." Maggie and Carol nodded mentally noting Rick's instruction. "Ok, lets fucking find [Y/N]."

Your POV

Sliding around the wall you tried like hell to keep the growling, flesh-eating demon as far away from yourself as you possibly could. Unfortunately for you a pipe pultruding from the wall caught your shirt and caught you off guard. The small ripping sound from your shirt caught the monster's attention and the growling mutilated corpse surged towards you just as you lost your balance. Holding both arms out straight you screamed as the weight of another human pinned you back against the wall. A sharp pain shot through your nondominant hand and suddenly as a slippery and slimy appendage slid past your fingers you realized that the zombie had your hand in it's mouth. Adrenaline surged through you like a drug as the poison of the bite seeped into your blood. Using every ounce of strength you had in you, you pushed back off the wall, forcing the walker to stumble back. Gripping tight to his open jaw you grabbed the zombies skull and slammed it into the nearest thing you could find. The sharp corner of the filing cabinet. Over and over again you bashed the walker's skull into the sharp metal corner until the grunting and gurgling of the monster could no longer be heard. With a dull thud you released the beast and stood shaking, trying desperately to catch your breath as the stinging in your hand was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Reaching above you, you searched for a light source for the first time in only god knew how long. Just when you were certain you would die in the dark, doomed to turn into the very thing that you just slayed, you found a long thin string hanging from a single bulb in the ceiling. Giving the string a quick yank you could have cried when the light clicked to life. A breathy jubilant laugh escaping your lips as you shielded your eyes from the near blinding light that burned your retinas. But the faint dripping of fresh blood reminded you that time was not on your side. Your hand was a mangled mess. The bite forming deep in the meat of your palm you knew the entire hand needed to be amputated and fast. Ripping a thick strip of your shirt from the bottom you tied it off high on your armpit pulling it as tight as you could. Searching the ground you were happy to find your wrench placing it in your makeshift tourniquet you twisted it until the blood stopped and tied it off.

You didn't know how much time had passed since you had been bitten but your entire arm was starting to turn a deep unappealing color and your head was beginning to spin. You had emptied your stomach into the corner of the room several times after the effects of the adrenaline had worn off. You knew one of two things were going to happen... you were either going to die here, trapped in a basement of a house no one would ever find. Or Daryl would find you... he always did... and he would have to kill you. Sweat gathered on your forehead and your stomach flipped. You had no idea if you tied the tourniquet tight enough to keep the infection from spreading... even so, you could simply be dying from sepsis. That was an old world disease wasn't it? God you couldn't even remember. Sitting up against the door you really took in the room for the first time since you got there. The filing cabinet was covered in blood and viscera. But it looked expensive. Like one of those fire safe ones that promised to keep your documents safe even in a whatever class fire. You wondered vaguely what it was doing there before deciding that you didn't have the energy to search through it. The only other things you could see were the pipe that got you into this mess that seemingly went nowhere and were the home of a lonely pair of handcuffs hanging from them, rusted and bloody. Cocking a brow you turned to the zombie laying against the wall on the other side of the filing cabinet. Sure enough the flesh on the walker's one wrist was bloodied and broken. Looked like you weren't the only one shoved in this hell hole to die... lovely. Above the pipe was a vent. Presumably for fresh air to filter in from somewhere within the house you sighed and laid your head back against the wood. Your throat was sore from screaming. But what the hell. Maybe eventually someone would hear you.

Leaning your tired body against the concrete wall directly below the vent you screamed with all your might. Your throat ached and you couldn't help the aching cough that came once your voice started to fail you. For the longest time you received nothing but silence in return. Once in a while the scurrying of mice over what you could only assume were the radiators and vent covers of the empty house echoed through the pipes of the vent sending a jolt of hopeful optimism through you that quickly died out with every pleading cry for help. After a while you gave up. Sliding down the wall you leaned your body against the cold concrete, resigning yourself to death, when finally you heard it. "Hey!" The voice echoed loud and clear through the grate of the vent so loudly that you could had sworn the man screaming was in the same room as you. Listening closely you stood once more, praying that you hadn't just hallucinated the voice or dreamed it into reality as you had seen Rick do a thousand times with his lost loved ones. "[Y/N]! Are you in here?!" Glenn cried out loud and clear, and you could have just just kissed the man had you both not already been sworn to other people. "Glenn!" You screamed, banging the vent as hard as you could to catch his attention. "Glenn can you hear me?!" You nearly begged, clutching a pipe for dear life as you heard footsteps. "[Y/N]! I hear you! Where are you?" Glenn screamed the sounds of footsteps became more frantic. Sounding nearer then farther as he presumably searched room to room for you in the house above you. "I-I'm in the basement Glenn!" You screamed, tears falling from your cheeks easily as you sobbed. "Listen! It's not safe here! There are walkers here!" You heard Glenn's footsteps slow as he listened. "Walkers?" He asked tensely. "Yes! I killed the one that was in the room with me... b-but Glenn-" A loud thud cut you off and you were sure something horrible had happened before Glenn cut you off. "Don't say it... I'm coming to get you... so just... just stay put I'll get you out." Glenn growled, his footsteps becoming more and more distant until they and his voice could no longer be heard. "Wait! Wait!" You cried desperately, tears streaming and washing the dirt and blood from your face in thick streaks. "Glenn! I need you to tell Daryl I love him!" You screamed as loudly as you could, pacing the small space, you suddenly realized just how tiny it really was. Never before had it felt so claustrophobic. Never before had it felt so much like a prison until now. Until you felt so completely isolated. Walking to the thick wooden door you slammed your good hand against it kicking and screaming with all your might praying that maybe it would give way just enough to let you pry your way out and get to Glenn.

"[Y/N]!" His voice froze you in place and melted your heart into pieces breaking you down into heart wrenching sobs that hurt your chest and burned your lungs. Daryl was somewhere outside of the door. You could hear him clear as day. But a greedy part of you never wanted him to find you... The selfish part that knew deep down that Daryl would always want to finish things himself... the one that also knew he could never finish this by himself if he needed too. He just couldn't but he wouldn't allow anyone else to do it and it could endanger everyone... Bu that was why you loved him. He loved and felt so purely. You'd have it no other way. "Daryl!" You sobbed out, hearing a distant banging turn into wood clattering onto concrete you knew that someone had broken down the basement door. And if you had to guess it was Rick or Daryl. "{Y/N]! Darlin' where are ya?" Daryl cried out frantic worry in his voice as, his footsteps paced the concrete just outside the door where you were kept. "There! There's another door." Rick growled, sounding manic and breathless. So it was him who bashed down the last door... "[Y/N] if your in there back away from the door! Rick's gonna break it down!" Glenn cried out making you scramble back from the door in time to see the blade of an axe pierce through the wood. It took six swings for rick to make a sizable enough hole for both he and Daryl to fit through. You noted that it would have only taken three if it were just Glenn and Michonne... but who was counting... Holding your wounded arm as closely to your body as you could you stood shaking, covered in blood and sweat, and shaking like a leaf. Daryl stepped through first, Rick and Glenn following close behind then Michonne. The four stooges... would have been funny under different circumstances. Daryl eyed your injured body a deep frown forming on his face as he stepped closer to you. "Sunshine..." He started, holding out a hand to touch you, but as if on instinct to protect the man you jolted away as if your simple touch would burn him. Shaking your head you let the tears fall, words unable to form as thick sobs got stuck in your throat. "Wha'-" Daryl tried again, desperate to avoid the obvious. Maybe you just cut yourself... maybe it was crushed... hell maybe there was a curse put on you and he could just... fix it! But everyone else knew better. Glenn looked devastated shaking his head and backing away into the extended storage of the basement. Michonne was already unsheathing her sword, looking to Rick for guidance. Rick... He stood stock still, a grim firm look on his face. You could tell he didn't dare say a word until Daryl gave the order to do something... anything... but you... you had to make him understand first. "Baby. I love you more than anything." You started sadly meeting Daryl's eyes. But the archer wasn't just going to take that. No... it couldn't go down like that... not after everything. Not after all this! "So... it's a bite then..." Daryl tried to sound calm, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You could only nod. "Daryl-" You tried to reason with him... tried to explain that he and Glenn should just wait outside. You'd meet him later... that one day he'd wake up with you by his side. But the brunette archer wasn't about to take it laying down. "We'll cut it off." Daryl bit out between gritted teeth turning to Michonne who only looked shocked then sad. "Daryl... fevers set in... you know we need to-" She tried to reason, but Daryl simply shook his head grunting and glaring at the floor like a child throwing a tantrum. "If you don't do it I will." He growled, reaching for the knife he carried with him everywhere, and suddenly fresh adrenaline pumped through your blood making you shake and shiver in both anticipation and fear. Rick sighed shifting his weight. "We do this... and she turns... you're gonna have to be the one who-" Rick muttered, once again cut off by Daryl's grunt and shake of the head. "Won't happen I won't let it." Daryl growled turning to you assuredly.

Michonne tried like hell to make it quick. You'd thought that after so many heads she'd severed that the blade on her katana was as sharp as they made them. It was sharp but despite all of her best efforts, your screaming begging and crying she could not make it go through bone. So despite every ounce of begging you tried. Every time you begged Daryl to just kill you as he held you tight to keep you from moving. It was Rick's axe that freed you from your diseased arm. Your vision blurred, your voice slurred, and everything sounded like you were resting at the bottom of the ocean as you met Daryl's worried eye, the last thing you saw before everything went black.

One Week Later ~~~ Daryl's POV

All the walkers that slipped through the gates had been slaughtered by Rick and the town meeting to decide Rick's fate for his earlier spat with the Dr. had ended with both the town's leader Reg, slayed by the Dr. himself and Dr. Anderson executed by Rick as ordered by Deanna... It certainly felt as if all hell was breaking loose on Alexandria. At the town meeting Rick unloaded on the residents of the town. Telling them all about the torture room the Dr. had set up and how if Alexandria ever truly came under attack the residents would never be prepared for a fight. Rick set up trainings for the residents. A new doctor was put into place, her Dr. Denise. Her first patient, treating the infection that was setting into place in the wound of the unconscious woman that had laid in the medical office for over a week now. Daryl could tell Denise was extremely underqualified for the position. Books upon books of medical texts lain in high stacks around her as she dug for the best treatment melody to give you that wouldn't trip an accidental allergic reaction but also treat the wound, fever, and kill the infection. Daryl watched the timid doctor carefully, placing you on a heavy dose of IV steroids and an even heavier dose of IV antibiotics. "Are you just going to sit there all day..." Denise asked once she had the courage to ask. Daryl shrugged from his seat at the corner of the room. He hadn't planned on leaving yet. As a matter of fact he hardly left your side. "Well as long as your here you can keep yourself busy." Denise huffed, tossing a wet, soapy rag to the very confused archer. "It's time to redress her bandages and give her a sponge bath... figure if you're here you might as well help me bathe her."

There was nothing more intimate than bathing with your partner. Lathering each other's bodies up. feeling the way the warm suds slipped through your fingers as you ran your hands across their most intimate parts. But this... this was different on an entirely new plane of weird. Daryl felt almost like a massive pervert, touching you like this while you slept. But after a few less than gentle reassurances from Denise reminding him that it was crucial to get every bit of you body, he complied, happy to do the work himself, refusing to let another human being get this up close with you in his life. But just as soon as he finished and was certain that the bandages coming off today were actually looking better than they did the day before, he bolted for the door. Refusing to be wrapped in another medical tasks. "Should I leave the office unlocked for you tonight again?" Denise asked making Daryl turn slightly. He wanted to punch the glass out of the stupid door in frustration. He wanted to yell "I'll be back by dinner! She'll be awake and hungry by then." But he simply looked to the floor and nodded feeling a wave of shame and embarrassment wash over him as she sighed. "Ok... I'll set up a pillow and some blankets for you on the couch."

The walk to Aaron's garage was a short one but it was easy to pass up when Daryl's mind felt heavy and weighed down. "Daryl!" The archer heard his friend call out expectantly. Turning on his heel Daryl hummed darting into the garage and finding his seat on the upturned bucket next to his bike. "Hey... you looked lost in though... is everything ok?" Aaron asked tinkering with a wrench and socket joint. "'M fine..." Daryl growled reaching down between his knees to grab a screwdriver. Aaron hummed in return. A calm silence that both knew all too well. Daryl had more so vented to his friend about the entire situation days ago when Rick had to drag him out of the medical bay to let Carol and the Doctor stitch her wound. "Oh! Hey..." Aaron muttered absentmindedly reaching behind himself to pull a large project forward that was covered with a sheet. Pulling the sheet away, a robotic hand sat proudly on a pedestal hooked to various wires and gadgets. Daryl stood slowly, a look of confusion crossing his face as he stepped closer to the counter. "Wha's that?" Daryl asked glancing at Aaron. "Oh I used to work in robotics for a time... I thought it was cool and this was my version of the prosthetic my uncle should have had a chance to have." Aaron muttered taping the wires to the skin of his arm. Squeezing his hand, Daryl watched in amazement as the robotic hand followed and matched Aaron's every movement exactly. "It's all electricity based. The movement and power of the prosthetic comes from the natural electricity found in the body. I could fashion a quick joint to go along with this, just a piston that would lift the arm up and down on swivel for the elbow if you'd think [Y/N] would be interested..." Aaron muttered meeting Daryl's gaze tentatively. The archer couldn't help but smile. "We'll see what she says... but I'm sure she'll love it."

As day turned to night and Daryl bid farewell to Aaron, his belly full after a large supper at his friend's and Eric's house. Daryl strolled the darkened streets of Alexandria wondering, if he'd ever get to do this again with you. Walking into the medical office he was grateful to find the front door unlocked and a blanket and pillow setting out just for him just as promised. But something was off... something was different. Normally when he came to check on you the bed was lying flat for the night, the monitors turned on so whoever came to check you at night could check your heart beat and the lights were off. None of those things happening right now. Your heart monitor had been shut off creating an eerie quiet in the building. Your bed was sitting upright but your body was slumped over the side of the bed. Soft groaning and whining came from you and an intense panic fell over Daryl as he instantly grasped the end of the bed to steady himself. He knew Rick told him... But he hadn't truly believed he'd had too... "Fucking God... Fuck." Your voice, albeit extremely annoyed voice, threw Daryl for a loop. You were alive... More importantly you were a-fucking-wake! Scrambling to your side, Daryl hoisted you back into bed not able to contain the face splitting smile that crossed his features. "Woah there... what are ya doin' Sunshine?" Sunshine... god he'd never thought he'd ever say that word again. "Daryl!" You cried wrapping your arm around your boyfriend. "Thank God you came. I dropped the remote to the bed and it tried to make me into a sandwich!" Daryl couldn't stop the laugh that burst from his chest. kneeling down slowly he picked up the remote, handing it to his love before enveloping her as carefully as he physically could. His laughter slowly turning into heartfelt sobs as you stroked your fingers through his hair. "I should have been here." He whined. "It's ok baby..." You whispered, kissing his crown then his lips tenderly, sweetly. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

[bohemian-nights]

Arlī(Anew)Chapter 8

Word Count: ~11,260

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest; violence; blood; smut

Description: The realm would descend into madness if Rhaenyra was crowned and placed upon the Iron Throne. Not even men declared their bastards as trueborns. Let alone did they dare to make one king.

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

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 9

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131 AC- King’s Landing

Life is not without its seasons. There is a time for peace, love, famine, and war. Sickness, heartbreak, hope, and prosperity. Destinies play out until they reach their natural conclusion. Death. In the end, we can not escape our fate, try as we might. Life does not last forever. It is not a permanent condition. The stranger comes for us all in the end. Death waits for no man, not even a king.

The Stranger had visited so very many times in Naerys life. An old friend he had become. A vulture circling its prey. A shadow creeping in the dark. From each of her parents to Laena, Laenor, and Ser Vaemond. It had taken them all. A God's work is never done. As long as there is life, the Stranger will make his appearance known soon enough.

The story of life, however, is not death. It is not even its final act. Death is not the end. It is a reminder of the impermanent nature of life, but not the end. Nothing ever stays the same, but life always finds its way to begin anew.

Death pays for life in many ways. Change is inevitable. Empires rise and fall. The sunrises and the sunsets. Rivers wither and dry up, and snows cover what once was a meadow bed, but life goes on even after death. The cycle continues. Ever repeating. Life waits for no man. Change waits for no one.

Daemon had woken Naerys up the morning after Ser Vaemond’s petition teetering on the edge of pure rapture. They had not left for Dragonstone the previous night. It was too late and their emotions ran high. Naerys had insisted that they stay and leave when the sun rose. Rhaenyra was not a threat to her. There was not much more she could do or say to them. They knew the games she played. Her well had run dry. Her luck ran out.

In her grief, Naerys had wanted her husband to alleviate her pain. Wanting to be oblivious to the world around them for just a night at least. The events of the day had left her spent. Her husband had been all too happy to oblige. Comforting her in his arms. She lost her sorrow there. “Ivestragī aōha kepus gūrogon care hen ao issa dōna riña.” Let your uncle take care of you, my sweet girl.

Daemon had taken her twice that night. The first with her riding him. She had exhausted herself bouncing upon her husband until he had to take over. Laying down upon his warm chest as he fucked up into her. The second time she woke up in tears in the middle of the night. A few soothing words whispered into her temple and strokes down her bare back and she was under him once more.

Rocking her into their bed and tearing her apart leaving them both a heady mess, His cock remained inside of her thereafter. She wrapped herself around him to keep him from leaving, not that he would ever want to do such a thing. His presence anchors her. Naerys hated the feeling of being apart from him. Wanting to cling to him even in her sleep.

Her husband must have pulled out from within her some time ago because she awoke on her back in a heady state of arousal. Drifting in and out on the edge of blissful consciousness. She came to the land of the living to a warm tongue lapping up cream overflowing from her sweet little cunt. Bringing her to her first orgasm of the day. Her uncle had always had a healthy appetite.

The sounds of his feasting on her wetness filled their guest quarters. Naerys buried her hands in her husband's silver strands while he toyed with her small bud at the apex of her vulva, replacing it with his mouth as he pushed two fingers inside her sopping heat. Finding their sensitive target with years of practice, leaving her curling into herself on the cusp of her second peak that morning.

Naerys' body began to quiver before Daemon pulled his mouth from her. Staring up at her from between her thighs. The black of his pupils overtook the violet of his iris as he flitted his gaze at where his fingers were assaulting his niece-wife’s glistening center. A welcoming sight to see if there ever was one. “Bona iksos issa sȳz riñītsos. Ñuha precious rūs. Māzigon syt issa byka mēre.” That is my good little girl. My precious baby. Come for me, little one.

Her uncle wasted no time bringing back down his mouth to latch his lips upon her puffy little button. Which resulted in her writhing upon their bed. Pleasure overtook Naerys' body. Radiating out from her spasming cunt soaking her husband's digits and the sheets underneath them.

“Muña.” Mother. Daenys light voice and a small knock came through the oak doors of their guest bed chamber. In her hazy state, Naerys thought she had been hallucinating, but then their daughter called for her again. A little more hurried than the first try. “Muña.” Naerys went to push her uncle away, but he pinned her arms down. Placing them at her sides while he let up his feasting with a small groan of annoyance.

“Aōha muñnykeā iksos lodaor engaged paktot sir byka zaldrīzes.” Your mother is otherwise engaged right now, little dragon. She tried with no use to break free of her husband's hold, but Daemon rested his head upon her thigh with a breathless chortle at her attempt. Placing a light slap on the meat of her flesh. Enjoying the sight of the jiggle.

The Rogue Prince did not stop his finger's ministrations from within her, continuing to gently circle her engorged clit with the rough pad of his thumb. Keeping her on the edge of another peak. Naerys had to turn her head into their bed to muffle her moans though the sounds from her dripping cunt were not so easy to ignore. “Māzigon arlī isse nykeā hour. Ao kostagon jenigon pār.” Come back in an hour. You can bother her then. Her husband went back to his first meal of the day. Hoping that would be the last of the interruptions, but their daughter was persistent.

“Ziry kostagon daor umbagon kepa.” It can not wait father. She called out again. This time Daemon did not stop her when she pushed him away. Letting out a huff of irritation that matched her own displeasure at her ruined climax. He climbed up her body and bent down so that she may taste herself before she rose from their bed. Heading to her dressing chambers with a slight wobble to her step and the taste of her own slick on her tongue. Naerys put on a light dress black laced with Velaryon blue. The late summer air in Kings Landing was warm. She did not need more than that.

When she entered their chambers solar, she found that Daemon had gotten up and put on his nightshirt and robe. He sat in his chair by the morning's low fire with Daenys hand in his as he laughed at something their daughter had said. His violet eyes crinkled around the corners of his face. Naerys enjoyed the sight that her favorite pair made.

Daenys was the first to notice her mother’s appearance in the doorway. Her mother noted that she did not look too distressed. Whatever matter she had to tell her could not be that worrying. With a kiss on her father's cheek, the girl took her hand and led her out of their quarters. Promising Daemon that they would be back before morning's end. Rushing her mother out to avoid her father could question where she was taking her.

Daenys led her mother in the direction of the small council. Another ambush she supposed, but it was not the time. “My love it is early.” She tried to pull her daughter closer lest the prying ears of the Red Keep hear them. Rhaenyra or those who she found in her favor could be lurking around. She would rather avoid another run-in, but the girl continued on.

“Do not fret. We will—“ The sight of Alicent interrupted her train of thought. The queen looked grave, weary no doubt from the care of her husband, but relieved to see them. Naerys peered around Alicent expecting to see Aemond, but the younger prince was nowhere to be seen.

“Thank you Daenys.” The Hightower queen took Daenys hand to give it a small squeeze. Ser Criston stood at her side like a sentry. His tan face was unreadable though he offered her a princess as a way of greeting. Naerys hesitated but her daughter bent down to whisper in her ear.

“Please hear them out muña. For my sake.” Daenys placed a faint peck on her cheek before heading down the hall in the direction of Helaena’s chambers. Naerys let out a sigh as she made her way through the council chamber's open doorway. There was no harm in hearing whatever Alicent had to say. They had a common interest after all. Perhaps combined they might be able to convince Viserys and Daemon to betroth Daenys to Aemond and end the charade.

Naerys was not surprised to see Ser Otto standing at the head of the small council chambers, but she was surprised to see Lord Jasper Wylde, Lord Beesbury, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Lord Larys seated along with Lord Commander Ser Westerlings. No one spared her a second glance apart from Ser Otto and Lord Strong.

The first greeted her as Ser Criston had. His expression held no truths like the Dornish knight. The second man she had always found to be unsettling. The newest Lord Strong had never been unkind to her. Quite the opposite in fact, but she could sense the darkness underneath his overly friendly smiles.

Laena had never liked her good brother and she got on with nearly everyone she met. “You must watch his eyes, dear little cousin.” The eyes told all. Naerys did not miss the way Alicent seemed to be startled by his presence either when she thought no one was looking. Or how she kept her children away from the Lord of Harrenhal.

Ser Tyland Lannister arrived not a moment after her. He paused at first seeing her. Naerys had never been to a council meeting. Seeing her there must have been a queer sight. An obvious sign something was not quite right. The master of ships took his seat at the end of the table. It was clear that this meeting was not about her daughter’s betrothal. A marriage plot was not at foot. At least not only a marriage plot.

Ser Tyland was the first to speak, directing his question at the Lord Hand. He seemed to be just as clueless as Naerys though he seemed not to be perturbed by the possible nature of this meeting. He was as vain as always. Making a joke of it in the way that those of his house were fond of doing. “What is it that could not wait an hour? Has Dorne invaded?”

“The king is dead.” Ser Otto wasted no time. Naerys dropped into her chair. It was not shocking. It should not be shocking. Most of Viserys had rotted away a lifetime ago. He was a shell of his former self. The stranger had clung to him far longer than perhaps he had even meant to. His time had come. His reign had come to an end. The age of peace that had lasted in Westeros since her great grandsire the Old King Jaehaerys had come to an end. The next one would be more uncertain than the last.

Daemon was Naerys' first concern. Her husband loved his brother beyond reason. A brother who defended him despite every accusation thrown his way. A brother who he had worshiped. A brother he had wanted to be as close to as possible at one point. His first champion was dead. It made sense why she had been sent instead of him.

Though older now and a bit more reasonable the Rogue Prince had well earned his moniker. He would have no doubt throttled the Lord Hand or plunged Dark Sister into his belly if it was not taken away at the mere mention of his brother's death. Accusing him of schemes and plots to do away with his brother.

Naerys was lost in her own thoughts until she heard the mention of Aegon’s name. King. They wanted to crown him king. Plans which had been made would at long last be set into motion. Plans on who to replace amongst those who were loyal to Rhaenyra. With luck, the crown Princess had left the capital for Driftmark at Princess Rhaenys invitation. Now was the time to strike! Where ravens needed to be sent to call upon their dearest allies in the reach, riverlands, and the westerlands.

Prince Daeron, who was being fostered with his newly lorded Hightower cousin in Oldtown, needed to be sent for or at least prepared for what would come. An envoy was needed for an alliance with House Baratheon. No one seemed shocked to hear of such arrangements apart from herself, the Lord Commander, and Lord Beesbury.

Lord Beesbury was the one to voice his displeasure at hearing such plots. Reminding them all of the loyalty that they owed to Princess Rhaenyra. The king's chosen heir. The rightful heir. The lords of the realm had sworn oaths of loyalty. Visery had stayed true to his daughter. They could not go back on their words now. What was a man without his word? To do so would descend the seven kingdoms into chaos. To place Aegon on the throne would be to place a pretender at the helm.

Lord Jasper and Ser Tyland refuted his arguments in rapid succession. Aegon was not just some lord or some prince. He was the king's son. His eldest son. The king could have changed his mind. Finally coming to his senses in the end. The oaths of loyalty to Rhaenyra were made half a lifetime ago. A great many of the knights and lords who had sworn them were dead. The Great Council of 101 AC had set a precedent a male heir came before his female relations. It would be a profound error to crown her queen on the wishes of a dead man who could never put aside his remorse.

Lord Beesbury turned to Naerys. She had some authority. She was a princess in her own right and a member of House Targaryen. She could lend her voice and join him in his reason. Surely she could see past this foolishness.

This was disloyalty of the highest order, but Naerys could not agree with the reach lord. He could not truly ask her to defend her cousin's claim. Not after she had tormented her and her marriage. For years without end. Dangling the promise of sons in front of Daemon’s face. Sons that the younger princess could never give their uncle. Sons he had so desperately wanted.

The events of yesterday were too fresh in her mind. The old lord had not been present for the petition, but he must have heard the goings on around court. Of what happened to her uncle. The image of Ser Vaemond’s headless body being carried away to be fed to Syrax was a hard one to shake.

Rhaenyra might have been the king's chosen heir, but Aegon was well within his rights to claim the Iron Throne for himself. No matter how unfit he may be, and both he and his sister had the temper and gluttony of their house in equal measure, he was the rightful heir by the laws of men and Gods alike. Sons came before daughters, even younger sons.

Viserys had been wrong not to put aside Rhaenyra in favor of her brother, but he had a guilty conscience. The memories of his first wife and what he had done to her plagued his very soul. Haunting him till his dying day. Till his dying breath no doubt. He could not let down the daughter as he had the mother and the realm would be left to deal with his weakness. The seven kingdoms would pay for a dragon's pride.

There was also the issue of the legitimate line of succession should Rhaenyra be crowned queen. Her only heirs were bastards. Sweet gentle boys, but bastards nonetheless. One could not seat a bastard upon the Iron Throne. Placing Rhaenyra on that very throne would cause more of a headache in the long run than it was worth.

Lord Beesbury was not fazed by the silence in favor of Rhaenyra’s claim. Standing on his own in face of the opposition. He would not be deterred. He had known the king's wishes. He would not go back on his word. The lord was a man of integrity and honor. He had not forgotten where his loyalty lay.

A man’s honor. His honor. The path of righteousness, or a form of it, at court rarely led to recognition or a favorable outcome. Lord Beesburys defense of Rhaenyra could be considered honorable, but honor was worth little within the pale stone walls of the Red Keep.

“This is seizure!” The lord’s last protests. The old lord stood up from his chair to look around the room. Accusing everyone. “It is theft! It is treason at the least!” Grand Maester Orwyle, who had been quiet up until now, advised him to mind his tongue before it landed him into trouble, but the lord continued on despite the advice of the dark maester. Making his gravest accusation against the council yet. Regicide.

Naerys held her breath. If her husband had been there with them he would have been in agreement. His misplaced grief would lead him to it. Searching for someone to blame for his brother's end, they all knew the truth.

The king's death was a natural one and a long time in the making. Lord Jasper asked the reach lord who he suspected of the murder, but he could not say. The king was dead and he believed it was at their hands. “Whether it was one of you or all of you I care not. I will have no part-” With a swift push of his head into the table Ser Criston had been the one to silence Lord Lyman Beesbury before he could finish his allegations and take leave of the council to alert his queen.

Lord Bessbury’s skull had been punctured by the marble ball he had placed in front of him. Vicious crimson fluid spilled out from the side of his head onto the small council table. Grand Maester Orwyle went to check for signs of life, but it was a wasted effort. The blow had killed him instantly.

It could have been an accident. It was more than likely one, but the force Ser Criston used had been excessive. The queen looked shocked by her loyal knight's actions reaching out to grasp Naerys arm when she jumped in fright. Ser Criston himself could not take his dark eyes of the old lord's lifeless body

The Lord Commander stood shocked as the rest of them, but he pulled out his blade once the surprise had worn off. Seeing what could happen Ser Tyland quickly moved out of the way lest he be caught in the crossfire. Ser Westerlings asked his subordinate to vacate his position on the Kingsguard and turn in his sword and cloak immediately. He had killed a defenseless man. He was not worthy to wear the white cloak of Kingsguard. He would stain it with his misdeeds.

Ser Criston would not hear of it. Pulling out his own sword in defense. “I will not suffer insults to her grace the queen.” The two men stood at odds. Staring at each other from the tips of their weapons. The Dornish knight only lowered his blade once his queen assured him that she had not been insulted.

Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that Lord Beesburys body be removed, but Ser Otto held him off. They had business yet to discuss. Council reconvened as a steady stream of blood leaked from the dead lord's head.

The issue of Storms End and its lord became the next topic for consideration, but Naerys remained lost in her fright. Images of Ser Vaemond’s headless corpse and Lord Beesburys combined. Each death played over in her mind. The first acts of violence before the ensuing chaos. Statements. Each of them. It hit her then. The true meaning of this meeting. They were going to war. That is why she had been called for.

“Do you plan on killing Rhaenyra?” A sense of dread led her to ask the question. Naerys did not need an answer for it. Alicent would do anything to insure her children's safety. Ser Otto held little love for the would-be queen and had always thirsted for her uncle's throne.

“Princess, a living challenger invites battle and bloodshed.” The Grand Maester supplied her with as if she was a halfwit. What could she expect? It was a sacrifice that had to be made in order to usher in Aegon’s peaceful reign. She knew the logic behind it. The younger princess herself was finding it difficult to feel sympathy for her cousin at times, but she did not wish for her death.

“Perhaps my aunt might help her to see sense.” There had to be another way around it. Rhaenyra was many things, but not even she deserved death. She was no real threat anyway. If someone were to get her to recognize her younger brother’s claim and conceded to it she would be no threat.

If Rhaenys could convince the younger princess to bow out gracefully there would be no need for bloodshed. She was a woman with bastards for heirs and a thinning list of allies. She could not challenge Aegon.

“Do you believe that your cousin would extend the same courtesy to you princess if you were in her position?” Ser Otto stood up to stand behind her chair. “Do you not wonder what Rhaenyra might do if she is crowned queen?” The Hightower knight grabbed her hand. Admiring the dark bruise on her brown skin from where the would-be queen had clawed at her on the way to Ser Vaemond’s petition yesternoon. “She has always been less than fond of you and overly fond of your husband.” He placed a pat on her hand before he released her. “A queen’s limits are few to none.”

When Naerys did not protest further, sitting in a half-daze, Ser Otto called for Lord Commander Westerlings to take his knights to Dragonstone and do away with Rhaenyra. The commander's reply was to turn in his cloak. He served the king and would continue to do so. He would not kill the king's heir. A woman he had known since her girlhood. Ser Westerlings left without another word.

“Ser Tyland is right.” Naerys unsteady voice interrupted the heavy silence that had fallen over the council chambers in the wake of Ser Westerlings' unexpected departure. “Lord Baratheon will side with you if you offer him a betrothal.”

She grabbed hold of her own bruised arm. Rubbing her wrist as she brought it to her chest to calm her nerves. “He does not hold his cousin in high regard.” The present lord of Storm's End had always cared little for his cousin. Viewing his late father's devotion to Rhaenys as a misplaced effort. “He holds less affection for Rhaenyra and her sons.” The man never and he had sworn no oaths of loyalty as his father had.

“Daeron would do nicely for the eldest of Lord Borros’ daughters then Ser Otto went back to his seat looking pleased though he tried his best to hide it. Alicent took her hand, gave it a squeeze, and offered her a small smile. Color was returning to the queen's cheeks.

“He would prefer Aemond.” Aemond was third in the line of succession and second if the realm wanted stability. The Baratheons were not overly ambitious, but they did have enough self-importance to make up for it. Especially Borros Baratheon who was a brute if there ever was one. To offer him a third son for his eldest daughter might be seen as a slight. They were descended from a dragonseed after all and they were a great house. They wanted their fair share.

“Aemond is already spoken for.” Daenys. Her willful girl. Her daughter had made a deal without her. She and Aemond. Naerys could not be surprised. The two young dragons wanted each other just as much as the other.

Alicent would not deny her second son what he desired nor would her father say a word against the match. Dragonstone had long been sought. It would even the odds in the war to come. Ser Otto would not let it get away even if it was for a Baratheon. At any rate, Lord Baratheon would not don his war hammer in favor of a queen who he detested. Daeron would have to do for them.

Naerys felt a mixture of emotions on her walk back to their chambers. Unease being the chief among them. The Red Keep was eerily quiet. Ser Otto had ordered half of the court to be locked within their chambers or made to swear oaths of loyalty to their new king whose present location was unknown.

Those that refused were placed in the Black Cells beneath Maegor's Holdfast while they searched for Aegon. They could keep their honor and loyalty, but they would wither away in it. The princess’s aunt Rhaenys had been among those who were confined to their quarters. That matter would have to be dealt with later. There were more pressing issues to deal with now

The princess would have to tell Daemon of his brother's fate. She would have to break the news to her husband. She would have to walk a delicate balance. Naerys knew her husband. His reaction to Viserys' passing would not be pleasant.

For all the bitter disagreements throughout their long years between the two men she knew what they meant to each other. Naerys knew how Daemon felt about his elder brother. He loved, worshiped, and resented him in equal measure in various degrees throughout his life. Death would not vanquish his sentiments.

Viserys always stood out of reach. Keeping him at an arm's length had frustrated his younger brother to no end, especially in his younger years. He was the second son desperate to belong somewhere. To be at his brother's side. He had been born for it. In another life. If circumstances were different. If they were different they would have been more. Targaryen's obsession with blood purity dictated it, but in this life, he had to forge his own path.

True enough the Rogue Prince was no longer blinded by his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing. He had grown to see past his own lusts and wants. To see past himself. To find unselfish happiness and devotion to something more than just Targaryen tradition and customs. While admirable it did not change the fact that his brother in many ways had been his first love.

Naerys came back to their bed chambers to find her husband putting on his riding leathers. Their servants had come in and left. Most of what they had brought had been packed away. “Daenys needs to stop bothering my brother.” Daemon let out an amused sigh greeting her with a grin as he motioned his wife over to help him button his undershirt.

“If she keeps this up he won’t make it till the end of the moon much less the year. She gets that from you, you know. Your beautiful stubbornness.” He kissed her forehead. Naerys tried to distract herself with her task at hand. Each second would bring her closer to having to tell of all that had happened. Daemon was always two steps ahead. Noticing that she had not met his eyes once since she arrived back to their guest chambers. With a stroke down her soft cheek, he took her face between his rough hands to bring her gaze up to meet his.

Her husband's eyes darkened when she began to worry at her plump little lip. Taking the offending feature between her teeth to calm her nerves as Daemon stared down at her. “What did they do?” His eyes traveled across her face. He could see the look in her amethyst orbs. He knew.

Naerys could never hide anything from him, try as she might. She had always been a terrible actress. Her uncle could always sniff her out without her even having to say so much as a word. “What did they do to my brother? She knew that his ire was not directed at her, but he would, sure enough, try to find some target for his anger. The princess reached up a small hand to stroke her husband's pale cheek mirroring his actions in the hope that it would provide him comfort in the wake of such news.

“Viserys died in the middle of the night kepus.” Naerys swallowed hard and released a breath that she had been holding back. She felt her eyes watering. It was unexpected and not completely surprising when her husband collapsed. Falling to his knees and burying his pale face into her stomach. “I am so sorry.” She caressed his pale head placing a kiss upon it. The bond of brothers. Targaryen brothers at that. They had shared more than blood. Daemon had never lived in a world without him. He had always been there. Waiting.

“That bitch he calls—called his wife poisoned him.” His voice was muffled as he spoke it into her skirts. Venom was clear in his gravelly voice. She knew he did not really mean it. Viserys had looked worse for wear for the past ten years. He had grown ill so very long ago. Aegon had been ready as ever to take the throne for just as long. If Alicent and father had wanted Viserys gone they would have done so moons ago.

“He did not have to marry her. He had Rhaenyra. He had me.” It was said more to himself. The slight that had never been righted. Daemon had been his heir even before Rhaenyra. He had been good enough, but Viserys still sought to deny him his rights. To replace him with others when he had been right there. His rejection still stung. “I could have provided him with heirs. We could have. Worthy heirs.”

“You did your duty to him. There is nothing left that you could have done for your brother.” She tried to soothe her husband's brooding thoughts. His regret. The last of his wants and needs to be accepted by his brother would never be fully realized, but he had been more than adequate.

Naerys placed another kiss on his silver head. Petting the strands with a practiced hand. There was no way to stop Viserys' fate. There was no point in worrying about the past. Of what could have been. All her husband could do was grieve for his loss. “He’s at peace now, kepus. He does not have to suffer more.”

Daemon let himself be comforted by his wife. Letting her soothe his inner turmoil with soft strokes to his white head. He was like a child in her hands. A child who needed reassurance. He would do the same for Naerys. He had done the same. It was only right that she provided him with a balm to his mournful soul.

It was no surprise when her husband sprung up from his kneeling position. Cupping her face between his hands before crashing his mouth upon hers in a searing kiss. Making quick work of their clothes as he does so as to bring her to their bed. Tumbling on top of the freshly made linen without breaking apart. Never forgetting her needs, Daemon moved a strong hand down to Naerys center. It did not take much to arouse her. Merely igniting the flame from earlier that morning with his skilled fingers.

Daemon plunged his hard length into her willing channel in a matter of minutes. Driving in and out of her sopping heat with a frenzy. The sounds of their lovemaking overtook their guest quarters. No words were exchanged between them. Only a symphony of grunts, whimpers, and moans.

There was no battle. She let him use her like she was a doll. His doll. She was his beloved lady wife after all. He was well within his rights to gorge himself and slack his lusts and pent up emotions on her supple flesh.

Their coupling is not unkind. Daemon was not truly rough. Only impassioned. It was never unpleasant, not even in his anger and hurt. Whatever ill feelings he held within dissipated. He drew as much comfort from her as she does from him. Give and take. Equals in their own way. All too soon he spills his seed inside her. Her own peak followed not moments after from his continued pressure and small rough circles made upon her little pearl.

As they lay in a sweaty naked heap of bare limbs upon the now-ruined bed the chamber descended into silence. Daemon remained half hard inside of his wife, keeping their combined spends from leaking out onto what was once clean sheets. He was far from being down with her as he rested his head upon her breast.

Daemon occasionally took a nipple within his mouth to suckle upon. Leaving her little brown peaks engorged and themselves in a constant state of arousal. He was sated. Naerys continued to console and dote upon her husband as he returned and basked in her affections with a tight grip on her person. It was a spell before either spoke again. “Skoros gaomagon se vipers jaelagon?” What do the vipers want?

Daemon lifted his head from her breasts to gaze down at his niece. His face was still ashen, but she could see that he would heal from this setback. Some of the mischief had returned to his violent orbs. Naerys felt relief. He would come to terms with the nature of his brother's death. “Skoros gōntan pōnta call ao syt byka mēre?” What did they call you for little one?

Daemon was not stupid. He knew what Viserys death entailed. Why they had called his wife to a council meeting instead of himself. It was not just his propensity for violence that caused them to seek out Naerys to deliver the news. No, above all else the schemers and lackwits that had run his late brother’s court and council wanted a mother’s heart. A mother’s gentleness would convince a dragon of a father to see the merit past the blatant ambition.

“Aōha tala se Aemond jaelagon naejot dīnagon.” Your daughter and Aemond wish to wed. It was better to start out with words of love. To remind him of the familial bond he shared with Aemond. To dance around Otto’s true aim. Dragonstone.

Naerys knew that they saw Daenys as a means to secure their seat and the arsenal it held, but that did not mean that was an absence of fondness. Of care and affection on the part of the young people around. It was their duty as Targaryen’s to marry for the good of their house. Why not wed the two who wished to be together? Perhaps duty and love could coincide. No matter how rare, it would not be the first case of it nor the last.

Daemon was not heartless. He could be rash, but even a dragon's heart could bend to those who laid a claim to him. He loved Daenys. He would die for her as he would live for her. As they all would. Let his love for his daughter sway him towards acceptance of the union.

“Ziry iksos tolī hāeda.” She is too young. An excuse. A poor one at that. Daemon himself had wedded and bedded her when she had been little older than their daughter and he was twice her age. Aemond was only a cousin rather than an uncle. There was a mere six years between the two. Her uncle had no room to talk.

Naerys would not usually push the issue, war or no war, but the two did care for each other. Daenys had been smitten with her older cousin since she could talk and Aemond was a stern enough though devoted boy. Matches were made with less. Her own had. She barely knew her uncle when she was thrust upon him.

“They love one another.” That counted for everything. It had to. “If we do not agree to it, she will be lost to us.” Daenys had too much of her father’s spirit. She would play nice for now, but her desire would win out. Aemond was little better. He had inherited the dragon's blood. All fire and blood willing to burn for each other. It was sweet if not a little terrifying.

“Skoros would ao gaomagon lo ao could daor emagon issa? What would you do if you could not have me?” Naerys brought a hand up to caress his jaw. Clenching her heat around her uncle’s member. It was playing dirty, but she was left with no choice. Daemon had said that she was made for him. She had been what he needed and he reviled in her light.

The Rogue Prince would gladly commit every sin according to the gods old, new, and anyone else in between for her. He had threatened to live in sin to have her. Was it truly damning to have someone you wanted by your side? If an old dragon could not be made to give up what he desired, what made him think that two young dragons would give in to his commands?

Aemond and Daenys could not be stopped even on Daemon's account. They were both young, hot-tempered, and too caught up with each other. The two would force her father’s hand if he did not give his blessing willingly. A scandal that could be avoided if the old prince saw reason.

“Ziry iksos nykeā Hightower.” He is a Hightower. Daemon brought his forehead down to nuzzle hers as his violet eyes closed shut. He breathed his wife in as he held back a groan from his wife’s inner walls fluttering around his cock. She would be the death of him, oh but what a blissful end it would be.

Naerys tried and failed to stifle her laugh which turned to a whimper when Daemon rocked up into her swollen cunt. A playful punishment for her cheek. Kicking a poor man while he was down. Her husband had acted like a spoiled child who seemed to take joy out of denying his nephew. He was running out of excuses and they both knew it.

“Ziry iksos aōha lēkia tresy.” He is your brother’s son. Aemond was a Targaryen even if his mother was a Hightower. Targaryen’s appeared to always be meant for another. He loved Daenys and she loved him. There could be no argument about their feelings toward each other. There was certainly no argument that could be made on who would be more suited for her than Aemond. “Who would you rather have her marry?”

A part of Naerys knew why her husband hesitated to wed the two. It was more than a father's overprotective nature rearing its ugly head. Targaryen’s were a special lot. There was no denying that. Blood belonged with blood. Daemon had wanted his blood for his daughter. It was more than just a want for an heir. He wanted a son for Daenys. It was natural. It was what was expected. His parents had a natural blood mate as had their parents. Why not his daughter?

But Naerys had failed to give birth to a living son. Daemon would never hold it against her, but she knew why he resented Aemond’s presence so much. He stood as a reminder of what could have been. Perhaps in another life things were different, and things were just as they should be, but in this one, their nephew would have to do.

Another part of her, the naive young princess that her husband had first married, wondered if he had truly found peace. If he were as happy as he claimed to be. He defended her to no end, but she still could not stop the dark thoughts that roamed around in the back of her head.

To marry Daenys to Aemond would mean cutting off Rhaenyra for good. To side against his niece. His first niece. The princess he had originally put all of his hopes and desires into. There would be no going back if he chose this path. A war would permanently separate the two.

There was always another option. Daemon could choose to honor Viserys' wish. His brother's last decree. To marry Daenys to Joffrey. To take up for Rhaenyra’s cause. To give her the legitimacy she so desired. To crown her queen.

Daemon did not miss a beat. He kissed away the worry that washed upon Naerys little brow from her troubling thoughts. Sighing into her temple. Not for the first time did he regret his treatment of his little wife during the first moons of their marriage. He should have told her of his sooner of his feelings toward her, but he had been too clouded by his own conceit and resentment.

He had almost lost her in her attempts to prove herself worthy. She, apart from their daughter, meant more to him than all the breath in his body. His brave gentle girl. He did not deserve her yet he had her heart and devotion nonetheless. He should have stayed away from her. Let her marry one of her Velaryon cousins as Ser Vaemond had planned, but he had been too selfish. Too greedy to be denied her. If he couldn’t have Rhaenyra he’d have his other niece for a wife. Daemon was better off for it in the end.

“Ziry jāhor emagon naejot sagon gaomagon gō aegon iksos crowned.” It will have to be done before Aegon is crowned. He whispered it to his little wife. Conceding at long last. Neither Ser Otto nor the prince would trust one another before the deed was done. Too much bad blood stood in the way without the tie of kinship keeping them from harming each other.

“Se Zaldrīzes Ripo jāhor emagon naejot gaomagon.” The Dragonpit will have to do. The Rogue Prince would not have his daughter marry in a sept and they did not have time to journey to Dragonstone and back to wed her in the proper place. Naerys felt the bulk of her woe disappear as she let out a breath of relief which quickly turned into a moan. Her husband had captured her mouth in another sweet yet feverish kiss.

There was no need to prepare themselves for their next round of coupling. With a swift thrust, Daemon was once more buried deep within her love-soaked heat. Where he belonged. The day was still early. They could worry about the ceremony later. Right now her husband had need of her. He was still grieving after all.

Mid-afternoon descended upon the Red Keep before Daemon ceased his amorous affections. He had left his wife feeling achingly sore and reluctant to leave their bed chamber, but there was much to still be done. The castle was in a somber state of half mourning as they prepared for their new king's coronation on the morrow.

Aegon had been located, but the soon-to-be king was found in a drunken state hiding within the Grand Sept. He was dragged back to the Red Keep by a disappointed Ser Criston and a disgruntled Aemond.

The lecherous prince protested bitterly against taking up his late father’s mantle. He did not wish to see himself seated upon the Iron Throne. The boy had some awareness. Naerys would give him that. “Let my sister have it or one of my brothers. I don't care! I do not want it!” If it was up to Daemon she knew that he would place Aemond in his stead with Daenys at his side. Their grandson would be the future king.

The realm might be better for it, but they had chosen the side of duty and order or at least the appearance of it. Aegon would be made king whether he wanted it or not. It was not an issue with which Naerys would concern herself. His mother and grandsire had it well within hand. Rhaenys was at the forefront of her mind now.

“Are my granddaughters safe?” Her aunt's unnaturally cold voice greeted her before she could even shut the door to her chambers turned holding cell. Rhaenys stood facing her windows. The shutters were closed leaving the fire and freshly lit candles to provide light on the eve of the dying day. The older princess' body was rigid as she stared out below at the sweltering capital.

“They arrived safely back to Driftmark this morning.” She reached out to lend a reassuring hand but the older woman flinched away. It stung as Naerys moved her arm back to her side. Wringing her wrist to keep her hands busy. “No one will go after them.” She would not stand for it. She would allow it.

Naerys owed Laena who had been a sister to her in all but name. She would not see any harm come to her late cousin's daughters. Laena would do the same for her. At any rate, the Greens did not have any quarrel with either Baela or Rhaena. They were mere girls who had the misfortune to be betrothed to their bastard half-brothers. “You have my word aunt.”

“The word of jailers and traitors means little to me Naerys.” Rhaenys finally turned her rapidly graying head around to face her. Narrowing her violet eyes in cool inspection. The younger princess tried her best not to cower under her good aunt's gaze. It is a funny thing how we revert into the children we once were from something as simple as a disapproving glare.

“Aegon is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.” Naerys held her ground. Her aunt let out a huff in amusement. As if her words were so ridiculous. Truth had become humorous in the face of lies that they had told for so very long. Mayhaps she had even forgotten it. What a strange world they lived in. “From where I stand, Rhaenyra is the traitor.”

“Traitor to what exactly?” Rhaenys would not lend her candor to the situation. She had made her bed with Rhaenyra. She would not give in now no matter the truth. It need not be said. They could skirt around it for all they like. The truth after all was a fickle thing that changed as easily as a late summer breeze. “She is the king's chosen heir.” That meant little now and they both knew it. To crown Rhaenyra queen would be folly.

“She has obvious bastards for heirs.” Her aunt could not even refute it. It may not be treason per se, but it was chaos. The realm would descend into madness if Rhaenyra was crowned and placed on the Iron Throne. Not even men declared their bastards as trueborn. Let alone did they dare to make one king, but her cousin had Targaryen conceit in abundance. “The realm can not withstand her reign.”

“You are so quick to tear another woman down Naerys.” It was Naerys turn to let out a snort in amusement. Though she did not flinch back as she had when the older princess reached out to admire a silver curl with a sneer. She had forgotten that her aunt was a Targaryen like the rest of them. A dragon rider with a dragon’s heat.

“I thought I taught you better than that.” Her aunt knew good and well why she would not side with her cousin. Rhaenys had been there when Rhaenyra tried to accuse her of treason. Her cousin had judged her to be an enemy and wanted her head just as she had wanted Ser Vaemond’s.

“We would not be in this mess if you had not let them steal your crown out from under you.” The Naerys spat out. She would not be dismissed as a woman acting out of malice and spite. If her aunt wanted cruelty she would show it to her. If she wanted to hurt. She would hurt back. It was petty, but she had reason enough. She would not cower and hide like a frightened girl.

The Queen Who Never Was. Naerys knew how Rhaenys hated it. Hated being called it by those closest to her. The constant reminders from her uncle the late Lord Boremund Baratheon. Whispers from her husband Lord Corlys. Even Ser Vaemond’s mocking sneers

Rhaenys was the firstborn daughter of the firstborn son. She was the rightful heir, but the Old King wanted a male heir to succeed him rather than his late son's daughter. Her position as heir died the moment her father had.

Rhaenys was passed over thrice. First by her uncle, Naerys grandsire, then Naerys father, and finally Viserys. The crown should have gone to her, but it went to a worthy successor with only a whimper of a protest and that came from her uncle the Sea Snake. Her aunt had always said she had gotten over the slight, but she could see a brief flash of envy in her violet eyes sometimes when they gazed upon the Iron Throne, Viserys, or even Rhaenyra.

“You talk of the good of the realm. Everything I have done has been for the good of the realm.” Her aunt's face was set in stone. Her eyes held little light in them. Years of practice made the lack of emotion on the subject appear natural on her pale visage. “If I recall your mother made the same decision when she let Viserys take your crown as well niece.” Though her tone was not biting, Rhaenys curled her lips in a jeer. A blow for a blow.

“My mother did not even have the support of her own brothers.” True enough, Ser Vaemond had supported her father’s claim, but he did not put up much of a fight once Prince Aenys had been sent to an early grave. Lord Corlys had offered his protection. He would never let a hand raise in harm against his only sister or his babe niece, but he offered little else.

“She had no choice! I was a child! You had the might of House Velaryon at your disposal. You had a dragon!” At the time, only Daemon had claim to a full-grown dragon. Little stood in her way. “You had a son who would rule after, yet you still gave up your crown for a man not even worthy to rule Dragonstone, let alone the Seven Kingdoms!”

Viserys was a weak man who spread disease and poison wherever he went. He played the role of peacemaker, but he caused more damage than all of them. Trampling on tradition while he gained everything he had ever had from it. “You won’t even stand up to her husband to make Baela heir.”

“Do not lecture me niece.” Rhaenys laughed. It was a bitter one this time. “Everything I do is for my granddaughters.” The years of pent-up frustration brewing finally bubbled over at the surface. “You are a mother now Naerys. You ought to know better. You are a woman grown now. Since you are so concerned with who is a worthy heir, push for your claim and your daughters. Ask the Greens that you side with to call for a Great Council. Ask your husband to start a war for you. See where that gets you!”

She did not doubt that Daemon would start a war of succession for her. It was well within his nature, but there was no denying that it would only end in needless bloodshed. Naerys had no sons and no means to provide the realm with them other than Daenys. While the smallfolk might love their Rogue Prince the lords of the land were less than fond of her uncle and would like him less as their King consort.

Truth be told it was a relief in a way that she had not been made queen. Aegon was right. Above all the Iron Throne was a curse more than it was something to covet and hold in one’s possession.

“Our house finally has the chance to seat a woman upon the throne and yet you stand in your cousin's way the same as the men who stood in our way.” Perhaps Rhaenys had deluded herself into thinking that Rhaenyra would be a just and fair ruler. Perhaps Rhaenyra might be a good queen, but Naerys would have no part in helping her cousin to the throne.

This went beyond who was worthy of holding the throne. “You side with the men of the realm just the same.” Her aunt tried one last time, but it was in vain. Naerys would not be bullied into acceptance by a hypocrite who sided with a woman who had made her own daughter's marriage a misery. “We all must make sacrifices Naerys.”

“She accused me of treason.” After ripping out the tongues of her Velaryon cousins and ordering the beheading of her uncle no less. Naerys would no longer dance around the truth. She could not. She had the bruise to prove Rhaenyra’s intent for her. If it was not for her husband's affection toward her, her head would surely be in Syrax’s belly next to Ser Vaemond’s. “Forgive me if I am not so sympathetic to her plight.”

“I will send for someone to deliver you to your granddaughters.” There were still those loyal to the crown princess. It would not take much to sneak her out of the Red Keep. She could enlist Ser Westerlings' help if need be.

Naerys would not see Baela and Rhaena alone in this world. The girls had been through so much. They would undoubtedly be pushed aside if their grandmother was not there to protect and defend them. Even if it meant giving Rhaenyra one more dragon rider, Laena's girls needed her.

Rhaenys reached out to grasp Naerys. Seemingly releasing the mistake in her chastisement. She had been too cruel, but the younger princess flinched away. Pulling open the chamber doors she did not turn around to face her aunt. She could not do so without crumbling. “Good luck aunt.” Making her way back into the hall Naerys let out a silent prayer to the Mother that she would not meet her in worse circumstances than this.

Aemond and Daenys wedding ceremony was a quiet and hurried affair. Neither she nor her cousin turned nephew turned good-son seemed disappointed by this fact. A septon had been procured with surprising speed, but Daemon insisted that he would officiate the ceremony. After of course he had called his soon-to-be good-son to their chambers for a pre-wedding bonding of sorts.

“If you ever hurt my daughter.” Her husband sat upon his armchair polishing Dark Sister in his sword hand. His other pale hand he placed upon Aemond’s shoulder. “If I find out that you have ever made her unhappy.” He gestured to the blade in his grasp. Twirling it around with a small smirk that did not reach his darkened eyes. He looked every bit the vengeful Valyrian God of old. “This will find a home in that empty hole you call your eye, sweet nephew.”

The younger prince did not flinch at his uncle's words. Only bowing his head slightly. “I would gladly accept that fate, nuncle.” It was his simple reply. One that seemed to satisfy Daemon who got up from his chair to place a heavy pat on Aemond’s with a mirthless chortle.

Naerys did not doubt Aemond’s sincerity. He was utterly devoted to Daenys. She had not seen him so much as looked at another maiden. He was not a drunken lustful fool like his older brother nor was he neglectful as his father had been.

He had some darkness in him, but it was familiar. The same darkness she saw in her own husband. The same need to prove himself as a second son, but he was overall a dutiful Targaryen prince. In any case, Naerys would burn Aemond herself with Silverwings' help if he was ever untrue to their daughter.

Daenys' lady companion, a bubbly girl of ten and six who was the daughter of their steward, had brought Naerys wedding robes to the Red Keep at the young princess's request. To that, her mother could not be surprised. It was clear that her daughter had not planned on leaving Kings Landing without what or rather who she wanted.

Helaena had taken care to pin flowers picked by her children into her little sister's hair alongside her headpiece after Naerys had pinned up her silver curls. Beaming at the finished result. “Ao jurnegon hae pretty hae aōha muñnykeā byka zaldrīzes.” You look as pretty as your mother little dragon. Daemon’s violet eyes were glassy in the candlelight as he gazed at his daughter. There was no denying that Daenys looked every bit the Valyrian bride. Though her mother thought that the robes fit better on her daughter’s frame than they had ever looked on her.

Naerys could not help, but compare her daughter's wedding to her own. Truthfully could only remember her nerves. The bulk of that fateful day had been a blur. Even when it had been fresh in her mind. She did recall though that Daemon had to draw her blood for her. Her hand had been too shaky.

Daenys had been able to cut her own lip without Aemond’s assistance. She did not wince when her new husband placed their combined blood upon her forehead, the only person who had done so had been Alicent though her bright smile held the truth of her feelings towards her new good-daughter.

Daenys repeated her vows in Valyrian with perfect diction. She beamed up at Aemond, who looked the happiest Naerys had ever seen, as she did so. Daenys was a glowing vibrant bride and her mother was glad for that.

The feast afterward was a rather interesting experience. Aegon had sobered up enough to attend the family gathering in late fathers Nos his private solar. He had not, however, recovered enough from his past libations to have full control of his wits. The soon-to-be crowned king had called for the bedding twice. The first was met with dark glares from both Aemond and Daemon which should have kept him from egging on the situation, but not a quarter hour later did he call for it to be done again.

“Your bride is very pretty brother.” Having been banned from wine and ale for the duration of the feast Aegon took a swig of water from his goblet. Continuing on with a half-drunken smile. “It is a pity that Good Queen Alyssnne saw fit to do away with the first night.” Helaena who sat next to her husband blanched, though his next words would cause them all to stir in anger and recoil in horror.

“My dear little sister could have had two princes breaking her in tonight. Perhaps she still might.” The singers had stopped their music at the last of their new king's declaration. The room went deathly silent. Before either Daemon or Aemond, who were both armed, could enact harm against Aegon, before he was even crowned no less, Ser Otto sprouted up from his seat at the table's end to diffuse the situation.

“I believe that it is time that you retire, your grace.” The hand of the King motioned Ser Criston over to where his eldest grandson sat by a furious Aemond who had only been stopped from committing kingslaying and kinslaying from his young bride's honey hand on his pale one. “You will need your strength for tomorrow.” Aegon protested, but Ser Criston and some of his men were able to lead him back to his bed chambers without too much fuss.

While there was no bedding that did not stop Daemon from trying to hold off Aemond and Daenys departure for as long as he could. The thought of his daughter being swept away to be misused by his nephew made him ill. So he took to glaring at Aemond from where he sat on Daenys left during the duration of the feast. Taking his daughter's smaller hand in his and placed a paternal kiss upon the honey skin. It was almost amusing at first, but as the feast progressed it soon enough became an unbearable sight to watch. The Rogue Prince's mood only became more gloomy with each minute that passed.

Daemon would not even let Daenys join her new husband for so much as a dance, lest Aemond might somehow whisk his daughter away to defile her. Never mind the fact that he was well within his rights to do so now. She was his wife.

Aemond returned his new good father’s glower in kind, but he did not say anything to the older man. Not wanting to provoke his uncle's ire at his own wedding feast. Their poor girl, despite her smile, looked like she was suffocating under her father's smothering. Having to placate both men who she sat into between.

Naerys did not like the idea of what would happen after the feasts either. Their daughter would always be her baby. Her only living child who she had been blessed by the Gods to carry inside her belly for nine moons. It was she who had cared for her before anyone else had known her. She had been a part of her and would always be. She knew Daenys better than her own self, but the young princess was a married woman now. It would not do for her husband to act as he did.

It was only when Naerys had been asked by Ser Criston to join him for a dance, that her husband turned his back on the newlyweds long enough that the two were able to sneak out and head for Aemond’s chambers. Away from prying eyes as they spent their first night as man and wife.

Naerys could not hold back her laughter at the look on her husband’s stern face when he realized that his daughter and good-son had left for their chambers. He was pale as a ghost as he scanned the king's private solar for a glimpse of Daenys. “īlon jāhor ūndegon zirȳ isse se tubis kepus.” We will see them in the morning, uncle. They did not get much rest that night though she counted it lucky that Daemon had not sought to make their daughter a widow on her wedding day.

The ride to Aegon’s coronation the following day was pleasant enough. Naerys rode with her daughter and niece, the soon-to-be crowned queen. The girls sat huddled opposite to the older princess exchanging whispers and giggles amongst themselves. With a rosy flush coloring her honey face, Daenys was the very picture of a new bride. Outside their wheelhouse was a different story.

Both Aemond and Daemon rode ahead of them on horseback. The two had not spoken to each other since the ceremony, but as long as neither prince attempted to harm the other their wives would not force a connection between them. At least not yet anyway.

The hopes for the coronation were low. The Dragonpit had been filled enough with small folk. Though completely sober for mayhaps the first time in his adult life, Aegon was sullen and pale as he made his grand entrance. His eyes watering over as he kneeled next to his sister-wife to be anointed and blessed by Septon Eustace in the frail High Septon’s absence.

Ser Criston held up the crown of the conqueror for all to see before placing it upon the prince’s white head. Proclaiming him the heir and king in the name of the seven. From the corner of her eye, Naerys noticed her good-son staring at his brother's head. A second son bound by duty. Daenys grabbed her husband’s hand in comfort. Aemond gladly took her little honey hand further into his grasp, but his eyes remained on Aegon.

Alicent went forward to place her own crown upon her daughter's fair head. Giving her a kiss on her cheek before bowing to her. “My Queen.” The girl would not quite meet her mother’s eye though the dear little queen did accept her mother's gesture with a half smile.

Ser Criston had been the one first to bow his head to their new king. He had done so without thought. Tradition dictated that they follow the Dornish knight's lead. In recognition of their new king, each standing on the Dragonpits dais, apart from Helaena who remained kneeling, dropped to a half curtsey, a head bow, or a jerk of the head in Daemon’s case which had been stiffer than Aemond’s half-hearted attempt. Naerys' husband would give him no more than that.

Aegon turned his hollowed-out eyes to gaze at his family and council before turning to face the crowd. King Aegon. The second of his name. For a brief moment, it seemed as if the boy’s low spirits would continue on, but then the crowd began to cheer. He was king. He was the lord of the seven kingdoms. Protector of the realm and he only just now realized it. He basked in the small folks' acceptance of him. Pumping his sword in elation, until an unexpected visitor arrived.

Rhaenys. In her full armor, she rode on top of Meleys. The scarlet she-dragon burst from underneath the floorboards. Crushing the small folk who had been unlucky enough to be in her path. Naerys had not forgotten her aunt. Nor how they left things between them, but she did not expect her to pay her kindness with this.

Chaos reigned over the Dragonpit. Ser Otto commanded the gates to be open as the occupants inside scrambled to exit from the dome lest they wind up crushed or trampled by the Lady of Driftmark and her dragon. Naerys found herself being pushed behind her husband. She let out a breath of relief when she turned her silver head and saw that Aemond had done the same with their daughter who stood clinging to her husband.

Meleys and her rider stared down Aegon and Alicent. The dowager queen ordered Ser Criston to protect her daughter who had moved back from the center of the dais, drawing her son in back of her. Naerys felt all the blood leave out from her body when the dragon began to growl down at the mother and her son.

Her aunt had never been a violent woman, but war makes monsters of us all. Meleys let out a piercing roar at the dowager queen and the freshly crowned king. No heat came. A scream. A battle cry. Nothing more.

Naerys was left reeling as Rhaenys took to the skies heading for Driftmark. Her aunt could have left in peace with Ser Westerlings. The loyal knight had been more than willing to offer her his sword. To take the older princess quietly, discreetly back to her home, Or gather her granddaughters from Hide Tide and bring them here to her, but she had chosen to torment them instead. She had chosen to play at war. She had chosen her queen.

Ao3 Link:

Tags: @misssilencewritewell @parizparis @thanyatargaryen @i-love-morally-gray-characters @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @bubblebuttwade @beggarsnotchoosey @m-indkiller @pearlstiare @green-lxght @lazypinkpig @mvrylee @janelei

[starry-blue-echoes]

I had thoughts help.

So. Magical Girl AU. 2 ideas. First one is one I've touched upon very briefly before, but I love the idea of Weather's initial rage not simply being darkness but instead an overwhelming light, that relentlessly burns and destroys/ensnails anything near him. The darkness that overtook him actually calmed him, sealing that destructive light away. (Also maybe the dark was tied to Perla somehow idk.)

Then Pucci showed up and misread the situation completely. So now not only is Weather devoid of dark, he also is lacking in light as well, since that's still sealed away.

And when some light enters him again, and weakens that seal... well. Nobody liked what happened after that.

2nd idea: Perhaps those possessed by darkness look a little... off. Unless their modus operandi depends on going unnoticed, like Kira, they have some feature that twists their appearance, different for each person, and growing more pronounced the longer their body remains darkened. I imagine this would make the part 5 and 6 designs very interesting. :)

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

tbh, this AU is rotating really hard in my head and this is P E R F E C T

for the first part, I had an idea to both make it better and worse :>

so as I mentioned before, humans and most Earth Creatures in this are naturally born as beings of Light. However, what if while they can be corrupted by outside sources of Darkness, it's also somewhat..... natural, so to speak. Pain, fear, anger, even apathy, those feelings all make it a bit easier for Darkness to be inside them, but in healthy small amounts. Light meanwhile has more to do with emotions like happiness, determination, justice and can drive it back.........

so what if before his memories were taken, Weather completely gave into his newly unlocked Light. His Light that was once righteous and warm because burning and scalding, driving away the Darkness that would've been the balm to soothe his grief

Pucci (albeit accidentally and unintentionally) giving him this all powerful Light in the middle of his grief took away his ability to process his feelings and what had happened with Perla. These feelings toward tragedy are natural, healthy even, and necessary for the healing process. Instead, Weather got a bright, powerful but uncontrollable Light forced upon him that he didn't know how to use. He was a Magical Girl yes, and he wasn't necessarily a corrupted one, but that's simply because the Light burned too strong and bright to let it

The Light wanted justice, and in this case it was very close to vengeance. Perla was innocent and kind, and these people were hardly good. Perhaps they themselves were corrupted with Darkness, and Weather's own Light reacted to fight back, to protect, to try so desperately to keep him and what little he had left safe. The Light made him tunnel vision so much he didn't notice those getting caught in the crossfire nor the way his own body was slowly burning inside out. Didn't notice how his grief and anger and sadness where suddenly nonexistent beyond the desire to Do Good And Help By Getting Rid Of The Threat

Pucci awakening his power nearly spelt the end for Weather's life, had it gone for a few more hours

maybe that's also why Pucci brought him to Green Dolphin, hoping that the oppressive and constant Darkness will keep the seals firmly shut

this also raises the fun possibility of Jolyne And Co healing him not with Light like they usually have but with Darkness. Maybe Emporio could help here since he's been exposed to so much that it's basically a permanent part of him now, and in the process it helps balance himself out. They almost swap the excess power they have and finally get to be at peace

(also, I think for this bit I had a fun idea for the rain imagery. This whole time Weather is practically glowing, radiating Light constantly and the longer it goes one the more he begins to burn. His skin begins to crack in places, his eyes lighten to white, his hair begins to grow black at the tips and curl like it's been set on fire

((Actually hey what if Weather's hair is white because the overwhelming light from that one time basically bleached his hair))

but then....... when it's finally over. When they manage to douse the flames the overwhelming Light has brought, to give him Darkness to let him finally feel........ it gets cloudy and rains and finally Weather gets the chance to cry)

And shifting gears for the second idea, OF COURSE

Limbs and nails and teeth that are a bit too long or numerous, eyes that are a bit too vivid or have colored sclera, patches of skin that don't look quite right like instead they're scaled or leathery or just the completely wrong color, hair that seems to defy physics or sway in a nonexistent wind or not be completely made of hair at all, voices that have strange qualities and echoes to them, etc etc :)

Giorno and Emporio both grow up surrounded by those traits 24/7 and kinda got desensitized to it all. If anything, this is how people look and are supposed to be. To them, if someone looks normal they're an even bigger threat because that means either a) they're a trap and trying to get you to lower your guard and/or b) they're powerful enough to hide

[boxfullaturtles]

"For someone who can see the future, he's very...stable." "The Herald? Oh, Titan, no, that creature is entirely mad." "Such disrespect! What makes you say such a thing!?" "If you had seen the way he laughs in the face of danger, you would not think me so wrong..."

didn't even try to make this one cover a bingo spot lol, just really wanted to get this out of my system

transcripts are under the cut!

[Choosing Hope AU Masterpost]

The Herald appeared to the Yokai in the winter of 19XX. He brought with him a message of peace and unity, and mystic powers the likes of which had not been seen since the ancient wars.

(An artistic rendering of the first time I witnessed The Herald)

He traveled the Hidden City, healing and giving aid to any who asked. He encouraged the Yokai to forge bonds of trust with the human race, to cast aside our fears and hatred and to make both races stronger through unity and friendship. Such speak was initially met with scorn and disgust.

It is not known when precisely The Herald approached the Council of Heads, it is only known that he did. Whatever was discussed there is not for us to know. All that is known for certain is that there was talk of the old prophecy, the one that said a great and terrible destruction would one day befall the Yokai. The Herald revealed that it was not just the Yokai who would suffer, but the human race as well. The entire earth would be scalded and left a barren wasteland, devoid of all life, rotten and desolate. If the yokai and the humans did not unite against this danger, then all of us would die and our history forgotten. Needless to say, The Herald got his wish and plans were made to begin connecting with the humans.

Many of us still have our doubts. The humans drove us underground out of fear and ignorance. They have shunned magic and mysticism and fight amongst themselves like feral beasts. They poison the Earth with their machines and destroy much of its natural beauty. They will end us all by depleting the planet’s resources. If anything is a threat to the Yokai than surely it is the humans themselves. Perhaps it would be better to take the initiative in such matters and wipe out the human race before they can ruin things further… Ah, but The Herald has called for an audience with me, so I will table my ideas for the moment. I doubt anything he says will convince me to change my mind when it comes to the human plague that has ruined our lives. Still, I am not so arrogant as to ignore such a powerful and wise being.

I will hear him out. If only to scoff in his face later. There have been Yokai like him before - fools who believe that humans and Yokai can live together in peace. The fools are either silenced by the Council...or the humans do the job. I do not know what tricks this Herald has played upon the Council, but they will not work on the great and powerful Baron Draxum. Humanity is a plague, the worst thing to happen to this planet. I will listen to The Herald. But I will not change my mind.

I WAS WRONG

By Titan, I was wrong. It has been...several hours since my visit with The Herald. I had to take some time to calm myself. The things that The Herald showed me were the stuff of nightmares. He used his mystic powers to present me with terrible visions of the future. I know this kind of magic, I know he could not have faked the things that I was witness to. I now understand why the Council listened to him so readily. I am willing to join his cause, and I have said as much to him. The Herald seemed delighted at my agreement. I asked him what our next steps were to be, and to my utter shock he said, “Those plans you were concocting, the ones for a group of powerful warriors that could wipe out the human race? Hold onto them. We will have need of them soon enough.”

He knew of my plans. Plans that I had told to no one, plans that had not even yet been written down. He truly must be a prophet. A Herald.

I have some thinking I must do. And some planning. I do not know what The Herald will ask of me, but I will do whatever it takes to stop that terrible future from happening.

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS23 Fic Update: "Carolina Moon" Chapter Five

Sheesh, so much for getting back to weekly updates! I don't know what else to do but apologize folks, and to say thank you for hanging in there with me if you're still patiently reading this story despite my lack of speed. Please enjoy the newest chapter - the threat is ramping up, but so is Killian's determination to help keep Emma safe!

Thank you so, so, SO much for @xarandomdreamx and her wonderful beta skills - she had a job fixing all the times I switched tenses this go 'round!

And continued thanks to @eastwesthomeisbest for this cover art that I'm thrilled by all over again each time I post a new chapter!!

Read from the beginning HERE on Tumblr or HERE on AO3

Summary: Emma Swan has returned to the town she grew up in, and the past that has haunted her no matter where she has run. She seeks answers and peace at last. Despite the years that have passed, some things haven't changed very much in Storybrooke, South Carolina, and one of those things is Killian Jones. He never forgot the gangly girl with the world on her shoulders and pain in her eyes, but will he finally be able to slip past her defenses and help her find the answers she seeks?

Chapter Five: Unwanted Reunion and New Resolve

Killian Jones’ mind was everywhere but on the shipping manifests and cost reports he was attempting to look over in his small office down at the docks. Paperwork of that nature was his least favorite part of being the boss, and a tedious chore at the best of times, but with all he had witnessed the night before - Emma trembling in his arms, shaking from the sapping strength of her visions - he could find little space in his brain for inventory and figures. The sunlight glinting off the water out the window to his left and the gentle sound of the waves striking the moorings of the pier always tried to entice him from his desk on mornings he had to take alone to put the business in order, but with his concentration already severely fractured, he was making little to no headway. He’d dropped Emma off by her car at the gallery that morning, reluctantly aware that he had to give her a bit of space, and figuring that in the middle of town in broad daylight was the best time to do so and still retain his own peace of mind. He’d spent the night on her couch - against her protests that she sleep there instead - but all had been quiet, no signs of trouble. She’d planned to go to the diner to grab breakfast, then work for a few hours, and he’d pick her up that evening when they’d both finished for the day.

With a growl of frustration, Killian pushed his chair back and reclined in it, raking a hand through his dark hair, surely making it stand on end, and squeezing his eyes closed to block all the images rushing through, images that were already inside his head. He wanted to yell, to hit something - mostly his own younger self. How had they all been so blind and callous? Was this what Emma had always been dealing with? Even as a child? Rose would have known, would have been a support, a respite for Emma in the storm the rest of her life must have been. His baby sister, whom he’d doted on, but clearly not paid careful enough attention to, would have done nothing less. But when she was snatched away, and Emma blamed for the loss, despite what she had risked in order to help, it was just too late, the storm had surged back to surround her, raging and buffeting her more cruelly than ever. Though he had wondered briefly about the marks he could see that morning, and what had kept Emma from meeting Rose the night before, he had been too young and blind, too lost in his own grief and family concerns to reach out to her as he saw now he should have done. She had lost the only anchor in the maelstrom she had ever possessed, and he hadn’t bothered to toss her a lifeline. Leaning forward again, elbows planted on his cluttered desk, Killian rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully for a moment, trying to refocus on what he could do now to help her and show he wanted to ease her burden - would always, always, be at her side from now on, if she would allow it. Emma had said, when her defenses were still down and he had held her close, trying to imbue any bit of strength he could, that Rose wasn’t the only one - that there had been other victims.

Galvanized with sudden inspiration, he pushed his bookkeeping aside in a messy heap to one corner of his desk and quickly opened a new window on his laptop. If he wasn’t going to be able to focus on his own work, he might as well accomplish something worthwhile, something he could take to Emma as proof of how fully he took her at her word - a starting point for their inquiry. His eyes began to scan lines of text in rapid fascination - both amazed and appalled at the sheer amount of information at one’s fingertips once he chose to look, and at the horrifying reality of there being so much to be found.

He was soon fully engaged in the task, his other concerns slipping away with the minutes that ticked by until he could call it a day, and it suddenly felt as if he had managed some worthwhile work after all. Perhaps not for Jones Shipping Ltd., but important all the same. He tried not to picture the scoff and disappointed shake of the head his father would have given at that; Brennan Jones did nothing if not for the furtherance of their name and holdings, and his imagination’s echoes of the sharp retort that would be on his mother’s lips did no good either.

All the same, he was anxious to show Emma what he had turned up, and in only a couple hours’ searching. It wouldn’t be what one might call pleasant dinner conversation - certainly not what he’d usually entertain as fit for a second date - was he crazy to consider it as such?  He felt Emma would want to know all the same. It was proof that what she had seen the night before, horrifying as it must have been, was hardly mistaken or imagined. And it was a first stop toward finally uncovering the truth after all this time. Emma deserved to be set free at long last - they all did.

When it finally neared five o’clock, Killian had never locked up his office and left work so quickly. He headed straight for the town square and those mesmerizing green eyes he was eager to feel upon him again. He had been missing them for longer than he’d ever fully realized.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

The morning after intense visions Emma always felt a bit hazy, slightly dazed and headache-y, almost as though suffering from a mental hangover of sorts, from exerting such focus and emotion. That morning was no different, but she shuffled gingerly through her usual routine as always, wincing but not about to waste time recouping her strength if she still hoped to open for business as planned.

By the time she had returned to the gallery, a shocking amount of coffee in her system and a satisfyingly crisp and greasy bacon sandwich from the local diner in her stomach, she already felt more herself. She had called the young lady, Violet Clemens  back and hired her after all. She was going to need help, and the sale she had already made - to Ruby Jones, of all people! - had boosted her confidence. She might as well sink everything into this; if she went down, she would go down swinging with all she had.

Violet had joined her in the shop just after 12:30, and they had spent a cheerful couple of hours putting the last items and displays in place. The other woman had proven a real asset already: agreeable, quick, and a good eye to boot. She was pleasant company and a worthy distraction. Emma was already exceedingly glad of her presence.

It was just half past three when Emma paused to stretch, catch her breath, and survey their progress with a proud smile. There really wasn’t too much left after Killian’s help the previous day, and all that she and her new employee had just accomplished. Smiling broadly, she thanked Violet once more, and got them both a cold water bottle from the small fridge she’d had Killian’s help in nestling on the shelf under the counter. They were due a cool drink and a moment’s sit down, she felt sure. 

While they were still sipping their drinks perched on the tall stools she’d placed behind the counter, the bell above the shop door jangled merrily to announce the arrival of Mayor Walsh Ozman with his wide, charming-the-public smile. Emma stood and moved forward to greet her old acquaintance, asking what they could do for him, even though she was privately amused at how well the public servant schtick seemed to suit him. She would have never imagined that the unhappy, mean-spirited boy of their youth would be wearing that wide smile and winning local elections when they all grew up. Then again, she couldn’t have pictured much for her future either, not back then. Still, she mused curiously before returning her attention to Walsh’s reply, she would have to ask Killian if it was an election year and if Mayor Ozman was trying to win over these two newcomers to his town by turning on the charm.

As it turned out, the mayor was also hoping to make an early purchase - it seemed that he and his wife were quite close to their 15th anniversary, and having lived in Storybrooke all that time, he was anxious to shop for a gift somewhere completely unknown to her. He genuinely did want to offer any help he could as a town representative, but if he could find the right anniversary present at the same time, he would be incredibly grateful.

Violet happily began to show him around the shop, directing his attention to various framed photographs which might work especially well as romantic gifts - the close-up bud of a red rose, two swallows entwined in flight, a couple’s joined hands in silhouette against a sunset’s orange and gold. Not only that, but she kept up a lively patter of information that proved just what a sponge she had been for all of the information Emma had told her so far about her process, materials, and subject matter. Violet answered the mayor’s questions nearly as well as Emma herself could have done, and it pleased Emma more than she could say, thinking that not only had she helped someone in need of a job, but that she had managed to find someone with the pep and sweetness they needed out front, all the engaging personality she herself often fought to project, as well as a genuine interest in the art itself.

By the time Violet had shown Walsh all the way around the store cheerily, the mayor had a selected photo in hand once they returned to the counter and Emma was marvelling at how lucky she had been to find such a natural saleswoman along with all of Violet’s other positive traits. The red rose picture Walsh had selected seemed a touch obvious, but then, who was she to judge? She had chosen it to crop and display as she had because its blatant appeal almost guaranteed it would sell. They weren’t even officially open yet, and this was her second painting sold. If this could keep up, she might not have as hard a road making her gallery succeed as she had anticipated.

As she rang up the purchase and ran the mayor’s card, Violet carefully and efficiently wrapped the frame as she had been shown. Walsh grinned broadly the whole time as her new assistant prattled on. “You’ve really saved me a long, drawn out search with this, ladies. And Marjorie will love it too. Plus, it was a chance to keep business local. Your gallery is going to be a great addition for Storybrooke, just wait and see.”

“I certainly hope so,” Emma replied, a pleasantly warm glow of pride in her chest as she did so.

“You just give me a call if there’s anything I can do to help out,” he reminded again as he headed out the door with a wave. “It is part of my job, after all.”

When he was gone, Emma found that they really had accomplished nearly all that she had planned for the day. With heartfelt gratitude, she sent Violet off a bit early, promising that she was just going to lock up and make an early night of it herself as well. No need to tell the younger woman that she was going to be picked up at five like a kid after daycare for her own safety.

Violet hadn’t been gone but a few minutes before Emma had all in order and was gathering her things to leave, true to her word. She made sure the lights were out in the back office, that all was in its proper place, and was just bending to gather her things from under the counter, when she heard the door open once more, its bell chiming in announcement. Standing straight again, she had begun to speak before even seeing the person who had entered. “I’m sorry, but we’re not open for business yet. I was just leaving for the day, and - “ but the rest of her polite dismissal died on her tongue when she recognized the person who had arrived - a face she had hoped never to see again.

“Well, seeing as I’m already here, you’ll just have to make an exception, won’t you?” The question was taut and dangerous, hardly a question at all, though phrased as such. Every nerve in Emma’s body stood on end in response. Her limbs took on the same sort of wary motionlessness they had years ago, like a rabbit going statue-still in hopes of evading a predator’s notice, yet ready to dart away the moment an opening appeared.

Vic Franken hadn’t darkened her path again after she’d paid him off for her safety and peace of mind once he found her in Boston. Emma had hoped that fragile truce and space would hold, despite his breach of parole, but her former “guardian” never had been particularly wise, and he was eerily apt to return to what he knew, what was easiest, particularly when he was desperate. Emma wet her lips nervously and attempted to keep breathing calmly, steadily, focused on taking in any weakness she might be able to use to her own benefit. The past six or seven years had not been kind to him by the looks of it. Always tall and wiry, Franken appeared almost unhealthily gaunt, with dark shadows under eyes that were still as sharp and wild, darting quickly about the gallery space, to her, and back again. His clothes were worn and wrinkled, his hair stood on end in places, and he was moving closer, coming to stand just on the other side of the counter - much nearer than Emma could handle without her knees going a bit watery in spite of the fact that she wasn’t 13 anymore and she had every right to order him out of her place of business, whether he thought so or not.

“You s-shouldn’t be here,” she managed to say coolly, her voice only quavering slightly, for which she was grateful. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, intending to look serious, but also hoping to hold herself together as best she could.

“Damn it!” he howled, the loud exclamation ringing in the air between them as his large hand slammed down on the counter, rattling the surface with a bang, and causing Emma to shrink backward against her best effort to hold her ground. “You aren’t so high and mighty that you can just shove me out! I put a roof over you head, and you owe me for it! I’m not leaving ‘til I’m good an’ ready!”

At that, Emma regained herself through sheer outrage alone. This monster had made her childhood miserable, and she wasn’t about to have him barge in and take anything else from her. Standing taller and tipping her chin up to face him squarely, Emma’s spine returned to her after the shock of his appearance, while her hand scrambled carefully through her things beneath the countertop. She hoped Franken wouldn’t notice what she was doing before she could lay hands on the pocketknife she knew was somewhere in her purse. Granted, that wasn’t much of a weapon, but she wasn’t going to face him without any sort of defense - not ever again.

An eerie sort of calm washed over the man for a moment then, as if he and Emma were locked in a stalemate and her facing him steadily had given him pause. His exacting gaze continued to take in the large main room of her shop, and Emma held her breath, finally feeling her fingertips graze the handle she was searching for at the bottom of her purse. She knew better than to drop her guard; his quiet hesitation was like a hurricane’s eye, the calm before the gale began to batter and howl once more. Grasping her prize, Emma pulled it free and flicked it open, not wanting to show her hand too soon and yield the element of surprise if she had to wield it. 

As Franken returned his focus to her, an unnatural almost proud look crossed his features, as out of place as it was, particularly when an attempt at some sort of paternal smile twisted his visage. “Seems like you’ve done alright for yourself since I saw you last, Emma,” he finally murmured in a cajoling tone.

She snorted; regardless of how dangerous it might be to antagonize him, she couldn’t even pretend they were on terms to make friendly small talk. “If I am doing well, it’s no thanks to you,” she retorted bitterly.

Franken’s nostrils flared as he reeled back to his full height, the calm attempt at appealing to her good side shattered in an instant. “Ungrateful wench!” he hollered, eyes bulging wide as he swung a hand wildly, catching the edge of a large, framed portrait on the wall behind him and knocking it to the floor, where it crashed on its face and sent glass shattering outward in a wide spray. “After I took you in, fed you, clothed you, saw that you had a roof over your head? Now you’re too good to return the favor?”

Emma gasped in dismay at the largest piece in her gallery’s fall and destruction, but was quick enough to dodge his flailing hand when Franken reached out in an attempt to grab her shoulder and haul her close. She was just fast enough to evade him, thankfully. She might be fully grown now instead of a scrawny, underfed kid, but she still didn’t need to find out what he would do if he got a good hold on her. 

“Took me in?” she spat back, practically seething in anger that he would dare pretend he had actually provided any sort of genuine care. “Is that what you did?” Shaking her head in disbelief, Emma finally raised the small blade before her, as if warning him to keep his distance, even if there wasn’t much more space behind the counter for her to put between them. “Which part am I supposed to be grateful for, hmm?” she barrelled on, now that the gates were open, her words kept spilling out. “The beatings that left me so sore I could barely sit or walk for days afterward? The hours I spent locked in the pitch dark cellar as punishment for my demons? The shame and fear you made sure I never forgot from the moment I crossed the threshold of your house until the day I got away from it?” The small pocket knife wavered along with her hand, and her vision blurred with hot tears of frustration, but Emma didn’t falter. “Tell me what exactly I should be thanking you for?”

With a wild growl, he whirled away from her, grabbing frames from their hooks and hurling them against the walls or to the floor, knocking a large easel to the ground and smashing his foot through the canvas print it had held. He was on as much a tear as a toddler having a fit, but imminently more dangerous. Rounding on her again, his eyes were wild, and if possible, Emma would have sworn he was foaming at the mouth.

It was then, in desperation to save the work he hadn’t already destroyed, that she acted without thinking clearly and charged out from behind the counter she had carefully kept between them - so focused on making him leave that she left herself vulnerable by coming too close. “Get out!” Emma cried, mindless of his larger build and out of control demeanor; the threat he posed flying from her head as her work - the pictures she’d poured her heart and soul into, and the inventory she needed to keep her business afloat - clattered to the ground, breaking and being trashed before her eyes. She might still have the small blade gripped in her sweaty fingers, but she wasn’t thinking about defense as much as ridding herself of his presence before he destroyed her means of livelihood. “You have no right to anything from me! You need to get out of here before I call the police and tell them you’re in town!”

Franken whirled from the far wall where he’d been wreaking havoc and instead turned towards her seething with unrestrained rage. There were many times in her years growing up when Emma had feared that this man was unstable; dangerously obsessed with her “unholy” visions and driving them from her by any means necessary, and that his volatile fanaticism would injure her beyond what she could heal from or survive. Emma had spent far longer than was fair, wasted too much of her life, waiting to be out from under his thumb, no longer catching her breath and ducking a fist sure to fly or a bruising belt buckle if she said too much or let the wrong words slip. It had been long enough now though that she wasn’t guarding every thought and impulse, and she didn’t stop to second guess or recognize the danger as she took her stand. Willing to defend this little space she’d made for herself, even if it meant facing the monster from her past head-on and all alone.

The violence that twinkled maliciously in Franken’s deep, dark gaze should have been a warning, but Emma was too riled up and determined that this time she wasn’t backing down, wasn’t letting this pathetic excuse for a man take anything more from her. Where a younger, more wary version of herself would have shrunk back and put space between them, Emma instead pressed forward capitalizing on the man’s momentary shock. She wasn’t sure what she intended to try next if he didn’t move, but her body seemed determined to herd him out the door, with or without the full thought and cooperation of her racing brain.

Barely a moment’s warning, where a low, evil chuckle rumbled from his throat, evidencing anything but humor, was the only signal Emma got, and the next thing she knew, Franken had struck so fast she didn’t even see the movement - like a copperhead concealed in dank marsh water, having already bitten a person before one even knew it was there. Her head whipped to the side with the impact of his fist shooting out and making contact, leaving her ears ringing and her lungs gasping for air.

Emma struggled to keep her feet beneath her, even as the world around her tilted sideways. A wailing inside her head like sirens brought back all the times she had fallen before this monster as a child, curled tightly in a ball to protect herself from the blows he’d rained down on her for the smallest imagined infractions or the involuntary glimpses of prescient knowledge she couldn’t help possessing - they’d been part of who she was even then, as much a her hair or eye color, and they refused to stay hidden. Emma had attempted to - for all she was worth - having immediately learned speaking of what she saw, no matter how important it might seem, only earned her more suffering and degradation. 

Flailing her arms, she managed to catch the side of the counter and steady herself before she went tumbling to the floor. Franken was right there, coming for her again with his arm raised, no doubt reveling in the same sort of drunken power he had missed while the inexorable familiarity of the old, horrible pattern clutched Emma by the throat with fear. 

This time she wasn’t having it. She’d fight him even if it broke every bone in her body. With a cry of pain soaked in years of suffering unheard, Emma pushed off the counter, leading with the sharp pocket knife and sheer desperation, she meant to make her own mark this time. “Leave me alone!” she bellowed, as she took her first step to meet him.

But, despite his own seeming haze of madness and unsteady mind, Vic Franken was still quick and powerful as a gator and just as mean. Much like he’d always been, he was too large a foe for her to fell unprepared and without proper defenses. His meaty paw caught her wrist with crushing strength, until her fingers were forced to release her blade and it clattered to the floor and skittered away uselessly as she felt her tendons and bones ground painfully beneath his grip. 

He pulled her close to his face until their noses nearly touched, as if trying to understand why he couldn’t make her cower the way he once had. Emma could just begin to hear the blessed sound of sirens in the distance that she prayed were coming their way. Thank goodness she had shouldered the extra cost of hidden cameras and a security company who monitored their feed continuously. When he’d begun to tear her gallery apart it would have been obvious help was needed though she’d had no time to call for it.

“You think this is over?” he hissed angrily. “I’m not finished with you…far from it. You won’t be rid of me until I say so. Don’t you forget it.”

Flinging Emma away like a discarded ragdoll, she stumbled with the force of it, tripping on the debris that littered the floor and slamming back into the counter that had saved her minutes before. Franken fled out the door and was gone, and she slumped to the floor - for the moment too dizzy and aching to get up again. Trying to catch her breath and make her surroundings stop whirling around her, Emma breathed slowly, closing her eyes and allowing her head to lean groggily against the smooth, cool surface until she could gather her bearings.

The siren sounds drew nearer still, for which she was so thankful she could cry, but then she heard the door swing open once more, and she lurched frantically to attention, struggling to get her feet under her for fear that he had come back to finish her off. What she saw instead almost started her laughing hysterically, having never imagined this particular visitor’s appearance would send relief washing over her.

“Emma?” Ruby Jones’ voice was shocked and disbelieving, even concerned, all rolled into one as her heels click-clacked right across all the broken glass towards her before she crouched at her side, fingers already gingerly dabbing at the trickle of blood from the broken skin at her temple and then holding an honest-to-goodness monogrammed handkerchief to the spot. “What happened here?”

Emma reached out to still Ruby’s hand, shaking her head with as little force as possible and still wincing, “More who than what…” she managed, still trying to fully gather her wits and fighting for her speech not to sound slurred. She swallowed, wetting her lips and pressing on. “It was Franken….my old foster father…remember?” Ruby nodded, mouth and eyes both gaping wide at her. Emma sighed, “Thank - thank goodness it sounds like those sirens are close… don’t wanna tell this all more than once.”

“Vic Franken?” Ruby growled, her wide eyes narrowing. She looked for a second as if she might have clawed the man’s eyes out herself if she had been here just a little sooner. Emma again had to choke back out of place hilarity at the other woman’s defense of her. Rose would have loved it; she was just trying not to get whiplash. “What did that bastard think he was doing coming here?” Ruby snapped out.

Emma chuckled lightly, squinting against the way even that made her head hurt. Somehow Ruby’s fiery temper made her heart feel a little lighter. This nightmare was still dogging her, but the sheer absurdity of someone she’d have sworn even two days ago couldn’t stand her being ready to fight for her, lightened the dark cloud that had settled over her. Giving the former debutante a mischievous, if weary, side eye, she teased. “Whoo, Miss Ruby! That’s quite a mouth you’ve got there for a nice Southern belle! What would your Mama say?!”

Ruby rolled her eyes at the teasing with a dismissive snort, even as she let Emma grip her forearms and help her to stand again, holding on until sure she was steady. “Well, first she would have told me to walk on by and leave you where you fell, so clearly I don’t much care what she has to say.”

Emma began to nod her acknowledgement that what Ruby said was true, then quickly thought better of it at the shot of pain that lanced through her. 

Ruby shrugged, offering a crooked smile. “Besides,” she added ruefully, “Mama despaired of me a long time ago.”

Emma drew in a sharp breath, a few sadly clarifying things about Killian and Rose’s sister instantly becoming clear. 

“Now,” Ruby continued, red fingernail raised to point at Emma authoritatively, “you are gonna report this sorry excuse of a man so they can nail him to the wall, and then we’re gonna get you patched up, okay?”

Emma didn’t get to respond further as they were interrupted by what seemed to be the entire Storybrooke police force’s arrival just then, with a worried David Nolan leading the charge. She’d give her former defender credit. Though he looked half beside himself when he first burst through the door, his deputies flanking him, David quickly saw that the perpetrator was gone and, while she was injured and shaken, Emma was no longer in immediate danger and had someone at her side. With an almost visible effort, he reigned in his protectiveness and brought his anxiety back under stern professional control. 

Turning, he began capably barking out orders to his fellow officers - not unkindly, but feeling the urgency and not at all wanting to allow Franken to escape and cause this sort of damage again. Through the buzzing that seemed to have taken up residence in her brain, Emma heard David directing a perimeter to be set up to keep Franken from getting out of town, with an APB being put out with Franken’s name and description to all possible news outlets. He also organized the coordination of his people coming in to gather evidence and block off the space outside on the walk so gawkers couldn’t  make their way in and disturb anything that could aid in their search. 

Though there were an overwhelming number of people swarming all about inside the shop, Emma was grateful that only David himself came over to ask a few questions of her. Ruby had led her, wordless as she had ever seen the youngest Jones sibling, over to one of the tall stools at the counter, coaxing her into gingerly sitting down, being kind enough even to avert her gaze and hold back her own questions when Emma leaned slightly over, her still-spinning head against Ruby’s side as she attempted to swallow her nausea back down her throat. Ruby just rubbed a hand across Emma’s shoulder blades gently and stood there as steady and calm as a pillar of marble.

David stooped to look into Emma’s eyes with his own careful concern as he reached them. “Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?” he asked promptly, his words clipped and tight, making the strain he was still under to remain calm and professional all too clear. Emma was fairly certain he already knew the answer anyway. If she tried to shake her head and deny his suspicions, her world would only keep spinning more frantically.

Just barely meeting his anxious stare with her eyes slitted narrowly open, she managed a half-convincing, “Calm down, Nolan. We all know I’ve had worse.”

The sheriff’s lips pressed together into a thin line, his whole expression pulled taut enough that Emma couldn’t even gauge whether anger, guilt, or fear was playing the largest role.  His arms crossed firmly over his broad chest as he stood back to his full height, sensing that hovering would not make her any more agreeable, but he didn’t cease watching her, not allowing her to shut him out. “That isn’t funny,” he ground out, low enough that in the bustle around the shop only she, Ruby, and himself heard the admonishment, yet she felt chastened all the same. “You are clearly not safe, even out in the open, in broad daylight, and what if the security company hadn’t called us soon enough, if Ruby hadn’t walked in when she did? Emma, you could have been - “

Her eyes shot up to meet his savagely, knowing the rest of his sentence and not wanting it spoken aloud. Despite the ringing in her ears and rolling of her stomach, her fierce look froze the words on David’s tongue. She’d traveled so far, worked so hard to be more than the helpless, pitied victim of that man’s abuse - and she wasn’t letting him make her one again.

Before any of them could speak further, or the tension between them could fully dissipate, the door flung back on its hinges wildly as someone else rushed into her gallery. “Emma!” Killian’s unmistakable voice called out, cracking with worry on the second syllable, even as David moved aside slightly so his friend could see her for himself.

A strangled sound escaped his throat, and in moments Jones was across the room and on his knees before her, reaching out as if to pull her close, then jolting back as he took in the trickle of blood and the bruising that had already begun to color the side of her face. Looking wracked with indecision, he simply held his place before her, as near as he dared, and breathed out a choked, “What happened, Swan? Are - are you alright?”

“She will be,” Ruby offered with much needed certainty from beside Emma, laying her hand on her brother’s shoulder, as if to steady him and remind them both that she was there.  It was new from her - for both of them - but her typical self assurance was bolstering in the fraught moment and incredibly welcome.

Killian finally released a full breath, his forehead falling to rest upon her knee, and his fingers reflexively clutching her denim-clad leg for a moment as he trembled with relief. After a moment to gather himself, he looked up into Emma’s face from where he crouched before her, eyes swimming with unasked questions and the fear - still all too close to the surface - that he had nearly lost her.

Emma didn’t have the strength to hold back, not in that tremulous moment when she was hurt and wanted to scream at the unfairness of everything falling apart around her. She grasped his t-shirt at the shoulder, comforted by his warm solidity beneath, and ran a hand over his brow, amazed that he was there and was so intensely concerned - and that she allows herself the luxury of that - before trailing her fingers through his unruly dark hair. “It was Franken,” she murmured lowly, just wanting it all out, like poison drawn from a wound. “He was here, mostly after money, I think…” she paused. “But as you can see,” she gestured to her face, “that clearly wasn’t enough to keep him from leaving a souvenir for old times’ sake.”

She could see the angry tic in Killian’s jaw, working to restrain the fury he felt, and though his was quieter, it seemed to run even deeper and even harder to contain than David’s had before it.

At that, David broke into the moment. “Killian, why don’t you take Emma to Storybrooke General to be checked out? I can swing by there later, when all this is under control, if I have any questions that can’t wait until tomorrow.” He waved to the crime scene which her gallery had become as he spoke.

Killian’s “Aye” and terse nod were all that voiced his agreement to the sheriff’s suggestion, but he stood and offered Emma a hand; balance and support to pull herself up if she chose to take it. Ruby squeezed her hand, promising she would check on her later as well.

She wanted to argue, to say the fuss wasn’t necessary, but as she stood and then wavered unsteadily, she knew there was no point. She merely took Killian’s arm and leaned on him wordlessly without a fight. None of the three people surrounding her would let her close call be brushed aside - not this time. For now, she accepted the concern and decided she’d give herself a minute in which she didn’t have to be so strong.

    *~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

A few hours later Killian was leading Emma from the waiting room of the small local hospital, walking and as close behind her as humanly possible without getting their feet tangled and making her fall. She wanted to tell him that she’d be fine, to take her back to her car and then go on home, but the determined and independent core she had built up, the one which usually allowed her to offer those placating refrains so easily seemed irretrievably weakened. She couldn’t push him away. Where she would usually deny or ignore whatever had shaken her, Emma couldn’t this time. After all she had accomplished and how far she had traveled, after how long she had denied herself and stayed as far away as she could, it hadn’t been enough - not long enough, not far enough - her past and its monster had still found her and attacked.

So she didn’t want to need Killian Jones’ warm and steady palm at the small of her back, the comforting heat and gentle, guiding pressure easily felt through the thin material of her cotton blouse, but need it she did. “Come Lass, the truck’s over here,” he murmured, soothing and low near her ear, leaning in to speak for her ears alone as he steered her toward the corner of the lot where he had parked. 

There really hadn’t been much anyone could do for the busted lip and rapidly blackening eye she was sporting, other than cautioning her to ice it often and to take aspirin as needed for the pain, but they had made sure nothing was broken in her nose, cheekbones, or jaw. She had also been cautioned, since she’d suffered some nausea at first, that if she became dizzy again or threw up, she should return for further examination. She hadn’t presented with a concussion, but one might sometimes show up later, and they wouldn’t want to miss it if so.

The doctor who had looked her over and the nurse were both concerned about sending Emma home alone; they wanted her observed and awakened every couple of hours. At Killian’s assurance that he would stay with her and do just as they suggested, however, they had relented and she had finally been released.

It wasn’t until he was helping her up into the high seat of his truck’s cab and moving to shut the door that she finally forced herself to protest - it was too much, he didn’t need to put himself out.

Killian was having none of it. He wouldn’t even let her finish, interrupting her protests in a heavy handed way she hadn’t yet seen from him. The solemnity of his vow was irrefutable when he swore that “This time, Love, you won’t be alone until that bastard is caught. Not until this is over.” His eyes burned into her like twin blue flames. “You are too precious for me to do otherwise.”

As much as the fervent emotion from him stole her breath, frustration mounted within her right alongside it. She’d spent so much of her early life beholden to one person or another, moved and driven by the whims of Fate or the system. She didn’t want to be a responsibility or a chore to anyone - not even someone honorable, who took his role as seriously as Killian. Especially not to Killian. She shook her head angrily, biting back tears. “This is stupid! I’ll just go…”

Jones didn’t even hesitate. “Then I’m going too… to the end of the Earth, if that’s where you’re headed.”

She was swiping at the errant tears that wouldn’t be held back any longer, wincing when she got too close to the tender area near her eye socket and sniffing back worse sobs as she beseeched him in last resort. “Why? Killian, why would you do that? So you can get yourself killed trying to protect me?!?”

But he merely shook his head, leaning into her space, pressing his forehead to hers and his warm breath caressing her cheek. “I’m not going to let that happen, Swan. We’ve both lost enough. I’m with you now - no matter what - and we’re going to stand and fight.”

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[rpstartersinc]

* 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌 ( 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐕 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. )

feel free to change pronouns / wording!

" it started with a simple choice, escape or die. "

" he almost killed you last time, didn't he? "

" what about me? you gotta take me with you. "

" i really didn't have a choice. "

" you haven't escaped anything unless you go on to something. "

" the first thing i noticed was the smell. "

" just like day follows night, every man succumbs to his nature. "

" you're lucky i was here. "

" maybe you're my guardian angel. "

" you can stand to eat a meal if you must, you can stand to make love if you're able, but it's impossible to stand and drink, it's the act of a barbarian, an animal at the watering hole. "

" you talk too much. "

" i walked here barefoot 'cause a guy came in my shoes. "

" people will be fascinated with your story. "

" it takes a prick to know one. "

" this is the place they were thinking about when they invented the word 'the pits'. "

" i like that you haven't asked what this is for. "

" you don't think people can change? "

" you're a good listener, it's dangerous - because it's so hard to resist being listened to. "

" what i want is to be master of my own destiny. "

" i'm sorry to have kept you so late. "

" were you gonna say goodbye? "

" there's no redemption for the likes of you. "

" he was looking pretty dead to me. "

" nothing you do will change the fact that they are gone. "

" i knew once you got my message, you'd come running. "

" i wonder what you're so guilty about that playing the hero was this important. "

" i can't go to the authorities, it's not an option for me. "

" i am a man of peace, so please do not be hurting me. "

" they almost killed me. "

" maybe i wanna feel good. "

" we're being betrayed. "

" i don't know why people can't be nicer. "

" it's always love that sends us down the rabbit hole. "

" what happened to your face? "

" i do not have friends, times like this are exactly why. "

" i think you should stop interfering with my business. "

" we have no relationship, i owe you nothing. "

" only a fool plays a game without knowing the rules first, or the other players. "

" you shouldn't be calling me. "

" ambitious men are never content. "

" it's not your fault you're weak. "

" you really need me to keep quiet, eh? "

" everything has its use by date, and everyone. "

" you can be such a child sometimes. "

" you can't spend the rest of your life refusing to care for anyone in case they leave. "

" my life isn't any man's to give or take. "

" we can compel men not to be bad but we cannot compel them to do good. "

" you have a fairly scary reputation. "

" this place means a great deal to me. "

" i can't treat it if i can't see it. "

" i didn't want to wake you. "

" will you come with me to my place? i don't wanna be there on my own. "

" there is no shame in being afraid. "

" you're a long way from home to be making threats. "

" for a man who doesn't want trouble you keep interesting company. "

" i am a businesswoman, this is the price. "

" what, so that's it? try to kill a guy and then eat ice cream? "

" what you want matters little. "

" he saw me alone and he tried to take his chance. "

" you're a hard man to find. "

" do my eyes deceive? is this a ghost? "

" what is this, are you jealous? "

" i liked it when you defended me tonight. "

" i'm beginning to think it's because you're scared. "

" you haven't said a word since we left. "

" please do not ruin my happy thoughts, your face is very... children will cry if they look at this face. "

" you don't have to suffer anything if you're strong enough to deny it. "

" i missed you. "

" it's such an arrogance to love someone and to expect it in return. "

" i never wanna be dependent on anyone else again. "

" perhaps a simple, earthy, no-strings fuck would do you a world of good. "

" just 'cause i left, it doesn't mean i don't still love you. "

" sounds like a date. "

" i'd prefer to get there alive. "

" have they hurt you? "

" where would the fun be if we all did as we are told? "

" i'm leaving you alone like this. "

" you're my friend, even if you don't want any. "

" don't forget who works for who. "

" you don't need to justify yourself to me. "

" you can hate me and still not let the tea go to waste. "

" i'm the one who will get the job of killing you. "

" loyalty comes out of love, or fear, or debt. "

" i never said i was a good person. "

" you can't blame yourself for that. "

" i am too happy you are alive. "

" you are a good man and you think too much. "

" the only thing stronger than love is the hate left behind when it's gone. "

" if you want me to beg, you will wait a long time. "

" the world has no place for me. "

" i don't think you've ever loved anyone in your life. "

" a warrior has to follow orders, even when they don't like them. "

" just 'cause i don't want you here doesn't mean i've forgotten my manners. "

" have dinner with me, just like two normal people. "

" i keep them to remember what a terrible human being i am. "

" you can love someone and do terrible things to them, all at the same time. "

" it's good to be nervous, it means it matters. "

" i think you shot me, you bastard. "

" you're fucking dying, and i'm the only thing that's gonna stop it, okay? "

" i made sure i wasn't followed. "

" i never stabbed anyone in my life, i'm not gonna start now. "

" good way to get yourself killed. "

" is this your blood? "

" how does it feel? knowing you're gonna fucking die and there's nothing you can do about it. "

" i never wanna see you again. "

" if you lie, then a crow will bite you. "

" you are the cause of my problems. "

" we need to keep you out of sight. "

" i almost had it, and then you made me forget. "

" i hate doing nothing. "

" the whole point of you staying is so that you can stay out of harm's way. "

" you're gonna bleed out, you need to stay still. "

" i have never seen so much money before in my whole life, forget all in one bag. "

" stop! they're gonna hear you! "

" you've lost the right to ever say my fucking name. "

" i've had enough of this shit, do you hear me?! "

" short version: it all went to shit. "

" a coward isn't capable of exhibiting love. "

" you'll never need to catch me as much as i need to be free. "

" every time we cage a man, we close him in with hate. "