#his presence at her mother's funeral was everything for her

[ptieuca]

#the dark piercing gaze will have her fessing up every single time

[lylian333]

~Yandere emperor x reader~

warning: read at your own risk, traumatizing, dark historical shits, noncon, force, many misunderstandings,sexual harrest , angst ,age gap, everything here is quite insane, historical au, he's fucking crazy, killing, insults, English is not my first langue(if there's any warning I didn't put, tell me)

words:2180

(this is not my art I found it on Pinterest, and in the comment section it's said that it was made by AI so💀)

~~

Princess (y/n) Laurier has been best friends with Princess Alyssa Everett since you both were just 6 years old. You both have many things in common, such as interests, opinions, and much more.

You both would usually hang out around each other's kingdom; you don't have any issues with her except with her father, Emperor Edward Everett. He was the hottest, most handsome man you have ever met, and you still do now.

You have had a huge crush on him that felt like butterflies inside your stomach since the day you met him, but he always has that emotionless face and rarely smiles unless at his wife, your best friend's mother. You know this from Princess Alyssa; she would complain about how cold and serious he is.

You still ignore those and try getting to know him, but he just looks annoyed or just straight-up ignores you, but you ignore it and still continue liking him. Not only that, you're not the only one; it's obvious that everyone that has met him, females and even males, all drool for him.

You still have some sense in you, and you also have to respect the Everett queen and Princess Alyssa since she is your best friend. You can't just let some love ruin the relationship you both had. You can't. She is like a sister to you. She helps you when you're confused; she protects and defends you when you were getting laughed at; she is there when you needed someone the most. It's not worth losing a relationship like this, and so your liking toward his father slowly dies down.

But things change when you grow up and start having features and curves and in the end, you become a gorgeous woman, many people are jealous of you even Princess Alyssa confesses to you about it and some desperately want you. You reject all of them since none of them are worthy of you, and you're disinterested in them.

Your intense gaze and soft complexion, with your structured face and striking presence, are on par with an iconic beauty, paired with the warmth and softness in your expression, which are very delicate. You would struggle to not look at yourself when there is a mirror.

You still have some feelings toward Emperor Edward, but you manage to hide it and be able to not think about him when talking to him.

The worst thing that could have happened was that the Queen of Everett died from childbirth while trying to give birth to the heir to the throne, but it went to a disaster. It was devastating news to hear from everyone.

The emperor was absolutely devastated and even despised the child. From that moment on he would never talk to anyone unless it was part of a duty, but other than that he would ignore the servant's advisers and even his own kids, which left Princess Alyssa depressed since she had to bear her mother's death, her father's coldness, and the baby boy that her mother lost her life to.

That week she came crying to you when you came to visit her and attended the funeral of the Everett Queen death. You decide to stay at Everett Palace for a few months before going back to Laurier Kingdom.

You promised Princess Alyssa that you'd take care of her and her baby brother, and so you did. After all, back at your kingdom and your family, you have 6 siblings, plus you, and you are the third eldest, which makes you the middle You have experience with babies after the experience of you sibling that you swear are more naughtyer when you take care of them.

In those months of staying, Emperor noticed that you had to take care of the baby boy and Princess Alyass when he found you singing a lullaby for them to fall asleep.

At that moment something in him awoke, something dark, horrible, and disgusting. He knew this was wrong, but who was there to stop him? Not even himself could do that.

From that moment on, he would try getting close to you and getting to know you better; by that, he would call you into his office or into his chamber. When talking, he would get close to you, too close, to the point that he's invading your personal space by burying his face in your hair, breathing in that sweet, gentle scent, or sucking and biting your earlobe.

You knew this was wrong. You both knew this was wrong, but you guys still continued. Your brain keeps telling you to stop and that this is your best friend's father, but your gut tells you to continue. For your best friend Princess Alyssa's sake.

At one of those meetings, you confess to him that you don't want to continue these "meetings" to respect your best friend Alyssa and her baby brother Prince James.

But when he hears that you swear you could feel the air getting tense and his face looks tense as well, and with clenched fists, he looks like he could kill someone that might have been you or others.

He then pushes you onto his office desk and forcefully rips your clothes off. All you can remember that day was just horror, pure fucking horror. It haunts your dreams, memories, and everything that you see that can somehow be related to the day you and he were together.

The cherry on top is Emperor Endward sends an arranged marriage to your kingdom between you both; you pray that your parents would reject this offer, but no. Instead, they accept it and send you a letter telling you the reasons that this could help our kingdom very much and this could give you a better future and more, but all you care about is that you're trapped with him. They also added in that they would be unable to see because of the distance of the two kingdoms and that it is time to set you free.

Oh, how you wish it were true to let you spread your wings and have your own freedom.

You hated everything, mostly yourself. You hated yourself for not being more alert and not telling anyone, not even your own family or close ones; you—you can't even describe the feeling that you're feeling at that point. You quite literally were disgusted by yourself.

You cry all day long to the point where Princess Alyssa hears it and finds you, and you vomit out all the things that happened while still crying. You wish the earth could just eat you whole, make you disappear from the earth, from this world, from this life.

You keep pressuring yourself that this is your fault for days till your hair has a few strands of white hair that you have noticed.

The wedding was within the week, and you both got married and wed. That very day and night of the "honeymoon," he slams you against the bed carelessly and forcibly spears open your legs with his hand while another pins both your head on top of your head.

You whisper near your ear,True to be told, I have actually noticed that since you were just a little girl, you always had a crush on me, so technically you wanted this to happen, so don't cry like last time, dear."

Your eyes go wide when you hear that he actually noticed. He knows that you have no words—absolutely no words.

That night was as horrible and traumatizing as the night you both had together. Princess Alyssa personally tries to help you escape; even after the marriage, she still supports you, even knowing the fact you are technically her stepmother.

But she accepted you, and you were quite stunned at how she handled the situation. Even though it was like hell, she still helped, whether by holding you while you were crying or whatever she was still there. It felt like she was starting to take care of you instead of you taking care of her like how you first promised.

In one of the many attempts of you trying to escape and her helping you with it, you both were caught, and Emperor Edward decided to punish you by isolating you and sentencing Princess Alyssa to be beheaded, his own daughter.

And you were forbidden to give her any visits after the situation. You didn't get the chance to even give her the last hug or talk or anything, not even a goodbye. You even threatened to kill yourself if he didn't allow you to see her, but he just laughs at you and tells the guards to throw you inside a dungeon where there's nothing, not even a window, so you have to rely on the fire outside.

Just like that, she's gone forever. You cry for days and refuse to eat, sleep, or even drink. The king himself has to personally force-feed you so that you don't die. You even scream and beat him as hard as you can in rage whenever you see him, but he just stands there, not unbothered. You might as well think that he doesn't even care or feel anything anymore, no remorse, no nothing, just disgusting lovesick eyes looking at you.

"I just can't get enough of you, love~"

Your life goes on until you have had enough, like enough one more year of this. You seriously don't think you want to be reincarnated into another life. You desperately want to feel things instead of being trapped in the shared chamber all day long, only allowed to go out to the garden for 1 hour to get fresh air with a few ladies in waiting and your own trusted servants near you to keep being aware of you and make sure you're not doing anything harmful to yourself or escaping.

You came up with the stupidest and most shameful idea. You decide to frame yourself for cheating on Emperor Edward and confess to him that you cheated. Making up fake clues for others to notice and gossip about, but the emperor refuses to believe it, so you told him personally.

"I cheated on you, Edward."

"You must be joking, dear. How would you even be able to do that, hm?"

but you just keep repeating the sentence, "I cheated on you."

This makes him overthink and triggers him, and he ends up struggling with you to death in the process. You still keep repeating the sentence, which forces him to grip your neck even harder till you are no longer breathing—not even a single movement, just soulless eyes staring straight.

When he realized that it was too late and there was no turning back, he let go of your neck, and you collapsed onto the ground, dead. He kneeled down next to you; finally, at this moment, he felt guilty for everything. He reflected on the things he had done to you, the amount of damage. Why didn't he think about this earlier? Maybe that could help him.

No, it's your fault for cheating on him. How dare you filthy women cheat on an emperor that has done everything for her sake? To this day he still blames you, but part of him does regret not caring what you felt and thought. He only treated you like a toy, a glass doll that would easily be broken. But he just couldn't help but love you with all his might, even if it meant hurting you.

He tried to keep your body from decomposing and rotting and would soak you in water to slow down the decomposing. He even went mad and brought you to the throne room for events, dressed you properly, stuffed you with cotton to keep you looking more alive, and said to others, "My wife is doing well; look at her, she's such a sleepy head; look at her sleeping, hehe…"

Sadly, eventually, he had no other choice but to finally bury you because your body was decomposing and smelling really bad. At the funeral, he gives a speech on how she was in his life and how he can't believe she died before him from 'sickness' and oh how sad he was and how he saw her glowing up into an elegant woman and more.

Prince James also gave a speech about how you try helping out, that he always sees her as a mother figure, and how (y/n) has always tried her best. He was innocent in all of these; as well, he even balled his eyes out when he found out that you died.

At the very last moment of seeing your face, he cupped your cheek one last time.

"Oh, how much I will miss you oh how I wish that I could go with you as well, but it's fine you don't need to worry love In my will, when I die, I'm going to be buried right next to you." He says that while chuckling while feeling remorse.

~~

omg, there are so many things I want to comment on but erm yeah this is how it is??? it could have been worse

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Now that you are gone

please note that once again this is a very important topic this is the last part of this series. if you are not familiar with this series please check the warnings.

Dearest husband or should I say ex husband now that I am gone or will be gone by the time that you would have found this letter. I couldn’t do it anymore lando I saw the way you and charlotte were being burdened by my presence and just knew I had to leave.

You were never a bad husband just simply disappeared from our marriage.

Each day I crumbled infront of you and yet you stayed oblivious, it’s been over 3 months since we last shared a bed and I know you are disgusted by the thought of being with me now that I’ve let myself go, all I wanted was love but I guess it was too much to ask for.

Please don’t try and save me now that you’ve read this, I’ve been gone for far too long for you to simply try now. I know we promised forever to each-other but sometimes maybe it’s for the best that it ends early. Be there for charlotte don’t leave her alone you are the only thing she has left I doubt that she would even notice I’m gone.

I know you hated being told what to do but please make sure charlotte never finds out how I left it’s the only thing I will ask from you. I still love you I promise I just don’t love myself enough to say. The voices are getting too hard to block out.

Goodbye Lando Norris

When lando came home from the club he didn’t expect to be treated to the shrill cries of his daughter, he knew you’d be there to take care of her and had called out your name to make sure you were with her so that he could go lay down the amount of drinks he had plus the cries of his daughter made him want to throw up due to the intense headache.

little did he know everything was simply going to get worse for him.

After yelling your name for several minutes with no response he knew he had to deal with charlotte, muttering under his breath about how deaf you were being. He stomped up the hallway into little charlottes room and based of the little girls cries it seemed like she knew that she had just lost her mother. Nothing lando could do was able to console the destraught little girl. It took him an hour to get her down.

An hour which could have been used to save you.

Lando was blissfully unaware of the heartache that was going to be unleashed into his heart. He searched the house trying to find you and give you a piece of his mind.

When you were nowhere to be found he had the bright idea to check the cameras, and that lead him to his discovery. A rather shocking one that he wouldn’t even wish on his worst enemy.

In the middle of the bathroom deep within the bathtub laid his wife, his one anchor in life through everything the women he called everything laid there in tranquility. The water still and unmoving your body laid there lips blue and cold to the touch yet to lando you still looked like the prettiest women in the world. His mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening it wasn’t until it finally hit that you were not moving, this wasn’t some sick prank or a nightmare that he could wake up from this was his reality his wife was dead lying there cold and dead. The women he called his angel now was an actual angel. He had lost her he lost his love and he knew it was all his fault. He felt shame creeping up his neck knowing he was trying to find you to yell at you. His head shaked with the intensity of the situation.

It was the day after your funeral when lando had found the letter you had left for him and charlotte.

It broke lando to a different level, in his wife’s handwriting his sins were written, he and killed her he had killed you and each day he would pay for his sins.

You were always there, no matter where lando went there was a bit of you everywhere.

He couldn’t get rid of you, not that he wanted to either

The only words he could have muttered at your funeral were “it should have been me, I did it it shoukd have been me she wasn’t supposed to go so soon”.

16 years later

Little Charlotte Norris was not so little anymore, she was now a grown 17 year old girl with questions about her mothers sudden death.

Her entire life she had been shielded from the gruesome reality of how her mother died.

Her father whom she adored more than anything in the world hid the truth from her. Her mother didn’t simply die of a heart attack at 24 she died due to depression, and when Charlotte Norris unfortunately found out the bitter truth due to Lando’s negligence her world shattered.

Her father’s irresponsible behaviour killed her mother.

Landos midnight saddens had resulted in him forgetting to hide away the letters you had left for him and charlotte another careless mistake on his part which would result in him losing his daughter as well.

Charlotte was in tears when Lando returned and he just knew she had found out about everything he could simply feel it.

He tried to justify his actions and decisions blaming it on him being too young and not knowing what PPD was, unfortunately for him his little angel would hear none of it.

She had left lando just like you had.

Charlotte now went by your last name still blaming her father for the years of hurt you went through and how she had to grow up without a maternal figure, she didn’t know why but she always missed you and your soft face.

Your daughter had started up a foundation to help new mothers and fathers with postpartum depression and the anxiety new mothers face. This was the best tribute she would have ever come up with.

tagged -:

@yunnifer

[dumbseee]

united in grief.

f1 au/fic: in which, you’re jules bianchi’s little sister. you’re the same age as charles and grew up with him, when jules passed away your world completely fell apart, and you left monaco for paris. eight years after jules’s death you finally decide to comeback to monaco to visit your old friend.

charles leclerc x bianchi!reader.

fc: madison beer.

warnings: mention of jules bianchi, grief, angst, fluff.

note: happy eighth heavenly birthday, jules, we will always love and remember you, champion 🤍

y/n just posted a story!

caption: missed you monaco 🤍

_

you really thought about going back for a while, you missed you life in monaco so much. all your friends were here, your family was here, even after jules’s death they stayed, but you couldn’t. every step you took in the luxurious city reminded you of your brother. his presence was everywhere. you were seventeen when you lost jules, he was your whole world, you always wished you were the one in that car. you left monaco for paris because you needed a fresh start in a new city where you could walk without feeling the people’s eyes on you. but a small part of your heart wondered if leaving monaco meant that you were abandoning jules too. he was buried there after all, his soul was now forever in monaco and you were leaving to run away from him.

but your parents reassured you, and told you to fly with your own wings, to find your way, that no matter what jules would be proud of you, and would follow you because he was now your guardian angel. that reassured you a lot since your worst fear was to disappoint him. but your parents were right, jules was an angel when he was still here, and he’s still one up there. so whenever you felt bad, defeated, sad, you knew jules was around you, that gave you the strength to stand up and stay strong. you had to, for your brother. to make him proud.

that’s why you decided to attend today’s race. the monaco grand prix, your brother’s home race. he loved that circuit so much because he knew his friends and family were watching him and cheering for him. you came back without telling anyone, but of course your mother had to tell pascale, so the elderly woman immediately called you to invite you to have lunch with her and lorenzo, her oldest son. you couldn’t say no, because you missed the leclerc, but also because you knew how much you leaving hurt them. you left without saying goodbye, it was too hard for you, so once jules’s funeral was over, you packed your bag and left.

pascale and lorenzo welcomed you with open arms and big smiles, the mother apologised for charles and arthur’s absence but they were busy. charles… you were glad he wasn’t here because you didn’t know how you’d be able to look him in the eye. "you should go to the grand prix with us." lorenzo had told you, with his usual warm smile. at first you refused, but after thinking it over you realised that you owned it to charles, you left him behind when he was also mourning. of course it was harder for you since he was your brother, but jules was everything to charles. his second older brother, he was also lorenzo’s best friend. you hated yourself for being such a selfish coward. guilt was eating you alive and lorenzo noticed it. "don’t be too hard on yourself y/n, jules isn’t going to be happy." he smiled and you had to fight back your tears.

so you came with the leclerc to charles’ home race, you knew that your presence would be the only talk in town and on the internet. "oh my god, y/n!" someone yelled from behind you and you smiled when you saw ‘little arthur’ like you called him back then. he ran to you and made you spin in his arms. you laughed and brushed his hair when he finally put you down. "look at you! where is my little boy?" you asked, still laughing. he flexed his muscles and flashed you a cocky smile before pascale came to hit him in the head. "where is charles?" she asked. "getting ready in the garage, he’s really nervous, i think you should go say hi." he told you. you immediately took a step back, you were nervous as hell too, but for different reasons than charles. what if he didn’t want to see you? what if seeing you ruin his race? what if-… "he still talks about you y/n, he misses you so much you have no idea." pascale chimes in, patting your shoulder.

you were in front of charles’ driver room, you knew that he was just behind it. you could hear voices inside which had to be charles and his teammate. you closed you eyes and knocked three times before waiting. a tall and tan man opened the door for you, he smiled at you and you recognised him as carlos sainz. "isa is waiting for me, see you on track charles." he told charles. "it’s nice seeing you here, y/n." you smiled and watched him go. you took a deep breath before walking into the room. your hands were sweaty and you didn’t know where to look. "y/n?" you haven’t heard his voice in nearly a decade, so him calling your name startled you. "h-…" you couldn’t even finish that charles had closed the gap between you, pulling you in his arms. his face was buried in your neck and his arms were hugging you tightly. you were completely frozen, you didn’t expect him to be that affectionate after what you did to him. "charles, i’m so sorry for leaving." tears were now rolling down your cheeks. he broke the hug and immediately wiped your tears.

"sorry for what?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. his hands rested on your shoulders, his touch soothing you. "i’m not mad at you for leaving, y/n. i just wished i was here with you to help you through the grieving process." he smiled and you looked at the ground. he was too good to you, you didn’t deserve it. "you lost jules too, i acted like i was the only one grieving, i didn’t realise the impact my brother had on people’s lives." charles gently kissed your forehead and stroked your cheek. "let’s talk about that later, let me enjoy your presence, you don’t know how much i missed you." he hugged you once again, and this time you wrapped your arms around him, savouring the moment. "my lucky charm is back in town." you couldn’t refrain your laugh at his cheesy comment.

_

"and charles leclerc wins the monaco grand prix for the first time in his career!" the whole stadium cheered for the monegasque meanwhile you couldn’t stop crying. he won. he won in monaco. it was his goal and he did it. pascale hugged you while cheering for her son, lorenzo and arthur ran to their brother. but you stayed in your seat, looking at him jumping everywhere and celebrating with his brothers and carlos. then, when he turned around to face your direction he did something that sent shivers all over your body. he pointed at you, then at his heart, and then at the sky. this was jules’s celebration every time he’d win something and you were there to support him. he honoured jules even when he finally fulfilled his dream. "jules, you are so loved." you muttered to yourself, looking up at the bright sky.

liked by charles_leclerc, arthurleclerc, philippe_bianchi17 and 2 682 789 others.

y/n: coming back in monaco was hard, but i wanted to be here for charlie, i was scared at first because i knew that i handled my brother’s death terribly but in eight years i forgot how kind you were. i finally understood why jules loved you so much. congratulations on winning your first grand prix in monaco! i’m so proud of the man you became charles, i know that my brother is proud of you and will always look after you. je t’aime charlie ♥️

_

charles_leclerc: this one was for you, and of course jules, i’m so happy to have you back, je t’aime aussi ♥️

fan1: i can’t stop crying wtf

fan2: jules’ death affected everyone, even the people who never even met him, like me, he was such an angel

fan3: your brother is proud of you y/n! don’t be too hard on yourself!

fan4: we love you!

fan5: so happy to see you healthy!

fan6: man, this family suffered too much, i hope they’re happy now

fan7: charles and y/n relationship is so cute omg

fan8: the way he dedicated his win to the bianchi siblings 🥺

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

wednesday's sister's wedding to xavier? Bet it would be so goth and cute. Enid can be the wedding planner? She would LOVE that

Request: anything with Xavier please. I hate that he won't be in the next season

This has been sitting in my drafts for months. I was trying to achieve perfection and put my whole vision into words. I hope you'll enjoy it <3

Warnings: family drama, father/son issues

—

‘’I always knew you were going to be the first of our children to marry. Pugsley is more interested in pyromancy than girls, and your dear sister... I tried talking to her about the possibilities of, someday, settling with Enid, but she could have stabbed me with the knives in her eyes.’’

You laughed softly. Classic Wednesday. 

Morticia fixed your veil, looking at you with a proud smile. ‘’You look just like me at your father and I’s wedding.’’ She paused, reminiscing. ‘’We married young too. I knew since the first time we met that he was the one.’’ 

Your dress was hauntingly beautiful — black, of course, with a long train. The kind you would like to be buried in at your funeral. You couldn’t wait to see Xavier’s reaction when he’ll see you. 

You glanced down at the ring on your hand, and sighed. ‘’How long until the ceremony, Mother?’’ you asked, the time seeming to have gotten slower since you woke. You couldn’t wait to get this wedding over with and be married. To — finally — call Xavier your husband. 

The wedding preparations had started very early this morning. Enid had been awake since the crack of dawn, making phone calls, directing people and making sure everything was going accordingly. She was the perfect wedding planner. She used to be part of the Rave’N organizing committee at Nevermore, so you knew your wedding was in good hands. 

‘’Missing the boy already? Ah, young love…’’ Morticia said, catching the longing in your gaze. ‘’Your father and I too had difficulty being apart for the first…decade.’’ 

If only she knew where you had been a couple of hours ago.

Dressed in your black robe and bare faced, you wandered through the secret passages of the Addams manor to meet with your soon-to-be husband. According to most traditions, it was bad luck to see each other before the ceremony on your wedding day, but you and Xavier didn’t care. You knew you'd be together until the grave — and even longer still. 

Since the rise of the dawn, Xavier had been cooped up on the other side of the manor with your father, Pugsley and Mr. Thorpe, who surprisingly made time in his busy schedule to attend. You and Xavier had been both surprised when his RSVP envelope came in, confirming his presence. The man had a tendency of upsetting Xavier, so you asked Thing to look out for him and come to you if anything happened. 

‘’I don’t know how long we have until someone realizes we are missing,’’ you said, looking at Xavier in the glow of your candle light. Even in sweatpants and a tee shirt, he managed to look handsome. 

He leaned down for a kiss, careful not to burn his hair with the candle.  

‘’How are things with your father?’’ 

Xavier pursed his lips, his face crisped. ‘’I'm afraid nothing has changed with my father. He seems more disappointed than ever before because I chose to propose to you without his approval. I think he is more preoccupied by how the media will take the news and how it will affect his image. Because not even his son’s happiness come before his career…’’ 

You took Xavier’s hand, knowing his father’s words had upset him, pulling him out of his head. ‘’If, at any time, you want him to leave, say and I will have him removed. I know he’s your father, but it’s our wedding day. We should spend it with the people we love, not the ones who upset us.’’ 

He forced a smile, not wanting to deal with the public drama of kicking his father out. Although there won’t be press at the wedding, all of the Addams clan was present and he’d rather not embarrass himself in front of his new relatives. ‘’It’ll be fine.’’ 

The ceremony was hauntingly beautiful. Your father shed a tear, and Thing didn’t drop any of the rings on his way to the altar. 

You couldn’t stop staring at Xavier, looking torturously handsome in his dark suit and his hair pulled back — your favorite on him. It made his green eyes stand out.  

Uncle Itt, who was officiating the marriage, motioned for Xavier to speak his vows. 

Xavier pulled a neatly written paper from his pocket, and began reading. He practiced his speech for hours last night — and this morning —, but he was so nervous he was afraid to miss a word. ‘’From the day that I met you, I knew I would follow you to the grave," he began, his eyes flicking up to yours. ‘’We were only seven years old, but I knew our souls were destined to be together. Ten years later, you showed up at Nevermore and my heart fell right into your webs. You became my sanctuary in times of darkness. You saw me at my lowest point yet still gave me your love and your unwavering loyalty. And on this day, with every whispered vow, I surrender my heart to you, my deadly nightshade.’’

The guests were enraptured by his words, his love for you evident in every syllable he uttered. Xavier poured his heart and soul into the words, your eyes gleaming with adoration as you listened. 

Life had not always been kind to him these last years, but your hand remained in his through everything. When he was accused of being the hyde, accused of murdering all these people, you were the only one who believed him when he said he was not the monster. The weight of everything made you doubt if you were doing the right thing by staying with Xavier. Always follow your heart, it’ll put you on the right path, your mother had told you through your crystal ball when you had called her in tears. 

But like at any weddings, something was bound to cause a hint of drama, and, as expected, that thing was Xavier’s father.

Mr. Thorpe had discovered that Xavier had used his mother's ring to propose to you, an Addams. His late wife’s ring, now on the finger of an Addams, was too much for him to bear. He kept his disapproval in check throughout the ceremony, but waited until the end to confront his son, taking him away from the wedding guests to talk of the matter.

You weren’t supposed to hear them, but you happened to be on a walk around the cemetery with your father, saying hello to your ancestors, when you heard a hushed argument by the border of the woods. You exchanged a concerned glance with your father. The Addams were known to start little fights at family events, but you had a gut feeling that you needed to follow the voices. 

‘’—Mom passed it to me. It's for me to decide what I do with it and who I give it to.’’

You recognized Xavier’s voice as you got closer, making you regret dismissing Thing from his spying duty for the rest of the night. 

‘’I bought this ring with my money, Xavier. I don't want an Addams wearing it. It’s a disgrace.’’ 

‘’I’m an Addams too now.’’ 

Hurrying through the cemetery, you reached the border of the woods and stepped in, your father coming right behind you. ‘’Is there a problem here?’’ you asked, your voice steady and clear as your eyes fell on your husband and his father. 

Xavier released a silent breath of relief when he saw you. You were never afraid to speak your mind and stand your ground to his father, always advocating for him when he needed you. 

Mr. Thorpe turned, his face a mix of surprise and indignation. ‘’Leave us. This is a private matter,’’ he snapped, unhappy to have a small crowd around him. 

‘’It’s not a private matter when it involves my wife, father,’’ Xavier said.

You felt spiders in your stomach when he called you that. His wife. 

Gomez stepped forward, his presence imposing. ‘’I heard the way you spoke of my daughter, Mr. Thorpe, and I will not tolerate that. Whether you like it or not, she is your daughter-in-law. She is part of your family…as you and Xavier are of mine.’’

Mr. Thorpe’s eyes narrowed as your father spoke. He didn’t like being called out on his behavior, especially by Gomez Addams, a man he viewed as beneath him. ‘’Your daughter was given a ring that does not belong to her. I simply wish to have it back.’’ 

Instinctively, you hid your hand behind your back. ‘’You speak as if I stole it. Xavier’s mother gave it to him as she was fading. You may have paid for it, but the ring does not belong to you anymore.’’ 

‘’Give it back to me!’’ Mr. Thorpe came at you, but your father intercepted him before he could put a hand on you. 

‘’Not a step closer!’’ 

Xavier rushed over to you, taking your hand — the one with the ring — and holding it close to him. He won’t let his father take it from you. 

Mr. Thorpe opened his mouth to speak but Gomez cut him off, his eyes fixed on him. ‘’I have tried to reason, but I fear you have gone too far now. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, Mr. Thorpe. You are disrupting this wedding and I will not allow it. Not on my property!’’ 

He looked stunned by the request, as if he had never been asked to leave a place before. He probably hasn’t. ‘’You can't kick me out! I'm the father of the groom!’’ 

Gomez's expression darken. ‘’I can and I will.’’

Mr. Thorpe turned to his son, begging for his help although he put himself in this situation. ‘’Xavier, you can’t let him kick me out.’’ 

In response, your husband turned his gaze away from his father, his expression tightening. ‘’The Addams have been more of a family to me than you ever were,’’ he said quietly. ‘’I...I don’t need you here.’’

—

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[teleit]

Rhaenyra would never kill her own kin? Say it with your hand on the Bible and watch the Lord punish you for perjury

Team black stans is being almost hysterical, trying to convince us that Saint Rhaenyra would never dare to kill Alicent's children, that Otto and Alicent are the second and third coming of Satan, and they are must be blame for everything, from the birth of the Night King to the end of the Daenerys arc, and if it weren't for these two, Westeros would have already installed electricity, invented penicillin and learned to wash their asses more than once a month.

As proof, you are given quotes from a book that these fans have hardly read in its entirety, their own opinion, which, of course, is an indisputable fact and, sometimes, even "well, she would have killed some greens so what, why make such a fuss about it."

These people don't know how to work with a narrative, and it shows. Stories like Dance of the Dragons require you to dive into the personalities of both teams so you can understand the tragedy of the situation - a civil war between family members that will nearly destroy House Targaryen and Westeros.

Now imagine that you, Alyssa/Baelon Targaryen, are Alicent's fifth child. And this is a fanfic (show), not a book, so we're going to base this on the events of the adaptation.

Your father doesn't care about you, and you don't understand why. Did you do something wrong? Why does your father love your half-sister and her children, but not you and your siblings? Why doesn't he protect you from your nephews' bullying?

You don't get a dragon egg because they are few and far between, and Rhaenyra has another child who needs one more. You get the egg that comes later, or you ride a full-grown dragon.

Your half-sister Rhaenyra HATES you. She shows no shame in showing her disdain, barely tolerates your existence, and never punishes her children for bullying you. She won't talk to you, won't play with you, and even seems to hate your name.

You hear rumors that your nephews are bastards. You know that having bastards is wrong and against the Faith, and you don't understand why Rhaenyra is never punished for her bad deeds. You saw Aemond being scolded for standing up to our nephews, why is no one scolding Rhaenyra?

At Laena's funeral, your brother Aemond becomes a Vhagar rider, and Luke cuts out his eye for it. When the argument happens, you are afraid, scared, and crying, because father is angry at Aemond, and instead of comforting and protecting him, he demands something from him. Rhaenyra demands that Aemond be tortured, and no one protects your brother from her. Your father yells at Aegon because Aemond said that Aegon is the one who lied about your nephews being legitimate Velaryons. You don't understand how words can be as bad as your brother's injury. No one ever scolded or punished Rhaenyra for anything, so what if her children were called a bad word? Your father declares that there will be no punishment for your brother's injury, as if a lost eye is like a scratched knee and nothing bad happened. Your mother is angry at Rhaenyra and tries to hurt Luke, and suddenly she is the bad one and it's all her fault, and everyone has forgotten that Rhaenyra wanted to torture Aegon, who was hurt, as if it doesn't matter.

You are scared to get your dragon. What if Rhaena decides that this dragon was meant to be hers and you are a thief too, just like she accused Aemond? Will they cut out your eye too?

Laenor dies, and you hear that Rhaenyra has married Daemon, ignoring the mourning period. You remember this man - he laughed at Laena's funeral and frightened your mother with his presence. You have heard terrible things about him, and you are afraid to be near him - but thank the gods he does not come to the Red Keep, so you sleep peacefully. You are afraid to think about how exactly Laenor died, and whether Rhaenyra and Daemon were involved.

When your half-sister finally appears at the Red Keep, her first act is to claim Driftmark for her bastard son. When Vaemond Velaryon, your distant relative, calls her a whore and her children bastards, Daemon cuts off his head, and none of the Blacks look sad, even though he was a close relative to Rhaenys, Baela, and Rhaenyra's three eldest sons (presumably).

And that's just part of the shit that goes on in your life. If it were possible, you'd demand a refund.

If someone told you that Rhaenyra wouldn't kill you for the sake of her peaceful reign, would you believe them?

PS. not a native speaker and it shows, so what?

[cherriecove]

Fine Line Between Duty and Oaths (Part 9)

Gwayne Hightower x Targ!Reader

Summary: The second born daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Aemma is just as brave, beautiful and stubborn as her older sister but cannot deny her growing love for a certain red haired knight who just so happens to be a dear friend's brother. Cherrie's Note: Hi everyone hope you enjoy, please feel free to give any feedback! Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

The days following Rhaenyra's ascension to heir passed slowly, but gradually the weight of grief began to lift. It wasn’t immediate, nor was it complete, but in the small moments shared between sisters, between friends, a sense of healing started to take root. Rhaenyra threw herself into her new duties, determined to prove herself worthy of the crown she had been named to inherit, while you found solace in Gwayne’s steady recovery and the quiet, unwavering support of Alicent.

There were days when the grief still surged—when memories of your mother’s laughter or the scent of her perfume caught you off guard and sent a pang through your heart. But more and more, there were moments of light, moments where you and Rhaenyra could speak of your mother without the ache of loss twisting so fiercely. You would walk the gardens together, talking not of politics or duty, but of memories—of the times your mother had brushed your hair before bed or how she would hum an old Valyrian lullaby to calm your worries.

Alicent, always the steady hand, often joined you on these walks. She was the anchor that kept you grounded when the waves of grief threatened to pull you under. Her presence, quiet but ever supportive, allowed you and Rhaenyra the space to breathe and slowly begin to find joy again.

One afternoon, after a long walk in the godswood with Alicent and Rhaenyra, you returned to the keep, finding your father waiting for you in the royal chambers. King Viserys had grown distant since the funeral, his own grief a heavy shroud, but now he stood with a sombre expression, his gaze soft but filled with regret.

"My daughters," he said quietly, motioning for you both to join him. "I owe you an apology."

Rhaenyra’s eyes flickered with surprise, but she stayed silent, allowing him to continue. You could feel the tension in the air, the weight of unspoken words between you all.

Viserys sighed deeply, running a hand through his thinning hair. "I made choices... choices that cost us all dearly. I wanted a son so badly, I lost sight of what I already had. Your mother... your brother..." His voice faltered, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears. "I’m sorry. You deserved better. She deserved better."

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, but her expression softened as she stepped forward. "We miss her every day," she said quietly, her voice steady but filled with emotion. "But we will move forward. For her."

You nodded in agreement, your own heart softening as you watched your father’s remorse play out. There was anger, yes, but now there was also understanding. He hadn’t been malicious; he had been misguided, a man desperate to secure the future of his house. The price had been high, but it was not beyond forgiveness.

Viserys reached out, placing a hand on both of your shoulders. "I know it doesn’t change what has happened, but I will do everything in my power to make things right. You, Rhaenyra, are the future of this kingdom. And you," he turned to you, his eyes softening further, "you deserve happiness and love."

With your father’s apology came a shift in the royal household. There was no longer a cloud of unspoken grief hanging over every interaction, and life within the Red Keep began to regain some semblance of normalcy. The preparations for your wedding resumed, though now with a quieter, more intimate tone. The kingdom still mourned your mother and the infant prince, but it was time to look forward, to embrace the future.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the keep in a golden glow, you found yourself by Gwayne’s bedside. His recovery had been slow, but he was much stronger now, able to walk the corridors of the keep, though with a slight limp. He was seated in the window alcove, staring out at the sunset when you approached.

"Gwayne," you began softly, sitting beside him. "I’ve been thinking about our wedding."

His blue eyes flickered to yours, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You’ve changed your mind about marrying me, have you?" he teased, though there was a warmth behind his words.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "No, I haven’t. In fact, I was wondering if... we could incorporate Targaryen traditions into the ceremony. I know you follow the Faith of the Seven, and I respect that, but... it would mean so much to me, to honour my ancestors in that way."

Gwayne’s smile softened as he reached for your hand, his fingers warm against yours. "I would marry you in whatever tradition you chose, even if it involved dragons and fire. Your family’s heritage is important to you, and if that’s how you want to be wed, then so be it."

His words brought a sense of relief, and your heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you, Gwayne. I promise we’ll honour both traditions, but I wanted... I wanted to feel close to my mother. To the roots of my house."

Gwayne nodded, his expression tender as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Then we’ll have the ceremony you wish for. I’m not afraid of a few dragons."

You smiled at that, the weight of the past few months slowly easing as you found solace in Gwayne’s unwavering support. Together, you could blend your two worlds—Targaryen fire and Hightower faith—into something beautiful.

As the wedding preparations unfolded, there was a sense of renewal in the air. Though the past still lingered, there was joy to be found in the future. You and Gwayne spent more time together, his recovery a constant reminder of the resilience you both shared. His teasing humour returned in full force, and you often found yourselves stealing moments of laughter and light amidst the planning.

Rhaenyra, too, seemed to find her own path forward. Though her grief for your mother would never fully fade, she had taken to her role as heir with grace and strength, her bond with you, and with Alicent, stronger than ever. The three of you often spent evenings together, sharing stories, memories, and hopes for the future.

Your father’s apology had been the first step in mending the fractures that grief had caused. Now, with the marriage on the horizon, it felt as though the kingdom, and your family, were on the cusp of something new. You were moving forward, together, united by love, loss, and the promise of what was yet to come.

In the weeks leading up to the wedding, the atmosphere within the Red Keep grew lighter, though not without tension. The grief that had weighed so heavily on your family had begun to ease, replaced by the anticipation of your upcoming marriage. There was still an ache in your heart for your mother and the little brother who would never grow up, but the future now held the promise of new beginnings.

Preparations for the wedding were in full swing, and you spent many of your days with Gwayne, discussing the details, the guest lists, and, of course, the matter of the ceremony itself. The Targaryen traditions were ancient, woven with fire and blood, and they meant everything to you. When you’d asked Gwayne if he’d be open to incorporating those traditions into your wedding, his immediate acceptance had been a balm to your soul. But not everyone was as agreeable.

One afternoon, you found yourself in the council chambers with your father, King Viserys, and Otto Hightower, Gwayne’s father. The discussion had turned to the wedding plans, and as soon as the subject of a traditional Targaryen ceremony was raised, Otto’s brow furrowed in disapproval.

"Your Grace," Otto began carefully, his tone measured but firm. "I understand the importance of honouring your House’s traditions, but Gwayne is of the Faith of the Seven. It would be... unorthodox for him to partake in such rituals, especially the more pagan elements. A wedding under the eyes of the Seven would be more fitting, more appropriate for someone of his station."

You could see the way Otto’s gaze flickered, the carefully hidden discontent barely concealed. He was a man of order, of rules, and the thought of his son partaking in Targaryen rites, especially one involving the ancient Valyrian customs, was something he clearly found distasteful.

Before you could respond, your father spoke, his voice calm but firm. "My daughter’s wedding will honour both traditions, Ser Otto," Viserys said, glancing briefly at you with a soft smile. "She is of House Targaryen, and it is only right that we incorporate our customs, especially given all she has endured. Gwayne has already agreed to this. I see no issue with blending the Faith of the Seven with the traditions of Old Valyria."

Otto’s lips tightened, but he nodded, bowing his head slightly. "Of course, Your Grace. I merely wish for the union to be blessed by the Seven, as befits my house."

Viserys looked at Otto with a mild but commanding expression. "And it will be. But we will also honour the legacy of the Targaryens. I trust your son will not object."

Otto had little choice but to concede, though it was clear from the look in his eyes that he was not pleased. You left the meeting feeling lighter, grateful for your father’s support. For all his faults, Viserys had always loved you deeply, and in this, he had sided with you.

Later that evening, you found Gwayne in his chambers, sitting by the hearth with a book in his hands. He looked up as you entered, smiling warmly as he set the book aside.

"Another battle won for you, my princess?" he teased, his eyes twinkling.

"Indeed," you laughed, crossing the room to sit beside him. "Your father wasn’t pleased, but mine overruled him. We’ll have our Targaryen ceremony after all."

Gwayne chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I’m not surprised. My father has always been a stickler for tradition. But as I said before, I’m not afraid of a few dragons."

You grinned, leaning into him. "Well, I have something important to teach you, then. If we’re going to have a proper Targaryen wedding, you’ll need to learn a few Valyrian phrases. Specifically, the vows."

Gwayne’s eyebrows shot up, a playful glint in his eyes. "Valyrian vows? You know I’ve only just managed to grasp a few words of your language."

"That’s why we’ll practice," you said with a grin, pulling a small parchment from your sleeve. You handed it to him, watching as he unfolded it to reveal the words written in High Valyrian.

He squinted at the letters, his lips moving as he tried to pronounce the words. "Nyke īlot... rūvēbagon..."

You giggled, covering your mouth. "Close, but not quite. It’s ‘Nyke īlot rūvēbagon ao, issa jorrāelagon,’ which means ‘I bind myself to you, my love.’"

Gwayne glanced at you, his expression a mix of amusement and determination. "I see. So, all I need to do is say these words without tripping over my tongue, and I’ll officially be a dragon-rider?"

You laughed again, the sound light and joyful. "Something like that."

For the next few days, you and Gwayne spent your evenings practicing the Valyrian vows, his efforts both earnest and endearing. There were many moments where he stumbled over the unfamiliar words, his brows furrowed in concentration, only to break into laughter when he mangled a particularly tricky phrase. And then there were the moments where his voice softened, his gaze steady on yours as he recited the words with growing confidence.

"Nyke rūvēbagon ao... issa jorrāelagon," he murmured one evening, his voice low and full of meaning.

Your heart swelled at his sincerity, and you smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. "You’re getting better every day."

Gwayne grinned, pulling you closer. "I have a good teacher."

As the wedding day approached, the excitement grew within the Red Keep. The blending of two ancient traditions—Targaryen and Hightower—was a delicate balance, but one that symbolised the union of your two houses. The Faith of the Seven would be honoured, but the heart of the ceremony would be steeped in the rites of Old Valyria, something that brought you closer to your heritage, to your mother, and to the legacy of your ancestors.

Though Otto’s disapproval lingered in the background, the knowledge that your father had supported your wishes gave you strength. And with Gwayne’s dedication to learning the Valyrian vows, you felt more connected to him than ever. There was something deeply intimate about sharing the language of your ancestors with the man who would soon become your husband. It was a part of yourself you had never truly shared before, and Gwayne embraced it fully.

The days of grief and mourning, though still present in the shadows, had given way to a new sense of hope and joy. And as the day of the wedding drew near, you knew that this union—blending fire and faith—would be the start of something truly remarkable.

[ravennawritesfanfiction]

Beauty From Darkness

Fomerly called Imagine Being Married to Lestat in an Arranged Marriage

Pairing: Lestat de Lioncourt x Reader (Past), Armand x Reader

Word Count: 2846 words

Summary: You were married to Lestat in an arranged marriage of misery. A twist of fate grants you the life you most desired and a chance encounter brings up the past.

You’d never imagined that you’d be sent away. How the thought had never occurred to you, you couldn’t say. You were a daughter; biological property. A financial burden. No prospects; no hope for a future outside of your husband. Beliefs that were a product of the time. Still, when your parents packed up your belongings and sent you to Auvergne, you were still surprised and hurt. 

The Marquis’ son was your age and unmarried. You were to be his wife. A trade agreement outlined your worth. A poorly written and defined trade agreement. You wanted to be mad. You wanted to voice your outrage. But you were a daughter, you didn’t have the right. 

Lestat seemed as angry as you were, however for vastly different reasons. You were yet another dictation in his life. The youngest of seven. The one without a choice. He’d never inherit a title, everything in his life served only to maintain appearances and the family name. A son, treated as a daughter. If he hadn’t instantly resented you, perhaps he would have realized that you shared the same pain, reflected. You weren’t his enemy, rather a fellow victim. He did not see it.

Your wedding, which should have been a grand celebration, more closely resembled a funeral; thanks in part to your groom. He paraded his displeasure like a badge of honor. He stayed as far away from you as the night would allow. You sat alone. No one approached you. Your gift that night had been the pitiful glances thrown your way as Lestat drunkenly told everyone how much he despised you and how little he looked forward to touching you. You were 16 years old, humiliated, and utterly alone. 

That night, your marriage was consummated; mostly because the Marquis stood on the other side of the door to make sure it happened. Lestat would not look at you. He barely touched you. He was in and out fast enough to say it happened, but nothing more. There was no pleasure in it for either of you. Immediately afterwards, he kicked you out of his room and banned you from ever reentering. He didn’t stop there, you were banned from his presence entirely. You would not exist to him. 

Lady de Lioncourt was your only companion for the next 11 years. She welcomed you into her library, taught you to read, and gave you the only escape you could foresee. She never apologized for Lestat’s behavior, never made excuses for him. She just spent the time with you he should have been. She alone watched you blossom into a young woman. She secretly wishes Lestat had given you a chance, even now she could see that you would have been a great match, but she never broached the subject to either of you. It wasn’t her business, the affairs of a married couple. 

You ran into Lestat one day, nine years after you had been married. He was leaving the library as you were entering. He bowed to you in passing, the perfect gentleman; he had not recognized you. You continued avoiding him. He began inquiring about his mother’s new companion. She shot him down with a well placed jab about not wishing to know her. Lestat was left confused for two years.

You had thought about him a great deal since that encounter. He had grown into a handsome young man. You wished that he had not taken to hatred with you so immediately. You could have been happy with him. You could be out in the world together now; maybe have a small family of your own. Beautiful babies at your feet. Then the disdain returned. He robbed you of that.

Just before Christmas, eleven years after you were wed, Lestat found Gabrielle in the library crying, holding your favorite book. He’s seen her companion reading it just days before. He had taken to watching her from afar; hoping for some clue as to her identity. 

“Mother?” Lestat rushed to Gabrielle’s side, begging her to tell him what had happened.

“She’s dead. That poor girl is dead,” there was a rage in her that Lestat had never seen. “Your wife is dead.” She snatched herself away from him, he jumped back in shock.

The girl that Lestat had lusted over for the past two years; the one he had inquired about countless times because of her beauty, had been his cast aside wife. The air was knocked from his lungs. He clutched at his chest; chest tightening. It was clear now why he was never permitted in her presence. His shame was more than he could bear.

“How?” how had such beauty met her end.

“We don’t know the details. Just that she had gone to the village. The amount of blood had made the butcher ill and only her ring and shawl were recovered.” his father answered. “Not that you would care, but there isn’t even a body to bury. She’s gone.” a sob ripped from Lestat. He felt dizzy and sick. He collapsed on the floor as if attacked by a phantom.

“Why did she go out alone?” he was sobbing. He knew where the blame lie. He had been evil and cruel. She hadn’t been given a chance.

“Who would accompany her? The husband that banished her?” his mother’s venom was unbridled. His father did not intervene on his behalf. He curled into himself on the floor. Sobs turned into wails. He had condemned her to death. A stupid young boy, broke the one thing a young man desired. His brother finally hauled him to his room after his mother had had enough of his presence. She lamented that your death was what had been needed for Lestat to show you emotion.

You awoke surrounded by the most beautiful paintings you had ever seen; the skittering of insects you could not locate, and a strange man watching you. Normally, you would have been afraid, but you had a suspicion that the worst was already behind you. You were 27 years old, no longer alone, and a vampire. 

You took to your new life with grace. Every lesson Marius had for you, you devoured.You mastered your gifts with ease ad precision. You loved it all. Even the constant darkness could not damper your spirits. How could it when the darkness revealed the stars?

Marius was a gifted painter. Your talent was music. He’d given you the greatest gift; and eternity with your sheet music. You could imagine nothing better. Marius painted you often in the earliest days; you were an angel hunched over the sheet music at your piano. No greater muse had ever existed. You composed your life. Innocence shifted to profound sadness, the sadness turned into broken notes; a fear of ending hung heavy with those notes. The notes shifted to something dark, but even in the darkness, there was an uplifting hope in the melody. The song ended in unrestrained power and happiness. In your joy, you couldn’t have known that your music was calling to the one vampire that had broke you.

Lestat heard your music in the air; having fallen victim to Magnus in Paris. You felt him approaching. Both of you knew what his arrival would mean for your newly found happiness. Marius sent you away. The only way he knew he could protect you, his most beautiful creation. You had the skills to survive on your own now, and you had an ability to see the beauty around you in the night. He did not fear for you. He hid away the paintings of you. Once again, you were alone because of Lestat. So you drifted. You experienced the world around you. 

You found yourself in Paris. Marius had instilled vampire customs in you while traveling. You announced your arrival to any vampires that may be inhabiting the city. A voice responded. You recognized him the moment you laid eyes on him. Amadeo. He was known as Armand now. The maitre of the local coven. When you explained that you were passing through with no destination in mind, he extended an invitation to join his coven. You declined. 

Despite rejecting the offer, there was something about him that made you stay. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He spent his free time with you. When he was busy, you found yourself at the Theatre des vampires. You had taken to writing music while you listened to him work. He felt like home to you, but you had an unnameable misgiving about the coven that kept you at arm’s length. 

You loved Armand. The first time you had ever been in love. It reflected in your music, uplifted and joyful notes that filled every corner of the theater. You stayed with him in his coffin most days, sleeping peacefully in his arms. You felt like you were home. But his coven wanted you. With each refusal they got more adamant. Armand feared for you should you not join. I was with a broken heart that he eventually sent you away. He regretted it before he had even carried it out. He didn’t want you to unwillingly join him and your happiness to fade. You were too important to him.You held no ill feelings towards him. It had been the best decade of your life.

It would be two hundred years before he would hear your name again. A familiar pain in his chest when he heard you on the radio. The year was 2010 and you were being catapulted into stardom. He was with a companion named Louis then, but they both were front row of your nearest show and backstage congratulating you. 

Armand must have told Louis about you. You discussed your human lives and your early days as a vampire. You learned that Lestat had made Louis and that they had been companions for almost thirty years. You learned about the murder attempt and how he had found himself in Paris. How he and Armand had started their relationship. You gave cliffnote versions of your own relationship with Lestat. Unsurprisingly, he had never mentioned you. 

Louis and Armand kept track of your tour schedule and had you stay with them when you were local. You still felt at home with Armand. Your feelings had not changed for him. But now, there was a deeper level of friendship that had not been there before. Not to say that you weren’t friends in Paris, because you were, but you understood him better now, removed from the coven. You saw Armand the person. Not just Armand the Maitre. 

You were still going strong in 2024. You were still chart topping and living your best life. Marius had joined you along the way, insisting on helping you manage the delicate balance of being a vampire in the public eye. You were loved and loving life. Your world was blooming. You discovered that Gabrielle was alive; the first fledgeling of Lestat.

You cried when you saw her. She wasn’t much for physical affection, but she didn’t let you go for the longest time. You had escaped. She became a mother to you. She even found a place for herself with your tour; she had been looking through your wardrobe with disdain when you mentioned that your costume designer never listened to you. They were fired the same day and she joined and revamped the wardrobe for not only you, but the entire band. The new style was an instant hit. 

One night, while you were enjoying the stars, you felt a presence behind you. It was sad and lost, but you knew him immediately. Armand. Fresh from the hell of the Dubai interview, you had been his only thought. He joined immediately as director, friend and companion. Your world was complete. Every meaningful person from your life was here with you now.

With every tour came interviews. Marius rehearsed with you from the list of permitted questions. You had been at this for a while so really it turned into a catching up session. Armand right next to you the whole time. All of you laughing and enjoying life together. Marius got an email mid discussion of modern art and the catastrophe it was. 

He was not smiling when he returned. There had been another band on tour in the area and they wanted to do a joint interview. The up and coming Vampire Lestat. The room went cold. Marius offered to cancel the interview. Armand begged you to let him. You disagreed. It was time to face the past. Armand insisted that he be present the whole time, right there where you could see him, knowing that he would intervene for you the moment things shifted. 

With an army of support waiting in the wings, the time came for you to take your seat beside Lestat. With a new name and 200 years separating your meeting, Lestat did not recognize you. Louis was there too. He came over and said hello. You caught up with Louis briefly and vaguely while Daniel Molloy set up for the interview. 

“What's a beauty like you doing with a gremlin like Armand?” he did not hide his disgust as he asked his rude question. Thankfully Daniel was signaling that he was about ready to begin.

“The company I keep is of no concern of yours.” Louis chuckled. He was 100% on your team right now. He knew enough about your relationship that he really needed Lestat to get his.

“I’m joined today by the Vampire Lestat de Lioncourt and Miss (Y/N) de Romanus.” Lestat preened for the camera, showing off for you as well. You smiled politely at the introduction. “How are your tours going?”

Lestat jumped in immediately. The star of the show always. You were instantly irritated. Armand walked over and stood next to Daniel, you gave him the signal that you were fine. He backed up and stood alone. 

“My tour has been everything I hoped. Though, I confess, it would be better if (Y/N) was there though.” It was Louis turn to be irritated with Lestat. You gave him the ‘I got this’ look. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe there would be room enough for you, me, and your ego.” Lestat sat there, dumbstruck. “I don’t enjoy being cast aside into the shadows, so I think I’ll stick with my own venture.” Daniel was shocked. Louis beamed at you. Armand gave you the nod. Lestat felt that the jab was oddly specific.

“How’s your tour, (Y/N)?” you smiled. Bombs ready to drop.

“I have the best family on tour with me. It truly is a dream for me. Marius keeps me going. Gabrielle, my stylist is impeccable and the mother I never had. And Armand, he is my best friend, my companion on all the long nights. I love him so much. He always knows exactly what I need, even before I know it sometimes. I love them all with my whole heart. And the fans, they are my world. They make it all worth it for all of us.” you could pinpoint the precise moment that Lestat had figured it out. Armand said something to Daniel. You think it may have been a suggestion to press the issue further.

“I get the impression you know each other?” Daniel could not contain his excitement. 

“I knew Lestat a long time ago. He was arrogant then too. It seems that the only thing that has changed is me.” You shrugged and Armand smiled at you, encouraging you.

“I have changed. I can now admit I was wrong. I apologize. I allowed my bitterness to overshadow the truth. We were the same.” He didn’t look at you, but you knew it was probably the most honest he had ever been in his life.

“What happened?” Daniel coaxed out.

“A personal matter between us.” Lestat got up and walked away. Daniel was stunned into silent observation. Louis followed Lestat out after giving you a thumbs up, making sure you were good first. Armand took Lestat’s seat. 

“You handled that with more grace than he deserved, My Love.” Armand took your hand and kissed it.

“He only wants me when I’m not his.” you looked Armand in the eyes.

“You know, you have a whole mob of people who choose you,” he paused. “I choose you. And I will always be sorry that I chose the coven over you then. I have regretted it since the moment it happened and I will spend eternity choosing you now.” you pulled him down to the floor in front of you so you could look him in the eye. 

“I knew you did. That’s why I never stopped loving you.” you were kissing Armand when Louis and Lestat returned. 

“If we finish this, I want my companion and good friend both to join us.” Louis was mic’d up and seated next to Lestat. Armand joined you on your other side. “Shall we begin again?”

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Warnings: canon gore, canon violence, discussing parental death, coping with grief

Word Count: 4540

A/N: Happy Juneteenth, my lovebugs!

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 You were barely clinging to consciousness in the backseat as the brothers’ bickering acted as a bizarre lullaby. Sam insisted on going to visit his mother’s grave following his father’s death, but Dean was— as always— stubbornly skeptical. You were, as usual, just along for the ride. 

When you did finally arrive at the site of Mary’s grave, Dean refused to go within a fifty-yard radius of her headstone. When you asked him why, he refused to answer. 

“Wait, (Y/N/N), look,” he said, gesturing to a tree with a perfect circle of dead grass around a grave right next to it. 

“Huh,” you replied, stooping down to the dead flowers laid on the gravestone. “What’re your thoughts?”

“I don’t know, but I think I’m gonna talk to the groundskeeper and find out.” With that, he walked away from you and over to a man who was tending the graves. You headed over to Sam and noticed he was burying John’s dogtags in the spot next to his mother’s grave.

“That’s really sweet,” you told him, and he looked up at you with teary eyes. “Hey, I know this is a bad time, but I think we got something.”

He tilted his head in confusion.

“I know, I know, weird coincidence, but come look.” You showed him over to the circle of dead grass. 

He just furrowed his brows at it as Dean walked back up to you. “Angela Mason,” Dean explained. “She was a student at the local college; funeral was three days ago.”

The three of you began to walk back to the car. “And?” Sam questioned.

“And? You saw her grave,” you said. “You don’t think that’s a little weird?”

“Maybe the groundskeeper went a little agro with the pesticide,” the brunet shrugged.

Dean shook his head. “No, I asked him. No pesticide, no chemicals. Nobody can explain it.”

“Okay, so what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” his brother responded. “Unholy ground, maybe?”

“Un—” Sam stopped himself, speechless.

“What? If something evil happened there, it could easily poison the ground. Remember the- the farm outside of Cedar Rapids?” Dean continued. “Could be the sign of a demonic presence. Or the Angela girl's spirit, if it's powerful enough.”

Sam nodded and turned away. 

“Well, don't get too excited, you might pull something,” Dean deadpanned.

“It's just,” Sam began, “stumbling onto a hunt? Here, of all places?”

You shrugged. “So?”

“So—” Sam turned to his brother, “—are you sure this is about a hunt, and not about something else?”

Dean was immediately on the defensive. “What else would it be about?”

Sam sighed and went to duck into the Impala. “You know, just forget about it.”

“Sam, I have no connection to this whole thing, and I think it’s worth checking out,” you protested.

“Yeah, fine,” Sam grumbled, getting into the car.

***

You and the Winchesters went to speak to the deceased’s father next. The tension in the room had been high as the brothers subtly digged at one another; their feelings on the case began to seep through into their words while they talked to the professor. Something you found interesting was the man’s ancient Greek textbook, and the fact that he taught a course on ancient Greece. 

Dean and Sam were bickering as soon as you got back to their motel room.

“I'm telling you, there's something going on here. We just haven't found it yet.”

“Dean, so far you've got a patch of dead grass and nothing.”

“Well, something turned that grave into unholy ground.”

Sam scoffed. “There's no reason for it to be unholy ground. Angela Mason was a nice girl who died in a car crash. That's not exactly vengeful spirit material. You heard her father.”

“Yeah, well, maybe Daddy doesn't know everything there is to know about his little angel, huh?” Dean suggested.

“You know what? We never should have bothered that poor man. We shouldn't even be here anymore,” Sam argued.

“Boys, quit it!” you tried, but Dean talked right over you.

“So what, Sam? What, we just bail? Without even figuring out what's going on?”

Sam’s voice softened. “I think I know what's going on here. It's the only reason I went along with you this far.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean scoffed.

“This is about Mom's grave.”

Dean glared. “That's got nothing to do with it.”

“You wouldn't step within a hundred yards of it. Look, maybe you're imagining a hunt where there isn't one so you don't have to think about Mom. Or Dad,” Sam continued.

Dean turned to look at him, his face angry. 

“You wanna take a swing?” Sam sighed. “Go ahead, if it'll make you feel better.”

Dean shook his head and grabbed his keys and jacket. “I don't need this crap.”

“Dean, where are you going?” you asked, following him.

“I'm going to go get a drink. Alone.”

Your feelings were slightly hurt, but you understood. You allowed him his space and backed off immediately. 

***

Dean called you the next morning, waking you up at around six in the morning. “Dee?” you rasped, rubbing your eyes. “Why are you up this early?” You sat up, suddenly snapping to attention. “Don’t tell me you’re still out—”

“No, (Y/N/N), I’m not,” he responded. “I’ve been working my imaginary case.”

“Dean, I never said it was imaginary. I think you’re onto something here. Don’t get snippy with me just ‘cause you’re mad at Sam,” you scolded.

He sighed. “You’re right, I’m sorry. And… I’m sorry I shut you out.”

“I get it,” you replied softly. “You needed space. That’s okay.”

He chuckled. “Thanks, Dr. Phil, but seriously. Angela’s ex-boyfriend is dead. Meet me in the room with Sam. I’ll be there in five.”

And so, you obliged, meeting him outside their motel room. When you opened the door, Sam immediately turned off the television and awkwardly looked around. 

“Hey,” he said.

You entered cautiously, glancing between Sam and the television.

“What?” he asked you and his brother.

Dean grimaced. “Awkward.”

“Where in the hell were you?” Sam questioned pointedly. 

“Well, you were right. Didn’t find much.” Dean said, glaring a little at Sam. “Except Angela's boyfriend died last night. Slit his own throat. But, you know, that's normal. Uh, let's see, what else. Oh, he was seeing Angela everywhere before he died. But you know, I'm sure that's just me transferring my own feelings.”

“Okay, I get it. I'm sorry, maybe there is something going on here,” Sam sighed.

“Maybe?” you snickered.

“Sam, I know how to do my job, despite what you might think,” Dean deadpanned.

“Did you check out the dude’s apartment?” you asked Dean.

“Pile of dead plants, just like the cemetery. Hell, dead goldfish too.”

“Great, more unholy ground,” you noted.

“Maybe. I'm still not getting that powerful angry spirit vibe from Angela.” He leaned against the dresser and held up the pink book he had in his hand. “I have been reading this, though.”

You scoffed, smiling a little. “You stole the chick’s journal?”

“Yeah. And if anything, the girl's a little too nice.” 

Sam asked, “So what do you want to do?”

“Keep digging; talk to more of her friends.”

“You get any names?” the brunet asked.

Dean smirked. “Are you kidding me? I have her bestest friend in the whole wide world.” He wiggled the diary around. 

“Okay, well, who’d you find?” you questioned.

Dean leafed through the book. “This guy Neil shows up a lot. I think he’d be a good place to start.”

“Okay. Give me, like, ten minutes,” you replied. “I just woke up when you called me.”

Dean followed you out of his and his brother’s room and back to yours.

“What’s up?” you asked, noticing he was behind you. 

“Nothin’. Just wanted to hang out with you.”

You scoffed as you closed the door behind him. “I have to change, though.”

He smirked. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Perv.” You took your clothes and headed toward the bathroom.

“Whoa, where ya goin’?” he asked.

You turned back to him. “Dean, I just feel weird moving so fast after everything with your dad. You’re tired. I can see it. Of course, I want to be more than just friends, but I don’t think the timing is right.”

He scoffed and looked at the floor. "Don't do the same thing Sam's doing."

Your formerly understanding tone hardened. I'm not. Don't do that to me. I am the furthest thing from patronizing you right now. And it's not all about you, dude. This isn't exactly ideal conditions for a relationship. And if you're gonna get mean every time we disagree, then this is not for me."

Dean's jaw tightened, and he went to say something. However, he seemed to realize that was a bad idea. Eventually, he admitted, “I know you’re right.”

You walked back over to him and pulled his face up to look at you. “Hey, I don’t mean ‘never.’ Just… not right now. You’re still my best friend, though. That will never change.”

He relaxed into your hand and closed his eyes, sadly saying, “Yeah. You, too.”

***

You felt slightly awkward around Dean after your conversation with him. You wanted him badly, and it killed every part of you to not let yourself be close to him. However, you knew he needed time and space to recover from his father’s death.

You knew he was going to continue to struggle with that for the rest of his life just as you did with the deaths of your parents, but you also knew he would eventually find a way to cope. You just didn’t want to be more of a distraction to his healing process than hunting already was.

You could tell he was burying so much just below the surface, and it threatened to boil over at any moment. You wanted so badly to hold him and tell him everything would be okay, but you knew that would be an awful idea at that particular moment. 

You continued with the hunt as usual, though, and went to visit Angela’s best friend, Neil. He seemed a little awkward upon meeting him, but not just in the “I have trouble socializing” way. He was awkward in a way that unsettled you. What unsettled you even more was the dead plant on the table just behind him in the doorway of his home. Something interesting you’d learned from him, too, was that Angela’s boyfriend cheated on her just before her accident. 

You and the brothers walked away from Neil’s house, tossing around potential theories.

Dean began, “Well, that vengeful spirit theory's starting to make a little more sense. I mean, hell hath no fury…”

“So, if Angela got her revenge on Matt, you think it’s over?” you asked him.

“Well, there's one way to be sure.”

You got in the car and noticed Sam was looking at his brother stunned. “Burn the bones? Are you high? Angela died last week!”

“So?” Dean argued.

“So, there's not gonna be bones. There's gonna be a ripe, rotting body in the coffin.” Sam’s nose twisted in disgust.

Dean smirked. “Since when are you afraid to get dirty? Huh?”

***

When you did exhume the coffin, you and the boys were shocked to find the coffin completely empty with strange Greek lettering etched on the inside of the coffin’s lid.

Dean insisted on going to Dr. Mason’s home to confront him then and there. He figured that he would be the only person with access to an ancient Greek ritual like the one you’d found etched in Angela’s coffin. Despite yours and Sam's protesting, Dean's unbelievable stubbornness prevailed.

The older Winchester pounded on the door, incredibly agitated.

“Dean, relax,” you stated firmly. 

He didn’t look at you or give a response.

Dr. Mason opened the door and forced a smile. “You're Angie's friends, right?”

Sam began to gently say, “Dr. Mason—” when his brother cut him off harshly.

“We need to talk.”

Dr. Mason seemed surprised. You glared at Dean, hoping he would be able to feel your aggravated warning. 

You could tell the poor man was a little startled, but he still invited you inside. Dean stepped over the threshold and immediately began unfolding a paper he’d copied the Greek characters from Angela’s coffin onto. “You teach Ancient Greek. Tell me—” Dean held out the paper, “what are these?”

“I don't understand. Does this have something to do with Angela?”

“It does. Please, just humor me.”

The old man was confused. “They're part of an ancient Greek divination ritual.”

Dean’s tone never softened. “Used for necromancy, right? See, before we came over here we stopped by the library and did a little homework ourselves. Apparently they used rituals like this one for communicating with the dead. Even bringing corpses back to life. Full-on zombie action.”

Dr. Mason chuckled uncomfortably. “Yes. I mean, according to the legends. Now, what's all this about?”

He didn’t seem guilty to you, but Dean kept pushing. “I think you know.”

“Dean—” you and Sam tried, but Dean continued on.

“Look, I get it. Okay?” he spat. “There are people that I would give anything to see again. But what gives you the right?”

“Dean!” Sam scolded.

“What are you talking about?” the man stuttered out, looking between you and the brothers.

“What's dead should stay dead!” Dean growled.

“What?!”

Sam jumped in front of Dean. “Stop it!”

“What you brought back isn't even your daughter anymore. These things are vicious, they're violent, they're so nasty they rot the ground around them. I mean, come on, haven't you seen Pet Sematary?” the older brother snarled.

“You’re insane,” Dr. Mason muttered.

“Where is she?!”

Dr. Mason rushed over to his phone. “Get out of my house.”

Dean continued his pursuit. “I know you're hiding her somewhere. Where is she?!” 

You rushed in front of Dean and grabbed his jacket. “Dean! Stop it, that’s enough! Look!” You jerked him around to face the window sill with a row of plants sitting on it.

Sam turned to Dr. Mason. “We’re leaving.”

The shell-shocked professor still held the phone to his ear. “I'm calling the police.”

Dean pulled away from you and stormed toward the door.

“Sir, we're sorry. We won't bother you again,” Sam said.

You followed Dean, footsteps heavy with anger. “What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?”

“Back off,” he told you.

“Dean, he didn’t do anything! He didn’t deserve that!” you protested.

Dean huffed. “Okay, so she's not here, maybe he's keeping her somewhere else.”

“Stop it! That's enough, okay? Enough!” Sam piled on.

“Sam, I know what I'm doing,” the older brother grumbled.

“No, you don't," you responded for Sam. "At all. Dean, I don't scare easy, but man, you're scaring the crap out of me.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Don't be overdramatic, (Y/N).”

“You're lucky this turned out to be a real case. Because if it wasn't you would have just found something else to kill. You’re on edge, you’re erratic, except for when you’re hunting, ‘cause that's when you’re downright scary,” Sam stated firmly. 

“You’re tailspinning. You refuse to talk to even me about it, and you barely let me help you; let alone Sam,” you jumped back in.

“I can take care of myself, thanks,” Dean chided.

“No, you can’t,” you challenged. “And you’re the only one who thinks you should have to. You can’t handle this alone; nobody can. I couldn’t!”

Dean went to cut you off, saying, “(Y/N), if you bring my dad into this, I swear—”

“Dean, no. You’re scaring me." Your voice was still firm but had an empathetic undertone. "You’re killing yourself. I mean, I had to set boundaries with you earlier because I don’t want you to use me as a distraction. Whether you are intentionally or not, that would be what you’re doing.”

“(Y/N)—” he tried.

“No! Stop it. Quit burying your head in other shit to distract you. I’ve lost everything. I’ve lost my family. I’ve lost friends. And as much as it kills me, I’m driving a wedge between us because I don’t want to lose you. Please, Dean. Don’t make me lose you.”

Dean paused before murmuring, “We better get out of here before the cops come.”

You frowned at him.

“I hear you. Okay? I know, I'm being an ass. And I'm sorry,” he said earnestly. “But right now, we've got a fuckin’ zombie running around, and we need to figure out how to kill it.”

Sam laughed. “Our lives are weird, man.”

Dean’s tone lightened slightly. “You're telling me? Come on.”

***

Later that evening, Dean paced around his motel room while you and Sam sat at the table looking through John’s journal.

“We can't just waste it with a head shot?” Dean questioned.

“Dude. You've been watching way too many Romero flicks,” Sam quipped.

The older Winchester quirked a brow. “You're telling me there's no lore on how to smoke 'em.”

“No, he’s saying there’s too much,” you chimed in. “Every fuckin’ zombie legend has a different way to kill it.”

“Some say setting them on fire, uh, one said, where is it?” Sam paused, looking for the right page. “Right here. Feeding their hearts to wild dogs. That's my personal favorite. I mean, who knows what's real and what's myth?”

“Is there anything they all have in common?” Dean asked.

“No. But a few said silver might work,” you replied.

“Silver's a start,” he nodded.

“Yeah. But now, how are we going to find Angela?” Sam added.

“We've got to figure out the person who brought her back.”

“Any ideas?” you questioned. 

Dean considered for a moment. “I think if it's not her dad, it might be that guy Neil.”

“I agree. He had a dead plant on the table behind him in the doorway,” you chimed in.

Dean looked at you. “And you didn’t think to mention that till now?”

“Well, sorry, I’ve had more important stuff on my mind,” you replied sarcastically.

“And get this,” Dean said, picking up Angela’s pink journal. “ ‘Neil's a real shoulder to cry on, he so understands what I'm going through with Matt.’ There's more in here where that came from. It's got unrequited Duckie love written all over it.”

You giggled. “You’ve seen Pretty in Pink?”

Dean looked at you, opening and then shutting his mouth, unsure of how to respond. He went back to Neil. “Did I mention he's Professor Mason's TA? Has access to all the same books.”

You looked at Sam, who seemed pensive.

***

Your next stop was the home of Neil. The house was dark and there were no cars in the driveway. Dean picked the lock on the door, and called up the stairs, “Hello? Neil? It's your grief counselors. We've come to hug.”

You burst out laughing at Dean’s remark, and he looked down at you, smirking. He pulled out his gun and cocked it.

“Silver bullets?” you asked.

“Yeah, enough to make her rattle like a change purse.”

You started walking through the house and led the brothers over to what seemed to lead down to the basement, noticing wilted plants all along the walls. 

Dean nodded at the door to the basement. “Unless it's where he keeps his porn���”

You gave him a look and pushed the door open. “Ladies first.”

He glared at you playfully, but went down the stairs first nonetheless.

“Sure looks like a zombie pen to me,” Dean said upon seeing the dank, dark room with a thin mattress on the floor in the corner.

“Yeah. An empty one. You think Angela's going after somebody?” Sam questioned.

You walked over to a loose grate on the wall and pulled it aside. “Nah, she’s probably goin’ after Dean looking for her diary.”

“Look, smartass, she might kill someone. We gotta find her, (Y/N),” Sam remarked.

“Yeah. Alright. She, uh, she clipped Matt because he was cheating, right?” Dean jumped in. “Well, it takes two to, y’know, have hardcore sex.”

You giggled, but felt your cheeks heat up and opted for looking at the floor. 

“I don't know, it just seemed that, uh, Angela's roommate was broken up over Matt's death. I mean, like, really broken up,” Dean continued.

You sucked in air through your teeth. “Yikes.”

***

When you entered Angela’s former home, you and the brothers heard two women struggling and screaming at each other. You jumped out from behind the wall leading to the kitchen and shot at Angela, landing them squarely in the middle of her back.

Angela’s corpse convulsed and turned to face you angrily. You shot at her again, and she stuttered before running out through the kitchen window. You immediately followed her, sprinting after her for quite a while before fatigue began to catch up to you.

Her white dress became smaller and smaller before you turned to run back to the house. You met Sam and Dean back at the house’s exterior. “Fuck, that dead bitch can run.”

Dean chuckled at you. “What now, Quicksilver?”

You deadpanned at him. “Let’s go talk to Neil. After I catch my fucking breath.” ***

The best possible solution you and the brothers could come up with for killing Angela was nailing her back into her coffin. However, that required you being able to get Angela back to the cemetery. Dean said he had a plan, but you were a little skeptical. 

Neil sat in his office in the dark, seeming nervous. “What are you guys doing here?”

“You know, I've heard of people doing some pretty desperate things to get laid, but you; you take the cake,” Dean scowled.

“Okay. Who are you guys?” Neil asked.

“You might want to ask Angela that question,” Dean replied.

You could tell he knew what Dean was talking about but was trying very hard not to let that on. “What?”

“We know what you did,” you said. “The ritual? Ringing any bells?”

Neil scoffed. “You're crazy.”

“Your girlfriend's past her expiration date, and we're crazy? When someone's gone, they should stay gone. You don't mess with that kind of stuff,” Dean responded.

“Angela killed Matt. She tried to kill Lindsey,” Sam added.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Dean stomped over to the other side of the desk and hauled Neil up by his collar. You mentally scolded yourself for finding that attractive. “Hey! No more crap, Neil. His blood is on your hands. Now. Me and him can make this right, but you've gotta tell us where she is. Tell us!” Dean demanded.

“My house,” he rushed out. “She’s at my house.”

As Dean let him go, you followed his line of sight to dead plants beside Neil on the windowsill. “You sure about that?”

Neil nodded and looked around nervously. You nodded your head toward the closet. Dean seemed to catch on to what you were saying and subtly gave you a look. He then raised his voice slightly. “Listen. It doesn't really matter where she is. There's only one way to stop her. We've got to perform another ritual over her grave, to reverse the one that you did. We're going to need some black root, some, some scar weed, some candles... It's very complicated, but it'll get the job done. She'll be dead again in a couple hours. I think you should come with us.” Dean stared him down. “I'm serious, Neil. Leave with us. Right now.”

Neil shook his head. “No, no!”

Dean leaned into Neil and quieted down again. “Listen to me. Get out of here as soon as you can. But most of all, be cool. No sudden movements. Don't make her mad.” He nodded to you and Sam. “Let’s go.”

***

You and the brothers set up candles around Angela’s open grave, and Sam asked, “You really think this is going to work?”

Dean huffed. “No, not really. But it was the only thing I could come up with.”

You heard a noise behind you and looked to Sam, who stood and pulled his gun toward the sound. He walked hesitantly toward the sound, and you followed his retreating form till you couldn’t see him anymore.

The next time something emerged from the trees, it was Angela’s pale body, which you shot at. She stumbled back all the way to her open grave, and the last shot sent her falling back into it. Dean ran toward the grave with the metal stake he was holding and slid the last few feet on his knees. He dove into the coffin, and you kept him from completely falling in by holding his jacket. 

“Wait, no!” Angela cried as Dean plunged the metal stake through her chest and pinned her into her coffin.

You pulled Dean back up, and he looked down into the grave. “What's dead should stay dead,” he said.

You looked at him sadly, knowing what he meant by that. “Dean—”

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

You sighed and set to work reburying Angela. The whole time you buried her, you were consumed by your own thoughts surrounding what you knew Dean meant when he stabbed Angela. Sam and Dean went back and forth as they usually did about the last battles of their hunts. The brothers then wiped the dirt off their hands and moved to the car. You stood up, too, and followed them. 

Dean sighed suddenly and paused. “Sam, wait in the car, will you?” he asked, throwing the keys to his brother.

Sam seemed confused but obliged anyway and walked away from you. Once Sam was out of eyesight, Dean turned back to you. 

“What’s goin’ on?” you asked.

He looked down at his shoes, unable to meet your gaze. “I'm sorry.”

You shook your head, surprised. “Uh, for what?”

“The way I've been acting,” he continued. “It’s just… it's my fault that he's gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dean’s head hung low as he spoke. “I know Sam’s been thinking it; so have I. And maybe you, too. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Back at the hospital, I made a full recovery. It was a miracle. And five minutes later, my dad's dead, and the Colt's gone.”

You stepped toward him. “Dean—”

He looked up at you, tears in his eyes that he was trying desperately to keep at bay. “You can't tell me there's not a connection there. I don't know how the demon was involved. I don't know how the whole thing went down, exactly. But Dad's dead because of me. And that much I do know.”

“We don’t know that. Not for sure,” you protested, although you were pretty sure. You just didn’t want to affirm that for Dean and send him even further into a tailspin.

“(Y/N)—” his voice broke as he began to cry. “You, Sam, Dad... you're the most important people in my life. And now— I never should've come back, (Y/N/N). It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it. I was dead. And I should have stayed dead.” He sniffed and tried to gain his composure. “You wanted to know how I was feeling. Well, that's it.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. You looked up at his glassy eyes, your heart breaking.

“So tell me, what could you possibly say to make that all right?”

You bit the inside of your cheek thoughtfully and did the only thing you could think to do at the time. You wrapped your arms around his torso and pulled his head down to your shoulder. He tensed at first but eventually relaxed into you. Quiet, choked breaths wracked him, and tears began to soak your shirt. You stroked the hair at the nape of his neck and stood with him for a long while.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Disgusting comments of a sexual nature. Let me know if I missed any!

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Your mother rushes into your room, followed by her many assistants. "It's today," she tells you. You give her a confused look and she rolls her eyes. "The marriage. It's happening today so you'd best dress up. My ladies will do your hair and makeup so you can look somewhat decent for your new husband."

"Yes, mother," is all you can say. Any attempts at pointing out you'd had no notice would be futile. And should you dare try to state a preference in your looks it would be immediately dismissed, paired with an insult. Best to just comply and do as she says. You make sure to follow the instructions of the hair and makeup team. They have to put up with your mother, too, so you always try to be polite to them.

As soon as they finish your mother shoves you in front of a mirror. "There," she coos. "Don't you look so lovely?"

You think you look like a clown. Like a lesser copy of her. "Yes, mother. Thank you."

"Would have gotten you a better dress but you refused to lose weight," she sighs. You bite your tongue. The doctor said you were healthy, that should be enough. But not for her.

"Now," she continues, "we will be meeting your father and brother at the Jensen estate. Apparently they've already go the paperwork and notary crap sorted out. Remember to walk gracefully, be polite, and for the love of everything, smile. I don't need my daughter's wedding photos to look like a funeral had happened!"

"Yes, mother."

Jake is really trying to keep calm. His father, father-in-law and brother-in-law are all drinking to the "marriage" happening this afternoon. Apparently they're just waiting for the bride and her mother to finish getting ready. Jake is scared she's going to be just like his own mother: power hungry, demanding, backstabbing, cold. Meeting the bride's family has not helped assuage his concerns. If anything, it only further drives his conviction that he did the right thing, breaking his sister's engagement. The only thing keeping Jake calm is Clay's presence. Having an ally makes a world of difference.

Montgomery, his father-in-law, is already three drinks in. "And as a wedding gift to the happy couple, your father and I have purchased a penthouse and a car that you won't be embarrassed to be seen in."

"Are you ashamed to be seen in an American classic?" Clay raises an eyebrow.

"It's a pinto," Travis, the brother-in-law, scoffs.

"Exactly," Clay calmly says. "An American classic."

Travis rolls his eyes before turning to Jake, "I'm kinda disappointed you agreed to this thing. I was kinda hoping for that niece of yours. You know, once she turns 18. The young ones are so much easier to train."

Jake's gripping his glass so tightly his knuckles are white. He has to behave, it's in the contract. And punching his brother-in-law would not be behaving.

Thankfully Clay has his back. "Young man, you've got problems. I'm specifically talking in the bedroom, but I'm sure you've got plenty of problems outside as well. If you need some lessons on how to please a woman, I'm happy to give you some pointers."

Travis glowers at him but Clay just smirks.

A knock at the door breaks the tension in the room. An attendant comes in, "the bride is here."

The first time you see Jake, your heart falls. He looks angry, mean. You didn't have much hope about being treated well to begin with but this just solidified it.

The first time Jake sees you, his own heart does the same. You're the spitting image of your mother. He mentally prepares himself for a life of being scolded for never being enough, a life of being cheated on, a life without love.

The documents are signed and notarized. The fake smiles are pasted on for the photos. Jake is given the keys to both the penthouse and the car. Clay promises to meet them there, driving his pinto.

You and Jake sit silently in the car. Both wanting to cry.

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness;@ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[vampsywrites]

balance of life. PT.2

synopsis: from this dance with darkness, hear rebirth's whispered grace. see love's flame rekindled as grief is erased.

pairings: olo'eyktan! aged up! neteyam x tsahik! fem! reader

tags: mentions of death, trauma, grieving, funeral, blood, out of body experience, ritualistic behavior

☄️part 1 💫

"Please," Neteyam's tears drip onto your pale face, fingers trembling as they brush against your blood-stained skin, gliding across your flesh with an almost desperate tenderness, as if his touch alone could heal the wounds that mar your body.

The battle rages on around you, the chaotic sounds of war blending into muffled ringing. In this moment, time stands still, and the world around you fades into shadows.

"'Teyam…" Gasping for breath, you feel a final heave escape your body before everything is consumed by a blinding light.

NEYTIRI

It’s Neteyam that haunts her dreams the most.

It was the way he clung to your body, molding it against his, as if in a futile attempt to fuse your fading spirit back into existence.

It was the way his hands, once revered and celebrated, now carry the weight of his guilt; Marred with a deep crimson and tainted by the mark of his failure.

And it was the way fear seized those golden eyes, a haunted gaze that bore witness to the crumbling of his world.

The clan had already began the preparations for your funeral. And though it has only been a week since it happened, it lingered like a festering wound, refusing to heal.

In the late hours of the eclipse, Neytiri found herself alone in your vacant kelku. Once a warm and comforting space, it now stood devoid of life. Neteyam, deeply affected by your recent death, couldn't bear the atmosphere in the pod. It had stirred up painful memories which prompted him to move out, longing to escape the reminders of your presence that haunted him.

The glow of the night illuminated the walls as Neytiri hummed to herself quietly. In her hands, she held onto your songcord, tracing every bead, feather, and gem with an utmost care. The song that had once been yours now lived within her, a cherished melody that brought solace in moments of darkness. Closing her eyes, Neytiri let herself be carried away by the memories, allowing the echoed memories of your voice to envelop her.

A sudden brush against her arm startles her awake, aureate eyes shooting wide open. She quickly scans her surroundings, searching for the source of the unexpected touch. That is when her gaze settles on the soft glow of an atokirina, gently floating down until it lands onto your songcord, resting on a specific bead.

REBIRTH.

It was the very first bead on your songcord. A plain wooden square intertwoven with purple tendrils, symbolizing your rebirth. It represented the day you became one with the people, the day you were born anew.

The atokirina floated upward and out of the pod, brushing against Neytiri. It felt like an urging, a sign for her to follow.

Taking a deep breath, she rose from the wooden floors, her grip on your songcord firm. Stepping out of the pod, she was greeted by a sudden chill that seemed to course through her. It was as though she had forged a connection with the earth itself, feeling its presence resonate within her. A powerful thump reverberated through her body, sending tremors that hinted at your lingering presence in the air and the soft whispers carried by the wind.

"Ma Eywa," she gasps out, rushing after the atokirina. "What is this, Great Mother?"

Guided by the woodsprite, Neytiri arrives at a clearing that feels strangely familiar. With her feet anchored firmly in the soil, she gazes upward, captivated by the shimmering bioluminescent leaves adorning the trees, resembling stars. As she takes a deep breath, Neytiri surrenders to the tranquility of the moment, shutting her eyes. The symphony of forest sounds and the gentle touch of nature embrace her completely.

An overpowering sensation surged within her, causing her muscles to tense involuntarily. Waves of energy coursed through her body, causing her limbs to writhe and contort, as if responding to an unseen force. Beneath her feet, the grass throbbed with a pulsating rhythm, emitting radiant rings of light that expanded outward, like echoes of a beating heart.

"Sa'nok?"

Caught by surprise, Neytiri gasps, her trance abruptly broken as her gaze lands on Neteyam standing before her. Tears stream down her cheeks, evidence of the overwhelming emotions that had enveloped her. Her body trembles, still shaken by the otherworldly experience she had just undergone. Sinking to the floor, she finds herself overwhelmed.

Sensing her distress, Neteyam rushes to her side, his hands gently running up her arms as he anxiously asks, "What's wrong? What happened?"

She faces her son, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips. "I heard her, Eywa's voice has reached me," she whispers.

Neteyam's eyes widen with surprise. "What did she say?" he asks eagerly.

Neytiri's hand rests on her racing heart as she collects her thoughts. After a pause, she speaks.

"From this dance with darkness, hear rebirth's whispered grace. See love's flame rekindled as grief is erased," she gasps out.

Her words hang in the air, creating a pregnant pause, before she continues, her voice filled with hope.

"She will come back to us, Neteyam. Our prayers will be answered."

"Ting Mikyun Ayoer, Ruxte, Ma Nawma Sa'nok!" Neytiri's voice booms, carrying an unbridled power that reverberates like a primal growl. As she utters the sacred words, her hands ascend through the air. The earth crackles and hums with a raw power, responding to her fervent invocation with an electric surge of energy.

"Srung si poeru, Ma Eywa!" The collective voices of the people unite, their intertwined hands clinging tightly as they sway back and forth upon their knees. In response, the towering tree before them pulsates with an extraordinary surge of force. Rings of iridescent light emanate outward, casting a celestial glow across the open expanse.

"Eo Eywa oe ‘ia, eo Eywa oe 'ia," Neytiri surrenders herself to the rhythmic chants, her eyes rolling backward in a trance-like state. After a prolonged minute of fervent chanting, she abruptly ceases, snapping her eyes open. With a commanding gesture, she signals for the others to halt their chants, bringing a hush over the gathering.

"Srung si poeru, Ma Eywa," Neteyam repeats, kneeling beside your limp body as he intertwines his hands with yours. Alongside him, Mo'at raises her hands, a sacred spice cascading from her fingertips, delicately dusting your body.

This sacred rebirth ceremony holds profound significance, as it marks the first of its kind since the days of the first songs. Neytiri, assuming the role of Tsahìk in your absence, guides the ceremony, for it was she whom Eywa had contacted.

Neteyam, quick to react, extends his arms and delicately cradles your lifeless form, drawing you close to his chest. In a gentle whisper, he softly calls out your name, as if his voice could serve as a beacon to summon your spirit back from the realms of the departed and into the embrace of the living once more.

And then, in response to his heartfelt plea, a low whimper escapes your lips as your eyes flutter open. They struggle to focus at first, but eventually, they settle on Neteyam's face.

"Ma'Teyam…?"

Silence hangs in the air, stretching out the seconds as Neteyam absorbs the reality before him. A choked cry wrenches itself from his chest. He struggles to comprehend that you aren't just another phantom haunting his dreams, but that you are real, truly here with him. Relief washes over him like a tidal wave, intertwining with joy and a bittersweet hint of lingering sadness. It plays across his face, a complex tapestry of emotions writ large for anyone to see.

"Yes," he heaves, voice carrying both tenderness and a hint of watery emotion. "Yes, it's me, yawne. You're here, you're back."

A wide grin spreads across Neytiri's face, her heart swelling with uncontainable joy at the sight of your revival. Turning towards the gathered people, she addresses them with exultation in her voice, "The Great Mother has heard us! She has returned!" Her words ring out, carrying a shared sense of celebration and renewed hope.

Consumed by an overwhelming surge of longing, Neteyam leans in with urgency. It feels as if the mere act of not touching you will rend his skin apart, spilling forth the crimson of his love.

With a desperate groan, he crashes his lips against yours in a searing kiss. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, teeth clashing and tongues intertwining in a passionate dance. Every sense is heightened as he savors the sensation of your cool skin against his, lost in the euphoria of your return.

The atmosphere erupts with jubilation as the crowd joins in, their cheers and shouts blending into a symphony of delight.

"My girl," Neteyam laughs lowly against your lips, an overflow of tears streaming down his cheeks. The warrior then pulls away and burrows his face into the crook of your neck. Gritting his teeth, Neteyam does his best to hold himself together but try as he might, he can't stop the sob that slips from his lips. "Oh, my sweet girl."

Feeling a bit disoriented but still filled with love, you raise a hand and tenderly cradle the back of Neteyam's neck. A gentle smile graces your lips as you speak in a hushed whisper, "I'm here. It's okay. I'm here."

As the last note of your song fades into the air, your hands gently release the songcord, letting it fall to your lap. Leaning back, you find solace in the comforting embrace of your beloved. Neteyam's strong arms envelop your torso, holding you securely as he presses his body flush against your back. His lips trace a tender path along your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that go up your collarbone and to your jawline.

In the distance, the sounds of celebration echo through the air as the clan honors your remarkable rebirth. However, seeking a moment of intimacy away from the festivities, you and Neteyam sneaked away, yearning for precious moments alone together.

"Srrìri tìreyä. Ma Eywa, ma Eywa."

With a low giggle, you tilt your head back, planting a gentle peck on Neteyam's cheek.

"I thought," Neteyam's voice suddenly quivers with a rare vulnerability, his battle-hardened hands, weathered from countless struggles, tenderly gliding up the curves of your sides. Each touch is laden with the weight of his fears. "I thought I had lost you forever, syulang."

His words hang in the air, laden with the profound weight of his anguish. They unveil the nights riddled with torment, where sleepless agony engulfed him, entangling him in a web of restless nightmares. The mere thought of a life without you by his side loomed like a suffocating shadow, darkening every aspect of his existence.

In those dark hours, he became a prisoner of his own mind, tormented by the phantom presence of your absence. The echoes of your laughter, the touch of your hand, and the warmth of your embrace haunted his every waking moment. It was as if fragments of you lingered in the corners of his vision, teasing him with fleeting glimpses that dissolved into cruel illusions.

"Oh, Neteyam," you tenderly call out his name, the sound of your voice pulling him away from the depths of his mind. With utmost care, your hands reach up and caress his sharp cheeks, their touch gentle and soothing. As your fingertips brush against his skin, Neteyam realizes that they are damp with his tears. Had he been crying?

With his lips quivering, Neteyam bows his head, his vulnerability laid bare. "I thought I had lost you," he says.

"You didn't," you reassure him, slipping back into his lap and wrapping your arms up and around his broad back. "I am here. Safe and sound with you."

As Neteyam's trembling subsides and his tears dry against your comforting touch, he surrenders himself to the solace of your presence, seeking refuge in your embrace. Bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight and bioluminescence, the world around you seems to fade into insignificance.

With a sigh, Neteyam closes the remaining distance between you, his lips descending upon yours in a tender, lingering kiss. The touch is gentle yet full of fervor, as if each brush of his lips conveys all the love and longing he has harbored during your time apart.

Moments pass, and you eventually raise your head from his, breaking the kiss but keeping your bodies intertwined. His warmth envelops you, and silence follows.

"Nete," you begin, your voice soft but filled with a hint of playfulness, "I have a feeling that I won't be allowed to work for the next few weeks…"

Neteyam grins, a spark of amusement flickering in his eyes, and his chest rumbles with a deep, booming laugh.

"Oh, absolutely not," he responds, his voice a gentle murmur against your ear. His warm breath tickles your skin, causing a pleasant shiver to dance down your spine. "You're going to be under my constant watch. I will make sure you rest and recover properly. No arguments, yawne."

You playfully pout, feigning upset, but deep down, you're filled with gratitude for his unwavering care and love. As you snuggle back into his embrace, you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back, a comforting cadence that anchors you in the present moment.

"Oel ngati kameie," Neteyam whispers against your temple.

"Oel ngati kameie," you hum, smiling up at him.

TAGLIST — peeps who asked for part 2 <3 if your name isnt here that means i couldnt tag u bb :( :

@unknownkii @brattzslattz @blackspideysstuff @jennasluvrgirl

☄️part 1 💫

[happilyhertale]

Voiceless - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Summary: As the princess of the realm, the gates of the world are open to you. But after one fateful night, everything seems to change for you.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Author’s note: Hey you (:

Another story, requested by a dear Anon (: Thank you for this request!

I hope you will enjoy it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Warnings: Violence, blood, fluff

Word count: 3.5 k

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You lean your body against the wall and feel the coldness of the walls flow through your body, while distant echoes reach your ears. The graceful footsteps of servants echo through the corridors, accompanied by soft conversations that float delicately in the air. You hold your breath anxiously and remain hidden, fearing that the slightest sound might betray your presence. Only when the whispers have faded and you are sure they are gone do you let out a sigh of relief and the tension in your chest eases.

With newfound courage, you carefully disengage yourself from the wall. With a deliberate step, you walk through the winding corridors of Driftmark Castle. The dimly lit corridors, a secret labyrinth of shadows and secrets, bear witness to your clandestine excursion. Unnoticed by the outside world, you have escaped from your chambers, driven by a longing to glimpse the heavens once more before returning to the turbulent confines of King's Landing.

You have heard much of the island's enchanting night sky, where the stars appear with effortless brilliance, undisturbed by the burdens of a densely populated city. In this vast expanse of darkness, the stars shine, casting their celestial glow on the calm waters that surround the shores. And so, driven by this longing, you navigate the corridors of the castle, propelled by an inexplicable pull towards the sky that dances above the shores of Driftmark.

The day was accompanied by sadness and cast a shadow over the hours that passed. Your mother urged you and your brothers to be moderate. You were not supposed to frolic, but just stay by your family's side. So you and your brothers mostly just stood around nodding and smiling at the adults occasionally. But all you really wanted to do was frolic in the dunes with Aemond.

Today was the sad occasion of Laena Velaryon's funeral, a painful spectacle. Her daughters Baela and Rhaena have your full sympathy. The very thought of suffering such a devastating loss as that of your own mother Rhaenyra sends a shiver down your spine.

Lost in thought, you approach the exit of the castle. Your reverie was abruptly interrupted, however, and you were jolted back to reality as you perceive low murmurs that soon swelled to a tumultuous clamour. The echoes of discontent turned into cries of frustration and carried the weight of a brewing tantrum. You quicken your steps and approach the source of the uproar, only to be abruptly stopped.

You thought you were the only one awake. Yet here are your brothers standing in front of Aemond and they are shouting at each other. Baela and Rhaena are behind your brothers. You notice immediately that no one is standing next to Aemond. You walk towards the group, but no one seems to be paying attention to you.

"What's going on here? Jace?" you ask.

Jace finally turns his head to you, "Go back to bed, y/n!" he says to you.

But you don't listen to him. You walk on and stand next to Aemond. You see the corners of Aemond's mouth pull up briefly and barely noticeably.

"What's going on here?" you ask again.

"Aemond has claimed Vhagar! Vhagars is our mother's dragon!" shouts Rhaena.

Your eyes grow wide. 'Aemond has what?‘ –  immediately pops into your mind. But you can't help feeling a little proud for Aemond.

"Your mother is dead," Aemond says suddenly. Your head snaps to the side, "Aemond!" you hiss.

But Aemond seems to pay you no mind, "Vhagar has a new rider now!" he says proudly.

"It was my right to claim her!" retorts Rhaena.

Before Aemond can reply, you lightly take his arm and try to pull him back a little. You know that arguments between them can escalate quickly.

"Rhaena... it is not written down anywhere who can claim which dragon and when..." you say quietly. "Dragons decide for themselves who they want as a rider," you say a little more confidently now.

Rhaena gives you an angry look, "How would you know? Has your mother died yet? Have you had any experience with who claims her dragon?" she hisses at you.

You are a little startled and take a small step back.

"Shut your filthy mouth," chimes in Aemond and suddenly he shoves you behind him.

"Maybe your cousins will find a pig for you to ride. It would suit you," he says with a sneer.

Rhaena suddenly goes for Aemond, but he grabs her and pushes her to the ground. When Baela suddenly stands in front of him and punches him in the face. He didn't expect that, he goes down. You cry out slightly.

As if of your own accord, you suddenly stand next to Baela and push her away to keep her away from Aemond.

Aemond gets back up, looking hateful. He has clenched his hands into fists and is breathing heavily.

"Attack me again and I'll feed you to my dragon!" he says angrily but still with pride.

You look to him, "Don't do that Aemond..," you say quietly.

He looks at you, his gaze softening a little. But he is immediately distracted again when he notices Jace coming towards him.

But it's too late, Jace punches him square in the face. You cry out.

"No! Jace!" you scream, trying to pull him away, but Jace just shoves you aside. He tries to hit Aemond again. He punches several times in Aemond's direction, but to no avail. Aemond deflects each blow. Until Aemond kicks at Jace and he simply goes down.

Suddenly there is a scream from Luke and he tries to go for Aemond. But Aemond just punches him in the face.

"Aemond!" you shout, and run to Luke, who is on the floor. His nose is bleeding and he is whimpering softly. You try to comfort him.

When you turn back to Aemond, you see the others coming at him. Aemond is lying on the ground and the others are standing over him. They kick and hit him. You stroke Luke's head once more before running back over to the others. You get hold of Rhaena's hair and pull her away from Aemond. She struggles, but you push her away, "Stop it now!" you shout at her.

Jace turns to you briefly when he hears you scream. But at that moment Aemond kicks him to the ground again.

Aemond stands again, breathing heavily. Luke goes towards him, but Aemond just grabs him by the collar. Suddenly you notice him holding a rock in his other hand and raising it menacingly. You are too frightened to react.

"You will die in the flames, just as your father did!" he hisses at Luke.

You just gasp out, "Aemond! Stop that right now!"

But Aemond is too angry to even notice anything else

"Bastards," he says hatefully.

"Aemond! Are you out of your mind?" you say angrily. You walk towards the two of them. Luke just whimpers softly, "But my father is still alive..," he says quietly.

Aemond looks surprised, "He doesn't know, does he? Lord Strong?" he says.

"Aemond. Stop it right now," you say to him again.

Luke has tears in his eyes

But suddenly Aemond pushes you to the ground and now you're irritated, but then you see Jace coming at Aemond with a dagger. It takes you too long to process this.

But then Aemond hits Jace with the stone. You get up and go back to Aemond, wanting to pull him away from the group, "Stop that, Aemond! Come with me" you shout.

You turn back to Jace and at that moment you feel a searing pain. You grab your neck and your hands are instantly wet. You hear a blade fall to the floor. You immediately look to Aemond in panic, tears are in your eyes. You are in pain and you start breathing faster. You can't scream and you panic even more. But instead Aemond screams.

"I will let you burn!!! You will die for this!!!" he screams over and over. You slump down and cry silently.

"No!", Aemond shouts and is immediately at your side.

"It's going to be alright! Y/n! Please..," Aemond says almost pleadingly.

"Y/n!" shouts Jace as he realises what he has done, kneeling beside you as well.

Aemond stands back up. He breathes heavily and feels an incomprehensible rage inside him. The rage inside him feels like nothing he has ever felt before. He still has the stone in his hand. He lets his gaze wander to the stone as his chest rises and falls, heavier and faster, again and again. He raises his hand and wants to hit Jace with the stone.

When all of a sudden Luke yells out. At the high-pitched scream, you look up. He has the blade in his hand and swings it.

Aemond notices too late, but suddenly he screams out and holds his eye. You have never heard such a pained scream. You push Jace away from you, desperately trying to crawl over to Aemond. By now your hands are covered in blood and dust, your own pain completely forgotten. You kneel by Aemond's side and are only distantly aware of Jace shouting at Luke. It slowly dawns on both of them what they have done. Rhaena and Baela stand terrified in the corner, not daring to say anything.

You, on the other hand, want to say something. You try to speak. You open your mouth and try to force words out of you. But no matter how hard you try, your throat only hurts. Every time you try to say something, it feels like nails are being driven into your throat and more blood runs down your throat. The front of your dress is now soaked with your blood.

You grab Aemond by the shoulder and try to turn him towards you. As he lies on his back, he whimpers and you see more blood. Your whimpering mingles with his and you let out a soundless scream. His blood mixes with yours on your dress as you lean down and try to embrace him.

Suddenly the Kingsguard comes running.

Tears run down your face. But the tears are not an expression of pain, but of helplessness. Because Aemond lies screaming on the ground and you can do nothing to help him. His hand covers his left eye. More and more blood seeps through between his fingers.

You are only distantly aware of being taken aside, you only have eyes for Aemond.

Everything happens so quickly. And the next moment you are in the throne room. The wound over Aemond's eye is being stitched. He is sitting on a chair and a maester is standing in front of him. You are lying on a couch with two maesters bending over you. You have been given poppy juice and are light-headed. After the bleeding has stopped, your throat will be stitched. Tears keep running down your face. When the maesters have finished, you turn your head to Aemond. You see him contort his face in pain as the maester applies the needle. You try to sit up, but the maesters push you back.

"You should lie down for a while, princess," says one of the maesters.

You want to answer, but when you open your mouth, no words pass your lips.

The maesters cast a meaningful glance at each other. At that moment your mother comes storming into the throne room. She goes worriedly to your brothers and hugs them briefly. But quickly she continues to look around, her eyes searching for you. And then she sees you and horror is written all over her face.

She comes rushing towards you.

"Y/n!" she calls. With her soft hands she takes your face in her hands.

"My girl, what's wrong?" but you can't answer and that scares you even more. Tears well up in your eyes. Your mother looks at the maesters, "What is going on? Why can't my daughter speak?" she asks demandingly.

And then the maesters explain to her that you will probably never be able to speak again.

"A silent princess...", your mother murmurs with tears in her eyes.

Some years have passed since then and you have come to terms with the situation as best you can. The scar on your throat has healed completely, but it still makes you uncomfortable. In the evening, you sit in front of the mirror and apply ointments to the scar, hoping that one day it will hardly be visible. But you can't stand the sight of it for long.

Usually the scar is covered with a scarf to hide it from prying eyes. You are very ashamed of it and it burdens you even more that you can never speak to the lords and ladies of the court. Nevertheless, you have learned to observe your surroundings carefully and to notice the smallest changes.

But this has also led to increasing isolation. Still, Aemond can be found by your side most of the time. Even before the accident you had felt a certain closeness to each other, but now you are connected because of your shared loss. Aemond shares much of his day with you, telling you about the books he is reading. Sometimes he even assures you that you are not missing anything by not taking part in the conversations at court, as they are all trivial and boring.

And you answer him tirelessly with the art of writing. Every morning, when the busy maids help you to dress, you carefully tie a small roll of parchment around your wrist. In a tiny pocket that you have carefully attached to your dress is a precious piece of charcoal. These humble tools serve as channels for your communication.

On this roll of parchment you write all the feelings and thoughts you wish to convey. Your bold and solemn as well as sometimes cheeky responses find their eternal place on this paper that will forever go down in history. Somehow you like the idea that everything you share will be recorded. Unless, in a fit of frustration, Aemond throws your cheeky answers into the nearest fire and tries to give you an annoyed look. Then you can't help a slight chuckle.

Over the years, feelings have been stirring within you. You have watched Aemond grow into an impressive young man. Even in his clothes you notice the muscular development of his body through his hard training. This thought pleases you immensely. Sometimes you cannot suppress a giggle when you meet him after training - sweaty and breathing heavily. Aemond then looks at you in confusion, but you just shake your head as your cheeks redden slightly.

Likewise, you enjoy your quiet moments together. You just sit together then, giving each other comfort. Just as you suffer from your scar, Aemond suffers from the scar that adorns his face. And he cannot cover it as easily as you can cover yours. But your conscience still torments you often because you could not protect Aemond back then. You may have lost your voice, but Aemond has lost half his sight. Since birth, he has had to fight for everything he has, and it seems that nothing will ever change. But the fact that you could not prevent your brothers from going against Aemond and that he had to give up his eye for it, eats away at you and gnaws at your inner self.

When the overwhelming feeling spreads through you, you do not even seem worthy to enjoy his presence or attention. As you stand in the training yard one day, your thoughts are once again corroded by this guilt. An uneasy state fills your chest and a pressure makes itself felt. Suddenly, however, you are torn from your thoughts. Aemond stands before you and a smile adorns his face.

"I have not seen you at all today," he says softly and his smile widens.

You smile too and take your small roll of parchment in your hand.

"I've been hiding from you," you hold out to him on the paper.

He chuckles briefly and suddenly holds out a small flower to you

"I saw this and thought of you," he says softly. With delicate grace, his fingertips caress a delicate strand of your hair and gently stroke it behind your ear. As if guided by nature's whisper, he lovingly nestles a flower in your curls and adorns you with an enchanting touch.

You are overwhelmed by the sheer grace of his gentleness

"Will you wait for me until the training is over?", Aemond asks you, but your mind drifts, deaf to his words.

The suffocating weight in your chest persists and grows stronger. It feels almost unbearable that he has such endearing qualities and showers you with care while you have been powerless to protect him from the clutches of your own brothers who are responsible for his painful loss.

"Y/n?", Aemond asks you again to get your attention.

"I can't read your mind yet, you have to write it down," he says teasingly.

But your eyes suddenly fill with tears – Aemond's gaze instantly panics.

"Y/n? What's wrong?" he asks. He wants to caress the softness of your cheek to soothe you. Unfortunately, fate intervenes and as he reaches out to caress your cheek, you turn and hurry away. Aemond is visibly irritated, but he cannot resist and follows you.

"Hey! Y/n, what's wrong?", Aemond calls after you.

You walk into the gardens and wipe away your tears.

By the rose bushes, Aemond reaches you and grabs you almost gently by the arm. He turns you towards him and you look at him.

"Hey..." he says gently, wiping away your tears.

"Tell me what's wrong," he adds.

You hesitate at first. But then sob quietly and then take the parchment in your hand.

"I'm sorry," you write simply.

Aemond reads these words again and again. His eye dart over the paper, as if he wants to grasp something that is between the lines and still eludes his eye.

"What exactly do you want to apologise for?" he asks you quietly after a while.

You sob quietly and start writing again.

"That I could not prevent it," he reads next.

Again his eye dart over the paper several times.

He looks up, "That you couldn't prevent what exactly?" he asks you.

Now you are starting to look annoyed.

"Pardon me, y/n, I can't figure it out," he says.

You write again, "I thought you were smart?" reads Aemond this time.

He looks up at you again.

"What's bothering you?" he says and sighs.

You start again

"I couldn't stop Luke from taking your eye. I left you alone, so to speak... It still gnaws at my conscience," with each word Aemond reads, his lips move slightly. He slowly looks up at you.

"You silly... It's not your fault I lost my eye after all... You didn't swing the dagger," Aemond says softly.

But you shake your head and start writing again.

"I should have stopped Jace and Luke... I could have done more. I should have just taken you and walked away with you. Neither of us would have been hurt. You could still see with both eyes and I wouldn't have to write on those stupid pieces of paper. I don't deserve your attention," you hold out to him on the paper.

Tears well up in your eyes again and as Aemond looks back up, shaking his head slightly.

"No," he says simply, taking your face in his hands.

"No. It's not your fault," he says to you. With his thumb he gently wipes a tear from your cheek.

"If it hadn't been for you, far more would have happened. Perhaps one of us wouldn't be alive," he says to you.

You want to shake your head again, but his hands won't let you.

"I don't care how much you resist... it's not your fault and you are the only person on this cursed earth who deserves my attention," he says softly.

You notice him slowly lean forward. Your breath catches and before you realise what is happening, his soft lips are on yours. Gently they nestle around your lips. You close your eyes and give in to the feeling.

His tongue explores yours and the feeling of being so close to him is as sweet as a warm summer day. You feel the warmth emanating from him and it envelops you completely.

After a short time, Aemond releases his lips from yours. He leans his forehead against yours.

"Don't ever think like that again... You saved my life... In that horrible night and afterwards... When you were always by my side," he whispers, his lips inches from yours. You just smile and let your lips meet his again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemond-targaryenx @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @believeinthefireflies95

[crowsofdarkness]

Time: Prologue

-gif not mine. credit to owner.-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: fluff, angst, language, violence, and mentions of death.

Summary: Your relationship with Bucky could withstand anything, even time itself.

Authors Note: This series will have twenty one chapters, some of which will be short and quick, and takes place throughout the forties. I did my best to line up the days along with Captain America: The First Avenger. Tags are open if anyone is interested!

Tags: @that-blonde-girl @bookofriverr @starfly-nicole

Time Masterlist

APRIL 23, 1945. 

The small group stood around the large hole in the ground and the noise of quiet sobs and hushed voices filled my ears. I sat on my chair keeping my eyes trained hard on the casket in front of me. It was closed, not having a cold body lying inside of it, but it still did nothing to my breaking heart. Even though his body was never returned, mostly because it hadn’t been recovered, I could picture him laying in there; eyes sewn shut with his arms over his chest, clutching his dog tags in his hand. 

I would like to think that there was a picture of us in the other. 

Springtime in Brooklyn had approached fast and the sudden chill and shift in air caused me to pull my jacket closer to my chest. 

“He loved you so much, Y/N. You were his everything.” 

His mother’s words were deep in my mind, those words replaying over and over. She had been the only thing that kept me going during this hard time, knowing that I had no one else. 

“Y/N, honey, it’s time.” 

Turning my head up towards the familiar voice, I gave a small smile to Winifred and with a quick nod, I stood on shaky legs as I made a few steps towards the casket. 

My fingers sprawled over the cold wood and even though his body wasn’t physically with me, I could feel his presence around me. 

“If only we had more time together. You promised to make an honest woman out of me when you returned. I promise to look after ma and Rebecca for you as long as you promise to stay with Stevie. I know he changed and doesn’t need you but we don’t know what it’s like on the other side.” 

A loud sob got caught on my throat, realizing that I not only lost the love of my life but also my best friend in the matter of a few months. 

“I love you so much, Bucky. I’ll see you again soon my love.” 

With a soft tap on the casket as a final goodbye, I gave a longing hug to Winifred, promising to visit her soon, and made the lone walk towards my car on the other end of the parking lot. Thoughts of how much my life had changed the last few days swirled in my mind. 

Winifred had waited months after hearing of Bucky’s death before having a funeral for the hope of receiving his body. We both didn’t want to bury an empty casket but after another night of no good news, I convinced her that we needed to put his soul to rest.

In that time, I had found out that Steve had passed as well in a plane crash. The two most important men in my life were gone so close together and my heart couldn’t take the break and hurt any longer. 

“He never had a choice,” I sobbed to myself. “He didn’t want this.”  

Bucky never had a say in fighting in the war against the Germans, being drafted. But that didn’t stop the proud smile he wore when he received the news. 

“The 107th. I ship out to London first thing tomorrow.” 

The night before he left was spent with family and closest friends before it was the two of us, in his twin sized bed. We had to be so quiet so his sister couldn’t hear us. That night he promised to make me an honest woman when he returned; buying a home, getting married, and having a family. 

Nothing about his death made any sense to us. The military only said that he had died in the line of duty while working a secret mission that he and Steve had been working on for months prior. Everything about both of their deaths rang a large questioning bell in my brain but I had been overtaken with so much grief that I hadn’t thought to ask more questions. 

Rain had started falling from the dark clouds above, mixing with my tears, and as my body continued to shake with the sobs, I heard a loud crack behind me. I didn’t bother turning to look, thinking that it was thunder, but when I heard his deep voice my feet froze in fear.

“Doll.”

“Stevie?” I asked through my broken sobs. I hastily wiped away the tears from my eyes, wondering if what I was seeing was actually in front of me.

Everything about the man standing in front of me looked familiar only older; so much older than the last time I had seen him in that bar. Before his life with The Howling Commandos began. 

“Wha-? How can you be here?”

“Y/N, you can’t get in that car,” Steve reached for my hand.

I smacked it away, fear of how Steve was standing in front of me. He was dead. Body somewhere in some ocean. Never recovered. 

“You look like Steve. But you’re much older than the Steve I know,” I stared at him, puzzled.

“It’s me, Y/N. I’m here to take you home.” Steve vowed. “You have to come with me, quick.”

I furiously shook my head. “How do I know it’s really you?”

My back bumped into the car and my shaking hands reached for the handle. Steve gently placed his hand over my own, forcing me to look at him.

“Please, you can’t drive away from here.” He begged, bottom lip trembled slightly.

“Why not?!” I bellowed.

Older Steve shook his head, “I can’t tell you but you have to trust me not to get in that car.”

“I must be imagining this. It’s a side effect from the grief.” I rubbed my eyes, the exhaustion weighing me down.

“I can take you to him but we have to go now. Bucky’s waiting for you; his girl.”

With the mention of his name, I looked at Older Steve dumbfounded. The wet strands of hair stuck to my face as I stuttered over the words that fell from my lips. 

“You can take me to him?” 

Steve nodded. “We have to leave now. I don’t have much time to explain everything to you but once we’re there, I’ll explain it all to you.” 

I shook my head confused. “Go where?” 

“A different time,” Steve admitted, quickly grabbing my hand. 

Our bodies were sucked through this kind of vortex, and I felt myself flying through darkness. 

[fandoms-in-law]

Seeing Through

Summary: Today, Steve is moving out and his parents choose now to have one of their random days home.

Author's note: Why does it feel like half these prompts are the same or similar? I need to reduce the amount of Steve songs prompts I put down.

My Idea for this Fic: 'I see Through You' - Taboo songfic - Steve moving out, saying fuck you to his parents.

/\/

They weren’t meant to come home. Steve had planned everything around his parents never being there.

Except there they were pulling into the driveway as the Party helped him load all his things onto Eddie’s van; and his father did not look happy.

“Quit groaning, Wheeler, or you’re unloading all the boxes alone later.” Eddie laughed as he and Mike carried Steve’s mattress out. His parents would assume that was theirs, that Steve was taking furniture they’d brought with him, but after injuries and fighting the Upside Down for so long, he’d replaced it, saved and spent his own money to have a better nights sleep.

“Steven!” His parents had gotten out of the car now, and the yell had anyone close enough hurrying out, concerned looks on their faces. “What is the meaning of this thievery?”

Steve glanced from them back to the house, and around at the people he called his family. “I’m moving out. Not going to leave anything I brought in your mausoleum.” He replied, measuring the space between them and how much slower than a demodog they moved.

After everything they’d fought, after finally moving out, there wasn’t much power his parent could swing over him. Also Hopper was probably just inside, ready to either come out or go to his room depending on how his parents reacted now. The likelihood they’d try to call, or at least threaten them with, the police was decent but Hopper would cut that off immediately if they saw him.

“That mattress-” His father began again, gesturing harshly before Steve cut him off.

“-I brought myself. Yours will be back on that bed frame by now.” That had been his request, whomever was bringing his mattress down put the old one on before bringing it out, and Eddie double checked it just twenty minutes ago.

A cold laugh came in response. “You expect me to believe that? With the crooks van you got to move your things in plain view.”

Steve bristled, glancing over to check Eddie wasn’t about to react for him. “That van and its owner have done more honest work in the last 6 months than you two have in your entire lives. They’re my family; you’re strangers who share my DNA”

“At least we aren’t common thieves.” Hello Mother, nice of you to join the conversation, Steve thought meeting her narrowed gaze.

“Of course you are.” He scoffed, “White collar crime, Nancy called it. Underpaying workers, dodging taxes. You’re crooks in pretty clothes but common enough. I’ve seen through the mask and I’m gone. No more son for you to forget about.”

“We don’t forget you and the destruction you’re doing to our name.”

“Stop twisting your reality to fit your views. This is me taking my life out of your hands in the sweetest goodbye. Actually you’re making it a bit bitter by your presence. How about you fuck off as you usually have done?” Steve had noticed his father focus more on the van again, and Mike stood near it while Eddie disappeared into the back of it. Baiting them would keep the focus where it needed to be.

Possibly not that much though, as his father took a step closer, “You aren’t leaving. What money do you have to-”

“Quite a bit actually. Or did you assume the jobs you forced him to get paid nothing?” Robin was at his side now, Nancy’s handbag under her arm.

“Odd accessory choice. She got one of them?” He quietly asked, knowing that Nance was still likely to have two guns in her bag.

He didn’t need her now before turning back to his parents. “Also Grandfather died. I know you were far too busy for the funeral but I inherited a far amount from him despite you never allowing him contact. Guess you never were god.”

His father tried to retort, but didn’t get a word out. His mother simply levelled a judgemental look at him, one he hoped nobody suggested was similar to looks he pulled, before heading into the house, “And that was your Grandfather’s failing, wasting funds on untrustworthy youth. I shall be ensuring none of our things are taken.”

Once his parents were inside, Robin and Eddie were leaning on each of his shoulder’s, nail bat left leaning against the doors to the truck with Mike. “Wait, did you really inherit from your Grandad?”

“Yeah, we wrote letters for a while. First did it after finding his address, half sobbing cause they’d abandoned me. So many tears cried over such worthless people.” Steve replied, “I found better easily.”

/\

“Steven.” His mother called, stopping him from climbing into the van, some letters in hand. “Why are all these utility companies saying they’ll be cut off from tomorrow?”

He blinked at her, continuing to sit down. “Because I saw through you. You tried turning them off ages ago just expecting me to pick the bills up, so I did. And now I’ve told them all I, the bill payer, will no longer be living here. They were very understanding.”

With the door shutting Eddie had them on their way to the apartment they’d gotten. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be far more of a home and a family than he was leaving.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Four: Desolate Days

Heiress of Gotham

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: It’s time. The funeral has finally come around. While the expected have shown up, will the unexpected lead to loose threads in your life? It'll certainly raise questions, that's for sure.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Funeral, Depression, Threats, Crying, Angst,

Mentions of: Death, Bodies, Trauma,

A/N: While this chapter is angsty, and the next one contains some twists and turns, I promise it'll actually start to become more fun around chapter six once the reader gets settled into her new life!

It wasn't easy, not by any means; a week full of setting up a funeral, at fifteen, for your mother... the only real family you've ever had. Sure, there were close family friends in your life, but they weren't a constant presence, not like her. All that flew out the window when you'd been orphaned, and now, who knows what will become of those relationships. You figure, only time will tell.

As for the actual events, tonight is the viewing, followed by a dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant you guys used to love, and tomorrow morning is the burial. While there'd been lots of talk about who would come and what it would mean to them, and you, the conversation never fully came to any certain conclusion.

You don't know and aren't close with your new siblings, and while from a publicity standpoint it makes sense they should come and show their support, your Father is really the only person who knew your Mother. Even then, how well did he truly know her? The question stands. With all this in mind, you know that Bruce is accompanying you tomorrow, and by extension, Alfred too. That much you're clear on.

Money is a tough subject. Isn't it for everyone? While you weren't rich growing up in Bludhaven, you also weren't in the degree of poverty that some are, either. Nevertheless, funerals you quickly learned, cost a lot of money. You'd think it'd be one thing to bury someone in your backyard (if you had one, that is), or even toss them in the dumpster (not that you'd do that), or even set them afloat on the river and nearest ocean (that either), yet, the government wants their money. That's always what it boils down too, doesn't it? Regardless, Bruce had been suspicious when you brought up paying for the funeral. He offered, and while you'd argued for a good half hour, you'd finally compromised with him.

He wants to pay for the funeral, and you can keep the money you--somehow--have for college. Apparently, he expects you to do that now, as well. Not that college was outside of the question before, but... you still have three years to think about it, don't you? All in all, he let you pick out what you thought your mother would like, which, ultimately sort of became what you'd like... right? Besides the preferences in her will, there was still the matter of some sort of plaque or headstone, obsidian or silver... the works. Trying to keep money in mind, you didn't go crazy, but you did let him deal with it while still trying to give her at least something fairly nice.

It all happened so fast, really. Picking out everything, setting things up, and sending out a message so your family friends would know when and where to show up to pay their respects if they wished to do so. Not many people knew about your recent transfer of guardianship, or rather, to who. And while there had apparently been somewhat of a civil kerfuffle with your mother's best friend in an attempt to waive Bruce of his fatherly duties, Bruce apparently decided to claim custody of you. That's what social services naturally thought was the best fit for you.

"You don't have to go in if you don't want," Dick speaks up from behind you.

Standing outside the doors to the funeral home, you know that all too soon the doors will open up for her viewing and you won't be able to escape. Regardless of how many people show up, you'll be met with stories, jokes, emotions, conversation, and things you're just not ready to handle. Staring at the doors, Damian walks past you, soon followed by Tim as they make their way to the door.

"Sure she does. Maybe not now, but sooner or later you have to," Tim offers you with a sympathetic smile, "otherwise you'll never forgive yourself."

"That's just his regret talking," Jason accuses as he straightens the lapels of his black vest and follows the younger boys. "You do what you want, kid." A pat on the back, he too heads inside, leaving you there, Dick still lingering over your shoulder.

"It's your decision," the Detective reminds you with a sympathetic and encouraging smile before pushing open the doors to the funeral parlor.

Standing there in your short black t-shirt dress, the hem whips in the wind as a storm brews in the distance by the Fawcett-Bludhaven border, eventually destined to head your way, closer to the ocean, no doubt. Though you're adorned by a simple black headband, the accessory doesn't keep your hair from hanging around the frame of your face, eyes glued to the fancy sheen of your church shoes: a pair of black mary-janes. 

"Are you second-guessing?" The gruff voice of your Father emanates from your side and you raise your eyes to meet his face. There's a forlorn and distant look in his eyes as he stares ahead at the double doors leading toward the place you know the two of you will be met with a familiar face.

With a subtle nod, he mirrors your action, a clearing of his throat as he straightens his tie. "I can't say I blame you. Though, I can make you an offer," he proposes. As he turns his head, you're met with knowing blue eyes, a hint of what you swear is mischievousness behind them. "If you ever need to bail, why don't we have some sort of code? A code word, what about that?" He expands, the furrowed brows on your face cluing him onto your thoughtful mentality.

"I have to think about it," you respond quietly, eyes roaming the property. While Bristol is an eclectic part of Gotham for sure, this part of town feels somewhat desolate. The nearest and nicest open-plot cemetery to Bludhaven, it was a compromise on everyone's behalf. Not far enough from Bludhaven to feel unlike home and lack a means of public transportation for those in need, and not one of the buildings in the city that are more mausoleum-like, an option you hadn't wanted to consider. She deserved something better. A rumbling of thunder echoes throughout the landscape, the sky growing dark in the distance; eyes brought to the weather, your mind churns. "What about... 'Blizzard'?" It wasn't totally innocuous, yet it wasn't entirely improbable either.

"It'll definitely be interesting to see how we manage to work that into conversation naturally," Bruce jokes, to which you offer him a quiet chuckle, the inkling of a smile working its way onto the corners of your lips.

"Is that okay?" You ask, unsure if he approves.

"Blizzard it is," the Billionaire agrees, stretching out a hand in a semblance of kinship. With a moment of consideration, it doesn't take long for your hand to meet his in conciliation. With a firm shake, you both turn to enter the parlor side by side.

--------

Hand clutching the prized middle-school graduation gift you'd received from your Mother, a golden chain necklace with a teardrop image of La Virgen on it, you subtly run it back and forth along the chain where it rests on your sternum between your collarbones. Despite uncomfortable conversation and questions, you hadn't needed the code word. The attempt to try and visit your Mother before the service was unfruitful, people having shown up earlier than expected, others wanting to set up and you consequently helping like the obedient little girl you often were. Nevertheless, even now with only family members remaining, you still stand at a distance where only her hands propped up on her waist are visible.

Bruce had gotten by through making conversation, trying to get to know you and your acquaintances through their association and knowledge, though their questions often turned on him. Upon the revelation that you're not only now, but always have been a Wayne dawned on them. The natural questions would tend to follow. 'How well did you know her? Were you close to her?' As much as the Playboy would love to admit he didn't know your Mother on the level it would seem most people assumed, he also knew that sort of answer might tarnish any image of your Mother that these people already had in mind. Hence, he tended to use his usual tactics of evasion in a similar manner to any gala he'd attend.

The boys ended up doing recon in some sense, all in their own versions. Damian had intended to simply find a nice corner to sit in and text Jon about the plans for their next hangout and fill him in on the dreadful activities he's been put up to on the behest of his new 'sister'. If he could even call you that. Tim hadn't been filled in on the situation concerning your little expedition with Jason and what the elder had found during that time, so when Dick naturally seemed curious and a little too snoopy for his taste in concern of the event, it was only upon questioning his brother that he found out about the circumstances.

Dick went into this with the hopes of finding out information on your family, on what you all knew, the type of people you were, and what they knew specifically about you and your Mom. That much cash laying around even with the excuse of not trusting banks, in Bludhaven of all places, was ridiculous. Especially for the job he dug around and found out your Mother had. Therefore, he took to subtly interrogating people under the guise of attempting to get to know his new little sister better. 

Jason had intended to go only on the purpose of supporting you, and watching his family in suspect, considering they've all seemed dubious of your Mother and your family's involvement in some sort of criminal activity. While he'd been curious, watching you, talking to you, he's found that there's probably not much further whatever 'secret' your family is hiding goes. Sometimes people do things they need to do to survive, and if he's heard any stories about your Mother this evening, he'd suspect that's it.

Damian eventually caught wind of Grayson's not-so-subtle tactics of questioning people, and decided his evening would be much more fruitful doing exactly what his brother was doing, only in a more professional manner. After all, once he'd rounded the parlor he'd seen his Father doing the same thing in his own fashion, therefore, he can't be mad at them for doing the same when he's the one who's supposed to be setting the example, right?

Oblivious to your new family's motives, you try and work up the courage to say goodbye to her... to her face. Evading the happy images that filter through wild transitions on television's slideshow to the right, you run a thumb over the memorium card you'd taken. Even if they were for everyone else, you still wanted one. Room practically empty, you finally take the leap and close the space between you and the open casket.

Immediately you have to avert your eyes. It's... too painful. Yet, another curious part of you tempts you to take another look. Upon second glance it simply appears as if she's sleeping. Peacefully. There's no lacerations or marks, no sign of any sort of ill-wrought event, and yet, you know the wiser. "I hate this," you whisper through your teeth, jaw clenching in an attempt to keep your tears at bay. "It's not fair. I don't know why... why it had to be you." With a sniffle and a heavy sigh that bobs your shoulders, you reach out and place a small hand on her larger, and eerily cold hand. "I wish I could ask you, that I could talk to you- that you could tell me why- why you never told me! I don't- I don't want to do this but I know I have to, and he's giving me... all you ever wanted for me. I-" Breath coming quicker, you have to force yourself to speak the next words, determined not to break down in front of everyone. "Te quiero mucho, mamá, te extraño, y vas a recordar para siempre." With a gentle squeeze to her hand, you turn and head for the doors, eyes downcast as you avoid everyone.

--------

Somehow, the universe always reflected its events; while it’d been mostly thunder and heat lightning the night prior, this morning the dark clouds have been pouring rain. Alfred had gotten you up, though really you hadn’t slept much in anticipation of what today would hold. Having been dressed for some time now, all you’ve done is sit at the window seat and stare outside, watching the rain pelt the earth repeatedly, unyielding in its triumph. You can’t help but think it’s like life, forceful until the end, when it eventually wanes and succumbs to a stop. Maybe you’re overthinking, but with everything that’s been going on… you don’t think you can help it.

“Hey,” your Father’s voice calls from the door, a gentle knock on the wood follows as he continues to open it and step through the threshold. “Are you ready? Breakfast is waiting, and then Alfred’s gonna take us,” he informs, “the boys are going to join for breakfast, but then it’ll just be us, alright?” 

Before he can get too far into the room you rise from the window seat and tear your attention away from the gardens. With a nod, you meet him halfway and follow downstairs.

Breakfast is mostly silent, as you’re sure no one is quite certain what to say. If they could say anything, that is. Hell, even Damian doesn't have a snarky remark, and Dick doesn't try and make meaningless conversation. It all comes and goes far faster than you'd imagined, though the food was delicious. With your departure and solemn looks from your newfound siblings, Alfred pulls the Rolls Royce up to a gentle stop before the Manor's fancy double doors.

It was hard to believe she was in there. Yes, you'd picked out the coffin, yes you'd seen her at the viewing, and yet... this is your Mother. The woman who birthed you, who fed you, who took care of you year after year, and was there for you no matter what. And now... she's gone.

It doesn't feel real. The rain pattering against the umbrella Bruce holds up over you. All the people who sit and stand opposite of the priest as he goes about his rites. Of course there came time for the eulogy, and while there was the option of making one yourself, you couldn't find it within yourself to do so. Like Tim had mentioned, this could be something you may regret later, but in this moment it feels like too much. There's a dull queasiness that never leaves your stomach as you stand, eyes cast downward as your hands lay clasped before you. Rain, muck, and mud cling to your black mary-jane shoes, the ground now beginning to flood as the soil's beared all it can soak up for the next coming weeks. 

People come and go, they give their well wishes and hopes for your sake, and yet you can't really put any of it to mind or manner as all you can focus on is the growing emptiness within you. This isn't how things were supposed to go. You weren't supposed to be burying your parent... not this soon. That's not how it works! 

It's the call of your name that stirs you from your thoughts. Eyes raising to the familiar face, you can't help but feel your eyes widen with the shock and astonishment that they had the audacity to visit... to stay. Yes, he wasn't a stranger; yet an acquaintance isn't necessarily a friend. The boy lifts his hands to cup one of yours between his. "I'm so sorry to hear what happened, Mi Amor, I'm always here for you, sabes," Saul says. Though there's a sympathetic look in his eyes, you don't trust him one bit. Not after he'd taken one opportunity after another and gotten trapped up with the man behind him: Antonio 'Angel' Marin. Sure, you'd dumped Saul before he'd become affiliated with the notorious Bludhaven mob boss, but it didn't do him any favors holding company like that. 

As Saul leaves you and heads toward the line of black cars along the cemetery road, you dread the man next in line. "It's an unfortunate thing, losing a mother," Angel speaks, "looks like luck had its way with you though, getting you out." From the outside it might seem inappropriate, or perhaps simply a mistaken and poorly judged comment, but you know better. Lips pursing, jaw tightening, you don't dare let your hands form into fists as you meet the man's eyes. 

His oily face and ratty mustache meet your gaze, and you suddenly feel anger beginning to simmer in your gut. Though you're not sure why. While there'd been a time you may have considered him a family friend, a protector, a genius, and a revolutionary... those times have gone. He hadn't done your family wrong, in fact, he'd done nothing but try to help you and your Mom out of poverty, and yet... there were always strings attached. Neither of you had seen them at first and once you'd wanted out, you'd luckily gotten out without too much of a fight. Thankfully, unlike some of the stories you've heard, and yet, somewhere within you the anger persists. Maybe it's the smug look on his face, his taunting words perhaps, but whatever it is, he irks you.

"Don't go gettin' into any more trouble, ya hear?" His thin voice lets out a wry chuckle and he lays a pat on your shoulder before you can dodge it. Watching him leave with his trail of two or three choice goons behind him, you can't help but feel like he'd only come here for one thing, and one thing only... to taunt you. Was it a warning? A sign? A way of telling you that without his protection you were doomed? Leading a life toward failure? Only to end up like your Mother? No... no, that can't be it. There has to be something else, that can't be it. 

"Do you know him?" Bruce asks, finally speaking up for the first time since the service ended. He'd seen the whole interaction, he knows who that man was... but he doesn't know if you do. Not truly, anyway. Even if the grimace and shiver that'd run up your spine was visible from the way you attempted to evade the evil man's touch. Eyes peering down at you, he's disturbed by the lack of eye contact you make. Maybe he shouldn't be... you haven't been talking or interacting as much as you had been in the days leading up to this, something that's normal, he can only imagine.

"Once," you respond faintly. Eyes coming back to the rolling hills of the cemetery you watch the rain continue to pour. Life doesn't seem to stir here, no sight of sneaky intruders like squirrels, doves, or robins, no other patrons coming to visit their loved ones on a day like this. Thunder cracks overhead, and the diminishing sound of tires on gravel signals the Angel's departure. With a thick swallow, your hands finally ball up into fists. A single tear finally breaches the confines of your eyelid and slips down your cheek. With a heavy sigh you turn, meeting Alfred who stands a few feet behind the both of you. Stomping over to him, you grab the bouquet of flowers you'd all picked up on the way. "If you want to say anything... here," you announce over the sounds of the thunderstorm. Undoing the plastic and rubber bands from the store-bought bouquet, you hand both the men a single flower. Determined that the rest should belong to you, you head over to the grave, uncaring if you get wet any longer as you're no longer under their umbrellas.

Though your teeth hurt from the way your jaw is clenched, you can't help it as the tears start to flow more freely. With everyone gone, you don't mind being here alone. Placing the flowers atop your Mother's casket, your hand lingers on the polished wood while your free hand hangs onto the necklace your Mother had given you. "I can't do this without you," the words come in a whisper, your head almost meeting the wood before you think better of it. You don't want to appear a broken-down mess in front of the men watching. "I don't know what t-to do."

Raindrops soak your hair, coat your dress and shoes, your socks have splashes of water and freshly cut grass, not to mention that your face is covered in a mixture of raindrops and tears. A few moments of silence is all you need before you finally gather the courage to say one last goodbye and turn away, heading down the hill back toward the car before the storm gets worse.

------

"Dick... there's something you should know," Bruce mentions quietly. It's obvious from his behavior that he's upset, that this won't be a long conversation. "Antonio Marin was at her funeral. He came up to her and spoke something cryptic. I asked her about it and she said that she knew him once. I know I asked you all not to dig around, but, this is in your territory and I thought you should know." Evading his son's eye contact, he straightens his tie and sniffs, still clad in his tuxedo from the funeral. "I'll see if I can get any more information out of her, but... I don't want her caught up in this... I don't-" he sighs, finally turning to meet his son's gaze again with a look he's only seen once before, "-I don't want her getting hurt."

"I... understand." With a nod and a sympathetic look upon his face, the younger man stretches out his hand to lay it on his Father's shoulder in a small form of comfort. He knows Bruce well enough to know that anything too grand would steer him away, and while the thought of another child getting hurt at his behest unburies all the trauma Dick knows Jason's death had brought him, Dick knows they can't change the past. "I- we won't let that happen. I promise you that, Dad."

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

hog taglist: @luvly-writer , @clairese1980

[morganbritton132]

I remember a while ago Steve wasn’t letting go of hope for his Mom showing up because he said she’s always late. Does he hit a point after that where he starts to admit maybe she isn’t coming? How does Eddie handle it?

@mcneen asked: Was there ever any further discussion between Steve and Eddie when Steve’s Mom didn’t show up, and Steve was like “oh she’s going to be late, she’s always been late”? I love love this series and check for more updates every day, thank you so much for writing it!

I’m going to kill two birds with one stone here since these two are asking for similar things

—

He always knew that she wasn’t coming.

He has known it every time he’s extended an olive branch just to watch it wilt and rot, and he knows that his friends and family think that he’s in denial about it. He knows that they have worriedly whispered conversations about him, but they don’t get it.

Yeah, it would be less heartbreaking to just give up but it wouldn’t be easier.

The Buckley’s are amazing parents that still send care packages to their daughter and call her every day for a month leading up to her birthday. Wayne took in his nephew when he didn’t have to and stood in defense of him against an entire town. Joyce – Jesus, Joyce Byers went to hell and back for her son. Hopper, Claudia, Sue, Karen… they’re all amazing parents, and you know what?

His mom was amazing once too.

And he knows. He knows. He knows. He knows how untrue that statement really is. He’s been in therapy long enough to know that he had a bad childhood and his parents were neglectful, but he cannot rectify that with the little boy inside him that loves his mom to pieces.

In the same way that he will always be sixteen years old and scared of the dead girl in his pool, he will always be small, waiting by the door for a mother that always eventually came home. Though, he knows.

He knows that seasons change and old injuries never heal quite right, and it never really mattered if his mother came home because she was always leaving but… But she was never outright cruel.

His father was a mean man that demanded perfection and belittled anything less than that. He was a unhappy man that fostered an atmosphere so hostile that his only son barely dared to breathe in his presence, and his mom. Well, it wasn’t her fault that she didn’t know how to be a mother.

But she was there. Sometimes as the silent observer, sometimes disinterested, but always the one to say, “Enough.”

“Enough,” she said after Barb’s disappearance, after the phone call from the police, after the lecture that turned physical. She stood between them with her hand pressed against her father’s chest and said, “That’s enough. Steven, go to your room.”

“Enough,” she said after the final rejection letter, after the job at his dad’s company was rescinded, after he was told to get a job or get out. “Enough, James. What is all this yelling going to do? It will not get him into college.”

“Enough,” she said after Steve stood his ground and took back nothing when he told them that Eddie was not just a friend, that he loved him and for the first time ever, it felt like someone loved him back. After the fighting, and the yelling, and being kicked out, she finally uttered, “Enough.”

About insurance.

His father stripped him line by line of everything he has always known, but insurance was where his mother drew the line. They all new that he would never be able to afford his medication without it and, “God forbid, he have a seizure and get another kid killed, Jay.”

The last conversation Steve had with his mother was at his father’s funeral. He said she looked well given the circumstances and she said that he should really do something about all that gray hair.

So, no. He’s not expecting her to show up. He never really is, but he wants it. He wants it so bad and it all kinda comes crashing down around him one evening after Eddie casually mentions that Wayne called earlier, “He said you’re getting better at speaking on camera.”

“What?”

Eddie explains that Wayne caught Steve’s interview about his YouTube math tutorials going viral. Steve asks how a man living in Florida manages to watch a local news broadcast from Illinois, and Eddie says that he looked it up online. Steve asks, “Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s proud of you,” Eddie says simply.

Something just cracks and the next thing either of them knows, Steve is crying. It’s kinda funny how wide Eddie’s eyes go, but Steve can’t even laugh about it because he feels like he’s going to drown inside himself.

It takes time and a lot of coaxing for Steve to get to a point where he tell Eddie that he’s sad. He just doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do to make her want to see him. He doesn’t know what he did that was so wrong that she can’t forgive him and why – “Why can’t she just love me?”

Eddie tells him firmly, “Stevie, baby. I want you to listen very carefully to me, okay? I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life, okay?”

Steve nods.

“You did nothing wrong,” He says, and Steve just – he can’t believe it. He can’t believe that because then there’s nothing he can do to fix it and he – “Tell me this, Steve. Tell me what Erica Sinclair – Lady Applejack herself. Tell me what she has to do to make you consider cutting contact with her? What’s the least she’d have to do? Think about it an give me an answer, sweetheart.”

Steve things about it and eventually settles on, “Open the Upside Down on purpose.”

“Have you even opened a portal to a hell dimension on purpose then, babe?”

“Ed-“

“No, I want an answer,” Eddie says. “Have you ever purposely ripped a hole in the space-time continuum to an alternate reality?”

“No.”

“You ever do something worse than that?”

“I- no? Eddie-“

“Then it sounds like the problem is with your mom and not you,” He answers. “It sounds like she needs to get over her own fucking issues, and I know. I know that fucking sucks, Steve, but you cannot spend the rest of your life blaming yourself for her unwillingness to grow as a person.”

Eddie wipes the tears from his face and kiss the tip of his nose, and Steve admits, “I’m still sad.”

“I know, baby,” Eddie tells him. “That’s okay.”

Steve doesn’t know how much time lingers between them in silence, just that he’s tired the way he always is after he cries a lot. He’s about to tell him that he’s going to go to bed when Eddie states, “Joyce still lives in Hawkins, right? I’m gonna call her and see if she’ll beat your mom up.”