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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months ago

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 10: Nobody Likes You, Everyone Left You]

A/N: I sincerely apologize for the delay, but Maggie Sundays are back, besties!!! And we have a new poll! Be sure to check it out AFTER you finish Chapter 10 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title and chapter title are lyrics from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

Here’s how it happens.

Let’s say you’re on a subway, or at a bus stop, or walking in or out of a grocery store, maybe fumbling with your purse or corralling small children, or talking on the phone, or wondering how you’re going to make rent, or trying not to drop one of your shopping bags, and out of nowhere some stranger lurches over and grabs you. They are filthy and noxious and moaning, and you assume they are insane, or on hard drugs, or maybe both. Your fellow upstanding citizens rush to your aid and the assailant is apprehended and carted off, unbeknownst to you surely to infect many more blithely unaware victims.

Maybe you notice that you were bitten, even just barely, even just a scrape of the teeth hard enough to scratch the skin; maybe you don’t. If you do notice and you seek medical attention, the best a doctor will offer you is disinfectant and antibiotics, maybe a rabies shot if they’re extra ambitions. Perhaps you have too much on your plate already without a detour to the doctor’s office (or perhaps you don’t have medical insurance), and you opt for at-home remedies, a vigorous scrub with hydrogen peroxide and a large rectangular Band-Aid slapped on top. Of course, none of this will do you any good. It was over the moment a drop of zombie saliva slipped painlessly into your bloodstream and began to replicate there like an invasive species, like an insurgent force. It only takes once.

You go home, and maybe when you start to feel really bad you call an ambulance and go to the hospital, and when you turn you bite anyone you can get your claws on there. Maybe you die at home and then attack your partner, your children, your parents, your roommates; maybe this new version of yourself ends up chewing bits of gristle off the bones of your dog or cat or ferret. And if any of your victims manage to escape once you’ve gotten a taste of them—no matter how fleetingly, no matter how trivially—they are sure to die in agony and reanimate too, and to pass along this plague you’ve gifted them, the bloodiest game of telephone.

Now millions are getting sick, fevers, headaches, purging, bleeding, but where do people go when they need a doctor? The hospitals are overrun, the clinics are swarmed, and doctors and nurses are falling ill too. There are unimaginable reports of the carnage. There is censorship to smother the panic. There are public figures vanishing from sight. There are zombies-in-progress boarding planes, checking into hotels, tottering onto cruise ships with armfuls of luggage, sweating through their bedsheets in crowded military barracks, silently ticking timebombs as the world as everyone knows it hurtles towards its end.

You would be amazed what people can refuse to believe. Once you believe something, that makes it real.

~~~~~~~~~~

There are no shovels, so Cregan tills the earth with his axe and then you dig with your hands. There are no headstones, so Rhaena finds a large sand-colored rock and writes on it with a jagged piece of slate: Baela and Briar, Summer 2024. Then she hesitates, the slate hovering in afternoon air, amber sunlight and eighty degrees, dust thick in the wind. She wants to say more. There needs to be more. How can two lives end with five words? At last Rhaena adds: Mother and child who perished en route to California. They were loved. They mattered.

“That’s good, Rhaena,” Luke tells her, voice gentle, hands on her shoulders. She stares at the grave for a while, and you don’t have time to waste; the bear could return, there might be wolves or mountain lions, eventually the sun will set and you will be stranded in an infinite darkness like the ocean at night. But Aemond waits until Rhaena is ready. She tucks the shard of shale into her backpack, and then you are fleeing once again: from this day, from this world.

You hike back to I-80 and walk west towards the next ranch. All of you are here in south-central Wyoming, and yet none of you are: you are in the earth with Baela, you are back in Nebraska where Jace died, you are in Ohio where he was swept away by a river, you are in Pennsylvania where you and Rio climbed down from a transmission tower, you are in your lives before the world ended: Saratoga Springs, Boston, cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean, a part of Kentucky called the Wildlands. Aegon is limping along on his own and shoving Rio away each time he tries to pick him up.

“Stop,” Aegon says, wincing and exhausted, his bandages coated with dust.

“Come on, Honey Bun. You’re going to rip your foot open—”

“Stop it!” Aegon demands. “I’m not going to slow you down anymore! I’m not going to be a burden!”

There is a sound you don’t immediately recognize: a rumbling, a squealing. A car is pulling up alongside you. Instinctively, you unholster one of your M9s and raise it as you turn.

“No, no, no, we’re cool!” a woman says, showing you both of her hands. She is around fifty and driving a Subaru Outback; there is a man in the passenger’s seat, perhaps her husband, and two wide-eyed, hoodie-swathed teenagers in the backseat. “Are you…are you guys okay?”

All of you stare blankly at her: shellshocked, distraught, covered in dirt and blood. “Yeah,” Daeron says eventually.

The woman peers around, east, west. “Do you have a car or something?”

“We have a Tahoe,” Cregan says. “It’s out of gas.”

“We have a few cans in the trunk,” the Subaru woman replies. “I can give you one, five gallons. That will get you to Rock Springs, and you should be able to find more supplies there. We came through that way, it wasn’t too bad.” And then, before anybody can ask if she’s serious, the woman steps out of the car and opens the hatchback. She lifts out a red can and hands it to Rio, who is standing the closest.

“Thank you, lady,” he says, astonished.

“I’m sorry about that,” you tell the woman, meaning the fact that you were prepared to shoot her.

Rhaena adds: “We’ve had some…bad experiences.”

The Subaru woman smiles. “Haven’t we all. Where are you headed?”

“West Coast,” Aemond answers quickly: vague, guarded, inviting no further disclosures.

She nods; she can’t trust you, and you can’t trust her, and everyone agrees, an unspoken acknowledgement of what the world is like now. “Well, you don’t want to go anywhere near Salt Lake City.”

“But that’s the only direct route,” Aegon says, crestfallen.

“I know.” The Subaru woman is sympathetic. “And it’s going to burn a hell of a lot of gas and time to drive all the way around, but you have to. There are tens of thousands of zombies, and a lot of people are trapped there without fuel. I’m telling you, if someone sees you driving by in a working vehicle, they’ll try to put a bullet in your head so they can take it. So don’t give them the opportunity.”

“Okay,” Aegon says glumly, already pulling his map out of the pocket of his khaki shorts to plot a new course.

“Stay far away from Chicago,” Rio offers the Subaru woman in return. “And any nuclear power plants.”

“We’re headed south,” she says, then grins. “I’ve got a sister in eastern Tennessee. We’re going to learn how to fish and cook moonshine and make clothes out of deer hide, and live up in the mountains where nobody will ever bother us.”

People glance at you, the resident Appalachian; and you remember the crackling of woodstoves, flecks of ice in the creek, kicking up snow as you ran through the woods, following tracks of deer and opossums and raccoons. “It’s a beautiful place. I think you’ll like it.”

Rhaena asks the Subaru woman: “Is there anything we can do for you? To thank you for the gas?”

“Oh, I couldn’t take from a bunch of bloodied people who are stranded on the side of the interstate.” But her eyes catch on the pistol in your hand and stay there, envious, longing. You have another, so you give it to her.

“The safety is on. There are only nine bullets left, unfortunately.”

“That’s nine more than I had before,” the Subaru woman says as she takes the U.S. Navy’s standard-issue Beretta. Then she says to everyone: “Good luck.”

“Same to you, ma’am,” Cregan replies. The Subaru woman gets back into her car and disappears eastbound with her family. The nine of you that are left—ten, if you count Ice—trek back to the Tahoe, where Rio pours five gallons of combustible liquid gold into the gas tank.

Rhaena climbs into the driver’s seat and turns the key in the ignition. The rust-red Tahoe growls to life, the engine idling. Then she rests her arms on the steering wheel and breaks down sobbing. In the passenger’s seat, Aegon looks up from his map—which he is annotating with a glittery green gel pen—to gaze at her with shining, wounded eyes. After some hesitation, he extends a hand to hold one of hers. From the seat behind Rhaena, Luke is rubbing her shoulders and murmuring words you can’t hear.

Aemond says softly: “Rhaena, you can take some time if you need it.”

“No,” she insists, her voice quivering but determined. “We can’t wait. We have to get as far as we can before dark.” She shifts the Tahoe into drive, guides it onto I-80, and speeds west towards Rock Springs and the Utah border.

Rio is saying something to you, but at first you can’t grasp it. Helaena is scratching Ice’s ears as the massive grey wolfdog lies sprawled across her lap. Daeron is sniffling and wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his orange t-shirt. Cregan is talking to Aemond about needing to find an auto shop so he can get supplies to change the Tahoe’s oil and filter. One of Aegon’s mixtapes whirls in the CD player:

“My face above the water

My feet can’t touch the ground, touch the ground

And it feels like I can see the sands on the horizon

Every time you are not around…”

You are watching Aemond, your heartbeat growing loud in your ears. He won’t look at you at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

As the sun begins to set, you find a vacant house on the outskirts of Coalville, Utah overlooking the Echo Reservoir. You wash away the remnants of Wyoming in the cool blue water, dried blood and caked-on dirt, hopes eclipsed by horror. Dinner is soup spooned out of cans from the pantry—Dinty Moore beef stew, Campbell’s condensed chicken noodle—and caffeine-free sodas, Sprite and Fanta and Seagram’s Ginger Ale. Then Rhaena and Luke go straight to bed, and Helaena scuttles through the house with a flashlight to search for clothes, making each person a separate pile on the dining room table: large flannel shirts for Cregan, pastel-colored polos for Aegon. Aemond and Cregan are outside on the front porch, Daeron is carving sticks into arrows on the kitchen floor, Aegon has been passed out in one of the children’s bedrooms since Aemond debrided his burns again and dosed him with the last of the Vicodin. Fortunately, Helaena found a translucent orange prescription bottle of Tramadol in the upstairs bathroom, so Aegon won’t have to suffer too much tomorrow.

Rio tosses and turns on the living room couch. You know what’s wrong, but you have to wait for him to say it. You stay with him, kneeling on the beige carpet in the murky artificial luminance of Rio’s Moonbeam flashlight, threading your fingertips through his dark curls. And then at last Rio asks something that you know must have crossed his mind a thousand times since you left Saratoga Springs, but he’s never voiced aloud: “What if Sophie and the baby are dead?”

“They’re not.”

“But you don’t know, nobody knows—”

“Bryan, they’re not dead,” you say, and he is listening.

“I joined the Navy for Sophie.” And of course, you’ve heard this before. “I was just a stupid kid who couldn’t commit to anything, not work, not school, not a future with her, so she dumped me. And I decided I was going to get her back by proving I could make commitments after all. I could sign my life away for five years, and come out of it as someone who would be a good husband and father. And now…what if by enlisting and being so far away when everything happened, I abandoned her? What if…what if she’s gone, and she died terrified and in pain and alone, and I’m the reason why?”

“Sophie and the baby are waiting for you in Odessa. You have to believe that until we get there.”

“Because if they’re not, my life is over?” he asks bitterly, this man you have never known to be wrathful, defeated, weak, hopeless. But these are beasts that live inside all of us, waiting to be shaken awake by the perfect string of calamities.

“I believe they’re still alive.”

And Rio looks at you, wanting desperately to be convinced. “Why?”

You’ve never believed that you are someone who knows the right things to say; but you have to try. “If your parents’ community in Odessa is like you’ve always described it to me, I can’t think of a better place for someone to hide from all the disorder and the violence. It’s remote, but there’s support from other families who are living the same way. People have gardens, cows, goats, pigs, chickens, enough canned food to live on for years, homemade clothes and systems to collect rainwater. There are women who’ve had five homebirths and men who’ve built houses with their own hands. And the people in Odessa have guns and know how to use them. I think when you told Sophie to go there, you saved her life. And now she and the baby are both waiting for you to come home.”

“We’ve crossed this country by raiding dead people’s homes.”

“Yes. And we’ve seen plenty of living ones too.”

Rio takes a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling; and now he is calmer. “Okay,” he says, grabbing your hand where it rests on his head and smacking a noisy kiss onto your knuckles. “I’m sorry. Thank you. I think I’m done freaking out for tonight.”

“You good?”

“I’m good.”

“Try to sleep.”

Obediently, Rio closes his eyes, and within five minutes he’s snoring.

You rise and open the door to the front porch, thinking of what you’re going to tell Aemond when he is low, distracted, wary: You did everything you could, Aemond. It’s not your fault. It’s this world, it’s poison, it’s cursed, and you can’t turn back the clock to when it wasn’t. You’re just one man. But you can try to save the people who are left.

Yet Aemond does not speak to you, doesn’t even notice you; when you peek outside you are on his blind side, and he is deep in conversation with Cregan as they keep watch in the moonlight.

“I mean, yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too, man,” Cregan is saying. “A mansion by the ocean sounds nice and all, don’t get me wrong, but that ain’t me. I don’t see myself somewhere like that forever. Hell, I’ve never even seen the ocean, and to be honest I never really cared to. But a community of folks who are living off the land out in the woods? Those are my kind of people, that’s a place I could be useful…”

You retreat back inside the house, flashlights and shadows, doubts and fears. You stand there in the quiet for a while, then go to Aegon’s bedroom, where he is awake now and snuggling with Ice in a child’s bed shaped like a red racecar, listening to his pink Sony Walkman—Ava, the gleaming rhinestones proclaim—through one earbud.

Aegon coos as he ruffles the dog’s shaggy grey coat: “You’re so sweet, Blue Raspberry Icee. You were always my favorite flavor. Do you miss 7-Elevens too? Wrinkled old hot dogs and taquitos on rollers, drenching tortilla chips with the nacho cheese and chili dispenser? Did you guys even have 7-Elevens in Iowa? No offense, but your home state kind of sucks. It’s just fields and barns and whatever. You would have loved Boston. You could have fetched my golf balls when they rolled into ponds.”

Then he sings along to the song he’s listening to, effortlessly melodic but so softly you can barely hear him:

“You really had me going, wishing on a star

But the black holes that surround you are heavier by far

I believed in your confusion, you were so completely torn…”

Aegon spots you in the doorway. He smiles, then turns serious when he gets a good look at your face. “You okay, Mint Chocolate Chip?”

He feels like the only person you can say this to. You confess in a weak, hoarse whisper: “I hate this world.”

Aegon offers you the other earbud. “Then let’s go somewhere else.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on,” you say to Rhaena as Rio and Luke rummage around inside the Shell gas station for food, drinks, batteries, medicine. You know they’re fine; you’ve already cleared the store, and you can hear them in there laughing. Rio is telling Luke about the bizarre Thanksgiving dinner you once had in Chinhae, South Korea: duck instead of turkey, fried rice with pears and squash instead of stuffing, candied sweet potatoes for dessert, a choir of solemn schoolchildren brought in to sing—for reasons you will never understand—Africa by Toto. You take your remaining M9 out of its holster. “Target practice.”

“Really?” Rhaena asks excitedly. She volunteered to stay back at the little blue mobile home with Aegon, Daeron, and Helaena—only a mile away—but you knew she needed a distraction. Truthfully, you do too. Aemond is in the Tahoe somewhere searching for gas with Cregan, a strange new alliance. He still hasn’t really spoken to you. You are trying to give him what he needs, but you don’t understand what that is.

It took all of yesterday to navigate around Salt Lake City, stopping every few hours to scrounge for gas, gallons siphoned piecemeal from cars, trucks, motorcycles, boats on trailers, four-wheelers left forgotten in garages and backyards. It was after nightfall when you rolled into Battle Mountain, Nevada, a gold mining town in what is known as the Cowboy Corridor, beginning at West Wendover just over the Utah border and ending in Reno. Today supplies must be replenished; tomorrow I-80 will take you to Winnemucca, where U.S. Route 95 branches off north towards Oregon while remaining on I-80 leads southwest through the Sierra Nevada Mountains and into the Bay Area of California. A decision needs to be made, which means Aemond will have to talk to you tonight. You’re relieved. You don’t want to have to be nervous and watchful with him, studying every inflection of his voice, reading some dire premonition in each line that creases his face. You’ve spent enough of your life that way already.

Battle Mountain is cloudless and hot and sandy, dry shrubs and gnarled mesquite trees, flat secretless earth. Staggering towards the Shell are three zombies, all dressed in faded blue uniforms like a mechanic’s or a miner’s. You hand Rhaena your M9.

“How many bullets do you have left?” she says, still a bit giddy.

“Fifteen. And you can have five of them.”

She raises the pistol and closes one eye. “I’m going to miss.”

“Well you’re not going to hit anything if you don’t turn off the safety.”

Rhaena giggles. “Oh, right. Whoops.” She clicks the tiny lever, then takes aim again.

“Line up your sights. Front looks like an I, back looks like a U. Put the I in the center of the U, and keep looking at that front sight. That’s where your bullet is going. Don’t blink when you fire. Don’t be scared of the recoil, that’s not your problem, your priority is getting the shot. Your arms are a little stiff…yeah, perfect, nice and limber. The recoil won’t hurt so much that way. Don’t try to fight it, just accept that it’s going to happen. If you’re all tensed up because you’re anxious about the recoil, it’ll throw off your aim, so forget about it.”

“Okay,” Rhaena says. “I am actively attempting to forget.”

“Remember, try not to blink.”

“Don’t tense up. Don’t blink.” A few seconds pass, and she pulls the trigger. There is a spray of dark curdled blood from one of the zombie’s collarbone, but it’s still stumbling towards the Shell. “Damn,” Rhaena says defeatedly, then tries to pass the M9 back to you.

“What are you doing? You have four more shots.”

“But I’m going to miss. I’m going to waste them.”

“Practice isn’t wasteful. You have to know how to do this in case something happens to me.”

“You do it,” Rhaena insists. “I’m terrible.”

“Is it alright if I help you?”

“Yeah,” she says, her doe-like eyes brightening. “Okay. Totally.”

“Go ahead and aim.”

She raises the pistol and peers through the sights. You stand behind Rhaena, place your hands lightly over hers, adjust her angle just barely. When she fires—she’s still tensing up just before she pulls the trigger, a common mistake—you hold the M9 steady. The bullet explodes through the same zombie’s rot-soft skull and the corpse tumbles facedown into the dust.

Rhaena gasps, exhilarated, triumphant.

“No celebrating yet. There are two more.”

“Right.” Very businesslike, she lines up the next shot. You provide your slight adjustments; a second zombie receives a lethal dose of lead.

“Want to do the last one on your own?” The third zombie is quite close now, maybe ten yards. It should be an easy kill.

“Okay…but if I miss, you have to save me.”

“Obviously.”

All on her own, Rhaena aims and pulls the trigger. She hits the zombie near the top of its head; an inch higher, and it would be functionally unharmed. But the corpse’s skull snaps back and its blood and brains spill out onto the asphalt of the parking lot, and it is of no further danger to anyone. It is carrion for the scavengers: raccoons, foxes, condors, vultures, crows.

“And with one of your allocated bullets to spare,” you say with a smile, accepting the M9 when Rhaena surrenders it. “Good progress.”

“That felt great,” she admits, perhaps a little dazed.

You know what she means. “It’s nice to have some control over what happens in your life.”

Luke is saying to Rio as they reappear from inside the Shell: “Maybe those Korean children were singing Africa because they knew your unit had been in Djibouti. Maybe they thought you were homesick for it or something.”

“Oh my God, you know what, kid? You might be right. I never even thought of that.”

“Find anything?” you ask.

Rio shrugs, adjusting the straps of his backpack. “A few bags of trail mix, a box of Band-Aids, some Life Savers, cans of Arizona tea. Oh, and Marlboro Golds for Honey Bun.”

“You shouldn’t be encouraging Aegon to smoke. It’s bad for him.”

“Give him a break, he’s sad and crispy.”

You can’t think of a rebuttal. The four of you walk back to the mobile home.

In the small patch of parched dirt that serves as the driveway, Cregan is—with great difficulty—shimmying out from beneath the Tahoe. Then he reaches back under to grab a pan of old motor oil. “Just about done here,” he announces. “Gotta put the fresh oil in and then we’re set for another 5,000 miles.”

You glance around. Ice is panting in the narrow aisle of shade of a mesquite tree. Aegon is napping on the tiny front porch, sprawled on his back and snoring, his plastic neon green sunglasses shielding his eyes; Helaena is surrounded by a jumble of empty cans and stirring a pot of Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meatballs as she heats it over a fire. She begins dishing out bowlfuls of it. Rio, Rhaena, and Luke all graciously accept their dinner.

“Did you guys find gas?” you say to Cregan.

“Not much. A few gallons.”

“Where’s Aemond?”

“Said he’d be back soon.”

“What?” You are incredulous. “You left him? He can’t be alone out there, Cregan. Someone has to watch his blind side.”

“He ain’t alone. He took Daeron.”

“What’s Aemond looking for?”

“He didn’t say. I didn’t ask.” Now Cregan is pouring a bottle of Pennzoil into the Tahoe, and Rio is prodding you with a bowl of Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meatballs, and Aegon is waking up and yawning loudly.

“What’d you bring me?” he says, lazy and grinning; and when he receives his pack of Marlboro Golds, he immediately sticks one between his teeth and lights it. Luke goes to sit by a shrub and then jumps up when he hears a rattling noise. Almost too swiftly for you to process it, a streak of red-gold scales slithers across the earth and vanishes into the desert.

“Western diamondback rattlesnake,” Helaena notes. “Venomous. Potentially fatal.”

“Great,” Luke says, carrying his bowl towards the front door of the mobile home. “I think I’ll eat inside.”

Aemond and Daeron don’t return until shortly before dusk, the sky turning to rust, lavender, gold, fire, blood. When they walk in, Rhaena is curled up on the floral couch—shredded in spots by a cat, though there are no signs of it now—and reading Mockingjay. Luke is sitting with her and keeping watch with periodic peeks out the window. Ice is resting with her muzzle propped on her large front paws. You, Rio, Cregan, Helaena, and Aegon are playing Uno on the floor.

“What color?” Aegon asks Helaena when she puts down a wild card.

“Blue.”

He groans. “How do you always know what I don’t have?!”

“Rhaena,” Aemond says, and then tosses something to her that glints in the artificial, sickly yellow radiance of the flashlights. She catches them in midair: a set of keys. She is mystified.

“What are these for?”

“The Ford Expedition that’s parked outside.”

“What?!” Luke says, twisting around in his seat to snatch the curtain aside and peer through the window. “Oh wow. Yeah, it’s out there.”

Rhaena is staring confoundedly at Aemond. “Why do we need a Ford Expedition?”

“Because that’s what you’ll be driving tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with the Tahoe?”

“They will be driving the Tahoe to Oregon,” Aemond says, pointing to you, Rio, and Cregan. “We are taking Expedition to California.”

Everyone is too stunned to speak at first; even Daeron looks at Aemond doubtfully, as if this is the first time he’s learning of it. Aegon’s hand hovers frozen in the air above the draw pile of Uno cards. Ice whimpers.

Rio chuckles uncertainly. “You’re…you’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not,” Aemond says. “When we leave Battle Mountain tomorrow, you’ll take I-80 to Winnemucca. We’ll take Route 305 south to Austin and then head west so we can get off the interstate and avoid the Reno area.”

Your voice comes out dark and poisonous. You can feel your eyes glaring, searing; Aemond won’t look at you. “What are you talking about?”

“We can’t stay together?” Luke asks.

“No,” Aemond says again, and now he’s getting impatient. “We have two different destinations. That’s been the situation since the day we met, and now it’s time to split up.”

“Why can’t we all travel to one place and then the other?” Rhaena says. “We could drive to the Bay Area, see what’s going on at the beach house, and after—”

“I can’t wait,” Rio interrupts. “My wife and baby are in Oregon, I’m going straight there even if no one else is.” As distracted as you are, you touch your palm to one of his broad shoulders. You’re going too. You promised.

“So we’ll drive to Oregon first,” Aegon says agreeably. “Right? We could do that. Go north and then swing by the Bay Area later.”

Aemond shakes his head. “It’s almost impossible to find gas now. There is just enough in the Tahoe to last it until Winnemucca, and just enough in the Expedition to get it down to Austin. There is no guarantee we’ll be able to find more. Every day there’s less gas and food and bullets, because there are less places that haven’t already been looted. There are 400 miles between where we are right now and either Odessa or San Franscisco. There are another 400 miles that separate those two destinations from each other. So let’s say we drive all the way to Oregon and then can’t find any gas to go south to the Bay. How long do you think we’d last like this on foot? A month? Because that’s how long it would take us, assuming not a single rest day. So if we travel to one location together, there’s a good possibility we’ll all be trapped there.”

“Maybe I’m okay with getting trapped in Oregon,” Aegon mumbles.

Aemond lashes out fiercely. “Are you serious? What about Criston, what about Mom?!”

“Maybe there are some things about home that I don’t miss!”

“Then go the fuck to Oregon!”

“You know I have to stay with you!”

Aemond scoffs. “Because you’re so capable of protecting anyone.”

Aegon rubs his sunburned face with both hands. He murmurs softly, miserably: “I’m trying, Aemond.”

“So that’s it?” Rhaena says, staring at you and Rio and Cregan, stunned and mournful. “We’ll just never see each other again?”

Aemond shrugs and averts his gaze. He doesn’t have an answer; maybe he doesn’t care.

Aegon turns to Cregan accusingly. “You helped plan this?”

“Nah,” Cregan says, avoidant and downcast, which is unusual for him. “I mean…I said I didn’t really see myself spending the rest of my life with a bunch of millionaires in a California mansion on the seashore, and that’s still true. I’d rather live in Oregon with people who are more like me. But that’s different than wanting to split up forever. I could always try to find y’all later for a visit, I guess…”

“Sure,” Aemond replies briskly. “Whatever you decide to do afterwards isn’t my problem. But you get them to Odessa first.”

Rhaena bursts out with sudden urgency: “This feels wrong. Don’t you see how this is wrong?! We’ve been through so much together, and now we’re just going to wave goodbye and disappear? Leave them to fend for themselves?”

“You want to add 400 miles to our trip?” Aemond asks her, and Rhaena falls silent.

“You know,” Luke begins. “We…we’ve already lost people. Maybe Aemond’s right. Maybe we’re forgetting how dangerous the world is now. It would be great if we could stay in contact, but the most important thing is to get everyone safely to where they need to be.”

“Exactly,” Aemond says, and something jolts awake in you as you remember what he told you in Nebraska, and in Wyoming, and in so many quiet moments that you’ve shared since you met, each an oasis in the desert. He said we would figure it out. He said he wasn’t going anywhere.

“So you were lying when you pretended not to know what we were going to do when we got to Nevada.”

Aemond nods towards the front door. “Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

You stand up; Rio watches you apprehensively, wondering if he should follow. Your eyes flick to his. I’m fine. He relents, redirecting his attention. Aegon is slumped and despondent; Helaena is starting to cry, and Cregan tries to console her. She’s saying that something bad is going to happen, but she doesn’t know what.

On the porch of the mobile home, beneath a lilac sky pierced with stars, Aemond does not attempt to hold your hands or kiss you goodbye or give any other indication that you have ever been someone who mattered to him. “This isn’t personal. This is what gives everyone the best chance of survival.”

“You’re afraid of making a mistake and getting hurt,” you tell him. “And I understand, I know what that feels like, but Aemond…with the way the world is now…you can’t afford to wait for things to happen or cut them loose to see if they’ll come back to you. You might not get another chance.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Aemond says flatly. “Your route is safer than ours. Less cities, less zombies.”

“You’re honestly going to act like you are completely unbothered by the thought of never seeing me again?”

“I don’t know what you expected. I’m just some guy who helped get you off a transmission tower back in Pennsylvania.”

“Really? That’s all you are?”

And then Aemond smirks to himself, a cynical, mocking twist of his lips, something so dismissive and so cruel you almost believe for a razor-thin second that you could hate him. “Look, I’m not the one for you. Go to Oregon. Fuck Cregan.”

“There is nothing romantic between me and Cregan!”

Now Aemond seems annoyed. “Well, you two seem exceptionally suited for each other.”

“Because we both grew up shopping at Dollar General and know what it’s like to have an alcoholic parent?! That makes us soulmates, that’s the end of the calculation?!”

“Then find a man like him!” Aemond flares. “That’s what you really wanted, right? That’s what you were after this whole time. Some hero to convince you he’s worth it. Someone to break you in.”

You are seething, thunderstruck. “And you just said that in the most hurtful way possible to…what, prove how little you care about me?”

“I didn’t say I don’t care about you.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“We were never going to end up in the same place.”

“Except we were, you told me that, you told me we’d figure something out, I mean, you…you…you said you’d be there if I wanted kids someday, what was that if not some kind of commitment?!”

“You don’t trust me,” Aemond says, so sharply and so abruptly it startles you.

“I do,” you object softly.

“No, you don’t. And I don’t blame you. But there’s nowhere for us to go from here.”

You can feel yourself becoming young and powerless and desperately afraid. “Please don’t do this, Aemond. It won’t bring Jace or Baela back. If we don’t have a plan before we split up, this is over. We’ll never find each other again. We’ll never have another chance.”

And he shakes his head like this was such a needless mistake. “I knew you’d fall in love with me.”

He’s leaving, you think, hazy and omnipotent like a nightmare, the present inseparable from the past and the future. I left my family and now my family is leaving me. “I’m not in love with you,” you reply as ruthlessly as you can. “I think you’re right. Cregan is a better man.”

“Yeah,” Aemond snaps.

“And I need someone like him.”

“Yeah,” Aemond says again, staring into the west where the last rays of the sun are sinking below the horizon, you erased as you stand where his left eye would once have seen you.

“And you need someone who’s going to fuck with your head so much you can’t possibly mistake it for something real.”

You walk back inside the mobile home and leave him speechless in the dying light.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I drew this for you,” Aegon says, handing Rio a folded piece of paper torn from Helaena’s spider notebook. It’s a map, illustrated in forest green gel pen ink. “Your route is actually really straightforward, it’s impossible to get lost. You’ll follow I-80 northwest to Winnemucca, then Route 95 north until it intersects with Route 140, and you stay on 140 all the way to Odessa. The only real city you’ll go near is Klamath Falls in Oregon, and I’ve marked that. Route 140 mostly stays along the outside, but you can cut it wider if things look dicey. The whole trip is just a couple days by car, assuming you don’t have to spend too long hunting for gas. But listen…” He points to the green dot labelled Winnemucca. “Between here and Denio Junction up by the Oregon border, there’s 100 miles of nothing, just desert. So make sure you have more than enough supplies to last you in case something happens. Then from Denio Junction to Adel is another 85 miles with no towns in between. So just…be careful, okay? You’re not back east anymore. Things are a lot farther apart, and it’s harder to find everything. If you run out of gas or bust a tire, you can’t just call AAA to come pick you up.”

“We got it,” Rio says, touched but trying not to dissolve into too much sentimentality. The three of you are standing in the short dirt driveway the next morning, Aegon putting most of his weight on his good leg. Cregan is waiting behind the wheel of the Chevy Tahoe that once belonged to his parents. Ice is peering out at you through one of the rolled-down windows. “Thank you, Honey Bun.”

“No problem. Now flip it over.”

Rio does; on the back of the first map is another, this one from Odessa south to the Bay Area, a place just north of San Francisco called Bolinas.

“Go all the way to the coast and follow it down,” Aegon says. “You don’t want to bump into Santa Rosa, Sacramento, Stockton, Modesto, San Jose, any of those places. Too many people.” Then he smiles, kind and warm. “I’m going to see you guys again, one way or the other. But first I have to make sure Aemond is safe. And Rio has to meet baby Otter.”

Rio laughs. “Man, don’t even joke about it. I’m seriously concerned that’s my firstborn’s name.”

“If you end up not staying in Odessa, leave me a note carved into a tree trunk or something so I can track you down.”

“You do the same at the beach mansion.”

“Totally.” Then Aegon turns to you; and although he’s still smiling, his eyes—those pools of murky, melancholy blue that remind you of the Gulf of Tadjoura, Corpus Christi Bay, the East China Sea, the Indian Ocean—are catastrophically sad. “Tortilla Chip, it’s been real. Don’t forget about me.”

“I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”

He pats your backpack and winks, and you don’t understand why until ten hours later when you’re lying on the rooftop of an abandoned RV in Winnemucca, Nevada, gazing up at the stars as Rio and Cregan swap stories to weave affinity until it’s thick like a braid: Rio hiding a dead lemon shark in the Jeep of an officer he hated when you were stationed at Key West, Cregan’s fiancé leaving him after she got a field hockey scholarship to the University of Iowa. You haven’t found any gas for the Tahoe yet. You’ll have to search again tomorrow. You reach into your backpack for a pack of Life Savers and instead are surprised to discover Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman. The rhinestones spelling out a doomed little girl’s name glint in the moonlight.

You slip in both earbuds and press play. Aegon left it paused at an Enrique Iglesias song; you assume he must have been thinking of Rio.

“You look at me and, girl, you take me to another place

Got me feelin’ like I’m flyin’, like I’m out of space

Something ‘bout your body says, come and take me

Got me begging, got me hoping that the night don’t stop…”

You try to see constellations in the night sky instead of random, indifferent distant suns. You try not to remember the way Aemond was when you thought his mark on you was permanent.

“Girl, I like the way you move, come and show me what to do

You can tell me that you want me, girl, you got nothing to lose

I can’t wait no more

I can’t wait no more…”

You spot a glimmer of light among the stars and choose to believe it is a comet rather than a fighter jet, or a forgotten satellite, or the refracted remnants of a solar storm, or something you only imagined and that never existed at all.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n

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magicbystarlight · 2 months ago

Text

Star Crossed — Prologue

Hux x Reader, Ren x Reader

Summary: Years after leaving behind your life as a Jedi, an unexpected encounter forces you to confront the past you wanted to forget. Divider.

Warnings: 18+, canon-typical violence, sexually explicit scenes later, additional warnings as needed. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 1.1k

Lieutenant Atrox stalks through the halls, his face pulled taut with displeasure. It’s an expression you've grown familiar with in these last three months. You’re on his heels, nonetheless, with a datapad clutched tightly to your chest.

The Lieutenant and yourself had only arrived on board the Finalizer the night before from the Exheres System. He had spent the the time drunk while you spent it combing through three years worth of trade routes, ship manifests, store inventories, and planetary exports. It had been to quell the nagging feeling you’d gotten during a review of the last audit of an inconsequential clothing shop on an inconsequential planet, but it had paid off.

"Please, sir, if you would just listen I can—"

"I don’t have time for your theories. Ren will be here at any moment."

An unnecessary reminder. The headache that plagues you is evidence enough that the Sith had already boarded and subjected some poor soul to the Force. A day early of his expected arrival. Normally, you'd have found sanctuary far from any Force User. Twice before you'd been on the same vessel as Kylo Ren and twice before you'd shoved yourself into a dark corner far, far away. But this is important.

You hope.

"But I found it, sir. There's a bimonthly shipment of polyfibe that—“

“Polyfibe is the most common fabric in the galaxy.”

The hallway ends at two large doors. They open with a whoosh, revealing a room with a long table. It’s thankfully still empty. “It is, but it can’t be made on Sentrena which is where the shipments originate. Or any of the planets in that star system. They don’t have the proper resources or machinery.”

His steps came to a halt with a defeated sigh as the doors shut. “Could it be imported and shipped from there?”

“If they wanted the price quintupled.”

“Some people are stupid with their money.”

“Yes, but,” the datapad lit up as your fingers work deftly to bring up the list, “there’s no inventory of polyfibe or anything made of polyfibe in the shop.”

He takes the offered tablet, eyes roving over the list. His brows scrunch and he shoves it back into your hands. "When is the next shipment?”

“Today.”

“Send a squad to intercept.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

His fingers grip your upper arm, pulling you back harshly as you try to turn. “You better be right about this or you’ll find yourself shoveling shit somewhere for wasting my time.”

A nod in understanding is all you muster before he releases his grip. Scurrying away, the door barely opens in time for you to squeeze through. Or at least, you thought you had before you collided with a solid surface.

With a glance up, you meet the icy gaze of General Armitage Hux. A scowl adorns his face as it has in every hologram you've ever seen of him. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

You can hear the sneer in his voice as you continue past him. "I'll never understand why we use civilians for secretaries."

—

"Chromafiber?"

The hologram of Sergeant Eviena is shaky, but her voice comes through clear. "Yes. It appears they were making suits of it."

You nod, pacing the small, sterile office. “For camouflage. Stealth suits.” Chromafiber is expensive and difficult to work with in unskilled hands. "The best money could buy. Who are they for?"

"They wouldn’t say, but" she reaches into her pocket and produces what appears to be a clothing patch with a familiar, flame-like insignia, "we found a batch of these hidden away."

It’s the worst case scenario. You expected smuggling of some sort, perhaps avoiding taxes or bringing in some other outlawed substance. But they’ve been providing a lethal advantage to the Resistance, possibly for years. “Detain them. Send me every file you find. On the ship, in the shop, on any droid. Everything."

Despite you having no authority to give such commands, Evenia nods. “Yes ma’am.”

The hologram dissolves and you’re left alone once more. You don’t linger to soak in the victory, retracing your steps across the ship to where the meeting had been taking place. It’s been nearly two hours since you left and you've heard nothing on comms about them being finished. By the closed doors and the sweating lower officers waiting just beside them, it’s safe to assume the meeting continued. The pain in your head is dull. A good sign. Perhaps Atrox will be in a decent mood for once.

You wait, leaning against a wall further down a hallway that leads the opposite way of the docks. Two dozen reports have already chimed on your datapad. They’re easy enough to run through the programs you’d created to find key phrases, locations, names, patterns, etc. There’s nothing the programs recognize in them, but names pop out to you as you skim. They’re all common names. Too common.

Fake names designed to be overlooked. You’ll have to consider adding a program to make sure something like this isn’t missed again. You pull information aside as you continue to scroll, letting it drop in a new document for later review. No matter how well they hid their connections, there was always a trace left behind.

A commotion has you looking up. The doors open and the sounds of someone in hysterics floods the corridor. A man backs out of the room, pleading. Only one person inflicts that sort of fear. You don’t have time to flee.

Pain erupts in your skull. Blinding, burning white pushes from every corner. Something cracks. You try to resist, to push back against the Force, but it’s too much, too close, too late. A locked door that had held for more than a decade splinters and explodes beneath the pressure. The pain disapperates, but it’s no relief. Every part of the world around you turns bright and vibrant, connected and overwhelming. A sense suppressed for so long snapped back like a rubberband.

There’s a hand on your face. Green eyes boring into yours. "I love you." Brown Eyes. "Stay with me." Yellow eyes. Blinding red.

Gasping, ragged breaths drag air back into your deprived lungs. Cold seeps through the gloves. Your hands are on the floor. Shattered datapad between them. Black boots behind it.

He sinks to his knees. “You’re alive.” The robotic overlay can’t hide his surprise. Fingers on your chin make you stare into the abyss of a mask. Kylo Ren. But beneath the mask you feel him. A twisted, darker version, but still him. Alive.

Ben Solo is alive.

#general hux x reader #armitage hux x reader #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #star wars x reader

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purelyfiction · 10 months ago

Text

A Shot In the Darkest Dark

Benedict Bridgerton x (F) Reader

Summary: An agreement of terms that are not favorable for your future leads to conversations, moments of stiff air and inconsistency, walls and held hope.

Word Count: 2,393 Words

Author’s Note: welp I bet none of y’all saw this coming now did you, i guess you could call this a prologue to irreperable? thanks to the little bird in my inbox for this!! - arranged marriage, tension and fluff, all the fun things

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

You’d just wish they’d cease the deliberations already. The walls of your family home seem to rattle and shake as the booming voice of your father comes from down the hall. Not even an hour prior a letterman had come to the door with a very detailed and lengthy compromise scrawled into the ink.

It wasn’t unknown to your mother or yourself that your father had been making questionable investments as of late. So much so that he’d begun to fault on payments he’d owed. The moment that he’d understood what the letter was detailing, he ushered you from the room, needing to discuss with your mother what he’d read.

However, you were not one to be left out of major implications, especially one where you’re not to be in the presence of the employed deliberators. That usually never bode well for you. An ear pressed to the rather light doors allowed you to catch the quick whispers of your name, a debt and a wedding.

Then your mother had launched onto a defense for your position, which was incredibly brave of her. They were still locked into their counter points to one another when dinner was called. Your mother, flush in the face, can barely look your father in the eye. Meanwhile, he is too busy shoveling the meal on his plate into his mouth to invite a conversation between the three of you. That doesn’t stop you from inciting one.

“Am I to just be left out of the running? Is there secrecy amongst us?” You knew the response already, it was your attempt at jolting your father into confession.

“Your father is shipping you off to London.” Your mama, always the curt one. Silverware clatters to the table and you meet the eyes of the only man in your life in hopes for an explanation. He fumbles on his words for a few moments before he can finally manage to get out the events that were unfolding.

“Your mother- I- we have been discussing the manner of our finances. As you know, we are facing a testing set of circumstances and… my partner was kind enough to offer a solution that does not involve a trade of currency.” This partner, however, was the son of his former partner. Your father had been evading this debt for years before the son had come across the missing funds. A conversation last week had revealed the hand that the Amberley house had been facing. The solution? A union of the second eldest son and Lord Amberley’s only child, his daughter - you.

Before you knew it, you were being shipped off to a home in London in order to prepare for a wedding that you had mere days to come to terms with. Stood in a shop with a French woman who wouldn’t dare say more than four words to you with your mother and soon-to-be mother in law in the room, you’re questioning exactly what you’re being greeted with.

At the very least, your new husband’s mother was a rare gemstone to be found. The woman had greeted you at the shop, by name, with a host of gifts for you and your mother (which was less than anticipated, considering you were approaching with very little to offer on your end) and then began to launch into tales of her family. A very large family, in fact, with children she was immensely proud of, fiercely dedicated to and overly enamored with. It did not come to be ungenuine though, not in the manner of people attempting to piece together some falsity in hopes to cushion their luck. No, no, Violet beamed as she spoke of her eldest daughter, now a duchess, her first grandchild - how she would be certain that her next one would have a great father on their side. Seeing that their father would be your husband.

Kind, charming, educated and brilliant, she said. Devoted to studying his passion for artistry and poetry, well versed in the society standards while also being an entertaining chap. There wasn’t a poor thing mentioned in terms of this gentleman. Even when the older women had slid out for a breath of air, the modiste mentioned how incredibly stunning the family was, including your groom.

Over dinner that night, you’d meet your fiance. Not a soul that had spoken of him had been exaggerating. Benedict Bridgerton was exactly as he’d been acclaimed to be. He graciously made his introductions to you and soon after made you chuckle with the comment he’d made under his breath. As you waited for the dinner hour to approach, he guided you around his family’s home.

“This home is so very far removed from what it once was. See, Daphne, Francesca and Elosie all used to share their quarters with one another when they were younger, as there were only three designated spaces in the home and well, my parents were rather the love birds, it would seem.” You could not fault yourself for the way you grinned at his stories. They continued as you approached his own quarters, littered with canvas and paint jars, the smell of turpentine overwhelmingly hitting your nostrils.

“I’d assume that you’d like children of your own? Your mother spoke very highly of your characteristics that would aide you in fatherhood.” His chin tucks over his shoulder in your direction, facing out the three panels of glass in the middle of his room.

“I do not believe that is… solely my decision to make, Ms. Amberley.” Feet stay planted despite their wish to step back in sheer surprise.

“Implying that you might forgo raising your own children? You speak so highly of your nephew, not to mention your siblings-”

“That is the furthest thing from what I am implying.” He cuts you off a moment, a swift apology leaving him for doing so. “What I am implying is such that- it is a discussion I wish to involve my wife in.” The manner in which he speaks it is solemn. Benedict’s feet come to a chair, where he settles for a moment, looking anywhere but the direction in which you stand.

“You wished to marry for love, did you not?” Your question catches him by surprise, leaving his eyes training forward to engage with yours.

“Well, I certainly did not anticipate my marriage to be a settlement for my father’s books. Not ever did I prepare for such a thing.” Slowly, you draw near, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Nor did I.” The pale color of his irises come up in your direction, moving in time with his hand which takes yours.

“I am sorry that I have stripped you of the opportunity, Ms.” Your brows furrow as you shake your head.

“No, do not fret with such things Mr. Bridgerton. The choices have been made, there is no value in dwelling on matters we cannot manage by our own volitions.” The way his facial expression softened at your reassurance let you know that Benedict would always be compassionate toward you. If not as your husband, as your friend.

In three days time, the fanfare of the ceremony and following celebrations arrived just as you had in the glimmering showcase that was the carriage that the Bridgertons owned. The chapel was adorned in the most wonderful arrangements of flowers and foliage you’d ever seen. Coming from a countryside village there were countless items you’d never seen prior to today. The vivid colored flowers in your field of view being one of them, the intricate weaving pattern of your gown another, the ornate and sizeable stones on your neck being the final thing.

Benedict had insisted that you borrow the jewels from his mother’s collection. If you were not to have the spouse you desired, he was determined to make the rest of the day match the expectations you had conjured in your mind. He had been sincere in the conversations regarding your nuptials, even more so on making you as comfortable as possible.

The ceremony was rather quaint. It consisted of both your families, the extended and the near, a few family friends on your groom’s side. Your father did not work efficiently enough to keep very many friends. It would seem your luck would change as your last name did.

Benedict had taken it upon himself to write his own vows, something he mentioned he had hoped to do one day in brief conversations leading up to the event.

“My darling. I fear as though we embark on one of the most uncertain paths that the Lord provides for us in this life. For that is what He does, after all. He surrounds us with the light of the sun, the life of the botanicals that grow below us, the coursing of the rivers at our side, the family that resides behind us. He provides us with the fruits of His plans he intends for us. He provided me with the gracious woman that is you. As rushed and incredibly daunting as this may be for the two of us,” Benedict’s hand slid into yours, beginning to play with the gemstone soldered to the metal looping around your ring finger, “I pray that it is enduring. That it is kind. That it is joyous, prosperous and pleasant. That the days that result from our union be filled with contentment and merriment, from now and until our souls come to join Him.”

They were beautiful. So meticulously crafted, and well intended as the two of you began the vow of spending the remainder of your lives with one another.

Frequently they chase through your mind these days, walking around the home that Violet had insisted you take upon yourselves. The walls of books, the windows of light that brought you breathtaking familiarity of the countryside you’d grown to love - the dedicated quarters that Benedict had aided you in decorating to your every whim.

The brunette had done every service to aid in your comfort with the marriage enacted. Beautiful gowns from the latest fashions, halls and gardens to lose your time into, countless hobby pools to pick from in waning afternoons, there was no shortage of effort from your husband.

Your conversations were always well mannered, filled with little details of your past lives, stories of friends and siblings, rumors and fairytales from youth. Routines were built between the two of you, including that every three nights, Benedict would sit with you and read the words of the material you’d chosen to you.

Tonight was one of those nights. Benedict lounges out on the chaise, jacket long gone, supple adorned vest and matching kerchief around his neck loosened from the days works. His words are joined with the chirp of evening sounds from a cracked window to aid in the circulation of the house. Your hands stay busy with a needlepoint project. The characters he speaks of are discussing the name of the child that’s been born. You implore your thoughts forward.

“Ben?” His head shifts to look from the parchment and toward you at the use of his name. It was a name that his mother never used, nor his siblings rarely. Perhaps it was just you that had coined this shortened version of the Christian name he’d been given. “Do you suppose we should discuss children?” Blue eyes return to the page in front of him. Given the timeline since your wedding, it was not an unjustified question. You were aware that should the next time you return to London, his mother would be rushing up to you like a hunting dog, ready to drag the kill in from the woods to show off to the ton.

“Do you wish to discuss it?” His eyes barely glaze over you before he slides a ribbon into the split of the book, covers coming together, the book leaving a hefty sigh on the table next to him upon contact.

“I worry that it will be questioned the next time we are seen. We have not entirely been honest with one another over the subject.” There were plenty of things that hadn’t been honest in terms of your marriage the last few months. How Benedict and yourself had their own sleeping arrangements. That you saw each other maybe once or twice a day at mealtimes, save for the nights where it was explicitly discussed you’d be joining the other in leisure times.

Benedict has grown quiet, which is a very odd state for the husband you have come to know the last weeks. This time, you set your own busywork aside, keeping your eyes toward him as he rests in contemplation.

“I wish to have children of my own. Though, I know the process is… taxing on a woman,” the pillow under his head shifts to look your direction, eyes finally coming to meet with one another for a rare occurrence. They do not avert in quick fashion either. The admittance of a family was something you dwelled on with semi-frequent behaviors. After all, one can only do so much knitting of babe-wear before picturing the scene for themselves. You dwell in the wonder of it all as you keep each other held without touching either one of you.

Would they look like their father? Behave like him? With the amused twinkle in their eye when a jest is made, a twist of words, stories with outlandish accents and impossible daydreams… would it be so horrible? To wake in the night with a small babe as they cry out for their mother, held in the warmth of her breast, comforted by her scent. You ached for such a life, one you were cheated of the moment the emerald slid to your hand. A very heavy hand that seems to burden you daily.

“My wife.” Benedict’s voice comes to the room, echoing off of bound paper and golden embellishment on the walls. You tilt your head with a soft grin.

“I am sure we will come to an agreement some day, husband.” There is no need to linger on the unfortunate uncertainties between the two of you. The dark would linger where it rests, those that lived in its shadows subject to whatever hid among it.

Even the ugliest and most ferocious truths.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fic

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 7 months ago

Note

Could you do a lethal company fic where the reader has a pet hoarding bug dressed up to the nines with a little bow tie. Because we got to pick him out from the crowd right. The team is wary of the bug and wants it gone but the reader is like “No that’s my buddy, my little guy :(”.

When the team lands on a planet the little man searches the facility to find items and returns them to the front. To reinforce good behavior the reader gives them some shiny coins like pennies.

Everyone is happy the crew meets quota and the bug gets a nice hoard of shiny things.

"There you go, welcome to your first day on the job!"

Taking your hands away, you stepped back to admire your work on the hoarding bug you just brought aboard the ship, having dressed it in a simple orange vest with a bowtie and its own employee nametag.

You picked up this guy on Experimentation, and it seemed to become quite attached to you (and not because of the scrap you were carrying). Considering how docile it behaved while helping you transport items to the facility's entrance, you got an idea.

It's a crazy one, for sure..but you believed it could help your crew make the next quota.

You intended to surprise them after they came back just after sundown--yet when you opened the doors, one intern already had their shovel-in hand, ready to swing.

So to see you then stand in front of the alien had them all bewildered.

"Boss?! What are you doing?! That's-!"

"It's okay! He's friendly. Just...relax, everyone." You put your hands up, refusing to let any of them get one step closer. "He's not gonna attack us. So please, put the shovel away. You're scaring him."

The hoarding bug chittered nervously, creeping up to hug your leg as it shyly stared at the three other humans in suits just like you.

But unlike them, you didn't wear a helmet. All it could see was your stern expression, your eyes sharp and focused, and your forehead only slightly damp with sweat.

It knew you were only trying to protect it..yet it couldn't tell what the others were thinking, making it all the more anxious.

"Scaring him?!" The shovel-wielding employee scoffed loudly, not loosening their grip on their weapon for a moment. "It's us who should be scared, if anything.."

"C-Can we ask why you brought a hoarding bug onboard, boss?" An intern meekly interrupted.

Your eyes lit up as you smiled, patting the spot between the Hoarding Bug's antennae. "From what I observed..he wants to help us transport scrap. And he hasn't attacked me once, nor has he tried ripping anything out of my hands. So I deem him to be our fifth crew member. And his name will be....Buddy."

He perked up at the name, and you laughed. "I take it you like that name, huh?"

"...seriously?" The employee grumbled. "No offense, but I'd like to remember "Buddy" as my dog's name, not the name of this...pest. Is it even legal to domesticate these things?"

"Well..we have Trent." You pointed to the fishbowl resting on the filing cabinet. "And I don't see you complaining about-"

"It's a damn goldfish! A common pet back on Earth. We know next to nothing about hoarding bugs!" They snapped, frustrated. "How can you be so sure it's not gonna just steal our stuff and....and...."

However, they trailed off as they noticed your gaze become harsher. And the others in the crew knew that you meant serious business.

"I'm just saying..you're putting us at-"

"We may not know much about hoarding bugs, but we can learn from this one if we allow him to stay. I have a way to keep him in line and help maximize our quota. So have a little trust in me, okay?" You huffed. "If it's gonna be a problem..then I'll have to reassign you."

"What?! But I-"

"You're great with keeping spiders and snare fleas off our backs, Employee..I would like to keep you onboard. Just..let me prove Buddy to you. Don't make me the bad guy."

All you got was silence and a small nod from the disgruntled employee, who finally decided to put their shovel away in the cupboard.

Only then did your bright smile return. "Thank you." You clapped your hands with glee.

"So um..how will you train it--I mean him?" The other intern inquired, tilting their head.

"Two words...positive reinforcement." Deciding to demonstrate, you dug a quarter out of your pocket and knelt down beside Buddy, tapping him on the shoulder. "Hey. I got something for you as thanks for getting that rubber duck safely to our ship."

His red eyes seemed to shimmer at the little trinket you were bestowing to him, as he took it right away and stared for a few good seconds...before scuttling over to his corner of the ship. Then he placed the coin on the floor and sat there, content.

"Ohh..so you'll let him keep some things? Like he'll get his own nest?"

"I've conditioned him to admire currency more than weddings rings." You chuckled, standing back up before you headed to the terminal. "And they're intelligent enough to understand trading, so..if he does get ahold of one, we can easily negotiate."

"And I guess the clothes are self-explanatory."

"Right, gotta pick him out from the crowd." You booted up the system, checking to see which moons had clear weather for your final day for this quota.

Then you noticed one that was never there before.

"Huh..Adamance. That's a new one. It's grouped with March and Vow, so I guess it's a forest moon."

"Wouldn't hurt to venture there." The Employee remarked. "Is it free?"

"Yep. Let's go." You launched the ship and set course for Adamance, smiling back at the group--plus Buddy, who seemed startled by the suddenly jolting of the ship as its autopilot took over.

..........

"A register?! How did he manage to find that?!"

"What can I say? Hoarding bugs have their ways." With a proud smile, you patted Buddy on the head for yet another successful scrap hunt on Adamance.

He looked down at the heavy cash register in his arms, pulling the lever. He was surprised at first, but a moment later chittered with apparent delight at the dinging noise it made.

You could only grin. "See? I taught him to do that, too! Now he's officially just like us. Go put it with your collection, Buddy."

Nodding obediently, he scurried over to his "nest", dropping the register alongside some other shiny trinkets it found within the facility: a brass bell, some bolts, a cookie pan, and even a golden cup.

It seems visiting Adamance was the right decision, although the absurd amount off baboon hawks outside spelled trouble for you and your crew despite being outnumbered. During one transport trip, a few tried to wrangle a piece of scrap away from Buddy, who fought fiercely to keep it safe.

Suddenly, it dawned on you that hoarding bugs and baboon hawks never had any reported encounters with each other...so you feared the worst when you realized Buddy would be seeing them for the first time and not know what to do-

Until he managed to make himself look big by simply hovering in the air and buzzing angrily--which apparently scared off the entire horde.

The tulip snakes were another nuisance, but luckily none made him nor you (or anyone in the crew) get any airtime.

On the final trip back to the ship, you noticed he was distracted by the large inactive robot that stood by the cabin, and you had to whistle to help him regain focus..to which you rewarded him with a dime for a good job.

One of your interns opted to investigate the structure, and on the inside they discovered writing on the wall that spelled "68-ART".

As it turns out, that's a route to the moon called Artifice, with a description mentioning active "machinery", which you can only assume meant the big robot standing outside.

At the moment it was too expensive to visit, but you kept the name in your notes and praised your intern for finding it--alongside Buddy, who drew your attention to the cabin to begin with.

For now, though, you were ready to lift off from Adamance before any earth worms or eyeless dogs woke up. You definitely didn't wanna run into any of those when you collected so much scrap already.

Now all you had to do was head to the Company Building and drop off how ever much was necessary to meet this quota.

And thanks to the help of your fifth crew member, you were able to make it without losing a limb..or a life, for that matter.

#seeing this rq made me go 'yippee!!!!'#clanask #anonymous #lethal company x reader #lc x reader #hoarding bug #loot bug #platonic

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rorywritesjunk · 1 year ago

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No longer locked upon the land but free on the rolling waves

You and Buggy come face to face with himself from the past, and while you’re fully accepting that this is your husband as a child, Buggy doesn’t want to accept it.

Rating: PG-13ish, but just due to some swearing.

Warning: Upset kid, upset husband. Reader is way too nice, doesn’t necessarily take husband’s feelings into account as well.

A/N: A combined request. I did a few versions of this story before feeling like it hit the marks I was wanting to hit. Also, I’m just trying to vibe off what I’ve seen of Kid Buggy. I’m no expert. I’d protect that kid with my life. He’s so adorable. I also like the trope of “Meeting your self from another time” and “gets turned back into kid-self”. This is the former, and I know shit about time travel but I just kind of made something up. Also, kelpies. Are they in One Piece? I honestly don’t know but I love kelpies and needed an excuse to mention them.

Title comes from "Sailing Song" by S.J. Tucker.

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6/Epilogue TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @misadventures0fdes @sylum @valen-yamyam16 @dohkyu

Chapter 2

Your husband refused to speak to you until the kid was gone, but you weren’t going to put up with this. Instead, you carried on like normal, taking the kid with you as you did your tasks around the ship, giving him a tour, and when it was dinner time, you fixed his favorite meal. However, when your husband came into the kitchen, he was glaring at you.

“What’s he still doing here?”

You crossed your arms and stared at him. “I’m feeding him dinner because I’m not going to let this kid go hungry because you think he’s a kelpie or omen or whatever is rattling around in that brain of yours.” With a huff, you grabbed two plates and piled them both with food before placing them on the table. Kid Buggy was already seated, watching Adult Buggy cautiously. His clothes weren’t dry yet from earlier and he didn’t want to go for another swim.

Your husband grumbled and took a seat, glaring down at his plate of food. At least you cooked his favorite meal, must be to make up for this crap he’s having to deal with. He sighed and picked up his fork before he started to shovel food into his mouth. You rolled your eyes and fixed your own plate. Kid Buggy immediately started to do the same as his adult counterpart. His eyes lit up and he looked at you excitedly.

“This is my favorite!” He said with his mouth full of food. “How’d you know?!”

You just shrugged and smiled at him as you sat down between them at the head of the table, handing the kid and your husband each a napkin. It was a lost cause because neither of them took it from you so you set it down beside them. You tried to make an effort. “I know everything.”

Kid Buggy looked between you and your husband; Adult Buggy did the same. It was weirdly intriguing and adorable to you. You ate your own food, not looking at either of them. Once your plate was clean you picked up your husband’s napkin and leaned over to wipe his face; he rolled his eyes, mumbling something about pirates and not being scary. The kid narrowed his eyes at the two of you as you leaned over to do the same for him.

“You both wear your food as much as eat it, you know.” You chuckled as you wiped the kid’s face, and to your surprise, he allowed it a second time. Your husband was used to it by now. He may be a pirate but you still wanted him to be somewhat clean, even if it was just using a damn napkin from time to time. “Now, sweetie, remember the conversation from earlier, about who this man across from you is?”

Kid Buggy shrugged and set his fork down. “You said it’s me from the future, but I don’t like this, I don’t want to be some loser like him.”

“You little-”

“Buggy.” You shot your husband a look. “This is you as a kid, so you can’t be mad if he’s sassy to you.”

“He isn’t me!” Adult Buggy insisted. “Stop saying that!”

“Honey, it is, I know it.” You assured him. “I'll take care of him and get it all figured out, okay? I promise.”

Your husband crossed his arms and glared at you. You just smiled sweetly at him. You would figure it out, no matter what.

“No.”

“Buggy-”

“This is my bed.”

“And I share it with you.”

Your husband stood at your side of the bed, glaring down at you and the sleeping figure beside you. There was no way you were going to allow the kid to sleep with the crew, and while you didn’t talk about the sleeping arrangements first with your husband, you also couldn’t find him to talk about it. He had disappeared after dinner, grumbling once again about kelpies, omens, selkies, whatever. You didn’t even know at this point. So after you got yourself and Kid Buggy ready for bed, you let the kid tell you another story about his adventures as an apprentice before he fell asleep nearing the end of his tale. It was kind of cute.

“Just for the night.” You told Buggy as he stormed over to his side of the bed. “Buggy, why are you so upset by this?”

“You brought something onto the ship!” He hissed at you as he threw the covers back and climbed under them. “We don’t know what this is!”

“It’s you, Buggy.” You sighed as you looked down at the sleeping kid. He was sprawled out beside you, snoring loudly. It reminded you of someone else you knew. “He mentioned being an apprentice on the Oro Jackson, and… and you know weird things like this can happen!”

“Not weird like this!” He shot back. “I’m going to sleep and when I wake up that kid better be gone. I don’t care where you take him, he has to be gone.”

He turned his back to you after that and pulled the covers over his head. Okay, you weren’t really bothered by that reaction. He was upset over this but you wanted to know why. What made him so certain this wasn’t him as a kid? It made you wonder if something happened to your husband as a kid to get him this freaked out. Your husband could be stubborn but you were determined. You carefully crawled over the sleeping kid and slipped under the covers behind your husband, stretching out behind him as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Buggy, tell me what’s wrong, please.” You murmured in his ear. You felt his body stiffen up, whether from the question or you suddenly being right there, you weren’t sure, but you needed to know. “You… you seem scared.”

He turned and glared at you but you didn’t back down. “I’m not talking about it.”

Oh, well…

You rested your chin against his shoulder. “I think there’s something to talk about, honey.”

He scoffed and looked away from you, but he didn’t shy away from your touch. You leaned over to kiss his cheek, hoping that might help him relax enough to start talking to you. Clearly there was something about having Kid Buggy here that was bothering him more than the kid just “being a curse or bad omen”. It made you wonder of the possibility of other universes, alternate realities, but then you remember hearing those stories from the drunk sailors and pirates, and really, you heard enough of those stories from different places that it had to be a possibility.

“Buggy, did something happen to you when you were that age?” You asked. He tensed up once more and you loosened your hold on him, but he sighed heavily and relaxed in your arms. “Honey?”

“Stop talking and go to sleep.” Buggy replied wearily. “Please, it’s late.”

Oh, he said please to you, that meant something. You knew when to stop, and if he was using words like that it meant you had to back off, so you did. You kissed his cheek again and pulled the covers around the two of you tightly.

“I love you so much, Captain.” You whispered in his ear. “You’re the fiercest pirate on the seas, and no one ever stands a chance against the future King of the Pirates.”

That did the trick. He rolled over and wrapped himself around you, head tucked under your chin as he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as you ran your fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead. You’d have to try and ask him again tomorrow. Maybe you could get him and the kid to interact without insults and threats.

Kid Buggy, however, had stirred and woken up at that moment, hearing you say the words ‘Captain’ and ‘King of the Pirates’. Now he was more confused than ever.

You were the first one awake, which wasn’t a surprise, but what was a surprise was you were surrounded on both sides. Your husband was clinging to you like a damn octopus, arms and legs wrapped around you with his head resting against your chest. The kid was curled up beside you and your arm was holding him against your side. Did he move in his sleep or did you? It was hard to tell but you didn’t think too long at that moment. You needed to get up and start breakfast.

Not to mention they were both snoring. The kid at least was nowhere near your ear, but your husband moved in his sleep and suddenly he was snoring right in your ear. Okay, that was enough. You suddenly sat up, jostling them both awake, and their matching sleepy expressions were quite adorable.

“Good morning!” You giggled, leaning over to kiss your husband on the cheek before turning to give Kid Buggy a kiss on the forehead. You pretended not to notice the smug look on your husband’s face at being the first to get attention, but you figured the kid wouldn’t care. “I’m going to get breakfast started, okay? Both of you get dressed and come find me in a bit.”

You got up before either could respond, throwing on your clothes for the day and hurrying out the door. Hopefully your husband wouldn’t throw the kid overboard again but you knew not to hold your breath. Maybe they could have a bonding moment, or Buggy could talk to his kid self or vice versa, who knew, but you wanted your husband to be honest about why this was so upsetting and stressful for him.

They finally joined you fifteen minutes later. Kid Buggy’s clothes were finally dry, so he put those back on. Your husband had his jacket and hat on, looking every bit the dashing and handsome captain that he is. You brought him a cup of coffee and kissed his cheek, complimenting on how handsome he looked this morning. He leaned back in his seat with a smirk; the kid just looked between the two of you.

“So… do I become a captain?” He asked; you both turned to look at him. “I heard you talking last night.”

“Oh!” You poured him a cup of juice and brought it over to him, giving your husband a look that said please please be quiet and don’t interrupt let me just explain something to the kid. “Um, yes. You become a captain with your own crew and everything!”

His eyes widened and he looked at Buggy. Your husband was watching you carefully, but he said nothing. The kid actually looked impressed by that. “Is this my ship?”

“My ship.” Buggy told him, narrowing his eyes. “I worked hard to get where I am.”

“But if I’m you then it’s also my ship.” The kid said with a smug look, crossing his arms as he looked back at the captain. You chuckled softly as you served them both breakfast; eggs, toast, and potatoes. The two Buggys locked eyes for a moment before both picking up their forks and shoveling food into their mouths. It was quite a sight to see how in sync they were with their movements. You finally sat down with your own plate.

“You have to work hard to get where he is.” You said, pointing from the kid to your husband. “It didn’t happen overnight. It took a lot of work and sacrifice, y’know, usual stuff.”

“Wow.” Kid Buggy grinned. “Do me and Shanks have the ship together? Is he a part of the crew too? Where’s he at?”

Your husband stopped eating and set the fork down. He pushed back from the table and walked out of the room. It was surprising that he didn’t blow up at the kid, but you were grateful that he didn’t. The kid looked at you with a frown.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing.” You assured him. “We can talk about it later, I promise, but we got chores to do after breakfast.”

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x you #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x reader #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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Transcending Time || CL16

Charles Leclerc x princess!reader Summary: Destined to be together, you and Charles’ love transcends time to find one another again and finally get the future you never had - the one with a happy ending. Warnings: 18+ only, death (see Trigger Warning in hashtags), angst, fluff. WC: 3.1k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three

Monaco, 1662 “One day, princess, we will board a ship and find a place of our own somewhere far away,” Charles promised as he watched the sails on the horizon, his chin resting on your shoulder as you sat between his legs. In his arms was the one place you could be yourself, not the royal that was put on parade to the public. In his arms you could dream of a world where you could love him freely.

But for now you had to hide, keeping your rendezvous a secret and stealing the moments whenever you could.

You had fallen for Charles the moment you saw him stumbling with his arms full of ledgers, the papers catching the breeze that had rolled into the mariner and raining down on your head as you giggled. He hadn’t even looked up before insulting you for your rudeness and suggesting you get down on the ground and help him retrieve his father’s work as penance.

Your next laugh was hardly the ladylike sound expected of you and when he looked up his green eyes had widened in realisation.

“My apologies, princess, please forgive me,” he had pleaded as he bowed his head muttering, “I am stupid. I am stupid.”

“Blaireau?” you repeated the word he had used and his cheeks reddened. “You called me a badger?”

He scratched the back of his neck nervously and gave the smallest shake of his head. “Not quite, princess.”

That was the first of many insults he taught you since slang was not something your governess had approved of in your schooling. He had taught you a good deal about life outside the palace, but his greatest lesson had been how to love. Love had been foreign from your life until he had stumbled into it and stolen your heart, giving you his in return.

Charles kissed your shoulder and a smile teased your lips and you leaned back into his embrace. “Would life as a clerk’s wife suffice her royal highness?”

“You could shovel manure from the stables for all I care, so long as I am your wife,” you said as you turned in his arms and pushed him onto his back. “Where you go, I go.”

He looked up at you bathed in the warm afternoon sun and adoration filled the smile he saved just for you, the one that brought out the dimples in his cheeks. “One day, princess.”

“Please, mama, I have never once asked you for anything,” you begged as you grabbed her hand over the table, but the former Crown Princess of Monaco looked away with a shake of her head and slipped her hand from your grasp. Desperation grew as you looked to your brother, the Crown Prince of Monaco since your father passed earlier that year, sitting at the head seat. “Louis, don’t do this, please, I love him.”

“That is why I must, dear sister,” Louis uttered as he took a sip of his wine and returned to cutting his roast quail. “You were born to marry a prince, not the son of a clerk.”

You slammed your hands on the table as you rose to your feet. “I was born to love Charles, and I will die loving him too.”

Louis growled and his cutlery clattered as he tossed them on his plate, his short temper snapping. “Charles will hang on the morrow and that is final. There will be no more traipsing to the marketplace, there will be no more fraternising with those filthy commoners you are so fond of, or you will meet the same fate.”

Your chest puffed with the deep breath you took and when you exhaled a sense of calm settled in your soul. With quiet conviction you looked Louis in the eyes, and he frowned as he saw the fight leave your eyes. “I already have.”

You left the dining hall in a trance, your feet carrying you down the staircase and out of the front doors that the footmen opened at your approach.

Heads turned as you left the palace alone, a princess did not leave unaccompanied. Ladies stared as you grabbed the layers of skirts and lifted them off the dirty streets, a princess did not show her stockings. People gasped in shock as you shook your tiara from your head and broke into a run, never looking back.

His figure was hidden in the shadows as he lay on the rotten hay that had been dumped in the corner. The dank scents of the prison curdled the contents of your stomach and you pressed your wrist to your nose, inhaling the delicate perfume that had been dabbed there as you had been dressed for the disastrous dinner.

“Charles.”

His spine stiffened at the soft sound of your voice before he rolled over and sat up slowly. The moonlight filtering in through the small window illuminated the bruises that turned his sun kissed skin purple and sealed one eye shut completely.

“Princess,” he whispered in reverence as he surged forward, only to be thrown to the stone floor when the chain cuffed to his ankle snapped taut from where it was anchored to the wall.

“Charles!” You reached through the metal bars but your fingers could only brush his. “I’m here. Where you go, I go.”

He shook his head as he pulled himself up and stretched his leg so he could be as close as possible to you. “Not this time, my love.”

“Yes, dammit, every time!” you exclaimed as you pressed your head to the cold iron bars and choked on the sob that escaped. “I’ll not live in a world without you in it, Charles.”

“You have to.” His voice was hoarse from days without water and you wished you had thought to bring him some. “I’ll never find peace otherwise. I have to know you lived, and that you found happiness again, I know you can do it.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t. You make me happy, Charles, only you.” You pulled yourself back to your feet and called to the guard stationed at the end of the hall. “Open the gate.”

“He’s been imprisoned at your brother’s order, your highness, I can’t let him go.”

You grabbed the ring of keys hanging from his hip and thrust it against his chest. “Louis est un blaireau. Lock me inside.”

The guard blanched as you used the commoners tongue to call the Crown Prince an asshole before quickly recovering and unlocking the gate. “Let me know when you are ready to leave, your highness.” The metal gate grated sharply as it closed behind you, the keys jangling when he turned them and locked you inside.

You would never be ready.

A chill unlike any you had felt before seeped into your bones as you sat between Charles’ legs, his arms trying to share the only warmth he had to offer as they held you tight. There were no hot coals to warm the air or any comforts you were used to in the palace but you wouldn’t have traded them if it meant leaving his embrace.

You couldn’t even hazard a guess as to how far it was to dawn, but the light of the moon had faded as it passed the window and darkness shrouded the room.

Charles’ breathing was laboured in your ear and you silently cursed your brother for the beating he had ordered. All he had ever done was love you and for that he would pay the ultimate price, because you were a princess.

“My governess took me to the theatre once,” you murmured quietly. The gift had been a farewell present when you came of age and her services were no longer required, it had been mere weeks before you met Charles. “I cannot even remember the name of the play now but it was a lovers' tragedy, forbidden from seeing each other. I laughed at the preposterous idea that two people would rather die than live without the other.”

You laughed bitterly at the memory of your younger self and the naivety the sheltered girl had held before sighing. “If I were low born, how things would be different.”

“If I were a prince, how things would be different,” Charles chuckled in your ear. “But we are not, my love. Perhaps in another life we will find one another again and have the time we are owed.”

Watery light crept along the walls as dawn broke the horizon. “I’ll hold that thought in my heart.”

An escort of guards arrived not long after sunrise and you turned to Charles, memorising the sharp line of his jaw and how it was shaped to fit your hands. You combed his dark hair back from his face and pressed your forehead to his as you promised you would be with him to the end.

“Yes, Charles,” you growled as he shook his head. “My mind is made up and nothing can change it.” You took his hand and placed it over your heart. “This only beats for you.”

His tears mixed with yours as he pulled you close one last time and surrendered himself to the fate your kiss had brought. “I love you, princess,” he whispered against your lips and a soft shudder rocked your body as you feared regret would lace those words but there was only warmth in his tone. “That will never change, I swear on my life.”

The guards had pulled you apart and dragged Charles away, using their bodies as a wall to keep you from following. “Prince Louis has forbidden your presence in the square.”

Forbidden, there was that word again.

“Then I shall take my leave.” You turned your back and made your way to the stairs in the opposite direction, the guards remaining in position in case you should return. Up and up, higher and higher you climbed the worn steps, ignoring the shouts of the prisoners you passed along the way.

Your lungs burned when you finally reached the top and stepped out into the fresh air, the salt of the seabreeze erasing the damp scent that clung to everything inside. Far below you could see your brother sitting upon a stage opposite the gallows, a look of boredom on his face until the guards appeared with Charles between them.

“For crimes against the Crown, Charles, Notary at Hervé & Sons…”

The wind stole the heralder’s words away as he condemned Charles for falling in love, information that would die with him at your brother's behest. No one could ever know that a commoner bedded a princess and that the crime against the crown they spoke of was actually holy matrimony.

The air left your lungs as the thick rope noose was thrown over Charles’ head and you took a step forward, your bare feet no longer feeling the cold stones as your toes hung over the precipice of the prison.

Charles looked around for you as the hangman reached for the trapdoor release and he spotted you as the sun crested the horizon and warmed your back in its glow.

“Where you go, I go,” you promised.

Just like you had the first day you met him, you fell.

Monaco, 2023 “She’s zoned out again,” Louis sighed as he snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Hello? The drivers will be here any moment so you need to focus.”

For as long as you could remember you had these episodes, entire days were wasted away as you sat on the bay window of your room overlooking the mariner. It was like you were a prisoner in your own mind, lost and wandering in search of something you couldn’t find.

“Why must I be here?” you asked as you pushed your brother’s hand away from your face. “You watch the sport, not me.”

“It is tradition, dear sister,” he muttered as he fixed his tie. “There have always been two of us to welcome them to our beautiful home and with father no longer here that responsibility falls on you. So smile for the cameras, and whatever you do, don’t zone out.”

The doors to the palace opened and the 20 guests filed in pairs but movement at your side drew your attention away. Louis had bounced on the balls of his feet and you rolled your eyes at his excitement.

“Mother will be displeased,” you tutted under your breath. “The crown prince does not get excited, the crown prince is composed at all times.”

“This isn’t the dark ages,” he shot back before peering out the corner of his eyes. “You sound just like her.”

“Asshole, I do not!” Your elbow took a shot at his ribs but he just managed to deflect it away with his arm and a cocky snicker. “You’re going to pay for saying that.”

A warm laugh filled the air and your heart skipped a beat, the sense of familiarity stealing your focus from Louis. You found yourself watching the water once more through the open door, the ships sailing by on the breeze and longing tugged at you to follow.

“This here is our very own Monégasque, he’s even garnered the title of the People’s Prince of Monaco.”

Only one word caught your attention and you broke away from the sight outside to see who it was Louis was introducing you to. “Prince?”

“People’s Prince,” Louis clarified with a chuckle. “Charles Leclerc.”

“Leclerc? That is an old family name,” you murmured as it tugged at the recesses of your memory but you couldn’t remember why. You peered up at the man to find two striking green eyes staring back from a handsome face. “Has your family always been in Monaco?”

“Yes, as far as I know, princess,” he said politely as he gave a little bow. “How about you?” A laugh trickled down the line behind him and his cheeks burned red as he muttered, “I am stupid. I am stupid.”

“As far as I know, prince,” you teased gently.

“Shall I call a doctor?” Louis whispered as the Monegasque moved on and a Frenchman replaced him. “That was an actual smile.”

“Shut up, before you need to call one to fix your nose,” you shot back with a scowl.

“There she is,” he chuckled. “All is right in the world once more.”

“I’m done here.” The dress was suddenly too restricting and you stepped back from the man whose name you hadn’t caught, slipping away from the arm Louis tried to loop through yours to hold you still.

You heard Louis’ sigh as you disappeared behind the pillars and knew you would be due a lecture when they left. “Excuse her, she doesn’t do well with engagements.”

They nodded understandably and one commented that it must have been why you were rarely seen in public. No one would know it was because of the episodes or how they couldn’t trust your behaviour in front of the cameras. You were too erratic and unpredictable. One moment you could be the perfect princess your mother had hoped for and the next you felt like the world deserved to burn and you were ready to light it up.

Try as your mother might, she had yet to find anyone who could fix you. From psychiatrists to hypnotists, she had hired them all but no amount of medication and therapy had helped.

The moment you were free of the room you kicked off your heels and grabbed the skirt of your dress before breaking into a run. There was something freeing about going fast and it helped to draw air into your lungs when you felt as if you were slowly suffocating.

You lost yourself to the endless halls that navigated the enormous palace, direction not mattering as you let the fates decide where you ended up. You didn’t even notice that your feet had brought you in a full circle back towards the front entrance until the door to mens bathroom opened and someone stepped out, his head down as he focused on sliding a ring onto his finger.

You were on a collision course and dropped the material of your skirt from your hands to try catch yourself but all you did was get your feet tangled before crashing into him. You both went tumbling to the polished floor and a hiss of pain erupted as your ankle twisted at an odd angle.

“Son of a bitch,” you groaned and the man sat up with a pat of his body to check he was in one piece before he looked at you and those green eyes widened.

“Princess? What…oh my god! Are you alright?” Charles scrambled across the space and carefully lifted your foot off the floor, the movement making your face pinch in pain.

“Ow, I think it’s broken.”

“I don’t think it’s broken, but it might be sore for a few days.” He looked up and down the empty hall. “Should I go get help?”

“No, no doctors. Just help me to stand up, please,” you asked as you placed your hands on his shoulders and his hands fell to your waist, the warmth of his palms reaching your skin through the material.

“What were you running from?”

“Life?” You looked down the long hall lined with portraits of your ancestors, their beady eyes staring back with judgement. “It’s so slow here, I just need to go fast sometimes, or I’ll go crazy. That probably sounds stupid.”

“No,” he chuckled as he shook his head. “That makes sense to me. Can you try walking on it?”

“Fuck,” you grunted as you put weight on the joint. “No, not really.” You nearly fell again as you tried to balance on one foot but Charles’ hands stabilised you before that happened.

“Okay, uh, I’m not going to get the guillotine for touching you, right, princess?” he joked nervously as he curled his arm around your waist and took most of your weight.

You smiled weakly as his words started an ache in your chest you couldn’t explain. “Not this century at least.”

“That’s good to know,” he said with a flirty grin and suddenly the pain was gone. “Come to think of it, if you want to go fast I could take you for a lap of the circuit. It’s got to be safer than these dangerous halls.”

“So hazardous, it’s a miracle I survived this long.” You giggled at the thought, the sound absolutely foreign to your own ears, and once you started you couldn’t stop.

His lips parted with a wide smile as he listened to your laugh and he nodded to himself. “It’s settled then, princess.”

You rolled your eyes at the title you had never wanted but somehow on his lips it sounded sweet. “I do have a name, prince.”

“I know,” he winked. “Come on, princess.”

“I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?” You looked at your injured foot hovering safely off the ground. “Where you go, I go.”

Click here for part two.

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #tw: suicide #happy ending #f1 rpf #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction

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allthepeculiarthings · 5 months ago

Text

maybe i just love bellatrix too much but i am a firm believer that platonic bellamort can coexist in the background with any other voldy shipping. at the end of the day bella will always love voldemort (even if she can't get that dick), and voldy cares about her too (even if he doesn't want to admit it). anyway basically what i want to say is that more fics should have bella giving the shovel talk to harry or dumbledore or snape (she's actually canonically already given snape the shovel talk) or whoever voldemort is shipped with.

#bellamort 🔛🔝#platonic bellamort #bellatrix #voldemort #tom riddle #tagging the other ships too lol #tomarry #harrymort #ham??#riddledore #snoldemort #wtf is the snape voldy ship name #snort?#taco #because bellatrix giving the shovel talk to a terrified draco would be hilarious

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somanyratsinthewalls · 11 months ago

Note

Hello, congrats on your 300 followers! Could I ask for chocolate and daisy and/or fern, whatever suits you! 😊

I looooooove a prompt that makes Zoro feel! This was so good!

Pairing: Zoro x Afab!reader

WC: 1400

Prompt: ”Yes, I have feelings for you. Anyway. Moving on from that.”

— —

“SHIT- *crash*” Your body slams into the ground after your knife strike failed to meet anything. You raise your body up on your arms in the dirt. “Ow…”

“Another loss, little one.”

You felt the smooth, cold metal of a blade meet the nape of your neck. You roll your eyes.

“That really hurt, dickhead… thought you’d said you’d train me without killing me.” You crawl out from underneath Zoro’s blade, rubbing your ribs.

“No one is going to stop kicking your ass just because you asked nicely, y/n.” Zoro retorted at you as you picked yourself up off the ground.

“Whatever, Zoro.” You sheathed your twin knives back in their holsters and walked back towards the ship.

“What? Done already for the day? Can’t handle it?” Zoro goads you as you walk back to the Sunny.

You ignore him as you retreat to the showers.

— —

After your shower you spend your evening reclining on the deck in a lounge chair, trying to avoid the painful spasms in your upper back. Nami approached you coming from the galley with two plates of food.

“Y/n look, Sanji made girl dinner!” Nami exclaimed as she placed your plate in your lap.

“Hrmmph..” You groan as you look down at your plate of Caesar salad and French Fries.

“This is literally your favorite meal… what’s with the attitude?” Nami furrowed her brows and looked down at you from the lounge chair by your side.

“Zoro kicked my ass today. Everything hurts.” You slur out as you shove a forkful of dressing soaked iceberg into your mouth. Nami sighs as she puts a handful of fries into her face.

“When are you going to realize that he’s only being so hard on you because he’s desperately in love with you?”

You sputter out around your heavy bite of salad.

“Obviously that’s not true. Zoro doesn’t feel things like that… he’s… weird…”

“Are you that oblivious? Yeah he’s an idiot, y/n, but he’s still a man.” Nami shoveled a pile of Caesar salad into her maw.

“You.. you think he’s into me?” You put your fork down and contemplate Nami’s thoughts.

“Duh. Any moron can see that. Unfortunately most of our crew has gone beyond moron status.” Nami spits out with a full mouth.

You silently finish your meal and bring your dishes to the kitchen. After putting away your plates you retreat to your bedroom and let your exhausted body relax into your mattress. You drift off to sleep, mind full of your sparring partner.

— —

“I’m going to hit you and you’re going to brace your body.” Zoro sternly advises you, training you to harness your true power, possibly unlocking your haki potential.

“Fine.” You grip your twin knives and wait for the blow to fall. You focus your mind and try to harden yourself. You feel Zoro’s body rush past you and your senses pick him up from your right side. Instinctively, you raise your blades and block his sword.

“You were supposed to let me hit you!” Zoro huffs out at you, pressing his katana against your own weapons.

“Fuck… You!…” You hiss as you press him off you with your blades and he slides in the dirt 5 yards away. You knew you weren’t ready to take his full strength, so you defended yourself.

“You can’t win like this! You need to listen!” Zoro comes back at you after sliding his third sword into his mouth. He was annoyed at your defiance during training today, he wasn’t holding back any longer.

Zoro hits you with a three-sword-onigiri and you were blown backwards into a tree with superficial cuts across your chest.

Your head thumps against the tree before lolling forward. You catch your breath and stand up. You wobble with the first few steps towards your crewmate and adversary. He was beating you with an unnecessary force lately, and you were tired of it.

“Zoro…” You spit a thick glob of spit onto the ground next to you as you approach the swordsman.

“Clearly you’ve had enough. And we just started. Pathetic.” Zoro crosses his arms and looks at you as you stumble towards him. “You’ve lost your form entirely. You need to focus on-"

“Zoro… do you have feelings for me?” You lift your gaze to meet his.

Zoro pauses for a long time.

“Yes, I have feelings for you. Anyway. Moving on from that, you let your shoulders drop twice and your blade turn out when I-“

“THAT’S IT?” You shout at him. “You confess you want to be with me and you want to continue training? There’s no way you can be that aloof!”

“What else did you want me to do, y/n? I told you the truth, and I continued our lesson.” Zoro tells you nonchalantly.

“You want me? You want me, Zoro? Then show me, god damnit.” You push your tired body into his chest.

Zoro grabs you by your twitching, tired biceps. He looks down at you.

“Fine.”

Zoro smashes his lips onto yours. It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t intimate, it was fast and needy. Zoro wraps his arms around your small frame and pushes his lips further into your face.

“Take your fucking pants off…” Zoro huffs out into your mouth while raking his calloused hands through your hair. You oblige and strip your leggings and panties down off your feet quickly. Zoro picks you up by your waist and lays you down on the sand of the beach you two were training on. He leans back and undoes the sash around his waist along with the leather bindings on his trousers. His swords hit the ground along with the one from his mouth he discarded long ago. Zoro’s cock springs forward out of his pants and your mouth waters at the sight. You lift your sports bra up over your breasts so they would be exposed for your swordsman.

“My bratty girl, I’ll show you how to obey someone…”

Zoro grips his thick cock in his hand and strokes it up and down your wet sex.

“Zoro…” You whimper as he dips the hot head of his cock in and out of your entrance.

“Yeah little one, I know you want it. But how can you really take it?” Zoro pushes himself flush inside of you and you moan out at the feeling.

“I can! I promise I can!” You whimper out as you grab and claw at Zoro’s hips. You were so full and were ready to receive the full pleasure of your swordsman. Zoro began thrusting in and out of you at an inhuman pace. He gripped your chin in his hand and forced you to look up at him.

“That’s my girl. She can always take it, huh?” Zoro teases you as he lifts his free hand to rub softly at your sensitive clit. “Oh you’re so tight now, baby. Gonna cum? It’s okay mama, you can cum on me, it’s okay.”

You squeal and spasm on Zoro’s cock as he coaxes you through your orgasm. He was talking you through your intense pleasure. You babble incoherently as Zoro presses his body further into yours.

“I have so much cum for you, sweetness… I know you can take all of it…” Zoro grips your hips and looks down at you into your eyes. You gasp as you feel the beginning twitches of his cock releasing into your walls. Zoro’s stored load was so big that it spilled out of your hole while he was stilled buried deep within it.

“Mmmph… Zoro….” You stroke your swordsman’s back as he finished emptying his large load inside of you.

“”Hmmmrhppphh…. (First initial)… sleep…. Hngggnnphh…” Zoro cuddled your body close to his on the beach and started to snore.

“Oh no way, I’m leaving your ass here!” You hopped up and swept the sand off your sticky body. You start to walk towards the ship alone before you turn back around and see a conked out moss head on the path leading to the boardwalk.

“Oh you shit head…” You groan before you return back to the beach and pick up Zoro’s exhausted body and lifting it over your shoulder and returning to The Sunny. You tuck Zoro into your bed and strip yourself of your sandy, salty clothing. You slink into bed naked and pull Zoro into your chest.

“You’re so lucky I love you.” You whisper as you kiss the swordsman’s head and hold him into your breast.

“Goodnight, moss head.” You chuckle to yourself.

xx Mo

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paperultra · 1 year ago

Text

daisy, sweet pea, darling.

Pairing: OPLA!Usopp x Reader Word Count: 1,295 words Warnings: None

serendipity (noun): finding something good without looking for it

“Yo, Usopp.” You walk over to where your friend slouches against a tree and crouch down beside him. “Guess what I found.”

Usopp blinks at you, chewing idly on several slices of a tangerine. “Treasure?” he ventures through a full mouth.

“Nope.”

He swallows. “What, then?”

Triumphantly, you move your hand out from behind your back, presenting the daisy you’d found in front of his face. “A freaky-looking flower. Check it out.”

“Oh, dang!” Usopp drops his tangerine peels on the ground and takes the daisy, poking at the elongated flowerhead. “Hey, it looks like a smile.” He twirls it upside down. “Or a frown. Where’d you get it?”

“On that hill over there. I almost stepped on it while I was looking for actual treasure with Nami.”

He nods thoughtfully for a few seconds. “… You know,” he drawls, eyebrows arching pridefully in a way that tells you that whatever’s coming next is a total lie, “I found a three-headed rose in Kaya’s garden once.”

“Really,” you say.

“Yeah. It was huge. Easily the size of my face. And redder than a pirate’s blood.” Usopp rubs his chin, squinting at your daisy. “I was gonna pick it to show you and Kaya, but then Sham showed up out of nowhere with this giant shovel … I wasn’t in the mood for a fight, so I decided on a tactical retreat to prevent a commotion from disturbing you guys.”

Cue a slight pause for effect. You stare at him, then snort and poke his forehead.

“Please,” you laugh as Usopp makes a face. “You love making a commotion, Usopp.”

He gasps in offense. “Excuse me? I only make a commotion if the situation calls for it.”

“Uh-huh.” A grin spreading across your face, you fall back to sit properly and rest your back against the tree. “Then I guess we’re in a lot of situations that call for it?”

“Look, as your captain, I made a solemn vow to protect you guys. I have an eye for danger, okay? Just because you don’t see it as quickly as I do doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Despite your teasing, there’s some truth to his words. “You do have a good eye for things that want to kill us, I admit.”

Usopp’s chest puffs out with pride, and you chuckle, sliding further down the tree until you’re lying on the ground, head resting on a large root.

A warm breeze brushes past the two of you. Your eyelids fall halfway, a sudden drowsiness taking over.

Your gaze moves to the weird flower still in Usopp’s hand. “Hey, ’Sopp, could you hold onto that daisy for me? Just while I take a quick nap. I’m really … sleepy all of a sudden …”

“Oh. Uh, sure.”

“Thanks.” You yawn, closing your eyes completely. “’M gonna pick some more later to bring on board. Haven’t seen flowers in a while …”

As you drift off, you think that Usopp pats your shoulder gently, murmuring for you to have a good nap, but you’re not totally sure.

—

You dream about three-headed roses and daisies with centers that stretch on for miles.

When Nami shakes you awake, the sun has gotten a little lower, but the sky is still as blue as ever.

“We’re heading off soon,” she tells you.

“Okay.” You stretch and get to your feet, looking down towards the Going Merry. Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji are already on deck. “Where’s Usopp?” you ask.

“Oh, I saw him earlier back on that hill,” she replies, casting a glance over her shoulder. “He told me to go on ahead without him.”

Humming and brushing the dirt off the seat of your pants, you wonder whether Usopp went to look for more weird daisies. “I see. We’ll meet him at the ship, then?”

“Eventually.”

The two of you take the short journey down to Merry. Nami laments the empty treasure chests she had found while you were napping, and you sympathize with her, concluding that the legendary treasure island was not what it cracked up to be.

You help out with ship preparations while waiting for Usopp to get back, and once he does, you greet him happily.

“Found what you were looking for, Usopp?”

“Yeah. I mean, kind of. Er.”

One of his hands is behind his back, a mirror image of yourself when you had approached him at the tree, and you tilt your head curiously as he chews his bottom lip.

“What is it?”

Nami passes by behind him, and Usopp yelps as he suddenly stumbles forward. He trips over his feet, arms shooting out to steady himself.

A flash of white and pink catches the corner of your eye. Turning your attention to Usopp’s hand, your eyebrows raise and your lips part in surprise.

“Usopp,” you start.

He finally catches his balance and peers up at you. Perplexed, he turns his head slowly towards his outstretched arm, and then he slumps in resignation.

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh, extending the bouquet in your direction. “It’s for you.”

Gingerly, you take the flowers into your hands. Daisies and sweet pea flowers smile up at you, their stems held together with a long stem of grass tied into a bow. Buried in the middle is the stretched-out daisy you had left in Usopp’s care.

As you lift the bouquet to your nose to take a sniff, Usopp shifts awkwardly in front of you. “I was gonna make it a whole bunch of those weird daisies, but I think you picked the only one on the island,” he says. “I looked everywhere. Nami told me to just add some sweet peas so it at least smells really good.”

“It does,” you assure him, not bothering to bite down the grin on your face as you meet his eyes. Your heart flip-flops in your chest. “I love it, Usopp. Thank you.”

His eyes light up. “Well,” Usopp says, and he seems uncharacteristically bashful despite the giant smile on his own face, gripping the strap of his knapsack and rocking back on his heels. “I was also, like. Kinda thinking that maybe you’d wanna, y’know … check out the stars with me out on the deck later tonight, when we have time? If you want.”

“Will you tell me some stories about them?” you ask.

“Of course,” he immediately replies. “I have tons … y’know, I actually have a constellation named after me. Maybe we’ll see it.”

“Really? That’s something I’d like to see.” You step closer. “It’s a date, then?”

“It’s a …” Usopp stares at you, opening and closing his mouth for a split second. He wets his lips and coughs. “Yeah, it’s a date! I mean, I meant to say that explicitly at the beginning, but I didn’t want to pressure you in case that wasn’t what you wanted, so …”

“I’d love to go on a date with the mighty Captain Usopp,” you say.

“You would? I-I mean, cool. You won’t be disappointed.”

His usual swaggering persona returns, and you laugh, keeping your bouquet close to your chest. Your mind goes hazy with fondness.

Luffy shouts something from Merry’s figurehead, pulling the pair of you out of your little bubble and back into the real world. With one last shared smile, you reluctantly drift away from each other to go where you’re needed.

For the rest of the day, neither of you are particularly helpful. Those who are aware of the reason and its significance (Nami, Sanji, and Zoro) don’t give you or Usopp much scolding for it, though mischievous remarks are found around every corner and all throughout dinner.

You don’t mind, not at all – especially with how bright the stars are that night.

#aesthetic words prompt list #opla #one piece #usopp x reader #opla usopp #usopp #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #i love usopp bro he's so funnyy #i just finished the syrup village arc in the anime and i loved him even more #he has a rlly big heart !! even tho he's scared out of his wits he's determined to become someone who lives up to his lies !!

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permafrown · 4 months ago

Text

something to hide, like a body, maybe?

— SUMMARY ; Scarecrow's been calling upon Gotham's resident Undertaker more and more recently. This spike in frequency suspiciously coincides with Irene's recent discovery of just who's underneath their favorite burlap mask. Nontheless, they have no choice but to act like it's business as usual, and tonight's no different.

...Or is it?

SHIP ; Scaretaker (Irene x Jonathan / Undertaker x Scarecrow)

WORD COUNT ; around 1.3k !

CW/TW(s) ; talking about corpses and states of decay, bugs (beetles specifically)

NOTE(s)? ; I had btaa scarecrow in mind when writing him .. he's silly I like how he talks

In the dead of night, on the outskirts of Gotham, a black-clad figure waits patiently to meet with an anticipated client, their shovel in-hand.

"Why, if it isn't Scarecrow." The Undertaker chirps, tipping their hat in greeting as they see a familiar figure cut through the fog. "I haven't seen you in almost.. twenty-four hours!"

Barely noticable through the mask of straw and stitched burlap, The Scarecrow grins. "People might start to talk."

With a slight giggle, Undertaker digs their shovel into the soil before them, making themselves a makeshift post to lean against as they tuck their hands under their chin. Their voice drops to a low purr, briefly. "And, would that truly be so terrible?"

Scarecrow opens his mouth to respond, but Undertaker clears their throat loudly, pulling the shovel back out of the dirt and placing it over their shoulder. "Anywho," They digress, "Let's talk business."

He watches as they move towards the nearby black tarp that was all neatly rolled up. He blinks once, and then twice. Nontheless, he joins his veiled associate at their side, his hands clasped behind his back almost expectantly.

"Is this one your usual cases?" Undertaker asks with morbid familiarity as they unroll the tarp to get a look at the corpse held within.

"Indeed. A rather.. unfortunate fellow," Scarecrow clicks his tongue. "Got a little too close to finding out who the Scarecrow really was, and all that."

There's a deliberate pause. "You know how it goes."

Undertaker could feel his gaze on them. It takes everything in their power to suppress the shiver threatening to crawl up their spine.

"Mm," They hum, tapping their shovel nervously. "Many such cases. You've become quite the man of interest lately."

Something's off, and Undertaker knows this. Their eyes flicker over the cadaver once more, squinting slightly as they take in the more subtle details presented before them, eyes darting around. "Wait a minute..."

This man was not one of his victims. They've seen enough of those poor souls to know that no Scarecrow victim ever died peacefully, if their face had anything to say about it. That was, of course, assuming the head was still intact to begin with. Not only that..

"This body isn't even fresh!"

They can't see it, but a smile starts to creep onto Scarecrow's face. "It isn't?" He tilts his head, feigning puzzlement. "And, pray tell, what gave you that idea?"

Undertaker freezes. They've begun to dig a grave they weren't going to be able to get themselves out of.

"Lucky guess?" They shrug with a wince.

Scarecrow tuts, and Undertaker throws their hands up defensively before he could further scrutinize their weak attempt at a lie. "Okay, okay!" They sigh, voice falling to a mumble, tilting their head back and forth. "I may or may not know a thing or two about the ol' Postmortem Interval or whatever,"

"Look." They start, pointing their boot towards the little brown carrion beetles crawling along the tarp. "He's already attracting Hide Beetles. They typically don't rear their silly, little heads around until around a week after someone dies."

They hear Scarecrow hum in what they could only hope was him being impressed. "Fascinating."

"But.." They continue. "It also looks like there's been something of an attempt at preservation. So, that would mean.."

"...And, excuse my unprofessionalism here.." Crouching down, Undertaker pries the cadaver's jaw open with considerable effort, hissing softly as they hear a crack. Looking closer, they spot the familiar bundle newspaper stuffed in the back of the throat.

"He's even already been embalmed."

They feel a cold sweat at the back of their neck as they hear grass crunch from Scarecrow moving in closer, looming behind them. "...You exhumed this man." They say slowly, not daring to turn their head. "Why?"

"Why, indeed?" He says, voice low and amused. "I figured you, of all people, would be very, very intimate with Thanatopraxis." He pauses.

"Irene."

Their pulse spikes upon hearing their given name. Remaining calm, Irene rises from their spot on the ground slowly, and without a word. They grip their shovel in both hands tightly and turn to swing at Scarecrow. Unfortunately for them, he's quick to catch it mid-swing.

"Wohoho! Careful there, Undertaker!" He laughs, grabbing ahold of the shovel's collar and utilizing it to yank them towards him.

Irene yelps, fully expecting to fall forward, but he catches them with a well-placed arm around their waist. "Is that any way to treat your favorite business partner? Your Jonathan?"

"You-" they start to stammer, heartbeat pounding in their chest. "H-How long have you known?"

"Does it matter?" He purrs, twirling a stray curl of their hair before tucking it behind their ear.

"Shouldn't you be more.. afraid of what I'm going to do with this information? How would the GCPD feel about their favorite little morgue attendant cozying up to Gotham's most.. nefarious? I can't imagine they'd be very happy."

There's a moment of silence as Irene looks up at him, struggling to respond.

Then, Scarecrow chuckles lowly. "..No, that's not you. You don't care about your civillian reputation.. You care about me - about us."

He tilts his head back, barking out a laugh before lolling his head back to look at them. "You want to know what my plans with you are. Don't you?" He coos, squeezing their chin in his hand almost playfully.

Irene shakes their head, breaking his grip on them with a dry chuckle. "I feel like it's a valid concern," They reply, "considering you haven't killed me just yet."

"I haven't." He nods. "Call me sentimental, but, I will admit.. I've grown attached to you, Irene."

His voice dropped to a low purr. "Very attached, and," He leans down, nuzzling under their chin as he exhales slowly. "I don't intend on letting go."

"...Huh?" Irene blurts, suddenly finding themselves dumbfounded.

Scarecrow pulls back, hands now gripping their shoulders as he looks them over. "Oh, Irene.. Don't tell me you're surprised!" He barks out a laugh. "Especially not after our little.. Halloween incident."

Irene shudders a little bit as they remember that night, but it's not out of fear. That night was the night they fell in-love for a second time. Being frozen in awe at all the visceral terror unfolding around them that horrible Autumn night, and in the middle of it all - Scarecrow. "How could I forget?" They murmur.

"See?" He sighs affectionately, as if he was reminiscing there with them. "You feel it, too - the romance of it all! You and I? We were meant to be."

"Say you'll work with me, my dear." He rasps, placing a mock trail of kisses through burlap up their throat before looking them in the eyes. "Say you'll be this Scarecrow's one and only."

"Our union, my Irene, will drag this city through it's worst nightmares, like cans tied to a newlyweds' speeding getaway vehicle."

He pulls off his mask, allowing Irene to see him, not just as Scarecrow, but Jonathan. "If only you'll have me."

The last part comes as a whisper. Looking into his eyes, pupils dilated and all in a mix of what they could only interpret as pure, unadulterated desire.

Irene takes a moment to remove their hat and veil, gazing back at him uncovered, a large smile growing across their face as their eyes scan his. "Till death." they jest as they lean into Jonathan. He squeezes them in his arms with a chuckle, repeating after them. "Till death."

He presses his lips to theirs with all the searing passion of a sealing vow, officially consolidating the relationship between two of Gotham's most ghastly Rogues.

#yikes.doc #RRRRGGHGGG GET THIS THING AWAY FROM ME !!#>_>; im in that state where I'll drive myself insane if i keep re-reading it. so LMAOOOO #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT this was a lot of fun for meeee #what was the halloween incident...? come back with a warrant.#RIVOLTA SILENZIOSA ; crowsy

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mamawasatesttube · 10 months ago

Note

Has anyone sent in TimKon for the ship meme yet?

nope!! probably because everyone already knows i'm a timkon girlie i guess hdjlfkjds but hey. i always love to talk about them.

Ship It

1. What made you ship it?

GOD their dynamic in the comics is SO FUN!!!!! the way tim wants kon's approval in yj98 but he's so mad about it. and the way they both respect each other so much but also bicker but call each other best friends even early on. the DEVOTION that grows out of that bickering as they grow into each other. the way they lean on each other and think about each other often and. this isn't even getting into any of the insane shit after kon died.

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

THEYRE INSANE ABOUT EACH OTHER AND THEYRE IN LOVE and i am NOT immune to best friends to lovers. holy shit!!!!!! they're silly and they are so obsessed with each other and. and. AAA

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

"an" unpopular opinion? singular? about timkon? [canned laugh track plays as i look DIRECTLY into the camera]

well lets see. how about "kon is his own fully-realized character with a personality, interests, and a life outside of tim and the bats"? or maybe "tim could not beat kon in a physical fight even if he had kryptonite. be serious for once in your silly lives"? perhaps that's too specific. how about "shovel talks are a fucking stupid trope rooted in misogyny, homophobia, and purity culture"? or maybe "kon isn't stupid you guys just need to learn to read"? or what about [...] (the list continues as i keep talking for another 30 minutes straight)

#answers #the-dracologist #timkon #the thing about timkon is that i adore them but the timkon tag on ao3 or tumblr is my Fucking enemy

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odinsonslut · 2 years ago

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4 am

⊹ genre: angst, fluff ending

⊹ pairing: george weasley x reader (implied female)

⊹ themes: slight enemies to lovers, slight friends to lovers???

⊹ summary: following the abrupt ending of your friendship, George, the instigator of the breakup, continues to treat you with carelessness and disregard. You’re pushed to the point of retaliation, leading to a cruel confrontation. George attempts to redeem his character and finally express his feelings.

⊹ warnings: swearing, kind of a heated suggestive make-out, a mean george.

⊹ word count: 2.1k

⊹ a/n: I haven’t written since, like, 2018. PLEASE, please treat me gently. I know I tend to overuse the same phrases within a story. I also suck at writing summaries. I promise there’s more to it than described 🫶🏽🫶🏽

It was 4 am when I jolted awake, still wading off the reminiscent agitation from a dream involving a sinking ship and a niffler from what I could remember. Hermione’s lamp was on its dimmest setting right next to where she had fallen asleep, book in hand, a muggle book I had gifted her since I rarely saw her reading for pleasure since we entered our fifth year.

I turned her bedside lamp off on my way out, hoping the elves were up preparing breakfast. I’d befriended Winky and often spent time with her over butter cookies in the kitchens when I had trouble sleeping. Her addiction was steadily improving without the burden of her previous master.

I made my way to the common room, contemplating walking all the way down to the kitchens, when I heard a thudding pair of footsteps down the stairs. It was George. It was too late to act like id never looked up; we had already made eye contact. Our usual routine was to avoid an acknowledgement of any form. Things hadn’t been the same since he’d rejected my invite to the yule ball last year, though that wasn’t why our friendship had fallen through.

“He’s got you sneaking out at night now too?”

I was taken aback. The last time we’d ever spoken was the reluctant exchange of Merry Christmas’ due to Molly’s prodding at the burrow. The ‘he’ George was referring to was the date you ended up with at the ball, Draco, the reason George had cut you off completely that night.

“Tell Angelina she’s welcome to join us when she grows tired of faking it with you.”

I was furious. Why does he get to decide your friendship is over? Why does he get to be mad about your relationship after rejecting you? Why is the standing of our relationship always dictated by how he feels and what he wants? And why should I continue acting civilly towards him?

I picked a book off the shelf and bumped his shoulder as I passed him, deciding to return to bed. I had lost my appetite.

I’d practically sprinted to the great hall for dinner after a two-hour-long class of potions. Since your breakup, being partnered up with Draco for the next year was a little awkward. Keeping the DA a secret and him being on the inquisitorial squad just caused too many issues that couldn’t be resolved on top of the Gryffindor-Slytherin debacle. He was the sweetest boy, and being apart still hadn’t affected how he treated you at all: softly, politely. It was comforting knowing he’d always have a soft spot for you, but getting to the point of friendship would take a little longer.

I sat between Hermione and George, across from Harry, getting subtle looks from my friends. I was tired of walking on eggshells around George, waiting for him to dictate how our interactions go or tailoring my behaviour for his comfort. This was his problem, not mine.

“Get yourself somewhere else to sit. This seat is spoken for”, he spoke immediately.

I refused to react defensively. Instead, I picked an eclair off his plate and took a bite.

Harry avoided looking at us at all, shovelling meat pie into his mouth. Hermione didn’t employ the same faux indifference, staring directly at us. George shifted a bit farther away from me and continued eating, similarly refusing to give me a reaction.

“Where is Angelina? Last I saw, she was off ‘practising’ with Marcus Finch”, I prodded, refusing to concede

“Your desperation for me is becoming pitiful to witness; it’s pathetic. Keep her name out of your mouth; you’d think it’d be exhausted with what all you spend your time doing with it.”

You finally got the rise out of him you were looking for, you pushed him to a breaking point, but it wasn’t the satisfying victory you imagined. It hurt.

I kept my gaze downcast, lightly placed the remainder of the unfinished eclair back onto George’s plate and left the hall. I spent the night on a couch in the room of requirement, unwilling to accept Hermione’s comfort quite yet.

“What on earth is going on with you two?” Hermione was lying on my bed beside me, our hands loosely intertwined. She’d spent all Saturday morning with me, avoiding the topic of George completely till now.

I sighed

I knew it would be an inevitable discussion, but a part of me wished I could avoid it into in-existence. “It was embarrassing, Mione. I think we’re truly done with each other, and I honestly feel okay with the thought of that. I know I pushed him, but hearing those words was jarring. It felt like a completely different person than who I thought was still in there. It’s the lighthearted and slightly sarcastic tone in which he said it that made it hurt. I feel foolish.”

“Nothing you put him through warranted that response, honestly? It sounded more like a projection to me. You were dignified in accepting his rejection, and he cut you off for going with someone else?”

“There is absolutely no sense in trying to decipher why the Weasley boys act the way they do. I’ve still never gotten a sound explanation as to what exactly Ron was on that night, either. I mean, it’s obvious he was jealous but-

“Yeah, jealous he wasn’t Victor’s date for the night”, She cut me off.

“oh my god, whatever happened to the Krum-themed anal plug Fred had custom-made Ron for Christmas third year?”

Opening my eyes felt like such an effort; my head felt like pounding out of its skull in an unfamiliar bed in the boys’ dormitory. I recognised the burgundy hand-knitted sweater with a large W embroidered on it. My heart leapt into my throat for a split second. I had worried I’d somehow managed to break into George’s room for a confrontation.

He had been on my mind a lot lately. It had been about two months since the incident, and since we last spoke, and lately, he and Fred have been all everyone can talk about with the success of their prototypes and antics that seemed to have tightened in frequency the more decrees imposed by Umbridge.

I was rushing to get my things together when he walked in. I paused in place, petrified.

“You were careless last night. I don’t know when you became this person, but you’ve got to stop letting Malfoy ruin you. Muggle narcotics are dangerous.”

Just hearing his voice chastising me yet again pulled at me internally.

“I’m begging you to stop saying anything to me at all if they’re going to come out like that; I will genuinely beg because I just can’t take this from you anymore, George.”

He looked unamused

“When did you become so weak? Malfoy broken you down so badly that all you know how to do is make yourself small and beg?”

I’d had just about enough. I threw George against the wall yelling at him to shut the fuck up, haphazardly punching him wherever I could land any, the frustration that had built up for months finally meeting its outlet. Save from shielding his face, George stood there and took it till I was done.

“Draco and I broke up over two months ago. He’s a good friend, he does help me get what I use, but he makes sure I’m safe and alive whenever I’m using” I finally broke the silence, and we sank to sit on the floor across from each other.

“I know, he told me last night. He was carrying you outside the common room, yelling at the fat lady to let him in to put you to bed. He told me you’d broken up and that you remained friends. He also said you were developing a problem and needed me back.”

“I don’t need Malfoy speaking for me, and having you around would actualise my supposed ‘problem’. Why am I in your clothes in your bed?”

“When I opened the door for Malfoy, you asked me to stay with you. You told me you just wanted one night of being us again, so I gave you clothes to change into, put you to bed in my room, and slept on the couch in the common room.”

I stood up to leave without acknowledging his response, relieved nothing else had happened.

“I don’t know that it’ll change anything for you, but I’ve felt sorry for treating you the way I did for a really long time. I figured you’d finally found peace with the situation and avoided trying to resolve things for that reason. At least, that was the excuse I forced myself to believe. I didn’t realise I was really just afraid of confrontation and rejection. Not generally, just with you. You were right about Angelina, too, apparently, she’s been shacking up with Finch since Christmas,” He continued

“None of that means anything to me. For as long as you got to decide to do whatever you wanted with my feelings, all I wanted was to get past this. This doesn’t mean anything to me after what you’ve done with the importance I trusted you enough to hold to you. I’m well within my right to decline your apology. And it isn’t even to spite you for your selfish decisions. You were right. I am truly happy without you. You don’t mean anything to me anymore.” I spoke with my back towards him and walked out and back to my dorm immediately after.

George had spent the last three weeks trying to earn back a spot in your life as the friend he once was to you. He’d done everything you hoped he would for the longest time, and it felt empowering to ignore his advances and put your pride first. But the more time you reluctantly spent with the old George, the harder it was to stop your previous feelings from resurfacing.

This particular morning, if you could even classify 4 am as the morning, George had snuck into your dorm with Harry’s cloak in hand. You only agreed to leave with him because he promised you a visit to Winky. After devouring an entire gooseberry pie between you, George suggested a walk by the lake. It was tempting, especially after seeing how he interacted with Winky, as normally as he does everyone else, without judgement. But you pushed yourself to decline and returned to the common room together.

You spotted professor Snape on your way up, seemingly aggravated by Peeves, omitting a chuckle from George as he watched Snape flail around, attempting to curse the ghost.

“Who’s there?” He sneered

I immediately lifted my hand to cover George’s mouth as we scooted closer together under the cloak. We kept our eyes locked as we tried to remain still. His eyes dipped to my lips at the same time he lifted my palm off of his. Tangling his left hand into my hair, he used his right to guide my waist back till we hit the wall and kept me in his hold, his lips moving closer to mine with every breath he took

“What’re you doing?” I asked softly enough for just the two of us to hear

He looked into my eyes as he finally connected his lips with mine, our eyes fluttering shut after the initial kiss as we melted into it. He teased my tongue with him as he hoisted me up to his level, wrapping my legs around his waist. The build-up of tension escaped us with every rough feverish kiss. His kisses moved to my neck as he began guiding my hips against his, perfectly lining me up against him. I could barely keep myself composed.

“It’s unfortunate, the 50-point deduction limit per student” My blood ran cold at the sound of Snape’s voice. George immediately dropped me to the ground, where I landed on Harry’s discarded cloak. George squeezed my hand in comfort, signalling he’d take care of things.

He took a breath and stepped toward Snape. “I drugged her, Sir; she’s completely innocent.”

“God, you’re an idiot”, I thumped him on the back of his head.

We sniggered, trailing a few steps behind Snape as we were escorted back to our dormitories, not too fussed about detention every week till the end of the term.

End

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