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emilykaldwen · 8 months ago

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter One

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: After a lot of encouragement, I will be posting chapters in their entirety here and on AO3. Many many huge thanks to @acrossthesestars for being my co-pilot, and for holding my hand through writing this story. Thank you to everyone who has reblogged and commented. Your words mean the world to me.

CHAPTER ONE - THE WEIGHT THAT BROUGHT US HERE

Alicent watched the lords of the council settle into their seats, placing their markers in the proper place. Lord Tyland Lannister took his seat at the opposite end of the magnificent table, Lord Lyman Beesbury to his right. Maester Mellos and then Lord Larys at her own left hand. Jasper Wylde sat beside her father’s usual place at the right hand. The power of the realm all concentrated right in this room. They prayed to the Crone for guidance and wisdom at the beginning of every meeting, a practice that had thankfully not reached the ears of the king, as he’d been cloistered in his rooms since his illness had taken more of his body. It was one thing to allow her Faith to grace their dinner table. It was a whole other to have the Faith find its place at the Small Council. While his signature still graced the decrees, and his decisions still paramount for he was the King, Viserys had left the dealings of the realm to them. It was for the best - Viserys’ mind was giving way to his illness and the less seen, the better. Alicent didn’t know what she preferred: her husband demeaning her and neglecting her children, or him calling her Aemma when she came to care for him at night.

She grazed her fingers over the polished black marble ball in front of her as Maester Mellos began rattling off the never ending fighting between the Brackens and Blackwoods that not even the Father bearing down from the heavens himself could stop. They continued to tear themselves apart as if they would win all the gold in Casterly Rock for the longest, most ridiculous spat that the Tullys were no longer capable of handling. Sometimes she wished she could just drag charcoal lines along the map, piece off the floodplains to the north and the west and the mountains, let the other kingdoms take their pieces.

“Begs the question if perhaps it isn’t time to elect a new Lord Paramount to bring them to heel,” Lord Wylde harrumphed in his self-important way. The man was well and agreeable enough, Alicent thought, but every time he spoke, she missed Lyonel Strong. None of his proposals contained this ‘begging the question’ sort of nonsense, and none of Wylde’s attempts had any of the late Lord Strong’s well thought out solutions and easy friendliness.

“Unless grievous injustice is done, we cannot normally strip the title of Lord Paramount, but their inability to bring either house to heel since given the title is threatening the stability of the realm. Blackwoods own more land than the Tullys, and now we have reports they’ve gone undermining one another’s orchards, and putting others at risk.” Jasper turned his gaze to Larys, who had not spoken since the prayer. “Strong, your holding is Harrenhal. What do you have to say about this matter?”

Larys’ manner did not fool Alicent, but it worked wonders, as always, on Jasper. “This quarrel of theirs has lasted as long as the dynasty and longer still. King Jaehaerys brokered peace, and we cannot ascertain what sparked it again.” From the nervous licking of his lips to the fidgeting of his hands, he was a master at seeming far less dangerous than he truly was. “You might seek instead the opinion of my dearest uncle Simon. He is the castellan and knows both it and the Riverlands far better than I do, as I’ve been here during most of this recent infighting. ”

Wylde humphed, twitching his nose in such a way that his bushy mustache reminded Alicent of a walrus she’d seen at Driftmark. She dug her nails into her palm to hold back her laugh. “Should we offer the Tullys more incentive?” Wylde blustered, reaching for a solution that he could take credit for.

“Incentive for not letting their bannerman destroy harvests?” Tyland Lannister snorted, reclined in his chair as if he were the one running the meeting. “That’s their duty. If they can’t do it, then there’s a bigger issue to deal with.”

“Perhaps a betrothal,” Lord Beesbury spoke up, his eyes darting from Larys’ to hers. Alicent straightened, watching the man try to figure out how to present his own suggestion. “The Tullys are proud, and the Riverlands command a great host when they come together. Lord Tully’s great-grandson is around Princess Helaena’s age. It would be a show of friendship and goodwill.”

“A show of a dragon is what you mean, isn’t it?” Her father’s voice cut in smoothly, but she could see the annoyance in his eyes at the prospect of Helaena being sent to the Riverlands. She did not want her sweet girl sent so far away either, but his words hurt in their easy protectiveness of her daughter, when they had never done for herself.

“Dragons are a statement, my Lord Hand. If not the princess, perhaps… Lord Strong, your youngest sister is not yet married,” Beesbury continued, flush with ideas. Was Rhaenyra feeding them to him?

“If Grover Tully, or whomever is handling their seat, cannot bring them to heel, we should have the Lords Bracken and Blackwood come and explain themselves to the crown,” she cut in before Beesbury could really get his momentum going. Heads turned to look at her, and Alicent looked to the Grand Maester. “Send ravens today. By the moon’s turn, I want them before the Iron Throne explaining themselves.” There was a curl of satisfaction on her lips as the aging Mellos gestured to his assistant. “We should also have Lord Tully, or his son, also come to answer. I know Lord Grover has been recently ill,” she continued. Authority and compassion were the balance she must always strike, so that her decisions could not be questioned, her judgment nothing but sound. She was the Mother of the Realm after all.

“Well said, your Grace,” Larys said softly, that shadow blink of a smile on his face. Lord Beesbury’s suggestions were easily dismissed.

Tension knotted between her shoulder blades, and she shifted in her chair to relieve the pain. She drummed her fingers on the armrest of the chair as her father’s warning spun dizzily through her thoughts.

Either you prepare Aegon to rule, or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.

That morning, Ser Criston found the boy who might be king passed out in the stables with his cock in hand; at least her father hadn’t found out. Alicent felt nauseated at the idea of sacrificing a girl barely younger than she’d been in an attempt to corral her son into leadership.

The doors of the chamber opened. Ser Harrold Westerling entered the room with the head dragonkeeper, Arryx, following behind. Her father rose not in a show of respect for the Kingsguard Commander, but some show of power - the unyielding stone and height of the tower that would not bow to neither wind nor storm.

“Forgive my tardiness, your Grace, my lords.”

Her father waved a hand and sat back down. “We were told that you were attending to an urgent matter, Lord Commander.”

Ser Harrold clasped his arm across his chest and bowed to her. “This morning, I was alerted to events that transpired last night inside of the dragonpit. Keeper Arryx wanted to speak of the matter to you personally.” Ser Harrold stepped back to allow the aging keeper to take the floor. Alicent gave her own nod to the man as he rose from his prostration.

“Dreamfyre has laid another clutch of eggs. Only three, your Grace, and she will let no one near them. Vhagar has been circling,” Arryx said.

Alicent frowned. Dreamfyre had not laid a clutch in several years now, and Vhagar rarely came to the pit. She was too old, too large, with little desire to be kept with her smaller brethren. The horrific beast preferred a rocky outcropping far out into the bay.

Aemond had given her a quizzical look when she’d brought it up once, when he was still bedridden and recovering from his mutilation. Her sweet boy was now strung through with a confidence that she’d never seen ignite within him when he had both eyes. The dangerous glint that confidence took as he’d grown older was also new.

She’s protecting what is hers, mother. We both are, he’d said.

“I have spoken with the Commander of the City Watch, your Grace, to ensure that those in the areas closest to the pit keep their distance unless absolutely necessary. It has allowed us to take stock of the current state of those neighborhoods.” Ser Harrold turned to look at Ser Otto. “A full report will be on your desk.”

Her father nodded, and Ser Harrold looked once more to the keeper.

Arryx shifted on his feet, and Alicent watched his eyes flick to the Grand Maester with an expression that she could not discern. The Citadel and the Hightowers have always stood side by side for the betterment of the realm, Alicent, and you’ll continue to foster that friendship, won’t you?

“Five of the kitlings have also died, your Grace. They were unbonded, brought from Dragonstone before…”

Before Daemon had come back.

“How many dragons does this put us at?” Her father’s deceptively mild tone was the opposite of his glee when Aemond had claimed Vhagar. The numbers requested were ones he’d calculated in his head, monthly, since he’d come back.

“Claimed, my lord?” Arryx asked, pausing momentarily. “Eleven, throughout the family. Lady Rhaena’s dragon hatched, but it was born twisted and sickly and did not last. I have not received word otherwise of any intention for Lady Rhaena to come and try to claim another dragon.”

Half of the dragons were claimed. Alicent watched her father drum his fingers along the table. Identifying the pattern took only a moment. He was counting.

Specifically, the dragons that were on their side.

“I want reports of the necropsies upon their completion,” her father said with a narrowed and assessing look, disturbed by the news. “The last thing we need is some strange illness to rip through all of them.”

Alicent chewed on the inside of her lip and watched the shining outline of the seven-pointed star beaming down on the table.

“Syrax is almost big enough for two riders now. Will you come touch the clouds with me, Alicent? Please?” Rhaenyra had always begged, mouth close to her ear, hands stroking her arms, her wounded and bloody fingers.

The joyful look that Aegon once gave her now reserved for a beast: “I’ve never known love until Sunfyre, mother. It’s like the world has color now that we’re together.”

“Dreamfyre keeps me tethered to the ground even as I fly in my dreams. She’s the only anchor I have,” said Helaena, who would withdraw from her touch as if it were a sting from a bee.

Little Daeron and his dragon clutched in his arms: “I can’t leave Tessarion behind, mother! I won’t know how to be happy without her!”

Dragons had robbed Alicent of everything.

“Thank you, Arryx. I will speak to the children and see what Prince Aemond might do about Vhagar.” The idea of her sweet, once immaculate and tender-hearted child being near that twisted, hoary thing still terrified her, no matter how gently reassuring Aemond could be.

Arryx did not move to leave just yet. “Forgive me, your Grace, but Vhagar is no Vermithor or Sunfyre: she is old and willful, and although she is bonded with our prince, I would suggest caution. He is… young, and Vhagar was forged in the fires of battle.”

He bowed once more before taking his leave.

Even in indescribable pain, in the face of his own father’s disregard and disdain, Aemond sought to soothe her. “Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

What else would her father do to get more dragons on their side?

Nervous tension pulsed in the silence left when the doors closed behind the dragonkeeper, filled only by the soft creak of the Kingsguard’s mail and the gentle clink of the chain around Grand Maester Mellos’ neck as he shifted in his chair, barely audible. The enduring mystery and curiosity of dragons was a specter of The Stranger above them all. Alicent had heard her kingly husband remind Rhaenyra repeatedly: Dragons were not pets. The bond with them should not blind their riders to the power that thrummed ancient and thick in their veins.

She breathed slowly, letting the quiet ease, refusing to meet anyone else’s eyes as the tumult of feelings inside of her crashed upon the jagged edges of her broken ribs. This was the right choice. Her babies were only half-Targaryen, and Rhaenyra’s bastards were the same, whether she’d ever admit to it or not.

Everyone in the room had grown up with the stories that the Conquerors spread when they forged the throne: The Valyrian blood magic that had made them dragonriders was only to be found in their Targaryen blood. That bloodline needed to remain pure. Yet, Rhaena’s pure Valyrian blood did not save her first dragon from being born sickly and dying quickly, while Aemond - Targaryen only by half - bonded with Vhagar, the most powerful beast in the world.

There were no further reasons to believe the Targaryens were gods after all, and above the realm they had conquered.

The great chair of the King creaked as she slowly rose, taking in the council before her. There were no Targaryens in this room, even if she had birthed her own clutch of half-dragons. Alicent bore this task without joy or fanfare. It was a duty to be endured for the good of her family, for the good of her realm.

She stood with her hands folded in front of her, the image of the Mother of the Realm. Alicent had done this once before, when she had declared that she was standing in an official capacity for her husband.

“My lords of the council,” She hedged a glance at her father before moving her gaze to each man at the table. Ladies of the realm should be on the council. “It is with great joy and love that the King and myself, with Lord Larys Strong, announce to the small council that we have arranged the betrothal of our son, Prince Aegon Targaryen, and Lady Abrogail Strong.”

Each of the lords straightened in their chairs. Lord Beesbury frowned and glanced away from her. The uncertain and uncomfortable shifting in his chair belied the embarrassment he was attempting to hide. Alicent felt no need to point it out. It was a fine idea that he’d presented and not his fault he did not know what had already been decided. Even if he was Rhaenyra’s lapdog, Alicent would be the better person, and not rub his face in it.

The congratulations buzzed in her ears as she sat back down in her chair, and beneath the table, she tore at the skin along her left thumbnail. The pain was as dull as the congratulations in her ears. Her father’s voice was distant, jovial even.

They hadn’t even told Aegon and Abrogail yet. She remembered standing in the same position, knowing what was coming, knowing what it would destroy and desperately hoping that it might not.

I have decided to take a new wife. I intend to marry Lady Alicent Hightower before Spring’s end.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Rhaenyra forgive me forgivemeforgiveme.

“A feast is in order to announce Prince Aegon and Lady Abrogail’s betrothal,” Tyland’s jovial tone broke the silence. His suggestion—or statement, depending on how Alicent took it—was not one that she’d expected when she sat down in Viserys’ chair, but welcomed the confirmation of his support.

Meanwhile, Larys’s expression gave nothing away. He simply inclined his head in agreement.

Her son — her trueborn son — for all his faults, deserved to be celebrated. She was happy she didn’t have to fight for this. It was Mellos who spoke next: “Given the last wedding that was celebrated within these halls, it would be a reassuring gesture to the Lords of the Realm if they were given the opportunity, and for us to show unity within House Targaryen. With the Prince’s nameday in a few moons, perhaps we can celebrate with a tournament.”

Alicent’s eyes cut to her father, who smiled lightly, nodding in agreement but careful not to say a word, allowing the Maester to be responsible for the idea.

“Even better,” Tyland raised his goblet in agreement. “We haven’t had a proper celebration in years. What better occasion? Lord Rickard Reyne will be overjoyed to hear the honor bestowed on his granddaughter.” He looked over at her father. “I take it you’ll be writing to him, Lord Hand?”

The last time Alicent had seen her uncle Lord Rickard had been at her mother’s funeral: now no longer the worst day of her life, but the memory that was still seared into her mind. She recalled Lord Reyne as a stoic man, but he’d been kind to her in her grief. Alicent hoped the years had not taken that away from him, but they likely had.

Time always stole away kindness.

Lord Beesbury looked pensive. Alicent could practically hear the man pushing house markers along the map in his head as the conversation continued. “Was Princess Rhaenyra involved in such a discussion?”

“The Princess Rhaenyra has continued to seclude herself and,” he paused, his gaze heavy and considering as he took in those around the table. “Her second husband, Daemon Targaryen, at Dragonstone. Neither has she come to the small council as her status allows, nor has she engaged with matters of the realm that her being heir gives her right to,” her father said smoothly, and he was right. “The king still grieves his daughter’s choices, and she has yet to amend with him. I agree with Lord Lannister and our Grand Maester. This would show the strength and unity and willingness of House Targaryen to bond and celebrate with the realm.”

Beesbury gave a humorless chuckle. “And nothing to do with presenting Prince Aegon formally.” As a contender. As a choice - that was left unsaid.

Alicent felt a surge of anger inside of her, instinct compelling her to protect her children and pull the wool Viserys and Rhaenyra spun from Beesbury’s eyes so he could see the truths they refused to acknowledge.

Not long after Aemond had been born, Lord Lyonel had enlisted her in trying to get Viserys to hold another declaration to follow Rhaenyra, if she was truly his desired heir even with two healthy boys of his blood. The King had originally chosen Rhaenyra because of the loss of Baelon and Aemma. Everyone wanted to keep Daemon off the throne, lest he became another Maegor the Cruel… and now, he was to be Rhaenyra’s consort, and Viserys still would do nothing. Alicent refused to believe that Rhaenyra would kill her half-siblings, that she would kill Alicent’s children for whatever love had been there. Every dark, curly haired little boy caused her to fear not what Rhaenyra would decide, but what others would encourage her to do. Her father had not been wrong - her sons would be beacons of rebellion, damned by the man who had so desperately craved a son, yet now ignored. How bitter a pill.

Daemon terrified her. They should all be terrified of him. Daemon now had Rhaenyra’s ear and her heart and her body. Daemon was not one to hesitate if something stood in his way.

Did you fuck Daemon Targaryen in a pleasure house? Targaryens have such queer customs.

“Prince Aegon is eight and ten, an accomplished dragonrider, ah…” Mellos trailed off, and the uncertainty on his face clawed at Alicent’s insides. Failure was acid in her throat.

Either you prepare Aegon…

That boy who would be king had groped six serving girls at the last feast before drinking and whoring his way through the Street of Silk.

“My sister and heir is of unimpeachable character,” Larys’ quiet voice carried within the room. “As a child, Abrogail was a playmate of Prince Aegon and his siblings, and she has become a beloved ward of Queen Alicent, who has done a remarkable job of raising her after the deaths of our parents. I would consider her to be a prime example of all our realm offers to a family that has, if I may be candid, gone to great lengths to keep to their own since the conquest. Wouldn’t you agree, Grand Maester?”

That poor girl she’d now chained to him was a picture of the Maiden. It had taken everything to ensure that her father waited for it. She would not have another bride offered to the throne before she was of age, while her father wanted nothing more than for Aegon to grow up.

Tension crept back into the room at Larys’ words. Nobody would think to utter these thoughts had Viserys been sitting there. Mellos cleared his throat and avoided her father’s gaze to adjust the heavy chain around his neck. The title of Grand Maester had been his even before Viserys’ reign, and he was possibly the closest representative that was not her to speak to Viserys’ mind.

“I would agree, Lord Strong. Perhaps even exploring the eventuality of wedding Prince Aegon’s children to Prince Jacaerys’ would… reassure Princess Rhaenyra. She once suggested a betrothal between Princess Helaena and-”

“We already have other candidates in mind for my daughter,” Alicent cut in immediately. She wouldn’t say anything about Jace’s children and future grandchildren. She refused to entertain the idea that Helaena would marry Rhaneyra’s son to cover her indignity and insult to everything that she had been given and born into. “We have time before the wedding,” she said with a gentler tone. “A year should be more than enough to introduce them to the realm and start introducing Prince Aegon to newer responsibilities befitting his station.”

That was time enough to beat her son into someone who could be King.

Morning light streamed through the gauzy, sage curtains of the princess’ room. Abrogail licked the honey clinging to her fingers as she moved towards the washbasin, abandoning half-eaten bread and cold cuts of meat at the table. Helaena also ignored their meal as she lingered at the only window that could give her a good view of the Dragonpit. Vhagar had been on the prowl that morning, unusually territorial, and the change in the dragon’s temperament had entranced the friend whom she called sister. She jumped when Abby ventured near her, eyes wide and body tense as a startled cat, so the redhead pivoted in the opposite direction in order to retrieve Helaena’s bodice. Normally, she did not wear one unless the Queen noticed, but on days when her mind drifted, the structure of the garment seemed to keep Helaena focused on the moment instead of her dreams. The princess was somewhere else in her thoughts, mechanically holding up her arms to have the bodice slipped over her shift.

“I’m going to tighten the laces now, alright, Helaena?” Abrogail told the princess as she always did, walking through the process so she wasn’t surprised by anything.

Helaena gave no verbal indication that she was listening, but Abby noticed her pale blonde head bob in acceptance. Slowly, she began straightening the garment, mindful of keeping her touch on the lacing and the chemise from pulling and pinching uncomfortably and defeating the purpose.

“Pink and red, he might be dead. Blue and black, no coming back,” Helaena murmured. Her gaze drifted to Myrella Penrose, who approached with a yellow, diamond patterned dress for inspection. “I don’t want my scales to be so bright.” Helaena’s voice did not rise from her quiet tone, and her gaze flitted away.

“How about the new one from Sevenmas?” Abby offered brightly before Myrella’s face could twist into the uncertain and disturbed look it took whenever Helaena drifted. “The ocean blue one with the beading. That’ll be nice to feel, right, Helaena?”

The princess tilted her head about, humming. “Yes, that would be.” She threaded her fingers together, pressing in so the knuckles would crack. Myrella visibly winced at the sound, but Abby just shook her head and carefully tucked the laces into the bodice. “The perfect hug,” came the breathless statement, before Helaena’s bright lavender eyes finally focused away from whatever she was tracking to turn around and look towards her. Abby took the dress from Myrella and offered her cousin a smile as she held it up. She was used to Helaena’s inquisitive gazes, as if she was a bug under the pretty Maester’s glass Aemond had gifted his sister. “Do you need them, too?”

“A hug?” Abby frowned.

“Scales - armor to protect you,” she clarified. Helaena held her arms up to slide the dress over her head, and Abby left her to do the little buttons down the front herself. “Or would you prefer a pretty carapace? Silver and reds, greens and blue. Pinks and black and gold.”

Abby laughed at the idea of being covered in so many colors, and Helaena even returned the smile as she finished her buttons. It was a good sign, and the tingle of worry that had been crawling up and down along her spine immediately eased. “To be decorated in so many colors? That would make for lovely armor.”

Helaena’s mood was improving, which meant that when the Queen finally came in, she wouldn’t immediately launch into fretting and worrying about the princess being in ‘one of her episodes.’ Abby knew the Queen did not mean it badly, but it still made her uncomfortable. Were her mother still there, she would say something if Abby expressed her concern. She was alone here now, and things were as different as the day and night.

The door creaked open, but it wasn’t Alicent who entered. Helaena’s little smile turned bright and beaming: “Aemond!”

At four and ten, the boy was steadily growing with each passing turn of the moon. While bypassing Abrogail in height was no difficult feat, he now stood as tall as his sister and mother. Prince Aegon was the next family member he was bound to outgrow, and the Queen had already tasked her with ordering clothes to be made ready for when Aemond shot up again. Lord Otto towered over most, and he japed that Aemond might make it where Aegon had failed to surpass him.

Hearing Helaena’s joyous declaration, Abby caught a spray of pink blooming on his pale cheeks, and Aemond reached up to adjust the soft leather strap of his eyepatch. The scar no longer looked angry, but it was prominent; a ridge of thick skin that was only just smoothing out with time. The prince held a jar carefully in his hands. He took several steps before Abby clucked her tongue at him the way she would at her own cat, though Theraxis had not joined her that morning in Helaena’s room. Earlier, a maid brought along with their meals news that the cat was gallivanting in the discarded feathers while the scullery maids plucked chickens.

“Your mother will be up any minute. She said she doesn’t want to catch you in here anymore,” Abby warned with an arched brow. There was no censure in her teasing tone. Aemond was nearly her own little brother, although much was changing as they left their childhoods behind.

“She won’t be here for him,” Helaena said in a voice far more present than it had been before, Aemond’s very presence pulling her back down to earth and away from the clouds. “What did you bring me?” Even though her buttons were only half-done, Helaena rushed across the room to Aemond with her arms outstretched and fingers wiggling. “Oh! It’s beautiful! Abby! Look!” She held up the jar filled with little sticks and leaves – a fat blue and yellow cocoon precariously hanging from one forked stick inside. “I wonder if it belongs to the ones I released last year.”

“You’ll be the mother of all the moths and butterflies in the Red Keep,” Aemond said softly, so softly that Abby could hardly hear him despite standing close by.

Abrogail moved away from the siblings, smiling at Myrella and leading the woman to the opened door. “Thank you for your help this morning. I believe the Queen will need you more today. Let her know we’ll be going to the gardens later, if you please.” Lately, the Queen had been sending the Penrose woman to help Abby tend to the princess’ needs. It had made her nervous. When she asked the Queen if she was being replaced, the words stuck to her throat. Her Grace had been adamant that it was not the case at all, that it was only so Abrogail could learn from her in preparation for her own running of a household, and give Helaena time to get used to someone else helping her.

Another part of Abby wondered if the Queen knew Aemond was still coming to visit in the morning. Or worse, that Uncle Otto was spying. Abby was protective of her friends, her kin. They were siblings bonded through the years of fights in the mud and pranks and stories in the nursery. Bonds such as theirs were not so easily broken; they only changed as time passed, as things happened, like Aemond losing an eye.

Myrella Penrose gave her a tight smile and left down the hall. Abby watched her go, lingering in the door as Aemond and Helaena whispered in the room. Her friend’s quiet giggles were a rare sound, and Abby would do anything to protect those moments for her, for them both. She tugged at the embroidered cuffs of her dark blue-gray dress, thumbs brushing the little weirwood leaves sewn in delicate scarlet thread. Little golden dragons danced through them as a symbol of her ties with the family. Aegon had picked the golden thread, predictable as ever, when she’d asked his opinion.

She thought of the embroidered knot Helaena had been making – silver and green, tangling with red and black and gold. There were so many twists, but Helaena assured her that there was a rhyme to it, a dance with complicated steps. Aemond’s soft laugh cracked a bit, and Abby bit her lower lip to hide her giggle at the sound. She turned her head, and while she couldn’t quite make them out, she could see their shadows along the stone floor. They stood close together, heads bowed over something - maybe the jar, she couldn’t tell.

Heavy and purposeful footsteps echoed down the hall. Abby’s head snapped up from where she stood within the doorway, not immediately visible. She strained to identify the cadence, and her stomach twisted when she did.

“It’s him,” she hissed, glancing wide-eyed over her shoulder. Aemond’s head was close to Helaena’s with her hands resting on his shoulders. At Abby’s raised alarm, her fingers twisted in his dark green doublet and yanked him towards the partition, shoving him behind it. Abby snatched the jar with the precious cocoon inside and tucked it on the bookshelf behind the embroidered manticore Helaena had just finished. Otto Hightower’s footsteps were not alone, although the Hightower guards did not enter the Princess’ room when he swept in. Abby immediately dropped into a curtsy, a murmur of, “Lord Uncle.” Helaena bobbed slightly, twisting back and forth a bit. “Good morning, grandfather,” she said, bounding up to press a kiss on his cheek. If Otto had any weakness, it would be his unparalleled love and favoritism of his granddaughter. It was hard to tell how much Helaena enjoyed her grandfather’s attention and how much was one of her games, but whatever it was, it worked.

“Good morning, sweet girl. You look lovely today.” Otto’s voice was fond, his smile more gentle than he seemed capable of. He was an intimidating man. Abby had received nothing but kindness and vague disinterest, but he still made her nervous. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to borrow your cousin.” She felt her cheeks color as Otto’s gaze moved to her. Her mouth dried as her nerves returned to where they’d been when standing before the Queen, wondering if she was being replaced. Perhaps Larys was sending her back to Harrenhal or her sister was demanding she go to her in Casterly Rock.

Helaena smiled at her, though, with her hands folded across her stomach. “I’ll help you with your carapace later,” she reassured her. “You won’t be without armor.”

Closing the door behind them, the Hightower guards followed a few paces behind as Abby fell in step with him.

“Is everything alright?” she asked as they went left instead of right, towards the Hand’s tower. It had been years since she’d walked this path that had been as familiar to her as the gardens of the Red Keep. Her eyes glanced for the loose stone at the corner of the step, where she’d stow secret messages in the little hollow behind it. Had she left a note there? Was there perhaps a mystery one waiting for her?

“It is. And I hope you have been well yourself.” Lord Otto looked down at her gently, and she nodded. “The Queen says you pray often in the Sept?”

A prompt. A strange one, but a prompt all the same. She swallowed past her dry mouth and put a smile on her face. “Yes, I enjoy the quiet, and it helps me feel closer to my parents.” And brother, but she was careful not to mention Harwin around anyone but a handful. “It’s especially nice when her Grace joins me. It’s almost like I have my mother back.” No one could replace her mother, but the Queen had been there for as long as she could remember, and sometimes, when she tilted her head a certain way and the light caught in Queen Alicent’s auburn curls, she could pretend her mother was there once more.

“Her Grace speaks highly of you – how good you are with Princess Helaena, well behaved and polite. She said that you and the princess have made things for the poor children of the city. A very kind and admirable pursuit for you both. Your father would be very proud.”

“Thank you.” Abby wasn’t sure what else to say or what he was getting at as they began climbing the winding staircase. The familiarity of it hit her like a scent memory - one sudden and revealing of long-forgotten feelings. “I do my best to follow the Queen’s guidance and reflect well on my position within the family and her example.”

“Good. Very good.” She wasn’t sure if it was something she was supposed to reply to, so she hedged her bets and remained quiet. Her palms were sweating, and she discreetly wiped them on her skirt as she held the fabric. “I’ve noticed that you and Prince Aegon do not spend as much time together as you used to.”

Aegon? Why was she being asked about Aegon? Her stomach twisted, and she felt a prickle of heat along the back of her neck. It was true: they didn’t spend as much time together, but they hadn’t for years now, not since she spent more of her time with Helaena and… Aegon? Well, Aegon had been withdrawing slowly but surely for so long, like fraying threads at the seams. She’d be lying if she claimed to not miss him, because she did. She missed the happier boy he’d been, who did not constantly ply himself with drink and was more mercurial than a wild dragon.

Abrogail would also be lying if she claimed they saw little of one another, or spent no time at all because that was untrue as well. Until the past few moons, she’d gather lunch for the two of them when he finally rose well past noon, and he’d take her flying wherever he and Sunfyre desired to go. It had been something quiet and cherished, simply the three of them away from everything. Until Aegon had gotten in the tavern brawl all that time ago. Until Aegon started avoiding her. Until he barely acknowledged her at meals that he decided to join, even when he sat beside her. There was no way that Otto Hightower would not be aware of that, and she would not hedge around it. It wasn’t like anything untoward was happening.

“Not as much, but that is a natural casualty of leaving behind childhood. He found me earlier this week because it seemed there was a lack of honey cakes in the kitchen and I was the first to be interrogated.” There was a note of amusement in her voice, and Abby smiled in memory of his indignation and how silly he looked when she shoved honey cake into his mouth to stop his ranting. “He occasionally accompanies me in the Sept to pray. It’s incredibly kind of him to do so.”

She mounted a few more steps before realizing that Lord Hightower had paused. She turned to look at him. Morning light streaked through the narrow, delicate paned windows, casting shadow and illuminating dust in the air. He stared up at her, and with a few steps between them, she stood at his height. It was the first time she’d ever met her uncle’s eyes. Unlike her own unreadable brother, Otto’s face was not so impassive. He looked intrigued by her admission. Abby’s hands wound into her skirt so as not to fidget.

“He was not inappropriate, if that is your concern, my lord. Prince Aegon behaved with due respect.” To defend Aegon was second nature to her, and she would do so towards arguably the most powerful man in the realm if it meant to spare Aegon more shame and ire when, for once, he’d done nothing wrong. Which was true. Aegon hadn’t said a single thing. He knelt beside her, lighting candles, and simply stayed with her while she prayed for her family. He hadn’t even put a hand of comfort on her shoulder. She felt that was worth mentioning, given his current proclivities. She would not deny his vices, but she would not break confidence, and she would let no one, especially Lord Otto, think any worse of him if she could help it.

“Very good.” It took everything in her to keep the bewilderment off her face as she tried to understand what exactly he was trying to figure out. Otto resumed their progress, although now he rested a heavy hand between her shoulder blades like a father guiding a child. “So, you have no current complications with him?”

Complications? Did he think she’d lifted her skirts for Aegon? It wasn’t like she’d never thought of kissing him on those lazy afternoons when they’d lay in the grass and stare at the sky somewhere in the Kingswood with Sunfyre sunning himself like a cat. Of course she’d thought about kissing him, especially when he was at his most melancholy, with tears pooling in his eyes, making them pinker than normal. A kiss beyond the games children play, a kiss to comfort an angry prince in the firelight’s glow, his tears coursing down his cheeks with each snip of her embroidery scissors that sent locks of moonlight hair to the ground.

He’d never touched her more than a handhold, and far less than she touched him in her casual affections.

“No. No complications,” she confirmed.

They reached the landing, and Abby ran her hand over the stone dragon curled up in eternal sleep at the top of the stairs. Her fingers scratched along the smooth curve of its head the way she’d done every morning when she visited her father. She felt her uncle’s gaze on her, and she drew her hand away, hurrying to follow him into his office with her cheeks burning beneath her freckles, relieved only just by his vaguely amused expression.

The room was darker than it had been before. Gone were the stacks of books with various slips of paper sticking out haphazardly, or Theraxis lounging lazily along the cool stone floor by the door with his fluffy tail, sending motes of dust into the air. She instinctively clutched her skirt on the right to pull them away, so used to a giant paw the size of her hand grabbing at the fluttering fabric. But Theraxis was not there. The crumbling tome about the Andal invasion was absent from where it once rested on the side table. Instead, Larys stood by the fire with his back to her, as did the Queen, her lovely green dress covering her from neck to wrist with a golden pattern woven in the fabric that caught the firelight. Her face pinched in the way it did when she was uncertain and trying not to pick at her nails.

Abby noticed, of course. It usually meant that someone was about to get yelled at or she would send them away with the other ladies.

The figure in the chair slouched so far down that his silver head nearly vanished behind the back of it. At the clearing of Lord Otto’s throat, Aegon jerked up. His whole body held so much tension that it made Abby’s own hurt just by looking at him. He peered over his shoulder at them with glossy, red-rimmed eyes that give him a strange, ethereal sort of gaze, skin pale enough to prominently display the flushed pink mottling of a strike against his right cheek. He looked stuffy and uncomfortable in his dark green doublet, his fingers absently tugging at the buttons and collar. As his gaze focused, his eyes widened and darted from the uncertainty she knew was on her own face to his grandfather behind her.

The thud as Otto shut the door reverberated through her, and she and Aegon both flinched at the sound. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby could see the Queen flinch as well. Larys, as always, looked unphased. The heavy hand on her back pushed her towards the empty chair closer to the fire, and she had no time to bob a curtsy; courtesies stuck like toffee in her mouth.

The chairs once held the delicately embroidered pillows her mother made. She would curl up with them and read aloud from the books scattered around while her papa worked. He would-

“Queen Alicent and Lord Larys have received several letters expressing interest in you, Abrogail,” Otto said, walking behind his desk. She dug her thumbnail into the pad of her middle finger, and she saw Aegon’s booted foot twitch on the flagstone – a rocking motion from the ball of his foot to his heel before slapping it back down beneath the desk. Wood crackled in the fireplace. “Lord Farman is looking for a wife for his eldest, and Faircastle would be close to your sister.”

He plucked a scroll from the basket as he spoke, and Abby felt her stomach churn with nerves as a red heat clawed along her throat. She did not venture a look at Aegon, save for the foot he kept rocking back, the heel he repeatedly ground into the floor. He’d not gone back to slouching. He could be indolent and rude when he wanted, but not even Aegon dared to in his grandfather’s presence. Abby didn’t understand what this was about, or why Aegon was here.

“Edmund Vance, the heir to House Vance, recently lost his wife. A good man, and part of the Riverlands although a small seat. Or, if you married Jesper Celtigar, the heir of Crackclaw, you’d be able to remain in King’s Landing.”

Otto Hightower produced scroll after scroll and Abrogail felt the flush of embarrassment in her cheeks, confusion keeping her words locked away. How was she supposed to react to all of this? What was he trying to say? Were all these marriage proposals meant to make her feel better about herself? No, that was too odd to contemplate.

Why was Aegon here?

“Lord Grover has also written of his interest in you for his grandson. A Paramount seat would let you be close to your home at Harrenhal, and he already has an heir. He would take good care of you, and your children would have every opportunity.” Another scroll plucked from the basket. “It would bring Harrenhal into their holdings. Is that not correct, Lord Larys?”

Right. Harrenhal.

A woman’s lot is to only be worth what she could bring to the table.

Her brother was a man of few words, and he inclined his head with a shadow of a smile flickering across his face. Abby looked at the queen to find that her face was pinching harder. In the interim, Queen Alicent stepped away from the fire and moved instead to the desk with the gentle swoosh of her skirts gliding across the stone. She cleared her throat, a smile fighting its way on her face.

“All the offers were wonderful for you, my sweet girl, but none seemed right.” The Queen reached out to tuck a copper curl behind her ear, and Abby could not tell if this was supposed to be comforting to her or if the Queen sought comfort in the action for herself. Her lungs felt constricted, and it finally dawned on her.

Oh.

The sole of Aegon’s boot continued to drag across the stone in both a nervous fidget and to keep himself from slouching down even further into the chair. The only reason she could hear it was because of how focused she’d been on it, but now blood rushed into her head and Abby broke eye contact with her cousin to look down in her lap.

“What does seem right is for you and Aegon to be married, after your nameday. You’ll be eight and ten, and the pair of you will go to live at Harrenhal, and make your home there.”

Oh.

“Are you fucking serious?” Aegon’s voice was a hoarse, disused rasp from a night with endless drink. When she looked at him again, she noticed that his hair was still damp, and that beads of water from the wet ends had soaked little spots into the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t looking at her, but up at his mother, and then, incredulously, across the desk at his grandfather.

Otto’s face remained impassive following his grandson’s outburst. Abby wanted to grab Aegon and drag him out of the way of whatever was about to come out of the Hand’s mouth, as if the words would physically harm him.

The silence lengthened. Another log popped in the fireplace.

“He speaks.” The amusement in Otto’s voice caused Aegon to draw back further into his chair before he finally turned to look at her. His eyes were so red-rimmed, and his sullen face was so terribly pale that the pink-lilac of his eyes stood out ethereally, inhumanly like the drawing of a fae folk from a book she had as a child - wild and cornered. He’d bitten his pouty, chapped lips bloody.

Aegon searched her face for an answer to a question that she did not know. The only thing Abrogail could do was give him the gentle, reassuring smile she’d given him countless times before. It was what she did in this world: comfort her loved ones in any way possible, even as she needed to bury her own feelings on the matter. Feelings that, in this particular case, she couldn’t even begin untangling in the moment.

“Well, that makes us luckier than most, doesn’t it?” Abby cleared her throat and turned the smile onto the others in the room. She reached up to grasp the Queen’s hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze before she burst into a million pieces. Whether it was her, or the Queen, that might burst, she could not say. “We are fortunate to know one another so well and to be of an age. I thank you Lord Hightower, your Grace.” She looked at Larys, who remained silent in his observations, as always – an owl in a tree, eyes taking in everything. “Thank you, brother, for looking out for me.”

She felt Aegon’s eyes continue to pin on her. She looked back at him.

The wild and anxious expression was still on his face, and instinct compelled her, as it often did, to reach out her hand to take his - but he surprised her by beating her to it. His skin felt like fire engulfing her frigid hand and his fingers tangled with hers with easy familiarity. Before she could register what was happening, Aegon’s chair was already scraping across the floor and he pulled her from her chair with the momentum of jumping from his own. There was no pause in his movement as he dragged her to the door.

“How very fortunate we are.” A laugh bubbled from Aegon’s chest. It was a joyless sound when he laughed in the presence of his mother and grandsire. It was edged with the familiar mania; Aegon laughed when he was afraid, when he was anxious, when he was trying not to scream as his world was coming apart, or the laughter and joy on the back of Sunfyre. He tilted his head to stare up at the ceiling before throwing a look over his shoulder at the three across the room. “How very lucky we are.”

Aegon’s hand was clammy around hers, his grip bordering on painful. He yanked the door open with a protesting whine of the latch. Abby heard the Queen calling after him, but Aegon’s strides were purposeful as they ate up the ground to get away. Only the grip of their hands kept her from being left behind in the claustrophobic room where their future was being decided for them.

It might have been the second bravest thing she’d ever witnessed from him.

[Chapter Two]

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon x abby #fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #my fics

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demigod-jack-hearth · 3 months ago

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Diary of Jack Hearth

chapter one - Let's start with the basics

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Hey, I dunno why your reading my diary but what the fuck, hi, I'm male today (I'm fucking gender fluid so stfu)

My name is Jack Hearth, I'm 17 years old, the adopted son of Hestia and the champion of many gods and goddesses (we'll get into that in the future, don't worry). I'm also one of the oldest none fully

Let's talk about me, that's why you're here isn't it? I'll only give you a brief summary for now. We can get more into detail later

I don't really remember much about my mortal parents; they died when I was 5 years old from a car accident which I caused (will also get into this in the future) and I take complete blame for the accident no matter what anyone tells me.

After that shitshow of a car crash, Hestia found me, raised me for a few years and then she took me to CHB (camp half-blood), where I became the keeper of the Hearth at camp, which at the time for me personally was a very important job (now not so much).

I stayed at camp for around 6 years, until after the second giant war, where I went to CJ (camp Jupiter) and served for a few years.

After I was released from duty in the cohort, I returned to CHB which is where I usually spend most my time now, although I occasionally visit CJ to visit old friends, such as RaRa (Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano)

Once I returned to CHB, I spent as much time as I could (probably too much) baking, as its one if not my favourite past time.

As well as baking, I began spending a lot more time with the younger and newer campers, and especially the ones who didn't necessarily come from a good background.

In spending time with these campers, it made me realise so much more how absolutely FUCKED demigod lives are.

So many of the younger campers came from families who either abused or neglected them because they were demigods and they were seen as a "freak" by their own families.

This revelation caused me to become very protective over the new and younger campers. (the younger ones more) I basically became a parental figure or an older sibling figure to almost every camper.

After a few years of that, I was involved in some time traveling shenanigans where I ended up adopting my first child, Rosalie, and one of my strange... I guess you could call it an addiction, began... I started having this strange urge to adopt as many children as I could and protect them from the world, or at least give them a caring parental figure, and I currently have 22 adopted children and one biological child.

And now you've caught up, that dear reader is just a brief summary of my life.... I'll bring you more soon

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WOOO, finally done chapter 1, took me 2 hours to write

Can you guys like review this and tell me where I can improve

(tag list for fanfic, tell me if you want to be added)

@love-lightning-forethought @the-gods-strange-children @if-chaos-was-a-boy @silena-daughterofaphrodite @nicoswill2live @unhinged-waterlilly @chaos-pers0nified @lizzzzzzzzzzzzzz---lol @reyna4ever @luck-is-crucial @zoe-aura-of-d3ath @pink-koi-lovejoy @bast-the-best26 @kaiaalwayswins

#pjo #oc #pjo oc #fanfic #pjo fandom #oc fanfiction #spent 2 hours on this shit

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maochira · 2 years ago

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Noa, Chris and Lavinho becoming your father figure

Basically, you're part of a team of younger players for Bastard München/Manshine City/FC Barcha, your coach gets sick/injured so Noa/Chris/Lavinho become your coach for a while (separate headcanons for each character btw)

Tags: gn!reader, hurt/comfort(?), implied child neglect by reader's parents/father or them not having a father figure in their life, reader is a teenager

This was requested by this anon and lucky you I thought about a scenario like this for my Blue Lock OC and Noa a lot last week, so I already had stuff for this in my silly little brain. Also this is probably my favourite thing I've written for this blog so far!!

Requests are open!

Series masterlist

Noel Noa

-you were quite excited when you heard Noa would be your coach for a while

-and to your surprise, he was very impressed with your skill, so one day after training he asks you to stay longer to talk to you

-he didn't intend it to go like this, but your conversation ends up going a little deeper and you reveal stuff about your home life to him and let's just say Noa,,,, some sort of fatherly instinct kicks in very quickly

-he already acts a bit like a father figure to the entire team during training, but man, hearing about your home situation just makes him feel more fatherly about you

-after talking to you, he can't stop thinking about that conversation. He has a hard time falling asleep that night

-after that, he starts treating you as if you were his own child. He always asks if you ate enough that day, and in case you didn't, he's already prepared because guess what? He got some food for you

-during training, he treats you exactly like the rest of the team. But before practice, during breaks and after training? He's so fatherly towards you, some of your teammates started asking if you're related

-at first, it's a bit confusing for you, but you quickly start seeing him as more of a father figure as well

-when your usual coach recovers and returns, Noa stays in contact with you. He knows the times when you're at practice, so whenever he has the time, he will stop by to ask how you're doing

-if it rains, he will INSIST on driving you home. In no circumstance will he let you walk home/to the bus or train stop in the rain. He'd be way too worried about you getting sick

-also, he gave you his phone number and made it very clear that no matter for what, you can call him at any time

Chris Prince

-he's super excited when he gets to be your team's coach and wants to get to know every member, so during your first practice with him he lets the entire team play minigames and takes aside one player to talk to them a bit

-you're the last one to talk to him, and you actually talk so much, practice is already over but you stay because talking to him is so much fun and it's the most comfortable you've felt in a while

-but the lighthearted tone of the conversation changes immediately when you mention your home situation. You stay in your lighthearted tone because honestly, you're not that concerned about it. You're doing well, considering your circumstances. But Chris changes to a more serious tone, while you attempt to keep everything lighthearted

-and because of this, Chris gets so fatherly towards you. Like Noa, he doesn't treat you any differently from the rest of your team during training, but whenever he gets the chance to talk to you, you just notice he acts like a father would

-he's upset when he finds out your usual coach has recovered so he soon wouldn't be your coach anymore

-even when he's not your coach anymore, he comes to almost every single match of your team. And whenever you're not on the field, he will passive-aggressively ask your coach why he benched you. No matter what the answer is, he will insist that you should be playing because he genuinely thinks you're one of the best players in your team

-you have each other's phone numbers, so every now and then he texts you and asks how your day or week has been, if everything is okay at home and if you need his help with anything

Lavinho

-he's literally a huge bundle of joy when he's asked to temporarily be the coach of your team

-always joking and messing around with you and your teammates

-one day, when he walks past your team's locker room, he overhears you venting about something from your home life. He knows he shouldn't, but he stays to listen for a minute or two

-and then the realisation hits him. He notices how neither of your parents ever came to drive you to training, pick you up after it, or even watch your matches. No one ever came.

-he waits at the exit for you to leave the building, and when you do he asks to talk to you

-you're so nervous. You've never seen Lavinho as serious as this, so automatically you think you've done something wrong or you're gonna be benched for the next match

-but to your surprise, he admits he heard you venting to your teammates. He apologises for listening and explains he's concerned about you

-he tells you how it's okay if you don't want to tell him more than what he's heard already, but he really wants you to know that because he's your coach for the time being, he'll also be a safe person to talk to about anything

-you really appreciate his concern and offer, but you plan to keep your home life away from your soccer life as much as possible

-well, at first you do. As time passes on, you find yourself asking Lavinho to talk after practices more and more often

-he very soon becomes a father figure to you, and he treats you as if you were his child

-also stays in contact with you after your usual coach returns, he really tries to come to every match you play in and cheers for you the loudest

-he probably gets happy tears in his eyes every time you score a goal

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frango-maconheiro · 6 months ago

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wow, wow, interaction.

also, there's a stupid meaningless ramble i made out of this incredible petpeeve of mine with EW x reader stuff and it's just down the cut sggkjdfjkk (it's fr just me being extremely salty)

Anyway, hello!

Haha, my curious and lonely ass really thought it was a clever idea to read 'eddsworld x reader' content because it spawned in my timeline.... thinking that maaaybe they actually got good at it and made not too ooc stuff (this is heeeeaavily on matt content)

Now, i am profoundly remorseful of that choice because when i wrote this hours ago woth no wifi, i was arguing with the air.

Like, i won't lie on this. EW x reader.. They have evolved, a loooot since those 2017 fanfics (why were the x yn fics from eddsworld all copy-paste back then???) actually, it really surprised me because i definitely don't have the most cool memories of such fanfics,, Buuuuut, they still have that STUPID FAVORITISM. IT'S SO DAMN APPARENT. YOU THINK WE CAN'T SEE IT???

i get madder from down this line, especially since i was veery hungry when writing this. That's why you should always stay fed, keeps you slightly happier.

nhamnhamnhamm, writes aaall cool stuff for edd, tom 'n tord... maybe with an ooc here and there, but enough to ignore,, but matt? Matt gets so ooc, he can be mistaken for an oc if no name is given.

like,,, did.. did we watch the same dude on screen? i know he was pretty neglected in content, but cmon, what is that?? He's practically a romance repellent with his stupidity (said affectionately)

it's the same 'pipipipopopo just a sweet mama's boy' and 'ooo, he's sooo romantic, look at how much of gentleman he is compared to otheeeers' and 'whaao he so silly ::3 *treats him as if he weren't an adult character' and so much more, all in this weird stereotype

I guess i'm just disappointed,,, all because he just, idk, still feels downright boring compared to how the other 3 are written in these kind of fanfics even thought it's 2024 already and not still 2017-2020 (don't even get me started on the weird fixation on making yn extremely specific which fr also makes me crawl away like a wet cat from EW reader interactive content, they don't even put tags of the gender, aaaaaargh).

y'all definitely have more content of him to write than just the saturation of him painting your nails, or going shopping, or acting like he's the center of the world 24/7, or making him the pure lil' angel, or having his memory issues being downplayed as him acting 'so silly lil' silly', i assure you.

When i tell you i got so invested in this useless anger i mean that i got compelled into writing down a bunch of matt x reader to try and give that man a cooler image,,, and i don't even see him that way (nor any of the characters.) , but GOD ARGHHHV I NEED JUSTICE FOR HIM.

i might be just a lil' hot headed while writing this whole stuff, but this bro got stripped out of BOTH his classic and his modern funky personality in 99% of these fanfics and nobody bats an eye, like, ever, unless they're another fan of the character. Free my ginger rat, pleeeeaaaaseee.

I need any weirdo, edgy, funky, unusual, vampire, zombie(heavily on you zombie matt my beloved), slasher, funny, whack matt written content that is not only interactive BUT friendly to all readers...

i don't even care what Matt is written, modern, or classic. Both types have their own weirdo charm, and i am willing to analyze them for a nice oneshot or spitball post.... where you don't get to a restaurant/picnic and receives flowers and it ends like that, without any more depth of such cute cliche fluff it is, and leaving you like you just licked off the scraps of a dessert from a plate given to you, so damn hungry 'n wishing you had eaten an actual dessert instead of whatever that was.

#eddsworld #matt ew #ew matt #eddsworld matt #ramble #aaaaargh I'M GON DO IT #IM GONNA WRITE MY OWN MATT CONTENT IF Y'ALL AIN'T #👏🪰indubitably laughing at myself while reading this wall of text #it's so silly omg #like 'grrrr don't mess with us matt fans #we 4 people and we mad as hell at your silly fanfic posts grr grrr' jlpljpblmgjpphg #im just glad to get my silly anger out of my brain :b

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scary-pixie · 28 days ago

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November 1st = New Tina Year! (secret diary entry and upcoming goals)

I'm mainly writing this down so I don't slack off! Cause if I slack off I can look back on this and think, "wow, you failed terribly. dingus."

Ahem.

Anyways, I am in the process of thinking up some new short term goals now that:

2024 con season is over (with the exception of some smaller events)

Spooky Season is almost over (I like posting non-stop spooky stuff during this delightful time)

Twitter is going inside the toilet

Magazine troubles (more on this below)

I have met the famous man whose inspiration played a big role in both: a) getting back into drawing my old OCs after 15+ years (little round glasses are a bad influence), and b) getting brave enough to be on video after saying I would never do this for god knows how long. (secret: I watched a certain music video with one of his characters the morning before I made my own). BUT HE WILL NEVER KNOW ABOUT THIS AND I WILL NEVER TELL! I AM FULL OF CRINGE!!!

This is what I'm thinking at the moment, in terms of my next creative direction. I appreciate any thoughts or advice!!:

My OC art was an absolute flop in terms of gaining new social media followers. Bluesky seems to be a LITTLE bit better, but it's still early to tell and I haven't posted too many of my OCs there yet either. For the time being, though, I plan to get back to my Schoolism subscription assignments since I've been neglecting them for a bit!

good lord I need to flatten my stomach somehow, as I cannot fit into my preferred fashion choices. I quit watching TV for a while in the summer, which helped a bit (I tend to eat everything in the house while I watch), so I may try this again soon.

arm workouts are going alright I guess, I am gaining a bit of muscle in my armes so they do not look so much like noodles.

Tempted to get back into posting video game screenshots and mini-reviews on social media since people really liked this stuff, but I'm worried it might just add more to my plate.

I'm really enjoying doing videos now, I'm just not sure which direction to take them (or if I even should take them places). I tend to film a lot of myself and a long-time friend in the car just saying stupid shit, but I don't really want to post all of these.

I wish to read more books without falling asleep, jesus christ this is tough.

On a similar note: the magazine I used to write book and comic reviews for has SHUT DOWN GOD DAMN IT so maybe I'll write some new stuff here?? Not sure yet!

I need to get back to my Japanese studies!! I used to do them at lunch and dinner but now I get distracted by all the awful political shit online! Aaaaaaaa!! I really hope America doesn't combust in the next few days but I guess we'll find out soon...

Finally, I need to be more active HERE! It's the best place for longform writing and art that might be a bit too "cringe" for the general public. Let's see if I can stick to it!!

I think that's all I have to SAY for NOW. Wish me luck in sticking to my goals instead of spiralling into ADHD Twitter nonsense, aaaaaaaaaaaa!!

Tagging a couple frands: @prometheus-ghost @fadingdreamerdream @thewebspinner @autolykiss @draganwhorror

Also anyone who actually wants to watch my shitty ass videos, the link is below. I have a bunch more but haven't posted them! https://www.instagram.com/kittensoft39/reels/

#secret journal #goals #creative goals

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plasticfangtastic · 1 year ago

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american royalty. ch. 2

A Homelander x F!reader fanfic.

a/n: will post ch. 3 this week but sadly my other fic will be posted next week, enjoy this slow burn dadlander fic, and thx u to all the readers. prev. chapter:

Sypnosis: Homelander never wanted to remember you, but after welcoming Ryan into his life, he thought of you & the lie that tore you two apart. Now... thinking back, thinking of your betrayal-- was he perhaps wrong about who the father of your unborn child was? Did you perhaps told the truth all those years ago?

Tags: mild gore, angst, lots of angst, slow burn, fluff, OC characther, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter Two

Red

It had been a very long day, business was booming nowadays and since that influencer had made a couple videos on your pizzeria, you had been more than just busy, you began to run out of ingredients.

In the last four years, the restaurant had grown, it had been there since 2002 ran by your boss’s father and his brother, who had ran their own pizza shop since the 80’s but as the economy and other events hit, they had decided to relocate and re-brand, now managed by their son– a man you owed so much, had his heart not been filled with kindness you would most likely be in the streets. So you made sure his restaurant was the best, you had accolades, you’ve worked in some of the best restaurants, you were once a very prominent fast rising figure of the New York culinary scene– until Homelander came along.

Your talent revamped the restaurant and now your food was once again on the spotlight, for the first time since you left Vought, you were happy with yourself, even if it was pizza. Cooking made you happy, and this job needed you, you didn’t live in fear of sleeping in your car anymore, you didn’t need to worry that your daughter would sleep on somebody’s couch again, you were able to quit your third job and go casual on your second thanks to this place, right now you didn’t live in the best of places but you were saving up and in a couple months you’d have enough money saved up to move, and send your daughter to a better school, somewhere were her talents wouldn’t be wasted.

So here you were ten minutes before closing, another extra couple hours of overtime for your dream two bedroom apartment, where it would be safe for her, where you could finally feel like your life had moved on from him, that the door opened up and your cashier squealed.

It was a quaint looking restaurant, the wood seating was new and the wall decor had been changed trying to look less cluttered, with Art Deco lighting fixtures as the stand out feature. The place had been remodeled recently it seems, the kitchen and its big brick oven looked clean but ancient to Homelander, he stared at the menu board and metal boxes of accouterments by the counters, taking in that this was in fact a pizza place, that you of all people did in fact work at a pizza place. You who could whip up amazing fare, now made greasy cheap slices, but he had seen people come in and leave endlessly these past few days, people taking selfies, and recording themselves with your food, nothing he understood.

He looked back at the teenager on the counter offering his signature smile as she blubbered her script, then as you took a step closer knowing you couldn’t hide in this open kitchen you finally looked at each other for the first time in seven years.

Your throat collapsed and your whole body became prickly and tight, your heart was beating so fast you thought you might be having a heart attack, you looked at the clock cursing that it wasn’t over, you were almost done packing the kitchen and readying for tomorrow, having a customer at this hour was awful but having him here was about to take you to an early grave.

“What’s your best seller?” Homelander muttered looking straight at you with an aloof stare, then back at the cashier– is pizza night at my house, sorry for coming so late hope that’s not a problem?” he said exceedingly politely.

The teenager blushed and looked back at you as if asking you to pinch her.

“That would be our pepperoni queen– is two types of cheese, extra pepperoni, with our signature house made marinara, with a dash of vodka sauce in our sourdough thin crust… chili oil is optional” You had managed to say trying to ignore those piercing blue eyes, you moved back to your place staring at the few remaining trays of dough balls left– our second best seller is our chicken florentine pie.”

Homelander admittedly detested pizza, it was greasy, gooey and heavy, it was fattening and gross, but there was a familiar aroma in the room, something that was making his mouth water lightly. Looking back at the girl, he ordered both in their smallest size offered, he sat by one of the wooden booths for the ten minutes he was told to wait, and not once did he made a comment, maybe that’s why your heart stung so much, why it felt as if you were about to collapse– that after seven years, he had completely forgotten about you, while only now did you began to feel as if you could heal from all the suffering he’d cause you, how insignificant had you been all along, how you love never registered.

You both had talked of moving in together and buying a home, he wanted to buy you a restaurant, and you wanted to give him your life, you had never loved somebody as much as he made you love him, and now you were just some bum wearing a graphic t-shirt making him dinner.

You packed his food, your boss Kaleem had given him extras on the house, practically begging for Homelander to give them a photo for their socials and you simply stare as he did his superhero thing, you took one of the delivery bags knowing he would lose the food if he flew with them in hand.

After the photoshoot, Kaleem and your cashier had run to the back to show the picture to the only other staffer left at this hour.

You both looked at each other as he took the bag off your hands, you wanted to cry, your eyes welling up but you looked down afraid of him, no doubt he could hear your heartbeat tickling his ear.

“It's been a while hasn’t it?”

You could’ve collapsed into tears right then and there, it was worse to be remembered.

Growing angry at the sound of his soft voice, and that concerned expression in his face.

“Yes…”

“How you been? Didn’t think I'd ever see you again.”

“Should’ve killed me back then… got fucking close to it tho.” You dropped all pleasantries, hearing him talk and not hearing the word sorry 5 seconds in, had infuriated you. His stupid face, those stupid eyes, and that clown suit was too much for you, maybe it was the poor diet and lack of sleep but right now you wanted to ban him from Lucci’s– hope you enjoy the food.”

You pushed the bag jumping from the kitchen to the front as you headed for the door, holding it open for him.

“I’m doing alright. Now leave!”

“You don’t even want to know why I'm here?” he was taken aback by your brashness, you had always been sweet to him, tender, barely ever angry before, so why now?

“You got a little kid now, I gather like any other kid, he likes pizza… and good for him because mine is the best!”

“Not really… I actually wanted to see you. I… I just wanted to ask you something–

“Mother!!”

Your daughter emerged from the depths of the kitchen, she carried a kindle in one hand and a giftcard in the other.

“Is it okay if I use my present now? They got some books on sale and you said not to buy more books until I finished… oh…”

In the light and in front of him, your daughter truly looked like your mirror image, copy and pasted into a miniature. Her hair just past her chin, and her bangs indeed covered her eyes, peeking behind those curtains were the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen, there was no unnatural shine to them– just blue. Her lips so thin and her complexion just a tad paler than your own now that he gave it a proper look, she was so small-- too small for her age.

“Is okay honey, is your birthday you can get any books you want” Your tone shifted entirely lowering yourself to take her face and plant a quick peck on her cheek– now go back with uncle Kaleem and let mommy close shop, okay? We’ll go home in a minute.”

“Is it your birthday young lady? Congratulations.”

Homelander threw his best smile, giving the kid a cautious pet, catching the rage in your eyes as his gloved fingers touched your daughter.

“Thanks. Is not a milestone birthday so it is not worthy of congratulations… seems inane to celebrate it” she looked at her mother with a jaded expression– " I'll go get my bag, have a good night, sir.”

Homelander pressed his lip as the most deadpan voice came out of this little girl. Her oversized black sweater and the black tights made her look oddly unhappy, but the kid just stared at him with boredom, no surprise or interest when she stood next to America's favorite son.

He wondered if that was an adult or a seven year old for a second.

He worried if the kid had told his mother about that other night, but looking back at you he went with 'maybe'.

“What’s your name?” he asked, still forcing a smile– "my… you seem like a smart girl getting books for your birthday.”

“Helena.”

The kid couldn’t muster the energy to give him anything but her dead ass voice, she began to walk away not caring for manners, nor Homelander.

“She’s… cute.” he said watching that tiny figure walk away and surviving after her second nsult– great pronunciation for her age, does she even know what she’s saying?”

“Helena is not like other kids.”

“How so?”

You looked at him more tired than anything, rubbing your temples as you made yourself waste spit to talk to him.

“She’s a Supe… by the time she was two she could speak in full sentences, by three she could read at a first and second grade level, and by five she was teaching herself calculus and piano… she’s a genius; I thought she was a normal genius until… her other powers manifested– none of this matters! Just go!” You shook your head in frustration.

“You gave her V?” He said while staring at Helena.

“... I didn’t know what V was until the news broke out, I thought Helena was chosen by God! That the world blessed her with those powers, but when that story came out I’ve been wanting to ask you– did you give her V? but… if you didn’t… who… are you lying to me, John?”

Homelander looked past the concrete walls looking back at that little girl, he didn’t know what to say or do, before you could utter another word he left.

Ryan nose picked the meal quickly, glad that it was friday and his dad would let him stay up ‘til late, Homelander just dropped the meal on their new table and the kid was quick on his feet, the food was still warm, only now did Homelander noticed the extras, couple of small containers holding chili oil and freshly made ranch, garlic knots and a lemon meringue pie, it was too much but Ryan hadn’t hesitated to dig in, before Homelander could ask him to wash his hands he had ripped a slice of pepperoni.

“This is so good!” He said so cheerfully– gosh I was starving, dad.”

“I sure hope so, bud… let’s leave the pie for tomorrow…” he looked grossed out, Ryan sat opening up the garlic knot’s containers– not gonna eat?”

Homelander sat down to join him, the thought of touching all those greasy surfaces was making his stomach hurl, but he relented, taking a slice.

He was young again, and you were there coming back with some drinks as he ate your chicken florentine, this was the same recipe, the chicken was so juicy and the cheese wasn’t greasy. Ryan was shocked to see his father sound so happy as he took another bite.

It was the first time they both ate together where they felt completely comfortable with each other, maybe it was seeing Ryan not pick at his food that made Homelander able to just talk, Ryan told him all about his homework, and the videogame he was playing, he really liked Fifa at the moment even if he himself cared not for the sport.

Helena watched as her mother stood silently hovering above the sink, you hadn’t moved much for a couple of minutes, your daughter more annoyed than anything else regarding this display.

“How do you know Homelander?” she asked with a yawn.

“Huh?” you woke up from your trance– you should be in bed, darling.”

“You too. So… How do you know the clown?”

“Honey, don't say that!”

“He walks around wearing a onesie all day… like a clown… like the rest of those super clowns”

Your daughter always spoke with a creepy maturity, her voice didn’t belong to a kid.

“... He used to be my boss… he was a really bad boss…”

“You used to work for Vought?” She softened her stand.

“Honey… I don’t really want to talk about this… it's late and we are going to the museum tomorrow so you should get some sleep, mommy is just tired… hope you had a good birthday.”

“You should rest too, mother.”

Your daughter's eyes glowed momentarily turning th blinkers off before she made her way to bed, you stared at her door, thinking if she could see you.

No mother should think their child was creepy, Helena was just difficult and abrasive, to be a small kid with her brain must be unbearable. You could recall the moment she asked you about V so vividly, she looked angry, but you had no honest answer to give her, you had to lie, god knows if you got the details right about how these people committed these crimes. Helena simply had no ability to relate to people, and without the funds you couldn’t help her meet her potential, not while you were both stuck living in public housing, not while scraping every penny.

Her few friends forced her to dumb down and even they found her uneasy, only the old people seemed to handle her best, she loved to listen, and her teachers always thought of her as a delight, yet she knew no other Supe beside herself, those pageants were expensive, and networking meetings were hard to get in, talent agencies were costly– having a super-abled kid and trying to make them into a Supe was locked behind a massive paywall, all you could hope was that her genius would let her enter a university early on scholarships.

There was always Godolkin, but god knows if they would let her enter at a young age.

It would be easy if her father was involved, if John was there in her life, she would have the world but he didn’t want her, he had made that clear years ago.

So why did he lie about the V?

It had been two weeks since you seen Homelander, but he saw you a lot, he'd come back and forth-- watching you and the child with ardent curiosity, seeing you made him reminisce, of those many nights and afternoons, of the way no matter how tired you were, you always made sure to look happy when he showed up, the way you looked so at peace while cooking, of the feel of your skin against his and the taste of your precious lips as you kissed him good morning.

He followed you, on your only day off as you took Helena around the city, watching you share a slice of overprice cake while taking notes, and ate cheap chinese for lunch, you waited for two hours as Helena played chess and checkers with some oldies at a chess shop, some russian man gave her lessons-- some of these people dressed nicely perhaps pros. Some won over her and some lost but the games were quick, your daughter seemed happier when she loss than when winning.

Something about that didn’t sit well with Homelander.

Somehow he found himself in your apartment, cracking open the window to sneak in while you headed back home– the tiny apartment felt more like a closet than a habitable space, the ceilign was run down, and the appliances ancient but well kept, your bedroom was simple, cooking books and boxes sat on top of your dressers, a single’s bed with plush comforters and pillows stuck against the wall, with a wardrobe in front of it, and a cheap fan tucked in the corner. He left for your daughter’s room just a few feet away divided by the bathroom were most of the clutter and laundry lived, her bedroom was just as plain, but the books didn’t seem fit for a small child, her desk tidy and organized, he picked up a notebook from the pile, seeing math equations that hurt his eyes within seconds. All her stuff were nice and new, she had a decent computer on top of her bed, an old dresser, but there was an absence of toys– compared to Ryan’s bedroom that was filled with anything he wanted and decorated expertly. A clock adorned her walls but not much else, the few things that looked messy was a tiny plastic chess set, the kind with magnets on the bottom, and some DIY stem kits.

He took to the bathroom, it was old and falling apart, mold was growing in the corner much to Homelander’s disgust, trolley held dozens of beauty stuff and shampoos and detergents, a shelf on the wall held towels and toilet rolls. Homelander looked at a sparkly hairbrush, picking a couple strands of lost hair knowing by their lengths and color that they weren’t yours, and cursing himself for doing this as he place them on small plastic bag he had hid in his glove.

#homelander #homelander fanfiction #homelander x you #homelander x reader #the boys fanfiction #personal #my fic tag #not proofread sorry #american royalty #already got 2 more chapters done for this hope yall like it #I really like slow burn stories #my natural enemy is the short story it seems #homelader x f!reader #dadlander #the boys oc

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corrodedcoffinfest · 26 days ago

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Seven Deadly Sins Pop-Up Masterlist

What a week! Thank you so much for all of your participation throughout this pop-up event!

This week, we covered 7 prompts and there were 45 total entries from 10 unique participants: 43 Fics, 1 Piece of Art & 1 Fanvid were submitted.

I tagged the entries so you can also sort the entries by sin:

Or by word count:

331 | 666 | 1031 | 1313

Fun fact: Wrath was the most written for sin!

Don't forget there is also an AO3 Collection if you'd like to use it!

Stay tuned. A new pop-up event announcement is coming very soon.

The Sin: Pride Fic Submissions:

pride's gonna be the death of you by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: T | WC: 331 | CW: implied drug use, implied drug addiction | Tags: modern au, famous corroded coffin, angst with a hopeful ending

My Own Version of You by @thisapplepielife | Rating: M | WC: 1313 | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | CW: Mild Gore, Body Parts, Consent/Ethics (it is a take on Frankenstein) | Tags: Monster AU, Mad Scientist Eddie, His Henchmen, Reanimation, Steve Was Dead and Now This?, Crack Taken Seriously, Spooky Season Fun

Corroded Coffin Fest Halloween - Pride by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 1313 | Tags: Friendship, humor, angst, typical DnD shenanigans, Dungeon Master and Player dynamics (Eddie is a ruthless DM, but his players are little assholes and he isn't a tyrant).

pride by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: M | WC: 1313 | Pairings: Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Gareth Emerson (kinda) | CW: Eddie refuses to ask for help following his idiotic display of machismo in Jeff's basement. Thank Christ Wayne isn't deterred and ignores Eddie's foolish pride and gets him the help he needs.

Pride, Sloth & Wrath by @xzerosparrowx | Rating: T | WC: 331 | POV: Eddie | Tags: Eddie is Pride and Sloth, Steve is Wrath.

The Sin: Greed Fic Submissions:

you get what you deserve by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: T | WC: 331 | CW: none | Tags: famous corroded coffin, jeff’s inner monologue, supportive corroded boys

greed by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: T | WC: 1313 | Pairing(s): Corroded Coffin vs Killswitch Records | CW: Angst, embezzlement, mentions of neglect, malnutrition, basically running ragged to the point of no return. food, health mentions. Modern!AU

Corroded Coffin Fest Halloween - Greed by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 1031 | Tags: Minor FOI compliance, friendship, angst, guilt, regret, self-doubt, self-hatred, desperation, implied trauma responses

The Sin: Lust Fic Submissions:

lust by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: E | WC: 1313 | Pairing(s): Eddie x Reader, Gareth x Reader, Eddie x Gareth x Reader | CW: Smut! Oral (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, a smidgen of voyeurism (but everyone's into it), teensy bit of angst, happy ending

I Know We're One (Just Me & You) by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 666 | Rating: M | CW: Recreational Club Drug Use | POV: Gareth | Relationship(s): Gareth & Eddie | Tags: Lust as a Desire To Gratify the Senses, Unrestrained (Non-Sexual) Gratification, Gareth & Eddie Experience the Hug Drug Together, Or as Coolio Said: Rollin' With My Homies

not while i'm on my knees by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: E | WC: 666 | CW: sexual content, semi-public sex | Tags: established relationship, famous corroded coffin, love confessions, blow job, hand job, interrupted sex

Corroded Coffin Fest Halloween - Lust by @jo-harrington | Rating: M | WC: 1313 | Tags: friendship, teenage angst, humor, smut/male masturbation (not graphic/detailed), fantasies, crack fic

Other Submissions:

The Sin: Envy Fic Submissions:

envy by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: M | WC: 1313 | CW: Allusions to smut, jealousy, modern!au, implied that Corroded Coffin met in college | Tags: Eddie Munson x you, references to Gareth Emerson x you in the past

Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma'am by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 666 | Rating: M | CW: Talk of Off-Screen Sex, Recreational Weed Use, Period-Typical Objectification of Women | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Off-Screen Gareth/OFCs | Tags: Gareth's on a Hot Streak, None of the Rest of Them Can Understand It, At All

envious for nothing by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: T | WC: 666 | CW: mention of recreational drug use | Tags: season 2 era, eddie has a crush on steve, he doesn't do anything about it in this but it's there, introspective eddie

Corroded Coffin Fest Halloween - Envy by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 1313 | Tags: Friendship, angst, teenage angst, happy ending

The Sin: Gluttony Fic Submissions:

Corroded Coffin Fest Halloween - Gluttony by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 1031 | Tags: Friendship, teenage shenanigans, boys will be boys, food/eating, implied sickness

never fall in love with your best friend by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: T | WC: 331 | CW: very brief mention of implied sexual content | Tags: jealousy, Gareth has a crush on Eddie, side steddie implied

gluttony by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: E | WC: 1313 | Pairings: Bisexual!Eddie Munson x Reader (could also been seen as bi, not explicitly stated), background Steve Harrington x Reader's Best Friend (unnamed) | CW: Overstimulation, oral (f receiving), degradation, bisexual!Eddie Munson, pet names, teasing, edging, vaginal fingering + other hand stuff, unprotected sex, rough sex, and a delightful little bisexual surprise at the end.

Corroded Coffin Fest Halloween - And To All A Good Fright by @xzerosparrowx | Rating: T | WC: 666 | Tags: Friendship, humor, angst, disagreement, supernatural encounters, friendship

The Sin: Wrath Fic Submissions:

Corroded Coffin Fest Halloween - Wrath by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 1313 | Tags: Friendship, humor, teenage angst, Freak #3 is named Dave in this universe, bullying, emotional outburst, revenge, typical Halloween pranks, Hopper needing to put his Sheriff pants on (still ACAB)

the wrath of gareth by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: T | WC: 331 | CW: temporary character death, grief/mourning, canon-typical violence | Tags: everybody lives (by the end anyway), eddie comes back wrong (or right if you're into that kinda thing), gareth is maybe the best friend ever

Front Page News by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 1313 | CW: Language, Property Damage | POV: Goodie | Relationship(s): Steddie, Background Buckingham | Tags: Modern Setting, Famous Corroded Coffin, Pissed Off Eddie Munson, Lavender Marriage, Steve & Chrissy, Secret Relationships, The Goddamn Prying Paparazzi, Chosen Families: No Matter How Unconventional

wrath by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: M | WC: 1313 | Pairings: Corroded Coffin, manager Phil, and some protesters | CW: Some overzealous protesters and a very naïve Eddie. Literally tried to turn the other cheek and got socked in the face for it. Minor injury, not well described. Oh, and some cheeky retribution and sexual innuendos (bandter, if you will)

Other Submissions:

Wrath - GreatWise by @alicetallula | Medium: Art | Pairing: GreatWise | Details: Done using ink pens, a metallic ink pen, alcohol markers, gel pens, acrylic paint pens and Photoshop for the name of the sin.

The Sin: Sloth Fic Submissions:

Corroded Coffin Fest Halloween - Sloth by @jo-harrington | Rating: T | WC: 666 | Tags: Family, angst, teen angst

sloth by @the-unforgivenn | Rating: M | WC: 1313 | Pairings: Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin | CW: Angst, self-sabotage, negative-self talk, allusions to excessive drinking and recreational drug use

you belong in a boat out at sea by @steddieas-shegoes | Rating: E | WC: 1313 | CW: none | Tags: gareth and di established relationship, masturbation, vaginal fingering, gareth does his favorite thing in the world: eats his wife out

Not Just Sundays by @thisapplepielife | Word Count: 1313 | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Corroded Coffin Trying to Make it On the Road, Steve Back Home in Hawkins, Failing at Managing the Distance, Good Uncle Wayne, A Touch of Angst w/a Happy Ending

#corrodedcoffinfest: seven deadly sins #masterlist #corrodedcoffinfest #mod post #ccf

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lady-of-imladris · 2 months ago

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CHAPTER 13 - ALL THROUGHOUT THE GREAT WAR

Synopsis: A lot of things are happening in Middle Earth. A dragon attacks Erebor, Gollum is imprisoned in Mirkwood, and the entire plot of the Lord of the Rings trilogy also happens in this chapter.

Word count: 2.5k

Pairings: Thranduil/OC

Warnings: I think none?

Additional tags: hurt/comfort lovers rejoice, the comfort is coming at the end of this chapter :) :) :)

Link to the chapter overview

And we will never go back To that bloodshed, crimson clover Uh-huh, the worst was over My hand was the one you reached for All throughout the Great War - The Great War (Taylor Swift)

The next 500 years were dark. While Thranduil had recovered most of his diplomatic abilities, he grew more concerned and wary too. Servants of the dark were everywhere. There were spiders in his forest and a dragon had attacked the nearby mountain, sealing within it forever the necklace he had given Anarríma on their wedding day. Legolas had played with it one day when he was still a small child, accidentally breaking the clasp. As soon as Thranduil heard of Glorfindel being reembodied, he sent it to the dwarves, expert craftspeople, to have it repaired. His wife would never need to know he had neglected to take care of her jewellery.

What Thranduil had not anticipated was the greed of Thror, king of Erebor, who wished to keep the necklace for himself, for it sparkled like a million stars. He had severed all ties with the dwarves, resenting them from that day forth. Let them rot. When the dragon came, Thranduil would not endanger his own soldiers for the greed of one dwarf. He had warned them many times, as had Elrond and Galadriel, having foreseen the dark days to come. What Thranduil had not expected was the dwarves sneaking through his forest on their way to reclaim their mountain. “There is nothing but death for you there,” he had told Thorin Oakenshield. A fool he was, and too much like his grandfather in Thranduil’s eyes.

When Thranduil offered his help in return for his wife’s jewels, which Thorin had declined ever so impolitely, Thranduil knew what he was dealing with. Thorin had failed to see reason, so Thranduil intended to keep the dwarves in his cells. Give them a chance to calm down and realize that they could not hope to survive this war and get their mountain back. There were too many orcs in his forest too, giving Thranduil a migraine that threatened to persist for an entire age. He barely managed more than an eyeroll when he received word of the escape of his prisoners. In addition, Celeborn had reached out, telling him what Galadriel, Elrond and Gandalf had uncovered.

Thranduil sighed wearily, donning his armour once more and giving his troops the order. Get his wife’s jewels back from the dwarves, warn them of the threat of the combined forces of the orcs and help them. He had planned to go to Erebor anyway, to help the citizens of Laketown, who had lost everything in the fire due to the greed of the dwarves. The King of Mirkwood was in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. He substituted it with wine. Thranduil met with Gandalf, the main cause of his migraine, as well as a man named Bard, newly appointed head of Laketown. He was trying everything to solve this conflict in a diplomatic way. But Thorin Oakenshield was too stubborn. He died for his stubbornness. Thranduil got his wife’s necklace back. They all went their separate ways.

The king knew in his heart that the deciding conflict was soon to come. He had successfully ignored Sauron and whatever evil was still afoot in Dol Guldur ever since his wife died. Let other people deal with that, he had lost enough already. However, once again, Gandalf crossed his plans and caused a lasting headache. The creature was called Gollum. At least, that’s what everyone else called it. The ranger Aragorn and Gandalf had dropped the creature off at his palace, getting Thranduil to agree to keep him in his dungeons. Fine. How much grief could this poor thing possibly cause him?

Thranduil soon discovered Gollum was mostly an easy prisoner. His wailing could not be heard far, even with the superior hearing of the Elven race, the magic around his dungeons kept the noise down. Gollum loved fish. “Let him have this comfort at least,” Thranduil had declared upon discovering this. Somehow he pitied Gollum, even allowing him to walk outside from time to time, always accompanied by heavily armed guards of course. It went well for a while. Thranduil even thought he began to understand Gollum, occasionally taking the time to sit with him and try to make conversation.

“We lost it,” the creature cried, “we needs it back, my precious, we needs it.” Thranduil did not entirely understand why Gollum referred to him as precious. “You lost something dear to you?” Gollum nodded, wailing pathetically. “I did too,” Thranduil admitted. Somehow, talking to the creature came easily to him. “The elf lost its precious too, maybe we can find it togeth- NOOO. Silence. He is trying to lure you. FOOL. Do not trust the elves. They are wicked, tricksy, false. His precious matters not.” “I beg your pardon?” Thranduil had listened intently to the creature. It seemed to be talking to itself as if two different beings resided within it. Gollum turned to look at him, seeming angry instead of afraid as usual. “Then beg.”

After that incident, Thranduil increased the number of guards who accompanied Gollum on his walks. However, it was not enough. His guards were overwhelmed by the number of spiders that attacked them, and when a group of orcs joined the fight, Thranduil’s soldiers were outnumbered, and Gollum was taken by the orcs. Legolas and the few survivors of the group returned to report to their king. That day, Thranduil made the hardest decision of his life. “Legolas,” he said softly, “you must inform Mithrandir and Strider of our failure. Go to Rivendell. You will most likely find them there.”

The next news Thranduil received about his son was a short note that simply stating that he would be gone for a while. “I love you Ada,” he had ended the letter. An uneasy feeling made its way through Thranduil’s entire body. Something was not right. But then again, what was right these days? Celeborn and Galadriel arrived unannounced several months later, telling Thranduil about the Fellowship of the Ring, and the part Legolas played in it. “We must keep the Eye as far away from Orodruin as we can,” Celeborn announced. Thranduil agreed. “We can take this opportunity to destroy Dol Guldur once and for all.” Their plan was hatched, a signal was agreed upon. Galadriel would know when the moment came.

Ever since he had found out about the plan to destroy Sauron, Thranduil could barely sleep. He had now fought Sauron twice. The first time had cost him his father. The second time had cost him his wife. Would this time cost him his son? Every time he closed his eyes, Thranduil saw his son’s lifeless body in the dead marshes. Sometimes next to his father. They had never found his body.

When he received the signal from Galadriel, Thranduil and the entirety of Mirkwood’s forces made their way to Dol Guldur. The road was too familiar to all of them. Those who were there when they last attempted to take the fortress were wary. What deception was waiting for them this time? When all armies were in position, and Thranduil, Galadriel and Celeborn gave the order, more than one soldier charged into battle shouting “For the Queen!” It deeply moved Thranduil. For the past three millennia, no one had even dared to utter the name of their queen in his presence, so as not to invoke his ire. It had never occurred to him that they had loved her too. “For the Queen!” Thranduil shouted and charged into battle.

Legolas found himself farther away from home than he had ever been. Mordor was not a good place. As they rode from Minas Tirith to the Black Gate, Legolas recalled that this was the battlefield where his parents had met. Where they had fallen in love. Elrond had told him the full story once. They had seen each other and known immediately that it was meant to be. They had observed the proper traditions and were courting for a long time before getting married. Even at almost 3000 years old, Legolas still had no idea that Elrond had embellished the story quite a bit. Legolas almost died that day, saving Aragorn. But to his great surprise, he lived. Aragorn lived. Mithrandir lived. The Hobbits lived. They had managed to defeat Sauron after all.

The victory celebration and coronation of King Elessar was joyful. As was Aragorn’s wedding. How Arwen had gotten her father to agree to the match, Legolas did not know. Galadriel took him to the side as soon as she saw him, telling him that his father was alive, they had destroyed Dol Guldur and that she was incredibly proud of him. Thranduil had not been able to join them in Minas Tirith. He had been wounded in battle and could not yet make such a long journey. Legolas worried greatly for his father and vowed to return home swiftly. Now that they finally had peace, he longed to spend more time with his father.

On the last evening before they were set to each return to their homes, Galadriel asked the remaining members of the Fellowship to meet with her. “It is the will of the Valar,” she announced to them, “that you each be rewarded for your courage and the sacrifices you have made.” She looked at each one of them for a moment. “Mithrandir,” she addressed Gandalf, “you have been granted a swift recovery from death. That has been your gift. As for the rest of you, you will be granted the highest honour. Each of you has been permitted passage to the Undying Lands. Valinor, home of the elves.”

Ignoring the excited chatter of the Hobbits, Galadriel continued. “Legolas Greenleaf. I have warned you months ago that you would hear the gulls and long for Valinor, the home you never even knew. A place in this land has always been your birthright, so the Valar have decided on something else for you. It is with the greatest happiness that I bring you this message: Your mother has been released from the Halls of Mandos. When you are ready to sail, she will be waiting for you in the house of my father Finarfin, High King of the Noldor.”

Legolas did not remember anything else that happened for a few hours after that. Only that he had planned to drink with Aragorn and the Hobbits. He found himself sitting with Celeborn and Galadriel instead. While he remembered Celeborn being there on occasion throughout his childhood, he had never fully grasped that the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien were his grandparents. They urged him not to be angry at Thranduil for keeping them apart. He’d had his reasons. “I don’t even know who my mother was,” Legolas finally confessed. That night, he received one of the greatest gifts from Celeborn and Galadriel. The truth.

“Your mother was born in Gondolin,” Galadriel began, “before the fall. When the survivors brought her to Lorien, we took her in as our own. She and Celebrían were not many years apart. She was a happy child. Fierce.” “Stubborn,” Celeborn added, smiling fondly. “She begged me to teach her how to wield a sword when she was just 4 years old.” “Did you?” Legolas asked, wide-eyed. Celeborn nodded. “She was my best soldier. By the time the War of the Last Alliance happened, she was my best General too. She begged us to let her join. We did not. But that day she realized that she could do whatever she wanted. I was glad of her company in the years that followed.”

“We were separated,” Celeborn continued his long account of the war, “I did not see her until the morning after the victory celebration. I heard from one of my men that someone had seen her being carried away from the battlefield by King Thranduil. I assumed she was wounded, so I searched for her among those who needed healing, but she was nowhere to be found. Your father, so foolishly in love with her simply decided to take her to his own tent and have Elrond take care of her. He did not wish to leave her side ever again. She did not return to her tent to sleep. The next day I saw her dancing with your father. She was so happy that night. Your father knew that he could never let her go again and she did not want to. She did not come back home to us again.”

Legolas grimaced. His mother staying with his father? The same day they met? That was highly improper, why had anyone tolerated that? “That’s not what Lord Elrond told me.” Galadriel and Celeborn chuckled. “Well, of course, the official story had to sound a bit more proper. But back then, everyone was just glad to be alive. No one cared about propriety. They ended up getting married soon enough.” In hindsight, Legolas was glad that he forgot most of what was said that night. There was only one piece of information that truly mattered. His mother was alive.

When Legolas was reunited with Thranduil a few days later, he was happy to see his father entirely recovered. He was limping slightly, but assured Legolas that it barely even hurt anymore. The elves of Mirkwood celebrated the return of their prince. They also mourned their numerous losses. But they had succeeded, Dol Guldur had been destroyed completely. Legolas had been on edge ever since he got back. How would he tell his father the news? He decided to do it after dinner, when they sat together, drinking wine.

Legolas told his father the entire story first of course. How they had formed the Fellowship, the pass of Caradhras, the Mines of Moria. He told him about his friend Gimli and after almost half an hour, Thranduil was slightly less red in the face. A dwarf?? Legolas ignored his father and simply continued. They had been to Lorien, taken boats down the Anduin. Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor had died. Thranduil felt like he should have known the name, but he had not bothered to keep up with the realms of men as much as he should have. By the time he had memorized the name of one human king, that king had died of old age and Thranduil had to remember a new name. Legolas told him the less gruesome tales, and only touched on the battles very briefly, until he finally arrived at his conversation with Galadriel and what she had revealed to him.

“The Valar have granted me a great gift,” he began. Thranduil put down his goblet and listened intently. The Valar rarely interfered. “Naneth is alive.” “What?” Thranduil’s heart was beating so loudly that he could barely hear his son anymore. “She has been released from the Halls of Mandos, into the care of High King Finarfin.” Finarfin who? Thranduil’s head was spinning. He was going to pass out. “Ada? Are you alright? Ada!” His head hit the floor with a loud thud. Thranduil felt himself slowly lose consciousness. All else faded away until only one thought remained. Ana.

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And there we have it. FINALLY a happy ending in sight. I have one more chapter planned, and then an epilogue, which I am currently writing. Sooooooooo the fic will be finished before the end of the year! I am really turning up the fluff on the last chapters, and maybe there will be more smut too but I am not making promises. As always, thank you for staying with me <3 <3

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