#i need to see them brawl you don’t understand

[msknight10]

Freddie and Shaggy.

I think we should put all blond kids from all media into a fighting ring and see who comes out victorious because those bastards are all feral while still being built with a brain hyperfocused on friendship and I want to see who would make it.

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (8)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Angst, pining, injury

a/n: I appreciate thoughts and reactions more than you know!!! <333 Italics indicate flashbacks.

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

The next two weeks were interesting. 

In the first few days after the accident—the ones filled with confusion and incorrect suspicions—you had spent most of your time alone or sleeping. Mor visited your bedroom every morning to share limited information about your past, but there was no routine beyond that. Everyone tiptoed around you, too afraid to set off the timebomb they assumed was your mind.

But Helion had disputed that assumption. 

You were allowed to know who you were, to become the person you had been. 

So, a routine began to form. 

Breakfast early in the morning, usually with a random assortment of the inner circle. Mor was always present, keeping up with her responsibility of telling you about yourself. Cassian joined more often than not—an early riser, he deemed himself. Azriel made it when he could. He was always busy in the morning. Doing… something, everyone told you.

Rhysand would join you after the meal, whisking you away for an hour or two to work on the powers you still could not call upon. He would have a different objective in mind every day and it was your job to parse out what it was. 

You failed. 

Obviously. 

He started bringing in random Velaris citizens instead, but you still felt nothing. It was nice to see the smiling strangers; they were all kind to you, all apparently knowing who you were. The vagueness surrounding them leveled the playing field more. They didn’t know your whole life story and you weren’t supposed to know theirs. 

“You’ve explained it to me before,” Rhysand had said. “It’s a vibration, sometimes a light or a color. You see it around them, feel it. You understand a deep part within them that they don’t even know they’re revealing.” 

Well, there was never any light or vibration or color. You could never tell that the fae were lying or that Rhysand was planning something big for his anniversary with his mate. None of this otherworldly intuition that the Night Court seemed to value so highly. It was all just stagnant. 

After spending some time failing with Rhys, you got to explore Velaris. You had insisted that you didn’t need a chaperone, and your family believed you—for a time. You had three whole days of walking around the city alone before that privilege was revoked.

Granted, it was your fault that it was revoked, but that was neither here nor there. 

It hadn’t been your plan to get lost, just as it hadn’t been your plan to get caught up in a street brawl over a cart of potatoes. But when you weren’t at the designated meeting spot for Cassian to bring you back up the house, and when he found you with a bleeding nose an hour later, what you meant to do didn’t matter. 

“Y/n?” you heard a voice shout, heavy footsteps shaking the ground beneath you. “Shit—y/n, look at me, you okay?” 

Warm hands enveloped your shaking ones, drawing them back and catching sight of the red staining your fingerprints. It was Cassian, you realized, with his broad wings cloaking you in their shadow. The General’s expression hardened when he took in your face.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low, comfort combatting fury. “Where have you been? We have about 10 people looking for you, sweetheart.” 

You grimaced—both at the pain in your nose and the notion of your family scouring the streets of Velaris. “I’m so, so sorry, Cassian. I got turned around and then I was in this alley and there was a boy—” 

“Hey!” Defeat washed through you at the sound of another voice in the alley, all hopes for a peaceful return home washed away. “Is your girlfriend over there gonna pay for the product I lost?” 

The Illyrian before you paused, body going still at the accusatory tone. Cassian’s jaw clenched and he turned, keeping you well behind him. You still caught a glimpse of the scene from between his legs, and the merchant—to his credit—had the mind to stop his taunting. 

And to look afraid. 

Really, truly afraid. 

“You did this to her?” Cassian growled, fists clenching at his sides. 

The merchant swallowed. “You’re—and she’s…” 

“Did you. Do this. To her?” Cassian asked again, words broken up by malice. 

A beat of pressing silence, only whispers of the street meeting your ears. The merchant took several, shaky steps back, but the movement damned him. His hands swayed with his backtracking feet, and red glistened on his knuckles. 

Cassian’s wings flared at the sight. It only took a small uptick of his brow for the smaller man to fall to the floor in a plea. 

“Please, please don’t kill me! I didn’t know who she was. Don’t turn me over to the Shadowsinger, I won’t make it! I have a family to care for—a wife! I was only trying to protect my crops and she butted in. I didn’t want to hurt her!”

The General hooked his chin over his shoulder and sent you a questioning gaze, one you were sheepish to answer. With a harrowing breath, you revealed, “There was a little boy stealing potatoes. He was going to hit him. I stepped in the way.” 

A tug at your chest had you gasping as Cassian turned back around. The feeling had been persistent the moment you got lost, increasing after you’d been implicated in the merchant’s conflict. It pulled and pulled, a desperate winding around your ribs that you didn’t know how to relieve. 

It had to have been fear. Or stress. 

Cassian eyed the man crumpled to the floor. “Is the boy okay?” he asked, the question meant for you but directed across the alley. 

“Yes,” you confirmed, pressing your hand to the blood running down your chin. “He ran away.” 

Cassian grunted, sent a harsh warning to the man, and then crouched back down to your place on the ground, shaking his head in frustration. “Let’s get you home.” And then he grumbled, “I might get my ass kicked but…” 

Cassian had not gotten his ass kicked when you got home, but many other things happened. Mor just about cried in relief, her arms thrown around your neck followed by a string of commands to never do such a thing again. Rhys rubbed at his jaw as tension lifted from the House. He also had a command—that you wouldn’t be traveling alone anymore. 

And Azriel… Azriel looked like he would vomit, his shadows flitting angrily around him before bridging a path to you. He had cleaned the blood from your face, eyes haunted by misplaced grief, and pure guilt replaced all else in your myriad of emotions. 

You agreed an escort would be better. 

Azriel volunteered. Every day. 

And so you got to know Azriel. 

Mor had described him as reserved, not one to offer the intimacy of touch or personal information so readily. That was not your experience with the Shadowsinger. 

Fleeting touches had become commonplace between the two of you, whether it was his hands or his wings or the brush of his thigh as you sat by the Sidra. You weren’t sure if he was doing it consciously, but you welcomed the familiarity. You found he did it most when he wasn’t paying attention—when he was deep into a story about your past or listening to your opinions intently. 

He was open, sharing pieces of himself you didn’t have to pry to receive. He told you about his mother, about his scars, about how he overcame them. He shared with you how important you were to him many, many times, slipping it into conversations so causally. A thread connected the pieces of his life, and you, it appeared, made up the spool. 

He did not speak of his mate, despite being prompted. 

A sadness came over him at any mention of her, one so achingly melancholy that you told yourself you wouldn’t ask again. 

He loved her deeply, but something had happened there.

You tried not to get too close. This was friendship, a deep familial love that he relied on. That you seemed to have relied on for so many years.

And Azriel was hurt. Even if he and his mate were no longer intertwined by their bond, he didn’t need the onslaught of emotions his amnesiac friend was suddenly overcome with. 

Because you were—overcome by emotions for him. 

It was wrong. 

You wished you had the context to separate those feelings. If you understood your history—if you had memories beyond the few weeks of sweet stories and brushes of his fingers along your hair—maybe you wouldn't be feeling this way. Maybe your heart wouldn’t beat painfully against your ribs each time he entered the room… each time his eyes met yours as if he could feel your admiration for him within his own chest. 

You wouldn’t be feeling this way, surely. Because no one had told you that you should be. 

You only had the recounts of your friends, and the three of them had made no insinuations about you and Azriel. 

You wished you could meet the rest of the inner circle. 

There had been plans to, but then you came home with blood on your face and a disorientation in your eyes and that was suddenly off the table. 

After your time exploring Velaris, you read. 

Mor would pile your favorite books beside you in the small reading room you had come to love and rave about how great of an opportunity this was for you.

“You would kill to be able to read these for the first time again,” she’d laugh. “So have at it!” 

Reading felt easy. 

Books did not pressure you to remember things you weren’t able to. 

You could see it all in their eyes, the way your family clung to each of your words for even a hint of reminiscence. They’d make a joke and hold their breath, desperate for the laugh that should be bubbling out of you. But you never got it, never making the connections that they did. 

Azriel was the only one who’d catch the shame you felt at your lack of deliverance. Although he was the one with the most torture in his expression, he was also the one with the most understanding. He’d lean his head down and whisper what you needed to know in your ear, and then you’d giggle—for show—and hope would return to the room. 

But nothing had returned to you. 

You were still a shell.

~~

“What do you think?” 

Cassian’s question blanketed the table, forks halting their movements atop plates. Breakfast had just begun and you were dressed for a morning in Velaris at the theater, this time with Cassian. 

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” Mor questioned, eyeing the General beneath a raised brow. 

“Were you there last week when I brought her home all bloody? I think it’s a great idea. Rhys agrees.” 

“And Az?” 

Cassian continued his breakfast, reaching for his drink. “Cassian—”

And so you found yourself steps away from the roof of the House of Wind—no longer in the comfortable daywear you’d been sporting—squinting into the morning sun. Leathers fitted for your body were laced up at your back and waist, stretching with a groan as you reached up to block the light from your eyes. Although the pain in your head had subsided to practically nonexistence, it often flared up in brightness or in times of stress. 

Like when you stood atop a mountain and stared into the sun. Or got punched in the nose by a potato merchant. 

“This is where I go while you go galavanting around the city,” Cassian chimed in, a grin evident in his words. 

“Charming,” you muttered, still adjusting to the jarring assault of the sun.

The sound of grunts and clashing metal oriented you quicker, and as your eyesight settled you were met with the image of Azriel. He was bare-chested, leathers donning his legs as he pressed further and further forward, the knife you always saw at his hips hacking away at the metal dummy before him. 

He moved so quickly that it was difficult to track him, one swipe after another, so carefully skilled and practiced. Sweat beaded down his tattooed skin. His wings rippled and spread in time with his footwork. 

He was mesmerizing, a force of nature only halting as his shadows wound around his ear, whispering. Azriel whipped around, sheathing his knife at his side and staring out beyond the training ring with a narrowed gaze. He spotted you instantly, without looking near or around—a magnetic force. 

Until he wasn’t looking at you, instead glowering in Cassian’s direction. “What are you doing, brother?” he bit out. The back of his hand made a quick pass along his forehead. 

Cassian didn’t look the slightest bit sheepish, ushering you to the outskirts of the ring. “She’s going to train. Now that we know she won’t break at the slightest thing.” 

Hazel eyes slid back to you, a softness overcoming them as you quickly averted your gaze from the broadness of his chest. You were not ogling him. 

You bit into your cheek to stave off the embarrassment. 

“I thought we agreed—” 

“Az, come on. It’s been a couple of weeks now. We need to get her back in the swing of things.” 

A crack of defeat edged its way onto the Shadowsinger’s face. 

What had they agreed on? To wait it out? To treat you like glass until you were their version of yourself again? Something ugly licked up into your chest, something raw. 

For a moment—just one—you stood on the sidelines and felt pathetic. While the two Illyrians stared at each other, a silent conversation between eyes, you let yourself feel like an outsider. They had had discussions about you, but not really about you. About the you that they loved—the one with memories and reciprocation. 

“Will you be careful?” Azriel’s even voice snapped you out of the spiral you had initiated. His expression was uneasy, a hand pressed to his chest. “And tell us if you need to stop? If your head—” 

“My head has been completely fine for a while now,” you assured, hands coming up to grasp the rungs of the training ring. “Promise.” 

Azriel pressed his lips into a line but motioned you in with a nod of his head. 

Despite the conflict still raging within your mind, you smiled at Cassian, the two of you letting out a small cheer and high-fiving before the General lifted you by your hips and past the rungs. You regained your footing and stood before the spymaster, meeting his level gaze with your own. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” Cassian began, a loud clap resonating behind you. “Muscle memory is going to play a big role here, but I don’t want to risk you getting hurt, so you’re just with this guy for now.” He patted the shoulder of the dummy Azriel had been practicing with. 

You scoffed, dropping your hands to hang by your thighs. “What? I still have the same muscle tone from before and last I checked my face was beaten in by a real person, not a chunk of metal.” 

“And that will not happen again,” Azriel cut it. “Ever. But especially not when you’re… in this state.”

You ignored the unsettling remark. “Okay, well I think sparring one of you would be more effective in the prevention of that, don’t you?” 

“Cassian and I could hurt you.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“We can’t guarantee—” 

“I trust you,” you interrupted, your view of Azriel partially obstructed by the shadows that wound up your body. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Let me do this, Az.” 

The male before you faltered, his eyes darting quickly between yours. His chest, gleaming in the sunlight, rose and fell with strenuous effort. A clench of his jaw. Another pass of silence. 

“Okay,” he nodded, gaze roving over your features. “Okay, y/n. Get warmed up and we can spar.” 

You warmed up with Cassian, stretching and relishing in the feel of your body moving. He went over a few basic maneuvers with you, and you tried your hardest to pay close attention to how his feet slid around the ring. 

It was a rather hard task, seeing as Azriel had continued his blade work on the dummy. Still shirtless. 

After the General was satisfied with your progress, he passed you off to his brother. The Shadowsinger’s posture had softened a hair from when you first entered the ring, his wings coiled back and his shadows creating uneven shapes along the floor. He kept his hands by his sides, his feet relaxed—not a fighting stance in the slightest. 

“Come on,” you teased, cocking your head to the side. “You have to at least try, Az.” 

“I did not spar with you often before your memories were lost,” he admitted. “I do not enjoy the thought of hurting you.” 

Guilt immediately flooded you. You hadn’t even thought about what this would be like for him, too caught up in your own strife. Your stance dropped, the fists at your chin loosening and falling. 

“Oh, Azriel, I’m sorry. I can have Cassian—” 

“No.” He dragged his left foot back. A ghost of a fighting position. “Only me.” 

You took a painful breath in. 

He didn’t move, allowing you to lead. 

You shook your hands out and then your body moved of its own accord. 

You swiped at his legs first, unsurprised when he leaped back with practiced grace. The two of you fell into a dance of drawn arms and calculated shifts and you were almost unnerved by how your body moved without you willing it to. 

Cassian had said that muscle memory would play a role. 

It seemed to be the only thing driving you.  

You went for his knees, but in a way that maneuvered past his wings. 

You used his shadows as cover, taking advantage of their familiarity with you and cloaking yourself in their mist. 

Azriel swung a halfhearted punch at your shoulder and you bypassed the motion, grabbing his wrist and twisting at his back. 

It felt right. Your actions were not your own but they were ingrained in your being. 

This was your body. 

Something that remained unchanged. 

In your newfound joy, you missed the open palm Azriel carefully directed at your chest. The impact caught you off guard, stealing your breath from your lungs as you were pushed to the ground. As your back hit the floor, another shocking burst of air was ripped from you. 

You laid frozen for a moment before a shadow cast over your body, the sun no longer beating down on your skin. Through the ringing in your ears, Azriel’s voice flowed through. 

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—y/n, take a breath.” A scarred hand rubbed along your clavicle. “Breathe. You’re okay. Breathe.” 

A startling gasp of oxygen entered your lungs. You were fine, completely unharmed, only shocked and disoriented. Azriel bowed his head as you continued to circulate the air into your body, and it was then that you saw it. 

A chain hung between you, dangling from his neck and brushing against your chin. It swayed back and forth, a grounding point as you blinked back the tears lining your eyes. The ring glinted in the sun, rubbing against the golden chain, looking as if it did not belong there. 

Azriel tracked your gaze as he raised his head, looking down at the object of your attention. He sat back on his ankles and the diamond followed him, resting close to his chest. 

You raised yourself to your elbows. “Who’s—” You coughed. Azriel winced. “Is that yours?”  

A stupid question, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. A guarded look passed over the Shadowsinger’s face and you regretted it instantly. He reached up and clutched the necklace in a closed fist.  

“No,” he responded. “Are you okay?” 

He didn’t release the ring. 

“I’m okay,” you confirmed. “I’m not hurt. It just knocked the wind out of me.” 

Azriel nodded. A grim line formed between his brows. 

“Hey! She alright?” Cassian called. He had moved clear across the roof when you began to spar with Azriel, mentioning something about inventory or knives or something you hadn’t paid attention to. You had been too focused on the warmth you felt from being so close to Azriel’s skin. 

The sound of Cassian’s voice did nothing to break the hold Azriel’s eyes had on you. 

Another beat of silence passed. 

The wind blew a strand of his hair across his forehead. 

“I—” 

“I have a mission. I was supposed to meet with Rhys before midday.” He spoke the words apologetically but his hand shook when it lowered to his knee. 

The sun was already past the high point in the sky. It was no longer midday. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “I want to thank you for—” 

“Don’t thank me. Please, just—Be careful. I have to go.” 

A quiet collection of parting words fell from your lips and Aziel twitched, looking as if he would move forward but thinking better of it. 

But you had thoughts too, and they worked against Azriel’s

You raised to your knees and brushed the hair on his forehead back, a small smile gracing your face, trying so hard to melt some of the tension that had grown between you. Azriel’s breath caught as you moved, but you only doubled down, softly dragging your nails along his scalp. 

He shuddered, eyes falling shut for a brief, unguarded moment. 

His shadows consumed him. 

Azriel was gone. 

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Geralt realising how pissed you are after running into you again…

It was another busy day where knights, men and women of all corners came in to rest their battle-weary feet and drink mead. There would be the occasional brawl but they were nothing when you compared it to battling a cursed wyvern with a blindfold.

You exited the back room having just refilled the pitcher of cool mead when a familiar grunt caught your attention. Just behind a rowdy table of farmers, in the corner, sat the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia - and a bard who was far too chipper while sober.

Inching a little closer, you busied yourself with empty flagons while remaining within earshot of the pair.

“Come on - it’s not a bad lyric. Ah, what do you know? You can wield a sword but not understand the complex meaning behind a beautiful string of words.” The bard said.

Geralt scoffed. “It wasn’t complex.”

An old man slid a few coins across the table for the service which you pocketed and then moved on to the next.

“We can’t stay long.” Geralt told his companion. You glanced back briefly and saw the brightly dressed man staring into his coin satchel, concerned.

“I could swear there was more silver in here. Geralt, I think I’ve been indecently swindled.”

You wanted to confirm that the man could easily have fallen prey to the notorious pick-pockets that haunt the tavern but you stayed silent, now distracted by a customer who ordered some pies.

“Don’t forget the carrots this time.” He reminded.

You wanted to tell him where to shove his carrots but heard your name being shouted from across the floor.

“Y/n, I need a word!” It was the tavern owner who enjoyed paying you less than what you were owed. With a sigh, you trudged over to him away from most prying ears. “You’ve been waiting on those tables long enough. Deliver those pies and refill goblets on the double or I’ll show you out the door.”

You had half a mind to bite back but chose to hold the words at bay. In ten minutes, the pie was ready to be collected from the kitchens. As you walked it to the table, you made the decision to confront Geralt but upon approaching his table, found that the Witcher and his bard had vanished, leaving behind some coins for the hospitality.

Geralt would have heard your name being bellowed. He would have seen you answer the call. And yet, he still left?

Typical!

The farmer who had ordered the food found his plate empty as you swerved around his chair and rushed out the wooden door. Turning left, you followed the small path down to where riders often tied their horses, your own being one of them - spotting the familiar silver hair and lute of the bard.

Words appeared to have failed and rational thoughts had abandoned your mind the second you fled.

Your hand flipped the pie out of its casing and with one, well-aimed throw, found its mark. The bard screamed and the Witcher stopped in his tracks instantly stilling for a few seconds.

Then he turned, his jaw clenched. “Did you throw a meat pie at my head?”

You tossed the empty pan over your shoulder. “You bet I did and I’ll do it again.”

The bard at Geralt’s side grabbed his guitar and hid behind the broad-shouldered man fearing that he would be next. “Oh, they’re pissed. What did you do?”

Geralt exhaled as he pulled stray bits of pastry out of his locks. “I’m not sure…”

“Not sure? You fucking ignored me in the tavern! Friends for years and it doesn’t warrant a simple ‘hello’?” You yelled.

Jaskier peered out from behind, “Oh, he’s always like that. We’ve been friends for several weeks and he pretends to hardly know me - such a jest.” He chuckled to himself quite fondly.

Ignoring the brightly coloured song man, Geralt addressed you, now free from the discarded food. He had indeed acknowledged the your presence the minute he set foot in the tavern but found himself reliving old memories instead - some good, others painful.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after that business with the striga.”

“The striga?” You repeated, remembering the event he was referring to where he had taken claim over the beasts defeat instead of giving you proper recognition. “That was over a year ago, I was bitter for perhaps a few weeks but no more. But you wouldn’t know that because you ran off with Roach.”

“I didn’t run off - I just - you were injured and I had no reason to hang around while you healed.” The Witcher explained. “In hindsight, I probably should have checked in.”

You nodded vehemently. “And since you didn’t, you’re very deserving of that meat pie.”

“The pie was mean.” Geralt frowned.

“Oh a tale of a strained but beautiful friendship filled with battles and miscommunication - you must regale me with the details.” Jaskier grinned.

You would gladly do so if your old friend would have your company once more. Raising a brow at Geralt, you posed the silent question.

“Don’t you have a job?” Geralt asked.

You squinted in return. “I abandoned my post and stole a pie. I’m surely fired.”

“Fine - but only until the next village.” The Witcher negotiated, knowing full well that his friend would likely be staying for a longer time. He grabbed the reins and pulled himself up on his horse with a small grunt.

You shared a similar grin to the bard and sent a high whistle into the air to call forth your own steed for the journey ahead.

When the horse approached, you took hold of the reins and walked alongside Jaskier.

“While we’re on the topic, I’ll tell you about the time when Geralt fought an ifrit almost fully naked.” You winked and caught the eye roll on your friends face.

Jaskier pulled his guitar to the front and strummed a few strings to start a catchy tune. “Oh, I’m ready for this.”

~ More imagines here ~

[lxmelle]

Gojo was once described by Gege as a “man of resignation”.

It is a facet of enlightenment - in which the concept of “non-attachment” is a big part of (attachment is viewed as the root of suffering).

We can interpret “resignation” in so many ways, as it explains so much about his immense capacity for love / acceptance, but also his tendency to... simply resign himself to an outcome / fate I guess - a form of passivity that can be either considered positive or negative, perhaps depending on outcome.

Going with the flow, neither chasing nor halting anything in particular with his immense might and potential. He swayed things to gently influence an outcome. Followed a designated path trying to rebuild the sorcerer world through being a teacher... which he couldn’t fully commit too either, because he had a role as a special grade who had to keep working.

That’s not to say he didn’t achieve anything - because of course he did. But nothing revolutionary. He said so himself to Geto: he didn’t see a point in it. There were just some things he didn’t think would change - someone else would replace the higher-ups.

And thus. Despite his massive strength, he never did ever manage to go all out. Perhaps this is symbolic of an inherently gentle/accepting nature? But there was indeed a monster inside him too - the one that thrived on the thrill of killing and defeating. It was a beast he seldom let out. It was a beast with a thirst.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll paraphrase: like a sprinter limited to go at 8kmph, like a singer who is only allowed to whisper her song, a painter unable to use any paints for their desired masterpiece - how dreadfully, painfully unfulfilling.

So of course it was FUN to have this final brawl with Sukuna - to give it his very best, especially when he also didn’t feel lonely anymore with a bunch of monsters he can pass the gauntlet (his body and his will) onto in the worst case scenario.

But of course Gojo doesn’t have the ability to predict the future, so how can anyone expect that he make decisions and judgements perfectly or accurately? All he can do is consider based on his own judgement. Alone. As the only other person who help him plug those holes in his judgement, Geto, had left him.

It is up to interpretation whether Geto was left behind first, but this really isn’t a competition or about assigning blame… because where do we even start?

One cannot hold Gojo totally accountable for things that happen around him or how others interpret his actions. He was born different to everyone else. Probably treated as if he had this role to fill where people had an idea of what they wanted or needed him to be, but never gave much thought over what it would feel like for him.

Gojo, Shoko, and those left behind have had to suffer the same resignation. After all: What else are you supposed to do but resign yourself, in the face of a reality where even to things you don’t wish to happen, have to happen? All you can do is what you can... and if you can, you wield it with all your might.

Geto tried it to the best of his ability.

He wasn’t Gojo, who could do it if he wanted to.

Understanding that Gojo wasn’t, and accepting that he (Geto) shouldn’t change that about him (Gojo), as he was likely more suited to be at the school - essentially following nanami’s words and “leaving it to him” as Gojo was in his element / thrived on it, but Geto couldn’t be complicit in the system that would lead them to watch their own kind die one by one — Geto left to follow his ideals.

Gojo was referred to as the only one who can take that curse into his own hands. I used to see it as “the only one to kill Geto” after he failed and almost lost his humanity for the sake of power (killing Yuta would go against his principles) but now it also has a new meaning: the only one who can take charge and pursue the ideals to actually change the world.

The curse is the sh*t that is in the world of sorcery in jjk. Gojo seemed to (imho) now feel the need to catch up and hold the reins this time.

It is the end of Resignation Man Gojo Satoru. The emergence of The Monster Gojo Satoru (who Geto assisted in helping Gojo keep at bay through being the “model of humanity” that Gojo could follow) who was then fully ready to take the stand. Like Geto on that stage.

Bye higher ups.

Before, despite his immense strength, he didn’t force his way through. Perhaps this was the outcome of having been forced to be born and live with no choice but to be the six eyes + limitless. You do not actually have freedom.

Unless, you’re willing to become a pariah. To wield these cards that were dealt to you and completely become the extraordinary.

And now, Yuta embraces the same resigned acceptance of becoming a monster. After all... only a few will be able and willing to turn into a Monster.

Out of love. A Monstrous love indeed.

Geto had monstrous motherhood in him. I guess this extends to others now too. To cast away humanity because nobody else will. Nobody else can. So they have to wield it. Become it.

Yuta represents both the old and new world... in some way, he is like Gojo and Geto combined... power / strength + sincerity / kindness. Of course, like the yin and yang, each half has a bit of the other in it - so Gojo and Geto had a combination of power and compassion, but they symbolically represent each,

Arguably, had Geto someone else by his side, things may have been different.

All of this mess… ugh.

It didn’t have to come to this, right? Nor did it have to be the extermination of humans, but it could’ve been a collaboration of the special grades (Yuki, Gojo, Geto) all trying to solve the 3 different factors to the problem: humans as the origin of curses (research), the old-fashioned higher ups + clans, and the elimination of the curses. There may be others, but you get my gist.

But alas, this is the jjk world.

Just some thoughts, I’ll end it here before it’s more word vom.

[jakescakeislateforourdate]

Kiss It Better

Dirtyhands is no stranger to brawling, he returns to the slat with his face bruised and knuckles bleeding, hoping for a little refuge from the intensity of the barrel.

No warnings just hurt and comfort as well as a briefly shirtless Kaz

Enjoy this garbage!

...

Kaz Brekker sucks in a sharp breath, pain shooting up his side and across his chest as his lungs expand. He leans heavily on his cane, hand clasped so tight over the crow’s head he worried the metal would be crushed in his grasp. He smacks his lips and endures. He still has the trip up the stairs to suffer through. 

The sweet aroma of the Slat welcomes him as he stumbles inside. But it does little to sooth the ache in his ribs and calm his burning skin. Hands all over him. Water rising up over his shoulders to suck him under. They’d touched him with their disgusting bare hands. He felt sick. He clearly relives the sweaty hand squeezing his throat and closing off his windpipe. 

Warm drops of sweat bead along his forehead, some find their way down his spine. He clutches the banister and lifts one foot at a time. The climb is painfully slow and he has to stop several times to quell the epicenters of agony blooming all over his exhausted body. 

He’s about halfway up when another fair of footsteps begin to accompany his. You ascend the worn steps much faster and are by his side in seconds. You don’t touch just listen. 

Kaz refuses to look into your eyes. He knows how upset you get when he’s hurt. You may never say anything because you understand how the Barrel functions but he can see it in your eyes and if he looks now his guilt for worrying you will overwhelm him before he gets to his office. 

You tread in the silence with him, your presence helping him find some sound mindedness. The waters begin to recede finally. Breathing becomes a little easier. 

He climbs and climbs until, at last, he leans upon his office door. “May I come in?” You ask quietly. Kaz only nods. He’s grateful for your companionship and he needs it now more than anything. 

He all but falls inside, grimacing and gasping when his muscles seize up. This when you step in. You reach out, with just the tips of your fingers, and prod his waist ever so gently. The touch is meant to guide him towards his wing backed chair that he likes to lounge in after rough days. He tenses but responds. He takes the final few steps that cover the distance from the door way to the chair, and slouches into the cushy leather. 

Not being able to miss his pain, you search he medicine cabinet in his bathroom for some paint medicine and fill him a glass of water. Kaz mutters a “thanks” and swallows down two of the pills. 

Next is cleaning up the cuts and tears in his skin. There’s a small laceration beneath his left eye, the blood already coagulating. You soak a clean cloth in rubbing alcohol and wrap it around your index finger. “Is alright if I clean you up, Kaz?”

Kaz nods again and tilts his back into the leather. You press the cloth first to the cut. His lips twist and eyes scrunch closed. You rub gently, it’s small so there’s no need to dig and soak or really even bandage.

You examine the rest of him: a busted lip, bruised throat, and bloody knuckles which are now revealed from the removal of his gloves. He tosses them onto his  desk and sighs. You set to work on his lip. A flicker of motion draws your eyes away from the stained cloth and angry skin. His eyes are open, watching you. Trying to figure out why you still care so much.

Once his lip is cleaned, you crouch down and begin to scrub at his knuckles. You don’t hold his hand, simply pin it between his knee and the cloth. Blood and ripped skin come away from the peaks of his hand. Internally you cringe. You can practically hear his teeth sanding away at each other as he fights down the pain. 

You take a break from his hands, Kaz lifts the hem of his shirt so you can check his torso for cuts. There aren’t any meaning his heavy coat cushioned his ribcage enough to keep the skin from splitting. But still, the dark purple splotches stretching over the delicate skin of his ribs breaks your heart.

“No need to look so blue.” Kaz grunts. There’s a slight smirk gracing his lips, the swollen fat, busted lip twitching.

You raise a brow, “Can’t help it. You know I hate this.”

“Can’t stop it.”

“Can’t I!” Your snap makes him chuckle.

“What? You gonna strap me to this chair, shackle me to bedposts?”

“Don’t tempt me.” You grumble and this makes him smile. 

“You know how easily I can pick locks.” He straightens up a little, proud.

You toss ideas around in your head, “I could kiss you. That’d make you stay put for a while.”

This wipes the grin off his face. Now it’s your turn to laugh. Dirtyhands is practically pouting. He drops his shirt and rests his chin in his palm. “Whatever.”

Kaz’s weakness is always a tender subject. You’ve never actually used it against him and he trusts you not to. But still, it’s not fair how badly he wants to kiss you but can’t. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if your lips were a weapon that left him defenseless for a little while. 

If only to have that one kiss. 

You set in on the knuckles of his other hand. A long snake-like scar trailing across the skin. You’ve never found out where it came from but it’s always caught your attention. 

As Kaz watches you work, he recalls something. A very distant memory of his mother kissing his scraped palm. He’d tripped and scraped it on the gravel roads while out helping Jordie. His mother and dabbed at the torn up skin like you were doing now, and then when she had it all bandaged she placed a loving kiss on the meat of his palm. He remembered how comforting the gesture was.

He thinks of your lips.

He watches you wind clean white bandages over his reddened knuckles. You won’t actually be touching his skin. 

The kiss-

“Darling,” He begins. You’re certainly not his mother. But you are perhaps the only refuge he has left. “Will- willyoukissitbetter?”

The words spill out so fast you almost don’t know what he’s asking. But then you see the blush spreading on his cheeks. His gaze drops from yours. He’s bashful.

You smile and scoop his palm carefully into yours. You bring his knuckles to your lips and lay a kiss onto the bandages. Kaz blushes impossibly deeper and turns into his other palm, hiding from you. 

“Give me the other.” You demand and hold out your hand expectantly. Kaz glances sideways at you and drops his other palm into yours. You kiss the knuckles of this hand, this time laying a quick peck to each curved bone. 

The waters are at his feet but Kaz will win this time. Victory will be his and maybe, just maybe, he’ll have a kiss as his trophy. 

You kneel before him, replacing his hands over his knees, “Anything else?”

Your eyes glitter, not like the stars, but like the flickering candles in the windows of the Barrel. There’s an enveloping solace to them. He’s drawn in and fallen prey to you. 

Dirtyhands has been properly succored. 

He taps his blackened eye. Wringing his fingers nervously. What will your lips feel like on his skin? What if he can’t handle it? 

Then you are there. Your warm breath fans over his throbbing cheek. So lively. Your lips brush tentatively across his cheekbone before finally coming to rest just beneath the cut. Kaz closes his eyes and revels in the proliferating amenity in his chest like creamer in coffee. 

Then you’re pulling away and the water fills your absence.

Come back! 

He wants to call to you.

Don’t leave me!

You survey his expression, monitoring his emotions the best the you can. His walls are falling apart and he cannot scrape together fast enough to keep you out.

His hand cups your jaw, his head tilts, he pleads silently for your sympathy. Just the compassion he has never found in the Barrel. All in a kiss. 

Your beholden eyes never leave his as your chin tips forward. Your lips slot against his. Through the blood of his pulsing lip and the bile in his throat, he tastes glory.

The splendor and conquest spread from your tongue, onto your lips, and flood his insides. He melts like chocolate, heart thundering against his chest. He can’t breathe, whether it’s from the panic or the joy, he can’t decipher. 

The length could not dampen the kiss. Kaz has gained ground. His shaking hand leaves your jaw and you part. He wants to kiss you again but he knows he’ll over do it. So you thanks you. He leans back in his chair and smiles at you, finally relaxed. 

You’ve given to him freely and in time he’ll return it. But most importantly he’s found that you cannot defeat him through touch. “See.” His grin grows mischievous. “You could not keep me here if you tried.”

...

Dear Reader,

          Thank you for reading this post. If you liked it your are welcome to checkout my masterlist as well as request. Feedback is always welcome. If you have any questions you are free to ask and once again, thank you for reading. Have a nice day.

                                                      -the author, Lady

[illyrian-dreamer]

Overwritten – Part 5

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel.

Warnings: Mentions of sex (18+)

Words: 1,925

--------

Part 5 ∇

The winds were unusually gentle that night, the air still and quiet as Rhys winnowed to the roof. Atop of the house, there was no sign of the chaos that had unravelled earlier, the bedlam of your latest episode concealed within the walls.

Rhys expected to find Azriel pacing, his shadows sharp with panic and fret like the all other nights. He waited for Az to approach him immediately, hazel eyes darting between his own as he begged for any good news of his mate.

But tonight the Shadowsinger stayed sitting, his long legs draped off the side of the house, shadows low as they coiled in on themselves. Rhys noted the droop of his wings, the moonlight casting a long brooding shadow behind him, almost as melancholic as him. His brother looked truly alone.

Making his way over, Rhys sat silently next to Azriel, moving his own legs over the edge of the roof. Now that he was closer, he could see the tear tracks that stained Azriel’s face, and a surge of sympathy coursed through the High Lord.

“Az–” he started, his voice laced with remorse for their brawl earlier.

“She’s stopped screaming.” Azriel’s voice was distant, and while his words clung to that last kernel of hope, his tone was flat, more defeated than it had ever sounded. His eyes didn't leave the night sky.

Rhys cleared his throat. “Yes. Feyre willed her asleep.”

Azriel nodded slowly, his gaze unmoving.

“She made progress tonight.”

Azriel cast a sideways look to Rhys, his brows pulled in question.

“Feyre and Mor. She said their names, remembered who they were.”

“Did she snap?”

“Not until she heard the other triggers.”

Azriel’s closed his eyes then, lips pressed as he prepared for what he knew Rhys would confirm. “It was my name again, wasn’t it?”

Rhys’s violet eyes darted over Azriel’s face, wincing at the pain he knew he was about to cause. After a deep breath, he answered. “Yes.”

Azriel nodded tightly, opening his eyes and returning his gaze to the array of stars above. Rhys studied him, unsure of how to comfort his brother.

It was then that Azriel truly and utterly broke. A sob escaped the male, his head falling to his hands. His body shook as silent cries escaped him, tears hidden in his palms as shadows swirled up his frame, eager to comfort their master.

Rhys was on his brother in an instant, pulling him in a tight hold. He could feel each breath the Shadowsinger took, and each cry that left in its place. “It’s alright Az, it’ll be alright,” he soothed.

Azriel couldn't respond if he wanted to. He couldn't stop his despondency from bubbling over, too overcome to pry himself from his brother, to hold himself up. All he could do was cry.

A flap of wings and a gentle thud sounded from behind them, and another set of strong arms cradled Azriel, red siphons glowing against his blue ones.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a pained look, neither of them needing to note how rare it was to see Azriel in such a state. In fact, it was the first time for either of them.

“She made progress Az,” Cassian said gently, leaning closer to his brother’s ear.

Azriel nodded through the cries that racked through him, acknowledging the glimmer of hope that remained. It was the only thing that kept him grounded, here with his brothers. Without it, he knew he would lose himself to his rage. And his brothers – they had fought just as hard to find his mate as he had. They hadn’t stop trying now that she was home. He had never been more grateful for his family.

“M’sorry I fought you,” Azriel said, his voice shaky as his tried to get a hold of his breathing.

“Don’t be,” Rhys responded, giving him a comforting shake. “I hate to have forced you to leave, I took no pleasure in it.”

“No, no. I understand. It’s my instinct, you know? It just… it takes over and I can't find a way to stop.”

Cassian and Rhys nodded, knowing exactly how that felt.

“She’s asleep now,” Rhys added with suggestion.

Azriel snapped his head to his High Lord. “You mean–?”

“Just don't wake her.”

Azriel nodded, standing immediately at the chance to finally get close to his mate. After a few fast steps, he halted to a stop, looking back at his brothers over his shoulder. “I… I”m grateful for both of you. Thank you.”

“We know Az,” Cassian said with a small smile. “We love you too.”

————

Azriel’s hand shook against the door handle of the clinic, his own anticipation like a dog pulling on it’s lead. Pushing the door open with caution, he felt it immediately – what remained of the mating bond, while frayed and thin, began to warm from within. It sang to him, pulling him closer to the medical bed at the centre of the room.

His heart broke at the sight of you. It was the first time he had seen you since the camp, and while your skin looked brighter and your clothes were now clean, the signs of your ongoing recovery was still incredibly evident. How small and frail you looked – bruises spotted across your arms from the leather belts, your hands laced with scratch marks, and deep purple bags set under your eyes from sheer exhaustion.

It took every ounce of strength the Shadowsinger had to not caress the side of your face, to not reach out stroke your hair in the motion he knew you loved. Instead, he forced himself to sit, gripping the sides of the stool to suppress his instinct to touch you.

“Oh, Y/N,” he whispered, casting his eyes up and down your body, his brows clenched in agony. “I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

You slept, chest moving with slow breaths – unhearing, unmoving.

“They say you’re making progress my love. I'm so proud that you are trying.” Indeed, Azriel’s heart swelled at the thought. “If only I could take your pain away, or help you in some way.”

The bond warmed then, reacting on your unconscious behalf. It sparked an idea in him.

Closing his eyes, Azriel cast his most cherished memory down that golden tether, reliving the moment you accepted the mating bond.

“You’ve known for how long?” you scowled at the male, arms crossed at your chest as you tapped your foot impatiently.

“A few weeks,” Azriel replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head as he tried not to blush. He’d never admit it, but he was shit scared of you right now. Harsh eyes sizing him up, so demanding, so powerful. He would journey the lengths of the world just to have you set those eyes on him, even for just even a moment.

“Weeks? Azriel! You didn't think so much as to tell me?”

“I was waiting for you to feel it yourself.”

You sighed then, pinching your nose as you shook your head. You turned from him, hiding the smile that tugged at your lips. You had a mate. Azriel was your mate.

Unable to withstand his own doubts of you requiting the bond, Azriel began to babble. “It happened on Solstice, right when we exchanged our gifts. You were delighting in the ancient scrolls I got you, and when you hugged me, it snapped into place.”

“Is that why you looked so alarmed?”

“Yes. Your scent was overwhelming, it was hard to stay focused. I felt the bond then, sending trills of your own happiness coursing through my own veins. I realised then I would do anything to make you smile, to make you as happy and as joyous as you were on that day.”

Tears begin to well at your own eyes, and you turned to your mate, finding his hazel eyes shining in the same way.

“I couldn't help but thank the Cauldron for having created such a purposeful fate. Because not only was I mated to a female as kind and strong and intelligent as you, but I was mated to someone I had loved for many years prior.”

Tears flowed freely then. “Oh, Az.” You rushed to him, his large arms encompassing you as you shared you first kiss. It was passionate, yet gentle, fierce, yet loving – the true balance of the bond you began to feel forming in your own being.

“I love you too,” you smiled against his lips, a small laugh escaping you, for all that was good in the world.

Azriel’s honey eyes glowed with warmth and desire, his nose nudging yours before closing his lips over yours again. He pulled away, burying himself in your neck as he breathed in his scent. “Your are my purpose to live.”

You baked Azriel a hazelnut cake that evening, even though he insisted a slice of stale bread would have more than sufficed, his own desires to be mated making him impatient. But you were adamant on the sentiment – the cake being a personal favourite of his, and nod to your everlasting friendship as it evolved into something new. He was your best friend, and now the single most important person in your life. You wanted to cook him something as special as he.

Only a few bites of the cake were eaten before Azriel had taken you on the kitchen counter, amongst the dustings of flour and baking supplies. The sex had been gentle at first, and unlike anything you had ever felt before. Every inch of you was stimulated, physically and mentally, and the connection of the bond allowed you to share pleasure and intimacy in ways you didn't know possible. It wasn't long until your love-making become more heated – frantic and needy, completely driven by the surge of hormones and magic that bound you together.

You stayed in the cabin Azriel had brought you to, enjoying the privacy to explore your new bond. You went on walks in the forest, cuddling at the fireplace and talking through the night, discussing your upmost fears and greatest desires. Any spare moments were filled with sensual, heated sex, limbs tangled together as you sweat and writhed together, the both of you insatiable for the other.

It took a full fortnight before you could convince Azriel to return to your lives and the rest of your family, earlier suggestions being met with low growls from the Shadowsinger as a protective instinct took over, unwilling to share you with the rest of the world. You had teased him, calling him a possessive male with a roll of your eyes and a smirk on your lips. You were right, but he would not apologise for it. You were his, to love and protect and serve, from now until the end of his existence.

And from the quiet of the clinic, Azriel sent these memories down the bond.

Ever so slightly, he could feel the rope strengthen, as if old frayed tethers found new ways to weave together. He froze when you stirred, his eyes wide as he synched his breath, worried to have woken you. But you kept on sleeping, a softer expression now resting on your face, you cheeks dusted with a hint of colour.

Azriel gave a silent prayer of thanks to the Cauldron. He had finally uncovered a way to help you. Sending another course of love through to you, Azriel took a breath of contentment – his first in many months.

--------

Part 6 >>>

AN: Thank you to everyone who has been following this story along, I hope you liked part 5!! As always, I’d love to hear your feedback, and if you’d like to join the Overwritten tag list or my general ACOTAR one, just drop a comment below :) MUCH LOVE! ❤️❤️❤️

Tags: @hyacinthoideshispanica @kennedy-brooke @cosmic-whispers @jazmin2211 @psychobookaholic @fieldofdaisiies @marina468  @itscaitymoore @timecharm @icey--stars @lucyysthings @valeridarkness @alw-aysjanuary @brekkershadowsinger @ladygloucester @ciannemar83 @wiitchkiller @xtreme-shipper @thorslonglocks @im-bili @kexrtiz @shadowcrowsworld @lillithathecat @marina468 @aroseinvelaris @cynicalpotato95 @goldentournesol @maddithefangirl @holywolfsstuff @banasheefan56 @banasheefan56 @im-bili @v1olentdelights @cardanenthusiast @mandarin-lmao @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @ttreader @shadowsingersmate24 @auggiesolovey @percyjacksonspeen @starxqt @reiincarnatiion @thefandomplace

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Queen of hearts Pt II

She wanted to teach her manners, and tea parties and croquet first, how to balance fierceness and poise, control and fun. She wanted dresses and lace and softness to give to her. But what Queen Mary wants and what Yuu needs are to different things.  

The Overblots will keep coming, they are sure of it. Once is an accident, twice a pattern, but three already? Yuu must learn how to fight, and dodge and finish a brawl quickly. She must learn the rules of combat.  

That is how the two of them train together, throwing axes until her shoulders are sore, dodging spears and learning stradegy from the great Bloody Mary of Heartsland.  

It's not what she wanted, but its what Yuu needs.  

Yuu pants under an apple tree, resting her head on Mary’s thigh. Taka works more on her stretches during these weeks, building up her concentration and flexibility. They'll give her a day off soon though, time with friends and away from mirrors. Away from them so she can be silly and goofy with the little card soldiers and the other miscreants.  

“Queen Mary?” Yuu asks, looking up at her. “I still don’t quite understand how the fan hides like that. It’s like, as soon as I throw it, either here or out there, it becomes the battle axe. But when I pick it up or tuck it underneath my uniform it’s light as silk.”  

“Ah, that would be the illusion magic dear. Illusion magic is a specialty of Underground Natives, but you’ve been inheriting mine slowly. That’s why you’ve been needing extra rest and food.”  

“Do you think I could try and practice that some? My arms are about to fall off.”  

“Hohoho!” Queen Mary laughs, “We do have the basics covered for both, it may be good to take a break from this for a bit. How are you doing with your color theory?”  

Illusion magic was a hybrid of color blending, transportation, and nature-based magic. Being able to blend yourself and your magic into Wonderland, painting the place you wanted to go so vividly within your mind that you end up there, and the natural sway of Wonderland itself. Creatures of Wonderland, like the Cats, had more of a natural movement with transportation, but the Royal family was good at transmutation. Growing bigger or smaller, faster or longer, but the longer one held a mutation, the harder it was to control. Potions and substances certainly helped, but you could do it without.  

Mary certainly wasn’t starting her on any of the potions. She would monitor those heavily.  

She would not see this one go down the way her son did.  

Yuu was a bright girl though, didn’t overindulge in much, but rather that was lack of resources or not was difficult to say. She trusted Scar to keep an eye on her though, he was one of the few who had children as well and had that instinct to keep them safe.  

It was nearing sunrise when she finally brought the lessons to an end, letting her mind process everything with a light game of cards.  

Yuu scampered off to school, and Queen Mary updated Taka on what they had worked on.  

“Ok, progressing a bit quicker than planned.” He commented, leaning against the staff. “Do you feel like she’ll be able to release you soon?”  

“I think so. Little Braveheart is quick witted, strong too boot!” She smooths the lace on the cuff of her sleeve. “I worry for what’s to come. I worry if she’ll be ready.”  

“You and I both. But the more of us out, the more reinforcements we can put in. Besides with as much time as she’s spending in Heartslabyul, something tells me she’s getting extra practice. She reeks of your Blood roses.” He huffs his nose, as if he can smell it lingering.  

“Oh, she’s safer among the Roses and Cards than alone!” she puffs, “Besides, you are simply jealous that she feels safe amongst my subjects!”  

“She sought Leona’s help when she was homeless, let’s not forget that. She can have her fun with your hedgehogs, but she knows to go to the Lions for protection and strength.” he smirks, knowing that she can’t reach him through the mirror. He only laughs more as the roses in the mirror start dripping red, her hands clenching around nothing.  

When she gets released from here, they are sparing, she swears, and she can remind him exactly why that battle axe was her favored weapon.  

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Eat The Acid

Summary: Reader is the wife of CM Punk and the twin sister of Nick Jackson. The brawl that occurred between The Elite and Punk leads to a messy divorce between the two. Y/n hates the fact that a part of her still loves Phill but can’t even look at him without thinking about the fight.

Warnings include: Swearing, violence, toxic relationships, manipulation and those kinds of things 

Word count: 1645

Eat The Acid II Eat The Acid III Main Masterlist CM PUNK Masterlist

Inspired by "Eat The Acid" By Kesha

When people think of the brawl they think of CM Punk VS The Elite. This whole situation surrounding Phill and Adam, this everlasting hatred that has formed between the Elite and Punk but people forgot about me. Not once have I heard anything about me. I’m not saying this for attention but people don’t understand how difficult this whole situation has been for me. Being the sister of the young bucks and the wife of cm punk put me in a difficult position. I saw first hand how the whole fight played out. I had heard the media scrum and it made me sick. Phill and I had spent the past few months arguing, it really bothered me hearing him shit on Hangman. I didn’t understand the hate towards him. I knew that once we got home I would talk to him about his choice of words at the media scrum. I sat in the private locker room crying, my twin brother Nick comforting me. I told him how I didn’t think I could do it anymore, yes Phill is my husband but the elite is my family. The two of us had been seeing a marriage counselor, and a therapist, an idea that Phill hated. I just wanted to better understand the situation, how I could help Phill. 

I heard the locker room door swing open and was greeted by ace steel who started yelling and destroying the locker room. Just then I saw Phill enter. Look in my eyes, what do you see? Well looking into his eyes I could see the pure rage in them, I couldn't even recognize him. I couldn't move, my body frozen in fear as I watched the whole situation unfold before my eyes. People were screaming, punching, biting, trying to kill each other. I could faintly hear someone yell for me to watch out, Nick grabbing me and pulling me to the ground in order to avoid a chair that was being thrown right at me. As I hit the floor reality set in, that was not any chair but some crazy decided to throw an office chair at my head, barely missing me. Looking up I saw regret in Phills eyes, he was crying. The whole room went quiet, realizing that he was the one to throw the chair. I quickly got up and grabbed my purse and phone, trying to get out of the room as fast as I could, tears continuing to fall. Phill stopped me in my tracks, pulling me towards him. He wrapped his arms around me holding me close, I was frozen, stiff as a board. He whispered sweet nothings and kept apologizing, kissing my forehead, saying he loved me and he didn’t know what came over him. I tried to break free of his grasp and he eventually gave up, letting me go but the look in his eyes terrified me. 

Just then security finally came into the room escorting everyone out of the arena. I spent that night with Kenny, it was like our old days in Japan sharing a hotel room. The both of us were silent, still trying to process what had happened. I knew I wanted a divorce, this was the final straw but even if the other things didn’t happen I would have still filed for a divorce after the brawl. Is it bad that if this happened with anyone else I wouldn't have cared, it was the fact that this involved my family that made me so mad. For god sakes Matt and Nick are his brother in laws. I ignored Phill’s calls, his texts, I knew I needed a break. The suspension didn’t surprise me, we all knew it was coming but it sucked that Kenny, Nick and Matt became the first ever trios champions, only to get them taken away 24hrs later. The news articles came fast, everyone talking about the situation. I didn’t even bother coming home, I got the first flight out of Chicago to California. I knew Phill would know I would try to escape to our Cali home so I packed all of my things and Matt was kind enough to let me stay with him for the time being. 

It took me three months to see him again. Around christmas time Phill and I went back to our therapy sessions. I could tell that he was genuinely sorry but I could never look at him the same after what happened. I didn’t want a divorce, I loved him but the situation tore my family apart, it got to the point where I couldn't take it anymore. Divorce was the best option even though it would make things worse. Phill was my husband, we shared so much together, he helped me feel feelings that I lost years ago. He knew my past, he knew my trauma, never once judging me for it, instead helping me through an episode. That’s what made this so hard, my brain blocked out all the negatives in him, so in love, ignoring the flaws yet that fight remains clear as day, I will never forget it, no matter how hard I try. Matt and Nick were my brothers, Kenny and Adam were like family, they were there for me longer than Phill was. I would always pick them but I felt so guilty about it. They helped me through the situation with Phill, believe it or not they encouraged me to try and make amends with him despite legally not being allowed within 10 ft from another. 

***

We continued therapy once a week for another 6 months, just before he would come back to AEW and join Collision, the show we made for him, in order to keep everyone separate. I was there backstage representing the EVPs when the show made its debut. I watched from a backstage monitor as Phill made his return, the Chicago crowd going crazy for him. I saw that spark in his eyes that was lost long ago, it killed me watching him perform. I was so proud of him, but also angry. We mutually agreed on a divorce despite still loving the other, he loved me more but it didn’t matter what he said or did I would always go back to the fight. I was mad that he made me leave. How hard was it to get along with everyone?  It took us several sessions to even be able to be in the same room as the other without screaming at eachother, constantly arguing, hating the other. 

***

As the weeks went on everything actually seemed to be going well. From my knowledge everyone had been getting along quite well despite what went on once collision went off the air. All In was soon approaching and things actually looked like they might be able to go back to normal but of course that would be a lie. I was informed about the fight with Perry right before we went on air for the PPV. In a way I found it funny, of course there was another fight, did he not learn his lesson the first time? Despite the fight it was too late to change the card as I heard cult of personality starting to play on the speakers. This time the fight was over a spot with real glass. It was a stupid fight but it was fine, Perry deserved it. I’m honestly surprised it didn’t happen before, the kid needed a reality check. Unfortunately this would be the last straw for Phill and it looked like this time he would get fired for his actions. Perry might have provoked the fight but Punk was the first to lay hands. On one hand I felt bad for Phill the other I found it pathetic and hilarious. Security was waiting for the match to be over, ready to escort Phill out of the building due to his actions. 

I stood next to them, Tony wanting me to talk to him about the situation. 

“Was it worth it?” I asked Phill as he entered the backstage area, successfully defending a title that wouldn't even matter in a few days.

“Who else can say they beat the shit out of Perry minutes before opening the biggest wrestling show of all time” Phill said with a soft laugh “And winning might I add”

“This isn’t funny” I told him “Why don’t you give a shit? Do you know how hard I had to work to not get you fired the first time? I built you your own god dam show and this is how you repay me?” I yelled 

“I don’t see the same person I loved when I look at you anymore.” I told him, not even caring that all of our co-workers were watching the whole scene unfold before their eyes. 

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry. I can’t change what happened between the two of us but if I could take it all back I would, I love you Y/n” He said in a soft tone as he tried to get closer to me, security holding him in place. 

I could see the crazy look in his eyes, it was the same look I saw during the brawl. “You don’t love me, if you loved me you wouldn't have started this shit in the first place. I don’t care how many times you beg for my forgiveness, you can’t take back what you said.” 

“I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry I hurt you” 

“I really wish things could have worked between us. I hate you. Get him out of here” and with that security escorted him out of the building. I could feel all the eyes on me, people in shock of what just happened.

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 10

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 5508

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Started a new job this week so things have slowed down a bit! Only three chapters left!! Thanks for reading! Cross posted on A03

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

When morning came, Aelinor watched as her family packed their things, the Princess’ chambers emptying as quickly as they had arrived.

“You should be coming with us,” Luc muttered under his breath.

Aelinor looked up, finding him standing over her with a solemn look on his face. As everyone else packed, she had dressed in a plain scarlet day gown and was reclining on the chaise sipping a cup of tea. Maids and pages hurried back and forth, carrying away chests of belongings, but none of them belonged to her.

“You keep saying that,” She said finally. “But it won’t make any difference.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” he sighed. “This is wrong.”

“It is what it is.” She offered him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Now, go gather your things. Don’t leave it for someone else to do.”

He obliged, leaving her to her solitude once again.

Aelinor could not remember another time in her life when she had felt so conflicted. Only yesterday she had been approaching genuine delight over the news of her betrothal, and yet that dinner had ruined it. It had forced her to realize that what everyone had been telling her since their arrival was the truth. Aemond was not the same person that she had known before. He was capable of malice, of cruelty, and he had directed that hatred at her brothers. It was not in her nature to hold a grudge, and yet she did not see how she could forgive this.

Jace emerged into the parlor, wearing his riding clothes with his cloak hanging from his arm. Aelinor frowned when she saw how wilted he looked. Her big, annoying brother looked…beaten. And she did not want that.

“Jace,” She said softly. “How did you sleep?”

He didn’t reply, and when his eyes passed over her she thought she saw something like mourning in his gaze.

“Talk to me,” She whispered. “Please?”

With a heavy sigh, he walked over and sat on the arm of her chaise. “What do you want me to say, Aelinor?”

“Whatever it is you feel you need to.” She placed a hand on his arm.

Jace stared down at her hand. “Very well. Then I must apologize for failing you in this. I know I have been a frightful brother, and I am ashamed for how I have disappointed you.”

“You have not disappointed me,” Aelinor promised. “If you are referring to the brawl at dinner, I can assure you that I realize that was not your doing. I do not blame you at all.”

“You should,” He mumbled.

“Why?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “If you do not explain, I cannot hope to understand, Jace. And we haven’t much time.”

The reminder of their dwindling time together seemed to be encouragement enough. 

“You may mock me for wishing to protect you —”

“I don’t.”

“You do, often.” He said that without resentment. “But it is my duty. And it is a duty that I have often failed at. But I cannot help but feel that this arrangement, that my leaving you here, is too deep a failure to bear.”

“Jace, it is not your doing,” Aelinor said. “And it isn’t….it does not have to be the end of the world. I know you and Aemond have your differences, but he has always been good to me, always . I have faith that these….these familial differences will fade with time. I must have faith.”

Someday, and she hoped it was not someday soon, her mother would come into her throne.  And when she did, the world would be set to rights and the Queen and Rhaenyra would have to set aside their differences. Aemond and Aelinor would be married by then, maybe even…maybe have children of their own, and their families would be brought together by it. Viserys’ dream would be fulfilled, and all would be well. 

A dim part of Aelinor realized that holding onto that hope was the only thing keeping her together.

“But if he were…if he were cruel to you,” Jace continued. “It would be our fault, you see. Because no one hates you, but he does hate us. His mother hates us almost as much as she hates our own mother. They all despise Prince Daemon and he’s your—” 

Aelinor saw how he bit his tongue before he continued.

“He’s my what?” She whispered.

“We know, Aelinor,” Jace gave her a small smile. “Luc and I, we’ve known for a while. And we do not hold it against you.”

Aelinor looked down, her throat welling up as she fought to contain her emotions. “I’m sorry for not telling you.”

“We’re family,” Jace said. “Some secrets can be left unsaid.”

She squeezed his arm gratefully.

“My point is,” Jace sighed. “You are not going to be Aelinor to these people, once we are gone. You will be a hostage. Whether you realize it, whether Aemond realizes it, you will be. Which means that once again, I have failed you.”

It must have been a heavy burden to bear, she suddenly realized. Her brother had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was a future king, battling claims of illegitimacy from all sides, and doing everything in his power to keep their family together. She wondered then if perhaps she had made things difficult for him all these years, by constantly pulling away. If Jace already saw the divide between their families, then it must have seemed like she was slipping out of reach. It must now seem that she was being torn away from them.

“Jace,” She said quietly, leaning close so that no passing servants would hear them. “I have loathed you, and hated you, and wished that I could smother you with a pillow. But you have never failed me, and I have never, never, not loved you. Because you are my brother, and our blood is that of the dragon, and it runs thick.”

She saw water welling in his eyes, and he pulled her into his chest.

“What is this? Have I been left out of a moment?” Luc was back, wearing his own riding clothes.

“I’ve just been declared the favorite brother,” Jace teased.

“He’s lying,” Aelinor promised. “You hold that titled uncontested.”

“Good,” Luc stepped forward. “But, we must be going. We must get to the Dragonpit and it will be slow going through the city.”

Aelinor felt overwhelmed with sadness as she watched Jace stand and button his cloak. With a sigh she stood, crossing the room to Luc and pulling him into her arms. “Fly safe, little brother.

“Of course, Lina,” He laughed. “As long as I’m faster than Jace.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling away slightly as he squeezed her around the waist.

“You’ll be alright, won’t you?” He whispered.

“I will,” She promised. “I’ll have Darrax, after all. And when I see you next, he might be as big as Vhagar.”

“It won’t be that long,” Luc said insistently.

“That’s true,” Jace sniped. “If nothing else, we’ll see you for the wedding.”

“Your invitation may go missing,” Aelinor shook her head at him.

She was close to tears, so she gave each boy another hug before shooing them out the door. She would see them again soon, and there was no reason to be so undignified about this entire thing.

“Aelinor,” She turned, finding her father standing with his hands behind his back.

“Prince Daemon,” She bobbed her head.

He stepped forward slowly, his eyes catching on the red rimming her eyes. “I will not lecture you, nor do I expect you to take any advice from me.”

He was correct. “But?”

“But…” He reached out until his fingers brushed her shoulder. “Remember who you are. Because this place….it will try to tame you.”

“And how do you know that?” She asked.

“Because it failed to tame me.”

In true Daemon fashion, he let those be his parting words, striding from the room with two stewards hurrying after him. Aelinor almost wished he’d said more. She knew so little of her father, and practically all of it had been told to her by others.  But getting to know him would mean accepting who he was, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

Her mother emerged from the bedroom, little Viserys on her hip. A maid hurried by carrying a chest, and thus the chambers were emptied. She came to stand beside her daughter, both lingering in silence for a long moment.

“Are you sure you wish to stay in these rooms?” Rhaenyra asked. “It will seem very empty with just you.”

Aelinor shrugged. “It feels as close to home as I’m likely to get.”

Her mother closed her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. “Aelinor, if you do not wish to stay here, say it. You can come with us.”

“What, and disobey the wishes of the King?” Aelinor scoffed. “Can you imagine the scandal?”

“You are my daughter,” Rhaenyra said, her tone stubborn. “And I will not have your life dictated to you. If you do not want to be here, if you do not wish to marry Aemond, you will not. I swear it.”

She knew that her mother meant it. And it was for precisely that reason that she knew she had to stay. With tensions as they were, she had to do her part to alleviate the animosity between the two families. Make them remember that they were one family.

“I will stay,” She answered. “Though I will admit, my feelings are not as certain as they were before last night.”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra sighed. “That was….that dinner did not go how I had hoped.”

“Parts of it were good,” Aelinor offered. “Or at least, I thought so.”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra studied her for a minute. The baby gurgled in her arms. “Aelinor, I know you want to think that Aemond is good, that he is the same boy you loved as a girl. But he is not.”

“I know that,” Aelinor admitted.

“And I do not think he is….I doubt he is the monster people make him out to be,” Rhaenyra admitted. “He was always sweet when he was young, and I do not doubt, nor have I ever doubted that he cares for you.”

“But?” Why could neither of her parents just say what they wanted to say?”

“The world is not up to him,” Rhaenyra said sadly. “It is not up to any of us. And I fear that even his best intentions may not be enough to protect you.”

Aelinor saw genuine fear shining her mother’s eyes, and once again felt emotion well up in her throat. “I can look after myself, Mother.”

“I know,” Rhaenyra gave her a small smile. “You are my daughter, after all. Which is why I have faith.”

Biting her lip, Aelinor wrapped her mother and her youngest brother in a hug. “I will see you soon?”

“As soon as I am able to return on dragonback,” Her mother promised.

“Perhaps with a new little brother or little sister?” Aelinor patted her mother’s stomach, prompting a snort of laughter. 

“You children are all impossibly impatient,” Rhaenyra chuckled. “I will not be rushed.”

“No, of course not,” Aelinor laughed. “But yet I must remind you that your ship is waiting.”

“Yes, it is.” Rhaenyra’s smile dampened slightly. “I love you, Sweet girl. Be well.”

“Be well, Mother.” Aelinor squeezed her hand one last time, before she was left alone.

************************************

She sat in the window until she saw her mother’s ship sail from the harbor and disappear from view. Once they were well and truly gone, she finally allowed herself to cry. She knew she was being ridiculous, that she would see her family again soon, and that many women her age had long since left their childhood homes behind. 

But that didn’t make it any easier.

Already she saw some wisdom behind her mother’s words. These chambers did remind her of her family. While that would likely be a comfort in the coming weeks, it was agony now. With a quick word to her maid, she left the rooms, heading toward the palace gardens.

The halls were still quiet, with many of the lords and ladies having left already following the ball. Soon it would trickle down just to the permanent residents of the Keep, and Aelinor was looking forward to being surrounded by only familiar faces.

But then, the thought of being alone in this castle, unable to put a crowd between herself and Aemond….it sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine.

In her entire life, she had never once dreaded seeing Aemond. The opposite, in fact, when she had spent the majority of her life either with him or missing him. And she did miss him, which was absurd because they had seen each other yesterday. But that dinner…the things he had said…she felt as though he had driven a wedge between them.

And honestly…. fuck him . Why did he have to go and ruin something that could have been so wonderful? They were supposed to be celebrating their betrothal, she was supposed to be beaming with joy, and instead she was filled with worry and dread. 

The cool breeze of the gardens was a refreshing change from the stone halls, and she picked a path and started to stroll through. It was still too early for the flowers to be in full bloom, but the greenery and topiaries were lush and plentiful. It was a dramatic change from Dragonstone, which sported little more than grass and shrubs. No one else seemed to be out this early in the morning, so Aelinor took her time, letting her feet drag on the ground. Perhaps later she might be able to sneak away and take Darrax for a short flight. That always improved her moods.

“Bit early for a walk, isn’t it?” 

A figure stepped into her path, the man leaning heavily on his cane as he dipped his head. Aelinor stopped in her tracks, managing to keep a grimace off her face. It was the unnerving man from the ball. She had hoped that he would leave with the guests, but he was here in the royal gardens, which suggested that he was a permanent resident. 

“Your family is…all gone?” He tilted his head.

Aelinor steadied herself, straightening her shoulders. “The Princess Rhaenyra and the rest of my siblings did indeed leave this morning.”

“And yet, you’re still here?”

She frowned. “What is your name, Ser? I don’t believe we have been properly introduced.”

“Lord Larys!” 

Gods, Aemond’s voice made her want to flee, propriety be damned. She practically felt a shadow fall over her as he loomed behind her, and she closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself. If she turned, he would be only inches away. She didn’t know what she could say to him, what she would do.

Which was why she didn’t turn.

Instead, she studied the man in front of her, his name alighting a tiny spark of familiarity in her mind. “Lord Larys Strong?”

“Indeed, Princess.” He dipped his head again, a greasy smile on his face. “I knew you, when you were very young.”

She could not recall ever speaking to him, but she supposed it was not impossible. After all, his father had been Hand of the King at the same time his elder brother was serving as guard to Princess Rhaenyra. This was her brothers’ uncle, though she could find no similarity between the swarmy man in front of her and the gallant figure she remembered Ser Harwin to be.

“It is…nice to see you again.” She offered, trying to keep her reluctance out of her voice.

Lord Larys nodded again. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you, Princess. As it is, I am needed elsewhere.”

Aelinor suspected that he had nothing better to do than skulk through the gardens, but that his hurried departure was spurred on by the Prince looming behind her. She turned and watched Lord Larys limp away, until he had disappeared from view and she had no choice but to face Aemond.

He stepped back when she turned, putting a much needed distance between them. The first thing she noticed was that he looked exhausted. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his face was pale and somber. His hair hung loose about his head, and she realized that the unbuttoned tunic he wore was the same that he had been wearing at dinner.

An immature part of her felt some satisfaction at his appearance. He deserved to lose sleep over what he had done. He had hurt her brothers, caused outrage and scandal at a family gathering, and most importantly, he had hurt her .

But that spite was quickly overshadowed by concern. “You do not look well.”

“Sleep did not find me,” He clasped his hands behind his back. 

“It’s still early,” She gestured to the empty garden. “You could still be abed.”

He shook his head. “I needed to find you.”

It seemed that they were doomed to repeat themselves. Aemond would do something, there would be a misunderstanding, and then they would talk and she would be open and forgiving. Even now, she felt the urge to question him, to demand that he rationalize why he had said what he said.

But she would not give in. Not this time. “Why did you need to find me?”

“You know why.” He implored.

“No,” Aelinor started walking, leaving him to follow behind her. “No, I do not. Enlighten me.”

He stayed a few steps behind her, within earshot and yet too far for her to catch a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. “About dinner.”

Aelinor shook her head. “I do not care for subtleties, Aemond. If you want to talk, then talk. I will not help you along.”

There was a long silence. “I suppose that is fair.”

It was more than fair, and they both knew it. Aelinor turned a corner, heading to the balcony that overlooked the city. 

“You are angry with me.” Aemond said finally.

She scoffed. “Of course I am! You took what should have been a happy occasion and used it to ridicule my family. Am I supposed to be pleased?”

She bypassed the small garden table and chairs and walked to the railing, leaning over the stone to peer down at King’s Landing. If the Keep was having a slow morning, the city proper was positively bustling. Smoke rose from chimneys and even from here she could see vendors readying their carts to be pushed to market. It all seemed a world away.

Aemond stopped beside her, and when she looked up she found his gaze trained on her. 

“Why did you do it?” She whispered.

“I…I don’t know.” He looked down.

She frowned. “I don’t believe you. Give me a reason. Help me to understand. Because I refuse to build a marriage on uncertainties.”

Reminding him of their betrothal seemed to spur something in him, and he swallowed. “Aren’t you angry at them?”

“At who?” 

“Your brothers. Well, Jacaerys and Lucerys, I have no grudge against the little ones.” 

“Why on earth would I be angry at them?” She asked. “You started that fight. Not them.”

He was silent for a long time, so long that she wondered if he ever intended on answering her. 

“Do you not remember how they burned you? How they scarred me? How they taunted me with a pig all my life until I claimed Vhagar? How have you forgotten all that?”

“I have forgotten nothing!” She exclaimed. “But they were children, Aemond! We were all children. What is mine to forgive, I have forgiven. They have grown. We all have changed.”

“Your brother carved out my eye!” He shouted, gesturing to his face.

“Yes. Yes, he did,” Aelinor stepped away, crossing her arms. “And moments earlier you had prepared to bludgeon him with a stone. Perhaps I should be holding a grudge against you, for that.”

She could see that she had caught him by surprise.

“And furthermore,” She continued. “You know as well as I that, as cruel as those pranks were, Aegon was responsible for just as many as my brothers were. But we were all children .”

“Am I supposed to forgive them, is that it?” He demanded. 

“Yes!” She cried. “They are my brothers. I will not ask you to be friends with them, but if we are to marry, this fighting must cease. For your father, for the sake of our mothers, for ourselves! We cannot live with this anger, Aemond.”

She stepped forward, tilting her chin to look up at him. “I cannot live with it.”

His eye closed, and then slowly his fingers stretched out and grasped at the fabric of her sleeves. 

“You…” The words caught in his throat. “I do not think forgiveness is in my nature, not like it is for you.”

Aelinor leaned closer, her hands finding the sides of his tunic. At the first touch, his eye shot open, staring down at her with something between alarm and wonderment. 

“I will not ask you to forgive, then.” She whispered. “I can forgive for the both of us. But you must not let yourself be ruled by anger. It will destroy you.”

It will destroy us , she thought.

He nodded slowly. “I…I can try.For you.”

“That is all I ask,” She smiled. 

Aemond tentatively smiled back.

Aelinor felt some of her loneliness dissipate. “I did not like being angry at you,” she said quietly, stretching her arms up until they rested on his shoulders. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” She thought she could feel his fingers tracing the small of her back.

She let out a laugh. “How ridiculous we are! We can bear nine years apart, but not one evening?”

“I could not bear it,” Aemond said seriously, his palm spreading on her back. “Not for those years, nor one evening. It if were up to me we would never be parted again.”

It was a childish, juvenile sentiment, the type of softness that others would scoff to hear. But for Aelinor, it was just the Aemond she knew and loved. 

“We never have to be,” She whispered. “We’re betrothed, after all.”

Aemond nodded slowly. “And you…you’re sure that this is what you want?”

She understood his hesitation. Whatever kindness had driven her grandfather to betrothe them, their marriage would be an intensely political one. Both of them would serve as hostages to ensure the cooperation of their families, both of them would be constantly drawn into the game as pawns to wield against the other. There was every reason to fear what this might do to them, to their families.

But there was no one in the Seven Kingdoms, nor anywhere else in the world, that Aelinor would ever want to marry as much as she wanted Aemond. He had been the most constant figure through her entire life, and she knew that she could trust him to stand at her side.

“Aemond,” She promised. “I have never wanted anything more.”

And then, in a moment of bravery or boldness, Aelinor stood on her toes and pressed her lips to Aemond’s.

For a split second she wondered if she had made a horrible mistake. His entire body stiffened, and he did not react or move. Oh gods, she had humiliated herself. 

But suddenly Aemond had both arms around her waist, pulling her into his body and kissing her back with a passion that left her lightheaded.

Aelinor had never been one to fantasize about kissing boys. It had never interested her, though perhaps that was because her most likely marriage prospect had been her older brother. But this…she could understand now why the heroines in all of her story books were always dreaming of kissing princes. 

Her head fell back, her mouth parting as Aemond’s lips moved over hers. One of her hands twisted in his hair, pulling slightly when she felt his tongue brush her lip. A tiny, embarrassing sound escaped her mouth, but it only seemed to spur Aemond on. He pushed forward until her hips were against the railing, his arms a cage from which she never wanted to escape.

“Aemond.” She whispered.

“Lina.” He replied, kissing her again. She felt one of his hands traveling to her hip, the other rising to cup her cheek. His palms were rough, callused from years of training and dragon riding, but she thought that she had never felt anything so wonderful.

Voices broke through, carrying on the wind from the garden. There was someone coming, someone who had taken their own morning stroll and likely did not expect to find the Prince and Princess locked in an embrace. They had to part before they were seen.

“There’s someone coming,” Aelinor pulled away slightly, just enough to catch her breath.

Aemond chased her, leaning down until his nose pressed against her forehead. “So?”

“So…what if we’re seen? What would your mother say? What would your brother say?”

“Fuck my brother.” Aemond grinned. “And fuck anyone else. We’re betrothed, remember?”

A smile pulled at her lips, and he dipped to kiss the corner of her mouth. “I might remember.”

“And as your betrothed it is my right — no, it is my duty, to kiss my future wife as often as she likes. And anyone who says otherwise can be a feast for Vhagar and Darrax.” 

Aelinor felt her cheeks heat. His future wife . Gods, that sounded perfect.

“How very ruthless of you,” She laughed.

“For you, anything.” He beamed, appearing lighter than she had ever seen him.

Ignoring that they were likely going to have visitors in the next few minutes, Aelinor tightened her arms around him and hugged him closely. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“You never need to thank me,” He said into her hair. “Not ever.”

“But I am grateful nonetheless.” She smiled. “Now, we really should be going before we are caught.”

Aemond relented and stepped away, but surprised her when he reached for her injured hand and clasped it in his own. When they stepped out from the secluded balcony onto the main path, they nearly ran right into Lord Beesbury and his wife. 

“My Prince!” Beesbury exclaimed. “And Princess Aelinor! What a fine morning, isn’t it?” His gaze drifted to their joined hands, and then back to the flushed expressions on their faces. “Shall I…go another way?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Aemond said, his voice hardening.

Aelinor placed hand on his arm, before offering Beesbury her most sympathetic smile. “We should hate to interrupt your walk, My Lord. We were just leaving.”

She bobbed a quick curtsy, practically forcing Aemond to bow as well, and then they excused themselves. 

“You’re very…prickly.” Aelinor noted. “Lord Beesbury is kind.”

“He interrupted us.” Aemond grumbled.

“Yes, and he was kind about it.” Aelinor said. “Now, let us go. The gardens always fill quickly.” There was little else to do in the capital, at least not for the upstanding members of court, and the weather was fair on this day. 

“How did you intend to spend your day?” Aemond asked.

Aelinor shrugged. “I believe my intention was to spend it moping. If you remember, my family is gone and I was angry at you.”

He frowned. “I thought we—”

“I’m only jesting, Aemond.” She squeezed his hand. “And I thought I may take Darrax for a ride. He has not been out since we arrived, and does not enjoy being confined.”

Aemond opened his mouth to speak, before quickly looking away.

She nudged him. “What was that?”

“Nevermind.”

“No, you must tell me!” She laughed, tugging on his arm. 

He chuckled, pretending to sag into her weight. “Very well. I was going to suggest that I could take Vhagar as well and we could go together. If that would please you.”

Already a grin was spreading across Aelinor’s face. “Now you’re the one being ridiculous. Let us hurry, I shall change into my riding clothes and meet you in the courtyard in an hour. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t be,” He promised, laughing as she picked up her skirts and hurried away.

**************************************

This has been the best day of Aelinor’s life. She was sure that no day would ever be able to compare to the elation of soaring through the clouds on Darrax, Aemond and Vhagar flying alongside her. Both Darrax and Vhagar had behaved themselves, and Darrax had even playfully flown circles around the older dragon. If that was a sign of things to come, then it was a good sign.

But not the sun had set, and Aelinor was exhausted. It was a good type of exhaustion, the kind that made her wish to sink into her bed and collapse into a sleep of wonderful dreams. Tomorrow they could do it all again, just as they could for the rest of their lives.

Aemond walked at her side, laughing as she brushed dust from her coat. Her riding clothes were ornate, more decorative than practical, but she had always loved them. The issue was, however, that she dreaded seeing the dust and dragon reek settle into the intricately embroidered scales along the black leather.

“Don’t laugh,” She protested, though she was smiling too. “I shall have to get these laundered.”

“Then we cannot go out again tomorrow?” Aemond asked, raising his eyebrows.

Aelinor rolled her eyes. “I am a Princess, Aemond. I have more than one set of riding clothes.”

“Shame,” He sighed dramatically. “I thought to take you down to the market. There are vendors who sell candied lemons and sugar-boiled cherries, but I suppose you will miss out.”

She gasped. “Aemond! We must go!”

They were arriving at her door, and Aelinor felt a twinge of disappointment at the realization that they must now part ways. 

“Then we shall go,” Aemond promised, dipping his head. “It would be an honor to escort you.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Aelinor said, coming to a stop before her chambers. She reached out and took both of his hands, her riding gloves intertwining between his fingers. “Thank you, Aemond. Today was perfect.”

“It is I who should be thanking you,” He said, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to her lips. It was chaste, so chaste that it probably would not even cause scandal if they were seen, and it left Aelinor wanting more. But Aemond was determined to be a gentleman, and so he stepped away and bowed deeply at the waist.

“My Princess,” He smiled as he rose.

Chuckling, she held out the sides of her riding jacket and bobbed a curtsy. “My Prince. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” He promised.

Aemond watched until she had shut the door behind her, and then she listened for a few moments longer until his footsteps finally moved away. 

With a girlish giggle, Aelinor spun in a circle. 

“Princess?” Her maid, Jayne, was standing in the corner of the parlor. She had one eyebrow raised, an amused smile pulling at her lips.

“Oh, Jeyne!” Aelinor exclaimed. “I have had the best day.”

“I can see that, Princess.” Jeyne laughed. “Shall I get you some dinner?”

“Oh, yes please!” Aelinor grinned. “Something light, that I can eat in the bath. I intend to go to bed early tonight, as I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“As you say, Princess.” Jeyne nodded.

**************************************

Aemond returned to his rooms feeling like a new man. He knew his brother would mock him to hear it, but he could not help but feel as thought he had been swept into a dream. Aelinor was his . They had spent the day together, and he had basked in her beauty and perfection as he had always dreamed. 

They had kissed . He had held her in his arms and embraced her, and already he wished that he did not have to let go.

And he didn’t. Tomorrow, they would spend their day together again, as they would the next, and the next. For now, he allowed the worries of succession and the tensions between their families fall to the wayside.

He had Aelinor, after all, and so everything was perfect.

************************************

Aelinor reclined into a hot bath, feasting on meats and cheese until she was satisfied, and then allowed Jeyne to braid her hair before she fell into bed. Tomorrow Jeyne would move into these chambers as well, to serve as a chaperone and companion until proper alternatives could be provided. But for tonight, Aelinor simply wished her maid a good night before she closed the door behind her and returned to the servants corridors.

Then, Aelinor wrapped herself in her covers and fell into a comfortable sleep. It was the perfect end to the perfect day.

And then, sometime before the dawn, someone began to pound at her door

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Top 5 Background AFC Richmond Players

+ some random and unfounded assumptions about them. Listed for no other reason than that I wanted to.

5. Tom O’Brien

Tom, your kink is not my kink, but you’re unembarrassed about being a freak and I respect that. Also, seems you took being replaced by Zoreaux/Van Damme/Zorro as goalkeeper in your stride. Nothing about you make sense to me, and I dig that. 

4. Robbie Roberts.

All right, this is shallow as fuck (then again, they’re background characters, not like I have a whole lot of deep stuff to go on), but I just think he looks really hot at the City game in 3x11.

Look at his face! This man wants it. This man is ready. This man can pull off bright pink in a way Jamie would kill for (if he had the brains to understand that he doesn’t wear it as well as Robbie does). Good thing our favourite Tartt is substituted after scoring that goal, because my boy Robbie deserves to play more. (Yes, I could have edited the pic to leave Jamie out. I stand by my choices.)

Also, look at him tapping Jamie’s shoulder as he runs past to take his place! Never noticed before, LOVE it. (Jamie, it seems, does not love it, but he’s a cranky baby who hurt his ankle, so we must forgive him.)

3. Declan Cockburn

Questionable opinions regarding leaked nudes aside, this man is a gentle giant to me. He’s not very bright, perhaps (but this is Richmond AFC, a team of himbos, so who is), and doesn’t always catch the nuances but is happy enough to go along with most of whatever. A quietly caring friend. Good in a brawl. Hums while he cooks. Looks nifty sporting an earring. Probably has a wife and several small children.

(I resent the accusation that my favourite players are mostly players who are nice to Jamie. Even though that accusation is one hundred percent true.)

2. Jeff Goodman

Listen. Listen. Jeff is probably a bit of an asshole (man’s just got that look, you know; also see my next point), BUT just like me he is genuinely fond of Jamie even when Jamie is a prick, so yeah. We’re two peas in a pod, Jeff and I. The lack of Jeff in fic is criminal (and I count myself amongst the guilty ones: we need to step it the hell up, fam). What is this silly Jamie fanboy up to in his spare time? Does his girlfriend get tired of him talking about his fucking colleague all the time? Is he bitter about Jamie hanging out so much with Sam and Dani these days? Does he have a favourite colour? A dish he likes to cook? What’s going on in that head of yours, Jeff? Inquiring minds want to know.

1. Sasha Kukoč

My darling. My baby. My man of the glorious, glorious hair and interesting looks! Yeah, I don’t know. Just. He’s so dainty and seems really cool and level-headed in a way that goes way beyond his years and. I am inexplicably very, very fond of Sasha, all right? Whenever I see him chilling in the background my heart does a little dance. Best background Richmond AFC player because of reasons unknown. I have spoken.

Damn right, he’s prettier than you. He could teach you, but he’d have to charge.

[bucketsofmonsters]

Can you rate your monsters in terms of who gets hottest under the collar if you enact skillful violence in their defense to who absolutely hates any confrontation for their sake? Which monsters see you headbutt someone and make it a bar brawl defending their honor/safety and immediately start thinking about tearing your clothes off? I think Caspian/shark hottie's right in the middle of the scale, and he thinks it's ever-so-cute and it gets a little smile from him anytime you viciously defend him.

I absolutely can

Simon is our number one violence fan here, if you so much as lifted a finger for him, he'd be all over it. He'll read into fucking anything, you fighting for him, it might as well be a marriage proposal

Vincent does not like violence in theory but he does very much like you and the second you throw a punch for him he'd be absolutely swooning, hearts in his eyes

Do not do this in front of subject 251 unless you want them dead!! He doesn’t understand it as a protective thing he assumes you’re fighting to kill and they will be dead soon. He loves you fighting for him but they will be deceased

Caspian is vaguely amused more than anything, a little smile on his face for sure but it does make him a little nervous, especially because you’re probably fighting outside the water where it’s difficult for him to help if he needs to

Rook has a bit of a savior complex and I think he'd be hyped about it, but part of him would be like, damn I didn't get to help them😔 He wants to watch you do sick kicks and stuff after tho he makes you do a whole little show for him, maybe tries to get you to flip him just to see if you can

Posy fucks with it Hard she’s hitting people too, she’d be with you. She would however likely get herself hurt in the process and then be a little grouchy at you later (she would forgive and forget quickly but she’s giving you huffs and crossed arms for at least an hour)

Nocturne would not be into this he’d be trying to usher you out the door like can we just go?? Why are we hitting people lol, don’t give these assholes the time of day

Lucien is at the bottom but he is the most volatile. In most instances he is kind of annoyed, it draws attention to both of you and it’s unnecessary, he’s not big on physical conflicts. However if it is at an actually dangerous person like Eden he’s both proud of you and so pissed you would put yourself in danger, he might yell at you after bc you Cannot be throwing yourself into these situations. He’d be more supportive the period where you’re super agoraphobic, he’s ur number one fan but he’s so worried about you you cannot be doing this

[star2fishmeg]

Your request are open again yey🥳

murayama, how would it be with his girlfriend who is shy about sex, can you write something about it(ʘᴗʘ✿)

ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ɢᴇᴛ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ

Pairing: Murayama Yoshiki x afab!shy!reader

Summary: Murayama with a girlfriend who is shy about sex

Warnings: 18+ smut, swearing, petnames (princess, baby), soft sex, pretty vanilla, missionary

Authors note: Thank you so much for your patience!! This went through 3 drafts but it’s finally ready!

Request: above!

Murayama can be quite dense on hints, so he’d probably need his gf to explicitly say something to him to get it

He’s considerate though!! He does think of other’s feelings and tries to figure out a solution where everyone’s happy, but he doesn’t solve everything with his fists

This man is not shy, which is probably why his girlfriend likes him bc she doesn’t have to be the one saying the stuff she finds embarrassing

Murayama would understand though, and he’d do his best to ensure that his gf is comfortable

“You alright, princess?” he asked. She turned her head slightly to see Murayama already looking at her with his puppy dog brown eyes.

Y/n nodded, thighs clenching, “Yeah…just a bit restless…for some reason.” She was not just restless. Her core throbbed, panties wet and stuck to her folds and her face heating up. Yoshiki was oblivious to how attractive his arms were, especially after a workout when the veins popped more than usual.

“Cool,” he nodded, eyes flickering to the way her thighs were clenched, “If something up, you can always tell me, yanno.”

Minutes passed and Murayama could not focus on the TV, y/n's constant shifting in the corner of his eye becoming concerning. Carefully, he scooted closer, startling her a little and pulled her onto his lap to straddle him. She sat tensed, deeply exhaling when his hands roamed her backside and the dip in her spine. His eyes settled on her neck and trailed to her face, where her cheeks flushed pink and her own eyes struggling to make contact.

“Baby, you know I ain’t good at hints. But I can read that something’s on your mind,” his voice was soft, barely above a mumble. She shifted over his crotch unintentionally, just squirming in general embarrassment, “So are you gonna tell me? Baby you know I’m here for you.”

Opening her mouth to speak, she closed it again upon seeing the concern written in his eyes. She buried her face into his neck, arms wrapping around his shoulders and whispering, “I need you…I need you inside me.”

“Thank god I’m horny too.”

Would be slow and soft if she wanted or would go fast and hard if she wanted that. He’s accommodating to her needs over his own bc he’s a sweet guy when in love

Honestly think he would stumble a lot bc he’s not used to having a shy character around him. He’s grown up around brawling and dudes who yell what they want when they want so he’d probably repeat himself a lot, not out of bad nature but bc it’s a habit

Would hate when she covers her face or body bc he thinks she’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen and feels so lucky that he was chosen

Hips drawing back and forth in languid drags in and out her pulsing pussy, gummy walls clenching around him like a pleasant embrace. Yoshiki’s lips showered her neck and chest in wet yet loving kisses while his hands pinned her wrists above her head.

“You don’t need to cover yourself from me,” he placed another sloppy kiss to the valley of her breasts, “I love you the way you are, so fucking beautiful.” Y/n’s head could only remain pressed into the sheets, mouth hanging open and letting whimpers and high-pitched moans erupt from the chest. Tits bounced at every rut into her cunt, eventually releasing her hands and feeling them cling around his shoulders, her flushed and fucked out face burying into his neck while her nails clawed into his skin. She could never say it aloud, but every time his cock hit her cervix, adrenaline surged through her body and her head clouded until no coherent thought could be expressed.

“How you doin’, princess?” he rasped, pace only slightly quickening as his release was creeping, “Princess, I need you to use your words.”

“I-I’m…oh!” she wailed, legs gripping around his hips, the splitting feeling making the fact she couldn’t vocalise anything worse, “cumming!” Yoshiki groaned himself, feeling her pussy milk him and his cock leaking thick ropes into the condom. Y/n let his body go, but his hips continued to snap to savour every moment he could when watching his dick slide through her folds and hole.

Always an aftercare king!!

But won’t say anything, he’ll just clean his gf and himself up

On days where he feels like it, he’ll run a bath and lift her in with him, wash her, soothe her. Maybe rub her clit if he’s feeling mischievous

Other days he’ll mop up and dive straight into the bed for cuddles, whispering reassuring praises into his gf’s ear, telling her how well she did, kisses her silly

She sat with her back in his chest, the warm water reaching their waists as they sat in a comfortable silence. Murayama’s hands gently embraced her waist, lips leaving soft kisses on her cheek and neck.

“You did so well, y/n. So pretty,” he held her tighter, leaving kisses up her jaw as she relaxed into his grip, “Can’t get enough of you, I got you.”

H&L harem (if you wanna be tagged/removed in future H&L content, comment or lemme know via ‘chat to me bbygorl’ :D);

@straysugzhpe @airbendertendou @strxwberrychocolate @rouzuchan @yuken-gf @rinwhore @simpforchuchu @thatpoindexterpixy @rainisawriter @cheshirecatuniverse

[Masterlist]

[Requests OPEN]

2023 © STAR2FISHMEG All rights reserved - do not plagiarise, translate, repost, copy any of my works. If you notice that any of these have been done to my work, please let me know.

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐄𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬: 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

Parings → Danny Sullivan x Reader

Warnings → Personality disorder, 18+, violence, language, blood, angst, fluff

A/N : This fanfic series does not follow the original series.

Summary → Danny Sullivan, your best friend, who has personality disorder. After you find out about his disorder you try to help him as much as you can.

Masterlist / Chapter 4

You never thought you'd see Danny like this. The day had been tense, but it took a darker turn when word spread around school—Danny had gotten into a fight. Not just any fight, but a full-on brawl with Annabelle’s boyfriend and his two friends. Annabelle’s boyfriend had thrown the first punch, but Danny… he finished it. Badly. You couldn’t believe it when you heard the details. Danny wasn’t the type to get into fights, let alone beat up three guys. He wasn’t that strong, and he certainly wasn’t that angry. But something had changed.

By the time you made it to the scene, the fight was over, and Danny was gone. Blood stained the ground, and whispers floated around about how Annabelle’s boyfriend was being taken to the nurse. Two other guys were limping away. It didn’t make sense. How could Danny have done this? It didn’t fit the shy, gentle boy you’d known for so long.

Worried, you asked around until someone mentioned seeing Danny running out of the school grounds, heading toward the old abandoned house everyone called the Ghost House. No one lived there anymore. It was run down, creepy, and avoided by everyone—except, apparently, Danny.

You didn’t waste a second. Grabbing your bag, you left school and followed his trail, your heart pounding with worry. What was going on with him? The way he had been talking to himself, acting differently… and now this?

---

When you reached the Ghost House, you hesitated for a moment. The place was as eerie as everyone said—windows boarded up, paint peeling, and an unsettling silence hanging in the air. You pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside, the dim light casting long shadows on the dusty floor.

“Danny?” You called out softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t want to scare him, but you needed to know he was okay.

You followed the sound of faint whispers down the hall, leading you to the living room. And there he was, sitting in the corner, his clothes stained with blood, his knuckles raw and bruised. But what chilled you the most was that he was talking to someone.

Except… there was no one there.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do,” Danny muttered, his voice low. “Thanks for saving me, Yitzak.”

Your stomach dropped as you watched him turn to the side as if speaking to an invisible figure. Then, his tone changed completely—softer, more feminine. “You should’ve left before it got that far,” he said, his voice now holding an edge of hesitation, a different personality. “Ariana doesn’t like bloody mess.”

You stepped closer, but Danny didn’t notice you at first. His eyes darted between the empty spaces around him, as if following a conversation between two people you couldn’t see.

“Danny?” You finally said, your voice shaking as you tried to steady yourself. “What are you doing here? How did you… how did you beat those guys?”

He flinched when he saw you, his expression shifting from confusion to fear. “Y/N? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in school.”

You ignored his question, too caught up in your own. “How did you beat three guys? Danny, you’re not… you’re not like that.”

Danny’s gaze dropped to his hands, still stained with blood. He swallowed hard, and his voice cracked as he said, “Me? I didn’t… Yitzak beat them.”

You froze. “Yitzak? Danny, there’s no one here.”

Danny shook his head, panic flashing across his face. “No, no, you don’t understand. Yitzak is… he’s strong. He’s angry all the time, but he protects me. And Ariana… she’s the calm one. She’s right there, see?” He pointed to an empty corner of the room, where no one stood.

Your heart raced as you tried to process what was happening. This wasn’t Danny talking—it was something else entirely. “Danny, you’re scaring me. There’s no one here but us.”

He looked back at you, fear in his eyes. “You don’t believe me? I swear, Yitzak beat them. He did it for me, so I didn’t get badly hurt. And Ariana… she keeps me safe. I don’t want to go home, Y/N. I can’t go back. I don’t want him to hurt me again.”

You knelt in front of him, your hands trembling as you tried to reach him. “Danny, please. I’m here. I’m your friend. Talk to me. What’s happening to you?”

Danny’s voice wavered as he pleaded, “Please, Y/N… will you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone. I’m scared. I don’t know what’s happening to me either. I don’t want to go home.”

His words shattered something inside you. You could see the fear and confusion on his face, the way he was struggling to make sense of his own thoughts. Whatever was happening, Danny was terrified—and so were you.

Without hesitation, you nodded, pulling him into a tight hug. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”

Danny clung to you, his body shaking as if he was holding on for dear life. “Thank you,” he murmured into your shoulder, his voice small and fragile.

You held him, heart aching as you realized the extent of what he was going through. Something was deeply wrong, and you needed to find out what. But for now, all that mattered was that you were there for him, no matter how confusing or terrifying things became.

─── ༓･*˚⁺‧ ꕥ ༓･*˚⁺‧ ───

[simp2537]

Project SS

a/n: I kinda forgot about out this for a little bit. 😮 my bad chat. But here yall go. Also ignore that Bucky is a man in the gif below. It’s just for aesthetics. Hope yall enjoy this.

Word Count: 1.3k

Series Trigger Warnings: Mentioned S/A on another character, depression, self-harm, anxiety, experimentation on children, abusing relationships, murder, blood, gore, unwilling amputations?

Chapter Two

It was strange, the grass, fresh air, the way my rest felt against the floor. The mask that would normally cover my face rested in the ground next to me. Along with the red lens goggles that would normally cover me.

I see clearly for the first time in my life. No bloody tint to the world. A perfectly clear and blue sky. Quiet steps made their way to me and without hesitation I pull my mask on. 

As the trees moved Clarke popped out. A serious look on her face and she motioned for me to follow. Like the fucking dog I am, I follow. I walk behind her silently as we move back to our broken drop ship. I watch her draw on whatever map she found 

I survey the area around us as I click goggle lens. They shift to a black shade, allowing me to see some color. The others around us run rampant. Wells comes over to talk to Clarke, I all but ignore him. 

“We got problems. The communications system is dead’. I went to the roof, a dozen panels are missing. Heat fried wires.” He informs.  I watch as Clarke sighs softly. 

“Well, all that matters right now is getting to Mount Weather.” She directs him to her map. As another kid walks behind them making a joke Wells pushes him back. I roll my eyes at Wells. Honestly I don’t understand his issue.

As a bigger group of boys comes to his aid Wells backs up. Trying to explain himself I roll my eyes.  Nice going Wells. Clarke looks up at me from where I sit in the broken down door. My sigh is exuded a bit loudly from my mask. 

“We’re on the ground. That not good enough for you?” The boy from before asks. He stands with Octavia and his eyes drift to me. I slowly drop down from where I sat and end up next to Clarke. 

“We need to find Mount Weather.” Wells says as he walks towards Bellamy. I groan and follow after Clarke who moves after Wells. For a girl who hated his guts, she sure does follow after him.

“You heard my father’s message. That has to be our priority.” Wells continues. I scoff softly at his words as I cross my arms. The fucking Chancellor might as well of been dead now. 

“Screw your father. What, you think you’re in charge here, You, your little princess and your guard dog?” I laugh quietly. There eyes turn to me. 

“Quite the mouth on you sunshine, remember who opened the door for you.” I answer with a smirk none of them could see.  I could all but feel Clarke’s scolding glare. 

“Do you think we care who’s in charge?” She paused. “We need to get to Mount Weather. Not because the Chancellor said so, but because the longer we wait, the hungrier we’ll get and the harder this’ll be.”

I roll my shoulder, feeling the metals vibrate against one another. I stand behind her as she continues to speak.

“How long do you think we’ll last without those supplies? We’re looking at a twenty mile trek, okay. So if we want to get there before dark, we need to leave now.” 

“I got a better idea. You two go, find it for us. Let the privilege do the hard work for a change.” Bellamy voiced. Two? If I could still count right there were at least three of us on this Mount Weather side. 

All the others around quickly agreed and I honestly don’t blame them. Made perfect sense why they would think I that. But then again we were all in the ground now.

“You’re not listening. We all need to go.” Well’s attempted to explain. The moment I blinked the boy behind me pushed Wells. 

“Look at this, everybody the Chancellor of earth.” Everyone laughs to most of Wells announce. They grab onto Clarke and I quickly push them off her. I walk over to the pair about to brawl and grab onto the back of the angered boys shirt. 

Just as I grab him Finn jumps down from the pod’s roof. I watched him go between the two boys. 

“Kid’s got one leg. How about you wait until it’s a fair fight?” Finn asks with a charming smile. I let go of my grip on the angered boys shirt. He jolts against the ground. 

“Hey, spacewalker.” I turn to Octavia as she walks over to us. “Rescue me next.” She asks. A murmur of giggles and laughs echos the angered boy takes his friends away. Now that I get a good look at his face I know him.

John Murphy was his name. Clarke, Finn and I all end up at Wells side. I watch out of the corner of my eyes as Bellamy approaches his little sister. I watch him pull her away as I help Wells stands properly. 

…………………………..

I lean against a tree as Finn approaches us. Clarke is on the ground with Wells, attempting to fix his leg. 

“So Mount Weather. When do we leave?” He asks. His eyes drift over to me for a moment then go back to Clarke. 

“Right now. We’ll be back tomorrow with food.” Clarke turns and tells Wells. Wells’s eyes are sharp, angry even. 

“How are you two gonna carry enough food for a hundred.” I clear my throat and push of the tree.

“I could carry enough food for a hundred of us alone.” Finn nods his head and gives me a smirk. He turns around pulling two boys. The pair are the boys from before.

“Five of us. Can we go now?” Finn asks. 

“Sounds like a party. Make it six.” Octavia comes behind us. As Bellamy goes to interfere I walk into the drop ship. I comb my hands up the walls. Looking for any grove or dip that feels right. 

“What are you doing?” To my surprise it’s Bellamy’s voice I hear first. I find a grove with the litters W.S. engraved into it. Pushing in the grove a door opens and there it is. Black and just for me is my operations suit. I pull it out and drop it on a chair.

Before anyone can question me again I begin to pull off my clothes. I can hear a collective gasp when I pull my jacket. The jagged and ugly scaring on my arm on full display. I went to take off my shirt when I heard her.

“Turn around!” I heard the shuffling of feet and I pull my boots and pants off. I dressed quickly in the armored suit they left me. Once completely dressed in my operation uniform I push myself up the wall. I find a handle and begins to pull myself up.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hear Finn yell from bellow me. I look down for a moment as I drop down a large box. The whole groups is here. I jump down landing with a thud. I quickly open the box and assemble ass the weapons left to me.

I’m not surprised this place is load up for me. I ignore the screen with the Chancellor playing as I work. Finished putting away my weapon and clinking the finally lock on my assault gun I strap it to my back.

“What are we standing here for? Are we not going to go?” I ask. After a few quickly seconds Octavia leaves first. The rest of the ground soon follows after. 

I catch Bellamy’s eyes as I move past him. His arm shoot’s up and grab my forearm. I pause, slowly turning my head to his.

“Who the hell are you.” He doesn’t seem angry. More confused if anything.

“A nightmare.” I with I pull away and walk after the group.

[spooky-circuits]

Ok but since it looks like Bruce is the first brother I have to know the Snack Pack's reactions when it comes out that Branch isn't just some Brozone fan, but is secretly the most popular member of the group! Spruc had been the heartthrob, no doubts about it, but Bitty B being so cute and adorable had made it so his popularity skyrocketed over Spruce, he just didn't have any weird contests like Spruce had.

Tangent aside, I imagine Branch won't be able to immediately go for the throat because he'll be too busy fighting back a panic attack. The Vaycationers aren't a threat, but for someone who's only experience with larger sentient races were Bergans, and a severe trauma caused by said Bergans, it's a bit difficult to tell that fact.

Bruce, on his end, would probably be equal parts delighted to see his baby brother with a group of friends... and completely and utterly terrified and concerned over this group of kids. I imagine he probably wasn't quite a father yet, or if he was, he didn't have nearly as many kids and was still new to being a parent. So, seeing his 14 year old baby brother suddenly show up out of nowhere and be GRAY, with a group of half starved children following after him, well, it doesn't paint a pretty picture.

Bruce is in the middle of a lunch rush at the cantina when Bruce Jr runs up to him asking for a menu for his new friends. It isn’t an odd occurrence Bruce Jr has a bad habit of introducing himself to random tourists and bringing them by with the expectation that the food would be paid for. He doesn’t want to crush that generous spirit but him and Brandy are running a business and he needs to remind his son of that. He turns to hand him the menus (they could still be actual customers he isn’t going to be rude) and sees his son standing with a group of cowering troll teens… What is happening? Are those pop trolls?! He hasn’t seen pop trolls in over a decade. He’s about to ask them some questions but realizes that if they’re pop trolls they probably don’t want to be doing this around vacationers. He hates to put his wife on the spot like this but he knows she’ll understand once he explains it to her afterwards “Hey Brandy I’ve got a situation here I’ll be right back! Steve watch the bar for me!” And herds the kids out onto the beach. “Okay first question where are your parents? Because you guys look rough so they clearly aren’t doing their job right.” There are a couple of offended cries from the group but Bruces attention is caught by a face with an intense stare that reminds him of his older brother right before a brawl would break out between the two of them. The rest of the group also seems to notice the shift in the grey trolls mood when they all seem to pull out. Old Brozone magazines? Oh the kids were fans “Okay look I’ll sign your magazines or whatever but I’m really trying to put the boy band stuff behind me okay?” The teens all perk up at this and turn to Branch “Oh wow it really is him! Isn’t that great Branch!” And Branch just charges at him only to get held back by Poppy’s hair wrapping around his limbs. Branch still manages to grab one of Bruces arms and is yelling stuff like “How could you! Do you even know who I am?!” When Bruce Jr grabs his dad and yanks him out of Branch’s grip it leaves scratch marks but he’s not seriously hurt. The Snack pack are all asking him questions like “What the hell Branch?” “I thought you were excited to meet him?” And Creek with his “Oh I knew he wasn’t a fan!”

Bruce is watching the grey troll get surrounded by his friends when he hears one call him Branch. But that can’t be right. Branch is supposed to be at home with their grandma and Floyd. Not here looking beat up and grey with no supervision in sight. “Branch?” He pats Bruce Jr’s hand to signal that it’s okay to put him down. “Branch what are you doing here?” There are a hundred questions going through his head seeing his baby brother but he could only get out the one that definitely didn’t come across like he meant for it to come across.

The rest of the snack pack can tell they’re missing something but no one dares to break the tension until Branch finally speaks up. “I don’t know..” Branch seems to go slack “I thought I wanted to beat you up and maybe make you regret leaving.. but I can see this was a mistake.” He looks at Bruce and looks at his son standing behind him the similarities are so striking when they’re next to each other it’s impossible to miss what they implied. “I guess you found a better family to actually stick around for.” And the words feel like they actually stab Bruce right in the heart at the implication. Bruce is fully aware of how he’s hurt Branch in that moment.

Branch tries to shake off his friends to make an attempt to run off so he doesn’t have to see his brother keep looking at him like that.

[eclecticqueennerd]

Confessions

Bens Ending

Staring at Homelander’s corpse, breathing ragged, you felt a hand touch your shoulder. You turn around and see Butcher standing next to you. How is this possible? Homelander beat him within an inch of his life, at the very least he should be comatose. You see the rolled-up sleeve and track marks.

“Come on, let’s leave before others find out what happened.” Butcher goes to grab your hands and you snatch them away.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Y/n I aint fuckin around. You just dusted Vought’s pride and joy and they’re gonna be lookin for ya. We need to leave while we can.”

“I’m not going anywhere with a liar!”

“Wha?”

“Your arm.” Butcher looks down, “You just shot up Temp-V after you promised you wouldn’t. How can I trust you if you can’t even keep your promises?”

“What else was I supposed to do y/n, I was dying! We can talk about this later.”

“We’re not talking about anything later. Bye Butcher.” You begin to walk away from Butcher but then he grabs your arm.

“You don’t get to walk away from me.”

“Is there a problem here?” Ben now at your side. You stand by Bens side, Butchers eyes narrow.

“Mind your fucking business you supe cunt.”

“Anything with y/n is my business. How many times do I have to remind you, she’s, my girl.”

“She aint your girl!” Ben stepped closer to Butcher; chest puffed out. Butcher threw the first punch and before you know it, the two men before you were brawling.

“Stop it!” You shout but it goes unnoticed. Butcher throws Ben a few feet, Ben landing on his back. Groaning, attempting to get up, Butcher places a foot on top of Bens chest.

“I always hated you, you fuckin supe cunt.” Butcher’s eyes lit up. You jumped on his back and held him in a firm chokehold.

“You leave us alone or I’ll snap your head clean off.” Butcher’s laser eyes dimmed; sadness consumed them.

“Y/n-”

“Go. Now.” You drop off Butchers back and shove him towards the door. He looks backwards as you stand over Ben in a protective stance. He then leaves.

“Are you okay?” You offer your hand to Ben in aid. He takes it.

“Yeah, thanks doll.”

*

The two of you left the boys and started life on your own. You settled down in the country, separating Ben from any possible stressors. Life seemed carefree, raising cattle and planting a small garden. Something that you’d never take Ben for, a rancher, but according to Ben, this is what real man’s work looks like. He hoped this would make his father proud of him. You’d make sure that dinner was hot and ready for him by the time he came into the house, old values die hard ya know. You didn’t mind, it was a way to show Ben that you loved him. After dinner, he’d have you for dessert.

Every night the two of you tried to fulfill Ben’s dream of becoming a father. His hope to become a better father figure than what his dad ever was to him. You never told him about your tubes being tied, and how it was nigh impossible for you to get pregnant, until one night, guilt consumed you and you told him the truth. At first Ben was understanding but then that morphed into frustration.

“You made me hope this whole time that you were gonna get pregnant.”

“I’m so sorry Ben.”

“We’ll what do we do now?”

“We can always adopt.”

“And raise some other man’s baby? No.”

“We could have use surrogate.” You explain to Ben what a surrogate is and what the process would be, and he agrees. After choosing who would be the best fit, the two of you were excited about having a baby. Over time as the baby grew, you noticed Bens’s attention was directed towards the surrogate more than you. He would visit her anytime she requested, bringing her gifts and doing things that he never did for you. You expressed your concern about his behavior and his reply was,

“What do you expect me to do, she’s growing my baby.” She’s growing our baby. Just before the baby was due, Ben moved the surrogate into the house, claiming that she needs to be supported around the clock for when the baby comes. You did not like this. One day you came home after grocery shopping and found Ben and the surrogate having sex in your shared bed. The two of you had a screaming match like no other, Ben refusing to see your side of things. You packed your bags and left the house, never looking back, and headed for the city. Your thoughts ran rampant, about Ben, about the past few months, about how things ended with you and the boys. Surely, they wouldn’t welcome you back after how you’ve left them, especially Butcher. You started to see things from Butcher point of view, he really did seem faced with only one option and that was to give himself Temp-V. As you thought more and more of what transpired in the past, had you chosen the wrong man?

The End