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zeppeli-reelstallbun · 2 days ago

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A Jury of One

Prologue - Chapter 1

[PAIRING] Gyro Zeppeli x Reader (She/Her AFAB)

[SUMMARY] Do you tell them? Should you explain why you kept your gender a secret? Did you even really need to? No… Gyro and Johnny had proven long ago they were your friends, you didn't need to keep this big of a secret from them for this long… but surely they have things they don’t tell you either.

It wasn’t the kind of thing you could decide in just a few minutes, but thanks to your tendency to ‘worry about things later,’ you were now worrying about it later.

*Story takes place after the finish line of stage three (post scary monsters, hot pants takes first) and before the start of stage four (ringo) and it is implied that reader has been with the duo since the devils palm.

[+] Doing a super unserious but necessary preface to the story but I’m literally just a girl so can you even blame me:

You were framed for murder lolz (maybe we’ll talk abt this later teehee) Thankfully, you’re hot and sexy and managed to get away from the initial chaos! Then you were in hiding for a few years since… yk… Your name is still hot, but things have started to die down due to the passage of time. You always risk recognition, but are fairly confident that no one is specifically looking for you anymore.

But you needed money ohhhh no what are you gonna do!? surprise surprise, its enter a horse race for the cash prize.

Aaaaaand if you have to disguise yourself anyways, might as well get the benefits of being a man, considering how dangerous it might be. You landed on the name August, paying homage to the month the crime took place

[WC] 2.6k

[!!!] Reader disguises as a man as a major plot point. Minor moment—and not malicious—but reader is almost forcefully undressed due to an injury. no major sbr plot points mentioned in this part but it takes place early-middle of the race, spoilers will arise if I do continue this. Reader is afab with she/her pronouns, longer than chin length hair is implied but not a major plot point and can def be ignored. Reader smoking and drinking, on the other hand… yeaaaahhhh were doing substances today baybee. I swear like a sailor, too.

[AN] so i def want to do more of this story line because i am incredibly incredibly normal about Johnny joestar and also have a lot of ideas for him with this concept sooooooooo

Also i feel like homeboy was very much ‘haha idk whats going on’ in this but like- yeah im gonna write him an apology plotline bbg deserves better in a part two also also totally had an idea for a Diego tie in. Maybe I’m just horny for cowboys idk

\(^-^)/ Yk what reader smokes at some point so in honor, every time i get a like ill do a blinker for shits and gigs lol

ok have fun reading actual coherent words from here on out and not frat boy lingo, author out

The heat was relentless, beating down on your shoulders as you rode behind Gyro and Johnny. Under normal circumstances, the bandana around your face was a blessing; it was easy to justify its necessity in the harsh, arid sandstorms that left your eyes watering in pain. Today, however, it was stifling. The fabric you’d grown accustomed to was now trapping your face with the heat and sweat of the desert itself, but you didn't dare take it off. Not out here. Not with them.

It was a strange dynamic—one that left you feeling like you’d snuck into this odd little group while hiding the only thing that could change it all. Not to mention, traveling with two of the most observant and stubborn men in the Steel Ball Run race felt like walking a tightrope, considering the situation you were in. For weeks now, every glance, every accidental brush too close, every ill-timed cough or slip of your voice was a disaster waiting to happen. You were beginning to question the reason for keeping the secret in the first place, but you knew the risk of letting them in…

If either of them even recognized you, it would be enough to implicate them for harboring a criminal. You’d been donning the name ‘August’ for so long, the one you were born with had felt unnatural. Plus, it was much easier to sleep at night knowing they didn't know your gender, let alone your true identity. Or maybe it was a mercy to yourself. Maybe it was easier to forget about one secret when you were so obsessed with keeping another. Honestly, the fact you’d managed to keep both of these things hidden this long was impressive enough in itself.

That wasn’t to say there hadn’t been a few close calls, though.

The first was weeks ago, when Johnny tried to help with an injury after a rough day of riding. What had originally just been some friendly competition rapidly turned into bloodshed, and your right leg had taken significant damage in the process. You found yourself settling in for the night with a deeper appreciation for the spare pants you decided to pack, the others having been ripped to the calf and covered in blood.

“You’re limping,” the American said when you returned to camp, eyes wide as he gestured for you to sit next to him.

“It's nothing, Johnny,” you’d replied, brushing him off. Unfortunately, you didn't manage to stifle the gasp of pain that snuck through your lips as you shifted your weight to sit down.

“Woah, easy man,” Johnny cooed, instinctively placing his arms around your shoulders to help support your weight.

Gyro, who was tending the fire, had turned and crouched beside you—a rare moment of care showing on his face. “Let me see.”

“No,” you said too quickly, “It’s fine, really.”

But Johnny had already started tugging at the hem of your pants, and Gyro leaned in, all traces of his lighthearted demeanor gone. It wasn’t malicious, you knew. This was from a place of worry for a friend and their wellbeing; they were trying to treat a wound. But still, you’d panicked, slapping their hands away with more force than necessary.

“Don’t touch me,” you snapped, pulling the leg back with a wince.

Both men instantly froze, exchanging a look, and for a moment you thought the jig was up… Then Gyro shrugged, leaning back on his heels with that stupid lopsided grin of his.

“Suit yourself, ragazzo,” he said, the usual lightness back in his voice. “But if you lose that leg, don’t complain to me.”

That was one of the many quirks you had noticed after spending weeks with Gyro Zeppeli. No matter how much you and Johnny would tease him for it, it was as if he couldn’t help letting his native tongue slip out. Little nicknames, terms of endearment, even jabs at ‘mistakes’ others made seemed more natural in the foreign dialect.

“Attento, you’ll fall off your horse if you keep riding like that,” he’d call out to friend and foe alike. It had grown on you, you hated to admit.

Speaking of Gyro, the second close call you’d had was worse, and he was at its center.

It was late, the three of you camped in a small grove of trees, unfortunately cramped together in one tent due to the cold. You’d worried about the bandana falling off in the night at the beginning of the race, but had since found that it stayed put rather well. On this particular evening, you’d already dozed off, exhausted from the day's ride, only to wake with a start when Gyro’s hand clamped over the fabric on your face.

“Shh,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear. “Don’t freak out. Can’t reach Johnny without making too much sound so you’ll have to get him. Something’s out there.”

Your heart pounded as you realized how close he was, arm braced over you, body pressed tightly against yours. You froze, ignoring all instruction as terror washed over you. Something—anything—could give you away. You couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t felt anything, and this thought threw all logic out of your already sleep deprived brain. Thankfully, before you could even think to acknowledge what the Italian had said, Johnny's voice broke the silence.

“What is it?” he asked, sitting up, groggy but alert.

The hands around you tensed, and you noted a heavy pause before he acknowledged anything. “Probably just a coyote,” Gyro muttered, pulling back and letting you go. He might not have said anything, might not have noticed in the first place even, but you couldn’t help but notice how his brow furrowed before he turned away… how the creases in his forehead crinkled inwards, how his chin cocked slightly upward. Not that you paid attention to that kind of thing.

As you sat here now, riding their tails, a part of you debated feeling bad. They thought you were just another competitor, a guy with a knack for keeping quiet and an uncanny ability to fix up injuries or keep things in order. You played it well, you thought. The bandana and baggy clothes did most of the heavy lifting outside of your vocal adjustments. Without a doubt, you knew you could keep the act up and remain as masculine to Johnny as you were on day one.

But Gyro…

You were starting to second guess some things, let's put it that way.

When you had initially joined their little duo, he’d treated you similar to every other man he met: with boisterous humor, a touch of arrogance, and a list a mile long of half-baked philosophies on life. You found yourself biting your tongue at first, cringing when he launched into one of his grandiose speeches. Especially when his words started drifting; there was only so much ‘guy talk’ you could take, after all.

”Men are born to conquer, to lead, to endure hardship,” he’d drunkenly said one evening by the fire, gesturing wildly with a half-eaten strip of jerky. “Women, well, they’ve got their strengths too, but-”

He faded off with a glance in your direction. “Don’t stop there,” you’d muttered before you could help yourself. “I'm dying to hear the rest.”

Johnny had laughed innocently enough, but Gyro had given you a long look before letting out a soft chuckle. “Sharp tongue, eh?”

You considered this close call number three.

But now…

The way he spoke to you had shifted. As the three of you rode in tense silence, you couldn’t shake the feeling that his attention had been lingering a little too much lately. He’d always been loud, brash, abrasive, and impossible to ignore, but now there was something different. Subtle, but there. Honestly, a part of you wondered if he even knew he was doing it… if he knew he was forgetting to ask Johnny if he needed help off his horse or extra bedding on cold nights like he did for you.

“Don’t fall behind,” Gyro snapped you from the thought, voice carrying with a deep richness over the dry air as he turned around in his saddle to face you. “Not everyone has my stamina, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the fabric covering the annoyed expression you couldn’t suppress. “I’ll keep up, don’t worry about me.”

He chuckled, turning back around, but not before letting his gaze linger another second too long. You thought you were making things up at this point, surely if someone as arrogant as Gyro had figured it out, there’s no way he’d keep his mouth shut about it.

Unless he knew too much.

But you didn’t want to give that thought any power over you or the relationship you had begrudgingly formed.

The sun was sinking lower as you continued on, casting a long shadow over the land ahead. Your exhaustion was setting in, and even Johnny was starting to complain about the final stretch of the journey.

“How far is the town?” He called from the front, voice tight with irritation.

“Couple more miles,” Gyro said, scanning the horizon. “We’ll make it before dark.”

You said nothing, too tired to deepen your voice more than necessary. Water had started to run low, it wasn’t dangerous yet, but you had been forced to ration out your canteen. You weren't at any risk of dehydration, but you were definitely starting to feel the strain on your vocal cords. Johnny and Gyro, of course, didn’t need to factor something like this into their trail planning. Nor had they needed to account for menstruation… that had been a truly awful week.

You were planning on remaining this detached until you reached the checkpoint town, knowing a night in a real bed would ease some of the tension you’d been feeling in the wilderness.

That was before Gyro slowed Valkyrie, letting his horse fall in step beside yours. He leaned slightly toward you, grin shifting into something softer, something almost teasing.

”You holding up back here, regazza?” he asked.

Your breath caught.

It was so casual, so smooth that you’d almost missed it. Johnny didn't even flinch. Granted, you couldn’t know if he’d even heard it; he was too busy squinting at the horizon, muttering something under his breath about wanting real food. But you? You were frozen. Did he know?

You might not know Italian, but your time around the man had taught you a thing or two about pronoun structure… that, and he’d never called you anything but ‘regazzo’ up until now.

Gyro didn't look at you directly, but you saw the corner of his mouth turn up into a smirk, daring you to react.

You didn't. You couldn’t. You had to convince yourself it was just a mistake. You couldn’t react no matter his intention. You felt like you could die-

Instead of dying, you kept your eyes straight forward, your grip tightening on the reins until your knuckles ached and nails dug into your palms. Heat rose to your cheeks, and for the first time all day you were thankful for the disgustingly sweaty bandana stuck to your face. You forced yourself to stay calm, as if hearing the feminine form of a word hadn’t struck you like a bolt of lightning.

Would a guy have reacted the same way? What would Johnny have said? Would he have acknowledged the difference? Should you have? Did he know? Was your silence incrimination enough?

You already knew the answer was yes, and you cursed yourself for freezing instead of just playing it off in the moment.

He didn't say it again, and didn't seem fond of breaking the silence that followed, but the damage was done. The road was now suffocatingly quiet, tension becoming more palpable by the minute.

And there were still miles to go.

At one point, you thought it would be impossible, each hoofbeat heavy with what remained unspoken.

The trail seemed endless ahead of you. And he was always there, right beside you, making it impossible to pretend. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes kept screaming a victory. His gaze fell somewhere between savoring the tension he’d created and yearning for you to take the initiative to break it.

“How are you holding up?” He finally muttered once the town was in sight, his voice light and teasing in a way that made your stomach tighten.

You barely managed to suppress a shiver running through you. “Fine,” you muttered, pushing the unease down.

“Mm, fine, huh?” Gyro drawled, slowing and nudging his horse closer to yours. “Looks like there’s something on your mind, don’t look so fine to me.”

You could feel his gaze, sharp and unrelenting. It made your skin crawl, but you forced yourself to remain indifferent. “It’s nothing,” you said, as casually as you could manage.

Still, your pulse quickened. You couldn’t help it, you knew exactly where this was going. Before he could answer, Johnny, blissfully ignorant, turned his head around, humming a little tune. “Almost there, boys. Nice bed, nice real meal—maybe even a bath, eh?”

Gyros' eyes rolled as they flickered to him. “I bet you’ll have fun with that,” he said with his usual tone. You clenched your jaw, hoping that would be the end of his comments.

You should have known better.

”You know,” Gyro broke the silence seconds later, “I have a feeling Auggie is gonna splurge on his own room tonight. Just a hunch.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, grip tightening again as you forced yourself to stay quiet.

Johnny, bless his soul, quipped right back. “Not if I beat him to it! I’ve had enough of your snoring, Zeppeli.” He started looking around, eager to get to the inn.

Gyro, on the other hand, seemed to be studying you still, waiting for you to crack, to give him any hint that you’d understood the implication of his words.

But you stayed quiet. You somehow ignored the fire burning in your stomach as his gaze overstayed its welcome.

As you pulled into the town, you were looking for any excuse to linger behind. Johnny must have been reading your mind to some capacity, as he was more helpful towards this goal than Gyro was.

“I’ll get our rooms, on me for stealing first from you Zeppeli-“ he started.

“Was that before or after Hot Pants stole first from you, Johnny?” You couldn’t help yourself, you were still enjoying the look on his face from earlier in the afternoon when the actual lineup was announced.

He scoffed at you, a lighthearted smile showing that he appreciated the banter, “Just put up Slow Dancer for me, will you?” he asked, eager to get inside to rest.

Gyro didn't move as he spoke, keeping his eyes fixed instead on you. “Of course. Thank you for handling it, Johnny, that’s very kind.”

The kid was already gone when you started to dismount, but Gyro’s voice stopped you cold.

“I'm thinking,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper meant just for you. “We’re gonna need to have a little chat, bella. Just us.”

The weight of his words—no, word—pressed down like a thousand bricks. If by some miracle you were able to play off ‘regazza,’ this was intended as a blunt confrontation of your ignorance. But you knew better than that. More importantly, you knew Gyro Zeppeli knew you better than that. So, you froze, fingers still on the reins, body tensing at the intensity in his gaze. He didn't break eye contact as he leaned in slightly, hands wandering to assist your descent from the horse.

”I'll meet you inside,” he added as you reached the ground, handing the other two leads to you. “I'll even get us some drinks. Don’t keep me waiting.”

——————

AAAND next part is gonna be posted asap, go read it plz its much better than this lol

Still dont know how to use tumblr or tags so if someone wants to mansplain, be my guest :)

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noodyl-blasstal · 1 year ago

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With no apology to Stephanie Meyer

Day 8 of @taznovembercelebration and I got "vampire AU" and "ignore" - obviously this was the only way to go, short and stupid. (Yesterday's is here)

“Ignore my teeth.”

“Your fangs, you mean?”

“They’re just teeth, Taako.”

“Oh, right, so you just hate all teeth and want everyone to ignore them, do you? Do you hate my teeth? I thought you said I was handsome!” Taako’s going to get his answer, whether he has to bully Kravitz into it by talking at him or not.

“This isn’t ignoring them.” Kravitz is covering his mouth with his hand in a valiant effort to prevent Taako from paying attention to the fact he’s apparently a fucking vampire.

“It seems prudent…” Taako muses. Not moving out of Kravitz’s lap. “... to ask about them.”

“I don’t think it seems necessary.” Taako wishes Kravitz would take his hands away from his face and put them back on Taako.

“You’ve got a lisp.” Taako giggles in delight at the ridiculousness of it all. He finally gets his hot neighbour into bed, or, well, onto couch, and he’s gained a lisp and some blood sucking powers.

“I haven’t got a lisp!” Lisped Kravitz.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, just different to usual. It’s nice, still you, and I like you.” Taako moves his hands back to Kravitz’s chest. The sooner they talk about it, the sooner they can get back to what they were doing before.

“You should be afraid, not teasing me. I’m a monster, Taako.”

Taako leans backwards so far that he nearly falls to the ground laughing. Kravitz has to guide him back against his chest with one hand. He’s fairly sure there’s tears streaming down his face. “Oh, oh, shall I go google the word vampire very dramatically. Go on, tell me to hold tight.”

“Fuck off spider money.” Kravitz says. Then adds, tentatively, “you’ve never going to let me forget this are you?”

“Not… a… fucking chance.” Taako squeezes out between laughter. “Fuck me, do you glitter as well? Please tell me I’m going to be boning my own personal disco ball? That’d be rad as hell.”

“We don’t sparkle.” Kravitz is sullen, but not Cullen, thank the gods. The thought of anyone watching him sleep makes Taako feel itchy.

“So you are a vampire then?”

“No?” Asks Kravitz, lacking any ounce of conviction.

“Fuck, wait, is this why you won’t eat anything I bake for you? I thought you were playing hard to get!”

“And it worked?” Kravitz sounds baffled at the prospect, “surely you just thought it was rude?”

“I thought it meant you were interested.”

“I am.” Kravitz nods towards their relative positions to reinforce the point.

“In draining me dry?”

“Not of blood.”

Taako snorts out an extremely undignified laugh. “Hold up, are you using my fear of getting murdered to death to hit on me?”

“Is it working?”

“Kinda.” Kravitz was exceedingly hot, and Taako simply has to assume that vampire powers mean that he’s got super strength that they can use irresponsibly.

“It shouldn’t be. You should be worried.”

Taako draws his lips closed. He really shouldn’t start humming Claire de Lune right now, but the temptation is strong.

“You’re comparing this to Twilight again aren’t you?”

“This is the skin of a killer, Taako.” Taako says in the gruffest voice he can muster.

Kravitz thunks his head back onto the sofa in frustration. “I’m just trying to be sensible. You should probably be a bit worried.” He says to the ceiling.

Kravitz is probably right… Taako should probably ask more questions and not use the opportunity to kiss his way across Kravitz’s collar bone and up his neck, but, you know, he’s right there and he’s topless and Taako is only one human man with a normal amount of resolve.

“I mean, I want you to, like, give me a brief run down? But Taako’s gonna keep doing this while you reel off the headlines - that work for you?” Taako punctuates the question with kisses, spreading them across Kravitz’s chest.

“You doing that is not going to help with, you know, the whole concentration thing.”

“Then talk fast.” Taako grazes his teeth against Kravitz’s neck, delights in the way Kravitz involuntarily shifts his hips in response.

“I’m a vampire.”

“Wait, what?” Taako feigns surprise and looks wide eyed at Kravitz. “A vampire? In my house? I’m shocked! Surprised!”

“Taako!”

“Fiiiiiine.” Taako rolls his thumb across Kravitz’s nipple, relishes the surprised noise it pulls from him. “You were saying.”

“I’m a vampire.”

Taako sucks gently at Kraitz’s collar bone, open mouthed and gentle, laves his tongue across the skin there. “Mmhm.”

“Have been for a while.”

He shouldn’t… he really shouldn’t… “How long have you been seventeen?”

“Taako, please.”

“Yeah, no, okay, sorry, if you were seventeen this would not be happening, no matter how old you actually were. That one was bad.”

“Thank you.” Kravitz waits to see if Taako has any more interruptions planned. He does, but Kravitz doesn’t need to know what they are quite yet. “It’s been like 5…ish years?”

Taako noses against Kravitz’s neck. “Talk faster.”

“I don’t eat people, there’s a blood bank guy, and I promise I won’t kill you.”

“Good enough for Taako.”

“We’re doing this?”

Taako pulls Kravitz down into a kiss.”This isn’t contagious as long as we use protection, right?”

Kravitz looks at him like he’s finally lost it. “Are you suggesting tooth condoms?”

“Taako’s not not suggesting them.”

“I… you…”

Taako’s face must give him away.

“You’re not serious?”

“Nope! But you know what cha��boy is serious about?”

“I think there’s a strong chance I should be concerned about whatever you’re going to say.”

“Investigating the contents of these.” Taako dips his hand below the waistband of Kravitz’s trousers. It doesn’t seem like he’s in any danger and he’s been hitting on Kravitz for months, it’s time to get them back on track.

“Promise you’ll stop referencing Twilight?”

“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.” Taako probably can’t push this much further, but also, how many opportunities is he going to get?

Kravitz snorts loudly. “Okay, that was the last one.”

“I’m glad I amuse you.” Maybe he won’t get that one, how closely did he study the source material?

“You’re the worst.” Kravitz says, and kisses him.

Check out tomorrow's prompt here.

#taz november celebration #taz nc #Noodyl Writes #Taakitz #Taako #Kravitz

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danceylancey · 1 year ago

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CW: crime, violence and murder

Before Voltron, before the Garrison, even before Hunk, Lance lived a dangerous life. His mother was a kind woman who worked as a manager of a appliance company, his father a butcher at the local shop. His sisters were all in school and his brother was working at the docks. His aunt was a photographer and her husband stayed at home with the kids.

None of these things or people made his life the way it was. It was Javier, his aunts ex husband who was a crooked man with too much venom to keep tucked behind his teeth. He had run into Lance when he was eight and walking home in the hot sun of Cuba. Javier was kind to Lance, letting him rant about his passions, willingly straining to listen when his sisters would be so much louder.

It was because of this very reason that Lance did the first favour his former uncle asked. It was just to distract a shop keeper while his uncles American friends bagged some of the lotto tickets boxed behind the counter, waiting to be sorted into sale.

Maybe it was the thrill of the ensuing chase, the pride in being able to get away safely, or even the money Javier gave him for a job well done. But Lance knew deep down that it was the way his uncle told him he was important, actually necessary, to competing the task. He wasn’t just wanted, he was needed and without him they wouldn’t have been able to sell the tickets for a pretty penny.

Lance was quick to take the role of a decoy, as long as Javier would continue giving him praise and sweets and hundred dollar notes as reward. He distracted cops, shop owners, even a rich man who made the mistake of flaunting his money around while the older men smashed into his car. He ignored the fear in his heart the first time he saw Javier beat a man down to the ground, opening his jaw onto the curb and stomping. His uncle said the man was bad, Lance believed him.

By the time he was twelve, Javier and his crew, who worked for a man Lance was never allowed to meet, had taught him a number of tricks in order to steal anything and escape from anyone. He was quick and small, lean but strong enough to lift his own body weight. His body was covered in a few scars from close calls when jumping fences and shattered glass, but it was easy to hide it from his mother.

It was at this age when he first got deep into the violence of the crime he had found himself it.

Lance had been told to break into a man’s house while they distracted him with a broken down car out front, something they had done several times. Only, this man was prepared. He had caught on quick and Javier had chosen to bolt instead of warning Lance, something he’d done before, so when the man came into the house and saw Lance arm deep in his safe, he didn’t bother asking questions.

Lance had fought like his life was already over, throwing everything he had into kicking the other man off him. Just as the man hit his face again, adding a broken eye socket to his mangled jaw, Lance managed to take his legs out.

The man fell hard.

So hard his head cracked open and Lance, not realising what this meant, kept kicking at him until he managed to escape and run back to their hideout.

Lance thought of the news report stating the man’s death and the faces of his two children sobbing about their beloved dad who had been saving money to get a proper gravestone for their mother every. Single. Day. He didn’t let himself forget that his first life taken was a good one, a faithful one, a kind one.

He kept going, now with the knowledge that anyone could take a life and that the world was deadlier than he once believed. He kept a blade on him at all times, ready to fight, or to die pointlessly like that man. He kept stealing, robbing, lying, deceiving, but now Lance was willing to harm others to get what he was told.

Taking a life taught him the fragility of it, but also the need.

He remembered the day he told his uncle he was going to the Garrison, that he was going to use his skills for good despite spending the previous years being so cruel. Javier’s response stayed with him even as he entered war,

“Lance… I taught you crime, not to kill. You are the one who has made this a profession. Remember that.”

#lance mcclain #lance centric #langst #voltron #bamf lance

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quicktimeeventfull · 1 year ago

Note

People always characterize Light as neurotic, do you think that they are ignoring L's neuroses or is he just normal?

this is such a good question and also it gives me a chance to talk about my favourite subject on earth: L being neurotic.

SO the short answer is: no, he’s not normal. (or, well, it’s hard to say how many neuroses are normal to have when your life is constantly being threatened by a faceless god, but probably fewer than these.)

my personal read on L is that he tries very, very hard to pretend he’s deeply unaffected by everything that’s going on around him, but he fairly clearly is not. case in point: we can see him calmly discussing his own death after he’s just collapsed off his chair. his eyes are hidden, which is death note’s main signal that someone is hiding their true feelings.

to me, his desperation to hide that he’s got any sort of feelings about anything speaks to an underlying terror of being perceived and/or taking up other people’s emotional space. he doesn’t want to be seen as human. he doesn’t want to be dealt with as anything but this faceless creature. he wants to be a tool and a resource before he’s a person.

he is in a unique situation, but i do feel it goes above and beyond what is necessary and also is not strategically useful, since it infuriates literally everyone in the task force apart from soichiro. even watari tells him off for it. it’s not even a trait he values — after aizawa has his outburst, L tells him he likes people like him. i think it’s something he feels he has to do for nebulous reasons. maybe he knows why! maybe he doesn’t!

i also (& possibly this is a hot take) think L is a chronic people-pleaser. he’s always extremely polite-verging-on-deferent. with a few exceptions that derive from high emotion and danger, he’s polite to people regardless of how rudely they speak to him. there are several points in death note where people are outright yelling at him, and he always responds quietly and politely.

he also folds to the task force at a few crucial points, most notably when they demands he remove the handcuffs and let light walk free.

it’s clear from both his expression and the fact that he does not in any way give up on light being kira that he thinks this is a terrible idea, but he lets him go anyway and apologizes as he signs his own death warrant.

ALSO ok sorry this is already long but i think i would be remiss to talk about L’s neuroticism without also talking about his ✨trauma.✨ it’s never really clear what happened to L prior to the events of death note, but i think we can logically surmise that it wasn’t ideal. he grew up in an orphanage, which is traumatic in and of itself, and clearly something happened to create a situation where this was possible — either his guardians died, or were in some way incapacitated, or he was removed from them.

then there’s the fact of his job. L’s age is ambiguous in the main canon & 24 if you choose to incorporate htr13 — either way, he’s quite young, and he’s already been solving cases for years. we don’t know what exactly the cases were, but i think it’s fairly safe to say that they weren’t pleasant. i feel very strongly that this would impact the way you see people and what sort of behaviour you expect from them. even people who enter similar fields as adults, with proper support systems and the inculcation of years of seeing people behave compassionately towards one another, often end up jaded and distrustful. it burns you out and wrecks havoc on your empathy.

also during the course of death note he’s been inside for nearly a year, speaking to a grand total of eleven people, one of whom wants to murder him, which is maybe not like the ideal scenario for one’s mental health. imo this & the constant stress of being murdered do contribute to his increasingly erratic behaviour as the series progresses. which is to say: PROVIDE ENRICHMENT FOR YOUR DETECTIVES if you don't want them to develop codependent relationships with their serial killer bffs.

#anon #sorry this is so long but ghjjfgh #its an important subject #as a side note im kind of fascinated by why people tend to think about light's neuroticism and not L's but i don't really have an answer #i think maybe its an overcorrection from the massive amount of woobification in early dn days #plus ~htr13~ bumping up his age #and alessandro juliani giving him a less soft-spoken manner of speech #but yeah idk either way its interesting

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catsandgoodbooks · 1 year ago

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No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

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“It’s really not that bad,” Dream protested. He glared at Punz from his place on the bed. It was fine. So he was a little sick maybe. So what? He wasn’t going to die, and, even if he did, Punz could just bring him back. It wasn’t an issue.

“I’m sure it isn’t, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there,” Punz answered, eyes down and unwavering as they took the thermometer out of his mouth. They clicked their tongue. “104. That’s bad, Dream.”

“I feel fine.” Dream shifted uncomfortably. He knew that was bad – they both did – but still. He didn’t want them to be worried about him, even if he could acknowledge that is a bit late for that.

“Good to know,” Punz commented. “It still doesn’t change the facts, Dream.” They reached over to grab a wet cloth and drape it over his forehead. Dream hated to admit it but it made him feel a little bit better. “Want any water?”

“Sure,” Dream answered. He did – his throat was sandpaper at this point – and it wouldn’t hurt to say yes. Knowing Punz, they probably wanted him to.

“Here.” They passed him a glass of water and placed a comforting hand on his back as Dream struggled up into a vertical position. The glass was cold, so so cold against his fingers. The water was too. He decided he liked it.

(Punz’s hands were cold too. He wondered which one of them it was; where they actually cold or was he just hot? There wasn’t any reason for their hands to be cold)

“Anything’s been happening?” Dream asked as he handed them back the glass and lay himself back down.

“Not much. Things seem pretty chill right now,” Punz answered. “The manhunt’s still going on; no progress, though. No one’s heard from Tubbo or Technoblade for a bit; still not over Ranboo, I guess. Sapnap’s still Sapnap,” they rolled their eyes, “Sam’s gone silent but that’s not new and you already knew that.” Dream hadn’t told Punz everything about what happened, had omitted a couple details (didn’t tell them it was a week, didn’t tell them about the cake, didn’t tell them about how the death had been a mercy), but they still had a rough idea. Even if they didn’t, even if he hadn’t told them a thing, they’d probably still know. The scar had been meant as a message, and it did its job well.

“George’s still asleep, Ranboo’s still dead, Tommy’s still annoying. Not much happened. Not much changed. You haven’t missed that much, I swear,” they said, grinning crookedly.

“Good.” Dream let himself relax a little. Good. He hadn’t missed anything. Good. “Thanks, Punz.”

“Of course,” they replied, smiling. “Anything for my favorite war criminal.”

Dream snorted at that. “Let’s not ignore the fact that you helped with like half of them, Punz.”

“Exactly. Our love language is murder,” Punz said dryly.

Dream rolled his eyes. “I mean, you’re not wrong.” He closed his eyes for just a moment. “Thanks for–thanks for all of this, really, but you didn’t have to do this, Punz. I’m not–incompetent. I can still do stuff,” Dream argued. He was still useful. He hadn’t been ruined. He didn’t need to rely on other people as a crutch, no matter what happened. “You don’t have to do this.”

Punz nodded. “I know. That doesn’t make it so that I don’t want to do this, and you doing stuff while you have a ridiculously high fever and five infections is just going to make it all worse.” They gestured for him to lift his head up and he did. They wrapped another wet towel around his neck. “It’s not going to help you get better, and we’re not on enough of a time crunch that it's necessary. We have plenty of time; we can take a couple days off.”

“We’re falling behind. We still have so much to explore–” Dream started.

“We can do that later. When you’re feeling better. It’s just going to get worse if you don’t take a break. We can deal with the opportunity cost. We can survive.” They leaned forward and kissed him, lightly, gently, for just a moment, on the lips before pulling away. “We can survive, Dream. It’ll be fine.”

#whumptober2023 #no.13 #cold compress #infection #dsmp #fic #c!dream #c!punz #staged duo #drunz #my writing

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victoriadallonfan · 2 years ago

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Hot take here: I respect not liking the Dreaming Death… but everyone is wrong about Damsel.

I feel as though, when the topic of Damsel being possessed by Swansong happens, people forget the context is that she was apparently threatening to murder people.

Think about the fact that the rest of Deathchester, composed of monsters like Sidepiece, Hookline, and Nailbiter, were basically allowed to leave when they wanted (and half took the plague by choice as Vic mentioned some did).

Damsel was making enough threats that these monsters were ignored in comparison. It’s not like Victoria purposely targeted Damsel as she was minding her own business like Khepri did to, say, Technicolor Ralph or Carol (both of whom are useless in a fight with Scion).

We even see earlier that Ashley was deeply affected by the Simurgh, and by the time Vic meets her, Damsel thinks Kenzie’s hologram is real and is about to murder her.

Then and only then does Swansong act; which Victoria admits she had no idea Swansong was actually capable of. She thought Damsel had been metaphorical about the whole thing.

- Last 20.11

Is it still morally grey? Yes.

Does Victoria act like it’s morally good? No.

Does the story act like it was morally good? I don’t think so. Necessary in this specific circumstance, but I don’t think it was ever saying, “Hey, this was okay.”

Ashley certainly doesn’t seem to have completely forgiven Kenzie, even if she’s willing to be professional about it

But yeah, that’s my hot take. People misread or forget the context of Ashley’s moment in the dream plague.

#parahumans #wildbow #ward #ashley stillons #damsel of distress #victoria dallon #antares #glory girl #ward web serial #note I still have my own issues with the dream plague #but some criticisms I’ve seen need some work

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venushasvixens · 2 years ago

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Ch. 5 Escape - Baneful Royal (Kylo Ren x Reader)

[A/N] so the last time I had posted for this fic, it was a hot minute ago. And when I say hot minute, I mean about close to a year. SO with that being said, here is the 5th chapter. This one was kinda hiding underneath a bunch of commission files so finding it now was very nice. If you would like to read more Kylo fics from me, I have a Masterlist link in my bio, as well as a A03 and wattpad under the same name. Thank y’all for reading <3

There was no time to feel guilt.

There was no time to feel anything.

You were ushered without a thought. Running on autopilot, the disturbing sounds of a city thrown into chaos were drowned out with your focus elsewhere. Cate’s arm was looped into yours, the cloaked figure of Kylo walked in front of you without assistance or care. The deed was done, and the next step was approaching soon.

Pushed into a carrier, it wasn't until you felt the deep rumble of the ship coming to life that you finally came back to the present. Seated and strapped in, you glanced around you to see Cate at her place behind you. On her side, two guards of Ren stood like stone, waiting patiently. For what, you didn't know.

Voices spit out necessary actions for takeoff, with a confirmation greeting. A captain’s seat sat in the middle, with Kylo planted firmly. With each acknowledgment of action, he nodded. A shake, and you were off into the air and into the atmosphere.

“What’s happening now?” You turned to Cate. “Where are we going?”

You knew of your certain protection, but nothing else after. Had you left when the Colonel told you to, maybe you wouldn't have been labeled a possible enemy to the planet. Gone off quietly, you might have still been on Naboo. You showed yourself rather idiotically. With a hand out in offer, any chance of going home was thrown out the window.

Cate looked straight ahead blankly, ignoring your asking gaze.

“I said where are we going?” You asked. Ignored, you watched as Cate’s pupils flashed quickly to her side, towards the knights. Turning back in your chair, you realized. You sabotaged her mission, and any other advice or word could further deepen a possible and serious “demotion”.

Watching as Naboo faded away in the side windows, you were startled with Kylo's sudden announcement. “On our arrival, we are to ignite engines for light speed on route to Coruscant immediately.”

“This wasn't part of the plan.” You said aloud, shocked. “I didn’t agree to this part.”

“Then what was, councilwoman?” Kylo called to the reluctant voice. “Had you listened, we wouldn’t be taking the actions that we are now.”

“I wonder with whose help.” You spat back. The newly deceased governor was right. There was an argument wherever you went.

“The option to go back and drop you off is always open. But, I hope you realize that actions will have consequences.” He stated, almost tauntingly. “It would be a shame to see your head on a spike.”

“A favor was given for the good of the people.”

“They won’t see it that way.” He sneered, leather glove squeaking. “The truth is soon to come out. Where are you going to go when that does happen?”

It was best to shut up.

With many to witness, the assassination of a government official was without a doubt a high profiled crime to commit. To accompany the ill news, the revelation of a colleague and former head of state with her hand in his murder would surely send embarrassment to the planet. More harm was caused than good.

Maybe it was the smartest idea to escape.

You shut your eyes tightly as you the grim thought of Abie and Sara finding out. You lied to them both. Hatred was a driving factor, but not murder. You prayed that they could one day forgive you. It was probably going to take a long time to do.

You saw the faint reflection of the Finalizer bounce off the glass panels, indicating your destination was close.

“The Supreme Leader’s secondary vessel requesting permission to dock, copy.”

“Permission granted.” A modulated voice rang out. “Prepare to unload.”

The last First Order ship you had visited was nothing compared to this. The vast high ceilings towered over all, with as many small ships docked neatly into the walls. Officials ran amok, hurrying to finish a job or to clear the way. The ship jostled as it landed, causing you to tussle in your seat.

“Wow.” You whispered.

“I believe it is time to disembark, councilwoman.” You heard Kylo say, taking off his seatbelt. You did the same, standing up as gracefully as you could.

You felt the faint brush of Kylo’s cloak graze your leg. Standing next to you, but not fixated on you. His presence felt overpowering, like he had done this many times before. The adrenaline was still rushing in you, garnering you to shake and quiver slightly.

As the hatch opened, you saw two single file lines on either side of stormtroopers. They stood with their blasters in hands, looking straight ahead in respect. As you inched forward, you caught eye of a special trooper. Tall and donned in shining silver, this stormtrooper was like no other. A black cape hung over one shoulder, with a red line trimmed on its hem. With no eyes to look into, you could only imagine what kind of a being they were. Their air was grand, big shoes that were filed with fear and respect.

“Welcome back, sir.” They said to Kylo. Their feminine tone was evident in their voice, clear and orderly. You had no thoughts, except one. If they are a she, then that is one big woman.

Still in awe, you almost missed the silver commander’s next question. “Have we acquired the subject?”

“Affirmative, Captain.” Kylo replied, walking next to her.

“Hold on, subject?!” You called out, still two steps behind them. You tried to rush to Kylo, desperate for answers. Before you could reach him, gloved hands pulled you by your forearms and held you back. You glanced at them both, visors staring down menacingly at you. With Cate’s footsteps echoing off the ramp, the image of her strode in front of your person. Still blank.

“You are to be escorted onto the ship until we hit lightspeed.” Was all she said before turning and joining Kylo.

Your head dropped. All of this felt fake. Nothing of it felt real at all. Not even an hour ago, you were home. With a skip in your step about the future and being free of the thorn in your side, only to be replaced with another. Slowly and painfully, it was going to be hard to dig this one out.

A First Order vessel. Shooting out of the sector and into the inner Rim. The death of a political official and your life as you know it. All within a short amount of time. The time to process it began as you were escorted out of the hangar and into the ship itself.

You felt like you were hit with a ton of bricks.

The hallways bustled with every employee of the Order, rushing to unknown locations. The memo of lightspeed must’ve been ordered quickly. All of their heads were down as you passed them, averting their eyes from walking cloaks of darkness on either of your side.

You clasped your hands in front, careful to take note from those around you. You glanced up at the Knights, whose boots clanked almost like the Supreme Leader’s. There was emptiness to their step, like strictly programmed droids who were on the way to the next task.

“Are you both allowed to talk to me?” You asked, looking up at one of them. They continued in silence. “I see. Maybe a vow of silence.”

You felt the need to press further. It looked like a risky attempt to talk to monsters carrying you to your death. Risky, or maybe sad.

“Those weapons look menacing. Serious damage to anyone that crosses you.”

Silence.

“Good, I didn’t want to talk to you bucketheads anyways.” You muttered, rather disappointed from the one sided talk.

You heard the same leather squeak from them like you did with Kylo earlier. You looked down at one gripping his weapon rather tightly. You swallowed, yet taking another que. At least it relieved some of the stress you were carrying, saying that. Sad that they were in your path of insult, but then again, you would swiftly be met with a blade in your throat.

The tight hallway grew to a broader area, full with more First Order personnel. Stormtroopers guarded every corner, standing at full attention. The knights beelined you to two sets of blast doors, with people bustling about. Most walked in and out, in pairs or with a holopad in hand. When coming into their sight, there was another hush among them. But this time, there were slivers of notice. Gawked at wasn’t new to you, but the setting was.

The blast doors opened, revealing the bridge of the ship. Various stations were hard at work operating the ins and outs of the ship’s defense and operation. So focused, there was no acknowledgment of your presence. There was a quick conclusion that if they were looking anywhere besides their screen, they would be shot on sight.

Ahead of you were the giant windows out looking at Naboo. It felt like a screen, seeing your home from miles above the surface. Growing bigger as you were walked further in, you couldn't help but tear up just a little.

These conflicting feelings of justifying your dark deed for the good of the planet and your own wounded morals clashed against one another, fighting for the dominance of your stand. You had sickened you, the need to fill your own selfish gain. Moment of passion destroyed your life as you had known it. Now it was time to pay the consequences, but stubborn as you were, it was going to be hard to accept it.

“You are to wait here. Our Master will join shortly.” One Knight croaked, voice startling you out of your moment of sentiment.

They backed up some, keeping their distance. The blast doors opened again, this time the flamed hair general jaunting towards you. You flipped around, taking in a deep sigh. Bound to be on an official First Order ship, you had to at least expect to see him sooner or later.

“Ah, councilwoman.” He shot you a grim, wide smile. “We meet again, under some unfortunate circumstances.”

“Unfortunate, indeed.” You replied, gripping your hands tightly. “Where’s the Supreme Leader?”

“Oh come now, at least give me a chat.” He feigned disappointment mockingly. “After all, this is my setting, my domain. I am more than welcoming.”

“I’ve been told, or rather talked over, that we are to be out of this sector any minute now.” You said. “The Supreme Leader cannot possibly be holding out on an escape.”

“I wouldn’t call it an escape, councilwoman. However, we may just have a chance at some resolution to the chaos that put us here in the first place?” Hux raised his brows.

You tried to read his face to see if it had some truth. You silently hoped that you weren't being pushed into another set up. Peace with Naboo was what you so desperately strived for. It would calm your worried mind. If it meant that you could never return to maintain harmony, you would take it. But not without heartbreak.

“Then let us try.” Hux finished, turning his back to you as he continued with his recent assessment for departure. How acutely they all listened, hanging on to every quip and jeer he threw out in his words. Still able to take orders under such stress, unlike you did. “Annoying as this inconvenience is.”

“I did what I did for a reason. You would too if you were pushed so far.” You snarled back. “Would you have done it too?”

Hux glared at you, his face changing so slightly. Eyes softened, almost to sympathize. Human as you both were, maybe it did cross his mind of holding himself out from the rest. He glanced up. The doors opened and Kylo glided in. The scowl came back and so was the top general of the First Order.

“I give commands and follow orders.” He said. “I see no reason for such emotion.”

“It's a proper system for a machine to work. There's a purpose for it.” Kylo followed up, his helmet still on. “But we are not droids.”

“And you encouraged it.” You said to him, staring into his dark visor. “I'm not the only one at fault here.”

“Who said it was not the right thing?” You heard Kylo said lowly in his helmet. Moving closer to you, his voice was soft enough to not be picked up by the vocoder. “Put trust in that decision, (Y/n).”

Biting down on your lip, losing your focus on him.

“Put trust in me.”

A beep sounded off loudly on the bridge. “This is the Security Force of Naboo requesting urgent communication with your vessel.”

Breathing in deeply, you felt as if your heart was going to burst out of your chest. Thumping loudly, rhythmically against your rib cage, you would rather your heart did some damage right now. Anything to avoid this, avoid your betrayal.

“Stay here. Leave communication to us.” Kylo said. “You will not move from your spot, unless I say otherwise.”

“I will not move from this spot unles you say otherwise.” Aghast at the loss of control of your body, your feet planted where they stayed. Frozen once more.

“Holograph transmission, sir. Permission to accept?” A controller asked from their position.

Permission granted.”

Kylo and Hux stood in front of the transmission circle, their fronts lighting up with the familiar blue light. You drew in your breath as you saw the Queen, standing solemnly with Abie at her side. The Queen conveyed a deep seriousness you knew deep inside her. Dormant, having been cast aside when the council had done it for her. It wasn’t the childlike display of fear that was present. No. It was the face of a proper monarch, ready to take on her new challenge for her people.

“Appearance is everything,” you told her. “They won’t just take your words into consideration.”

For a brief moment, the creeping anxiety of your situation disappeared. In its place, was pride. Just for a second. Abie, on the other hand. A different story. His anger seethed off of him, being well seen from almost everyone on the bridge.

“Your Majesty, to what we owe the pleasure of your company?” Hux said.

“There is none, General. I would like to be told of the reason for my urgent return to the palace, with my home in disarray and chaos. Our Governor slain and my councilwoman nowhere to be seen.” She proclaimed. “Even with our arms open to your presence in our desperate hour, we are repaid with nothing but hardship.”

“Although a controversial decision, your majesty, it was the right one.” Kylo began, taking over for Hux. After all, who wouldn’t want to hear the murderer tell his side of the story? “Let's face the clearer picture. Governor Sillin was a joke to Naboo. A laughing stock to the galaxy. So in fairness, the First Order did what was the preferable outcome.”

“Did this outcome happened to include the disappearance of Councilwoman (L/N)?” Queen Revisalla snapped back, her tone grew sharp. “Full control is what you strive for, then so be it. But I ask, no I demand that she be returned alive and unharmed.”

“I see.” Kylo replied, feigning a deep thought. “I’m afraid I cannot allow for the release of her into your hands.”

“And why?” Revisalla asked, the tension from her and Abie grew even more. “This is beyond ridiculous. To capture a government official and a former monarch is a serious crime.”

“That does not matter to us, as you can tell your majesty.” Hux cut in, clasping his hands behind his back. “We did ask for full allegiance in order for help from our forces. Young as you are, do try to take a smarter route and think of this as a small price for our assistance.”

How badly you wanted to break free of your place and take down Hux as well. You wouldn’t need a saber for this, only your bare hands.

“I understand your emotions, your majesty. “Kylo stepped forward. “There is a shared understanding when something dear is taken away from us. It becomes a driving force, our mindset. Sometimes for the better.”

You gazed at the queen. Her eyes glanced down, in deepful thought. It wounded deeply as you saw her face drift into each possibility and hard decision. Everything was spilling over. Whatever was to happen next was going to determine your place. Your life was on the line. And so were the million lives on the planet.

“I will not back down without a fight for this.” Revisalla spoke clearly. “We will bring her back, with your help or not. I will see to it that she is returned home alive.”

Your breath was knocked out of you. There was a vague idea on what kind of response that would be.

“So be it.” Kylo said.

“As you left us no choice your majesty, we must do what is necessary.” Hux proclaimed, turning to the rest of the bridge. “All personnel to their stations. Deploy the TIEs. Let's make sure the message is sent.”

“Yes, sir.” The voiced response was swift, echoing in your ears as the worst had to come. Still frozen to your spot, there was no way physically that you could try to stop this. But you were going to try. You heaved as you struggled to move. The fight response in you cried out to be released.

“Wait, no!” You screamed. Suddenly, as if to be let off a chain, you stumbled forward. Catching your step, you rushed to the hologram, panting. Revisalla took a sudden intake of breath, surprised. So did Abie. Shaking your head, you held up your hands. “You don’t want to do this. Please do not do this.”

“Halt the deployment of TIEs.” Hux commanded. Your adrenaline dropped in relief.

“Is your safety compromised, Lady (Y/n)?” The queen asked you. Abie’s appearance could’ve looked just like yours, relieved but shaken.

“No, I’m fine. I’m okay.” You breathed. “I beg your majesty to listen. One person to an entire people, it cannot happen.”

“Excellent point.” Hux mumbled.

You ignored his remark as you tried to find the right words. “I am not worth it. If this is where my path leads me, this is where I stay. I need you to understand that.”

Revisalla swallowed, her fingers slightly tugging on her long sleeve. Not only were you talking to her, but to your heartbroken friend as well. He looked down, so still you thought the hologram was frozen.

“I understand. Efforts in the future to retrieve your person will be permanently terminated.” Strong and loud, you felt the tug of loss. You were now officially a subject to the First Order.

You nodded.

“Before our communication is severed, there is something I need to ask of you.” Revisalla added. “There are words of your involvement in the death of the governor.”

You felt Kylo’s presence flair behind you. His air taunted you as the cold truth was about to be let loose in the open. This was a moment that he was waiting for, as if he was waiting for the downfall of your life.

“Is there truth to this?” She finally said.

You looked back at Kylo. As it pained you to say, this truly meant there was no way to return back to home. The tie would be forever severed. The planet would be safe. Abie and Sara would be safe. The queen will be safe. And maybe peace will find its way back to Naboo, with a brighter future for everyone. The one you so longed to see.

“Yes.” You replied firmly. “I killed Sillin.”

Abie’s shoulders fell in defeat. Revisalla nodded solemnly. The disappointment from both of them radiated strongly.“I-“

“There you have it, your majesty. Loud and clear.” You were cut off from Hux. “It is now time that we make our departure from the sector.”

“I bid you all farewell.” Revisalla’s tone was monotonous, professional. Just another goodbye to visiting “diplomats”. The hologram faded and you were left with the sight of Naboo once again.

#fanfiction #star wars #ben solo #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren headcanons #kylo ren trash #Ben swolo #ben solo deserves to live #adam driver #force awakens #rise of skywalker #the last jedi #kylo ren imagines #general hux

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 2 months ago

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hey hey hey it's chapter four, in which Jessie faces the consequences of some previous actions and then immediately takes worse, dumber actions.

I don't know if I'm 100% happy with it but I'm simply learning to have fun and make art messy :)

Tash stomped out of the bathroom with Jessie in hot pursuit, frantically drying off her hands on a wad of paper towels.

“Maud!” Tash yelled across the bar. “MAUD!”

Raising her voice wasn’t actually necessary, since Maud had reclaimed her post behind the bar. She didn’t seem bothered to have one of her own employees yelling for her, or even especially surprised. She didn’t even look up from the glass she was cleaning when she asked what the hell Tash was screaming about.

Tash skipped the final step to actually getting behind the bar, simply disappearing mid-stride and reappearing slightly behind Maud as if hoping to use her as a human shield. “What fuck is she doing here? You said there was an ice cube’s chance in hell of her ever coming in!”

“Well, look at that. Hell’s frozen over,” Maudie said, completely straight-faced.

“Yoohoo! Hello!” That was Jessie, of course, leaning as far over the bar as she could get. You may have noticed by now that she wasn’t good at being ignored. “Noir, babe, what the fuck is up? How long have you been back in town?”

Tash gave her a face like pure murder. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Sorry, jeez. Are we on a first name basis now? You prefer Tash?”

“Don’t call me that either!”

“It’s your name! What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Don’t call me anything!” Tash hissed. “Don’t fucking talk to me! I don’t know what kind of half-assed scheme you’re running this time, but I don't want anything to do with it. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Oh, come on!” Jessie flung herself even further across the bar, a perfect portrait of plaintive despair. “Even you? I thought we were friends!”

“You ruined my life, you psychotic bitch!”

Maud cleared her throat softly, determinedly polishing up an empty glass and not looking at either of them. “As a little reminder to you girls, you're being extremely loud and everyone in this bar is a gossipy son of a bitch. Just in case you forgot.”

Too late Jessie realized that the bar had gone quiet, everyone presumably dropping whatever they were doing to focus on the free show playing out as Frostbite made a drunken mess of herself for the second night in a row. Her face burned. Stupid mistake, careless. Everyone was already out to get her, and there was no need to give them more fuel.

She sat up extremely straight and prim, uncomfortably aware now of how drunk she had gotten and ashamed to have reached that point. She lowered her voice to a normal speaking temperature. “Maudie, could I please get a glass of water?”

“About time.” Maud nodded to Tash. “Did you finish the bathroom?”

“Yes.”

“Then you're on bar, sunshine. Be a peach and start by getting my shitfaced goddaughter some water.”

Tash made a noise that was not, strictly, a word but was very much protest given form, an indignant help that might beat be written out as “‼️‼️‼️”

Maudie eyed her cooly. “Is that a problem? You're covering for Jordan. Jordan is a bartender. Do you want the hours or not?”

“Yeah, but fuck this,” Tash said. She filled the glass (straight from the tap, no ice) and set it down in front of Jessie with excessive force, letting water slosh over the sides. Maudie sighed, long and hard.

“So, you two have history?”

“Yes!” Jessie said brightly, at the exact moment Tash offered a vehement, “No.” Jessie was crestfallen.

“Don't make that fucking kicked puppy-ass face at me,” Tash said sourly. “We did one job together, that doesn't make us friends.”

“Okay, well, I thought we really hit it off,” said Jessie, who had extremely vivid memories of Tash’s tongue deep inside of her mouth. “You're the one who ghosted me.”

Tash didn't say anything to that, but one of her eyes had started twitching and that really spoke for itself. Show don't tell, and all that.

“Great. Don't tell me anything else about it,” said Maudie. “And don't kill each other. You know what happens if people die in here.”

“They go in the lake,” Jessie and Tash recited.

“And I'm not in the mood for all that tonight, so keep your shit together.”

That was one of Maud’s favorite jokes, despite the fact that no one had ever died in One-Eyed Polly’s since she had taken over. There had been a time, though, when she swore having to drag out dead customers and give them the cement shoes had been a regular occurrence for the lowest-ranking members of the staff. So maybe it wasn’t that much of a joke.

Maud pivoted her attention to a patron who wasn’t giving her a headache, and Jessie turned the full scope of her attention back to Tash to start poking her with a stick and taking notes on how she reacted.

“You know how to make a Frostbite?” she asked. “Like, the drink?”

Tash curled her lip. “You named a drink after yourself?”

“I didn't. I found it on Pinterest. It's just blue raspberry vodka and lemonade with a rim of that sour sugar stuff and some mint thrown in for garnish. I've been meaning to try it. Doesn’t that sound yummy?”

Tash stared straight into her core, dead-eyed. “You seriously think we have any of that shit here? We don’t do fucking bachelorette parties.”

“You don’t have vodka?”

“Not blue raspberry. The closest I can get to your thing is some straight potato vodka with a lemon wedge. You know, if that sounds fun for you.”

“Hard pass.” Jessie took a sip of her water, tried not to wince at the taste, and considered.

Night Noir had been one of the most promising up and coming superthieves in the country, if not the world. She was a teleporter, a damn good one, with precision control that let her start a front flip on one side of the room and end it fifty feet away, landing primly on top of her target with style and panache or, possibly, kicking a security guard in the face before he knew what had hit him. Which would be fun to watch under any circumstances, but she went the extra mile and hijacked the sound systems of her targets to blast her own music and turn it into a full-scale performance. Like an Olympics gymnastics routine, except it was illegal and Jessie generally didn’t want to kiss the US gymnastics team on the mouth because they were all, what? Like, fourteen years old? No thank you!

But obviously she was crushing on Night Noir. Jessie had subscribed to her Patreon, which meant she got a five minute warning every time Noir was about to go live on a heist and got to watch the hijacked security footage in real time. And there was nothing that she wouldn’t drop to watch it; she’d once ditched Whirligig at the club for nearly an hour to squat outside with the smokers and watch Night Noir work. Gig had pitched a fit about it, which in hindsight probably should have been the first warning sign that their friendship was severely lacking in long-term potential.

What Night Noir did was kind of like performance art. She was never just stealing; there was always a mission. She targeted the collections of wealthy bastards who were making their money by screwing people over, or the exhibitions of artists whose shitty sex pest behavior was largely covered up. There was a karmic element to it all, like Night Noir wasn’t just a thief but also the personification of justice showing up to drag people’s dark sides into the light. Once she’d robbed the largest bank in Crown City and left the lobby scattered with print-outs of extremely incriminating emails between the board of directors, simultaneously releasing them online to make sure they couldn’t be hushed up. There had been four arrests so far, with even more investigations ongoing.

She approached the game like an artist, treating the whole thing like a joke that only she and her fans were smart enough to get. Like, take the costume. It was intentionally tacky, a bright purple bodysuit straight from Party City with a big shiny fanny pack and bright yellow Docs. Since early in her career her weapon of choice had become a pair of police batons tricked out to light up every time they hit something, turning her skirmishes with security into miniature light shows, and she concealed her identity using a series of what could best be described as novelty balaclavas. One was covered in sequins, another gave Noir a pair of kitty ears.

It was all extremely dumb and tacky, unless you were in on it. Which Jessie was! She was so in on it, maybe more than anyone else. Underneath the showmanship and social justice of it all, Night Noir was just having fun. You could see it in the way she moved—never able to be totally still, always bouncing eagerly on her feet, electric when she had to stay in one place,every move telegraphing pure joy no matter how precise and controlled it was. You could always tell she had a smile a mile wide even when her mouth was covered.

That was what had really drawn Jessie to her: the sense that somebody out there was having as much fun as she was.

She hadn’t thought it likely that they’d ever meet, given that Jessie and her brother operated solely out of Rustbelt and Night Noir seemed married to overcast Crown City, where there were more than enough corrupt members of high society to keep her busy forever. But then she’d reached out (or, rather, her geek had reached out, the tech guy who made sure those speakers were hijacked and the streams ran smoothly while Noir handled the good part): asking for permission from Sub-Zero and Frostbite to do a job in their city. A good move, since Sub-Zero was famously territorial. And he probably would have said no (and possibly iced Noir into next year for even asking) if his baby sister hadn’t spent a full weekend begging him to say yes so she could meet her crush.

The compromise was that it was a joint operation, with the profits getting split 50/50, which was how Jessie and Tash ended up pawing at each other in a parking garage in the middle of a gig. Jessie wasn’t even sorry; seeing Noir in action had been hot as hell. She’d been right about everything; Night Noir was a woman who lived for the thrill of the job, her excitement infectious.

Then she’d vanished. At first Jessie thought that she was just getting ghosted, Night Noir uninterested in turning their little fling into a more long-term connection. Which hurt, for sure, but it happened! She was a big girl who could handle rejection. But then the Patreon had been deleted with no warning or explanation, and it had become obvious that something much worse was afoot. Jessie had spent weeks waiting for an announcement that Night Noir had been arrested and shipped off to some superhuman prison for experimentation, but the announcement never came. That meant she probably hadn’t been arrested by any government organization, because they turned it into a whole media circus whenever they caught someone with powers. So Night Noir had gone underground for other reasons, presenting a hell of a mystery. Jessie and her fellow freaks in the superhuman forums had been puzzling over it for months when she got distracted by her brother’s much more worrying disappearing act.

And now… this.

It was very hard to square this sullen, snapping iteration of Tash with the electric Night Noir that Jessie had met in the fall. To put it gently, she looked like shit.

Tash slouched around like she was trying to disappear, black hoodie on black leggings and black shoes as if she was trying to make herself as unremarkable as possible. Where once she’d moved light on her feet, dancer-like, as fluid as you’d expect from someone who wasn’t particularly encumbered by the laws of space, now she was carrying herself with such brittle tension that she seemed liable to snap under the lightest pressure. The soft brown of her skin had gone ashy, like when she’d gone underground she’d gone literally subterranean, hiding from the sun. Back in the day she’d worn her hair in a sharp undercut, sides shaved close to her skull while the top grew in a burst of natural curls, but now it had grown out into an uneven short afro that was badly in need of love. Beneath her eyes there were bags so deep that you could have buried a body in them.

Something had happened to Night Noir, capital letter Happened, and Jessie would never know peace again in her entire stupid life if she didn’t at least try to find out what it was.

“How long did you say you’ve been in town?” she asked, trying to take a casual sip of her gross water and slightly missing her mouth.

Tash scowled. “I didn’t. It’s none of your business.”

“Well, I mean, I was just surprised. I thought you would be doing your last semester of grad school now, not slumming it here.”

“Why the fuck do you know that?”

“Because you told me, babe. During the gig we did. Don’t you remember?”

The look of hollowed-out horror on Tash’s face suggested that no, she did not remember, and that she supremely regretted having shared anything about herself at all. She blinked, hard, like she was trying to calm herself, then leaned over the bar towards Jessie and lowered her voice.

“Listen. I don’t give a shit what you think you know about me, okay? I’m not your friend. I don’t like you. I’m not going to work with you. And you’re never getting in my pants again. Got it?”

“I hate to be that guy,” Jessie said, “but technically I didn’t even get in your pants the first time. Catsuits are kind of a pain in the ass like that, you know? No way to get below the belt without getting your tits out. I swear to god I always have to pee as soon as I put mine on, too, it’s the worst. This one time we were stealing this armored truck, but I—”

“I don’t care!” Tash snapped. “Oh my god, why are you doing this? What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Well, I suppose I was excited to see you again,” Jessie said slowly. Words were hard, she had to pick them carefully. “I was worried about you when you disappeared. You’re extremely hot and cool, and I looked up to you a lot. And you were really nice to me in the bathroom just now.”

By the look of things Tash would have been less surprised if Jessie had announced an intention to steal her organs and leave her in a bathtub full of ice. Her face softened by a small increment, at least. Still defensive, but maybe she felt a little bad for assuming the worst. She hesitated. “Right. Yeah. That sounded rough. Who was that?”

But before Jessie could answer (and thank fuck for that, because she wasn’t quite desperate enough to spill that entire situation yet) they were interrupted in the mostly needlessly dramatic way possible: the bar door kicked open to announce the arrival of the car thief and general menace to society known Voltzz, reeking of body spray and violence. His mean, blue little eyes scanned the bar and landed on Jessie with malevolent glee, and he hacked out a triumphant laugh. “Frostbite, you frigid bitch! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Fuck me all the way up the ass,” Jessie said, low enough so only Tash could hear. She slammed back the remainder of her glass of water like it was something that could give her liquid courage, remembered too late what she was actually drinking, and fought back the urge to spit it out. Nothing left for it but to screw on the sugary sweet Frostbite smirk. Voice pitched up, a tone that was always just on the wrong side of condescending, and she was ready to go.

“Voltzzy, baby, there you are! Long time no see!”

An impressionistic overview of Voltzz, for the uninitiated: unnaturally platinum hair gelled up into a style that he presumably thought was flattering. Nearly always shirtless, which he claimed was because his powers kept him warm despite the doubt of discerning onlookers. In this particular instance baring his chest was letting him show off muscles that were (by Jessie’s estimation) 75% steroids and 25% dehydration, accessorized with an improbable late May sunburn and a heavily infected nipple ring. Inexplicably he’d capped off this look with an enormous and unhygienic-looking white fur coat, which made him come across like a polar bear’s burnout cousin who was going to ruin Thanksgiving by doing meth in the bathroom.

It wasn’t that Whirligig was much of a catch herself; she objectively sucked pretty badly. But watching her make a clown out of herself over this man, out of all the possible men in Rustbelt, had made Jessie yearn for the sweet release of a lobotomy.

He flashed Jessie a smile dotted with fillings, curling his skinny lip. “Yeah, hell of a long time. I was starting to think you were hiding from me after you fucked everything up with me and Gig.”

“Wasn’t much else I needed to say to you after you cheated on my best friend, electrocock therapy. And not much else I need to see, either, since you sent me all those pictures of you weird little dick.”

Voltzz’s jaw twitched. “My dick’s not weird.”

“Yeah?” Jessie tugged her phone loose from her bra, immediately navigating to her saved pictures. “Does anybody want to come look at this and tell me if they think his dick looks weird?”

“Stop that.” Voltzz moved as if to smack the phone out of her hand, only to have her yank it away and give him a chilly stink eye. He scowled, pulling the coat up higher as if hoping he could puff himself up into something intimidating. “You know something? You’re not really acting like a girl who wants her car back.”

Jessie laughed. “Voltzzy, baby, I don’t need to be nice to you to get my car back. We both know that.”

“Nah. You’re not getting it back, period. You owe me that shit,” he said, biting the words out with vicious glee. “You dumped my favorite car in the lake, so I’m gonna blow yours sky high. What are you gonna do about it?”

“Why the fuck did you dump his car in the lake?” asked Tash, who had been watching all of this posturing with increasing distaste.

Jessie waved an impatient hand. “I tried to get my terrible ex best friend to break up with him by proving that he’s cheating slime, which he is, but she got mad at me instead and kept him around even though he’s nothing but a glorified mook, so I decided to ruin his Valentine’s Day by taking away something he definitely loves more than her anyway.”

“Watch who the fuck you’re calling a mook,” said Voltzz, apparently unaware that there was anything else in that sentence he should be taking issue with. “Considering you’re barely even a sidekick anymore. Who’s gonna save your ass if I get sick of you running your fucking mouth?”

That sent a shiver down Jessie’s spine, in the least fun way imaginable, but she knew better than to give him a single inch. “Honey baby, I’ve never been a sidekick. Now tell me what the fuck you want before I get bored. If you think I’m going to pay you for my own car back you’ve got another thing coming, I’ll tell you that right now.”

“I don’t want your money, bitch. I want you to square up.” He flashed his fillings at her again. “Meet me out back and let’s settle this.”

God, of all the nights to get caught without her freeze ray. She rolled her neck, trying to stall without looking like she was stalling and well aware that everyone else in the bar was watching hungrily. Were these the same chucklefucks who had been toasting to her demise earlier that day? Good chance. She knew what the people from her old neighborhood were like, and most of them had nothing better to do than drink all day to get ready for the drinking they’d do at night. Losers, all of them. It had certainly been one of them who given Voltzz the heads-up that she was here, hoping for a little cheap entertainment.

“Voltzzy, baby, I don’t think that’s gonna end too hot for you. If you keep pushing this I’ll only be acting in self-defense, and that means I’m not the one Sub-Zero’s going to be mad at.”

He would, of course, but no one else would ever know that. To the outside world, Frostbite and Sub-Zero were a united front, and Sub-Zero infamously despised anyone fucking with his baby sister. Which was great for Jessie, because absolutely nobody wanted to risk getting a blizzard dropped on their heads.

Once upon a time, Voltzz had been one of the guys who could be scared shitless by the mere mention of Sub-Zero. Now he flashed Jessie an evil smile, pressing even closer into her personal space.

“I don’t think Sub-Zero’s gonna give a shit, actually. Seems like he’s pretty checked out these days. So let’s just keep it between us. Either grow some balls and fight me or let me blow up your ugly car like the coward you are.”

“Don’t pretend you think she’s ugly. The first time you saw the Nitro Pearl you almost creamed your jeans.”

“Final answer? Coward’s way out? Alright.” Voltzz stood and made for the door, acting all casual about it. He wasn’t a good actor, but it still got Jessie’s teeth grinding.

“Jesus Christ, okay! If you want to be a popsicle so bad, we’ll do it your way!” She raised her voice for that, making sure that it would carry to all the curious looky-loos. “Meet me out back in three, alright? Let me finish my drink.”

Voltzz smirked, and mugged for the patrons so hard that several of them started cheering like this was a WWE match. He changed direction to head out the back door, passing so close to Jessie that he could give her a shove and make her slop even more water onto the bar. Great.

“You got your freeze ray, kid?” Maudie asked. Her voice was low, tense, and she was frowning more deeply than usual. Worried, even if she’d never admit it.

“Nah. It’s fine. I don’t need it.” Jessie tossed the last of her water back like a shot, slamming down the glass. “I just have to hang on long enough to knock his ass out, right? Like a mechanical bull. Can’t be that hard. His stamina is nothing to write home about, if you know what I mean.”

Tash started to ask a question, which Jessie wildly misinterpreted.

“He can only keep it up for, like, thirty seconds,” she said conspiratorially.

“Don’t care, didn’t ask,” Tash said immediately. “What can he do? How are you going to fight him? The ray gun is all you have.”

“Okay, first of all, I can fight. I’m a scrappy little bitch, okay? And I’m mostly not drunk anymore,” said Jessie, who was in fact really only sober enough to be uncomfortable with how inebriated she was. “And he’s just, like, dumb muscle, right? He’s a distraction for hire. All he can do is run electricity over his skin. It doesn’t tickle, but I’ve had worse. It’ll be fine.”

She stood up and swayed for a horrible second before she evened out. Someone across the bar wolf whistled, followed by a wall of hard laughter.

“Hey.” Tash leaned over the bar towards her, face tight with urgency. “Don’t fucking do this. This is insane, it’s barbaric. He wants to kill you and you can’t even defend yourself. Why are you giving him this?”

“He won’t kill me. Nobody’s stupid enough to piss off Sub-Zero and Ricochet that much.”

Even a few hours ago, miserable as she’d been, Jessie would have believed that. Rustbelt wasn’t Crown City, and even the really nasty members of the local rogues gallery wouldn’t take a life lightly. Sure, Brain Squid would put your cognitive functions in a blender and leave you drooling out your own memories, but he wouldn’t kill you. The worst they’d ever had was Void-Man throwing half an apartment building into Unreality, and that had shaken the entire city to its core because of how absurdly out of the ordinary it was. Superpowered bullshit was a fact of life in Rustbelt, but homicide was not. Ricochet and N.E.X.T. stopped pulling their punches when that line was crossed, and you’d be lucky if they found you before Sub-Zero did. As much as Jessie hated to admit it, Ricochet did have a point about her brother keeping the local villain community in check.

Now, though? Now that was all out the window. Voltzz wasn’t exactly being subtle with his hints that he knew Jonas was AWOL, and if he’d managed to piece that together with the two fried-out brain cells he had left then all bets were off. Finding out that Voltzz knew your secret was like finding out that the neighbor’s dog knew your credit score; at that point, you had to throw in the towel and assume you were boned.

And if everyone really hated her as much as Maudie said, which was looking unfortunately plausible, and Jonas had been the only thing protecting her, well. That didn’t bode very well for her at all, did it?

Jessie looked over at Maud, seeking a second opinion. Maud, grim faced, tilted her head toward Tash and raised her eyebrows, her classic the kid’s got a point expression. For good measure, she threw in a little seesaw motion with one hand, which was a deeply discomfiting response to a question about whether or not Jessie was going to be murdered. Fuck.

“Well,” she said. “Guess I’ll take my chances. Nobody calls Frostbite a coward.”

Tash was seething, jaw clenched tight. “Why the hell are you doing this? Just leave right now, get the fuck out of here before he comes after you!”

Jessie shook her head, once. Her mind was feeling exceedingly clear, draping an eerie sense of calm over her. “Can’t run. Bad for my image, and the image is the whole job. If you don’t have your reputation, you don’t have shit. I’m going to be fine, and when I come back I’m buying this little cutie a drink.”

“You’re not coming back, dumbass!” snapped the little cutie in question.

Jessie didn’t answer, except to blow Tash a little kiss and sashay to the back door like she was making her way down a catwalk. The patrons hooted and hollered for that, thrilled to see a woman shimmying away to her humiliation and possible death. Jessie tossed them a cool middle finger on the way, which only made them cheer louder.

Outside, in a dirt lot large enough that it had once housed softball games for shitheads, Voltzz was waiting.

And he was putting on a show.

The fur coat had been cast aside—right into the dirt, the fucking moron, think of the dry cleaning bill—and a pair of ugly gloves had been strapped on, black and fingerless with exposed wires all over them. Not a great look, but he did have arcs of lightning jumping from his palms and spreading out five, ten, even fifteen feet away from him, when he’d previously only been able to move electricity over his skin. So. That was bad.

“Voltzzy, baby,” Jessie said, with flat surprise. “You have a new trick.”

A vicious shark’s smile. “Just for you, bitch.”

Okay. So this had been the goal; he’d never actually wanted to blow up her car. This was about showing off a new level of power in the ugliest way possible, making an example of her in the process. Cool. Jessie swallowed, hard.

“I’m gonna get the electroshock treatment, huh?” she asked, determinedly conversational. She started edging to one side, taking small steps to the left and maintaining a wide distance. There had to be a limit to his range, right? Everyone had limits, even A-listers. “Can I ask a question before you fry me? It’s the gloves amplifying your powers, right? That looks like some ugly-ass N.E.X.T. tech.”

“Yeah. Ain’t from N.E.X.T., though. I got a hookup,” Voltzz said smugly.

Which was enough to grab Jessie’s curiosity even in these dire circumstances. “What do you mean, it’s not N.E.X.T.? Is somebody stealing their trash again? Are you working with fucking Junk Witch? Come on, dude, even you’re too good for Junk Witch.”

“Nah, fuck her. This is all from scratch. Brand new dealer in town.” He snorted, lining up his hand in her direction in a way that was unmistakably taking aim, fingers cocked like the barrel of a gun. “You don’t need to worry about that, though.”

There was nothing else for it: she hit the deck, rolling around in the dirt and gravel in the world’s most expensive jeans. The electricity in the air was strong enough that she felt her arm hairs standing up, but at least she wasn’t dead. Yet. And judging by the portion of the wooden fence that exploded, Voltzz’s aim was bad—he’d hit a point at least a foot over her head, two or three feet to the left.

Just for you, he’d said. Even wallowing in her cave of sadness, Jessie had been keeping obsessive tabs on the villainous goings on of the city. Nobody could get away with shit without it hitting the internet within twenty minutes, and a loser like Voltzz getting such a substantial upgrade would have been news if anyone had seen it. Whatever he had strapped to his hands, she doubted he’d ever given them a proper test run before.

Unfortunately, his aim didn’t actually need to be that good if he could unleash a little lightning storm every time she tried to get close to him, and evidently he just loved unleashing his little lightning storms—this entire period of deduction in Jessie’s mind palace was, in fact, taking place as she scrambled around avoiding everything he was throwing her way. She could hold her own in a brawl, sure, but she was used to the incredible convenience of a ranged weapon. Losing the freeze ray was really like having a hand tied behind her back, and also getting an ice pick to the skull for good measure.

What she needed was a distraction, which conveniently came hurtling out of the sky a second later: Tash’s bird-bone frame, dropping a steep twenty feet straight down to kick Voltzz smack in the skull and send him staggering to the side. She disappeared into a backflip before she could touch the ground, materializing at Jessie’s side in a beautiful three-point landing.

“Hey,” she said breathlessly, springing to her feet and offering up a wooden baseball bat. “This is for you.”

Jessie was extremely familiar with that bat, which Maud kept beneath the bar in case of emergencies. It couldn’t do much against a pissed off lightning man, sure, but that hardly mattered. There was someone on her side! Someone who cared enough to want her to defend herself!

She took the bat and gave it a twirl. Not her first choice, but beggars could hardly be choosers. She looked back at Tash, still bouncing in place and light on her feet. “What about you?”

“Don’t need it.”

She could have sworn Tash winked before vanishing again, disappearing just as she rolled into a forward flip and reappearing at exactly the right height to kick Voltzz right between his shoulder blades, knocking him flat on his face as he snarled and grunted like a feral hog. From there she was just taunting him, popping in and out of existence while he swore up a blue streak and lunged fruitlessly after her, panting hard as he launched increasingly erratic fistfuls of lightning her way.

Interesting thing about that: he was relying on his powers less and less, swinging furiously after Tash with his fists. He kept looking at his gloves, though, waving his hands impatiently, making moves like he expected something to happen that wasn’t quite materializing for him.

Ah—he had to recharge now.

Idiot.

Which wasn’t to say he was harmless. Tash was good but her luck wasn’t boundless, and with a wild lunge Voltzz managed to grab her arm and give her the electric eel treatment, passing it directly from his own skin. Not deadly, Jessie knew, but certainly not a picnic, as Tash’s scream indicated. It was time to move.

She hauled ass, rushing up behind Voltzz to slam a homerun into his knee, jab him in the kidney, bringing him crashing to the ground. She rested the bat right up alongside his skull so he knew he was in danger while Jessie contemplated her next move.

Tash was at least still upright, although she was twitching badly with the shocks dancing through her body. She was too little, not an ounce of padding on her to act as insulation.

“Are you okay?” Jessie asked. Cliche as it was, in the moment it felt like it was just the two of them, her eyes locked on Tash’s in a moment of adrenaline and solidarity. Even hurt and shaking, Tash looked more animated than she had in the bar, her features alive with excitement and her eyes flashing. There was the old Night Noir who’d stolen Jessie’s heart.

Voltzz, as if sensing that she was critically distracted by that gay shit, grabbed her arms and pumped her full of electricity.

Okay. Okay. It wasn’t fun. Jessie could feel every pore in her body and her teeth were rattling loose, it hurt a lot more than it had on previous occasions when he’d zapped her ass and those hadn’t exactly been picnics, plus he was hanging on tight and showing no signs of letting go. Distantly she could hear Tash yelling; it was nice that she cared. But she didn’t need to worry, because if there was one thing Jessie could handle it was being stubborn enough to hang onto something long after it stopped being a good idea.

She leaned into Voltzz’s shithead embrace, wrapped her arms tight around his neck, and bit into his ear.

According to the internet, where Jessie spent way too much time, it only took about seven pounds of pressure to rip off a human ear. She had no idea how you actually calculated pressure, but what she did learn in a fucking hurry is that if you hold tight and don’t let a little thing like electrocution deter you, you can really put the fear of god into someone.

Then there was a lurch. The power went out, as it were, and Voltzz went limp in her arms. Jessie unclenched her jaw, which hurt like a motherfucker, and spit out whatever was in her mouth. She didn’t want to know. Voltzz hit the ground, Tash standing over him. All of the old swagger was gone again; she was wide-eyed and rabbit-scared, the bat shaking in her hands.

“I shouldn’t have done that. Oh my god, trauma to the head kills people. What if I killed him?”

“Nah, he’s fine. I watched this fucker fall three stories and face plant on a parked car once. He got right up and kept running, didn’t slow him down at all.” Jessie drew the back of her hand across her mouth and was relieved to find that she only wiped away a trickle of blood. It was hard to see exactly, given the undignified angle Voltzz was at now, but his left ear still seemed to be attached. Mostly. Jessie twitched, residual shocks still pinging around inside of her, and tried to focus. “Superhumans have, you know, the force field.”

“What?”

“There’s, like, a little pocket of Unreality that surrounds all of you, especially when you’re powering. Most of you can’t make it stronger except for people whose, like, actual whole gimmick is making force fields, but think about it. Most superheroes are constantly walking off shit that would kill a normie, right. Getting thrown into walls and caught in explosions, just really taking a beating. And you heal faster. Come on, none of this works like it actually should. People are supposed to die when they get electrocuted as much as we did. It all works like cartoons. Did you seriously not know about this?”

Tash looked appalled, shaking her head slowly. “No. Why do you?”

“Well, I read. And my buddy Xo explained a lot of it to me. They’re, like, the smartest person in the world about this stuff.” Jessie cleared her throat, sad thinking about Xo but also reminded of Voltzz’s shoddy N.E.X.T tech. “Hang on. I need his gloves.”

She groaned and knelt down over Voltzz’s prone body, rolling him onto his back after she wriggled his wallet out of his pocket and jammed it into her own bra. He was obviously breathing, for whatever that was worth, and he groaned lightly when she moved him, which was probably a good sign even if it didn’t seem to make Tash feel any better. Jessie peeled his gloves off of his dirty little hands, frowning at how DIY they looked up close. N.E.X.T. tech that hit the streets was always sleek and polished, even when it was cobbled together from spare parts, but this looked like it had been assembled with a stapler in somebody’s basement. Who the fuck was making something that was so janky and so effective at the same time? And why didn’t Jessie didn’t know about them? This kind of information never would have gotten past Jonas.

“Voltzzy, baby,” she said. “Can you hear me?”

He groaned miserably, which was about as good as he was going to be able to do for a while.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Jessie said. “Give me my car back. And then don’t ever bother me again.”

She left him there in the dirt, tossing her hair back and flashing Tash a smile that tasted like blood. She’d have to run to the bathroom as soon as she could without looking like a wiener. “Thanks for the assist, babe. Hell of a second date, huh?”

“You’re deranged,” Tash said flatly. She was restless now, shifting from one foot to the other with her eyes darting around like she was expecting someone to bust up this little rumble. Unlikely, because everyone knew what happened to people who tried to interfere at One-Eyed Polly’s, but Jessie could cut her some slack for being nervous.

“Come on,” she said. “Let me buy you that drink.”

The patrons inside were somber as a funeral, watching with apprehension as Jessie made her grand return, blew a few kisses to no one, and then hoisted herself up onto the bar to make her victory speech.

“Excuse you,” Maud said lightly.

“One second. Listen up, motherfuckers.” Jessie stared around the bar with a determinedly pleasant expression, flashing a winning smile that was a thousand times more unnerving than just letting herself look mad. “Ice cold drinks are on Voltzz for the rest of the night, because I’m feeling generous and I want that man’s credit ruined. But remember which way the wind blows in this city, and remember that it blows cold, motherfuckers. Whichever one of you tipped him off that I was here, you might want to run along home and get a head start on winterizing your pipes. You know why.” She laughed, which no one echoed, then made a show of rifling through Voltzz’s shitty duct tape wallet and handing his credit card down to Maudie. “Alright, that’s all I had to say! Let’s get the drinks flowing!”

The people of Jessie’s old neighborhood were a lot of things. “Stupid” was one of them, as was “mean,” but so were “flat broke” and “opportunistic.” Hardly anyone was going to pass up a free drink. The ones who wanted to run waited until they’d had a beer, then took off with mumbled excuses and furtive glances in Jessie’s direction. She gave them friendly little waves, fingers wiggling, as a dismissal, then turned darkly to Maud.

“I want their names. I need to know who sold me out.”

And Maudie, bless her, raised an incredulous eyebrow at that. “I’m sorry, do I look like a secretary to you?”

“Right, sorry. Got a little ahead of myself.” Jessie cleared her throat and took another sip of champagne that had been left behind the bar since New Years. “Do you know where Tash went?”

Turned out she was hiding in the kitchen with the rat-loving fry cook, scarfing down fries with a hollow-eyed focus that suggested she had reverted completely to autopilot. Jessie had heard that power use burned calories off like nobody’s business, to the point that Ricochet had compartments built into her suits to stealthily stock up on high-calorie energy bars. Evidently Tash was feeling the crash.

“What the fuck do you want?” she demanded, apparently retaining enough presence of mind to stay hostile.

Jessie shrugged. “A friend, mostly.”

“Not interested. And your speech sucked. Villain monologues are always lame as hell. It’s all stupid fucking narcissistic bullshit, running around playing dress up and thinking it makes you cool. I’m so over all of it.”

“What the hell are you doing working here, then?”

That was the right question, judging by the way it made Tash scowl.

“None of your business. We’re not friends.”

“Well, at least let me buy you that drink. I asked Maudie and she says you can kick it for the rest of the shift if you use Voltzz’s card on the expensive shit."

Tash sighed, hard and long-suffering, but she was done fighting back against the pressure. This was just the latest long and stupid night in a string of long and stupid nights in her long and stupid life, and for the moment she was sick of being sober.

“Fuck it,” she said. “Let’s go see what's in the cellar.”

more of jessie lying wetly

chapter one

chapter two

cool art by @hamandeggbun

and brand new shiny chapter three. on god I am not allowed to post another one until I finish writing chapter ten.

The interior decor of One-Eyed Polly’s had changed precious little since the last time Jessie saw it, although the floors were a little more scratched up and the felt on the pool table had acquired some upsetting new stains. The only thing that had changed was the enormous NO SMOKING sign on the back wall, right where everyone could see it.

The second she stepped inside of the bar the universe conspired to give her the entrance of a stranger blowing into town in an old Western, with the jukebox pausing between songs and conversation hitting a lull just as she stepped on a creaky floorboard, drawing all eyes to herself. She flashed an ice cold Frostbite smile, tossed her hair, and wished desperately that she’d worn her costume. It would make her look like a total douchebag, sure, but it would also remind everyone she was dangerous.

Jessie strode back to the bar like it was a catwalk anyway, but the whispers and mutters that followed her were not promising.

“Still owes me twenty dollars.”

“Did I tell you she blocked me?”

“I thought she got arrested.”

“What did Sub-Zero say?”

Okay. Okay. Not awesome, but it was fine. They could say anything they wanted about her, but how many of these washouts and wannabes would actually try anything? None of them. They didn’t know that she was unarmed and floundering without her brother. She hadn’t worn her costume because she didn’t need to; her reputation was still strong enough to protect her. Not to mention she wanted all of these dweebs to see her wearing jeans that cost more than their mortgage payments and choke on the jealousy.

Maudie was behind the bar, grayer and butcher than ever. Her face was lined now, enough that it gave Jessie pause. Was her godmother getting old now? When did that happen?

Not that Maud was letting it soften her up at all. She raised a bushy brow at Jessie by way of greeting and launched right into putting her through the wringer. “Well, well. Look at that. A real-deal supervillain graces us with her presence. Thank you for deigning to descend from the gravy train, your highness.”

“Aww, Maudie, come on. Don’t be like that, it’s my birthday.”

“As if I don’t know. Did you get your card?”

“Did you send one?”

Maud rolled her eyes, hard. “Of course I sent one. What kind of schmuck do you take me for?”

Of course she wouldn’t know; Jessie hadn’t checked her mailbox in at least a week.

She realized, with despair, that there were tears crowding up around the edges of her eyes, little pinpricks begging to be let loose. When had she gotten so sappy? She wasn’t even most excited about the crisp fifty dollar bill that Maudie always tucked inside of her cards, although that was a relief. It was mostly that someone had even remembered she existed and wanted to do something nice for her that was really turning her into goo.

“Well, I appreciate it,” she said, choking down her onslaught of emotions. Maudie would hate her making a scene like that; she never knew what to do when people cried. “But, hey, I’m not here to talk about me. How are you doing? Are you feeling alright?”

“The hell do you mean, do I feel alright?”

“Well, you always said that you’d only make people stop smoking in here over your dead body. And now nobody’s smoking, so I figure you must have gotten real close to having a dead body.”

Maudie snorted. “We had a scare last year. Doctor thought he had something, turned out not to be serious. But you know how the dames are. Next thing I know, nobody’s allowed to smoke in here and I’m getting yelled at if I don’t eat vegetables and go for a fuckin’ walking every morning.”

She shook her head, fondly exasperated. The dames were the two iron-tongued femmes Maudie had been in a relationship with for decades, largely considered to be the real masterminds behind One-Eyed Polly’s. According to Maudie, they only kept her around to look pretty and serve the drinks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jessie demanded. “We could have helped with the bills, or I could have brought over soup. Something.”

“I didn’t want to bother you, kid. Your brother made it pretty clear that you were busy.” And then, before Jessie could apologize or otherwise risk making things sentimental, Maudie cleared her throat sharply. “You want a drink, or what? First round’s free for the birthday girl.”

“Yeah? Let’s do a straight whiskey and a burger,” Jessie said, knowing damn well that she’d be drinking nothing but dirt cheap beer for the rest of the night. “Do the fries still come with that, or is it extra?”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I charge people extra for a side of fries. That shit comes with the burger,” Maud said gravely.

There were a lot of things that could stand to be improved about One-Eyed Polly’s, but the food was not one of them. So what if the fry cook telepathically talked with rats? He could work a grill. The basket that arrived in front of Jessie contained a beautifully constructed medium rare burger packing the exact correct amount of grease, surrounded by steak fries that had been seasoned to absolute perfection. Pardon Jessie while she drooled a little bit.

“Hey, Maudie,” she said, half a burger later. “You still have Joney’s van?”

Her godmother raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch, which for Maud was an expression of profound skepticism. “I’d love to know how the hell you think I could’ve lost it.”

“No no, that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to see if I could grab it from you.”

“Can’t get your car back from Voltzz, huh?”

“Hmm?” Jessie asked, playing dumb.

“Do not try the bimbo act on me, Jessica Jolene. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

“God. How did you even hear about that?”

“Are you kidding? I hear about everything in here. We had a bunch of schlubs in here doing shots at noon because they thought Ricochet dragged you off for good.”

“Okay, tacky.” Jessie licked her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling extremely dry despite an abundance of gloss. “Maudie, can I ask you a question? It seems like I’m maybe, um, not very popular around here.”

Maud stared her down with eyes like chisels. “That’s not a question.”

“You know what I mean!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, kiddo. They hate your guts.”

“Maudie!”

Jessie’s complaining was cut short by a sweaty, nervous-looking man appearing from the kitchen and hurrying to Maudie’s side. He shot Jessie a look that could really only be described as distrustful, then leaned in close to deliver his message to Maud. She shrugged him away almost before he finished speaking, peeved by his damp proximity.

“So get her shift covered. Why do you need my permission for that? Call Billy. Or, hell, see if Tash can make it in. She’s always dying for extra shifts. Tell Jordan I’ll come sort her out in a minute and then get your ass back out here to cover the bar. The dishes can wait.”

Maudie sighed and turned back to Jessie as her dishwasher departed, shaking her head. She suddenly looked about a hundred years old. “Kid, I miss the days when the worst I had to deal with was bartenders coming in drunk.”

“What happened?”

“One of my girls, Jordan. She’s got that fucking, what do they call it? Void pox? She kept going see-through when she came in but she swore she’d be fine. Except she’s not fine, she started getting these little cartoon demons popping out of her head. Pretty harmless, only about this big, but if I never have to kill another one with a broom it’ll be too soon. Anyway, I had her sitting down in the back, but now she’s starting to make things levitate and I can’t have that. I need to find her a ride home.”

“Could I come see her?” Jessie asked with, in hindsight, way too much enthusiasm.

Her godmother hit her with a look that was genuinely withering. “You can keep your ass right here and be nice to Nikesh while he tends the bar. And you can leave Jordan alone. It’s a 24-hour bug, she’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

“I know that!”

“So drop it, then! For once in your life, don’t get so pushy about this superhero shit.”

Maud ducked back into the kitchen on that deeply unencouraging note, sending poor Nikesh back out to hold down the bar in her stead. He studiously avoided Jessie’s gaze when she asked him how his night was going, spitting out single syllable answers until she gave up and asked for a hard cider, which he provided without once actually turning his face in her direction. Jessie dropped a five in the tip jar anyway, because she believed very firmly that you were supposed to tip generously unless the waiter had purposefully set you on fire and maybe even then. Running through the last of your money in the entire world was no excuse to be a lousy customer.

The problem being, of course, that she had hoped this would be a case of spending money to make money. She’d shell out a little for a night at One-Eyed Polly’s, reestablish herself as a villain of the people, and announce that she was hiring to thunderous applause. Henchpeople out the door, heaps of cash secured, the money that she’d pissed away on bottom shelf booze now a worthwhile investment.

Unfortunately, all of that had depended on there being someone, anyone, left in town who didn’t hate her guts.

“Hey, Nikesh? Do you like working here?”

“It’s a living,” he said, still looking down.

“If I offered to pay you, like, five times what you’re making right now, would you work for me?”

“Fuck no.”

“Ten times?”

He actually looked at her for a fleeting second, his gaze touching off hers for just a moment. Jessie was vomitously aware that there was something that looked a lot like pity in his face. “Look, lady. It’s not about the money. It’s about not wanting to get my ass kicked.”

“Jesus Christ. Am I really that bad for business?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Is that why you won’t even look at me?”

“Yeah. You understand. Can’t look like we’re getting friendly.”

“Respect. You gotta look out for number one, Nikesh. I can throw a drink on you, if you want.”

“Yeah? That might be good, actually. We could make people think I said something really nasty to you. That could actually be great for my rep.”

Jessie groaned, resting her face in her hands. This was going to be an absolute non-starter. Polly’s was the biggest rat-hole in town; everyone knew that this was a place where people would turn a blind eye to almost anything. Everyone put aside their beef here, because the place would never function if they didn’t and no one wanted to be the asshole who ruined the only functioning villain bar in town. If a bartender was too scared to even look at her directly, Jessie’s reputation must be worse than dirt.

Why? Because of last night’s embarrassing little tantrum? Couldn’t be it. Nobody complained about the time Voltzz snorted bath salts and went on a rampage, or when Incinerator got drunk and started taking potshots at cop cars. Hell, if anything they’d both gotten more popular after that. Jonas might sneer at the lack of precision and control, but Jessie had tried to tell him a thousand times that people liked to see a supervillain go a little off the rails. It was aspirational, right? It let people imagine what they might do, if they had the power to really cut loose.

Why was she different? Sure, people hated to see a woman having fun, but that couldn’t possibly explain all of it. Maudie could probably explain it, whenever she finished mopping up the poor sap with the void pox. Maudie heard about everything.

In the meantime, she might as well try to make the most of her evening. If she wasn’t going to be making new friends, she could at least have a little fun. Who cared about her bank account? If she was screwed, she might as well go out with a splash.

“Nikesh? Open me up a tab. It’s my birthday and I want shots.”

***

Jessie Chilton was not a lightweight. Despite spending most of her early life watching her father get eaten alive by booze she had an exceedingly friendly relationship with alcohol, and could usually hold her drinks pretty well. Jonas had never touched the stuff, erring hard on the side of caution, but Jessie knew that she could stop any time she wanted.

Her miserable 26th birthday was not that time. That night she drank like the world was going to end, because it very possibly was. Her world, at least, and what else was she supposed to worry about? She knew damn well the scope of what she could be held responsible for, and presently it was mostly downing as much tequila as she could.

Which meant she ended up in the bathroom, eventually, because all of that liquid had to go somewhere, and in the time-honored tradition of wasted girls everywhere she got weird about it. While Jessie sat in the cramped and questionably-lit stall she started thinking about how she’d very nearly been born in this very room and what a miserably inauspicious start that was, and how perhaps she should have known that her life was always doomed to go down the toilet despite a decade or so of delusionally believing that she might be meant for something better. She wished that she had some friends to cry to, and briefly regretted the loss of Whirligig. Getting sloppy drunk and crying in club bathrooms together had been about the only thing that friendship was good for, but sometimes that was all she needed it to be.

In the absence of anywhere else to turn Jessie called the person who had almost always been there for her, until he spectacularly wasn’t.

Hey, Joney. It’s your favorite sister. And I know what you’re thinking: ‘Jessie, you’re my only sister, why are you doing exposition like a lunatic?’ Well, it’s because you haven’t been acting like I’m your favorite sister lately, or like you even know me, so I figured maybe you needed the reminder.

Did you even notice it’s my birthday? You’ve never forgotten it in my entire life. But you know who remembered? Uncle Ray. And Maud. And that’s fucking it. And Ricochet was soooOOOOOOoooo mean to me this morning. Like, you wouldn’t believe. She’s getting way too cocky, if you ask me. You should come back and kick her ass into orbit. Remind her who’s boss around here.

You should come back in general, actually. I miss you. But I’m also mad at you. It’s, like, a real dick move to take off and not even leave me with any money. I mean, I had money. Past-tense. But it’s gone now. I could have, like, I could have definitely spent it better. Smarter? I got these really stupid expensive boots with real crystals on them and then when I tried to return them they said I couldn’t because there was a scuff on the toe, which is like… whatever. I’m wearing them right now even though they’re way too fancy for Polly’s. Might as well get my money’s worth.

But I also just don’t have anything. Like, where’s the bank account? Where is the bank account, Jonas? I earned half that money, so why can’t I… I mean, you literally never told me how to get into it. To my money. Which I guess in hindsight was, like, I should have had a problem with that way sooner, but you made it sound extremely reasonable! And now I’m this close to Uncle Ray throwing me out on my ass, because I couldn’t pay the May rent and I can’t pay the June rent, either, at the rate things are going. I opened a tab at Polly’s and I don’t have enough to pay it, so now Maudie’s going to be mad at me, I think. I don’t know, I’m not even actually sure how a tab works. Isn't that stupid? I'm, like, so mad at myself lately got how much stuff I don't know.

Everybody’s mad at me.

And you won’t even call me back, and I can’t even afford toilet paper, so that’s, like, a lot. And I’m not handling it well. And I’m drank as a skank at Polly’s, in case you couldn’t tell, so go ahead and get your panties twisted up about that. I’m fucking spiraling, buddy. I’m in my fucking up era out here.

So. You should come home.

Or at least tell me where you are or what you’re doing or why you left, okay? Because I hate no knowing that. We’re supposed to tell each other things. And I’m scared about what’s going to happen if you’re gone much longer because, like, everything is going wrong. And I think you might have really left me screwed here, okay? Which is crazy, because it was supposed to be you and me against the world, but I’m not fucking seeing it right now.

By this point Jessie was crying and snotting pretty hard, absorbed enough in her own agonies that she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone in the bathroom until someone rapped lightly on the door of her stall and almost scared her shitless.

“Hey. You okay in there?”

It was not the voice of someone particularly warm and fuzzy or confident about checking in on a stranger, which actually made it a little sweeter that they’d bothered.

“I’m fine,” Jessie lied, wetly. “I’m just, like, I’m on the phone.”

“Yeah, I can hear that.” Whoever they were, they were sorely tempted to leave it at that and go back to minding their own business. Jessie could tell. Outside the stall, a pair of tennis shoes that had been worn damn near to dust rocked back and forth, weighing the options. “I just wanted to say that they’re not worth it. Whoever’s making you feel this bad, you shouldn't waste your time on them.”

“Okay,” Jessie said. And then, into the message she was still leaving for her brother: “I have to go, a nice girl in this bathroom says you’re not worth it. Please call me, love you, bye.”

“Great,” the stranger said dryly. “Crushed it.” Their beaten-in shoes scuffed away, back over to the sinks. Had Jessie missed an entire other person pissing next to her? God, that was embarrassing.

She wadded up some genuinely horrific single ply toilet paper and dabbed at her face, hoping she didn’t look too atrocious. All of her makeup was waterproof, which had to count for something. “Hey, thank you for that. I really needed someone to snap me out of it. I was being so pathetic.”

“Whatever,” said the voice by the sinks. “Don’t beat yourself up. I’ve been there, I get it.”

Jessie’s heart was getting squeezed around like one of those awful tubes full of goo and glitter and little plastic animals, the kind that everyone used to make jerk off motions. Who was this? Would they still be so nice to her if they knew who she was? What were the odds she could salvage a single actual friend out of this wretched garbage fire of a day? It didn’t even have to be a lifelong bestie, just someone she could have a few drinks with.

“My name is Jessie,” she said hesitantly.

She heard her new friend sigh. “I’m Tash.”

“Do you come here often? I’m not asking that in the pervert way, I’m just curious if you’re, like, a regular.”

“I work here,” Tash said, with as much contempt as anyone had ever had for their workplace.

“Oh. Do you like it?”

“Sucks shit. But, you know. You do what you’ve got to do.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Are you okay in there? I’m gonna get my ass reamed if I let somebody drown in the toilet.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m just, you know.” Which was a fucking nothing explanation, but Jessie’s voice was still damp and wavering enough that it presumably got the point across. “I need a moment to get it together.”

“I hear that,” Tash said. “I usually use the walk-in when I need a second.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s not very big, but it’s quiet. And the cold kind of helps pull me together, I guess. Stay focused.” She cleared her throat again. “Sorry to dump that on you.”

“No, that’s okay. It makes sense,” said Jessie, noted cold enjoyer. “Do you keep anything fun in there? Maud’s never let me see it.”

“You know Maud?”

“Yeah, since I was a kid. Isn’t she the best?”

“She’s a real son of a bitch. But she's the only boss I’ve ever believed when she says she gives a shit about me, though.”

“Sounds like Maudie,” Jessie agreed fondly. “Anyway, what’s in the walk-in?”

“Fucking nothing exciting. Burger patties, mostly. I don’t know. Like I said, not a lot of room.”

“Plenty of room for you.”

“Yeah, every time I have a total breakdown at work.”

“Does that happen a lot? No judgment, obviously. Pot .”

“I don’t know.” Tash sighed. “More often than you’d hope. Which is never, obviously. We don’t have to talk about this.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What?”

“Your favorite color,” Jessie insisted. “I love asking people that. Nobody ever cares after you turn, like, twelve, right? But I care. And it’s a lot more chill than talking about, you know. Our favorite places to completely freak out in a shithole bar.”

“Okay. Sure,” Tash said. Everything about the strain in her voice suggested she was not naturally inclined towards whimsy, but at least she was making the effort to play along. “Will you assume I have clinical depression if I say gray?”

“Yes.”

“Well, joke’s on me, because I love gray and I do have clinical depression. But purple is also good. I like purple.”

“What shade? Eggplant? Periwinkle?”

“Just a nice, medium purple, I guess. Like, the platonic ideal of purple.”

Jessie had no idea what a platonic ideal was or why anyone would ever need to specify that they weren't trying to have sex with a color, but she was sitting on her stupid little toilet nodding like an idiot anyway because it felt so good to be making a connection with someone. “I dig that. Purple is good.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, cerulean for sure. With sparkles, ideally.”

“That’s blue, right?”

“Yeah. My jacket is actually, like, that exact color, I can show you.” Jessie sniffled tremendously, getting shakily to her feet and pleased to discover that she was feeling much more sober than when she’d wandered into the bathroom some time ago. And now look at her! Practically having a whole meet cute. What a turn around on the evening. “Okay, I’m coming out now. Don’t gag if my makeup’s a mess, I’m going to fix it.”

She tossed her hair and stepped out of the stall, at which point several things happened to her in rapid succession.

Tash was standing underneath one of the humming, flickering lights that barely managed to illuminate the dark cave of the ladies’ room. She struck a slim figure, drowning in a huge hoodie with two skinny black-clad legs sticking out like a cartoon character. She was wiping down the sinks but turned as Jessie emerged, the fuzzy light illuminating her from the back like a bargain bin halo.

The first thing Jessie noticed was that Tash was a lot shorter than she had been expecting.

The second was that Tash had beautiful eyes.

The third was that those beautiful eyes and indeed her entire face were curdling up in horror as recognition set in.

“What the fuck,” she said. “Frostbite?”

The recognition and reaction alone weren’t surprising, given the colossal combined levels of notoriety and bad PR Jessie was currently enjoying. The part that nearly knocked her on her ass was that recognized Tash back.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, overjoyed and utterly failing to read the room. “Night Noir? Holy shit, girlie, I thought you were dead!”

#jessie lies wetly

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authurials · 2 years ago

Text

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 ... 2/2

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . the seven always demand a price--this is your absolution

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 . one

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations, (minor) violence, child loss, (non-graphic) traumatic birthing experience, strong language, religious guilt, illusions to character death/murder, very heavy material concerning said child loss and the following grief--please read with caution

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . so i know some of you were hoping for a HEA for aemond and reader, unfortunately this time around the plot demanded something different; however, i still hope you like this one-shot nontheless because i’m proud of how it turned out. i don’t tend to gravitate towards darker themes a whole lot in my writing but sometimes i get a request that just takes me that way, and i can’t ignore what my characters are telling me. so as always, remember to like, comment and reblog if you enjoy reading! do not repost/claim as your own please

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐒 surrounding your pregnancy dulled to whispers as your gilded words proved fruitful and true, the proof of which grew upon each turn of the moon; your belly expanded, rounding pleasantly as the child within you prepared to meet this world. And while most might look upon the change of a woman’s body with a tender sort of wonder, you only felt disgust as you stared in resentment at the angry stretched lines that ran across your stomach. The skin gleamed wetly under the flickering of your chamber’s lit candles as you rested in a warm bath, trying to find some kind of temporary reprieve from the pain the unborn child had been causing you of late. The maester claimed it was a promise of the end, that soon the child would burst forth from your womb and for once you found yourself close to praying to the gods you had so far scorned that his words were true.

You wanted your body back, feeling it had become more of a prison as of late then something you had once proudly held agency over. Again, you felt a burning hot flash of hatred for the child you carried as you lifted the rag from the water, ringing it out before dragging it slowly across the firm arch of your belly with far more gentleness than you felt. Even if you hated the babe inside you, you did not wish it harm–you simply wished it gone. Perhaps once it was finally rested from your body and you felt more like yourself you’d be more obliged to feel some sort of affection for the thing, but for now it was nothing more than a nuisance.

Sighing, you let the rag drop from your fingers and splash back into the bath, resting fully back against the tub as you closed your eyes. It truly had been a trying couple of months, particularly when it came to the state of your and Aemond’s marriage. You were not fool enough to believe that the babe would serve as some sort of salve to your rumored indiscretions, but you had believed at the least that it would’ve made your husband more amenable to you; and in some ways it had–as your pregnancy progressed Aemond took it upon himself to spend more time with you, usually in silent contemplation as he read or sharpened his weapons but at least he deemed it necessary enough to share his presence with the mother of his child. However, he had not been as easy to sway back into your bed as your hubris had led you to believe.

One might believe his inattention to your more carnal needs was based solely on his concern for the unborn child you carried, but you knew his refusal to bed you held deeper meaning than that. You were not blind to the steady gaze he would levy at you when speaking to one another, the untrusting glint that wavered just behind his one eye as he dutifully carried out his duties as your husband. It always appeared as if he was waiting for something, his eye constantly straying to the swell of your abdomen as his lips parted in silent prayer–

He wanted the babe to be his. And be his you hoped as well, for it would make your life strides easier if you were to bring forth a child–a son–with the Valyrian look. Your position would be all but secured, whether you chose to continue your illicit affairs or not was inconsequential–you had done your duty as a Targaryen’s wife and produced him an heir. Aemond would surely change his tune and resume his worship once more at your altar, hopefully more inclined to turn a blind eye to the rumors of the royal court.

Your eyes flicked up as the door your shared chambers opened and the subject of your thoughts entered; dressed in his usual jerkin and leathers, sword at his hip, Aemond Targaryen was as always a sight to behold. What you lacked in love for him you made up for in lust, once again close to thanking the gods you dismissed that you had managed to secure him as your husband. Though you were not blind to the danger a man like Aemond possessed–you knew him capable of a great many things, kinslaying only barely scraping the surface of the sins he had committed.

“Beloved,” you welcomed with a smile, sitting up slightly in the tub as you greeted him, “I was not expecting you back tonight….”

Your words wavered as you took note of the tense set of his jaw and the way his fingers flexed around the pommel of his sword–he was angry. Feigning concern, you gripped the sides of the tub, intent to get out and perform your wifely duties and offer comfort.

“Stay there.” Was all Aemond muttered, sparing you only a glance as he undid the belt of his sword and tossed it on the bed.

Hesitating, you reluctantly let the water envelope you once more as you leaned back, eyes never leaving his form as he went through the usual end of day motions, “what troubles you, husband?”

Aemond stills at your words, tense silence filling the space between you for a moment until he finally turns his back slowly to you and continues his nightly routine. So it is you who ails him….

“What has happened, Aemond?” You ask more firmly, frown turning your lips sour as you glare at his back.

“I always believed I had asked so little of you, dear wife,” he hisses the title like a curse as he tugs each button of his jerkin loose, shrugging it off his undershirt and tossing it to the floor, “but it seems I have once again been made the fool.”

“What nonsense do you speak of?” You hum. “What have I supposedly done now that has earned your ire?”

“‘Supposedly,’” Aemond’s laugh is devoid of humor as he turns to look at you, singular eye filled with accusation. “You cling to innocence so well, wife, but I see the truth of your crimes–the Seven have shown me.”

“The Seven or your grandfather?” You shot back accusingly. “Otto Hightower has spoken nothing but venom about me since my arrival in the capital–he has never liked me, Aemond.”

“Because he saw right through you from the start,” he breaths coldly, making strides across the room towards you.

Struck with a sudden sense of fear, you sit up and press against the side of the tub as best you can as he kneels before you, hands gripping the side in white knuckled fists as he leans in. His gaze falls to your stomach as he watches your hand fall protectively on it, it is only an instinct on your part but the gesture seems to only fuel his fire.

“I should have listened to his counsel when he told me of what ill fit stock you were,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “I could’ve saved myself all the bother and shame of having a whore for a–”

“How dare you!?” You cut him off, hand itching to strike him but you held back; violence would only beget violence and you knew you stood no chance against a dragon.

“How dare I?” Aemond shouts, pushing forward even more so your noses are almost brushing; the heat of his breath brushes across your damp as he pants. “How dare I be a dutiful and loyal husband? How dare I take care of you and protect you and pleasure you? And for what? It has never been enough for you, has it? You always wanted more, more, more–you greedy cunt!”

“This cunt is to be the mother of your child–” You tried to defend yourself but his hand came up to grip the column of your throat, not pressing down but stilling your heart in fear nonetheless.

“Do not try and kid either of us, darling,” he used the endearment like the sharp edge of a knife across your throat, thumb stroking menacingly over your pulse point as he continued. “We both know the babe might not be mine, and even if it were it does not absolve you of your sins. If it were not for my faith in the Seven’s retribution, I’d punish you myself….”

A pause–and then a laugh.

You laughed in the face of a dragon, muscles in your neck contracting under the pads of his deadly fingers as your body shook with the force of your mirth. That was until you felt the press of his grip, cutting off easy air flow to your lungs and causing you to choke on your laughter.

“You do not get to laugh at me!” Aemond cursed, a mad glint in his eyes as he held you there in limbo–pressing no harder nor letting up on his grip. “You have already made a mockery of me, of our vows, of the Seven–I will not allow you to take anything else, whore.”

Your noses were pressed together now, lips threatening to brush against each other until he forcefully pushed you away in disgust. Hitting the side of the tub, you grunt and cough, sucking in a full breath as you scramble and splash in the tub, trying to gather yourself as Aemond stocked back to his original place by the bed.

“You–” You struggled to form a coherent thought, having never had anyone–especially a man–lay their hands upon you in such a fashion. “You–”

“I care not if the babe is mine or one of your lovers,” he began again, ignoring you as his voice took on a more even and sharp tone. “It is in your favor that they come out looking like me, wife, for if they do I will keep this farce of a marriage and ensure you are taken care of but we will never be one like the gods intended. And if they do not look like me, well, I have yet to discuss that with my mother and grandfather but at the very least I will have myself rid of you….”

“Your gods….” You croaked, spitting out the thick coat of saliva that lined the inside of your mouth.

“What about my gods?” Aemond sneered.

“What do they say of a man who lays his hands upon his wife in anger?” Your gaze flicked to him, stare scathing as you began to burn with a rage that rarely came over you; you had always prided yourself on being calm and calculating, never showing your best hand until it was too late. But Aemond had made a grave mistake in assuming you would just lie down like a kicked dog and accept whatever punishment he cast upon you. “Or better yet, husband–what do they say of killing one’s own kin?”

“You still your vile tongue, wench,” Aemond spat, taking a step towards you once more but all you did was laugh, feeling the itch and burn of your irritated throat with each movement. Pulling yourself up carefully, your hand rested against your stomach as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, opening them once more only as a smirk curved your lips.

“You can fool yourself into believing the Seven offer you salvation for your crimes, my prince,” you leaned over the rim of the tub, something wicked and haunted in your eyes as you let out another chuckle, “but there is still something rotten within you, a poison that infects and kills–same as my own. Your gods cannot cure you, Aemond, nor will they have you when the day of judgment comes….”

You fall gently back against the tub, water sloshing out as you lift a leg and rest it against the rim, smiling at your red faced husband who stood before you with clenched fists. For a moment, you believed he would truly kill you–wrap his hands once more around your pretty little neck and finish the job. Instead, you watched as he turned and stormed out of your chambers, door slamming behind you loud enough to make you flinch.

A stillness fell over the room as you were left alone with the finality of your words–the last nail in what would be the coffin of your marriage to Aemond Targaryen. You had long since realized you were incapable of remorse, however, as you numbly blinked away the angry fog of your mind and sighed. Leaning your head back, your eyes slide closed as you take a deep breath in and let it out, both hands finding your quivering stomach as your labors begin.

─── ⋆⋅†⋅⋆ ──

𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐃 that night from his wife and took flight on Vhagar, flying far away from the reach of King’s Landing and from the murderous anger that plagued him. He would not be made a kinslayer again, so instead he strayed far away from civilization and found as much peace as he could on his brief odyssey. The only company he hungered for was that of his dragon, for she had no judgment or ire to offer him–just the comfort of her presence as she curled up for slumber after a long day’s flight–her rider sitting pensively around the fire.

On the eighth day of his self-imposed exile, he returned with a clear and firm mind–he knew what he must do. He could no longer stomach the acts of his ill-suited wife, for not only did they stand in direct opposition to his Faith but they also left him achingly empty as he allowed her to seduce him with her false piety. The idea of having the marriage annulled was not much better–it would surely stir its own bought of rumors–but Aemond would regain the favor of the court and of the gods with a next match; he would ensure this one was deserving of the Targaryen name and of the Seven–he would not be so blinded by sinful lust again.

Yet, when he was met upon his return with the worried fretting of his mother and not of his grandfather’s wrath he knew that his plans would have to wait. He allowed her to embrace him, arms encircling her smaller frame as she rested her head against his chest with a sniffle, “oh Aemond….”

“What has happened, mother?” He frowned, pulling back to look upon her face; her eyes were puffy from fallen tears, dark purple circles marring the pale flesh underneath from lack of sleep and worry. “Tell me.”

He bit the two words out stiffly, demanding his mother explain what was going on as fear took a vice grip over his heart; his first thoughts fell to her own being of course, and then to that of his sister’s, only then did they stray to the wife and unborn child he had abandoned.

“Mother….” He let out a shuddering breath as the queen still offered him no words. “Please….”

“Your wife,” she croaked out, not meeting his gaze as she blinked away fresh tears, “she went into labor the night you left.”

The news itself did not come as a surprise, but the sullen way in which she delivered it let Aemond know that something had happened during the delivery; for a moment he selfishly hoped that the birthing bed had taken the wicked woman away from him, but the thought was followed by a deep ache of grief.

“And?” He pressed his mother for more, needing to know.

“She labored for so long,” Alicent continued, shaking her head as she closed her eyes; she had been by his wife’s side the entire time, holding her good daughter’s hand, offering her words of affection and encouragement. No matter the girl’s standing in the court of public opinion, she was her son’s wife and was giving birth to her grandchild. “I feared the maester would recommend that we….that we–”

“Please mother,” Aemond choked out, imploring her to put him out of his misery, “please, just tell me what has happened.”

Silence. Hands shaking, gripping the fabric of her son’s tunic almost pleadingly:

“The babe came out….” The queen got a far away look in her eye, as if remembering every detail as it had happened; the small body of her grandchild covered in the viscera of their mother as it was passed from midwife to maestar. No breath, no cry, no baby…. “They came out not breathing, my son–”

Cutting off his mother, Aemond pushed past and began to make his way into the keep, unknowing of what he intended to do just that he needed to see them–both of them; his mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts, his heart an insurmountable amalgamation of emotion. He was angry and hurt and maybe a bit vengeful, but his heart still cried out for the woman he thought he had married–for the mother who had just lost their child.

He needed to see them both.

“Aemond, please, wait!” Alicent hurried after him, grabbing at his arm. “You must understand–”

“Understand what, mother?” He bit out, continuing on his way to Maegor’s Holdfast. “My child is dead��.and I loathe the woman who gave birth to them and yet I still feel inclined to go to her side and comfort her–”

“You cannot!” His mother gasped. “Aemond, you must listen to me–”

She let go of his arm, stopping in her tracks as he kept on his path; without thinking she blurted out, “she is not well!”

Stopping in his tracks, he kept his back to his mother as her words sunk in, “she is sick?”

“Not of body, for the most part,” Alicent picked at her shaking hands, looking at the back of her son’s head. “But her mind suffers greatly from the loss of your child. I fear if she were to see you….”

“Where is my child, mother?” Aemond found himself asking, a sudden calmness falling over him as he let her words sink in.

“We had them taken away to your other chambers,” she explained. “We wanted to wait until you had returned to lay them to rest.”

He could see it now–a small body, wrapped up in bandages, set atop a pyre as Vhagar loomed over them like an omen; the only god his child would ever know.

“I want to see them.”

He did not wait for his mother’s response, simply continuing on his way to the chambers he had taken apart from his martial ones. For some reason he recalled how Aegon had jested upon learning of Aemond’s move that his little brother was more like him then he had thought; yet Aemond had never stepped out on his vows to his wife, even as she constantly threw them back in his face with her infidelities. The anger was still there, but it dulled in comparison to the numbness that was now washing over him.

The chambers were cold and dark when he entered them, not even sparing the guard placed outside a word or glance, no fire crackling in the hearth and the dim light of the setting sun casting shadows across the floor. Beside the bed now resided a bassinet, the same kind he had been placed in when was but a babe at his mother’s breast. His heart ached, slamming against his chest as he silently walked over, hands limp at his sides. He saw the silver of their crown first, fine baby hairs resting against their malleable skull as they peacefully laid in the crib–as if they were sleeping.

He choked on the thought, a sob escaping his lips that he then angrily covered; tears stung at his one good eye, threatening to escape as he peered down at their cold body. It was too much for his heart to bear, a heart he had once considered as black as Balerion but now surely it bled red as the pain stabbed at him. Lowering his hand, he rested it on the side of the crib as he continued to peer down at the babe; a moment later he found himself leaning down to take the small thing into his arms and tucked it against his chest, ignoring the quiet screams of agony inside his mind.

Standing there, he gazed down upon the stone face of the babe who would never open their eyes, but for a moment he imagined that if they could that it would be the eyes of their mother staring back at him. It was a discomforting thought, the reminder of his wife, one he quickly brushed away so as to not sully this moment with his child. He did not check to see if they were a boy or a girl–it did not matter–and once he had withstood all he could, he gently laid them to rest once more in the bassinet before leaving as quickly as he had come.

Only for a moment was he lost at what to do next, before the last image he had of his wife flashed in his mind–smirking as she leaned out of the tub, spitting words of venom at him even as something akin to worry settled in her eyes. He did not want to face her yet, but he knew he must, there was something inexplicable and unavoidable drawing him through the holdfast and to their shared chambers. A guard stood outside that door as well, but unlike the other he made a move to stop Aemond from entering.

“The queen has commanded that no one be allowed to see the lady–” The guard grunted as he was shoved and held against the wall, the prince’s dagger pressed against his throat.

The silver-haired man uttered no words, no warnings, just looked into the knight’s eyes for a moment with his dead stare before he pulled away, dagger still in hand as he entered the room. Same as the other, there was no fire or candles to light his way, curtains pulled across every window and the balcony doors shut tight and barred; it cast the room in almost darkness, one only able to make out the silhouettes of objects as Aemond made his way further in. He only stopped when he heard a faint sniffle, proceeded by indecipherable and quick whisperings; the prince could only make out a few words as he followed the noise to where it laid on the other side of the bed–

From the Father….mercy; from the Mother….forgiveness.

Unsettled, Aemond walked around the corner of the bed and stopped there, gazing upon the curled up figure on the floor who rocked themselves as they choked on raw sobs and their strange mutterings.

“Wife.”

The word slipped from his lips before he could stop it, causing the figure to still for a moment before their rantings began again. She let out a cry, his name on her tongue as she weakly lifted herself from the ground and threw her body at his feet, face pressing into his knees as she gasped for breath. Before he could stop himself his hand found his way into her hair, stroking and gripping it gently as he tried to make sense of her words.

“Hush now,” he hummed, staring ahead of himself rather than at the pitiful creature that was once his wife; he did not recognize her–in the span of mere days she had transformed from a woman into a wrath, a living ghost doomed to haunt him forever.

“They took him from me,” she sobbed, tears staining his leathers as she rubbed her face against his legs. “They took our son….”

A boy–a silver-haired son. A prince like Aemond.

She whimpered as his grip tightened and pulled at a lock of her hair, and he quickly gentled his touch, letting it fall away completely lest he couldn’t control himself.

“Who took him?” He asked, entertaining her madness.

“The Seven,” she gasped out. “They took him as punishment, for my sins….for all that I have destroyed. Aemond….”

His name too was whispered like a prayer, a plea, as if he too was a god that she must kneel at the altar of and beg for forgiveness; as if that could restore their son. Usually quick to anger, he found he had nothing but pity and shared grief in his heart for the woman before him. Allowing her to stand on trembling legs, gripping at his chest and arms as she stuttered out more vows of penance.

From the Maiden and the Crone….an apology. From the Warrior….a plea. From the Smith….a second chance. And from the Stranger….

She begged Them to take her.

And Aemond held her through it all until she once more fell quiet, the only sounds that came from her lips were broken whimpers and choked cries, muffled into his now damp jerkin. Their bodies were pressed together, prone and stiff and unmoving, pillars of aged stone that threatened to crumble. But he held them up, supported his own body just as much as he did hers, never uttering a word because he had none to give. He would not throw blame around, nor would he offer empty words of comfort–he hadn’t the stomach for either right now; all he knew was that she was all he had in that moment, the future be damned.

“The Stranger….” She hummed, voice softer now as she pulled her face away from him, the vague glimmer of light that streamed in falling across her; he was startled by how wide her eyes were, filled with an unsettling clarity as she flicked them up to look at him, mouth gaping open in something akin to awe. “They sent you back to me.”

“I–” He began, then stopped. “I don’t understand.”

“The Stranger bid you to return because there is a debt to be paid,” her smile was maddened, teeth grinding together as the corners pulled up harshly. “The debt must be paid….I must pay the debt.”

“What debt? What madness do you speak of?” He stopped himself from taking hold of her and shaking some sense into her frail body, knowing her only to be lost to the grief–it would pass, it must pass.

“It is my fault that our son is gone,” she spoke with such resolved and sureness, reaching down to take one of his hands in both of hers–staring down at it with an odd sort of reverence, “so the the Stranger has sent you to balance the scale, can you not see that?”

“And how can I possibly balance the scale?” Aemond snapped, trying to pull his hand away from her, but she held fast as she dug her thumb into the palm.

“....you must kill me,” she hesitated over the words, her hysteria lost in the heavy realization of what she was asking him to do.

He paused, “you’re crazy.”

Again, he tried to pull away but she began to sob again, stopping his movements as she held fast to his hand and lifted it more, flattening the palm against her collarbone as she begged.

“Please, Aemond,” she looked up into his eye, tears streaming down her face, “this is my only retribution, my gift to you….and the Seven.”

“You think I want you dead?” He gritted out, glaring at his hand against her flesh, thumb smoothing over the protruding outline of bone.

“I think you want my penance,” she sniffled. “It is owed to you….husband.”

“Do not call me that when you ask me to murder you,” he frowned even as his hand smoothed up to the smooth and fragile bones of her neck, fingers finding purchase there.

“I ask you to free me,” she replied softly, leaning into his touch as her eyes slid close. “I ask you to send me to the Seven so that I can face their final judgment….”

“And so I might see our son before my punishments begin.”

He gazed brokenly at her face as she spoke those last words with such damnable finality; leaning down to press their foreheads together he let out an angry sob, finally allowing the tears he had been holding in to fall. And fall they did to the sunken face of his wife, his lover, his enemy–her own tears mingling with his and settling on her chapped lips as his grip tightened around her throat–

absolution tasted so sweet.

#˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 :#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen one shot

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