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arabellasleopardcoat · 3 months ago

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Two ships (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Two people who do not understand each other, but keep coming back together. Familiar much? It’s the tale you share with your brother, Daemon.

Warnings: Crybaby! Reader. Medieval punishment for children. Canon character death (Alyssa and Baelor) Sexual thoughts. Prostitution. Mature language. Incest. Fluff.

A/N: In which we explore the complicated dynamics of the sister wife. Requested. We also suscribe to @just-some-random-blogger doctrine about Daemon being a scary unhinged man but soft for the reader.

THE FIRST TIME your brother makes you cry is when you are eight years old. It is, of course, not the first time you tear up because of him. But there is a difference between tearing up because he tugged too hard on your braid, or because he cut your favorite doll’s hair and what he did to you that day.

You shall never forget the reason for your mother’s death, not for the rest of your life. It’s one of those core memories, a truth of the universe. You cannot forget fire burns, you cannot forget water is wet, and you cannot forget your mother is dead because of you. Even if you do not know when you learned those facts, they are still there. Tucked into your mind.

As a child, you used to be quiet. You barely cried, or demanded things of anyone. As the youngest and only girl of the household, you often felt like there was an unbreachable gap between you and your family. And so, you filled your days with your lessons, and behaved well, eager for praise and attention.

Your relationship with your brothers was complicated. Your father was often far away, busy with his important position, so Viserys felt more like a parent than a sibling. The age difference didn’t help things along. While you were still learning how to walk, his betrothal was already negotiated.

Daemon, while much closer in age, is much more distant too. He is mercurial, playing the cruelest tricks on you, but also defending you from other children. Just last week, he had dyed your beloved white dog green, but he had also punched a steward’s son for mocking your braids.

He can never decide if he hates you or loves you. And today, it’s one of the days he hates you. You can’t do anything right, it seems. As you break your fast, with Viserys cutting up your food for you, he calls you a baby. When the Septa comes to get you for your lessons, you are a suck-up. His bad mood escalates during the day, and when your father arrives for lunch and dares ruffle your hair, Daemon doesn't hesitate to call you a cocksucker whore.

For his offense, his mouth is washed with soap. It is not a punishment you have ever endured, because everyone knows ladies don’t get physical punishments, but it looks unpleasant. Whatever cocksucker whore means mustn't be very nice.

By the time his punishment is over, your father is long gone again. He has disappeared into his chambers, and Viserys has been left with the bitter task of reconciling you.

“You will apologize to our sister.” He orders Daemon. “Now.”

“NO!” Daemon shrieks, face blotchy from the humiliation of his mouth being washed with soap. He has not shed a single tear, which you find admirable despite yourself. The taste alone would make you gag, and that is without including the humiliation of a servant holding you while Viserys does the deed.

You feel awkward at the thought. Something doesn’t sit right with the thought of such a thing being a punishment, but you do not dare voice it. You simply sit in the chair Viserys has pulled for you and kick your feet. It soothes you slightly.

“Take it back, Daemon or so help me the Seven…”

“I will not take it back!” Daemon screams, pushing at Viserys. “She is a little whore! She has you all wrapped around her little finger, and now you will send me away…”

“Daemon.” Viserys grabs his wrists, in warning. With several years and a growth spurt on his side, he manages to subdue him easily. You worry that will not be the case for much longer. Daemon looks very different from your peaceful Viserys, shoulders broader, hands a bit bigger. In a few years, he will become a fearsome warrior, and Viserys will still be your bookish older brother.

“Why do I have to go squire for some stupid lord, anyway? We are the blood of the dragon! We do not need those fools.” At this new information, you frown. You clutch your doll more tightly. No one had informed you Daemon had to go squire away from Viserys and you.

“Fostering is important. It helps us form bonds with other houses.” Viserys explains, with the patience of someone who has had this argument already. You tug on your doll, feeling sadder by the minute. Everyone knew but you?

“Why don’t we send her away?” Daemon points at you, and a sudden wave of fear hits you. Viserys can’t agree with him. You cannot leave. Your panic almost makes you miss his next words. “She is the reason mother is dead. I hate her.”

And the world stops for a second. The argument goes on, Viserys screaming at Daemon, but you are still stuck there. Your ears begin to ring, so you press your hands tightly to them and shake your head.

By the Seven, Daemon is right, you realize with growing horror. Your father and Septa always told you your mother had died the way you were born, from the difficult birth. Tears begin to fall down your face, but you barely notice them. It feels like you are choking.

In your childish mind, the death of your mother in childbirth, and your birth had never been connected. You never thought it had been your fault. But Daemon was right. She was dead because she had birthed you. It was your birth that killed her.

Her death was your fault. You killed her.

No. No. It can’t be right.

“That is not true.” You turn to Viserys, uncaring they have long since moved on with the argument. He has always protected you and reassured you. Even takes care to get rid of the monsters beneath your bed every night. He will fix it. “Brother, he is lying again!”

Viserys makes a strange face. A cross between a grimace and a frown. He doesn’t refute it, nor tries to comfort you.

“It’s the truth.” Daemon smiles, with the smugness of someone who has delivered a killing blow. He advances, his eleven-year-old body seeming larger than life to you, and pokes a finger in your sternum. “You killed her.”

It feels like a rug has been pulled from under your feet. You stumble back. It’s all your fault. Your mother is dead, and your father is never home, haunted by the memory of his wife, because of you. Daemon and Viserys lost their mother, because of you.

You killed her. You killed her. You killed her. The world looks the same around you, despite the revelation, and you wonder if it is so because everyone knew but you. Is it why Daemon doesn’t love you? Why father is never around?

A sob makes its way out of your throat, and then another. And another. Soon, you are bawling like a dying animal, and feel like it too. You cry so much, your little heart feels like it will jump out of your chest and you will die. You cannot breathe, choking in your own snot and tears, and panic makes you nauseous.

Never in your life had you ever cried so. A nervous fit, the Maester will call it later, after you puke your lunch and stop making heaving noises like you are lacking air. One caused by extreme distress. Daemon will be standing guard at the foot of your bed when you come to be again. They had ended up having to give you three drops of Milk of the Poppy to calm you down.

It doesn’t happen again, and you barely remember it when you grow up. But Daemon never forgets it.

CRYING IS A weakness that cannot be tolerated. The three of you had been born dragons, but sometimes Daemon doubted Viserys and you had as much fire in your veins as he did.

Said doubt intensifies when he finds you crying in the gardens. Daemon has never been fond of crying women. He is not an empathetic man, and has a tendency to think he is surrounded by fools. Such a character trait doesn’t lend itself to soothing crying maidens. At least, not sincerely.

If he wants to bed the chit, Daemon can pretend like the best mummer. It’s not hard at all to fool highborn maidens into thinking he shares something special with them, convincing them that the pain won’t last, that it will start to feel good soon. When it comes to you, though, the problems start.

You are not a common whore, like most women at court. As a daughter of House Targaryen, you are closer to a goddess than a woman. Fooling a goddess is no easy task, much less when the goddess knows you so well.

His usual tricks do not work. When Daemon tries to apply faux pity, and forced pleasantries, you see right through him. It’s not because you are particularly cunning, but rather the fact that you have a long memory.

Long enough to remember all the pranks and fun he had had at your expense when the two of you were children. With how much Daemon tortured you, it’s no wonder you prefer Viserys.

Daemon never meant to be as nasty to you as he had been. He coveted the attention Viserys paid you, as the youngest in the family. He disliked how everyone fawned over you, how his mother had died, and his father had left, and all they had gotten in exchange was you.

Another part of Daemon simply enjoyed mischief. Causing chaos for chaos’s sake. Like any young boy, he had fun playing tricks on others. The disdain he felt for you had made you into the ideal target.

When the years began to pass, Daemon had noticed you were flourishing into a beautiful maiden. Targaryen custom dictated you were meant to be his, since you were too young to be Viserys’. There was no point in fixing your relationship, or trying to win you over like he did with the other maidens. You were a given thing. No matter your shared past, you would have to marry him.

It’s only the fact that you are embarrassing the family name that prompts him to approach you in the gardens. He has no intention of comforting you. It’s not like he cares that you are crying. Really. How ridiculous.

“What happened to you?” Daemon asks, sitting next to you. “Princess shouldn’t cry.”

It is quite recent, of course. Viserys' ascension to the throne has not actually yet occurred, but the succession issue has been settled in their favor. Daemon had gathered a small force of loyal men that hadn’t been necessary in the end, but Viserys said his first act as King would be rewarding him from his loyalty.

He knows what he will ask for already. Marriage. His grandmother had tried to marry him to a Vale woman, but the idea had ended up being discarded because Viserys’ own match ensured the allegiance of that kingdom. Daemon wanted to have his Valyrian bride before anyone, especially the Hightower cunt, got any ideas.

“Nothing.” You wipe your tears away, angrily. You scoot your cute little rear towards the edge of the tree you are sitting under. As far as you can go without losing the spot of shade.

Daemon sighs. He is used to you being difficult, but it would soon change. You would be informed of your duty and behave in a manner befitting your position in life soon enough.

“Do I need to protect your honor?” The very thought unsettles him. Three years his younger, you are still barely a maiden in his eyes. A pure, unspoiled being. The idea of someone else corrupting your innocence, something that is meant to be his, is infuriating. Daemon hates when other people touch what is his.

If anyone will corrupt you, it’s him.

You laugh, bitterly.

“If only!”

“What do you mean?” Your statement has clarified nothing. He feels more confused than before. Perhaps, you have a secret lover who refuses to take your maidenhead? Or are you suffering from unrequited love? But when? With whom? You spend nearly all your time in the library, pouring over dusty books, or on dragonback. Not much time for entertaining suitors.

You stay quiet. There is a strange expression on your face, a mix of embarrassment and sadness.

“Hāedus.” Daemon prompts, gently tugging on your braid.

“Some ladies Aemma brought were talking about knights, and kissing…” You get a fit of hiccups and nearly choke, so Daemon is forced to wipe the snot from your nose so you don’t suffocate to death. Let it not be said he is a bad brother. “They laughed at me!”

“They laughed at you?” How dare them. Only Daemon was allowed the honor of your tears. You were too important.

“No one asked to dance with me at the feast! And no knight has ever kissed me.” You pout, about to go into hysterics again. “Ever.”

“Doña hāedus…” Daemon wipes your tears, fighting his smile. He has an inkling you wouldn’t think it funny. “You shouldn’t listen to them. You are a Princess, the blood of the dragon. They are just sheep.”

You pout more. Daemon hurries to comfort you. Oddly, he dislikes seeing tears on your face. It must be because you are in public. As a Princess and his future wife, your actions reflect on House Targaryen.

“Ugly sheep. In fact, the actual sheep in the Vale are prettier.”

“But knights have kissed them! And they get asked to dance, and to walk in the gardens, and…”

Daemon raises his hand.

“Knights would kiss you too if they could. But you are too superior to them. They wouldn’t dare.” Or they would meet Dark Sister. All your first should be his. “It’s excellent that you have not sullied yourself with just any knight who looks at you.”

“But I am getting old.”

You are about to cry again. Your female vanity must be hurt, thinking yourself unwanted. Daemon will never understand caring about what others think of him. Dragons shouldn’t concern themselves with the opinion of the sheep.

But there is something about you, the soft little Princess who crumbles up completely when someone is mean to her, that tugs at his heartstrings.

It is why he leans in and captures your mouth with his. You taste like innocence and salt, melting on his tongue. It’s not Daemon’s first kiss, but it feels like it. There is a tug deep inside of him, a strange yearning on his chest, that has not been present when he has kissed other women. Not even maidens.

Cloyingly sweet, dripping on his tongue like the most enticing potion. His. Never has he experienced this before. Daemon wants to drown on it, drown in you. But before he has a chance, you give him a shove and run as fast as you can.

And he stands there, as if struck by lighting, pinned down by the unmeasurable realization that this is love. Love, in its purest form, for his soon-to-be sister wife. It leaves him dazed, confused, rooted to the spot. Utterly out of control.

“DID YOU HEAR?” The serving girl whispers loudly, her voice carrying through the corridor. Night has fallen already, and you pour over a heavy tome on constellations while sitting in one of the windowsills of the Red Keep. It is the best time to put your new knowledge into practice, but the constant chattering of the maids interrupts you.

You close your book, hesitating between scolding them and sending them away, or waiting for them to leave on their own. Scolding them feels unkind. It’s late enough for them to no longer be on duty, and there is no harm in what they are doing. This corridor is a heavily transited one.

Perhaps you should move to your rooms. But you do not have a balcony, and the view from your windowsill it’s quite limited. As you ponder on it, something they say catches your attention.

“And they say the Prince asked for a blonde girl. A maiden.” The Prince. Daemon! You have not seen hide nor hair of your older brother since he stole your first kiss. In fact, you have been avoiding him.

As children, he had played plenty of nasty tricks on you. Once, in a fit of temper, he had beheaded all your dolls and hanged their little heads from a window. But adulthood had mellowed him out. Or so you thought.

The worst thing wasn’t that Daemon stole your first kiss. It was that you enjoyed it.

“No!” The other girl sounds scandalized.

“Yes. And that is not all. He took her roughly, and was kicked out before even…”

Took a whore roughly? You knew he whored around, but hurting whores was a new low. You weren’t too approving of his behavior, but whoring was normal for young lords. Everyone knew they did it, even the most pious ones. Hurting them, though? It was no better than being a rapist.

The other girl lets out a gasp, but she sounds more delighted by the gossip than anything else.

“Imagine how rough it had to be for them to kick him out.”

“I would say plenty. Poor girl.”

“He is out again, is he not?”

“Every night, like clockwork. Something has roused his appetite, it seems. He used to whore, but not…”

Their scandalized voices drift down the corridor, and you think the rumor must be wrong. Daemon wouldn’t hurt anyone. Sure, he whored around, and took plenty of maidenheads, but your brother wasn’t cruel.

Was he?

He had stolen your first kiss. Beyond the softness and the sweetness of the kiss, Daemon had ruined a moment that was meant to be special. Now, it was forever tainted with the memory of being made a mockery of. Not only by those girls, but him too.

There was a difference between stealing a kiss and hurting whores, though. Much more, when it came to hurting them seriously enough to be kicked out of the pleasure house.

Was it your fault? Had he discovered with you he enjoyed taking from women by force? Was he taking out his anger with you on them? The maid had said the girl was blonde. Perhaps Valyrian blonde.

You needed to know. You ran to your rooms and got your black cloak, set on finding him.

Finding Daemon was no easy task. You made it to the city on foot, but once there, you had trouble locating the pleasure houses. There was no sign outwardly pointing to them, but you managed to get to Flea Bottom without getting mugged. Or at least, this looked like what you thought Flea Bottom looked like.

The streets were dirtier, the crowd rougher and drunker. There were people sleeping on the floor, no Sept in sight. This was a place far away from the Gods. The few Goldcloaks patrolling seemed uninterested in actually preventing crime.

You made sure to walk with purpose, afraid of being stopped if you looked like you were out of place. The streets were badly lit, and you could barely tell apart one alley from another.

A sudden tune caught your attention. A woman was singing in a tongue you didn’t recognize. You decided to follow her voice, but before you could do so, someone blocked your path.

“… A dragon for half an hour.” It was a woman. Her hair was dark and hanging limp around her face. She swayed as she walked. “My prince, I will let you choke me.”

You made a face, realizing a strand of your silver hair was peeking on the edge of your hood. She thought you were Daemon, you realized. Both your brother and you kept your hair long, and in the darkness of the alley, with your hood up, you may have looked alike. Was she a whore?

“I’ll let you. A dragon, please, I need to feed my children.”

Children. She had babes. You imagined them, tucked in their beds, wondering where their mother had gone. What if something happened to her? If the children had a present father, he would provide for them, and she wouldn’t be here. It was how the world worked. She must be alone with the babes.

You reached inside your cloak, and pulled out a gold dragon. There was an odd sort of pity building inside you. You imagined yourself, offering up your body to strangers to feed your children, and your heart shattered into little pieces.

You had never questioned the role of whores. They were sullied women, but they served a purpose. Entertain the men so they didn’t hurt others. Tend to their baser needs. It didn’t feel so clear-cut as you avoided the woman, in fear she might attempt to service you.

The voice sounded louder, so you ducked into the next alleyway. It was then you saw them.

The woman singing was sitting at the entrance of a small house. She was scantily clad, as were the surrounding women. But there was only one of them who caught your attention.

She was tall and willowy, with long limbs. There was a haunting elegance to her that looked out of place in the Street of Silk. Her blonde hair was long, and in the right light, could be mistaken for silver. It cascaded down her shoulders. Her face was eerily similar to your own. She was tragically beautiful, stricken by some unseen grief.

Sitting down and clapping along to the song, she looked as if she was praying. There was a dark stain on her neck, cleverly hidden by her hair. The closer you looked, the more it seemed like a bite mark. Not just any bite. A vicious one.

You gasped, hands coming to your mouth to muffle the sound. Whores had never been of concern to you, but now you were seeing their reality, and it was heartbreaking. The thought of women in brothels, in cages, as pleasure slaves, made you want to weep.

Women like you. That she wore your face was even more jarring.

WHEN CARAXES HAD been born, he had not done so alone. Out of the ether, his sister had come, hands linked with his. Meraxes, goddess of the sky, an eternity doomed to hold to her sibling. Caraxes only reflected his twin’s colors, gazing up at her as the flowers did the sun.

It was said that they met only once a day, thanks to the mercy of Gaelithox, who allowed the twins to embrace every sunset. It was the reason Meraxes hated him. He held on to her too strong, and prevented her from embracing the one who she truly loved. He invaded even her reflection, seeking to make himself a part of her, even invading her sacred reflection in the waters of her twin.

The story was always one of your favorites. You begged Viserys every night to tell it to you, sickening Daemon with your romantic tales. He isn’t sure why he is reminded of it today, of all days.

Foreboding, he will think later, when the storm has passed. But now, he chooses to focus on the coronation taking place in front of him, and bask in their triumph.

“Kings reward loyalty.” Viserys says, after the crown is placed on his head by a proud Aemma. “And my first act will be rewarding those that stood by my side.”

Daemon and you are kneeling, the first among the crowd. The first to take a knee to their King. There is a strange feeling in his throat, and he fights the urge to cry. Daemon has always considered tears a weakness, but the moment is so perfect, so magical, he feels the urge to do so.

Men don’t cry. Instead, they take big breaths, and savor their victory. Viserys on the Iron Throne, and Daemon about to be given your hand. All they have ever wanted, now ripe for the taking.

“Brother, please rise.” Viserys' voice is clear and loud. Daemon does so, pleased by the honor of being the first to rise in front of the masses. They had talked about it, of putting up a show for their political enemies, but Daemon had never expected Viserys to grant him honors before any other of his advisors. “Your diplomatic and martial skills were essential to securing my claim. As a reward, I give to you our sister’s hand, and name you my heir. May the two of you have a fruitful union and make House Targaryen proud.”

And when he turns to you, with a smile on his face, he realizes why he remembered the story of Caraxes and Meraxes.

Your beautiful, purple eyes, are wet with tears. You remain on bent knee, frozen.

Daemon pulls you up with the utmost tenderness, one reserved for family alone. The hand on your elbow seems to shake you out of your stupor.

“Thank you, my King.” Your voice trembles, but you speak the words dutifully. You know as well as him that this is Viserys’ day. Everything has to go perfectly. There can’t be any hint of division between the three of you, not when the rallying cry for Viserys had been that he was bringing back the three heads of the dragon.

Three siblings. Three dragonriders. Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys.

“It is a great honor.” Daemon adds, tightening his grip on your arm. You look ready to bolt, and he is tasked with reminding you that you can’t.

A silent tear travels down your cheek. With your back to the crowd, no one but Viserys and Daemon can see it. Viserys gives him a long look, pleading him to do something. Neither of them had been expecting your reaction.

They had thought you would settle well into your duty. That marriage would give you a stable tether, a shield for your fragile soul. Viserys had chosen Daemon for the honor, had given you to him to care and protect.

But you seem even more scared that you were before. How wrong had they been.

“We are very excited.” Daemon hugs you to him, fighting to keep his composure. Your rejection stings, and he wants to rage, but he can’t. Because you are in public, and House Targaryen doesn’t air their dirty laundry in front of witnesses, but more importantly because your dam is breaking. You let out a little sob, and Daemon has to embrace you fully to prevent you from falling apart.

Fools that they are, the rest of the courtiers mistake it for a sound of joy. What else could you want? To marry the King’s heir, a Valyrian husband who can give you pure Valyrian babes.

“Good.” Viserys smiles, a bit strained. You take a shuddery breath, and straighten up under his arm. Daemon can practically feel the change, from scared girl, to experienced courtier. You know as well as he does the importance of presenting a united front.

You smile. It’s as fake as the silks whores wear, when pretending to be a Targaryen Princess. To the inexperienced masses, it tears all the same.

“How joyful days come ahead. Long live the King!”

You open your arms, the picture of the hopeful bride. The smile threatens to crack your face in two. The crowd cheers. A royal wedding is always something to admire, and there is no better way of celebrating a coronation than with one.

The hour is late when Daemon finally manages to catch Viserys alone. You have gone straight to your rooms after the feast, sulking. Aemma has been sat outside your door for hours by now, trying to coax you out like one would do to a skittish cat. Her talks of duty and royal wombs only got her a pillow to the face for her efforts.

Daemon and Viserys, much more used to your moods, hadn’t bothered. You were angry, but not hysterical. Both often manifested in tears in your case. Only one could prove lethal.

“I do not understand.” Viserys frowns. “What more can she want? The two of you will get Dragonstone, for a few years at least, and when I have an heir, you will not be kicked out. You are family.”

“I do not understand it either.” Underneath the simmering rage Daemon feels, there is only confusion. He is a knight, and has proven his skills sufficiently enough to be awarded Dark Sister. He is of an equal standing to you, a Prince to a Princess. He loves you so deeply it scares him.

The Seven know he has tried to get you out of his head through every means possible. He has deflowered more maidens that he can count this week alone, his cock is chafed raw, and yet, no matter how beautiful they are, your face still haunts him. It’s your name on his lips when he comes, and your body he pictures under him. The whores are never right. Their hair is the wrong shade, they are too thin or too fat, their tears taste of iron instead of your sweet salt.

You should not think it is a bad thing. Women love that sort of thing, leading men by their cocks, getting them so cuntstruck they cannot see straight. You should love it too because it is a weakness to him, but a power you can wield. And yet, you hate it. You had run.

“I cannot go back on my word now.” Viserys reaches for his cup of wine. He knows that his reign is still fragile, and if his lords see his sister defying him, they might get ideas. “She has to marry someone, and with her delicate constitution, I cannot in good conscience…”

“Handing her to a stranger is a bad idea.” Daemon agrees, not out of some selfish motivation, but because he knows it’s the truth. You have always been far more delicate than most ladies, with your books and silly ideas about the role women should play. Had you not been so closely tied to Viserys, you may have even supported Rhaenys.

If Viserys was Aegon, you were Rhaenys. The sensitive little sister, loved because of her innocence and kindness. You never tried to push your strange ideas, after all. You just looked like a kicked puppy when contradicted.

Any other man would crush you at the first hint of defiance. Daemon, used to you as he was, knew rage was futile. If you wouldn’t settle in your duties easily, he had to take action and ensure you did through other means.

Gentler means. Daemon still remembered the fits you used to have when little. Viserys did too. Neither wanted a repetition.

“I have thought about it, and you should forgo the bedding.”

“I agree. It might make her sick.” Sick is the euphemism they use for your fits when there are prying ears. Daemon gives a pointed glance at the guards. Viserys drops the topic after that.

Almost against his will, when the embers of the fire they sit in front of die, Daemon goes to your rooms. He isn’t really thinking, when he walks down the hallways that lead to your chambers instead of his. Nor is he thinking when he dismisses your guards, and opens your door.

You are laying on your side, a pillow held to your thighs. Your hands are made into fists over them, as if you had fallen asleep in your rage still. Despite it, your face is peaceful, with only dried tear tracks to disturb your childish expression.

Your body is curled into itself, tightly. You must be cold, Daemon thinks, and takes of his cloak to lay it over your form.

In dreams, you smile. And Daemon understands that he is no Gaelithox. There was a reason Caraxes and Meraxes were only allowed to embrace once a day, after all.

HORROR AND RAGE are not emotions that lend itself to permanence. At least, not in you. Not when it comes to him.

Not when he plays such strange game, and gets you strange prizes. Daemon has not asked for his cloak back. You have taken to sleeping wrapped up underneath it.

How can a man capable of such cruelty be capable of such tenderness? Confusion means ignorance, and ignorance breeds fear. You have known Daemon all your life, but you are still unable to understand him.

The only certainty you have is that when he is near, your rationality flies out of the window. It’s all instinctual. To fight, to fuck, to fucking fight.

The sleep of reason produces monsters. Monsters that take hold of your heart and squeeze it, until it is no more than liquid and pulp. Did he hurt that woman? Will he hurt you? Love you?

Daemon had stolen your first kiss. Daemon had gotten kicked out of a brothel. There was a girl in the Street of Silk with a bite mark on her neck. He had visited you the night of your betrothal and tucked you in.

It might mean nothing. It might mean everything. Whichever it is, you have no time to come to terms with it. Viserys wishes for the two of you to be married by the end of this moon. It makes you feel even more blindsided and betrayed.

None of them had thought to ask you before deciding. They had just done so.

The idea of marrying your brother wasn’t what came as a great shock. As a child, you had often daydreamed of honoring your ancestors and becoming your brother’s wife. It was the way things should be. But you had always thought you would marry Viserys.

When Viserys married Aemma, you thought you would marry someone outside your household. Daemon and you were clearly ill-suited, even before everything that had happened between the two of you.

Betrothing the two of you would be madness. You had never understood each other in the manner Viserys and him did. You were an outsider to their relationship, the other head of the dragon. Rhaenys to her conquerors.

But inexplicably, Viserys had done so. Being betrothed to him without even being asked about it stung. No one had thought to warn you, or ask for your opinion. They had simply announced it to court and hoped you would comply.

The feeling of betrayal had only mellowed out after asking Viserys his reasoning. He hadn’t been trying to blindside you, he had explained. He had thought you would be happy. Both Daemon and you yearned for Valyrian partners. It made sense to betroth the two of you, especially because Daemon had asked to marry soon.

Your brothers were just dumb. But their foolishness was a dangerous one, since they rode the two biggest dragons of your generation and sat on the Iron Throne. Common fools could undo the damage they caused.

But in your case, there was no way out but through. Viserys had begged you to give Daemon a chance, and so, you found yourself preparing for meeting him.

Viserys had chosen the place the two of you would meet. The Godswood was neutral territory, and far away from the castle that if you started shouting insults at each other, only the Kingsguard shadowing you would hear.

It only made you dread the encounter further. You had taken a liking to the Godswood, and were contemplating using it as a hideaway for when things at court got to be too much. If this went wrong, it would forever taint the place for you.

You decide to arrive early, to allow yourself some time to compose yourself. Daemon beats you to it, already waiting near a tree when you get there.

“Hāedus,” Daemon says, when he sees you. In a show of rebellion, you have decided to wear your more modest gown, with a neckline that nearly reaches your ears. Aemma had encouraged you to wear something more revealing, but you wanted to strangle the cow. “You look lovely.”

“Lēkia.” You press a kiss to his cheek, unsure if you should greet him like you always do, or the betrothal has changed the protocol. Kissing his cheek as you always do seems safer, but you regret it when his eyes flutter closed at your touch.

He is acting odder than usual. In an increasingly out-of-character charm offensive, he takes off his cloak and places it on the grass.

“So you may sit.” His tone is too formal. It makes you even more wary, but you sit. Daemon does the same, by your side. So close, you end up frowning more.

He leans in. His lips brush the shell of your ear.

“Despite my struggles, I have come to admire you.” Daemon noses along the hair right above your ear. “Rationality has left me, and no matter how hard I try, you haunt me at every corner, every hallway, every street of this damned city.”

“What am I supposed to say?” You complain, with a frown. You push him a little, to be able to meet his eyes.“I am well aware of your attempts at forgetting. Valyrian whores, Daemon? Really?”

“It was all in vain.” He pulls you back in, embracing you. His hands are warm around your stomach, his lips chafed against the skin of your neck. “Let me take down your hair.”

Your eyebrows raise. Out of all things he can ask for, this is the weirdest one. His petition is so simple and innocent, you almost think he is not Daemon.

“Let me take down your hair.” Daemon begs. The ardent tone in his voices surprises you. He sounds like a man possessed. As if he cannot survive if you deny him. “Hāedus...”

This devotion, this unexpected fit of love, surprises you. So much, you find yourself nodding.

You feel his chest contract with his sudden inhale. His hands are careful as they unmake your braid. His touch so tender, even the most delicate hairdresser would envy it. But when your hair falls down your back, in mussed tendrils, he shows himself to be Daemon.

His nose presses to your temple, breathing you in. His fingers run through your hair, and he presses feverish kisses to your scalp, your jaw, your ear. Licks the sweat behind it, samples your earlobe with his teeth.

Teeth. It makes you tense. You think of the girl in Flea Bottom, of the bite over her throat.

“I can’t stop thinking of you. You appear before me in the darkest corners, and in the brightest meadows.” Daemon inhales, hands grasping your waist tightly. “When I squired, away from home, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I didn’t know it was love then, but I have loved you since before I knew what the word meant. I fucked the tightest cunts of Westeros, sampled the prettiest maidens, and yet it is your face that I imagine when tugging at my cock.”

Something inside you snaps. Among the righteous indignation, a strange satisfaction takes place. You shove him off you.

“Don’t be crass!”

Daemon doesn’t attempt to embrace you again, but remains unbearably close. Your eyes drift to his lips. You would love him even if he were the one who mauled the whore. You would love him even if he did it to you. Because of it, perhaps.

“I want you to be mine. Put me out of my misery.” Daemon begs, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Marry me, and end my suffering.”

“You frighten me.” You whisper, without quite meaning to.

“Do you fear I will hurt you?” Daemon asks you, voice very gentle.

You avert your eyes. It’s not that what you fear. It’s how out of control you are when it comes to him.

“I would never.” He vows, leaning in. His lips brush against yours, before Daemon presses his forehead to yours. He looks into your eyes, and smiles. “Do you remember the last time we kissed?”

“Of course I do, you idiot.” You scowl at the memory. “You stole…”

“No. You were crying because no knight…” He gets up, and begins to tug you to your feet. You remain sitting. “Oh, get up, you stubborn thing.”

“Daemon!” You complain, but get up. He stands a few feet away from you. Curious about the point he intends to make, you cross your arms over your chest and glare.

He offers you his hand, as if to dance. You take it, eyes full of distrust.

“I have been a cunt. But you have to stop running.” Daemon circles you, pulling on your hand slightly. Is he…? Your confusion must show on your face because he gives you a mocking glance. “To dance from afar is not to dance.”

“What do you mean?”

“You might as well be in Essos.” Daemon keeps circling you. “Let us dance properly, for once.”

“Here? Dance?” There is no music. And your brother has never been one for bursting into spontaneous song and dance. At least, you don’t think so.

“Together. You wanted knights to ask you to.” Daemon pulls you close, into a hug, and the puzzle pieces finally fit. The day he had kissed you, you had been crying because no one had asked you to dance. That Daemon remembers the reason when you had nearly forgotten it yourself astonishes you. “Now a Prince asks you. Do not make me ask twice, please.”

“Let us try. To dance as if glued by fire. Let me prove I can be good to you. That I listen to you. ”

And it’s stupid. It’s silly, there is not even music. But you let him pull you in, this time, and realize Daemon has always been capable of tenderness. At least, when it comes to you.

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duck-a-doodle · 2 months ago

Note

More tactical cuddlebug? Please I beg of you

A/N: My my, so sorry for the late response it has been a hectic semester. Here goes nothing and I hope you enjoy it! :-)

[No beta we die like McTavish.]

TACTICAL CUDDLEBUG HEADCANONS

Despite their many years in the military, which meant few surprises for the team, you were still something they marvelled at when they think about you as an addition

You were a refreshing breeze to the stale air of their grey compound, and you began to rub off on them

Across the list of military personnel which they have met, you were the most "small"

By no means were you miniscule, but to them you just felt different

Most soldiers have a hard shell and an even harder personality, but you had a tough shell with a "squishy heart", according to Johnny

This observation led to various responses, such as a heavy urge to pat you on the arm, back or head

Johnny was quick to lean into it, even going as far as to squish your cheeks, enjoying your presence and damn near treating you like his favourite teddy bear

Once you joined him in his bunk to help with his crossword puzzle and he pulled invited you onto his blankets for better comfort, and Simon, who came to remind him of a briefing, walked back out the door the moment he opened it

Gaz was second to come to terms with enjoying the physical contact, and he loves to nudge you in the side and give you a side hug like a brother would

On his best days he would sit on the couch with you and read together, each of you on one end of the couch with your legs stacked comfortably like pick-up sticks

Price's affections came few but not rare, and somehow his eyes seemed a little brighter after a few pats your head, tucking away the memory of watching you lean into his hand

His hugs are the best when you bid him goodbye when either of you have separate ops to take on, and the warmth you get from his soul-crushing hugs are another high

Simon would engage with you more than Johnny if not for the fact that he was conflicted

He already hangs around you more than Gaz or Price which speaks plenty for itself

He was quiet and mostly helpless against this odd feeling of needing to be in physical contact with you, thus he cannot help but do it albeit he does so stiffly or roughly

He will needlessly grab your vest and aggressively tighten it "for your safety", followed by a heavy tap on your helmet before everyone settles into the flight

Johnny tells you during the ride that Simon cannot handle the fact that he is facing cuteness aggression and that he has caught Simon several times clenching his fist when he sees your mess of a collar to keep from fixing it

He was not quiet enough and received a hefty smack on the back of his heavy duty headgear from the man he mentioned

You think that they are all either as cuddly as they say you are, or that they are simply extremely touch starved people, for whom you have opened the floodgates to affection

The truth is, every single member of the team are cuddlebugs, but it has become a silent agreement that the title goes to and remains upon you alone.

#call of duty x reader #captain johnathan price #call of duty #duckscribbles #kyle garrick x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader

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snowprincesa1 · 1 year ago

Text

{seducing the prince }

Jacaerys x F!Lannister!Reader

Summary: Jacaerys knew he would have to marry for duty, he didn’t know his duty would be to you.

Trigger warnings:‼️Coitus and jacaerys a whipped man playing hard to get 😘😘😘😘

Special thanks to my babe/beta reader @luckytoucan 💗💗💗💗

Jacaerys always hated you. Hated how close you were to the Aegon and aemond in his childhood. How you always preferred their company over his. He tried so hard to make you notice him, to make you perhaps feel and inch of what he felt for you. Each time those dreams get shattered by the sound of your laugh with helaena and daeron over him. He didn’t fail to see how Aegon and aemond had indoctrinated you with hatred against him and his brothers. He had to hate you, hate your pride and pettiness, the snobby Lannister attitude you held. He saw you as one of the Queen’s party hoping for Aegon the elder to ascend the throne over his mother and him.

But sure enough that did not happen. Queen Rhaenyra ascended the throne and when jacaerys turned sixteen named his heir to the crown infront of all the lords and ladies of the court. He would forget you, forget how you looked walking through the gardens with his aunt, he would forget the way you danced, the way you haunted his very soul. Jacaerys felt himself grow mad with the constant thoughts of you blurring his mind turning it into a slurry. He needed to get away from you and the clasp you had of him. He needed you gone from his sight and away so he could just lose memory of you entirely. Over the years your cruel teasing did not weaken, often throwing him a flirty smile knowing damn well that nothing on this earth would ever get you to marry a bastard, crown prince or not, you took pleasure in complimenting as to how strong he had grown. Every ‘compliment’ you threw was an insult in disguise.

You can only imagine the shock he felt when his mother there queen Rhaenyra betrothed him to you years later, his stomach flipped upside down, in excitement? Fear? Annoyance? He looked over to you and there you were smiling at him as though you held the upper hand.

“You are not upset by this? Not even in the slightest?” He asked surprised as he grew more frustrated at the fact you seemed so alright with this.

“If i marry you I will be queen someday, surely you are just an addition that comes with the arrangement” you said sipping from your wine, amused by his reactions. Of course, he should have expected this from a Lannister, no matter how pretty they come you cannot change their nature. Always so smug, he wanted to make you feel the way he did. He was so helplessly in love with you but deemed your lannister self incapable of love, too smug to even care to feel a thing. Now as your betrothed he found himself at an advantage..

You on the other side always tried to to revert back to the past and change the way you behaved towards him. You quite literally tried to charm your way into his heart but all your actions seemed to be of no avail. He always shut down every smile with a polite nod, every kind word you said was met with his disdain, he quite literally at this point assumed your whole existence as a mockery towards him. You believed your betrothal would soften his heart up but instead it hardened it. The man could not seem to bear your presence, always growing agitated.

You attempted to win him over with gifts, with kisses which he averted from, with physical affection holding his hand and batting your pretty eyes at him, he showed no reaction to these. You often attempted to flirt with him in high valyrian which he had perfected, instead of appreciating your effort, he took the time to correct your pronunciation and grammatical errors.

You embroidered for him. You attempted to melt his heart by talking of the future where the two of you would have little children. Nothing worked, the most infuriating part was that with all the time you spent swaying him you felt yourself grow more fond of him yourself.

Whenever jacaerys sparred with Nettles, a supposed dragon seed brought to court because of her fierce skills in combat, you felt your heart feel the pang of anger and sadness. He seemed more fond of his uncles over you at this point and you felt absolutely helpless. You wanted to leave the past behind and win his affection. Perhaps that is not what fate wanted for the two of you. You walked away from the sparring ground and jacaerys noticed your absence in his mind.

The whole court was not blind to this tug of war game between the two of you, the jealousy that lingered between other possible lovers the two of you had. His brothers teased him incessantly over how he kept your embroidery in a special box in the cupboard and how he blew up if anyone attempted to touch what you gave him. Jacaerys loved the attempts you made towards him to make up for your past behaviour, he loved every moment of it. Every smile of yours would replay over and over in his mind once it was over. Thoughts of future children with you sent his blood rush to his nether regions, to see you carry his children.

He would often dress up far better than he usually did for sparring lessons in case you’d visit..or rather he’d dress down, discarding his sweaty shirt only if you were in the vicinity.

Nothing bothered Jacaerys more than seeing you with his uncles, at princess helaena’s name day party. His angered expression not was one he attempted to hide. you could feel his glare towards his uncle Daeron, a man of the same age as him. Daeron was mischievous and cheeky who also like everyone enjoyed annoying jacaerys as the two of them always saw each other as rivals even though they shared a wet nurse. Jacaerys could take it no longer dragging you away from dinner, his hand lingered on your arm, holding you firmly but not enough to hurt you.

“How many times must you repeat this song and dance?” He hissed pushing your back into the cold pillar “why can’t you leave me be?” He asked, his hands holding yours as you struggled in his hold, his hands had covered the entirety of your wrist as though it was nothing.

“Can you not see? How blind can you be?” You asked in an angry tone. His grasp did not leave your hands as he suddenly turned you around pressing you against the rough pillar wall pinning your hands to your lower back as you felt his figure croon over you. “Why do the gods have to make me put up with you” you felt his hot breath on your ear and the heat of his body radiating your own. You were glad he could not see your flustered face.

“I’ve only ever tried to get your attention” you voiced out, on hearing your voice he pressed you further into the bricks. You could hear him chuckle.

“So you throw yourself at my uncle?” jacaerys answered his grip tightening around your wrists. He felt conflicted a part of him died to believe your words, that you wanted his attention, the other ran his imagination wild seeing you with Daeron in uncompromising positions. “ah yes, they’re true born and i am..” he trailed off his hands abruptly let your wrist go. “And what do they tell you that it is a pity that your beauty is being wasted on me, a strong prince as you once said” his voice echoed in the empty corridors, he had lost all awareness of his surrounding.

“No! I did not say that! I have played very trick in the book, I have used every tactic anything to get you to like me and the only time you seem to ever even look at me is if I am with another. You think I like parading myself in this tight gown for no reason? Have you even seen my dress or have you been too caught up in your hobby of making me your enemy”

“Yes I have seen the way you look!” He answered angrily. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked at you.

“Then tell me how do I look!” You yelled back you felt tears if frustration bubble at the rims of your eyes, you looked away quickly would this how the entirety of the marriage would go? With you begging for him to notice you? You needed him to notice you at this point, want was no longer sufficient.

“Beautiful” jacaerys said the words he had held in his mouth for so long “So beautiful that if I take one glance it’ll never be enough, if I get one taste that too would not suffice, my greed, my lust is insatiable for you” you knew you had him then, he was yours and yours to keep. Your efforts weren’t in vain.

“You do not hate me then?” You asked surprised as his eyes watched you intently at your every move, what were you planning now..

“Oh make no mistake I do, I’ve always hated you. You’ve always played me as though I was a game. I am not my lady I would have remember that I am the crown prince of the seven kingdoms, my parentage does not matter because I am a Targaryen” he said he turned to leave one more.

You walked towards him and grabbed his face in yours, he admitted that he thought you beautiful and in your eyes that was a victory in itself, this was your chance to seduce your brunette prince as you closed the distance between your faces by planting a gentle kiss on his lips, in hopes it would sway his feelings about you. He gasped against your mouth feeling your lips press against his so perfectly. His hands instantly wrapped around your waist feeling the fabric of your gown crumbling it in his hands, “you shouldn’t hate me, sweet prince” you teased him, habits die hard. As his lips fought your own for dominance, his right hand reaching up to hold your face as he drank you in, the moment your lips parted for a gasp his hot tongue found its way into yours, your mouths in total sync, it was hard to keep your mind sharp now, just as he did you grace into your senses.

That’s how you found yourself with your dress ripped to shreds and your leg propped on his shoulders as he thrusted into you sharply, he made no attempt to stop any time soon, you gasped and moaned and claws at his chest anything to make you feel as though you had control over your betrothed. He drove you mad stopping just when you were about to peak, he denied you of cumming over and over leaving you teary eyed moaning as he brought you such pleasure and pain. If he denied you once more you felt as though you would collapse from the sheer need.

This was your punishment for everything you had ever done to him, every smirk, every mocking word, you felt yourself bend in ways you never thought possible. Jacaerys felt up the fat of your thighs as he leaned in the two of you in to fetch a passion filled kiss. You felt his heavy length press into your sensitive spot and he smirked on seeing you squirm under him as so, release was a mirage so close yet so far. “I should not let you cum, you do not deserve it” he said kissing the leg that sat on his shoulder.

“Tell me how I can win your forgiveness my prince” You moaned out feeling him hitting that one spot that made your head go hazy as you looked to at him with lust drunken eyes.

Jacaerys smirked “there’s nothing you can do” he grunted out letting moans of his escape as his eyes shut from the intensity of the pleasure, perhaps he was being too cruel to you..

“You are right I do not want your forgiveness, I want more— I need you to be mine” you whined out, the pure euphoria of having you in his arms, under him, needing him just like he prayed to the gods you would. His feelings perhaps were not entirely one sided.

“You already have me, do you not see?” He said truthfully holding your hand to his heart “it beats for you lioness” He whispered in your ear and you gasped from the sheer intimacy and lewdness of your hips moving into each other, the soft wet sounds emulating in the wide halls but now all you could focus was on the man before you, his fingers reached down to your nub rubbing a calloused finger over it, the right little circles along with the snapping of his hips made you throw your head back and moan in tears as you felt your release build up for the fourth time since jacaerys had edged you, your eyes filled with tears as you looked to your betrothed with pleasing eyes to let you cum.

Jacaerys could not find it in himself to deny you of your pleasure anymore as he felt you come hard with a shrill cry of his name. All over his tunic. He felt his own release build up seeing your fucked out look with a few more sloppy hard thrusts he gave you all his cum, strings of his seed trailed down your shaky legs. He swore this was the hardest he had orgasmed ever in his life, his breath lost as he plopped himself over you his head resting in the crook of your neck as you rolled his silky brown hair between your fingers.

“You mean it? You love me?” You asked feeling him hum on your neck placing soft kisses on it as the two of you sunk to your feet using the pillar as support as jacaerys peppered you with kisses.

“Lying has never been in my nature” he said “I have loved you since the moment you I laid my eyes on you, princess” he smiled pulling himself from your neck to gaze upon your afterglow, messy lip tint smeared all over your face from the bruising kisses he gave you. You gasped and playfully punched at his side. “Your little tactics to get me to love you were quite entertaining, I admit” he smirked kissing you once more” as the two of you embraced in the cold of the night you felt so warm with his arms over you.

“You’re telling me all my seduction tactics were never necessary?!” You asked bewildered at your betrothed, you saw jacaerys crack up laughing as though if your realisation was the funniest thing to him. He would have to make up for this he knew, he was always ready to turn the tables around and win your forgiveness with his own seduction tactics.

#jacaerys x reader #jacaerys Targaryen x reader #jacaerys strong x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x oc #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys Targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys strong #house of the dragon #asoiaf #hotd #hotd fanfiction #jacaerys fanfic #jacaerys x female oc

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munariplans · 2 years ago

Text

is there someone else? | n. romanoff

synopsis: you and natasha have been going through a rough patch lately. wanda comes in and shows you everything natasha is unable to offer.

natasha romanoff x reader | slight wanda maximoff x reader

word count: 4.9k words

read part 2 here and part 3 here

warnings: angst, almost(?) cheating, discussions on pregnancy and treatments

masterlist

“nat, you have to be patient!”

“i am patient!” the woman before you screamed, red hair almost matching the redness on her features, as she gripped the edge of the table in your shared bedroom. “i have been patient; for days, weeks, months, i have been patient! but this is not working; whatever tony and bruce have been cooking in that lab, is not working!”

“these things take time; natasha, you cannot—”

“—no, not for me,” again, your wife cut you off; hot tears brimming in her eyes now, “not for me. It’s not a timing issue, it’s my body’s issue. the reverse hysterectomy doesn’t work, and the IVF won’t work either.”

this time, you knew better. reaching out towards her, you ignored her flailing arms half in protest, half in desperation, to push you away. you embraced natasha with all that you had; holding on to her as if it would piece her broken pieces back together. and it was precisely then that she broke down; her body physically melting against your own and her sobs filling the atmosphere of the quiet, bleak room. the room that had once been the sanctuary for the both of you; late night rendezvouses against the knowledge of the other avengers, patch-up sessions where natasha would trust you over any medic to see her scars and wounds and not judge, it was even the safest place for natasha to run into after particularly hard missions.

the place still looked all the same, with the addition of natasha’s belongings now taking up eighty-percent of your space (in what was essentially a room for one, but the both of you had been reluctant on upgrading to a bigger room in the compound with the memories made in your room). but the feeling was not the same.

you held her tighter. “it’s only our fourth round, so what if it doesn’t work? we can always try again.”

“what if i’m tired?” she asked, voice too small, too fragile. “what if it doesn’t work again? what if it’s just a me problem? i can’t have children, i can’t give you a baby, and i never will.”

“don’t say that, don’t say things like that.” were the only comforting words you could offer, a little tired, a little irritated, at her repetition of insecurities being voiced after each IVF round the both of you went through.

you led her to your shared bed, and when natasha tried to reach out for you in the night, she felt you shift closer to the edge of the bed, and away from her.

–

common side effects of natasha’s fertility treatments included frequent mood swings, this you knew from bruce’s multiple warnings before. he had taken special care to explain it to you, and had even advised you to seek help from clint if necessary. you remembered brushing him off with, “i think i can handle my wife’s emotions just fine.”

if only you knew what you were getting yourself into, you chided yourself now, staring at the back of natasha’s head, sighing. a little pissy and agitated would be a fine understatement.

you were the assigned leader for the mission; you had thought it was natural that everyone followed your instructions and heed your warnings. not for natasha.

she had taken a path that was more direct to the enemy’s line of fire, and considering her complete disregard for her own safety, and the fact that it was right around the time that she could be pregnant from a previous round of treatments, it was very clear from your point of view that she was putting herself in imminent danger, and that you had to step in.

you remembered steve asking why natasha was so far off from her tracker, and it was the moment everything clicked. you knew your wife. you knew precisely why she had taken off her tracker.

“nat, fall back.” you spoke into your comms, knowing full well she had heard you. there was no response.

“natasha. ”

two enemies had thrown themselves at you, and in the time taken to take them down, natasha still had not responded.

you were about to call her for the third time when her comms crackled to you. “kinda—busy—here.”

behind her was the sound of gunfire. screams, cries, the occasional thunk of metal hitting against bones. you thought it was natural that you freaked.

“natasha, i am this mission’s leader. i am ordering you to fall back, i repeat, fall back!”

“no! i can get the chip faster this way, i’m right in their comms room!”

“agent romanoff, this is not a request. if you don’t fall back now, i am reporting you to fury for insubordination of a direct order.”

she had turned her comms off. the whole team practically heard you scream through their comms, “fuck!”

steve was kind enough to cover for your spot, while you ran headfirst into the comms room to extract natasha. and although her being swarmed and outnumbered by a large margin of enemies was something you expected, it could not compare to the horror that spread through your system at the sight of her pinned down, gasping for air as an enemy tried to wrestle her for the gun she was holding.

he was gone in the next second, as natasha rolled over to catch her breath. she cursed under her breath, preparing for the onslaught of another one tumbling towards her, but when it was you that filled her vision, helping her stand and leaning her onto your body, she wasn’t so sure if it was any better.

“i—told you—” natasha tried to say, but you cut her off.

“—you disobeyed a direct order, nat. you could’ve gotten killed.”

–

though, back in the quinjet, it felt as if the roles were completely reversed. natasha was berating you in plain view of everyone else, while you could only sit back, and accept the harshest words that were coming out of your wife’s mouth.

“do you not trust me? how many missions have we been on together, and how many have i parted to take care of things on my own? how many missions have i gotten injured, or killed? i am not some fragile, brittle object, you know! i am—”

“—romanoff, i think she gets your point,” tony tried to cut in, but the glare shot his way was enough to make him shut his mouth faster than he had opened it.

“—i am capable, and you know i was, of extracting the chip myself! we could’ve avoided so many casualties! and now, look where we are, no chip, building destroyed, and civilians dead. all because you wouldn’t trust me to be able to take care of myself.” natasha jabbed her finger to your shoulder roughly, as if to only rub in your humiliation deeper.

but you only sighed, and stood up. a resigned look on your face, you called peter forward, and as he approached the table nervously, eyes darting between you and natasha, she spotted it. spider-man pulled the chip out of his suit, and handed it to you.

you showed it off to her, and the rest of the team, and shook your head. “we would’ve gotten the chip regardless. you didn’t have to put yourself in unnecessary danger, and you didn’t have to undermine my leadership.”

you retreated back to the darkness of the quinjet, hearing natasha sigh irritatedly and march right up to the front again.

–

halfway on the trip back home, natasha finally made the decision of risking seeing you to get herself some water, seeing as the supply was all the way at the back of the jet. she had unbuckled her seatbelt, ordered peter to step in for her, and made the short, but agitating journey to where you were.

but you were not near your designated seat near the supplies, or anywhere where she thought you would be, as she unscrewed the water bottle and discretely scanned the jet for you. i’m not worried for her, i'm glad she’s not in my line of sight, is all, she tried to convince herself.

but what she saw next, as she was walking past another part of the jet, made her stop in her tracks. you were next to wanda in the makeshift medical bay, your suit unzipped and tied around your waist, fireproofs lifted up to reveal a huge wound that Wanda was tending to.

you seethed as the scarlet witch tried to draw back the bleeding with her magic, grabbing her hand and chanting, “gentle, gentle, please.”

fuck. natasha couldn’t believe she missed out on the fact that you were injured. she had thought your gait looked a little strange when you were escorting her to safety earlier; and there was blood in her hands as she let go of you, but she had chalked it up to being an enemy’s. you had sat through her beration, her humiliation, and had said nothing to her of your injury.

your eyes were shut, as wanda navigated the stab wound, but her own eyes then drifted up, catching natasha’s. the scarlet witch didn’t budge, looking up at natasha almost in defiance, mostly in resentment.

a weird feeling settled within the woman, but she shut the curtain to the medical bay, and returned to her seat.

–

natasha watched yours and wanda’s friendship begin to bloom. It seemed as if the avenger had found a solace within your company, as she naturally gravitated towards you in most social settings; team dinners, tony’s outlandish parties, even during team meetings and discussions. in those moments, natasha held your arm against hers closer, putting extra effort to drape her body as close to yours as possible as a warning. if you noticed (you did), you didn’t say anything to her, merely welcoming her into your open arms and letting her find comfort at the same time.

however, no matter how much natasha wanted to keep you close and all to herself, her own hormones got the best of her on her worst days. more IVF sessions had passed with little to no success, brimming and breaking hope simultaneously, and natasha was finding it harder and harder to sit through you merely reassuring her that it takes time. on her worst nights, she would find even your mere presence in the room an abhorrent sight, instead shunning you out into the common areas or mentioning that she wanted to sleep alone tonight.

natasha never missed the heartbreak, or desperation, in your face. perhaps you had been too nonchalant towards her mood swings, perhaps you had paid too little attention to her needs, or perhaps, and you hated yourself for thinking about it, natasha was slowly growing out of love for you. you never missed the mixed emotions on hers, as you so often grabbed your pillows and headed out to sleep on the couch.

–

one particular night, where a stupid argument about paperwork that you had syphoned off to natasha, preventing her from going out into the field had ensued, and finished, it ended once again with her yelling at you to get out of the room and sleep somewhere else for the night. the both of you were certain, by that point, that the whole compound could hear all of the words exchanged and screams torn. but natasha was headstrong, you never were, and you gave in, as always.

left with nothing but the bitter taste of natasha accusing you of underestimating her, and the fact that your relationship was on such a thin thread that was affecting the morale of the whole team as well, you exited the room.

but when natasha tossed, and turned, and tossed again that night, the absence of your body beside hers and only the coolness of the sheets on her skin, the guilt began to settle in. as it always did. she could have been more thoughtful, should have considered your own workload, should have cared more about your feelings too.

with tears hot in her eyes and a resolution to apologise, she left the room, still in her nightgown, to search for you in the common area. when she did find you, however, you were hunched over said paperwork that you had thought to pass off to her, the stack that she screamed would prevent her from going on her mission the next day.

you had wanted to ensure that she could still go, eventually.

she called out your name, but when you turned, all the apologies that she had wanted to spill, the invite to return back to your room, were silenced; for wanda’s own head had popped up beside yours, evident that she had been laying on your lap and accompanying you at work.

she realises that wanda is there for you in all the ways she never was these days. she realises the outlet for you to share about your day, your frustrations and worries, was not her now. no, of course it wasn’t her, why would it be her? not when she picks a fight for every little concern you voice out, not when she dismisses your every attempt to talk to her now. a scarier feeling began to form; natasha realises that wanda may be your home now, not her.

“yes, nat?” you said, your face devoid of any emotion.

she could have screamed, could have cried, could have threatened wanda with death and tore her away from you right away. she could even have accused you of doing something you promised you would never do to her when you got together; but she didn’t. natasha wanted to trust you, and she didn’t want her own insecurities to get the best of her, and the worst of you, again.

instead, all she did was nod towards wanda, swallowing a huge lump in her throat. “n-nothing. come back to our room when you’re done with that. the bed’s too cold.”

–

it was in the way wanda voluntarily paired herself up with you for missions. the way you could conveniently shove her out of the way of raining bullets, putting yourself in the line of fire for her without a second thought.

the way you were the first person wanda looks for at the end of said missions. the way you allow wanda to ease her worries by laying her head against your shoulder afterwards.

the way wanda hugs you just a little too tight, too long, right after the team worries of your cut-off comms from a particularly hard mission.

natasha hates herself for noticing all of it.

–

tony called out your name to the common area one night, despite you and natasha agreeing to have an early night-in for a round of doctor’s visits the next day. she was a little annoyed at you for being so ready to heed his request, but followed you anyway, hoping it would be quick.

“as you can see,” tony spread his arms, gesturing around the room to the other avengers, “your best friend isn’t around. she’s been gone from us for exactly two nights in a row now, and we want to know why.”

his game show host-style of speaking ticked you off, but you swallowed it down in favour of everyone else around, and smiled politely at him. he continued, “rogers says it’s her time of the month, which, might be true, is totally boring and not helpful to this discussion at all. danvers says she’s probably just sick of our shit, which, might also be true, but is being a debby downer and i do not stand for it. with the amount of vomiting vision hears from his room, he says it’s because i gave her food poisoning when I tried to cook dinner on monday, which is the least likely option there is, so i’m disregarding it. what do you say, huh?”

“she told me she has a stomach flu.”

this time, thor chuckled from the corner of the room. grinning, he sneaked in with, “classic pregnancy symptoms, i say. natasha’s been the one trying for a child, but have you accidentally knocked the wrong woman up, kid?”

he didn’t need your furious glare and natasha’s choked sob behind you to know he had voiced out every insecurity of hers so perfectly, as the black widow practically stormed straight back to your room, with you hot on her heels, trying desperately to call out her name.

–

“it was just a joke, nat, and he knew it! you and i know it!”

“was it really?” natasha’s eyes were red and raw, throat hoarse from screaming, “was it really a joke to you? or have you really gone and fucked her and gotten her pregnant?!”

“that’s impossible and you know it!” you retorted, taking one step closer. natasha took one step back. your hands had raised, trying to reach out for her to see reason, but seeing her retreat only sent a knife straight to your heart, and you threw them up in the air, giving up. “nat, i—i—wanda’s a friend. that is all she is, all she will ever be. i don’t understand why—”

“—do your friends touch you like I do? do your friends get to lie their head on your shoulder, hug you goodbye and welcome home after every mission, be the outlet for your frustrations and worries, your celebrations and joy? do your friends matter more than I do?” she cut you off, shoving you against the wall this time.

you took the opportunity to grab her wrists, tilting your head so you were directly at her eye level. “natasha.”

she refused to meet your eyes. “natasha. look at me.”

she shook her head, refusing to give in, refusing to let you see the insecurity, heartbreak, and jealousy in her green eyes, now dull and wearier than the emerald they once were. “fuck you.”

“natasha, what is going on with us?” you asked sincerely then, begging her to see reason, to see you. “we fight everyday, we barely spend any time together, and you don’t even bother trying to listen to me. to help me help you see reason. you hate me on most days, you despise what i am, what i do, and i don’t know how to fix this. have i become so broken, so unlovable, that you cannot even stand to be in the same room as me anymore?”

natasha slowly lifted her gaze, blinking away the tears. “you don’t seem to mind.”

“because I don’t want to ruin whatever we have left!” you shouted, exasperated. “i don’t want to lose whatever shred of love my wife has left for me, i don’t want to make things worse, and i don’t want to make you feel worse. tell me, is it the baby? is us trying for a baby too much for you, nat? is this not something you want anymore? because ever since we’ve started trying—”

“—it’s not the baby, it’s me,” natasha freed her wrists from you, turning away. “it’s me, and my inability to be a wife, a proper wife, to you. fuck, i can’t even give you one thing every married couple wishes for, a fucking child, and now you have to run off to an actual woman who can. i’m a fucking failure, that’s what i am.”

“nat, not every couple wants—not every couple needs—a child. i’m perfectly happy with—”

“—are you really? are you really perfectly happy with the way things are? do you not wish for more, something I can’t give? someone who can understand you, love you, better than I can?”

you knew where this was going, and you rubbed your forehead in frustration. “what are you getting at, natasha?”

“don’t tell me you don’t see the way she looks at you.”

you sighed. “i honestly don’t.”

“of course you don’t!” natasha’s voice broke, uttering the next words, “but I do. because she looks at you the way i look at you. the way i wished you looked at me.”

“nat, don’t do this. don’t do this to yourself, and don’t do this to us. i can assure you wanda is…is…” you trailed off, not believing the incredulity of it all.

“is what?” natasha hoped with all of her heart you could finish the sentence. “is what…? tell me. younger? better? easier to love, than i am?”

but you could only shake your head once more, furrowing your eyebrows. “you know what, nat? i give up. i truly give up. if you can’t get over yourself and your own insecurities, even though we are married, even if you knew i only love you, i cannot help you. i need a break…we need a break.”

you didn’t tell her for how long, you didn’t tell her what you were going to do, or what she could do to fix things. you merely brushed past her body folding in on itself in anguish and absolute heartbreak, and packed your things. that night, you had left her all to herself, and she had only felt loneliness like this once.

suddenly, natasha was twelve again, all alone in the red room to fend for herself. she had lost her parents, she had lost yelena, and now, she had lost you too.

–

wanda was browsing through the menu, seated in front of you at the hotel balcony, celebrating the end of another successful mission together. it was a few weeks after the incident with natasha, and with no end goal or date in sight of when you were returning to her arms, you had resigned yourself to stick to wanda, much to the scarlet witch’s pleasure, too.

“an aperol spritz or a negroni?” she had asked, but you were busy staring right at her.

wanda’s eyes were blue, wide and ethereal. Her hair was a lighter colour than natasha’s, hands softer as they wrapped around yours, hugs tighter.

natasha was all that you had ever known, and loved. you have been together for so long, you find it hard to believe that what you feel for wanda could ever be real.

she was kind, patient and understanding; wanda never complained, never screamed or raised her voice at you. you remembered when the feeling began; the very night where natasha had practically banished you from your room, and her footsteps came pattering down to the common area where you were. wanda had just returned from a mission with thor and sam, but still insisted on staying up with you. as her head laid on your lap that night, her big, blue eyes staring up at yours, you felt something stir in your stomach; a feeling that you hadn’t felt in a long while with natasha. butterflies anew.

you became concerned, protective, of wanda during missions. always worrying if she had eaten before a gruelling day, taking extra patience in training her for combat practice, you began wondering if you had really looked at her as just a friend all this while. when wanda and natasha both came home with a bullet graze on their arms on one mission, you found yourself worrying for wanda almost as much as you did for your wife.

perhaps that was the moment you knew, and so did natasha.

–

wanda called out your name lovingly, half-laughing as you stared into blank space yet again, dissociating as she stepped out of the shower.

“you still upset that I chose the negroni?” she teased, and you rolled your eyes playfully.

getting up to change, you tried hard not to hyper-focus on the beads of water dripping down wanda’s body, as she bent down to find a spare change of fresh clothing. “of course. criminal, that you order everything but an aperol spritz in Italy, of all places.”

you found the t-shirt that she had been looking for, and whistled for her attention. but right as the woman stepped forward to take it off of you, you tugged it under her grip, side-stepping further into the room.

“apologise, for the spritz, for me, and everyone else in italy.”

wanda shot you an incredulous look, before your own serious resolve broke too, and the both of you ended up laughing, nearly tumbling forwards towards each other. somewhere along the line, wanda decided to take the opportunity to try to take the shirt, but your reflexes kicked in, and right as she reached forwards, you went for her legs; throwing her onto the bed to dodge her attack.

giggling, still, wanda tried to sit up as you pinned her down. but the woman managed to take one of your own, as she grabbed your hand, and with one swipe, had your wedding band in her left hand, taunting it over you.

“got something of yours, too,” she grinned, handing out her other hand for an exchange, “now give me my shirt.”

your eyes widened at the sight before you then. wanda, dressed only in a towel that was barely hiding anything from view, the compromising position you were in, the wedding band she had taken off of you at that moment.

heart to heart, yours beating as fast as hers, wanda finally noticed too. slowly, but surely, her red magic came up to envelop the both of you, the warmth in them flowing through your senses, making your head fuzzy and lightheaded.

she leaned up, mouth just inches from yours, hoping, begging, for you to close the distance. her towel had almost fallen off her body then, arms around your neck. if you dared look down, nothing would be hidden from view.

“come on,” she murmured against your lips.

you hesitated, the grip on her waist suddenly disappearing. “i…no.”

wanda pouted, you remembered shaking your head. “i’m married, wanda.”

“please.”

you snatched back your ring this time, throwing the t-shirt onto her body and looking away just as quickly. opening the door to the balcony, you found it hard to catch your breath. “i can’t. i’m sorry.”

–

though, that night, watching her sleeping figure sprawled out on the shared king bed, you took another swig of the gin leftover from the bar, wondering if you had made the right choice.

the opportunity had presented itself, and yet you didn’t take it.

natasha had left a text earlier on your phone, and you cursed when you remembered what date it was. it was almost an asshole move to simply text her back ‘happy anniversary to us’ too, when she had sent a long paragraph apologising for what she had done, and begged you to come back to celebrate your five-year wedding anniversary together.

–

sleeping on the couch, and as far away from wanda as possible, you felt your phone vibrate in the middle of the night.

getting up groggily, you had almost thrown it back to where it was, until another text came in, and another. they were from Natasha.

i have to tell you something. you had texted her back with a question mark, but her only reply had been that she refused to tell you over text, and that you would only know when you got back.

considering the state of your relationship with her, and the way you had practically ruined whatever hope of rekindling her affection for you with the anniversary text, you almost knew what it would be already. she would be taking the first step in ending your relationship, and marriage.

looking back at wanda’s sleeping form then, you selfishly thought again if you should have proceeded with the kiss.

–

natasha was already waiting with the other avengers when your quinjet landed. wanda had gotten off first, looking back at you awkwardly, reaching her hand out to help you disembark, after an injury to your right rib. you smiled at her, but rejected her help.

natasha strode towards you in two cool, calculated steps. you offered her a half-smile, but her face was determined, and hopeful. her arms were around your waist in the next second, and for the first time in the last year or so, the black widow tipped you over, pressing her lips against yours in the most passionate, loving kiss. In front of everyone, in front of fury, in front of wanda, natasha claimed you as hers.

“what—” before you could finish your question, she was already dragging you to your shared room, leaving you even more confused than before. perhaps it was a goodbye kiss, perhaps natasha had felt the need to claim you one last time before parting ways, perhaps she had simply missed you over the time you were gone. the last one seemed most impossible.

“sit.” she had gestured, forcing you on the bed. “close your eyes.”

you groaned, the injury on your ribs resurfacing. “nat, i’m really tired, the mission was a success but my side is—”

“please,” natasha begged this time, “please.”

you relented, and closed your eyes anyway, hoping whatever this was, would be over soon and that you could have a full night of uninterrupted sleep for once.

natasha rummaged for something in her bag, and opened your palm up. three small, plastic sticks were placed in them, leaving you more confused than ever.

“open your eyes.”

your heart sunk into the depths of your stomach when you saw what they were. time came to a standstill, the glaringly obvious image before you the prophecy for your past, present and future. three pregnancy tests, all positive.

you finally looked back up at natasha, her eyes brimming with tears of joy and hope. her arms encircled your neck again then, tears fresh on your shoulder.

“i’m pregnant,” she murmured into your skin, as if it would solve everything. as if it was the answer to all of your problems together.

a/n: who's side are you on?

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #black widow x reader #scarlet witch x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #black widow #scarlet witch #marvel cinematic universe

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plutonium-sky · 2 months ago

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AIGHT HERE WE GO.

So! About the revelation I mentioned with WL and Eden statues- I’m going to give some context first. Me and @halcyon-xxy-art were discussing some Sky DND stuff, and then had an interesting idea- what if there was light corruption, alongside dark corruption?

We immediately establish dark corruption as the crystalized bodies, with the soul (light) trapped inside. The thing is, we wanted to make it so that there wasn’t any weakening of their light- it’s just that there is more darkness. After that got put out, we started thinking about what light corruption would look like, and Aria basically perfectly described a Winged Light. That’s when I had my revelation. What if Winged Lights are sky kids who got light overflow?

I’ll elaborate on that in a bit when I establish another fact we put out right after. Skykid DO have darkness inside them. It’s just hidden in a way no one would expect- it’s right in front of us. A skykid’s darkness would be their physical Body. And, if we go by that logic, their light would be everything else that the body holds- their light and Soul.

And then we added more to the corruption parts. Darkness corruption would work that the soul is trapped inside the body- and cannot return to Megabird (it would slowly weaken inside, losing its power bit by bit as the overbearing darkness drains it.) Light corruption was easy to figure out from there as well. The soul doesn’t have a body to guide it back to the cycle (it had burnt it away, and now the soul is horribly exposed, frozen in time, until a new, temporary vessel guides it back to freedom.)

The skykid’s body needs to walk alongside a delicate balance of light and dark, lest things go to SHIT for them. Too much light will result in being corrupted and overloaded by it, and the body will burn and flake away and the soul be frozen in time and space without the body to guide it back to the cycle. Too much darkness will slow them down, overtake them, eventually turning the skykid into an immovable statue, the soul covered on all sides, and it’s now trapped in a cage of its own making.

Also, absorbing WL (the lost souls of someone else) benefits us instead of harming us because all the overloaded light is still being taken by the other’s soul, not yours. Of course, a little still leaks through- and that’s why it makes flying easier. It’s a sort of…. symbiotic relationship, where the sky kid gives the soul a temporary vessel for it to rest in, while the soul helps the vessel, benefitting it as safely as it can. It takes more WL the longer you have to fly for safety concerns- if they keep on sharing the same amount of energy, the light corruption will happen once more, to a new victim, and now there will be two souls trapped beside each other.

Also, the body and soul theory is further supported by sky kids extinguishing. NORMALLY, we don’t grow crystals. By normally I mean stuff like rain and non-shard crabs. That would be a “normal” death- we aren’t corrupted, the soul and body are still in balance. There’s the pity WL too- you can still be saved. For lore reasons, I’m going to partially ignore the fact that you would still get a pity WL if you lost all of yours to a krill, shard, or shard crabs, because let’s be honest- it’s just ingame things. And, if my memory serves my right (I can’t play sky at the moment to check properly), you would grow crystals for all of those deaths- corrupted by darkness.

There’s then Eden. We run around, giving WL to the lost to darkness bodies of sky kids- or perhaps spirits. Honestly, it doesn’t matter. But, what matters is that somehow, this works in freeing them. My theory for how is that the light corrupted and overloaded soul helps balance out the dark corrupted body, sharing its light with the trapped soul inside. By the point we find the eden bodies, though, the souls are so weakened that they’re barely there- my explanation as to why we don’t see double the winged lights in orbit. They need time to recover.

The last nail in the coffin for this theory, to me, is the cutscene in eden that happens when we finally lose all of our winged light and become a statue ourselves. Where we fall in darkness, as a dark figure, then land. The light and dark of our being in a limbo meet. The light (soul) is sitting there, unmoving, trapped. Meanwhile, us, as the darkness (body) moves, going back to the light, to guide them back. This supports my “the light and soul cannot be guided without the darkness of their body” talk- because it IS the body guiding the soul here. It frees us.

TLDR? Skykids aren’t only light- they are also darkness. The light is their soul and the dark is their body. Without a body, lost because of various reasons (the one I gave is being overloaded/corrupted by light), the soul is trapped and we see this ingame as Winged Light. This creates a delicate balance where there can’t be too much light or too much dark in the soul and body. When you are corrupted by darkness, the soul gets trapped but it is still there. A normal death for a sky kid is when no crystals grow on their body. Eden statues are helped with WL because the overloaded darkness and the overloaded light balance each other out.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk, hope it lived up to your expectations.

#pluto talks #sky cotl #sky cotl lore #sky lore #my sky lore #pluto rambles #sky: children of the light #sky:cotl #sky children of the light #winged light #THIS IS NEARLY 1000 WORDS GUYS. JUST LIKE. 40 WORDS AWAY #if anyone has any corrections or other additions or thoughts PLEASE ADD #all of this was made from 12 am- 2 am

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windbelle · 2 months ago

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Perhaps Astarion looks like Cazador's friend

I have seen a lot of people headcanon Astarion looks like Cazador's former master Vellioth, which does make a lot of sense. However, I've always had another headcanon:

Perhaps Astarion looks like that friend of Cazador who was drained and killed by Vellioth.

Here are my thoughts:

In the 5e DnD Monster Manual, vampires have the nature of Dark Desire, and it says "Whether or not a vampire retains any memories from its former life, its emotional attachments wither as once-pure feelings become twisted by undeath. Love turns into hungry obsession, while friendship becomes bitter jealousy. In place of emotion, vampires pursue physical symbols of what they crave, so that a vampire seeking love might fixate on a young beauty. A child might become an object of fascination for a vampire obsessed with youth and potential. Others surround themselves with art, books, or sinister items such as torture devices or trophies from creatures they have killed."

And it seems evil aligned creatures in lore always see friendship as vulnerability and weakness. Vellioth punished Cazador for his connection to his friend by draining this friend to death, and taught Cazador to never let anyone be his equal. This friend must be really special to Cazador to lead to Vellioth doing this.

We know that Cazador is a pretty good student for Vellioth's lessons. He learned the lesson and killed Vellioth. And he's begun to see the friendship he once possessed as his vulnerability and weakness. He probably hated being punished by Vellioth for his vulnerability and he wanted to vanquish his weakness by torturing someone who could serve as a symbol of his vulnerability, someone who looks like his friend.

He might still have some special emotion, even some kind of love, towards his dead friend but his dark desire has turned his emotion into hungry obsession. So, when he saw Astarion, who looked a lot like his friend, Cazador couldn't help being attracted to Astarion but also he wanted just to possess him, belittle him, and torture him.

That explains why Cazador has this special favoritism towards Astarion in terms of torture and punishment. In fact, I somehow believe that Cazador chose all his spawns because he had some affection towards them all. But his feelings are totally twisted so that he would torture them and use them, while insisting they are a family.

I don't know whether it's true that Cazador sent the Gur to attack Astarion, but I think he did savor the moment when he turned Astarion because he now had the power to "save" him from death, and to turn him into his own possession.

His torture is not merely some sadistic hobby but quite calculated and cold according to his journal. It's only when Astarion got away that he showed emotion. It seems like he was subconsciously training Astarion as a potential successor, just like Vellioth taught him and trained him to be the vampire master of the Szarr family.

This reminds me of the 5e DND module "Curse of Strahd". In "Curse of Strahd" if you role play as Strahd, he has an objective to find a successor, because he thinks if he can find a successor to replace him then he can get rid of the eternal curse and get his freedom.

After you defeat Cazador without Astarion you can detect his thoughts, and you will find that he also thinks he is forever trapped in this immortal curse. He cannot rest and he's in grief. He wants to break the curse, and that's why he sought the profane ritual so that he could gain the ability to finally "live" like a mortal.

But apart from becoming the vampire ascendant, there's another way of terminating his grief to finally put him to rest, that is, to be destroyed and replaced by a successor.

In some way, he was subconsciously expecting Astarion to succeed him and replace him. I think his former master, Vellioth, knew it even more clearly that he would be replaced by Cazador somehow, and Vellioth was training him to do that by intention. Cazador was doing this similarly but more unconsciously. In his subconsciousness, either he would consume Astarion at last, or Astarion would end him and replace him.

Finally, and this is purely headcanon: according to Astarion's age, he was probably born after Cazador's friend was killed. If this friend was also an elf, then when Cazador saw Astarion, for a moment he might think Astarion could be his friend's reincarnation.

#baldur's gate 3 #cazador szarr #bg3 cazador #astarion #bg3 headcanons #bg3 vampire

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actual-changeling · 1 year ago

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when gabriel/jim (jabriel?? gim?????) talks about his "one particular person", aziraphale's smile is such a blink and you will miss it moment but so incredibly precious and we don't pay enough attention to it.

so, welcome to another round of alex's unhinged meta corner where i over-analyse micro expressions while losing some more braincells.

firstly, here's a clip of that scene just so we are all on the same page since i don't know how much time everyone else spends watching that show. don't ask me it's probably at least 6 hours a day at this point

what i want to focus on is aziraphale's reaction to jabriel's words right after "person". did i slow the clip down and then go through it frame by frame to get the following screencaps? yes. yes i did.

there are two parts to this, the spaced-out smile and then his shock/fear. also before we start can i just say how fucking insane whoever made the trailer was for putting the 1941 dinner scene RIGHT THERE??? with THAT expression??????? yeah. no. i need therapy for that alone.

anyway.

while he is talking, aziraphale is looking at jabriel the entire time, but honestly, i don't think he is actually seeing him, he's neck-deep in his memories of crowley. he as that sparkle in his eyes he tends to get around crowley/looking at crowley and that smile appears rather slowly (or as slow as something can be while lasting less than a second).

personally, i'd call that expression "completely and utterly in love" or besotted if you wanna keep it simple. a content little smile meant for no one except himself, the kinda look he probably wears in private while calling crowley to ask him to come hang out. aziraphale loves him and in this short moment, he knows it - and so do we.

when jabriel (preferable over gim, in my opinion) trails off, aziraphale remembers that hey, wait a minute. that's my boss. that's the archangel fucking gabriel. he can't know about me and crowley.

at this point, neither we nor he know what exactly is up with jabriel, so there is a very real danger that everything aziraphale says or shows will be reported back to heaven. the shock sets in, the smile disappear and aziraphale falls from cloud 9 (pun intended) and lands face first back on earth.

while aziraphale does not have crowley's memory of what exactly went down in heaven when they tried to burn him to a crisp, he has always been incredibly anxious around gabriel and the other archangel. he is fidgeting, unable to stand still or even keep his gaze from flicking around. the only moment he calms is, you guessed it, when he is zoned out and thinking of crowley.

the very real fear that settles on his face is not just about himself, it is mostly about crowley. if heaven knows, hell will, too. everyone knows about the back channels, most just try and keep up plausible deniability. the fact that it is michael who seems to be directly in contact with hell for the most part and not gabriel is worthy of its own post at some point.

another thing worth mentioning is that aziraphale is so afraid, in fact, that he physically backs away from jabriel and gets as much distance between them as possible. jabriel looks like a lost toddler, very non-threatening, but the trauma runs so deep that it does not matter how much of a danger he really is right now. he has been a constant threat for over six thousand years, you cannot deconstruct your view of a person, especially your boss, that quickly. not even if they turn up with total amnesia on your doorstep. naked.

this was less unhinged than some of my other posts but i think this is a moment that gets overlooked a lot. at least i haven't seen anyone talking about it yet since we are all understandably focused on the ending of episode 6.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #good omens meta #listen i wrote this post while tipsy so any errors are because my brain is not working correctly

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edlucavalden · 2 months ago

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Idrk the general consensus for thistles post dungeon personality. But i personally think he would reject any form of support completely. (Aka caretaking him would be a NIGHTMARE.)

He wouldnt be complacent like mithrun was. Thistle would be bed-bound and definitly still need support BUT would be violent when getting it.

In the start he would be complacent though, letting people feed him bathe him talk to him n stuff (BUT he doesnt like it like at fucking all, but he csnt reallt do anything about it, he doesnt that big of a desire to stop it. Hes jusy to mentallt exausted to enforce his boundaries so he kinda lets it happen)

Eventually though his patience would definitly run thin. (Its not like its him gaining the desire to enforce his boundry per say—more like this body physically cannot handle being pushed to his uncomfortable limit)

And it just translates to lashing out in general. He may not have desire but that doesnt change the fact that he can still feel emotion and your body having a psycical reaction.

He doesnt like relying on other people for support because that's what put him in this state in the first place. (Aka thistle becoming super hyperindepend. Lol) but now hed put in a state where the only way to live is to... rely on other people... do you see why thistle would lash tf out...

Im not saying thistle doesnt WANT help. Oh he definitly does and he needs it. But trauma is like a muscle memory. Even when you dont thinkthat way anymore, mb you dont care, or have a different mindset. Your body remembers and reacts.

I think helping people like thistle is to give them the illusion of independacy while also helping them in thr sidelines, giving them a sense of autonomy can help them gain your trust.

(Oh and i wanna compare this to mithruns behavior... dgmw theyre both suicidal in some capacity but the reson why mithrun so complacent. imo. Is bc he passively WANTS TO DIE, by being complacent youre being vunerable, and being vunerable can kill you; he is not afraid of pain. While thisle just wants the pain to be OVER. If you fight back hard enough maybe itll be over. reject and push people away ypu wouldve have to get hurt again. But they are still passively suicidal bc theve accepted death hes accepted that is his fate..

Mithrun seeks after death , while thistle runs away from it. But they have both accepted that it is their fate.

#thistle #thistle dungeon meshi #mithrun #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #sui tw #my 2 cents #can my thistle oomfs comfirm. im more of a mithrun fan #but i care about thistle too... live laugh dysfumctional families #text

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blu-ish · 10 months ago

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Do u think Sonic has nightmares of the SA2 ending? do u think the s2 of Prime fall reinforced this fear or gave him some closure? the anxiety of shadow falling and Sonic not being there to catch him lingers? maybe that's why Sonic is very touch affectionative towards Shadow

It fuels my angst loving heart lmao.

That scene single handedly DESTROYED me. Along with all the fics and fanart that came right after it when that ep of S2 came out hsjshshshs. The parallels are so fuggin tragic, especially from Sonic pov.

This was someone he had met in little under 48 hours, or however long the span of SA2 was lol. He's someone who challenged him, someone who, sure, wasn't entirely a mobian hedgehog--but one nonetheless, a super powered one at that. Who went from threating to destroy the world for hurting him beyond Sonic's comprehension to defending it till his final breath beside him.

Sonic's return to the ark without him will never NOT bring me to tears (yes I'm a big baby sue me lmao), he's still holding his inhibitor ring like its the most precious thing in the now saved world.

His goodbye to him; his closure--his understanding that, that was it. Shadow was gone. I don't remember the time from SA2 until Hero's but it was sure to be a long damn time, only for Shadow to just, be alive. MAN IT HURTS LIKE SH-- (I have a headcanon Sonic got to keep the inhibitor ring when Rouge gives it him later, and he wore it under his glove cuff all this time.) You cannot tell me Shadow didn't have a major impact on Sonic's life come onnnnn. I completely agree with the nightmares headcanon btw, like you take a hero with a savior complex and give them a situation where they FAILED to save someone they love and your in for an ANGST FIELD DAY.

Prime Sonic is a lil different from the Sonic's we've been introduced too in the past. (No this is NOT a complaint I love him sm, all Sonic's are amazing to me that is a fact.) He's probably the most physically affectionate one outta all of them. We see him describe his relationship with Shadow as "complicated" lmao, and for anyone new to the Sonic Series watching it, they're basically just introduced as rivals that are so fucking BAD at communicating. But you can tell he cares about his friends, and he really cares about Shadow.

This is evident in his PANIC ATTACK, when Shadow gets knocked out while trying to enter one of the gateways and ends up almost falling into the void. And this is right after they were just at each others necks, fighting for the tech.

There is NO POSSIBLE WAY it's not supposed to be a parallel to SA2, and if this Sonic also went through the "Shadow fucking dies and loses his memories TM" there is also ZERO WAY he didn't get flashbacks while reaching out to save the only piece of home he had, but Shadow's more than that. He grounds Sonic throughout Prime, he keeps him focused, he CARES about him too. Even if he has trouble showing it.

When it was Shadow's turn to save Sonic when he was fading away. Like, I WAS DECEASED, I WAS SOBBING--- ahem, I was carefully analyzing the moment where we got to see Shadow return the favor. Where he was mere MOMENTS away from losing him. He was in Sonic's place, back in space near the Space Colony Ark. Holding the most precious part of his home. His friend. (HIS BOYFR-- *gets shot*)

I like to think they both get more affectionate and open with each other, it just works so naturally well in Prime because of everything they've been through. And how the show, shows their friendship develop over time, even when Shadow gets benched for the majority of it hjhghj. He lets Sonic in, he makes the effort to hear him out, they LEARN TO COMMUNICATE.

Sonic wants to be near Shadow, Shadow in turn lets him, lets him be affectionate. Because they both really DO realize how much they care and need/want each other in their lives. They make me ill.

#ask #anon ask #sonadow #sonic prime #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #another blu ramble hjgfshk #let them cuddle it out fr #fav

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babacontainsmultitudes · 1 year ago

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I'm not the first person to bring this up but, I do feel that the general response to the gun range scene has mostly failed to acknowledge the context that would call for such extreme levels of self-defense training in the first place. We know from episode 23 that even just a few years after the release of the doodler (when Lark and Sparrow themselves are still just teens) things are already pretty bad (to the extent that in Lark's case the stress of it all has already begun to take a physical toll on him- don't forget that he and Sparrow too were once kids who had the world placed on their shoulders), and one need only look at how quickly the situation with the mayor has degraded to imagine how bad things would have gotten by the time Hero was 12. Training your six-year-old to use a gun in a normal or at least mostly normal world? Batshit crazy. Training your six-year-old to use a gun in a world overrun by an eldritch horror where danger, death, and the possibility of corruption from said eldritch horror are around every corner? Still intense but, much easier to understand the reasoning behind.

oh oops it's a long post woops woops woops

In Sparrow's case in particular, we know that he behaves quite differently under alternative circumstances, and that Normal (Hero too for that matter) lives a pretty different life in a post code purple world:

Not that it hasn't been Sparrow's intent and priority to mitigate the extent to which Normal was caught up in everything from the get-go, as evidenced by his namesake. Recall what he had to say on the matter:

In some ways this extreme self-defense training is a "two sides of the same coin" sort of deal vis-a-vis Grant's extreme isolation of Lincoln for his protection, a major difference being that Lincoln still deals with this in a post code purple world (to the extent that he literally had to pretend to starve himself to get his dad to let him go to public school), whereas Normal and Hero get the chance to live mostly normal lives and do as they please (the disapproving words of a drunken and partially-doodlerized Sparrow aside), now removed from the immediate threat of the doodler.

Hero's case is, at least from what we currently know about the prophecy, more complicated than Norm's. It is easy to reprimand Lark and Sparrow as being the worst parents (and/or uncles) whilst forgetting that their circumstances are fundamentally different from the other kiddads. The first half of this lying in their shared responsibility (and guilt) in releasing the doodler. Grant and Nicky can retreat to their respective homes on the basis that this is the best they can do, resolving to put their energy into protecting their closest ones first and foremost. At the end of the day, they aren't really any more responsible for dealing with the doodler than any other bystander. The same cannot be said of Lark and Sparrow, who can't exactly look away from the fact that they were the ones who brought the doodler into the world. At least from their perspectives- of course Lark (and Sparrow by extension) in reality was a child that was manipulated into doing what he did, which as some people have pointed out is not dissimilar to what happened to Normal at the end of this episode (and if Sparrow felt the need to rid Normal of his memories of this event in particular, perhaps it was to spare his child from feeling guilty about it for the rest of his life).

The second half of what differentiates them is, of course, the prophecy (right- now we can actually get to Hero lol). We must remember that, as far as the twins knew, the only way to actually "defeat" the doodler permanently was through the chosen one, i.e. Hero (probably- after last episode I'm starting to think that Norm may be more directly involved in the prophecy than previously thought, but that's a tangent). "Continue to let the being you released into the world kill and torture millions (very likely billions) of people, which could wind up including both of your children, or put your ill-fated child through very intense and ultimately traumatizing training to put an end to it, potentially losing her in the process", is essentially the choice the twins were given. Hero isn't made to kill a deer with her bare hands for the hell of it, she goes through what she does because Lark (who likely did not see the same thing that Normal did on the throne- or at the very least interpreted things very differently) and Sparrow had no reason to believe that there was any other possibility. This certainly does not negate or undermine the extent to which Hero was deeply traumatized by it all, but it's not exactly a detail that you can choose to ignore when discussing the ethics of Lark and Sparrow's decision-making.

And yet, despite it all, Sparrow and Lark do ultimately chose saving their children over saving the world. Not before significant damage has already been done (to Hero that is), but they do decide to go through with the one plan that allows both of their children to (hopefully) live a doodler-free life: code purple. Code purple, which ultimately reduces to a trolley problem with a presumably near-equal number of people on both tracks, with the important difference of sparing their own children in one case, and likely not the other. And if we want to talk about Henry's ethical stance in the matter and how it compares to the twins, we need to consider what it says about him if he was *not* in favor of code purple, with all of this in mind. Not to come to any hasty conclusions about Henry either- I think there remains too many unknowns on that front to assume much and... Ultimately it's a complicated matter! But that's kind of my point.

Even post code purple, Lark and Sparrow (and the rest of the kiddads) try to pursue that which they believe (or at least hope) will both put an end to the doodler without involving their children and without the enactment of the prophecy. Is blowing up an entire world with the sun to save all the others a plan I'm gonna sit here and defend? I don't think so lol, but you can't exactly look at it and pretend that Lark and Sparrow don't care about protecting their fucking kids.

My point isn't that Lark and Sparrow haven't made a lot of mistakes and questionable decisions, my point is that their circumstances are so much less black and white than the majority of the takes I see on them make them out to be, and a lot of the conclusions I see people jump to when it comes to the twins' feelings and intentions strike me as... Pretty odd? Tangentially-related: if you don't think Sparrow is someone who is affectionate with and deeply loves his kids despite his flaws, I don't really think we're listening to the same podcast. But even in Lark's case, yes he's more subtle about it and yes, Lark can be quick to anger (not that I personally read him yelling in the last episode as anger so much as panic but all the same), but affection can be sewing bulletproof material into your nephew's mascot costume, or secretly taking him out for pizza, or pretending to be his dad so that you can tell him you're proud of him, or putting your gun down when he asks you to. The twins are anything but perfect but, fuck if they aren't trying (and changing, and improving). And yes, they deserve some damn nuance.

Also, okay, I couldn't really find a neat way to bring this up in the above but, speaking of no-nuance and bad faith takes, can we talk about the locks? Or lack thereof, rather. "How could they be so stupid as to leave the door unlocked?" you're right, that does seem odd, and Anthony made a point to explain that every other door was very thoroughly locked, and Normal seemed to have practically been moved into opening the door against his own will so... Hear me out, maybe, just maybe, the door usually *is* locked??? And something fishy or unusual is afoot? I also wouldn't take their immediate, knee-jerk reactions to a dangerous flesh monster being released to come to any conclusions on whether or not Lark and Sparrow "blame" six-year-old Normal for it. In Sparrow's case, I struggle to even imagine it. In Lark's case, though I wouldn't put him above getting angry over it, my doubts on his deeper feelings are still high. Conversely, if he actually did place some of the blame on Normal, at the very least there is an interesting discussion to be had on how this relates to Lark's own guilt over what Willy manipulated him into doing, and subsequently being denied the catharsis of punishment. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Like I said, a lot of important things are yet unknown.

*breathes* okay end of overdue ramble [insert proper conclusion paragraph here lol], thank you.

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #boy. yeah always an ordeal discussing matters related to Hero. Easy to attract misunderstanding- I think. Again it is. A Complicated Affair #but well- had to share my two cents otherwise it surely woulda bugged me lots #hopefully this all makes sense enough I know I kinda went a bunch of different places as usual :0 #sparrow oak #lark oak #hero oak swallows garcia #normal oak swallows garcia #normal oak #lark oak garcia #sparrow oak garcia #dndads s2 ep 47 #baba babbles

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lains-reality · 1 year ago

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nondualism and "manifestation"

okay so there was an anon question abt manifesting. i'll answer with this post. i barely proof read this so tell me if theres an error. if you need more (you don't) then there are relevent links at the end.

anon: Ima here with a question :) Suppose I'm manifesting my desired clothes , so I just be aware/know that I already have them in my closet ? And Whenever I think that nope it's not true they aren't there …I JUST USE MY IMAGINATION, SEE A PICTURE OF THOSE CLOTHES AND AGAIN BECOME AWARE OF THE FACT THAT I HAVE THEM ? Basically when I found myself thinking about them I just shift my awareness to that I have them ! is this all I have to do ? And what if I feel euphoric 🤧 knowing that I already those clothes in my closet ? Is it oky ig it should be bc feeling has nothing to do with it !? RIGHT ?

I'll ask these questions first: do you want the desire or to be free? could you let go of trying to get happiness from this item and sit in the happiness you are?

you don't use your imagination. you ARE imagination. you're living in your imagination.

you don't have to identify with those thoughts telling you, you don't have the clothes

you've asked this question to another blogger, so you're spamming, searching for an answer? not gonna get you anywhere .. also have u even read my posts?

are you the person that sent this? nondualism IS NOT A METHOD

first of all, i want to you to remove every information, believing that it's real, your brain, spiraling, wavering, blockages, the universe giving you what you want, someone outside of you, the 3d, the 4d, behind the scenes, the 3d mirroring you, saturating your brain, etc ... [choroukgod]

there's no manifesting.

you are not the manifestor. you are not the doer. i mean it as the character, anon, doesn't do anything. Self does. Self can also be called awareness or consciousness. for Self, all exists. its like a comb, there's the handle and then all the teeth. Self is the handle, you anon, are one of the teeth. you are Self imagining being a human with desires.

i'll give you a snippet of a draft post i made:

"they wanted to be the doer. the character doesn't do. it's not You, it's just a habit. when you know you are Self, then everything is harmonious and effortless. the Self does, it is under all the imaginary character - if the character isn't real, then it doesn't do, the Self does."

since you are Self, this means you are beyond time and space, body and mind. they're not real. only the character/mind thinks its real, it'll chat forever about how you need to do this and that.

this is because the mind only knows what it knows. it cannot know anything more than what it knows right now. it's a collection of thoughts, feelings and memories that you've collected and turned into a habit. it's a habit to go back to the memories as a reference point. its a habit to identify with thoughts that come into your awareness. when you stop the habit and don't identify as the character, it goes away.

abt the body: well when you dream, you might still think. you feel the body and all, all the sensations. it feels real enough. then you wake up. you didn't take the physical body into the dream did you? you just felt the sensation of having one. doesn't this mean it's a bunch of sensations, just like a thought in the mind is?

also the mind can affect the body (e.g. nervous feeling -> sweaty palms). the thought or feeling rising into awareness, the mind takes note and ownership "i'm nervous, my hands are sweaty", affecting the body. if the unreal mind can affect something, then is that thing also not unreal?

(try to observe the thoughts or feelings next time without attaching a story to it or resisting it. see whether it goes away quicker. being able to accept the present moment is essential for this)

extra note - you as Self is also imagining the concepts of manifesting and shifting (and all the concepts related e.g. states, 3d, persisting etc).

thinking they the reason why you can get what you want IS FALSE. THOSE ARE YOUR OWN CREATIONS, ARE YOU GOING TO CREATE SOMETHING OUT OF YOUR OWN CREATIONS? [choroukgod]

What is there to be saved from except illusions? And what are all illusions except false ideas about myself? My holiness undoes them all by asserting the truth about me. - acim workbook

so, you know now the reality of who you are and not to identify with the imaginary, lets talk about the desire.

desires are born out of not knowing who you are. if you think you're the body-mind then several hundred concepts are needed to be taken into account to just live.

another snippet

"all these memories, feelings, thoughts and subsequent stories create desires and fears. the mind will try and protect itself and plan for stuff, but it can't. because it's so limited in knowledge & power."

the character wants the desire because of the story it has, the feeling. usually of happiness, love, joy. what you don't know is that that's your standard way of being. so you search everywhere.

the characters main motivation is to find the truth and happiness, underneath the searching is the belief 'i am not okay' or 'i am not enough', which leads to several needs & fears but importantly, need of control, especially of the future. it refuses to sit in the present moment.

desire is completely fine actually, its the attachments to it that make it hurtful. when you don't understand that desire is just another passing sensation, you, as the character, think you NEED it and will not stop until you get it, or you suffer.

you think that theres a world to control. you think that its outside of you. you think that there is a physical world. you're missing the most important info of all: all is Self. all is consciousness. all is awareness. whatever you wanna say. all is you, theres nothing to manipulate now. theres nothing to force now. its all unreal. you as Self, are imagining to be a human with desires that now has to change stuff that they think is real! how exhusting! you don't even need to change yourSelf, Self is perfect!

there's nothing to do.

Self is all. Self is whole. Self is perfect. Self is who you actually are.

there's no transition to Self. you already are that. it's letting go of all the concepts of limitations that is a transition. - i don't remember who said this, maybe lester levenson?

manifesting is not the point. the point is to be free! it's to recognise your true self! not just to feel better or okay .. to BE freedom, to BE peace, love etc. do you want to keep going into imagination to fufilll yourself all the time? you don't have to if you understand that you are fulfillment, you are whole already.

the "world" changing can't sway you because you are complete as you are, when you manifest with the intention to fulfil the desire so you 'physically' get it - you're only gonna feel full when you get the thing .. and then it goes. things cannot fulfil you. what would happen if the clothes get shredded by a dog? your happiness goes. why? why would you place your happiness on a thing that is FINITE?

being in the present moment is best. its literally the only way you live. you can't see into the past or future, there is only now.

The best place to grow is right where you are. The best time is now.

when you're worrying abt the future, you're thinking more. when you're worrying abt the past, more thoughts. in the present moment, you slow down and see what is in front of you now.

when you get caught up in the mind, you can stop yourself halfway (or even after it happens) and go "oh the mind was doing ...", then you start to pick up how much your mind wanders back or forwards. you start to pick up how limiting the thoughts are when you remind yourself that you are not the body or mind. with the understanding that the mind is imaginary -> no need to listen or identify with what's happening. it just is. feelings or emotions that come up into awareness cannot do anything. you are never disconnected from Self.

'oh i want to go [x] but i have to buy a plane ticket and get this and that...' -> if you are not the body-mind you don't have to worry about physically travelling anywhere, you are beyond time and space naturally. you don't have to prepare anything either, the mind wants to plan, but Self is harmonious and all, so whatever you 'need' will come to you. lester actually did this once.

"With full confidence that “everything is A-okay and taken care of,” I packed a bag and walked out of the house."

when you catch yourself in the moment: release and disidentify. you can just disidentify with it immediatly if you want to.

to release a belief or emotion (probs also desires) (sedona method):

welcome the feeling. it doesn’t have to be strong. it is what it is. ask yourself: Could I let it go? Would I let it go? When? then, remembering that you are not the body-mind, answer. deep breath in and out, let relief come if you feel it. read the link for more.

when you ask yourself, “Could I let this feeling go?”, remind yourself that you can let any emotion go, like dropping an object. when you ask yourself, “Would you let the feeling go?”, consider whether you would you rather hold on to pain, stress, and suffering, or, would you rather be free? when you ask yourself, “When?”, what you’re doing is creating an invitation to do it now

it can take some courage depending on the emotion, the character'll want to run away. but sit in the present moment and observe the feelings. ignoring and suppresing is not healthy. the focus is to keep releasing the feeling when it comes up. you can also coax the feelings up yourself.

to disidentify: well, just don't identify with it. just go "oh that's a thought". maybe remember your Self. maybe say 'on this path i constantly give up trouble' and move on. a simple knowing that that is not You, is enough.

surrender. i used to be scared of surrender bcs i thought it'd mean i have to let go of control and i'd get nothing! or just the same thing or worse! i was scared, i as the character was in full force. then some days past and i calm down (and lowkey give up), then i get some experience where it feels like i'm saying 'yes you ARE your true Self, its natural!!' to myself. something happens w/ 0 effort and i'm never suprised tbh (i used to be), it only grows my faith in mySelf. i promise you when you go 'f it idk whats gonna happen, it'll be fine' it'll be okay. but first you need to understand who you are. you trust your Self and just release the stories that tell you you aren't, that you are stuck, that you haven't got it, that you aren't fulfilled etc.

let me rephrase that bcs ppl saying "just believe!" used to piss me off: surrender it all. just stop. on this path you constantly give up trouble. you give up entertaining thoughts that make you feel bad. stop getting annoyed at yourself. stop beating yourself up. stop trying. just let yourself relax. if you want to do something, do it so you can feel better rather than to fix, manipulate, control etc.

all this arguing takes effort. it takes energy to not surrender. its hard to be something you are not. all the effort is being put into being an ego or to resist being it. you're squashing god into a small box and going 'why won't i fit?!' - lester levenson (modified)

Self is perfection, you are not surrendering to get worse, you are surrendering to perfection. Absolute Perfection. your mind only knows like 20 years (less or more!) of experience, in only one way of being. to your Self, there is all.

if theres anything to "do" its recognising stories of limitation and releasing/disidentifying as them.

(although surrendering is put last here. it is actually the first step. it might even be the only step)

self inquiry pointers (do not skip)

could i let go of wanting to get happiness from [insert item] and allow myself to rest as the happiness i am? can i turn [desire] into a desire for freedom? would i rather have the desire or would i rather be free? am i longing for the desire or to get out of pain? can i let go of wanting to change this and let it be as it is? could i let go of [belief]? would i rather believe in [the belief] or know the truth? would i rather believe in [the belief] or be the truth? am i arguing for my limitations?

letting go of ego | haven't read yet, but the skim looked good.

detachment | edwardart

what is the main difference between the now and old? | nisargadatta

go all the way, not just tolerate and endure | lester levenson

the true you | 4dbarbie

self surrender | edwardart

things come to die | heavenlythea (use of the word 3d, but still great post)

manifesting is struggling, life is effortless | 4dbarbie

how did i get something random? | 4dbarbie

attachments | 4dbarbie

some pics to read

after thoughts

i talk abt a method after my you don't need a method post lol, but that method is actually completely for the mind, says it upront and isn't just used for manifesting. in the end you'll stop using this too

could this be a guide to recognising your greatness? maybe?

let go of the insane amounts of responsibility, pressure, and personal attachment you've put on yourself.

#lainsmail #lainsreality #nondualism #nonduality #manifestation #spirituality #do not tag this as any law i will hide in ur walls #self inquiry

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burntsaltsblog · 4 months ago

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tw: mentions of blood, mdni

Chapter Three

"We gotta to take her to the hospital."

"You know we can't do that."

"We can because she's fuckin' dying!"

My body felt like it was floating before my focus settled on a steady throb of pain in my lower stomach.

"Butcher, she's not dying. Her pulse is strong, and since I stitched her up, she hasn't bled whatsoever."

"Then, why the hell ain't she wakin' up?"

"Because she's exhausted. She lost a great amount of blood and wore herself out trying to fucking wrestle you in the van."

Blood.

That word caught my attention. I remembered blood and lots of it as it painted Butcher's knuckles a deep red.

"If she's not up in thirty minutes, I'm takin' her to the emergency room, end of story."

"Butcher, you, and I, and fucking Jesus Christ himself, know that if we step one foot into any medical facility, we will be taken into custody. It's not worth the risk."

"She is. She's worth the risk.

It was quiet for either a few minutes or a few hours. Both timeframes felt the same in my hazy state.

A long sigh broke the spell, followed by more dialogue. "Jo is ok, I promise you. Now, I need to grab the bag of fluids that I left in my room. While I'm gone, don't you dare think about running off with her. I am the only medical professional she needs right now."

Footsteps trailed off as my eyes slowly blinked open to take in my surroundings. I was in the basement of the pawn shop, on the couch that I was still convinced had bed bugs.

"Mornin', sunshine."

The Cockney accent drew my attention, and I looked up at Butcher's tired face. His hazel eyes bored into mine, and memories from earlier flooded my brain.

"Here ya' go," Butcher said, offering me a glass of water.

Upon attempting to sit up and accept the drink, I gasped as my abdomen screamed in pain.

"Woah, there. It's a little soon for you to be up and at 'em, doll. Here, lemme help ya'," Butcher said gently as he laid me back down on the couch and eased a hand under my head, propping it up so I could drink.

Grateful, I eagerly gulped the water, finishing the whole glass in mere seconds and earning a chuckle from Butcher.

"There, ya' go. Down the hatch."

He slowly lowered my head back on my pillow and placed the empty glass on the coffee table behind him before turning back to face me, studying my face in great detail.

"You gave us a right scare there, love."

"At least I know you guys care," I shrugged. "Now, when I do actually drop dead, I'll be expecting a funeral with the works—fireworks, I mean. See if you can get Celine Dion, too. I heard she's available."

I expected another laugh from Billy, but instead, he looked more solemn than ever. His eyes trailed down to where my shirt, a clean one without blood, rode up on my stomach, showing the gauze that MM had wrapped me in.

"I thought I had lost ya'," He mumbled.

It was quiet between us due to the fact that I didn't know how to react to Butcher's surprising words.

"I guess I can relate to the feeling," I finally said as my face hardened. "Since you left me for three months with no goodbye. I thought you were dead."

Butcher bowed his head, "Jo, you have no idea how much I fuckin' regret leaving ya'. But I had no other choice."

"You always have a choice, Butcher." My voice grew louder as my emotions rose in powerful waves. "And you didn't leave me. You fucking abandoned me!"

He cupped my face, but I turned my head, rejecting the physical affection. "Don't," I whispered. "It's too late. You can't just walk back in here and act like nothing happened. Like you didn't fuck me, and then throw me away like garbage the next day."

Butcher's nostrils flared as he rose to his impressive height, towering over me. "Now, listen here-"

"Ok, I'm breaking this up," MM called, reentering the room. "Jo is very weak right now, and I cannot allow her to undergo any extra stress."

"I'm not weak," I quipped back, whipping my head to gaze at MM as he leaned over the back of the couch.

Unconvinced, he asked, "Really? Let me see you try and stand up then."

When I didn't move to rise from the sofa, MM shook his head. "You need fluids and rest. Luckily, neither is hard to obtain." He held up a bag of fluids before hanging it on an IV stand next to him.

"Now," he continued, doling out commands. "Close your eyes and go to sleep. I'll check your stitches in a couple of hours."

"But I'm not tired," I argued.

"The bags under your eyes say otherwise."

"Well, this couch is uncomfortable," I grumbled. "It hurts my back."

"Alright, we'll get you to your room then," MM sighed.

Before I could stop him, Butcher scooped me up into his arms, and I protested loudly. "Hey, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Oi, shut your pie hole," he whispered harshly, fanning the side of my face with his breath that stank of whiskey and dominance. "I'm takin' care of you whether ya' like it or not."

I fought an internal battle before closing my lips and fixing my eyes into narrow slits.

"Good girl."

Air was quickly expelled from my lungs as I exhaled, willing myself not to rub my legs together as an ache settled between them.

But it was no use. Butcher knew the effect he had on me, and from the corner of my eye, I could see a smirk plastered on his face as he carried me to my room, full of arrogance after winning our little quarrel.

"Dontcha worry, darlin'. When you're on your feet again, you can beat me up for being the bad man that I am."

I didn't respond because I refused to be baited into another argument with Butcher. Instead, I kept a pout in place and stared straight ahead, thinking of all the ways that I could cause him physical harm. After all, he had just given me permission to, and it was proving to be quite invigorating.

"And maybe when you're all done, you'll fancy bending over and lettin' me enjoy a meal or two. Because if my memory serves me, you seemed to enjoy it last time."

"Well, the last time was the only time," I curtly informed him as Butcher gently dropped me down on my bed. I inwardly chastised myself for falling for his trap when he flashed his crazy eyes above me.

"Mhm, that's what they all say."

"Well, I mean it," I snapped, pulling my blanket up to my chin as if it would shield me from Butcher's snarky words.

"Sure ya' do," Butcher said condescendingly as he patted me on the head before leaving the room.

I was relieved to be out of his company and was disappointed when he returned, the IV stand with the bag of fluids still hanging from it in tow and other needed supplies grasped in his hand. I watched as he prepared the IV tubing before he sat down on the edge of my bed and huffed, "Give me your arm."

"Why can't MM do it?" I sulked.

"Because I'm doin' it," he replied in a matter-of-fact manner.

I grumbled under my breath, clearly displeased. As I reluctantly drew my arm from under the blanket's coverage, Butcher looked at me with a bushy brow raised. "What? You don't think I'm a suitable nurse?"

"Well, your bedside manners leave much to be desired."

"That's funny. All my other patients think I'm perfectly charmin', especially the older ladies. I didn't know I appealed to nans so much," he snickered, running a calloused finger over my arm, searching for an appropriate vein.

"I'm surprised you appeal to anyone."

"I guess ya' should be questionin' your own taste then, eh?"

"Believe me, I am."

Butcher didn't reply as he wrapped a small piece of fabric around my bicep, creating a makeshift tourniquet.

"Don't look, ok, doll?" he instructed, swiping a cotton ball covered in rubbing alcohol over my arm. My nose wrinkled at the strong smell, and I coughed.

"I don't need an IV," I said, trying to negotiate at the last minute. "I'll drink lots of water. Even that gross electrolyte shit MM buys."

"I don't think that's gonna to cut it, sweetheart," he stated, sliding the needle inside of the small catheter.

I bit my lip, trying to resign myself to my fate but failing miserably.

"M'not gonna hurt ya', ok? Just look at the ceilin' so you don't maul me to death."

"It's not like you wouldn't deserve it."

Butcher closed his eyes as I began to tread on his nerves. "Princess, you outta think before you speak that way to someone who's holdin' a very sharp object inches from you, yeah?"

"But you won't hurt me. You just said so yourself."

"Doesn't mean I'm not tempted."

I rolled my eyes and held my breath as I followed Butcher's wishes and looked at the ceiling. I winced slightly when I felt the needle initially enter my arm, but Butcher gently ran his free hand over my shoulder, distracting me.

"Atta girl," he breathed. "You're doin' so good."

My body trembled as I floated down from my last orgasm. I was vaguely aware of Butcher as he pulled me to lay on his chest, both of us panting.

"Y'alright, sweetheart?"

I could barely reply as my eyelids fluttered open and closed. My mind was full of various thoughts, but none of them made sense as my head floated somewhere above the rest of my body.

"Look at me, doll," Butcher said, running a hand through my hair. "Lemme see them pretty eyes."

I mustered all of my strength to peel my eyes open as I looked up at Billy with a lazy smile on my face.

"There she is. Atta girl," Butcher whispered. "You did so good for me."

Even in my delirious state, I keened under his praise, and Butcher chuckled at my reaction.

"My beautiful girl," he murmured as I nuzzled into his neck, nodding off in the arms of someone I loved.

Yes, I loved Billy Butcher.

He just didn't know it yet.

I held my breath as I forced myself to count the questionable yellow spots on the ceiling and not get lost in yet another memory of Butcher pretending to cherish me. I had just reached the twelfth discolored splotch when Butcher sat back and said, "All done, love."

I looked down at my arm and furrowed my brows in confusion when I saw the catheter fully inserted with some tape to keep it in place. Aside from the initial insertion, I hadn't felt the rest of the procedure.

"Told ya' it wouldn't hurt," Butcher said proudly, crossing his arms over his broad chest, reading my thoughts, which were clearly displayed on my face.

"I guess you're not the worst nurse in the world," I relented.

Butcher's mouth curled up at the side, and I knew my meager compliment had inflated his already oversized ego.

"Well, ain't that sweet of you to say. But don't tell MM, alright? He prides himself on his medical skills."

Butcher delicately adjusted my blanket, pulling it tighter and tucking me in for the night. "Now you have a little lie-down, love. And dontcha let those manky bedbugs bite."

"Are you going to read me a bedtime story while you're at it?" I inquired.

"The only stories I like to tell aren't appropriate for bedtime," Butcher whispered, winking at me.

He headed for the open doorway before turning around at the last second. "Oh, and if ya' need help countin' sheep, just give me a shout. I'll be on the other side of the wall."

I nodded before curling up on my side, trying not to tug too hard on my IV as the door creaked shut, signaling that I was alone. The light from the living room drifted under the doorway, providing a makeshift nightlight and illuminating the small, dingy room.

Sleep came surprisingly soon, and I drifted off, dreaming of Billy's heartbeat under my ear as he held me in his arms.

༺༻

It felt like only minutes later when I woke up due to the sensation of someone's hands on my stomach, and I flinched as my eyes flew open.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," MM apologized. "I was just checking your stitches," he explained as he pulled the bandage back over my abdomen and quickly did the same with my shirt and blanket.

"How does it look?" I asked hesitantly as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"So far, it's holding. But it wasn't my best work with Frenchie going ninety miles an hour and you...evading my help," he sighed.

"Sorry about that," I mumbled sheepishly.

"Hey, don't worry about it, kid. We all have something we're scared of. If I were being held down against my will while someone coughed in my face, I'd have done everything I could to knock their fucking teeth out."

My smile was small as I nodded in gratitude. "What time is it?" I inquired, wondering what day it was as well.

"Noon."

"Noon?" My eyes grew wide as I ran a hand through my matted hair. "Fuck, I must've slept for almost nine hours." Which was rare. These days, I was lucky if I slept for two hours consecutively with the anxiety that ran through my veins and the threats that loomed over our heads.

"Ten, actually. I told you your body needed rest."

I was preparing a comeback when my stomach grumbled loudly, interrupting the conversation.

MM rose to his feet. "By the sound of it, it seems you might want some breakfast. Frenchie made you a get-well gift in the form of French toast. Are you interested?" he asked, and my ears perked up at the offer.

"Sounds really good, actually."

He nodded, patting my shoulder. "Ok. Butcher will be in to help you up."

I groaned loudly, and MM couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry, kid, but Butcher made us all swear not to touch you. I was only granted special permission on the basis that it was purely medical so I could check your stitches."

"He's being ridiculous," I scowled.

MM regarded me knowingly. "I think I'd probably call it something else."

I rolled my eyes, and MM laughed again as he exited my room, leaving the door open.

I barely had time to prepare myself for Butcher's imposing presence when he glided through the uninhibited doorway with a cheery greeting on his tongue.

"Rise and shine, my love. How are we feelin' this mornin?" His accent was especially thick as he wasted no time in raking my blanket back.

I yanked the fuzzy material back over myself, glaring up at the Brit, but he just retaliated by gripping the blanket in one of his paw-like hands and tossing it across the small room.

I eyed the pile of fabric I was unable to retrieve due to my current injury and whined, "Don't leave it on the floor. I just washed it." But I was soon distracted by the chair that sat in the corner facing my bed. I didn't remember seeing that yesterday.

"Who's chair is that?" I asked, pivoting the conversation.

"Mine," Butcher replied as he carefully pulled my IV out and wheeled the IV stand out of the way. "You'll have to forgive me for bringin' my chair in, but I haven't figured out how to sleep standin' up yet."

"You slept in here last night?"

"Well, I don't have bloody x-ray vision, so how else was I s'pposed to keep an eye on you, eh?"

"Did it ever occur to you that not checking on me at all was a viable option?"

"Not in my book," he responded sharply before changing the subject. "Now, let's getcha up. According to MM, you're fancyin' some of Frenchie's cookin'."

Butcher slid an arm under my lower back and slowly pulled me into a sitting position.

"Easy does it, love," he said as I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed through the discomfort. "You got it."

I swung my legs over the side of the bed so my feet rested on the floor, and I braced my palms on my thighs, trying to steady myself.

"Take your time, ok? I don't need ya' rippin' your stitches under my watch," he advised as he laced our hands together and pulled until I was standing on my own two feet. My vision blacked out for a second as the blood rushed from my head down to the rest of my body, and I teetered forward, falling into Butcher's muscular chest.

"I've got ya' sweetheart," he assured me as he held my unstable frame against him.

I pulled back when my vision returned, and I looked up into Butcher's attentive face. "I'm dizzy," I mumbled.

"S'ok. MM said that's normal," he assured me softly, tucking my tangled hair behind my ear.

I wanted to chastise myself for enjoying Butcher's tenderness, but I simply didn't have the energy as I nodded, trying to turn toward the door.

"Do ya' think you can walk?" he asked, resting a protective hand on my back. I'm more than happy to carry you."

"I don't need a chauffeur. I'm perfectly capable of walking," I said, stumbling forward a few steps. I was determined to do something on my own after being coddled for the past twenty-four hours.

Butcher didn't reply, but he didn't remove his hand either in the event that I should fall again. That only increased the pressure I felt to walk faster and show him I was strong enough to move about without any help.

I finally made it out into the open area of the basement and was greeted by everyone. Hughie, Kimiko, and MM wore encouraging smiles as Frenchie placed a tall plate of French toast topped with whipped cream on the coffee table.

"Pour toi, Mademoiselles," Frenchie announced, and I thanked him profusely.

Under Butcher's watchful eye, I eased myself down on the couch, and he quickly followed suit. He placed a supportive arm around my shoulders, and I would've made a snarky comment about him being clingy, but his arm was the only thing keeping me upright at the moment, so I kept my mouth shut.

Butcher placed my breakfast in my lap and whispered in my ear, "Do ya' need me to cut it for you, princess?"

I used all my energy to elbow him in his side, and he breathed out a laugh before addressing the room. "Alright you twats. Let's have a little chin wag about tonight."

My head shot up in confusion as I chewed the first bite of my French toast. The wonderful medley of sugar and cinnamon coated my tongue. However, I couldn't focus on Frenchie's superb culinary skills when the group began discussing a mission to which I was not privy.

"Ok, so after a little bit of trouble due to a very annoying firewall, I was able to hack their systems, and I found a blueprint of the building, so we'll be able to locate her office quicker than just going in blindly," Hughie said, squatting next to the coffee table and spreading out the blueprint that he had just spoken of.

"Who's office?" I interrupted.

Hughie looked confusedly at Butcher, who had remained silent beside me. "You didn't tell her?"

"Tell me what?" I asked skeptically, turning my head to look at Butcher, and he sighed.

"We're breakin' into Raynor's office to have a look around before the CIA cleans it out. Word on the street is that they're doin' it tomorrow, so we've gotta go tonight."

"And you decided this without me?" I asked incredulously.

"You were knocked out, love. Was I s'pposed to wake ya' up in the middle of the night? You're always moaning about how ya' need your beauty sleep."

"Well, that wouldn't have been difficult considering you were two feet away watching me like a fucking peeping tom," I snapped before glaring at the rest of the room. "I'm coming with you."

"No," Butcher said sternly. "You aren't goin' anywhere."

"Yes, I am," I pressed.

I felt Butcher's fingers tighten around my shoulder. "Let's talk about this later, yeah?" he suggested.

"Talk about what later? The mission that I was unaware of or the fact that you won't fucking leave me alone?"

I should've seen it coming, but I was still thrown off when Butcher suddenly stood from the sofa, leaving me to crumple against it without his support. He then stomped to the other side of the basement, only stopping when he reached the corner and sneered at me. "Is this better?"

"Expanetuily," I bit back, clutching my abdomen as it tensed up under the new strain as I stood as well, not finished with what I had to say on the matter. I thought I was holding up well until MM swore, rushing to my side and forcing me to sit back down.

Bemewsed by his behavior, I tried to question him, but when he pulled up my shirt, I saw blood seeping through the gauze, and my heart plummeted.

I had ripped my stitches.

"Hughie, go into my room. On my desk, you will find some supplies. Bring them to me," MM instructed as he made quick work of pulling back the now-damp gauze.

"Fuck, it's worse than what I thought," he sighed. "Nice going, Butcher," he said, throwing a dirty look over his shoulder at his boss, who had remained standing in the corner.

The dig forced Butcher into action as he footed it over to us. "Fuck you. Clearly, I didn't do it on bloody purpose."

"Just get out," MM barked as he accepted the supplies from Hughie.

"No, I'm stayin'," Butcher argued obstinantely.

MM pinched the bridge of his nose. "Butcher, Jo is clearly upset by you being here. So stop being a stubborn motherfucker and get the fuck out."

Butcher's gaze fell on me as lines formed between his thick brows in concern. I knew he was waiting for me to beg him to stay, but I wouldn't do it. His comfort was something I craved like a drug, and it was about time I got clean. Plus, I couldn't deny the sick urge I had to hurt him, to push him away like he did to me when he left for three months.

"Fine," Butcher uttered slowly when I remained silent, "I'll let you other cunts dry this one's tears when she's fuckin' beside herself over a goddamn needle and a little bit of blood."

He pivoted around and swept up the stairs. Seconds later, the old building shook as Butcher forcefully slammed the door.

It was quiet after Butcher's dramatic exit, and MM shook his head, running a needle through a lighter. The deja vu I felt was painfully prominent.

"You ready to try this again, kid?"

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