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cregan-starks · 2 years ago

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Flames of Deceit

Summary: Aemond and Visenya reunite amidst the Dance of the Dragons.

Words: 13,005

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x OC, Cregan Stark x OC

Warnings: canon-typical incest (Aemond and Visenya are cousins, as well as uncle and niece), book and show spoilers, Westerosi geopolitics, mentions of imperialism and slavery, canon-typical violence, war, blood and gore, fire and burning, mass death, mention of amputation, mentions of torture and captivity, mentions and threats of execution and physical harm, mentions of poverty and starvation, parental neglect, food and eating, alcohol and drinking, sexism, victim blaming, slut-shaming, ableist language, explicit language, nudity, smut (vaginal sex in flashbacks), unresolved sexual tension, grief/mourning, trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, survivor guilt, mutual pining, emotional/psychological abuse, verbal abuse, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, and death in childbirth, mentions of child/infant death, mentions of infidelity. If I missed any warnings, please let me know! Under no circumstances can you copy, plagiarize, steal my work, or post it somewhere else!

Notes: This totally didn’t take me almost 7 months to write. Cregan Stark is the protagonist of Fire & Blood. Rise, Cregan nation. My OC Visenya is Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s daughter, and Jace’s older twin. Superfecundation, baby. Visenya and Jace are born in 111 AC, not 114 AC. The Battle in the Gullet still occurs in 130 AC, soon after the events of this one-shot. Reblogs and comments are encouraged and immensely appreciated. If this does well, I’ll post a reader version.

Credits: Huge thank you to my betas @maharani-radha-writes 💛 @aereth 💖 and @shewhomustbecalledking 🩶, and to @haystack-boy @lavendertales @buttercup--bee @agirllovespancakes and @oloreaa for their constant patience and support. It means a lot, and I’m immensely grateful. Apart from my OC Visenya, all characters belong to George R.R. Martin. Gif by @aemondtargaryensource (x)

Ao3 | Masterlist | Next

EARLY 130 AC

HARRENHAL, THE RIVERLANDS

The sheer immensity of Harrenhal had provoked dizziness in Visenya. She had heard the story innumerable times. For four decades, King Harren Hoare had built greedily and obsessively, sacrificing thousands of slaves, and beggaring the riverlands and the Iron Islands. The indestructible construction had been no match for Balerion, whose fire had consumed the tyrant and his sons inside it, ending their line. Most Westerosi believed that the phantoms of the Hoares wandered the castle halls. The fortress is costly to maintain, and it devours its possessors. Qoherys, Harroway, Towers… All extinct. Whether cursed or not, Harrenhal remained a strategic location – the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms.

The current castellan – Larys Clubfoot’s great-uncle – Ser Simon Strong had recently surrendered Harrenhal to Daemon Targaryen. The presence of Caraxes might have contributed to his hasty decision. Following the victory at the Burning Mill and the subsequent submission of Stone Hedge – terminating Green strength in the riverlands – Queen Rhaenyra’s allies had commenced their gathering at Harrenhal, in accordance with the Prince Consort’s stratagem.

Visenya had departed Dragonstone on the same night that Daemon had summoned her, having been granted safe passage by the Velaryon ships patrolling the Gullet. At the outbreak of the war, the Sea Snake’s fleet had closed off Blackwater Bay, choking trade to and from the capital.

As soon as she had dismounted her dragon in the castle yard, she had sensed the eerie ambience that had haunted Harrenhal’s colossal curtain walls and fissured, melted towers. Formidable and dreadful. Harren’s monument and tomb. Blackwing had responded to Caraxes’ fervent shriek with her own, flapping her wings at him. Happy to be reunited.

Her father had offered her a warm welcome and a tight embrace, had even insisted that she sit on his war council, wherein she had befriended Alysanne Blackwood, whom she had grown quite fond of.

At last, Visenya had thought, on the morning that Daemon had sent for her. Though she loved him dearly, her father hadn’t invited her there because he had missed his daughter. Visenya had met with Daemon alone, in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths – she had counted thirty-five – grander than the throne room in King’s Landing, the discolored ceiling looming loftily above them. Her father had donned his chain mail over his crimson tunic.

Does he sleep in that? Or am I the threat?

‘Ser Crispin and the Kinslayer are marching on Harrenhal,’ Daemon had informed her, instead of “good morrow”, pressing a rolled parchment into her palm, ‘They mean to join forces with the Lannisters’, at Stoney Sept.’

Her heart had jolted at the mere mention of his title. Aemond… At the Usurper’s farce of a coronation that the Hightowers had compelled her to attend – dressed in green – Visenya had kissed him farewell, forsaking any glimmer of hope for a future with him. I have demonstrated where my loyalties lie. I have chosen my family.

Her lilac eyes had skimmed over the scrawled message on the sheepskin, the wax sigil foreign to her. The White Worm?

‘You are strangely poised,’ Visenya had observed, suspicious, studying her father’s amused expression.

‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ he had confirmed, smirking wickedly, curling his hand around the hilt of sheathed Dark Sister. Another one of his traps… and he’s pulling me into it. Daemon had gently cradled her cheek, purring, ‘I have a mission for you, sweetling.’

EARLY 130 AC

STONEY SEPT, THE RIVERLANDS

Her host had encamped half a day’s ride from the town, with sufficient provisions for a fortnight. The arduous advance and the muddy soil had wearied men and horses alike, so Visenya had relied on the Greens’ tardiness to provide them with the respite that they had needed.

Her dragon had brazenly exploited that ploy – napping during the day and hunting at night, increasing the risk of being discovered. Surpassed by Vhagar in age and size, Blackwing had never been ridden before a seven-year-old Visenya had claimed her. They shared a temper, a wildness, and a fierce devotion to each other. My twin in dragon flesh, Jace would jest.

‘You have become too spoiled,’ she had reproved, affectionately, tapping Blackwing’s dark scales, heated to the touch.

The beast had objected, idly, releasing a guttural noise, smoke rising from its nostrils.

For five days, her spies had reported nothing of enemy activity. Her anxieties had continued to fester and to gnaw at her. What if I fail? What if I die? I would condemn my people in vain. And Aemond… What am I to do about him?

On the sixth day, the scouts had burst into her tent, blurting that the Greens had arrived at Stoney Sept. The maester had quickly dispatched a raven to Prince Daemon, at Harrenhal.

‘We attack at dawn,’ Visenya had declared, resolute.

I’ll do my best, father.

The fray had been gruesome, stretching for hours upon hours. A thick mist had settled over the Blackwater Rush, impairing visibility. Visenya had been the surprise element, concealing herself to deceive her foes, and striking unexpectedly, in the midst of battle. She had flown on her daunting Blackwing, laying waste to men and reserves indiscriminately, amongst the sounds of steel clashing with steel, shields splintering, arrows whistling, and soldiers screaming as they fought, suffered wounds, and perished. Hundreds of Greens had been engulfed in her dragon’s flames.

Aemond had been slow to deter the princess. Afraid to face me? Visenya and Blackwing had used the fog to their advantage, climbing higher and higher into the sky – the Kinslayer chasing after them on hoary Vhagar.

‘Dracarys!’, she had ordered, and Blackwing had descended on Vhagar, unleashing a cloud of fire that had only incensed the latter.

The dragons had spun, locked in a vicious struggle of claws and fangs, wings thrashing, until Aemond had suddenly swiveled Vhagar, slamming her into Blackwing. Their deafening roars had pierced the air. The collision had knocked Visenya from her saddle – the searing flames licking at her arm – and had sent her plummeting towards the Blackwater below. Having crashed into the Rush, she had surfaced seconds later, her hefty armor and the river’s currents hindering her endeavors to stay afloat. Visenya had looked up, able to distinguish a faint form lunging at another – the beasts’ screeches reverberating far above.

Blackwing will not be coming to my rescue.

Her tribulations hadn’t stopped there. A glimpse at the golden dragon banner of the Pretender, and she had realised that the currents had pushed her in the wrong direction… too late. She had already been spotted by the scouts on the shore, who had alerted their captain. They had aimed their crossbows at her, waiting for the Blackwater to present her to them on a gilded platter. I think not.

Visenya had bitten into the hand of the man who had dragged her out of the water, then she had tossed him into the Rush.

‘Cunt!’, the next attacker had bellowed, charging at her.

Slowed down by her injuries, her movements had been clumsy. Visenya had ducked under his first blow, stumbling to retain her balance. She had unsheathed her sword to parry his second blow, and had driven her blade through his breastplate. She had slashed a guard’s belly, his entrails spilling out. A soldier’s glove had caught her weapon, yanking it from her grasp. Disoriented by a swift welt to the side of her head, Visenya had been tackled to the ground – the impact rendering her breathless. Two fists had savagely pummeled her face, again and again and again – a massive weight crushing her. She had desperately fumbled for her scabbard, had withdrawn her dagger, and had slit her aggressor’s throat. Hot blood had spurted out, blinding her. She had been hoisted to her feet, her dirk wrenched away. Howling with rage and frustration, Visenya had scratched at the man’s eyes with her nails, had kneed another in the groin, and had torn off an archer’s ear with her teeth.

Alas, she had been one enfeebled person against all of the odds… and a dozen Greens. Her apprehension had been inevitable.

The capture of the commander had prompted the capitulation of her army. Visenya had been delivered to Ser Crispin in chains, covered in blood, dirt, and grass, braids disheveled, dragonscale armor soaked, body aching, left arm throbbing. I will not quail. Those traitors will receive no such satisfaction from me.

Attired in the white garments of the Kingsguard, Ser Crispin had been the living depiction of virtue and chivalry. Lickspittle. He had immediately discarded courtesy, referring to her as a “bitch in dragon’s clothing.” In retaliation, Visenya had dubbed him a “sheep in sheep’s clothing”, earning herself a cuff across the face from his steeled gauntlet. Blood had flooded her mouth, her cheek stinging sharply.

Ser Crispin had further commented that her men had been rather committed to her, alluding that she had fucked them to obtain their service. Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.

‘It’s not as high of an honor as warming the Dowager Queen’s bed,’ Visenya had admitted, slyly, and had spat on his boots, ‘Hand of the Usurper. Does he wipe his ass with you?’

Crispin would have hit her again, had the Prince Regent not intervened. Wary, she had surveyed her surroundings for Vhagar – not in evidence. I might wind up her supper.

‘Enough, Cole,’ Aemond had interrupted, solemn, causing Visenya to tense, drawing their attention to where he had been standing, imposing, smeared with ashes and smoke, ‘She may be our prisoner, but she is still a princess, and shall be treated as befits her station.’

Any shred of scorn had abandoned her, ousted by fear and uncertainty. Her father had foreseen this. If you bend, you will break. Remember who you are. She had inhaled deeply, striving to even her respiration. I am the blood of the dragon, daughter of Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, and heir to the Iron Throne. I will not cringe for them.

Aemond had instructed the maids to prepare her a bath and a warm meal, and to fetch her dry clothes. Visenya had grinned, baring her bloody teeth at Ser Crispin, as the guards had led her away. She had been escorted along the smoldering ruins of houses, inns, and brothels, trampling charred corpses – mindful of her step. Carrion crows had circled above, the timid sun peeking from grey clouds. The foul, stifling stench had twisted her stomach, tears needling her eyes. Mine and Aemond’s handiwork. Only the sept, the square, and the trout-shaped fountain had remained intact. When dragons flew to war, everything burned, her mother had warned at the Black Council. What have the people of Stoney Sept done to merit this devastation? What power do they have over their lives? We play our grisly game of thrones, and the commonfolk bear the immeasurable cost.

The encampment had spread interminably – miles of pavilions, armories, forges, stables, latrines, wagons, and baggage trains – crawling with Greens cussing, mocking, and shouting at captives, pages distributing letters, squires polishing armor, honing weapons, feeding, watering, and combing horses, patrols walking to their posts, smiths hammering boisterously, cooks chopping vegetables, skinning rabbits, disemboweling deer, and roasting boars, giggling washerwomen hurrying by, and maesters ministering to the wounded. The turmoil had imbued Visenya’s senses. Mesmerised, she had watched a wailing, writhing man have his leg amputated, until one of her assigned guardians had shoved her forward.

She had assumed that Blackwing had flown away… but, having escaped the battle unscathed, and always loyal to a fault, her dragon had landed in the enemy’s camp, razing barracks and roaring ferociously, seeking its rider. After it had mauled the Greens who had attempted to approach it and shackle it, Aemond had begrudgingly permitted Visenya to comfort her feral companion. Blackwing had nuzzled its snout against her, coiling its tail around her, protectively, while Visenya had murmured “lykirī”, caressing its scales – her taut restraints impeding the action. Her chest had constricted agonisingly when the traitors had forcibly separated them. I will return for you, I promise.

She had been ushered into a vacated chamber, where the maids had obediently unchained her wrists, had removed her armor, had unbraided her hair, and had helped her undress for her bath, evading her glare and her nakedness – scarcely addressing her. What grim tales have they been told about me? Under the ewerers’ supervision, Visenya had washed herself – her uninjured arm vigorously scrubbing her skin with a bar of soap – and had dried off on her own, using cloths and rags. They have taken away my gear. Her indignation dwindling, she had slipped on the plain shirt, brown breeches, pelts, and a pair of flat shoes that they had brought her – tucking her salvaged brooch in her pocket. Is this meant to humble me?

She had sluggishly eaten her bland yet nourishing food, on a bench, by a candle, goggled at by blushing serving lads.

Aemond had summoned her to his tent, along with the maesters, who had cleansed her burns, had applied a poultice that had reeked of lavender and vinegar, had bandaged her arm, and had rubbed balms on her cuts, bruises, and split lip. Visenya had endured their ministrations in utter silence, grinding her teeth and clenching her fists. She and Aemond hadn’t exchanged a single word.

The pavilion had been modest for the Prince Regent, consisting of a firepit, an oaken war table – stripped of its tomes, maps, scrolls, ink, and wax – chairs, rugs, and a featherbed, with books scattered atop it. The colors red and black dominated the tent of a proud and eminent Green, who carried the golden banner of the Pretender. Aemond cannot deny his Targaryen heritage. Had Otto Hightower dyed his locks silver-white and ridden a dragon, he could have sat his ass on the Iron Throne and ruled in his own name. Instead, he urged the King to make my mother his heir, coerced his daughter to seduce him, and installed his grandson on the throne. Puppets upon puppets, plots within plots.

With the maesters dismissed, Visenya finally had the opportunity to regard Aemond. He hadn’t changed much since she had last seen him, at his brother’s false coronation. In the fire’s light, he had been a sight to behold; the flames illuminating his attractive, distinctive features, his mouth seemingly lodged in a permanent smirk, his eyepatch obscuring his missing eye, his tresses cascading down his back. Aemond had cleaned himself up, shedding his armor – now resting on a rack – for his usual black leather tunic, fastened with a belt that had his sheathed dagger attached to it, and a lengthy coat sewn with fur around the neck. He cast a tall shadow in the pavilion, his posture impeccable. Half dragon, half feline.

‘There’s a lack of dresses,’ informs Aemond, obdurately calm, retrieving a flagon of wine and two cups from the servant at the tent’s entrance, ‘And we had to find clothes that would suit you.’

‘I gather that there’s some poor stable boy currently running around naked,’ quips Visenya, tugging the pelts around herself.

Aemond huffs through his nose, amused, and sets one of the goblets on the table, proceeding to fill it with Arbor Red for her. The war evidently hasn’t affected the Usurper’s notorious love of drinking. Lord Redwyne smelled profit, and pledged his support to the Greens, to ensure that their wine supply never dries. An onerous task. The Pretender has ample ambition in that respect.

‘Don’t fret,’ assures Aemond, upon heeding Visenya’s skeptical, arched eyebrow, ‘It’s not poisoned.’

‘Surely someone spat in it,’ she guesses, convivial, swirling the liquid in her cup.

Aemond smiles, drinking his wine. Visenya tentatively lifts her goblet to her lips, and sips. Delectable flavors invade her mouth, soothing her nerves – albeit a little. She mulls over her next words… half carefully.

‘I reckoned that you and Ser Crispin would share a pavilion,’ she confides, lewdly, crossing one leg over the other, ‘Though your prides would not fit together.’

Aemond’s gaze darkens, his mouth subtly pressing into a thin line. His disposition could make Mushroom miserable... and it has.

‘You could lose your tongue for such insolence,’ he cautions, sternly.

‘Stale news,’ suspires an indifferent Visenya, ‘I can write this down as well.’ She pauses to take a swig, then demands, bluntly, ‘Where is Blackwing? And my men?’

‘The dragonkeepers are tending her,’ explains Aemond, irritation in his tone, leaving his empty cup on the table, ‘Your men are being questioned.’

Good fortune. They know nothing. The laughter and singing outside contradict Aemond’s claim. Drunk on victory. A weakness that she could later exploit. If I could reach Blackwing… lest they harm her.

‘Blackwing was your companion prior to Vhagar,’ she mentions, heatedly, flexing and unflexing her hand, ‘If you touch her–’

‘You are in no position to launch threats, Visenya,’ chastises Aemond, coldly, prodding at the logs with a poker, the wood crackling in the fire, ‘Your treatment depends on my good will. As does your fate. You have my word that Blackwing will not be harmed.’

‘The word of a kinslayer,’ spits Visenya, venomously, eyes darting to him, ‘If you are under the impression that minor acts of benevolence shall convince me to talk, you are gravely mistaken. You overestimate my family’s trust in me.’

‘They trusted you enough to put you in command of an army four thousand strong,’ reminds an earnest Aemond, ‘And you expect me to believe that you have no knowledge of your twin’s whereabouts?’

I wouldn’t trade Jace for the Iron Throne. ‘We shared a womb, not a brain,’ she corrects, tracing the rim of her goblet with her digits, contemplating refilling it. I need my wits about me. ‘You are wasting your time, nuncle. Mine, too. Fetch your torturers, and be done with all this bother.’

‘I will do no such thing,’ he rebuffs, inclining his head.

‘You will torture me yourself?’, asks Visenya, feigning innocence, brushing her loose silver-white hair over her shoulders.

‘You are being difficult, Visenya,’ he accuses, exasperated.

‘What do you intend to do with me?’, she interjects, involuntarily fiddling with her absent rings, ‘Executing me would be unwise. I presume that you will have my dragon killed, and me delivered to King’s Landing, where your usurper of a brother awaits, warming my mother’s rightful seat… or is he still broken and bedridden, lost in poppy dreams?’

‘Mind your tongue, Visenya,’ warns Aemond, louring at her, melting some of her resolve.

‘The Clubfoot will probably throw me in a cell and dispatch his floggers to visit me,’ she concludes, scratching her thigh. Stable boy must have had fleas.

‘I’m not sending you to King’s Landing,’ announces Aemond, with apparent mirth towards her gesture.

‘You will ransom me to my father?’, taunts Visenya, smirking wickedly, ‘He’s the poorest man in the Seven Kingdoms.’ Aemond’s demeanor refutes her insinuation. She continues, all semblance of jest vanishing, ‘You cannot justify keeping me here. Once the Pretender learns about my capture, he will order you to send me to King’s Landing.’

‘Aegon does not concern me,’ he grumbles, clasping his hands behind his back.

‘Pār ivestragī nyke jikagon,’ she advises, coyly. Aemond hums, musing, a glimmer in his eye that doesn’t indicate outright negation. ‘We are at war, and you allow your feelings to cloud your judgment?’ (Then let me go.)

‘Iksi daor rȳ vīlībāzma,’ argues a mild Aemond. (We are not at war.)

So, you did not slaughter Luke? That’s a consolation. ‘Iksis bona skoro syt emā daor ossēntan nyke?’, inquires Visenya, masking her anger. (Is that why you have not killed me?)

‘Killing you would be as imprudent as freeing you,’ he reasons, purposely oblivious, ‘You are worth more alive than you are dead. You lost a fair battle, you surrendered, and now you are my prisoner.’

‘I’ve heard stories about how you and Ser Crispin treat your prisoners,’ she disputes, mordant, ‘And I never yielded. You ride the largest dragon in the world. That’s hardly a fair match.’

Cole and the Usurper’s forces had sacked the port town of Duskendale, putting the ships at the harbor to the torch, hundreds of men, women, and children to the sword, and beheading Lord Gunthor Darklyn for supporting her mother’s cause. Hundreds more had been massacred at Rook’s Rest, where Lord Staunton, too, had been relieved of his head. Besieged by the Greens, he had barricaded himself inside his castle walls, and had requested assistance from the Blacks. With Prince Daemon at Harrenhal, and Queen Rhaenyra griefsick in the aftermath of her son’s murder, command of the Black Council had passed to the Velaryons. Rhaenyra had forbidden her children from answering their ally’s plea, so Princess Rhaenys had flown to Rook’s Rest instead. She and Meleys had fallen in battle against the Pretender, the Kinslayer, and their dragons. Sunfyre had been rendered flightless, the Usurper had suffered severe burns, and Aemond had assumed the title of Prince Regent – to rule in lieu of his older brother.

Visenya’s side hadn’t fared any greater. A wroth Sea Snake had blamed Rhaenyra for his wife’s demise. Jace had named him Hand of the Queen, to appease him – a measure that Visenya had commended. Better than Ser Crispin.

‘You ambushed us,’ reiterates Aemond, incredulous, ‘We would have presented you with terms, to avoid bloodshed.’

Oh, please. You don’t believe that. ‘Fuck your terms,’ curses Visenya, waving dismissively, ‘I suppose that being twice a kinslayer would have marred the carcass of your reputation.’

‘I spared your life,’ he chides, vaguely baleful.

‘A clemency that you did not extend to my brother,’ she sneers, bilious, her nails digging into the table’s surface.

‘Half-brother,’ deadpans Aemond, promptly.

‘If you had to slay your own kin, personally, I would have picked your dear brother, the Pretender,’ proffers Visenya, honeyed.

‘Perhaps you should have killed him,’ he retorts, untroubled, ‘You had your chance.’

Her family had gone to King’s Landing for the Driftmark petition, where her father had created a ghastly spectacle – publicly beheading Vaemond Velaryon for defaming her mother and her brothers. The Targaryen method of solving quarrels. Viserys himself had sat the throne, and had favored Luke as the heir to Driftmark – adhering to the Sea Snake’s wishes.

Due to his declining health, the King had been the first to retire during the subsequent supper that they had all attended. Visenya hadn’t been surprised by his condition; she had frequented the capital, unlike her parents and her siblings. The gathering had soon turned disastrous. Jace had invited Helaena to dance with him – offending Aegon and Aemond. She is so sweet. Alicent had been evil to marry her off to that cunting demon. None of them deserve her. Visenya herself had danced with Daeron, grinning the entire time. We had once been engaged... I could have loved him. He would have been a dutiful Prince Consort and a doting father to our children. Aemond had toasted to her Velaryon brothers, referring to them as “strong.” Fighting had erupted betwixt her siblings and her uncles, and her father had intervened to break them apart.

That evening, her family had sailed for Dragonstone, but Aemond had insisted that she stay in King’s Landing with him. Against her better judgment, Visenya had accepted. She ponders whether it had been a ploy of the Greens to take her hostage, and Aemond had simply played his part. Her grandsire had tragically expired overnight – poisoned by the Hightowers, according to her father. Visenya isn’t so certain. He hadn’t required meddling. He had been rotting for decades.

On the morrow, the Greens had locked her in her chambers. Visenya had refused to swear obeisance to Aegon – had even spat in his face – and to bow at his false coronation. Blackwing and the Princess Rhaenys had come to her rescue – emerging from underneath the Dragonpit on Meleys. Visenya had mounted her dragon, and had addressed the crowd, her voice clear and fierce, laced with fury.

“People of King’s Landing! The Hand and the Dowager Queen deceive you. King Viserys named my mother the Princess Rhaenyra heir to the throne. For twenty-four years, the succession remained indisputable and unchanged. Rhaenyra is the rightful and lawful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By crowning Aegon, the Hightowers have committed the highest of treasons and have usurped the Iron Throne, violating the King’s will. Aegon shall show you neither kindness nor wisdom. Remember today. Remember that you lived by the mercy of Rhaenys the Queen Who Should Have Been and myself. If the Hightowers do not cease in their treachery and do not bend the knee, I vow to return with fire and blood!”

Blackwing had roared so intensely that the Conqueror’s crown had been hurled from the Pretender’s head.

Aemond has the right of it. We could have bathed Aegon in flame, quelled their rebellion then and there.

On Dragonstone, the news of Viserys’ death and the Hightowers’ betrayal had driven her mother into an early labor. Her father had descended into madness, determined to levy war. Their losses had continuously piled… and the Seven Kingdoms would bear the cost.

‘I am no kinslayer,’ snarls Visenya, slighted by the idea, tearing her gaze away from Aemond.

‘I made you a generous offer that would have foiled the war,’ he broaches, the grievous memory still raw for him.

Oh, how could I have displayed such ingratitude? She wouldn’t describe his proposal to marry him and rule together as “generous.” It had been an odious humiliation. Aegon – who had not wanted the throne, declaring himself “unsuited” – would have embarked upon a ship and departed Westeros permanently. The Iron Throne is not his to relinquish. Visenya knows that Aemond has no love for his father, but asking her to usurp her mother’s throne? An audacious affront. She had vehemently spurned him, and they had traded sour words – their prides injured.

‘Our families would have started a war to kill us for it,’ drones Visenya, flatly, ‘And what of my parents? They would have never abided by your… solution.’

‘They have no consideration for your happiness and welfare, yet you still toil in their service,’ observes Aemond, provocatively.

‘And you have?!’, she opposes, her fist slamming on the table, ‘You conspired to usurp the throne and slaughtered my brother, the Princess Rhaenys, and their dragons. You are in no position to launch accusations.’

‘Even now, you feel compelled to defend them,’ he comments, dejected.

‘Lucerys was my blood!’, snaps Visenya, wrathful, standing from her seat and storming up towards him – stopping a couple of feet in front of him.

‘As am I!’, booms Aemond, towering over her, ‘And you have never defended me half as much as you did him! He took my eye when I was but ten, and to even that the imp felt entitled, while you gladly dismissed it as an accident and moved on!’

Outside, Blackwing and Vhagar grow agitated, shrieking and flitting their wings, stirring the wind. It seemed to Visenya that Aemond had often been harsher on her than he had been on Lucerys. He loves me… or he used to.

‘It was an accident,’ she maintains, tamer, ‘We were children. Our parents mishandled everything. I’ve told you numerous times that I profoundly regret what happened to you. It’s the truth. I cannot undo Luke’s actions.’

It’s been ten years since then, and forgetting the incident has been impossible. Aemond wears the consequences of it on his face, in his daily life. Our unease at the sight of his gash is a small price to pay.

He had delivered several blows – and had broken Luke’s nose – afore he had been overwhelmed by all five of her siblings, and Lucerys had slashed one of his eyes. Visenya’s absence from the fight had spared her from the interrogation, wherein Rhaenyra had suggested that Aemond be “sharply questioned”, Alicent Hightower had demanded Luke’s eye to compensate for Aemond’s, and Viserys had been eager to abandon his conciliatory obligation. The discord had exposed the personal feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent – their rhetoric diverting from “vile insults were levied against my sons” and “my son has lost an eye” to “duty and sacrifice are trampled under your pretty foot” and “you have been hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness.” The Queen had gone so far as to attack the Princess – slitting her arm with the King’s dagger.

Visenya hadn’t spoken at all – displeasing Aemond and her siblings. To her, matters hadn’t been so absolute. Although Aemond had claimed Vhagar too soon – disrespecting Laena Velaryon’s memory – his assault and maiming had been unwarranted. I love Rhaena dearly, but Vhagar was not stolen. The dragon never belonged to her. Aemond and Vhagar chose each other. Visenya had later communicated her opinions to him, and she had reassured her sister that she would have a dragon.

The next morning, the Targaryens and the Hightowers had exchanged false courtesies and falser apologies. Her family’s exile to Dragonstone hadn’t prevented Visenya from writing letters to Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron, or from flying on Blackwing to visit them in King’s Landing.

Alas, the bloody seeds of strife had been sown.

‘No, you cannot,’ concurs Aemond, glancing at her lips, ‘No one can. That is why I sought justice for myself.’

‘Justice?’, echoes Visenya, disdainful, her glare piercing, ‘Had you had your other eye, you would still be as blind as you are now.’

Aemond growls, lashing out and grabbing her roughly, their lower bodies pressing together. Visenya glowers at him defiantly, placing her hands on his breast, to preserve some distance betwixt their upper bodies. The effort shoots a jolt of pain along her arm.

If he meant to scare her, he failed. Aemond would not harm me.

‘Hold your tongue, Visenya,’ he exhorts, through gritted teeth.

‘Or what?’, she challenges, her face inching closer to his, ‘You will have it removed? You will butcher me as you did my brother?’

‘You are brazen, to speak of your half-brother, of my wrongdoings and my crimes,’ berates Aemond, his jaw clenching, ‘What of your family? What of my nephew Jaehaerys?... Iā tresy syt iā tresy. Nyke gīmigon īles aōha kepa.’ (A son for a son. I know it was your father.)

Aware of what Aemond alluded to, Visenya hesitates, her response withering on her tongue.

After the tragedy at Storm’s End, a raven from her father had arrived at Dragonstone. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged. She had deduced that Daemon had hired the assassins who had executed Prince Jaehaerys – the Usurper’s six-year-old heir – with Alicent, Helaena, and the latter’s other children as witnesses. Visenya had confronted him about his heinous deed at Harrenhal. Undaunted, her father had firmly admonished that the “pious one-eyed flea of a traitor who slobbers over you” had slain her brother.

In retaliation for Jaehaerys, the Pretender had sent Ser Arryk Cargyll to Dragonstone, to assassinate Jace and Joffrey. The knight had entered the castle in his Kingsguard attire, disguised as his twin Ser Erryk – Queen Rhaenyra’s loyalist – whom he had encountered on his way to the royal apartments. By the conclusion of their duel, the two had mortally wounded one another.

I owe the Hightowers nothing, least of all my sympathy. Children should not be the target of our ire. How do we differ from the Greens if we perpetrate and perpetuate the same crimes that they do?

‘Nyke ēdan daorun naejot gaomagon rūsīr bona,’ clarifies Visenya, sincerely, albeit faintly. (I had nothing to do with that.)

‘No, you are merely the spectator,’ scoffs Aemond, haughty, ‘Proudly passing judgment while others bloody their hands. You are passive. Passive in your beliefs, your guilt, your love.’

Visenya blinks against the tears that prick her eyes, her breath hitched. His cruel and bitter words cut deeply, rooted in years of grievances, enmities, neglect, and abuse. Aemond had once been a sweet, innocent boy – her closest friend, her betrothed. He’s the product of his conditions, his upbringing, and his parents’ influence… as am I. Both confined in a prison of our parents’ sins. Perhaps we inevitably inherit the burdens of our forebears.

Though Visenya may not be the sole reason for his resentment, she is present. Aemond hadn’t blamed her for her family’s actions. He condemned her for not loving him enough. That is unfair. I’m not culpable of that.

A consuming poison has been dribbling inside of her, on the verge of gushing. Visenya has strayed too near to the edge – now wavering, uncertain whether she wishes to tread the line and unravel the truth. That is not why I am here...

... but her decision has already been established.

The truth is important to me.

Summoning her courage, Visenya reaches behind Aemond’s head to peel off his eyepatch, lifting the veil between them. I need to see him, so that he cannot deceive me. She tosses the item aside, neither shrinking nor averting her gaze. She caresses his face, drinking him in – his scar, the sapphire in his eye socket, the flesh that had healed crookedly. Aemond tenses, watching her intently, his respiration ragged. His grip on her slackens.

‘Gōntan ao ossēnagon zirȳla kesrio syt hen issa?’, murmurs Visenya, circling his wrists, impeding his retreat. (Did you kill him because of me?)

At the Black Council, Jace and Luke had offered to act as their mother’s messengers, to acquire support for her claim. The twins had been tasked with the difficult mission – negotiating with the Eyrie, the Three Sisters, White Harbor, and Winterfell. Lady Jeyne Arryn would declare for Rhaenyra if dragonriders defended the Vale. Jace and Visenya had met with Lords Borrell and Sunderland at Sisterton, and at White Harbor, they had arranged for Joffrey to marry Lord Desmond Manderly’s youngest daughter.

The news of Luke’s death had accosted them in the Vale. Visenya had collapsed in Jace’s arms, wailing as her twin had embraced her tightly. She had agonised over her brother’s demise every night, plagued by what she could have done to save him, weeping into a tumultuous sleep. Visenya had never listened to the rumors and the gossip. Lucerys had been her family, her brother, her blood. I fed him, bathed him, read to him, sparred with him, played with him… yet I could not protect him from Aemond.

She possesses little knowledge of what had occurred betwixt Luke and Aemond at Storm’s End. The weather had been atrocious, her brother’s dragon too small to withstand it. In the following days, bits of Arrax’s carcass had washed up on the shore of Shipbreaker’s Bay. Luke had never been recovered. He may have died a dragonrider’s death, but he had died alone and afraid. Had his demise been slow and painful, or swift and painless? Her brother had sworn on the Seven-Pointed Star that he would not fight – merely deliver the Queen’s message. Aemond had taken no such oath. Had Visenya known, she would have held on to Luke and besought him not to go.

If I had flown to Storm’s End in his stead, Aemond could have slain me, and my brother would still be alive.

‘Daor,’ whispers Aemond, at last. (No.)

Visenya stifles a sob, tears escaping her eyes, dampening his thumbs. She foolishly believed that her grief would wane. His confession barely scrapes the surface. Visenya feels no relief, no closure. Has she been on an erroneous campaign to absolve herself of any responsibility, to alleviate her own conscience, and to forgive Aemond – chasing these ends to the detriment of Luke’s memory? If I wanted to bring justice to my brother, I would have slit his killer’s throat and let him bleed out on the ground.

When Aemond succumbs and pulls her into him, Visenya doesn’t resist. The buckles of his tunic are cold and rough against her cheek, contrasting the warmth that he radiates. She releases the exhale that she has been withholding. Her greatest flaw rears its hideous head – a flaw that has sown division amongst her family and has rendered her an outcast. Visenya had suffered for her refusal to forsake her friendship with Aemond, enduring disapproving scowls from her parents, mean jests and malicious accusations from her siblings, and a lack of compassion – all serving to remind her of her tenuous position.

Her proximity to Aemond had even prompted her mother to spurn her as her heir – arguing that he would undermine her as Queen. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. I am the eldest child. By all rights, the throne should pass to me.

Shoving those thoughts away, Visenya clutches his sides, sobs wracking her body. Aemond timidly buries his mouth in her locks, breathing in her scent.

‘Daor,’ he repeats, definitively, cradling the back of her head. (No.)

The remainder of her defenses crumble. Visenya loathes that she errs, that she seeks and welcomes comfort from the man who is the source of her sorrow. With the realm plunged into war after Lucerys’ death, there has been no time to mourn – not for her grandsire Viserys, nor her sister Aemma, nor her brother Luke.

An unavoidable war. We are Valyrian, and prone to violence. A testament to power corruption. Prior to the blood magic, the dragons, and the conquests, Valyrians had been a peaceful community of shepherds. They had become increasingly tyrannical and ambitious as their power had soared. The peak of our Freehold… and its ruin. Forewarned about the Doom by Daenys Targaryen’s prophetic dream, her forebears had fled to Dragonstone – a venture that the other, unsuspecting dragonlords had considered cowardice and had ridiculed. We had the last laugh.

Targaryens have always been stubborn, passionate, fierce. Visenya is no exception. Despite their families’ hopes and despite his crimes, her love for Aemond hasn’t dwindled. Their bond is too strong, their souls and fates entwined. I am the blood of the dragon. Nobody dictates whom I love.

And love is seldom simple.

Aemond brushes his lips over her temple, causing her skin to tingle. Visenya lifts her eyes to meet his, and recognises the same ache and longing that lay dormant inside her. Affection blooms in her chest. She could stop this from flourishing, spare them both the misery. As children, they had found solace in each other’s company whenever their families had been the reason for their anguish, so they had promised to never hurt one another.

A part of Visenya still yearns to love Aemond freely. Must her logic always be at odds with her emotions? The only man that I have ever desired, and I have been deprived of him my entire life. I have never been in control. The forbidden aspect merely furthers the appeal of the dalliance. She wants to surrender to the temptation, repercussions be damned.

Visenya traces his mouth with her fingertips, reverently, and strokes his face – recommitting it to memory. Aemond leans into her touch, reveling in the gesture, his respiration shallow. The tips of their noses graze against each other. He wipes her tears before his digits fall on the sides of her neck, feeling her quickening pulse under the pads of his fingers. Aemond’s eye gleams with lust, igniting the same blaze within her. She peers at him from underneath her lashes, drowning in the depths of his blue eye. A shiver runs down her spine. Her lips tremble in suspense, the proximity making her dizzy.

Aemond dips his head to capture her mouth in a tentative kiss. Visenya surges upwards to reciprocate, inhaling sharply through her nose, eyes slipping shut. Their lips mold together, their flame rekindled. His large, calloused hands grip her jaw, to guide her. She splays her hands over his chest, fisting the lapels of his coat, desperate to draw him closer. Visenya parts her lips, granting him entrance, tasting the lingering flavor of the wine that they had shared earlier. A familiar ardor seeps into her belly, immersing her body. Her fire has burned quietly for too long. Now, it has stirred again, emboldened to emerge.

Aemond sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, splitting it and sucking the blood, famished. Visenya groans, her breath blowing the loose strands of hair that cover his forehead. Her knees weaken, and she grasps his shoulders for support, grateful that he wraps his arm around her middle. Her pelts land on the floor. Aemond steps forward, backing her into the table, and hoists her on it impetuously.

Aemond kindly adjusts his belt, to remove the dagger betwixt them. The irony isn’t lost on Visenya. She spreads her legs, inviting, allowing him to settle between them. He sprawls over her, caging her in, his heavy weight almost crushing her against the table’s rigid, uncomfortable surface. His silky hair cascades around her head, framing his face, conferring a strange sense of privacy. Visenya peppers delicate pecks over his chin, continuing along his jaw, her digits prodding at his smooth neck.

She fervidly awaits a kiss that never comes. Aemond hums affably, his arrogant smile shooting to her core. Their breaths mingle, his hands traveling up and down her sides with modest curiosity. Visenya huffs in exasperation, and shifts, ticklish, the heels of her feet digging into his ass. Her thumb catches his lower lip, pressing into it. Aemond holds her gaze, parting his lips enough to engulf her thumb. He swirls his tongue over it afore sucking on it gently. She watches him, captivated, her mouth slightly agape.

The knot in her belly snaps, her patience having thinned, ousted by resolve. She pushes him off, so she can sit up, impelling him to stand. Aemond obliges without objection. Visenya hooks her fingers in his belt, to bring him nearer, and deftly unbuttons his tunic, revealing his bare chest – inch by inch. She drinks in the sight, caressing his glistening skin. The intolerable heat induces sweat to drip betwixt her breasts and to trickle down her spine.

She leans in, only for Aemond to jerk his head away and deny her another kiss – the tip of her nose bumping against his cheek. He smirks, conceited, despite his ruddy complexion. Visenya gnashes her teeth, intent on retribution. Straightening her body, and looping her uninjured arm around Aemond, she licks his earlobe and bites it softly, eliciting a growl from him. He squeezes her hips in silent warning, and sneaks a hand under her shirt, to fondle her breast and pinch her nipple until it stiffens. Visenya moans, hushed, her head lolling back into her shoulders.

Aemond rests his free hand on the base of her throat, his digits winding around it, lips latching onto her exposed neck. Visenya suppresses her whine, the air deserting her lungs. He incessantly strokes her bosom, his teeth abusing the sensitive skin of her neck. She drops her arms – mindful of her wounds – one hand surrounding his wrist, her other fumbling, blindly cupping his hardened member through his breeches. A salacious grunt rolls out of Aemond’s mouth, filling the tent.

His fingers release her throat to tangle in her tresses, and yank, his hips grinding against hers, creating friction. He withdraws his lips from her, and tugs her hand away, his other hand raking down her abdomen. Her chuckle turns into a gasp as Aemond languidly rubs the wet area between her legs, his breath fanning her face. Visenya relishes in the waves of pleasure enveloping her body, her spine arching, though her soaking cunt clenches around nothing. She heaves her thighs higher, hugging his waist – lest he dare pull away from her.

A metal item pokes at her thigh.

My brooch.

Visenya peels her eyes away from him, scrambling to salvage her composure. Aemond ceases his ministrations. He raises her chin with his thumb and forefinger, coaxing her to look at him. Her heart stutters, her vision bleary beneath his suffocating leer. The clouds in his eye have cleared… or he conceals them well. Their lips crash in a frantic kiss – her veins aflame, scalding. He swallows her wanton moan, kneading the flesh of her ass. Aemond cannot fool me. A constant tempest festers within him, ravenous for blood and revenge. Visenya would never be able to tame it. Nothing would.

Numbing remorse smothers her fire. She had forgotten herself and her loyalties. She breaks the kiss, tasting ashes on her tongue. His mouth chases hers, his hand curling around the nape of her neck, to reunite their lips. Aemond bends her back, cradling her against him – the pressure on her shoulder tearing a whimper from her. He lays a tender, apologetic kiss there. Her digits slide into his locks, thwarting him. Visenya stares at the shadows dancing across the ceiling of the pavilion – Aemond’s head pillowed on her breasts.

What am I doing? Where am I going? With him? Distant limbs envelop her, lips ghosting over her skin. He licks a stripe up the column of her throat and nips at it, nuzzling his nose against her neck. I would never betray my family. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. The dream is over. Bury it, and crawl out of this bottomless pit of vipers.

He has been stretching seconds into minutes, delaying the inevitable, but he cannot stop it. The die has been cast.

‘Aemond, wait,’ pants Visenya, her own voice foreign to her, her nails clawing at his back, ‘We cannot. I am–’

‘Betrothed?’, deadpans Aemond, cocking his head to peek at her, crimson lips swollen, hair and clothes disheveled, ‘I’m aware. Your half-brother told me, at Storm’s End.’

Her heart leaps into her throat, yet Visenya falters, preferring to disregard his comment and its implications. If Aemond and Lucerys had exchanged insults – and her brother had mentioned her betrothal – it might have incited the former to attack the latter. A door best left shut.

‘Lord Stark is a good man–’

‘Have you sunk so low?’, criticises Aemond, reproach etched on his features, ‘You are a Targaryen princess, the blood of Old Valyria. Dragons do not mate with other beasts, and we do not consort with lesser men.’

Visenya blinks in incredulity, scanning his face for any indication of pretense. He has been collecting dangerous beliefs. Undoubtedly the result of Ser Crispin’s and Alicent Hightower’s influence. King Viserys had been too neglectful to bear any blame in that respect. He’s overly culpable in innumerable other matters.

‘If I have sunk low, I do not wish to imagine what hell you wander in,’ she retorts, dour, shoving him away, her lower back pressing against the edge of the table, ‘I do not require lessons on our heritage. Valyria is gone. I do not adhere to the Doctrine of Exceptionalism, nor do I delude myself about our superiority. According to this logic, your Westerosi mother is lesser. Everybody has their history and their pride. The Starks are the blood of the First Men, descendants of Bran the Builder. Cregan is my equal, and I will not bring him dishonor. You once said something similar to me, when we were younger.’

Visenya purposely omitted that Cregan would have taken additional offence if Aemond – a usurper and a kinslayer – had been her choice of paramour. Following the annulment of her betrothment to Aemond, she had snuck into his bedchamber, and had urged him to claim her maidenhood. It would have compelled our parents to marry us to each other. He had adamantly refused, reiterating that he would dishonor her by doing so. Visenya wonders whether his consent would have changed the tide, whether he rues his decision now… were he capable of it.

‘I remember,’ mutters Aemond, cupping her cheeks, brushing his nose against hers, ‘Yn īlon issi daor riñar dombo.’ (But we are not children anymore.)

‘No, we are not,’ she assents, doleful, undeterred by his lingering lips on her forehead, ‘I am a woman grown, my mother’s daughter, and I vowed to marry Cregan. My word is not fickle. A foreign concept to you and your family.’

She had suggested the match herself, on Dragonstone, prior to hers and her brothers’ departure. Supposing that the Queen’s appeal failed to persuade Lord Stark to pledge the North to their cause, Visenya would offer her hand in marriage.

The memory of beholding Cregan for the first time still exhilarates her. She had been climbing down from Blackwing while Jace had approached Lord Stark, to greet him. Cloaked in furs, he had been an imperious presence – tall, brawny, handsome, graced with grey eyes, dark, wavy locks that cascaded to his shoulders, and a dense beard. His gaze had frequently drifted towards her. Jace had suavely introduced her, and Cregan had curtsied, addressing her as “princess.” Visenya had answered with “my lord” – her smile timid, her eyes wicked.

The harsh weather hadn’t spoiled the northern capital’s beauty, magnificent structures, and rich culture. The twins had received a warm welcome at Winterfell, amidst the winter preparations, and Lord Stark had been a most hospitable host, entertaining his guests with drinking, sparring, and hunting trips in the wolfswood. Visenya had mingled with the commonfolk, conversing with them, helping them with their errands, and teaching their children how to read and write. Cregan had often watched her, fondly, from afar. Some servants had been intimidated by her appearance and her station, stammering through their responses. She had instructed them to simply call her “Visenya.”

Whenever his duties had permitted, Cregan had accompanied her on walks around the castle, to the library, the ancient godswood and its hot springs, and the disturbing crypt that had contained the tombs of the deceased members of House Stark. His direwolf Fang had ambled after them everywhere. They had discussed history, politics, trade, and their families, and had comforted one another in their grief, as Cregan’s wife had recently perished in childbirth. He had even confessed that Jace had reminded him of the brother that he had lost more than a decade ago. She had met his sweet babe Rickon, whom she had doted on. Cregan had bestowed upon Blackwing the highest distinction, deeming her a “formidable beast” – with his habitual morose disposition. Visenya had become besotted with him, regarding him as virtuous, conscientious, tenacious, and reputable.

By the end of the twins’ stay in Winterfell, the Pact of Ice and Fire had been formed, whereby Visenya would wed Lord Stark, and the North would side with Queen Rhaenyra. He had forged a direwolf brooch for her, and she had gifted him one of her rings, to wear it as a necklace. Cregan and Jace had sworn an oath of brotherhood, sealed in blood.

‘You sold yourself to a wolf pup so that you may rally his army to your mother’s cause, and you boast about honor,’ accuses Aemond, scornful, satisfied that he discerns her imagined act, ‘Twas a different kind of sword that you required.’

Sold myself? Visenya’s mouth twists downwards, her latent, crude contempt quivering. Blackwing rattles her shackles, screeching viscerally. He views me as property. I paid my price in kindness and youthful promises, so I am constrained into being his property. I have no freedom, no intuition, no capacity for judgment. I am a frail puppet dancing on my family’s strings, dependent on Aemond to rescue me. He would rather I were a fly in his web. What sort of person expects me to fulfil the vows that I uttered as a child?

‘Cregan would have honored his late father’s word,’ she contends, smoothing her garments, heedless of Aemond’s eye roaming over her body, ‘Lord Rickon Stark swore an oath in the throne hall, and acknowledged my mother as King Viserys’ heir. All of the Westerosi lords did, great and small.’

Upon his lord father’s death, Cregan had inherited Winterfell at the age of thirteen, so his uncle Bennard had ruled as regent until his nephew had reached manhood. Bennard’s reluctance to relinquish power had spurred Cregan to imprison him and his three sons. Akin to Queen Rhaenyra’s plight, his kinsman had attempted to supplant him. Lady Jeyne Arryn – Queen Aemma’s cousin – had thrice endured uprisings that had contested her inheritance of the Eyrie.

A hereditary curse. A woman’s curse. In this world of men, we women must band together.

‘Over twenty years have passed since then,’ specifies Aemond, shrugging blithely, ‘Most of those lords are dead, including the wolf pup’s father. Bones are all that is left of them and their vows.’

Pup. A peculiar term to use for Cregan – a man older than they are. Aemond’s vanity confirms that, to the Greens, King Viserys’ succession amounts to nothing. Their cause is false – founded on quicksand, conspiracy, and murder – and they bury themselves deeper and deeper into an abyss of lies and treachery.

‘They represented their Houses and spoke on their behalf,’ corrects Visenya, her shoulders slumping from the sheer absurdity of having to explain this, ‘Enlighten me, nuncle. How does your situation differ from mine? Are you not betrothed to one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters for her father’s troops? Or is it all four daughters? I have heard varied accounts.’

The illiterate Lord of Storm’s End – another traitor responsible for Luke’s demise. Her brother Joffrey had sworn a terrible oath of vengeance against him and the Kinslayer. The Velaryons had prevented Joff from instantly mounting his dragon Tyraxes to exact revenge. Would I have done the same? He is merely a boy, too young to know such hatred and grief. He and Rhaena are in the Vale, out of harm’s way. Willful Baela remains on Dragonstone, to fight by Jace’s side. Aegon and Viserys, the youngest, are with them. We must ensure their safety, else the war will strip them of their innocence… and their lives.

Dragonstone, Harrenhal, Winterfell, the Vale, King’s Landing, Stoney Sept… My family is divided. If only I could protect them all…

‘I did what was asked of me,’ defends Aemond, forlorn, resting their foreheads together, ‘I never intended to wed her.’ He adds, his words scattered among hasty, consecutive kisses, ‘We have always agreed that we would marry one another. I have neither forgotten, nor forsaken that. I want you.’

‘I thought that we were not children anymore,’ she echoes, shrewd, bending to retrieve her discarded pelts, ‘Our parents annulled our betrothal years ago. You would have us marry without your mother’s blessing? I value my well-being, even if you do not.’

‘You are mistaken,’ coos Aemond, holding her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, her palm, her inner wrist, ‘It’s not too late. There’s still a chance for us.’

Visenya had once shared that sentiment. He lives in the past, clinging to it, misconstruing it. Matters betwixt them would never be the same – a truth that he hasn’t accepted. I would have waited for him... Aemond had usurped the throne and had slain her brother. Now, he hopes to abuse her clemency. What stops him from mistreating her, from hurting her? Why must I always be patient and compassionate? Why must I always forgive and forget? What will I gain from it? Aemond? It’s not enough. His redemption is a prolonged, tedious endeavor that she will not partake in.

I’m severing my noose.

‘A chance?’, snarls Visenya, in conjunction with Blackwing’s shrieks, ‘Is that what you offered my brother when you unleashed Vhagar on him?’ She folds her arms over her chest, her furs caught between them. ‘You have already spilled my blood. I will not present you with a chance to do it again. Aye, I once wanted to marry you. A summer dream of summer children. Winter is coming.’

Ripping the cord that binds her to Aemond will be excruciating, like slashing a part of herself. He is the thorn lodged in her side, her twin flame, his scent and touch imprinted on her, haunting her asleep and haunting her awake. The only power I wield over him is denying him myself.

‘You have returned to threats,’ chides Aemond, buttoning his tunic, visibly irritated by her usage of the House Stark words, ‘Parroting words that are not your own, chirruping tales that others have stuffed your head with, like a little bird.’

‘‘Tis not a threat, beloved,’ purrs Visenya, woven with venom, savoring his indignation, ‘It is a fact. The maesters of the Citadel will release the white ravens soon, to announce its arrival.’

She had witnessed the foreboding signs with her own eyes, at Winterfell – the resplendent snow, the howling winds, the bitter cold. Winter is upon us… and we are vying for the throne.

‘‘Tis also a fact that your wolf pup has a wolf pup of his own,’ jeers Aemond, donning his eyepatch, ‘A son whom he fathered on another wench. A son who will inherit Winterfell and all of its attendant lands, titles, and incomes. A vile indignity, a humiliation, to you and your brood. You would submit to a puny northern savage, as his second wife?’

Puny northern savage? Innovative.

“Our children will sit the Iron Throne,” Visenya had told Cregan in the godswood, with the snow floating around them, piling in thick layers on the ground, the trees, and the castle walls. I kissed the snowflakes on his lashes, and they melted on my lips. Her heart flutters at the memory. My sullen wolf. She longs for him more than she can express.

Would that appease Aemond? Nothing would. He has become spiteful. “Wench.” Lady Arra of House Norrey had been Cregan’s late wife and cherished childhood companion. She had dismally died birthing Rickon. I will not debate Cregan’s family with Aemond, a jealous craven threatened by suckling babes.

‘Rickon is an innocent babe,’ reasons Visenya, hugging herself, suddenly feeling naked without her armor, ‘Aye, he is the heir to Winterfell, and no threat to me. I will not set my children against their brother, nor will I encourage them to steal his birthright. I am not your mother.’

And, oh, how you despise that…

‘I suppose that you will be no threat to him, either, should you die in childbirth,’ ventures Aemond, elated at the notion, his eye shimmering in the light of the flames, ‘And your wolf pup would be twice widowed.’

Visenya lashes out, striking him so viciously across the face that his head whips to the side. Blackwing’s mighty roars rumble outside. Aemond doesn’t even blench.

She had never hit him before. If he is startled or enraged by the assault, he masks it – devoid of any emotion. Visenya quashes the temptation to shout at him, to call him a dog, a pig, a rat. He is beneath these creatures. He has no conscience, and his cruelty is boundless. Her grandmother Queen Aemma and her aunt Laena had both expired in childbed. Her sister had been stillborn. What does Aemond know about the perils and throes of women? Nothing.

I could flee, go anywhere but here... Her flesh crawls. I’m his captive in so many ways. Briny tears well in her eyes.

Tears cannot quench dragonfire.

‘Do you love the wolf pup?’, challenges Aemond, his demeanor impassable, though she distinguishes a crack in his frigid tone.

And if I do? You would flay him alive, and force me to watch. The question of Visenya’s suitors continues to be intricate and contentious. The Disputed Lands of Westeros. She had been engaged to Aegon, to Aemond, and to Daeron, and had been courted by Westerosi Houses, Essosi princes, triarchs, archons, nobles, magisters, merchants, and generals. The Red Kraken would have made me his salt wife. Visenya had rejected all of them. Adulterers and drunkards old enough to be my grandsires and fat enough to crush me beneath them.

Rhaenyra had been sympathetic to her daughter’s predicament; she herself had initially opposed marriage. My mother had been younger than I am when she had birthed me and Jace. Visenya shudders at the thought. Her father hadn’t been concerned, confiding that she could wed out of duty and fuck whomever she pleased. Men always do so. Why shouldn’t I? Her twin had convinced her that she would find a suitable pair, to her liking. Jace had the right of it. I chose Cregan, and he chose me. She touches her brooch through her trousers. I’m assuming control of my life and my future.

‘I will,’ declares Visenya, seething, jutting her chin, ‘He is neither a usurper, nor a kinslayer. Cregan is worth a thousand of you, and more.’

‘Yet you delay marrying him, and the wolf pup delays assembling his banners and marching,’ admonishes Aemond, his reddened cheek beginning to swell, ‘Perhaps you are not as devoted to each other as you think you are.’

A surrounded animal, slinging its final, pitiful blows. Her wolf’s motives for not marching had been warranted. He awaits the collection of the harvest, so that he can feed his subjects throughout the winter. The Southrons seal themselves in their castles with their bountiful harvests, whereas the Northerners bear the brunt of the burden – snow, frost, famine, death. Cregan’s obligations lie with his people and his lands.

As for herself, Visenya prefers to marry him during peace and stability. He could mourn his wife properly, and he would not be widowed again, if I were to… to…

‘His Winter Wolves are at the Twins,’ she states, noting Aemond’s mouth twitching, ‘They have joined their forces with the Freys’, and will resume their advance south. They are merely a fraction of the North’s strength. I assure you. Cregan will honor his vow.’

She had wept upon reading Lord Roderick Dustin’s words to Lady Sabitha Frey. We have come to die for the dragon queen. Cregan had taught Visenya about the Winter Wolves – elderly men who leave their homes in order to conserve supplies for their kin. Grisly custom. Those warriors hope to die for glory and plunder. They will never reunite with their families. Wretched conditions, wretched measures.

Aemond must have observed a spark in her eyes, heard something amiss in her voice that aroused his suspicion.

‘What have you done, Visenya?’, he demands, narrowing his eye, fixing her with a hawkish glare.

I fucked the wolf pup. And Alyn Velaryon… Not both at the same time. She had befriended Alyn and his older brother Addam shortly after hers and Jace’s return from Winterfell. Her twin had summoned Targaryen bastards – “dragonseeds” – for the riderless dragons, promising wealth, lands, and knighthood for those triumphant. Addam’s feat of claiming Seasmoke had emboldened the Sea Snake to petition Queen Rhaenyra to legitimise the Hull boys. Conveniently, their mother Marilda had revealed that they had been sired by Ser Laenor Velaryon. And Mushroom is seven feet tall. My stepfather had no interest in women. Lord Corlys had proceeded to name Addam his heir.

Alyn, however, had been less fortunate. Sheepstealer had bathed his cloak in flames. His brother had doused the fire, saving his life. At least Grey Ghost had vanished. Those had been wild dragons. Alyn is lucky to be alive. Grand Maester Gerardys had tended his burns, and Visenya had changed his bandages thrice a day – delighting in his insolence. The habit had blossomed into clumsy intimacy. She had seldom stayed the night – a decision that hadn’t troubled Alyn. He never judged me. Visenya misses him; his jests, his smile, his company.

A furious Jace had reprimanded his twin for her recklessness and temerity, arguing that Cregan was a good man, a second chance – everything that she had ever dreamed of. Her involvement with Alyn could compromise their indispensable alliance with the North. Visenya had listened to his warning, remorse slithering around her throat.

I have been remiss… but Alyn is only a matter of brevity. I have to tread prudently.

‘I do as I please,’ she asserts, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips, ‘Do not fret, cousin. Cregan treated me well and was most gentle with me… the first time.’

Her admission slices him to the bone. Aemond’s expression sinks, desolation flooding his eye. A child looks at her, into her, agony engraved on his features. Have I been too austere? Spoken too harshly? He had betrayed her trust, had usurped the throne, and had murdered her brother. My sins pale in comparison.

Aemond recoils, turning away from her, his head lowered. His fists clench at his sides. The table behind her shakes at Vhagar’s menacing growl. Visenya maintains her composure, sheathing herself in steel. I will not cow. I am the blood of the dragon.

And I will not regret Cregan.

While she hadn’t lacked for suitors, those men had sought to marry her out of pride and ambition. My Targaryen heritage brings their House closer to the Iron Throne, and my dragon is power.

She had proposed to Cregan that she would willingly surrender her maidenhood to him, as a token of her intention to wed him. Fighting a war a maiden seems particularly dreadful. Should anything befall her, Cregan wouldn’t feel cheated or insulted – he would have claimed her gift of innocence.

I lost my innocence long ago.

Visenya hadn’t abused her station to compel him to lie with her. She wouldn’t have been offended if he hadn’t desired her.

“I would be,” her wolf had responded, earning a chuckle from her.

Two nights – and numerous fiery kisses – later, he had accepted her offer. A timorous ardor had washed over Visenya, her heart hammering against her rib cage. Cregan had led her out of the godswood, past the hot springs, the main iron gate with its walls, across the inner yards, into the castle, and up the winding stairs – retreating to his solar, where they had shared half a flagon of wine. He had kindly asked her if she had been nervous.

No. I am a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider… and the wine soothed my nerves.

Their intimate moments had been sweet, passionate, exhilarating. Visenya remembers them so vividly. His large hands cupping her face, disrobing her with deft precision, caressing and fondling every inch of her. His darkened eyes reveling in her figure. Cregan lifting her into his arms as though she weighed nothing, laying her down on the bed. His tongue licking her stiffened nipples, his mouth sucking on her plump breasts. Her fist stroking his leaking cock, guiding him into her heat slowly. Cregan swallowing her soft whine when entering her, the stretch burning deliciously. The overwhelming need to hold him nearer. Wrapping her limbs around him as he vigorously thrust into her, the featherbed engulfing her. The chambers brimming with their moans, gasps, and the lascivious sounds of sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin. Cregan intertwining their fingers, Cregan driving her to the heights of pleasure, Cregan spilling his seed inside her, blending with her maiden’s blood.

Slick pools between her legs, and Visenya squeezes her thighs shut, salivating at the memory.

He had collapsed on top of her, and – at her insistence – had lied there, panting, his face buried in her neck, his beard tickling her. An equally breathless Visenya had threaded her digits through his damp hair, pecking his cheek and his temple. Cregan had rolled off of her, grunting at the effort, and had pulled her into him, allowing her to rest her head on his chest, and to hook her leg over his. Her wolf had attentively inquired whether he had hurt her.

“Not at all,” she had murmured, demure, draping her arm over him, their combined fluids trickling on her groin, “You have been so good to me.”

Visenya had drifted off to sleep in his safe embrace, lulled by his heartbeat and his snores. His body had been a hearth underneath the pelts. I am the blood of the dragon, allured by warmth and fire.

She and Cregan had spent most evenings together – to the dismay of his bed. Days had been dedicated to duties, negotiations, and furtive glances, nights for themselves and for each other; for raw lust, hushed laughter, and the solace that they had been starved of; for their satiation and contentment. Her loins had often ached by the next morning. A good ache.

Cregan had even taken her in the godswood, under a starry sky, before the heart tree, following their sword sparring. Afterwards, he had suggested that they retire to his solar.

‘To sleep?’, questioned Visenya, coyly, tangling their feet together.

‘If that is what the princess wants,’ granted her wolf, amiably.

‘The princess wants you,’ she mumbled, nestling against him, their clothes and furs providing scant shelter from the cold.

‘She has me,’ vouched Cregan, carding his fingers through her locks, ‘All of me.’

Oh, yes. He has had me in the sight of the old gods, and I have bled for him. Targaryens have always had a grievously deep connection to blood. It’s one of our House’s words. Our forebears used blood magic to bind the winged beasts to them. We cut ourselves and drink each other’s blood during our nuptials. We practice incest to ensure the purity of our bloodline. The blood of Old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Blood unites, and blood divides.

Their stealthy meetings might not have been shrouded in such secrecy. Jace had dared to tease Visenya about the marks that he had glimpsed on her throat. She had thrown a snowball at him, hitting him in the nose.

‘Locking myself in a castle is more appealing than waging war against my own kin,’ admitted Visenya, in an instance of fragility, atop one of Winterfell’s towers.

‘You’re not destined to hide in a castle,’ proponed Cregan, petting Fang, basking in the sun – reminiscent of their early mornings abed. I would trace the lines of his back, the scars on his chest, admire his naked form as he opened the shutters… ‘Your hair is akin to the snow around us, your eyes the color of the sunset sky. Why would nature make you so lovely, if not to behold you and to reflect on you? The sun must see you to shine, the moon to glow.’

Visenya tore her gaze away from him, misty-eyed.

Her Valyrian appearance had protected her from japes about being a Strong bastard. Is that term so preposterous? My parents hadn’t been married at my birth. I had borne the name Velaryon for a decade. People had viewed her as a Myrish carpet – to be gaped at – and had treated her like a stud-mare, to be bought, owned, and mounted to produce sons – her beauty a mere instrument to that end. Devious motives behind hollow adulation.

‘You are gracious, my lord,’ rasped Visenya, flustered, the gossip of the commonfolk below muffling her answer slightly, ‘I am flattered.’

‘I have spoken the truth,’ affirmed Cregan, tipping her chin up, coaxing her to peer at him, ‘You are meant to be kissed.’

‘By you,’ she assented, his gloved digits wiping her tears, delicately.

On the day of the dragon twins’ departure from Winterfell, Vermax and Blackwing had been impatient to leave the North and its freezing temperatures. Visenya hadn’t shared their zeal. I’m not a little girl anymore. The winds of winter are rising. There is a war to be fought and won.

“Come back to me,” her wolf whispered to her, their joined hands concealed in their cloaks and pelts.

I will.

Aemond’s subtle movements wrest her to the present.

We’re at war with the Greens. I’m a prisoner at Stoney Sept, in the Pretender’s camp. My Cregan is leagues away.

I must not forget my mission.

Aemond’s insidious posture betrays him, his shoulders on the brink of crumbling under the burden of his pride and envy.

‘A dragon rendered a broodmare by a wolf pup,’ he chastises, repulsed, his features drawn into solemn lines, ‘Have you spread your legs for his army, too? I wouldn’t be surprised, given your taste for depravity.’

Visenya refrains from guffawing, albeit with great difficulty. Oh, may the Crone’s lantern light my path to wisdom, and may the Father judge me justly, and may the Mother show me mercy, for I am a filthy wanton, and Lord Stark does possess a generous… host.

‘I would rather be his broodmare than be your wife,’ she spits, defiant, baring her teeth, ‘The wolf pup is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.’ And you are insufferably obtuse. ‘He and his bannermen will liberate me, should the Winter Wolves and the river lords fail to do so, and should you yourself refuse to release me. Are you so mad that you would oppose the might and wrath of the entire North?

‘I have heard enough about your wolf pup,’ announces Aemond, his nostrils flaring, ‘He has dishonored you. Perhaps I ought to march on his bleak castle, after I seize Harrenhal.’

You ought to dress up in motley. Visenya shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her brow creased. The Hightowers must have abandoned their wits putting him in charge. Aemond is utterly inept. Their Lannister friends will find trouble at the Red Fork, and he will never take Harrenhal from my father.

‘Your men are unlikely to survive the muds of the riverlands, whose lords have unanimously declared for my mother,’ argues Visenya, twirling a lock of her hair around her forefinger, ‘I doubt that they will endure the hostile conditions in the North… also pledged to Queen Rhaenyra.’

‘I have Vhagar,’ reminds Aemond, his arrogance oozing like pus.

‘And what of it?’, she hisses, squinting her eyes, ‘You would torch the North, from the Neck to the Wall, on hoary, old Vhagar? Tens of thousands would perish.’

Despite rivaling the combined size of the other kingdoms, the North is scarcely populated. Their lives, lands, history, and culture matter all the same.

‘Your wolf pup amongst them, if the gods are good,’ drones Aemond, looping his digits through his belt.

‘Cregan will die of old age, in my arms,’ corrects Visenya, keeping her furled fists at her sides, lest she strike him again, ‘You cannot vanquish the North. It is too vast and too wild. The Neck is impenetrable, filled with swamps and bogs. Moat Cailin is a choke point, and it has shielded the North from southron invasions for millennia. This is folly, Aemond. It will be your doom.’

Then why am I trying to dissuade him?

‘Or on the contrary, the glory will be mine,’ boasts Aemond, his permanent smirk bolstering his confidence, ‘Those savages might dare to resist me, but in the end, they will pose a minor obstacle. Aegon the Conqueror brought the North to its knees.’

‘Because King Torrhen Stark bent the knee after the Field of Fire, to avoid bloodshed,’ objects Visenya, scowling, ‘Do not attempt to revise history. Ours will not redeem you. The kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of gods and men. The lickspittles that buzz around you will never be sincere, so I will bestow the truth upon you. You are cruel, despicable, and you nurse a grievance like a suckling babe. You are not Aegon the Conqueror. You are a prideful fool playing at war.’ You’re not good at it, either. ‘And winter is coming. That is the truth.’

‘The truth?’, repeats Aemond, creeping up on her, his eye boring into hers – a predator scenting its prey, ‘What do you know of the truth, Visenya? You lie and deceive and plot with every breath that you draw. You are a traitor to the realm, daughter of traitors, sister of traitors. You chose the Iron Throne over me.’

You chose for me.

‘My mother is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,’ she pronounces, her smile ominous, ‘The only traitor here is you, nuncle. You cower from the truth, and you retain it from everyone.’ Visenya tiptoes, and their lips almost touch. ‘You are looking with the wrong eye. Perhaps you will have to close the other to finally see.’

Aemond cups her face roughly, pressing her against the table.

‘Your mother will never sit the Iron Throne,’ he sneers, ‘And neither will you. She still spurns you as her heir, but I vow to pay you the homage that you so desperately crave, and to lavish you with precious gifts – the heads of your family, your betrothed, and your stepson. They shall decorate the spikes of the Red Keep–’

Visenya swiftly yanks his dagger from his belt. Aemond seizes her wrist too late. The tip of the blade digs at the underside of his chin.

‘Enough, Aemond!’, bellows Visenya, and for a moment, she is her ferocious Blackwing incarnate, ‘Are you deaf, as well as blind? You have usurped the throne, murdered my brother, and butchered hundreds of innocents. Your actions have consequences. Heed my words, for the love that you claim to bear me.’ She drags the point of the dirk down to the base of his throat, nicking him. ‘You will not make me an orphan and a widow. You are surrounded by enemies in every direction, and more are gathering as we speak. We have the armies, the fleet, the dragons, and most importantly, the legitimacy. An advantage that you will never have. So, either kill me or let me go, and flee to Essos, because you cannot – you will not – survive what’s coming for you. The choice is yours.’

Aemond’s malicious eye studies her, a forlorn wall of blue ice.

The boy I grew up with is gone. Hasn’t Visenya sensed it all along? We are not children anymore. The time has come to accept it.

When has it all gone so awry, become so twisted? She mourns the boy that she had once shared everything with – a childhood, hopes, dreams. Those died with Lucerys.

Dreams didn’t make us kings. Dragons did… and tears cannot quench dragonfire.

It ends as it began, with fire and blood.

Bloodlines will burn.

Visenya licks the blood off of the tip of the dagger, spins the weapon, and presents it to Aemond, hilt first.

TAGLIST: @a-dash-of-random-magic @aaleksmorozova @aemondsversion @aereth @agirllovespancakes @another-life-addict @burningshewolf @buttercup--bee @cecespizza01 @cleastrnge @crazylokonugget @five-seconds-of-socialising @flosaureum @haystack-boy @lavendertales @lordsrks @maharani-radha @mandaloresson @masset-fotia @missusnora @moonlight-prose @oloreaa @poppyreader @prettyboyeddiemunson @shewhomustbecalledking @sofietargaryen @stargaryenx @strawberrypeachessss @sullho @sweethoneyblossom1 @s-we-e-t-t-ea @that--thing @valyriians

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mulders-too-large-shirt · 3 months ago

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s3 episode 23 thoughts

the previous episode was SO good. but, it is true, i was distracted by the dog. it was SUCH!! a perfect episode. EXCEPT for that one thing. so i hope that today, i can face this episode with a clear head, free of judgement based on the fate of little dogs.

well, boy, i did face this episode with a clear mind, and wow. wowza. another AMAZING ep... and i will keep the angst from this episode in my heart forever and bottle it and take a nice long swig when i need my msr feels, which is basically always. wow. an exclamation point doesn't even feel APPROPRIATE, it just needs to hang in the air for a bit. (wiping tears away) wow....

let us go back to yesterday's notes, which shall commence below:

reading the episode description... so this one features murders linked to a device that alters television signals… huh. man, too many people i know don’t even have cable anymore. this simply would not work in the modern era. imagine if hulu or tubi or something made you kill people though lmao that would be silly to imagine.

we open with a guy digging a hole in the woods. always a promising start. seems he’s in an orchard of some sort? and the music is very very creepy.

okay, so just as you suspect, this dude is burying a dead guy. sometimes your gut instinct is correct and tropes are not meant to be subverted. but the dude who is burying him says “your killing days are OVER” so is this actually a justice arc??? hmm. it is not clear. man, it would be hard to dig a hole like that.

shovel murder man is at home washing the blood off. but then someone else approaches him and he kills THAT GUY TOO WITH THE SHOVEL?? huh? what is going on.

police at da guy’s house. everyone has the same face as the dude he just killed??? so they tase him. and then the faces go back to their REAL faces. now what is going on here!!!!!!!!!!

as the real faces return, the man realizes he killed someone named sarah!!! and he seems sooo upset by the fact that he killed sarah!!!! poor sarah :(

so does the tv make you see other people’s faces on the bodies of random people….? omg that’s insidious...

we now shift to a different scene, one where mulder is sitting in his car at 2 am. doing what???? waiting for some guy!!! he was waiting TWO HOURS for this guy!!! who is this guy...? it's giving blind date/drug deal.

the man who enters his car gives him a newspaper clipping about the murders we just saw. and mulder came here after getting AN ANONYMOUS EMAIL in the middle of the night??? this is crazy because literally so many people want him dead and this would have been a very easy way to accomplish that goal. wow. seriously, no self-preservation instincts on this guy.

mystery man says he has no obligation to explain what is going on, but if mulder walks away from it, more people will die. so no pressure!! xx

cutscene to a hospital, where mulder is watching our murderer through glass, while scully comes in saying that she is sorry she is late, but “the beltway was a parking lot”. beltway refers to interstate 495! thank you wikipedia i love your services!

murderer is named joseph. and he claims to have been killing the same guy over and over again, and that he wouldn’t die. which seems pretty awful.

OH! and the week before, in the same town, a babysitter attacked the kids she was watching because she thought they were WOLVES??? omg that is horrific??

they’re talking to the physician, dr. stroman, who says perhaps this was provoked by amphetamine abuse. then joseph starts SCREAMING. he sees a guy on the TV- miriskovic- sorry y’all idk my post-soviet history 💔 (update: i googled it, i don't even think that guy was real because all the results are links to wikis on this specific episode... reveals how little i truly know)

anyway, seeing that guy's face on the TV seems to have triggered the screaming situation. does he have trauma from the country he used to live in and seeing references to it makes these things happen…? that would be a wild episode. put me in the writer's room and let me cook.

scully quickly picks up on the fact that this case is Weird, and mulder admits it came from some random guy, which makes her suspicious. but they go to the crime scene, and, like always, he lifts the crime scene tape up over her head, and it’s very charming despite the lack of sensibility in going down this whole rabbit hole.

the minute they get in, they hear screaming and a gunshot! but it’s just some kids watching TV??? eating popcorn in a crime scene??? LMAO WHAT?

mulder kicks them out and scruffs one of the boy’s heads... ohhhh he needs to be a father so bad huh... like i have been saying this since s1 he just has a Need to tease and spoil children. well, we can unpack that another time. there's crime afoot.

so he watches the tv and it starts to go all static-y because a guy outside is fixing the wires. scully finds a TON of tapes and they’re just shelves and shelves of cable TV shows!!!

“there must be hundreds of videos here”, she says, to which he asks “anything good?” <- idk why this made me giggle. it sounded like he was gonna put one in and chill for a bit lmao

scully starts to wonder if seeing the cable news, like joseph had recorded, was what triggered his episode back at the hospital. ooooh! a theory!!!

cut to mulder watching a tape in the bed of his motel, making an absolute pile of sunflower seeds- this dude is gonna attract mice or something someday omfg- and also he has a cola which is peak american culture. LMAOOOO he has a HUGE pile of tapes on the floor i’m crying... my type A self could NOT deal with him!

he says he watched 36 hours of bernard shaw and bobbi batista and is now also ready to kill someone as scully welcomes him into her room, which also has cola but is much more nicely organized! she found something weird on the tapes from late april, each a night when he committed a murder

AND WHY DID MULDER GET ALL COZIED UP ON HER COUCH?????? hooooooly fuck i have never seen such a baby girl of a man

OMFG??? all the reports from the murder nights feature that miriskovic guy!!!

so did seeing violence make him violent? mulder says no, and that theory assumes that “americans are just empty vessels, ready to be filled with any idea or image that’s fed to them like a bunch of pavlov dogs, and go out and act on it” oh if only this man could see the news lately……… insert ben affleck smoking a cigarette image here to describe the things we see in our current age. mulder you would not believe.

he’s really bashing her theory, but she’s saying maybe he was high and seeing these things sent him on a spiral- makes sense to me

he is leaving to go get some sleep (after admitting he can’t explain what is going on!!! which always endears me) but scully says she is going to watch the rest of the tapes… a herculean task for our girl

middle of the night and it’s still tape time for scully, but she hears the phone ringing. she hears mulder having a conversation. and he says “no, she doesn’t” which is weird… that is suspicious… what doesn't she...

scully chews her ice which is so funny because me too sometimes. she has chewed all of her ice and must fetch more. and get a cola ofc!!! nothing more american than a cold soda iktr!

but she sees mulder in his car??? lighting up with cig man???? HUH??? and handing over a tape? omfg this is crazy. i assume she is hallucinating though, because no way….

cutscene to a lady named helene watching “the price is nice” (lmaooo) and washing some dishes. but the soap in the dishes starts to look funny- and everything is glitching around her!!! she sees a man outside in a hammock… kissing a woman!!! and oh, she is furious!! she gets her SHOTGUN?? this has escalated very fast. and we hear some shooting!!!

scully is still very visibly disturbed. mulder is reporting the murder, but she seems like a shell of herself. she checks the ash tray in the car, and there is no ash… she notices the car has been moved and he says he got a paper…. why do you ask…. “nothing. it’s nothing” OHHH THIS IS JUICY

so the crime scene has a very bloody hammock. and a dead man, who the wife claims he saw in the hammock with a blonde. but the only other creature at the scene was a dog!!!

OH!!! the hammock man wasn’t even helene's HUSBAND??? this really is LAYERED!! she killed the NEIGHBOR thinking it was her husband, who wasn’t even in town!!!!!! how do you mess this up so badly?

despite the fact that scully is clearly suspicious of mulder, she is sharing the umbrella with him in their usual fashion, and the sense of tension this produces is delicious

they go to investigate the crime scene and mulder finds some sort of bike and immediately climbs upon it while proclaiming that television does NOT cause violence (LMAOOO HE IS SO WEIRD i need him.)

they find a bunch more tapes and AGAIN the same guy is messing with the cables outside while they're investigating!!!! mulder is in chase mode!!!! but he cannot chase this dude in the van!!! no man, even a track star such as him, can outrun a van carrying secrets!

scully is trying to fast forward the TV and she looks out to see mulder climbing the pole…. average day for a man like him. he finds a weird cable scrambler in there. she wants to send it to the crime lab, but he says he’ll do the analysis, and she should go interview helene the murderer. OH... she is so suspicious, she just wants to go home…. scully :((( mulder is deeply confused as to why she is being so weird

so he takes the thingy to the lone gunmen, who say it looks like it’s used for blocking premium cable channels, which i didn’t even know was a thing, you learn so much with this show. but it doesn’t block anything!!! HOWEVER, if you compare a tv with the machine and one without it, the one with the machine is slightly different. hmm...

“you know how television works?” “yeah, you click it on, you have a picture” <- the man who said that line went to oxford btw

it seems that this cable blocker thingy is adding some sort of frequency, but they can’t tell what… hmm.

mulder on the road. scully calls and only asks “where are you” in this very flat and creepy tone and OH i’m scared!!!!

he tries to explain that there is some sort of signal being introduced to the tv- he even says she might be right about the tv inducing violence theory! but she isn’t answering… she hears a clicking, like they're being listened to, and she says he never went to the detective…. let’s wait and talk on a landline, he says.

despite being in his car many miles away, he can tell that there is something very wrong with scully. he says don’t go anywhere, he’ll be right there, and redials after she hangs up. it's very much echoing when she said something similar to him in his crazed gargoyle quest.

but she is so scared, she rips the phone out of the wall and takes it apart!!!! and then the lamp too, and the table. she is checking everything for any sort of bugs!

holy hell, we have never seen her like this before... but i’m actually gagged because she is usually relatively stoic and seeing her paranoid is so different, but it also feels very natural??? she is acting her ass off here as she rips up everything in this motel room. big shoutout to GA, i love your work.

and the static that set in helene's vision earlier is setting in hers now!!! she hears a car pull up and drops to the floor…. she hears a man say “she’s in here” and a pounding on the door.

OMFG someone tries to open the door and she FIRES 4 SHOTS RIGHT AWAY??? but it’s mulder!!!!

(author's note: i was thinking after i finished the episode, and we know that she is a good shot- remember how she hit just the right angle to knock mulder out but not kill him at the end of s2? so she is either SO out of it that she cannot even aim straight, or there is a tiny tiny tiny part of her that still thinks that mulder isn't worth killing. please mull over which option brings you greater angst)

he’s coming in with his gun and his hair is blowing in the wind and he can’t FIND HER!!!!! it was really very dramatic. hair blowing in the wind has this effect.

cutscene to scully’s mom’s house, and we see a picture of young scully on the table... AWW stop she’s so cuuuute and one of missy as well 😭😭😭

OH! it’s mulder on the phone calling mrs. scully in the middle of the night!!! NOOOO he has to tell her that he doesn’t know where she is :( NOOOO poor mrs. scully has gone through too much. he feels SO bad breaking this news, that he even apologizes for hanging up right away, something he never ever does. he must be in deeeep distress to do such a thing.

and why does he hang up?? because SKINNER IS HERE!!! he’s leading a manhunt for scully, and mulder is saying she shouldn’t be hunted like a convict… but skinner says dude SHE FIRED FOUR ROUNDS AT YOU AND SOME RANDOM GUY last night!!!!

despite this, mulder insists that he can get her to listen to him if they just keep her safe; she’s suffering from some sort of paranoid psychosis. skinner is being quite patient as he tries to explain that the video tapes made her do it. skinner says well... you better find her before these guys do.

GASP!!! he’s putting up the x on his window! and doing that thing where he bounces his basketball because he cannot relax!!! stop i'm emotional!!!!!

the lone gunmen call to say they found something on the tape…. and it induces electrical activity…. MIND CONTROL???

but why wasn’t he effected?

! MULDER LORE REVEAL ! HE’S RED-GREEN COLORBLIND???? THIS IS AN INSANE LORE DROP TO GIVE NEARLY 4 SEASONS IN??????

wait, is this just for plot purposes, or is DD actually colorblind and they decided to roll with it? because now i’m gonna be looking at all the red-ish things we see on screen (like his tie he is grabbing to emphasize his point) and wonder, can he see that? how does this impact his tie selection process....

okay that really threw me off guard. man, i was getting to think we'd never get another lore reveal, which is a shame because i quite like formatting those facts in that way. good to know we could get more at anytime!

he gets a phone call from maryland state police. the lone gunmen ask if she’s okay and he says no, he has to go and ID the body. WHAT!!!! WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!! he is trying to keep composed. holy fuck………..

(heavy breathing as i grab your shoulder and squeeze) hey man. hey. he was trying so hard to be strong.

so he pulls up to the morgue and stops before he gets out of the car, and holds his head above the wheel STOP I’LL CRY???? i’ll cry… what are they putting him through??? losing her again……..

(i mean i have SEEN gifs of scully in seasons past this one, so i know she's gonna pull through, but HE doesn't know that, and must be reliving the worst days of his life AGAIN, and aughhhhh!)

but the mystery guy from the start of the episode that give him the info on the muders pulls up and says get in right now!!!!!! mulder is furious, he says he’s busy. in a shocking display of insensitivity, mystery man says he does not give a fuck. mulder is yelling that this is all his fault. mystery man says “they” are destroying the evidence, and they’ll finish it by tomorrow if he keeps searching for her, but he kicks the door shut and ignores him.

(omg…. he loves her enough to break him out of his bloodhound mode… the dogged ahab-like quest for answers and revenge… i’m getting flashbacks to his conversation with missy in one breath…….. realizing he needs to put the ones he loves before his need for revenge sometimes..... wow)

so he walks into the morgue, and the dude in there says they found a body nude and shot in the forehead.

he closes his eyes to try and brace himself before taking a peek, to prepare to see her lifeless, probably reliving those many hours by her bedside when she was in the hospital, trying to imagine her shot in the forehead, the scully he knows and loves with her dry humor and her teasing smile and caffeine dependency, the her that is so full of life, lifeless…

but it isn’t her. PHEW!

despite this being good news that he has to share- she's not dead! her mother isn’t answering her phone…. so he goes to her house. and i'm thinking, oh my gosh, did she do something rash in her grief?

but mrs. scully answers the door and claims dana isn’t here. he bursts in and says he needs to see her right now. omg, he saw right through her lies.

(also, it always feels weird to refer to her as dana, but moving on)

NO!!!! she has him at gunpoint and says he’s here to kill him!!! poor guy looks so flabbergasted… and her mom is trying to get her to please put down the gun, and he’s trying to explain what is going on!!! he is so singularly locked into her….

“he’s lied to me from the beginning. he’s never trusted me” “scully, you are the only one i trust” AUGHHHHH (rips my clothes off of my body in biblical levels of grief)

“you’re one of the people who abducted me” AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (rips off not only my clothing but also my hair as i experience emotions that rival what job from the bible went through)

she’s CRYING, and saying he killed her sister while her mom gets between him and the gun… and she’s saying she knows she’s safe here, that’s why she came here, and to put the gun down. and she falls into her mother’s arms sobbing.

WHAAAAAAAAT. and he had to watch all that… oh my scully oh my goodness my poor scully…

timeskip a little bit. he shows up to the hospital where scully is with her mother, and mockingly puts his hands up in surrender, because he is so STUPID and he always has to make a joke, and i love him so terribly, so so so terribly, because he loves HER.

she's laying in the bed, and he shuts off the tv and asks how she’s feeling. she says she is ASHAMED- as if being a victim of mind control was a personal failing. scully, i want to yell, you have NO REASON to be ashamed, let me take all the shame from you and carry it elsewhere. she says it was like the world was turned upside down.

and he makes ANOTHER stupid joke about the world being out to get him, and now she knows how he feels-

before leaning in and explaining how joseph, the first murderer on this case, became convinced he was killing the bosnian war criminal who people called “the modern hitler”, which was especially important to him because both of his parents survived the holocaust. hence his line about the killing days being over!!!

and helene was scared her husband would cheat on her. so somehow the TV signal turned their worst fears into a living nightmare.

OHHHH HER WORST NIGHTMARE IS HIM BETRAYING HER. HIM BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR HER GOING MISSING AND LOSING HER AUTONOMY AND MEMORIES... wails into my shirt.

(this reminds me of that episode in s2- irresistible- when we learn her biggest fear is that humans are capable of terrible horrific things and grasping to trust despite that knowledge. we’re seeing that again right here. how uncertainty seeps in)

THEY CALL HIM THE CANCER MAN!!! wow very official canon recognition of the name (yeah it’s happened before but it happened again so that is cool) anyway she says she saw him giving cancer man the tapes and reporting.

he says that maybe cancer man was behind this, but then he whispers “why don’t you try and get some rest?” and there is something in me that melts so entirely as he leaves her to sleep.

(perhaps it is the fact that hurt/comfort and whump are my favorite tropes. because is there anything more intimate than letting someone see you at your most vulnerable, and them choosing to love you at it? is there any feeling more cutting than seeing your loved one suffer and knowing you’d stop the world for an instant of their relief? the terrible desperation of both parties, the wordless connection upon recovery, someone being the last thing you see before everything fades to black and then the first person you see when you return... yeah. it’s cathartic. but also it makes me want to yell and cry. pls give me all the hurt/comfort content)

so the doctor found high serotonin levels in her that maybe can be associated with mania, but now they’re back to normal. he asks if someone in her situation would be diagnosed with amphetamine abuse, and she says no. then he quickly calls the hospital where joseph is staying… what is he cooking in there…

he wants to talk to joseph's doctor, dr. stroman, who left behind only a number from the motel…. and he had JUST checked out…. so he’s going through his stuff. and asking about his calls. and he DOES find a cigarette in his room but a lot of people smoke so… try not to jump to conclusions juni… but the cigarettes mean one thing in this show!!! was this innocent-looking doctor behind such a cruel experiment?!

he calls and has the last number the doctor called get checked from the folks at the lab… so he goes to visit the place of residence and creepy music is playing. the dude from the cable company we saw before rolls up!!! he walks right inside the house, so mulder peeks inside. it seems the people in the house set up a trap of some sort, as they are talking about “him” showing up at 7.

he bursts in after hearing gunshots and both of the men in there are dead!!! shot in the head!!!!

who is there... but X???? X says he HAD to kill those men- he just hoped mulder would get them first. and oh, mulder is YELLING AT X!!! he is letting him HAVE IT!!! he says he is a coward, he was too scared to unveil the situation with the mind control TV murders himself….. he says X NEVER risks his own life, but he sure does make him risk mulder and scully’s.

OH! he is holding X at gunpoint. all X is saying is that he failed, and that mulder needs him. so he walks out, confident he won't pull the trigger. and he doesn't.

WHAT! i need to kind of just let that sit for a second. i need to figure out this X fellow, but i get the sense i never will…. he failed… because he chose to try and save scully…….

cutscene to skinner’s office, where mulder is giving him a report. and scully walks in and says that dr. stroman DIED IN 1978!!! when skinner asks about the killer, mulder jumps in and says he remains unknown… oh, skinner is def gonna pick up on that….

so now we see X in a random back alley. getting into a car…. WITH CANCER MAN?????? X REPORTS TO CANCER MAN??? he asks if he has completed his work, and X reports that he has cleaned out all the personnel, everything is removed, but mulder still has a device. and mulder’s source has been eliminated. but the source’s source remains unknown. oh, he’s def lying through his teeth.

OOOOOOH this episode was SO good.

oh man, my brain is racing in a bunch of different directions. scully breaking down and sobbing into her mother’s arms…. scully convinced that mulder is a traitor, that he did those terrible things to her…. mulder so scared that she was gone, bouncing his basketball, getting a call from the police department that he had to go identify her… choosing her, even in what he thought was death, over following the Truth… the sick and twisted relationship he has with X, and X with Cancer Man, and Cancer Man with the world… it’s making me think of how mulder broke into his house that one time, was going to kill him over what he did to scully, and cancer man had the nerve to say he liked mulder… OOOH my brain is just racing racing racing.

poor scully… how scared she was, how horrified afterward…

other things that are on my mind, in no particular order: the bond between scully and her mother; mulder being all babygirl on that couch; mulder hopping on that bicycle and picking up some random doll from the murder victim's house; how haunting scully's voice was when she asked him over the phone where he was; their cola drinking; mrs. scully trusting mulder no matter what; how he tried to cover the grief in his voice when he told the lone gunmen he had to go identify her body; how he kicked the door shut of the mystery man, damning the investigation to pay his respects; how his head hovered above the wheel of the car before he got out to do that; how X uses and uses him to no clear end, and what is HE doing reporting to cig man, and what was that random doctor doing conducted fucked up experiments on random people; and scully's miraculously bad aim; mulder's conviction he could talk sense into her (spoiler: he could not); her shame at being convinced he had been the one who abducted her; how terrifying that must have been; and his stupid jokes when he walked into her hospital room, with the sincerity he tries so hard to outrun and outfox breaking through in his whispered why don't you get some rest?

so needless to say, i see why this one is a fan-favorite. this is certainly one i will be revisiting in the future when i need something strong. i have a million things to think over that will stick with me Forever, and i am in no rush to move on from this. in fact, i took these notes yesterday, but in the process of editing them tonight, i have decided i am not ready for the season finale and will have to save it for tomorrow because i'm still feeling So Many Things. so stay tuned to see how that goes, because whew!

#man i did all the typing of the notes yesterday but editing them took another hour today because RAHHHHH there was so much here to unpack #and i am going to KEEP unpacking it for a while #someone please give that man a child it is becoming increasingly evident he loves being around kids #let's get him to talk about his feelings first and then he can have a baby okay? one thing at a time #OHHH WHAT is this X fellow UP TO?!?!? AUGHHH i need to know #scully. my poor poor poor sweet scully. you deserve no pain and yet such pain has been inflicted upon you.#and her poor mother :( she is just the sweetest :( the pictures of dana and missy on her bedside table...#she is so loved :( and she loves mulder too which is so important :(#WAHHHH <- more crying!!!#so good. but in case you were wondering this still didn't bring actual tears to my eyes.#i guess that is just for poor little doggies getting eaten by beasts...#juni's x files liveblog #the x files #txf

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devnmon · 2 years ago

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Cry.

Warnings: mentions of violence, attempted s/a, gore and blood, descriptions of ptsd and trauma. Do not read if these things trigger you.

word count: 3.3k

A Daryl Dixon x reader comfort/angst fic that is void of pointless plot [except for backstory] and is based off of two things:

The song Cry. by Cigarettes After Sex, and this. [all credit is given to ms. genna dixon, her work creating this audio inspired me to write this, and i hope she enjoys reading this fic as well!]

a/n: This fic has been sitting in my drafts collecting dust and I thought, with the help of madi, that it should finally be given to the fanfic world. I hope you all enjoy, and I'm sorry for whatever feelings arise from reading this. I'm also just really fucking proud of this fic and I really hope everyone enjoys.

Stepping outside, the chilled air from battering rainfall hits your skin, pouring down upon familiar streets. It's about that time of year for cold rain and harsher temperatures, before warmer ones commenced, flipping the forever rain into sunshine.

Pulled away finally from the events going on indoors, the fresh air immediately fills your chest, inhaling until you couldn't anymore. Boots creak under the wooden deck as you saunter closer to the ceaseless precipitation before you back away.

The wooden picnic table a certain archer built was the first thing you spot, up against the wall of the house. You sit, pulling the jean-covered legs in to your chest, to comfort yourself and the way you felt. The pressure of your body scrunched together was relieving for a bit, but it just wasn't working as well as you wanted it to.

Gaze focused on the gravel in the street, a hand rests across your forehead, head reliving a certain memory, one that's kept you sleeping on the couch at night, instead of in bed with your partner. One whom you shared this very house with.

In the moment, it's difficult to distinguish what's real life or imaginary, and the next thing you know, your eyes are squeezed shut to try and shake the images from your mind.

It fails, the man's face already burned into the backs of your eyelids, whether you wanted it to be, or not.

He’s glaring into you, the same way a predator takes notice of it's prey.

With a half-cocked ego and a group of men that listen to his rules, he'd been ruthless.

Your throat dries up, chin trembling with the vulnerability that painted your now shivering body in restless dread. The vile laugh he’d let out reverberated in your mind, pit in your stomach already deepening, the familiar fucking feeling returning to your chest like it was happening all over again.

Though, that could never happen, because the same man whose face had been taunting your sleep ended up on the ground with his throat bitten out by one Rick Grimes.

You owed it to him for saving your lives that night. so much so, that Daryl got more than a little jealous sometimes.

Oh yeah, Daryl.

Your Daryl.

The one you'd fallen for ever since he’d been in the camp, risking his life constantly for the benefit of your group, getting close enough to call you all his family. Especially you.

Daryl, your person, soulmate, best friend, lover, family. He was the only man you saw yourself next to in a world plagued with the dead.

He was there that night, as well. The night of the claimers.

That day the prison fell was one you spent all day and night running with Daryl and Beth to save your lives.

Out of nowhere, Beth was gone, taken in a white car with a cross on the back. You and Daryl ran in the direction the car sped off down for what felt like hours, even after the sun came up.

The powerful sprint the both of you had started off at slowed to a jog, stopping every few minutes until it turned into a walk. You continued going until your bodies downright collapsed on each other's, in the middle of a random road with no idea as to where you were. Your breath wasn't even caught yet before you heard a group of footsteps in the surrounding area.

That's when they came out of the woods and fucked everything up.

The moment they finally came into view, there was something more about the looks on their face that gave away this was premeditated. You figured after a while that they had waited and watched for you both to get worn down from running, that way you didn't have the strength to fight back, even if you wanted to. They moseyed around the both of you, creating a circle of men with no escape.

Which should have been your first sign.

For the next few days, you and Daryl rolled with this group of men that called themselves the claimers, in order to get by on the road before you found your people again. It was part of surviving, making it day to day after the prison fell, determined to find your family again. Daryl thought differently, losing hope in ever finding them, especially after Beth had gone missing.

You stayed extra close to Daryl those days, in fear of what would happen to you if one of the men caught you alone.

The timid act was only to protect yourself, a front you put up so that the men didn't actually speak to or threaten you. When you were spoken to though, you answered to avoid being ‘dropped several times over’, the groups code for being beaten either nearly, or fully to death.

One night, you wondered why there weren't any women in their group, though sooner or later you had figured out why there probably shouldn't be.

Their name is the fucking claimers, what did you expect. It's the way they claim ownership over something, or god forbid.. someone.

All they did when the men realized you two were together was laugh astonishingly loud, calling you a fair share of misogynistic names. Though, nothing changed the way they looked at you.

They didn't back off away from you, either. Only kept staring at you, when you pretended they weren't, muttering sick shit under their breath to entertain the other men.

Daryl came to your defense, threatening each of the men that even stepped too close to you. Those were the nights you were held so close to him, you could've sworn you were part of him now. In a way, you were. But it was one that Daryl wanted to keep for himself, and nobody else.

Daryl was so hell-bent on protecting you those days, he would've done anything. He came as close as starting a fight with one of the men when they wouldn't stop badgering you.

The men didn't back off until Daryl figured out the way to get all of them to leave you and him alone. It was something Joe had said about how the group works, to which Daryl himself said he wouldn't do.

Though he knew in that moment, it was the only way.

"She's claimed."

Most days, you think about what could have happened in that situation way too often. They reoccur in your nightmares, bombarding your brain every time you were finally shut your eyes at night.

Then, it echoes through your head throughout the day, during passing moments when your every being wasn't occupied with some other responsibility.

You had taken up a lot more of those recently, to keep your mind off the whole thing. You had to admit, it was wearing your body out, and the effect of your trauma didn't help at all.

Sure, you had seen every person in your group kill people before, but never the way Rick had that night.

Crimson painted across his face, practically dying his skin with its thickness. There's some on the fur of his jacket, you remember. Recalling the sheer look of terror you held, figure frozen in it's overwhelmed, cathartic state.

At this point in the world, you didn't know if living through a traumatic event as brutal as that one was worse than surviving every day after it, the whole thing reverberating in your head day in and day out.

The most horrific part of it, you think, wasn't the things they said to you days before, and it wasn't the unsettling feeling you got hearing Joe's voice.

It was the moment you hear, "Look, it's the guy who killed Lou."

One of the men in the group speaks out loud, running ahead with some of the group, while you and Daryl trail behind Joe as he catches up with them as well.

Joe had told Daryl about who Lou was a day or so ago, how some guy strangled him in a bathroom. Not curious about why he did it or who the guy was, you'd only listened to him go on about it from afar, aching pit in your stomach again.

The figures of three people camped out in the street were visible, not coming into your eyesight until you follow Daryl into the clearing.

Your eyes finally peel over to the people they've surrounded, and there was Rick and Michonne in the street, weapons aimed at them. There's a car in the road as well, one you realize Carl had been sleeping inside, one of them tapping on the passenger side window with a knife.

The way all three of them looked was terrified, but changed to disbelief when they saw you and Daryl, who pleaded for you to stay back, as he advanced towards Joe.

These people, you're gonna let 'em go. These are good people.

Daryl's words echoed in your head the moment he'd began bargaining with Joe, the nasty feeling you got earlier returning in the form of a racing heart and sweaty palms.

You want blood, I get it. Take it from me, man.

"Daryl, no.." The whisper you speak with is barely loud enough for you to hear over the shakiness of your breath. The only thing you focus on are the words Joe's saying, with the same dreaded feeling in your gut.

"This man killed our friend. You say he's good people. Now that right there, is a lie."

Rick yells out at the same time you do, as one man clocks Daryl in the gut, knocking the fucking wind out of him, another man restraining him as he gets dragged backwards.

Before you can move another foot, you hear the words, 'Teach him boys, teach him all the way.'

They were going to beat Daryl to death, and there was nothing you could do that wouldn't guarantee you wouldn't get the same beating. Backing away as the two men hauled him towards where you'd been standing, a shrill gasp left your chest, covering your mouth in surprise, tear rolling down your cheek.

It wasn't until you get to the other side of the car that you realize Carl's being taken out of it, as you stand at the rear end of the vehicle. As the man noticed you with Carl in his arms, he mutters something under his breath as he reaches for you with a gloved hand.

Feet dragging on the ground, he pulls you both into the clearing lit by the moon against the lanky trees that seemed to tower over the area.

Trying to pull the grown man off of him, you plead endlessly for him to hurt you over the boy. Before you realize he did more to push you off of him than he did to harm you, you'd been shoved to the dirt ground, next to Michonne.

Turning to the woman, your eyes locked in similar terror. These men were nothing like you'd ever met before. Any hope left inside you was washing away with each word out of Joe's mouth.

It isn't long before his cliché comes out, revealing his plan of what his men are going to do to each of you. Joe's talking into Rick's ear, but the tone of voice he used made it feel more like he was explaining to everyone about what was going to happen.

"First we're gonna beat Daryl to death, then we'll have the girls.. then the boy. Then I'm gonna shoot you.. and then we'll be square."

The only thing ringing in your ears was that fucking laugh of his.

Weak eyes pan over to the grunts coming from Daryl as he tries to fight off the two men who have been beating the life out of him for what felt like ages.

Each blow they landed on his torso, legs, face and back was like one to your own body, psyche shattering as Daryl cries out in pain.

"Let him go.."

Rick's hoarse voice speaks, gaze still on the two men beating up his best friend. It isn't until Rick repeats himself, a desperate, dry tone in his voice, that makes you rip your eyes away.

Your vision blurred for a moment before focusing your eyes on Rick again, his dilated pupils filling with rage. In one action, he jolts his head back into Joe's nose, the gun in his hand firing right by his ear.

The shot makes your stomach drop, instinctively flinching, watching him jump up from the ground and finally get a hit on him.

Though, Joe only retaliates with one, two, three blows to the sides of his torso, letting him roll around on the ground before he picks him up off of it. Rick wouldn't have been able to stand without Joe holding him, since beating the hell out of him.

"What the hell are you gonna do about it now, sport?"

You start to hear the same laugh again, before a second passes by and you realize it's stopped. The squelch of flesh rings out, and you realize what Rick's done.

You look up to see his face, drenched in the man's blood, spitting whatever he bit into out of his mouth. The moment settles and he's dropping him to the ground. Then, he goes for the man on top of his son. It isn't long until Rick's brutally stabbing him in the neck over and over, retaliation for hurting his people.

A few more shots fire out as you look over to Michonne taking down the man in front of her and one of the ones on Daryl, before he's punching the other one in the jaw and running to you, pleading to himself that they hadn't done anything to hurt you.

Before you know it, the archer's arms are wrapped around your body, bracing your back, one of his hands caressing the back of your head as well. It isn't until you pull back from his embrace to see the aftermath of being beat on that you break out into tears, his beautiful face bloody and bruised.

"Oh, Daryl.. your face.." your voice breaks on the last word, palms of his hands cupping your face softly, eyes shifting over your face to look for any blood or cuts. A hand wraps around his forearm as his hands cup your face, shushing you quietly.

Michonne holds her arms around Carl's head, and before you know it, Daryl's holding you the same way, one hand rubbing up and down your back.

Though your thoughts run ramped, you take a deep breath, slowly exhaling as the cool air in your lungs calms you the slightest bit.

You've been outside for a while now, long enough to have gotten caught in that traumatic memory. Being in your head for so long blinds you from the fact that Daryl's standing in front of you on the porch now.

Head still dropped, you see the boots he always wears a few feet away from where you were.

"Hey," his gruff voice calls out, your eyes slowly lifting to him, not getting farther than a glance to the side. He can immediately see the state you're in, pupils dilated and glossy from tears leaking down your face.

Eyes glancing back down, not daring to make eye contact, you aren't aware of where the archer is, focusing on the wood porch again.

You know Daryl's seen you like this before, but you only shy away because the event was too overwhelming.

“You alright?” he asks, the low drawl of his voice the first words you’ve heard in a while except for the sound of rain. He’s been sitting by your side, and you haven’t said a word.

Trying to speak, the lump at your throat prevents you from doing so, tongue choking back all the intrusive thoughts that tortured your mind. Your voice breaks in any attempt you had, stopping yourself.

Daryl sees your hesitation, reading your highly unstable state like a book. He scoots closer, more so now that you can feel the heat of his body pursue yours.

“Tell me the truth.” he whispers, his hand rubbing up and down your back, comforting amongst remembering the pain. His touch slows your heart rate and brings you out of your overwhelming head for a moment. The hand on your back is warm, spreading the heat around your entire body.

“I-I can’t..” You choke back the first tears attempting to escape your eyes, trying again to build up the wall that Daryl has so beautifully destroyed, all while he was falling in love with you.

“It’s okay.” He sighs, opening his arms wide to you.

You look to him, another tear falling down your cheek, his thumb swiping it away before your eyes meet his.

“Is it? It doesn't fucking feel like it..” Your nose sniffles as you ask, and when he nods, it’s the most reassuring feeling in the world when he does.

Knowing that everything you're thinking now wont matter one day, grounds you to Earth again. It pulls you from your thoughts, and you try to focus on the man in front of you, wanting to cry into his shoulder as much as you wanted to pepper his face with kisses.

“Come here.” He beckons you towards his body, the warmth of his chest radiating off of him. You climb into his lap, arms wrapping around his neck. Your breath hitches against his chest, and he feels it too, the final push of your walls breaking down around him.

For the first time, you feel free. You feel seen, and you feel loved.

“I know.” He can't fathom the thoughts running through your head, nor what he could do to make sure you never felt this way again.

Daryl has his fair share of trauma from his life experiences before he met you, but after what you've experienced on this constant road together, you find yourselves closer than ever. You and Daryl are both connected through this, intensely and irrevocably.

“Daryl, please dont leave.” You sniffle again, trying to hide the fact that your resolve is breaking and the desire to hide how you really feel diminishes like the crush of an egg shell. It's now that you realize you can’t hide it from him anymore.

“I'm right here.” It’s then your resolve breaks, a muffled sob escaping you as tears drench the cloth of his dark shirt. Your quivering voice fill his ears, one sob after another, making it difficult to breathe at how much you're hyperventilating. Your hands grip at his clothing, palms turning white with how hard you squeeze, nails pressing into your skin to feel something again. Something other than this.

In a moment, Daryl’s touch soothes you in a way you never knew was possible. Nothing else mattered in this moment, other than him being there to comfort you.

All the love and care you had for him were a couple of the reasons your walls that had once been built up began to crack.

“Yeah?” you choke back another sob, and his soft blue eyes meet yours. They're like a deep sea, and with the first glance, you're lost in them all over again. Each time you get caught in his eyes, it's like you're diving into his deep blues like a bottomless pool.

“Yeah.” his hand caresses your cheek softly, palm warm to your touch still, after being in the cold rain.

“Always.” he starts to wipe the tears from your face and you know in that moment he sees you as you truly are. A smile comes easier after a moment of letting yourself feel everything you'd been holding back for what felt like weeks.

“I love you.” He presses a kiss to your hair and you look up at him.

“I love you, Daryl.” Your lips press to his in a delicate kiss, the softness lingering even after you pull away.

“I’ll be here as long as ya need.” Pushing up against his body, the weight of yours lies against him as the rain continued to pour.

a/n: likes + reblogs are appreciated!! it lets me know how much everyone enjoys my writing & sharing to others is a generous thing to do. check out my masterlist

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 1 year ago

Text

The Forgotten Nest (Part 8) - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw / Mitchell!OC (Cora)

Word Count: 4.7k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Past Unplanned Teenage Pregnancy; Angst; Absent Parental Figures; The 'He Didn't Know About the Pregnancy' Trope; Repeating Trauma Cycles; Crying; The Uranium Facility Mission; Named Mitchell Daughter OC (Cora) and Named Mitchell-Bradshaw Son (Nickie)

Summary: The uranium facility mission commences.

A.N. There are references to a previous unplanned teenage pregnancy (between two eighteen-year-olds) in this fic. There won't be any flashback scenes to the pregnancy, but the references are still there, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

Master List

Cora stood at the window of her home. It was barely light and she was still dressed in her pajamas. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stepped out onto the front deck of her home, and closed the door behind her. Stepping further out onto the deck, she stared in the direction of the Naval Air Base, trying to hold herself together.

She hadn’t slept last night. Not after her talk with Nickie and her discussion with her dad. Glancing down at her fingers, she tried to rub the blue ink out of her finger pads. The ink was still wet when she handed that photo to Maverick for the transfer. He shot her a look that she didn’t have the stomach to return and pulled her into a tight hug before he was gone.

Letting out a shaky breath, Cora turned back to the Naval Air Base to see an F/A-18 take off. And then another. And then another. Slowly sinking onto the front steps of her home, Cora watched them fly off before slowly lowering her head down into her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks.

~~~~~

Bradley rifled through his small bag, moving to grab his sleep clothes. Omaha was already in his bunk behind him, but Bradley’s mind was racing too fast for him to fall asleep quite yet. The mission was set for tomorrow and they were simply getting into position tonight.

Reaching for his toothbrush, Rooster paused and frowned when he felt his hand brush against a thick piece of paper. Pulling it out of his pack, Rooster paused when he realized that it was a photo. A photo of him and Cora at their senior prom.

How did that get into his bag?

Flipping it over, Rooster’s eyes quickly landed on the blue ink on the back of the photo. It was slightly smudged and the letters were written in haste, but it was clearly Cora’s handwriting. He knew it all of these years later.

Nickie told me about your meeting. Come home safely and we can talk.

Rooster flipped the photo over again, remembering that night vividly. He and Cora spent the whole night together, never wanting to leave each other’s sides, and caught up in the kind of love that only teenagers seemed to experience.

And bile rose in his throat when Rooster did the math in his head.

Cora was probably already pregnant in these photos. And it might just be the closest that they would ever get to having a photo of all three of them.

~~~~~

Maverick stared out at the assembled aviators in front of him with his hands folded calmly behind his back. This was the moment. He knew that someone wasn’t coming back from this mission and now he had to pick the pour souls who would be on the chopping block, all of which had families and friends back home waiting for their return.

The foxtrot teams were a simple choice. Speed and accuracy and ability to react quickly were his main criteria for that. Picking the single flier was the difficult choice. The one that would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. However long that might be.

Hangman was the answer on paper—he flew the fastest and the most aggressively, which was what the mission called for. But no one trusted him to cover their backs. Coyote was out. The G-LOC incident grounded him. And between Fritz and Rooster, Rooster had the better stats and repertoire with the foxtrot teams. So, the answer was there. He just had to make it.

“Rooster,” Maverick called after Cyclone’s prompting.

The initial shock that Rooster wore on his face was clear as day, though he quickly shoved it behind the mask that all of them were wearing during the briefing. The mask that all aviators forced themselves to put on before every mission.

Rooster and Maverick locked eyes for a moment, a silent conversation passing between them. The more sheepish, guilt-stricken side of Rooster stood out more than Maverick had seen since the incident seventeen years ago. And from what Nickie said, Maverick knew that it was genuine. He just wished that it happened sooner.

Then Nickie and Rooster could have actually talked and learned about each other. Rooster could have made it up to Cora and that stress could have been off of her shoulders years ago. And then they could have been just like any ordinary family of three.

But things were never simple in the Mitchell family. Nor were they easy in the Bradshaw family.

Maverick nodded to the gathered aviators before making his way to the locker room, leaving Rooster standing there, a bit lost.

~~~~~

Rooster stepped out onto the flight deck, gripping his helmet loosely and clearly lost in his thoughts. He wasn’t expecting to be chosen. Not after everything that he and Maverick had put each other through over the years, and especially in the last few days. Not after he coasted his way through the training runs, never quite pushing it like Hangman did.

He didn’t think that he was good enough for this mission. And yet here he was.

Picking his head up for a moment, Rooster paused when he found Hangman standing on the deck in front of him, a serious expression on his face. Gone was the arrogant edge that made Rooster want to knock his teeth out ever since he met him. No, for once, Hangman actually looked like a team player. Like someone who cared if everyone came home.

“You give ‘em hell,” Hangman yelled over the roar of the engines, before making his way to his plane.

Rooster barely even acknowledged Hangman as he walked away, too caught up in his emotions. Nickie wanted to see him. Cora wanted to see him. Maverick chose him out of the line up of the best aviators in the country. Hangman was actually believed in him.

Rooster was so lost that it was a miracle he didn’t fall off the side of the ship.

Righting himself, Rooster turned and walked over to the plane adjacent to his own. Maverick was running through the pre-flight checks on his own aircraft when Rooster approached him, a bit more frantically than he intended.

“Sir? Sir?” Rooster called, causing Maverick to turn around to face him. “I . . . I just want to say—”

The orders over the comms cut off Rooster’s apology and automatically snapped both aviators into action. Maverick, seeing the shakiness to Rooster’s expression, took charge.

“We’ll talk. When we get back,” Maverick assured Rooster, who nodded curtly in return.

Maverick watched Rooster turn around and head for his own plane. Letting out a breath, Maverick looked to the ground, shaking his head before moving around to climb into his plane. Maverick didn’t want to lie to Rooster. But he wanted to protect him even more.

And, so, he lied.

~~~~~

Nickie sat out on his surfboard, staring out into the Pacific Ocean with a far-off expression in his eye. The waves passed harmlessly under him, tickling his calves, but not pushing him hard enough to snap him out of his daze. Maverick was somewhere out in the Pacific in that direction. Bradley was somewhere out in the Pacific in that direction.

And Nickie hated waiting. He hated not knowing.

“Hey, Mitchell!” one of the other surf team boys called, breaking Nickie out of his trance. “Let’s go!”

“Right,” Nickie breathed out, blinking rapidly.

Turning to shoot one last look in the direction of the Pacific, Nickie paddled forward to catch a wave, ignoring how his stomach was knotted uncomfortably with stress.

~~~~~

Maverick signaled to the deck crew that he was prepared for launch before grabbing the handle. Forcing himself to take a breath, Maverick closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Nickie and Cora back home, safe and sound and taken care of, before he opened his eyes, completely focused on the mission directly in front of him.

“Watch over ‘em, Ice,” he murmured, before his plane was launched into the air.

~~~~~

Cora stood on the sand with Penny, watching Nickie surf with the other surf team kids. The two women had barely talked since Cora arrived, both caught up in their own thoughts. Cora wrapped her arms around herself, watching Nickie surf through the waves, though not as well as he normally did. He was distracted, she could tell, and the realization made her heart ache.

“He’s doing well,” Penny commented, causing Cora to nod slowly.

“But he’s not in it,” Cora stated softly, turning to face Penny. She gestured to the open ocean in front of them. “His head’s out there.”

“Can’t blame the kid,” Penny replied, just as Nickie wiped out.

Cora held her breath until Nickie resurfaced, completely unharmed, but just a little sheepish. Settling back down, Cora pursed her lips together and stared out at the setting sun in the distance. Penny reached out and wrapped an arm around her, giving Cora some support.

They didn’t need to discuss it. They both saw the look in Maverick’s eyes when he said goodbye.

“I think I’m going to take Amelia on a sailing trip,” Penny suggested, causing Cora to nod in return. “Did you and Nickie want to come?”

“No, thank you though,” Cora replied softly, turning back to her son. “I’m worried that Nickie would go tumbling off the side at this rate.”

“You know that I’m always here for the two of you.”

“I know, Penny. Thank you.”

Cora turned back to the waves of the distant ocean, unable to help the tears building in her eyes. Silently letting them drip down her cheeks, Cora let Penny pull her into a tight hug as the two women tried to hold themselves together for the sake of their children. And, frankly, for themselves.

~~~~~

“Dagger Two defending!” Rooster called out, spotting the SAMs behind him. Slamming his fist into the flares button, Rooster cursed when none popped out. “Shit! I’m out of flares!”

“Rooster, evade, evade!” Maverick yelled back, quickly turning around to help.

“I can’t shake them! They’re on me! They’re on me!” Rooster warned, going through evasive maneuvers.

Maverick didn’t hesitate. He just moved.

A thousand thoughts were flying through his head as he sped towards Rooster. Goose’s face. Carole’s face. Cora’s face. Nickie’s face. Oh, God, Nickie. Racing to protect his best friend’s son and his grandson’s father that he barely knew, Maverick hurried to get into position.

Rooster had to live. He had to live. He had to make it right with Cora. He had to make it right with Nickie. He had to live. He had to survive.

The sensors in front of Rooster started to beep aggressively, warning him that the SAMs were getting closer. Maverick yanked back on the joy stick, using the cobra maneuver to fly up above Rooster. Slamming his fist onto his flare button, Maverick released the flares behind Rooster, protecting him from one of the SAMs.

But Maverick’s own sensors started to blare as the second SAM flew forward.

“Mav!” Rooster screamed out in a panic.

Maverick grunted as the SAM hit him directly in the back of his aircraft. His plane broke apart and he started hurtling towards the ground in a great ball of fire. Sensors beeped all around Maverick as he released the joy stick, submitting to his fate.

And just before it all went back Maverick swore that he heard Nickie’s voice calling out to him.

~~~~~

“Penny said that she’s taking Amelia on a sailing trip,” Cora told Nickie softly as they packed up his gear to head back home. “Did you want to go?”

“No,” Nickie replied quietly, shaking his head. “I think that I just want to stay home.”

“We’ll do whatever you want to do, okay?” Cora assured Nickie, forcing a small smile.

“Do you think we could get those burgers at the diner that Gramps likes?” Nickie asked as he opened the passenger door.

“I thought that you hated those burgers,” Cora replied quietly, staring over at her son. “You always said that they were too greasy.”

“I know, but . . . Gramps always like them,” Nickie returned softly.

Trying to not let her lips wobble, Cora forced a smile and grabbed Nickie’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. Turning on the car, she faced forward to try and get control over her emotions.

“We’ll get some burgers then. For your Gramps.”

~~~~~

Maverick sprinted through the thick snow, powered by sheer determination. Every few steps he took, Maverick did a quick calculation about how much farther Rooster was and about how long it would take to get to him. His first aid training ran through his brain too.

Was Rooster hurt? Did he land safely? Did he eject safely? Maverick didn’t have the answer.

Spotting Rooster upright and kneeling in the snow, shoving down his parachute, Maverick felt new energy course through his veins. Rooster was alive. And he wasn’t hurt too bad based on the way that he was kneeling. He was alright. He was going to survive his ejection.

“You alright!?” Maverick yelled, hopping over a snow bank.

“Yeah, I’m good. You alright?” Rooster called back, right before Maverick pushed him straight into a pile of snow. “Jesus! What the hell!?”

Rooster yanked his helmet off and shoved it into the snow. Maverick slipped his off as well before turning to give Rooster the scolding of a lifetime.

“What are you doing here!?”

“What am I doing here!?” Rooster squawked back indignantly as he stood up.

“You think I took that missile for you so you could be down here with me!? You should be back on the carrier by now!”

“I saved your life!” Rooster snapped back.

“I saved your life! That’s the whole point.” Shaking his head incredulously, Maverick turned back to Rooster. “What the hell were you even thinking!?”

“You told me not to think!”

Maverick didn’t have a response for that, simply breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath. Rooster nodded sarcastically, throwing his arms up in the air, before slamming them back at his sides. Both Maverick and Rooster breathed heavily, looking around the forest for any hostiles, before turning back to each other.

“You were supposed to go back to Cora and Nickie,” Maverick sighed, staggering a bit. Squatting in the snow, Maverick looked up at Rooster, who stared back evenly at him. “You were supposed to go back and make it right.”

“I am going to,” Rooster vowed, straightening up. He looked around the forest again before returning his gaze to Maverick. “But it wasn’t going to work without you.”

Maverick let out a breath, dropped his head down onto his hand. Rubbing his face as he tried to catch his breath properly after sprinting a couple miles at his age, Maverick picked his head up to find Rooster already offering him a hand. Taking it, Maverick accepted Rooster’s help up and dusted some of the snow off of his flight suit.

“She’s going to kill us when she finds out,” Maverick stated, glancing around the forest.

“If she finds out,” Rooster suggested, causing Maverick to nod in agreement.

“Well, it’s good to see you,” Maverick replied with a small smile.

“It’s good to see you too,” Rooster returned, setting his hands on his hips. “So, what’s the plan?”

~~~~~

Cora looked up from her computer when one of the nurses at her office rushed into the room that she was charting in. Immediately assuming that something was wrong with one of the patients, Cora leapt to her feet, ready for action.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You have to come see. Room 22.”

Cora quickly rushed down the hall, overtaking the junior nurse. Opening the door to the patient room, Cora stepped inside, expecting to see a swarm of doctors and nurses, but all she saw was her dad, dressed in his flight suit, waiting for her on the patient bed.

And in that moment, Cora wasn’t thirty-four. She was a little kid all over again.

Letting out a choked sob, Cora raced across the room and threw herself into her dad’s waiting arms, completely unaware that her coworkers were filming the whole thing. And she was even less aware that there was another surprise guest waiting for her in the corner. Unable to help the tears of relief, Cora let her dad rock her back and forth.

“I’m alright,” Maverick chuckled, hugging his daughter to his chest. “Just a few bumps and bruises.”

“I know that you’re hiding injuries from me, but I don’t even care right now,” Cora sobbed, unwilling to let go of her dad. “You’re home. You’re home.”

“We’re home.”

Releasing her dad, Cora wiped some of her tears away and turned to see Rooster standing in the corner, also dressed in his flight suit. It took her a second, a painful second where Rooster wondered if she was even happy to see him, before Cora took off again. Running into his arms, Cora buried her face into Rooster’s shoulder, and Rooster quickly returned the hug.

Wrapping her arms around him tightly, Cora breathed in Rooster’s cologne, soothing herself just a bit more. They were home. They were safe. They were alive. There wouldn’t be a funeral. There wouldn’t be a burial. They were here.

“You came back,” Cora whispered shakily, causing Rooster to hug her tighter.

“I wasn’t going to leave you guys. Not again.”

Cora nodded against him, letting out a shaky breath. Maverick smiled at Cora and Rooster’s embrace as he stood up. Cora and Rooster broke away, both turning to Maverick.

“So, how’re we going to surprise Nickie?” Maverick asked, wearing that iconic mischievous smirk.

~~~~~

Nickie walked up to the side door and unlocked it, heading inside after taking the bus home from school. He locked the door behind him and went about his usual after-school routine as if it was a normal day. Dropping his backpack onto one of the chairs, Nickie turned for the fridge to grab a snack. He opened the fridge door and frowned when he found a note waiting for him with his mom’s handwriting.

“Turn around?” he read aloud, confused, before doing as the note said.

Nickie had a split second to register who was standing behind him before sprinting the last few steps over to his grandfather. Maverick laughed as Nickie had to bend a little to give him a hug and rubbed his back as Nickie quickly sobbed into his shoulder. Cora held a hand to her mouth, happy tears coming to her eyes as Nickie reunited with his grandfather.

“You’re alive,” Nickie croaked out, hugging his grandfather just a little tighter.

“Well, apparently, I refuse to die,” Maverick returned, causing Nickie to laugh a bit shakily.

“Does Mom know that you’re here?”

“Yeah, she’s right there.”

Nickie looked up from his grandfather’s shoulder to see his mom standing there with tears in her eyes. Cora waved to Nickie before he looked beyond her and spotted another figure standing there. Rooster stayed back, knowing that Nickie didn’t exactly view him as a dad but more of some kind of random stranger that bumped into his life unexpectedly.

But after Nickie gave his mom a quick hug in greeting, Nickie turned to face Rooster on his own. Rooster stood a bit nervously as Nickie stopped a few paces away from him. He wasn’t sure what Nickie’s reaction was going to be to his presence. But after what seemed like a century passed, Nickie reached forward and gave Rooster a hug.

Rooster froze for a moment before hugging Nickie back even stronger, far too emotional to do anything else. It was the first time that he held his son. His kid. And his son willingly hugged him. Rooster couldn’t help but let a few tears out during the moment. And Nickie, for his part, didn’t seem to want to let Rooster go either.

Amelia was right, Nickie realized with some apprehension. He really would have beat himself up for the rest of his life if he didn’t talk to Rooster before he left on the mission. Not that it mattered now, because Rooster was here. And based on the way that Rooster was hugging him back, Nickie had a feeling that Rooster was around to stay.

Cora shared a smile with Maverick as they watched Nickie and Rooster embrace for the first time ever. Maverick squeezed his daughter’s shoulder as she dried her eyes again.

~~~~~

There was a cook out on the beach with the whole Dagger crew in a post-mission celebration. Penny pulled out a grill from somewhere in the Hard Deck and Maverick was nominated to do the grilling for the whole team, which he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

The rest of the Dagger Squad and their guests were spread out over the patch of sand, talking and chatting with each other and simply enjoying the San Diego sun. Cora stood to the side of the volleyball court a short walk from the grill, smiling to herself while she watched Nickie and Rooster work together to try and beat Harvard and Yale.

“Ms. Mitchell?” a voice called from her left, causing Cora to turn.

“Admiral Simpson,” she returned, straightening up subconsciously as Cyclone stood beside her.

“It has come to my attention that your son, Nickie, wants to become an aviator,” Cyclone began, causing Cora to pause for a moment.

“Yes, I believe that he does,” she replied quietly, fiddling with her necklace.

“Well, if he’s anything like his family members before him, he will one day make it to Top Gun.”

“That is his dream,” Cora echoed softly.

“Can you do me one favor, Ms. Mitchell?” Cyclone asked her after a moment.

“Sure,” Cora responded, turning to face Cyclone fully.

“Please inform me the second that your son gets his wings. So that I can immediately put in my retirement notice,” Cyclone emphasized, causing Cora to bite her cheek to not burst out laughing. She simply nodded instead, trying to hold it in. “Thank you.”

When Cyclone walked off, Cora let out a quiet laugh to herself. Shaking her head, she turned back to watch the volleyball game. But it seemed that between being Maverick’s daughter and the mother of Rooster’s secret love child, she was a popular person around the Dagger Squad.

“You must be the lovely Cora that we’ve heard so much about,” Hangman drawled, walking over to her.

“And you must be Hangman,” she returned, gazing at him curiously.

She didn’t get much of the details about the mission—considering it was top secret and all that—but the way that Maverick talked about Hangman led her to believe that something happened on the mission that fixed Maverick’s and even Rooster’s perspective on him.

But that grin that Hangman only told her one thing—he was trouble. Luckily, Cora was a Mitchell. She was natural at being trouble. It was in her genes.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he stated, offering her a hand to shake.

“Likewise,” she returned, shaking his hand politely.

“You know, I have to say that you are far more beautiful than anyone described you as,” Hangman flirted, causing Cora to cock an eyebrow.

“How badly do you want Rooster to lose this game?” she asked, tilting her chin up a bit.

“About twenty bucks worth. Forty, actually,” Hangman replied, waving over to Coyote and Phoenix.

Phoenix shook her head in disbelief, probably waiting for Cora to knee Hangman in the balls, while Coyote seemed to be struggling to contain his laughter. Remaining poised, Cora turned back to Hangman as he continued with his explanation.

“That is, if Rooster comes and tries to rip my head off,” Hangman replied with a wink, causing Cora to smirk to herself.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Rooster.”

“Your dad’s all the way—ow!”

The volleyball smacked right into the back of Hangman’s head, causing him to whirl around, rubbing his head. Nickie, who was originally wearing a look of death, immediately put on an innocent smile when Cora and Hangman turned to him and waved sarcastically.

Nickie, after all, was a mama’s boy. A mama’s boy who knew that men liked to lurk around his mom.

“Sorry!” Nickie called over.

“It slipped because of the sunscreen!” Rooster covered for Nickie, holding a thumbs up.

“Sure, it did,” Cora replied, shaking her head. Turning back to Hangman, she offered a smile. “I think that means that you only get twenty.”

“Great shot, Nickie!” Penny praised, clapping loudly for him.

“Any chance that you’d like a drink?” Hangman asked, trying to make just a little more money.

Up until Rooster hit the volleyball, which had rolled back to him after hitting Hangman in the head, into Hangman’s back, causing Hangman to roll his eyes. Rooster waved innocently, not unlike his son did moments before, as Cora shot him a look.

“Sunscreen again!”

~~~~~

Eventually, the teams broke for food. Cora sat on the beach chair that she brought along, chatting with Bob and Phoenix, when Rooster slowly approached her. Phoenix nudged Bob in the side and they both made lame excuses before heading off, leaving Cora and Rooster alone.

“Is this seat taken?” Rooster asked, gesturing to the seat next to her.

“It looks like it’s about to be,” Cora replied, nodding towards it.

Rooster sat down and the two of them shared a small smile for a moment. It was still a little awkward between them, and there was no way really around that, but it was getting better. It was getting more and more like old times. Bradley was reminding Cora more of the Bradley she knew before Carole died, and that in of itself made her so happy.

“They asked us if we had a preference for where we wanted to be stationed,” Rooster began, causing Cora to sober up a bit.

“And?”

“I talked to Cyclone about it. He couldn’t guarantee North Island, but he said that he would make sure that I was in California,” Rooster explained, causing Cora to smile and nod. “And I know that you have work and Nickie has school, but we could drive out to where we grew up and show Nickie all of that and . . . my parents and that sort of stuff.”

“I think that Nickie would really like that,” Cora agreed, smiling softly.

“And you? Would you like that?” Rooster asked quietly.

“I’d love that,” Cora stated, causing Rooster to grin.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I would,” Cora repeated, smiling over at Rooster, who beamed right back at her.

Maverick watched Rooster and Cora chat over by themselves, relived that the two of them were talking and seemed to be getting along again. Penny nudged him with her arm, causing Maverick to turn to her. She pointed over at the volleyball court, where Nickie was holding up the ball.

“Hey, Gramps! One more game?” Nickie asked, grinning mischievously.

“Easy game!” Fanboy heckled, causing Maverick to laugh and slowly get to his feet.

“Alright, one more game, Nickie,” Maverick replied, jogging over to his grandson. “But we can’t go easy on them, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nickie agreed, smirking that iconic Mitchell smirk.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

A.N. So, that's it! The main part anyways! Epilogue is inbound, and should be posted soon! Thank you to everyone who read this series and especially those who reblogged and commented on all of the different chapters! I hope that you enjoyed it!

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If I forgot you in the tags, don’t be afraid to ask again because I’m definitely scatterbrained when it comes to that but please have a reference to your age somewhere on your blog (bio, pinned post) or just message me because you will not be tagged otherwise.

#top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun #tgm #tgm fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster fanfic #bradley rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw #top gun rooster #rooster #rooster top gun #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell

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theonevoice · 1 year ago

Text

Rumination n. 6 - It was all Jim's fault

Well, not all his fault. He walked right into a 6000yo situation of unspoken "do I... would you... could we...", but I think, since he fills the role of comic relief, we are not fully taking into account his impact on the whole ineffable miscommunication mess.

Because he is not just a plot device, he is a character that pushes Aziraphale and Crowley to act in unplanned ways and - most of all - brings some of their worldview biases and traumas out of their dark corners. And I am increasingly convinced that his presence plays a major role in the final breakup, acting as a catalyst for their millennia-long misalignment of hopes and fears.

Sure, he is there to make us smile and Jon Hamm is a joy to watch (I cannot get to his line in ep 1, when Aziraphale tells him that he can see that he's naked, and he goes "Oh! Well, what do you know? Ahahah!" without burst out laughing, even after countless rewatches), but that humor is mainly for us viewers to detect. From Aziraphale's and Crowley's point of view, he doesn't appear as funny as he does to us. For them, he is a source of worry and danger, and I would argue that he is also an incarnation of different desires. And that's the point.

Let's consider for a moment Aziraphale's perspective. He sees his former boss, "most holy archangel" Gabriel, pop up one day at the bookshop, reduced to the mental capacity of a smart dog, vaguely aware that someone was planning to do "something terrible" to him. It is a terrifying spectacle to behold. It's not just the mere danger of having one of the most powerful entities in the universe, possibly still in posess of all his powers, acting like a child. It's the terror of witnessing what Heaven can do to your identity and your mind: imagine Aziraphale - book-lover, diary-writer, Antichrist-locator Aziraphale with the capacity, as per the book, to solve math problems that only people with Nobel prizes could master - trying to process the idea that his former boss doesn't know the alphabet anymore. The idea that he could be reduced to that degree of utter ignorance and unawareness if Heaven decided that their truce is over.

At the same time, what Aziraphale sees is that, once stripped of all the layers of Heaven's legalism, Gabriel is legitimately a great guy.

We all love Muriel to death, of course, but the more I watch s2 the more I believe that Jim is the most similar "angel" to Aziraphale out of all the ones we see. He is jovial (think at whatever that cheeck squishing thing is that he does during the ball), he is enthusiastic (think at his reaction at his first sip of hot chocolate, and also his genuine "hurray! Let the bookselling commence!"). He is affectionate and open about it ("You're funny, I love you"). He is caring (sure he was struggling to read the room during the demon attack, but still in that moment of danger he has the altruism of thinking to ask if anyone wants hot chocolate, and hot chocolate is the symbol of comfort for him, it's the first thing Aziraphale offers to him to make him feel at ease in the bookshop and the thing that Crowley brings him to soothe his angst after the memory conversation). He is helpful or at least he wants to be (rearranging the books in an order that, if you think about it, follows the criterion of medieval manuscripts illuminators, who usually embellished only the first letter of the first sentence on a page, which makes sense as a frame of reference for an angel whose only experience of books probably goes back to some old Bibles). He is generous and brave (giving himself up without a second thought when he realises that Shax is threatening Aziraphale and all the others because of him).

As Jim, memory-wiped Gabriel is both Aziraphale's worst fear and his deepest hope: that after all Heaven is the side of good, that all the cruelty and the callousness and the total blindness to the value of life on Earth is just a mishap, that if you scrape off the absurd obsession with World Ending Great Plans you will find underneath a form of good that is pure and gentle. I think Jim, way more than the Metatron and his shitty offer-threat, is the main thing that brings Aziraphale back on the mission of fixing Heaven, "making a difference," not for the greater cosmic good, but to create a safe place for him and Crowley. So they can be safe together.

But something similar happens from Crowley's point of view. He also sees Gabriel as the concrete manifestation of both his worst fear and his deepest desire. The former Supreme Archangel renews the momentarily forgotten awareness of what Heaven and Hell can do to you if you cross them: destroy you either by throwing you into hellfire or holy water, or now by hanging the threat of the Book of Life above your head. Force you to live in a constant state of danger, pressing you against the possibility of your non-existence, making you feel like you have a loaded gun constantly placed against your skull and no magic trick to avoid the bullet.

At the same time, just as Aziraphale, what Crowley sees is that, if you are determined and lucky or maybe just inconsiderate, you can get away from Heaven and live your happy thoughtless life on Earth. Think of how bitter he is when he confronts Jim in ep5, calling him Gabriel and "Oh, yeah yeah, no no no. You're Jim now. Got everything just the way you want it?" I think here Crowley is projecting his desire to be "on the lam having a wonderful time and never be seen again." Sure, everyone is after him and they had to perform a joined miracle to hide him, but let's not forget that Crowley was not doing it to save Gabriel, he was doing it to keep Aziraphale safe. From his point of view, Gabriel did it: he run off, cut ties with Heaven, settled in his little neat new identity, cared and protected, not a thought in his head. And yes, Crowley is painfully aware of how awful it is to have your memory erased - I don't think he would consider it an acceptable price to pay for freedom. But still, Gabriel did what he would like to do. And it does not help that memory-wiped Gabriel presents specifically to Crowley some aspects of his personality in which he can recognize himself. He is curious and asks questions (think of the gravity conversation), and even more important he is ready to dispute the answers that are given to him ("but they don't stay where I put them"). He hears the plan about Nina and Maggie that Aziraphale didn't listen to, and afterwards asks Crowley how it went. He is insightful in his own instinctive way (when he tells Crowley "you're really nice" he's not just saying "you are nice a lot" but also "in reality you are nice", he's seeing through Crowley's rough mannerism even if just seconds before he was angrily shouting at him). He has lost his memory, which by now I think most of us agree it's what also happened to Crowley, at least partially ("I know, looking at where the furniture isn't"). And then, the final nail on the mirror-coffin: Gabriel run away from Heaven for his love. They run off together.

Having Jim right there, in front of his very eyes, I think it's the thing that pushes Crowley back to his old plan of running off together with Aziraphale: he is the living prove that it can be done, further confirmed by his final departure with Beelzebub. Of course, for a brief moment both sides of the metaphisical universe where hunting him down, which is not desirable. But Gabriel was the Supreme Archangel after all, it's only fair that they're looking for him. They are but a former bullied angel and a former already-replaced demon, maybe Heaven and Hell would not mobilised their hosts for them. They could be finally safe together.

So, when you put everything together, I think that what happened at the end of ep6 has more to do with Gabriel and how his presence affected them during the season, than it has to do with the Metatron, or even with the Nina-Maggie foil. It is Jim that pushed a wedge into the thin crack that had always been there, separating what each of them sees as the best way to be safe together.

#good omens #good omens 2 #go2 #crowley #aziraphale #good omens thoughts #go2 spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #jimbriel #supreme archangel gabriel #the final fifteen #good omens meta

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starcrossedxwriter · 2 years ago

Text

Built for Love Part 5 (MBJ x Black Famous OC

A/N: just a really long chapter lol also realized I should start giving like dates so this is like late July 2015, one week after part 4. Enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of trauma, sex talk, healthy amount of fluff and angst

“So where are y'all going again?” Charlotte heard her brother ask.

She continued with her extensive makeup routine as she called back, “You know that nigga refuses to tell me?”

She studied her makeup in the mirror. She gave herself an encouraging nod. Despite the extensive effort it took, her beat looked natural and effortless. Michael always complimented her, from when she was fresh off a run and sweaty to when she was full glam. But she still wanted to look her best.

“Well, surprises are usually nice,” Lauren, their resident optimist, interjected.

Charlotte paused her visual survey of her look to poke her head out of her bathroom to throw Lo a side eye and eye roll.

“You know that bitch hates surprises,” Jazzmine, Charlotte and Jackson’s childhood best friend, chimed in.

Her friends were keeping her company and her anxieties in check as she got ready for her and Michael’s first date.

She questioned if they could even really classify it as a first date. After all, looking back, they went on a million dates before this one when they lived in Philly. But she supposed neither of them considered those dates at the time. So this was their first official date experience, where the intention was to start something fresh and new. Michael gladly took on the task of planning the evening, which both increased and decreased Charlotte’s anxieties for the night. On one hand, she did not have the worries of planning it and making sure it was fun. But on the other, she had all the anxieties about what the night would hold.

“I do!” And it was true, she did. However, she could tell Michael was the type of man who enjoyed surprises, giving and receiving them. But because Michael was so attentive by nature, he also struck her as a man who made surprises worth the anxiety. “But I trust him. So I know he isn’t taking us anywhere stupid. I just hope this outfit works,” she grumbled as she studied her body in the mirror.

With the precious little he told her, he let her know she did not have to be particularly dressed up. And that she should be prepared for some walking. That let her know it was not a standard dinner date, which she appreciated. So she opted for a bodysuit and black jeans. It showed off the right assets but would work for most activities that were not dinner. She pulled her tried and tested favorite chunky heels out for the night, knowing she could walk a few miles in those before her feet gave out on her.

“I don’t know though, Charlie. He always seemed like the sweet, romantic nigga. So, he’s gonna do this type of shit all the time.”

She nodded, though no one could see her. “Yea I get that vibe too.”

“But Charlie is a hopeless romantic at heart, underneath all that,” Lauren waved her hand in the air to signify all the baggage. “She just needs the right guy to be romantic to her.”

“Fair. And she’s soft too so they are perfect for each other,” Jazz agreed, Charlotte letting out a gasp of annoyance from the bathroom. “I give it two weeks and you’ll be in love with all that romantic sappy surprise shit.”

“Y’all don’t know me as well as you think!” Charlotte called to them as she rounded the corner of her bathroom. She did a spin for the group. “What do we think?”

“Perfect.”

“Your ass looks amazing. He’s definitely gonna want to fuck when the night’s over.”

All of the girls busted out laughing at Jazz’s vulgarness, Jackson’s face immediately twisting up in disgust.

“Sometimes I think y’all forget I’m her brother and that I’m here too. I don’t want to hear that shit.”

“Close your ears then!” Jazz shot back. “Operation ‘Finally Get Charlie Girl Slutted Out’ finally commences.”

Charlotte put a hand over her face in embarrassment, her cheeks blushing slightly at her vulgarness. It was not a surprise that sex was her first thought. One thing Jazz was always going to do is take it there.

“That is not a real thing!” Charlotte shook her head. “We are not giving my sex life an Operation name like it’s a fuckin secret mission.”

Jazz scoffed. “Sorry boo. Too late. LoLo and I started this mission like six months ago.”

Lauren’s shoulders shrugged empathetically as she mouthed sorry.

“Traitor!”

“But seriously… when you gon’ let him fuck you senseless?”

“Jazz! My brother is right there.”

“I turned off my ears. Not listening!”

“Aint nobody worried bout that nigga. Stop avoiding the question.”

Charlotte’s shoulder leaned against the door frame. She picked at her nails as she thought about it.

“I dunno. We almost did it the other night. But he said he felt like it was too haphazard, which I didn’t disagree with. But now I kinda wish we had just done it then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I think I’m gonna lose my nerve! Like the more I think about it and what it’ll be like, the more freaked out I get and the more I wanna just push it off. I dunno, don’t think he’s the type of nigga whose ever been made to wait long though.”

“That nigga will wait as long as you need him,” Jazz corrected her firmly.

“Don’t tell me you on some stupid Steve Harvey 90-day shit?? Cause nigga definitely ain’t gon’ stick around for that shit,” Jackson finally interrupted their girls chat with his own opinion.

“I thought you weren’t listening??” Lauren asked her husband, all the women laughing at how truly nosey he was.

Charlotte’s face twisted up at the idea. “No, no! Not 90 days. Hell, I don’t think I even have that much self control. I just don’t think I’m ready tonight. I think I’m just too in my head about it? Like how he’ll be, how I’ll be? And… before, sex was just something to get through? Something to endure because I didn’t really have an option or it would just make things worse. I don’t want that to be Bakari and I. But that’s all I know a-and I’m worried that inexperience is gonna show? I mean I’ve never even had an or-” She stopped herself, immediately cringing as she saw the shocked looks on her friends faces. “No. No.” She immediately started to say. “Please pretend I never said that.”

“Absolutely the fuck not, bitch. Please tell me you were about to say some weird position no one has heard of and not that you’ve never had an orgasm??”

“J, baby, girl time. Get out,” Lauren instructed, Jackson happily excusing himself to Charlotte’s living room. Once he was gone, she turned her attention back to Charlotte. “Never?? Like not even once??”

Charlotte shrugged as she picked at her cuticles. “Don’t shame me about it! It’s so embarrassing. And I don’t really know? I don’t think so??”

“If you have to think about it then you most definitely haven’t,” Jazz shook her head. She glanced at Lauren. “Another thing to add to the list.”

“The list?”

“List of reasons we have to murder that dumb ass nigga if we ever see him again.”

“You know some women can’t even orgasm… it’s not as uncommon or weird as you’d think,” Charlotte offered.

“Are you gonna tell Michael about all this??”

Charlotte let out a humorless laugh. “So he can find out another way in which I’m irreversibly damaged?? No thank you. I already dropped so much on him just last weekend. Not trying to give him more reasons to run for the hills.”

Lauren sighed, “Look, sex is as much about communication as it is just about following your desires and wants. You can just go with the flow and see what happens. It could be amazing without any conversation. Or you can put your big girl panties on and make it clear what you want out of the experience and why to ensure he really knows you.”

“And sex with every guy is different,” Jazz offered as she flipped through a magazine. “I’ve been with niggas where I hated one thing until a new nigga came along and made me love it. Don’t let how it was in the past make you think it can’t be fun and enjoyable. And with the right guy, life changing.”

“So your life must’ve been changed a couple times?” Lauren asked, shading her best friend.

“Yes and what about it?? My point is, that’s how it was supposed to be the entire time. I know it’s hard for you but have fun. That’s what dating and sex and all of this is supposed to be anyway - fun. And enjoy the moment with him. And if it happens tonight, great. If it’s 90 days from now, also great.”

“Yea, you’re right. It’s j-” Her cell phone rang interrupting their conversation. “Oh, it's the front desk. He must be here.” She instructed the front desk attendant of her building to let him up. “Ok friends, y’all gotta go before he gets up here.”

“We can’t meet him???”

“No cause y’all are just gonna embarrass me. Out.” She playfully herded them out of her bedroom and toward the front door. She could tell they were all wasting as much time as possible, taking their sweet time grabbing their belongings and jackets.

These niggas, she thought to herself. She was not surprised when the knock at the door made all of them grin like they just won the lottery.

“Don’t embarrass me,” she warned before she checked her hair and makeup in the mirror in the foyer. She opened the door to find Michael with a bouquet of pink roses in his hand.

He let out a low whistle as she gave him a hug and kiss.

“These are for you. You look beautiful,” he offered as he handed her the bouquet.

She watched him for a moment, part of her waiting for the backhanded part of his compliment to come. ‘You look beautiful, but…’ however, it never did.

“T-thank you,” she answered quickly, ushering him inside. “I’m ready, just let me put these in water.”

Michael’s eyes immediately started to take in her apartment, this was his first time there since they started dating. His visual sweep and catalog of things to store away was cut short when his eyes landed on a group of people awkwardly lingering in her living room, staring at him expectantly. He walked in further and started to greet them.

“What’s up? I’m Michael.” He dapped Jackson up and gave Jazz and Lauren brief hugs.

“That’s Jackson, Jazzmine and Lauren and they were just leaving,” Charlotte said as she came up behind them.

“I’m sure we could stay a few minutes and get to know Michael?” Jazz asked innocently.

“Yea I’d love that,” Jackson offered, his serious and intimidating face on. Charlotte rolled her eyes, this is exactly what she hoped to avoid. “Get to know the guy, learn about him and shit.”

“No, no I think y’all should be headed out. Michael has a whole evening planned, I’m sure.” Charlotte narrowed her eyes at her friends.

“Charlie’s right. Out. Both of you. Sorry,” Lauren offered the couple, pushing her husband and their best friend out the door.

“Night guys.” She gave them all hugs before pushing them out of her house.

“Sorry… they wanted a glimpse of you so bad,” she laughed. Michael merely grinned and waved his hand dismissively.

“No worries. It was cute. They are clearly protective of you, it’s sweet. How’d you meet Lauren and Jazzmine?”

Charlotte settled on the edge of the couch as she sat to fasten the ankle straps of her heels.

“Oh, Jazz grew up with Jackson and I. Met her in freshman English homeroom in the 9th grade. Inseparable ever since. Jackson was a year older but we were kinda a package deal at the time. So they became good friends. And I met Lauren at Juilliard. She’s a dancer. Teaches at a ballerina studio in the city. Lo and Jackson met when he came to visit one weekend and it was love at first sight. And thankfully Lo and Jazz hit it off when they finally met too. And we all ended up out here.”

“So that’s your crew?”

“Yep. I would die without those three. Then Lo and I have a couple of other friends we are close to. My eldest sister and brother live on the east coast so it’s harder to spend time with them. But anywho,” she held her arms out as she stood up. “This suitable for where we’re headed?”

“It’s perfect. You look perfect. You ready?”

At her nods, Michael slid his hand into hers and led her out of her apartment and to her car. The car ride was not long, Michael allowing Charlotte to DJ so he could learn more about her musical taste. She definitely was an R&B fan, specifically 90s R&B. But she seemed to have an appreciation for the whole genre. And the activity reminded him of how limitless her own talent for music truly was. She was not just a good singer, she was a student of music. Michael could’ve just sat in the car for hours and listened to her dissect every song, provide her insight to specific choices, highlight samples he did not even recognize. He was kind of sad to end the conversation when they arrived at their destination.

He helped Charlotte out of the car and walked her to a building across the street. It was full of people and bustling with activity.

“Aight, so. I remembered you saying you haven’t seen much of LA yet, even though you’ve been here for a while. So I thought I’d take you somewhere that highlights the best LA has to offer.” He held out his hands. “It’s an art walk. One of the biggest in all of California and the most popular. One weekend in August every year. New and upcoming artists, world-renowned LA natives. If the artist is from LA, they are in here somewhere. This year, they chose to feature only artists of color.”

Charlotte’s eyes grew wide as she took in the scene. It was clearly extremely popular, artists and vendors seemed to pack the half indoor/outdoor space. There were food trucks and other vendors lining the street with a live jazz band playing to create the perfect mood.

“Oh I love this… definitely an A for execution, Mr. Jordan. Perfect first date.”

“I aim to please. And then I got a reservation at your favorite spot.”

“Saffron??” She squealed, an upscale Indian restaurant that Charlotte lived and died by in the city. It was the only restaurant she missed when she was traveling.

“Of course.”

“Wow, if there was a grade higher than A, you’d most certainly get it. This is really nice, thank you.”

The pair laughed and joked as they walked through the exhibits. Charlotte felt pulled in a thousand directions as everything caught her eye. Michael enjoyed watching her. Whether it was sharing their commentary about the different pieces of art and installations or being mesmerized by her passion and interest in each piece, Michael was utterly enthralled by her. And thankful that he had decided to go this route. He knew she would not mind a stuffy, normal dinner date. But he felt as if they had plenty of time for normal dinner dates. He wanted to create memories with her, live out loud, and have a good time. And this felt just right.

The only thing that was, perhaps, odd for them was that they did not hold hands. Or show any type of physical affection. It was not for a lack of desire or want. They both found it fairly difficult to keep their hands off each other. But they had not decided how or when they would go public yet. Charlotte had reservations about coming out as dating her co star in her first major film and Michael was Michael, he knew any woman tied to him romantically would receive scrutiny. They knew they could not keep it hidden forever, especially with the press tour quickly approaching. But they wanted to come out in their own time. So even though they kept close to each other, they hoped that if someone did snag a photo, they would just seem like two friends at an art show, not boyfriend and girlfriend.

“Oh my god,” Charlotte stopped in front of an easel. “I’ve seen this before,” she pointed at a painting of a black woman standing in the mirror. “Rashad Brooks,” she muttered.

“You know this guy?”

“No not personally. But I’ve seen this painting before, at an art show in New York. This was the centerpiece. His whole series was portraits on perspective. How we don’t see ourselves as others see us. Each piece told a story until you got to this one, the one where she finally sees herself as, not just what she is, but what she wants to be. She sees more for herself and in herself than before. The way her reflection back is a Goddess instead of the negative things she focused on before. And she doesn’t just see it, she materializes it and chooses to act on it. To radiate it outward to the world. See the way the soft gold glow extends in the mirror and around her in real life.”

“What do you like about it?”

Charlotte tilted her head, her eyes drinking the piece in again. It still hit her the same as the first time she saw it.

“I dunno. I always felt it was kinda calling to me in some way? Like it was the message I needed at the time to remember to see more for myself? See it and act on it? If she could see more, why couldn’t I?” She chuckled and gave him an embarrassing smile. “It’s silly, I know.”

“Definitely not silly,” a voice interjected, a man stepping from behind another easel. “It is great to hear someone talk about the piece with such passion. And so accurately. I should take you to my next show. I’m Rashad, the artist.”

Charlotte shook his hand. “So great to meet you. I love your work, it's so realistic and flawless. It is like looking at a photo, so detailed. You’re amazing.”

“I appreciate that. If you are interested in ever coming to a gallery to see more,” he handed her his card. “My website and information is on it.”

Charlotte tucked it into her pocket. She would definitely keep the artist in mind for the day when she was so booked and busy, she did not mind dropping thousands of dollars on a painting. Being forever frugal and anxious that her bookings would dry up or become inconsistent, that just wasn’t her yet.

Charlotte threw another longing glance at the painting before they said goodbye and continued walking toward the next booth. “Ok that was the best thing I’ve seen since we got here.”

“And that’s saying somethin’ cause you’ve said that about almost every artists since we walked in.”

Charlotte laughed and bowed her head. “Sorry, I just love seeing people live in their passions, especially us. All these Black artists taking space and doing what they love day in and day out.” She shrugged. “I guess I miss that energy a lot? It’s just nice to be in a space with that. Thank you for this.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Easily the best and most creative first date I’ve ever been on.”

“Maybe one day, you’ll get back to your passions. And of course, that’s what I was aimin’ for.”

“It would take an act from God, but maybe.”

“Wanna check out that section over there and then head to dinner?”

“Oh. We couldn’t sta-” Charlotte’s smile faltered a bit and she bit her lip, a question on whether they could stay a bit longer starting to fall from her lips before she stopped herself. She realized it was late, the sun had come and gone since they arrived. However, she just did not want to leave yet and she was having so much fun with him, she desperately wanted to prolong the evening as long as possible. However, an instinct stole the words right out of her mouth and she quickly course corrected, he was ready to go so that meant it was time to go. She forced her smile to grow again, “Y-Yea, that sounds great. Whatever you want, babe.”

“You sure? We can stay longer. We can hang out longer and do Saffron another night?” Michael offered to adjust. He truthfully did not care what they did or where they ended up for dinner. He just made the reservation to ensure they had somewhere nice to go if they wanted to.

“No, no. I want to do the night you planned. Let’s go,” she smiled, gesturing for him to lead the way.

Michael merely nodded and continued walking, biting down his own confusion at her sudden switch up. However, she still seemed like herself, happy and engaged. So, he tried not to harbor on it for too long. They walked around for another 15 minutes or so before getting in his car and heading to dinner.

By the time dinner concluded, Charlotte was more than a little sad to be headed home. She knew the date was going to go well but she had not imagined Michael would put in as much effort as he did to ensure it was something she would like and enjoy.

“I had an amazing time, thank you.” Charlotte offered as Michael walked her to her door.

“So I earned a second date?” He asked playfully.

Charlotte smiled. “You earned a second date before I stepped in the car tonight. And a third one too.”

“Ah so I gotta start earning them again for the fourth one?”

“Yea. Can’t have you thinking I’m easy…” she winked at him. “Call me when you get home?”

“Of course, baby.”

One arm snaked around her waist as he pulled her in for a kiss. They lingered in it for a moment, however, Charlotte knew if she lingered too long, she would invite him in.

“I s-should call it a night,” she muttered against his lips.

Michael nodded, he knew that wasn’t happening tonight but he would be lying if he had not been hoping he was wrong. It wasn’t an issue, he would wait as long as it took. But that did not mean the waiting was easy for him. Especially when she looked like this, perfectly edible and delicious.

“Night, Els.”

“Night.”

Michael lingered for a moment until her door closed shut and he heard the faintest lock of her door. The moment he got in his car, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the business card from Rashad that he swiped from her pocket. It was a crafty bit of thievery on his part, he was thankful she had been too distracted in his embrace to notice. He dialed the number, not shocked to get his voicemail.

“Hey man, this is Michael B. Jordan. I was at the Art Walk tonight and the woman I was with loved one of your paintings. I’d like to buy it if it's still available. And I have a proposition for you. Hit me back when you have a chance. Thanks.”

***

Charlotte hummed quietly to herself, her body wrapped tightly in a blanket on her couch as she wrote on sheet music. A lazy Saturday in the apartment meant songwriting. She just did it for fun and most of the songs were not even good in her opinion. But it got her thoughts out of her head and onto the page, which is often what she needed. And she spent the majority of the day curled up on her couch, her music piling up next to her.

She glanced at her folder of recent songs. Most reflected her melancholy attitude and past, filled with shoes of heartbreak and pain. But today, this song was the exact opposite. It was filled with hope and excitement. It was the first love song she had written in years and she loved it.

Her groove was only interrupted by her cell phone ringing, the front desk number buzzing across her phone.

“Hey Rick, what’s up?”

“Hi Ms. Bennett, sorry to bother you so late but you have a package down here. Can I send the courier up?”

“I didn’t order anything? Who is it from?”

“Umm the courier said the sender’s name is Bakari?”

Charlotte bit her lip and smiled to herself. “Yep, you can send it up.”

She paced up and down the soft rug by her couch as she waited for bated breath for whatever this delivery was. Aside from flowers, she could not even imagine what it could be. She could not recall mentioning wanting anything specific, much less anything she expected her boyfriend of a week to buy her. She did not really expect Michael to buy her anything, preferred it actually. Her experiences made her fiercely independent. She and Michael almost got into showdowns about who would buy dinner. Their date yesterday was the first time she let him pay without an argument beforehand.

A knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts. She opened to find two men carrying a wide and tall box.

“Hi ma’am. We are gonna unwrap it and if you need help mounting it, we can assist with that.”

She nodded and ushered the two men in. She watched as they ripped all the packaging off. She let out an audible gasp as she took in the painting from her and Michael’s date the night before.

“W-whoa.”

“He included a note.” One of the men handed her a card. Charlotte ripped it open and read it silently.

You said this inspired you to see more. I hope every day you look at this, you are reminded of what I already know: you don’t just deserve more. You deserve everything. And every day is an opportunity to seize it.

Love,

Bakari

“Where would you like it?”

Charlotte glanced up, her hand quickly wiping a stray tear. “O-Oh um…” she glanced around her living room. She glanced at the dreaded bare wall behind her couch that she could never quite figure out what to do with. She painted it to give an accent wall but could never find the right piece to hang there. “There,” She pointed to it. “Right in the center.”

She watched patiently as the two men hung the painting for her and then left her apartment. The moment they were gone, she called Bakari.

“Hey baby, painting get there?”

“Yes… Thank you, it is stunning and amazing… and it’s too much, babe,” she rambled. It was not that she did not like it, she loved it and adored it. But she did not know if she could or should accept such an extravagant gift when they had only been dating for mere days. “It’s amazing and beautiful and you’re amazing for buying it. But it is too much, you gotta let me pay you back for it.”

Michael immediately laughed at the absurdity of her statement. “That ain’t how gifts work, baby girl.”

“But it’s too…”

“Too what?”

“Extravagant. I saw the price for this last night. It was thousands of dollars.”

“Yes and getting you something that made you as happy as this painting did was worth every penny.”

Charlotte’s voice grew small. “You sure?? I-I just don’t want to feel like I owe you.”

“Els. Baby, it’s just a painting. One that didn’t break the bank or anything close to it. I saw how happy it made you and how much you connected with it and I thought you’d like it. I just want you to enjoy it. It’s a gift, no strings attached. You don’t owe me anything and I wouldn’t accept anything if you tried. I promise. Just enjoy it, babe.”

Charlotte stared at the painting as he spoke, her heart swelling at having the piece in her home. It felt like a full circle moment. She felt as if this piece of art spoke to the fundamental reason she wanted to go into the arts herself, because it has the power to change the course of someone’s life. This painting, this beautiful piece of art, was one of several things that saved her life.

“Ok, I’m sorry. I’m ruining it, aren’t I?”

“You could never ruin anything. I just want you to know when I give you something, there ain’t no ulterior motives. I just want to see you smile. You smilin’? Cause it feels like you aren’t?”

“I am… truly. This is just the nicest thing anyone has ever bought me. I’ll send you a picture, it looks perfect here.”

“You hung it in the living room?”

“Yea.”

“Good, I thought that’d be a good spot for it. Alright love, I just got home so let me call you when I get out of the shower? Enjoy the painting.”

She sat in one of her arm chairs so she could stare at it, her feet tucked up underneath her.

You deserve more, she thought to herself. This is most certainly more. Embrace it.

“I will. You’re amazing. Thank you.”

The couple hung up the phone, Charlotte grabbing her glass of wine and sheet music from across the table and setting her eyes on the painting. She just sat there for over an hour and stared at it. She found the longer she looked, the more details she found, the more beautiful it became to her. She sighed and pulled out her phone. She snapped a photo and sent it to the group chat that contained her best friends and brother with a simple message:

The romantic surprise king strikes again

The chime of a text immediately filled the room.

Jazz: See? Not even a day and she already loves that shit. Alright Lo, get ready to fight over maid of honor

Charlotte knew the group chat was about to dissolve into madness at that so she put them on mute and tossed the phone on the table as she went to her baby grand piano in her living room. Her song was unfinished but new inspiration had struck in the form of an unexpected but perfect gift. And where inspiration struck, she had to follow.

***

“Can you believe that shit??” Michael grinned as Charlotte doubled over in her seat, tears springing to her eyes as she laughed. “It’s not that funny, Els.”

“Y-Yes, it is,” she hiccuped, clutching her chest. “Like how’d they make that mistake??” She shook her head. “These white folks… they really can’t tell us apart at all.”

“I know! Same name but Michael and I don’t look alike at all. Just googled a nigga named Michael and took the first photo they saw.” The pair were sharing a laugh about E News’ latest article on Michael, which included a picture of Michael Ealy instead. They submitted a correction but she and Michael could not help but laugh at the jokes on social as Black Twitter dragged the publication for such an obvious mistake.

“I know! He’s wayyyy cuter,” she winked and smirked at him as she took a sip of her wine.

“Ha. ha. So you got jokes??”

She raised her hands in surrender. “Now you know there is no one as handsome as you, babe. Promise.”

“Nice save, baby.” A vibrating noise against their dinner table interrupted their banter, Michael immediately picking up his phone. “Oh shoot. I gotta take this. It’s my agent. Sorry, baby.” He quickly removed himself from the table, but not before bestowing a soft kiss to Charlotte’s head before he navigated to the front of the restaurant. They were tucked away in the back, prayerful no one noticed them.

Charlotte twisted in her seat to watch him retreat for a moment, a dopey smile painted on her face as she basked in how well things had been going so far. The two months since their first date had flown by so fast, she almost wished time would slow down a bit. She wanted to savor every single moment with him, holding tightly to these memories they were creating. Every compliment, every joke, every deep conversation, every dream and aspiration they shared with one another. She did not want them to be washed away by the swiftness of time. And she did not want the sweetness of the honeymoon phase to end. She wanted to bask in how he allowed her to just be herself around him. Michael felt like the rarest of fresh air and now that she had taken a breath of it, she just wanted to soak it up and never be without it again.

"Excuse me? Are you Charlotte Bennett?"

Charlotte glanced up from her menu to find a young man from the wait staff staring at her expectantly. She still had not grown accustomed to people recognizing her. Typically when they were out, Michael would get recognized by one or two people. But she still enjoyed a life under the radar. It did not happen enough for it to sink in just yet that people in the world were remotely interested in meeting her.

“Yes?”

"I thought so!” She watched as his entire being lit up, his voice flooding with excitement and joy. He appeared to exude a whole new energy that made Charlotte’s heart happy. “Sorry, I am just a huge fan. I saw you the first night you had to understudy for the actress playing Roxie in Chicago. I still have the playbill from that night in my apartment. First performance I ever saw and you… you made me want to be an actor. Not a singer though, my family says I'm dreadful.”

Charlotte’s hand went to her heart as she took in his words. “I doubt that! But thank you so much.” She still remembered that night, the biggest night of her career up until that point, and another moment overshadowed by the chaos that was her personal life. That performance had catapulted her into a new, albeit short-lived, fame in the theater world. It was a wave she had hoped to ride right off into the sunset of Broadway legends but instead, she had to detour, something she never fully recovered from. However, it was healing in some fashion to know that, however short it had been and even if it didn’t look as she had wanted, it had meant something to someone. “You honestly have no idea how much that means to me.”

"Of course! I just love you. I try to watch every single thing you're in."

"It's not a lot, I'm afraid. But I’m getting there.”

He merely waved his hand to dismiss her self-deprecation. “Please, you’re gonna take this city by storm. Just know you got at least one fan who’ll be front row for it all.” His eyes left Charlotte’s to scan the restaurant. “I better go before my boss sees me chatting. Struggling actor gig. I'm saving up so I can audition for Juilliard next year and move to New York. Been acting in local plays while I'm at community college."

She gestured toward his pen and notepad. She knew it was for his work but she did not carry around paper and pens so this was the only thing available. “Can I?” She almost wanted to laugh at how quickly he relinquished his work materials. She scribbled her name and personal email on the pad. I won't claim to be able to open many or really any doors but if there's anything I can do, let me know?"

The young man looked like he was about to go faint. "Really??"

"Yea... us penguins, future and alumni, gotta stick together, right? What’s your name?” She tore off the sheet and handed it to him, which he quickly folded and stuffed in his pocket.

“Jamal. A-and thank you so much! You are amazing. I really appreciate it. Sir.” Charlotte glanced behind her to find Michael returning to the table, the young man giving him a polite and professional smile.

"Hey man, how you doing?" Michael asked as he sat down.

Charlotte suddenly felt this wave of deja vu hit her, which was immediately followed by a panic she imagined beginner surfers actually felt when they crashed into an actual wave. She immediately cleared her throat and straightened up from her relaxed position. Her natural smile was gone, a tighter forced one took its place, filled with the tension that spread rapidly through her body like a virus.

"Oh shoot, that's my manager. You're amazing, thank you."

"O-of course," she offered as he returned to his work, barely hearing his words over the pounding of her own heart.

She tried to hide it, the fact that she felt like she was drowning in her own panic. She did not know where it came from, could not pinpoint what caused it because nothing in the room had changed. But she felt it, sucked deeper and deeper down into this black hole of terror. And every time she tried to swim back to the top, free herself from it, flashes of pain and pangs of fear rained down on top of her again, forcing her body back under. And she did not see a clear way to fight herself out of it. She started to reach for her glass but immediately retracted her hand when she noticed the slight tremble. She slid them under her thighs, hopeful Michael would not notice. That was one thing she had never gotten good at, hiding her fear. She imagined it read so clearly across her face.

She glanced up at him every few minutes as they both tried to decide what to order. Charlotte was not even hungry anymore but she went through the motions, pretending to study the menu while she really studied him. Every quick glance was intended to size him up, search his usually warm eyes for any hint of anger or annoyance. However, he did not give anything away. She found nothing except his usual kind and playful look as he scanned the menu. He muttered to himself as he decided between two items. And despite that, she felt no reassurance and the tight claws fear had in her chest did not loosen or budge.

"You decide what you want to get?” When his question was met with no response, he tried again. "Els... baby?"

It was Michael’s turn to examine her from across the table, bewildered to find a completely different demeanor than when he left the table a few minutes prior. He knew her well enough to pick up on certain subtleties that showed her true emotions. The way her shoulders hiked up to her ears with tension, the way her eyes avoided his, the tightness in her jaw as if she were bracing for something, the way her whole body seemed to shake, the sheer panic painted in her eyes that she was so clearly trying to hide with a neutral expression but failed at.

“Els!” He called out a bit louder, the young woman finally looking at him. “You good?”

She merely nodded, forcing a fake smile on her face.

Michael would not claim to be an expert on Charlotte just yet. Though he felt like he was close. If this were a degree program, he, at least, had a bachelors and was getting to work on his masters. However, he definitely knew when she was and was not ok. And this was far from ok.

“Nah, none of that shit. What’s wrong?” He immediately realized where he went wrong just a few minutes ago and sighed. “I know… our rule. No phones on date night. Sorry about that. This deal is just supposed to be wrapped up tonight and the last pieces are just…” he shook his head and let out another sigh. “Also no work talk. Sorry. Everything is sorted so no more phones.” He emphasized his words by turning his phone off and sliding it into his jacket pocket.

Charlotte felt as if her brain short circuited every time Michael apologized unprompted for something. Often, like right now, he did not even need to apologize but when he did, she could always tell he was sincere. Accountability from a man was a new one, another thing she was not fully used to yet.

"O-Oh no, no. D-don't... don't apologize. No biggie."

"Then why do you seem upset?"

"Umm…” She chewed her lip as she considered her words carefully, hopeful that she would not make the situation worse. Her hands twisted the white napkin in her lap, turning the fabric over and over to release some of her tension. “T-that waiter.” She pointed back toward the direction the young man went when he left their table. “He's an actor, wants to go to Juilliard. Saw me once in a show, said he was a fan. I was j-just giving him my email in case I could be useful.”

"That's really sweet of you, love.” When her panicked expression did not change, Michael stared at her expectantly, figuring there must be more to the story or something he missed. Because he did not understand how that explained why she was upset. "That... it? Or is something else wrong?”

"N-No, no. I-I just want you to know there wasn't a-anything else to it." She paused, her eyes bouncing anxiously from her hands to him. "Y-You believe me, don't you?"

Her words cycled through Michael’s head several times as he searched and searched like an investigator for the issue, why she would question whether he believed her, why she looked so terrified. However, it was not until he reviewed the whole conversation over again that the realization hit him. The first story she ever told him about her ex floating to his mind, how he gave her a concussion because she dared speak to another man. Michael bowed his head, exhaling a bit of the anger that simmered beneath the surface every time this happened, which was far more often than he would have anticipated.

Michael knew he needed to do more to address this sort of behavior but he was not sure what to do. For the most part, the last three months of their relationship was everything Michael wanted and could’ve hoped for. He knew he made the right choice in pursuing Charlotte, she felt like the person he had been waiting for his whole life. However, there were moments when he was harshly reminded that the beautiful field that was Charlotte was filled with gorgeous flowers and the occasional well-hidden landmine. And he never knew exactly when he would accidentally step on one and she did not seem to know where exactly they were buried. He knew there had to be more he could do to be proactive, to see these triggers before he accidentally stomped on them. But they still caught him off guard every single time.

They never discussed it, her panic or reactions that seemed so natural that he questioned whether she even noticed the overreactions sometimes. Each time, he would merely assure her they were ok and they moved on, kept walking until the next explosion. It was not sustainable.

And he hated it, hated the way her eyes searched for his permission sometimes, how she profusely apologized for simple mistakes or miscommunications, how her entire being would become paralyzed with fear like right now. She was still herself, the Charlotte he fell madly in love with. But all the pieces she said were broken were slowly being revealed. And while he did not see them as ‘broken,’ they were mending, he also was at a loss on how to help that process and not accidentally make it worse.

He held out his hand, a nonverbal request to touch her, which she accepted.

Good sign, he thought to himself. At least she didn’t hesitate to let me touch her.

His thumb rubbed the inside of her wrist gently for a few moments. He felt more at ease as he watched her relax a bit. It was not a lot and she likely did not even notice, but he could see some of the tension leave her body slowly but surely.

“One, of course, I believe you, Els. I trust you completely. And two, you know you don’t owe me an explanation of the conversations you have or people you talk to right?”

She scratched her head with her free hand. “Y-yea, I know.” Though her tone was not fully convincing to him. “I j-just felt like… I just didn’t want you to think it was something it wasn’t… or whatever. Or feel disrespected or something? S-so we’re good?” Her voice was still small and timid, her fear still evident in every syllable. “You aren’t angry with me?”

He could tell that she was waiting for him to flip the script on her, to finally showcase anger she thought he was hiding. But the only anger he had was directed at a person not at the dinner table with them, a person who lived on another coast, which meant Michael could not find him and use his face as a punching bag.

“I would never be mad over some shit like that, Charlotte. You did a nice thing for an up and coming actor and I think that shit’s great. We’re good.”

“T-thanks, babe. S-sorry, I just didn’t want-”

“Charlotte. Baby.” He cut her off. “Relax. No more explaining or apologizing cause you ain’t got shit to apologize for. We’re good, I swear.”

Charlotte chose to give Michael the final word and take his word for it. Charlotte shook her shoulders out a bit, forcing her body to relax. Their evening progressed without incident, though there was a dark cloud that loomed over them now, neither one of them fully themselves. But neither said anything about it either. They just progressed through dinner as if nothing had happened, making conversation about meaningless topics while both of their brains ran amuck with their own individual insecurities. Charlotte worried that she soured the mood and he truly was mad at her, just waiting for a private place to unleash it, and Michael obsessed over how he could convince her that the reaction she feared would never come.

After he dropped Charlotte off at home, with several more assurances that he was not mad at her at all, he went home and pulled out his laptop.

The wee hours of the morning found Michael still in front of that screen, a notebook filled with notes, best practices, resources, and information on how to support someone with PTSD. But given everything he read about abuse that night, things that made his stomach turn and his anger increase to unfathomable levels, he felt that could be the only explanation. And his research helped him understand her a bit better. By the time he closed his laptop, his human need for sleep outweighing his active brain’s desire to unpack his Els and understand her, he did feel he was armed with some tools, or at least more than he had before. He knew he could not heal her, only time and work could do that. But he could be more supportive, more assuring, prioritize ensuring she knew she had choice and agency with him and could create boundaries that he would respect.

He wondered if it would be enough but he was resolved to try. Because she was worth every effort he could give to make her feel safe and loved, and to show her something she had not experienced before: real love. He was different and he would do whatever it took to show her that because she deserved everything he had to give. She deserved his very best.

Tag List: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hi888888sworld @msniaimani @destinio1 @lynaye1993 @cawi00 @chaoticevilbakugo

A/N: Thanks for reading!

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan x reader #creed 3 #black panther #adonis creed #michael b jordan fanfic #creed iii

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echoing-gravity · 1 year ago

Text

MLB X MCU AU in which Marinette gets revealed as Multimouse to the entire world

Because Alya cant be trusted to be responsible with a camera.

Every-fucking-one knows now. hawkmoth. her PARENTS. Hell even TONY fucking STARK knows she was a hero.

and then her parents make/force her to take Style queens offer to intern in NYC, because, from their perspective she is not safe in paris. and like- the AVENGERS are in new york so surely it must be safe there. so they pack up and move their entire bakery business.

and she ends up going to midtown high-school, where not to her knowledge, fellow teenage superhero Peter parker aka "Your friendly neighborhood SPIDER-MAN" goes to school.

Cute adorable shipping commences.

peter is all like "omg another teenage super hero???!!! like me???? i thought i was the only one???? transferring to MY school?!!! SO COOL!!"

"marinette is super smart, marinette is pretty, she was one of THE Miraculous Ladybug's sidekicks how cool is that??!, marinette is COOL!! maybe we can be friends? how am i gonna talk to someone that cool though?? i cant tell her my secret identity!!!"

insta-crush. peter is a marinette SIMP

(and yo, dont get on my case about marinette being super fucking smart, this is the girl who figured out she was getting a birthday party from just seeing one of her friends holding a bike pump. that girl is a tactical genius! she just has self esteem issues. they are both nerd, their just nerds about differnt things, let the nerds date!!!!)

of course Marinette still has the ladybug miraculous -even tho everyone thinks she doesn't have the rat miraculous anymore- and the miracle box. so she can still fight hawkmoth because the horse is basically fast travel irl, Space miraculous super conveintent.

(also concerning the mirsacle box, im going with my headcanon/Unlucky 13 AU on what that looks like post "ladybug becomes guardain" because that egg thing from canon? fucking lame

These ones^^^)

It would be canon compliant till season 2 and most? of season 3? but like fuck miracle queen, season3 finale + truth made me stop watching the show. so like in this au, lets just assume Fu is dead, and ladybug has had the miracle box for some time now. and that they got the miraculous when they were 13, and are currently 15? yeah? okay.

(also prolly chat salt, it doesn't HAVE to be chat salt, but like- He. Keeps. Trying. To. Quit. And leave all the work to marinette!!!! its happened like 3?? times now? Marinette CANT quit!!! its literally "do this or lose all your memories!!!" she is being held hostage by a fucking magic box full of responsibilities no 15 year old should have to deal with.)

I headcanon that marinette stress-bakes, so like cute scene number #1 after peter and marinette become friends, could be something like "marientte stresses for a test, and then bakes to much food so her parents make her take it to school to share with her peers, and she ends up giving like- 1/2 of them to parker, becuz of his super high metabolism.

and how marinettes got her whole "i'm RESPONISBLE!!! for the whole fucking universe now, omfg i'm the reason fu is basically dead" angsty shit going on which kinda parallels peters whole "i have super powers, and if i dont do something to help then its my fault if someone gets hurt, like how my uncle died. With great power, comes great RESPONSIBLITY!!!" angst. maybe they could trauma bond. who doesn't like a good hurt comfort trauma bond fic?

marinette likes designing fashionable but also functional clothes.

peter likes designing gadgets and techy things. let them be nerds together!!! in love!!

i feel like they would be the kind of couple/friends to just ramble on about their passions and they would listen to each other even tho they dont know much about each others interests yet. (also hey what if marinette and peter co designed one of peters early suits pre-stark suit??? the fucking writing potential this ship has omfg c'mon ppl!!! why are we sleeping on this??)

oh! and maybe peter figures out that marinette is also ladybug -but later on- cuz like, he has superhearing? and tikki isn't as subtle as she thinks she is.

and then he's all in awe like "Wow holy shit!!! she made her ladybug secret identity FOOLPROOF!!!! no one would ever fucking suspect!! maybe she can help me with mine???"

Fox miraculous shenanaigans insue????? The daily Bugles next headline be like: "SPIDER-MAN SAVES SI INTERN PETER PARKER FROM ETC ETC"

( the media thinks Ladybug and Chat are 1000+ years old due to that thing alya found in that museum that one time. and the fact that people know that Thor and Loki are super old.

Ladybug's excuse to the public for letting a teenager, Nay! for letting a THIRTEEN YEAR OLD CHILD use an extremly dangerous magical artifact for a little over 2 years, goes something like this: "Marinette was the ONLY person in france- maybe in the whole world! that was compatible with the Rat miraculous, it takes a very smart person to be able to multitask like that, and marinette has a photographic/phonetic memory."

i headcannon that marinette photographic/phonetic memory, and that the Rat Miraculous is the math miraculous that was mentioned in the comics that one time, and that if an incompatible person were to try and use it they would at BEST develop a severe case of split personality disorder/ or schizophrenia, and at WORST their brain would- just- melt out of their ears. )

Also he calls her "Spots" or "LuckyBug" when shes in hero mode.

(i cant think of cute nicknames for peter, ugh "web head" is just something i cant picture marinette saying. what's the french word for spider? what's the french word for cobwebs??)

She prolly just calls him "Webs" or "Spidey"

#miraculous ladybug #spider man #marinette dupain cheng #peter parker #MLB X MCU #if i ever write a fic about this its gonna be called #spectacular miracular #SpideyBug #the ship name is SpideyBug im deciding this now.#there are only like 30 fics on A03 about this ship and we dont have a name for it yet.#me over here trying to convince the maribat fandom to write mcu crossovers #gonna start a fucking renaissance #Ladybug x Spider-man #Unlucky 13 Au #mlb #rat miraculous #mullo #multimouse #bamf marinette

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viilpstick · 10 months ago

Text

the twisted ending: The tension is undeniable, and perhaps it's not solely because of the games. Concern lingers on both sides, especially as a revelation unfolds, exposing one of the underlying truths.

warnings: Oc x canon, trauma, blood, cursing (a lot), Adeline's dad, literally so much happening i am sorry, if I forgot any-

genre: Angst, drama, suspense to fluff (WAR IS OVER)

a/n: THIS IS LONG. REALLY LONG. Also, I love grammarly, I've been improving my writing thanks to it :3 (dividers by @/cafekitsune)

"Malleus?" Adeline arched her blonde eyebrow, behind her dark green cloak with the darker roses partners in it. The ambient tranquility signaling the culmination of yet another day.

However, Adeline appeared to be immune to the call of slumber, her wakefulness mirrored by Malleus, who stood in close proximity. In a tender display, Malleus reached out and clasped Adeline's hand, treating it with the gentleness that bespoke his inherent grace.

"My dear," Planting a soft kiss on her cool knuckles, he addressed her with endearment. The nocturnal air seemed to carry with it a whisper of secrets, weaving a mysterious tapestry around the duo, who stood intertwined in the waning twilight. "Were you lingering outdoors earlier?" Shallowing the dry Adeline denies it with her head. Everything but him finding out what she was doing outside. "Adeline, were you at the West Wing?"

A gasp left her lips, as she puts her cold hands in her mouth, she was in the hallways, if anyone heard her and were to check out it would be hard to explain.

"Outrageous!" Exclaimed Adeline quietly, but loud enough for him to hear it. "Are you putting me as this type of hypocrite?" Malleus shakes his head, but he doubted his own partner words. "Good." She whispers again. "Go back to bed, Mal. I will be doing the same."

Before she could turn away from him, Malleus looked into her eyes grasping her arm.

"Adeline." The way he said it made the blonde shiver, as she knew what he was about to say. "What will you do with Isabelle?" He asks seriously.

Adeline used her magical powers to suspend Isabelle, who was unconscious, in mid-air when she tried to access the forbidden West Wing. This highlighted the risks of seeking forbidden knowledge and the challenges that come with it. Isabelle's inability to move on her own showed the strong barriers that protected the secrets guarded by magic and mystery.

"I..." Adeline takes a deep breath. "I will solve this morning. Make sure to pray for the Sevens, that who I have in mind is her true love's kiss."

Pulling her arm away, without too much to say she walked away from Malleus without further words. When he was nowhere close or seen, Adeline felt warm tears falling on her porcelain cold face.

"Shit..." Adeline curses cleaning the tears away, leaning into Isabelle's door for the minimum support for her weak heart aching in her chest. "I am sorry, Mal. I can't let you know..."

The soft glow emanating from Poppy's room cast a warm ambiance, refusing to yield to the encroaching darkness outside.

Among the topics swirling in the conversational eddy was the imminent disclosure of Adriano and Adeline's familial connection—an intricate tapestry of shared blood and history that had remained veiled in the folds of time.

The group gathered and settled into a circle, their collective energy vibrating with a sense of anticipation as they prepared to engage in a profound discussion. As the group delved into the intricacies of this revelation, the room became a crucible for the exchange of emotions, perspectives, and the delicate dance of intertwined destinies.

"So," Daria commenced, gently shutting her book, "we may reasonably agree that their lineage traces back to the paternal side. Adeline has shared with us the details of her mother's death, revealing that her father, in turn, formed another family connection."

"Precisely." Lucie says with a nod followed by a hum.

In the midst of the girls' animated discussion, Audette couldn't help but discern a quietness enveloping Poppy. Breaking from the conversational flow, Audette turned her attention to her younger one.

"My dear, is everything alright?" Audette inquired, her voice carrying a blend of confusion and genuine worry. "You seem quieter than usual."

Her gaze, a mix of curiosity and worry, searched for any response Poppy's demeanor. Soon the attention turned to Poppy who pulled out the hood of her pajama's.

"Isabelle was supposed to be here." Poppy turns to her friends moving away from the window.

The silence went back as all thought of possibilities to why Isabelle hasn't show up. Specially after Poppy told them all early that day it was urgent.

"Maybe she has fallen sleep without even noticing? You've seen how tired she looked... Specially after that show Leona gave us during lunch." Daria crossed her arms at the memory from the evening.

Following the conclusion after the game. The convivial atmosphere, Leona and Isabelle found themselves engaged in a discreet fight, a conversation that gradually piqued the interest of those present. The discussion became an unintentional loudly, casting intrigued faces across the room.

However, the angry teens were abruptly interrupted by the unfiltered candor of Adeline. With a mischievous twinkle in her pink eyes, she playfully addressed the duo, breaking the tension with a touch of humor, "Well, if the urge to kiss each other is becoming too big. I must tell you both, perhaps it's best to seek a bit of privacy." Her unabashed comment, a collective burst of laughter from the onlookers, making both Leona and Isabelle sit down in embarrassment. Without Adeline's timely intervention, the conversation between Leona and Isabelle might have continued the debate through the whole day.

"I hope so..." Poppy sits again by the window with worry taking care of her whole joyful and sweet aura.

All the four girls stand up getting closer to Poppy trying to reassure the girl that nothing has happened. Poppy eyes squeeze as she looks over the west wing, Yuu, a red haired, a cat and blue haired following Adriano. Everyone in the room had their eyes winded.

"Fuck." Lucie whispers.

With a sudden flurry of movement, everyone in the room hastily descended the stairs, drawing Adeline's attention at the far end of the corridor.

Adriano had a cape teared up. He looks over the quartet with disgust. "You are not to tell me where I go!" The girls arrive with plain confusion in their eyes. As Adeline stays on the covered side of the building.

"I don't need you to tell me anything! Can you not see? Rosique has been lying to you all! West Wing is not dangerous. Why not tell them, Adeline, the truth?!"

"Mélombre, stop." Adeline steps forward the group.

His boisterous laughter reverberated through the entire building, sending chills down Grim's spine as he instinctively sought refuge behind Yuu.

"Why should I? It is because I am going to expose who you are Adeline Rosique Enchanta?" A heavy silence descended upon the room in the wake of the revelation, leaving everyone in a state of profound shock.

"Enchanta? Like the... The King and Queen from West? The kingdom who attacked their queen after... The King, Grendel Enchanta accused her of his doings?" Deuce whispers in surprise after the revelation.

"You are the daughter of the... King and Queen of Westerian Beau?"

Adeline, instead of shivering from cold, trembles with fear as an unsettling sense of dread takes hold.

"I am sorry... I just didn't thought it was important to reveal-"

"-She kept this away from you all in this West wing. This is where all the story is hidden! Why not tell them that the King ran away with you to a cottage because you were ugly, huh? Isn't that right Adeline?!" Adeline seems lost, just like an abandoned puppy.

Fury etches itself across Adeline's countenance as she vehemently closes her fists, the tension in her body palpable. The room bears witness to the intensity of her anger, the air thick with the weight of unspoken emotions.

"At least I had an excuse. Unlike you, who claimed he was closest to you! He never truly knew you! You were useless, Adriano! You were never enough for him!"

Unbeknownst to her, the magical pen held by Adriano begins to betray its own distress, drops of ink falling quietly to the ground like the ominous drips of an impending storm. He laughs again, loud, more annoyed, more scary... As ink takes care of his embodiment.

"Yes... He wasn't there. I was not enough to him after all."

Realizing the impact of her own words, Adeline hastily covers her mouth with one hand, as if attempting to physically restrain the words that had escaped. In a desperate attempt to undo the damage, she extends her other hand toward Adriano, a gesture pleading for pause.

"Wait, Adriano, I didn't-" she starts, the unfinished sentence hanging in the air like a plea for mercy, as the weight of the words already spoken lingers between them, fraught with the potential to reshape their relationship.

"CAN YOU UNDERSTAND THIS PAIN?!"

The enraged overblot, a tempest of anger and intensity, directed its attention towards Adeline, who defiantly stepped forward to face the tumultuous force. In the charged atmosphere, a palpable tension hung in the air, like a storm about to unleash its fury. He contemplated Adeline with his howling madness.

"I AM GOING TO TEAR YOU ALL APART!!"

As the looming overblot monster materialized before them, each member of the group swiftly drew their magic pens and wands. In the face of this formidable foe, it was evident that now was the opportune moment to unleash the mystical power inherent in these enchanted tools. A hand in another's hand, hoping to stand against the unhinged form of Adriano.

"Adriano…" She whispers, a sense of remorse weighing heavy on her. In the hushed admission, she acknowledges her role in causing the current turmoil. Yet, in this realization, a newfound determination emerges—she must be the one to stop him now.

"ANSWER ME ADELINE!"

He attacks her strongly enough to make her fall into the floor.

"ADELINE!" As the tension escalates, Poppy dashes forward, attempting to reach Adeline, who has been forcefully thrown to the ground. However, Yuu intervenes, holding her back with a strength that reflects an understanding of the danger at hand. Despite Poppy's inherent resilience, she recognizes the severity of the situation and refrains from endangering herself further.

In the midst of the arcane confrontation, Adeline's once-whispered plea resonates like an echo in the charged air. The battle against the formidable overblot monster rages on, and each member of the group brandishes their magic pens and wands, the mystical instruments now radiant with a luminous energy ready to be unleashed. The battle's intensity spills into the awakening hours, the once-quiet residence now a battleground for magical forces and emotional turmoil.

"Of course, I understand you... Adriano, I was left because I was ugly. My own father, thought I was ugly! But, beauty is found within, Adriano."

Adriano looked over Adeline, with disgust, yet he didn't had a clue of how to react. Somehow, though, he had seemed to ease down at her words, with ink tears streaming down.

"Please, Adriano. Is okay to not be perfect, Grendel himself wasn't perfect... He wanted us to be, what he wasn't."

"I-" His voice, once steady, now faltered and broke, the weight of emotions bearing down on him.

A tremor passed through his hands, his gaze widening as he stared at them in disbelief. The vulnerability etched across his face spoke volumes, a silent testimony to the inner turmoil that had seized him.

"I SUMMON THEE CAULDRON!!"

"DEUCE! NO!"

Adeline attempted to intervene, yet the cauldron collided with Adriano, causing him to falter and crumple to the floor in pain, the ink vanishing from his pen.

"I… I always considered myself a mama's boy. Especially because I've never met my dad. I envisioned this perfect, flawless scenario, eagerly anticipating the day he would come and complete our family—just the three of us, my mom, him, and me."

A young Adriano, barely reaching the keys of the house piano, showcased an impressive display of skill. Despite his tender age, his fingers danced gracefully across the keys, creating a melody that resonated within the walls of the home. The rich tones and intricate notes he produced were a testament to a talent that belied his years.

In response to his performance, a heartfelt clap of pride rang out from his mother. The sound echoed through the room, a manifestation of the deep sense of joy and admiration she felt for her musically gifted child. The proud applause lingered in the air, a harmonious backdrop to the musical journey that the young Adriano was just beginning to embark upon. This simple yet profound moment encapsulated the essence of a mother's love, expressed through the applause that celebrated not just the music, but the budding talent and joy of her beloved son. Young Adriano smiled at his mom.

"Growing up, I would often wonder about him. What he was like, where he might be, and if he ever thought about us. It felt like an incomplete puzzle, with a missing piece that I couldn't find."

"Mom?"

A towering figure stood stoically at the entrance, a commanding presence that demanded attention. Meanwhile, a woman, perhaps overcome by a momentary fatigue or a need for support, clung to the doorframe. Her form leaned into the sturdy frame, finding solace and stability in its embrace. They weren't having a heartfelt talk. They were arguing.

"You left your daughter with no one else! You left your wife to be killed by her own kingdom! You left me and your son!" She pointed her finger at him in disgust. "Who else are you going to leave, Grendel?!"

In the midst of the conflict, Grendel fought back with a determination fueled by his own set of reasons—motivations known only to him. Despite the turmoil, he extended a hand toward his son's head, a gesture that carried a blend of authority and paternal concern.

With a steady voice, he posed a question to his son, seeking an understanding of the circumstances that led to the confrontation: "So, son, what do you have to show me?"

On that day, Adriano bared his soul, revealing everything he could muster in a heartfelt effort to make his father proud. Every ounce of talent, determination, and dedication flowed through his actions, a testament to his unwavering desire to earn his father's approval.

"But, I wasn't able to make him stay. I wasn't enough to make him stay. He would eventually come back... To hear me playing piano. Nothing else."

"I wanted him to see me more than anything else..."

"I needed him to see me..."

"But, I was never enough. I will never be enough!"

He weakly raises his head, looking up to Adeline and the rest of the students around and on the windows watching. "I am sorry... I am so sorry. I just wanted, him to see me..." He whispers as he cries in fear for of his own self.

In a tender and compassionate gesture, Adeline knelt down and enveloped Adriano in a comforting embrace. The air, heavy with the emotional aftermath, crackled with a mixture of concern and curiosity. Meanwhile, Crowley, Ambrose, Yuu, Grim, Deuce, and Ace turned their attention towards the duo, their faces reflecting a worry sight.

As the questioning glances were exchanged, Adeline, cradling Adriano in her arms, sought to provide solace and support in the aftermath of the emotional storm. Meanwhile, the inquisitive gazes of Crowley, Ambrose, and the others hung in the air, prompting a silent exchange of information.

The shattered pain of years began to mend, replaced by a newfound bond that promised resilience, unity, and the strength to face the challenges that lay ahead, finally found a shared sanctuary of understanding and healing.

Today, was enough of an adventure. The silence and touch of Adeline, let everything very clear. She forgives him...

Adriano was taken to nursery, meanwhile Malleus comforts Adeline, hugging her with a full hug, protecting her. Adeline clears her tears turning to face everyone, as the storm has come away slowly from Rosantée.

"I think is my turn to apologize. I lied for you all, West wing isn't dangerous. It just contained my cruel past. I was scared of any of you all find out. I finally had gained you all trust and I was able to ruin it." She lowers her head. "I am terribly sorry."

Poppy takes a step forward before running and hugging her vice housewander. She cries loudly in her friend's shoulder.

"Adeline..." Poppy whines in pain. That was too much for her to process, the other girls step up two. With a reassuring smile. Forgiven, perhaps even forgotten.

"Miss Rosique, in respect of both you and Adriano. We will be trying to find Grendel and he will face all the possible charges." Ambrose says, with Crowley confirm the headmage's words on his side.

Adeline smiles hugging tightly Poppy. "Thank you, headmages..." She puts Poppy on the floor. "But, is my turn to fix this mess." The long sigh left her lips pulling her magical pen. "Appearances May Deceive."

Applying her unique magic into it the west wing had shining sparkles surrounding it. Exploding into the golden and normal comforting aura of Rosantée. Roses grew on the sides of the tower, and with a smile Adeline turns to everyone.

"West Wing is free to be explored." Everyone cheered in happiness. "Tomorrow, right now. Is bed, you all have work to do." They all sigh in sadness. Making the vice housewander giggle awhile her boyfriend smiled at her.

As the morning light graced the room, Isabelle lay gracefully in the princess's bed, clutching a delicate rose gifted to her by Fauna. The vibrant bloom exuded an air of romance, prompting Daria's inquisitive gaze as she arched an eyebrow in her friend's direction.

"Why the rose?" Daria queried, her curiosity evident in the subtle lift of her brow.

With a contemplative expression, Fauna responded, her words laced with a hint of playfulness, "Well, you know… If he is the one who can awaken her, I may as well try to make him fall in love with her again." A soft, tender look accompanied Fauna's words as she absentmindedly scratched the back of her neck.

Daria couldn't help but respond with a gentle giggle, amused by Fauna's hopeful notion. The duo, carrying the shared secret of Fauna's romantic endeavor, left the room, their laughter echoing in the morning air. The rose, a silent messenger of Fauna's heartwarming intentions.

Entering the room after both girls left, Adeline brings out Leona. Adeline, with her trademark strong and confident demeanor, fixed her gaze upon Isabelle, silently communicating a mixture of support and encouragement, hoping and knowing she is right. Beside her, Leona, surprising those who knew him for his fierce exterior, wore a surprisingly soft expression. The beastman's eyes lingered on his arranged fiancée, silently observing with a depth of emotion that transcended words. While Leona refrained from vocalizing his thoughts, the yearning hope in his eyes betrayed a silent wish—that he, rather than Neige, might be the one to unlock Isabelle's heart.

Isabelle, reclined in the princess's bed, presented a vision of elegance. Her hair, free-flowing and unconfined, framed her features delicately. Adorned in a yellow nightgown, she clutched the red rose gifted by Fauna, a poignant symbol of the romantic aspirations that danced within the room. As Isabelle was placed in bed with a grace befitting royalty, the atmosphere held a delicate tension, a moment pregnant with the possibility of unveiling the true love that could awaken her. The scene unfolded like a tableau, each character playing a role in the unfolding drama of affection and destiny.

"So?" Leona asks as the blonde hums raising her eyebrow towards him. "Have you call little prince white as snow over, already?"

A resounding burst of laughter erupted from Adeline, catching Leona's attention and causing his eyes to widen in curiosity. He furrowed his brow slightly, perplexed by the sudden outburst. The silence that followed hung in the air, leaving a palpable sense of intrigue as Leona scanned the room for any clues or explanations.

"Oh no, dear..." She cleans the corner of her eyes that were slightly teary. "It might sound even crazy from what I am about to say... But, he is not the one." Adeline could sense the tension building up in Leona, but, she would let it slide. "One day or another you would kiss her, Kingscholar. So..."

She inclined her head, signaling for him to take over. With a sense of quiet reverence, he obediently knelt beside Isabelle. As Adeline silently exited the room, the atmosphere shifted, leaving only the hushed presence of the two figures.

With a tender touch, he pressed his lips gently against the peaceful slumber of Isabelle. The moment, framed by the serenity of sleep, carried an unspoken tenderness—a kiss bestowed in the quietude of the room. The delicate act spoke volumes, echoing the nuances of care and affection that transcended the waking world.

Adeline's departure marked the passing of the torch, leaving him to complete the silent ritual with a gentle kiss, sealing a moment that lingered on the precipice of dreams and reality. In that tranquil interlude, the room held the promise of dreams woven with whispers of unspoken feelings and a quiet connection that transcended the confines of wakefulness.

Entering the infirmary, she was met with the bow of the nurse, who respectfully left the room, granting them the privacy needed for an intimate conversation. The door closed softly behind the departing figure, leaving the two of them alone in the hushed confines of the medical chamber.

"How are you today, Adriano?" Asks Adeline, sitting on the side of his hospital bed.

"Feeling better. How was today's game?"

"Hmm, let's see, from where I start?" As she shared the story in a joking manner, the room transformed into a space of shared mirth, where the weight of serious matters momentarily lifted. Their laughter resonated, creating a bond woven from the threads of shared experiences and a mutual appreciation for the lighter side of life.

Ultimately, Adeline and Adriano were not deceitful individuals or remotely close to being considered as bad people. Instead, they were akin to broken pieces of glass within the intricate mosaic of life—a stained glass adorned with fractures and imperfections. The trials they faced, the wounds they bore, and the challenges that shaped them were the cracks and fractures that defined their individual journeys.

moots' taglist :: @mhedusard @midnightmah07 @justm3di0cr3 @shinysparklesapphires @lowcallyfruity @cecilebutcher I DO NOT AUTHORIZE ANY COPY, TRANSLATION OR REPOST OF MY WORK IN ANY OTHER MEDIA | ©viilpstick 2024

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waywardxrhea · 11 months ago

Text

Part Three - The Battle of New York

[slow burn romance between you, a SHIELD investigative journalist, and Steve Rogers]

Warnings: 18+, contains humor, fluff, mental health, family trauma, romance, angst, language, violence, smut later on.

installment list

Word count: 4.3k

The Battle of New York commences.

After sneaking away, you made your way to the control hub where most of the other agents were stationed at computers with Maria at the center monitoring the ship while Fury was away. You stopped to talk with another reporter for a few minutes before you planned on heading back to see if Captain Rogers had confronted Fury about the weapons.

Before heading to find the Captain, you walked up to where Maria was on the platform in the center of the room and asked quietly, "Hey Maria, can I ask you something real quick?" Your thinking was that maybe if you asked her nicely, you could get more answers than Cap could in his irate state with Fury.

"Yeah, what's up?" Maria asked while still keeping tabs on her screens.

"So I happened across something in a room down one of the halls and-" before you could finish your sentence though, the entire ship shook and explosions could be seen near one of the engines of the ship!

Maria cursed before telling you, "Let's continue this talk later, I have to figure out what the hell just attacked us." You held onto the railing as announcements overhead called for all hands on deck. Maria looked at you and said, "You find someone and get a gun, whatever or whoever this is doesn't seem to be playing games."

"You got it," you replied. You then proceeded to follow a group of agents who were heading to the onboard armory to get weapons. You picked up a pistol and put the safety on before tucking it into the waistband of your jeans and making your way back to the control room. If the fight got there, the control agents would need to stay protected while they worked and you planned on being the one to protect them.

After a few minutes, Fury reemerged at the control center and began calling orders. As he looked at the damage to the ship, he said to Maria, "We need a full evac of the lower hangar bay."

"On it," she replied and motioned for some agents to follow her lead. She looks to you and said, "You too. We don't have time to sit around looking pretty, I need all hands on deck."

"Yes ma'am," you replied with a nod, following Maria and the other agents to the lower hangar bay.

Right as you all began walking though, something was thrown in your path. "Grenade!" Maria shouted, trying to dodge the blast.

You ducked behind a desk before the blast could get to you and you quickly crawled over to where Maria was on the ground, asking "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Maria responded through her teeth before peeking over the desk and seeing Fury about to get shot at. She quickly aimed and shot the attacker down before he could get his shot off.

"Nice shooting," you commented as you stood up, taking the gun from your waistband in case there were more attackers on the other's heels.

As luck would have it, chaos ensued as more attackers entered the area. Maria took position behind some guard rails and shouted, "Praise my shot later, I need you to hold up that promise that you're a good shot!"

You nodded before crouching behind the desk again and taking aim at anyone who was pointing a gun in your general direction. Over the coms, Agent Coulson announced that the intruders had SHIELD armor on and that Thor and the Hulk were battling on one of the levels of the ship.

"Won't the Hulk tear this place apart?" you shouted in the direction of Maria and Fury.

Fury was quiet for a second before telling Maria, "Get his attention." She nodded and started calling out orders for a distraction into her earpiece at once, trying to save as many lives on the carrier as possible.

After the problem of the Hulk was starting to be dealt with, the three of them plus a few other agents remained in the control room shooting at attackers when there was a series of more explosions. One hit near the desk you were crouched behind, knocking you to the ground. In the process, you lost your grip on her gun and it went flying across the room! With eyes clenched shut for a moment and ears ringing, you tried to regain some semblance of your senses before another attack happened.

When you finally were able to open your eyes without getting another sharp pang of pain in your head, you spotted your gun about ten feet away from where you were positioned. Before reaching for the weapon though because you knew it would trigger more pain, you glanced around the room and saw where the attacks were coming from: the explosive arrows of Agent Clint Barton, one of the finest marksmen in the world and the man you had tried to track down after Loki mind-controlled him in Nevada.

"Shit," you whispered while waiting for him to reload. You knew you would have to be fast to seize the opportunity so you waited with baited breath for the marksman to reach for another arrow. When he did, you tried to ignore the pain as you scrambled for the gun. As you begins your crawl though, Barton shot a final arrow into one of the control panels which causes yet another engine to fail. The carrier began to fall quickly due to the engine failure and you were catapulted over the gun. Abandoning the protective weapon, it was now time to protect yourself from the control panel you were quickly descending toward. So you tucked yourself into a ball and guarded your head before roughly bumping into the panel, the impact leaving you breathless as the air was knocked from your lungs.

As the carrier descended faster and faster, and Barton dodged the heavy gunfire of the SHIELD agents, Fury shouted, "Barton is heading to the detention level! Someone needs to take him down." Agent Romanoff answered the call as Fury took his station once more as the ship fell.

Finally having regained your breath, you got up on unsteady legs as an announcement overhead said, "All agents to their crash stations."

You made your way to where Fury stood looking at the ship's stats grimly. You wanted to help. Tech was your thing! But as you looked at all of the failing numbers in front of you, a sense of dread began to fill your chest. You grim thoughts were interrupted by Fury telling you, "Agent, you can either continue the evac mission Hill started or you can get to a crash station. The choice is yours."

"I'll go to the hangar," you replied. If there was any way you could help you were going to.

"Then get going, just down that hall there."

You nodded and followed the direction Fury pointed as the ship suddenly began to slow its fall. With less force working against your movement now, you surged forward to your destination only to find the hangar bay filled with a dozen agents hiding as a ship flew off. "Who was in there?" you asked between panting breaths.

"It was him...Loki stole the ship," the agent replied in a sort of far-away voice.

"Are you all okay?" you asked, seeing their shaken expressions. No one said a word but they all began to follow your lead to the control station where first aid was being administered to those who needed it.

When you got back with the other agents, you were shocked into silence as she were informed of Agent Coulson's passing by the hand of Loki. Right before you saw him fly off... Your shoulders slumped in sorrow at the news and you gave a comforting hand to Maria as you listened in on Fury's conversation with Rogers and Stark about Coulson. You cringed as you witnessed Fury throw bloodstained Captain America trading cards at Rogers and looked away quickly as your stomach turned over.

Trying to stave off the waves of nausea washing over you, you looked for a distraction and found it in helping with the ship's tech reboot. You forced yourself to focus on the task and coding, pushing away the gruesome image every time it floated back into your mind.

After a while of working on the tech reboot, Romanoff and Captain Rogers approached you. "Captain, Agent," you said respectfully, looking up from the screen you were focused on.

"Rogers and I along with a...recalibrated Barton are heading back to New York to stop Loki," Romanoff started off. "I know Fury would benefit from footage of the capture, so we need you there for coverage."

You looked around for the Director, asking, "Does Fury know about this?"

Romanoff shook her head, replying, "No, but it won't kill him. What do you say?"

"I'm in," you replied instantly. You paused for a beat before adding, "As long as I don't lose my job."

Romanoff shook her head as she headed off, saying, "I wouldn't worry about that. I'd worry about surviving this first."

"Oh," you said, fear beginning to creep into your mind at the words. "Right..."

"It'll be fine," Rogers reassured you. "When we get there, find a secure building where you won't get hurt and get all the footage you can. We need all eyes on the situation so video coverage will help us out."

"Got it," you responded, a bit of the fear easing up now that you had a goal to focus on. Heading toward the station where your drone was, you dusted off a bit of rubble from it before grabbing both the control tablet and the drone.

When you all met up with Barton and got to the jet, one of the techs working on it said, "Hey, you guys aren't authorized to be in here!"

Captain Rogers put up a hand and said, "Son, just don't." You laughed quietly at the comment and the four of you settled into the jet for the ride to New York.

When the jet arrived in New York, Loki's army had already moved in. "What the hell..." you breathed as you watched the alien army blast their way through the streets. Already in his suit and on the battleground, you watched as Stark lined up a few of the invaders for Romanoff to shoot with the jet's guns before she landed.

Upon surveying the chaotic scene unfolding in the streets, you looked at Captain Rogers and joked, "Now which of these buildings looks safest?"

The joke didn’t earn a laugh though, and as you asked, Loki blasted a beam of energy into the jet, causing it to lurch. When it did you felt yourself lose your footing and grasped at the air as you began to fall out of reach of the wall. With his quick instincts, Captain Rogers grabbed a rail on the roof to balance himself with and grabbed your arm to make sure you doesn't topple over as the ship went down.

Romanoff made a crash landing and Barton opened the rear door for you to all get out of the now destroyed ship. You grabbed the backpack that held all of your equipment and stepped into the sun, looking for a building that was tall enough and not being shot at. You quickly spotted one about a block away and called out, "I found my spot! If I see anything you guys can't I'll loop you in!"

Captain Rogers nodded as you tightened the backpack on your shoulders and ran toward the building. You jumped over debris from the crash landing and pushed through crowds heading in the opposite direction and away from the source of the alien invaders. A few people tried to grab you and take you with them in the direction of potential safety, but against every self preservation instinct you had, you shoved their helping hands away and kept running.

You got into the building out of breath from the run and put your hands on your knees for a few seconds as you caught your breath before contemplating taking the stairs or elevator. You noticed a frightened security guard by the elevator and called out, "Does this thing still work?" as you quickly made your way over. He nodded fervently and gave you access to the elevator which quickly shot her up to the top floor where you would have access to the roof.

On the way up, you booted up your tablet and drone so you could be ready when you got to the roof. Once out in the daylight again, you watched as the battle raged on in the streets below. Your eyes widened in fear and you froze in place as you saw flying right past you was a giant metal robot fish-looking creature. A feeling of complete awe and terror filled your entire body, unsure what to do as more aliens jumped out of the being and onto the nearby buildings to begin attacking them and their occupants.

Instinctively, you darted behind an air conditioning unit on the building and hid from the soldiers as you pleaded with whatever deity that may be that you were kept safe. You let the shock wear off for a few seconds before assessing the area around you. Upon realizing that the aliens hadn't landed on the building’s roof yet, you started to regain your bearings and started using your drone. You turned on the camouflage mode and began flying it into the battle, careful to avoid the invaders' blasts and flying vehicles.

You held your position behind the AC unit as you watched what the drone was capturing on the tablet. Near Stark Towers, you watched as Loki fell and landed on one of the speeding alien vehicles. You touched your finger to the headset in your ear and shouted, "I have eyes on Loki! Just flew past Stark Towers on one of those flying...things. He's with a group of about seven of them. My drone can't keep up with their speed."

You flew the drone as fast as it would go and round the same corner Loki did but you were still far behind. When you turned the corner, you captured footage of Captain Rogers bus-jumping while the buses exploded beneath him. "Okay that was really cool..." you muttered to yourself. After this, you turned the drone to capture the effort of Agent Barton rescuing citizens out of other buses and Agent Romanoff shooting off attackers to protect them.

Further down the street, you watched as a huge fleet of NYPD officers shielded by their cars shot at the attackers in the air. You laughed to yourself, wondering how much you could sell the footage to them for if they would even give you the time of day after all these years.

After a minute more of Cap, Barton, and Romanoff fighting the creatures, a handful of lightning bolts shot down from the sky and Thor landed on the street near the three of them. When he landed, you marveled at the footage you had captured of it but your attention was grabbed by the door to the roof bursting open revealing an alien with a weapon pointing directly at you. As you made eye contact with the beast, your breathing stopped and your heart rate picked up as panic began to rage within your head.

At the same time, from over the headset came Captain Rogers' voice, calling out your name before asking, "What's the view from up there?"

With your flight or fight reflex finally starting to kick in, you scrambled up and fumbled to put your drone in hover mode before dropping the tablet in your backpack. You threw the bag on your shoulders and began running to hide from the creature. As you did this, you activated your headset and shouted, "Not the best time, Cap! Currently being chased by an alien!" After a brief chase, you wound up in a corner with the alien staring you down. As you breathed hard you glanced over the side of the building to see if there was anything that could break your fall. When you spotted nothing to aid you, you placed a finger to your ear and announces in a far away voice, "He has me cornered. I don't have anywhere else to go."

A few seconds later without and sort of warning, you were suddenly swept off your feet and into the air as you went flying! You let out a scream of surprise and terror as you flew through the air in the arms of...someone. It took you a few moments to relax and finally realize that it was just Thor who had come to her rescue. He dropped you off at Stark Tower and said, "Avoid the power source and try to stay hidden. You have no idea what you're up against." Without another word, Thor flew off again to joined the others in the fight.

Breathlessly, you took a few moments to shake off your shock before saying into your headset, "Give Thor my thanks."

After regaining your footing, you jogged around to find a good place to view the battle while also being hidden from any aliens. Once in a secure spot, you took your tablet out of the backpack and took control of the drone again. From your position, you saw the giant creature from earlier a few blocks down and flew the drone to it so you could capture that footage. When the drone arrived, you saw Stark in an all-out battle with the beast, shooting a plethora of weapons and munitions at it trying to take it down.

You listened to the conversation being had between everyone on the headsets and followed Stark as he lured the beast toward the others who were still fighting in the streets. Due to the slower nature of the drone, you only captures the creature being stopped and starting to flip over from behind. You furrowed your eyebrows as you tried to catch up to the front of the creature, unsure what could have had the strength to cause the beast to stop. When you finally caught up, dodging the beast's tail, your questions were answered when you saw that it was the Hulk who had stopped the creature from destroying the team. You smiled and whispered to yourself, "There ya go Doc."

Once the massive beast was dealt with, the group circled up to fight the invaders who had gotten ready to surround them. While the drone was still in camo mode, you flew it around them to capture the shot of unity before the battle commenced again.

From your hiding spot in Stark Towers, you spotted more of the huge beasts coming out of a portal in the sky. Your mouth felt like it filled with cotton at the sight and you swallowed hard before saying into your headset, "Uh guys...there's incoming. Massive incoming."

Immediately after the warning, Captain Rogers started telling the team their assignments for the mission before continuing the fight on the streets. Without any instructions thrown your way, you opted to keep your drone where it was and captured footage of the Hulk tearing into the invaders!

When you got your fill of that footage, you turned the drone in the direction Thor had gone to see him lighting up the Empire State Building! A sense of awe began to fill your body again at the sight and you started to feel like with that kind of power, maybe the city and its citizens stood a chance… The scene left you staring silently at the tablet screen in wonder, your mind almost incapable of registering what you were witnessing. Two weeks ago if anyone had told you that you would be experiencing any of this you would have laughed it off and told them they were crazy. But life is crazy like that and here you were at the top of Stark Towers filming a huge battle for New York against aliens.

After watching Thor move on and battle a squadron of aliens on Sixth, you located Captain Rogers who launched Agent Romanoff into the air and onto the underside of one of the alien vehicles right as your drone rounded the corner. You watched in amazement as the Captain fought off the invaders and then team up with Stark as he flew in to aid in the fight.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement on the roof near the power source. Going against Thor's advice and your own instincts, you fished around for the gun she thought was in your bag. Your heart skipped a beat though as you remembered that you had lost the gun after Barton’s attack… With panic mounting again, you began darting your eyes around to look for any sort of item you could used as an improvised weapon. To your left there was a pipe that had broken off of something somewhere, but that didn’t matter. What mattered is that now you had a weapon and you gripped it tight as you went to see what the movement was.

As you approached, you saw Doctor Selvig, the man who had been working with the Tesseract in Nevada when it was stolen. As far as you knew from the intel you were given, he was also under the mind control of Loki. So you approached cautiously, ready to use the pipe if he made a move on you. When he saw you, he raised his hands to show he meant no harm. He studied your face for a second before asking, "You're...you're that SHIELD agent we met back in New Mexico aren't you? What was it? Nasser?"

You lowered the pipe to your side slowly in response to the words, telling him your real name before informing him, "I gave that one as my cover when I was down there working." Knowing that Loki never could have known that bit of information, you approached Selvig to try and help him up but were startled when you saw Loki fall onto a nearby platform followed quickly by the Hulk.

With your fight or flight instinct intact, you quickly threw yourself to the ground and out of sight of the pair and motioned for the Doctor to follow suit. Neither of you dared say a word to each other out of fear of Loki finding your location. Not like you could say anything coherent through the jumble of thoughts running around in your head.

After a few more moments of tense silence, Agent Romanoff appeared on the roof, approaching the power source to see if there was anything she could do to shut it down. Doctor Selvig noticed her too and spoke up, saying, "The scepter...Loki's scepter. The energy. The Tesseract is the only thing that can break that forcefield... You can't do it yourself.” A look of regret and remorse shadowed his face before he whispered, “This is all my fault..."

"It isn't your fault," you told him.

Romanoff agreed with you, saying to him, "You didn't know what you were doing."

"I think I might have, actually. I built in a safety mechanism to cut their power source," he said, a bit of hope braking into this tone. Both you and Romanoff gave him encouraging looks that silently told him to fill you in and he did, saying, "The scepter will be the key to closing the portal.” He looked down over the side of the building and continued, telling you, “And I'm looking right at it."

Agent Romanoff began formulating a plan and as she did, she looked over at you and said, "I've got this. You continue filming. Help the others as much as you can."

You nodded before heading back to the post where you had left your tablet. You picked it up and surveyed the screen, only to see one of the huge beasts heading right toward the drone. "Shit!" you cursed before taking back control of the drone and getting it out of harm's way just in the nick of time.

You did a quick survey of the area surrounding the drone and watched as a group of ships began to converge on the Hulk. You got as close as possible within a safe range and filmed the encounter of mass destruction as the Hulk tore into opponents, leaving a wake of debris behind him.

During this battle, you saw a popup message appear on your screen from Maria. The message read: The Council has overridden Fury's command. They're sending a missile there right now. Tell Stark. It'll destroy everything and everyone.

Upon reading the message, you turned on your coms and shouted, "Stark! They're sending a missile!"

"You're about two seconds behind the Director man, Agent," he replied. "Devising a plan right now. You may want to get that drone on me near that portal, if this goes according to plan it'll be badass."

You sighed inwardly at the arrogance but nodded and replied, "I'm on it, Stark." So you proceeded to find and hold a position with a good view of the portal which still had alien invaders coming out of it. Is this army never ending? you thought to yourself as you watched the aliens continue to stream out.

"Incoming," Stark’s voice said with a grunt of effort as he began redirecting the missile toward the portal. "You better get my good side if this is the end of me, Agent." he told you, a cocky smirk evident in his voice.

"Wouldn't dream of getting it wrong," you replied, hiding the exasperation in your voice in case it truly was the end of the man. You trained the drone’s camera on his ascent into the portal and watched as both him and the missile disappeared into the gaping hole in the sky. When he left your sight, your breath caught in the back of your throat and you once more began hoping with your whole heart that the crazy plan would work.

After a few tense seconds, all of the remaining invaders in the streets and on top of buildings began to power down and crash land onto the streets! As they did, you stood up from your post and watched for a few moments before looking back up at the portal, waiting for Stark to reappear.

"Close it," came Captain Rogers’ voice in an order to Agent Romanoff.

From the other side of the roof, Romanoff dealt the final blow to the power source with Loki’s scepter which shut the portal down and it began to close on itself. You were just about to close her eyes in shock and sadness at the loss of Stark but then saw him reappear on your tablet's screen right as you turned your eyes down.

"Oh my gosh..." you whispered and laughed to yourself, "the crazy bastard made it!" You refocused the drone's camera on his descent and filmed as Hulk jumped to save him from crashing to the ground.

After a few minutes, the team, the Avengers, made their way to Stark Towers to take Loki into custody together. During this time, you began quietly talking with Doctor Selvig about what he knew so you could get it down for a mission report. After finishing up your questions, with shaking hands you dug your phone out of your bag and clicked on Maria’s contact information.

After getting everything with Loki squared away a few minutes later, Captain Rogers announced into his coms, "I'm on my way to coordinate search and rescue."

You emerged from around the corner after your phone call with Maria and asked, "Can I offer any assistance? I do have my drone to have eyes in the sky. We can work a lot faster that way." Captain Rogers nodded and told you to follow him down to start the search for survivors.

Over the next few days, you had to undergo many, many interrogations about your involvement in the Battle and have every single second of footage you captured under keen eyes to get every bit of intelligence they could out of it.

One day when you were being questioned by one of the councilwomen, you were asked if you knew the whereabouts of any of the Avengers. In response, you replied, "Unfortunately, I do not, no ma'am. I frankly have not been in contact with anyone besides members of the Council and my grandmother in the past few days because of interrogations like this going on for hours on end."

This response earned a look from the woman and she told you, "I understand that you've been under a lot of stress lately Miss, but that doesn't mean you get to have a tone with me."

With your heart skipping a beat in your chest at the statement you straightened your back and replied, "You're right, I'm sorry. It won't happen again." You had no idea where that comment came from, you didn’t tend to get an attitude with people who quite literally held your fate in their hands. You cleared your throat before saying timidly, "But really you can check my phone records and see that it's only been business calls and calls to my Grammie to assure her that I'm okay. She's in a home, you see, and she saw on the news what happened and has just been worried sick. On top of that because of all of this interviewing and interrogating and everything I haven't gotten any sleep and-"

The woman put her hand up and stopped your rambling, telling you, "I can tell you are not up for any of this right now Agent. Take a day and get some rest. We'll have you back to your regular job at SHIELD soon enough."

"Well before all of this, my job was helping Captain Rogers acclimate to this world and considering that the Council and him aren't in the best graces right now I'm assuming that means reporting again?"

"That's exactly what that means Agent. You'll start reporting on cleanup and the impact of the battle on Monday. Until then you are dismissed, thank you."

You simply nodded and stood as you said, "Thank you, madam."

As you left the building and got into your car, your phone began ringing with a call from an unknown number. You quirked up an eyebrow in question before answering with a cautious and exhausted, "Hello?"

"Hello Agent," came a voice from the other side. The voice belonging to Captain Rogers.

You shuts the car door before replying, "Captain Rogers. It's good to hear a familiar voice."

“I can definitely say the same,” he replied, the same exhaustion in your voice evident in his as well. "So I went out on the road for a little bit while things in the city clear up, but when everything settles down, I hear you're the girl who knows her way around town. I think I may need some help navigating it all."

A warm feeling filled your chest and you smiled, replying, "I'd be honored. I'll give this number a call when everything here is back in working order. Since we probably won't be able to meet at SHIELD is my place okay? I have an apartment in Brooklyn with an amazing view. I can start catching you up on everything you missed out on while you were on the ice."

"I'm looking forward to it," he replied, his own smile apparent in his voice.

"I'll talk with you soon, Captain,” you told him before hanging up the phone, your shoulders relaxing for the first time in days as you imagined the things you would help him with to navigate this strange new world.

#fanfic #marvel #captain america #slow burn #steve rogers #writers on tumblr #the avengers #battle of new york #marvel fanfic series #captain america fic #steve rogers friends to lovers #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers fic #steve rogers slow burn #avengers fanfiction

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twwpress · 2 years ago

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Weekly Press Briefing #46: May 7th to May 13th

Welcome back to the Weekly Press Briefing, where we bring you highlights from The West Wing fandom each week, including new fics, ongoing challenges, and more! This briefing covers all things posted from May 7 - May 13, 2023! Did we miss something? Let us know; you can find our contact info at the bottom of this briefing!

Challenges/Prompts:

The following is a roundup of open challenges/prompts. Do you have a challenge or event you’d like us to promote? Be sure to get in touch with us! Contact info is at the bottom of this briefing.

The Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda Josh/Donna prompt fest (hosted by @jessbakescakes and @thefinestmuffin) is open for claiming; fics reveal on June 24th. Details here.

Photos/Videos:

Here’s what was posted from May 7 - May 13.

Amy Landecker posted photos in memory of her and Brad’s boxer, Otis, who sadly passed away this week: 1 | 2

Bradley Whitford also posted a photo of himself and Otis in memory of him.

Dule Hill posted a video of himself and his wife Jazmyn promoting their new children’s book.

Josh Malina posted photos of himself from a Bond Official interview.

Marlee Matlin posted a photo of herself and her mother, who has passed away, in memory of her for Mother’s Day.

Mary McCormack posted a photo of herself in her show Heels (the second season premieres on Stars on July 28).

Richard Schiff posted an elevator selfie with his wife Sheila, Ronan Diego de Oliviera, Eric Edmeades, and John Lee.

Rob Lowe posted a selfie celebrating 33 years of sobriety.

Donna Moss Daily: May 7 | May 8 | May 9 | May 10 | May 11 | May 12 | May 13

Daily Josh Lyman: May 7 | May 8 | May 9 | May 10 | May 11 | May 12 | May 13

No Context BWhit: May 7 | May 8 | May 9 | May 10 | May 11 | May 12 | May 13

This Week in Canon:

Welcome to This Week in Canon, where we revisit moments in The West Wing that occurred on these dates during the show’s run.

Season 1, Episode 21: Lies, Damn Lies and Statistics aired on May 10, 2000.

Season 2, Episode 21: 18th and Potomac aired on May 9, 2001.

Season 3, Episode 19: The Black Vera Wang aired on May 8, 2002.

Season 4, Episode 22: Commencement aired on May 7, 2003.

Season 5, Episode 21: Gaza aired on May 12, 2004.

Season 7, Episode 21: Institutional Memory aired on May 7, 2006.

Editors’ Choice:

In honor of Mother’s Day in the US and moms everywhere, this week we are recommending some of our favorite mom-centric fics! We’ve tried to balance angst and fluff, but sometimes moms are there for/go through some tough stuff, so as always please check warnings, tags, and descriptions before diving in.

where you lead, i will follow by sam_writes_fics for JessBakesCakes | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | A series of vignettes focusing on Mama Lyman over the years.

Don't Spare Me From Anything (Your Burden is Mine) by JessBakesCakes for SilentScreamer | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | "When Rachel looks into his eyes, she sees eight-year-old Josh, awake from yet another nightmare after Joanie’s passing. She sees sixteen-year-old Josh, bags under his eyes after a fitful night’s rest. She sees twenty-four-year-old Josh, downing another cup of coffee and heading to the library to study, just to avoid the possibility of being confronted with the images that have been haunting him nearly his whole life."

Or, Mama Lyman helps her Trauma Boy navigate his mental health.

Love, Mom by sloganeer | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Sam Seaborn | Complete | [Ed. note: no description given on AO3, but this is a cute, Sam’s mom-centric drabble.]

A Heart, Sketched in Blue Pen by BeatriceEagle | Rated T | Josh Lyman (No Pairings Listed) | Complete | Like his father and his sister before him, Josh Lyman can't help but break his mother's heart.

Ain’t Nothing But a Family Thing by jeaniecregg | Rated G | C. J. Cregg/Toby Ziegler | Complete | Molly stumps CJ with an important question.

Janus by Sangerin | Rated G | Abbey Bartlet/Jed Bartlet | Complete | Introspection caught up with her.

Fics:

Presenting your weekly roundup of fics posted in the tag for The West Wing on Archive of Our Own.

Josh/Donna

The Theory of Entropy by Jane_3yr3 | Rated M | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

Cicatrix by spooky_spacegirl | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

Domestic Days by spooky_spacegirl | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

Other Pairings/Gen Fic

Off the Record by onekisstotakewithme for daylight_angel, miabicicletta, Luppiters, hondagirll | Rated T | Danny Concannon/C. J. Cregg | In Progress

yeah, me too by smallandblueandloud | Rated G | C. J. Cregg/Andrea Wyatt/Toby Ziegler | Complete

it started off with a kiss... now it ended up like this by imawkwardlysoc | Rated G | Sam Seaborn/Original Female Character | In Progress

Multiple Pairings

Tiny Fighters: NICU Stories by mlea7675 | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Helen Santos/Matt Santos, Original Male Character/Original Female Character | Complete

THE WEEKLY PRESS BRIEFING TEAM CAN BE REACHED VIA THE FOLLOWING METHODS:

Twitter: @TWWPress

Email: [email protected]

Feel free to let us know if we missed something, if you have an event you’d like us to promote, or if you have an item that you’d like included in the next briefing!

xx, What’s next?

#the west wing #west wing #tww #the west wing fic #west wing fic #tww fic #tww fic recs #fics about moms #abbey bartlet #mama lyman #cj cregg #josh x donna #sam x josh #jed x abbey #cj x toby #tww rare pairs #weekly press briefing #west wing news #west wing fandom

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fantasies-fairytales-n-fics · 2 years ago

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Thranduil and Josie Part 105- Life After Death

Summary: The trip back to Dorwinion commences as another storm approaches. Josie shuts down as the trauma of losing Thranduil is too much to handle. Legolas learns of what transpired while he was "dead" and he also has a hard time dealing with the aftermath. He and Josie will need each other more than ever. Raven is up to her wicked ways back in Goblin Town as Thranduil is at her mercy....but she pays a hefty price for her pleasures by Jareth. The Elvenking is trapped and desperate. His queen is in grave danger.

*Trigger WARNING rape*-*Strong sexual content* *anal sex* Proceed with caution!! ( I apologize readers, but I am a dark writer. If you haven't figured that out by now or if this is your first time reading my fic, then I urge you to skip this chapter IF the content warned above is too much for you. If you're under 18, leave now) I cannot stress this enough. Turn back while there is till time...as Jareth the Goblin King would say.

*Also includes angst, violence and strong language*

The tribulations by Raven's reveal of Thranduil's fate was felt by all, even Garrett and Narcisse, for they could not bear to see you in such dolor as you sat on the ground uncontrollably sobbing.

Haldir informed Legolas of what he missed of Raven's partial confession before she slithered away.

Legolas was extremely distraught. "I am to blame for this. She escaped while all were focused on me.....My father is truly gone...Now we will never know where my father's body is."

"Legolas, you saved Jo and your sister's life. That was of the greatest importance. When the time is right, we can hunt Raven down, but right now...Jo needs us..." Haldir professed and paused, then a reluctant admission he whispered...."she needs you more."

Legolas turned in a state of dismay to see you huddled over on the ground in tears.

The Prince went to you and slowly crept down on one knee at your side. He placed his fingers under your lowered chin and guided your red soaked eyes up to his as you sniveled excessively.

"Come to me." he whispered. His brows were furrowed in agony as a tear snuck out of his eye.

Your lips pursed into a frown as you crawled to him and burrowed your head upon his chest, then curled up into a fetal position and bawled.

"Le..Leg..Leggy...how do..how do I live...without him??" you stammered.

Legolas let his bottom drop to the ground and laid his cheek on top of your head with his eyes closed as he wrapped his arms snuggly around you.

"I have got you. I will take care of you now if you will allow me too." Legolas mumbled into your hair.

Aragorn sternly interrupted. "Legolas....get her up."

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Selene snapped.

"By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with orcs." Aragorn argued to the vampiress.

"We must reach the woods of the Lothlorien camp and prepare to depart this mountain as another storm is stirring, much worse than the other we just endured. Josie is too fragile to suffer the cold again. She must journey on Narcisse's boat back to Dorwinion. Haldir, gather Moose and Narcisse's horses."

"Haldir...I will go with you." Narcisse offered with a slight bow.

Haldir nodded and off they both went to retrieve Thranduil's beloved elk and Narcisse's horses that the warlock loaned to Legolas and Haldir.

"My lady, I am sorry. We must go now. I will help you walk." Legolas sweetly said as he lifted you to your feet. Your face was expressionless and you didn't speak as you walked off with his arm around your waist like you were a puppet on a string. Something inside of you had broke.

As you all exited the forest, Haldir and Narcisse came up with the two horses and Moose. You stopped and stared into the gentle giant's sorrowful eyes. He knew his loving master was gone and was grieving too. You walked up to him and he lowered his head down to you as he lightly snorted and gave you a soft comforting nudge. You stroked his long snout, then reached your arms up as far as you could get them around his broad neck to hug him and cried. A low whimper came from the beautiful beast, for he was crying too.

Goblin Town:

Raven moped about in loneliness and boredom as Jareth was healing in isolation and wouldn't allow her to be with him. Her mother was supposed to be there with her but now she had no one but the goblin king. It wasn't exactly the happily ever after she had pictured in her mind, nor was Jareth the type of King she had fantasized of. She still pined for Garrett even after everything but she knew he despised her now. Her face turned sour as she thought of you while she peered down at the sleeping King of Mirkwood.

"This is all your fault sister. You took my mother, and you took the man I love...so now I took the one you love." she ranted out loud as she slowly undressed with a devious look upon her face. She stood beside the Elvenking and traced her fingertips up his leg and over his cock. Her eyes widened at the mighty girth underneath the sheet. She lifted it up slowly and gazed upon Thranduil's manhood with lustful eyes as her core began to throb. He was so much larger than Jareth she thought to herself. Into the bed she slipped and laid beside the elf lord. His warm bare skin against hers made her quiver with desire.

"It's time for a little magic." she whispered and took his long soft cock into her hand, stroking it seductively as she gazed at his peaceful face. Her voice then changed....into yours. "Thranduil...my love. It is I, your Josephine. I have missed you so much. I need you so bad."

A mumbled moan crawled up his throat as she took his cock into her mouth. He began to instantly harden although he still couldn't move. Raven softly mewled as she swirled her tongue around his cock's spongy head, then she began sliding her mouth down, gripping him firmly with her lips and taking in as much of him as she could. Faster and faster she went as she whimpered and moaned. He tasted so good. She brought her hand to the base of his cock and began stroking it while she sucked the top half. Thranduil's body stiffened and trembled as he released into her mouth. Her lips locked around him tightly as each raging swift pulse shot his warm salty fluid down her throat which made her climax as she grinded her clit over his thigh. One of his eyes slitted open long enough to see a glimpse of her red hair but nothing more.

Raven laid her head and breasts upon his chest, listening to the heartbeat that you would never hear again. Thranduil was able to bring his hand to her head and weakly stroked her hair. His eyes were still closed and he didn't move otherwise, except for his lips. They parted just enough for him to exhale a muffled whisper.

"Josephine..."

Raven reveled in ecstasy of her conquest and the loving feel of his fingers in her hair. She had finally had a taste of the notorious Elvenking and was determined to have all of him....but then she heard something and quickly sprung out of the bed as Thranduil's hand dropped to his chest, drifting back into his prison.

She quickly dressed in panic and covered the motionless slumbered King back up, then softly kissed his lips.

"We will finish this later my King." Raven the scurried out of the room like a frightened mouse. If Jareth found out what she had done, he would surely punish her severely or possibly even kill her. What he did to her in the forest with the wendigo was a mild warning to her to never double cross him. Of course she was not thinking of those things while she was taking what didn't belong to her nor was she thinking about what Thranduil would do to her if he had the chance.

By late afternoon, you all had reached Aragorn's and the Lothlorien guards' camp where they had stayed when Lestat had turned them away upon their arrivals at Chateau de Lioncourt. You awoke in Legolas' arms as he had carried you the entire way when your knees had buckled from exhaustion and grief. You remembered now how the Prince had swiftly swooped you up as you had fallen against him within the first few minutes of the decent down the mountain.

"Aragorn, is there a tent that can be solely for Josie? She needs rest in a secluded quiet place." Legolas inquired from the ranger.

"Yes, follow me."

Legolas whisked you off while the others settled in. Garrett, Selene and Michael made their resting place in the back of the camp to help keep a lookout for predators. Being of their supernatural nature, they didn't need shelter or sleep, although they would soon need to hunt and would do so by taking turns. Vampires hated animal blood but it was all they could round up at the time with humans being quite far off and it would still keep them strong and alert. Although, Garrett wanted to locate Asher and rip him apart for what he did to you, and the insufferable warlock was just his type of dinner too as Garrett only hunted evil humans. It gave him the satisfaction of doing the world some good as he never got to fully avenge his sister. Michael on the other hand enjoyed a wildlife meal as the wolf side of him craved it, especially rabbits.

Haldir took up with his brothers as he sadly watched Legolas carry you away. He wanted to be the one to tend to you but he could tell you really needed Legolas right now, so he kept his distance. Narcisse thought of joining his crew on the boat and dealing with Asher but he felt he should stay close to you and of course he also had his one in the same warlock pal Julian to bunk with.

Legolas slipped inside the tent and slowly laid you down on a cot in which you awoke again as you felt his arms release you. You panicked and sat right back up with frightened wide eyes, shaking your head vigorously and clasping his shoulders as he tried to stand upright.

"My lady, it is alright, you are safe here. You need rest. Your body is shutting down from all the trauma. I need to go get you some water as you are also greatly dehydrated." Your eyes filled with tears and fear as your clutch on him intensified. It was a surprise you even had any tears left as you felt all cried out.

"Josie...I will not leave you. You must know that. Is that what it is? You do not want me to go?" Legolas asked with a sympathetic tone. You nodded as a whimper escaped you and your tears began to fall.

"Please do not cry my Lady. Do you trust me?" he then asked and placed his hands over yours that still gripped his shoulders. You lightly nodded. "Then please...know I will return quickly and will only be right outside with the others. I must get you what you need. Please, let me do that for you. Let me take care of you and Leann."

Your eyes slowly rolled down to your stomach and then back to his, then you hesitantly released your desperate hold on him and gave a single nod.

Legolas smiled and stroked your hair out of your eyes, then placed it behind your ear. "Try to relax. I will never leave you. I promise you."

The Prince wiped your tears away with his thumbs, then stood up and walked off as you grasped your knees up to your chest and watched him disappear out of the door flaps. His words only made you feel worse as promises like that were never meant to be kept. Thranduil promised you many times he would never leave you and in the end, he did just that.

Legolas found Aragorn. "We should leave now."

"No. Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We should wait for cover of dark." Aragorn insisted.

"I just do not feel it safe here for Josie and her child, even though I told her she would be. She's so fragile right now. I do not know what to do. She will not even speak. I feel the light of day would be safer to travel." Legolas countered. "besides...it is not the eastern shore that worries me. A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near. I can feel it."

"Josie will be safe upon Narcisse's boat. The rest of us will travel the land and deal with whatever comes."

"I will be with her. I promised her I would not leave her...and that filth Asher is upon that boat. I must protect her now.... You said another storm is upon us. The black sea will be no safer if we wait until dark."

Aragorn remained quiet as he contemplated Legolas' concerns. "Go...tend to the Queen. I will take into consideration what you have told me."

Legolas nodded and trekked off to gather a canteen of the Lorien magical water. On his way, he noticed some berries growing at the border of the forest. The same ones he used to heal your face when Haldir had struck you while under his possession by Peter due to Thranduil's curse upon him. He collected a handful and returned to find that you had not moved from the position he had left you in. Your eyes widened and lit up in relief when the Prince entered.

"Here my Lady...drink." Legolas offered the canteen to you as he sat down at your feet. You just stared at it and turned your head away. "Josie...you must drink. It is the waters of Lorien and will nourish you and Leann. If you will not do it for you, at least do it for her, although I would prefer you do it for the both of you."

You gazed at him for a moment and then reluctantly took the jug and sipped from it. "I also found these berries near the forest. I used them to heal your face once, remember?" Legolas asked with a half smile. You lightly nodded but still said nothing. "I know Garrett healed your face this time after Asher struck you but...I did not know if you were still in any pain from it, so I brought these....I...I wish I could have healed you instead." The Prince's eyes fell in sadness. "I..I am sorry. Such nonsense to speak of at this time."

He went to set the berries aside and you gently grabbed his hand from doing so. Legolas stared at you in confusion.

You drew his hand back in front of you and took one berry from it. Slowly, you raised your hand to his forehead and smushed the red berry over the darkened bruise he received from Azog's powerful blow that knocked him and Narcisse both to the ground. In soft circular motions, you swirled the juicy paste with one finger, then you wiggled your fingers over the ecchymosis as a red glow flowed from them and lit up the contusion like a flame to glass. Just like that, Legolas' lesion was healed.

All he could do was look at you with deep appreciation and awe for worrying about a simple bruise that he didn't even realize was there as the elf was quite resilient just like his father was. After all, Legolas had taken a cast iron pan to the face by you on accident and snapped right out of the daze within minutes.

Your hand dropped and your eyes fluttered as your body tilted to the side.

"Whoa...hey. Josie. Look at me." Legolas gasped as he caught you. "You need not worry for these little things nor try to use your powers. You are too weak right now. Do not misunderstand. I appreciate what you have done, more than you could ever know but you must conserve your energy. I want you to drink this water and eat the rest of these berries. My lady....please. I beg of you."

Legolas' eyes were swimming in despair so you gave in. You reached out and took a few berries, then popped them in your mouth and slowly chewed. Realizing they tasted good and how hungry you actually were, you collected the rest and devoured them in one shot, then took the canteen and washed them down with a sizeable swig and shoved the container back at Legolas with a huff.

He grinned at your stubborn fiery wit as he was happy it was still there after all you had endured. "Alright my lady. Aragorn is working out a plan for our next move. I must go back and see if he has made a decision. I ask of you now to please lay back and rest. I will return again shortly." Legolas proceeded to get up and you snatched his arm, pulling him back onto the bed as you adamantly shook your head in disagreement.

"Josie...what is it? I will be right..."

You scooted back and laid down, then patted the spot beside you. Legolas understood that you would only rest if he stayed with you. He removed his weapons and then laid down beside you with his arms to his sides. You picked his arm up and placed it under your neck, then wrapped it around your shoulder and laid your head upon his chest. Legolas sighed as he stared at the top of the tent above him and then within seconds, you drifted off to sleep from lack of it as it had now been almost 48 hours since the start of Halloween morning....and the aftershock of the events that followed were in full effect.

The aftershocks of Raven's rendezvous with the King had come full circle as well. She began throwing up and all she could taste was wolfsbane. She had stupidly forgotten that the poison was still in Thranduil's system as she had ingested a hefty amount of his semen. The toxins of wolfsbane cause many symptoms depending on the amount consumed, including but not limited to a slowing of the heart rate which is what happened to Thranduil that made him appear deceased. It also causes vomiting in which Raven was experiencing as it also acts through contact of of the skin and bodily fluids...which you found out just by kissing Thranduil when the poison was at it's highest toxicity...and now Raven was from drinking the lingering remnants of it....By this time, Jareth had healed and came to find her in the sickened state. His keen senses immediately smelled the dark, wet scent of aconite.

The maddened goblin King knew of her misdeeds and whipped her around to face him. The sound Raven had heard while in bed with Thranduil was that of a lurking goblin who witnessed her leaving his chambers and informed the goblin King... It was then presently verified by Jareth as the foul smell of Thranduil's poison seeped heavily out of her pores.

"What is that dreadful smell? Could it be wolfsbane? That in which the Elvenking was poisoned with? My my...what have you been up to my love, while I was healing from my injuries that transpired from battling your war? Was another King's cock in your putrid mouth? What ever shall I do with you now?" Jareth contemplated in a most passive aggressive way.

She knew she couldn't deny it and didn't even try, but instead, pleaded with Jareth to spare her life. Her excuses only infuriated him more.

"I warned you. Love me and I would be your slave but betray me...well you know...something about your grave and all....hmmm. Had I not told you that you should have been careful of what you wished for when you wished for me? This is such a tough decision for me as I have come to love you. Right here in my own Kingdom, under my nose, you fornicated with another....so be it...my decision is made. You both shall pay."

He slammed her against the wall face first and tore her clothes off while he grinded his throbbing cock in between her ass cheeks. "Believe it or not, this is going to hurt me more than it will you." Jareth whispered remorsefully into her ear. "But you must learn your place."

Raven was earning her karma but in a way that no one truly deserved. She cried and fought as Jareth held her wrists together above her head with one of his hands and freed his raging cock from his leather pants with the other.

"After all I have done for you, you make me do this."

His voice trembled in agony for what he was about to do. He forced her legs apart with his knee and pressed his chest against her back, pinning her to the wall. He spit on his hand and lathered his cock in it, then found her entry...her anal entry. With a blunt force, he shoved himself into her. She screamed in agony and almost fell but he forced her to stand.

"I am sorry my love, but I cannot be gentle... but it will be quick."

He withdrew and plunged back into her and continued the pattern until he was fully sheathed, then began pumping aggressively until he was sliding with ease. His hand reached around her waist and slid down to her clit, where his fingers vigorously taunted it and slipped inside of her front entry in hard thrusts to match those of his pelvis that was glued against her backside.

"You will come for me and do not think you can fake it. When you come, I will come and then I will stop." He heavily breathed into her ear as he jerked his hips up into her swift and strong.

Raven was desperate for it to end so she focused on climaxing as Jareth grinded and pushed upwards. She brought her own fingers down to tease her clit but he wouldn't allow it.

"No...you will come at the will of my cock." Jareth sped up, so much so that the sound of their skin smacking together filled the room and both of their grunts and gasps echoed along with it. Finally, Raven's core began to tickle and she exploded into orgasm. Her knees buckled together as she panted loud mewls.

Jareth felt the tight contractions and immediately released with a long drawn out whimpering moan. Once he was done, he wasted no time in withdrawing from Raven and let her drop to the ground. He buckled his pants back up with a frown upon his face while she cowered against the wall, afraid to look up at him.

"Fix yourself up and come to my bed. I will be waiting...." Jareth then left as an unseen tear strolled down his cheek.

On his way to his chambers, he ordered two of his goblins to secure the Elvenking as he was close to regaining consciousness. Jareth had his own agenda in detaining Thranduil aside from Raven's. One of them was that he believed you and your company, Thranduil included, were all responsible for Caroline's death. Jareth loved Raven in his own sick and twisted way and anyone that caused her pain would suffer at his hands, even as hypocritical as that made him for what he did to you. The other reason was yet to be seen, but it most likely had something to do with Ashmole. Julian had stated he believed his brother's interest in you was solely for that book and nothing to do with you being his daughter... and to Jareth, Thranduil would make a great bargaining chip. Patience wasn't one of Jareth's strongest suits but for the time being, he was hell bent on letting you all suffer the loss of the King of the Woodland realm.

Thranduil found himself lying awake on the forest floor near his gardens gazing at the sky as the sun shone down upon him.

There was singing in the distance to the harmonious sound of a violin echoing in the warm lavender scented breeze. He recognized the serene voice and the ethereal fragrance which belonged to that only of his mother. The King swiftly arose as his eyes darted all around in search for her.

"Thranduillll...." Her soft voice carried his name through the air with a childlike giggle.

"Mother...I am here. Where are you?" he asked in great anticipation of seeing her.

"I am here my son." The elleth's voice came from behind him. He spun around with a gasp to see her standing in his lilac fields drawing the bow over her porcelain cast violin that matched her skin tone. Her lengthy red wavy strands flowed over her pastel purple dress with a never ending train surrounding her petite figure. Violet shades were her favorite color just as yours were.

Besides you, Thranduil had never witnessed anything or anyone more beautiful.

"Naneth...why are you here?"

She lowered the violin and glided towards him. "I am not here for you are here...and you must go back. Your Queen is in great distress. She needs you as she believes you have passed on from this world. So does Legolas. You must go before it is too late."

"Too late? Mother...is Josephine in danger?"

"There are dark forces about her. She is losing her will to survive without you. You must wake up Thranduil. Now. For evil is upon you both."

"I...I have tried. I cannot. It is if there are restraints about me for I am trapped inside my own body. My eyes are too heavy to see and my voice has been silenced but my ears hear all."

"Yet your heart still beats....and for it's one true love. Find your power my son. For love can do magical things and defeat any evil cast upon it." She then began to fade away.

"Naneth wait! How do I return to the other side when I do not even know how I found myself in your realm?"

"Follow your heart my son and the path will reveal itself." Her words echoed as she vanished into sparkles.

As inviolable as Thranduil was, he felt himself breaking as he dropped to his knees. If only his mind could connect to yours. If only he could find you in another mirror like before but he didn't even know how he had done it. He crunched his eyes shut and concentrated desperately but all he saw was darkness and all he heard was silence. Fury and frustration consumed him as he shook his fists in the air and released a gut wrenching roar to the sky.

You flung up so fast, it hurt your neck as you gasped..."Thranduil!" You had heard your King but were uncertain if it was only in your dream or if it were real. Panic set in as Legolas was gone. You had no idea how long you had been asleep. Jumping to your feet, you crept to the tent's flaps and peeked outside. There was still some daylight but the sun was beginning to descend, so came to the conclusion that you must had been sleeping for hours. You then saw Legolas conversing with Aragorn.

"The horses are restless."

"Something stirs them. Have you made a decision?" Legolas posed as he scoured his surroundings with caution.

A Lothlorien guard struggled with a horse in the distance as Aragorn watched in concern.

"I have. Let's gather our horses quickly and I will notify the guard to prepare for immediate departure."

As soon as they both left, you snuck out unseen in search for Thranduil's voice which for some reason, felt like it came from below you. Your mind knew he was gone as all the evidence proved it but your heart refused to believe it, even as you had witnessed his lifeless body before you. The denial stage of grief was giving you hope where there was none and in the fucked up state of mind you were in, you would believe anything at this point, desperately grasping at straws.

Aragorn and Legolas came back and stopped to speak with Julian, Narcisse and Haldir.

"Lord Narcisse, myself and the Lorien guard will be traveling by land. May I ask that the Queen and Prince journey back to Dorwinion aboard your boat. It will be much safer for her in her condition with the nightfall temperatures and the oncoming storm. Haldir and I will make sure your horses are returned safely."

"Of course. There is plenty of room for them and Josie can have a private chamber below deck to protect her from the winds." Narcisse eagerly complied.

"I will be joining the sea's travels as my daughter goes nowhere without me." Julian ordered. "Legolas...why are you not with her? You seem to be the only one to comfort her right now which I have allowed for her sake. I see she deeply cares for you after what she did in saving your life, and I am grateful for your sacrifice for her as well but do not think I have forgotten your treatment of her last night."

"She is asleep which is greatly needed. I only came out to check in with Aragorn. Julian...I greatly apologize to you as I have to her. I was not myself, but that is no excuse for my behavior. I also care deeply for her and would never harm her. I will put my life on keeping her and Leann safe. You have my word."

Julian's brow raised in skepticism as he knew the Prince's true feelings for you, even before Garrett blabbed it to everyone earlier, for Legolas' did a piss poor job at hiding his sweetness on you... but he saw Legolas' love as a benefit for your safety.

Narcisse smirked. "Do I get an apology as well? Maybe a thank you. It seems you have forgotten what I did for you."

Legolas hated to think that he owed a warlock anything, especially that one. "What does it matter? Josie saved you as she would have saved me. I did not ask for nor want or need your assistance. I have respect for Julian as he is a good man...but you are not. You may have sacrificed a lot coming here, but for your own selfish reasons, that being of my father's wife. My father did not like you, nor do I. What you did for me was for your own benefit of getting in the good graces of Josie. If she had not asked you for help, you would not have batted an eye to aid me."

"Such noble talk for someone who is not so noble when we all know of your not so secret desires for your "father's wife. You toss that term around as if it truly matters to you and offends you that another looks upon her...when in all reality, it is merely jealousy that you not so discreetly hide in your so called defense of your father's honor. You're used to getting everything you want but she is something you cannot have and it eats at you. An entitled Prince you are, nothing more. You even have to have a white horse." Narcisse teased, just as he had done back in Dorwinion before you all departed for the vampire kingdom.

Aragorn stood in the middle of the bickering rivals as they went back and forth.

Legolas handled Narcisse gracefully and unbothered with a smile. "Your words are humorous considering that this is your white horse."

During the wrangle between the Prince and the Warlock, Julian went to check on you, only to find an empty cabin. The volant warlock rapidly flew and landed between the two squabbling men.

"Josephine is gone!"

"Thran...duil??? Are you out here?? Please, hel..hel..he. help me f...find you." It was so cold, your words chattered right along with your teeth. You were now completely disoriented, dehydrated and lost. Everything was so quiet. Even the wind was still. You were certain you had heard him back in the tent, but now you were so confused, wondering if you had only dreamt it. Your grief was clawing at you from the inside as your eyes desperately searched for King while you prayed that the whole damn thing was all just a fucked up nightmare that you would soon wake from and find your Thranduil right there in your arms, alive and well.

You saw him in that mirror, you were certain of it, even though no one else could see him. You had felt his hand against yours from the other side of the glass...it had to have all been real....but if it were....that was only more clarification that Thranduil was gone because you saw his mother there with him...in the afterlife. Was it his voice from beyond that had frightened you out of your slumber? Your thoughts were so scrambled, you felt nauseated. Anxiety began to consume you as you wandered aimlessly. This is what life after death was like. This was the beginning of your slow agonizing quietus without your lifeline...your twin flame...your destiny....Thranduil.

"That stupid fucking fountain was wrong!! You said that it was never wrong and couldn't be changed Galadriel!!!" you managed to shout without a single stutter into the nothingness around you. In the visons, you had seen Thranduil cooing at Leeanduil as a baby. But then it hit you...the memory of Thranduil telling you the future shown could always change if someone in it dies after the viewing. Something Galadriel had kept from anyone wishing to peek. You still never understood why. She never encouraged anyone to look and highly warned that the seeing one's future could be harmful in so many ways as it wasn't always a pleasant prediction. The fountain could not prevent death but it certainly could prophesize it. If one wasn't seen in it, that could very well be why. It could also show one a positive happily ever after and then the next day, death could rip it away. Galadriel left out that last important disclaimer.

You began to sob in hopelessness but you literally had no tears left in you, and if you had, they would have frozen to your eyelashes. As you turned and took a step, you hadn't realized you were near the edge of a ravine. Your foot slipped on an icy patch and down the slanted slope you went on your back as if you were on a sled. All you could do was scream the entire way down.

Legolas' pupils blackened out his blue orbs as the earth seemed to spin as your shrill scream was heard from afar. He had never experienced panic before. Not like this anyways.

He and Haldir simultaneously charged off in the direction of your cry. They had split from the others earlier to cover more ground.

Garrett, Selene and Michael didn't even know you were gone. The King vamp had been out hunting solo and shot off like a bullet when he heard your scream.

Legolas picked up your tracks in the patchy snow. It was clear to him they were yours as you were the only one with small feet. The tracks led up to the ravine and Legolas sprinted over them to the ledge.

There you were, laying motionless at the bottom on your back. Without hesitation, down the slippery slope Legolas and Haldir went as if skis were attached to their boots.

Legolas dropped to his hip and slid right up to you.

"MY LADY!! Speak to me!" Legolas frantically pleaded as he held your face in his hands. Your skin was pale as the snow, your lips chapped and dry and the color around your eyes was as gray as your cloak.

"She...she is so cold." The petrified Prince muttered. He knew you were alive as you had still bore the pendant, but it didn't ward off frostbite or hypothermia just as it wouldn't have saved you from bleeding to death just hours earlier...so he knew what he had to do...

Legolas slowly inched down until he was hovering over your face. "Take in my warmth...and my love." He quietly whispered over your lips and then placed them over yours so gently. An incandescent white glow surrounded your faces as Legolas' heat transferred into you.

Legolas gazed at you as he took in the taste of your cherry blossom flavor. Haldir's mouth slightly dropped open as he watched this occur. He knew Legolas had these abilities but he hadn't seen him display them in years, for anyone. And that was just it. The Prince would never use them lightly. Most likely why you didn't know he had them. Legolas would have used this on you when you almost froze to death on the ascension up the mountain last week, but Haldir had taken control of your watch and guard, and then Garrett snatched you away....whom just now arrived in time to witness the elf's lips on yours.

Your eyes sprung open as you gasped in a deep breath. All the color flooded back to your cheeks as you sat up in shock, gazing at Legolas who's green mint scent you could taste.

"Leg...Legolas?"

"Yes my Lady, it is I and to hear you speak my name...I mean, to hear you speak at all is music to my ears. Are...are you warm enough now? Are you hurt from your fall?"

"No...I..I don't think so and...I am warmer...how..."

"Never mind that my Lady. You and I will be traveling on Narcisse's boat back to Dorwinion. We are close to the sea. I will take you there now before you become chilled again."

Julian and Narcisse had been quietly standing in the background and had also witnessed Legolas's healing kiss.

"Are you alright my child? Whatever would you venture out here alone for?" Julian asked as he bent down and placed his hand on yours. You instinctively pulled it away as you were quite angry with him for keeping such an awful secret about Jareth being your biological father.

"I am not your child now am I...father? Does anyone tell the truth anymore!!" you huffed and took the Prince's hand.

Julian accepted your sarcasm as Legolas helped you off the ground. You had every right to be angry and hurt. The warlock decided to keep his distance and let you calm down as you had been through way to much to deal with daddy issues right now. But that didn't mean he would be far. He was going to be on that boat too wether you liked it or not.

You glanced down and noticed a huge tear in the cloak as you could feel cool air flowing up your legs. "Oh no...Narcisse...I..I am so sorry. I have ruined the cloak you lent me. I will repay..."

"Nonsense Jo. You will repay nothing. Do you think I give a damn about some cloak? I am just grateful you are alright." Stephane sincerely said.

Haldir's head jerked towards him with another death glare. Narcisse had called you Jo again. Twice since you had told him not to, and both times you did not correct him. And the warlock's ass kissing was getting on the marchwarden's last nerve.

You and Legolas began to head to the boat when Garrett spoke up. "Legolas...let me take her. I am way faster. The wind is picking up as the storm is nearing."

Legolas laughed heartedly. "She may as well lay in the snow. She needs warmth. Not ice cold arms around her."

"I would have her there in a matter of minutes. She will not freeze to death that quick. I took her from the forest to the castle which took a much longer time and she was just fine. I'm a fire sign remember? I can keep her warm..."

"I said I am taking her. There is no use for you here. Do you not have some animals or people to go mutilate?"

Then you saw it. Garrett's eyes turned red. Legolas had triggered him.

"Who the hell do you think you are sprite? I was trying to be helpful and get her out of the cold faster. Just who the fuck put you in charge of her? She is a grown ass woman." Garrett barked as he approached Legolas.

"I am the son of King Thranduil Oropherion. That is who. My father is her husband and the father of her child who is also my sister. My father would have no one else be her and Leeanduil's keeper, especially a filthy vampire...let me rephrase that...especially YOU. You are no longer needed here, nor wanted so why do you not just leave. I would tell you to have some dignity but the word is unfitting of you."

"Well Thranduil is not here now is he? I am not trying to keep anyone and if you even knew her at all, you would know Josephine is no one to be kept."

That was it. They were both pissing you off. You gasped and spun in between them. "Whoa...stop. First of all, you are both speaking of me as if I am not even here. And second, Garrett, how dare you say something like that about Thranduil..."

"Josephine, I didn't mean it like tha..." Garrett swore.

"I am not finished!" you snapped cutting Garrett off.

Legolas smirked at the scolded vampire, but a little too soon.

"And you...What are you grinning at? Garrett is actually right. No one keeps me. No one is in charge of me either. Garrett was only trying to help. There was no need for you to be nasty to him. He sacrificed a lot here and saved me more than once. Now...with that said...Legolas is also right. I have to honor my husband. I am sorry Garrett but I am going to go with Legolas. But thank you for offering to help and for everything you have done for me." You took his hand and smiled.

Garrett looked down and sarcastically sighed with a hurt grin. "No problem little one. See you around." He bolted off and Selene and Michael raced after him. You knew Garrett too well. He would certainly never let this go nor what had happened earlier either. At some point, there would be a face off between him and Legolas.

"Garrett! Waaaaait...." you whined. "Fuck!!! Thanks Legolas."

"I am sorry Jos.."

"No you're not." you snapped. "I'm ready to go now. Please. I don't feel good."

"You need rest and..."

"I need my husband!!!" This time you had tears. An overabundance of them too as you sobbed into your hands.

"I know. My lady...I really am...." Legolas sighed in frustration. "Just come here. Let me take care of you."

You began to cry harder and threw your arms around the Elvenprince. "I...I...I'm sorry I snapped at...at you." you sniveled as your legs wobbled.

"Hush...come here." He put his arm around your back, then bent down and swooped your legs up. Off he went with you as the others followed suit.

Narcisse guided you all aboard the boat, but stopped when Haldir came up. "I gave permission for Legolas and Julian to sail with us but I do not recall giving it to you."

"I am not leaving her. You will have to throw me overboard and I assure you, it will take more than all dozen of your men or your flimsy powers to do so."

"Challenge accept....."

"No Narcisse....he stays. Please. I want him here. He is my best friend. He stays or I go by land with them."

Haldir smiled inside but glared at Narcisse on the outside.

"As you wish Jo...Please...your chamber is this way, below deck. Let me assure you, Asher is secluded and contained at the opposite end of this boat and will be dealt with accordingly when we return to my Kingdom." Stephane walked off and Haldir began to open his mouth but you quickly covered it with your hand.

"Haldir, no. let it go. It's just a name. Besides...I like the way you say it better. Stop letting him get to you. You will always own the rights to it." you chuckled as you walked at his side with both your arms wrapped around his. "We...we haven't been able to talk much lately. How are you doing? Are you alright after....well...you know? My mother and all...?

"You are asking me how I am after all that has happened and that you have endured? Jo...my Jo. You are in so much pain right now. My feelings are irrelevant at this time. What matters right now is you and Leann and getting you both back to Dorwinion safe and sound."

That right there is why you loved this elf so damn much. He was selfless...well most of the time, you thought as you lightly smiled. When it came right down to it, he put his personal feelings for you aside to keep you safe and that was definitely selfless to you. Even Garrett and Legolas would do the same, again, most of the time. You were Dorothy, and they were your Lion, Scarecrow and Tinman. All that was missing was your wizard...Thranduil.

Haldir went to speak with Julian as Legolas pretty much tucked you in. Aragorn had headed back to join the elven guard and begin their journey by land.

"My lady....do you need me to stay with you because I will do so in a heartbeat." Legolas confessed.

"Actually Leggy...I...I really just want to be alone...if that is alright." You said as you laid down in the small cot and sniffled.

"Of course my Lady. Please rest. I will be right outside if you need anything." He sweetly smiled and then went to leave.

"Legolas...."

He turned and peered down at you.

"I know what you did for me...again. I was aware enough to know you taste like mint candy too." Your grinned and pulled the blanket up over your cheek.

Legolas bowed his head with a bashful smile and released a tiny chuckle, then walked out and shut the door.

As you closed your eyes, you saw Thranduil's angelic face. His moonstone eyes glistened as he smiled at you. "There's no place like home." you whispered and then cried yourself to sleep.

Legolas did as he said he would and stood port side guarding your door...until Haldir and Julian called to him from down at the stern.

"What is it? Has something happened?" Legolas inquired as he approached his guardian and the warlock.

"Yes...something has." Julian concurred. "While Narcisse and his crew are preparing to set sail, Haldir and I have seemed to come across something that is much needed at this time."

Legolas raised a brow at the grinning men. Haldir brought his hand out from behind his back and displayed a large bottle of the wicked Dorwinion wine.

"What do you say Legolas? Let us drink in honor of your father. I understand that this was his favorite vintage. Let us toast to the King of the Woodland realm. If not for him, I would not have been freed." Julian reveled and popped the cork.

It was so bittersweet to Legolas. He was till in shock and denial about all of it. Haldir was also and was doing his best to be strong for you and the prince.

They had found some tin mugs and filled each one up. "To King Thranduil!" Haldir shouted as he raised his glass to the sky.

"For you Adar." Legolas quietly said with a soft smile. The three men clinked the mugs together and drank gulped it down just as Thranduil would have done.

You had just fallen asleep when your door creaked open. You shimmied about with your eyes closed.

"Legolas?"

There was no answer but you could tell someone was there. Then the door shut. You turned over to look but the cabin was only lit by a single candle, making it difficult to see the figure standing there....until they removed their hood and the flame glowed upon his face. It was Asher.

"We meet again, you stupid bitch."

@redeemer46

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arcielee · 5 months ago

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Ah, yes. Let the angst commence. 😭

We got the taste of the trauma that Aemond carries around, as well as learning who it was he had to kill. His hesitancy makes sense, as much as it pains me. It is a legit argument. With every day possibly being your last, it amplifies your emotions by a billion, and that can be a liability. Also, I cannot imagine a worse hell that being pregnant during a zombie apocalypse. 😭

But you know who cannot get pregnant? Rio x Aegon 🥰

Aegon, once again, steals the spotlight.

“I have no idea what that means!" - Aegon, chapter 3.

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 3: The Ones Who Died Without A Name]

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

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

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Holiday” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

The Tahoe runs out of gas just west of Ashland, Ohio, coasting to a stop along the shoulder of State Route 96, sapphire skies and cotton ball cumulus clouds, emerald fields of Swiss chard and beets slowly being nibbled bare by deer and rabbits, the inheritors of an abandoned earth.

“Well, that’s it,” Baela says, offhand, blasé, as if it’s not a disaster. You’ve sorted this out, it didn’t take long: there are people who aren’t allowed to panic. If they do, it’ll be like a dam crumbling, and the flood will burst through to drown everything, like when Noah’s wrathful God decided it was time for the world to start over. Baela can’t panic. Aemond can’t panic. And maybe you can’t either. Rio gives you a skeptical look—Are we really about to walk to Oregon?—and you slap his thigh encouragingly as you climb over him and out of the Tahoe.

“Everyone gets a gun,” Aemond says as he starts distributing them: Rugers for Rhaena, Baela, and Helaena (although she winces as she obediently takes the revolver, immediately tucking it away into her burlap messenger bag), .22s for Daeron and Aegon, Remington 12 gauges for Jace and Rio, who gives you his M9. You’re better with it anyway. Aemond’s Glock 20 is in a handmade leather holster he took from the cellar of the house back in Distant, Pennsylvania. Luke, still a potential zombie, will not be armed; but Aemond slings the strap of a .22 over his own shoulder for in case Luke recovers.

“Safeties on, right kids?” Rio goes down the line checking everyone’s gun. “Remember what we practiced, use your sights, don’t go pointing the barrel at anyone unless you’re okay with blowing a hole in them. The noise is risky, but getting bit is worse, so use your best judgment.”

“I don’t have any of that,” Aegon says, grinning.

Rio grabs Aegon’s sunburned face roughly and smacks a kiss onto his cheek. “I know, Honey Bun. Don’t you worry. Stick close and I’ll do your thinking for you.”

You spy it up the road a ways on the right, half-obscured by tree limbs: a white and orange sign, a logo shaped like a diamond. “Oh my God. It’s a Stewart’s.”

“A what?” Aemond asks, squinting at the sign. It’s late afternoon, and soon the sun will be sinking into the west like a drowning man through deep water, and like all prey animals you are restless without the promise of shelter.

“A Stewart’s Root Beer. They used to sell hot dogs and barbeque and all these neat soda flavors like key lime and black cherry. We had one where I grew up. That was the fancy place. You knew it was a good day if you ended up at Stewart’s for dinner.”

Aemond considers you, that subtle ceaseless curiosity. “We can stay the night there.”

“I thought we didn’t want to waste any daylight, Aemond,” Jace jabs as he helps Luke—miserable but presently human—out of the Tahoe. “That’s what you said when I wanted to check out that Barnes & Noble, Aemond.”

“What the hell do you need books for?” Aegon says. He’s grabbing clear CD cases out of the center console of the Tahoe. He pounds on the eject button and then punches the CD player when he realizes he won’t be getting that particular disk back. “Oh, you bitch! I had Shakira on there!”

“I would like to preserve my ability to read at higher than a fifth-grade level. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I was going to work for Sullivan & Cromwell, you know.”

“And now you’re a jobless loser just like me. Isn’t life funny?”

“You can’t be serious,” Baela says to Aegon, his arms full of CD cases. “You’re going to carry all those to California? You don’t even have a way to listen to them.”

“I’m not leaving my mixtapes.” Aegon shoves them into a U.S. Army backpack he found at Fort Indiantown Gap and then hoists it onto his back with a grunt.

Aemond tells Jace: “We only have a few hours until the sun starts going down. We don’t know what’s up ahead. We should take advantage of a safe place to sleep if it’s available. Getting caught out in the open after dark is the worst case scenario.”

“Whatever, Aemond. It’s your call. Everything is your fucking call.” Then Jace plods out into a field of rabbit-ravaged Swiss chard to relieve himself semi-privately, his back to the Tahoe.

“Hey, Chips Ahoy,” Aegon says, taking the folded-up map out of the pocket of his shorts, mint green plaid. “Want to tell me if there are any nuclear power plants near our route so we can steer clear of them and not get irradiated?”

“Uh, well, I don’t exactly have them all memorized…” You examine the map, hoping the black-ink cities will jog your memory, trivia you catalogued years ago, snippets you’ve heard from your fellow seamen. “Perry’s in Cleveland. We won’t be anywhere near that one. Fermi is up by Detroit.” You hesitate as your fingertips skate past Chicago. “Braidwood and LaSalle are someplace between Chicago and Peoria, but I’m not sure where. And then there are a few others around the border of Illinois and Iowa. One’s called Dresden, I think. West of that, I don’t know. Rio?”

“Cooper’s in Nebraska, dead east of Lincoln. That’s all I got.”

Aegon is nodding, making notes on his map with a glittery forest green gel pen. “Cool, cool. If I don’t end up eaten or a zombie, I can look forward to being a sterile, glow-in-the-dark mutant.”

Luke frets: “What if we accidentally drink contaminated water or something?”

“Then you die an agonizing death, kiddo,” Rio says. “Your cells dissolve and you turn into human Jello and there’s nothing anybody can do about it.”

Luke swallows noisily. “Awesome.”

“You might just get cancer if the dose is small enough,” you tell him. Luke does not seem pacified. Rhaena gives him a sip of warm Coca-Cola from a plastic bottle from the Wawa.

Jace comes trudging back to the road, zipping up his khaki chino shorts. “Alright, are we ready?”

Helaena is gazing solemnly out over the fields of green leaves, red roots that grow like arteries into the soil. “We should try to find antivenom.”

“Antivenom?” Aemond asks, distracted as he makes sure nothing of importance was left in the Tahoe. The keys are still dangling from the ignition; you won’t need them. There’s no breathing the Tahoe back to life. There’s no returning to Aemond’s house back in Boston. There is only the West, beckoning you to cross rivers and plains and mountains to join her, and to do it as people did two hundred years ago, no cars, no phones, no escape hatches. The only way out is through.

“For the snakes,” Helaena says.

Aemond stares at her. The stitches in his face are dissolving as the flesh weaves back together, jagged maroon scar tissue, beautiful savage ruins, landscapes of improbable survival. “Helaena, antivenom has to be refrigerated. Even if we miraculously found some, it wouldn’t be useable.”

She nods, eyes wide and glazed, still peering into the fields, into the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

A hand brushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, a whisper through the dissipating indigo of sleep: “Guess what today is.”

You startle awake and yelp as you bolt from your assailant. Aegon is watching you without any shame whatsoever. People are laughing as they gather up supplies so you all can get moving again, brushing teeth, arranging hair, drinking glass bottles of Stewart’s soda found last night in crates in the storeroom, snacking on bags of Utz chips. Sunlight is streaming in through the windows; specks of dust glimmer in the air like comets through the inhospitable void of outer space.

Luke says from where he is sitting on the floor, his arms and legs tethered: “Hopefully the day when somebody’s going to untie me.”

“It’s my birthday!” Aegon announces.

You’re still blinking at him, disoriented. “What…?”

“Aegon, I told you,” Aemond says, sipping a bottle of Stewart’s key lime soda. “It’s not your birthday. It’s not the 23rd.”

“It’s the 20th, right?” Rhaena says.

Rio looks to you, bewildered. “Isn’t it like the 25th?”

“We’re still in June?” Luke says. Now Aemond is hacking through his ropes with a hunting knife from the cellar in Distant, Pennsylvania.

“Your hand is healing up. Your color is good, your temperature is normal. I guess we can officially declare you human for the foreseeable future.”

“I knew it,” Jace says, combative so no one will see the desperate relief underneath.

Aemond examines your hands next, calloused over where the heat of the transmission tower burned the skin. There is no pretext for needing to tend to them any longer, no antiseptic or ointment or gauze. Aemond nods somberly at your palms, as if he isn’t entirely happy to pronounce them cured. His hands linger on yours for slow, unnecessary seconds.

“So what are we going to do special for my birthday?” Aegon presses eagerly.

“We’re going to walk between ten and twenty miles towards California,” Baela says.

“That’s not a birthday activity!”

Daeron groans as he inspects the screws and bolts of his compound bow. “Aegon, it’s not your birthday!”

“Shut up. You can’t even apply to get a credit card.”

“No one can get a credit card now! Currency is worthless!”

Rio offers you a cherries and cream soda. You take it and say: “Aegon, how old are you? On today, your alleged birthday?”

He hesitates. “That’s not the important part.”

Aemond smiles as he tells you, mock-whispering: “He’s thirty.”

“Thirty?!” Rio exclaims. “That’s like, an actual adult age. Marriage and a mortgage, shit like that. What were you doing before everything went insane?”

Aegon gestures vaguely. “I was considering a number of opportunities.”

“He was living on my couch,” Aemond says.

Rio shakes his head, grinning. “No job? No school? No nothing?”

“I wasn’t doing nothing. I played a lot of golf.”

“He was totally doing nothing,” Jace says. “I was in my third year of law school at Harvard, Baela was getting a master’s in Aeronautics and Astronautics at MIT, Rhaena just started an Anthropology PhD, Luke was getting a master’s in Screenwriting at Boston University—he was going to be very sad and very broke, but still, he had a plan—and Aegon was doing…nothing.”

“I’ve never had a real birthday party before,” Aegon tells you; and there is something in his murky blue eyes that is tremendously sad, wounded, childlike. “I might not get another chance.”

“What do you want to do?” Now people are alarmed, skittish glances and mouths open to object. You are encouraging him.

“I don’t know yet,” Aegon says. But he’s glad you bothered to ask. You can see it on his face.

It’s not until several hours later—after noon, the sun high and blazing, everyone’s unpracticed feet aching and blistering in their shoes—that Aegon experiences a revelation like the angel Gabriel appearing to the Virgin Mary or Sir Isaac Newton extrapolating gravity from an apple falling on his head. Aegon’s epiphany appears in the form of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio called Luxury Lanes. It is remarkably unluxurious, a nondescript black rectangular building with a few doors in the front, one small tinted window on each, and no other openings. To Aegon, it is an oasis in a desert.

“I want to go bowling!”

“Aegon, we’re not going bowling,” Baela says, breathing heavily but trying to hide it, her hands massaging the small of her back. Aemond is watching her worriedly. Baela is the only person not burdened with carrying any supplies beyond her hammer and shiny new Ruger—and she resisted this accommodation at first—but still, she suffers more than anyone.

“Once again, it is my birthday—”

“Aren’t bowling allies soundproofed?” Rio asks Aemond. “You know, so they don’t get noise complaints?”

“Uh, I guess so…?”

“It’s kind of a fortress, isn’t it?” Rio continues. “Not many ways in or out. We wouldn’t be seen or heard. Might be a good place to stop for the night. ”

“Yeah!” Aegon says. “Right, Aemond?”

Aemond looks at you. It takes you a moment to figure out why. “I think the bowling alley is a good idea,” you tell him. “It’ll be safe, assuming we can clear it. And Aegon can have his party.”

Aemond is skeptical. “A party?”

“Survival isn’t just about not dying. It’s also about holding onto the things that make us human.”

“Like bowling!” Rhaena says excitedly. “It’s preserving a tradition! And I used to be so good at bowling. I bowled a 250 game once.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Aegon says, still delighted to have her on his side.

“There’s a sign for a Walmart maybe half a mile up the road,” Daeron points out. “We could search it for supplies and then double back here.”

Aemond polls the audience. Everyone agrees.

Shenandoah is tiny, rural, religious, and out of the way from the major highways. The Walmart doors are chained shut with padlocks, and amazingly no one has taken that as an invitation to drive their car through them or otherwise shatter the glass yet. Rio is honored to be the first. He takes the butt of his Remington shotgun and punches through the glass of the locked doors, kicks away loose shards, whistles and shouts to lure out any zombies. A dozen of them come reeling out of the aisles and towards the doorway. Daeron shoots down most of them with his compound bow. Rio kills two with the butt of his Remington, his new favorite toy. Aegon, the birthday boy, uses his golf club to beat in the skull of a teenager who is still wearing glittery pink nail polish and fake eyelashes. According to her nametag, her friends and family once called her Raelynn.

Inside the Walmart, Jace and Aemond take one side of the store, you and Rio the other, doing a quick sweep to make sure you didn’t miss any undead employees or customers waiting for the chance to sink their teeth into you. And when that’s done, you begin shopping.

The shelves are probably two-thirds empty, but there are still treasures to be found. You push carts through the aisles and fill them with candles, lighters, Chef Boyardee, Doritos, canned soup, fruit snacks, tuna pouches, 5 gum, bottles of Snapple, socks and underwear, hair ties, t-shirts and shorts, Kleenex tissues, pads and tampons, toilet paper. Baela finds some cute maternity dresses. Helaena picks through the pharmacy for useful medications, Aemond shadowing her with a baseball bat in his hands and his Glock at his waist.

“Chips, they got Cheddar Whales!” Rio exclaims, tossing several boxes into your cart.

“I miss grocery stores,” Rhaena says as she climbs the shelves to get the last box of Teddy Grahams.

“I miss going to the mall and getting Auntie Anne’s pretzel nuggets,” Aegon commiserates. Then he stumbles upon the liquor aisle and his eyes light up like high beams. “Aemond!”

Aemond appears—perhaps a bit flustered—and deliberates for a while as he browses the selection, Aegon waiting anxiously, before he decides: “Since it is allegedly your birthday, you can drink tonight. And you can pick one other person to drink with you. But only one.”

“Rio,” Aegon says immediately.

“Come on!” Daeron whines.

Aegon is already putting bottles of Captain Morgan rum into a cart. “Sorry. Illegal. Underage.”

“I’ve helped you butcher countless zombies, but I can’t drink?!”

“Just Say No, as Nancy Reagan would tell an innocent child such as yourself.”

Jace strides over, sly and playful, gnawing on a Twizzler. “Aemond, were you over there rummaging through the medicine aisles again? What do you keep looking for? Condoms?”

There is an awkward silence, an extremely awkward silence. Aemond glares at Jace. Jace’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, I, uh…I was definitely joking. But…congrats on the possible future sex!”

“I already checked,” Luke tells Aemond apologetically. “You know condoms were the first thing to get bought up or looted everywhere.”

“Okay, great,” Aemond says quickly, willing the conversation to be over. There is blood, hot and mortified, flaring in his cheeks. He was thinking of you, he had to be; the only other single woman here is his sister, and obviously that’s not an option.

Jace takes another bite of his Twizzler. “Just pull out, man.”

Baela, incredulous, gestures to her belly. “Because that worked out super well for us.”

“I told you to stop riding me!”

“Yeah, a whole two seconds before you impregnated me with your super-swimmer Michael Phelps sperm.”

“Please don’t make me listen to this,” Luke begs. “I’m starting to wish I really was bitten.”

“Don’t you know all the tricks to not getting someone pregnant, Aemond?” Jace says. “Wasn’t that going to be your specialty? You wanted to be a vagina doctor? So don’t you know all the mysteries of the vagina, Aemond?”

“He was going to be an OB/GYN,” Baela says, unamused.

“Really?” Rio turns to Aemond. “Why would you want to do that?”

“So he gets to look at pussies all day,” Aegon says morosely, as if heartbroken that such a path is inaccessible to him.

“That’s not why,” Aemond insists, mostly to you.

You smile. “I didn’t think so. What’s the actual reason?”

“Interns do rotations in different departments so we can figure out what we enjoy and what we’re best suited for. I knew within two days of my OB/GYN rotation that that’s where I wanted to be. Giving birth is the only life-threatening trauma that is necessary for humanity to continue. I wanted to help people get through it as safely and painlessly as possible.” Then his gaze darts to Baela. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound worse—”

“No, it’s okay, I’m very much aware. It hurts like hell, people die. Believe me, I’d be thinking about that even if you hadn’t said it. I think about it all the time.”

“I have an idea you’re not going to like.”

“What?” Baela says. Aemond nods to the nearest shopping cart. “No way. You’re not going to push me around in one of those.”

“I believe it’s an adequate solution until an alternative appears.”

She sighs. “I’ve lost my body, my career, my society, my parents…must I lose my dignity too?”

Aemond winks. “Only when you’re too tired to walk.”

“Alright, Aemond. I realize you’re under the impression that this is a favor. So thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Let me give you a favor in return.” Then Baela begins shooing everyone except you and Aemond out of the liquor aisle. “Grab anything else you want, we’re leaving in five minutes! Jace, come look at the baby clothes with me…”

When the two of you are alone, Aemond says: “I really hope that didn’t make you feel too weird. I’m not someone who gets uncomfortable about the…um…the subject matter in general. But I wouldn’t want you to think that I was trying to…I don’t know. Assume anything or pressure you into something that you weren’t already open to. Obviously I like…um…I mean, enthusiastic consent is essential, and I just…I would never try to convince anybody or…you know what, I’m just going to stop talking now. Okay?”

“Aemond, I’m fine. I didn’t think it was weird.”

“It’s a compliment,” he confesses, flushing pink again, touching his chin, perspiration gleaming at his temples.

Now you have to show interest so he knows you’re on the same page. You’ve never had to think this way before, you’ve never liked anyone enough to play the game. “So hypothetically, if someone didn’t want to get pregnant but there were no condoms, pills, etcetera…what are the options?”

He looks at you, pleasantly surprised. “Well, there’s the rhythm method. It’s not perfect, but it’s been around forever and is reasonably reliable if done correctly.”

You are only vaguely familiar. “We didn’t get a lot of sex ed down in Kentucky.”

Aemond chuckles then leans in, a mischievous curl of his lips, a craving in the crystalline river blue of his eye. He grips the shelf above your head, his arm a canopy. His voice is hushed. The front windows of the Walmart face west where the sun is setting; golden light floods in to illuminate the store. “Is your cycle regular?”

“It is, actually.” This should be embarrassing, but it’s not; it’s exhilarating. You’re imagining him seeing you, touching you, unearthing secrets you’ve never been tempted to share with anyone else.

“So if we imagine it like a circle…” He draws one on the back of your hand, invisible, mesmerizing, blue-white lightning crackling up the path of your metacarpals, wrist, ulna and radius, humerus and clavicle, descending ribs like the rungs of a ladder to jolt the sinus rhythm of your heart. “The start of your period would be Day One.”

“Okay,” you say, hypnotized as his fingerprint skates in an arc across the bumps of your knuckles.

“Ovulation doesn’t happen until around Day Fourteen. You might have noticed some increased arousal and…wetness. Clear in color, elastic consistency.”

Your eyes are trapped in his face, smooth skin, jagged scar tissue. You tease him back, stepping closer. You can hear people snickering in the next aisle as they eavesdrop. You don’t care about them, and neither does Aemond anymore. “Now that you mention it…”

“That’s nature trying to trick you into reproducing. Day Fourteen is crunch time. Once ovulation occurs, the egg is only good for up to twenty-four hours. And then the rest of the cycle you’re effectively useless, as far as making miniature humans is concerned.”

“Wait, you’re telling me people can only get pregnant one day a month?” This seems improbable. “How has the species managed to survive this long?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Aemond admits. “Depending on the health of the specimens, sperm can survive up to five days inside a woman’s body. And it’s difficult to tell exactly when ovulation occurs. So, in practice, there’s basically one week a month when you’d want to avoid a man…completing the act, if you will.” He’s still smiling, taunting, famished, imagining the same scenes you are. You know this with a categorical certainty, as if you’re reading his thoughts like stark stripes of distance on a measuring tape. “And that’s also the week when your hormones are demanding you have sex, inspiring you to make all sorts of impulsive yet extremely consequential decisions.”

“Don’t I know it,” Baela laments from the next aisle, and there is a rupture of wild giggles.

“Anyway.” Aemond lifts his finger from the back of your hand and you have to stop yourself from reaching for him as he recedes from you. “There’s a basic overview.”

“It was very educational.” You follow him out of the liquor aisle.

“I’ve used the rhythm method for years,” Rhaena says as everyone makes their way towards the front of the store with their carts. “Clearly that’s just anecdotal, so don’t think I’m officially endorsing it. When I’m in my fertile week we add condoms. Well…we used to. Back when we could get them.”

“Ugh, I hate condoms,” Baela grumbles.

“We can tell,” Aegon says.

“I hate the way they feel, I hate the way they smell…”

“They’ve never bothered me,” Rhaena says. “I don’t notice that much of a difference. And it can be fun to try different kinds.”

“Are you on drugs?” Baela whirls to you. “Seriously, what is wrong with her? I’m right, aren’t I? Condoms are awful.”

Rio gives you a cautious look, uncharacteristically reticent. He’s not going to be the one to reveal it. He doesn’t know if it’s something you’re willing to share. But if anything is going to happen with Aemond—and you want it to, already you know you want him—then it’s something you think you should be honest about. You want him to know about you. You don’t want to have to create some false version of yourself to wear like a pelt, heavy, smothering, something that will inevitably need to be taken off.

“I am regretfully not qualified to say.”

“You’ve never used condoms?” Baela asks, a bit dubious.

“I’ve never done any of it.”

Everyone freezes at the defunct checkout counters and turns to gawk at you. “No sex?” Jace says. “No nothing?”

You shrug, smiling a little self-consciously. “I made out with a guy once.”

“The Marine from Corpus Christi?” Baela asks. They’re obsessed with him, they’re convinced there’s some lore to be excavated, translated, displayed like a relic in a museum. There isn’t. Sometimes people pass in and out of your life as seamlessly as shadows or sunlight, no weight, no indentations, nothing to recall or relay. He existed and then he didn’t. He was an airplane drawing contrails in the sky that faded before the blood red fire of dusk filled the horizon.

“No. Someone from home. Just a guy, not even worth mentioning.”

“Girl, you gotta fix that, soon, pronto, like yesterday.” Jace seems genuinely horrified. “You can’t die a virgin.”

“You really can’t,” Daeron adds, and Aegon pretends to be distraught over the loss of his youngest brother’s virtue.

“That’s what I’m always telling her!” Rio says.

“Not everybody wants to have sex,” Helaena murmurs as she records today’s findings in her spider notebook.

“True,” Jace concedes. “And that is totally legit. Mother Teresa, Queen Elizabeth, Jesus Christ, Buddha, Joan of Arc, Sir Isaac Newton, Nikola Tesla, the Jonas Brothers for a while, all great people. But Chips is not celibate by choice, correct?”

“Buddha had a wife and son,” Aemond says, preoccupied. He isn’t looking at you now, which is concerning; he’s peering down at where his hands grip his shopping cart, his brow creased with…what is that? Unease, disapproval, concern, thoughtfulness, fear?

“It’s not some big thing,” you backpedal. “I don’t have a hangup about it, I just never met a guy I liked enough, and enlisted men, they’re…well, a lot of them are taken, or cheaters, or idiots. Or all three.”

“Not to worry, Chipper.” Aegon claps a hand on your shoulder; and you aren’t sure if it is his purpose to break the tension, but he seems to have that effect regardless. “If you ever wish to be initiated into the art of lovemaking by a slightly below average and entirely unintimidating penis, I’d be thrilled to assist you. I love condoms. But in their absence, I am the king of pulling out. 100% success rate. Zero bastard children running around to my knowledge.”

“You should give Jace lessons,” Baela says.

And the last thing Aegon takes from the Walmart is a green battery-powered Toshiba CD player so he can blast to his mixtapes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Flickering candles lining the middle lane, drinks and snacks strewn across the tables, Rio’s Moonbeam propped up so it’s aimed at the disco ball still hanging from the ceiling from a time before the dead started devouring the living. Daeron is at the end of the lanes to reset the pins after each player’s turn. Helaena is keeping score in her notebook; Rhaena is currently in the lead by a massive 80 points. Aegon is wasted, dancing on a table and crunching Cool Ranch Doritos beneath his bare feet, his blonde hair flopping. Each time it’s his turn to bowl, Aegon has to roll the ball down the lane with two hands like a child. Rio, several shots deep but unable to feel much shy of half a bottle, is singing along with him to Cruise by Florida Georgia Line, but it’s really more like shouting, each sentence an off-key monstrosity that makes you laugh.

“Baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise!

Down a back road, blowin’ stop signs through the middle, every little farm town with you!

And this brand new Chevy with a lift kit, would look a hell of a lot better with you up in it!

So baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise!”

You cleared Luxury Lanes easily; the only difficult part was figuring out how to get into the area called the pit where, in normal times, felled pins were mechanically collected and sorted. There were two former employees roaming around back there in their tattered uniforms, snarling and drooling blood. Both were rapidly neutralized.

Someone always has to be by the front doors, watching through the small tinted windows for signs of trouble, whether from zombies or living humans. Aemond is currently on guard, nursing a Snapple. According to the bottle, the flavor is called Takes 2 To Mango. You grab your own Snapple—plain and simple Lemon Tea, no charming gimmicks—and walk over to join him.

“So now I guess it’s my turn to say I hope that conversation didn’t make you feel weird.”

He smiles politely, glancing out the window. “No, I’m completely fine.”

“Good. Because I don’t want you to look at me differently than you would any other girl, like I’m better than them, or worse than them, or like there’s anything wrong with me, because it really isn’t something I consider to be paramount to my identity, and people always seem to get all twisted up about it, but it’s a pretty boring story, I just…”

“You’ve never liked someone enough to take the risk. I get it. I don’t think you’re a freak or anything.”

“Okay. Good.” The next song on Aegon’s mixtape is Shaboozey’s A Bar Song. Jace is dancing with Baela, spinning her around as she giggles. With Rhaena’s coaching, Luke bowls his first strike. You rest your head on the door as you gaze up at Aemond, the phantom of a smile on your lips. “I might like you enough.”

And he says as if it’s the worst thing in the world, a plague, an infection, an apocalypse: “You’d fall in love with me.”

It hurts, of course it does, this flippant rejection. He burns you, he cuts you, he stitches you up with no anesthetic. You try not to show it. “You’re…confident.”

“No, I don’t mean because of anything specific I would do, it’s just…it’s natural to form a certain…attachment. To the first person you’re with. It leaves an impression.” Not an impression like a first judgment, superficial and swift; an impression like an imprint, a hollow, a prehistoric fossil that is preserved through eons. “That was already true before. And everything is more intense now, because life is so…” Aemond takes a while to settle on a word. “Precarious.”

You say like a challenge: “Are you still in love with the first girl you slept with?”

A shadow that ripples through his face, a flinching he tries to hide. You shouldn’t have asked. Still, you feel like you need to know, like you’ll run out of oxygen if you don’t. “I think I’ve gotten enough distance from it to realize that she wasn’t…wasn’t good for me in a lot of ways. It was an unconventional situation. But I still carry all these pieces of her around with me, yes. I don’t think that will ever go away.”

“Aemond,” you say gently. “Who was she?”

He is evasive, smirking. “It’s a cliché.”

“Was she a patient? That’s very Grey’s Anatomy of you.”

“No. She was my professor.”

An older woman, wise and experienced and captivating and sophisticated. He’s cut you again, a blade slicing effortlessly through veins like soft butter. “Oh. From med school?”

“Undergrad.”

“You were really young,” you say, a little startled.

He nods. “I was eighteen when it started. I was this shy, insecure, friendless freshman, she was married with two kids around my age. And it was off and on, but there was never anyone else for me, she took up too much space in my head, in my chest, like I couldn’t breathe unless I knew we were okay.”

“It went on for seven years?”

This seems to stun him, hearing how much of his existence she bottled like a terrarium. “I guess so.”

Is she dead? Missing? Safe somewhere with her husband and kids? “Is she…gone?”

His gaze drops to the floor. “Yeah.”

“Did you see it happen?”

“I was the one who killed her when she turned.”

It’s indescribably horrible; you don’t know what to say. “Aemond, I’m…I’m really sorry…”

He is abruptly nonchalant, the blue of his eye cool and dispassionate. “Look, I’m not prepared for this to be anything more than casual. And I don’t think casual is really in the cards for us. So it’s probably best to leave it alone.”

“Right,” you agree numbly, not meaning it.

“We’re headed different places, I’m going to California, you’re planning to end up in Oregon, it’s just…a bad idea to muddy the waters, I think.”

“Because I haven’t done this before.”

He shrugs ambiguously. “It’s a contributing factor.”

“Well you seemed pretty interested before you found that out, so.”

“I don’t mean to offend you.”

“You aren’t offending me. You’re disappointing me.”

Now Aemond is offended. “By trying to protect us?”

“No, by saying you don’t think I’m a freak when you clearly do, and by having some savior complex, or a whore-Madonna complex, or whatever’s going on in your head, it’s always such a mystery to everyone else.”

He downs the rest of his Snapple and shoves the bottle into the nearest trash can. You hear it thump against the bottom, no garbage bag. “Alright. This was fun.”

“Maybe you’re afraid of making a mistake, just like I always was.”

“Maybe I don’t want to have to teach you how to do everything,” Aemond snaps.

“I taught you how to shoot.”

“The fact that you don’t realize how wildly different those two situations are proves you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, bye. Sorry about your zombie girlfriend.”

Aemond glares at you, shocked, furious. “That was so fucking low.”

It was. You regret it. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him that. You flee to the far end of the bowling alley and sit alone at a table draped in shadows. After a while, Rio notices and ventures over to see what’s wrong, a bottle of Captain Morgan swinging from one hand. He’s tipsy now.

Rio sighs as he takes a seat beside you, reaching over to rub your back. His hands are large and indelicate; what he means to be comforting is more like getting manhandled. Sometimes he leaves bruises, but it’s not his fault. Nature gave Rio the body of a killer. If anyone is going to survive the zombie apocalypse, it’s him. “What’s going on, Chips?”

Your voice breaks as you say it; tears sting in your eyes. “I hate caring about people.”

He bursts out laughing. “Yeah, it’s the worst, isn’t it? But once in a while it works out.”

“Bryan.”

And now he knows you’re serious. You have his full attention, large dark eyes fixed on your face, lines etching into his brow beneath the artificial starlight of the disco ball. “What are you asking me?”

“We can’t leave them and walk to the West Coast ourselves, can we?”

“I mean, technically we could, but it would be really stupid. Everything’s so much easier with ten people. And also I think I’d have to kidnap Aegon and take him with us, I love that little dude. Why? Do you really want to leave them?”

“No.”

“I figured.” He offers you the half-empty bottle of Captain Morgan.

“I’m not drinking that.”

“Come on. It’ll take the edge off.”

You look at him. Rio looks back, smiling now.

“I’ll watch out for you,” he says. “And if you get bit I’ll shoot you dead, no hesitation, swear to God. I remember our promise. I won’t let you die alone.”

“You’re a good guy.”

“I know.” He nudges your arm with the bottle of Captain Morgan. “A few swigs won’t hurt. It’ll help you sleep.”

You take the bottle, twist off the cap, drink down amber-gold poison that burns like gasoline, like fire.

#☆ arcie's library #aemond targaryen #zombie au #Maggie's Suffering Sundays

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baby-fics · 2 years ago

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CG! Will and Hannibal/ Agere! Reader (angst..?)

This is based on my personal regression. It isn't easy for me to admit to people and it isn't easy to just.. be little with people. Honestly it's also gotten harder for me to be small around anyone. I hope some people can empathize with this..

Regression around people is hard no matter who. Even if you know they are welcoming and warm. Even Hannibal who knows the therapeutic benefits of age regression.

I imagine living with the two, being scared of whatever possibilities put a block unto your comfort. Their rejection, their judgement, even if realistically they wouldn't -its not exactly easy to take that chance.

I personally find comfort in closets.. maybe their partner regresses in one? Hides a special stuffie there behind a trunk and snuggles them while watching cartoons till the two comes home..?

I have this vision of getting comfortable, the two are out investigating a case and you're in your cozy walk in closet, watching Bluey and snuggling a stuffie. Maybe you fall asleep, you convinced yourself if you only closed your eyes for a second you'll be okay!

Needless to say you're asleep when they come back, they're fearful when they can't find you. But Hannibal or Will has seen you walk out of that closet door enough times.

They find you there after searching the house, William feels like he knows what he sees but isn't sure. Hannibal absolutely knows, the stuffie, Bluey, the thumb in your mouth? He knows.

They bring you to their massive bed, putting your stuffie in your arms. They surround you on all sides. They know you might panic if you wake up, but they will be gentle with you.

It can be very scary, someone finding you like that. But the comforting snuggles, the soft voices, the nicknames they won't be able to stop using. You'll feel safe in an instant.

You would be between them, awakening and reevaluating your circumstances and remembering your last place of rest. It's distressing but they don't look angry or disgusted.

They would comfort you, hold you gently, praise and explain that they were there for you. Maybe you'd still be small, talking in a baby voice and cursing yourself for it. But they wouldn't mind, they'd encourage it.

Theyd probably experiment the rest of the day, completely wholesome of course. What makes you giggle, what might make you nervous, upset, frustrated.

Hannibal would want to figure out where your regression comes from. If it stems from trauma or a response to stress. He needs to know in order to best help you!

Will has probably ordered several other stuffies for you, he's ordered more things but he wants to get to know your small-space first. (I imagine cow stuffies.. 🥺)

I really do think they would be wonderful caregivers. Welcoming and loving. No more closet little space, instead you'll get a smol room. One with hidies and dollhouses. Let the spoiling commence.

Will is empathetic and caring by nature and Hannibal knows any and all coping mechanisms like the back of his hand. Will would probably regress with you sometimes and Hannibal would care for you both.

They'd make me feel safe.. 🥺

(this was entirely self indulgent, forgive me😅)

#agere caregiver #little!reader #agere little #agere reader #agere slasher #hannigram x reader #hannibal x reader #will graham x reader

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acatalystrising · 2 years ago

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October is here and soo…let the writing commence! I had a lot going on yesterday and sadly wasn’t able to start the month with a prompt, but now I’m getting into the swing of it!

Today’s Boba one shot is SFW, a hurt! Reader prompt involving: injured reader, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, and allusions to past trauma.

Enjoy! Stay turned for the next one shot, coming soon!

Oneshot: My Shelter

“Hey, you alright?”

You dipped your head to hide your tears, hating that you couldn’t stop your limbs from shivering. You crossed your arms on the balcony and stared out at the Tatooine sunset - the dual suns painting a bleeding crimson in the auburn sky. You’d hoped the scenery would provide a welcome distraction from the day’s events.

“Mesh’la.” His voice was closer, rich, yet carrying a slight firmness. “Let me see you.”

Great, was he mad, too?

You slowly turned, a gust of dry wind cutting through your hair, finding him standing before you. Boba was still, silent - his broad-shouldered frame only amplified by the dark green beskar. You waited, heart lodged in your throat, as he approached - spurs clinking on the stone in a near melodic fashion.

“How bad is it?” His voice broke the silence, rolling through your chest as he stopped mere inches before you, helmet tilting slightly to the left. Waiting.

“It’s…nothing. I’m sorry.” You dipped your head down, staring at the stone, hoping you wouldn’t start crying again. “I’ll be fine.”

“Show me, ad’ika.” He extended a gloved hand, thick fingers curling in a beckoning fashion.

You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t take no for an answer - not when the request was a matter of your health. You extended your left arm, placing your bandaged hand in his. He lifted it, fingers gently grasping yours as he surveyed the wound in silence. The stray blaster burn was already covered in bacta and clean bandages, but you felt like it was burning through the cloth under his gaze.

“You shouldn’t be so reckless. You could’ve gotten killed.” His tone was admonishing, and you flinched, one again looking to your shoes.

He released your hand and let it fall back to your side, but you felt the soft leather of his gloved fingertips brush against your chin, gently lifting your face to meet his.

“You misunderstand me.” He watched you from behind his visored helm, hard voice softening despite the years of violence and pain that made it so. “I’m not upset. I was…scared for you. If I hadn’t been there, if something were to happen to you…”

“I’m sorry…I’d only wanted to help.” You hated it, feeling the tears slip down your cheeks, collecting where his gloves cupped your face. “I wanted to be strong. They were going to hurt you and I…I couldn’t let that happen. But I was careless, I messed up, I…”

Fear borne of past traumas rose in your chest, childhood accusations, old accusatory voices ringing in your memory - fighting your logic for dominance. Even as you stood there, you felt your knees growing weak, breaths ragged, more tears pricking your eyes.

“You’re human. We all make mistakes, love.” Boba lightly stroked your cheek with his thumb, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. He leaned forward, pressing his helmet against your forehead, the cool beskar grounding to your rising panic. “You’re safe, now.”

You leaned into his helmet, knowing the significance of the gesture, a small smile worming its way to your lips despite the anxiety roiling underneath your skin.

“I…thank you. I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t know the fight was going to break out like that.” You swallowed hard, voice small. “I don’t want to be useless to you, Boba. A failure. I have to prove that…that I deserve to be here.”

Boba pulled back long enough to remove his helmet with the soft hiss of an airlock. He placed it on the ground beside you both and stepped forward, enveloping you in an embrace.

“You don’t have anything to prove, mesh’la. All those people who told you otherwise were wrong. You’re here, aren’t you?” He met your gaze, his dark brows raised, a soft gleam in his honeyed amber eyes. “I love you for who you are. You don’t have to try to be anything less.”

You met his gaze, heart pounding, noting the small smile that curved at the corners of his lips.

“I still find it hard to believe, some days.” You rested your head against his broad armored chest, right hand reaching up and gripping his flight suit for support.

“Find what hard to believe, hmm?” His hand lifted from your cheek and caressed your hair, settling at the nape of your neck.

“That you love me.” You tightened your grip on his sleeve, another tear slipping down your cheek. “So many people haven’t, you know? I’ve always been so alone…”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, so achingly gentle you wanted to sob all over again.

“I do love you, little one. That won’t change.” He curled his arms tighter around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Trauma…is never easy. But it can heal. So will you. Don’t let it dictate your worth.”

“Okay,” you lifted a shaking hand to wipe away your tears, and he gently reached for it, instead pressing a kiss on your knuckles.

You lifted your head to regard him with a smile - so completely, wholly stunned that this powerful, commanding, thoughtful man was yours. That he chose you, of all people, to love. To love in a way he’d never known how.

You.

He whispered your name, voice low, husky, filled with admiration and desire - you couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped your lips from that sound alone.

“You’re beautiful, mesh’la.”

His lips crashed against yours - demanding, all-encompassing, so intoxicating that you knew you’d never again encounter a man like Boba Fett.

And he loved you.

“I’m yours, Boba.” You felt the words slip through your lips even as he dove in for another kiss, arms sheltering you, keeping you safe. “Always.”

#boba fett #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #book of boba fett #tbobf #acatalystrising writes #october writing challenge #writing prompts #boba fett fic #oneshot

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rogue-durin-16 · 2 years ago

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'86, BABY

Summary: The gone-missing Head Cheerleader turns out to be alive; the resident freak is cleared of all charges thanks to her testimony. If Hawkins High seniors thought that was as wild as things could get, they were in for a surprise at their graduation.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham

Genre: Fluff w/ some angst

Tags:

Eddissy: @chaoticlovingdreamer @acvross-the-universe @queenofstarsanddarkness

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, mentions of trauma, sickness (?)

A/N: it's me again! Back with —you guessed it— another band-aid fic for my favorite pairing because I wanna viciously tear apart the canon when it comes to them. Enjoy this silly idea that crossed my mind at 4am <3

Gif credit to @vakariaan

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

"You know what's blowing my mind?"

"What is it?"

"That I'm gonna be there and you're not." Chrissy's soft laugh ringing in my ear through the phone never failed to put a smile on my face, even now that anxiety was twisting my guts. "It's just dumb. The commencement, I mean. Shit, I don't even know why I'm going."

"Because you're graduating, Eddie!" She reminded me in a bubbly tone, much more excited than I was —which was ironic, considering she was still unable to walk a mile without passing out.

Vecna had really messed her up; not even Doctor Owens understood how she had survived for so long in the Upside Down.

I had a pretty good idea of how, though; she was so goddamn strong, she was capable and resilient. That's how I knew that she would recover, too.

When we first carried her to a hospital, doctors said she didn't stand a chance, and we believed then because by God she looked like she would shatter into pieces the moment someone breathed too hard in her direction.

The sight of her fragile frame shaking on the corner of the Mayfield's trailer in that creepy version of Hawkins still haunted me.

I would forever be thankful to the universe for letting Nancy Wheeler take a curious look around the Upside Down trailer park with suspicious eyes; I would forever be thankful for the brunette mentioning she had seen someone moving on Max's house, and I would forever be thankful that she dragged us there to inspect the place.

Without her, we would have never found Chrissy.

Two Months Earlier

"There's no one here, Nance." Harrington rightfully whined, following Wheeler and Buckley into the clearly abandoned trailer.

"I swear I saw something move!" She assured us, glancing at us over her shoulder.

"I don't think checking this out is your best call, Wheeler." I pointed out with reticence. We could be already on my trailer, but no, we had to go check the weird thing that ran by the window. "Let's at least not spl—"

"Let's split." Nancy and I talked in unison, making me groan. "We'll be quicker." And so we split— and not even in pairs; each of us took off to one room, silent, on edge.

Just as I traipsed to the kitchen, someone stumbled out of their respective room, startling us all.

"Psst! Eddie!" I turned to meet Steve's shocked gaze, eyes wide open. "You're gonna wanna see this, man." I took a couple of wary steps on the boy's direction before he called out for the remaining members of our group. "Nance! Robin! I found her!"

'Her'? Who the hell was her?

My heart stopped beating once I turned the corner to enter the Mayfield girl's room, because Chrissy Cunningham wasn't dead; she was whimpering on the floor, bracing her knees to her chest, pale as a corpse.

"Chrissy?" My voice came out brittle while I tried to process what was in front of me, because I had seen her die.

Just a couple of nights prior, in my living room, when a fucking portal to another world split my ceiling in half. I had seen her eyes rolled back and her body levitate until a red hand yanked her into the crack, taking her to some nightmarish reality.

"Eddie?"

Frozen at the door frame, I could only gulp, feeling all eyes dancing between me and Chrissy. I hadn't even realized that my eyes had gotten watery at the turn of events; the guilt heaving over my shoulders was dissipating because I didn't leave her to die.

Not only that— Chrissy being alive meant I had a chance to clear my name.

But how on earth was she alive?

"Are y-you... real?" Her question, asked in a fearful whisper, snapped me out of my initial shock, pulling me like a magnet to crouch in front of her.

"Y-yeah, I'm real." I assured her with a few enthusiastic nods, trying to swallow the lump in my throat at the sight of her poor state. "Jesus Christ— are you real? 'Cause I— I thought I saw you die." The back of my hand was quick to wipe a rogue tear that spilled from my welled eyes at my own statement.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Nancy questioned in a sympathetic low tone, as if not to disturb the girl.

"I-I... There was... music and you... I h-heard you calling m-my name." I wrestled to take off my leather jacket with shaky hands in order to drape it over her trembling shoulders, while I listened as attentively as possible. "Y-you called... My name through a d-door— I t-tried to f-find you." I was back to wanting to cry at the sight of her lost gaze. "Eddie I... I really tried b-but I couldn't."

"So you hid?" Robin asked, getting down on one knee, mindful of the nodding Head cheerleader whose bluish fingertips held onto the collar of my jacket for dear life. "Where did you hide?"

She shook her head 'no'. "Not where. It... It was a m-memory." Her scared eyes flickered to me. "An... Old memory."

"That memory," it was Wheeler's turn to come closer. "What was it? Did you stay there for long?"

"How did you end up on Max's trailer?" Steve questioned with a confused frown. "Did you, like, travel through memories or something?"

Chrissy's eyes came back to me, as spooked as I had seen her in the woods about a week ago; with each question, she seemed to shrink.

"That's enough." I stated sternly, my heart sinking at the look on the poor girl's face.

"We need to kn—"

"We need to get her outta here, that's what we need to do, alright?" I snapped, wiping the tears off of my face —For fuck's sake, what was I even crying for?— before holding my hands out to Chrissy. "You can ask her whatever the fuck you want once she's not looking like a damn corpse." Her cold hands landed on my wrists while mine supported hers so she could get up. "Hey, Buckley, a little help here."

The dirty blonde rose to her feet and offered Chrissy an extra hand to walk. I was ashamed to say that I alone wouldn't be very helpful, since I could barely stop my legs from giving in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Yeah, but I mean— shit." I pursed my lips in a tight line, twisting and twirling the telephone cord with my restless index finger. "I could just snatch the damn diploma and leave. It's not like my uncle's gonna come see me anyway."

"So?"

I groaned tilting my head back. "So I'll be on my own for at least two. tedious. hours." I dramatically declared, slapping my thigh loud enough for Chrissy to hear through the phone as an attempt to, cover up my fears with my antics. "Surrounded by people that, mind you, wanted me dead a couple of months ago." The line was silent for an instant before I added, "Some clearly still do."

"You're talking about—?"

"Obviously." I snorted with scorn. "He's been specially up my ass these last three weeks." I could hear Chrissy shuffling on the other side. "Pretentious, glorified hick. God, I hate him." I finished, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Sorry."

"Eddie, it's fine."

Chrissy had said several times that she didn't mind me talking about Jason, but I preferred to tone it down to the minimum; that situation was tight enough as it was.

"He's... getting under my skin too." She sighed in exhaustion. "I don't know how many times I have to tell him that the breakup had nothing to do with you. He just—"

"Doesn't listen?" I finished to which Chrissy hummed affirmatively in response.

"I'm really sorry."

"What for?" I shrugged. "It's not your fault that he's—"

"A jerk?"

"I was gonna say 'obsessed with me'." I made a necessary stop for us to laugh at her bluntness; since things with Carver ended, Chrissy Cunningham had let herself a bit more loose, which was hilarious to see. "But yeah, a jerk too. Your taste in men is kinda questionable."

"Well, I personally think it's getting better." She nonchalantly commented. Her smile, hearable from my end of the phone, made my heart skip a beat. "Okay, enough of Jason. We were talking about serious matters." Oh, that's right, the graduation. "Aren't Dustin or Lucas going?"

"Yeah, no. I told them not to come." I confessed rubbing my forehead with my index and thumb.

"Why?"

"Things are still... Tense?" Chrissy gave me a sympathetic 'm-hm'. "Their parents would blow a fuse if they knew their sweet, innocent children are coming to Eddie Munson's graduation."

"Robin and Nancy are graduating too, right?"

"I mean, yeah, but they'll be with their friends and I don't wanna scare them off."

There was a moment of thoughtful silence, followed by the former cheerleader shifting her position once more. "What if..."

Oh, that smile again. "What if...?" I cued her to continue, raising my eyebrows.

"What if I attended?" My eyes widened, my brain not quite processing her words.

"But you're... Not graduating yet?"

"Eddie." She breathed out a chuckle. "I meant what if I go see you graduate."

It was my turn to laugh, incredulous. "Uhh, Chrissy, sweetheart," she giggled at the name, and I mentally kicked myself; it's supposed to be ironic, man, so can my heart stop doing flips? "You're not allowed to leave the house alone. And for a good reason— you're not recovered yet." At her lack of response, my anxiety rose. "It's not that I don't want you there! It'd be great, it's jus—"

"Not the moment, yeah." She puffed. "But I'm so tired of being confined in my room. what am I? Rapunzel?" I heard something being tossed, followed by a muffled 'Ugh'.

"I mean, you do have gorgeous, silky hair— like a princess."

"What?"

"What?" I parroted, a wave of panic washing over me. "I could sneak in again after that bullshit." I suggested. "Keep your company for a bit."

"That's sweet, but last time you did that, it didn't go very well." She reminded me, making me titter at the memory.

Only a couple of days had passed since Chrissy gave her lifesaving testimony. She was dying of boredom and lack of social interaction, so I had the not-so-brilliant idea to sneak in and visit her.

I fell twice before actually managing to climb up her room; her neighbor spotted me —not a good look for a former suspect of kidnapping and murder—; the police arrived, and Chrissy had to give a false statement while I hid in her closet.

"Yeah, let's not repeat that again." I declared. "I'll just give you a call once I get home."

"I'd love that. Already looking forward to it— one second, Eddie. YES, DAD?!" I separated the phone from my ear as fast as lightning, rubbing the side of my face. Chrissy's voice was lovely but, oh boy, could she be loud. "I'M ON THE PHONE!— NO— NO, I DIDN'T SAY 'EDDIE'!"

"You're a horrible liar, Cunningham, it's actually embarrassing." I teased into the phone, earning a chastising shush from her.

"IT'S NOT EDDIE MUNSON! —OKAY, GIVE ME A MOMENT!" With a sigh, her attention was back to our call. "Dinner time, I have to hang up." She halfheartedly informed me.

"Sure— oh! Chrissy, hold on," she murmured a curious 'yeah'. "How... How's the— the food... Problem going?"

"Oh." I waited in silence for her response, giving her a moment to think. "It's... better."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I mean," I heard her sit up, her bed creaking under her weight shifting. "getting cursed by Vecna was... No fun, so I'm working on it— I really am."

"I'm glad." I trapped my tongue between my lips, fiddling with a loose string of my Iron Maiden shirt. "If you need to talk— well, you know,"

"Alright. Goodnight, your majesty."

"You're there, I know. You're the sweetest, I swear." Oh, erase that lovesick grin off your face, I thought to myself. "I really gotta go now."

"Goodnight, my lovely knight in shining armor." A laugh escaped us both. "And good luck tomorrow!"

"I'm really gonna need it." I muttered, taking a deep breath. "Bye, Chrissy."

"Bye!"

I got up from the floor to hang up the phone, checking my new wristwatch —courtesy of the Queen of Hawkins High herself— while doing so. Closing in on two hours on the phone with Chrissy Cunningham.

Life really was crazy these days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before being thrust into the whole Upside Down bullshit and being framed for Fred and Patrick's murders, encouraging a manhunt against me, I would have been ready for this.

I would have been ready to graduate, even with the occasional prep looking down at me, but in that moment in which about eighty percent of the people sitting at the gym's stands wanted me in jail, I just wanted to get up and run away.

Robin had insisted on me sticking with her throughout the commencement, and who was I to complain?

Positive side was, I had made it unscathed through Jason Carver's self-righteous, cheap speech in which he, expectedly, mentioned me and Chrissy a couple of times. Ignorant jackass.

It wasn't even fair for Jason to be the Valedictorian; it should have been Wheeler, but because she had actively defended me in the newspaper, the principal had rigged her grades.

"Eddie, breathe." Robin reminded me when the principal started to call the senior students names.

"Believe me, I'm trying."

"Try harder?" I shot a murderous glare at the band girl, who, instead of being intimidated by it, gave me a sympathetic half smile. "You got this, okay?"

"Robin Buckley!" At the sound of the principal's voice through the microphone, Robin shot up, almost stepping on the green graduation robe that covered her outfit.

"Hey," she whispered while reaching for the matching cap. "Fifth row, far left."

"What?" I squinted at her. Whatever she had said would have been difficult to understand in any situation, let alone when my mind was racing with intrusive thoughts.

"Just look there!" She urged me, awkwardly rushing to get her diploma with a round of applauses placating her nerves.

I was so in my head that I almost missed when my time came.

"Edward Munson!"

Silence. Deafening silence as I got up with all the courage one could gather up in that situation. Fuck high school and fuck Hawkins; I did not deserve this.

Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.

I took the first step, and then the second one, and then I might have as well been put under cardiac arrest, because the lack of noise was abruptly shattered by an obnoxiously loud round of applause that seemed to resound in the far corner of the gym.

I refused to turn around, yet I couldn't help but take a quick peek over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of Hellfire's youngest members standing up, clapping his hands like there was no tomorrow.

Feeling a little braver, I walked more resolved towards the damn diploma.

I snatched the rolled up nasty piece of fancy paper from the principal, and attempted to make my way to Buckley when she mouthed 'far left'.

Far left what. Far left what. I had already seen the kids, whose parents would surely murder me that same night. This was surely Harrington's doing —who else would be driving these goblins around.

Sure enough, when I finally turned around, I saw Steve giving me a quick thumbs up before resuming his clapping.

"WOOHOO!" That wasn't a post pubescent voice, and it certainly wasn't Harrington's my eyes scanned the fifth row, far left, going over every one of the standing kids to a sitting figure. "GO, EDDIE, GO!" Oh my fuck.

I couldn't help but let out a dumbfounded, breathy laugh at the sight of Chrissy. I didn't know what was more fulfilling; seeing her cheering for me, or the pearl-clutchers shooting her baffled, concerned glances.

When I sheepishly waved at her with a toothy grin and in response she blowed me a kiss, I thought that if Jason Carver had flipped out and decided to beat me to death right there, I would have died a happy man.

I flipped everyone the bird and jogged to Robin, who wiggled her brows at me, patting my back once I stopped besides her. "'86, baby." I whispered, my brown eyes locking with Chrissy's blue ones.

"'86." Robin repeated in the same carefree tone. "You're gonna stick around, right?" She questioned, her curious, distracted eyes glued to the crowd sitting before us.

"And risk to be lynched by a group of drunk teens?" I snorted. "I think I'll pass."

"I think you won't." I spared her a questioning look, seeing a knowing grin tugging on the corner of her lips while we applauded Wheeler; thankfully, the ceremony was coming to an end. "What? You think Chrissy's just here to cheer and leave?"

"Oh, hell no." A knot twisted my stomach, heart racing in my chest. Who the fuck had let Chrissy out. "Heeeell no."

The crowd broke into one last round of cheers while Robin shrugged, head tilted to the side and hands raised. She did not feel bad for me, at all; in fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

The naturally nervous girl took off to meet a redhead from band the moment we were dismissed; Wheeler was off to see her family, and I was left alone, unknowingly wandering back to the stands' stairs that Chrissy was walking down with Steve's aid.

"What are you doing here?" I inquired, unable to help the swelling of my heart or the aching beam on my face when Chrissy let go of Steve's hand to wrap her arms around my neck with disproportionate strength.

"I didn't wanna miss this!" She exclaimed, squeezing me tighter when I returned the hug. "So I called Steve."

"You called Steve." I puffed, looking at Harrington over Chrissy's shoulder. "Heavy is the head that wears the babysitting crown, am I right?"

"Tell me about it." He huffed, folding his arms over his chest. "I'm gonna go drive the... Kids home." She patted Chrissy's back while we pulled away. "I'll be back in— what?" He took a look at his wristwatch. "An hour and a half? That okay?"

"I can drive her back." I tentatively suggested, one of my hands never leaving Chrissy's waist. "If that's alright with you?" The girl gave me an enthusiastic nod, a bright smile making her eyes twinkle. Why did she have to be so damn beautiful?

Chrissy opened her mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by Dustin, Lucas and Mike's effusive congratulations, making the girl step back.

In no time, Steve was getting in between, removing the freshmen from me. "Alright, dipshits, that's enough. You'll get your turn, c'mon." Waving us goodbye, he took Henderson and Sinclair, and gave Wheeler a shove, leaving me and Chrissy alone in the crowd.

It was then that I realized something quite shocking.

"You know," I began, pushing away the green robe to tuck my hands on my back pockets. "This is—"

"The first time we meet—"

"After the sneaking in incident." She nodded at my words, a sudden awkwardness heaving over us and forcing our eyes to steal nervous glances at each other before averting our gazes.

"You look good in green." She pointed out, her slender digits picking on her nails in a fidgety manner.

"You look good in general." I countered, taking whatever words she was going to say from her mind and exchanging them for an open mouthed smile. "I like the" I vaguely motioned at her new heavy layered haircut. "hair— Jesus Christ, why is this so awkward?" I whined, doing a full turn.

"I was just thinking that!" She let out a frustrated groan, briefly covering her face. "We've been calling each other everyday for, what? A month?" She exhaled an anxious laugh. "We're just being... ridiculous."

"We are— hey, do you need to sit down?" I frowned at the way her legs seemed to wobble, my hands traveling to her sides, ready to take a hold of her forearms if it was needed.

"Yes, please." She supported herself on my palms while I walked her back and sat her down at the first row of stands. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I shook my head no, kneeling before her with our hands still connected. I could feel the glares and nosey stares of classmates digging holes in my back. "Baby steps, remember?"

She bobbed her head with closed eyes, tightening the grip on my hands, something that took me back to that first night at the hospital.

"You can't stay here!"

"Suck my dick, Wheeler." I hissed at the girl, stalking out of the ICU room they had just put Chrissy in.

"Hey!" Harrington shoved my shoulder as a warning. "She's tryna help your sorry ass, alright? You're still a wanted man."

"The girl I allegedly kidnapped and murdered is in that room, so I think I'm safe." I retorted, turning around to go back to Chrissy.

"Listen, man." Steve gripped my arm, lowering his voice. "There are people hunting you down. Getting arrested is the best thing that can happen to you." I gulped at his heavy words. "She's safe, the docs will take care of her. We gotta leave."

I pondered my options before shaking my head no. "I'm not leaving her again." Robin threw her hands up before burying her face on them. "Plus, people saw me walking in. The cops will be up my ass in no time. It's stupid to leave now."

Harrington finally let go of me, understanding this to be a lost cause. Waving them goodbye, I went back into the silent room, illuminated by the emergency lights and the screens showing Chrissy's vitals.

Sitting down by her side, I let my hand return to her smaller one. Still half awake due to the music being played in her ears by my walkman, she was quick to squeeze it, as if my hold would stop her from being taken by Vecna once more.

"Thanks for the hair compliment, by the way." She left one of my hands to tuck a rebel strand behind her ear. "My mom hates it."

"That's good." I stated with a proud grin.

"That's great." She corrected; the tension between us seemed to be easing up.

"Thanks for coming." I whispered, my thumb caressing the back of her palm. "I felt like I was boutta die until I heard you guys."

"You looked like you were about to die." She breathed out a laugh, tilting her head to the side. "I never thought I'd see Eddie Munson being scared of highschoolers."

"Well, I never thought I'd see Chrissy Cunningham cheering my name." I quipped, mimicking her head movement. "8th grade me would be blushing like crazy."

"Senior year you was blushing like crazy." She teased in a confident tone.

"You're fucking with me."

"Uh-uh." I felt the embarrassment going all the way up to my face in the form of a red tinge, something Chrissy found utterly amusing. "Oh, c'mon! It's cute!"

"It's embarrassing!" I countered, flicking her bicep. "You've just ruined my whole reputation."

"Hey, it's not my fault that you get all flustered when I call your name." I gaped, speechless at her statement. "What?" She leaned on with a mischievous yet endearing smile I never thought I would see in the Head Cheerleader's visage. "Am I wrong, Eddie?"

We shared a seemingly long silence, just staring at each other, waiting for the other to say something.

It took all my willpower not to avert my gaze from hers and become bashful. "You're trouble." She scrunched her nose, leaning back without loosing the grin on her face.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

She took my ring clad hand in both of hers, placing it on the center of her lap. "Did I ever tell you about the memory? The memory I first hid in." She spared me a quick glance to see me denying before returning her attention to my fingers. "So... I was in the Creel's house, right? And I heard the cassette you were playing— the Corroded Coffin one." She clarified, head still casted down while she twisted my rings. "So I followed the music, thinking I'd find my way back to your trailer but... I was in middle school."

I stayed silent, listening to her story. I didn't dare to connect the dots by myself, fearing I would miss completely.

"Talent show. I was doing my cheer... thing." My widened eyes made contact with hers, looking at me through her bangs. "and you were... with your band." The ghost of a cheeky grin pulled her mouth because she knew she was paraphrasing me.

Suddenly, I was back to being that shy kid with buzzed hair that was at a loss of words with the prettiest girl he had ever seen approached him.

"You said you liked my pom-poms, and it was sooo random and so... Awkward," she grimaced and I facepalmed myself at the comment. "but it made me so happy because I chose those pom-poms. I mean— obviously you didn't know that." She tittered nervous, unconsciously squeezing my hand between hers. "But you just... Said the right thing. To make me happy— happy enough that I could hide there for days. And this past couple of months, you've always said the right things. And I..."

She cleared her throat, gathering the courage to stare at me, and God knows the urge to look away was strong.

"I really like that about you. I really like y—"

"Nope!" I popped the 'p', slapping my thighs before standing up, "I'm gonna stop you right there," declared, a constant anxious giggle falling from my lips while I pointed my index finger at her. "because— no, because things have been wild lately, right? So fucking wild, and yet I don't find a reason to go 'oh no, that's not real'." I explained while pacing. "BUT" Chrissy jolted at my rise of volume. "If Chrissy freaking Cunningham" my eyes squinted at her, hands gesturing dramatically. "says that she likes me, then I might think this is some kind of fever dream, because I've been crushing on you since—"

Chrissy, who apparently was having none of it, had raised from her seat and taken the matter into her own hands —quite literally, since next thing I knew, her cold fingers were cradling my cheeks, bringing me down into a kiss.

It was innocent and sweet and quick. Way too quick. So when she pulled away, letting her hands travel to my chest and ready to scold me, I leaped down, reconnecting our lips.

The second time it was intense, impatient and intimate— intimate enough for me not to care about our classmates' loathing glares; intimate enough for her to feel comfortable when my hands brought her flush against my body, making her arch her back ever so slightly because I kept leaning forward.

And then it hit me —that I was kissing Chrissy at Hawkins High gym, that Chrissy had kissed me at the Hawkins High gym—, and I accidentally broke the kiss because I was beaming like a fucking idiot. Apparently, that was okay, because as soon as I rested my forehead against hers, she was smiling too, and it was the same stupid smile.

"Wow." I breathed out, my eyes surfing the people around us to find exactly what I had expected; horror. "Now I'm gonna be framed again 'cause people are gonna think you have Stockholm syndrome or something." I half joked, unconsciously squeezing Chrissy's sides out of fear.

"Eddie." Taking my chin between her thumb and index finger, she made my eyes meet hers again. "Fuck. People."

"Who are you, and what have you done to Chrissy Cunningham?" I teased, earning a slap on my arm from her, and one of her previous toothy smiles.

Oh God, I was in love.

#eddie x chrissy #hellcheer #hellcheer fic #eddie munson x chrissy cunningham #eddie munson fanfic #chrissy cunningham fanfic #eddissy fanfiction #eddissy fic #eddissy #eddssy #muningham #chrissy lives au #eddie lives au #fix it fanfiction #stranger things ships #stranger things fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff

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