#man i wish i could hug my inner child

[manujanolavu]

The people I love have failed my inner child. I'll protect her.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Dali and Henrique with a artist lover teaching their children to make art of their dads?

Dali sighed the moment he walked through the door of his estate. As if the weight of the world had just come of his shoulders.

Though Lord Johannes was respectful of his desire and plan to raise his children directly, there were certain matters of his VLAD work that required him to be away from home. Typically it would not take this long but since he had been putting the old man off it had been almost all day.

Ferdinand greeted him and Dali asked where the children were.

“[Y/N]-sama came by not long after you left, Master Dali.” Johannes informed him. “They and the children have been in the nursery for most of the afternoon.”

Dali was surprised. He didn’t expect [Y/N] to be here in his absence, but he was glad to hear that the children had not been left on their own with staff all day. He was glad he had such an understanding partner who was open to his goals in child rearing.

When he came into the nursery, he found [Y/N] and his sons on the floor with paper & pens. “What’s all this?”

“Papa…” Raphael’s soft voice called out before he got up to hug his father hello. Ul just babbled joyfully in [Y/N]’s arms. “We’re coloring.”

“Coloring, eh?”

“Yes.” [Y/N] confirmed from their seat on the floor. “I did the outline work and Raphael did the color fill.”

Dali walked over to where they had been seated with Raphael and looked over the pictures on the ground. The linework was beautiful. Places he recognized around the estate and inner city. “These are masterful.” He praised while holding one of them. “The colorwork is spectacular too. I like your boldness to use purple for the buildings, Raphael. Well done!” His son beamed at the praise and went back to coloring. “So, you’ve been here all day?”

“I thought they might be lonely.” [Y/N] explained as they played with Ul’s arms. “It’s been so much livelier here recently. With you all meeting with Lord Johannes, I thought I might act as a distraction. Though, I may be a poor substitute for everyone in that regard.”

“You aren’t a poor substitute for anything.”

Dali lifted another piece of paper from the floor, using it as a privacy shield as he gave [Y/N] a quick kiss. “Now, which one should I color? I would be a poor manner of a parent if I didn’t show Raphael some of my own artist techniques.” [Y/N] chuckled, but handed him one of the front of the estate to fill in.

Henrique sighed as he came home from a very long, very boring meeting with Lord Johannes. He loved the old man, but by God could he be long winded.

They got it already! They had to find the mass murderer plaguing the city. Vampire kind at stake. Mass suicide and the rivers run red or something. Alright! Did the old man think they were just sitting on their hands all day, or taking naps with the kids? Henrique wished he had time to take a nap in the afternoon these days.

Heading upstairs to see what the girls were doing, he was surprised to see [Y/N] there. The girls with matching easels he was pretty sure had not been there the last time he was in their room. “What are you guys doing?”

“We’re painting daddy!”

“Yes! [Y/N] is showing us how to use oil paints!”

“In hindsight we maybe should have started with charcoals.” Henrique chuckled at [Y/N]'s predicament. Seeing the girls in paint covered smocks but also with paint all over their hands and faces.

“Well, I’m sure they’ve been having fun. Can you show daddy?”

The girls eagerly hop off their chair and take their canvases, nearly as big as them, off their easels. “Wow!” He praised, even though he had no idea what the brightly colored smudges were. “These are so good girls! Lucia, I like all the pink you used. Elena, that’s a very nice tree in the middle there.”

“It’s a fountain daddy.” Elena corrected with a huff. To which Henrique smacked his palm to his forehead, told her of course it was, daddy was clearly an idiot, and told her it was a beautiful fountain.

“Why don’t you girls go get washed up and when your paintings are dry, we’ll find somewhere to hang them?” The girls then run off to get cleaned up and Henrique asked. “Those easels weren’t here before, where they?”

“No.” [Y/N] replied with a chuckle. “I got them for them today. I didn’t want them fighting over mine anymore.”

“Hmmm….that’s fair.” He then sat on the little stool set up for the children. Spinning around once in his chair. “Did they have a nice time?”

“They seemed to.” [Y/N] replied as they started picking up the paint brushes. “Although, Lucia & Elena like anything that they get attention for. Like someone else I know.” Henrique snickered with a grin. “Are you really going to put their artwork up for them?”

“Of course!” Henrique replied. “It’s better than all that old, stuffy artwork we got around here.” He wasn’t really sure where it came from. It had probably been put in when the house was built in ot-not-fourteen-whenever it was and had never been changed since. “Brings a little color to the house.”

[Y/N] smiled a little and Henrique hopped off his stool to his full height again. “Let’s put some of your work up too.”

They looked surprised. “Henrique…are you sure?”

“Of course!” He told them. “I’ve seen your stuff and its way better than anything up now. Let’s show it off.” What he meant was that he wanted to show them off.

[Y/N] looked a little nervous but nodded. Henrique smiled again. “Good! Lets see what the girls are up to and we’ll go pick out places for everybody!” He then took [Y/N]’s hand and led them out of the girls’ room. His day already a little brighter thinking about how bright these halls would be with new art.

[littledovesnow]

president snow, the prelude

a/n: so there were like 750 words that didn't make it into the final fic for president!coryo, here they are! i wasn't going to publish this, but it sets up a lot of the backstory for future fics i have planned :)

-----

The room was electric as Lucky Flickerman’s face popped up on the TV, ready to announce Panem’s next president.

Your husband, who was freshly twenty-five and had his name on the ballot fo the first time, stood next to you, hand laced in your own.

“You’re a shoo-in, Coryo, I don’t know what they’re even doing counting the votes. Everyone knows you’re going to come out on top. After all, Snow lands on top.”

Coriolanus smiled softly at the sound of his family’s favorite phrase. He knew he had most likely won the election as well, but he wanted to hear the final vote before celebrating anything.

“The results are in,” Lucky Flickerman’s dramatics were dialed to a hundred tonight, as he flicked open an envelope brought to him by a station worker.

“Panem’s next president is,” he trailed off, wanting to build the anticipation.

You could feel the electric in the air, squeezing your husband’s hand as Lucky opened his mouth to continue. “The Capitol’s own Coriolanus Snow!”

Cheers erupted from the Snow’s great room, Coriolanus’ closest family and friends having gathered for the momentous occasion.

Mr. and Mrs. Plinth, who thought of you considered your in-laws, wasted no time in congratulating the young man, their next president. “We always knew you had it in you, Coriolanus. Ever since you and Sejanus first were mentors way back when!”

You and Coriolanus shared a look, neither of you had ever come out with the truth about what happened when Coriolanus was exiled the summer after the 10th Hunger Games.

Putting on a smile, Coriolanus hugged the older woman, and shook hands with his late classmate’s father. “You’ll do this nation proud, boy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Plinth.”

Mrs. Plinth brought her attention to you, the nation’s next First Lady. “You’ll be a splendid First Lady! Oh, the Capitol will be overjoyed to have a young couple at the helm again! Especially once a child is brought up!”

You stopped yourself from frowning, instead giving the woman a soft smile.

Coriolanus watched with a careful eye, not wanting to cause a scene at the woman’s comments. He and you had been trying for a child for a few months, to no avail. One of his first tasks as president would be to find better fertility care, as he was growing worried that each failure was taking a larger toll on you than you let on.

“If you’ll excuse us, I believe I do need to go make a speech.” Coriolanus smiled, tugging you out of the room with a promise to catch up at his inauguration.

You waited until you two were in the privacy of your bedroom before letting any emotions go, inner turmoil over your husband’s victory and sadness over Mrs. Plinth’s comment.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Coriolanus murmured; voice much softer than when he is in public. “What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours?”

 You looked at your husband with tears on deck, stomach rolling over. “She’s true. The Capitol’s going to want us to start a family as soon as possible. I’m going to be seen as a failure if I can’t even get pregnant!”

Coriolanus wrapped his arms around you as your emotions crumbled, heat growing in his heart. He wanted to immediately call for her to lose her tongue, with little regard that she was one of the two people who had helped him financially be able to make it to this point in his life.

“We’ll figure it out, my love. I vowed to help you become a mother, and it’s a vow I intend to keep.”

You sniffled, wiping your nose on your sleeve, earning a tsk from the president-elect. “I just wish it was as easy as It is for everyone else. I deserve this, for God’s sake!”

Coriolanus frowned, hand running up and down your spine. “I know, my love.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, so he kept his lips closed.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments more, until there was a knock at the door, an Avox opening it once Coriolanus granted permission.

Holding a phone up, the Avox gestured to Coriolanus, who begrudgingly stepped away from you to take the call, which was Lucky Flickerman himself, conducting a phone-style interview live on air.

Coriolanus rolled his eyes, playing into the pizazz and cheer over the phone, stating how excited he was to have this honor as president, all while sitting on the luxurious bed you two shared, hand moving up and down your arm as you curled into his side.

-----

a/n: and there it is folks, basically why i made coriolanus want funding for a fertility clinic :)

[justalildumpling]

⇢ haechan as your boyfriend

pairing: haechan x reader  genre: fluff, established relationship note: happy bday to our chaotic little pudu!! im sorry for making you the punching bag of my smaus🤠

let’s be for real here, he was the one who confessed to you. it does not matter whether you liked him first, he would’ve confessed first

haechan probably would’ve just started talking to you randomly, asking to become friends and annoying the HECK out of you until you started unwillingly liking him and magically he confessed to you.

when you guys were friends, he probably would’ve hugged you and clung to you a lot but once you start dating this boy… have fun with him stuck to you 24/7! no seriously, you can’t rid of him

expect lots of back hugs, hugs from the side with him placing a soft kiss on your cheek with a playful little smile on his face, him hugging your waist whilst he’s sitting down

your hand will always be warm. if he sees you visiting him at work, he’ll excitedly grab your hand and drag you around; if you’re sitting at dinner with his members, you bet his hand will be caressing the palms of your hand; if you’re having a little cry, his hand will automatically reach for yours, fingers intertwined

so much banter, sarcasm and sass in your relationship like if your friends or anyone saw your text messages to each other, they will be concerned

he would send random photos throughout the week to let you know what he’s up to. it could be a photo of his hair getting dyed with a text saying “i bet you $20 that you can’t guess what colour im dying it this time :p” “red.” “WHAT?!!!>>! YOU WITCH! HOW DID YOU KNOW?” “lucky guess :)” it could even be a photo of his favourite chocolate snacks or a paper cut on his finger

despite your constant old married couple bickerings, haechan would hold so much love for you. he would constantly compliment you, saying that you’re the prettiest person alive, hype you up whenever you buy a new outfit and just gaze at you with a lovesick look in his eyes

that boy and his jealousy are like a match made in heaven (but in the pettiest and jokiest way possible) realistically i don’t haechan would get jealous in a serious sense like he wouldn't be insecure about himself or his trust in you at all but if he sees you hanging out his members (esp dreamies) too much, you best know the man’s gonna either be ignoring you for a bit (to annoy you) or just hanging on for dear life and shouting out how your his girl in front of everyone. 

like i can imagine you and him cuddling up in his dorm and him just randomly asking you, “me or jeno?” “huh? where is this coming from?” “answer, me or jeno?” “you, of course, what are you-” 

and haechan would get up from his bed and shout out “HAH! SUCK ON THAT JENO! Y/N LIKES ME MORE!” and jeno replying with the most confused face, “I WOULD HOPE THAT YOUR GIRLFRIEND LIKES YOU MORE THAN ME??????”

expect lots of facetime calls or just calls in general, it could literally be for a minute before he goes on stage for his tour. “hyuck why are you calling me on standby?” “because i wish you were here, you would’ve loved it here.”

he would call you after every show of his tour and despite the time differences you would still pick up, i can imagine him with his hair damp after his shower, eating a bowl of kimchi jjigae and telling you the highlights of his concert or simply singing you your favourite song as you fall asleep on call

your dates would vary between lazing around at home, watching cheesy rom-coms on netflix with a pile of snacks to going out in the city at night, making your own silly adventure and pretending that it was only the two of you in the world

the best thing about dating haechan would be that he would bring out your inner child, nourishing it and reminding you that it’s okay to have fun and to live in the moment once in a while and to forget about your worries. he would remind you to do the things you love, to make time for them whilst you’re working or whatever adulting things needs to be done. 

your relationship with him would be fun, lighthearted and healing and he would never fail to remind you that you are indeed loved and cherished, not just by him but everyone around you as well

[kianasflowers]

𔓘 — SHORT MORNING DRABBLES expect its only sunday

The morning sun is so bright and warm against your skin—a lovely feel, so fuzzy and free. But the turmoil of your past, the haunting screams of the Avgins still fading and waltzing in your mind. That fear spreads into your heart as you wake up in a sweat... only to find your husband, arms embraced around your waist as he whispered sweet nothing's.

SWF, love dovey ><, talk of nightmares and trauma, kisses, cuddly sunday is my husband, ooc, reader hinted to have ocd, (curing my nightmares with this shit)

A flickering haze, a flood of dark swirling lights as your mind goes blank—frozen—you swear. No movements and your breath coming to a freeze, or so you thought. Up and down... up and down... your chest would raise. Heated breaths, heaving out of your mouth. Up and down, up and down. The gut-wrenching screams, flooding each forgetting memory in the back of your brain. It would resurface, make you feel ugly, and weird—disgusting, rotten.

The mere thought of the burning, the ache, the bruises... it hurt. You wanted to rip your hair apart, strand by strand, piece by piece. To pull the lashes from your eyes and the nails off your fingers. To watch your mother cry to you, pleading to run somewhere safe for you to survive—that smelt of rotten mould. The skies filling to a fog, a haze. A memory you wished to forget, but could not.

Pushing forward, each night... one, two, and three. The door is locked. Why must you check again? Nothing will happen. No one will hurt you. But the voice in your head, it swirled, it danced. So much vomit, so much tears and sobs of agony.

Check again. Check again.

Blank.

Empty.

Gone.

Where did the time go? Why is it fading? Do you feel happy on your birthday? Yes, because you're one year closer to death, to pure freedom. A lift to heaven, a twirl to the skies. Maybe then, you can hug them so warm and tight... sniffle into their chest as you chant 'I love you', like a prayer to the Aeons above. But no, you're stuck in here. Forever and ever, maybe you will go to the depths of the abyss.

The inner child cries and screams, but why? Are you not happy with him?

"Y/N." You felt your body shake to the side. Your eyes spread wide open before closing to a squint at the morning sun. Your face, it felt sticky and wet on your plush redden cheeks, "Are you alright, love? You've been crying for a while now. I couldn't seem to wake you up." A soft voice managed to say between the eerie screams.

It stopped. Silence. "I'm..." You started, words forming into a stuttering mess. It made your chest ache—burn—with extreme pain. A pound at your heart like you would drop dead any second. "Okay."

"Your not."

You felt a tickle of feathers run across your neck before arms snaked around your warm and sweaty waist. Bare palms, soft and pretty, caressed up and down the side of your body. You looked to your side, a beautiful man laid within' your grasp. "Why are you not a work?" You managed to muster against his heated breaths along your neck.

"Can I not spend time with you? Does my wife not want me around?" His voice was slurred, drowned in the ache of tiredness. He gently kissed the underside of your face, nose nuzzling in to pamper you, "It's just you and me, my dove." He pulled you in closer, giving you a gentle squeeze to show he cared, "Do you want to talk about it?"

You sighed, burrying your face into the fluff of his hair, "No, not really..." You mumbled, "Sorry. I just—" He shushed you.

"Take your time. I'll always be here for you, Y/N. Do you understand that?"

You nodded, feeling his finger interwine between your hair. He could tell you were tired, he knew when you were tired... like he did with everything else. He ran the pad of his finger down your nose bridge, gently humming a lullaby to soothe you away into a deep slumber. You swore this stupid, loveable man was magic.

"You deserve more than you think, Y/N... sleep well, my little gem. I'll be beside you when you wake up."

[polivias]

A few years ago (*cough* at least a decade ago at this point), I made a proper "tags" page for this blog so people could look for specific Peter x Olivia things to their heart's content. But that was back when people mainly used their computers to go on tumblr, so I'm aware no one has seen the actual look/structure of this blog in a long time. So I created this pinned post with the tags to help you navigate this page :)

Peter x Olivia Tags

Touch and Comfort

Hugs

Kisses

Hands

Looks

With Etta

♥ (love)

Pain (literally, only painful stuff in this tag)

Past P/O events organized by this page

25 days of P/O

One Year Anniversary - The Little Show That Could

Wish Me Luck - A Story About Love

Back to the Start

Tags for each episode under the read-more!

SEASON 1

1.01 - Pilot

1.02 - The Same Old Story

1.03 - The Ghost Network

1.04 - The Arrival

1.05 - Power Hungry

1.06 - The Cure

1.07 - In Which We Meet Mr. Jones

1.08 - The Equation

1.09 - The Dreamscape

1.10 - Safe

1.11 - Bound

1.12 - The No-Brainer

1.13 - The Transformation

1.14 - Ability

1.15 - Inner Child

1.16 - Unleashed

1.17 - Bad Dreams

1.18 - Midnight

1.19 - The Road Not Taken

1.20 - There’s More Than One of Everything

BONUS EPISODE - Unearthed

SEASON 2

2.01 - A New Day in the Old Town

2.02 - Night of Desirable Objects

2.03 - Fracture

2.04 - Momentum Deferred

2.05 - Dream Logic

2.06 - Earthling

2.07 - Of Human Action

2.08 - August

2.09 - Snakehead

2.10 - Grey Matters  

2.11 - Johari Window

2.12 - What Lies Below

2.13 - The Bishop Revival

2.14 - Jacksonville

2.15 - Peter

2.16 - Olivia. In the Lab. With the Revolver

2.17 - White Tulip

2.18 - The Man from the Other Side

2.19 - Brown Betty

2.20 - Northwest Passage

2.21 - Over There (Part 1)

2.22 - Over There (Part 2)

SEASON 3

3.01 - Olivia

3.02 - The Box

3.03 - The Plateau

3.04 - Do Shapeshifters Dream of Electric Sheep?

3.05 - Amber 31422

3.06 - 6955 kHz

3.07 - The Abducted

3.08 - Entrada

3.09 - Marionette

3.10 - The Firefly

3.11 - Reciprocity 

3.12 - Concentrate and Ask Again

3.13 - Immortality

3.14 - 6B

3.15 - Subject 13

3.16 - Os

3.17 - Stowaway

3.18 - Bloodline

3.19 - Lysergic Acid Diethylamide

3.20 - 6:02 AM EST

3.21 - The Last Sam Weiss

3.22 - The Day We Died

SEASON 4

4.01 - Neither Here Nor There

4.02 - One Night in October

4.03 - Alone in the World

4.04 - Subject 9

4.05 - Novation

4.06 - And Those We’ve Left Behind

4.07 - Wallflower

4.08 - Back to Where You’ve Never Been

4.09 - Enemy of My Enemy

4.10 - Forced Perspective

4.11 - Making Angels

4.12 - Welcome to Westfield

4.13 - A Better Human Being

4.14 - The End of All Things

4.15 - A Short Story About Love

4.16 - Nothing As It Seems

4.17 - Everything in It’s Right Place

4.18 - The Consultant

4.19 - Letters of Transit

4.20 - Worlds Apart

4.21 - Brave New World (Part 1)

4.22 - Brave New World (Part 2)

SEASON 5

5.01 - Transilience Thought Unifier Model-11

5.02 - In Absentia

5.03 - The Recordist

5.04 - The Bullet That Saved The World

5.05 - An Origin Story

5.06 - Through the Looking Glass and What Walter Found There

5.07 - Five-Twenty-Ten

5.08 - The Human Kind

5.09 - Black Blotter

5.10 - Anomaly XB-6783746

5.11 - The Boy Must Live

5.12 - Liberty

5.13 - An Enemy of Fate

[olivereliocorcordium1983]

Okay, I can officially say that after spending the entire day listening to Mystery of Love and having random videos playing on youtube as I write this specific story. I guess I am just all up in my feelings today but I truly from the bottom of my heart miss Armie & Timmy together. Just as much as I miss Elio and Oliver being together.

I miss the physicalness of the bond between Armie & Timmy and no im not talking about charmie fantasies here. I'm talking real genuineness seeing them visually together either hugging or just simply talking about each other.

That flow of energy that they gave off when simply being around one another and that piece of hope if you could call it that they gave me. When I would feel down or something shitty was going on I would look at them and be like "okay, if they can do this then so can you." and that meant something strongly for me.

I miss my heros man and it sucks for me on a personal level because I feel like they have just disappeared and aren't really coming back. And I know that sounds crazy charmie blah blah blah but seriously, Luca, come on man this isn't just about the sequel for me okay.

And I fully understand that they have their own lives to live, I understand that what Timmy is doing is nothing but PR he is doing his job. But I would be lying if I said that I wasn't worried for him because he does not look like he used to and I am not talking about him being older.

I am talking about that light that would hit that boys eyes when he would get excited about something. I'm talking about real happiness like on the verge of letting your inner child burst out of your chest and run around like crazy type happy.

The universe or Luca need to do some intervention with Timmy and Armie both. Like get these two to hang around each other again or something please. this is not me just reminiscing about the days of call me by your name, this is me wishing to see what genuine happiness looks like in a world filled with a bunch of crazies and hatred right now.

I need the people that I looked up to back, please.

[blingblong55]

Tolerate it- 141+vaqueros

This is based on a request

I know a thing or two about abusing/narcissistic/ manipulative parents, so if you know the backstory will hit close to home, skip. this was all said and done to me, and I know how hard living with parent(s) like this can be and how much their words affect us.

GN!reader, tw, mentions of abuse, platonic! relationship. daddy issues

Backstory:

It wasn't a lie when you explained to the 141 and los vaqueros men of how you were treated by your father, leading to you developing daddy issues. Your father was a cruel man. He abused you, emotionally and physically. He was in your life, that was no doubt, but he wasn't a dad. Anytime you tried to be open about you feelings, he would shut you down. If you cried, he would hit you until the tears stopped. His words hurt more than any bullet. All you ever wanted was his love and respect. The times you confronted him as the years went by about the abuse he put you through, he would deny it all.

"when did I ever do that? r/n, this is what the internet made you believe, I have always been good to you. Not once did you ever miss school, I work hard to put a roof over you, food over the table. I wish I could die so I could see your pathetic face full of tears."

"but-"

"no, i worked day and night so you could have all this. And this is how you say thank you? by accusing me of all that shit? I am your dad and there is nothing you can do about it!"

tears ran down your face. He hated how you were started to become more independent. He made you stay back a year just so you'd be close. Just so he can keep hurting you.

I know my love should be celebrated,

But you tolerate it,

I greet you with a battle hero's welcome,

I take your indiscretions all in good fun,

I sit and listen

"If this is how you treat your dad I don't want to know how you would treat strangers. Aren't you ashamed? I am the man of the house and you treat me this way? You are a disgrace to my family. I told your mother that I never wanted you, and yet here we are. I pay for all this! I am your dad and you will respect me."

You looked down, just like when you were a child he gave you the same speech. At times he would take his belt off place it on the table and threaten you with it. Since then, you learned to recognize whether he was mad, annoyed or any other emotion. You also memorized the way his steps sounded like, just in case he came near your room. At times when your mum and your father would argue, you'd hide in your closet and cry.

Over the years, you moved away. You packed your things one night and never looked back. You moved on, it was hard to just leave, but it had to be done. At times he hunted you down and would try and be 'a better parent', you always declined and moved to a far place.

-----

Now, you stood in front of your team mates. You looked down like you did when you were a child. Afraid that if they say you cry, they might hit you until the tears stop. You fought them back and looked up. A small weak smile appears on your fragile lips. "so, thats why I have...daddy issues." you laughed a little, a small way of coping and your therapist named it.

"I love all of you, because in you I seek what I couldn't find in the arms of my father." your smile was still on. If only words could describe the pain they all felt. You had become their little sibling, the one they swore to always protect, and now here you stood. Telling a story most will never live through and the one most won't make out of.

These were their personal reactions/thoughts/actions.

Price:

He hated to see you like this, you were a daughter to him, His' mini me'

As you told them your past, he wiped a few tears away, biting his inner lip and shaking his head.

He wanted to ask Laswell for your fathers whereabouts, just for a little chat.

He was the one who hugged you first. As his hands rubbed you back he said "there there now, let it out r/n. I'm here, no one will ever hurt you like that." (giving beautiful boy vibes)

So much pain and yet you are still here, my toughest little soldier

He soon walked away, he didn't want you to see him angry.

On his browser stood the question(s): what is daddy issues? how do you help someone with daddy issues?

He called experts on this, he wanted to help you form a healthy relationship with him.

After that day, he was always more cautious, always trying to not trigger any memory.

Instead he built better memories with and for you.

It all made sense, there was always a reason why you waited by the door for him, how you would draw him, just like a child would, how your hands would always be placed on the table, waiting for some sort of punishment.

Ghost:

fuck was he upset, it reminded him of his own father, but your story? it made him cry.

He was the last one to hug you, but his hug was the longest and also the most vulnerable he'd been with anyone

Please, don't ever suffer with that alone

He cried when the tears of your eyes fell down onto his shirt. He didn't let go for an hour.

You were his little sibling, the one thing that motivated him to always come back to base.

He knew something was missing to your story, but he never asked, just accepted what was told.

After the whole conversation with them, he was around more often, always telling you how proud he was of you. Even if it was something small, he was there, cheering you on.

Admiration, that is what he felt towards you. You could've been another fucked up story about a kid who did worse than how they were raised, but no. You were here now, the most skilled solider. His favorite friend.

It would've been stupid if he treated you different after you told them all, but he knew it has to be done, it was the only way he knew how to show you he would never be like that man.

"y'are tougher than me kid, y'know that?" "oh stop it man, y'are feeding me ego." you responded, he shook his head, a small chuckle left his lips. He nudged your shoulder "oi" you both laughed, and as he looked down his heart ached.

You made things for him, small and stupid little things and even though he acted all bothered and threw some shade at ya, he kept them all. They became the trophies he placed on a shelf.

Gaz:

You and him had a close bond, always joking around anything, but that day it made him realize a lot of fucked up things you mentioned before. Back then he thought they were jokes.

He was the second to give you a hug, and even though you cried as he whispered some sweet stuff, his jokes made your heart ease a little.

You are truly a box of chocolates r/n

When everyone else was asleep, he knocked on your door. In his hands he had some snacks and his pillow and blanket. "sleep over?" he asked, and awkward yet sweet smile fell upon his lips.

When you fell asleep he cuddled you. The entire night and almost all of the morning he kept himself awake, thinking of everything that was said and done to you.

He silently cried. How can someone be so..cruel? He knew there were things you excluded and like price, he wanted to search how he could help you.

But mind you, this man will tell jokes about you having daddy issues with soap. So be aware of that.

"you did great out there kiddo, proud of you for that last move." Price patted your back and walked back to the rookies, you teared up a little. "psst, your daddy issues are showing." Gaz said and laughed as your face went from lost puppy to baffled by his comment.

He apologizes later in the day, but he knows you too well and he knows you're more than fine with his banter.

At times he feels bad for the moments he talked to you about what he and his dad would do on his time off, he remembered how your eyes would sparkle with joy and sadness when you'd hear how his dad treated him. He promised that next time you two are on leave he'll take his dad and you on a trip, "he can be your dad too!" he hugged you excited to share good memories with you both.

He secretly made a promise to you. Never will I ever let you leave my side, r/n, you are too good for this world and I'd like to see all the good, life will give ya

Rudy:

Although he is perceived as someone kind, I'd like to believe that out of everyone he was the first who wanted to hunt your father down. Make him pay for whatever he put you through.

He and Ghost were the last two to give you hugs. Mainly because he had to make himself strong for both of you.

I like to think he is a few years older than you, so he sees you more as a child to him, (you're like 8 years apart) so of course he and price became very important father figures to you, Price was more of a tough yet sweet dad, Rudy was sweet, kind and compassionate kind of dad. Both men equally protective yet he was more easy going, always willing to see the bigger picture.

When he heard you speak about you having daddy issues and the reason why you had them, he held back tears as he saw how you broke down with every memory and every word that you spoke, his heart broke.

For moments after he went to bed, he tried to sleep. But after much fail, he called a friend of his. After hours he found a way to help with your trauma and how he can be a good figure of you.

This man is such a dad because by accident he went to Spotify and looked up : daddy issues. Best believe he was confused when he saw the pictures and titles of those playlists. He listed to some of the songs though, and he cried while imaging you as a child and even now.

el/la más joven de todos nosotros y, sin embargo, has experimentado cosas peores

For months after, he brought a cup of tea and biscuits and listened to everything you needed to say, he even bought two pillows. One was for hugging, the other was for punching.

Soap:

Yes he is a funny and cool guy around base, but gosh did it fuck him up when his laughing buddy all of the sudden let a wall come down.

He stayed quiet, his mind looking and calling out every emotion that you might be feeling. He hoped it was a stupid prank.

Out of everyone his hugged felt more like home. You had become part of the Mactavish clan after all. His mum and him had a long talk about ways he can make you feel comfortable after that talk, and she suggested to just let you know you were apart of his family.

"scotland forever- I mean mactavish foreva!" you chanted while laughing . He laughed and pulled you by his side, "oh you bastard." he messed with your already fucked up hair.

Like gaz he said many jokes. Some Price actually got him in trouble for others you laughed at. "knock knock" he walked up to you, "who is it?" you answered, annoyed because this was the 3rd time today. "not yer dad!" then gaz stepped in and poorly sang with soap, "don't cry just because ya don't have a dad!" you walk away and they soon tackled you.

There were moments where he was serious about the situation, but he loved messing with you so much. "do you love me because im your bestfriend or is it because I'm older and yer daddy issues are attracting ya to me?" you looked at him and gave him a "deadass?" look. "bet the reason why you worked for Shepard last year was because he was old,,,,by the way, I saw on the Internet that people like you date older people, soooo..." "gosh what?" "how old did ya say yer last date was?" you playfully rolled your eyes and nudged his arm.

You can't convince me other wise he didn't try to host a search party for your mental sanity and the cure to daddy issues.

Him and Rudy asked Laswell for any information about your father, and boy did they have a fun time once Price gave you all a week off.

At times he looked at you and his eyes would gets teary.

I wish I can go back in time and kidnap ya, just so yer life had a better past.

Alejandro:

This man waited until soap gave you a hug, and then he pushed everyone away and hugged you. His heart was beating fast, a knot formed at his throat.

"I'm fine now Ale, it's all better now hermano." you tried to reassure him, but all this man did was keep your head on his chest, and he tried to rock your back and forth just so he can comfort you. Something his partner did with his children.

He was more of the bully but still loves you type of friend. Yes he did push you off your chair during meetings but he'd push your father off a cliff if he could only find him.

Him and Ghost planned something while the others smothered you with affection. It was an alliance that had become dangerous to even themselves.

While he saw you and gaz have sleepovers and your weekly talks with Rudy, he planed and planed, until one day you stopped him. "S'no good, what's done is done. Now c'mere, we have to train."

He got really frustrated in Spanish, this man said so many curse words and they all came out so fast you swore he would soon start to float.

no es justo que lo dejes salirse con la suya con todo esto

It really was unfair how he and the other man grew up with good parents (except ghost, we know what I mean).

But like I said this man was a pain in the ass, like soap he made fun of your daddy issues, always asking if you ever found his dad or himself attractive "I don't know but something tells me you are my friend because of your daddy issues." Rudy definitely made him apologize for that one

He did comfort you at times, but those were rare, instead he told you that whenever you gave him the call he and his men would play a little hunting games with your father.

"what does that mean?'" "nothing, bye now!"

A/n: I know I said this one would be out in a day(at the time of my commitment), but like I said before this is based on a much more personal experience and it was hard not to put all my feelings on this one, sorry for the wait. I hope this is what you had in mind!<3

Tags: @bugboysnumberonefan

[shamelcss]

the last few days have been difficult, and i've been sitting with so many thoughts and much sadness that i'm struggling to navigate. unsure of where to place and express my grief. then this blog popped into my head. while it doesn't look like it anymore bc it evolved over the years and grew with me, once upon a time this was filled with 1d posts. this was one of my main outlets and connection points to a band and community i held so dearly and brought me to lifelong friends. that will never stop meaning something to me. if you were to look back at my blog during that time, too, you'd see that liam was my favorite. liam was everything... i mean, everything. i absolutely adored that man and he truly helped me navigate awful times in my life. i mean, they all did, but i could always relate to liam and zayn the most, particularly regarding struggles with bullying and mental health. last night i found an old post of mine on my stan twitter from 2014 stating "my entire existence is based on the single fact that liam payne is an actual living and breathing human being" which perfectly sums up how much i adored him (while also breaking my heart in equal measure). in recent years, i have not supported liam at all. i think that sentiment is fairly common. as a victim of predatory adults online and abuse, it was incredibly disheartening to hear the things that have come to light over time. someone who had once helped me through the darkest times of my life was guilty of things i had experienced personally. still, it saddens me to know how deeply he struggled with addiction and mental health, and i wish he could have gotten the help he needed. i wish he could have been held accountable for the hurt he caused and grown as a person. i wish he could have healed from all of his traumas. this whole situation is incredibly tragic and i can't quite wrap my head around it. i keep thinking of his son, and his family. his girlfriend. the boys. his ex and other victims. i hope they are able to continue to heal, and if they need to continue sharing their stories to do that, i hope everyone will have the compassion to allow them the space to do so without hate. it is okay to acknowledge that somebody may not have turned out to be the person you thought they'd be, and still grieve the person they used to be and who they were capable of becoming if things had been different. it is okay to sympathize with how somebody suffered, it doesn't mean you condone how they acted or treated others while they were suffering. things are not black and white and there is so much more nuance in life than people like to allow. my heart really goes out to everyone affected by liam's passing. everyone struggling with how to navigate their grief and how to feel - let yourself be sad, let yourself be angry, let yourself be nostalgic. feel everything you need to feel on behalf of your inner child and your current self. don't let anyone make you feel weird or bad for it. one direction meant so much to millions of us in our most formative years. this is one of the first big losses our generation has experienced of a star from our time.

anyways i didn't mean for this to get so long but it has helped me to process and flesh out my thoughts, so maybe it will help some of you to read. i wish we could all hug each other right now. i will always love this fandom, and i will always love the boyband of our time. they had fun, they were normal guys, and they were terrible terrible dancers. 🥹❤️

[sasukimimochi]

Chapter 1 (first 3 minutes)

Ghost of the Yiling Laozu

“A-Yuan.” A soft voice called from above the small boy, weak and not exactly what he thought it should sound like. The voice was so lost, nothing like what he thought he should remember. “I’m so sorry, A-Yuan…”

It was like the voice was talking to itself, but Lan Sizhui could hear it.

Warm silver eyes kissed in mauve hues tiredly fluttered open, landing drearily on ashy black strands flowing over messy, torn robes in dark hues. That hair was messily framing a ghastly white face covered in scuffs and scratches, dimmed eyes of pale anthracite blue filled with burning tears beneath their fringe. Despite the alarming amount of blood on their robes and face however, they left no stains. He could see through this man, sections of their body broken off into pieces like they may scatter, leaning over his bedside like a grieving mother.

Lan Sizhui’s mind couldn’t quite focus on how he felt at that moment, he was too feverish and the scene confused him. However when he felt a ghostly chill touch his small, round cheek, he shivered, watching the misplaced figure quickly pull away his hand as if burned to the reaction.

His little lip trembled, and the boy started to cry, causing the figure to retreat until sitting and hugging their knees on the floor at the end of the bed.

“A-Yuan?” A deeper, tired voice came from the other side of the room which was soon followed by rustling blankets and footsteps. The slow approaching figure moved the privacy screen aside so he could come over, kneeling slowly beside the bed. The white-robed cultivator’s body was wrapped up in bandages and inner robes that covered much of his chest and parts of exposed limbs, but he didn’t let the pain show even in his own quarters.

His voice and approach soothed the little boy slightly, sniffling softly as he reached out his arms to the large hands which came to soothe him. “Is A-Yuan alright? You’ll get better soon…it’s okay, it’s okay…I’m right here, gege will stay here.”

The man’s face…it made that figure at the end of the bed curl up tighter, holding their head desperately as if wishing they couldn’t see the man. The man that soothed the little boy had no light left in his eyes, the only thing seeming to keep him from completely losing their focus being this child. Eyes usually full of frost and sunlight, full of things that were hard to place, instead dim and sore like tarnished silver.

Lan Sizhui clasped the fingers on his body and pulled the hand close to his face to hug, nuzzling against it like a stuffed toy rather than someone’s hand, but the man made no move to stop him. Instead he brought his other hand to the boy’s head to stroke his ashy hair softly, at the same time checking for fever.

Lan Sizhui wasn’t actually sure he was seeing right, the person didn’t necessarily scare him, but as his A-Zhan didn’t ever acknowledge it; he was confused and unsure if he should bring up anything to bring focus to the matter. He was so sad, though unsure why, and as a result he cried and cried without restraint.

------------------------------------------------

I wanted to try recording TTS for GOM and of course i couldn't do it all in one go (it's got a paywall but you can use it for like 5 minutes a day i think) but i thought you guys would enjoy to listen to it anyway even if it wasn't perfect. This is much better than normal tts haha

so i guess enjoy a sort of tts reading of the first section of Ghost of Mine Chapter 1? 🤔the dialogue is the weird part haha

it actually does a really good job reading the names! Check out the link above to see the post for chapter 1 if you've never read Ghost of Mine and want to check it out!

Find more MDZS art/projects on my masterpost! ❤

[sukirichi]

holy shit long rant ahead

"Like-like you're looking for the man who courted you two years ago, the one you truly wanted to marry. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, because you're not going to find him. He never existed in the first place. Whatever it is you're looking for, you won't find it in me," *shit here we go again audio with head in my hands*

"Get out of your head. Just because I did all those things for you, doesn't mean they meant something. Are you forgetting I spent two years of my life trying to win you over, and I never once felt something for you other than tolerance?" When your face fell, triumph washed over his features. "That's right. You remember now, don't you? She's the one I want. Everything I do is for her. Don't forget your place."

Man idk how the princess heard this another time without breaking down in rage cause either this man is going down with me or nothing. Princess where is your self respect? PICK YOURSELF UPPPPPPP THIS MAN LEGIT RUNS ALL OVER YOU AND all we do is cry and yearn for more LIKE WE NEED TO BLOW IR*S AND HIM UP ATP BRING THE BIG GUNS OUT I NEED KUROO AND HIS ROOSTER LOOKING ASS TO POST THAT ARTICLE ASAP

“Your mother's sniffles was the last thing you heard before the sound of a fist connecting with skin resounded in the area. Pulling back, you gasped at what you saw.”

OH THE SATISFACTION I FELT HERE SWEET HEAVENS I wish someone recorded it and we could watch it all over again cause UM LESGO WWE 🗣️🤺 never have I ever loved a father this much cause he SLAYED LEFT NO CRUMBS AT ALLL #curedmyfatherissues

“Want me, you pleaded silently, at least want me. Just a little bit.” pookie 🤠😟😞 cmon we better than this

“Rintaro hadn't mean to. Sure, he was careless and never used protection, but he thought little of it. Iris® cycles were irregular and they never worried if she missed her period. She was always on the pill - all because of him, since Kiyoomi wouldn't have touched her anyway.”

he’s one sick bastard I hope he rots imagine cheating on your wife that you claim to love, doing it in your shared bed AND without protection like babe the article was so deserved by god

and the ending sentence,,,,,just made me so sick because as much as I hate rin and ir*s, I think I hate the queen and the king more because the issues started with them. with the king being an absolute whore and having kids with random ass women LIKE WHERE IS THE VASECTOMY GET HIS TUBES TIED and the queen being a bitch to rin his whole life just to find out my man got issues for nothing??? not defending him at all but to find out that all he knew as his “home” and family (even tho they sucked) were all never really his,,, I can see his heart breaking with the image he had of his family in his mind in the form of drawings made by his inner child, torn in half,,,,,,,oh I am about to be SICK

(and once he finally found his real home aka princess, bro fumbled it up BADDDD like if I was him I would beg for forgiveness + repent + burn the castle with the queen in it <33 (not the princes, tobio pookie you are coming home with me)

bro’s mental health must be in a delicate state, I hate him but I am also worried for him 🥲

- Freud anon is in shambles btw

THE HERE WE GO AGAIN AUDIO AAHJKA SO TRUE he just keeps on going back and forth like decide already!! 😭 do you want us or not!!

the self respect is… there, just buried under very deep layers of still hoping for something good. but also like we can’t really blame dtd!yn for acting this way because rintaro was FINALLY changing and being the husband we wanted him to be! the whole romantic dinner setup, working on the beach house together, and not once even mentioning iris????!!? BRO WAS DEDICATED. but then yeah he really just had to ruin it all again UGH. “all we do is cry and yearn for more.” actually real.

the daddy issues tag im crying 😭 sending all my love and hugs to you anon. BUT YES omg I loveeee our dad so much in DTD because he really said fuck around and find out! dude literally did not care that he was punching a royal because his daughter was more important than their titles! our parents in dtd are soo parents goals I love them <3

nauh bcos rintaro is careless and CRAZYYY. not only did they do it in OUR bed but he did it raw like! I would’ve thrown up ngl. AGHJSKA the vasectomy LMFAO. unfortunately it’s his duty to have many children and he fulfilled that part VERY well, just yknow�� they really should’ve specified to him that he had to have kids with his wife and not other women. but yes I agree! all the problems really started because the king and queen hated each other (or more like, the queen hated him for how he treated her, and the king just didn’t care about her at all. he just knew she’d be a good queen and he needed someone smart and capable in leading the country so he can slack off. terrible, terrible man.) YES OMGGG THE DRAWINGS STOPPP I GET SO SAD EVERYTIME I THINK OF RINTARO’S LIFE WAS STOLEN FROM HIM AND ALL HIS ISSUES, EVERYTHING THAT HE FUCKED UP, HAD BEEN FOR NOTHING! and now he’s fumbling so bad too like bro is losing everything that should’ve never been his in the first place ugh.

YES! we protect and love tobio in this house!! and I agree </3 rintaro is going through a lot and it honestly goes two ways – it’s either he does worse things to cope, or he completely shuts down and forgets everything that happened. I’m not sure which one I prefer…

[cultherent]

Zinka X Kin [Ch.1]

Description: In the future of HXH, Zinka (my OC) is trained ruthlessly till the age of 19 till her guardian, Centrim decides that she must live her destiny. Zinka is tangled in a vine of love, friendship, enemies, and kin. Will she be able to overpower this so-called entity Kin? Will she find love? Will she find a sense of herself? Will she find her destiny?

Pairing: Zinka x Killua Work Count: 2763

Chapter 1

*KNOCK*KNOCK*

Looking at the door where a knock came from, I saw a little old man staring at me. It was Centrim and he was holding a letter that he already opened that probably had my name written all over it. He was always like this, too eager to know what was going on in my social life. “Are you ready?” 

I raised an eyebrow, “Ready? Shouldn’t you give me that letter first?” 

He chuckled, “Not until we duel.” 

I sighed, “Come on, Centrim. Just give it to me.” I got up and leaped towards him. “Too slow!” He remarked. 

I rolled my eyes, “You’re just like Netero.” 

He gasped, “We do not speak of the dead, Zinka!” 

I gave him a quisling face as I chased after him, “What do you mean I can’t speak of the dead!? Isn’t the phrase ‘speak ill’?” 

He slowed down and thought. “You’re right Zinka,” and just like that, I snatched the letter out of his hands. 

“You may be old, witty, and extremely strong, but I can still outsmart ya. Or at least you can outsmart yourself…” I look at my already opened letter and see a seal from the Hunters Association, “What could this be about,” I mumbled loud enough for Centrim, so he could be bothered that I’m taking so long. 

“Oh, come on. Read it.” I smirked as I leisurely opened the letter. The man huffed, then put on a voice, “The Hunters Association is inviting you to the Hunters Reunion!” He performed with jazz hands. I chuckled, and I only believed him fully when I opened the letter and read the truth. 

“You seriously need to stop reading my mail,” I announced mid-laugh. “Might find something you didn’t want to see,” I grinned mischievously. 

The little old man rolled his eyes, “You should go to the party, Zinka.” 

I sighed, “I don’t know Centrim… I have to continue training.”

“Zinka, you’re always training.” 

I huffed, “Weren’t you the one to shove it down my throat?” 

The old man walked towards me, he pulled me down gently to come to his level, “I’m sorry Zinka. I realize now how much of your childhood we have taken away from you. I will be eternally sorry. So please, go to this party. Fill that inner child in you with joy.” He smiled softly. 

“Y’know what?!” He blurted out of nowhere. “No more missions, no more quests, no more forcing you to do stuff until you wish so. I don’t want you to come back for 6 months when you leave for this party. If you feel as though this is your destiny, then come back, but I want you to take control of it. I want you to have fun, and live your life the way you want. Make friends. Find someone to love.”

He caressed my cheek and continued, “Training is ingrained in you. That may be good or bad, but you know what you have inside of you. You cannot let it overpower you, take a hold of you, and manipulate you. You understand its history, so you cannot be persuaded.” He took my hand in his and patted it, “Don’t be afraid to visit after the 6 months.” He looked up at me, his eyes watery. 

“Centrim, you’re kidding, right? Saying all this stuff? It’s all a joke, right?" I backtracked, “You’ve got to be joking right?” 

He sighed, “No, Zinka, I’m serious. You’re almost 19 and we have to let you go.” We both started to cry softly as we tightly hugged each other. 

I was in disbelief, I never thought there would be a day that I’d be gone for such a long time from the monastery. Even then, live my life in the real world. As I hug his bridle body, I’m a little scared and saddened by the fact I can’t see him anymore. But maybe this is the road I have to take to become stronger than Kin. 

Being back in my room, it was silent, a silence that kills. A silence that brought me to tears again. I grabbed my pouch with an endless void and filled it with the things I needed. I grabbed my backpack and placed necessary items that needed to be easily accessible in it. I took a good look at my now somewhat empty room and sighed, “I’ll miss you.” Leaving my room, Centrim was waiting for me and gave me a big hug immediately. “I’m going to tell the others goodbye-” Centrim gave me a look, “What? Is there something wrong?” 

“You can’t say goodbye, I’m sorry.” 

I raised an eyebrow, my expression puzzled, “Why? I need to say goodbye, it’s the right thing to do.” 

“Zinka, look. I know them a lot better than you do and I know they will not let you leave. This is all my doing. So please, go now before they know.”

“But, Centrim,” I stared at him, his stern expression not staggering. It was no match to my sorrowful frown and downturned eyebrows. “Goodbye, Centrim,” I sighed as I walked past him. I leaped onto one of the many walls that separate the monastery from the outside world. I looked back at the beautiful architecture one last time. 

Deep down, I knew what Centrim said was right. I made sure to conceal my Nen as best as possible and left a decoy Nen remnant, like a prisoner leaving pillows under a sheet on a bed to make the guards think they were still there. It was the best thing to do, so they wouldn’t know I had gone.

Walking through the dense forest, it would only take me less than thirty minutes to reach the small town that inhabited our little island. Thirty minutes after that, I’d reach the dock, the only mode of transportation to the mainland. Fortunately, Centrim had me leave right before the last ship departed. Purchasing a ticket, I got on and found myself a room. 

. . .

“30 minutes till landing at the southern border of the Republic of Padokea,” the captain announced which woke me up from my slumber. I rubbed my eyes to see it was dark outside, the sun barely peeking out. I huffed and checked my watch, it was 5 AM. I grabbed my things and found my way to the top deck of the ship and took a seat. It has been a long time since I’ve been on this small ship. 

“Everybody, please watch your step when getting off Ms. Lassy. Safe travels!” I thanked the captain before getting off. 

Walking towards the city, I phoned one of my closest friends, Tanyee. “Hello? Who’s this?” Tanyee asked. As we talked, I walked into a dark alley where no one could see me.

“It’s me Tanyee, Zinka.”

“NOOo fucking way! Are you in the city? I mean, you have to be, that’s the only way you’d be able to call. But also, what the fuck, girl. It’s 5 in the morning…”

“Sorry about that. It’s a long story. I can tell you if you can do me a simple favor.”

“Just say the word, my love.”

“Kytio.”

“Oityk.”

In an instant, I was teleported to Tanyee’s whereabouts. This was possible due to a Nen ability she infused into the specific phone I called her on. Blinking rapidly, my vision becomes clear until I’m engulfed in a bear hug. “I haven’t seen you in so long! I’ve missed you so much,” she wailed. 

“I know. Y’know how the monks are with training.” 

She exaggeratedly wiped her face as she pulled away from our hug, “I know, it's sooo annoooyiiinng. But, why are you here now? Did you get another mission? If you have time before that though, you need to have another match to maintain your spot here.”

“Here?” I questioned then looked around the room we were in. We were in Heaven’s Arena, specifically in Tanyee’s room. “Fuck….” 

“Fuck indeed,” she giggled. I rubbed my face as I sat on her bed. “To answer your question. I’m sort of not on a mission. Kinda am?” 

“Bro, what?” 

My voice lowered, and my eyes maintained contact with the floor. “I… Got kicked out.” My lips moved to the side as my eyes started to water. Tanyee got concerned and quickly sat us down, her hand instantly going to my back. “Centrim said I can’t come back for 6 months. And after a month, I didn’t have to come back. He told me to live my life. Find my own destiny. All that bullshit. Like what the fuck am I even supposed to do?”

My head went in my hand, “Like I know this is what you’ve always wanted for me. I kinda did too. But, the monks are all I know. I can’t believe he just threw me away like that. No gentleness. Like, no curfew. Maybe start with a month or a week. Something easy! Like, I can’t control it. I haven’t mastered it. Shit, shit, shit.” I slapped my face a few times.

“Zee, please,” Tanyee held my hands, stopping me from slapping myself. I looked at her, my cheeks were probably red. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “I know you and you can handle so much. You’re like my fucking diamond.” I smiled a little. “Remember when we were 11 and we were doing the Hunters Exam?” I nodded softly. “I was like your little dog on a leash. I followed you everywhere. You were so badass and you were the same age as me. You were so strong, nothing stood in your way. Don’t let this bother you too much.” She grabbed my hand and placed it in hers, “Think of it like this… You’re going to have a lot more fun in your life starting today.” She gushed with the widest sadistic smirk I’ve ever seen written all over her face. 

I smiled wide at her, “The first main event is the Hunter’s Reunion, isn’t it?” She looked at me and bit her tongue, “You fucking know it!”

. . .

“Tee, come on. It should not take you this long to get ready!” I shouted as I stood checking my clock. “We’re going to be late!” 

I heard the girl sigh, “Zee, just give me 2 fucking minutes. I need to put some lashes on and do a wing, but I have to make sure this wing is snatched! TWO MINUTES!” 

I stormed into the bathroom and grabbed the eyeliner out of her hand, “Stay still,” I ordered. I did her wing. “Hurry up,” I repeated as I walked out of the bathroom. “Holy shit, she did it perfectly, in one swoop-” Tanyee muttered. 

She came out three minutes later with lashes on, “Ready?” 

“Ready.” 

We left the arena with ease and walked through the city towards the location the letter gave us. Fortunately, it wasn’t too far from the Arena. “Aren’t you glad they didn’t make us go through a maze to find the address like the exam?” We both chuckled at the thought. 

I checked my watch as we arrived at the very tall modern skyscraper. “Perfect, 30 minutes late, just how we like it,” I high-fived Tee. 

“I don’t think I said, but the fit is giving,” Tanyee mentioned as she covered her mouth with her hand. 

“Girl, how about you? Wearing a sexy ass dress like who are you trying to pick up? It better be me! I’m just going for a girl boss moment today with a nice top and suit pants, but who are you trying to seduce today?” 

“Staaawwwp,” she covered her face, “You’re going to make us so late.” We both laughed as we entered the building. 

We followed the signs that told us to go to the top floor. Waiting in the elevator, the doors open and we’re greeted by a large banquet hall with people around. Tanyee and I make eye contact, we’re impressed. We walked in, our heels clacking on the marble floors. “Please take a tag, badge, and marker please!” We looked down to see- “BEANS!!!” We both screeched as we hugged the green guy. “Oh my God, how I’ve missed you so much,” I emitted as I hugged him tightly. “Miss you too, girls. How has life been serving you?” 

“I’ve been alright.” 

“I’ve been good too. Happy Zee is staying with me for a while.” 

“How fun!” Beans smiled. 

“What do we write on the tag, by the way,” I asked. 

“The year you completed the Hunter exam.” 

“Ah, okay. Thank you. See you around Beans,” I waved as we went to complete what he told us to do. I wrote my year on the tag and put it on my shirt as well as writing my number on the badge. “Number 69 at your service!” We both bursted into laughter as I said that. 

“They were so wrong for giving you that number,” Tee giggled. “Yours is no better Tee…” Her expression changed to a shut-up one and we both laughed again, walking away from the table with the goods.

We found our way to the bar to get some drinks. “Hey Tee, I’m gonna stay here. If you want to go mingle, be my guest.” She grabbed her drink from the table and nodded. “Alrighty. If you need me, just look for my bright pink locks,” she giggled and pointed to her skin, “also, y’know. You’ll spot me.” 

I rolled my eyes and pointed to my skin, “You’ll be able to find me too.” I pointed to my hair, “Find the big puff.” She chuckled and went on her merry way.

I took a few shots, wanting to forget a bit about what happened the day prior. It didn’t take long; however, for my silence to turn into talking. 

“Excuse me,” a man uttered, “You’re extremely gorgeous.” I looked at the man before me, he had spiky black hair, wore tiny glasses, and was wearing a tux. He looked to be in his early 30s. 

“Why, thank you,” I said as I took a sip of my drink. 

“Well, my friend over here thinks you’re really cute,” he points to a head of white hair, its body hunched over the bar. I raised an eyebrow, kind of confused. His confident expression changed when he saw mine, so he turned around. He hissed, saying something to the person. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were having a little argument. 

“Stop,” I finally heard, “Leave the girl alone and leave me alone.” 

The man huffed and rolled his eyes, “Sorry about my friend here, he just doesn't know how to act when there's a beautiful girl in front of him.” He looked back at his friend, nudged him, then to me, and whispered, “If you don’t mind, could you talk with him? You’re gorgeous, he’s a good-looking young man. You two could get along. I really need to get myself some ladies and I can’t keep babysitting him. Sounds cool?” He said as he stood up, both of his thumbs pointing to the ceiling, as he walked away without an answer. 

“What a guy,” I mumbled. I sat on the stool closest to the white-haired man. He seemed to ignore my presence. “Your friend left,” there was some silence. “What’s your name?” Still silent. “Mine is Zinka.” More silence. I interjected with a sigh and took a swig of my drink, “I see that you’ve drunk a bit. If you need someone to talk to, I can be that person.” Even more silence. “Well, since you won’t talk, I’ll vent… I feel at a loss… I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I’ve been pushed out of my home and forced to live my destiny which I have no idea what that is. All that means to me is that I have a lot of free time to figure out the unknown…”

The man turned to me and I could finally get a good look at him. His front hair was much shorter than the back. His eyes were a cold and savory blue. He was handsome, I couldn’t ignore that fact. He looked sad; however, his eyelids were drooping and the whites of his eyes were pink. He might have been crying. He held a drink in his hand, his nails painted black, but they were chipping. “My name is Killua. Killua Zoldack. You don’t have to entertain me just because Leorio left.” He rolled his eyes and hissed.

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Frayed Ties - Chapter 7 - Part 2

*Warning: Adult Content*  

Being cleaned by someone else felt intimate.

Not in a sexual way, it was simply familiar.

Like a cat grooming another cat.

Whenever Danya was too outspoken and got sent to isolation in the dusty basement for hours or days, Duran would sit him down afterwards and do this for him.

Cailan touched Danya's arm.

"Would you like me to change these bandages?"

Danya's hand reflexively clamped around the bandages on his wrist.

He had almost forgotten about them and the shame they concealed.

He was sure if Cailan saw the cuts he would know what Danya had done.

"Ah... no. Simon has been tending to them for me." Cailan smiled.

"I understand. It is nice, sometimes, to be the one being cared for."

"Yes, that's... yes."

Danya shifted his bandaged wrist just slightly so that it hung behind his hip.

It wasn't entirely out of view but perhaps it would draw less focus.

Danya shifted his bandaged wrist just slightly so that it hung behind his hip.

It wasn't entirely out of view but perhaps it would draw less focus.

"So he, your master, his father would forbid him the company of a male Companion if he were to leave the military?"

"Can a grown man's father forbid him anything?"

Cailan smiled and shook his head, his fingertips tickling against Danya's neck as they brushed dried blood away.

"His father was who gave me to him. A rather bold approach to dealing with his son's sexual deviancy when others would have turned to discipline instead. His father understands that there is a permanency to a man's desires."

"Yet he would push him to marry?"

"Mm."

Cailan's fingers combed through Danya's hair.

"He's an only child. There would be... expectations. His father would never cut him off for failing to meet them, understand but Liam does not want me to have to be a dirty secret. The military offers a certain limited acceptance for men like my master and Hamish, so long as they keep things out of view. Beyond that, the only fields that would accept it involve working with slaves in some way."

"And he does not wish to do that?"

"He..."

Cailan pursed his lips together in thought.

"He's a kind man when it comes to those weaker than himself. What part could such a man play in the slave industry without it destroying him?"

"I suppose," Danya murmured.

He didn't have the energy to push this conversation further.

He shut his eyes and finally let himself relax into the warm, gentle brush of Cailan's magic.

Danya didn't even realise he'd leant in until his forehead touched Cailan's shoulder.

Cailan was still for a moment and then his arms came up and encircled Danya in a loose hug.

Cailan felt like Duran had when his master was around, the stability inherent to a well loved slave.

Danya could question and pry for tidbits all he liked but that sensation, that inner calm, told him more than any words could.

They stayed like that for a time, slowly balancing out the tiny bit of energy Danya had within himself.

If only things had been so simple with Simon, if he could reach out without explanation and have his needs understood and respected.

Slowly, Cailan began working on cleaning Danya again.

First on his back where he could reach without pulling out of the embrace and then down his stomach and thighs.

When he knelt down, Danya shifted his legs apart to give him proper access to the rest of his body.

Just as he had begun working on Danya's inner thigh, Cailan sprung to his feet and spun around, then promptly dropped back down to kneel on the ground.

Danya didn't know how he hadn't noticed Simon's energy when he'd entered the tent because it hit him hard it the chest as their gazes met.

Simon's expression was hard and flat and Danya stood frozen far too long before finally kneeling as well.

Simon stared at them in silence for a few long moments before gesturing to Cailan with a slight motion of his head.

"You can go."

Cailan shot Danya a worried look but he obeyed immediately.

Danya stayed kneeling as the tent flaps closed behind Cailan.

"Get dressed," Simon said, his voice still frighteningly emotionless.

He turned away while Danya did as he was told.

Once Danya was clothed in one of the clean robes and sitting down on his cot, Simon turned back around.

"What was that about?"

"He was just helping me get cleaned up, sir."

Danya was aware his voice sounded weak and shaky and probably a little guilty, even though he hadn't really done anything wrong.

'Had he?'

Well, if Simon was displeased he supposed he had, by definition.

"Don't call me sir."

Simon folded his arms over his chest.

"I'm not angry,"

'He clearly was.'

"I just expect you to be honest with me and there was clearly more going on there than cleaning."

Danya wanted to cry.

There hadn't been, not in the way Simon thought but he couldn't tell his master he was wrong.

At the end of the day, if Simon thought his behaviour had been inappropriate then it had been.

Danya swallowed roughly and looked away.

"I apologise."

"I don't want an apology. I want an explanation."

Danya couldn't speak.

Not without crying.

He'd given his explanation.

Was he supposed to lie?

Admit to something that hadn't happened and risk getting Cailan in trouble as well?

He wouldn't.

"Danya..."

[aemondsbabygirl]

It is 2:04 am and I don’t even know where to start. I loved loved loved how you portrayed Aemond’s inner thoughts and turmoil through this chapter. He was doing so well with Borros until Luke showed up. I’ve really liked seeing how he gradually grew more and more angry, resentful, and vengeful. I’m going to put the rest under a read more cause it is very long.

“Yet, something within him stirred–a desire to further assert his dominance, to ensure Lucerys did not depart without fully understanding the depths of their enmity. He wanted him to run back home with the tail tucked between his legs.”

(👆Me trying to transcend reality and appear into the scene holding this sign to aemond)

“Floris gracefully moved from Aemond’s side to join her sisters. Maris welcomed her with a comforting touch, placing a hand on her younger sister’s arm. Her voice, just loud enough for Aemond to overhear, carried a thinly veiled jab. “You should feel fortunate, sweet sister, to wed a prince with all his appendages. Spare a thought for the princess…”

I will fight Maris myself what a dumb bitch. I bet she’s ugly even with her two eyes.

About the apology, I truly was not expecting aemond to take it so badly! But it actually made so much sense. To me, it had felt like Luke was honest and was acknowledging that he did something wrong and regretted it. But to Aemond, who actually lived through the loss of his eye and all that it entailed, the apology was minimal, almost mockingly comical, compared to what he’s been through. You were right in recounting all the pain the wound gives, the fact that he still feels it, the fact that he had to have it reopened, the shame, having to relearn basic tasks, the way people view him with either pity or disgust etc… I do understand why Aemond flipped and didn’t accept the apology especially since it came so late. I just wish he had thought of what that chase with a war dragon could entail. He was so set on scaring Luke, that he did not even consider that Arrax might react and things could go south. I’m so devasted by everything.

“Instead of filling the void within him, it seemed to have expanded, leaving Aemond grappling with the haunting emptiness of a victory that felt ominously akin to defeat. As he sat there, the consequences of his actions set in–this was not merely the ignition of war, but a sacrifice of what he held dear. His honor and reputation were now irreversibly stained–he had made himself a kinslayer, the worst thing a man could be–but what weighed more heavily on his heart was the realization that he had lost the very thing he loved the most; Daenera, the one who had brought warmth into his cold world, the sweet poison whose intoxication he had come to depend upon.”

I AM SO HEARTBROKEN I CANT EVEN EXPLAIN! He wanted to be respected and instead he’s gonna be hated by so many WHEN ALL HE HAS EVER NEEDED WAS LOVE

“And the thought that made his blood turn into ice, was the thought that Daenera would turn away from him–that she would no longer see him.”

PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU, TELL ME SHE WILL ONCE AGAIN LOOK AT HIM AND SEE THE BOY WITH THE STARS IN HIS EYES!! And see his as he truly is, not just a kinslayer.

“And what else could he become but a monster, if that was all anyone ever saw when looking upon him.”

NOOOOO HE IS MY BABY NOT A MONSTER I am so in denial of this. He just killed a child and I want to hug him wtf is wrong with me 😳

“Aemond had always harbored a deep-seated desire for Lucerys’s death–he thirsted for vengeance against the boy who had stolen his eye and sown a seed of darkness in its place. And resonating with his dark wish, Vhagar had executed this desire–sought the revenge he had denied himself. Although Aemond hadn’t set out to kill, it seemed as though the very forces of nature, or perhaps even fate itself, had aligned to bring about this outcome.”

This was so beautifully written, and sums up exactly was transpired. I feel shell shocked after this chapter. I have no idea how Daenera is going to forgive him and I am heartbroken over this. It is unreasonable for me to want her to forgive him but I can’t help it 😭 I want them to be endgame despite being so doomed by the narrative.

I’m so sorry for this long commentary!!!

A Vow of Blood - 79

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 79: Vengeance Hungers

AO3 - Masterlist

The sky was a brooding tapestry of heavy clouds as Aemond descended upon Storm’s End on the massive back of Vhagar. The dragon landed precariously close to the cliff’s edge just as the storm above Shipbreaker Bay began its ominous approach, blotting out the setting sun as it should make its descended below the horizon. The vast courtyard within the walls was too constrained for the dragon, compelling them to choose this exposed perch. 

The evening air was brisk and unforgiving, slicing through Aemond as he dismounted from Vhagar. He peeled off his riding gloves–sturdy black leather that had offered some warmth during their flight from King’s Landing–and tucked them into his belt. Rubbing his hands together for warmth, he moved through the rocky cliffs that loomed ominously beside Storm’s End, their jagged surfaces sharp against the backdrop of the turbulent sea. The incessant roar of waves crashing against the cliffs mingled with the howling wind, a prelude to the impending storm that carried the sharp, salty scent of rain on its breath. 

Aemond made his way towards the gate set within the massive curtain wall, guided by the glow of torches held by guards. Their flickering light served as a beacon for the men assembled to receive him. Together, they ushered him through the shadowed tunnel within the inner wall and into the base of the drum tower, his boots echoing on the ancient stone with each determined step. 

His presence was immediately imposing as he entered the drum tower, flanked by stern-faced guards. They paced through the shadowed corridors, their footsteps echoing until they reached the central chamber. This grand hall, round and stark, was lit by the flickering glow of braziers and torches that threw dancing shadows on the stone walls. 

There, Lord Borros Baratheon awaited, seated upon the austere stone char that served as the throne of House Baratheon. It was unadorned as Daenera had told him–hard, cold, with sharp edges and devoid of any attempt at comfort. Lord Borros himself seemed an extension of the chair, his demeanor as hard and unyielding as the seat he occupied. 

As Aemond approached, Lord Borros Baratheon adjusted his position on the stone chair, a deep scowl furrowing his brow. His greeting was terse, imbued with a subtle undercurrent of impatience. 

“Prince Aemond,” he began, his voice clipped. “I hear condolences are in order…”

Aemond met Lord Borros’s gaze squarely, his expression unmarred by sorrow. Instead, a sharp, unforgiving smirk played at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you, Lord Borros.”

Borros narrowed his eyes, which mirrored the stormy blue of the tumultuous sea churning outside the castle walls. He leaned forwards slightly, cutting into the conversation with a pointed tone. 

“But…” he interjected, his gaze piercing, “Such news is usually not delivered by a prince…” His words hung in the air. “What brings you here, Princeling?” 

“As you’ve been made aware,” Aemond began, clasping his hands behind his back to adopt a posture of formal authority. “My father, the King, has passed, and his firstborn son has ascended to the throne. My brother, Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, has been crowned in the sight of gods and men…”

At this revelation, a ripple of murmurs spread through the gathered nobility flanking Lord Borros, their expressions a blend of surprise and suspicion. His gaze intensified, a spark of keen interest igniting within–more intelligent than any spark with his brother’s eyes, Aemond thought. 

“A King,” Borros mused aloud, the word echoing slightly in the cavernous hall. “Yet there seems to be some confusion within the house of the dragon. I was under the impression our next sovereign would be a Queen.” He leaned forwards slightly, his tone both inquisitive and challenging. “Forgive my bluntness, young prince, but did not your father choose your elder half-sister as his heir? I recall that my father was compelled to swear fealty to Princess Rhaenyra…”

“Indeed, oaths were sworn during a time when the realm’s stability hung in the balance,” Aemond replied coolly, his smirk growing more pronounced, a thrill of challenge quickening his pulse. His fingers drummed restlessly behind his back, the only manifestation of turmoil breaking through his composure. “However, the King rectified his earlier decision prior to his demise, decreeing that his firstborn son should inherit the crown.”

Lord Borros made a thoughtful noise and leaned back, his large hand brushing through his thick, black beard contemplatively. “It appears to me that there’s a succession crisis within House Targaryen. On one hand, a King; on the other, a Queen.”

“There is no crisis,” Aemond countered firmly. “Aegon is the King–”

“If there truly were no crisis, you would not find yourself here, young prince,” Lord Borros interrupted sharply, his voice booming slightly in the cavernous hall as his hand trumped against the smooth stone of his chair’s arm. “You arrive as an envoy of your brother, and while I accept your presence here graciously, understand that I am reluctant to entangle myself in the internal strife of House Targaryen. House Baratheon does not break oaths once made.”

“It was your father’s oath, not yours,” Aemond answered. “It was an oath sworn out of necessity, for a King without a son… House Baratheon may understand this decision, and understand that once the King had his son, the succession changed.”

Lord Borros tilted his head slightly, his stormy blue eyes narrowing.

Aemond continued, his voice steady and persuasive. “It was your father’s oath, not yours. An oath made out of necessity, for a King who at the time had no son. Surely House Baratheon can appreciate that once the King sired a son, the line of succession naturally altered.”

Lord Borros furrowed his brow, his deep voice resolute as he countered, “My father swore an oath to the Princess, an oath that I cannot simply cast aside without appropriate compensation.”

Aemond listened, his expression controlled yet his eye betrayed the calculation behind it. Drawing in a measured breath, he felt a surge of satisfaction ripple through him as the Lord of Storm’s End revealed his ambition. “Of course, my lord. The King would not send me here with empty hands.”

Reaching into his coat, Aemond produced a small piece of parchment and handed it to a nearby guard for delivery. Lord Borros snatched the letter briskly, his eyes staring pointedly at the rolled document as though it would read itself aloud to him before shifting his gaze back to Aemond with renewed scrutiny. 

“Which of my daughters will you marry then?” Borros inquired as he waved the letter towards his daughters, who stood in a silent, expectant line to the left of his throne. 

Aemond’s gaze swept over the young women, each poised and dignified, yet he barely allowed his eye to linger, feeling a twist of discomfort at the suggestion. Returning his focus to Borros, he chose his words with care. “As honored as I would be, Lord Borros, I must decline. I am already betrothed.”

In Lord Borros’s stormy blue eyes, a tempest seemed to swirl, his dark eyebrows drawing together into a scowl of deep displeasure. Aemond carried the pointed look with a spine straight as the sword at his hip, refusing to cower beneath the lord's scornful glare. 

“Ah, yes, my brother’s widow…” He began, his voice dripping with a mix of resentment and suspicion. “Tell me, One-eye,”–Aemond’s expression tightened subtly at the nickname, his jaw clenching though he maintained his composure–“how long after my brother’s untimely demise did you decide to claim her for yourself? It has not been more than four months since his passing!” His voice boomed across the hall, each word sharp and heavy with accusation. “She could very well be carrying his child!”

The allegation hung in the air, echoing off the stone walls, challenging Aemond not just politically, but personally, testing his diplomatic acumen under the weight of moral scrutiny. 

Aemond felt a surge of agitation twist in his stomach at the thought of Daenera bearing Boris Baratheon’s child–and he had to anchor himself before responding to the Lord of Storm’s End, the very man he had been sent to broker an alliance with. His hands balled into fists behind his back, and he gritted his teeth, striving to maintain his composure even as anger flared within him. 

“Lord Borros,” Aemond began, his voice steady despite the tempest brewing within him, “I understand your concerns, truly. The decision to honor the betrothal was made with the deepest respect for your brother’s memory and for the delicate position of his widow–”

“Do not attempt to placate me with empty words,” Borros interrupted sharply, his cheeks flushing a vivid red with his rising temper. “I am well aware of the political machinations at play, but that does not mitigate the affront of how hastily this union was formed. My brother has scarcely been laid to rest, and yet you are poised to marry his widow! Would it not be more fitting to choose a bride who is yet untouched? One whose child you could be certain would be yours?”

As Borros Baratheon hurled his veiled insults and threw his daughters at him, Aemond’s thoughts darkened–his disdain for the man Daenera had been forced to marry simmering just beneath the surface. He imagined the man suffering the torments of the seven hells for the wounds he had inflicted on Daenera–scars she still carried. Aemond’s eye flared with suppressed fury, his fingers twitching with the urge to draw his sword and exact retribution upon the man before him–he envisioned himself presenting Borros’s severed head to Daenera as a grim trophy. She would love it, solely because it would cost them Storm’s End. 

Such thoughts were quickly stifled; the necessity of the alliance holding him back. 

And Borros, keenly aware of this leverage, pressed his advantage. 

“I haven’t come to discuss my betrothal to the princess,” Aemond stated firmly, a clear intention to redirect their discourse. “I am here to propose a different betrothal. Prince Daeron Targaryen, my younger brother, is prepared to offer his hand in marriage to one of your daughters.”

“Prince Daeron?” Borros raised an eyebrow, his skepticism thinly veiled. 

“Indeed,” Aemond replied smoothly, his tone infused with a hint of pride. “The Prince is not only a dragonrider but is also currently studying at the Citadel, while being squire for Lord Ormund Hightower. He is growing into a handsome and intelligent young man.”

“How old is he?” Borros inquired, his interest piqued. 

“Five and ten.” 

“And he’s a dragonrider?” The lord pressed, needed to confirm this fact once more.

“He is,” Aemond confirmed, observing with satisfaction as Borros’s interest transformed into a sharp gleam of intrigue and ambition. The prospect of aligning with a dragonrider–and the potential for future dragons being bound to House Baratheon through the union between Prince Daeron and one of his daughters–promised not just an infusion of royal blood but also a formidable increase in House Baratheon’s influence over the throne. Aemond knew these were advantages a prideful man like Borros Baratheon could hardly ignore. 

“Very well,” Lord Borros finally conceded, his gaze drifting towards his daughters. “Which of my daughters will it be?”

Aemond advanced, his hands clasped behind his back, his solitary eye moving methodically to the first daughter in line. Each step resonated in the hushed chamber, his gaze sharp and assessing as it lingered on each young woman. 

“My oldest, Cassandra,” Lord Borros introduced, his voice carrying a note of pride. “She was the first to flower, and is sure to be able to be with child soon after the marriage.”

Cassandra stepped forward gracefully, her curtsy slow and respectful. As she straightened, her eyes, deep and dark as a stormy sea, met Aemond’s. Her features were set in a stern expression, mirroring the unyielding stone of the castle itself. Her build was robust, with broad shoulders and hips, her presence as stern as her demeanor. To Aemond, she seemed too stern, too immovable, a reflection of her father. And she was much older than Daeron. 

His scrutiny shifted to the next daughter as Borros continued, “Maris. The cleverest of my four girls.”

Aemond’s interest was piqued slightly as he turned his attention to Maris, intrigued by the promise of intellect that her father’s words suggested, wondering if her demeanor might offer a more pliable counterpart to her sister’s stoic fortitude. 

Maris, the second daughter, offered Aemond a clever smile as she bowed, much like her sister had done. Her eyes, a deep, murky shade reminiscent of the sky just before a storm, contrasted sharply with her dark, ink-black hair, which was pulled tightly back, accentuating her angular features. Unlike her robust sister, Maris was slimmer, with narrow hips. Her small lips and absence of pronounced cheekbones lent her a somewhat gaunt, melancholic appearance. Yet, there was an unmistakable spark of intelligence as her gaze swept over Aemond, briefly pausing on his scar. A slight curl of her lip betrayed her disgust, and Aemond felt the sting of it. He gritted his teeth, and swallowed his spiteful words. 

Lord Borros then directed attention to another daughter, “My Floris. The most comely of them all.”

His words seemed to wash over his older daughters, who appeared unfazed by the repeated compliment, indicating it was a familiar refrain. 

Floris stepped forward, her bright smile lighting up her features, her eyes reflecting the same stormy hue as her father and eldest sister’s. She executed a flawless curtsy, her presence radiating grace. Her dark hair was styled into an intricate arrangement, and her figure was willowy, dressed in a fine gown adorned with gold threads and small stones that accentuated her chest. To Aemond, she appeared overly delicate, perhaps even frivolous–sweet and appealing, yet lacking the formidable qualities of her siblings. 

Finally, Borros introduced his youngest. “And Ellyn Baratheon, my youngest, quite adept with a bow, though she has yet to flower.”

Ellyn, the youngest of Lord Borros’s daughters, moved forward, mirroring her sisters with a respectful, though clumsy, curtsy. She was already tall, her frame stretched and lanky, hinting at further growth, her hips promising a difficulty in childbirth. Her hair was dark as coal, and her eyes, a deep blue so intense they nearly appeared black, were set a touch too wide on her face. 

As Aemond watched her, a poignant thought struck him: in another life, he might be choosing a bride for himself rather than acting on his brother’s behalf. This realization twisted something deep within him. Each girl, though of good stock, painfully reminded him that they lacked the specific qualities he had found so bewitching in another–the cornflower blue eyes tinged with violet, capable of reflection both the tempest of the seas and the serenity of a clear sky, the slight pout of her lips, both sweet and deceptively alluring. None possessed the gentle yet commanding curves that haunted his memories–the breasts that fit perfectly within the palm of his hand, soft and pliable, the hips that were made to be gripped, the soft curve of her stomach, or the supple flesh of her ass and thighs. They did not have the touch that could mend as much as it could ruin– and for that, he felt an unexpected relief.

 They were not her.

 And he did not want any of them.

Aemond’s fingers absentmindedly played with the golden ring that encircled his finger, the motion hidden behind his back. His thumb grazed the band, latching on the subtle lever hidden within its design. For a fleeting moment, he felt the needle mechanism flick up under his touch, a small but lethal secret embedded in the ornate jewelry. With a subtle movement, he pressed it back down, securing the mechanism closed once more, all the while maintaining an outward composure that belied the calculating thoughts whirling through his mind. 

“You have fine daughters,” he acknowledged respectfully, addressing Lord Borros with practiced diplomacy. “I believe your second youngest, Floris, would be particularly well-suited for my brother. They are of a similar age and her demeanor suggests a kindness that Prince Daeron would find most agreeable.”

“Well chosen,” Borros responded, his features softening as he smiled at Floris. The girl’s cheeks coloured with a deep blush, while a flicker of envy passed briefly over her sisters’ faces.

Lord Borros then leaned forward, eager to move on to the practicalities of the alliance. “Now, shall we discuss the dowry?”

“The hour grows late, my lord,” Lady Elenda interjected softly, her hand resting gently on her husband’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “The prince has had a long day, and I am sure he’s in need of rest. Might we continue this in the morning?”

Aemond would have preferred to conclude the discussions and return to King’s Landing, but he couldn’t deny that the prospect of a meal, a hot bath, and a comfortable bed was appealing. His body ached from the long flight, and he realized he hadn’t eaten much since the morning. Weighing his fatigue against his desire to proceed, he reluctantly agreed–after all, he had to be sharp for the discussion of dowries. 

Clean and well-fed, Aemond found himself in bed, absentmindedly rubbing the persistent ache gnawing at the inside of his skull. As he settled into the unfamiliar yet plush surroundings, he couldn’t help but wonder if these were the same chambers Daenera had occupied during her visit to Storm’s End after her husband’s death. The thought prickled at his fingertips, stirring a familiar longing within him to wrap his arms around her and find solace in her presence–a need that had haunted him ever since that woeful night. He had confessed then, realizing it was neither mere attraction nor simple affection, nor was it lust, but something far more profound and devastating. His father had taken that confession to his grave.   

Despite the comfort of the bed and the quiet of the night, Aemond’s sleep was restless, his mind swirling with memories and unspoken words.

After breaking his fast, Aemond returned to the Round Hall with Floris at his side, who peppered him with questions about Daeron as her sisters looked on, their glares tinged with envy. They had just begun discussing dowries and arrangements when the sudden echo of a guard’s voice broke through the room, abruptly halting the negotiations. “A dragon has just landed in the courtyard…”

Aemond turned sharply towards the guard, his hands clasped behind his back as he moved to the edge of the room. His heart quickened with a blend of curiosity and annoyance at the interruption. It seemed his half-sister had decided to make her own move, dispatching one of her sons in an attempt to sway the Lord of Storm’s End. Aemond mused over the naivety of their belief that Lord Borros would maintain his allegiance to their faction, especially when the alliance that had bound them had been severed by death. He half-expected to see Jace stride through the door, but to his surprise, it was Lucerys who entered, flanked by guards. 

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon,” declared one of the guards, his voice booming through the grand hall, heralding the boy’s approach. “Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” 

Aemond turned towards Lucerys with a slow, deliberate motion that carried the weight and precision of drawing a sword from its sheath. As his gaze finally settled on the boy, a sharp, malicious smirk twisted Aemond’s lips. Lucerys, in response, seemed to momentarily falter under the intensity of Aemond’s stare. His eyes widened, his complexion paled, and a look of palpable fear etched itself across his boyish features. It was as if Aemond could visibly see the boy’s heart drop to the pit of his stomach–a sight that stirred a dark, twisted sort of satisfaction within him.

That cruel part of Aemond reveled in the dread that unfolded across Lucerys’s face–seemed to hunger for it. It was as though this beast that resided within him was bearing its teeth, craving more, thriving on the fear it elicited. It was something sinister and remorseless that stirred, enjoying the unease he instilled in his young rival. 

Good, Aemond thought, I want him afraid.

As lightning crackled outside, its sound snapped sharply against the walls of the drum tower, its energy seeming etching itself into the very stone. The storm that had been brewing finally unleashed its full fury upon Storm’s End, with the wind howling menacingly around the structure’s round walls.

Underneath Aemond’s relentless, steely gaze, the brown-haired boy shifted uneasily, his movements betraying a nervous attempt to muster his courage. His eyes darted from Aemond to Lord Borros Baratheon, flickering nervously before finally resting on the Lord of Storm’s End seated upon the stony throne. Gathering what composure he could, he managed to put on a brave face, though it appeared rather feeble against the crack of thunder. 

“Lord Borros…” he began, his voice barely rising above a murmur when a sudden clap of thunder interrupted him, thrashing through the room like a whip. Regaining his shaken resolve, he continued, “I have brought you a message from my mother… the Queen.”

The certainty with which he referred to his mother as ‘the Queen’ almost coaxed a chuckle from Aemond. He felt the rumble of amusement within his chest but managed to restrain it, opting instead to observe silently, intrigued. 

“Yet, earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King,” Lord Borros interjected dryly, his tone as unyielding as the stone he sat upon–and cut with a certain edge of mockery. “Which is it to be? King or Queen?”

If Lucerys had been the first to arrive, perhaps he might have stood a better chance. But he hadn’t, and Aemond couldn’t help but relish in this advantage, his smugness evident as he allowed his amusement to play across his features while he fixed his gaze on the boy. His stare was cold and unyielding, aking to the chilling touch of a blade poised menacingly at the throat, intended to unnerve and unsettle. 

“The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it,” Lord Borros jeered at the unfolding drama with a scoff, his laughter echoing through the chamber, devoid of any real humor, as it rolled over the tense atmosphere. “What is your mother’s message?”

Despite the intensity of Aemond’s glare, Lucerys held his ground, seeming to find some courage. With a defiant look still aimed at the Lord of Storm’s End, he extended a rolled piece of parchment towards one of the guards. The guard approached, the sound of his footsteps resonating through the sudden silence, only to be swallowed up by another menacing crack of thunder. He took the message and walked across the room, finally placing it into his lord’s expectant hands. 

Aemond’s focus was unrelenting, almost entirely fixed on Lucerys. Despite the ongoing interactions around them, his eye remained sharply trained on the boy. A newfound streak of resolve seemed to fortify Lucerys’ composure, embolden him to meet Aemond’s piercing stare. The boy’s eyes, defiant and steady, refused to cower under the intense scrutiny, and it only served to deepen Aemond’s desire to see him squirm. 

Lord Borros Baratheon’s patience had seemingly worn thin amidst the charged atmosphere. His voice broke through the tension, rough and tinged with irritation as he grumbled, “Where’s the bloody Maester?”

The silence in the Round Hall stretched taut, its intensity rivaling the sporadic thunderclaps from the storm outside and the wind’s relentless whirring around the sleek stones of the keep. The charged atmosphere inside mirrored the tumultuous weather, fostering a palpable unease that seemed to seep into every corner of the room–if there had been any corners. 

Aemond, ever observant, noted the subtle shift in Lucerys’ stance–a slight unease that betrayed him. This small gesture did not escape Aemond’s notice and only served to deepen his amusement. The thought flickered through his mind–did Lucerys actually believe he could best him?

The echoing footsteps of the approaching maester sliced through the heavy air, his chains jingling softly, announcing his arrival. Aemond kept his gaze fixed on Lucerys, choosing not to turn towards the maester or Lord Borros but remaining acutely aware of every movement. Even without seeing, he could feel the tension in the room rise as the master delivered the message to Borros. 

Finally breaking his steady gaze, Lucerys looked towards Lord Borros, just as the lord spoke out, his voice heavy with indignation, booming through the room. 

“‘Remind’ me of my father’s oath,” Lord Borros repeated the words from the letter, his tone darkening with fury. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: My swords and banners for a marriage pact!”

Aemond’s smirk sharpened, his amusement and confidence rising as the tension in the room did the same. 

Lucerys, maintaining his composure, held his head high, seemingly undeterred by the force of Lord Borros’s words. His eyes stayed locked on the lord, defiantly ignoring Aemond as he began to speak. “My mother, the Queen, hopes that our houses’ marriage alliance remains intact. My sister–”

“‘Hope’?! ‘Hope’?!” Lord Borros erupted, cutting the young prince off mid-sentence. His voice boomed through the hall, laden with frustration and disbelief. “The alliance between our houses died along with my brother, and unless your sister is with child, I see no reason that the alliance should continue. I cannot stake the future of my house on mere ‘hope.’”

As Borros’s fury washed over him, Lucerys visibly tensed, his discomfort apparent. Aemond, ever watchful, noted the slight tightening of Lucerys’s grip on his sword hilt, his eyes briefly widening in response. He imagined that this wasn’t the welcome the boy had thought he’d receive. 

“Your sister, commendable as she might have been, pledged to remain a widow to sustain this tedious alliance,” Borros continued, his voice tinged with scorn. “However, I’ve come to understand that she has reneged on her word by accepting a betrothal to Prince Aemond here.”

Aemond felt the piercing gaze of Lord Borros on him, implicating him directly in unraveling the prior commitments between House Baratheon and Rhaenyra. The irony wasn’t lost on Aemond; Lord Borros was closer to the truth than he realized–closer than he would ever know. 

As Lucerys’s gaze shifted to him, Aemond tilted his head slightly, a smug smirk playing at the corners of his mouth–a challenge, daring him to voice his thoughts. He reveled in the clear signs of worry, unease, and fury that danced in the bastard’s eyes–a tumult of emotions that Aemond found almost palpable. Lucerys gnawed slightly at his lip and swallowed thickly, seemingly struggling to maintain his composure before reluctantly pulling his eyes away from Aemond. 

“My sister is held as a hostage in King’s Landing. Any decision to marry would not be her own,” Lucerys countered, his voice carrying a steely determination tinged with an unmistakable quiver of worry. 

“I assure you, Lord Strong,” Aemond interjected smoothly, his voice sharp as a blade, his one eye gleaming with sardonic amusement. The thrill of the exchange quickened his pulse, a flutter of amusement paired with a twist of glee in his stomach. “The decision was entirely voluntary. Perhaps if your mother cedes her ambition for the throne, you’ll be able to attend the wedding and see for yourself how willing your sister truly is.”

Aemond’s words hung in the air, a challenge laden with irony and provocation, skillfully weaving a narrative of consent and volition that masked the complexities and pressure of royal alliances and captivities. 

He held the secret of his marriage to Daenera close to his chest–one that could unravel the tension in the room with a single revelation. He could have disclosed that he and Daenera were already married, could have shown the proof etched into the skin of his palm, and could have taunted Lucerys for his ignorance of his sister’s true feelings. Yet, he refrained. Part of his hesitation might have been pragmatic, aiming not to provoke Lord Borros Baratheon’s anger, especially since he was there to secure an alliance with House Baratheon. But another, more personal part of him wanted to keep this knowledge private, to preserve a last remnant of what they shared, to protect Daenera from the harsh scrutiny such revelation would invite. Why reveal their marriage now, when the realm would witness their union all the same?

Luke’s glare narrowed as he retorted, “Or perhaps, Prince Aemond, you confuse coercion for consent as easily as you confuse treachery for honor. It seems the only way you can secure a bride is by trapping her in circumstances she cannot escape from. My sister would never willingly marry you.”

Aemond gritted his teeth, his tongue pressing against them as venomous words threatened to spill forth. Insult after insult simmered within him, pushing him dangerously close to losing his composure. 

“Be that as it may,” Lord Borros interjected, his tone brimming with impatience, “House Baratheon had honored its commitments to your sister and your house. The alliance now lies buried with my brother. If you seek a new alliance, then tell me, which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?”

Lucerys gathered himself, his posture stiffening as he prepared to respond, his voice firm with a shaken resolve. “My lord, I am not free to marry. I am already betrothed.”

Lord Borros’s reaction was swift and biting, each word infused with a mix of mockery and disdain. He scoffed dismissively, “So you come here with empty hands.” His voice carried a derisive edge as he continued, “Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

Despite the harsh dismissal, Lucerys maintained his dignity. He squared his shoulders and set his jaw, meeting Lord Borros’s gaze with unyielding eyes. “I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord.”

Aemond, watching the exchange, felt a surge of exhilaration. His heart thrummed with the thrill of the apparent victory, and as Lucerys turned to leave, a part of him relished the upper hand they had gained. Yet, something within him stirred–a desire to further assert his dominance, to ensure Lucerys did not depart without fully understanding the depths of their enmity. He wanted him to run back home with the tail tucked between his legs. 

Floris gracefully moved from Aemond’s side to join her sisters. Maris welcomed her with a comforting touch, placing a hand on her younger sister’s arm. Her voice, just loud enough for Aemond to overhear, carried a thinly veiled jab. “You should feel fortunate, sweet sister, to wed a prince with all his appendages. Spare a thought for the princess…”

The remark struck Aemond like a barb, twisting in his stomach–an unpleasant reminder of the countless similar insults he had endured since losing his eye. He clenched his teeth, the words resonating in his ears, reverberating within his mind. What had felt like a victory moment’s earlier now soured into something bitter and resentful, coloring his triumph with the dark hues of indignation and anger. 

“Wait,” Aemond called out sharply, his voice cutting through the tension, commanding Lucerys to halt. “My Lord Strong.”

The boy halted, a moment of stillness enveloping him. Then, with measured steps he moved back to the spot he had previously occupied before being dismissed. As he faced Aemond again, the visible signs of his trepidation were unmistakable. His complexion had paled, draining of color, and his lips parted slightly, revealing a flicker of fear. Lucerys seemed to forcibly swallow his apprehension, his jaw clenching tightly. He subtly shifted his grip on the hilt of his sword, his body tensing as if bracing for the confrontation. 

“Did you really think you could just fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” Aemond challenged, taking a measured step closer to the young prince. His hands remained clasped behind his back, maintaining a casual yet commanding presence. He was undeterred by the prospect of Lucerys drawing his sword, confident that he could take him easily. 

“I will not fight you,” Lucerys declared with resolve, his voice steady and clear–dismissive almost. “I came here as a messenger, not a warrior.”

Aemond’s voice was chillingly calm as he drawled, “A fight would be little challenge.”

He knew that should it come to blows, he would easily overpower the boy. But a fight was not what he sought; Aemond craved a different kind of retribution, something that would settle a deeper score. 

“No,” he continued, his tone darkening with a grim intent, “I want you to put out your eye…”

The demand hung in the air, heavy with the gravity of his desire for vengeance, seeking not just defeat but to debilitate and humiliate–as he had been debilitated and humiliated. It was only fair. 

Aemond felt it then–a sharp, familiar pain jabbing at the hollow where his eye once was. It started as a mere pinprick but soon swelled into a forceful throb that made his teeth feel loose, pulsating in tandem with his heartbeat. The scar burned intensely, the ache splitting his skull, a constant reminder of his loss. This pain was an old companion, lingering just beneath the surface, ever ready to surge forth and engulf him, forcing him to relive the moment of loss again and again and again.

He gritted his teeth against the pain, vividly recalling the initial sting when the injury occurred, a pain that quickly rose into a searing, white-hot agony as though he had been branded. He supposed in a way he had been. His blood had spilled thick and warm, clinging to his skin. He could still feel the horrifying sensation of his eye rupturing, the blade slicing through flesh, tissue, muscle, and bone, as his vision dissolved into a haze of black and red.

The memory of the aftermath was just as vivid–the tearing pain as the maester removed the remnants of his eye from its socket, the burning agony as the wound had been cleansed, the sharp bite of the needle as it stitched the inflamed skin closed. 

What had made the ordeal even more unbearable was the injustice of it all. He had been mained for claiming a dragon that was free to claim, yet he was the one who bore the blame of his injury. The perpetrators went unpunished, no retribution for the wrongs done to him. 

The injury had implanted a deep-seated resentment within Aemond, a smoldering rage that clung to him persistently. Upon his return to King’s landing, the wound had become inflamed, necessitating it to be reopened and cleansed thoroughly. During this procedure, he lost his eyelid, the tissue having turned black.  

After the wound had somewhat healed, Aemond made the decision to have it reopened to embed a sapphire in the socket–an attempt to reclaim some semblance of dignity and to avoid the pitying stares that had become all too common. He had read tales of warriors replacing lost eyes with precious stones, and he sought to emulate them. However, it had brought him little solace, and he had taken to wearing an eyepatch instead.

For years, Aemond had carried the weight of this injustice, living with both the physical pain and the humiliation it brought. Now, he felt the time had come to have the debt settled, to demand what was owed to him–a chance to balance the scales that had been so unfairly tipped against him. 

Aemond lifted his hand deliberately, his fingers grasping the edge of the leather patch that concealed his disfigurement. With a calculated movement, he pulled it away, exposing the harsh reality of his injury and the gleaming sapphire that sat within the hollow of his socket. “As a payment for mine…”

He stood defiantly before the boy who had caused him irreparable harm–the one responsible for his maiming and disfigurement, the one who had escaped punishment. This boy, who seemed to know nothing of fear, pain, or suffering, who displayed no remorse for his actions, who had never felt the biting sting of injustice–a poison that had seeped into his very core. 

Aemond took a dark pleasure in observing the change in Lucerys’s expression–the visible drop of his heart as he confronted the extent of the damage he had caused and the creeping fear that began to shadow his features. Witnessing the realization in Lucerys eyes was not sufficient, he sought more than just a momentary flicker of fear; he demanded a deeper acknowledgement of the pain and consequences his actions had wrought. 

“One will serve,” Aemond stated, his voice slicing through the tension, cold and unforgiving. With a deliberate motion, he flicked his coat aside, his lithe fingers finding the familiar hilt of his dagger. He drew the blade with a steely sing, its sound a clear, ominous echo in the chamber.

“I would not blind you.” His words were laden with a chilling mercy–an eye for an eye, indeed, but he offered leniency where none was owed. It was a debt of blood that had to be settled, a recompense for his own loss, dictated by ancient laws of justice. 

With a flick of his wrist, Aemond tossed the dagger. It spun through the air, landing with a clatter to skitter over the floor and stop at Lucerys’s feet, the sound of steel on cold stone resonating more profoundly than the thunder outside. This gesture, laying the instrument of retribution before Lucerys, was both a challenge and a test, a cruel kindness that spoke of the harsh balance Aemond sought to enforce. 

“Mm,” Aemond hummed, the sound almost a purr. “I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

The utter horror that briefly flickered across Lucerys’s face brought Aemond a grim kind of satisfaction. He felt it uncoil within his chest like a viper poised to strike, the beast within him baring its teeth. He believed it was only fair that the bastard should suffer as he had–Aemond wanted him afraid, wanted him humiliated. Yet instead of the outright fear he sought, a defiant spark–spiteful, even–flared in Lucerys’s eyes. His jaw set firmly, he held his head high, though in Aemond’s eye, he had no grounds for such pride. 

“No,” Lucerys answered firmly, and his response ignited an uncontrollable rage within Aemond. To be denied justice, to be refused retribution a second time–it was more than he could bear. 

 A cold, dreadful sensation crept over Aemond as he stared at Lucerys, feeling the pain in the hollow were his eye once was–a chilling, maddening discomfort that seemed to curl within his eye socket, spreading like ice through his skull and scratching at the edges of his consciousness. The words that escaped him were delivered in a cold, drawling tone, laden with accusation. “Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”

Lucerys’s response was defiant; his jaw clenched tightly, his body tensing as he shifted on his feet. “I will not surrender my eye to you. I owe you noth–”

Aemond’s already frayed composure snapped completely at Lucerys’s budding refusal. Rage exploded within him, an inferno as vivid and all-consuming as dragonfire. It obliterated all rational thought, unleashing the beast that lurked within, its fangs bared, thirsting for retribution. 

“Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!” Aemond’s voice boomed as he advanced towards the visibly frightened boy. In a swift motion, he scooped up the discarded dagger, its metal scraping loudly against the stone floor, the sound magnified in the tense silence. The blade caught the light from the lightning flashing outside, making it seem as though the storm itself had invaded the Round Hall. Aemond could almost taste the bastard boy’s fear, and it only fueled his desire for retribution–he imagined carving out the boy’s eye, making him endure every excruciating moment just as he had, wanted him to feel the blood as it poured–

“Not in my hall!” Lord Borros Baratheon’s commanding voice cut through the tension as he rose from his throne.

Aemond’s fury was momentarily bridled by the authoritative intervention–remembering that he was here out of duty to his family and house, to secure an alliance. He halted his advance, though his gaze remained fiercely locked on Lucerys. The guards quickly stepped between them, forming a protective barrier. Behind them, the boy stood with his sword drawn, the tip of his blade quivering slightly, and Aemond couldn’t help but think him pathetic. 

“The boy came as an envoy,” Lord Borros continued, his tone firm and authoritative, “I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon. Now.”

Aemond, momentarily stalled by the command, stood his ground but slowly rose to his full height. With practiced ease, he spun the dagger within his grip, letting it twirl elegantly before sheathing it at his hip–unbloodied. He thought Lucerys should be grateful for Lord Borros’s intervention; he should consider himself fortunate that Aemond had enough control to hold back. He envisioned Lucerys retreating to his mother, tail tucked between his legs, humiliated and defeated. This image, though not as satisfying as exacting his revenge, managed to soothe the aggressive itch at his fingertips.

As Lucerys sheathed his sword and took a few shaky steps towards the doors, he paused and turned back to face Aemond once more. His expression was unusual, marked by a mix of determination and sympathy–almost pitibal in its sincerity. “I am sorry that it has come to this…” 

The boy’s words carried an unexpected earnestness that only served to set his teeth on edge. The words slithered under Aemond’s skin, twisting into his bones, igniting something dangerous  within him. He fixed his gaze on the bastard, fighting to contain the surge of rage that flared anew in his chest. The pain that normally lurked at the edges of his mind, though palpable, had been somewhat bearable until now. But at Lucerys’s apology, it began to unravel, the icy grip of it clawing into his consciousness with talons that tore through his restraint.

“I am sorry,” Lucerys continued, his tone almost mocking in its sincerity. “I regret that my actions resulted in the loss of your eye but I will not apologize for protecting my brother…”

These words, meant to convey regret, instead felt like a provocation to Aemond, challenging the very control he struggled to maintain. His body tensed, frozen in place yet poised to strike. The words tore through Aemond with blinding ferocity. He was sorry? He was sorry?! The way Lucerys spoke, as if the incident had been a mere mishap, belittled the true extent of Aemond’s suffering. It wasn’t just the loss of an eye–it was the years of excruciating pain that left him writing in bed at times, the endless, agonizing months it took to heal fully. It was the grueling process of relearning basic tasks that once came effortlessly, the way the injury had mutilated and disfigured him, not just physically but in the eyes of those he met. 

Lucerys’s apology failed to capture the humiliation and torment Aemond had endured, how his father would never look at him without seeing the scar first and foremost, how his mother would look at him as though she had failed him, how that scar became the defining feature people noticed. It ignored how deep the scars ran, how the incident twisted him, hardened him into something brutal and cruel–a beast in the form of a  man. 

A fierce, almost primal urge surged through him–he imagined drawing his sword, effortlessly slipping past the guards, plunging the blade into that bastard’s eye, then severing his head to let the sword be anointed in the traitor’s blood. He imagined sending what was left of Lucerys back to his mother in grim retribution.

Yet, as much as he yearned to unleash his fury on Lucerys, a whisper of restraint echoed in the back of his mind, a tenuous thread of self-control keeping him from shattering entirely. The sliver of rationality held him back, a reminder of the consequences that would inevitably follow.

Lucerys continued, his voice steady yet each word, seemingly dismissive and mockingly sympathetic, shredded the last vestiges of restraint Aemond clung to. The small, rational voice in his head was drowned out by the throbbing rage that consumed him. “I hope for your understanding, and perhaps forgiveness one day, but until then, you have my apology for the suffering caused by my hand,”

Aemond’s glare intensified, his eyes burning into Lucerys with such fury that it visibly shook the young bastard. The intensity of Aemond’s rage was enough to send Lucerys quickly turning to exit the hall, eager to escape the palpable hostility. 

As Lucerys left, Aemond felt the rage continue to sear through him, gnawing at his fingertips insistently, engulfing his mind. He turned to Lord Borros, his voice icy, colder than the harshest winters of the North. “I thank you for your hospitality, my lord, and I will have the hand of the King finalize our arrangement, but if you excuse me, I must go.”

His words were formal, yet the undercurrent of his tone conveyed a chilling resolve, as if the coldness of his voice could mask the storm of fury within him. With that, Aemond prepared to leave, his every move reflecting the tumultuous emotions he struggled to contain. 

Aemond didn’t wait for an answer, or perhaps he simply didn’t hear it; he spun on his heel and swiftly exited the Round Hall. The moment he stepped into the corridor, his heart pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. Driven by a storm of rage, he sprinted down the hallways and darted through the tunnel, navigating the winding paths of the curtain wall before bursting into the tempest outside. 

Rain lashed at his face as thunder roared overhead, the elements mirroring his inner turmoil. The rocky terrain threatened to trip him, but his fury propelled him forward unscathed. He reached Vhagar, his hands finding the wet, slick rope that wrapped around the dragon. 

“Hēnkirī kesi urnēptre bona Ilībōños bona ziry zūgagon īlva,” Aemond sneered, his voice cutting through the relentless downpour that threatened to drown out his words. Despite the roar of the rain, Vhagar responded to her rider’s command, a low rumbling emanating from deep within her chest, signaling her readiness. Aemond ascended the ladder with a fervor fueled by his smoldering rage, each step taken with urgent determination as he planned to chase the little bastard through the storm. 

Together we will show that bastard that he should fear us.

By the time he mounted the saddle, he was thoroughly drenched, his hair plastered to his skin, the chill of the rain seeping deep into his bones. Yet, he scarcely noticed the cold; his mind was singularly focused on the objective–to find the boy who had inflicted so much pain upon him and ensure he experienced just a fraction of the fear and helplessness Aemond had endured. 

He wanted Lucerys terrified, utterly humiliated–his rage demanded no less. As he prepared to take flight, every fiber of his being was set on this relentless pursuit, the fury within him as relentless as the storm that raged around him. 

“Ryptēs! Rȳbās!” Aemond commanded, his hands tightening on the leather reins. “Sōvegon!”

Listen. Obey. Fly!

As thunder roared above, Vhagar responded with a low rumble, shaking her massive head as a sign of readiness. She then unfurled her enormous wings, striding towards the cliff’s edge, and with a powerful leap, she allowed herself to drop slightly, the fierce wind quickly catching her wings and lifting them into flight.

Rain lashed at Aemond’s face like a barrage of tiny icicles, each droplet pricking against his skin with icy sharpness, though he barely registered the discomfort, or that the sapphire within his socket were steadily turning to ice as the wind whipped at it. His heart pounded in his ears, nearly drowning out the howling wind and the continuous thunder that cracked through the sky. Lightning streaked across the dense clouds, briefly illuminating the darkened heavens, as they soared into the storm, bound by a mission fueled by vengeance and fury. 

A crude smile stretched across Aemond’s lips, savoring the taste of rain mixed with the wild fury of the storm. They were in close pursuit of the small shadow darting ahead of them, the smaller dragon’s wings flapping frantically against the relentless wind. Aemond cleverly used the cloud cover to cloak their approach, weaving through the dense clouds, allowing them to stealthily stalk their prey from above. 

As they drew into the clouds in front of the smaller dragon, they executed a swift, tight turn before emerging from the thick cloud cover. Aemond and Vhagar burst forth, their sudden presence in front of the smaller dragon meant to be an imposing and terrifying spectacle, amplified by the thick cover of clouds that wrapped around them. Aemond caught a brief glimpse of Lucerys’s red-cheeked, fear-stricken face as they swooped over them, allowing Vhagar to menacingly snap her claws close to them, a clear threat. 

A menacing, maniacal laugh erupted from Aemond’s chest, a sound that bubbled up and spilled from his lips, fueled by the palpable terror emanating from the boy and his dragon. Vhagar joined in with a sound akin to a crackle, a low, reverberating growl that might have been a purr under less ominous circumstances. It was a foreboding sound, promising the unleashing of fiery breath and teeth sharp enough to rend flesh. 

Together, they were the embodiment of true power.

This was a dance of fury and fear, where his shadows cavorted with the gales, their whispers echoing in the thunder, rejoicing in the terror they instilled in the target of his ire. The storm, like a malevolent spectator, seemed to mimic the tempest within Aemond, its rage a mirror to his own, its chaos a reflection of his soul.

As Arrax darted ahead, Vhagar surged forward with a predatory swiftness, her massive maw snapping at the air, her gleaming teeth tearing menacingly close to the smaller dragon. Arrax fluttered about uneasily, trying to evade the larger dragon’s threatening advances. 

Aemond harbored a cold hope that when Lucerys looked back, the sapphire replacing his eye would catch the lightning’s flash, its cruel gleam filling the boy with utter dread. He wanted to haunt Lucerys, to be etched into his mind–it was only fair, as the cruel edge of the blade had been etched into his face. 

Aemond delighted in the chase–delighted in the terror he elicited as they toyed with the smaller dragon. He let Vhagar snap her jaws at the dragon, threatening to tear off its wings or bite into its body. Through the roaring storm, they pursued them relentlessly, refusing to let up. Aemond’s intent was clear: he wanted the boy to experience the same helplessness and humiliation he had endured years ago. 

“I see you! Ilībōños!” Aemond bellowed, his voice clawing its way through the tumult, ensuring it reached Lucerys amidst the chaos of the storm. His shout was a declaration of his presence, a warning that he was unavoidable and ever-present, like the storm itself. 

As Arrax seemed to sense the imminent danger, the small dragon instinctively pulled its wings closer to its body, executing a sharp drive in an attempt to escape. Aemond, relentless, spurred Vhagar to follow. The massive dragon pursued her formidable form cutting swiftly through the air towards the churning sea below. The wind lashed against Aemond’s face with such a ferocity that, had he been wearing his eyepatch, it surely would have been torn off. 

With his voice raw from shouting, Aemond bellowed again. He was uncertain if his words could pierce through the howling wind and the roaring sea as they rapidly descended, but he shouted regardless, his voice echoing with command and threat: “Ozdakōs, mittys!”

Run, fool!

His shout was taut, a challenge thrown into the face of the storm, as much a part of the tempest as the thunder and lightning themselves, all converging to overwhelm the fleeing dragon and its rider. 

Lucerys and his dragon quickly turned and leveled out above the narrow sea, maneuvering sharply to steer towards the cliffs. Aemond and Vhagar were in close pursuit, her immense wings masterfully catching the wind to prevent a perilous descent into the sea. 

Another cruel, discordant crackle escaped Aemond, a sound not entirely human, as if the beast within him had broken through. The rush of their rapid descent invigorated him, his blood singing through his veins with a hot, thrilling pulse. He felt the familiar swoop in his stomach, reminiscent of the exhilaration he felt during his first ascent on Vhagar, when he had claimed the dragon as his own.

As Arrax deftly turned towards the cliffs, Vhagar followed, intent on catching up–a shadow of death closely trailing the boy and his dragon. The smaller dragon managed to slip through the narrow crevice between the cliffs, disappearing like a bug through a crack in the wall. Aemond, reacting swiftly, yanked at the reins, steering Vhagar sharply upwards over the cliffs, temporarily losing sight of their quarry among the rocky outcrops and the relentless downpour. 

Vhagar expressed her frustration with an aggravated roar that mirrored Aemond’s own sneer of irritation. They continued to fly above the cliffs, scouring the landscape below. The sea thrashed violently against the cliffs, its hunger palpable in the storm’s fury. Aemond’s heart thundered in his chest, the pounding rhythm nearly drowning out the storm’s howl, fueling the thrill of the chase that tingled beneath his skin, itching at his fingertips and fluttering in his stomach. He laughed, cruelly so, reveling in the feeling of power. 

“Jemēla gēlȳni enkā!” Aemond called out, his voice a menacing drawl meant to instill fear and provoke a mistake. “Taobus!”

You owe a debt! Boy!

His words cut through the tumult, meant to echo ominously around Lucerys, a constant reminder of who it was that pursued him. Aemond’s command was not just a call–it was a dark promise, woven into the winds of the storm, haunting the fleeing boy with the weight of his impending reckoning. 

Aemond fervently hoped that Lucerys was consumed by fear, that he felt utterly powerless–just as powerless as Aemond had been when the dagger had sliced through flesh and muscle, as hopeless as when he had the remnants of his eye brutally torn from his socket, and as forsaken as he had felt when he had been denied justice, when he had been denied the retribution he deserved. He wished for Lucerys to feel the same crippling fear Aemond had endured when they had turned against him, when they had attacked him for claiming something which was free to claim. 

Most of all, he wanted Lucerys to feel the crippling shame and humiliation he had felt, bearing the scar of injustice. 

The clouds around them were oppressive, heavy and dense, closing in as they navigated the endless gray expanse. Aemond blinked rapidly against the onslaught of rain and wind, and suddenly, a torrent of fire burst from a gray cloud, followed swiftly by a sweeping shadow that darted past them–trailed by a voice whose words were drowned by the wind. The fire curled around Vhagar’s head, hot and searing. Aemond felt the intense heat graze his skin, wrapping them momentarily in a billow of smoke. The heat was fleeting, replaced almost instantly by an icy chill as the warmth dissipated into the stormy air, leaving a lingering cold in its absence. 

Vhagar reared her head in anger, a reaction that Aemond felt deeply within his own chest. The dragon’s fury mingled seamlessly with his own, fueling his emotions as his stomach churned with cold dread. Vhagar plunged through the clouds after Arrax with forceful determination, almost as if personally affronted by the young dragon’s slight. 

A thunderous roar shattered the sky, reverberating so powerfully that Aemond felt it within his chest, louder than the thunder itself as lightning streaked across the heavens. He felt control slipping from his grasp, like wisps of smoke escaping through his fingers. 

“No, no, no, no! No! Serve me, Vhagar!” Aemond commanded desperately, his voice rising over the storm as the dragon thrashed beneath him, snapping its teeth in wild fury. The low rumble of Vhagar’s rage seemed to vibrate through its massive body and into Aemond’s, amplifying his own distress. “Vagus, daor! Dohaerās!”

Vhagar, no! Obey me!

But like any creature pushed to its limits, Vhagar continued her relentless pursuit, utterly indifferent to her rider’s commands–but the will men wield over dragons was finite, and Aemond was rendered a mere spectator as they pierced through the clouds into the brightness of day, leaving behind the swirling tempest below. His heart sank as Vhagar opened her massive jaws, and with a force that seemed to resonate through the very air around them, she snapped them shut around the boy and his dragon. With a single devastating bite, she sheared off Arrax’s head, wing, and tail.  

Lucerys’s shrieks of pain and terror were abruptly silenced as he disappeared into Vhagar’s vast gullet, consumed–a grim meal as Lucerys vanished from the world, swallowed whole by Vhagar.

As Vhagar clamped her jaws around the dragon for a second time, Aemond felt the visceral echo of bones and flesh crunching–a sensation that resonated within his own body so vividly he could almost taste the blood that Vhagar had spilled in pursuit of retribution–vengeance. This second, ferocious bite, severed her prey completely, her head twisting with the violent finality of a hound shaking its catch. Droplets of blood splattered across Aemond’s face, a grim rain marking his countenance despite the clarity of the sky above them.

Vhagar’s victorious roar thundered through the sky, resonating not just externally but deep within the hollow of Aemond’s chest, its echoes reverberating in the chambers of his heart. 

His eye widened as he watched the descent of the mangled remains, following their plummet towards the insatiable sea below. He watched, almost in a trance, as the fragments of what once had been a boy and his dragon disappeared into the cloud-laden abyss, vanishing from sight forever.

In that moment, Aemond’s heart thundered in his chest–a relentless drumbeat that marked the end of the chase, the culmination of his vengeance, and the ominous onset of war. 

Aemond drew his hand down his face, staring at it as smears of blood marked his pale skin, intermingling with the droplets of rain that still clung to him. He released a breath, which morphed into a cold, humorless laugh as his thoughts remained muddled, as wild and tempestuous as the storm still raging below them. 

For years, he had harbored wishes–longings–for retribution, for vengeance. He had fantasized about carving out Lucerys eye as a replacement for his own, desperate to share his own pain and humiliation with the one who forced it upon him–seeking some semblance of the justice that had been denied him. An eye for an eye, blood for blood, a debt that had to be repaid.

It would have been a fair exchange, a way to set the world right–a means to possibly reclaim what he had lost, to somehow piece himself back together and feel whole once more. Aemond mulled over this thought, the notion of justice as an equalizer resonating deeply within him, as if such an act could balance the scales and mend what had been lost. 

Deep within him, there had been a childish flicker of hope that by killing Lucerys might somehow fill the void left by the blade, would somehow miraculously restore his eye–but as he sat upon Vhagar now, he could feel the coldness of the sapphire within his eye socket, and the bitter truth struck him–that the blood he had sought did not, and could not, restore his eye. It did nothing to heal the scar or mend the mangled skin, nor did it address the deeper, more enduring wounds within him.

Deep within him, there had been a childish flicker of hope that killing Lucerys might somehow fill the void left by the blade and would, somehow, miraculously restore his eye. But as he sat atop Vhagar now, soaring above the sea of a storm, feeling the cold touch of the sapphire within his eye socket, a bitter truth settled over him–the blood he had sought did not, and could not, restore his eye. It did nothing to heal the scar or mend the mangled skin, nor did it soothe the deeper, more enduring wounds within him left by the injustice–and far from making him feel whole, the act of vengeance only deepened his sense of incompleteness, leaving him feeling more hollow and wrong than ever before. 

Instead of filling the void within him, it seemed to have expanded, leaving Aemond grappling with the haunting emptiness of a victory that felt ominously akin to defeat. As he sat there, the consequences of his actions set in–this was not merely the ignition of war, but a sacrifice of what he held dear. His honor and reputation were now irreversibly stained–he had made himself a kinslayer, the worst thing a man could be–but what weighed more heavily on his heart was the realization that he had lost the very thing he loved the most; Daenera, the one who had brought warmth into his cold world, the sweet poison whose intoxication he had come to depend upon. 

As he settled back into the saddle, Aemond felt that cherished warmth slipping away, evaporating like mist through his desperate, futile grasp. The loss left a chill in its wake, a cold reminder of what his vengeance had truly cost him. 

And the thought that made his blood turn into ice, was the thought that Daenera would turn away from him–that she would no longer see him.

The beast that resided beside his heart, held at bay by chains of self-control, transformed into something far more vicious and cruel–a monster in its purest form, completely unrestrained. And what else could he become but a monster, if that was all anyone ever saw when looking upon him? 

His heart, if it could still be called that, had turned into something far darker and more malevolent. It became like Valyrian steel–cold, unyielding, and thirsting for blood. It embodied the destructive path of fire, monstrous in its desires, armed with teeth and claws, ready to consume anything in its path.

And this heart.

This twisted, blackened heart, it had become hers–surrendered to the one he feared losing the most. Would she recognize it? Would she recognize him?

Aemond refused to succumb to the pain that threatened to overtake him, the kind that could fill him with fear. Instead, he swallowed his feelings, feeling them fester and burn within the pit of his stomach. He let the monstrous darkness within him take a hold of him, finding it preferable to fear, to regret, to any other feeling. This darkness offered a twisted solace, a shield against vulnerability, ensuring that he felt nothing but a cold, numbing embrace. 

Aemond had always harbored a deep-seated desire for Lucerys’s death–he thirsted for vengeance against the boy who had stolen his eye and sown a seed of darkness in its place. And resonating with his dark wish, Vhagar had executed this desire–sought the revenge he had denied himself. Although Aemond hadn’t set out to kill, it seemed as though the very forces of nature, or perhaps even fate itself, had aligned to bring about this outcome. 

And what can a dragon do but obey its nature?

Vhagar, driven by instinct, acted as dragons wont to do. And Aemond came to understand that he, too, was bought by an inescapable nature, one that was deeply entwined with his desires, his pain, and the justice he had been denied. 

And he found that vengeance truly did hunger–that it was an insatiable force that once awakened, demanded to be satisfied.

[healingheneree]

02/14/23 - PM

Dear Journal,

Today I found out my uncle passed away. He -passedway in bed. I know his death hasnt really hit hit me yet but i know it will later. Also i found out that my aunt has stage 4 cancer. I am not sure how to take any of this news. The emotions that come to me is that life is short. We have such a finite amount of time and all i can think about his how much time i am wasting not being with Tam. Today was Valentine days and all i want to feel is love. I know dealing with no being wtih my wife during this day was going to be hard enough emotionally. I have been preparing all weekend on how to deal with myself and the type of tantrums i will have. Every time she spends time with Alex i have a hard time wishing it waas me being intimate with her instead. I wish i could have the fun. I wish she would hold me and kiss me and just make everything in my life just feel so much better. My inner child just wants to feel that again. But seeing another man sheing her in my head with someone else every time is super hard to control my reactions to my emotions. Some days i take it really well and some days i do not. This weekend was good i heard about them not going well and parts of me was very sad Tam was sad but there was a part of happy i can really be there for her. I wish i could be there and fill those holes of intimacy and connecitons. I miss our long talks and time to connect and just being with each other energy. I know her energy is crazy and overwhelming but man do i love it.  Today i was thinking about how my aunt mnust have felt when she found my uncle and my heart just sank. First thing i thought about was my wife and how much i wanted to just find her and hug her and never let her go. I am very grateful for my children and health and to still have Tam in my life. I rather have her this way currently than not at all but i rather have to fully then the way it is now. 

Tonight i really didnt want to be alone. I can’t believe my Chu Cuong is gone. I was helping co Gaio and Claudia move his cold body and helped them put clothes on him and it was so heartbreaking. I keep thinking about when it will be my dads time. I am hoping it will be another 20 years or more. I thought about how he won’t see his grand children and Andrew and Claudia kids won’t have a grandpa. I remember standing there for a min I closed my eyes and send him some early vibes and just wish his soul was in peace. I watched all American tonight and the killed off coach baker and it ended so sad. If is so crazy and am I wrong to have my thoughts be the one controlling me? My emotions are all over the place and I think I just want to be happy and feel what I am missing and instead I am here having to deal with my own reality that is also something I am not happy with but trying to fix and make better. I wanted to just sit and do some card readings and talk about how life is going. I wanted to go deep into my body and express everything i am feeling. I asked her if she was ok with that and she said that Alex was waiting for her to talk more and something inside just sank. All the things i wanted to say and talk about just got filled with negative thoughts and it was so hard to shake. Then she gave me a real hug and holy shit my body felt electrocuted. I felt so much energy and love and the way she smelled omg i miss that so much. I want that so much. I just want to be hugged and held and loved. I want to give that hug and love and at the same time feel it back so much. I swore she felt something also but that might just be me wishing. What i want now is just my best friend my soulmate my wife to just be around me in silence or to talk its all i want is that to much to ask for? 

Some days my adult self just wants to stop loving her so much because it would just be easier. It would just be easier to not love. I think thats why people are so scared to be in love. Because to be in love you have to worry about what it feels like to lose that love. But each time i close my eyes and ask my body and then o follow my heart and it opens up this part of me that is full of love and happiness and hope and all the good things that i have in life. Love really is freedom. Freedom to feel everything all the good and the bad because love is not just rainbow and butterflies it also dark times and flawed times and there is only one constant and thats the person you choose ti feel everything with. The person you first think of when something good or bad happens. The person that you know just make everything ok and better in life. One day maybe that person will not be TAM for me but i dont want it to not be her. I love taking care of her when she is sad and sick and doing bad. I just also want to be with her when things are good and happy and amazing. I dont even know what i am writiing these are just all thoughts in my head that are driving me crazy. 

I have charlie here and i think he loves me too. 

I think I really wanted tam here so I didn’t have to think these thoughts. I figured if she was here next to me I could sleep better and less sad and depressed. I know it’s temporary but I just need that. I need a bandaid after a day like today. I wanted to be present and talk and avoiding writing what I am writing because I’d I don’t write it then I’m not really feeling or thinking this. The things in my head drives me crazy. My therapist says I need to acknowledge them and go easy on myself and don’t judge myself but it’s really hard.

Tam is with Alex now and its hard to not think about how they are together. And how i wish she was here with me doing the things i think she is doing with him but with me instead. I cant sleep i cant think straight it hurts so much. I get to be here taking care of kids of our old house and she is out there with another man doing exactly what i wish i could be doing with her. I know these are thoughts just in my head and i know she is happy and doing her own thing and these are things i do not control . I always knwo i control my own thoughts and how i feel and what i do. Each day each time this is what happens. I so hard and today with the death of my uncle and the bad news. It just not what i want to be thinking about. Its also Valentines days one of my fav holidays thats suppose to be full of love and happiness but today i feel like its not. I know she came over because there i part of her that still loves me and i love that it still there but is it wrong to want more?is it wrong to wanna give more and be more and wish for more? I am so tired of this process but i know if i want it in the end i have to be strong and i have to be resilient and i have to prove to her i wont give up. I am rebuilding the foundation of this from the rubble that i have caused it to be and i am not ready to give up no matter how hurt and how hard and how much pain i feel. Some days i feel the light and some days i dont but i need to concentrate on the light and not the dark and its the only way i get through to myself. Tonight i feel very depressed and alone and sad . and all i want is to be held and said told eveting will be good and you will be able to fix things. You will get all you want again just dont give up. 

I am not going to give up on ME. i am not going to give up on our Children. I am not going to give up on Tam . and i will make this life better again for everyone. 

Tonight i lay here with so many emotions but i am tring my hardest to concentrate on the HOPE that today was meant to happen the way it did so that later it will be better. I have to believe that else i would just want to not live anymore. I have to live for what i am going to manifest. 

I can stop thinking about how She smells. It was by far the best part of the day. 

Til next time,

-Henry

[erodasfishtacos]

The Brits Dilemma

” Prompt: Harry & Y/N go to the Brits. It’s the first time they’ve been away from their baby. Y/N is struggling but doesn’t want to ruin the night for her husband.

Word Count: 1.8 k +

Warnings: Depictions of breastfeeding

+++++++

The award show was going well. It was the first time Y/N had been out in nearly three months besides a few brunch dates and grocery shopping.

Usually, she was pretty confident in what she wore to accompany her husband to all of these flashy events - but not tonight.

Her bump had deflated but she was still attempting to get rid of the stubborn pouch that stayed after the baby had been born. It wasn’t anything out of the norm - just still trying to lose it.

She was breastfeeding and her breasts were much larger than before. They felt heavy and too big for her body. Not to mention, they were constantly swollen and achey. Pads were a must so she doesn’t leak through the tight satin black dress.

The dress was a beautiful custom design by Gucci that complimented Harry’s sharp suit but nothing felt right. It was digging into her sides and made it hard for her to sit on her chair.

The Brits were held in the O2 Arena which wasn’t very far from their London home but she felt like she was lightyears away from her baby. Even though she knew Sasha was in good hands with Anne.

Y/N was so proud of Harry for being up for five - yes, five different awards. It was a record for him and she didn’t want to let him down by complaining. It was his night. He’s been such a devote father - he deserved a break too.

So she swallowed down the anxiety she was feeling about being away from their little newborn for the night along with her worries about her changing body.

There was milling about between the tables before the show got started. Harry had people coming up him constantly - congratulating him on the album, the nominations, the baby.

Married life and fatherhood suited him well. A dazzling wedding band on his left ring finger, a necklace with an S for his daughter, along with her name freshly inked on right above his butterfly tattoo.

The open jacket he wore with is his barely buttoned dress shirt displayed it proudly. It was beautiful, done delicately in a timeless cursive. The font match his wife name that was tattooed on his hand.

He couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t excited to have a night out with his wife. He had Jeff booked a hotel for the night to have some alone time with you while his mum got to enjoy a night with her only grandchild.

Y/N was counting down the hours up until tomorrow when she could go home to see her baby. She should really tell Harry that she wants to go home and not out to a club and the hotel.

But the it just slowly starts to deteriorate further when a bald, plump business exec comes to greet the two of you. He gives his warm wishes about the birth of your child before smiling at Y/N and stating, “The baby weight will come off soon enough.”

Her throat closes up a bit and she self-consciously tries to push her chair closer to the table. It was the last thing that she needed to hear. Confirming all of her worst insecurities.

Harry glares at the man before turning to his wife, “Hey, you look s’perfect, my love. I’m so bloody lucky you’re mine.”

He’s truly trying his hardest to bring a smile to her face but he notices it’s never quite meeting her eyes. 

It get even worse when Harry gets his first award, male solo artist of the year. 

As she’s standing and clapping for him - she realizes she’s beginning to leak through her nipple inserts.

Y/N excuses herself in the middle of his acceptance speech to rush through the string of tables - out into the corridor. The last thing she wanted to do was for it to show up on a very expensive dress.

The echo of his voice can still be heard, “Love to thank my beautiful wife who makes writing sappy love songs easy and was the main inspiration for my recent album. She also just gave birth to our beautiful baby.....”

She feels awful when she tunes him out, finding the bathroom and hurriedly rushing in. There’s a gorgeous woman standing at the sink, washing their hands. 

Fucking Taylor Swift.

Any other time it’d be awkward and uncomfortable - running into an ex who wrote multiple songs about her husband.

But she couldn’t careless right now, “Hi, erm, this is really weird but could you unzip my dress? I’m leaking and - shit that was way too much information.”

But Taylor smiles kindly, “No! It’s okay, totally. No worries. Congratulations on your baby - you look so hot tonight.”

Y/N laughs and thanks her for unzipping the dress before going into a stall and locking the door. She slides her bra straps off her shoulders and disposes of the soaked pad in the sanitary bin.

Luckily, she has a clean burp rag that she gently swipes at her breast - wincing as it brushes against her swollen nipples. Even the soft fabric felt too rough on them.

It’s a minute or two before the bathroom door swings open, “Y/N? Lovie? Are you in ‘ere?”

She feels guilt at the panic in his voice. Managing to croak out, “I’m in here,” before leaning forward to unlock the door.

Harry waste no time in sliding into the stall before latching the lock again. Taking in the sight of his wife in front of him.

“I-I started leaking, M’sorry,” Y/N whispers, she has no reason to feel embarrassed but she is. “I missed your speech.”

“None of that, baby. I’ll give more speeches for you to hear - I only care that you’re okay. I’m sorry y’leakin, lemme help you, pet.”

In true Harry fashion, he takes the rag and turns on the sink - running it under warm water before carefully cleaning his wife up.

“Are they botherin’ you? They look irritated and super swollen, darling,” Harry frowns, a very gentle thumb coming to brush against her nipple. Then cupping her swollen breast in his hand, thumb rubbing at the pink skin.

“Just a little bit,” She lies, they’re absolutely on fire with chafing and skin irritation from the bra she’s wearing. She never thought she’d miss her nursing bras and sports bras this much.

He nods and helps place new inserts in her bra. Who’d think this is what Harry would be doing between accepting awards. Everyone unassuming in the arena.

**

Harry has been four for four thus far into the ceremony. They’d only had him go up and give two acceptance speeches. His hand firmly planted on his wife’s thigh throughout. 

When he went up for his second award, the camera zooms in and the crowd coos are he plants a kiss on his wife’s lips before pulling her into a hug - whispering something into her ear the audience can’t hear.

He was much more focused on his wife. He could read her fairly well - he’d like to think. Enough to know she’s having much fun. But he didn’t want to bring it up and make her feel bad.

Harry sees the way she keeps adjusting her bra, fidgets with his rings when his hands in his lap, and not even really looking up while one of her favorite artist - Dua Lipa -performs.

Y/N loved a good party before the baby. So Harry was hoping going to the Brits afterparty would make her feel better and then going back to their hotel room for a some alone time.

**

Y/N has been increasingly quiet when they’re exiting the arena after the final award artist of the year - which Harry had also won.

He was on cloud nine and admittedly a little distracted as he joked and laughed with a small group of friends on the way out. 

“Alright, should we all just pile into a cab for the ride to the party?” Nick Grimshaw asks everyone.

Everyone is in agreement - including Harry -as he calls to order one - standing in the blocked off area away from fans and paparazzi.

Y/N wants to tell him she wants to go home to Sasha but when she hears him say, “Can’t wait to get to Exhibit - haven’t been there in forever. One of my favorite clubs.”

She bites her tongue. Harry is enjoying his night out - why can’t she?

In the taxi, she’s sat on Harry’s lap as they make their way to the club. His one hand is on her inner thigh and the other is on her waist holding her steady.

In the morning, she’ll blame her post-partum hormones and anxiety. But she doesn’t even realizing her eyes are filling with tears and when she blinks they spill down her face.

She wouldn’t feel as embarrassed if she wasn’t in the car full of literal celebrities who are filled with adrenaline and excitement. Chattering and drinking from little liquor bottles they’d snuck in their jackets and clutches.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Rita Ora asks from her seat - noticing the streaks ruining your makeup.

She nods pathetically, wiping at her eyes but Harry is turning her to face him. His bright green eyes filled with concern as he studies her face.

The previously very obnoxiously loud cab becomes silent as they try to give the couple a semblance of non-existent privacy.

“What’s happening, dove? Are you hurting?” Harry panics, coming to wipe the smeared makeup away.

“I don’t want to go to the club,” Y/N sniffles, squeezing her eyes shut at how embarrassed she is of her behavior. She would usually never act this way - especially in public. And Harry knows that so it makes him even more concerned.

“That’s okay, pet. We can go have a night in, when the cab stops - we can uber back to the hotel,” Harry soothes, surprised when that brings on fresh tears.

“N-no, I want to go home. I miss the baby, I want to- need to see our baby. I-I can’t do this. My anxiety is through the roof, Harry. What if she can’t sleep? Or isn’t taking the bottle?”

“Baby, breathe, breathe. We can go home. I miss the bub terribly too. Have been worried about her all night.”

Harry tugs his wife into his chest further - tucking her head into his neck as he shoots his friends grateful looks. They all nod, sympathetic and understanding - despite them not having kids of their own.

**

“I ruined your night,” Y/N says softly in the back of the uber home. “I leaked during the show; cried in front of all your friends.”

Harry takes her chin gentle but firm until she meets his gaze, “You didn’t ruin anything f’me. All I care about is you and the baby - not some stupid award ceremony or party.”

He continues on, “You just gave us Sasha three months ago - y’bloody amazing. Best mum, best wife. Sexiest too - know you don’t think that right now but your body literally grew my baby. I get a hard-on everytime I see you.”

They both laugh, Y/N leaning forward to capture her husbands lips in a meaningful kiss of gratitude and thanks.

**

Anne smiles kindly when the two of them arrive home. A very fussy, red-faced swaddled baby coddled in her arms. 

“She hasn’t settled for quite a while now - she missed her parents very much,” Harry’s mum tells them, transferring her into her father’s arms. He’s automatically rocking and running his thumb over her cheek.

“Ooh, we missed you. Was Nana nice to you?” Harry coos. Sasha has already quieted and is blinking tearfully up at her smiling father.

“Such a good girl, best girl,” Y/N sighs, leaning in to kiss her downy hair. Harry’s hand coming to wrap around his wife’s waist as they peer down at their perfect little daughter.

Anne smiles at his son and daughter-in-law fawning over their little creation with so much love and adoration.

After a minute of chatting -Harry’s mum makes her way up to the guest room after a long night with a miserable baby. They make their way to their room where Y/N strips out of her tight dress and awful bra. 

She sits against the headboard in just a pair of soft cotton panties. Harry is gently shushing her and humming a melody as his wife gets situated. He knew she was anxious to feed the baby.

“That’s it my sweet thing. Y’missed us, hm? We missed you too, bub. Nana said y’wouldn’t take the bottle. Only want your mumma, hmm?” Harry coos, kissing her chubby cheeks.

He’s then giving Y/N the baby, who ferociously latching within seconds and begins eating like she’d been starved for the last week. Making weak little rumbles as she does so.

They both giggle fondly, Y/Ns fingers come to touch her fluttering cheek - memorizing her over and over again.

Harry gets onto the bed and settles next to the both of them. Watching his baby feed in amazement at what his wife was capable of. He smears a few kisses against her bare shoulder - hand on his baby’s back.

How strong she was - as he knew it had to be at least a little bit painful with how irritated her nipples had been. He can tell when she winces every once in a while.

He plants a few more kisses to her warm skin - noticing her eyes getting a bit droopy as Sasha feeds at a slow, suckling pace.

“If I’m being honest, being with you - watching you feed our baby...I’d rather be here than at any club.” 

Y/N snorts, rolling her eyes, “Sure.”

Her husband frowns, “M’serious, this is all I need, baby.”

“I love you, congratulation on all your Brits,” Y/N murmurs, pecking at his lips.

“I love you too. I meant it, during my speeches. I wouldn’t have been able to write those songs if you hadn’t inspired me. You’ll and the bab will always be the best muse.”