#metal painting services near me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shesjustanothergeek · 13 days ago

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Thirty-Five

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hello everyone! There's nothing like an update six months later... I appreciate everyone's kind words and patience regarding the writer's block I was dealing with. I tried many things to help me get out of that funk, but nothing worked. Until one day, I was like, "You know what? I'm just going to write," and here we are! I hope you enjoy this chapter. We're slowly inching closer to the grand finale!

A sense of weightiness hung within the Tower of the Hand. Queen Alicent, her loyal protector, and the Lord Hand were seated in the softly illuminated chamber as the afternoon sun filtered through the leaded glass windows. The Queen absentmindedly picked at her fingers, her restless body betraying her unease, while her eyes flitted anxiously around the room. An unexpected sound finally shattered the oppressive silence, prompting all present to turn their gaze towards the speaker.

"This is but a temporary visit. We must encourage Prince Daemon to take the Princess back to Dragonstone as soon as possible," Otto Hightower said, two sets of brown eyes focused on him as he stroked his course beard. "You have done well, Alicent, but you must know this solution is not long-term. Fear and respect go far until there is someone who inspires more."

His daughter responded with a silent nod, her full lips forming a slight frown as her attention shifted back to her fingers.

"He must not discover her relations with Aegon nor the fruit of it. Not only would it be an insult to our House but to the realm, duty, and the Gods," Otto declared, the metal lapel of the Hand shining in the daylight.

"I understand," the Queen answered as Ser Criston followed suit, offering his services to guard your chambers and lend another helpful eye.

Daemon would find himself in a predicament where he had no choice but to yield to their demands, as refusing would paint him as a traitor. The group was committed to ensuring Daemon was nowhere near them should the Stranger decide to claim a soul. If it meant casting the Rogue Prince in the light of an overly protective, perhaps irrational, father, they believed it to be justified by the divine will of the Seven.

After your father's tears had long dried and you were in the deepest depths of sleep, he stood on numb limbs. He no longer desired to be alone with his thoughts, feeling weak for having broken down in the presence of another man. He did not know when you would awake as your snores carried off into mid-day, so sound asleep that not even the mournful songs of your dragon woke you.

Daemon's eyes never left the cut on your temple nor the bruise beside it that bloomed. It stirred an uneasy feeling in his gut, mind reeling into conclusions and connections to things as Ser Criston Cole posted at the exit, his presence an ever-watchful eye for his Queen. The knight irked Daemon from when he was forced to yield against the Dornish man all those decades ago at a tourney for the deceased Prince Baelon. He had let things go seeing as Criston was Rhaenyra's protector and that he knew his niece's genuine desire was her uncle, but as the years went by, the man grew more insufferable, practically sucking on the Queen's teats wherever he went.

It was no coincidence that the White Cloak was here now instead of Ser Arryk, the man you chose to be your sworn shield. As Daemon studied the contents of your room, the dust on your bookshelves, the mended garments thrown on your chairs, and the overflowing ash lying in the fireplace, he could guarantee that none of your servants, whether it be knight or maid, had been allowed to do their duty for quite some time. The only people Daemon had seen in your chambers since he arrived were Maester Orwyle and Cole.

"May I ask, Ser Criston?" Daemon announced, breaking the silence as his violet eyes left your listless form and strolled away from the bed, "where is my daughter's knight?"

Criston straightened his posture, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as his dark eyes bore into light ones. "He's been punished for failure of duty. Ser Arryk allowed the Princess to be maimed under his watch and must suffer the consequences of such an offense."

"I see," your father hummed, leaning his hip to the side as he examined the unforgiving nature of this man. "And that of her maids? Jeyne and Fiora, if I remember correctly."

Ser Criston's face was impassive, leaving nothing but a stone slate as he swallowed. "The Hand deemed those of highest suspicion to be kept away from her Highness," he answered.

"Is that so?" Daemon sneered, brows raised in disbelief. "Bedmaids and knights are the only suspects?" Criston gave no reply, silver armor glinting in the daylight peeking from your curtains. "Otto Hightower is as useless as he's always been. Where are her maids now, then? In the cells being interrogated, I presume."

"No, my Prince," Criston answered without emotion. It seemed as if the knight did not care whether a member of the royal family died so long as it was not one of Alicent's. This infuriated Daemon beyond measure. The impulse to commit violence that haunted him itched to be free, and his fingers curled into fists to keep it at bay.

If he so wished, he could bash Criston's face as he did to the squire friend of Laenor Velaryon the night of his wedding feast. No consequences were divided out then, so what was stopping your father from doing the same now? He heard your quiet moan then, a soft sound of one in a dreamy sleep they could not wake from, and reminded himself of the cost.

Daemon was more pragmatic than people allowed themselves to believe. He did not always desire bloodshed, though the lust for it existed. He recalled your letter then, remembering how he clung to every scrawl of ink as if it were to be the last you would write. The previous correspondence you had echoed in his head. The prose was much more upbeat, as if you were speaking to Daemon in person instead of through parchment. It mentioned the bright outlook for the future and how you could feel that Rhaenyra's succession would not be as troublesome as your father worried it would be. If Daemon had put your trust in him and your faith, all would be well.

Several lines echoed in his mind, seeing the High Valyrian as if it were in front of him again atop his writing desk illuminated by the glow of melting candles.

"Aegon has no desire to rule, nor does he think he is fit. He loves his mother and is sympathetic to the path ahead of her, but one can never be sure. However, I believe that Aegon is, at the very least, more sympathetic to me."

Daemon felt a smirk stretching his thin pink lips. Perhaps he should visit the drunken Prince.

"Let us round the maids up then, question them, and if they do not cooperate, leave them to the Lord Confessor," the Prince demanded, leaving no room for counterarguments.

Criston visibly balked at the idea, his stony visage turning white as snow, but he swiftly recovered. He bowed his head and whispered, "As you wish." Then he stalked off to inform the Queen and the Hand of the new progression.

Daemon would not be played a fool in his own home. He knew your maids would never try such a thing. They were chosen by the Rogue Prince himself before you arrived at the Red Keep. He could not allow just any person into a place where valuable information would be provided, so he tasked his previous mistress, Lady Misery, as she was now called, to find the most trustworthy servants for your service, to care and protect where he could not.

But even then, that was not enough. Daemon pulled strings, whispered honeyed words into people's ears, and made handsome payments, but still, it did nothing. He had never felt so powerless, inadequate, or inept as a new wave of shame washed over him.

He decided he would speak to Aegon, though he felt conversing with such a wastrel was below his worth. Daemon would stop at nothing. He would walk through the trenches in the Stepstones, bribe and steal, even marry his Bronze Bitch again, so long as it meant that you were safe and well back in his arms.

The castle's corridors were dimly lit in the early dawn, shadows stretching long and thin as Prince Daemon Targaryen paced outside his daughter's chamber. The scent of bitter herbs and smoke wafted from within, where the maester worked to keep the girl from slipping further into a restless sleep. A near-silent rage simmered within Daemon. His daughter's pallid face and the shallow rise and fall of her chest were enough to make him thirst for blood. But vengeance required clarity, and he needed answers first.

He turned sharply toward the two maids whom his guard had summoned. They stood quietly, trying to mask their worry under the Prince's intense scrutiny. These two had attended her, he thought, his gaze narrowing. He suspected them both, or at least wanted to, for they were the last to have touched his daughter's food, and every fiber in him sought to lash out.

Jeyne, with her silver-streaked hair, moldered her chin high as she looked back at Daemon with an unwavering gaze. Years of service to House Targaryen hardened her demeanor, giving her the poise of a knight facing a charging army. Fiora was pale and trembling, her fingers fumbling with the edge of her yellowed apron as she sniffled. Daemon's stare pierced her, and she seemed ready to bolt had Jeyne not placed a steadying hand on her arm.

"Who did this?" Daemon demanded, his voice a blade of cold steel slicing through the silence. He did not flout around words or purposes in favor of courtly manners.

Jeyne's expression remained resolute. "Not us, my Prince. We have served the young Princess faithfully. We would have warned someone if we thought her drink was tainted."

Daemon took a step closer, his tone dark. "And yet she is lying there, fighting for her life. She did not miraculously become ill. She was poisoned." Fiora flinched at Daemon's cold stare, hands clasped at his waist. Jeyne tightened her hand on Fiora's crimson sleeve.

"My prince," Jeyne said carefully. "We would never harm her. Young Fiora brought her fresh water and some fruits before she dismissed us that evening, nothing more."

He studied them both, searching for a flicker of guilt, the shift of eyes, but there was only worry and steadfast resolve. He could tell the older woman was offended by his accusation, but she held her tongue, deferring to him without wavering from her conviction.

"Why should I believe you?" Daemon asked, softer this time but no less menacing. "These Green cunts have placed staff sympathetic to their ambitions."

Jeyne's voice flowed calmly through the air, a soothing melody amidst the charged silence surrounding them. She leaned slightly closer to her fellow maid, her expression softening with empathy. "Because we love her too, my prince," she said, her words imbued with a deep sincerity. "She holds a place in my heart as dear as family."

Her gaze shifted toward Fiora, whose face streaked with tears that glistened like crystal in the dim light, revealing a raw vulnerability beneath her frightened exterior. Each gentle quiver of Fiora's lips betrayed her fear, and Jeyne couldn't help but feel a pang of protective instinct rise within her.

"And I know this girl," Jeyne added, her voice still steady but now laced with urgency, "is far too terrified to lie to you." She took a breath, feeling the weight of the moment. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she witnessed Fiora's anguish. The air felt thick with emotion, and Jeyne hoped her conviction would reach him, bridging the divide between fear and trust.

"Her Highness has a kind soul that is rare to find. I would gladly have my life taken instead of hers," Fiora expressed with a tremble, yet an unwavering conviction laced her tone.

Daemon narrowed his purple eyes, his anger dimming as his tactical mind began to turn. They spoke plainly, unafraid to meet his gaze when the time came. The poison was efficient, the kind that took mere moments to weaken a body and soul. No maid would have easy access to something deadly, nor the knowledge. His suspicion was confirmed without a doubt that the assailant was those with means, resources, and motives.

Jeyne inclined her head, inhaling an offensive breath as she prepared for Daemon's wrath at her following words. "My prince, we would never harm her. I swear it on my honor. But... there is something you should know." She glanced at Fiora, silently urging her to speak.

Fiora flinched under Daemon's scrutiny but nodded, her voice trembling as she began. "It-it was the Queen, my prince. Queen Alicent herself. She ordered the Maester to keep the Princess on the Milk of the Poppy."

Daemon's grip tightened on his sword, the veins in his hand standing out starkly against his pale skin. "Why?" he demanded, his tone like the low growl of an approaching storm.

Jeyne's expression was resolute, but a flicker of regret crossed her face as she answered. "To keep her quiet, my prince. The Princess was... accusing her majesty. Speaking of things that might have implicated the Queen. That this is what her grace wanted because she had ordered her to leave King's Landing."

Fiora sniffled, tears spilling down her freckled cheeks. "I didn't understand at first, my prince, but now I do. The Queen didn't want her to speak. That's why they gave her the milk."

Daemon's gaze darkened, his fury palpable as he stepped closer, looming over the maids like a dragon preparing to strike. "And yet you said nothing. You let them silence her under my House's roof."

Jeyne held her ground though the faintest hint of guilt shadowed her features. "We did not know the full extent until now, my prince. We are but servants. To speak against the Queen without proof..." She shook her head. "It would have been our heads."

Fiora sobbed softly, her voice breaking. "I only wanted to help her, my prince. I swear. I... I didn't know."

Daemon exhaled slowly, a heavy cloud of tension escaping his lips. The fury within him ignited like embers in a dying fire yet restrained from erupting. He scrutinized the two before him, his piercing gaze probing for any hint of betrayal, only to find a stark absence of dishonesty in their expressions. The fear etched on their faces was palpable, mingling with a deep, sincere remorse that hung like a thick fog.

"Jeyne," he said, his voice low and menacing, "if you value your life, you will do as I command. From this moment forward, you will watch the Queen. Every word she speaks, every order she gives. I want to know what she plans before she does."

Jeyne nodded solemnly, her expression unwavering as she searched Fiora's eyes for reassurance. The weight of her decision pressed heavily on her shoulders, but determination ignited within her. "You have my unwavering loyalty, my prince," she declared, her voice steady and resolute. "We will carry out whatever must be done."

"And you," Daemon said, glaring at Fiora, "stop sniveling. You will do the same if you wish to atone for your cowardice. Serve her, but serve me first."

Fiora pressed the rough fabric of her apron against her eyes, desperately trying to stem the tears that blurred her vision. Her heart raced as she nodded vigorously, her voice trembling with emotion. "Y-yes, my prince. I would do anything for the Princess," she declared, determination shining through her sorrow.

Daemon's lips curled into a grim smile, stiff shoulders slightly relaxing. "Good. If either of you falters, I will ensure you pay the price."

The maids nodded in unison, their faces pale but determined. As Daemon turned back to his daughter, his expression softened, though his fury simmered beneath the surface. He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his heart aching at your vulnerability.

"Rest, little dragon," he murmured. "They will not harm you again."

Behind him, Jeyne and Fiora exchanged glances, understanding the weight of the task ahead. As Daemon exited the room, his steps purposeful and deadly, they knew the storm was far from over. The Queen's court would soon feel the wrath of a father scorned. In the coming days, Jeyne and Fiora would do their duties with quiet diligence, and their loyalty was divided between the Queen and Prince. Jeyne's sharp eyes would note every whispered conversation and carefully hidden glance. The more the maids observed that day, the more they noticed Queen Alicent's face, so often painted with politeness, seemed to crack at the edges whenever he looked at their Princess lying in her sickbed, nails bit down to the quick.

The servants' vigilance would become Daemon's advantage. They would watch the shadows where betrayers might lurk while he stood ready to bring the fight to those who dared threaten his blood.

Aegon stood within the hallowed confines of the Sept of Baelor, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily upon him. His back leaned against the cold, wax-covered altar, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. The air was thick with the aromatic blend of frankincense and myrrh, a bittersweet scent that wrapped around him like a shroud, stirring cherished and painful memories. In this sacred space, he often sought refuge in times of turmoil, a jug of rich Arbor Red clutched tightly in his hand, its crimson hue reflecting his troubled thoughts.

The familiar embrace of the Sept's walls surrounded him as he felt an emptiness beyond physical solitude. He wasn't searching for solace from the deities said to dwell in these ancient stones. Instead, he pondered the lingering influence of his mother, whose shadow seemed to loom more prominent with each passing moment.

The Prince's sworn protector had left him to his own devices as he often did, yet keeping a close eye on things should the need for Erryk's presence arise. There was no point in shepherding Aegon, that much the knight knew after years of service.

Aegon was alone with his thoughts as the hours ticked and the sun lowered over the horizon.

Was his life not built on foundations that would surely crumble? Living a life of poorly planned architecture built by arrogance next to a rising tide that would sweep it away should the sea decide to do so. Often, Aegon wished that the waves would swallow him whole, take him out into the vast ocean, and let him sink deeper and deeper into the depths until he felt the brine on his tongue and salt burning his lungs. And just when he felt the urge to swim, to not succumb to the cold and murky waters below, the same people who sculpted his being called the waves to rise.

Numbing the relentless ache that gnawed at him was his sole refuge, the only path to liberating himself from the suffocating weight of his despair. Whether it provided a fleeting respite or the promise of eternal silence, it was a desperate grasp at freedom from the torment that consumed him.

Aegon remained blissfully ignorant of the muted echoes of finely tailored boots trudging through the wet sand, his senses dulled by the relentless tide that filled his water-logged ears. Towering above him was Daemon, his posture exuding a quiet authority, an arched brow hinting at both curiosity and disdain as he surveyed the disheveled state of the drunken Prince sprawled carelessly on the shore.

"Get up," the Rogue Prince commanded, kicking his leather shoe into Aegon's thigh.

The Prince groaned in response but refused to move, slightly adjusting his reclined position.

Daemon heaved a sigh, the weight of nostalgia pressing down on him. He reminisced about countless nights lost in a haze of drunkenness, where the world around him faded away like the flickering candlelight in a dimly lit tavern. Memories of his days spent lurking in the shadowy presence of Otto Hightower and the haunting specters of deceased children lingered sharp in his mind, a constant reminder of his perceived failings. The sting of being overlooked by his niece gnawed at him, a wound that never truly healed. In his search for solace, he turned to the embrace of women and the warm allure of fine wine, crutches passed down through the generations, a familiar way of coping with the burdens that weighed so heavily on his soul.

The Rogue Prince had little patience for the feeble-minded and cowardly. In a moment of reckless inspiration, he seized one of the flickering candles from the altar, its flame dancing wildly in the dim light. With a deliberate tilt, he allowed the molten wax to spill forth, a glistening stream of warmth cascading down onto Aegon's forehead.

The Prince's body reacted instinctively and jolted, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as the searing liquid made contact. Swiftly, he raised a hand, frantically wiping away the viscous substance before it could burn him further, leaving behind a shimmering wax glistening in the muted glow of the altar.

"Wha-" he stammered, violet eyes bleary.

"Get up."

Aegon continued to stutter, his head filled with cotton as he swatted at his imaginary foe. Daemon thought it amusing yet pathetic to see his brother's eldest son, whom everyone whispered about becoming king, reduced to a blubbering mess.

"Get up, you wastrel," the Rogue Prince commanded, his voice a mix of irritation and authority.

He did not give his nephew a chance to respond or make an attempt to rise. Instead, with a swift motion, he seized the collar of the young man's tunic, yanking him upward with a firm grip that betrayed both frustration and resolve.

Groaning in discomfort and annoyance, Aegon stood on unsteady legs, using his uncle's weight to stay upright. "What? Have you got more wine for me?"

Daemon rolled his iridescent purple eyes, a gesture filled with disdain as he forcefully shoved Aegon against the cold, stone altar. The impact sent a few flickering candles toppling over, their flames sputtering and extinguishing in a puff of smoke.

"You're utterly pathetic," Daemon declared, his voice dripping with contempt as he released his grip, leaving Aegon gasping for breath. "I cannot fathom why my daughter would ever find fondness in someone like you."

Aegon's swirling mind focused on his uncle's words, tilting his head to clear his blurry vision at the notion of you. He blinked, the words slow to make sense in his clouded mind. He was still drunk, still floating in a haze of self-loathing and wine, but there was something about Daemon's tone that cut through the fog. The mention of you... It lingered in the air like a physical presence, a sharp, biting reminder of the past days.

Aegon's hand went instinctively to his forehead, wiping away the remnants of hot wax that had burned him just moments before. He could feel the sting, but it was nothing compared to the sensation in his chest—the twisting, gnawing ache that had settled there since he had last seen you, injured and silent.

"Your daughter?" Aegon repeated, his voice slurred but with a strange acerbity beneath it. He forced himself to stand straighter despite his swaying body. "Why do you care? You left her in the viper's den to get bit, and now she has."

Daemon's lips curled into a sneer, eyes narrowing with that sharp, calculating look that had made him both feared and revered. "You know who did this?" he shot back, his voice low and venomous. The Prince was silent, a brief war of loyalty and honor raging inside his mind. "Do not fool yourself into thinking you can hide behind your wine and self-pity, Aegon. If you truly cared about her, you wouldn't be here, drunk and useless. You'd be at her side, ensuring she's safe and her assailants are brought the sword."

Aegon's heart skipped a beat, the words slicing through him like a dagger, sharper than the pain of the wax on his skin. He tried to swallow the bitter lump in his throat, but it stuck there, choking him.

"I didn't know," Aegon muttered, almost pleading as if he needed to convince himself as much as Daemon. "I didn't know what happened... I didn't know she was in danger." He winced at the admission, though his voice was thick with guilt. "How could I have known? How could I-"

"You should have known." Daemon's voice was as cold as the stone beneath their feet, his words brutally cutting off Aegon's excuses. "You're the one who's supposed to protect her, aren't you? You love her, after all. Yet you failed her when she needed you most."

Aegon's chest tightened at the notion that you had told Daemon of your secret vows, his throat constricting with the weight of his uncle's words. The guilt that had always gnawed at the back of his mind, the feeling of being a deficient imitation of the strong eldest son, a poor excuse for a man, overwhelmed him, threatening to drown him in its suffocating grip.

Daemon observed him, his gaze unwavering. "You think I do not know what it's like to be trapped in a world of expectations and failure?" he continued, his voice softer now but still edged with a quiet fury. "I have walked that path. I've suffered for it but never let it weaken me. And neither should you."

Aegon's hands tightened into fists, the tips of his nails pressing painfully into his palms, each pulse of agony sending a jolt through his senses. He stood there, frozen, grappling with the weight of his thoughts, unable to articulate the turmoil inside him. Every misstep, every moment of indecision chained him to this place, facing Daemon, the man who was meant to be family, yet felt like an unsettling specter from a distant past. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, a stark reminder of the chasm that grew between family.

"Tell me what I'm supposed to do," Aegon finally whispered, the words hanging between them like a fragile plea. "Tell me how to fix this... before it's too late."

For a long moment, Daemon said nothing. He studied Aegon with that piercing gaze of his, the kind that made even the bravest men falter. Then, with a soft snort of derision, he stepped back, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"There's no simple answer, Aegon," Daemon said, his voice laced with a bitter edge. "You can't undo the past and erase your mistakes with a few words. But you can do something. You can be something more than a drunken waste of space hiding behind the throne your mother wants you on."

Aegon felt a lump rise in his throat, the enormity of Daemon's words bearing down on him as if he were trapped beneath a heavy weight.

"But I'm not like you," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with a flicker of resentment that colored his tone. A shadow crossed his face as he struggled to articulate the profound loss, tears glistening on his porcelain cheeks. "I don't possess your force." He paused, his gaze drifting to the ground as the memory surged. "She was carrying our child," Aegon added, pain lacing his words, "but it... it didn't survive," Aegon's voice faltered, and he grasped for the courage that seemed to elude him.

Daemon's heart plummeted like a stone at the weight of the revelation, each word cutting through him with a searing clarity that left him breathless. Anger bubbled within him at the thought of you and Aegon, reckless in your union, seemingly unaware of the consequences that loomed over such a decision. Yet, alongside that rage, a deeper, more profound sorrow enveloped him, tugging at his very soul as he thought of his child. The anguish of your loss struck him hard; the pain of a mother who had endured the shadows of childbirth only to mourn a child stolen away too soon—a tragedy that claimed the lives of many women who faced such grief.

This took him back through the corridors of his mind to the haunting memories of his late wife and mother, lives extinguished too early. An unsettling question gnawed at his heart, one that had plagued his mind for decades. Was it his fate, cursed and unyielding, for the women he loved to endure suffering and despair in the birthing bed? The thought twisted like a dagger in his chest, leaving him to grapple with the weight of his legacy and the maternal heartache that seemed inextricably woven into it.

"No one is born with strength, Aegon," Daemon declared, his voice sharp. "Strength is something you earn by facing the things you're afraid of, by doing the things no one else will do. I did not get where I was by sitting around waiting to follow orders. And neither will you."

Aegon looked at his uncle, the silence stretching between them, filled with an uncomfortable tension. His uncle's eyes were colder now, harder, like the steel of his sword.

"I don't have the luxury of time, and neither does she," Daemon continued, his voice quieter but no less intense. "So listen well, Aegon. You may not be ready to defy your family, but you will if you love her like she claims."

Aegon swallowed, the weight of Daemon's words sinking in, pressing down on his chest until it felt like he could hardly breathe. But there was something else there, too, something more profound than anger or resentment. There was a strange, unspoken understanding, an acknowledgment that neither was truly free from their past and mistakes.

And in that silence, Daemon's voice softened, though still edged with a hard truth. "You want to fix this?" he asked. "Then start by bringing those to justice."

Aegon felt the weight of those words, of the expectation in his uncle's gaze. He didn't have the answers and didn't know what would come next, but one thing was clear: if he were to ensure your future together, he would have to start now.

For the first time in the Prince's life, Aegon felt the faint stirrings of a purpose. Something outside of himself. Something worth fighting for.

"I will," he said, his voice firm despite lingering uncertainty. "This was my mother's doing, but I cannot prove it with her hounds and my grandfather so diligently by her side."

Daemon nodded once, satisfied for the moment. While he could not prove the Hightowers were the cause, he understood that having their kin loyal to him and his daughter would serve greater justice when Viserys met the Stranger. "Good. Then, prove it when the time comes, and she will be by your side again."

With that, the Rogue Prince turned, his footsteps echoing in the quiet of the Sept as Aegon remained behind, staring at the flickering candles, his mind already moving forward. He wasn't sure how he would fix everything, undo the damage, and make things right, but Daemon had given him something more than just words.

He had given him a chance. Now, it was up to Aegon to take it.

The heavy, oppressive silence of the dungeons seemed to wrap around Ser Arryk Cargyll like a shroud. His once-pristine white cloak, the proud symbol of his service as a Kingsguard, was now dirtied and torn, a reflection of the disgrace he now carried. Shackled to the cold stone wall of his cell, he sat hunched in the corner, his mind a labyrinth of guilt, regret, and anger. His failure still burned through him like a wound that wouldn't heal—the inability to protect the Princess due to his hubris.

He could hear the whispers of the guards in the corridors, the occasional clink of keys or boots on stone, but none stopped. No one came to offer him solace. He had betrayed his vows, and now he was paying the price.

There was no doubt in Arryk's mind about what awaited him. The Rogue Prince would not be merciful. He would die here, alone in this dark cell. Or worse, he would be forced to suffer before his inevitable death—a public disgrace, a mark on his and Erryk's name that would never be erased.

The sound of footsteps approaching snapped Arryk out of his thoughts. His heart sank, but not out of fear. He knew who it was before the man appeared in the dim light of the dungeon corridor.

Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince, the shadow that hung over the Targaryen family.

Arryk didn't rise from his sitting position. There was no need for any formalities. His failure had already stripped him of his dignity.

Daemon didn't say a word at first. He stopped before the cell, his violet eyes glinting in the dim torchlight as he studied the disgraced knight. He gave Arryk a long, pointed look of disgust and amusement.

"Ser Arryk," Daemon's voice was low, dripping with disdain. "You've fallen far, haven't you?" He stepped forward, his boots echoing in the cold, cavernous hallway.

Arryk didn't respond. What was there to say? The facts were clear. He failed in his sacred duty. No words could change that.

Daemon studied him for a moment longer before he smirked, the cruel twist of his lips never reaching his eyes. "You were meant to protect the blood of the King, Ser, and yet, the very Princess you were sworn to guard was nearly killed right under your nose. Tell me, how does that feel?"

Arryk's chest tightened, his hands clenching in the chains that bound him. He didn't have the strength to defend himself anymore. He didn't deserve to. "I failed," he whispered, voice rough from days of silent anguish. "I failed my oaths."

Daemon's smirk widened as if pleased by the admission. "Yes, you did. And now, the question is, what happens next?"

Arryk's head jerked up, his eyes locking with Daemon's. He saw no pity in those eyes. No mercy. Just the cold, calculating gaze of a man who had long since discarded any pretense of kindness. "What happens to me?" Arryk's voice was hoarse.

Daemon's lips parted in a faint, humorless chuckle. He pulled a dagger from his belt—simple, sharp, and deadly, the hilt made of dark iron. He dangled it in front of the bars, allowing the torchlight to catch the gleam of the blade. "You'll pay for your failure, of course. I will ensure that much." Daemon's tone was almost light, as though speaking about a matter of no importance. "But my punishment won't be death at the hands of another."

Arryk's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't speak. The weight of his fate seemed to settle in his chest.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, watching the knight's reaction. "You see, I am not as quick to kill as the people of your ilk might expect. No, I'll have you suffer. Perhaps I shall keep you locked away for the rest of your miserable life, a reminder to every knight in the Keep that failure is not tolerated." Daemon paused, allowing the words to sink in.

The pain of the thought was almost unbearable. Arryk had never thought of a fate worse than death, but now he could see it—an eternity of being nothing but a stain on the honor of his House.

A shadow.

Forgotten.

Daemon's voice lowered again, and there was now a weight to his words, a deliberate finality. "But that is not what I have come to offer you, Ser."

The dagger was placed on the cold stone floor beyond Arryk's reach. Daemon gave him one final look—measuring, unblinking. "The honorable thing, Ser Arryk, would be to take this dagger and end it yourself." He let the words linger in the air, heavy as iron. "That way, at least, you'll die with some dignity. You'll not be remembered as a coward too weak to take responsibility for his failure."

Arryk's eyes flicked to the blade, and his breath hitched in his throat. The thought of it, the sharpness of the steel, and the cold weight of the hilt in his hand comforted him in the depths of his despair. Death was swift, easy. And in some ways, it would be a release.

Daemon studied him for a long while before he spoke again. "If you choose to live, it will be a life spent in humiliation. I will never allow you to forget what you've done. You will be a shell of what you once were, and your name will be erased from the annals of honor. You will have nothing left."

Arryk's heart hammered in his chest as his eyes remained on the dagger. His failure had broken him. His soul felt heavy, burdened with the shame that would haunt him for the rest of his days. But could he end it? Could he choose death over a life of misery?

Daemon didn't move as he let the silence stretch on. "It's the honorable thing to do, Ser," he said quietly, almost as a command. "You know it as well as I do."

Arryk swallowed hard, his mind a whirlwind. He had failed so completely that nothing left for him was shame or death. He reached out a shaking hand, and his fingers brushed the cold steel of the dagger, the reality of the decision settling in his bones.

Daemon stood, watching, his arms crossed over his chest. There was no sympathy in his eyes, only the cold certainty that Arryk had already made his choice, whether or not he realized it yet.

"Make it quick, Ser Arryk. I won't grant you such a mercy again," Daemon added, his voice low and final.

And with that, the Rogue Prince turned and left the dungeons, leaving the dagger behind as the only reminder of the honor that had once been and the shame that would now define him.

The air in your bed chamber was thick with the pungent scent of incense. The faint orange glow from the setting sun filtered weakly through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a dim, feverish light over the room. The dim glow of the hearth cast wavering shadows across the opulent green decor, the only light rivaling the room's heavy tension. Daemon Targaryen stood at the foot of his daughter's bed, his jaw set like granite, his lilac eyes aflame as they bore into the two figures before him. Queen Alicent Hightower, clad in a gown of deep emerald, held her composure, her hands clasped before her as though she were at prayer. Beside her, Lord Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, straightened his posture, his sharp features betraying only a hint of disdain.

On the bed, the pale and fragile form of Daemon's youngest daughter lay motionless, her breath shallow and her lips tinged with an unnatural stillness. A half-empty vial of milk of the poppy rested on the bedside table, its glass catching the flicker of the firelight.

He could see your face now, pale and drawn, your lips dry and cracked, and your breathing shallow. Your hair clung to your forehead, damp with sweat. You had barely roused since he returned to the Red Keep. The wound on your temple, the poison that still coursed through your veins, all of it seemed to pull you deeper into the shadows.

Daemon broke the silence first, his voice low and venomous. "How long?" he demanded, his hand clenching the hilt of Dark Sister. "How long has my daughter been your prisoner in her skin?"

Alicent raised her chin, her voice measured but with an edge of exasperation. "Daemon, your accusations are baseless. She is not a prisoner. The maester prescribed milk from the poppy for her comfort."

"Do not dare!" Daemon snarled, taking a step forward. "Do not dare speak to me of comfort while my daughter lies here, drugged into silence. Fragile, you say? What lies beneath your 'comfort,' Alicent? What truth were you so afraid she would speak?"

Otto stepped in, his tone dripping with authority. "Prince Daemon, you insult Her Grace and the King's council with this madness. Your grief clouds your reason. Do you hear yourself? These are the ravings of a man desperate to find enemies where none exist."

Daemon's laughter was cold and mirthless. "Oh, there are enemies aplenty, Lord Hightower, and none closer to my family than you." He pointed a finger toward Alicent. "Do not think I am blind to your schemes. Drugging my child, is that not desperation enough? Or would you rather have me believe that poison is beyond your reach?"

Alicent flinched, but only slightly, her calm demeanor hardening. "You think us capable of such atrocity? We seek only peace in the realm. Your daughter's well-being has always been our priority."

"Peace?" Daemon hissed, circling them like a dragon sizing up its prey. "Peace through silencing the truth, you mean. And what truth terrifies you so, Alicent? That your precious Greens are losing their grip on the throne? That your Targaryen children will not be your puppets?"

Otto's voice cut through the air, sharper now. "Enough! You speak treason, Prince Daemon. Were you not her father and brother to the King, I would have you dragged from this room in chains for such slander."

Daemon's grip on Dark Sister tightened, his knuckles whitening. He leaned in closer, his voice a deadly whisper. "And were she, not my daughter, I would have your head for daring to lay a finger upon her fate. Tell me, Otto, if the Greens are desperate enough to keep her tongue tied, are they desperate enough to steal her life?"

Alicent stepped forward, her expression resolute. "Daemon, this is your grief speaking. You imagine plots where none exist. Please, for her sake, do not let your paranoia destroy what remains of your family."

"My family?" Daemon barked, his eyes narrowing. "You have no claim to speak of my family, Alicent. The blood of the dragon burns brighter than the shadows you and your father cast. But be warned, if I uncover a single thread of truth behind this betrayal, I will burn every last one of your schemes to ash."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire and the faint, shallow breathing of the girl on the bed. Alicent and Otto exchanged glances, their faces masks of composure but their eyes betraying unease.

Daemon stood firm, a tempest barely restrained, his gaze never leaving them. He spoke once more, quieter now but no less dangerous.

"Leave this room. Leave her side. And pray, for your sakes, that the truth never comes to light."

Alicent hesitated, but Otto placed a firm hand on her arm, guiding her toward the door. They exited without another word, the heavy oaken door closing behind them with an ominous thud.

Daemon walked silently toward your bedside. His strong hands, so accustomed to wielding swords and bending the wills of others, now trembled as they reached for your delicate, limp fingers. The quiet vulnerability of this moment struck him more than any battlefield ever had. His daughter, the one he had sworn to protect, was broken, and he was powerless to do anything but watch. He gently curled his fingers around yours as if holding on to whatever little remained of the angry girl he had raised.

The Rogue Prince turned back to his daughter, kneeling beside her bed, his hand brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. "They'll pay for this, little one," he murmured. "I swear it on my blood."

You shifted slightly, just enough to draw his gaze as your lips parted gently. Your eyes fluttered open briefly, sparkling with a soft, dreamy awareness that hinted at the depths of your thoughts.

"Father?" Your voice emerged as a fragile whisper, barely lifting above the air around you. The sound seemed to fracture something deep within Daemon, a tiny shard of his once-impenetrable heart splintering into pieces in his chest.

"Shh, don't try to speak," he murmured, brushing your damp hair back from your forehead with a tenderness he didn't often show. His eyes were wet with the tears he hadn't allowed himself to shed until now.

In return, you weakly squeezed his hand, your gaze struggling to focus through the Milk of the Poppy. "I... failed, didn't I?" you whispered, voice cracking. "I couldn't stop it... Couldn't stop the Greens."

Daemon's heart clenched. He could feel the depth of your regret, the weight of your self-doubt in those simple words. His mind flashed back to the fateful days that brought you to this point.

Sending you to King's Landing was the plan you had agreed upon, knowing it was dangerous. You would infiltrate the very heart of the enemy and make a place for yourself at court. You would seduce Aegon, the eldest son of Queen Alicent, a man with no taste for power and no ambition beyond the pleasures of the flesh. You would make him fall for you, win his favor, manipulate him, and stop the usurpation. You would ensure Rhaenyra's crown was secured and that Aegon would never take what was rightfully hers.

But everything had gone wrong. Daemon underestimated the treacherous nature of the court, the depths to which the Hightowers would go to secure the throne for their own and your young, bleeding heart. He had failed as a father, as a man. And now, his daughter, his precious girl, was paying the price.

Daemon swallowed the lump in his throat. He took a slow breath, trying to steady the fury that threatened to consume him. "You did what you could," he whispered, his voice breaking on the words. "You were brave. You were everything I asked of you and more."

You stirred again, your brows furrowing as if in pain, and lips parted to speak, but the words faltered.

"Father, if I fail... if Aegon becomes king..." you whispered hoarsely, struggling to stay conscious. "Leave me to die in the forests of the North. A pack of hungry wolves would be kinder than what he will do to me."

Daemon's hand clenched around yours, and his heart shattered at the words. He knew what you meant. Aegon, a man who would become consumed by the luxuries that power had brought, could never be a better man. He would use his newfound strength to break his enemies and your family, bend them to his will, and crush them beneath the weight of his crown.

Aegon would not cease until you were by his side, even if it meant the destruction of House Targaryen and the kingdom. If he were to ascend to the throne, it would be the end of you.

You closed your eyes again, your body sagging slightly as the feverish haze claimed you again.

Daemon sat beside you on the mattress as it dipped with his weight, holding your hand in both. The stench of a floral musk that reminded Daemon of Viserys wafted through his nose as a sudden realization came to mind. His breath came fast, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, but it was all drowned in his overwhelming rage and helplessness at the world's cruelty.

His daughter, his favorite daughter, was so close to death, and there was nothing he could do to save her. His mind began to work, to churn with decisions that could shape their future.

He will not let you die here.

"No," Daemon whispered to your sleeping form, his voice thick with emotion. "I will not let them do this to you. Not while I live." His hand trembled as he stroked your hair, his heart shattering again as he looked at your pale, suffering face.

He stood slowly, but his movements were sharp and purposeful now. The anger and sorrow had merged into a singular driving force as he turned to the window, glancing out at the fading light of the day. There was only one place he could take you, one where you might have a chance to heal and one where you would be safe, but at the potential cost of the throne.

"Prepare a ship," Daemon ordered to the guards outside the door, his voice hardening as he straightened, the weight of his promise pressing down on him. "Get it ready. We leave for Dragonstone tonight."

Turning back to the bed, he gently lifted you into his arms, carefully cradling you as though you were the most precious thing in the world. You were frail, but still his daughter—the fire from his blood, the only legacy worth fighting for. He kissed your forehead, the promise in his heart now fully formed.

"Do not fear," he whispered, more to himself than you. "You will be free. You have not failed. I will ensure you are never hurt again once we return to Dragonstone."

The ship would be ready by the hour of the owl, and Daemon would take you and leave the city behind. The politics, selfish intrigue, and Hightowers were all irrelevant now. The only thing that mattered was his daughter's life. The rest of the realm could burn for all he cared so long as you lived.

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

We all want heads to roll, but we must let them have their moments. Otto, Alicent, and Larys will eventually get what's coming. I have about ten or eleven more chapters to go!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte , @silverslive , @prettykinkysoul , @duesobabe, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid , @dd122004dd , @ladybug0095 , @millies0bsimp , @kalfild , @sheislonelyalways , @tempt-ress , @minttea07 , @trikigirl271 , @esposadomd , @prettywhenicry4 , @justarandomflowerchildofthenight , @partypoison00 , @please-buckme , @pastelorangeskies , @existential-echo , @priyajoyy , @valaenatargaryensdragon , @merovingianprincess , @candy12110 , @w3ird11 , @ruhjkie , @somemydayy , @marikkjj , @zillahvathek , @sunfyresrider , @heavenly1927 , @hjgdhghoe , @im-sidney , @aurorathi , @marihoneywk , @xitsemm , @justbelljust , @qardasngan , @shari-berri , @tomgcmrs

Bold means I couldn't tag you •́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀

67 notes · View notes

tasteracha · 1 year ago

Text

a/n: a teensy little birthday ficlet

it’s your birthday - you expect to be looked after, waited on hand and foot, treated like a goddess sent from the heavens. and you are, for the most part; seungmin tends to not do anything without a small complaint though, so your home-cooked breakfast was served to you with an exaggerated sigh, your nails were painted perfectly with a roll of his eyes, and he covered the both of you in a blanket so that the two of you could cuddle together while you watch your favorite movie with a fond shake of his head.

little acts of service accompanied by snark, as if he couldn’t catch himself loving you, or something. it’s okay, because you know that he does - the ring he put on your finger a few months ago has it engraved on the inside of the band, and it’s not like he can take back the sweet things he said to you when he was on one knee now.

and as such, with the way the day has gone you fully expect you to be taken to bed at night, laid down on the pillows and allowed to be a princess while he ravished your body with his hands and mouth. perhaps a small comment about how desperate you were, how wet he was making you, or something along those lines.

he had other plans though, evidenced by the way he pushes you to your knees near the foot of the bed after he walks you into the bedroom instead of coaxing you into the sheets.

“is my pretty girl ready for her dessert?” he asks, sliding a hand into your hair and scratching at your scalp, leaving you a bit overwhelmed. his hand sends zings of pleasure running through you, and you barely notice the hardness of the floor under your knees in favor of focusing on the way your head spins and your mouth begins to water.

this was seungmin, after all. if you had learned anything about him in the years you’ve been together, it’s that you can’t really ever prepare for him - he was always going to catch you off guard, and you loved it.

he unzips his pants slowly, each tiny metallic sound matching the drumbeat of your heart as he finally frees himself from his boxers and strokes his half-hard cock. his other hand leaves your head, resting just under your chin so he could thumb at your bottom lip.

“can you get wet for me?” he asks, the most polite thing he’s said all day to you. you know he means your mouth, and you let your spit pool up in it, but you can’t help the way you begin to leak into your underwear too. he feeds you his cock centimeter by centimeter, letting you suckle on the top of it before sliding in until he reaches the back of your mouth - not enough to make you gag, but it’s a close thing. he knows your body in and out though, knows exactly how much is teetering on the edge of too much.

“slow,” he instructs, a little breathless as you start to hollow your cheeks around him. “you want to savor your dessert right? this is a special occasion, after all.”

you groan and your eyes flutter shut, and you let the weight of him rest on your tongue. his hands weave back into your hair, holding you in place as he thrusts shallowly in and out of your mouth. you let him have his moment for a minute, sinking into a floaty haze, but it’s not enough.

it’s your birthday, and if you want to suck his goddamn cock then you will.

your eyes snap open as you begin to suck on him in fervor, a bit messy and wet but you know he likes it like that. you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock before swallowing him down, pulling noises out of him that he rarely lets out unless he’s caught off guard. you pull out every move, the dirtiest licks and flicks of your tongue accompanied by you humming around his length, and you know when he gets close by the way his knees buckle a bit and his hands tighten in your hair.

he pulls you off of him with a hiss, panting as he he strokes himself off over you. his free hand cups your face and holds you right where he wants you, chin up so you're staring right into his eyes. you can see the pleasure take over his face and he whispers happy birthday, baby just as the splashes of his release coat your eyelids, the curve of your mouth, the bridge of your nose.

you’re both breathing hard as he calms down, removing his pants before helping you up your feet. he sets you onto the bed and kneads at your thighs with his big hands, leaning in to kiss you without a care in the world towards his come on your face.

“you had your dessert,” he dances his fingertips into the waistband of your shorts, toying at the lacy material of your underwear. “now it’s time for mine.”

–

“i know you said that you were my dessert,” you yawn, much later, pushing your face further into his chest that you had repurposed as a pillow. “but you did get me a cake, right?”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #seungmin imagines #seungmin smut #kim seungmin smut #kim seungmin imagines

508 notes · View notes

universitypenguin · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 17

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: Elliot reveals what ‘Mercury’ referred to, unleashing a flood of bittersweet memories in Lloyd that lead him to re-explore the darkest parts of childhood and uncover evidence of a devastating betrayal. Meanwhile, Princess deals with the aftermath of her near death experience and grapples with doubts about the true identity of her stalker.

Masterlist

Word Count: 6,021

Warnings: Contains descriptions of child abuse, memories of being buried alive, description of taphephobia - aka, the fear of being buried alive, vivid description of a panic attack - written in a manner intended to draw the reader into the physical experience of a panic attack. Contains content related to police corruption, murder, criminal behavior, police investigations, a scene involving emergency room care, and stalking. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors allowed.

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

Chapter 17

Lloyd skirted around a thicket of weeds and ducked under the branch of a towering giant hogweed, scowling at the unwelcome intruder. The disrepair of the property grated on his nerves. He added another mental note to his to-do list for tomorrow: call a weed removal service to clean up the invasive species his father had allowed to thrive in the backyard. They rounded the thicket and the beam of Elliot’s flashlight fell on the dilapidated garage. It was halfway hidden in the woods behind the house and screened from view by the untrimmed weeds.

“What are we doing here?” Lloyd asked.

“Hang on,” Elliot said.

He pulled on the garage door handle and to Lloyd’s surprise, it swung easily into the rafters. Elliot flipped a switch on an extension cord by the door to turn on the overhead lights and Lloyd stared, speechless.

“This is what ‘Mercury’ was referring to,” Elliot said.

“A Mercury Cougar… my mother’s car,” Lloyd murmured.

“Yep. Your Dad asked me to restore it last year. She turned out gorgeous. The keys are inside, if you want to take it for a spin.”

His throat felt thick as he stepped forward to inspect the bright metallic blue paint on the 1971 Mercury Cougar. He knew every inch of this car, from the cassette player his mother had installed in the dash herself, to the buttons on the radio dial, the white leather bucket seats and the fold-down rag top with squeaky hinges. He ran his hand over the glossy paint.

“It’s beautiful. You did a great job.”

“So, you remember this car? I think she must have had it before my time,” Elliot said.

“Yeah. I don’t think I was in school yet when she was driving the Mercury. She’d let me sit on her lap and pretend to drive when we drove into town. I remember she put the cassette player in the dash by herself… She was always listening to music…”

The rush of memories startled him - crystal clear and bittersweet, they grabbed him by the heartstrings and twisted, sending a painful bolt of emotion through his chest.

Elliot shuffled his feet. “Anyway, this was where Holbrook thought I’d stashed the drugs. Everyone in town knew I was working on it all last year, so it was only logical.”

His cousin cleared his throat awkwardly and reached for the flashlight he’d set on a tool chest. “Know what? I’m gonna head in for the night. See you tomorrow.”

When there was no one around as a witness, Lloyd bowed his head and let the emotions sweep through him. He waited, expecting tears, anger, something, to come out of him… but nothing came. He felt empty. Cold. Alone.

… Abandoned.

The joyful memory of riding on his mother’s lap while she drove only stirred faint echoes of anger. It mostly dragged up a raw feeling of pain, the kind he had little experience handling. The emotion burned in his belly like whiskey and he swallowed hard as his mind replayed the scenes from the past. Even decades couldn’t wash away the smell of her heavily perfumed hand lotion as it reached across time to fill his head with its musky scent. He could remember the exact shade of her nail polish - Kelly Green - and the softness of her hand stroking his hair. Even perched on her lap, he hadn’t been tall enough to see over the wheel.

Lloyd turned away. He shut the garage door and started back to the house before the thought of Elliot waiting for him made him pause. Company was the last thing he wanted right now. He was a riot of conflicting emotions, which was exactly the state of mind Dr. Blair recommended he should avoid. Odds were, Elliot was locked in a bathroom, either shooting up or smoking meth. That wasn’t a confrontation he needed to have right now so he changed directions and headed for the barn.

It was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop himself.

In the barn he checked on the sick calf and gave Jane a bag of oats. His mind mechanically ran through tomorrow’s to-do list, as if on autopilot. He needed to call the gravel company about repairing the washed out road and coordinate the pick up of the sick calf with April. He’d have to help her load up Jane, along with what remained of the fresh hay. The horse would board with her for a few days before her new owner came down from Coeur D’Alene on Wednesday. Then he needed to contact a weed removal service about the Giant Hogweed in the backyard and… take his cousin to rehab.

Lloyd sighed, rubbing his eyes. Yeah. He needed to do that more than any of the rest of the final chores. April had asked him to help Elliot. He had, but the job wasn’t finished yet. The decision settled his nerves, and he moved down the aisle, ready to initiate the confrontation.

Then, a chill ran down his spine.

He hadn’t realized where he was standing. He was in the middle of the barn, equidistant from the back exit and the front doors, in the center of the aisle facing the east wall. Straight ahead was the half open door of the tack room. Goosebumps raised on his arms and crawled up the back of his neck as the chill wrapped around his lungs and spread into his heart. He dragged his gaze away, but it was too late.

It was cold. It was so very, very cold.

His hands were shaking.

He watched the shaking spread to his forearms and felt it rattle through his chest. His muscles clenched and shuddered. He grit his teeth against the wave of dizziness and reached out to brace himself on the wall, but missed. Numbness came after the cold. He recognized the fumbling reaction and knew it meant he’d entered the phase where his sense of spatial awareness disappeared. Fighting for breath, Lloyd panted. He had the presence of mind to drop to his knees as the room tilted, and then he was down on his hands and knees, trembling.

He tried to move but it was as if the force of gravity had quadrupled. Lloyd groaned. It came out like a whine. He needed to get out of here. Pressure built in his chest, discomfort and then a sharp pain. It ripped through his sternum and sliced into his back, climbing up his neck. This feeling was why he’d thought he was having a heart attack when the first panic attack struck him in the middle of the night, when he was alone in his cell in France.

His muscles were rigid as the attack rocketed through him. When it eased, they went limp and Lloyd slumped to the ground. There was no point in trying to move - he’d been through enough episodes like this to know. His head was swimming, his throat hurt, and nausea roiled his stomach. Gradually, the symptoms eased, and he was able to sit up with his back to the wall. The position had him facing the tack room door.

The events that had occurred inside the tack room were known only to three individuals. One of them was dead and of the two who remained alive, Lloyd was the sole person at liberty to speak. Joe was the one who was dead and Dr. Blair was bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, and Lloyd… He was constrained by the same intangible force that had kept him muzzled for over thirty years. In therapy, Dr. Blair had resorted to hypnosis to help him shed the gag that choked him. The treatment helped. Afterwards he’d been able to talk about it, at least in his therapy sessions, but never anywhere else. Never to anyone else.

He’d painstakingly translated the ugly memories into words and then repeated those words, over and over, until he could recite them as if reading from a script. He’d written them down and burned the pages. Dr. Blair’s approach was to expose him to the memories until he could dominate them, instead of the other way around. Lloyd hated it, but it worked. The boiling temper that had been his constant companion all his adult life eased to a simmer. A few months later, the panic attacks stopped. Except for flare-ups brought on by acute stress - which only seemed to happen at night - they’d disappeared.

He hadn’t been naïve enough to think that years of therapy could overcome the effect of being confronted with the physical reality of the tack room. That was why he’d tried his best to avoid this place all week until his inability to grieve had drawn him to it.

What if he went inside? Would it help?

Just the thought of it made his guts twist with the urge to vomit. He could go inside, Lloyd told himself. His father was dead. Joe was dead, and maybe going into the room as an adult would give him some sense of victory.

Victory? He doubted that was possible. Maybe closure was a better word. You would probably use a word like closure to describe what he was hoping to achieve. He didn’t know if he believed in closure. For people like you it seemed to work, but people like him held onto things, especially negative things.

Lloyd inhaled sharply through his nose, huffing the alfalfa scented air in an effort to calm his racing heart. Having a high level of self-awareness was a major downside of prolonged therapy. He hated knowing what was wrong with him, but being unable - though, perhaps ‘unwilling’ would be a better adjective - to change. Whatever it was, inability or unwillingness, he couldn’t embrace ideas like closure. He needed the hatred and rage foraged inside of this barn because it had built a nuclear reactor inside of him that powered his every waking moment and kept him alive. That reactor was still alive inside of him, there was just a better containment system for its toxic fumes.

None of his justifications made much sense, and he knew it. But he also knew the unhealthy coping mechanisms worked, and that was why he couldn’t let them go. He held onto the irrational belief that if he let go of the hatred, he’d turn into dust, like Lot’s wife. She glanced back at Sodom and Gomorrah and had become a pillar of salt. He imagined himself in a direct inversion of that tale - if he didn’t look back, then he too, would crumble.

Lloyd used the wall to help him climb to his feet. His chest heaved with effort. The half open door taunted him. He’d already gone inside once, on his first day here, in the middle of a sunny morning, to gather up Jane’s tack. He hadn’t stepped foot in it since and had even gone as far as avoiding looking at the room. This wasn’t a good time for this showdown. It was dark, and that was a problem. Acknowledging that fear made him feel like a child, but it was too strong of a compulsion to ignore.

Lloyd moved toward the opening, feeling as if he was being sucked into a black hole. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to turn around, but something more powerful than rationality drew him forward. He stared into the dark until his eyes adjusted. There, mounted on the wall, was the bull whip his father had beaten him with. You’d think he’d be covered in scars, but that wasn’t how Joe used the whip. He’d tied Lloyd’s hands to the upper saddle rack and shoved a bandana into his mouth so no one in the house would hear.

There was a slim chance that Ingrid or Josephine would be bold enough to come down to the barn if they heard the noise.

Joe never whipped the girls - just Lloyd. When he was strung up, his father would unfurl the whip and double it over. He swung it like a billy club and stuck Lloyd in the back. He held the thin part of the whip that would have broken the skin by coiling it around his fingers. Then he’d use the thick part to cover his son in bruises. The bruises were deep because his father was a strong man with bouts of temper like a hurricane. Lloyd could take almost any beating without a sound by the time he was five. That’s probably why Joe had to think up a worse punishment. Lloyd couldn’t remember a time before the worse punishment, so he figured he must have adapted at an even earlier age than his memories could reach.

Without needing to turn on the lights to find his way, Lloyd stepped into the tack room. His feet took him to the far corner behind the lower rung of saddle racks. It was too dark to see his hand in front of his face on this side of the room, but regardless, his fingers immediately found the latch. He raised the lever and opened the small trap door. His heart was racing as the scrape of the hinge triggered an unexpected rush of adrenaline.

He was nine years old all over again. His back burned, his legs stung, and blood dripped down his temple. Of course, he didn’t cry - that would only make things worse.

The stoicism had stayed with him, a permanent feature of his personality. There was no undoing it - the abuse had carved it too deep. Even now he couldn’t offer a genuine reaction to his most intense emotions if his life depended on it. Intense emotions, except for anger, which was a different matter altogether, had an unusual effect on him. When those feelings came, he felt as if he were shoved into another room where they couldn’t reach. They still existed, but weren’t a part of him. That mental space was like Schrödinger’s box - there was something there, something brewing; it was neither real nor unreal, because he was inside the box and everything else was outside. He liked that frame of mind. It could last for hours sometimes. Lloyd wished it was permanent, because it felt blissful, like the mindset people aimed for when they were meditating.

At present, he couldn’t draw up the stoicism or enter that calm, peaceful mindset that usually protected him in moments like this. He felt panic swarming up, but even so, he just couldn’t stop. He raised the trap door and found the lip of the cover underneath. It moved like a pocket door and slid out of the way. He pushed it into the recessed compartment under the floorboards to reveal the box.

The box was cut into the floor. It was approximately the size of a coffin, but deeper than a typical coffin would be. Its thick oak boards were double wide and sealed with linseed oil. Lloyd swung his feet down, one, then the other. He tried to stand up and his knees buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the box and realized he was panting.

Unlike in Singapore, there was no smooth hardwood floor to assure him everything was okay. You weren’t here, just a room away, where all he’d have to do was cross a threshold to reach the comfort of your presence.

Instead, it was hot and the tack room was stuffy.

The box was double walled, so no one could hear him scream. Joe had always shoved him in the box after beating him. Spans of time in the box varied, but he’d recalled that he’d spent three days in it once. When he was younger, he’d tried everything to get out, expending every ounce of his energy until he was exhausted. That changed as he grew older. By the time he’d gone to kindergarten, not pre-school, there was no pre-school in these parts in those days - he’d known how to handle the box. He knew to lie still and count his breaths. To cry silently, because when he was silent, Joe would let him out faster.

Lloyd’s vision blurred. It was still too dark to see, but he felt around, searching the floor. This was where he’d hidden the pouch of rocks and arrowheads he and Ingrid collected in the woods. He remembered stashing them in here the summer after he’d passed five-foot four and had officially outgrown the box. When he couldn’t find them, he considered using the light on his phone, but decided against it. This place wasn’t meant to be seen. He could feel Joe’s ghost breathing down his neck as he ran his hands over the floorboards.

There was no leather pouch in the right upper corner, where he remembered putting it. On the chance he was mistaken, Lloyd reached into the far side of the box. His hand brushed something metal and he felt around its contours and realized it was a square metal container… no, rectangular. It was about the size of a tackle box.

Had Joe re-purposed the torture chamber as a hiding spot for drugs? It would be just like him…

Lloyd climbed out of the recessed grave and slid the lid closed, then shut the trap door. He carried the box into an empty stall and turned on the overhead light.

It was a tool box. He recognized it by its unusual teal color - his mother had kept it in the trunk of her Toyota, a vehicle Joe had bought her after the Mercury broke down. He pried open the rusted lock with his pocket knife and found a leather pouch in the top tray. Lloyd unlaced the leather ties and found the polished treasures of his childhood. They were nearly in perfect condition, if a little dusty. He rubbed one on his shirt and held it up to the light, admiring the shiny chunk of obsidian. It was a rock he’d spent hours polishing. He sorted through the pouch and recognized several pieces. A jasper stone, smokey quartz, an agate nodule, and the prize of the collection - trio of star garnets.

Lloyd lifted the tray and found a pile of cassettes. On top of them was a blank envelope, which he opened to find a couple wallet-size photographs. The first was of a little girl with pale blonde hair. She was missing both of her front teeth. He’d been the one to persuade her to tie a piece of floss around the second front tooth and fasten the other end to a doorknob. He’d even helped her slam the door to remove that final stubborn baby tooth. Josie had screamed and bled and rightfully blamed him for the painful ordeal for the next three weeks. The second photo was of a girl with sable hair. She had high cheekbones, dense eyebrows, and a full mouth. Ingrid bore such a strong resemblance to their father that it was almost hard to look at her. His eyes misted, and he felt a spasm in his chest. Anger rose as grief sliced through his soul.

They’d vanished. There had been no warning to allow him a chance to prepare for the blow. It had wrecked him. He could still remember the agony and confusion in the following days. He hadn’t known what to do with himself in the time between their disappearance and Joe’s return. At first, he’d figured they’d come back. Then it clicked - she’d really done it. His mother had snatched his sisters and taken off and they had left him behind. That moment of comprehension was when the grief set in and overpowered the anger.

He couldn’t tolerate staying in the big empty house alone, so he’d packed a backpack and headed into the woods. The following days were filled with denial. He’d pretended he was a wild boy who lived in the forest and didn’t have a family and that his sole connection with the big ranch house in the clearing was that sometimes he’d watch the people who lived there. He told himself he was only sad because the family who occupied the house was on vacation in California and he missed watching them.

He’d loved them.

He’d loved his mother, even with her psychotic episodes, because she’d loved him. The memory of riding on her lap in the Mercury proved it. Despite her erratic moods and the uncontrollable outbursts that had scared him, there’d been a level of awareness, even as a child, that she couldn’t control those things. He’d loved his sisters, too. He’d loved them more than anything in the world. If they were still alive, he still loved them.

There was a piece of paper at the bottom of the envelope. Lloyd fished it out and recognized the tri-fold pattern of a letter. It had a small piece of tape holding it shut and when he turned it over, he found his name written on the back in a looping scrawl. The handwriting was instantly familiar, though he hadn’t seen it in thirty years. The handwriting revealed the identity of the person who’d left the cassettes, preserved his rock collection, and chosen this tool box to store them in.

His mother hadn’t left him without a word. She’d left him what appeared to be the entirety of her cassette collection, a few pictures of his sisters, and she’d written him a letter.

By themselves, the items were innocuous enough but placing them in his torture chamber… that was an arrow to the heart. It was proof that she’d known what Joe was doing to him. He’d often wondered if she had a clue about what he was going through in the barn, but until now he couldn’t be sure. There was a part of him that questioned if it was possible for her not to know, but he’d always given her the benefit of the doubt. Now, there was no benefit left to give.

His mother had known Joe buried him alive under the floorboards of the barn. She’d known that he was down there, breathing in the thick, humid scent of earth that still reverberated through his nightmares today. Lloyd could forgive her for allowing the beatings. Hers were just as frequent, if not more so, than his. But the fact that she’d known about the box…

He crushed the letter into a ball.

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

An emergency room doctor who looked as if he’d witnessed enough history to make textbooks jealous, splinted your wrist. You accepted his referral to an outpatient clinic and promised to schedule a follow up next week. Detective Diskant was in the waiting room with Zach. He took your statements and asked lots of questions you didn’t know the answers to.

By the time Zach unlocked the door of Lloyd’s townhouse, you felt like a zombie. The combination of adrenaline crash and pain medication was a potent one. Landon showed up with a duffle bag for his boss and they both grilled you on the finer details of Aiden’s text messages for two more hours. You tried your best to be helpful, but it was useless. They were clearly questioning whether Aiden was behind the messages and the other incidents. While you saw their point, you couldn’t think of an alternative suspect. You agreed with Zach that you should reach out to Mr. LeDoux in the morning and that you would work from home one Monday.

Lloyd was due back Tuesday. That would be a hard conversation and you weren’t looking forward to hurting his feelings, but you’d made your choices and still considered your actions to be in his best interest. Landon left at midnight and you checked that the downstairs guest room had fresh sheets and stocked the bathroom with towels before going upstairs.

Ten minutes later you were in the shower, crying.

It was so unfair. You’d only dated Aiden for a few weeks. Why would he do this? Did his bruised ego really demand such disproportionate retribution? What if he wasn’t your stalker? Who else could it be? The last two questions nagged at you, especially considering your recent confrontation with him. He’d had you alone, and he’d been free to harm you, just like the text messages threatened. The exchange with Aiden had been belligerent, but not overtly threatening. Maybe it wasn’t him.

In its overwhelmed state, your mind couldn’t tolerate that version of reality. With so much uncertainty already hanging in the air, the one fact you’d come to terms with was the identity of the threat. Knowing Aiden was your stalker helped you understand his motivations and respond accordingly. If it wasn’t him, then what? What options did you have to fight a shadow?

Your mind swung briefly to the Nguyen case, and the missing identity of Julia’s “sister.” Her identity was even more shadowy than your stalker’s and that was another question you needed to tackle. First thing tomorrow, you promised yourself. Right after you and Zach called Mr. LeDoux. The thought of calling him made your stomach pitch. Tears came even harder as your imagination took flight, bringing up questions and asking you to consider possibilities you didn’t want to think about. What if you’d accused Aiden prematurely? What if he was innocent? Then, you cried because of how miserable crying made you feel, and because of the whole horrible, rotten situation you were in, and because you were scared that it wasn’t Aiden who was stalking you after all.

You finished showering and were in the middle of your skincare routine when your phone rang. Lloyd’s name flashed on the caller ID. Sobs were still shaking your shoulders, which caused you to watch the phone ring for a moment. You worried about his reaction if you answered in this state, but he’d been so busy that he hadn’t called much this week and you needed to hear his voice. Swallowing back your tears, you answered.

“H-h-hello?”

“Princess?” The sound of his silky baritone eased the painful tension in your shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“What’s wrong?” Lloyd asked.

“I… uh… I’m watching Marley & Me.”

Silence. “You refuse to watch that movie because you know the dog dies in the end. What’s really going on?”

“I had a fight with my sister,” you lied.

“About what?”

“A lot of things… we just sort of… got into it.”

“Are you okay?” Lloyd asked.

“I’ll be fine. How are you? How’s the ranch?”

“I sold the last of the cattle, but I’ve got a sick calf in the barn. And two days ago, this evil bitch tried to kill me.”

You giggled. “Was the evil bitch an actual bitch?”.

“She was a blonde.”

“You pissed off a golden retriever?”

“Think bigger. She was a Charolais heifer with the longest horns I’ve seen on that breed. My father clearly wasn’t trimming their horns these past few years. Of all the chores to miss…”

“What did she do? Try to trample you?”

“I had a plan to get her into the trailer, she had a plan to resist, and then seized an opportunity to try and gore me.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds awful. What happened?”

“I roped her.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“It seems some skills come back under pressure. I haven’t roped anything since I was eighteen.”

“Lloyd, were you a cowboy?”

He laughed. “Every ranch kid is a cowboy, honey. It’s not that remarkable.”

“Well, I think it’s remarkable. Can I see your cowboy skills sometime?”

“If it would cheer you up, I’d give you an in-person tutorial.”

You perked up. “Will you bring your lasso home? I can think of all kinds of uses for it…”

Lloyd wasn’t amused. “I don’t think you realize what a lasso is made out of. It’s meant for animal hide, it would shred your skin.”

“What about chaps? Spurs?”

“It’s too hot for chaps in August, and if you need spurs, get rid of the horse.”

“Seriously? You’d just get rid of the horse?”

“That was my father’s philosophy. He liked his horses like he liked his people - well trained.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Lloyd, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Not really. My cousin got into some trouble, and I helped him out of a jam. He’s here with me now and… Joe’s funeral is tomorrow. I don’t think I’m going to go.”

“What kind of trouble is your cousin in? Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I took care of it. We aren’t close or anything. He’s my father’s sister’s kid; she died, and he grew up in foster care. The only place I ever saw him was at school.”

“That’s so… sad.”

He chuckled. “That sums up my week. I spent Friday hunting down the last of the cattle and ended up hip deep in a mud puddle.”

“How did that happen?”

“I was chasing a cow. She figured out that the only place she could go, where I couldn’t - at least not on horseback - was a giant mud puddle.”

“Did you rope her, too?”

“Yes. And don’t ask me how I got her out, because it’s a four hour window of time I deeply want to forget.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, fighting back laughter.

“On a totally different subject, I’m bringing home 800 pounds of beef…”

“Lloyd!”

“After what she put me through, I’m damn sure going to eat her.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It’s called the food chain, baby.”

“I’m not eating any beef you serve me for the next two years,” you said.

Lloyd snickered. “Hippie.”

“You’re really going native on me aren’t you?”

He laughed, but it sounded tired.

“Have you been sleeping well?” you asked.

“I can’t sleep. I miss you.”

Tears filled your eyes, then spilled over. You sniffled.

“Princess? Are you there?”

“Yeah…” your voice came out as a half sob.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m sorry. I just… I’m not having a great day and the last thing I want to do is dump it all on you. You’re already handling so much.”

“Don’t worry about me. Tell me what’s going on.”

You stared at the splint on your wrist, and thought about what could’ve happened if Zach hadn’t been with you tonight. You thought of your confrontation with Aiden and the photo left on your car on Friday night. Lloyd would get on a plane if he knew what was going on and because of you, he’d miss the chance to attend his father’s funeral tomorrow. While you understood his hesitation about going, you wanted him to at least have the opportunity to go. If there was even a tiny possibility that putting his father in the ground would help him lay his demons to rest, you needed him to have it.

“Princess?” Lloyd asked.

You took a deep breath. “I’m having some problems with… Aiden. He’s… um… you know, this isn’t a conversation we should have over the phone. When you get back, I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

“Zach would be more than glad to rearrange Aiden’s face, if you asked him to. He’s been itching to do it since he met the kid.”

Your laugh was watery. “Hey. I could totally do it myself. Landon and Jake gave me a self defense lesson.”

“Because of Aiden? Why? What did he do?”

“He’s probably harassing me. Zach found out today and confronted me about it. By the way, he’s staying in your guest room tonight.”

Lloyd grunted. “Good, and you didn’t answer the question. How is he harassing you? When did it happen? Does Jake know? Nevermind, of course he does. He was probably your first call.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought I could handle things and it turns out I was wrong.”

“I’ll be home by Tuesday afternoon, maybe sooner,” he said.

A day and a half. You could make it that long.

“You know, this is the longest we’ve ever been apart,” Lloyd said.

You blinked. “It is?”

“Yeah. Since we started working together, we’ve never been apart for more than five days in a row.”

“What about when I had the flu? I was out for a whole week.”

“I brought you soup and medicine that Friday night.”

The memory made you smile. You hadn’t been working for him for very long and opening the door to a scowling Lloyd had been quite the surprise. He’d carried a pharmacy bag under one arm and a carry out container from his favorite restaurant in the other. The soup was vegetable noodle, with extra broth.

“I remember it now. Did you know you’re an amazing friend, Lloyd?”

“It was probably weird of me to show up out of the blue, but I had to do something. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I couldn’t cope if I lost you.”

The pain in his voice worried you. He was hurting and you wished you could stop it. Tears filled your eyes again.

“Do you need me to come out there?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ve tied up all the loose ends.”

The catch in his voice made you frown. “Lloyd, what happened?”

“I had to take care of a few things with the less than legal side of my father’s business. He wasn’t just a rancher and I had to motivate some local thugs to… move to a different scene.”

“Ah. I see. Should I find a lawyer in the area, or do you have someone on retainer? I’m only asking in case your methods attract the wrong attention.”

He grunted. “Local law enforcement is a bit tied up at the moment, but just in case, there’s bail money in the safe. The passcode is 917889 - if you can’t remember it, tell Jake it’s my three favorite Super Bowls in order. He’ll understand.”

You rolled your eyes. “I tend to forget they play the Super Bowl on a yearly basis.”

“I can help you out with that. We’ll watch my favorites together when I get back.”

“Can I take an Ambien first?”

He laughed, and the line fell quiet. You wondered if you should tell him exactly what was going on, but figured plenty of people knew already. You’d filed the official complaint with the police and Detective Diskant was putting more resources into the case tomorrow. Besides, in thirty-six hours, Lloyd would be home.

“Lloyd? I’m glad you called. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I am, I just need some sleep.”

“Don’t work too hard,” he said.

“You’re the one who spent the last week playing cowboy. How’s your back feeling?”

“I’d rather not say because it would make me feel old.”

You giggled. “If it helps, I’d be out of commission within an hour if I tried that kind of work.”

“Princess, you don’t like your shoes getting dirty in the rain. You’d shrivel up and die at the amount of dirt and mud out here. Especially if you saw the amount of it I’ve tracked into the house.”

“I can imagine it, and it’s not pleasant. But if you need me, I’d be there in an instant. You know that, right?”

“It goes both ways. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

His words were spoken so tenderly that a lump the size of a golf ball swelled in your throat.

“I know.”

“Shit, I made you cry again.”

You wiped your face, laughing. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess, but I wanted to talk to you.”

“You never told me what Aiden did. Did he call you? Show up at the office? Your apartment?”

“It’s not important. Zach is downstairs and I’m safe. We can talk more tomorrow, just come home safe.”

“Alright. Sleep tight, Princess. I’ll be home soon,” Lloyd said.

Your heart fluttered. There was a wealth of affection in his voice that wrapped around your heart, and though it wasn’t spoken, his words held more love than any explicit confession could convey.

“Goodnight. I love you.”

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

Next - Part XVIII

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

Masterlist

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

Taglist:

@denisemarieangelina

@before-we-get-started

@buckysteveloki-me

@patzammit

@badassbaker

@meetmeatyourworst

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@thiskindahotkindamusic

@jesgisborne

@charmingprincess

@amiets2

@seitmai

@elle14-blog1

@chaoticsteverogers

@kaleidoscopepov

@fangirl-and-doctor-help

@jesevans

@openup-yourmind

@kandierteveilchen

@adoreyouusugar

@awkwardgiraffe726

@pono-pura-vida

@mysweetlittledesire

@liecastillo

@marantha

@literaturelove

@babyevansblog

@lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa @thegirlnextdoorssister @ladygrey03 @cynic-spirit @rosedpetal @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @bambamwolf87

@yiiiikesmish @lavenderx0 @calwitch @peachiestevie @texmexdarling @here4thefanfics @rogersbarber @spikeluv84 @dear-fifi @crayongirl-linz

126 notes · View notes

downwiththeficness · 10 months ago

Text

Shadow and Veil-Chapter Forty

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction. Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed. You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen eyes. This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence, and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.

Word Count: ~2200

Start from the beginning Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Masterlist Read on AO3

Eva watched Horacio key into the apartment with her mouth pulled down into a frown. This trip felt far longer than the last, even though it was half the distance. At every turn, they were met with delays. A layover that almost caused them to miss their connecting flight, a run-in with customs, and a terribly irate taxi driver who took the turns too fast. It was as if the very universe wanted to keep them out of Mexico.

The hit of the air conditioning across her face was very, very welcome. Eva sighed as she followed Horacio inside and set her bags down next to the door. Her shoulders dropped from where they felt perpetually shrugged up near her ears. The sweat on her brow evaporated, taking all the discomfort with it.

She toed off her shoes and closed the door. Then, she took a look around.

It was...nice.

She guessed.

The walls were freshly painted and the furniture was new. Some artwork dotted the area, like the kind she might find in a hotel. The décor was all clean lines and sharp, shining metal. As if the room was trying to project an air of sophistication that it definitely did not have.

Horacio opened the fridge, “We have groceries.”

“Do we have alcohol?” Eva replied in a wry tone.

He leaned down and plucked a bottle from the shelf, “We do.”

“Thank God,” she sighed, “I have needed a drink for at least four hours.”

“Only four?” Horacio asked as he popped the top off two bottles.

“I was being generous.”

“Oh? I couldn’t tell.”

She rolled her eyes and took the bottle from him, drinking deep, “Do you think that driver actually had a license? Because I have doubts.”

One side of his mouth lifted, “Should I call the union?”

“You think they have a union?”

A shrug, “Its possible.”

“We’ll call them in the morning,” Eva drawled as she dropped onto the couch, “I’m too tired to deal with customer service.”

Horacio sat down next to her, “You didn’t have to come with me. You know that, right?”

Eva cut him a look, “Yes, I did.” A pause and a sigh, “I’m not having this argument again.”

He leaned his head back against the couch. Eva felt his had reach for hers and looked down to see their fingers threaded together.

“Its only for a few weeks,” Horacio muttered, sounding tired.

“I know.”

He looked at her, “I mean it.”

“I know.”

Horacio pushed from the couch with a soft grunt and pointed at her beer, “Finish that, and we’ll see if the bed is any good.”

Three hours and one desperately needed nap later, Horacio was warming tortillas in a pan while Eva plated the rice and vegetables at the island behind him. The bed was...fine. Serviceable. But, she missed their bed at home. Missed that it smelled like them. Missed the warmth of the comforters and the low drone of the fan Horacio insisted had to run at full speed throughout the night.

A knock stopped her hands from throwing the serving spoon back into the pot. As far as she knew, they weren’t expecting visitors. Horacio flicked off the stove top and went to answer it. Eva watched him the whole way, fingers squeezing the handle.

Javier’s face was not exactly smiling when Horacio opened the door, but it didn’t have the usual glare. He greeted Horacio with a firm hug and a pat on the back. To Eva, he sent a nod and something that was very nearly a smile. She returned it and went to get another plate.

There was no dining room in the apartment. The three of them ended out hunched over the coffee table so they could eat. Between bites, the conversation went through the motions of catching up on each other’s lives.

Javier listened to Horacio talk about buying the house, about his promotion, about the bullshit levels of paperwork that came with that new position. He asked how Eva was adapting and seemed genuinely concerned when she talked about how hard it was for her to get a job.

“Why isn’t she working for you?” he jerked his chin at Horacio.

He shrugged, “She could, if she wanted.”

Eva rolled her eyes, “No, thanks. I’ve had enough police work to last a lifetime.”

“The woman has a point,” Javier asserted with a careless toss of his head.

“Thank you,” she replied, primly. The conversation paused for a moment, and Eva decided that they had delayed long enough, “So, what’s the plan?”

Both men looked at her with narrowed eyes, as if she’d broken some kind secret agreement to dance around the topic for a while longer. Eva lifted her brows at them and waited.

Javier dropped his napkin onto the table and took a long swig of his beer, “I’ve got a man on the inside who is willing to let us do transport. I told him we’d need to be conspicuous, but that we would protect the product.”

Eva cast her mind back to their first few meetings. She set aside the razor sharp nerves and the desperate fear that she would be found out so that she could think about what Josh might be thinking. Planning. Scheming.

“That’s good,” she said, eventually. “Josh already thought you were in the business of getting drugs across the border.”

A nod, “Exactly. We’ll do a few laps around town, draw his attention, and then let him come to us.”

Eva could only imagine what that might entail. She kind of looked forward to observing it all from a distance.

Horacio leaned his arms on his knees, “Its not a very complicated plan, but I think it will work.”

“What if,” she began, with hesitation, “he doesn’t come for you, himself? What if he sends someone else?”

Josh wasn’t in the habit of putting himself in the line of fire, so to speak. That was Alexei’s job. And, with the Russian dead, Eva thought he might be even more careful.

“He’s been looking for Diego a long time,” Javier said, “I think its a pretty good bet that he would want to confront him, man to man.”

Eva laughed, “You don’t know m—.” She cut herself off, having almost referred to Josh as her husband. He wasn’t. Not anymore. “You don’t know him. He won’t want to get his hands dirty.”

“Rage can make a man do things he wouldn’t, normally.”

“Are you sure he is enraged?”

“His whole life got blown up,” Javier said, “We took everything from him.”

She fixed him with an even look, “Yeah, but he got it back.”

“What?”

“He got it back,” she repeated, “The house, the money, the schmoozing with bureaucrats? That was just a hobby. What Josh loved was the work. The chemistry. He’s already doing that, now. Or, so I’ve heard.”

Javier was silent for a few seconds, mouth pursed into an ‘o’. Then, “What do you think we should do?”

The tone of his voice was soft, but he clearly wanted an answer. Eva sat back a little and thought about it. There were a lot of options, most of them so complicated that it would definitely extend the timeline Horacio promised her. She wanted to get back to Colombia as soon as possible. If they took the next plane out of the country, it wouldn’t be soon enough. But, how? How, how, how?

“You need to dangle something he thinks he owns in front of him. Something he will want to get back.” Here she paused and added, with emphasis, “personally.”

Javier drew back, “The fuck does that mean?”

Eva picked up her beer, “You said you took everything from him. He got the thing he cares most about back. The only thing he would even want is…”

It was a foolish thought.

A stupid, foolish thought.

Horacio leaned towards her, “Is?”

Eva looked at him, took in the warm brown of his eyes and that way he hadn’t yet tamed the curls that fell over his brow. He looked a bit like he did when they woke up in the morning. Sweet. Adorable.

“Me.”

All the warmth faded from Horacio’s eyes, “You?”

It was a question, but felt like an accusation.

She felt a small stab of insecurity about what she was about to say, but pushed on, anyway. “Yes. Me.” A breath, “I was property to him. A tool he used to do business. I can tell you that getting his operation off the ground here in Mexico was a hell of a lot harder without me to figure out the logistics and manage the money.” Eva looked at them both, in turn, “He’s going to want his tool back.”

Eva did not say the other half of her explanation. There wasn’t a need to remind him that there was something else Eva represented for Josh. That he had plans for her. It would have only pissed Horacio off, and she needed him to agree with her.

“No.”

Eva cut Horacio a glance, “No?”

“That’s right. No.”

Javier reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, “She could be right.”

Horacio’s lip curled, “I didn’t spend almost a year getting you away from him to let you put yourself back in his hands.”

“Let me?”

Hearing the venom in her tone, Javier stood and gestured towards the door, saying that he was going out for a smoke. Eva rose and began gathering the plates in an effort to stem off some the energy that came with her anger.

Horacio, to his credit, realized his mistake almost immediately, “You said you weren’t going to get involved.”

She had said that. At the table over dinner. On the plane. In the cab. She’d said it over and over, knowing that it was a lie. Deep down, Eva’s motivations were more complicated than simply wanting to be by Horacio’s side while he tried to take down Josh for the second time.

“And,” she replied, “You said that this would only take a few weeks.”

He followed her into the kitchen, “It will only take a few weeks.”

Eva scraped the plates clean and set them next to the sink, “You and I both know that’s not true.”

Horacio turned on the water and plugged the sink. While he squirted soap into the basin, he said, “I didn’t know you were an expert in covert operations.”

He didn’t often speak to her with that kind of sarcasm and it made Eva bristle. Nearly seven years of marriage was enough to give her an advantage over just about anyone in the world. When it came to Joshua Moore, she was content expert, and she didn’t appreciate the dismissal in his tone.

“Really?” she sneered, “Because I seem to remember that it took you months to even get Josh’s attention last time.”

She set the dishes in the sink and stepped aside so that he could grab the sponge. Horacio squeezed more soap onto it and picked up the first dish to scrub away the remnants of dinner. “That was planned,” he asserted. “We didn’t want to scare him.”

“Sure.”

He cast her a glare, “He’ll take the bait faster, this time.”

Eva took the clean plate from him and grabbed a towel to dry it, “Or, he’ll send someone to take the bait for him and you’ll end out shot in the back on the street.”

Horacio scoffed, “He’s not that much of a coward.”

“Yes he is!”

He was quiet while he cleaned the next two plates, dutifully handing them to her. Then, he reached down and pulled the plug, “What if he shoots you in the back?”

Eva finished drying the last plate and sighed, “He won’t. If anything, he’ll want to flaunt that he has me back right in front of you before putting a bullet in you. Gloat. Just like you said.”

They stood in front of the sink while water slowly gurgled down the drain. Eva could admit that they were both right, in their own way. And, they were both just stubborn enough to reach an impasse in the argument.

The door opened and Javier peeked around it, “Uh, everything okay?”

Eva shot him a brittle smile, “Everything is fine.” Then, to Horacio, “When you go out parading around town, I’ll go with you. Let him think that you’re using me the same way he did. That will enrage him. That will get him to confront you, man to man.”

Later, while Horacio was asleep. Eva sat on the couch with a beer. In the darkness, she stared out the apartment window to the street. It was quiet, far more quiet than she expected in such a populated city.

Eva drained the bottle and went to throw it in the trash. Then, she padded through the apartment and into the en suite bathroom. With the door closed, Eva flicked on the lights and reached for her carry on bag.

She set it on the counter and pulled open the zipper. Hands spreading two sides apart, Eva stared down at the only thing that mattered inside. The metal gleamed in the light, drawing her gaze down the barrel. The magazine was mixed in with her perfumes and there were extra bullets in her suitcase.

It didn’t really matter to Eva what Horacio had planned for Josh, once they got him in custody.

There was only one way this was going to go for him.

#shadow and veil #narcos #horacio carrillo #carrillo #maurice compte #au #A/B/O dynamics

7 notes · View notes

frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 7 months ago

Text

it's kind of insane to think about but i've only recently had to figure out who i am as a person.. and still don't really know what kind of person i am

not really at least

like, i was on active duty military from the moment i turned 18 until i was 26. my brain stopped cooking while i was in the most stressful job i'd had in my career, and i was a bitch.

i was straight-up mean.

it was (and still kinda is??) a point of pride that i was, like, i was the person the rest of my department would call on to be the no-nonsense one to snap back at the people giving us shit for a) things we had no control over or b) THEY were the ones that had control over the thing and somehow wanted us to fix.

i liked being that person for my department, being the bulldog, but when i got out of the service i was still reacting how i would back at my last duty station and whoo boy. i am my father's daughter, you feel me?

i've mellowed way out now but like...i still don't really know who i am outside of that.

i've learned a couple things, mostly having to do with what i like to wear/express myself with, after having to wear a myriad of uniforms for my whole adult life, have my hair tied up a certain way, it couldn't be any other color but a natural color, my nails couldn't be painted any color but pink, i could only wear a certain diameter metal (only silve, never gold) ball earrings and could only have one pair in my ears, have your boots shined, make sure you have your hat on outside, yada yada yada

now i know that i like vintage "ugly" grandpa sweaters, i shaved my head and LOVED not having any hair at all, i constantly wear gaudy novelty earrings, i almost always have a different color nail polish but is that actually who i am and how i like to express myself, or am i over-correcting?

idk, just realizing i dunno how to be a "normal" person of my gender/age because i wasn't anywhere near what a normal person like me would be (in the world, in ability to do what i want, etc.).

not knowing comes in exchange for being able to tell stories from the other side of the world, from on the open ocean, and i became a regular person and was set up well in life when i did because of it but i'm also realizing how much i really didn't like a LOT of my time in the service.

it's a common answer w veterans, but you miss the people the most. you don't miss the place or the command or what have you, but the people.

uhhh so yeah.. kinda lost the plot there, but there's some noelle lore for you all 😅

#in the words of johnny the tackling alzheimer's patient: WHO AM I??#noelle lore #delete later #BUT ALSO: i'm super glad to have found fandom again #i didn't know i could write until the steddie fandom so there's that

4 notes · View notes

ye-olde-sodor · 1 year ago

Text

Hurt (A DC au fic) (Tw warning)

Hey all! Ths fic is a bit darker than what I usually post, so please read with caution! It isn't over the top dark and it has a happy ending so I included the ttte tags. Tw warning for depression and death mention! Angst but with a happy ending!

______________________________________________________________

Gordon sighed as he backed into the old shed at Vicarstown. He bid his crew farewell, and he let his weight sink into the old rails below. The shed was old and dilapidated, completely void of any comfort, but he didn't feel like running all the way back to Tidmouth. It was a miracle that he was even moving at all.

It had been years since Scott had sailed to America. After a change in politics left his tour unfunded and bankrupt, everyone had feared for the worst. Sure enough, to his utter horror, one of Scotts trailing wheels was delivered to Doncaster from America, and the nation fell into mourning.

The United States had repeatedly denied sending the wheel and scrapping Scott, but all of the evidence was pointing to the painfully obvious. Out of everything, it was the blatant denial of any wrongdoing that truly got under his metal plating. He fumed just by the thought of it.

Worst yet, the family had begun to finally tear away from it's surviving members. For whatever reason, Scott had made the young, inexperienced Mallard the family matriarch over him or even Spencer...and gave the majority of the money to him.

Did he feel betrayed? Of course he did, anyone in his wheels would feel hurt and bitter by that. Did he feel jealous? Name me a time where Gordon wasn't jealous. But above all else...he was in agony.

The sounds of his screams upon hearing the news still haunt the inhabitants of Sodor...several months after the wheel was first brough to Doncaster. Outrage and a need for vengeance fueled him in a mighty burst of pure fire. In a matter of moments, he became a raging inferno accompanied by the shrilled shrieks of the phoenix, only for the cold and bitter misery to arrive and smother that once mighty flame just as quickly.

That same fury nearly took hold of him again when Mallard swiftly left the funeral service to attend to Scott's will. How dare he abandon his only family to "deal with the necessities"?! Would it have killed him to pay his respects to the engine he claimed to view as a mentor? His predecessor, a father dare one say?! Like with the last burst of fury, however, it was quickly drenched in a water known as despair. As Gordon thundered down the line back home, he felt nothing but the numbness of depression.

Now here he was, sitting in a cold abandoned shed near Kildane, barely living but so far from death. His eyes felt sunken, and his smokebox door felt heavy. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought that his own face would come clean off its hinges, landing onto the ground with a sickening thud and disintegrate into dust.

His entire frame felt weak and brittle, but it still stood firm and strong under his weight. He had lost all of his energy and his sense of importance and high regard. He stopped taking the express since the day the wheel arrived and has been pulling filthy goods trains ever since.

His once proud and royal blue paint had become covered in soot, grime, and various other stains. His eyes were red from countless tears and sleepless nights, hindering his performance even more. Dark circles under his eyes accompanied the redness, further showing his deterioration and lack of self care.

To list every agony that Gordon is suffering through would take years. Gordon had become a fallen star, a star of which that was rapidly falling apart as we speak.

As he sulked in the crumbling shed, the low bellowing of a diesel had become audible. It's proud motor seemed to echo across invisible valleys as it approached. He shifted his eyes to look in the direction of the noise to see who would dare approach such a dilapidated structure. To his surprise, he recognized the large Warship.

"10? What are you doing here?" Gordon spoke weakly.

"I was just gonna ask you the same thing." he replied in an equally stunned voice. "This is usually my shed."

Gordon's weight shifted under the rails again. "Oh. I'm sorry...I can leave if-"

"No no, it's fine." 10 interrupted. "I'm just surprised is all. You can stay here, I'll just park beside you."

He did as he promised, and carefully backed into the shed, sitting on top of the rails to Gordon's left. Gordon heard a door open and quickly closed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could spy the mechanical arm of 10's driver speed away after bidding his engine farewell. Apparently he knew that the two were about to have an intimate conversation.

"How are you holding up?" The large engine asked cautiously.

At first, Gordon was hesitant to answer. Truth be told he wasn't well at all...but at the same time he didn't want to hinder anyone else and have them worry more about him more then their work. Fortunately, 10 already knew the answer, and spoke Gordon's mind on his behalf.

"About as well as you can?" he spoke gently, as not to come off as condescending.

"You and I both now how much it hurts," Gordon began. "To lose a sibling...but to lose someone who was guaranteed survival."

Gordon trailed off, tears already beginning to form in his eyes. For the first time in years, he felt weak. His eyes began to soften as he let himself show such a powerful emotion in front of what is supposed to be his replacement, his rival even. He had already let his emotions erupt before, so it would've been hypocritical to hide them anymore.

"There is no greater pain then that." he finished through tears.

10 remained silent, and respectfully allowed the other engine to sob. His tears streamed down his face and began to pool onto his buffers and the ground below. The rails slightly sunk into the now wet soil, a result of the ground underneath it being disturbed.

10 had never seen such a thing before. An engine sobbing in front of another was unheard of on the Mainland, so to see such raw emotion from someone so uptight...why he couldn't explain the feeling even if he could.

"And the worst part of it?" Gordon went on shakily. "It isn't even over yet."

"What do you mean?"

Gordon thought for a moment and decided that he could no longer bare the weight of his dilemma any longer. As soon as he composed himself as best as he could, he looked at the warship.

"Promise me you won't speak of this. To anyone. What I'm about to tell you must stay between us."

"I promise." he spoke carefully, surprised at how trusting the engine was being to him. Then again, anyone in Gordon's position would've been grasping for any sort of comfort. Even if his better judgement wouldn't allow it.

"It's Scott's will," Gordon explained weakly. "Ryan is convinced someone tampered with it in Mallard's favor. Everyone on Spencer's side of the family is convinced that there isn't any evidence for such a claim. Now Ryan and his siblings are up in arms against his."

10 was suddenly intrigued by what he was being told. He'd heard of stories about forgeries, especially during his time as a bounty hunter. He suddenly found a source of hope, that his past might finally prove useful.

"Why would he think that?" he asked respectfully.

"Mallard got a majority of Scott's finances and properties. The rest of it went to Spencer and his half of the family, myself and Ryan."

"That does sound weird...What's Mallard doing now?"

"I'm not sure, I haven't spoken to him since the funeral." he said. "Or anyone for that matter...you're the only person I've talked to about this."

Diesel 10 was stunned. Astonished even, more so then he was before. It was already bizarre enough to have someone like Gordon vent to him of all engines, but to have him be the only person to vent about his feelings to? Why, he didn't know what to feel! Honored? Prideful? Destressed? Concerned?

Gordon's eyes had finally dried, with the last tear falling into the puddle below him. He looked at the diesel with red, burned eyes. "I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm completely lost."

"Y'know you really shouldn't be taking all of this on your own," 10 spoke abruptly. "Why don't you talk to the other steamies? Or even Hatt? Can't you get advice from him?"

Gordon nearly had a stroke at the suggestion. "You can't just...ask your controller for legal advice! It's improper!"

"Y'know what else is improper? Not talking to the people who can help you." He said sternly but gently. "Believe me, you don't ever want to make that mistake. It's how you end up making mistakes that you can't fix."

Gordon suddenly understood what the Warship was referring to. He had known about the Warship's past, as did most of the island, but he was the only one who truly understood his upbringing. To be robbed of your original purpose only to be thrown into a new one, and to have it end up for the better or for the worst of you. It doesn't take a genius to know who ended up where.

Gordon respected him, in a turn of events. Was 10 at one point resentful of Gordon's own privileges? He would've been a fool to deny that. Did he eventually overcome this prejudice and turned into one of the islands most reliable engines? Yes, but it's hard to believe that an airport of all things could've been the catalyst for such a change in demeanor.

Either way, Gordon couldn't help but see himself in the Warships position. Gordon was sent to Sodor after being an excellent engine at Doncaster...and he felt betrayed by the decision. He liked where he was, his family was there, why did they take it away from him? Was he not good enough? Over time, he grew to love his new home and job, but it took many years for him to heal from the sudden changes and hurt feelings.

10, meanwhile, had the misfortune of being sent for scrap with the rest of his siblings, only to be salvaged by some lunatic who gutted his cab and installed a massive hydraulic claw into it. He spent years hunting down the engines that had fled their railways...but would return with a broken husk of an engine trailing behind him.

Almost all runaway engines are stored in sheds until their crews can find a proper sanctuary, but without proper maintenance and a lack of movement after so much time...The warship became less of a bounty hunter and more of a corpse collector.

The more he thought about it, the more Gordon realized just how much they understand each other. The two were so similar yet so very different. It practically scared Gordon.

Looking at the mighty Warship now, it's virtually impossible to tell that he went through so much. He cares for those around him, and he's been a gentle giant for years now. He's went through years of pain and torment and yet here is smiling and working hard as if it had never happened!

As Gordon thought more and more about 10, and how he managed to pull through in the end gave him a newfound sense of hope. While not nearly enough to overpower his grief yet, it gave him a head start.

"I...I'll see if I can get the chance to talk to him." Gordon spoke, having found his strength. "He is a rather busy man after all."

"If he really cares about you steamers like his kids," 10 replied, "Then I bet he'll make time."

Gordon was taken aback by the phrase. "You don't really believe in that little rumor, do you?"

It was a lighthearted joke on the island's part, but 10 believed it to be fact. After all, this was the Hatt family we're talking about. The very same family that would gladly break the law just to keep a steam engine from being scrapped.

10 chuckled lightly, "That was a rumor?"

"Depends on who you ask." he replied cheekily. While his mood was lifted, he knew it would be a long time before he truly felt better. This wasn't, however, meant to discourage the smaller steps…as he could already see a flicker of hope at the end if a ling tunnel.

"Hey, there we go!" 10 smiled. If he had arms, he would've placed one of them around his friend for comfort and encouragement. Alas, he was stuck with only his words. In any other case, he would've used his claw, but that would've damaged the already weakened shed.

Suddenly, the Warship had an idea.

"Say, I think we can squeeze the two of us in my shed back at home base."

Gordon cocked an eyebrow at the suggestion. "Oh? what about-"

"It's only a short drive, maybe 15 minutes tops. If we leave now we can-"

"10, what about our drivers?" Gordon interrupted with a slight laugh.

The Warship blushed as the realization had dawned on him. While it was quite the blunder, if he acts quickly, he can fix it.

"I mean we could always leave a note!"

…or not.

Gordon let out a long needed laugh, and it wasn’t long before the warship joined in as well!

The two allies would’ve laughed the night away if weariness didn’t overcome them. As the two settled their weight ontop of the old rails, Gordon felt a small warmth build in his firebox, and he allowed a smile to form as he drifted effortlessly to sleep.

#ttte au #ttte #ttte dc au #ttte gordon #ttte shipping #ig #ttte diesel 10 #this has been in my drafts for months lmao #it’s finally finished lmao

14 notes · View notes

crimsonblackrose · 4 months ago

Text

I wonder if the gave the guy who kinda bullies Kreese the same type of banana boat car that Mr. Miyagi drove and then gave Daniel on purpose.

I think it's supposed to be yellow but with the filter they put over it I'm not sure. No, I pulled up a shot I took of the banana boat and it's the same interior and everything.

Kreese's mom killed herself.

Kreese I was bullied and the worlc was cruel so I became a bully and cruel myself.

Everyone is back to white belt. And there's a bunch of kids now.

There's also a new girl.

Which is wild to me. What parent would be like, oh man there's so much violence right now with karate, a kid got put in a coma, let me enroll my kid in karate. ????

Lol and this is from your pale friend demetri. 🤣 Carmen, I adore you. She also listened to everything Demetri said, like don't leave it near the window because the plastic isn't uv resistant. Such a Demetri little caveat. Looks like an issue of Dungeon Lord, which Demetri loves but no clue if Miguel likes it.

That's from the LaRusso's.

Where's sensei? Well he was there, he bashed his head into a corner of a metal paper towel dispenser because he had no other way to see you, talked to you before he was caught and kicked out again. Now he's trying to find his son.

How far away is this place that Shannon's at that Johnny fell asleep? Though who knows, dude might just be exhausted from punishing himself.

Daniel keeps advil in the glove compartment. Daniel, you live in LA why would you keep medication in the glove compartment. Medication is affected by temperature. With the LA heat, that stuff probably doesn't work as much any more or it's changed.

Yoga, painting, trays of breakfast. Nice rehab: Malibu Canyon Recovery.

Lol I mapped it, it's only 16 minutes away from Reseda. Johnny's just exhausted.

She totally thought Daniel was dropping of his partner for rehab.

Shannon's journaling, Amanda sent her lavender essential oil helped with her insomnia. She's also going to kudos and concerns and has a life coach. She wanted to look for Robby but was advised against it.

man this must suck for Johnny. Daniel at his core is someone who wants to help people and he's helping pretty much everyone around him, but spent so much time fighting Johnny when Johnny wanted to just run his business. Like Daniel was Daniel at his core in episode 1. With the car. But between that and this point, except for the occasional run into each other because we have to via Amanda, the don't get along.

Johnny don't knock it, it's working for her, let it work. Plus 99% sure it's not her money but Daniel's.

Johnny's vacation idea was a monster truck show and he loved Truckasaurus.

They're bickering, they always bicker. I'm glad Shannon stood up for her rehab though.

Kreese you are too giddy about this trick. Bert named him Clarence. Rip Clarence.

This is messed up Kreese. Bert should've taken that hamster and run. But he uses it to weed out the kids from his dojo with soft hearts, which is pretty much all the new kid kids I spotted.

It is a pretty snake. But still, messed up Kreese.

Poor Bert. He's been kicked of teh team.

Hawk is the new Miguel. But like Kreese's Miguel at least for the moment.

Kreese decorated with war photos, military photos and a grenade????

The interior of Tory's apartment looks an awful lot like Johnny's and Carmen's apartment interiors. She's in apartment 2.

Tory's mom is on dialysis

Apparently the reason why Tory isn't in more trouble is because she's taking care of her little brother and mom. And she's already working doubles. She also has a probation officer and this guy is such a creep. He essentially is saying pay rent or sleep with him which she's still a minor. She's got community service hours, probation and studying for her GED.

Robby's 'friends' are in juvie and I think they're there because of their fight with Daniel. RSP is the name of the place. They're now scared of Mr. LaRusso and I guess not so much of Johnny because he showed up already beaten up.

They'd scam people at Tech Town in Panarama City.

I hate that the doctor had this conversation with Miguel's mom on the other side of his window and not somewhere private like his office.

Johnny being annoying with the corn nuts. 😂

A lead, what are you Tango and Cash, movie recommendation I guess from Amanda.

I love that Johnny knows the reference but thinks he has to lean over and talk to Daniel's lap to say hi to Amanda.

Johnny: I'm not lying to your wife for you.

And we've lost 1 corn nut in Daniel's car.

Kreese is going to let Tory attend classes for free. How very...Miyagi/Daniel of him.

Betsy's abusive ex's name was David. I really want to know which college he's supposed to be attending, but I can't tell with the letterman.

Lol David punches his friend.

young kreese to betsy: Need a lift, then back to modern day with Johnny getting gas with a sign that says lift. I see what you did there.

Daniel's to good for gas station food. I have no clue what Johnny asked for, almost looks like a churro.

Hey look at that, Amanda told Daniel to tell Johnny something and he actually did.

amount of corn nuts lost in Daniel's car: unknown as the whole bag hit Daniel in teh face and they flew behind him as Johnny peeled out of the gas station.

And Johnny broke Daniel's mirror. Bud, even if he's got insurance, Johnny that's still arguably a hit and run because you hit someone else's car, and insurance probably won't cover it because you were driving on the wrong side of the road when it happened. Sure, you're covered arguably by permissive use, but still, that was technically a hit and run.

Another great fight scene! Daniel's got the brain cell because this time Johnny's on papa bear mode, of where is my son.

Johnny pushes Daniel out of the way, but that also means the guy with the chain can fight Daniel.

Another guy goes for Johnny's neck, but this time with a chain. Whose keep score? I lost count. Third time? Fourth?

Hey look a sucessful: Duck. Daniel ducked and Johnny hit a guy with a wrench, which ow.

Oh hey, Daniel's in his first choke hold of the series.

Amazing team work.

Yes, Johnny should've stopped, but at the same time Daniel you didn't stop when you thought Sam was in danger or calm down even when Johnny tried to ask you to.

Johnny is right, you included Johnny on it. Saying you can't believe he taught kids isn't fair. This is his son. You'd do the same for Sam, you literally did before. And Johnny is going through it. Saying look how Robby turned out isn't quite fair to Daniel because again, what happened to Miguel was an accident. But this...

That's a low blow Daniel. Uncalled for. Which Daniel like instantly realizes because Johnny just completely crumples at that and takes the van, now his van because he never returns it, and leaves.

Sometimes Daniel's just...mean.

This is one of those moments where I go: GO GRANDPA KREESE GO!

Also whoever did the transitions, while I saw what you did last time, hate this one. Hate it so much.

I want to know what the arrangement is? Free rent? Or just a buffer for this week.

That is a terrible lunch Miggy. A cheese hot dog, beans, carrots, green beans and something red.

Johnny kept his hospital bracelet from last time so he could sneak in.

Surprisingly 100% the truth. He also got into a fight with two guys in a parking garage, but he also did take on the paper towel dispenser.

lol he's just listing them off. Couple goons at chop shop, paper towel despenser, some dudes in a parking garage. Guys just picking a fight with everything and everyone.

😭😭😭😭 He did what he was taught, showed mercy and now he might never walk again.

MIGGGYYYYYY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Robby's eating with Shannon. Looks like he's eating a half eaten sandwich. Poor kid probably hasn't eaten in days.

Awww the way Robby curled in on himself, scared then made himself smaller when he saw Daniel.

Robby, again, accident. Any one of the other fights could've ended up even more terrible. You didn't realize the railing was right there. You were scared and terrified and horrified but what happened.

First thing he wants to know after apologizing and promising to pay Daniel back for the van is to ask if Sam is okay.

I do appreciate that Daniel tells Robby that everyone's worried about him, even his dad. and then apologizes to him and promises to help him. that he talked to a lawyer and tries to explain the reduced sentence, but of course Robby hears the police coming first and feels betrayed. "You just kept me talking so I wouldn't leave."

Daniel promises to visit every day. But that trust is broken.

Johnny had multiple classes of students he trained and cultivated, and Kreese has kicked all but these ones out.

Kreese calls Betsy Doll-face.

He's off to basic training in Monterey (about a half hour away)

Kreese monologuing very quietly while all the kids are shouting. 😂I get that it's supposed to be them listening to it, but with how loud they're shouting, I kinda doubt they'll hear him at his conversation level of speaking rather than speaking louder.

#mumbling about shows

2 notes · View notes

angelofrainfrogs · 1 year ago

Text

Spend the Night: Ch. 7

~Coauthored by @zeitghest~

Fandom(s): Five Nights At Freddy’s: Security Breach

Description: The familiar melody of Grandfather’s Clock chimes through the echoing halls of the Pizzaplex…

Charlie wakes up in her Puppet’s vessel yet again with one goal in mind: to stop William Afton’s reign of terror for good. She enlists the help of Glamrock Freddy, the emphatic leader of the newest iteration of the Fazbear Band. But there seems to be more to this bear than meets the eye—and the same goes for the mysteriously familiar kid the duo find tinkering with animatronics down in Parts & Service.

With some help from friends new and old, Charlie’s journey into the bowels of the Pizzaplex will unravel mysteries none of them ever expected.

Rating: T

Read on Ao3

It is just a glitch scattered in the system Tell me that it's wrong, never gonna listen World won't understand till they stand the vision Mayhem, mayhem, three, two, one

~Under Control by Tryhardninja, Ivy Marie~

“We must prepare to move,” Freddy announced, releasing Gregory and snatching the next access card from its little bear-shaped holder on the desk. Now they’d be able to get into higher-level areas than before—including another security office.

As Freddy grabbed for the card, Charlie reached for Gregory. Of course there was always another hurdle to overcome. With it barely even being 2:00 in the morning, they still had a long time before the main doors opened again. God forbid something else went wrong; Gregory could be trapped here with them over the weekend, too...

“Freddy? There's a place around here with unused characters right?” Charlie asked, bouncing Gregory soothingly in her arms and they readied to speed from the security room. “I think I have a solution for you and Michael's problem.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, there is a basement warehouse near Parts & Service; I believe unused characters are stored there as well,” Freddy responded a bit absently, watching the monitor as Vanessa approached the door.

“Freddy?” the guard’s voice soon rang out and she knocked harshly. “I can hear you in there! What the hell are you doing?! I gave you instructions to stay put, and now none of the Glamrocks are in their rooms!”

Vanessa sounded well and truly angry. She’d been running around searching for this phantom kid for nearly two hours, and she was tired.

“Ah, I was… using the cameras to see if I could track the child down!” Freddy replied, refusing to open the door until they absolutely had to. Speaking of cameras—

Another glance revealed yet another threat: Roxy was prowling through the arcade, directly in their path to the exit.

Charlie had half a mind to just press her face up to the double-walled security glass and scare Vanessa away. She didn't exactly deserve to be frightened so badly, yet they couldn't afford her slowing them down anymore. It seemed that right after she showed up so did the other animatronics, and that bunny might not be far behind either...

Roxy looked worse than before. What was she doing? Rolling in the left over oil at the Raceway? She normally held such pride in her appearance, reasonably grooming herself and making sure her model was in perfect, working condition before performances and “bedtime.” Now the cracks were showing—her metal chassis forming hairline fractures at stress points. Dirt and grime matted in the faux fur atop her head, smattering her cheeks and covering the paint-job makeup that the designers spent so long creating for her.

“You like playing games, Gregory?” growled Roxy, her voice heard past Vanessa in the arcade. “I know a game we can play—I'm a pro at hide and seek.”

The wolf was seething; her sharp maw would probably be dripping with drool if it could do such a thing.

Gregory held in his fearful sounds, choosing to close his eyes and bury his face in Charlie's thin shoulder. They knew he was there… but how?

If Michael had a body, he’d be shivering with fright at Roxy. Objectively he’d seen much worse over the years, but something about her tone, the way she was so clearly out for a child’s blood… that was utterly horrifying. Even the Funtime animatronics that were literally designed to capture children for William’s sick research purposes didn’t act like this. They behaved like relatively normal robots until a kid was close enough to grab, then they snapped and it was over in an instant.

But these Glamrock models… these were aware. And that made their actions so much worse.

“Bullshit!” Vanessa snapped as Michael fretted. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you guys, but as soon as I get in there you’re going straight back to your room and I’m putting you on extra-lockdown!” She wasn’t entirely sure if they actually had that protocol, but she couldn’t think of a better threat right now.

“Charlie, you must focus on getting Gregory out,” Freddy murmured. “Find somewhere safe—I will keep the others occupied as long as possible, then come and find you.”

“Are you talking to someone?!” Vanessa chimed in, and it was at that moment the door power failed. The distinctive sound of electronics shutting down could be heard as the lights in the security office went out. The door soon raised, revealing Vanessa standing there with hands on her hips. She let out a gasp, eyes widening at the sight of Gregory and the Puppet.

“What the—what the fuck are you?!” She shook her head with an annoyed growl, starting forward. “Whatever; hand over the brat. He’s caused enough trouble tonight.”

Charlie was aware that Vanessa had been in the dark about everything just like them. Really, the woman didn’t deserve most of the frustrations of tonight. Even so Charlie’s arms coiled around Gregory, almost constricting him as she let out an inhuman hiss.

“He didn’t do anything wrong! Leave him alone!” she warned, backing slowly away. She attempted to match Vanessa’s pace, planning to run out the opposite door. The goal would be to hightail it out of the arcade without Roxy catching either of them, but with the speed demon hounding for their blood she’d have to time it perfectly.

Gregory looked up to Vanessa, the fear in his face knotting into anger. “Hey! Who are you calling a brat, dumbass?!”

“Clearly you, kid.” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Ugh, why do I have to find the one with the biggest attitude? Look, I just need to take you to a safe area so we can call the police and get in contact with your parents. You can even take your weird, clingy robot with you... What are you, anyway?” The guard paused, staring at the Puppet with a pinched expression of confusion. “Some knockoff Daycare attendant model? Or—oh my god, Freddy, get out of my way!”

The bear had placed himself directly in Vanessa's path, holding his arms out ready to physically restrain her if need be.

“I am sorry,” he said with a shake of the head. “But my child safety protocols indicate that, at this moment, Gregory is safest with me and Charlie.”

“What?!” Vanessa shrieked, clenching her fists so hard her knuckles went white. “There is absolutely no way your protocol would tell you that a kid is safer with a robot than a human! You're so malfunctioning right now; we’ve got to—ouch!”

Suddenly, Vanessa's face twisted into an expression of extreme pain and she doubled over, clutching her head.

“Officer Vanessa?! Are you alright?” Freddy asked, instinctively reaching out to help.

“Mmph, y-yeah... just... just a migraine...”

And major amnesia to follow, Vanessa thought, but there was no need to tell the robot about her chronic health issues. She remained hunched over, temporarily blocking out everything around her as she tried to get over this sudden attack. She couldn't afford to lose the kid again...

Gregory was ready to push Puppet aside just to fight Vanessa for her rude nature towards his friends, though Charlie held fast to the squirming child with her arms laced around his small frame. There was no room for arguing between them. With Freddy intervening and trying to talk some sense into Vanessa, Charlie put more space between the humans.

“Freddy—” she said, calm and collected as she watched Vanessa curl at the pressure building in her skull. “—Vanessa needs first aid. She doesn't look too good...”

“Who cares about her?!” Gregory snapped, eyes narrowed at the night guard. His sympathy was clearly thin for her right now, having been tracked down by her for over twenty-four hours by this point. “She's the weirdo who's been trying to kidnap me, remember?!”

“Gregory, please have some empathy. She's hurting...” Charlie remarked. All the while, they were completely unaware what was really happening inside of Vanessa's head.

Ẅ̴̛̪͍̽̑̈́͌͌̄͛̏̏̃̅͝h̵̻̉a̸̺͆t̶̬̿'̴̡́s̴̱͛ ̵̮̅ẃ̸̨r̴͔̐ō̷̖n̷̠͝g̵̦̑,̷̼̔ ̷̳̿f̷̰̽u̷͔̿n̶̝̿n̷̠͒y̷̺͂ ̸̲͋b̴̟͆ǘ̷͇n̵̺͝ṅ̸̪y̴͓̒?̴̡͝[1]

Ä̵͉́r̵̼͑e̶̟͐ ̸͉̓t̵͉͊h̴̜̓ë̶͎́y̷̞͊ ̷͎̒b̶̯̊ẻ̷̟į̶͑ǹ̶̜g̸̤̎ ̵̯̿m̸̝͝è̴͚ȃ̴̠n̶̳̂ ̴͚͒t̴͉̚o̷͉̽ ̶͎̔y̴͓̕o̸͇͌u̶̼̔?̸̻̈

Ș̵̢̡͉̘̊̆̈̎͆ḩ̵̓o̵͎̍w̸̨͒ ̵̮̽t̶͔͋h̵͉̆e̷̪̓m̴̙͊ ̴̻͝w̶̖̚h̴̯̕a̶̰̒t̵̝̂ ̵̼͑h̷̨̒a̴̩͘p̷͚̀p̷̥͌e̴̡͐ṅ̸̺s̴̛ͅ ̶͖̈́w̸͕̔h̸̛̜e̴̤͋n̶̠͒ ̵͖̋ţ̷̀h̶̞̓e̴̼̎ỳ̸̡ ̴͉̓ḏ̷͂o̶̫̚n̴̻͛'̶̤̓t̶͍̄ ̶̫̄p̷̥͐l̵͈͌a̶͈͌y̵̪͌ ̴͕̇n̶̯̓ỉ̵̲c̴̯̓ė̷ͅ.̸̣̊.̶̼̉.̵̨̇ ̵͖̓

The playful voice inside the guard’s mind tried to soothe her, pain increasing the longer she denied it.

“N-No, I... I don't... What...?” Vanessa was mumbling to herself, a nonsensical string of words for the nonsensical voice. The ache was so intense all she wanted to do was curl up on the floor and sleep for days. She resisted as long as she could… but as was the case nowadays, that wasn't more than a few seconds.

“Oh?” All of a sudden Vanessa perked up, releasing her head to stare at the little group in the office. An eerie smile stretched her mouth wide, and her gaze was somehow both vacant yet very sharp. She glanced down at her body, tugging at the crisp, white uniform shirt.

“Oh no, no, this won't do; these clothes are so stiff! She keeps misplacing that thing...” She let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head for a moment before abruptly snapping her gaze to Freddy's. “I'll be riiiiight back~ But while I'm gone, you can play with a friend!”

Without warning she whipped around to dash away through the arcade, her goal known only to herself. For just a second, it seemed like Freddy and his friends' prayers had been answered. That is, until they heard Vanessa shout at the top of her lungs:

“Oh Roooooxyyyyyyy~ Gregory's in the security office, and the power's out! Better go find him before Monty does—you want to make sure you're the best, don't you?”

The mumbling had only raised more questions at Vanessa's strange behavior. But when her whole demeanor changed from agonizing in pain to practically frolicking away to alert the others, Charlie recognized what was happening. Scampering towards Freddy, she raised Gregory up to the bear.

“Put him inside your chest, now!” she begged. “It's her! I recognize the voice now—it's the bunny lady!”

The sound of stampeding, metal feet began to tear straight for them.

“What?!” An incredulous tone could be heard, Roxy flabbergasted that Vanessa would even imply that Monty was better than her. She was the best. An obvious fan favorite!

And she was going to make sure the others knew it. She barreled for the office, feral and growling even as she skidded and slid painfully into the walls.

“Gregory!” Roxy snarled, “Get over here, you snot-nosed punk!”

Freddy knew there was no time for questions, and Michael realized the same. The ghost resisted the urge to argue with Charlie’s instructions, sucking up his personal correlation with shoving a kid into an animatronic’s chest cavity to let the bear do what he needed to. Freddy was safe, and that meant Gregory would be safe, too. Without hesitation Freddy helped Gregory scramble into his surprise compartment, closing the hatch just in time for Roxy to slam into the wall outside the open doorway.

“Roxanne!” Freddy exclaimed, eyes wide at the sight of her in person. Along with the dirt she had a plethora of tiny dents and scratches, presumably from running into things during her frantic search. “What happened to you?!”

“Not the time, Freddy!” Michael reminded with an edge of panic to his voice. “Get Gregory out of here before she figures out where you hid him!”

Freddy stared at Roxy for a moment longer, his face twisted in an expression of genuine hurt and confusion. He hated to see his friends like this—it scared him. Until tonight, Freddy thought it was impossible for him to feel such things as fear…

But that existential crisis was for another time. Michael was right: they had a mission.

Slowly, Freddy began shifting around the wolf, trying not to make any sudden moves that would startle her or give any indication that the child was nearby. Roxy huffed, a simulated sniffing coming from her nose as she glanced around the room in a jittery nature.

“He was here! I just heard him…,” she said, pushing past the Puppet as she inspected the room, practically ignoring Freddy until all hope of finding Gregory had been lost to her.

“Freddy... Buddy, amigo...” She looked to the bear, clasping her paws together as she approached. “You've seen the kid, right? You have to by now. C'mon, help a girl out...”

Charlie already stood in the doorway, making sure the coast was all clear as she motioned just outside Roxanne's line of sight for Freddy to follow her. The wolf’s unsettling appearance, both out of character and alarming, became more apparent the closer she drew.

“Ditch the creepy Puppet! Come hang out with me and help me find that brat!” Roxy begged, yellow eyes desperate for help.

“I... I cannot do that, Roxy,” Freddy replied with a shake of his head. He’d been inching away successfully until the wolf stepped up to him—now she was a bit too close for comfort. Freddy knew she was much faster than him, especially in this virus-induced state, and the last thing he wanted was for her to somehow finagle his stomach hatch open in a frenzy. He just needed to move her a bit and then he could make a break for it.

“You likely will not accept this, but there is something wrong with you,” Freddy continued, gently putting his hands on the wolf’s shoulders. As he spoke he shifted her sideways, ever-so-slowly moving her out of his path. “Something is wrong with all of you—Monty, Chica, even Moon and Officer Vanessa. I am trying to figure it out and return you all to normal, and it would be a great help to me if you would stop trying to pursue the child.”

Freddy’s grip tightened on Roxy’s shoulders. He moved her a little more forcefully, tapping into his animatronic strength just enough to match her resistance. Just a few inches more, and the path would be free.

Roxy's expression turned from one of mild annoyance to complete offense. Her eye's flicked over Freddy's face as if looking for a sign that he was joking.

“What?! There’s nothing wrong with me! I-I'm... I-I—” She stuttered, not for lack of anything to defend herself with verbally, but literally shorting out as she was made to think about her and the rest of the Glamrocks’ actions.

She resisted Freddy’s shifting, trying to push back. But as she glitched, her strength faltered. She was pushed into the desk, a few loose bolts clattering as they toppled to the ground. Before she could explain herself, Freddy and the Puppet were already speeding away.

“W-Wait! Freddy, I'm sorry!” Roxy attempted to call after them. With the child momentarily out of sight and mind, she was granted a minute of lucidity and couldn’t help but feel disgust.

But this quickly faded, as everything did thanks to the malware infecting her very core.

She listened to the voice inside her head that told her to get the child. Her goal was to bring him to the basement without maiming him too much. The rest of the plan was so genius Roxy couldn't even comprehend why they were doing it in the first place.

***

Freddy gritted his teeth as he ran, trying to forget that look in Roxy’s eyes. For just a moment she’d been herself again, trying to break through whatever was controlling her. Her apology echoed heavily in Freddy’s mind, and he suddenly had the strange urge to yell out in frustration. He resisted of course, not wanting to alert anyone to their position more than his heavy footsteps already would. Instead he pressed on, thinking of the best path to their next destination.

“The stage!” Freddy exclaimed, falling into step with Charlie. “It will take us directly to Parts & Service. But we need to activate the sound booth first—hopefully there is a showtime disk already in place, but if not we will have to locate one.”

“How hard could that be?” Gregory asked, relieved when he heard a plan coming from the outside of his little enclosure.

Freddy then took the lead, guiding Charlie back through the arcade and El Chips. Soon enough they’d re-emerged in the main atrium and made a beeline for the sound booth. Thankfully it was also on the third floor, not far from their current position.

“Is a showtime disk like a record?” Charlie felt the need to ask, her voice not above a whisper as they curtailed themselves into the booth. Overlooking the stage and all that sat before the concert area, they sat relatively in the open. With the strange sounds emanating from the third floor backrooms, Puppet wanted to get the show started and leave as soon as possible.

“Yes, it is a CD—like a smaller version of a record,” Freddy explained as he rapidly scanned the area. To his great frustration, there was no such item anywhere in sight. “It is not here—we must take the long way around, back through Rockstar Row. Follow me.”

Not wanting to waste time Freddy urged the Puppet to trail after him, adding in a hushed voice as they moved: “We can use Roxy’s service elevator for the time being, although once we return from Parts & Service we can rest in the security office near Rockstar Row—it is accessible with our new clearance level. From my recollection the showtime disks are often stored there as well, so hopefully we can pick one up in case we need to activate the stage lift later.”

Freddy was hesitant to jinx anything, but in a way it seemed like things might be turning in their favor, if only for a moment. Hopefully Charlie was onto something with regards to Michael’s predicament, and this task wouldn’t be fruitless. Although even if it was, at least it would keep Gregory moving. Freddy dreaded the thought of getting cornered again. If Roxy was already this bad, he didn’t want to know what the others were like.

Having watched the head of security change right before their eyes into someone so completely different than before only told Puppet one thing: this virus didn’t just affect robots. It’d been spreading through people as well.

It just went to show how they needed to work together to keep Gregory separated from whatever the hell was going on around the Pizzaplex. This virus, whatever it was, must have something to do with William's return. Should they make it to Parts & Service in one piece, Michael's experience with dealing in his father's villainy would help them immeasurably.

Again they moved, all too scared for now to let Gregory leave Freddy's chest. It would be bad enough if the robots were seen out and about—though to their benefit Freddy's bandmates only seemed interested in human blood and flesh, not metal and oil.

With Rockstar Row in sight and all its residents currently looking high and low in more complex places for their little gang, they snuck in undetected. Through Roxy's more inexplicably damaged backstage room they crept, right as Gregory broke the silence.

“Freddy? Is it safe to come out yet? My legs are cramping!”

Don't think about the meat pretzel..., Gregory mentally noted as a means of staying calm in the tight closed in space for so long.

Freddy winced as a barrage of images suddenly flashed through his mind in response to Gregory's innocent comment. Most flew by too fast to catch, but three kept repeating themselves over and over again:

A smiling little girl with long, red hair, green eyes, and a red bow in her hair...

A clown-themed animatronic Freddy recognized a Circus Baby...

The same animatronic standing exactly as before, though there was a distinct trail of dark, red liquid leaking from her chest cavity.

“Michael, stop!” Freddy exclaimed, jerking his head in an effort to quell the ghost's memories. Whatever those images represented were so painful even Freddy was starting to feel an ache deep in his core.

“O-Oh god, I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to—is Gregory okay?! I don't like the thought of him being uncomfortable in there w-with... with the cramps, and all,” Michael managed to say, reigning in his wayward thoughts. Clearly this wasn't the only issue at hand, but he didn't want to freak Freddy out and somehow cause exactly what he was afraid of happening.

“Yes, he is fine—Gregory, please come out.” Freddy heaved a sigh of relief as they entered Roxy's service elevator and closed the door. He opened his chest cavity and freed the kid while checking his power meter. “I must charge before we progress—there is a station just outside the main area of Parts & Service. We can stop there before going to the warehouse.”

Helping Gregory down from his spot inside of Freddy's torso, Charlie suggested he sit and stretch his legs before they left the lift. Safe Mode may not be the best way for Freddy to be traveling throughout the night in regards to the draining battery power, but it also still might be one of the only things keeping him safe from the virus spreading around.

“Don't worry you guys,” Charlie tried to comfort. “Gregory's a tough kid, right?”

Gregory plopped to the ground, stretching out his legs and reaching halfheartedly towards his toes.

“More like a kid who's about to have a charley-horse...,” he griped in reply.

He was still having a tough time moving past Vanessa's odd behavior from earlier. He knew she was weird, but that smile... It didn't even look like it belonged to her. It was uncanny—as if someone had copied an eerie grin and pasted it over Vanessa's mouth. Not to mention her words, and the way she said them.

It’d begun to hit Gregory too that something was controlling the minds of people along with the animatronics. That wasn't something he could fathom—the idea of losing his mind inside this nightmare was already becoming too real for him to feel comfortable.

Eventually the lift brought them to the hallway leading towards Parts & Service. If one were to peer into the actual workshop and the safety cylinder, the Map Bot Gregory attempted to reprogram was notably gone...

“The entrance to the warehouse is just around the corner from the charging station,” Freddy informed the group as he led the way out of the elevator. He frowned slightly upon seeing the empty cylinder, wondering who exactly moved the defunct robot. “However, I suggest that you—”

“Ehehehe...” A distinct cackle filled the air, and Freddy whipped his head to find a glowing set of red eyes peering out from a dark corner. Moon crouched low to the ground, swaying slightly as he slowly reached one hand up towards a nearby light switch. Before anyone had time to react, the room was plunged into almost complete darkness. “Nighty-niiiiight~”

“Go!” Freddy exclaimed, thankful that Charlie had already scooped Gregory up at the first sign of danger. As the others moved towards safety, Freddy hung back to distract Moon. However, when he turned back the Daycare attendant was already gone from the corner.

“Why the fuck can he crawl on the CEILING?!” Michael screeched as Freddy's eyes roamed up to find Moon literally scuttling upside-down over their heads like some sort of weird, lanky bug.

The bear simply shook his head at Michael's comment, calling out to the Daycare attendant in an attempt to distract him: “Moon! I... I know where to find another child! Come down here and let me tell you!”

Charlie hand to clamp her wiry hand over Gregory's mouth. The last time she tangled with Moon, she ended up in an unconscious heap on the ground with no way to protect anyone. Vanessa had followed them before, and if last time was forewarning then maybe she wasn't far behind.

As they rushed to tuck themselves safely in the recharge station, Charlie and Gregory could only watch in horror at the way Moon moved, lurching and crawling like something from a horror film. If he was made like this, how could any kid sleep with him around?

“Oh, Freddy, Freddy...” Moon paused to stare down at the bear, his static grin impossibly wider than usual. “Don't you know it's naughty to lie? And naughty ones must be punished...”

“What the hell is he—oh no, Freddy, MOVE!” Michael yelled as Moon suddenly released his grip on the ceiling. The animatronic dropped, twisting his body like a cat to land on top of the cylinder with eyes locked on to the bear.

Freddy, however, was starting to struggle.

“I am almost out of battery power,” he murmured as the LOW POWER alert flashed red and ominous across his vision. Apparently, carrying Gregory inside his chest cavity drained him more than he'd initially thought. He spared a glance to the charging pod, then back to Moon. Thankfully, the Daycare attendant didn't seem interested in Gregory at that moment—he was solely focused on Freddy. “Michael... I think he wants me. For what, I do not know, but... are you able to get out?”

"What?! Freddy, I'm not just gonna bail—”

“GET OUT!” Freddy shouted, stumbling backwards as Moon slunk closer. His vision was fading fast, and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before he shut down. As darkness closed in around him, the bear intoned in a sluggish whisper: “Please... You have to... help them... please...”

And then Freddy collapsed in a heap, Moon cackling all the while.

With both fists, Gregory hit the inside of the charging pod in an attempt to open it. He was quickly snatched backwards by Charlie, and they could only listen helplessly as Moon encroached upon Freddy. Charlie had to remind herself that, even if he got out of this in one piece, until the bear was recharged and with Michael attached to him, she'd be the only one to watch Gregory.

Trembling and forced to be silent inside Puppet's arms, Gregory strained to get out and help. Rationally though, he knew there was nothing he could do—and Moon may just in fact tear his new best friend apart.

[1] What’s wrong, funny bunny?

Are they being mean to you?

Show them what happens when they don’t place nice…

***

Previous Chapter ~~ Next Chapter

Looking for more? Check out the Chapter Masterlist on Tumblr!

Or check out the entire Wires that Bind Us Series on ao3!

8 notes · View notes