#not 'i could fix him' or 'i could make him worse'‚ but a secret third thing (i could be a better politician than him)

[grishaverse-chaos]

Also what are your overall opinions on the Darkling?

honestly I'm suchhhhh a darkling anti sorry bestie 😭😭

if you've looked through my tag I'm sure you've seen some of these thoughts before, but imo he's not only a terrible person but also a failed revolutionary

like you say his methods worked a lot of times, but in canon he basically achieves NONE of his aims - by the time of the books, he's had over 300 years of power, and grisha are still being persecuted etc. obviously this isn't entirely his fault, but it does prove that whatever he's been doing isn't particularly effective

politics is one of my fav topics tbh and one that I've talked a LOT about especially with regard to the darkling, and my general point is that there are so many other ways he could have achieved his goals more effectively, and that his actions in canon actually damaged ravka considerably more than they aided it

[legobiwan]

This is such a telling page for Ford. Not only does he detail his social missteps and admit to being lonely in Gravity Falls, despite the scientific wonder of the place, but he also uses what I call "Fordese 2," a scrambled version of the "Fordese 1" code we were first introduced to in Journal 3 to label himself a "six-fingered freak" and to state that "Stanley would have made her laugh." (Her, being the waitress Ford tries out his nerdy science joke on, which goes down like a lead balloon despite the fact that it is legitimately funny, given the right audience).

It's like Bill says. "Ego of a king. The insecurity of a circus freak. And totally isolated..." (Funny enough, Bill could probably turn those exact words on himself, as well.)

Ford so wanted Gravity Falls to be the place where he'd finally fit in, the puzzle to his misshapen puzzle piece.

And as we see in the missing Journal pages from BoB, that was not to be the case. And worst of all? Ford blames it on his hands at first, but the reality is that he says that "Stanley could make her laugh," meaning Ford's "freakishness" (as he would put it) has less to do with his six fingers and much more to do with Ford's personality and the way he interacts with others.

This is actually worse. Fingers, you can fix, if you want to. By the time you're an adult, most people probably wouldn't care. But to Ford, his fingers seem to be more a manifestation of something internal, something he feels is fundamentally broken about him and that's just the absolute worst hell to be stuck in.

So yeah, it's hardly surprising Ford fell so hard for Bill's shenanigans (and you can define "fell so hard" however you want, although that karaoke page in BoB is especially damning). Here's an interdimensional being who not only can guide you to unlocking the secrets of the universe and propel you towards scientific fame and glory (and thus shoving every taunt, invective, side-eye, and eye roll ever hurled at you over the decades down your tormentors' throats) - but he's (on the surface) completely glib about being a freak himself.

For Ford, this must have been like finding a shady, sparkling oasis after thirty years of trawling through the desert (especially after Stanley's "betrayal" - Stanley, who along with Fiddleford, being the only person Ford felt like he could be himself around and still be accepted as a human being).

Now, is Bill trying way too hard to show how much he doesn't care? Uhhh, yeah. Bill has almost the same hangups as Ford. Labeled a freak for a genetic mutation and ostracized by his peers. Has a rare gift in that he can see not only into the third dimension but can see even past that, into possible dimensions and futures, which is a wild skill to have. Compare this with Ford's gigantic science brain and academic overachievement. Same deal. And not only this! Bill, in an attempt to prove what he can do with his "freakishness," to prove his worth and place in the universe - he tries to show off something to the denizens of his dimension (we don't know yet what Bill did), only to end up slaughtering his entire dimension. Ford was a hair's breath away from doing the exact same thing with the portal. Because we know from Journal 3 that part of his motivation is to be famous and get accolades for his work, and that maybe "girls will finally talk to me." (Which, Fordsy, let's be real here - I don't think you're actually into these "girls" for real, but you want the acceptance that comes with fitting in with societal standards, and getting a state-sanctioned girlfriend is exactly the type of thing Ford would want to make himself feel "normal.")

Anyway, the point being that if Ford had succeeded with his initial portal attempt, he would have basically wiped out his own dimension. Just. Like. Bill. And it makes you wonder - yeah, yeah, Bill wanted to party, Bill needed out of the Nightmare Realm, Bill's a psychopath who enjoys destruction.

But honestly? I think part it all was that Bill wanted someone like him. His own puzzle piece. Another monster. A being whose collateral damage in the quest to justify their existence in this universe ends in wholesale slaughter.

And Ford had the capacity to easily fit that mould.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Young Gods (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 

Summary: History has a way of repeating itself. Much like another pair before you, Aemond and you make each other worse. 

Requested: Yup. Hades!Aemond with a not so literal twist. Strong!Reader. Requests still open!

Warnings: Dark fic? Rape is mentioned a lot. People in their underwear, non-consensual touching and nudity. Beheading. Kidnapping, duh. Plenty of self harm threats. Detailed TW after the whole work. 

STORM’S END IS cold. As you dismount, the wind snaps your braid back, forcing you to grab it with one hand. You are careful to fix the flower shaped pins attached there. They were a terrible choice for today, as was your dress. It’s made of a fine red linen, bodice shaped like leaves hugging your body.

You favor botanical patterns, but it seems this keep is not the place for it. Sensing your distress, your dragon whines. 

“Everything it’s alright, girl.” You shush her, affectionately. She is a lovely dragon, although on the small side. The guards don’t seem very impressed with her, and it vexes you. She may not be what people think of when they picture a dragon, but she had been with you since you were only a couple of days old.  

Her youthfulness is seen by many as a hindrance, but not to you. Just as your brother’s dragons, your Green Lady is a daughter to Syrax. She had hatched when you were a babe, and shared your craddle until she got too big and needed to be moved to the dragonpit. The bond you shared was stronger than what older dragons could ever hope to have with second or third riders. 

Perhaps because of your derisive thoughts about older dragons, there is a sudden, loud screech. Vhagar. Of course. That was why the guards were so unimpressed with your dragon.  You chuckle, out of sheer frustration. What else could go wrong today? 

The tensions in your family had always been more on the male side. Both Helaena and you had been left out of it, both deemed too queer to truly engage in clever quips and insulting toasts. Your uncle, in particular, had never paid much attention to you. 

There had been some japes about your bastardy, but Aemond had been more focused on Luke and Jace. He preferred to single them out, take his frustrations out through humiliating your siblings. 

Some of it, you guessed, had to do with the loss of his eye. Luke had taken it from him, after all. But a secret, resentful part of you thought it had to do with the fact they were men. 

Thank the Gods your mother had sent Luke to deal with the Arryns. You shuddered to think the face Aemond would make when he saw you, but had you been Luke, you feared that he would have snapped. He would probably have ended up doing something unforgivable. 

You tell one of the guards your name. “I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.” 

The man looks at you, pity in his eyes. He knows as well as you that your mission is doomed from the start. If you had beaten Aemond there, if you had something more substantial to offer…

Thunder cracks. Rain seems about to start. You square your shoulders, and smile at him. 

“… Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” It chafes, that the knight doesn’t refer to your mother by her proper title. You bet that when he announced Aemond, they named him brother to the King. 

When you enter the hall, your eyes do not linger on any decorations or the people there. Your eyes scan over them, searching for a tall figure, dressed in all black. Aemond is looming to the side of Lord Borros’ throne. Next to him, stands a girl with a no nonsense expression, dressed in Baratheon's colors. 

“Lord Borros.” You address the man on the throne. He is big and broad, with a long beard. He is also wearing a tremendous scowl. You give him your sweetest smile. “I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen.” 

“Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King.” The man gestures at Aemond, tone dripping with condescension. “Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.”

Some of the guards present and the Baratheon girl laugh. You keep your expression pleasant, unaffected by the mockery. Having grown as an unusual child, you are used to it. It had endeared you to your aunt, but unlike her, you were adept enough with social cues to know you were being laughed at. 

I’ll tell you a secret: Humiliation still tastes the same, even when you are expecting it. 

“What is your mother’s message?” Borros asks, when it is clear you will not react. You step closer and hand him the letter. “Where is the bloody maester?” 

You watch as the maester reads the letter aloud, whispering into his lord’s ear. You don’t notice how Aemond steps closer. 

“Remind me of my father’s oath. Bah.” Borros scoffs. Despite knowing your mission had been doomed from the start, you still feel disappointed. As silly as it sounded, you had been harboring a secret hope that he would change his mind. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: My swords and banners for a marriage pact.” 

“If I do as your mother bids… Which one of my daughters will you wed, girl?” He mocks, and you see red. You wish to tear him to pieces, this smug man, Daemon, Jace. It comes down to that, once again. The fact that you are not a man. 

Your mother had yet to name her heir. She always excused herself by saying her throne was not yet secure, the succession issue would be settled in time. But you knew her true thoughts. Her sweet girl, she called you. The strange firstborn, who liked flowers and dressing up as a forest nymph. The one that was not fit to rule. 

There is no succession issue, you wanted to scream, sometimes, as you watched Daemon pat your twin in the back, give him secret smiles. He assumed he was to be King. The bond they had was one you envied, sometimes. Daemon had never looked at you as a daughter, having two of them already. But Jace was his first son. 

It wasn’t fair. You had come out of the womb first, wailing, before even Jacaerys was pushed out. Your mother was doing to you what her own father had done to her, refusing to recognize her as heir. But unlike what had happened to her, you doubted she would change her mind. 

“I would wed one of your sons, my lord.” You say, smoothly. The anger, the fire and blood that make you a dragon, threatens to burst through. “But I do not know if I am free to marry, for my twin brother heads North to offer my hand to Lord Stark.” 

Offer. As if it were not yours to give. You are not sure of how you will lay with a man when you despise them this much. The mere thought revolts you, tales of the birthing bed and the consummation making rage bubble up under your skin. You wish you had been born a man. 

Your brother rides North with tales of your beauty and fertility, the same you must have inherited from your mother. As if you were a breeding bitch, of impeccable stock, to produce more pups for the northern wolf. They do not see you as a person, so why should you see them like one, too?

“So you come with empty hands. Go home, girl. Go back to playing with your flower crowns and dolls.” It stings. A hand goes to your dark hair, held back in a braid adorned by marigold pins. You feel like such a silly little girl, and you hate him for it. “Tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.” 

You smile at him, coldly. You give him a curtsy, back ramrod straight, jaw hurting from clenching your teeth so hard. If you were a man, you would be allowed to be incensed at the insults being thrown your way.  Hell, if you weren’t, they would call you craven. But as a woman, if you show your anger, you will be called hysterical. 

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord.” 

You begin to exit the hall, hands tightly clenched into fists. 

“Wait… my Lady Strong.” 

You recognize that voice. You would know it anywhere. Despite it, you keep walking. Aemond moves to intersect your path, bodily placing himself between the entrance and you. 

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

You stare at him, eyes full of hatred. You wish you were wittier, that you could give him a scathing quip about using your proper title and being half cunt, as Daemon says. But you are not. Instead, you try to evade him, but he steps into your path again, smug little smirk on his face and hands clasped behind his back. The picture of confidence. 

“I will not fight you. I come as a messenger, not a warrior.” You say, voice firm. Despite it, your hand lowers to the folds of your dress. Against your thigh, you carry a dagger. A last resort, and a precaution, Daemon had said, when giving it to you. Men were cruel to beautiful maidens all the time. His eyes had lingered a tad too long when you strapped it to your leg. More than what a father’s should.

Despite your unfortunate coloring, you still were Rhaenyra’s daughter through and through. The similarities weren’t in the bone structure, but in much subtler details. The tilt of your head when you laughed. The way you walked. How your cheeks dimpled. Enough that men noticed. 

“A fight would be little challenge.” Aemond mocks, hand coming to grasp at your jaw. Something odd crosses his eye. Almost… Wishful. It scares you. You jerk out of his grip so fast your cheeks ache. “No. You love your brother, don’t you? Luke.” 

You stare at him, unmoved. Aemond stares back. His gaze feels full of disdain to you, as it draws a path from your light red skirt, to the crown of flowers in your hair. He makes you feel small and trapped, and you hate it. You are not less because your father is not Laenor Velaryon, you remind yourself. 

“I want you to put out your eye, as payment for mine. One would serve. I would not blind you. Mm. Plan to make it a gift to my mother.” His eye looks crazed, face dangerously close to yours. His expression is close to the lust you have seen in Daemon’s eyes, and it terrifies you. Because Aemond doesn’t admire your resemblance to his wife. His lust is for blood. 

“No.” 

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor.” And he lunges at you again, and you can’t help it, really. You shriek, rushing towards the doors and avoiding him as best as you can. 

“Not here!” Borros interferes, for the first time. He sounds worried. You would be, too, if you saw a man stalking behind a woman in the way Aemond is going after you. Your heart is in your throat, you fear it might leap out if you speak. 

“Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!” And this time, he does grab you. Your hands go to cover your eyes, and you keep screaming, shrill and high, terrified. 

“Not in my hall!” And there are hands tugging at you, tugging at your dress, getting Aemond away. You open your eyes to see Borros’ knights dragging him away. “The girl came as an envoy, and I will not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Escort the Princess to her dragon.” 

You can’t believe you are still alive. Aemond looks enraged, body positioned forward as if to lunge again. He struggles against the grip the guards have on him. There are at least four holding him down. He is a man possessed. 

You do not hesitate. You hike up your skirts and run. 

BY THE TIME Aemond leaves Lord Baratheon’s hall, it has already started raining. The guards release him only after you are out of sight, but rage still flows through his arteries, warming his blood. 

His face feels hot. He is no doubt blushing. Aemond is unsure if it is from fury or shame. Holding you against him, soft skin yielding like butter under his fingers, smelling of flowers, he had gotten struck by a memory. That smell… 

You had been a girl. No older than eight. You had sat in the gardens, surrounded by flowers, their perfume lingering in your hair and skin. Searching for fairies, you had explained, with the most serious face. Helaena was searching with you, giggling in excitement. The two of you had invited him to join, but Aemond had refused, citing fairies didn’t exist.

For a moment, he felt as the rude nine years old he had been, sneering down on silly girls who smelled like flowers. The memory had hit him with the force of a war hammer, dragging him out of his thoughts of getting his revenge on your siblings through you. 

He had been jerked out of it when you had started screaming your lungs out. It was not that you dared be sweet, with your flowers and childish dresses. Nor that you had grown into an objectively pretty woman. It was that you had dared push him off you when he had only wanted to gaze upon your eyes, that you had made his stomach swoop with uncomfortable feelings, that he found you so damn irresistible. 

Some fools in the realm called you the prettiest maiden in Westeros. Once, he had thought them exaggerated tales, to please your whore of a mother. Aemond despised agreeing with the masses, and yet, he now had to admit there was a certain truth to it. 

His grandfather was right. Bastards were treacherous creatures, made only out of lust. There had to be some sorcery at play. Aemond was sure of it, and he was going to end you for daring to use your tricks on him.  

“My Prince, are you sure you must leave?” His betrothed gives him her best cow eyes. Aemond is sure they are supposed to be seductive, but he is too annoyed to care. Besides, she seems as daft as they come, and conniving too. Nothing more dangerous than an ambitious fool.  “The weather is so terrible, and all of that with that wretched girl…” 

“Dragons care not for rain.” He answers, striding towards Vhagar regardless. Hearing you being called a wretched girl only serves to rile him up more. It was not Floris’ place to criticize you, she was forgetting her position. A whore and a sorceress you might be, but you were half Targaryen. This one was plain whore. “And mind your tongue, less you bite it and poison yourself.” 

Vhagar was agitated when he mounted her. Seeing your dragon had excited her, perhaps. It encouraged her to fly faster, more daringly than usual. It meant Aemond caught up with you in no time. 

He sees your back first. Your braid is whipping against the wind, most flowers gone. The few that remain look askew. Your red dress is absolutely drenched, clinging to the curves and dips on your body in an indecent manner. It makes his blood boil. You must have worn it to attract attention. Harlot. 

Your smaller dragon is having trouble keeping up with the weather. The wind hits against her wings, and she doesn’t have the experience Vhagar has when flying in adverse conditions. Your voice is carried by the wind, sharp commands in High Valyrian, ordering to fly lower, avoid the clouds. The poor thing tries, but not even your attempts at helping her are making a difference. 

“Riiñaa…” Aemond taunts, trying to reach you. At first, you don’t hear, his voice covered by the noise of wind and rain. “Riña!”

You jump on your dragon’s back. Unlike him and his siblings, you don’t ride chained to the saddle. You look back at him, brown eyes panicked. The rain sliding down your cheeks looks eerily like tears. 

“Adere.” You order your dragon. But Aemond will not allow you to escape that easily. Not when he has you so close. He orders the same to Vhagar. 

“Jemēla gēlȳni enkā!” He shouts at you. A debt. For the eye your brothers had taken, and the trick you had played on him mere minutes ago. 

“I don’t owe you anything!” 

It’s all a blur when he later reflects on it. Some things happen too fast to be stopped, and you can only watch in horror as time seems to pause before the disaster happens. 

Vhagar screeches, excited by the thrill of the chase. Her jaws snap towards your dragon. 

“No… No…  No! Vhagar, serve me! Serve me, Vhagar!” 

But she ignores his commands. No matter how hard he tugs on the reins, Vhagar won’t budge. It is both the foreboding crackling of distant thunder, and the desperation he feels at being powerless, what makes him reach forward, and grab your arm, tightly. 

Your dragon ducks. One second you are sitting in the saddle and the next you are not. Aemond can’t feel his hands. You are screaming so loud his ears ring, and Vhagar is roaring again. There is a sickening crunch, your green dragon roaring in utter rage. You cling to his arms, grip slippery and cold, rain still pouring over the both of you. 

He pulls up, as his shoulders crack in protest. Were it not for the fact that he is chained to his saddle, you might take him with you in your fall into the abyss. Your nails dig into his skin, painfully. You are howling like you are the one being murdered, but you climb, bravely placing a foot on Vhagar’s scales and helping Aemond get you in the space between the saddle and Vhagar, in front of him. 

You start to wail. 

“No, no, no!”

Aemond doesn’t dare look. His own hands are shaking. But as you start to try to throw him off Vhagar, slapping him everywhere you can reach, he has to. He needs to know. 

Your dragon is covered in blood. It is sprayed along her belly and wings, as if Vhagar had not only bitten her, but also shook her as a dog with a bone. Her front paw is missing, and she howls in agony with every turn. But she has the same bravery as you do, and she is trying to defend her rider, about to slam against Vhagar in a suicide mission. 

“Call her off!” Aemond orders you. “Call her off, she is going to die.” 

He knows how painful the loss of an eye is. He cannot imagine losing a limb. But the great beast, your Green Lady, as you call her, is still fighting. Her devotion must be stronger than the pain she is suffering. She doesn’t seem to care that Vhagar is much bigger and could eat her whole. 

Vhagar licks her chops. Aemond shouts something. He is not even sure what is coming out of his mouth any longer, but you sob, and peer to the side. 

You had not noticed she was still alive. You howl. Your dragon responds to your cry, roaring at Vhagar. 

Aemond looks at your face. He sees the calculation in your eyes, deciding if to call your dragon off or not, if it is worth the risk. If you could jump from the saddle, from Aemond’s front and into your own mount. It’s risky. 

“Lykirī!” You finally scream, and he nearly sags in relief. Your dragon obeys much better than Vhagar, stopping on her tracks. She hovers by, as if unsure why she should not try to kill the threat that took her human and her paw. 

Things are about to get nasty. He can tell. No matter how tame she is, she is still a beast, and the urge to protect and fight will surpass her training. 

“We need to land, now.” Aemond orders, and without waiting for your permission, nudges Vhagar into dropping.  But your dragon gets in the way once more, set on headbutting Vhagar. Aemond has to do a swerve to the side to avoid his dragon eating the damn thing. 

You say nothing. Your whole body is tense, anticipating the opportunity for a rescue. Your hands let go of Vhagar and instead, start to reach forward. 

Aemond snarls. He grabs at your braid and tugs back, sharply. 

“Don’t you dare!” 

“Lykirī.” You shout. Aemond’s mind is racing. What to do now? He almost killed you, he thinks, and cannot help himself. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, until you are flinching in his grip. 

Seven Hells, what is he supposed to do? He can’t land. Bringing whatever is going on between your two dragons to land is risky. If allowed, Vhagar would eat yours whole. And that is not considering they might as well take to the skies on their own and leave you stranded. There is nothing for miles, not even a Keep. 

You have family in the Vale. He could fly there and… What would he even say? I accidentally almost killed my niece? Your kinsmen would slaughter him.

There are a few heath leaves in your hair, pink and glorious against the dark backdrop of your braid. Solitude, Aemond thinks. Are you as lonely as him, or do you simply like pink? 

The memory comes back, unprompted. You, laughing in the gardens, smelling like flowers. A crown of marigolds in your hair, running among the tulips barefoot, sun kissing your skin. Searching for fairies. 

He has never gotten anything pretty for himself. But maybe… He touches a pink petal, watching how the rain clings to it. It’s almost like dew. 

Your mother had sent you away on your own. She didn’t value as she did your siblings, clearly. For any princess, no matter how loyal her dragon, should travel with her guards. 

He had wanted your eye. But it would be too cruel, wouldn’t it? To scar such a beautiful face. If he took something else instead… 

No one would notice. No one had to know if he just…

“Where are we going? You said we were going to land.” You ask, turning to look over your shoulder. The tilt of your head is enchanting, and he finds himself fascinated by it. 

You huff, annoyed by his lack of response. He observes how your brows pinch together, and thinks of the debt your family owes him. His eye. The eye of a prince for the maidenhead of a bastard girl. It wouldn’t even scar you forever, even when it would forever haunt you. It seemed like a fair exchange. 

“To the Vale.” Aemond lies, as smoothly as he can. “You have family there, and can no longer be my problem.” 

You keep an alert position, but you relax against him. You are too trusting for your own good. It is precisely why a woman, you, shouldn’t inherit the Iron Throne. 

When the two of you fly past the Vale, you do not notice at first. Your eyes are trained on your dragon, dutifully flying at Vhagar’s right, slightly behind. Just unreachable enough for you to jump on her, but also just unreachable enough for Vhagar to bite. Freedom in exchange for safety. 

You have not said a word during the whole journey. Perhaps you fancy yourself irritated at him. 

“Prince Aemond!” You scream, once you notice the terrain under you is no longer the green hills the Vale is known for. “What…?” 

“I lied. We are going to the Red Keep.” 

You call your Green Lady to you, high and panicked. Aemond grabs your braid, making a fist close to your skull and forcing you to arch your back. You yelp in pain. 

“Don’t you dare! Tell her to fly behind Vhagar. One wrong move on your part and your dragon dies.” Aemond warns. You get the same calculating look in your eyes, lowering them to the clouds under you. The fall would be fatal. 

“I will never forgive this.” It comes out from behind clenched teeth. Your back is still arched, Aemond’s grip still strong. He tugs a little more, if only to see you take it, pretty little body making a perfect bow. 

He thinks of his rage, and how he is starved for death and blood. He thinks of himself as Vhagar, biting down on your paw and shaking his head until his own mouth is covered by blood. Of your dark hair spread over white sheets, a halo. Of a boy’s dark hair, and a knife. The stench of blood, your wet body, your smile, the sinful urges. 

Maidenheads were just blood, too. 

YOU CAN HEAR your dragon screeching as the dragonkeepers drag her away. They prod at her, as she cries her distress, mirroring your own. Just as Syrax cries when your mother is in the birthing bed, your Green Lady cries with your despair. You scream, trying to get to her, and Aemond’s hands tug at your dress, your thighs, anything he can reach to keep you. 

When he tires of you, he throws you over his shoulder, hands digging into your thighs so hard it hurts. You are sure that there will be bruises left in the aftermath of his grip.

You do not stop screaming. All the way to the entrance of the keep, you scream for help. Every servant you see is one you ask to help you, the same for the guards. But while some of them pause in their duties to stare, Aemond doesn’t. 

He strides confidently, despite being in wet clothes and with a woman hanging upside down in his arms. You get glimpses of the Red Keep as you pass, tapestries and dragon motifs gone and replaced by the Seven Pointed Star. Gone are the crimson and black banners your grandfather had favored, replaced by green ones. The call to war is not missed on you. 

You are familiar enough with the layout of the building to know that the room you are shoved in is his. The door slams after you, Aemond not even caring to check if you landed on your feet.  You don’t waste your time looking around, choosing instead to try to force the door open. 

“Let me out!” 

No one answers. You scream and scream, but no one comes. You are unable to tell if Aemond has walked away or is still in the hallway. After a while, you begin to hear hurried footsteps. 

“Was that…?” The usurper dares ask. 

“That’s Rhaenyra’s heir! You will undo everything this family has…” Alicent. At least she is being reasonable, you suppose. Perhaps she will convince them of sending you back. 

“I have gained us a hostage, you mean.” You can almost picture Aemond’s haughty expression. His tone is cold, as if he finds Alicent’s concerns dumb. 

“Your grandfather..!” 

“…Just because you are not ruthless enough to do what…” 

A slap, hard. Aegon laughs, a bit hysterical. You wonder what Aemond had been suggesting, what Alicent had seen in his eyes to prompt the slap. 

“Do not take that tone with me. Dishonor the girl, Aemond and the Seven help you..!” 

Dishonor. Oh. Did she think the two of you were involved? You frown. You don’t like this. Anxiety begins to pool in your stomach, a sense of dread so strong it makes you feel dizzy. 

“One would think, with how often you called her mother whore…” Aemond argues. Instead of making you bristle, though, it only heightens your uneasiness. You are more focused on his tone than his words, and he sounds wrong. Like he had sounded when he was laughing after Vhagar bit your dragon. 

“A highborn woman can be two things: A maiden or a mother.” Alicent cuts him again, and the feeling of wrongness intensifies. Unable to see them, you feel like you are missing half the conversation, but your gut tells you it is bad. 

“Are you suggesting..?” Aegon sounds as confused and horrified as you feel.

“No! You will not use rape to terrorize our enemies.” 

Rape. Rape. You feel as if you are underwater. Everything sounds muffled, except from the thump of blood in your ears. You can’t breathe. In your mind, rape is not something that happens to Princesses like you. It’s something you read about in your history books, something that happens to servants or lowborn women. 

No one would dare touch you, you had thought once. For you were a good maiden, one that didn’t dress too provocatively and who was kind to everyone around her. But most importantly, your mother was going to be Queen. No one would touch you. They couldn’t. 

Men’s lustful glances were nothing new to you. As a princess, you were a coveted prize. You knew they lusted after your blood, the Valyrian children and the dragons you could provide. But never had you caught one lusting after your body. You still dressed like a girl, running around Dragonstone with flowers tangled in your hair and no shoes. 

If any man had looked, Daemon disposed of them. And while the glances your stepfather gave you were charged, you never thought he would act on them. 

“… The bannermen will think us fools!” 

Men who raped women weren’t princes. They were commoners, soldiers drunk on power, dirty beggars who pounced on strangers in alleyways. Drunkards in taverns, that smelled like piss. If there were any lords that partook in those horrid acts, you always thought they were cruel ones, like the Boltons, and always on serving girls. 

You had never felt unsafe near Aemond. He was a prince, he was part of your family. It had never occurred to you that you could be stripped naked and forced to share his bed, not even imprisoned as you are. 

You imagine him, ordering one of the guards to remove your clothes. You imagine yourself, naked, trying to preserve your modesty, and being beaten for it. Aemond’s hands, touching you, forcing your legs apart, hitting you when you do not comply. Your uncle, your uncle who preferred books to people, who was always so quiet, being no different from those terrible men at all. 

It's impossible, you think. He is only doing it to rile up his mother, to seem more manly in front of his brother. He has always felt the need to compensate for something. Yes, Aemond is incapable of it. 

Your entrails turn to ice. If it is so impossible, you think, why does it scare you so much? Why are your palms sweating, why are there acrid tears burning through your cheekbones, leaving a scorched path down to your jaw? 

Where is this fear coming from?

“I could send her back, broken. As a warning.” Aemond taunts. You feel like a giant fist is squeezing your heart, until it turns into a bloodied pulp. You taste the blood on your throat. 

Who is this man, that has taken you from a safe world and dragged you into this hell? This man, who talks of breaking you, of sending you back dishonored and beaten. You do not recognize Aemond. Not even after all the years of taunts and resentment you would have expected anything like this. 

Like a prey animal, you freeze next to the door, hands wringing together anxiously. 

“A lesson.” Another voice joins. Otto Hightower. “But there are more efficient ways to bring down our foes. No. You will take her to wife. Rhaenyra will have to be Queen, of course, but then it shall be her turn…” 

It all turns into static in your ears after that. You probably won’t be raped today, but you might still be. Who knows if Aemond will give up his plan because his mother and grandfather say so? Once, when you thought you knew him, you would have thought you were safe. He would never dare disobey them. But he would never dare suggest raping a woman either, right?

“… Running to a brothel no doubt. Essos, was it?” 

You no longer care about the conversation, but you guess they are speaking of Aegon. It is a mystery how he will fit in their plans. Be it as it may, you don’t intend to find up.  You grab your dagger, and sit on the bed. 

When Aemond enters, this is what he finds. 

You, still wet, dripping water into his bed. Hand holding a dagger to your own throat. 

“Take one step further, I dare you.” You whisper, eyes cold. 

Aemond’s expression darkens. He stands straighter, looking every inch the warrior. His eye moves from your dagger, to your eyes, then back at the dagger.  

“I could take that from you in a moment.” 

“I swear to you, if you step any closer, I will slit my throat and bleed to death right here in your bed.” You tilt your chin up, letting the cold kiss of the blade caress your skin. 

You had heard once of a culture where women would jump into fire pits when their men were defeated in battle, to avoid being dishonored by the conquering armies. It’s not a bad way to die, you think. Sounds less painful than the horrors that await you in this bed. You, too, would prefer death to being brutalized. 

“You are nothing more than a little girl playing pretend.” 

“This is not a game to me.” Aemond steps closer, and you make a slashing motion with the dagger. Blood starts to pool at the cut you make, barely deep enough to leave a mark. You lift the dagger again, set in your grim choice. Death before dishonor. Death before betraying your Queen and becoming a pawn in the Greens desperate bid for power. 

“Wait!” He cries out, eye wide with anger and fear. You imagine his heart must be thumping as loudly as yours was when you heard him proposing to break you as if you were an unwilling mare. “Stop! I will take the blade from you, you stupid…” 

“I’ll be dead before you reach me.” You taunt, with a vicious smile. It feels good, seeing him feel the terror you had felt mere moments before. The dagger rises again, your hand trembling slightly. 

It is not fear. Only an acute feeling of satisfaction, that feels close to sexual arousal, with how good it is. You are under control now. He has taken everything away from you, but he will never be able to take this. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Aemond’s nostrils widen, face twisting into absolute rage. You had thought him a man possessed before, a devil wearing your uncle’s face. But now, he looks beastly, a bull ready to charge and ram anything on his path. You don’t waver. “You are a woman, and you only possess the amount of courage women have.” 

You think of your mother, who took six times to the birthing bed. You think of yourself, all the old hurts that made you who you are. The times you had felt less, the times you had felt scared. And you think of how good it will feel, how much it will scar him if you die in this very room. 

“Put me to the test, then. If you dare. You know nothing of courage, you might surprise yourself.” 

Aemond examines your face. You do not know what he finds there, but it must terrify him, for his hands raise in surrender. 

“Fine. You win. You win, my Princess.” He takes a step back, and then another. You do not lower the blade, still holding it against your throat. You fear he is about to trick you. 

His hand goes to his belt, where his own dagger hangs. Your body coils, ready to spring up into action, but Aemond merely takes the sheat off it and throws it at you. 

“You win. Keep that as your prize.” And he is turning on his heel, and leaving the room. Before he exits, he shouts at you. “I'll send for clothes and a bath, less you catch your death.” 

Without taking your eyes off the door, you lean down and pick up the sheat. You catch a glimpse of your reflection on the metal. For a second, you think you see a woman watching you back, eyes cold as obsidian and a crown of dead flowers in her head. Her hair is loose over her shoulders, chopped off roughly. But when you blink again, the familiar brown eyes you are used to stare back at you. Your braid is slowly coming undone. 

THE SCREAMS YOU let out as Ser Arryk holds you down are more than enough satisfaction for Aemond. He might not be able to break you fully yet, but it's more than enough of a substitute. He imagines what it will be like, chipping your resistance away little by little, and cannot stop the smirk spreading on his face. 

He might not be allowed to rape you, but no one said anything about breaking you. It was fine, really. Rape was nasty business, despite its effectiveness in breaking a person. Aemond could testify to that.

Your dagger had been taken from you early on by the Kingsguard, when you had tried to stab him for holding you down. This time, Aemond wasn’t going to repeat his mistake of allowing you to keep the dagger. 

He strips you down to your chemise, just for the sake of it. He takes a good look at your teats, barely covered by the wet cloth, and trusted outwards with the way Ser Arryk is holding you. At the way your poor little buds stand to attention, even if unwilling. At how the white chemise looks obscenely sheer, clinging to all the curves and dips of your body. 

“No, please. No. I rather die. Don’t… Don’t… No.” You start to cry when your dress is peeled away from you, terrified. Your eyes are wide as saucers. They glint with your tears, highlighting their offending color. Poor little bastard girl, thinking Aemond will get enjoyment out of your body. 

He might. Just not in the way you think. 

“You are pretty when you beg, riñitsos.” 

“Aemond, please. No. I am still a maiden, I can’t…” You choke on a sob, next words unintelligible. 

Ser Arryk looks vaguely uncomfortable. He averts his eyes from the scene unfolding in front of him and stares to the wall, past Aemond, and over your head. 

“They call you the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms.” Aemond comments, idly. He unpins your braid, letting it fall down your back. With Ser Arryk behind you, and him pressing close on your front, there is nowhere for you to run. It’s delightful, the fear on your face. 

Unable to help himself, he pinches one of your breasts, making you yowl like a cat. 

“I like your teats best.” He leers, doing his best to imitate Aegon with the serving girls. It’s not that he is actually getting any sexual satisfaction out of this. This is about control and fear, and you have shown this is what you fear most.  It would be foolish not to take advantage of it. “Do you think they will call you the most beautiful woman, once I am done with you?” 

Ser Arryk looks at you with pity. He leans his head down, perhaps thinking he is being subtle. 

“At ease, Princess. You won’t be harmed.” He whispers. If Aemond had not lost his eye, he might not have heard him. But thanks to your beloved sibling, his hearing is more acute than a normal man’s. “Prince Aemond won’t disobey the Queen. He is only trying to frighten you.” 

Aemond smirks. He tugs at your hair. 

“I am not allowed to dishonor you, of course.” He smiles, pressing the dagger to the part of the braid that lays over your nape. You don’t notice, too busy hiccuping and recoiling in fear. “But I understand nothing done on the marriage bed is dishonorable. We might even call for a bedding, wouldn’t that be nice?” 

“I know no other queen but Rhaenyra Targaryen, queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. And she won’t allow her daughter to marry a craven cripple.” You stand up straighter as you speak, no matter that Ser Arryk is holding you. Your words are as much for the knight as they are for him. 

The urge to slap you, or stab you with the dagger is strong. For a terrifying moment, Aemond fears he might actually go through it, and ruin his grandsire’s plans. Impudent little bitch.

The dagger is so sharp it cuts through your braid in one pass. You howl when you hear something ripping, thinking it might be your chemise, by how you struggle. Aemond smugly presents it to you, some withering marigolds still weaved into the dark hair. 

“Something to send my dear sister.” He says, as he places the two long braids in a silk bag. You cry harder. Aemond wasn’t exposed to you much during your teenage years, but he remembered that as a little girl, your brown, glossy hair had been your pride and joy. A shameful proof of your bastardy, no doubt, but one that everyone complimented. 

You had taken to flaunting it, when older. Wearing flower crowns, and embellishments on it, keeping it long. A girl in the bloom of her maidenhood, more forest nymph than Targaryen Princess. 

And it was all gone. Packed neatly into a silk bag, along with your dagger and red dress. He hoped the old whore howled with the same agony when she opened it.

When Ser Arryk lets go of you, the first thing you do is reach up to feel your hair. A few locks fall from it still, chopped off badly. It is now about the same length as Aegon’s, cut in a way more suitable for men. Your hands are shaking. 

“I’ll never marry you.” You shout. Your eyes are hurt. It doesn’t feel good to be tricked, it seems. “I wish you were dead! I wish Luke had plunged the dagger deep, and cracked open your skull!” 

“You will.” Aemond answers, coldly. He hopes to hurt you as much as your words have hurt him. “For what is a girl to the Iron Throne?” 

He leaves you to your grieving. He would rather not admit it, but deprived of any blades, your words have still managed to cut him. You can be his mother’s problem from now on. 

The next two days are spent into lingering guilt and extraneous exercise. Every time Aemond’s thoughts go back to you, he spars with whoever is available. His whole body hurts by the end of it, and you still haunt him. He might have gone overboard, but he will never admit it out loud. 

There is a dark sense of satisfaction in his stomach. It slips past his guilt, sometimes. The terror on your eyes had been exquisite, worth every reprimand he had gotten afterwards. As he hurt you, putting the fear of the Seven in you, he imagined hurting your bastard of a sibling and finally felt peace. 

It’s best not to think of you. You bring up conflicting feelings and memories, the girl you once were, kind and sweet and the woman you now were, indifferent to him and easily frightened. The images superposed in his mind, betrayed eyes as he proclaimed he was going to dishonor you, crying at the funeral of Laena Velaryon, worried as Daemon whisked away with your mother, as Lucerys appeared covered in blood. 

It is easier to punish keep himself occupied in the training yard. He doesn’t think of you when he spars with the knights or when he swings his sword until his arms feel like they will fall off. Nor when he falls asleep out of sheer exhaustion, bruised black and blue.

Not until his mother comes looking for him. 

At first, he doesn’t notice her presence, busy hacking at straw figures until his arms ache. But she clears his throat many times, forcing him to turn. He does so while still holding the sword. 

His mother looks odd in the training grounds. She is small, almost dainty looking, a flame of green standing among the mud. Aemond approaches her in four short strides. 

“Mother. Is something the matter?” 

“The girl is sick.” She says, a troubled frown on her beautiful face. Aemond has always admired her grace and beauty, and even though life has been cruel to her, she has only cultivated it more. She is what she thinks all women should be, gracious and pious. If it had been up to him, he would have married someone like her, he thinks. Her only flaw is her sentimentality.

“Get her a Maester.” Aemond says, annoyed at being interrupted by something so trivial. You probably have a cold, foolish girl that you are, having insisted on staying in your wet clothes and refusing a hot bath. 

“I got her plenty. She nearly scratched the eyes off one, and when they tried to give her Milk of the Poppy…” His mother makes a pained face. Aemond doesn’t want to know. Truly, whatever you had done was probably willful and cruel. Gods, why did he have to marry you? You weren’t demure, you weren’t pious and you certainly weren’t gracious. “She is now refusing food.” 

“Let her starve off. When she is hungry enough, she will eat.” 

“The girl can’t die, Aemond.” His mother grabs his arm, brown eyes filled with mania.  “It would mean war. They say Rhaenyra has scoured the Seven Kingdoms each night on dragonback since she disappeared. She has only calmed after receiving the package, but negotiations are not going well.” 

He stays quiet. His mother glares. 

Aemond hates that his mother is still so attached to his sister, even after all the time that has gone by. He had never intended to be a part of this hare-brained scheme to save them all, much less her. He had not taken you because he had some great political ploy to put in place and needed you as his figurehead. 

Aemond had been thinking of something much more simple. Your family owed him a debt, and it was going to be paid in fire and blood. If he couldn’t have Lucerys’ eye, he would have yours. Or your maidenhead. Or any blood he could draw out of you, he wasn’t picky. 

If someone had asked him, he would have preferred Aegon as King. It was much simpler and the way things should be. 

“What am I supposed to do?” He asks after a while because he is sure you will not listen to him. 

“Convince her.” His mother orders, and Aemond sets down his sword and goes to your room. 

To get inside, he has to enlist two Kingsguard and a blacksmith. You have not spent your time free from his mother idle, it seems. Instead, you have moved a dresser or some sort of heavy furniture in front of the door. 

The blacksmith has to pop the hinges off the door, and only then, Aemond and the Kingsguard get to move the dresser and unblock the path inside. How you managed on your own, he has no idea. 

When he steps in, the smell of vomit and old sweat hits his nose. It’s revolting. There are several plates and cups upturned and laying in disarray over the rug, staining what once was pure white fur. A pomegranate, cut in half, has rolled to a corner. It is your favorite, but it lies untouched. 

Aemond’s annoyance spikes. He knows you are aware he has you situated on what were his personal chambers. The careless destruction you have left on your wake irks him. 

“Lady Strong.” He mocks. “Where are you?” 

His bed is unmade, missing the covers. Aemond checks inside the dresser that had taken three men to move and finds nothing. He then checks under the bed. Nothing either. 

It is only when he checks the bathing chamber that he finds you, sprawled on the floor. The covers are forming a cocoon around you, and your forehead is pressed tightly to the cold tiles. You only wear a sleeping shift. 

Your eyes are open and feverish, face sweaty and tinted red. You don’t seem to recognize him, but your head lifts slightly at the sound of the door opening. 

“Seven Hells.” 

The looking glass is smashed on the floor. You clutch a shard in your fist, tight enough to bleed as it digs into your skin. 

“I will not be drugged again.” You say, voice barely more than a rasp. “And I do not want a Maester.” 

“You are in no position to make demands.” 

“If you force me again to do something I do not want…” You trail off, clutching the shard more tightly. He should take it from you, but you look half mad already. If he hands you back to your mother like this, war will be inevitable. He doesn’t dare push you farther. 

“May I touch you?” Aemond asks, instead. 

“Since when do you ask for permission?” You lay your head down, once again pressing it to the tiles. 

“Come.” He grabs your arms, pulling you to your feet. Your skin is concerningly hot. Burning up, truly. “I’ll send for a lukewarm bath. And this time, you will take it.” 

You stagger. Your movements are sluggish, and your eyes are glassy. 

“I do not want anything from you.” But you lean on him, allowing Aemond to take you away from the broken shards on the floor. You are not wearing slippers or socks. 

“Let me get you a Maester.” Aemond offers, getting you to the bed. You land on it without any grace, and promptly begin to kick the covers away.

“I do not want a Maester. I want… My mother has a midwife.” It is as puzzling as it is unexpected. A midwife tending to a princess. His mother would have kittens.

“Are you pregnant?” You had thrown up, after all. The room smelled like bile, so much it was upsetting even Aemond’s stomach. He fought the urge to gag himself. 

“No. But she knows how to cure other ailments. Upset stomachs, colds.” 

“Do you feel nauseous?” 

You shake your head. Aemond’s grip on you tightens. 

“Don’t lie to me. It reeks of vomit here.” 

“Your mother put Milk of the Poppy in my food. I threw it up.” You deadpan. 

“You induced…?” Aemond is not sure which one is more interesting. His mother drugging you? Oh, you must have been throwing a spectacular tantrum. The fact that you were ruthless enough to force yourself to retch shouldn't be so surprising, though. You had been ruthless enough to threaten to kill yourself, twice. 

“Yes. And I won’t eat or drink anything else after that, you snake. Bitch. Alicent is… Daemon used a word…” You mumble to yourself. 

“What do you want me to do?” Aemond asks, frustrated. Why must women give him such grief? First Vhagar, with her willfulness and refusal to heed commands. Then his mother and her hare brained schemes to protect Rhaenyra. And now you. He must be cursed. 

You ignore him, eyelids growing heavy. 

“Cunt.” You say, after a while. You laugh. 

Aemond sighs. He sends for a lukewarm bath and some servants to tidy up the room. It will not be an easy night, it seems. 

“PRINCESS, PRINCE AEMOND is requesting entrance.” Ellia says, softly. You turn to look at her, from your place on the bed. You close the book on your lap.

The girl has been your constant companion ever since the incident. To ensure nothing untoward happens, said Aemond, and that you feel safe. She had kept watch over you as your fever broke, her hawk eyes following Aemond as he tended to you.

“Tell him I wish to bathe first.” You decide to test him, once again. Your uncle seems more in control of himself lately, but you still feel on edge around him. Aemond had shattered your trust in him and in men in general. 

You cannot bear to look at Ser Arryk. Your shame is too great. To think he had held you, and looked as Aemond…

No. You cannot think like that. Not with the news from Dragonstone. The negotiations are going better, it seems. Your mother has been considering leaving you here, from what Aemond says. 

Her betrayal hurts. You have always known Jacaerys was her favorite, but this is low, even for her. She is probably making more children with Daemon, trueborn and ready to contest your claim. Your suffering will mean nothing in the end, not even with Alicent’s plans. 

It is beyond cruel, to allow you to hope that you will get the Iron Throne. Not when she is throwing you to Aemond as a sacrifice. Is this what maidens in your tales had felt, when they were used to appease an ancient deity that asks for a price in blood?

Your mother has abandoned you. You are alone in this world. 

“The Princess says you cannot come in now, for she wishes to bathe.” You hear Ellia speak, her voice hard. You do not listen to Aemond’s answer, but considering Ellia comes back in and starts getting things ready for your bath, you guess he was not angered. 

“He asked that you not get dressed yet. He wishes to examine you.” Ellia says, helping you sink into the water. You keep your eyes on the ceiling, not wishing to look at your reflection. You already know what you will find. Dark circles under your eyes, unflattering haircut, skin waxy and pale.  As if all life had been robbed off you. 

You try to avoid her, this stranger wearing your face. She looks like the woman you had seen reflected on metal during your first day here. More ghoul than woman, all hail the Queen of the Seven Hells.  

That Aemond wishes to examine you doesn’t surprise you. He has been taking care of you since you have gotten sick. You were quite fearful of Maesters, both for being men and for what you had seen them do to your grandfather. Even in a feverish daze, you had refused them. 

Alicent hadn’t respected your choice then. But unexpectedly, Aemond had. Considering his uncouth and terrifying behavior before, you weren’t inclined to trust him, but had little choice. The feverish version of you was as weak as a kitten, and unable to resist his tender care. You feel lucky that you survived with your maidenhead intact. 

Once you are done with your bath, you dress in another shift, a cotton one that buttons all the way to your neck. You sit primly on your bed, covers drawn up to your waist. Ellia brushes your short hair, making tears well up in your eyes. 

Your mother had called it once the crown you never took off. A lion’s mane, for her brave girl. You had never imagined it could be taken away so easily. Gone were the elaborate braids adorned with flowers. You couldn’t even pin it back now. 

Aemond knocks. You brush your tears away. When he enters, you look perfectly composed. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, sitting on the side of the bed. He places a parcel down next to you. “I brought you a gift. Thought it may cheer you up.” 

You ignore him. Aemond sighs. 

“It’s a dress. And a cloak. The dress comes from Highgarden, it has flowers embroidered on it. I got you a brooch to wear with the cloak, too. It’s a silver marigold. You like marigolds.” He explains. Your expression doesn’t change. You stare resolutely at the wall. It is not the first time he tries to bribe you with presents.

His regret is not sincere. Not when he takes advantage of every chance to touch you, and make your skin crawl. Yet again, you have to get used to it. 

No way out in the underworld but through. Best to not look back. If he wishes to exercise casual cruelty to feel better about himself, good for him. You would do the same if you were allowed. 

“I am going to check your lungs now.” Aemond says, and you tense. His hands slowly open your nightgown, with great care. Your breasts are exposed, so you cross your arms over your chest to cover them. 

Shame and fear make you feel like you are about to throw up. You remember his hands, and the way he had cruelly pinched you, as Ser Arryk forced you into position. You jerk your head away. 

You will marry him. That is what Alicunt says. You must endure his touch, and provide heirs for the Iron Throne. The thought sickens you. 

Aemond grabs at your wrists, pulling them away. To your utter embarrassment, the thought of being restrained makes you freeze with fear, and begin to tear up. 

“I think you can listen to her back.” Ellia says, sharply. She draws your shift closed, with a harsh tug. The girl is a few years younger than you, but she is fierce and outspoken. You wonder who chose her for this job. She is perfect for it.  

“I…” Aemond stammers, taken aback. He isn’t very used to being told off by the help. “You are right. I apologize, Princess.” 

He buttons your shift again. You stay very still, waiting for him to push you forward and press his ear to your back. But nothing happens. Ellia’s hands come to rest on your shoulders, clutching you tightly.

“I have made a right mess of things, haven’t I?” Aemond asks, after a while. You are unsure if he is speaking to Ellia or to you. His lips form a bitter smile. “Fuck. What have I done?” 

He rubs his good eye, almost punishingly. You feel very numb. Something broke in you that night, something that you do not think can be fixed. He had not taken your maidenhood, but he had certainly taken your innocence. 

“I apologize. I behaved in ways that are not befitting of my station, and much less…” 

“I don’t think I can forgive you.” You interrupt, before Aemond thinks he can begin spouting out some remorseful tirade and get things to how they were before. Your relationship with him cannot be mended. 

There was once a string connecting the two of you. It had been pulled tight by the years and disagreements among your families. Despite it, the thread gave. It stretched, and tensed, and never snapped. But Aemond had pulled it too hard this time.

The string is no more. It lays broken between you two. He is no longer the boy who had played with your brothers. Now, he is just a cruel man. A small, bitter, man. 

“It is one of those things you don’t really forget, I suppose. I know a bit about that.” He gestures to his eye patch. You wonder if his string with Luke had been cut by your brother that night. You wonder if your pain and his are comparable. 

The both of you stare at each other. You place your hands on your lap. 

“You will be pleased to know your Green Lady is doing well. She will be able to travel in about a week.” He comments, seemingly out of nowhere. A way out. Ellia doesn’t notice, still standing behind you.

“I wish to be Queen.” You answer him, also seemingly out of nowhere. Your heart aches for a whole different reason. All of your suffering would be in vain if you heed his advice. You would be another Queen that never was. 

“Would you like some jewelry, next time I visit you?” 

“My mother prefers Jace over me.” You have nowhere to go. You look up at him, and try to convey that no matter how much you may wish it, your mother would never forgive you. Not after being so close to getting everything she wants. 

“Aegon is in Essos.” Aemond suggests, a strange look on his face. It is then you realize this is his attempt at doing you a kindness. Sparing you. Apologizing. 

Have you grown so used to cruelty you do not recognize kindness anymore? 

“I wish to be Queen.” You repeat. You wonder what he thinks of this cold woman that you have become. The one that only wishes for a single thing: A crown. “I will think of travels then.” 

Your mother appears on King’s Landing a few days after. She comes with Daemon, your siblings, Rhaena and Baela and even Princess Rhaenys. It seems she has taken every dragonrider available with her, to show both the common folk and the Greens that the might of House Targaryen stands behind her. 

You have dressed today, which is a miracle on itself. You have not really been feeling up for anything. The dress you wear is a sober, red velvet gown. There are no flowers in sight. 

“Mother.” You greet when she dismounts from Syrax. For a second, you think of running towards her dragon and taking to the skies. Your mother used to take you riding with her as a child. Perhaps Syrax will still recognize you now. 

“My wonderful girl.” The endearment is new. She looks half mad with worry, crossing the courtyard in one long stride. You curtsy, but she grabs your hands before you can sink into it, and pulls you for a hug. 

Her hands shake as she smooths the short strands down. 

“What have they done to you? Your hair… And you are much too thin.” She sobs into your shoulder. Her embrace is comforting, making you melt into her. You start to chastise yourself for judging her too harshly. She must have been doing her best to get you back, but wars were difficult. More so among kin. “I am so sorry, I never intended for any of this to happen.” 

You think of your imminent wedding. Of the six moons you will spend at Dragonstone, with only Aemond to keep you company. Of Alicent’s cruel eyes as she told you to get used to it, for Aemond would have a right to touch you from now on. I have suffered, her brown eyes seemed to say, so every woman must too. 

“Why did you agree?” You ask her, brown eyes meeting lilac. You need to know.

“To save your life.” She whispers. “To stop a war.” 

But her eyes tell a different story.  When you look over her shoulder, you see Daemon being greeted by the Goldcloaks, a smug smile on his face. 

What is a girl to the Iron Throne?

Your smile falls. There is a terrible feeling on your chest, as if your heart, which had been beating so merrily, has just about turned into stone. 

You remove yourself from your mother’s embrace. The pomegranate you had for breakfast tastes like ashes on your tongue.

YOU SPEND MOST of your time reading. Hiding away in the library, where you enjoy pretending Aemond can’t reach you. 

Aemond doesn’t understand it. Dragonstone is so big you could go on with your day as normal and never cross paths with him. But he leaves you be, just as he had left you be during the wedding night. It seems to help you. 

He dedicates his time to exploring the island instead. Unlike you, Aemond won’t get to leave it while you go back to King’s Landing. Nor is he allowed any visits. It feels suspiciously like a punishment, perhaps for what he almost dared do to you. 

He is sure his uncle is behind this. It reeks of him. Exile with only you for company? Surely, your mother wouldn’t be so cruel, more thoughtful of what he could do to her precious daughter. But Daemon? He would find it outrageously funny. 

The island is very intriguing to walk. There are several dragons here, and Aemond recognizes them all. There is the Cannibal, and the Sheepstealer, Silverwing, Verminthor. He had been fascinated by them as a child, when he had no dragon of his own. 

Vhagar seems happier here. He supposes it is much better than the confinement of the dragonpit. But your dragon, the pampered green thing, seems to hate it. Competing for food is not something she cares for. 

Aemond wonders if he will get to see the dragons reproduce. With all the spare time he has, he might as well solve the mystery. He could do some research, but the library is your domain. He would have to wait for you to retire for the day. You spend almost all your waking hours there.

What in the Seven Hells could you be doing? You had not been the studious type as a child. Nor had you been energetic like your brothers. You reminded him more of Helaena, but instead of insects, your obsession was flowers. 

He tries to think of something else, but he is so bored and his curiosity is piqued. His feet lead him to the library almost without meaning to. 

Aemond often does things out of sheer curiosity that he later regrets. The first time he had fucked a woman had been the product of that, and it had left him feeling ashamed and unsure, but wanting more. It had been the oddest thing. 

He had claimed Vhagar only to see if he could, too. He had made that cursed toast, wanting to hurt the four of you, but also curious about what your reactions would be. Watching Aegon slam Lucerys against the table would be forever one of his fondest memories, but the scolding after… 

You are sitting at a table near the window. Sunlight hits you from the side, giving your brown hair an almost golden glow and bathing your features in a soft chiaroscuro. Thick tomes are spread around you, bearing oddly familiar titles. 

“The art of war. Seven accounts of the battle for Dragonstone. Ten thousand ships. The first dornish war, a treaty.” He whistles, unable to help himself. It is quite the collection. “Are you planning on declaring war already, niece?” 

You startle. The quill you are holding falls from your hand. 

“Husband.” You say, tone haughty. “If you must know, I am trying to learn strategy.”

“Strategy?” Aemond echoes. It’s not something he is very well acquainted with himself. He has some knowledge about it, from books and listening to his grandfather and Cole, but he is nowhere near an expert. His intellectual pursuits had been centered around philosophy and history, more than this. When he read about wars, he often glossed over the accounts about formations and such, more interested in the economical and political ramifications of them. 

Strategy was also something a father should teach. Viserys had never been too interested in it, having not seen battle himself. What he had learned had come from observing Cole. Never having been at war, it was challenging to conclude if he had the right of things. 

“I plan to be a good Queen.” You answer him, closing your book. Your tone is awfully civil. “And education is the greatest equalizer.” You give him a pointed look. Equals. You want to even the playing field between the two of you, so he can never frighten you again. How funny this is the topic you choose to learn. 

“You shouldn’t worry about that.” Aemond snorts. “I hardly know about it myself.” 

“But you are a man.” You say, astonished. “Surely, you were taught! Daemon taught Jace, someone had to…” 

“My father was never interested.” He leans against the window, observing you. You observe him back, eyes glued to his hands as if you expect him to lunge at you and stab you. “How come Daemon didn’t teach you too?” He stresses your stepfather’s name. 

“I am a woman.” You say, bitterly. “He thought my time was best spent learning to sing and play an instrument, so I could secure a good match.” 

“He never seems to disapprove of the womanliness of your mother.” He arches an eyebrow because while his uncle might not be a good role model, he is exemplary when it comes to marital devotion. 

“Doesn’t he? He has her popping out babes like there is no tomorrow.” You start gathering your parchment and quills. You have a small bound book inside which everything goes. Aemond had seen you with it before, but he had thought it a diary, not a set of instructions on how to go about a siege. 

Showed how much he knew you. Go figure. 

“You find having babes demeaning?” 

Your expression turns positively murderous. Children seem not to be a good topic of conversation. This will probably become a problem later on, when the two of you need children of your own. He makes a mental note of it and moves on. 

“His word is law. Or used to be, in our home. She defers to him.” You say, tone bitter. Daemon has fallen out of your good graces. Aemond almost wishes to travel to the Red Keep with you when spring starts, to see what you will do to him. Almost. 

There would be nothing that could prompt him to enjoy his sister’s court. He refuses. 

“Perhaps they are partners, and she seeks his counsel.” Aemond offers if only to irritate you. He is starved for intelligent conversation, and if he has to defend Daemon to keep you talking, he will. His boredom is driving him mad. There is nothing to do here beyond eat, sleep and train. 

“He is great at it, just like you.” You say, coldly. Then, you say something very interesting. You repeat the same words that he had said to you once. “What is a girl to the Iron Throne?” 

“Ah.” 

So your resentment towards Daemon wasn’t about favoring your brother, or fucking more brats into your mother, but rather much more simplistic. You felt as if he had chosen to sacrifice you, so your mother could get her throne. Fascinating. 

An angel passes between the two of you. Aemond can almost feel its wings brushing against him. Then, you inhale, sharply, and break the silence.

“So. Strategy. You should learn too.”

“You think war will come for us? And here I thought you trusted Jacaerys.” Aemond mocks.

“Let’s not delude ourselves.” You say, touching a strand of your hair. Brown. Strong brown. “There are new players in the game.”

Your mother’s babes, Aemond thinks. Daemon’s trueborn sons. Like a monster of myths, you cut one head and two more appear. You had disarmed your opponents in this generation, making them toothless dragons. Aemond was chained to you, Aegon in Essos, Helaena in Oldtown with her children. But as dragons tended to do, there were new ones hatching already.

War would come for you. And him. Aemond had never truly imagined himself sitting on the Iron Throne, he had been born a supporter. He had always thought he would stand behind a King.

But just as Daemon Targaryen, he could stand behind a Queen instead.

“So we learn, wife. And we fight.” Aemond sits across you and reaches for his own tome. Prince consort of Westeros had a nice ring to it. Perhaps his uncle was onto something.

You eye him warily. But you go back to pouring over your book, shoulders relaxing slightly.

It takes a few weeks of repeating the same routine, the two of you reading side by side during the afternoon, for you to warm up to him. Timidly, you show up to break your fast with him one day and never leave.

He is an early riser, always making use of the training yard before the sun is out. You never wake as early, but you need to do it if you wish to catch him before he starts his day. You manage to be out of bed at sunrise every morning that week. Aemond doesn’t comment on your change of habits. He is not sure that he wants to stop it.

“Aemond.” You say, one day, as he peels a pomegranate for you. It’s not like he is doing you a favor, really. It is for his own good. Your hands are small, and you press too hard to break the seeds out, making a mess of the whole table. It’s best if he does it and saves himself from being sprayed with the red liquid. He finds it stains terribly. Your tiny hands always end up red for days, and it’s not proper at all for the future Queen of Westeros. “Could you…?”

“What?” He cuts the pomegranate into quarters and pops the seeds out, placing them in a bowl. He slides them towards you, with a spoon. Savage thing that you are, you might end up digging right in with your hands.

“You owe me a debt.”

“I do?” He startles. Aemond is unsure what you are talking about, but his guts twists. You have a long memory, he has come to learn. And an intrinsic ability to quote his own words back at him at the most inopportune moments.

“What you did was awful, and while our truce has been pleasant, I wish to forgive you. And for that to happen, you will do something for me.” Your voice is careful and steady. There are no tears in your eyes. Only the slight shaking of your hands as you reach for the spoon betrays the scars that evening had left in you.

Aemond doesn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. He wipes his hands with a napkin. The stains on his hands look awfully like blood, and they won’t come out, no matter how hard he tries.

“Who says I want your forgiveness?” He deflects. He does want it. But this past few weeks, pretending to be a normal marriage, have been too blissful to risking upsetting the delicate balance the two of you had found by ignoring the past.

“I do.”

Aemond looks at you. You are a bit pale, but your expression is calm. It relaxes him slightly, knowing that you are at ease.

“What I want is to get out of this damn island.” And it is true. He needs to get out of here, or he fears he might go mad. Seven Hells, Aemond fears he might already be. When had he started worrying about how you felt? Thinking of you as an ally and not a ball and chain?

“That won’t happen in the near future.”

“You are not my jailer.”

“Am I not?” You smile at him, deliciously wicked. It seems the little dragon is waking up, ready to torch everything in her path. Aemond’s scar starts to throb. He can tell something bad is about to happen. This doesn’t feel like your usual banter. “You want to rule. But before me, you were nothing. Only a second son.”

“And before me, you were nothing. Just a whore to throw at Cregan Stark and see if the damn dog was led by his cock enough to support your cunt of a mother.” Aemond’s mouth works faster than his brain. He is just so angry at hearing you say he was only a second son that his words come out before he can stop them.

You laugh. It only irritates him further. He feels as if he is unraveling, coming apart at the seams, but he just can’t stop it.

“Well, look at us. We made each other worse.” There is a smile in your lips, a coy, infuriating little thing. Insolent, impudent, just as your mother. He had been so wrong calling you a bastard. You are all dragon. “But you will earn my forgiveness, if you wish to share my bed.”

And it infuriates him, your presumption. That he will fall at your feet like a lovesick fool because you paid him some attention. Aemond half lunges at you, barely managing to stop himself from throttling you.

“You whore! I could just use you.”

You jump too. Your cutlery falls to the floor. Your eyes are alarmed. It is only then he notices what he has said. Aemond has crossed the line he had sworn he would never touch again.

“I am sorry. I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking. It was in poor taste, of course.”

Your eyes keep darting from him towards the exit. You are terrified, eyes both looking at him and somewhere far away. Are you there again, Aemond wonders? In that room with Ser Arryk and a version of him consumed by his bloodlust?

The next time you speak, your voice is but a whisper.

“You never think. That’s the issue.”

Aemond swallows. He has broken things once again, but he doesn’t know how to mend them. He needs to fix it.

“What did you need? The favor, what were you going to ask?”

Your lips turn white with the force you are using to keep them pressed together.

“It’s best I don’t.”

He thinks of you sitting in the library, hands smoothing down your parchment. Education is the greatest equalizer, you had said. An idea sprouts, half formed. As always, his mouth is speaking before his mind has time to catch up.

“If you knew how to wield a sword, would you feel safer? If I taught you to defend yourself?”

“I do not think…”

“I will let you trash me around the training yard, even.” Aemond offers because maybe wearing some of your bruises will help him feel better. Punish himself by letting you have a go at him.

“Fine.”

You are a good student. Despite an initial hesitance to be near him, you thrive on the training yard. You use your smaller form to your advantage, twisting and ducking in impossible ways. All those dance lessons seem to have paid off. You are light on your feet. He might make a swordswoman out of you yet.

“Do you think I could find Rhaenys’ sword?” You ask him, one day, as you laze on a rock. You are watching him hack at a straw opponent. The sun is hitting you just right, and lazy cat that you are, you are soaking it all up. “She had to have one.”

“Probably. But you think it is here?” Aemond pauses, out of breath. He sets his sword down and wipes the sweat off his brow with the edge of his shirt. Your eyes trail his movements with barely concealed interest. It is a recent development.

“Where else?”

“Essos? Sold by pirates?” He offers, very reasonably. You have a tendency to daydream, he knows. Despite being a cold, calculating thinker, ready to go to war for your crown, you are still a young woman. Aemond doesn’t have the heart to tell you Rhaenys might not have even had a sword. It would shatter you.

You huff.

“You lack a sense of adventure.”

It is how he ends up joining you in a chase around Dragonstone. The castle is scoured from top to bottom, running up flights of stairs, scandalizing the servants and opening up secret passages. You force him out of his boredom and actually get him interested in discovering the castle’s secrets.

Aemond's chest hurts when he thinks of what he will do when spring comes, and you are not there to distract him. It is probably the sappy thought that distracts him, truly.

He falls down a flight of stairs, over his ankle. It hurts like the Seven Hells. It’s nothing compared to the loss of his eye, but it does make him cry out in surprise.

“Sprained.” The Maester says, as you fuzz over him. It bars him from running around the island, so you invite him to listen to your tenants.

Aemond finds holding court in Dragonstone is not as dreadfully boring as he had feared. He supposes he will have to do it in your stead when you travel. He despises the thought.

But what he finds he enjoys more, is being your sword. No matter that you are growing more adept with yours, Aemond rather likes standing menacingly behind you to intimidate the men that dare interrupt you.

It spirals out of control when winter starts. Aemond has commissioned you a small diadem in the shape of a flower crown, and he gifts it to you just as the last leave falls from the trees in your garden. Dragonstone is hard-pressed for flowers during summer as it is, much more in autumn.

“You have not worn flower crowns in a while.” He offers, as the only explanation, when he places it on your hair. You smile, admiring the glittering jewels on the top of your head in the looking glass.

“I love it.” And your eyes meet his in the reflection, and Aemond has to look away because he fears what he will say if you look at him a moment longer.

He focuses his gaze on your shoulders instead. You aren’t tense any longer, and you seem unburdened for the first time in a long time. He is slowly starting to see flashes of the girl you used to be, the one that would fill rooms with laughter and sunlight.

He finds himself drawing strength from the memory as the morning progresses. The petitioners today have been especially irritating, and a gruesome case has been presented for the Princess to pass her judgement.

A woman with a scarred back is brought before you, still bleeding from a lashing. The wounds seem to have cured badly, due to her lack of access to a Maester. As you had sent her to the one in the castle, the husband had been brought in front of you, and Aemond knew with just a look that he was going to be trouble.

He had tuned out the words you were speaking, choosing instead to stand behind you, a hand in the back of your chair. But it is as you sentence the man to a week in the dungeons, that he hears it.

“… You are a child. I won’t allow a child, wearing a flower crown, to dictate how to discipline my wife!” He bellows out, and makes to lunge at you.

You flinch. Your expression, relaxed, turns into a frown. He can tell you are embarrassed about it, your crown of flowers. You had not worn them ever since that meeting in Storm’s End.

The guards step forward, ready to intervene. But Aemond’s blood is boiling because how this did man dare mock his gift to you? Who was he to mock you for who you were, when it had taken you so much effort to go back to a semblance of normalcy?

“My wife may wear all the flower crowns she wishes, for she is to be Queen of Westeros.” He says, stepping forward before the guards can do anything. He unsheats his sword. Aemond cannot hurt him, not yet, but putting the fear of the Seven in him will be delightful regardless.

“If you think anyone will support this… This…” The man argues, pushing him and trying to intimidate Aemond with his bulk. Aemond lets himself be shoved, smirking. Got you, he thinks.

“That is treason. Do you know the punishment for treason?” He asks, very calmly. He raises his sword. The man, busy glaring at him, doesn’t see it.

“It’s the truth! She is as touched in the head as…” But before the man can finish his comparison, Aemond beheads him.

“Aemond!” You scream. He smirks.

“He was growing tiresome.”

Aemond goes back to standing behind you, feeling rather pleased with himself. After that, no man dares raise their voice at you.

Spring and summer are unbearable months in Dragonstone. Aemond entertains himself with keeping your lands in order. He patrols the island daily, and makes sure to handle petitions the way you would like it done.

The day the first leaf falls, you arrive on dragonback. You jump out of your saddle as soon as you see him, tumbling out into his arms.

By the Seven, if Aemond hadn’t caught you, you would have broken a bone.

“You are back.” He says, a bit perplexed by your enthusiasm.

“It is my home, is it not?” You say, smile bright and smelling of flowers. The diadem he has gifted you with shines on your dark hair.

“Oh.” Aemond says, as if struck by lighting. “I…” He has been a fool, hasn’t he?

You surge forward, placing one of your hands on his shoulder and tangling the other in his hair, and you crash your lips to his. You are so warm against him, so small, and there is fire in his veins instead of blood, spreading through his body, reaching his heart and setting him aflame with just one touch.

You smile against his mouth, a smug, infuriating thing. He kisses back, harder, crowding you against your dragon. You fall back against her, and he follows, giving a teasing squeeze to your waist.

You pull back.

“It is good to be home.”

“Indeed.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

DETAILED TW: Aemond knows reader is scared of rape, he feigns he is about to do it to her to scare her. He has thought of the reader in sexual ways, but it is clear in the scene he doesn’t intend to go through it since it is told from his pov. He does grope the reader. Reader threatens with suicide to avoid rape. Twice. Pretty much dark fic.

[circeyoru]

Can I request soul owner the Reader with yandere Alastor go on a date I can imagine him being exciting and super happy with the reader being calm.

I've been reading anger a lot today so I want to read something funny happy cute anything you know.

By the way I hope you have a nice day 💐

Go to MASTERLIST for the works. This ask is for {Unwanted Souls}

I'm having a great day! Doing work and getting my phone blown up with you guys' notification here. Thank you guys for the support!!! I will repeat this as many times, I'm just that grateful!!!!

Wholesome fluff time!!!

I'll imagine that Reader/you are the one to ask about going on a date because Alastor would be too hesitant to ask, since he doesn't want to mess things up after you declared your love and wanted things to go at your pace.

Surprise, you make an effort to do what Alastor likes. Alastor's the one to do what you like, so you figured, time for a bit of a flop around. You asked around what Alastor likes to do, the hotel members were no help.

Vaggie says Alastor hates TV and a bunch of modern day technology to the point of making a deal. But with you, he watches anime on your laptop while laying side by side. Huh??? Husk and Niffty said Alastor doesn't do sweets. But he baked you a number of desserts and those were the ones he did as trial and error, he ate all the leftovers because you didn't like wasting things. Charlie says Alastor's always smiling and loves the entertainment and misery of demons. But with you, every time you were down or sad, he's doing all he can to cheer you up. Lucifer was even worse, he said Alastor loves to take care of Charlie like a daughter. You paused him and just left. Nope.

You came to the conclusion that Alastor's preferences were non-existent when it came to spending time with you. The thought made you smile and feel bubbly. Now you had to make the date worthwhile.

As much energy and time it took, also to be secretive. You made it all happen. Of course, you had to tell Alastor's shadows to keep quiet about your plans, they agreed with your headpats.

On the day. You requested Alastor's undivided attention and time. He was confused and came to you on the dot, only to regret not appearing more charming when you said it was a date. You had to hold onto him so he doesn't teleport through the shadows to fix up his looks.

"You look just fine!"

"No! It's our first date! I must look perfect! BETTER THAN PERFECT!"

You started with a stroll through a garden, hooking his arm with yours as you walked along the path. Alastor's silence was because he was still shocked and didn't dare to speak thinking he'll say something wrong. So you started small talk.

Then you brought him to Cannibal Town. Setting him down on a table and Rosie distracted him enough for you to slip into the kitchen to cook him his meal. Lucky you practiced and didn't take long cause Alastor was about to search for you in his giant demonic form. You appearing with a trollery had him sit back down and Rosie left with a giggle. Alastor stared at the plate in front of him. You cooked him something? Is he in Heaven?

"Darling, I think Heaven's a bit too red and hot."

"Just eat and tell me how it taste."

Alastor was talking, wrong word, praising your cooking. He even said the two of you could cook sometime back in the hotel kitchen. You agreed to his joy. After that, you brought Alastor to the town square, jazz music played and you offered your hand, telling him to teach you some of his moves. He happily did so and other cannibals joined in on the dance party.

At the end of the day, you brought Alastor to the forest and sang him a song *Everytime We Touch*, using his microphone staff as a mic. He secretly recorded your voice too. You didn't mind since this was both of you's first date.

"So? How was the date? You like it?"

"Darling Love," Alastor suddenly brought you into a swirl and dipped you, "This is the third best day of my afterlife."

"What's the first and second?"

"Second is the day you defended me and confessed your love to me." Alastor straightened you up and brought you close to him, "The first is the day we met."

[polarspaz]

Was rereading the Knowing Too Much AU (eldritch batfam beloved), and realized that since Barbara's aspect is knowledge does that mean she's the third to figure it out? Maybe after the Cave Incident where everyone's trying to undo the "curse" Tim is under. She wants to know what happened to him, she wants to know why, she wants to know how, she wants to know if she can fix it. And then she stumbles upon his research, and figures out what's really going on. And she changes. (It's not a curse, it's so much worse...)

You are correct! Barbra is the third one to figure out what's really going on. But I'm trying to decided wither or not she tells Tim she knows. Telling Tim might devastate him, as he's clearly been trying to keep this thing suppressed in anyway possible, and telling him could also actually make things even worse.

The less people know about this mess, the better.

I also updated the positive/negative powers for the EldritchFamily

-Tim/Aspect Hope = Power/Teleportation. Tim can create a portal to anywhere, and innately knows where any object or person is. The entity however forces Tim to drag people back to Gotham, wither they want to return or not. Tim is essentially the chain that keeps them tied to city

-Bruce/Aspect Justice = Power/Shadow manipulation. Bruce can warp shadows and make them physical. He can also melt into shadows and use them to travel anywhere there is a patch of darkness. He can also lurk in these spots and spy on people if he wishes. The entity however has a good deal of influence on Bruce and can tamper with his personalty, making him more extreme in his crusade or suppress his emotions.

-Dick/Aspect Humanity = Power/Empathy. Dick can amplify people's positive emotions, like love, happiness, and compassion. His power helps the family retain their humanity, boosts their powers, it can also help compel villains to do good deeds. The negative part to his power though is that the entity will make Dick inject negative emotions into villains, making them even more deranged and violent.

-Jason/Aspect Rebirth = Power/resurrection. Jason's power is the most OP and ironically the most simplistic, he can bring people back to life. The downside? The entity makes him bring back villains too, especially the Joker.

-Cassandra/Aspect Secrets = Power/Invisibility. If Cassandra doesn’t want to be found or suspected, she will never be seen or thought of again until she desires it. She can also turn herself or anything she wants completely invisible, even to technology and the senses, meaning you can't track her through smell or sound either. The entity forces her to hide objects or people that could help the family rebel against it. ((She never remembers doing this either, so she can't just cheat and tell where the shit is lol))

Barbra/Aspect Knowledge = Power…Knowledge lol. If Barbra wants to know something, she will always find the answer to it. She remembers EVERYTHING and instantly understands any complex idea or problem that comes before her. However, whatever she learns, she must share that same knowledge with the entity, meaning whatever she knows, the entity knows too.

Also here's some others who are affected by the entity.

Alfred/Aspect Loyalty. Jim Gordon/Aspect Diligence. Damian/Aspect Redemption. Joker /Aspect Chaos. Catwoman Aspect/Desire. Stephanie /Aspect Mischief.

[bahablastplz]

All in | Chapter 12.5 (Jisung & Minho)

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: Jisung has always been overlooked. Minho has been invisible in his own ways. The two have become inexplicably linked; how did Jisung and Minho come to join SKZ?

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings.

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

Jisung 

When I was in third grade, I could not pay attention for shit. 

It annoyed the Hell out of my teachers—I would lean back in my chair, I would distract my classmates by talking to them, and I would even intentionally mess up my assignments as a way to cull the boredom. In reality, I was lost in my own head. My own thoughts were my downfall, even though I was just a child. Full of thoughts, worrying about what my classmates thought of me, whether or not my parents would yell at me, and even coming up with long, convoluted scenarios about all the worst ‘what-ifs.” 

When I was in the third grade, I started missing assignments. I would lose them in my backpack that was always a mess; I couldn’t keep track of my assignments like I couldn’t keep track of those thoughts. One day, my mother got called into the principal's office to talk about my behavior. They suggested signing me up for counseling, that my behavior could have been due to an underlying and untreated disorder. 

That night when we got home, my mother beat me. She scolded me for bringing unwanted attention to our family, for causing a scene and making up issues that didn’t exist. I didn’t need counseling, she told me, I was just stupid. Stupid, idiotic, good-for-nothing child that can’t even pay attention in class. 

The thoughts got worse after that. 

When I was in the fifth grade, I started meeting up with the school counselor in secret. I told her about my mom’s adversity toward me going to therapy, though I left out the details—that sometimes, she would beat me or call me names, that some nights she took pills when she thought I wasn’t looking. I didn’t know a lot at that age, but I knew those were things I was not allowed to share. 

The counselor told me I likely had some academic confidence issues. No shit. But one day, she called up my mother and told her all of her suspicions about me: That I likely had ADHD, ODD, and generalized anxiety. It would explain my lack of attention, my blatant disrespect toward the teachers, and the thoughts. I didn’t want her to tell my mom. Didn’t think she would, because of confidentiality and shit. But my mother was surprisingly receptive to the idea, especially when she found out that I would be starting medication that could fix me. 

That was the first time I felt hope. Hope that I could be better, that maybe she would see me as more than just her stupid son that had no life ahead of him. 

I never started treatment for my problems. It fell through, more or less, though I found out years later it was because my mom started taking the medication prescribed for me. In seventh grade, after a particularly hard night that my mom had beaten me, I left the house. I was only gone for a few hours, hanging out with people that were certainly no good for me way past my curfew. It was only a few hours, but when I returned home my mother was dead. In her hand was a bottle of adderall prescribed to Han Jisung. Me. 

Grief is a funny thing. No, maybe funny isn’t the right word. Because when you’ve never known grief, it runs you over like a stampede, suffocating you until it’s all you know. In the seventh grade, grief was all I knew. Unsettled were all of the questions I had for her; Do you really think I’m stupid? Do I have any sort of potential, or am I just a waste of space? Am I worth anything? But now that she was dead and I was unable to ask her, it was like all of those statements just became the truth. If she was unable to refute them, then they would simply become a fact of life. 

I dropped out of highschool after my first semester. I ran away from the shitty foster home they had placed me in, though ‘placed’ is sort of a kind word. When you’re a teen in the system, you don’t really tend to stay in one home. You bounce around, one after another, reminded that you’re nothing, nobody, and that you will never be wanted. You’ll never stay in one school district, never get to keep in contact with your friends, and never get to keep any of your possessions that you hold dear. So, the first night in foster home number ten, I ran away. 

When I was fourteen years old, I joined a gang. 

They were entertained by me. One thing I found out was that they were amused by how reckless I was. That I would do just about anything they asked. Because when you have nothing to lose you can raise the stakes—and if you make people laugh in return, even better. I lived off of their praise, which was maybe why I was more willing to do things that were… well, stupid, so to speak. 

I’m not sure what my life would have looked like if I hadn’t met Lee Minho, my partner in crime. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Minho 

Invisibility. I always knew what that was like. 

I didn’t exactly realize that I grew up in a gang, at first. I knew that I wasn’t like my peers, that I should stay quiet and stay to myself, to not draw too much attention. There were just certain qualities of my life that were different–my parents would never come to parent-teacher conferences, I would never have a sleepover or birthday parties with my classmates, and I should never talk about what happened in my home. 

These were just things that were always a part of my life. I never really made any friends, but I was good at school. Most people never even knew my name, but that was just how I liked it. Once I got to a certain age I really started realizing what was going on in my house–the robbing, the selling of drugs, the violent crimes, but I turned a blind eye. Always doing homework in the background of my house where these things were taking place, I got very good at listening. So even if I wasn’t involved, I always knew what was going on. And for some reason, my mother and my father, who knew that I was too unnaturally intelligent to be their child, never forced me to participate in anything. I’m not sure they ever knew that I knew more than I was supposed to.

One day when I came home I could tell that something wasn’t quite right. As soon as I walked through the door I was met with silence, not the usual commotion that I would try to avoid. As I walked through the house I found the gun that I knew was hidden in between the couch cushions, turning off the safety. Though I was only a junior in high school I knew there was a silent, unspoken responsibility to be upheld, to protect the same way I had been protected. I held the gun close to my chest, listening closely as I stood against the wall of the kitchen listening to a near-silent conversation. 

“We don’t have your money,” my father confessed. A pair of footsteps walked around the room impatiently, a breath hitching as someone cocked their gun. “We never even gave them the cocaine, it was a bad deal!”

The person scoffed, clearly unamused. “You’re really going to lie to my face? The issue here is that you ratted us out to the police after selling Mark the coke.”

I heard what sounded like my mother’s voice beginning to protest, and though I didn’t know nearly enough of the situation I rounded the corner and pulled the trigger twice. Two bodies I’ve never seen before fell dead on the kitchen floor, limp with their own guns in hand. My parents were relieved, though I had never really cared how they felt towards me one way or another, I turned and put the gun back where it belonged. I let them deal with the mess of the dead bodies and the cleanup. It was the first time I ever allowed myself to intervene, and while I wasn’t exactly sure why I did it it wasn’t the last. 

I was glad I was able to take advantage of my invisibility, of the people who had never heard my name, who never knew my parents even had a child let alone that he knew how to shoot a gun. That he knew the intricacies of the gang business at the age of sixteen years old. 

When I was a senior in high school I graduated near top of my class. I had a perfect GPA, missing the extracurricular activities that my peers had to help them succeed on their applications, but I exceeded in every subject I ever tried in. I even got accepted to a great school in statistics and business with a full ride, but I never told my parents. I thought I was going to enroll, but then somebody new joined the gang. 

We hadn’t had someone new join the gang in over two years, since I killed the two opposing members. Of course, this spiked my curiosity, but I heard that this new guy was more popular with the younger members. Han Jisung was his name, and he wasn’t quite like anybody else I had ever met before. 

Some of our younger members were surprised that I had any investment in their sakes, but I was genuinely curious about this guy. Fourteen years old, dropped out of school, willing to do just about anything that anybody had ever asked of him. He seemed to be in it for shits and giggles, thriving off of the attention he got whenever he did something particularly spontaneous. Stealing from an old woman, selling drugs to a police officer’s girlfriend, he seemed to do just about anything if he could get a laugh out of it. It seemed like bad news–for everyone. If he did something particularly stupid, he would get us all fucked. 

He was assigned to his first real mission–robbing a bank, and for some reason, I decided to tag along too. I’m not sure if it was because I was concerned about the future of the gang–that wasn’t necessarily something I had ever worried about before, but something told me that leaving this guy all by himself was bad news. My parents had been slacking on their leadership of our gang for years, so it was just about time before it fell apart for good. 

Han Jisung didn’t quite seem to like me. Maybe that was unfair to say, because it was just that he didn’t really seem to talk to me at all at first. I think I had a tendency to over-explain things, to be protective and tell him to stand up for himself. He was no longer in high school, he told me, and so I taught him all of the things he needed to know along the way of our mission. I skipped the first day of my college orientation.

What I wasn’t expecting was for things to work out as perfectly as they did. Jisung was an amazing listener. He rarely needed to be explained to twice, and for some reason his brain had a perfect understanding and explanation of blueprints. Once being taught a weapon he was a certified master of it, and though I had shot a gun and had killed people before I was more confident in his abilities, his way around a dagger or a pistol.

Han Jisung was quite literally made to work with me, I concluded, as our heist went off without a hitch. What had started off as a mission that was a joke in order to get Jisung incriminated was more than a success, as we accumulated thousands of dollars without the authorities ever knowing it was us. And though the younger boy was apprehensive towards me at first and I had spent years telling myself I would never get involved in my parent’s business, it was obvious that we were… well, partners in crime, so to speak. 

I found out more about Han Jisung. His mother was just recently deceased and he was very clearly being taken advantage of by the other members of the gang. He was willing to do anything for the attention, when all he needed was someone to believe in him. 

Jisung was my very first friend. I wasn’t willing to call it that at first, but that’s what it was. I was willing to finally tell someone what it was like to grow up in a gang, to work hard to be the top of your class but get no recognition for it. I thought that maybe I would go to college just to be far away from here, just so I could be somebody else, but I was never even sure if that’s what I wanted. 

Jisung told me that he has always been seen as less than, as stupid. No matter how hard he worked, nobody would ever see him for his efforts. He would always, always be dismissed.

I didn’t want to be invisible. He didn’t want to be dumb. It seemed like for the first time, we each saw each other as more than what we had always been. And we worked exceptionally well together, even if neither of us necessarily wanted to be involved in crime. 

I started to think that maybe I could end up like my parents. Maybe I could see a future in this gang, that I could be someone to professionally carry out crimes and get away with it like nobody else ever had before. That maybe there was a future for me and Jisung to be out there, on top and well-known. Though, I unfortunately caught my parent’s negative attention, and with Jisung still known as ‘the boy that would do just about anything,’ it didn’t come of any good. 

We were told we needed to infiltrate another gang. The opposing gang whose leaders I had killed two years ago were still out for vengeance and it was nothing more than a death wish. Even we could realize that, but there was no getting out of this. 

Jisung and I were walking the streets, looking for new weapons and discussing infiltration plans when we were approached by an unfamiliar stranger. 

“Are you the two that carried out the infamous robbery on main street two months ago?” 

Jisung and I had both frozen, reaching for our guns in our pockets as we eyed the mystery man. He had a large nose and wide lips, dark eyes with longer black hair to match his dark ensemble. He gestured us toward an alleyway, and with knowing side-glances, Jisung and I cautiously joined the man for some privacy. Bang Chan, he had introduced himself, one of the most well-known mafia leaders in this area. That was not something to be taken lightly. 

“That infiltration was not something to be executed by beginners,” he laughed, whistling as if to show us just how impressed he was. “You would need to be someone seriously smart, to really know what you’re doing.”

“And your point is?” I had asked, crossing my arms and looking at him with trepidation. I ignored the way that Jisung’s eyes had lit up upon being called smart, the way that Chan had taken notice of this and used this to his advantage. 

“The point is, I want–no, need people on my team that are as smart, as capable as you two. The Lee family has been a part of this city for years, very well-known. But you, Minho, you don’t like to make yourself known, do you? You would prefer to keep yourself in the shadows, to focus on your studies. And you, Jisung, you just need somewhere to belong, don’t you? Aren’t you tired of not fitting in?”

Okay, so this guy seriously knew what he was talking about, how to use his words to take advantage of a situation. It was as if he saw the way that Jisung reacted and easily maneuvered his plan to work in his favor.  I tried to look away from the way that Jisung tensed up, visibly excited when Chan spoke. I even had to calm my own nerves. I was sure there was nothing he could offer us, nothing that could persuade me, but I was wrong. Bang Chan already had his victory written in stone. 

“Come, work for me instead. I’m sure your talents could be properly used. They’re being exploited right now, aren’t they? Don’t you want to get away? Minho, don’t you want to forget the Lee family, let your intelligence be acknowledged for what it is? I promise that we won’t throw you into any known danger for our own amusement at SKZ. You can’t tell me it’s not tempting, no?” 

And no, I couldn’t say it wasn’t tempting. Though I had no more chance of escaping through means of a college degree, I could still get away through other means. I could be useful in ways other than people throwing me head-first into a suicide mission. It seemed more sustainable for me and Jisung both, and I could tell I wasn’t the only one considering it. 

We had two days before we were expected to take down the opposing gang. 

“The only catch is you need to come with me right now and never look back.” 

One glance at Jisung and I could tell that our decision was already made. My partner in crime, now at a different location to work with me within reasonable means. It was strange, wasn’t it? To want to keep my first and only friend, to be willing to continue the life of crime in a way that was more organized and deliberate? 

But on top of that, even moreso I felt this innate desire to protect Jisung, my only friend. I couldn’t let him go by himself either for fear that he would be easily exploited by this powerful man. 

And even though I had become well-known as the ‘master of infiltration’ I wasn’t sure how much longer I wanted to be invisible for, not when I found the one person who had made me feel seen. I could either send us both into a death trap and Jisung would never be recognized for his talent, risk the only thing I’ve ever cared about dying before my eyes, or I could take Chan up on his offer. 

“We’re in.” 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

taglist: @shuporanporang ; @purp13st4r ; @eurydiceofterabithia ; @heartsbyandra ; @thicccurls ;

@rylea08 ; @the-sweetest-rose ; @oddracha ; @kapelover ; @goldenmellow ;

@zerefdragn33l ; @uhh-awkward-rightt ; @astudyoftimeywimeystuff ; @kaleigh-2002 ; @thatonexcgirl ;

@mindfreecreator ; @linoalwaysknows ; @velvetmoonlght ; @minahaeyo ; @crystalchuuu ;

@hash2013 ; @skzswife ; @b0bbl3s ; @thecutiepieme ; @bear8585 ;

@moss-the-man ; @softkisshyunjin ; @sylveonitesworld ; @m00njinnie ; @nicoleparadas ;

@starsofasteria ; @klopez01 ; @luvlinos ; @hyunjinnnnnnnnnnnnnn ; @skz-akira ;

@boi-bi-ahaha ; @l33bang24 ; @hermione640 ; @gal82 ; @b-chansbbygirl ;

@kayleefriedchicken ; @notsojourni ; @hogwartslife64 ; @stilltrynafuckingtumble ; @ellelabelle ;

@melleus ; @hyun-bun ; @luminouskalopsia ; @leftovercigarettes ; @sabrina-gal-kpop

@ghostedgameplays ; @wealwayskeepfighting ; @meloncremesoda ; @Lovelino23 ; @honeyybbuubblleess ;

@blossominghunnie ; @sunlitangel777 ; @kkamismom12 ; @slaykanejvetsi ; @eastleighsblog ;

@skzskzskzskzskzskzskzzzz ; @k-keya ; @moonlight-sunrise-channie ; @estella-novella ;

@mbioooo0000 ; @lovemepie67 ; @lemonn015 ; @jaeminie-cricket ; @cookiesandcreammy ;

@jchotch726 ; @cookielixie ; @xxeiraxx ; @chuuyaobsessed ; @anime-addictot8 ;

@raspberrii ; @holdontoitwhileitlasts ; @korthbum ; @nxtt2-u ; @drinkingrumandcocacola ;

[thebestbooksaround]

This is a Buddie fic rec list where "one of them isn't a firefighter" That makes me warm and happy every time I read them <3

Part 1 || Part 2

Spousal Secrets and Celebrity Crushes by AshwinMeird (@ashwinmeird) | 9k | General

Eddie joined the 118 and Hen learned plenty about his husband and son through endless stories, but she knew almost nothing about Buck. Then a movie being filmed not far from the station starts to become very relevant to her life. Or Five times Hen was confused about Eddie's husband and One time it all made sense

i'll walk through fire for you by prettyboybuckley (@greyacebuckley) | 3k | General

Eddie just shrugs, and they leave him alone, chattering about something he tunes out as he stares out the window. At least, until Bobby starts briefing them on what they're walking into.

He hears the address, and his stomach turns. That's where Buck lives. 

"There was an explosion somewhere in the building," Bobby tells them over the comms. "Third floor is fully engulfed, the building is unstable, and there are people trapped up there, still. There's one other firehouse on the scene already."

OR: In a universe where Buck is not a firefighter but they're still best friends, Eddie gets called to a fire at Buck's apartment building

call you home by ashavahishta (@ashavahishta) | 6k | General

"He’s like, so pretty sometimes I can’t believe he’s real?” He’d rambled once, so tired at the end of shift he was basically drunk with it.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Hen had said patiently, and patted him on the shoulder. “I like girls, remember?”

“He’s built like a Greek god with the face of an angel,” Eddie had argued, a stubborn set to his mouth like he was determined for Hen to believe just how gorgeous his husband was. “Even you couldn’t resist that.”

Or: "Eddie Diaz drinks his 'I fucking love my husband' juice for 6,000 words." OR "5 Times Eddie Told The Firefam About Buck and 1 Time They Actually Met Him".

we're not in love (but the sex is good) by elless | 15k | Explicit

Eddie is new to LA. Feeling lonely, he goes to a bar for a drink and meets a beautiful stranger that kisses like a dream. What starts as a one night stand quickly moves to frequent no strings sex. When circumstances lead to them spending time together out of bed, Eddie realizes he’s attached to Buck in a way he never planned for.

the handyman can ('cause he fixes it with love) by iphigenias (@oatflatwhite) | 4k | Teen

Eddie’s first thought when he opens the door is that Hen’s finally getting payback for Eddie hustling her in pool last Friday. The guy standing on the stoop is sweaty, smiling, with biceps that look like they could jaws-of-life a car all on their own and a very pink, very biteable kiss of a birthmark above his crinkled blue eyes. His toolbelt looks like every toolbelt from every bad porn movie ever, slung absurdly low on his hips, and the acid-wash jean shorts he’s wearing absolutely cannot be OSHA-approved.

Eddie decidedly does not look at the thick muscle of the guy’s thighs when he says, “uh, I think you have the wrong house.”

we can’t fight gravity (love is like falling) by alasse (@alasse9) | 21k | Teen

Eddie is an actor (a former child star of a major franchise who only does weird indie movies nowadays), and Buck is still a firefighter. The universe screams at them a few times—through a tsunami, an unfortunate misunderstanding, and an emergency at a movie set—until they finally get it together.

Close My Eyes and Stumble (Right Into Your Love) by HMSLusitania (@hmslusitania) | 21k | Mature

Eddie's PTSD is just that little bit worse and when he moves to Los Angeles, instead of joining the LAFD, he joins dispatch.

Which is all good and fine, except for this one firefighter he keeps ending up talking to.

(is in the back of my mind and on the tip of my tongue) by waferkya (@oursisthewinter) | 17k | Teen

Soft, dark hair, just long enough to begin curling at the tips; expressive eyebrows and an impossibly straight nose that should belong on some Greek statue, full pink lips stretched in a wide smile just this side of goofy, and a wonderful amount of stubble dusting his jaw; broad shoulders hugged to perfection by the dark blue police uniform, his entire body a stretch of tight muscle. Yeah, yup, yes. Chim is not wrong. The man is handsome as sin. Also, he’s a cop, which—hi, hello, that’s hot.

[AU in which Eddie is a cop who just moved to LA; Buck has zero self-esteem, a praise kink the size of the desert and no clue on how to pick a decent Dom; and eventually love conquers all.]

Write me into your happy ending... by ReallySmartLadyMarieCurie | 16k | Teen

Four years ago when Eddie and Christopher started reading the book series about Daniel's Adventures together before bedtime, Eddie never would have guessed that he would run into the author of said book series in the middle of a Barnes & Noble in LA. He also wouldn't have guessed that said encounter would begin with him sternly lecturing the stranger and making a slight fool of himself. Nor would he have predicted that this terrible first impression would somehow make the published author want to give his phone number to Eddie.

Or, Eddie the firefighter and Buck the writer have a meet-cute, and things progress from there.

i wanna be known (by you) by chasingoblivion (@starlightbuck) | 12k | General

“I didn’t mean to do it.” Hen glances down at Eddie’s phone then back up at him in disbelief. “How do you ‘not mean’ to download a bunch of dating apps but still have them on your phone?” Or  In which Eddie delves into the intimidating world of online dating.

String of hearts... by ReallySmartLadyMarieCurie | 11k | Teen

“Now. Eddie is this incredible presence. He’s funny and smoking hot, and he has a son who sounds wonderful. And he’s serious and vulnerable at times. But so enjoyable to be around, every single second that he’s there. And how can I put myself out there when the expectation is so high? When the thing I might lose is so beautiful?”

In which Buck owns a plant shop in LA, and Eddie becomes his new favorite customer. Pining ensues.

Confirmation Bias by strifechaos | 31k | Mature

After the fallout with his ex-wife, Eddie believed he could only trust his family with his son. He hadn’t imagined falling for his son’s sweet-hearted nanny, Buck.

With his own family so distant, Buck never considered that he’d be lucky enough to find a home for himself, let alone people he could count on. Not until he meets the Diaz boys.

AU: Buck was never a firefighter, and becomes Christopher's sitter when Shannon's job takes her away from Eddie and Chris for the summer. Eddie tries to not fall for his son's nanny, he's not very successful.

serendipity (can't get him off my mind) by elless | 7k | Teen

Buck has his job at the daycare, his sister, and good friends. And not much else. His life hasn't turned out how he expected. Then he gets a wrong number text that changes everything. He and Eddie click instantly, but Eddie lives in Texas while Buck is in LA. It can never work, especially if Buck is too afraid to make a move.

Buckley's Bouquets by awashleyno | 23k | Teen

A world where Buck owns a flower shop and manages to develop a huge, massive, ridiculous crush on a handsome firefighter that comes in for a visit one day.

Or, 5 times Eddie gives flowers to other people and the 1 time he gives them to Buck.

the meaning of the words you see by florenceandthemachine (@florenceandthemachine) | 8k | Explicit

unknown sender: Hi! unknown sender: Just wanted to say thanks for letting me buy you a drink, and for your number. Sorry I had to run. unknown sender: I’m Eddie by the way. sent: hey um sent: i don’t want 2 be this guy but sent: i think u mayb put the wrong # in ur phone

Frequent Flyer by red_to_black (@redtooblack) | 13k | Mature

In his entire time being a firefighter, Eddie has never met anyone as accident-prone as Evan Buckley. And Buck - well, he's quickly becoming the 118's best customer.

(Or - the one where Eddie is a firefighter, Buck isn't, and Eddie finds himself rescuing Buck from increasingly sticky situations. Sometimes literally.)

i'm gonna make this place your home by chromatophorica (@chromatophorica) | 11k | Teen

"Hey, did you know that other people can go to the kids' islands on that game?" He asks Hen the following day at work, stocking up the ambulance with her while Chim teaches the probie how to roll hoses.

"Yeah, I mean, they go to each other's all the time." Which, yeah, in a way, Eddie knew that part

"No, I mean other people, like people on the internet or whatever." Hen shoots him a look, one that states he's showing his usual technophobic ways again. “I'm just saying, some person that Chris called 'Buck' was on his island just like... giving him things.” It feels a lot like those stories about grooming or whatever, when the internet was new and people pretended to be something they weren't. What if this Buck person was an old guy in a creepy basement trying to befriend kids on a game? --- During the pandemic, Christopher gets more involved in online gaming. Eddie promptly freaks out when he realises his son has made a friend through the games. It takes Chimney's girlfriend and a car crash to understand how important that friend will be.

[minkkumaz]

A MATCH INTO WATER

seungmin never wanted things to end up this way, he hated seeing you like this. as he kissed up your scarred skin, he let you know that you were in this together, and he was never going to let you go.

PIERCE THE VEIL series

PAIRING kim seungmin x gn!reader WC 1.3k TAGS established relationship trope. angst. hurt/comfort. major tw. self - harm. blood. mentions of depression + anti depressants. blade mention. pet names: pup, pretty. OMI NOTE if you're going through a hard time just know there is always somebody you can talk to. get the help you need my loves!

as you looked into the cracked mirror, you were terrified of the person you’d become. everything was faded into nothing, you were frozen in place. dried up blood littered your wrists and chest, and tear marks stained your face. 

the vicious beating in your chest was telling you that all you could do was cry. this feeling alone made you sick to your stomach, but you couldn’t let it go.

this secret was between you and your abused body. seungmin was blissfully unaware how deep your problems actually were. he never knew about the endless rabbit hole of depression and self harm. however, you would try your absolute best to keep it this way. things would only be worse if he knew, it’d break him.

from your place in the locked bathroom, you heard a door creak open, which immediately set you into a panic. you scrambled around, wiping down the blood stained countertops, hiding the blade in a contact lens holder, and putting your hoodie back on. 

the voices from all the boys piling into the dorms got more prominent. you fixed yourself up to look presentable and left the bathroom to greet them.

“hi guys, you’re home a lot earlier than i expected!” you greet everyone, laughing nervously. seungmin immediately rushes towards you to embrace you in a hug.

“i know, pup, i missed you. chan thinks we all need a break from working on the comeback.” his scent overclouded your senses. sweet but musky, and it was all too familiar. you gently wrap your arms around his waist

“that’s good, i’m glad. are you guys going to hang out here or go out somewhere?” you question, pulling away from your boyfriend to look at everyone else.

“we were thinking about a movie night, you down?” felix asked as you responded with a happy nod, “cool, let’s get snacks ready?”

“i get to pick the movie!” han yelled snatching the remote, immediately getting chased down by jeongin.

“go sit down love, i’ll help felix with snacks and stuff.” you tell seungmin

“you’re too good for me.” he kisses the top of your head and pulls away from you to go to the couch.

as you make your way to the kitchen, you ignore the pit in your stomach, trying to get your heart beat to slow down. you see felix putting two bags of popcorn kernels in the microwave before he finally feels you there. 

“how are you, y/n? i’m just making the popcorn right now, could you please get me a bowl?” he grins at you, truly radiating like the sunshine he is.

“of course! i’m pretty good. excited for your comeback?” you respond, kneeling down into the cupboard below, searching for a bowl big enough. what you didn’t know is when you were reaching, your sleeve rode up.

at first, he didn’t completely catch it. but when he did a double take, he went pale. he was fumbling with the third popcorn bag, trying to stablize his suddenly heavy breathing. 

“um, yeah yeah i am. can you excuse me for a second?” he tells you, walking off suddenly. it was a little weird, but you try your best to ignore it and get him what he needs.

he moves to the living room with heavy steps, seeing seungmin sitting peacefully on the couch and scrolling on his phone, “seungmin can i talk to you privately for a second?” 

felix said this quiet enough that only seungmin could hear, trying his best not to gain attention from any of the members.

“sure, what’s up?” he follows behind felix into the hallway, a little worried about what he has to tell him; especially in private.

“is something wrong with y/n?” he hesitates, fidgeting with his hands. “why would you say that? did something happen?” seungmin puts his hands in his pocket, questioning the boy.

“we were in the kitchen and i had asked them to get a bowl for me, right– when they reached in the back, their sleeve rode up and i saw a bunch of scars on their arm seungmin…” he stared at the floor, “and it’s not like they were faded or anything, otherwise i wouldn’t have told you. but they were still bleeding.”

seungmin had no idea what to say. in that moment it almost felt as if his world stopped completely. his face burned hot, and was almost on the verge of tears. what was he supposed to feel when hearing such gut wrenching information about you?

“fuck... are you sure that’s what you saw?” he mumbled, breathing harder to prevent himself from crying.

“i’m pretty sure, you should just talk to them. i won’t tell anyone i promise.”

felix left seungmin with his thoughts in the hallway. it felt like he was on fire. the mere thought of the person he loved the most hurting so badly made him want to scream. it was then that you came into the hallway, clueless about the interaction you were about to have.

“minnie what’s wrong? felix told me to come talk to you…” you furrowed your eyebrows. the aura he gave off was scary, almost making you breathless.

he didn’t say anything besides grabbing your arm and pulling up your sleeve. it confirmed all of his suspicions, so he let everything pour out.

you felt like a deer in headlights, being caught like this. you couldn’t say anything. he carefully led you into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and sitting you on the edge of his bed. he kneeled between your legs, looking up at you.

“y/n, how long have you been hurting yourself?” he chokes.

seeing him like this was entirely fucked up. you felt absolutely terrible for making him worry so bad about you. it was exactly what you didn’t want to happen. you were so scared.

“i’m so sorry seungmin i– i really am.” you sniffle out, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater.

“pup don’t apologize.. but you need to tell me. is it just your arms?” you shake your head hesitantly before pulling your sweater off your head.

red marks were littered on your previously porcelain skin. it mainly covered your arms, but there were two or three on your chest. he felt sick, covering his mouth in shock. 

“if you want to break up with me i understand… i’m disgusting.” you whimper, feeling the cold air coming from the ac to touch your half bare body.

“fuck.. baby no.” he gets up from beneath you, gently holding you in his arms, “you’re not disgusting at all, it just kills me to see that you’re abusing your body like this. you don’t deserve it at all.”

“i’m sorry.” you mutter, ashamed.

“but why?” he whispers, cradling your head.

“i didn’t want to tell you seungmin.. i was so so scared.” you cried, “i’ve been so depressed for awhile. i tried taking pills i did. it just made me feel so numb, and you make me feel so happy. but sometimes things happen and i feel like this is the only way out of it.” you heard him sigh deeply, pulling away from you and taking your hurt arms in his hand. he gently kissed up your arms, being careful not to hurt you.

“i still think you’re beautiful, i just don’t want to lose the love of my life.” his hands trailed down to yours, rubbing circles into your palm, “promise me you’ll try your best to stop hurting yourself. i’m here to help you.”

“you won’t, i promise.” you sobbed.

“that’s my pretty pup. lets get you cleaned up and in different clothes. we can talk more about this later okay? you don’t have to be scared, i’m not mad at you.” 

you nod quietly letting him walk you to the bathroom, careful not to be seen by any of the members. as he wiped a wet rag against your jagged skin, you felt eternally grateful for how much love he gave you.

it was so hard to come past this, but you knew you could fight back as long as he was with you.

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PIERCE THE VEIL series

[rebelliousstories]

The Secret to a Good Relationship

Relationship: David Loki x Reader

Fandom: Prisoners

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Light Angst

Word Count: 1,564

Masterlist: Here

Jake Gyllenhaal & Co. Masterlist: Here

Summary: Everyone always says that the secret to a good relationship is communication. Now to see if you can teach an old dog new tricks.

This case was something different. Child cases were always the toughest for law enforcement and Loki took everything to heart. He made it his life’s work to find these children and bring them home safely. He made sure to be there for them when no one else was. however in devoting his entire life and being into these cases, other aspects fall short. Eating, sleeping, even relationships.

Dating was tough in general. Learning how to cohabitate with another person, love them unconditionally, and build a life together; it was a lot of work. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t worth the effort, but it sure was a lot. Dating anyone in law enforcement was even more difficult. The long and ever changing schedule, the toll of the work on their lives, but they made it work. At the end of the day, they always made it work.

But when you’re going on week two of interrogations, interviews, and patrols, it makes it very difficult to keep up with things that aren’t necessary for survival. David slips out of bed early in the morning, well before the sun has thought about waking up, to get ready for the day. He’s not chronically addicted to coffee like his colleagues but his second cup comes around lunch if he’s just doing paperwork for the day. By the time he’s “done” for the day, i.e. the captain told him to go home, he was itching for his third cup of coffee of the day. But he held off until he went home, deciding then if he wanted another one.

Then it was straight to the shower, then the bed, hoping he’d actually be able to sleep. David was lucky if he got a couple hours during these cases. Endless facts, theories, evidence, and crime scene photos playing on an endless loop in his head. It plagued his waking hours, and infected his dreams, if you could even call them that.

But nothing drained him more than being away from her. His rock. His shelter from the storm in his work and head. His partner. Cases like this required all of his attention, meaning he didn’t have the self preservation skills like eating in his head, much less keeping up with his girl. But he tried, in some way. Holding her when she was already fast asleep when he finally dragged his body to bed. Kissing her forehead and slipping out so as to make sure she gets as much rest as possible. Even fixing her a cup of coffee just how she likes it, and keeping it in her favorite temperature controlled tumbler so it’s perfect when she does wake. Other than that? They hadn’t really spoken the past couple of weeks.

Another day. Another lead. Another interrogation. Another dead end. Loki threw himself into his work the second he arrived, desperately trying to finish this case. He knew he had the guilty man in custody, now it was a matter of proving it. But the evidence was all circumstantial. He’d never make it stick which left him feeling even worse than he had been. It had been a grueling fourteen hour day for him when he finally called it quits and came home. And there she was; waiting for him over the stove that smelled delicious. It was late for either one of them to be up and eating, but there was a routine. David made his way to the shower as he heard the sound of cooking coming from the kitchen. As he emerged, feeling better after the scalding shower, he watched as she plated their dinner.

“What are you doing up this late?” He questioned softly, watching the clock read 11:30. She shrugged and placed his plate down on his side of the table.

“Work ran late. I didn’t get home till ten.” David nodded, and tried to dig into his food. There was silence between them and it was anything but comfortable. He pushed his fork around his plate, but nothing actually made it to his lips. While his lover was quietly looking at her own plate and trying to get food in her stomach, Loki could not. His mind raced too much about the day he was trying desperately to forget.

“How was your day?” She asked in between mouthfuls of food. He quickly tried to place a bite in his to avoid answering, but he could not make his hand comply.

“Same old.” David answered quietly. His hand stilled at the side of his plate. The woman across the table from him noticed, and reached her hand across to rest on his but did not expect the reaction she got. David hand shot up as if he had been burned, and his plate was cast to the side, spilling the contents on the table and a little on the floor.

“I’m fine. Why does no one believe me when I say to listen to me?” He exclaimed, clenching the fork in his hand so tight his knuckled paled. Loki stormed off to their room in a flurry and shut the door loudly behind him, leaving his partner at the table, dumbfounded. She had never once seen him go off like that. He never liked to do it around her, preferring to keep that side of him far away from his lover. While David would never go into detail as to why, she had a sneaking feeling there was an abusive relationship he witnessed at a very young age that scarred him.

She took a deep breath in, and got to work. Waiting to see if any other noises sounded off from the bedroom, she worked to clean up the food from the floor and table. Placing the dishes in the sink with a little water in them, she figured that’s would be tomorrow’s task. Right now, she had a lover and detective to see. Again, listening for anything bing thrown or broken, all she was greeted with was silence. Silently pushing open the bedroom door, the sight broke her heart. David sat on the bed with red knuckles, disheveled hair, and the saddest expression she had seen on the man. A cautious step forward, but no response from the man in front of her. She sat on the bed, far enough away that she was not touching her partner, but close enough that she could if she wanted to. There was no response. No verbal acknowledgment. No visual cue. Nothing to indicate that he was even aware off her presence. That was, until, he began to lean over. Leaning closer and closer towards his lover until his head passed in front of her chest, and landed in her lap.

The angle was uncomfortable for him, but a quick readjustment ensured that he could have stayed there as long as he wanted. Almost as soon as he got settled, David felt his lover’s hands start to card through his hair and massage his scalp. No words were said as the lovers embraced each other.

“I’m sorry I lashed out.” A very quiet voice came from the man. It was uncharacteristically soft and fragile.

“I know.” A soft voice from above said plainly. Her hands did no cease there ministrations as the couple quietly conversed.

“Work has me so stressed lately and I don’t know how much longer I can take this.” No one interrupted the man on his speech. Just soft breaths and gentle hands.

“I wanna keep doing what I’m doing. I don’t wanna stop but its…” he tried to finish the sentence but no more words passed his lips.

“Do you want me to listen or give some advice?” She asked her lover that was in her lap. Two taps on her leg gave her all the answer she needed.

“First of all, the fact that you recognize the need for communication is important. I understand you are going to lash out from time to time, but always come back to me.’

“Secondly, you need a break. Not a day or two, but a true vacation. You haven’t had one ever and you need to relax a bit and get away from work. I know you don’t want to but if you keep going like this, you’ll put yourself in an early grave. And I can’t find anyone else like you, David Loki. So you can’t die on me.” She joked as she finished. She felt her lover crack a small, genuine smile at this and rolled over so he could see her face.

“How did I get so lucky?” He asked, mesmerized by the moonlight on her face.

“Because the universe knew you deserved someone nice.” Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his forhead, which he relished in. Pulling him up, the couple quietly got ready for bed. Tucking themselves in their sides of the bed, Loki welcomed his lover into his arms as they laid there while he faintly registered the clock struck midnight.

“I don’t deserve you.” He whispered, tucking in a stray strand of hair.

“Yes you do.” She replied, just as softly. Meeting in the middle, the couple shared their final kiss for the day, and allowed themeselves to rest in the arms of their lover. Knowing that tomorrow, if it got too much, they would have someone reliable to come home to.

[chaotic-super]

Back To Earth - Chapter 1

This is the sequel to 'Back To Krypton'. If you haven't read that yet, the full fic is available on AO3 here!

-

“Not much longer,” Lena announces, her gaze set firmly on Earth as it grows larger. “Probably another hour or so before we meet up with the fleet.”

Kara hums, sliding off the bed to join Lena. She wraps her arm around her waist and leans into her, their heads resting softly against each other. “I’m glad Brainy decided to take this last stretch slow so we can see it like this. It’s beautiful.”

Lena snorts. “We’re hardly going slow; we’re just going slow enough to not need a seatbelt.”

Bumping her hip into Lena’s, Kara giggles. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Lena sighs. “I do.”

“It’s not usually his style to be sentimental when practicality works so much better though. I wonder why he planned this.”

Lena grimaces. She's the keeper of Brainy’s secrets and she’s already folding before Kara has even pressed for more information. “Yeah, that is...odd.” Her voice wavers the tiniest amount, but it’s enough to give her away.

Kara squints at her. “You know something. Tell me.”

Holding her hands up, Lena makes a futile attempt at getting Kara to drop it. “It’s Brainy’s business.”

“And yours too, since you’re keeping secrets for him. Spill.”

Lena shakes her head, trying to figure out the best way to lay this out without upsetting Kara. “There are a few reasons he decided to slow us down. The main one is that he’s been away from Nia for a long time and he wants to woo her a little. He also wants to check over our device one last time. We’ve both triple-checked it to make sure it’ll do the job we need it for, but since it’s made from the schematics of multiple devices, he’s nervous.”

Kara’s eyes narrow when she stops talking. “And the third reason?”

“He’s worried about you. We all are. You’ve been through a hell of a lot, so we thought that you might appreciate a slow return to Earth. Some time to wrap your head around things before we’re officially back on home turf.”

“So it wasn’t Brainy’s idea. It was yours.” Kara doesn’t sound mad. If anything, she just sounds defeated. “I’m ok, Lena.”

Lena faces her fully, the light reflecting from Earth shining on them both, the planet they’ve sworn to protect watching over them in this vulnerable moment. “I know, but you don’t have to be.”

“I can’t. Not until we’ve stopped Lex.”

“If our plan goes smoothly, the device will be activated as soon as we’re through Earth’s atmosphere. Lex won’t see it coming and everything will be fine. You can breathe, Kara. We both can. We can live.”

Kara sinks into Lena’s arms, her head turned so she can look out over Earth. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It is, and it isn’t,” Lena says, her voice soft, barely more than a whisper. “There’s so much hatred down there, but from up here, it’s nothing but beauty. This is how I think you look at people. You see the good even when they’re capable of such horrors. I love that about you, and I wish I could do the same. You see the best part of people rather than judging and mistrusting them for something they may never do.”

“Your way is smarter.”

“Your way is kinder.” Lena rebuts. “I like to think we balance each other out pretty well.”

“I know we do.”

There’s a knock at the door a second before it slides open, but neither woman turns to look to see who it is.

“God, seeing you two stare at each other like that is worse than walking in on you doing…things.” Alex’s voice is coated in a thick layer of disgust. “Anyway, we’re going to strap in and take the last part faster so Lex doesn’t notice another ship joining the fleet. We’re going to stop by J’onn’s ship first to let him know the good news before we make the last stretch back home.”

Lena traces her fingertips down the length of Kara’s arm before finally looking at Alex. “Sounds good. We’ll be there in just a minute.”

Alex nods, her eyes now fixed on her sister, who is avoiding eye contact with her. “Are you ok, Kara?”

“Yeah, I will be.” She musters up a smile, looking between Alex and Lena. “I have a lot of emotions going on, but I’ll be just fine.”

“Good.” Alex’s face softens. “You will be. We’ll all be with you while you get there.”

“I know.”

There’s a brief moment of softness between the sisters before Alex ducks out of the room, leaving Kara and Lena in their little bubble of peace.

Lena rests her forehead against Kara’s for a second before brushing her nose against hers. “We’ve got to figure out how to explain to everyone on Earth that we went back in time and fell in love.”

“I’d argue that we were already in love.” Kara grins before pressing her lips firmly against Lena’s.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I think everyone will be happy for us.”

“Me too.”

They cling to their moment of serenity for a couple more minutes before they regretfully pull away from each other to go and join the others. They’re all waiting for them, strapped into their seats and ready to go when they walk in. They roll their eyes at their team when they cheer at them sarcastically.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Brainy announces. “Hold on, everyone.”

They prepare themselves and close their eyes for the quick blast of speed that sends them shooting through the universe, only slowing as they approach the back of the fleet, manoeuvring through the ships to slide in right beside J’onn’s ship.

“J’onn. Can you hear me?” Brainy speaks aloud, trying to contact J’onn’s ship.

“Loud and clear. How are you all?”

“Tired,” Kara calls out, “and ready to get home.”

“I bet.” J’onn chuckles. “Did you get what you need?”

“We sure did. We’re going to land and activate the device as we pass through the atmosphere. We’ll signal to you when it’s safe for you to bring the fleet down.”

There’s the faint sound of applause from the background of J’onn’s ship. “Good work, team. I’ll see you down there soon enough.”

“We look forward to it,” Brainy says, and Nia leans forward just a touch so she can get a better look at the grin spread across his face. She’s missed him and his dorkiness, and she just can’t get enough of it now that they’re back together again.

Brainy preps the ship for atmospheric entry and then gives everyone a brief warning before he starts their descent, his fingers poised on the switch to their new device so he can flip it on as soon as they’re close enough to the ground to do so.

The moment the device turns on is a little anticlimactic. All it does is light up a little. Nothing else is meant to happen; that’s the point. No exploding ships, just a pretty little blinking light and peace.

“All systems confirm that the device is working and it has deactivated Lex’s weapon,” Lena says, her eyes pinned on the control panel in front of her. “Mission accomplished.”

“Mission accomplished,” Kara whispers to herself with a tiny smile, one that is both genuine and not. She’s thrilled that all of their hard work has paid off. She just wishes that she didn’t lose so much in doing so.

The ship levels off as they come to land in front of the Tower and Kara takes that as enough permission to take off her seatbelt to look at her family. She might have lost one family on Krypton, but she’s gained a whole new one. One that understands her so much more thanks to this mission. That’s something she’ll hold dear for the rest of her life.

“So, I’m thinking pizza.” She announces to the room. “It’s been far too long since we’ve had pizza.”

“And Chinese.” Alex pipes up. “We need potstickers too, and you’re going to share them.” She points an accusing finger at her sister.

“We better order extra then. I want at least a dozen to myself.”

“I’ll get you some, darling.” Lena appears at her side. “I’ll also be getting myself some because listening to you ramble on about them for months has had me craving them like crazy.”

Kara shrugs. “I’m not sorry.”

“That’s not surprising.”

Squinting at Lena playfully, Kara scoffs. “What’s that meant to mean?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Lena plays into it.

“I think I found something to worry about.” Brainy joins in the conversation, his tone clipped.

They all huddle around the control panel where Brainy is working, their eyes peering at his fast-moving fingers before darting to the device as he keeps pressing switches on the side of it.

Lena’s eyebrows furrow as she figures out what’s happening. “Oh, I see.”

“I don’t. Mind filling us in?” Nia questions, her hands resting loosely on Brainy’s shoulders.

Kara figures it out next, quickly followed by Alex.

“Lex is trying to set off the machine now.” Kara starts.

“And every time he does that, the machine is stopping him, but it has to be reset each time it works or else Lex can still make the fleet self-destruct.” Alex finishes. “We need to tell J’onn to keep the fleet where it is until we figure out how to make the device reset itself. If we can’t do that, someone will have to keep resetting it manually each time it goes off until we can stop Lex for good and destroy his device.”

Everyone’s shoulders drop. They might have won the battle, but the war isn’t over. Not while Lex can still try to set off his device.

“Do you think he’ll figure out that we’re stopping him manually, or will he give up?” Kelly asks, her hands twisting in front of her.

Lena struggles to swallow past the growing lump in her throat. “I’d guess that he’ll rage for a while first, and then he’ll look into it to see what’s happening. It’s only a matter of time before he realizes that we have to stop each attempt and tries to use that to his advantage. That or he’ll try to find a way around it.”

“He won’t be able to do that. There’s less than nought point three percent chance that he will find a way.”

Kara’s completely lost her smile. “So we just keep manually stopping him for now?”

Brainy nods solemnly. “Yes. For now, that’s all we can do.”

Kara sighs, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose tightly. “Rao, it never ends.”

Lena’s hand rests on her forearm, gently urging Kara to take her hand away from her face. “Hey, it will. We just have a couple of extra steps. We’re all good though. We can take shifts with the device, which we should probably name so we don’t have to keep calling it ‘the device’, and once we’ve figured out how to spruce it up and make it so it resets itself, we’ll all be peachy.”

Kara stares deeply into emerald eyes. “Since when do you use the word ‘peachy’?”

“Since I started dating a dork.” Lena deadpans. “Now, how about we get off this ship and into the Tower?”

Kara nods but then falters. “Hold on, we have to call J’onn.”

“He’s not going to be thrilled by the news,” Alex adds.

“No, he’s not.” Kelly bumps Esme up onto her hip more firmly, having just lifted her up. “But he needs to know.”

Lena leans over to call J’onn back and they all wait impatiently for him to respond.

“Have you arrived down there safely?”

Alex clears her throat, opting to be the one to tell him the bad news. “Yes, we have, but there is something you need to know.”

“Nothing good ever followed those words.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Alex shuffles her feet as she starts explaining. “The device works and stops Lex from causing all the alien ships to self-destruct. However, we have to manually reset it each time he makes an attempt, so it might be best to keep the fleet off Earth until we have managed to make it repeat its defensive actions without there being room for human error.”

They can practically hear J’onn’s teeth grinding as he processes. “I think a lot less people will be willing to stay up here. There are still a lot of aliens that stayed on Earth anyway, but telling the ones that did leave to stay up here for longer than they already have just won’t work. I can ask, but I will not take away their right to make an informed choice. We will monitor the device in pairs to ensure there will be no errors. We can take shifts.”

“J’onn, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Kara asks.

“No, but we can’t keep these people in limbo indefinitely, and we don’t have the resources to stop them from going anywhere.”

“Ok. Do you want us to tell them?”

“No, you’ve done plenty. This is my burden to carry. I’ll meet you down there soon.”

The call ends with a click, and the whole group just deflates. “I guess we better get inside, then.” Kelly ushers them to the door.

“Nia and I will remain for a little longer to stabilize the device for transit into the Tower.” Briany declares, waving them off, his eyes fixed diligently on the control panel to monitor any need to reset the device once again.

Lena takes Kara’s hand as they walk ahead of Alex, Kelly and Esme. “I’m going to order a boatload of food and have a nice hot shower, then I’m going to put on the softest clothes I own and sleep forever.”

“Rao, that sounds so good.” Kara has to resist moaning at the thought. “I bet we can convince someone else to take the first shift with the device.”

Lena smirks at her devilishly. “I bet we can.”

They pass the H’Rakas, both of them sleeping soundly in the cargo bay. “I can’t wait to see these guys out in the open again. I think they’ve kind of restless being stuck in here.”

“Yeah. We’ll get them out of here as soon as possible.” Lena agrees.

The door opens, and Kara basks in the immediate power surge she gets from being beneath Sol’s rays once again. It’ll take a while for her powers to come back fully, most likely a couple of days, but she already feels stronger.

“Welcome home.” She grips Lena’s hand tighter, taking her first step out of the ship and officially onto Earth.

She crumples.

Lena’s hand is dropped as she falls to her knees, her hands grasping at her head as she cries out in pain.

“Kara?” Lena falls to her side, her hands desperately cupping her face to try and get her attention. “What’s happening? What hurts?”

Kara can’t answer. All she can focus on is the acute pain in her head.

“Kara?” Lena keeps trying to get her to look at her, but with her eyes shut so firmly and her pain drowning out the sound of everything happening around her, Kara is oblivious.

Kelly rushes past them with Esme, the little girl peering over her mom’s shoulder with wide, terrified eyes. She has no idea what’s happening but it’s clear that it’s not good.

Alex and Lena sit on either side of Kara, flipping her onto her back so she’s leaning against Alex, nestled in her sister’s embrace, while they try to figure out what’s happening.

“You’re going to be ok,” Alex whispers to her, her face the epitome of terror because she knows that whatever has caused this, she can’t stop.

Kara’s in a world of her own, her brain on overload as she’s hit by memory after memory that she never lived. Her past is being rewritten, merging with her true memories to create a messy collage of old truths and new truths she can barely differentiate.

It’s all moving so fast that she can’t keep up. All she can do is try not to focus on the stabbing pain in her head and the overload of information hitting her as she’s dragged along for the ride. She can’t stop it; she must simply endure.

It slows eventually, but not before Nia and Brainy come stumbling out of the ship to find them on the floor.

“Oh no, that’s not good,” Brainy says, understanding exactly what is happening. “Her past is changing. I should have accounted for this.”

“What do you mean?” Lena presses for answers. “Why now? We left Krypton days ago.”

“Her return to Earth solidified the timeline. As soon as she stepped foot out of the protection of the time ship, she was exposed to the changes. She’ll be in pain for a while, but it’ll pass.”

Brainy’s relaxed demeanour calms both Alex and Lena, but Alex isn’t completely satisfied. “How long will she be like this?”

He shrugs, careful not to lose track of the device in Nia’s arms as they await a possible need to reset it. “That depends on how much has changed for her. Given her pain threshold and her current reaction, I’d say that some fundamental parts of her life have changed, and that’s something we shall have to thoroughly review when she’s recovered.”

“What do we do in the meantime?” Lena asks, her hands clutching at Kara’s, keeping her from digging her nails into her scalp as she tries to overcome the immense pain she’s in.

“We wait it out.” Brainy is no happier saying it than Alex and Lena are hearing it.

Kara’s eyes fly open. The pain is still strong, but it dipped suddenly enough for her to regain some of her senses.

She focuses on the balcony, but she doesn’t see the present. She’s seeing ghosts of memories walking and standing and drinking and hugging, each one overlapping and merging, each false but true. They weren’t, but now they are.

“Kara? Can you hear me?” Lena tries.

The memories fade away until one remains. A kiss on Earth that never happened, one right before they climb aboard the Legion ship with bags that got carried across Krypton. Then, that fades too, taking the pain with it.

“Holy fuck.”

“Kara?” Lena’s eyes glisten with unshed tears.

“I’m ok.” She stumbles over the words but leans up without assistance, proving her statement to be at least somewhat true.

Both Alex and Lena are quick to wrap their arms around her waist to support her weight as she stands, and then they start directing her inside slowly, conscious of keeping their assistance light but stabilizing.

“Let’s get you to a chair,” Alex says, mostly to herself. “You need to sit down.”

“I really am alright. I promise.”

Lena scoffs. “With all due respect, you were just wiped out by some pretty severe pain brought on by your timeline being rewritten, so pardon us if we don’t take your word for it.”

Kara gives in. She can’t argue with that. “That’s fair.”

The pair lower Kara into the nearest chair, their worry and uneasiness evident to everyone who bothers to look. Kara, for the most part, seems to be ok. She’s managed to steady herself again and is now just trying to piece together the memories she lived compared to the memories she gained just a few seconds ago.

“Are you sure you’re feeling ok?” Lena asks, tenderly tucking a wayward lock of blonde hair back behind her ear.

Kara nods slowly. “Yeah, I’m just trying to make sense of things.”

“Brainy?” Alex waves at him to get his attention, leaving Nia to watch the device, the fate of every alien who owns a ship lying in her hands.

“Alex.” He replies.

“Why aren’t we having the same reaction as Kara? Surely a change in her timeline means that there will also be a change in ours.”

Brainy hums and tucks his arms behind his back, his spine straightening. “While that is true, Kara has had a massive shift in her timeline and the change in events leading up to and following the destruction of Krypton will have a much stronger effect on her than any change in events for you. You are correct though. You will experience a few changes; how many is unknown at this time, so you’re likely to experience the merging of memories in one of two ways.”

“Which are?” Alex tries not to sound nervous.

“Either you will gain them when your mind rests, or you will gain them slowly as the days pass, perhaps partnered with a headache or a migraine, depending on the severity of the changes. Kara’s happened so quickly because of her direct impact on the changes and the confirmation of those changes happening when she stepped off the ship.”

“So we’ll either wake up with them or have a headache and get them?” Alex confirms.

“Precisely.”

“Well, that’s just swell.” Lena drones out. “Hey, Kara?”

“Hmm,” Kara hums, leaning her head into Lena’s side as the brunette perches on the arm of the chair she’s sitting in.

Lena wraps her arm around Kara, her fingernails brushing up and down her arm soothingly. “Are there any changes we need to be aware of?"

Kara shrugs helplessly. “I’m still sort of trying to piece together what’s what. I feel like I’ve just watched fifty movies at once, and I’m trying to figure out whether Cindy Lou Who is meant to be in ‘The Grinch’ or ‘Jaws’.”

“That’s...ok.” Lena doesn’t fully understand what that means, but she figures that it’s best to leave it well enough alone for now.

“We kissed though.”

“I’m well aware, darling.”

Kara shakes her head, looking up at the underside of Lena’s jaw. “No, we kissed before Krypton. I saw it.”

Lena’s eyes widen. “We were in a relationship on Earth?”

“Not really. We kissed right before getting on the ship to go on the mission. Rather, you kissed me.”

“Makes sense; you wouldn’t have the balls.” Lena smiles.

Kara’s mouth drops open. “Rude! I was just informing you of the details of our first kiss and you decide to bully me in return.”

“I wouldn’t call it bullying.”

“Oh?”

“Of course not.” Lena leans down to press a kiss to the top of Kara’s head. “I was just telling the truth.”

All Kara can do is roll her eyes at her. “Sure, sure.”

Lena chuckles into Kara’s hair. “If we kissed before we left for Krypton, does that mean that our actions on Krypton changed and, therefore, the future we changed has been changed again?”

“No.” Brainy answers. What happened on Krypton has become a fixed point in time. It’s hard to explain but because you changed a fixed point in time to begin with, it’s like you mixed the pieces of two jigsaw puzzles together. Even if all the pieces fit and lock together smoothly, the picture may never look perfect.”

“So our past is now a little jumbled but our future should be fine, just a little different than we anticipated?” Kara asks.

“Exactly.” Brainy points at the pair. “This is why I told you to limit interactions with people there. You can cause a real mess, just like this one.”

Kara grimaces as she thinks about all of the people she talked to and the lives she may have changed because of her actions. “Yeah, we did  talk to quite a lot of people.”

“You beat one up.” Lena snorts.

Brainy sinks his head into his hands. “That doesn’t shock me. Kara, we don’t know the full extent of the damage yet, but it’s not looking good.”

“I know.” Kara leans back and closes her eyes, her brain flicking through all of the people’s lives she knows she definitely affected in some way, whether it be in big or small ways, it all matters. She keeps getting stuck on one person though. Someone who she now has new memories of.

Astra.

They were never on the rooftop.

Astra didn’t die on the rooftop.

Astra didn’t die.

“Oh...” Kara breathes. “Oh no.”

“What?” Alex turns to her, dread building up inside of her.

“Um, I might know what one of the changes happens to be.”

That catches everyone’s attention. Everyone except Nia focuses on her, their eyes scanning her face for any hint of a clue as to how bad this is going to be.

Alex squeezes Kara’s hand. “What is it?”

“It’s Astra.”

Alex freezes, the memory of Astra dying in Kara’s arms haunting her as it so often does, not that she often tells anyone that. There’s something different about this recollection though. It’s foggier than usual and a little frayed at the edges.

“She’s alive.” Kara finishes.

Alex’s mouth opens and closes, words sitting on the tip of her tongue but none strong enough to pass her lips. Eventually, she manages to stutter one out. “How?”

Pressing her lips together and rubbing her hands over her thighs, Kara thinks, trying to uncover more pieces to the puzzle. “I’m not totally sure. Something about her not believing in the cause anymore. She disagreed with Non and…” She pauses, hit with a surprising amount of clarity. “She killed Non to protect us. She saved Earth and lived here peacefully with us ever since.”

Kara can’t help it. She knows a massive change in the timeline like this shouldn’t be celebrated. It shouldn’t even be acknowledged really, just something to be dealt with, but this is a good thing. It’s a brilliant thing. Her aunt is alive.

“My aunt is alive.” Kara grins. “She’s alive.”

“Please tell me you’re just randomly celebrating the fact I’ve somehow managed to keep all of us alive as long as I have and not that your aunt Lara is somehow miraculously alive too. She was always a pompous bitch.”

Kara’s head whips around to see Astra leaning up against the doorframe, a startled Kelly at her side and Esme perched on her hip.

“Aunt Astra, you’re really here.” Kara’s voice is filled with wonder. She pushes herself up and walks over to her, stopping just shy of her, too afraid to actually touch her, too scared that this is nothing more than her confused, traumatized mind playing tricks on her.

Astra’s eyebrows pinch together before she hands Esme off to Kelly and closes the gap between them to press the back of her hand to Kara’s forehead. “Kara, are you ill?”

Kara shakes her head. “No. I’m just…” She gives up on trying to formulate words. Instead, she leans into her aunt’s touch before dragging her into a tight hug, her hands clutching at the back of Astra’s shirt so tightly it would rip if her powers had returned.

Everyone appears to be frozen in place as they stare at the scene and Astra catches on to the fact that she’s missing some pretty crucial information very quickly. “So, what have I missed?”

“What do you know?” Kelly probes.

Astra pulls out of the hug but lets her hands trail down Kara’s arms until she finds her hands, holding them securely in hers with no plans on dropping them until she has to. “That you’ve just come back from a mission to Krypton, and I now have the world’s biggest migraine, but this hug is definitely doing wonders to help it. I was hoping Alex would check me over though. I don’t usually get migraines due to my biology, as I’m sure you understand.”  

Brainy sighs, getting ready to recount the same information he already gave everyone when he should be helping Nia monitor the device. Lena saves him though. “I got it, Brainy.”

“Thank you, Lena.”

“You got it.”

Astra looks at Lena expectantly. “So?”

“So, you have a migraine because your timeline is changing in a pretty major way. You’ll be able to remember everything soon.”

“Do you know what the changes are?”

Lena hesitates but nods. “I do.”

“You don’t want to tell me.” Astra gathers from the way Lena’s arms are folded tightly over her chest, and one foot is facing out as though she’s ready to run at a moment’s notice. “Is it really that bad?”

Kara blurts out the truth before Lena can find a tactful way of delivering the news. “You were dead.”

“What?”

“You were dead.”

For early access to the lastest chapters of all my fics and Patreon-only content, take a peek over here!

[pinkfestivalpeanuttree]

i really like starlo undertale yellow. i want to smooch him. not in a romantic way not in a platonic way but in a secret third way (gender envy. kissing him could fix me. or make me worse. maybe even both <2)

[amour393]

see after scrolling through the beloved jay walker tag I'm now thinking of the bad!skybound ending where nadakhan wins and everything is terrible, in which

Instead of the whole "I wish this never happened" shtick, jay wishes for nya to be healed. he can't risk losing her

Naturally, though nya is healed, nadakhan twists it so it doesn't lift the delaara curse

Nadakhan takes over and fixes up djinnjago to be his palace and stuff, fixing the ninja as his centerpieces

I feel like he wouldn't kill jay though

At first, he wants to

Wants delaara to kill him

Wants him to watch as it's nya's hands, but not her eyes that finally end him

But then he decides against it

Jay has caused so much trouble for him, caused the destruction of his realm, the betrayal of his crew- death would be far too merciful, he decides

I think he would reinstate jay to his status when he was prisoner aboard the misfortune's keep, except I think nadakhan would make him serve delaara

At first jay isn't too extremely opposed, at least initially

At least he still gets to be around nya, he figures

Maybe he can save her, remind her of who she really is

he soon learns it's far worse being around her when its not her, when shes nothing but a shell, than it ever could be without her

Delaara is cruel- I mean, she likes nadakhan, she has to be, and she knows how to hurt jay

The third time he tries to save nya, to remind her of who she is, she plays along, and when he finds out it was all fake, losing that hope hurts worse than he ever thought it could

Jay only tried to escape once, and when he failed, nadkhan brought Ed and Edna before jay and turned them into statues

Guys that was not in the original plan this just gets more and more depressing

one day there was a rescue mission launched to save jay

It's a combination of the elemental masters, old friends and allies-

It fails miserably, and nadakhan turns them into statues before Jay's eyes

Jay likes to pride himself on optimism, but that's the day he lost the last of his hope

He stopped hoping people would save him- he couldn't take seeing anyone else he knew frozen before his eyes

Eventually he starts to think he deserves it all

It's his fault anyway, right? He made the first wishes. He kept the secrets. He couldn't save nya then and he certainly can't now

So eventually Jay's resigned. This is his life until nadakhan and delaara get bored of him and finally put him out of his misery

Ok ok so I have this headcanon/theory that delaara possessing nya is exactly that- a possession. It looks exactly like when bansha briefly possesses misako in grave danger- and I feel like it's the same thing

One day jay trips (because he's exhausted and overworked and broken) and he spills water all over delaara

It's not enough to fully break the curse, but it's enough that the green eyes flicker and when jay looks at delaara it's nya who looks back, her eyes warm and brown and scared, he's never seen her this terrified

She manages to unlock his chains and choke out a gasping "run, jay, please run, I cant- I can't- jay, help-"

Not to make this feel like a fic but GUYS I CAN FEEL IT I CAN FEEL THE-

She hissed, recoiling at the water, Jay already gasping his apology, daring to glance up at her-

But it's not Delaara. It's not. He knows those eyes, he does, FSM, he thought he'd never see them again but-

"Jay," she shudders out, Nya shudders out, falling to her knees and wrestling Delaara's keys into the vengestone locks. "Jay, run, please, I-" she gasped, fingers curling in against the wooden floor. "I can't- she's too strong, Jay, I can't-"

Running is the last thing on his mind, as he rushes forward and he grasps her hands and tears burn his eyes and her lifts her head but she pushes him away because "I can't stop her, Jay, get away from me, you need to go, please run, RUN-"

He falls back and Nadakhan appears as Delaara wrestles back into control

Anyway anyway ANYWAY WHAT IM SAYING is that now he can't leave. He can't even try. Nya is in there somewhere and he can't leave her. He can't

The scarse times that Jay gets water are now only when he's far away from delaara

And this is all a prison for nya too because she's locked in her own head, watching as Jay- sweet, dorky, anxious wreck with a sharp tongue and a heart bigger than she's ever seen Jay- is forced to live in absolute misery, as he's hurt, as he's cut off from his power, as he watches his loved ones fade and fall one by one, as he looks up at her with so much hurt

They're sixteen. Sixteen

Anyway. I don't know how this ends its too sad to think about. Yeah

Give jay a hug

Sorry?

[hellshire-harlot]

What your Resident Evil Village Crush says about you

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu

You’re either a basic guy or a sapphic individual, and you really need a hug, preferably by a maternal figure.

Bela Dimitrescu

You’re an oldest daughter who has all the responsibilities shoved onto you by your parents and you probably listen to Melanie Martinez religiously.

Cassandra Dimitrescu

You have unchecked levels of violence contained within you, and you generally go unnoticed because you’re the quiet person. Also probably Transfem.

Daniella Dimitrescu

You’re either a younger brother or an older sister and romanticize literally everything because if you don’t you’ll go insane. Your favorite aesthetic is gothic academia.

Lady Donna Beneviento

You just want to give her the love she deserves, also probably introverted, and if you’re feminine aligned, definitely like Cottagecore. You listen to Evanescence unironically and wish she had more screen time.

Angie Beneviento

You’re absolutely chaotic and want to cause problems on purpose. Also probably Objectum and/or alterhuman in some way.

Lord Salvatore Moreau

You like sad guys and have said the phrase “I could fix him”/“I could make him worse” unironically. You also have at least one foot in the monsterfucking community.

Lord Karl Heisenberg

You are also filled with rage, but specifically at authority figures who have abused you. You want to hurt people and you aren’t afraid to admit it. You also are so incredibly kinky and want him to use his powers on you one way or another, and many of you are the most pathetic transmasc pillow princes I’ve ever seen lmao. Also probably a Wintersberg shipper. Canon doesn’t exist if you don’t look at it.

Mother Miranda

How’s that religious trauma treating you?

Ethan Winters

You call him your poor little meow meow and make all the jokes about how fucked up he is. You either ship him with Karl and hate Mia with a passion, ship him with Mia and defend their relationship, or a secret third thing (Mithanberg). You love body horror and wish Capcom had explored it more in the games.

The Duke

You like larger individuals and love the charm he has. You probably stayed near his caravan just because you liked hearing him talk. You read all the stories about him giving the Winterses therapy.

Mia Winters

You viciously defend her against the people who think she’s evil but also recognize her flaws. You like to imagine how she must have felt while imprisoned and think she would have made a better protagonist than Ethan.

(Adult!) Rosemary Winters

You love girlboss characters and cried during the entirety of Shadows of Rose. You’re a sucker for rebellious high school romances and also enjoy characters such as Eleanor Lamb and/or Cheryl Mason.

Chris Redfield

You just love watching him get progressively worse in every game and honestly I can respect that.

[andydrysdalerogers]

Yours Submissively - Yours (Finale)

Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis

Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.

And she has no idea.

Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, loss of virginity, (and a bunch of others that will come up)

A/N:

When I orginally started this story in November 2022, I never thought I would get here, 101,100 words, 45 chapters and a story that has been a joy to write.  To those who have been with me from the beginning, thank you so much for your support. To those who climbed on board my crazy train, thank you for not jumping off.  

I now present to you the final chapter of “Yours, Submissively.” 

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Dreams

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Three Years Later… 

“James! Lucy! Get back here!” 

Belle chased after her children as they ran around the bridal suite. The giggles and shouts filled the room as the ring bearer and flower girl chased each other in their own game of tag.  Morgan itched to join but her mother was trying to fix her hair piece that had fallen out.  

“Whoa! What is going on here?” Steve stood in the doorway as his children froze.  

“Only took you five minutes after my text,” Belle complained with her hands on her hips.  

“Sorry, sweet pea, we were having a toast to Bucky.  How’s the bride?” 

“She needs a drink herself,” Ava piped in. Steve sucked in a breath.   

“Ava, you look beautiful. Bucky is a lucky man.” 

“Thanks Steve.” She blushed at her former boss’s compliment.   

Belle elbowed Steve and he grunted.  “You look gorgeous as always, sweet pea.”  He grinned, looking like a young man again.  

Belle giggled. Her children started up again, but Steve swooped and picked them up. “Jamie, Lucy, are you supposed to be running in your nice clothes?”  

“We want to get married already Papa!” Lucy wiggled in his arms.  

“And who do you think you are marrying Princess?” 

“Jamie, duh.”  Her three-year-old attitude shining through as Steve laughed. “Uncle Bucky gets to marry Auntie Ava. Morgan said that she gets to marry Uncle Peter when she’s bigger but I always want to be with Jamie, so I’ll marry him.”  

The beauty of logic for three-year-olds.  Steve sighed, put his children down and kneeled in front of his daughter.  “Princess, you don’t have to marry Jamie for him to be with you forever.  He’s your brother, he’ll always be there for you.”  

“Just like you Papa?” 

“Just like me.  Now, no more running around until after church, ok? If your Mama has to call me, there will be timeout and no cake.”  

She nodded with big eyes. Lucy was truly daddy’s princess, and she would always obey her father.  Her older brother, however, was his rebel and only really listened to his idol, Uncle Bucky. “Young man, Uncle Bucky told me to tell you that you better behave or no launch pad.” Steve was curious what the hell "launch pad" was but it was something that his son looked horrified to lose so he didn’t question it.  

‘No! Daddy, tell him I’m good.’ 

“Ok, you have to listen to Mama or else, James.”  His son grimaces but nods, understanding that losing his favorite game is worse.  Steve stand and finally takes in his wife, in a dusty rose ball gown, the tiny swell of her belly holding their third child showing. He walked over and grasped her face, tilting it towards him. “You do look amazing today, my love.”  He placed a gentle kiss on her lips.  

Belle could hear her son gagging over his father’s affection for his mother, a learned trait from his uncle no doubt.  “You look just as handsome amore.”  

Steve’s hand drifted down. “How’s my boy?” 

“Sleeping, I think. Still only flutters.”  She smiled.  They had just found out that they were having another boy, much to Lucy’s delight.  She wanted to be the only princess.  

“Good.  Ready to walk down the aisle again Mrs. Rogers?”  

“Only with you.”  

Watching his best friend marry his perfect girl was wonderful.  Belle continuously wiped at her eyes during the ceremony as matron of honor.  Steve watched his girl, knowing that her hormones definitely amplified her reaction, but it wasn’t out of character.  Once the minister declared Bucky and Ava husband and wife, he clapped hard, happy that his best friend found a home just like he did. As the newly married couple exited, Steve extended his arm to his wife.  “Mrs. Rogers.”  

“Mr. Rogers,” Belle smiled up at her husband as she took his arm.  They had a hand on each of their children and headed out for photos. Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of his wife.  Belle moved effortlessly while five months pregnant.  Of course, only carrying one was easier than the twins.  

“Stop staring, punk.  It’s my wedding day.”  Bucky stands next to Steve as he watches the girls take photos.  

“Like you don’t stare at Ava, jerk.”  

“That’s fair.  Who would have thought, 100 years later, that we would be here, married to the loves of our lives?”  

“After everything we have seen, we are just a couple of lucky bastards.” Steve slaps Bucky’s back.  “I’m proud of you Buck.”  

“Thanks pal. Never saw myself a married man but Ava, she’s my Angel.”  

“Just like Belle was mine.”  

The reception is beautiful, very light and sparkly, just like Ava.  Steve stood up to make his speech about Bucky.  

“As most of you know, I grew up with this jerk all those years ago.  He was bigger than me, always getting me out of scraps. He tried to save my ass during the war, telling me not to do anything stupid until he came back. Of course, I had to follow up because he took all of the stupid with him.” 

The crowd laughed and Steve cleared his throat. “Ava, I want you to know that I think you are completely nuts marrying this jerk.  But I also think you couldn’t find anyone who is more loyal, loving, amazing and just generally a good guy.  He has loved my family since before I knew I loved my wife and I know he will make you very happy.  With that said, Bucky, you break this amazing woman’s heart, and they will never find you.”  A roar of laughter and Steve raised his glass.  “To James and Ava, may your new life be as happy as mine.  To the bride and groom.”  

After Ava’s father spoke, Belle got up to the piano and sat, smiling at the couple.  “Bucky and Ava are so special to me and my family.  And when they asked me to sing for them, only one song came to mind. I love you guys.”  She started to play as Bucky and Ava stood up for their first dance.  

Heart beats fast  Colors and promises  How to be brave?  How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?  But watching you stand alone  All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow 

One step closer 

I have died every day waiting for you  Darling, don't be afraid  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

Time stands still  Beauty in all she is  I will be brave  I will not let anything take away  What's standing in front of me  Every breath, every hour has come to this 

One step closer 

I have died every day waiting for you  Darling, don't be afraid  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

And all along I believed I would find you  Time has brought your heart to me  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

One step closer 

One step closer 

I have died every day waiting for you  Darling, don't be afraid  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

And all along I believed I would find you  Time has brought your heart to me  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

  Bucky and Ava finished their dance with a kiss and the crowd applauded as Steve helped Belle down to hug her brother and sister-in-law. “Love you guys.”  

As the wedding came to a close, Tony and Pepper walked over to take the twins with them to their cabin for the weekend.  Belle became teary for the idea of her babies leaving but Steve looped his arms around her.  “They will be ok.  Uncle Tony and Auntie Pep have it.”  

“I know. I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes as the twins came over to give her a hug.  “Promise you will behave for your Uncle and Aunt.”  

“Yes mama,” Jamie answered.  

Steve kneeled in front of his son.  “You take care of your sister. ok?” 

Jamie nodded.  “Yes daddy.”  

“Good.”  He kissed his head and then hugged his princess. They watched them leave and Steve took his wife’s hand.  “All to myself, sweet pea.”  

“Yes sir.” Belle smirked as she watched Steve’s eyes darken slightly.  He pulled her to the elevator to get back to their room in the hotel.  As soon as the doors closed, Steve lifted Belle to his hips with a squeak, wrapping her legs around him, her back pressed against the wall.  

“You are a vixen, my love.”  He placed gentle kisses around her neck and collarbone.  Belle whines when he gently nipped at her skin.  “Hush, baby.”  

“Stevie,” she whispered.  

“I love it when you call me that.” The elevator pinged and the doors opened to their floor.  Steve carries his pregnant wife to their suite. He never lost stride, never lost his grip on his precious cargo. He opened their door and moved to their king sized bed.  He laid her down and began kissing every part of her body he could reach, eventually reaching up and pulling the zipper of her dress. He yanked the fabric away and moaned at the sight of his girl in just panties. “Jesus doll.”  

“Something you like Captain?” she purred and at that point Steve went feral. He tore his suit away, literally and was down to his boxers when he began to kiss Belle’s legs starting at her ankle. His kisses were feather light and driving Belle wild.  “Steve, please.”  

“You know what you have to say, princess.” Steve got closer to where she needed him, her hormones now in overdrive.  

“Wreck me sir. Take me to heaven.”  

In an instant, Steve ripped her panties away and drove his tongue into her warm heat.  She arched her back and cried out, his ministrations sending her head spinning.  He worked her body like he had known for the last five years. He could feel her building but holding back.  “Let go princess.  Let me drink you in.”  

She shook her head, wanting it to last.  Steve chuckled at her stubbornness.  “Ok then.”  He slipped his large digit in and hit her spot inside. Belle moaned and then screamed at Steve latched onto her clit, gently nibbling it.  She couldn’t stop the rush as she climaxed all over him, losing sight of her surroundings as the blood pumped behind her eyes.  

Steve slowed to let her come down before he pulled away to remove his boxers and he laid next to her, pulling her on top.  This was his favorite, where he could watch Belle lose herself on him. He placed her right over his rock-hard cock and guided himself in. They both moaned at the fullness, and Belle began to move her hips, her small bump sliding across Steve’s abs.  

“Oh, princess. So good, sweet pea, so fucking good.”  

“Stevie, I can’t,” as she began to slow.  

“Yes, you can because you’re my good girl, my baby mama.” He put his hands on her hips to help her. He could feel her being to grip him. “Always so warm and ready for me. Fuck Belle.”  

“Steve,” she moaned, “fuck Captain, please.”  She felt him grow harder and she knew he was almost there.  

“C’mon baby, one more time, let go for me. Cum all over me Isabella, make me yours.”  

“Mine, all mine!” He was thrusting his hips to hit her spot over and over and she was lost again as she clamped down on him.  

“Mine,” Steve grunted as he let go in her, filling her up again. Belle slumped forward and he caught her before she crushed her stomach and turned them, so she was on her side and he was still inside her. “So beautiful my Isabella.”  

“I love you,” she mumbled as exhaustion took over.  

“I love you more, my beautiful, sweet pea.”  

The next morning, Belle woke with Steve still sleeping next to her.  Five years later and she never got tired of seeing him asleep, looking younger and more at peace.  She quietly got up and went to the ensuite coffee maker, checking her phone.  She saw an email from her publicist.  She opened it and squealed loudly.  

Steve ran in a moment later in just his boxers.  “Baby, you ok?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby, but the New York Times has reviewed the restaurant!”  

A year after the twins were born, Belle wanted to pursue her dream of opening a restaurant. Steve and Tony wanted to invest and helped find the perfect spot for her.  But what was a hidden blessing was Ava wanting to be her partner.  Ava has restaurant management experience and was invested in Belle’s concept.  American fusion.  She took the recipes she knew and elevated.  After extensive testing (with Bucky being her taste tester, of course,) they had the final menu set and opened “Home Kitchen” just six months ago.  

“What did they say, sweet pea?” 

“Three stars, Stevie, he gave me three stars. Oh my god!” Steve picked her up and swung her around.  

“I knew it baby.  I knew you would be great!” 

“I can’t believe it.” She read the review, raving about the simplicity of her menu but the sophistication of it made it other-worldly. He labeled it the “must eat” restaurant in Manhattan. “Steve, he’s raving about it. I gotta tell Ava.”  

“Ava is probably a bit busy at the moment love.” He sat them on the couch, with his girl on his lap and caressed her bump. “How’s my son?” 

“He’s moving around. Excited for his momma.  He’s...” she went still.  

“Belle?” She grabbed his hand and moved it to one side.  And he felt it, a movement against his hand.  He smiled. “Hello son.” He tracked his movements until he calmed.  

She watched the wonder on his face. “Do you regret it?” 

“Regret what love?” 

“Giving up the shield. Just being Steve Rogers and not Captain America?” 

After Belle’s near death from the birth of the twins, she had told him about her dream with her father.  And while Steve didn’t believe in ghosts, he did believe that family would visit when they needed to tell their loved ones a message.  He had seen his Ma a couple of times, so he had no doubt Phil had visited her. Phil’s instructions were clear; Steve needed to be with his family but holding onto the shield would stop him from that.  

Sam was surprised when Steve handed the shield to him.  He assumed that Bucky would be the next, but Steve knew, his best friend was done with the fight, especially when he had proposed to Ava.  Sam and Nat were still ok with going on missions when needed.  Sam was the obvious choice.  And Steve felt at peace, knowing the world was in safe hands.  

“My only regret is not kissing you more often and I would regret not watching our family grow.  You and the kids are my whole world.” He kissed her softly. “I am devoted to you Isabella Maria Rogers.”  

“And I am submissively yours Steven Grant Rogers.”  

He looked into her beautiful violet eyes.  

“Mine.”  

She looked back into his ocean blues. 

“Yours.”  

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@sunnyhummingbee

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@peaceinourtime82

@kmc1989

@lokislady82

@saucy-sassy-sparkly

[singswan-springswan]

Not "I could fix him" or "I could make him worse" but a secret third thing (I could love him as he is)

[yes-divine-ruler]

Stan Bowes (Evan Peters in Pose) x Fem!Reader Smut - “Daddy Issues” (18+)

CW: oral (both receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, daddy kink, affair

Words: 1647

Nobody would be on your side if you told them you were in love with a married man. All you were to everyone else was a home-wrecker, a naive child who didn’t know the damage she was doing.

Yet you stood in the apartment he bought you, making a meal with the groceries he paid for, drinking a glass of fine wine that he had brought to you a week ago. You could never do all this on your own. You did feel bad for his wife and children, but you’d feel worse if you never saw him again, and maybe you were selfish for that. Something about Stan Bowes was extraordinary, his handsome face and his toned, sculpted body, the way he treated you was not like any man your age would or could. He sent fresh flowers to your door every morning, and made sure he’d call you if he didn’t have time to come and see you, most of the time.

Being Stan Bowes’ little secret was the best thing in the world, until it wasn’t. You had to share the man of your dreams with a part of his life you weren’t apart of. The part of his life where he was a father, a husband, a son. Where he had responsibilities and priorities.

You waited patiently by your kitchen counter for the door bell to ring, tapping your acrylic nails on the marble until it drove you crazy. Stan was half an hour late already, the dinner you’d made him beginning to go cold. Sighing to yourself, you took your glass of red to the sofa and sunk down on it. You pulled out your mobile phone, tempted to send yet another message asking where he was, and when he’d be here.

When an hour passed, you gave up, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at your sad dinner arrangement, the tea lights in the centre of the table burnt to the end of their wicks, your wine bottle now empty. You threw your phone across the room, and let out an angry scream. This was the third night in a row he’d made arrangements to come and see you and didn’t show up.

You start to circle your apartment, pushing the plates off the dining table and onto the floor, tearing the sheer curtains off the curtain rods. You hit the mirror in the bathroom, causing it to shatter, your knuckles bloodied from the sharp glass. Were you really that unimportant that he’d forgotten about you three nights in a row?

That’s when the door bell rang and you hurried out of the bathroom to answer it, fixing your hair and dusting off your silk slip dress like nothing happened as you opened the door. Stan stood there, his face nothing short of apologetic as he pulled you in for a tight hug. You hugged him back, melting into the scent of his expensive cologne, running a hand through his short hair.

“Baby I’m so sorry, I got caught up at work,” he mumbled into your hair as he pulled away to look at you.

“Are you okay? What the fuck happened?”he grabbed onto your bloodied hands, his eyes darting behind you at your trashed apartment.

“Nothing,” you hiccuped, the wine suddenly rushing to your head as Stan looked at you with a look of horror.

“Y/N, what the fuck happened?” He repeated himself slowly, pushing passed you and entering the apartment. You sighed and closed the door behind you, watching as he stepped over cracked porcelain plates and spilled Alfredo with his polished dress shoes.

“Did someone break in?”

He turned to look at you, your face stained with guilt.

“I’m sorry Stan, I got angry, I thought you weren’t coming again,” you bit your lip as his face twisted in anger.

“You can’t just fucking trash the apartment every-time I don’t come and see you, I have a fucking family Y/N, and they come first I told you that,” he ran a hand through his hair as a salty tear trailed down your cheek.

“But Stan-”

“Do you not realise everything I fucking do for you? You’re such an ungrateful brat,” he seethed, walking passed you to the front door and grabbing his coat on the way out.

“Stan please don’t go I’ll fix this I promise,” you begged, grabbing onto his arm before he left your apartment, “I’m so sorry daddy.”

He turned to you, his eyes still filled with rage but totally captivated by his pet name. It rung in his ears like sweet honey, the blood rushing straight to his cock as it came out your pretty lips.

You noticed Stan standing there frozen, and knew you’d said the right thing to make him stay.

“Come on, I’ll make it up to you, I’m so sorry,” you said just above a whisper, coming into his chest and loosening his red striped tie with your fingers, “you just need some loving right now.”

You shut the door behind Stan with your foot as he took a step back into your apartment. You pulled on the collar of his shirt and connected your lips. He fed on your seduction shamelessly, his fingernails clawing into your hips through your silk dress as he pulled you closer. Your tongue entered his warm mouth, tugging on his hair as his hands lifted up your dress.

You broke the kiss for a moment, Stan’s eyes shut firmly as he felt your body, “come to bed, daddy,”

You took his hand and pulled him to your bedroom, pushing him down on the bed as soon as you entered. He laid there, mesmerised by his mistress, as you slipped off the thin straps of your dress to reveal your bare breasts. He moaned as you straddled his lap, unbuttoning each of the buttons on his dress shirt agonisingly slow.

You leaned down to suck on the skin of his neck, your hands working at the zipper of his slacks and pulling it down. You palmed him through his underwear, not surprised to feel a wet patch of pre cum at the tip of his rock hard erection.

“M’gonna suck daddy’s cock, I’ll show you I’m a good girl,” you purred, kissing down to his stomach and then to the front of his underwear. His bottom lip wedged between his teeth as he watched you pull out his cock and lick a stripe from the base to the tip. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, letting out a loud moan as his eyes closed from the pleasure he was receiving.

You took his erection in your mouth, holding the base with your hand as they worked together in synchronicity on his shaft. His cock was covered in your saliva as you pushed your head down to take his whole length. He moaned as you gagged on it, before pulling up for a breath.

“Come here,” he muttered, motioning you over with his fingers. You came up off his cock, and inched your face closer to his. He kissed you, his hands slipping up your dress again to grip onto your bare ass.

“Sit on daddy’s face,” he breathed out, lifting up your dress for you and pulling it over your head. He almost came just from seeing you naked. You obliged, straddling his head with your thighs as you felt his tongue slip between your wet folds. He took your clit in your mouth, the action causing you to let out a small whimper, his hands still cupping the soft skin on your ass. He continued his sensual assault between your legs, his tongue lapping at your arousal as you started to grind on his face. He dipped his tongue into your entrance, his nose pressing up against your clit as you felt your orgasm approaching.

“Daddy you’re gonna make me cum!” You squealed, as you finally felt your release, grinding on Stan’s face as he pleasures you through your climax.

He pressed a few gentle kisses to your heat before you climbed off his face, his chin covered in your juices and his own saliva.

You stuck out your tongue, and licked from his chin to his mouth, tasting yourself on his face.

“You’re such a naughty fucking girl,” he growled, his cock almost weeping against his stomach and begging to be paid attention to.

“Only for you,” you cooed back, pressing your wet entrance against his cock and slicking it with your arousal. He gripped onto your hips again, pulling you up so he could slide his cock in.

When you felt it, you almost came again there and then. He stretched you out with his impressive length, your cunt eating up his cock hungrily, the tip almost hitting your cervix.

You began to bounce on his cock, throwing your head back as he marvelled at your breasts, your nipples hard from excitement and titillation.

“My god, you ride my cock like such a little slut,” he praised, as his cock entered you again and again.

“Is daddy gonna cum for his little slut?” You replied, biting on your lip as he grabbed onto your breasts, circling his thumb and pointer finger around your nipples.

“Holy shit baby, fuck-” his eyes screwed shut as his lips parted, letting out words of profanity and low moans as he came inside you. You rode him until he gripped your hips to stop, and then leaned down to his face again.

You kissed him softly, as he hummed in content from your prior activities.

“You, little miss, are paying for those repairs, I hope it teaches you a lesson,” he said with a small smile, as you got off him to lay at his side.

“Yes daddy I’m sorry,” you pout, as he laughs and kisses your head softly.

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