#s: bound by faith

[fistsoflightning]

sudden deluge

for wolcredweek day 4: rain/sparks

i think everyone should know this one was saved as was ‘thunderclap to ur bf to hug him’

“Looks to be clearing up,” Thancred said, peering through the window across the room, and leaned his shoulder against the wall beside it, arms crossed over his chest. True to his word, when they glanced up the thunderstorm had died down enough that it was only drizzling over the Crystarium, the afternoon skies gone a light bluish-grey with the clouds. “If only you’d seen Captain Lyna’s face when I told her I could take care of the storm.”

Their hands were still occupied toweling off their hair, but Zaya huffed and rolled their eyes from where they were sitting, knowing they were just at the edge of Thancred’s field of vision even half-turned to the window. It was the Scions’ collective delusion that they were the cause of any unnatural or frequent storms in the area—weather was so fickle, and only bowed in the face of immense aetherial disruption, or whatever Urianger had said. After a hundred years of Light of course the weather would be strange, now that it wasn’t being forcefully dragged into eternal stillness.

Still. It did tend to rain a lot when they wanted to go adventuring, especially when they weren’t looking for it. There was only so much they could write off as bad luck before they started to wonder.

They bent over to comfortably dry the back of their head with the too-large towel; it draped over their forehead and caught on the tips of their horns. “You di’n’t do anything,” they said, muffled but teasing. It was nice to hear him not calling himself useless for once—or unneeded, or other words with similar meanings—but this was a little silly. Probably why he was able to do so, but still.

“I came to get you with an umbrella.”

“Still soaked.”

Thancred paused thoughtfully. “Here I thought that was on purpose,” he said, his voice too close to actual remorse, “but if not I apologize for my late arrival. Never studied the weather in Sharlayan, I’m afraid; I was hardly expecting the cloudburst either.”

“‘s okay,” they said, reaching back with both hands to wring their hair in the towel one last time. A haircut might be nice, soon, but they liked how long it was now even if it was a nuisance when wet. “I did stay in it f’r a bit. Was nice.”

He laughed softly. “It is rather warm today, isn’t it? Ryne’ll be complaining about how humid it is later, I’m sure.”

Zaya made a small noise in acknowledgement, finally freeing themselves from the formerly-white towel; they’d forgotten about their face paint earlier, distracted by all the water dripping down their chin, and now there was a blue smudge smack in the middle of it. Thancred hadn’t seemed to care, though, only giving it a amused look before he walked over to the window. Satisfied that their hair wasn’t dripping onto the shoulders of the dry shirt they’d changed into, they reached down for their shoes to dry off the insides, then glanced up again at the window, and to Thancred.

He was still looking out the tall window at the rain, but there was a certain distant look in his eyes. His voice was quieter when he said, mostly to himself, “Never thought I’d end up homesick for rain.”

They blinked a few times. It was a little too easy to forget how long everyone had been living on the First for, some days. Five years on their end had only been a handful of moons back home, even if those moons felt impossibly long for them.

Thancred glanced back at them, as if suddenly remembering he wasn’t alone to—reminisce, or brood, whichever he was doing—then looked back out the window. “It rained for three days straight before you arrived on the First,” he said, voice clearer now for them to hear but no less sentimental. “Somewhat of a blessing, at the time. Upon seeing the night return to Lakeland, Ryne ran away from me to find your fellow Warriors, and you know well how that went. The downpour kept the Eulmoran airships grounded while the Crystarium gathered its forces—and you, though I didn’t know it then.”

Zaya didn’t know what to say to that. They slipped their now-dry leather shoes back on quietly, the light tap-tap of them putting their feet back down on the tiled floor and the patter of rain against the window the only sounds for a while.

When he spoke up next it was with an exhale, like he was clearing something heavy from his lungs. “When I managed to catch up to Ryne, close enough to see Laxan Loft and the Eulmorans, I remember seeing the curtain of rain and thinking—‘They’re finally here,’” he said. He looked at them almost teasingly, except his eyes were too soft at the corners, matching his smile just shy of a smirk. “It was as if the skies opened the floodgates in preparation for your arrival. Had to get to the Crystarium just to be able to dry off.”

That was even sillier than the belief that they left rain and storms in their wake—they weren’t even on the same shard when it had happened—and Zaya started to laugh without sound but not out of mirth, the muscles in their throat feeling tight and relieved all at once. Thancred finally turned away from the window and the rain to look at them with a slight frown.

“Was what I said that ridiculous?” he asked, but they shook their head and left him to sort out the confusion on his face. Tossing the towel onto the bench, Zaya stood up and with a light crackle of sparks at their heels rushed over, appearing at his side before he could register the sound and wrapping their arms around his neck, pushing up on their toes to not throw him off balance any more than necessary when his head dipped down suddenly from their weight.

“Missed you too,” they said, voice embarrassingly thick for something so little as words. Their face grew hot, but maybe Thancred would pass both off as a side effect of having to tilt their head up not to stab him with their horns, their throat pressed right against his shoulder.

It took a moment, but eventually Thancred returned their hug, and it didn’t matter that they’d already told him how much he was missed before because he tipped his head to press a kiss to their pulse and said, “I suppose I did, didn’t I.”

[kortac-sweetheart]

pt2/finale traitor!tf141 au

cw: some angst, hurt with lots of comfort, can be read as platonic or romantic, flashbacks to past torture, mentions of violence, military inaccuracies, reader tears 141 a new one (we all cheered), we're overcoming hedgehog's dilemma with this one boys (four times you saved them, one (and a half) time(s) they saved you) realllllly fckn long

(it's the finale part yay! i don't have any more ideas to continue this au, but asks abt it are always open)

in the months since you've joined kortac, you quickly cemented yourself as efficient, capable, and reliable in their eyes. as fundamental to the team as the very foundation of a home. your hard work in the field even earned you a new call sign, one gifted by könig himself.

wraith.

a harbinger of death, the final phantasmal apparition any enemy would have the misfortune to see. sweeping, practically dancing, through swaths of men, leaving them dropping like flies in your wake.

but if that was true, the why were you back under intensive care in the med bay again?

the latest mission had gone sideways. a simple recon mission that had went belly up due to an enemy ambush. reconnaissance turned into rescue instead. and kortac's new target?

you.

it wasn't pretty. the way they tore through the field to reach you, nearly trampling over friend and foe alike, guns blazing all the while. leaving nothing but blood and carnage in their wake, blood lust only temporarily abated before they realized the state you were in.

on the verge of passing out, bound and bloodied, battered and bruised all over again. you had certainly looked like your callsign then, pale from exhaustion and the fabric of your very being fraying once more. despite the strength of your bonds and your faith in them, doubt still gnawed at the edges of your psyche. the pain from the physical beating imposed by your captors was nothing compared to your own mental flogging.

will they come?

i hope they do.

they shouldn't come.

it's not worth it.

the mission is compromised.

i'm sorry.

the sight of könig kicking down the locked door and the feeling of someone gently bundling you into his arms was the last thing you remembered before passing out.

they came.

despite your ceaseless tears and aches, there was a small smile on your face, too.

waiting for you to wake up again was agonizing.

the four of them, huddled around your bed in the base's med bay, with only the incessant ticking of the clock and your steady breaths to break the silence. they couldn't focus on any paperwork they had brought either, too agitated, too restless, too worried, to focus on mindless bureaucracy.

horangi sat at your bedside, bent over from exhaustion and boredom, his hand clasped with yours. he remembers how you used to be, those few months ago. quiet but strong, withdrawn but not entirely cold, he could sense the smallest flicker of warmth--wanting in all your movements. despite it, you hadn't uttered a word to him at all, barely met his eyes, carrying yourself admirably, independently in action.

he remembers it as if it were yesterday, when you first spoke to him.

he was too caught up in the heat of battle, tunnel visioned whilst carving a path into enemy territory and leading the charge with you as support. you had felt the chilling, piercing gaze before you ever saw them, all but shoving horangi's head down and missing the sniper's bullet aimed for him. he had looked at you, bewildered, before you summoned the strength to speak.

"enemy sniper in the vicinity. watch your six, horangi." your comm headset then crackled to life as you relayed the message to the team.

in the grand scheme of things, it was a small gesture. a teammate saving another's life is common place on the field, but horangi still felt grateful all the same. your sharp senses, your quick thinking, your presence and the safety it brought only emboldened him on the field, knowing that you'd be there to drag him out of harm's way.

outside the field, he knew that even if you couldn't express it fully aloud, you still cared for them very much. one day incidentally, you had noticed horangi picking at his food, dissatisfied with grey slop from the mess hall. (and you were too, to be quite honest.)

eventually, you found yourself and your team stationed off base for once, waiting around in temporary housing for the start of the mission. it seemed like the perfect time to have something other than MREs.

it was a very simple meal, grilled meat, storebought kimchi, savory steamed eggs and some freshly cooked rice. but when you called them in for lunch, horangi nearly dropped to his knees and proposed to you on the spot. he had to hold himself back from positively bear hugging you into his arms, instead eagerly complimenting the meal you prepared and squeezing your hand in appreciation.

"did you like the meal hong-jin?" he could barely hear you over the running faucet of the sink whilst he helped with the dishes, but he still beamed at you regardless. (he thought that meek voice of yours asking for approval was downright adorable.)

"of course i did! thank you. i really appreciate it." he couldn't remember the last time he felt so... content. so cared for and seen. it made him feel warm inside, heart full and fuzzy and soft around the edges from your quiet attentiveness.

that's why, when you all return to base and he spots you in the early morning light, sipping on coffee all alone—he joins you without a second thought. settling down next to you on the bench in the rec room with his own cup, no words exchanged but it's warm and comforting all the same.

you don't bat an eye at his presence, as if he was always meant to be there. you carefully lean into him, your shoulder's a hair's breadth from touching his. one hand holds your steaming cup and the other gingerly fiddles with his own free hand.

(you can sense his gaze too, burning into you and hong-jin as he watched from the hallway. mactavish. burning up with jealously, regret, remorse, as he watched you two.

watched the way you slowly scooted closer to hong-jin, leaning into his side as he casually swung his arm up and around your shoulder. watched as the tension bled from your body and left you utterly relaxed and open.

he couldn't remember the last time he saw you like that. if ever. he couldn't stomach the sight anymore, stomping away from the rec room with clenched fists and a deep scowl on his face.

that should've been him.)

(whether hong-jin sensed him too, he didn't say. if he did, or if he didn't, hong-jin didn't give a shit either way. all that mattered was being in the moment with you.)

krueger sighed as he glanced at the wall clock again, only five infernal minutes since last he checked it. he then glanced over to horangi, who was now soundly snoring in his seat, his head resting in his arms. then, a shadow of a smile graced his own face as he looked at you.

he remembers how the roles were reversed before, that time you went out of your way to save him. he remembers it clear as day.

the first ever mission where you two had been assigned as partners. he had respected you immensely, your silent intensity and lack of fluff, efficient, strong, a damn good partner. the mission had went off without a hitch, until the end of it.

you didn't know how to turned out like this. one moment the building was eerily quiet and still, and the next it was a raging inferno. just moments before, you had been separated from krueger looking for the documents. and now you were running, panting as you made it outside. but, something was off when you looked around.

where was krueger?

you hesitated only for a split second before running back in, while your teammates all shouted for you to stop. but you tuned them out, focusing, clearing your mind and remembering the layout of the building, where krueger said he was headed.

you found him in the hallway leading to the security room, crawling along the floor, his leg injured in the blast. clutching the documents with one hand, and using the other to drag himself forward.

when the smoke had parted to reveal you, he thought he was already dead. your silhouette blurry and grainy around the edges, the roaring fire illuminating your face in an ominous orange. an angel of death. he felt you take the documents from his hand, resignation filling him as he thought you'd turn and run.

he didn't resent you for it. not at all, take the documents, focus on the mission, leave the baggage behind. but you didn't. you didn't leave him there. you hauled him up single-handedly, adrenaline pumping through you as you fought to remain calm and steady, whilst rushing him and yourself out of there.

you spoke to him just loud enough to hear, keeping him awake and alert.

"c'mon krueger, i'm getting you out of here."

"keep moving, this is no place to die."

"you can sleep when we're safely back on base."

"i'm not leaving without you."

and he couldn't help but wonder, why?

for a man like him, one you barely knew beyond being teammates.

why? as you two narrowly escaped the building as it completely collapsed.

why? as you dragged his half unconscious body to the evac point, as you waited with him, patching up his wounds with what meager medical supplies you had on you.

why? as you fitted the oxygen mask over his face in the helicopter. his vision fading to black from exhaustion.

you sat with him as he laid in med bay, waiting for him to wake up. you remember what it felt like, to wake up all alone with no one around. how harrowing and disorienting it was, near tears when one of your old teammates had finally gone to check on you. through his (quite insincere) apologies, you sensed his piss poor excuses.

"oh, you're awake... apologies. we were busy." he didn't look physically exhausted at all, no sweat or sign of training.

paperwork, you realized.

they were too busy doing paperwork to stay by your bedside. when it sunk in, you had merely swallowed, staring at your bandaged hands.

"it's ok." you managed to mutter, after a beat there was a small click of the door. and the sterile room faded into suffocating silence once more as his footsteps led him away.

krueger, now awake, studied your face as you glared at the wall opposite you, hands clasped together and lost in thought. watching your tired eyes growing glassy with unshed tears, he decided enough was enough.

you startled slightly when he waved his hand in your line of sight, immediately snapped out of your trance. looking to him a concerned look that crossed your face, you murmured, "how're you holding up?"

"could be worse off... thanks. for saving me back there." he can see how you melt, a little less guarded with a small smile crossing your face. even under the sterile med bay lights, eyes tired and skin a little dull, you still looked like an angel. his saving angel.

he doesn't care why you did it. all it matters is that you did, he didn't need to know why when it was written all over your face. your actions, your presence besides him spoke more than words could.

(garrick had noticed you from the hallway, watching you intently.

green with envy as you tried to stifle your giggles before breaking into a real, honest to god, belly laugh. watched as you held onto krueger's hand so you wouldn't keel over in your seat from laughter.

watched as you wiped away happy tears-- so different compared to the terrified ones he remembers you shedding before. watched as your guarded demeanor melted into something softer, full of big smiles and genuine laughs you shared with krueger.

not him. it should've been him.)

(yes, krueger noticed him. didn't see him directly but he could tell in your eyes. how your laughter flickered and dimmed slightly as you glanced at something-- someone, before he redirected you back to himself. making you laugh at his jokes, and forgetting all about garrick. good. garrick could go to hell for all he cares.)

even when krueger was able to get up and walk around, you still stuck by him. doing work in his med bay room and telling you when and where you'd leave to. whether by pure happenstance or good fortune, krueger had been awake one morning just before you'd leave for coffee.

"oh, good morning, seb! i'm going to go have coffee with horan-- er, hong-jin..." a brief nervous pause, you were considering something.

"do you... do you want to join us?" asked with such tender hope in your eyes that he couldn't possibly say no. (frankly if you told him to jump he wouldn't even say "how high" he'd just do it.)

despite the sudden appearance of sebastian, hong-jin didn't look surprised in the slightest. they shared one look with each other and they immediately understood; watching as you happily prepared coffee, humming beneath your breath with your back turned to them. that morning, and for the following mornings after that; you enjoyed your coffee happily squished between the both of them.

back in your temporary room in med bay, sebastian had now drifted off in his chair. lulled to dreams by the quiet room and pleasant memories you shared.

nikto had elected to lean on the far wall of the room, opposite your bed. muttered something about being able to see the whole room for safety. but he now surveyed the tranquil room, seeing both krueger and horangi asleep in their chairs, and you, hopefully peacefully asleep too. his eyes lingered on the teddy bear that sat dutifully at your side, as if to protect you from night terrors. the teddy bear that he got you.

it was supposed to be like any other sleepless night, awoken from fitful slumber by nightmares both real and imagined, past and present.

rest would not visit them again tonight it seems.

with practiced ease they had made their way to the base's rec room, searching for tranquility in the stillness of night. peace, away from his restless mind. sitting quietly down at the table, waiting out the night until you happened to stumble in.

there hadn't been many words exchanged between you before. but there was mutual respect-- anyone would always appreciate a hard worker like you. but now he watched quietly as you tottered over to the empty seat besides him in the rec room, attempting to muffle quiet sobs as you slumped in the chair. they weren't the only ones to have bad dreams tonight it seems.

nikto didn't know what overcame him, they shouldn't of pried. everyone on base has their struggles, but between you, it felt different; his body overcome with the urge to help, to comfort.

he spoke quietly. "night terrors?" the question hung in the air for a bit before you sniffled, and nodded. he didn't ask about what aloud, but the offer was there. there was no judgement in his gaze, but understanding. even if he didn't cry, even if his own nightmares came night after night, he understood deeply.

they sighed, standing up and went to get a pot of coffee going; if he was going to stay up all night, might as well enjoy it. but after they set a fresh cup of coffee in front of you, the dam inside of you broke and you spilled everything, with nikto and the night as your only witnesses.

sobbing into your hands and sleeves about what they put you through. how they slashed so painfully at you, spat at you, how they imprinted themselves deep into your psyche.

you told nikto you despised looking in the mirror because it reminds you too much of them and what they did to you. how you can feel the phantom edge of riley's blade glide up your face, or how mactavish punched you so hard you nearly blacked out.

how you can still feel garrick's hand gripping your wrist, holding it still as his knife comes down on your pinky, severing it with no remorse.

nikto's care for you wins out against their new found contempt for task force 141 in the end. he gets up from his chair across you, and sits besides you instead. a single palm, placed soothingly on your back.

"allow us to show you something." their hands reach their mask and, they slowly, unhurriedly undo all the buckles and belts that secure it. methodically laying piece by piece of their mask down on the table, carefully, as to not startle you. the last piece of nikto's mask comes off and you're granted a front row view of his face.

they easily read your expression, no surprise, no disgust, no pity either. they see recognition in your eyes, familiarity. it's different from all the other looks they've gotten. you don't scream or cry (anymore), nor do you try to run away, instead you sit quietly memorizing their face.

for once, they feel as if they don't hate their own face either.

"the past comes for us night after night. but we cannot allow ourselves to wallow in it anymore. what's done has been done, the best any of us can do is simply move on... and keep living." the words settled into your mind.

nikto is right.

you can't allow the 141 to rob you of your life more than they already have. you want to thank him. for his advice, for his trust in you, and you tell him to wait for a moment.

he's left alone in the dark again, but it doesn't feel suffocating anymore. even he didn't know the weight they were carrying until it was gone. although your presence is momentarily absent, he-- they trust that you will return.

and you do. they note you look a little embarrassed, but you move to sit down next to him again before handing them a little well loved teddy bear. it's plastic eyes a bit scratched and cloudy, the ribbon around the neck is loose, and the stuffing a bit lumpy. well adored.

"here." you start. he takes a moment to give it a soft squeeze, and he doesn't know why but his heart sinks and soars at the same time.

"i always hug my bear when the nightmares are too much. it makes me feel better when i hold him... so i.. i want you to have it. so that he can help you too." you can't help but feel a little childish, fiddling with your fingers as you await his reply, but no such chiding or scoff ever resounds from them.

instead, a soft "thank you. we will cherish it." falls from their lips, and that's all it takes for you to truly relax. they expect you to return to your room but you don't, staying put and keeping them company through the silent night. sometimes you talk some more, sometimes it's just your breathing that's audible, they listen intently either way.

but they watch as your eyelids grow heavier, your words slurred and drowsy, and before you can fall asleep on the hard table; nikto tucks your body into their side instead. a warm arm and a strong chest keep you securely in place, blissfully asleep.

(nikto does not move an inch the whole night. not while you're still peacefully asleep, nor when the light of dawn illuminates the room and chases away the dark, and most certainly not when a certain lieutenant walks into the rec room.

the certain someone doesn't notice you peacefully sleeping in nikto's arms until he turns around and is greeted with the sight of your peacefully sleeping face. blissfully unaware to who was in the room besides you and nikto. he looks confounded, envious even, and nikto can sense he's itching to say something. but he sends the lieutenant an icy glare, lifting a finger to his lips.

the man doth protest too much, they think. making a talking motion with his hand, before pointing at him and then making an ominous throat slitting motion with their thumb. he seems to get the memo the second time around, quickly exiting the rec room with only a single final fleeting glance towards your peaceful face.)

(your sleepy visage belies your awareness to his presence. even in sleep your body still remembers, subtly awakening when he entered the room, feeling his burning gaze lingering on you despite being in nikto's arms.)

the second visitors to the rec room are much more welcomed ones. hong-jin and seb were surprised to see nikto there, but more importantly with you curled up peacefully in his arms.

any surprise is quickly replaced with adoration as they watch you peacefully snooze for a few more moments, before they sadly have to wake you. a simple "wakey wakey sleepyhead" and a small shake from hong-jin is all that's required to wake you. (nikto and seb do give him a teasing side eye for that.)

their hearts collectively squeeze as you gradually come to, looking at all of them with a fond glint in your sleepy gaze, a soft yawn and an even softer smile.

you now share your mornings with hong-jin, seb, and andre after that. the more the merrier after all. sometimes they fight over who gets to sit next to you, and the loser of three way rock paper scissors always sulks a little, but the smile you give all of them makes up for it.

in the quiet room nikto can feel his head nodding, drowsy with sleep, so he leaves the wall. laying down, horizontal to the foot of your bed to sleep.

(rest may not so easily visit nikto, but rest is within reach wherever you are. whether that may be right next to him, or a just few feet away in your room.

he had also gone and gifted you another teddy bear. after you so graciously gifted him yours, similar but not quite the same. with big round eyes, and cute ears and a neat bow that he tied himself, along with a little heart in one paw.)

when könig looked up from his paperwork to check if you woke up yet he was met with sound of soft snores in the room. looking around, he sees his trusted teammates sleeping peacefully and lets out an amused hum.

he feels his focus slip away, paperwork long forgotten when he stares at you.

he always liked you. long before you even joined kortac, when you were still with them. he saw himself in parts of you, like how it was so hard for you to connect with your team, and how you opted to close yourself off. he liked your tenacity, your readiness to work, it was a shame that they had gotten to you first.

which is why the 141's biggest blunder was the greatest thing they ever inadvertently did for him.

he almost pitied them, those fools. they did what they did, they chose to do it, and made the biggest mistake of their lives. no where did it ever say that he couldn't benefit from their self inflicted misery.

welcoming you to kortac was one of the best days of his life. you took to the new work like fish to water, always offering to pick up the slack whenever necessary. always finishing more paperwork than required of you, training the new recruits, you ran around non stop to help others. but he didn't like how you overdid it, even when you were on the verge of collapsing asleep in the hallway you still trudged on.

he remembers being up at ungodly hours doing work when you knocked on his office door and requested for more paperwork to do, despite the bags under your eyes protesting otherwise. when he questioned you, all you could respond with was a stilted "can't sleep." and that was that. he'll let you do paperwork until you tired and then he'd return you to your room.

but he watched in abject horror as you sat there long past him, completing reports and filing things away. and you were STILL awake and doing things even after he went to bed and woke up again. (he did place you on bed rest for a few days after that, as much as you silently complained about it.)

when this behavior continued, he knew that he had to question you about it. and so he waited until your brain was a little fuzzy from exhaustion, you inhibitions giving way to the more primal parts of your psyche. when your guard was down and you could be a little more honest.

"lieutenant." his voice broke the ambience of his still office, cutting through the sound of flitting paper and scribbling pens.

you head snapped towards his immediately, despite the way your eyes fought to stay open.

"may i ask why you work so hard? you do realize you don't need to go above and beyond, ja? you're only exhausting yourself doing this."

a pregnant pause lingered in the air as you stared at the floor under his feet. your grip tightened on your pen, and he thought that you'd get up and leave entirely.

"if you don't want to answer you don't have to. i won't force you--" his sentence was cut off abruptly when you looked directly at him.

"because i have to." your voice, despite being a whisper was more akin to a bomb. he was confused, going to question further but you then continued.

"if i'm not useful anymore. then i'll be discarded again like before." your voice was the weakest he's ever heard it, vulnerable and scared. your eyes were downcast again, avoiding his piercing gaze whilst unshed tears built in your own.

the sight of your tears glimmering under the warm lamp lights quickly roused him to comfort you. corralling your shaking and sobbing body into his arms, holding you tight as you sobbed your heart out.

he didn't tell you to stop, only letting you continue emptying your emotions where it was safe. one arm around the back of your neck and the other soothing up and down your back, "it's ok, sweetheart. it's ok. i promise you will never go through that again. so long as i live, i'll be right beside you. they won't ever touch you ever again, i'll make sure of it."

right there, in that cramped office of his during a frigid night, being consoled and comforted by your colonel, what else could you do but believe him? he sounded so self assured, his tone kept soft and low, cradling you against him until you fell asleep.

(price wasn't envious of könig at all, he was the man that put you into that position in the first place. executing that god forsaken order that ruined your life and theirs.

so why couldn't he will himself to walk away when he heard the two of you talking?

hell, he could hear your sobs being muffled into könig's chest. could hear you murmur the smallest "thank you"s towards him too. but no, he was most certainly not envious of könig at all.

how silly would that be.)

(könig had most certainly known that price was outside. if not for his footsteps breaking the still night, then most certainly the camera recording would've told him. bastard just doesn't know when to stop does he. god, if you weren't positively sobbing yourself into exhaustion in his arms he would've stomped outside to tell him to go fuck himself.)

a few days after you confessed your troubles to him he awoke with a sigh, needing to talk to horangi. but he wasn't in his room. and neither was krueger. or nikto for that matter. and when he checked your room, you weren't there either. it left him scratching his head as he wandered through base in the morning until eventually stumbling into the rec room.

there you all were, on the rec room bench, bathed in the glow of early morning all sharing quiet conversation. his heart lurched in his chest at the sight of you, so happy you were practically glowing, squished between horangi and nikto.

when he was about to turn heel and flee you noticed him, calling out to him and so politely asking him to join. he froze before stiffly turning around and tottering over to an empty seat near you.

"so... this is where you all are in the mornings?" he spoke quietly, trying not to break the relaxed atmosphere.

and you piped up from your comfy place on the bench before anyone else could. "yeah! we're all here every morning. why don't you just join us from now on könig? i'm so sorry we didn't say anything earlier, you we're just really busy all the time and i ah... i guess i didn't want to bother you."

his eyes widened a fraction while his hands tensed around his coffee cup, taking a moment to mull it over. "sure. why not."

the bright grin you gave him in response rivaled the sun.

but he quickly woke from his reverie when he heard you sob. the sound still haunts him in his nightmares, blind and deaf he would still be able to tell when you were crying. the four of them snapping to attention as you contorted painfully on the bed.

you were back in that godforsaken interrogation room again.

where the lights blinded you in the darkness, where the cold nipped at your fingers and nose, where the ropes bound your body and where fear and hunger made themselves uninvited companions to your misery.

what would they take from you this time? hacking away at you more and more and more until nothing was left. your body, your mind, your pride, your soul, all fit to be chopped up and tossed aside.

what had you done this time? spoke too loudly, too much? didn't speak enough? looked at someone wrong? stood out too much? or did you try and fade into the background? it didn't matter anyway, they would hammer you down like a bent nail until it wasn't even visible on the wood's surface anymore, with only a crater left in it's wake.

oh, look. ol' skipper is here too this time. what a party it is now! the more the merrier of course, yes, why not allow price to blindly stick you with pins as if it were a mere birthday game?

what's the matter cap'n? got jealous just watching from the sidelines and wanted to join in on the fun now too? there's more than enough to play with and to discard before you get bored.

look at all the fun toys you have at your disposal! used syringes with mysterious unknown liquid, rusty pliers and nails, broken glass, a hot branding iron, and whatever other indistinguishable horrors lay on that table!

what fun will we have together today?

"sweet--" what? what was that? that didn't sound like any of them.

"sweetheart-- sweetheart wake up" were they talking to you? who was talking to you?

it was as if the ropes had melted away with no resistance when you stood up, stumbling your way to the door with warm light behind it. the torturous room falling away into the white void behind you with each further step you took.

"wake up sweetheart." the voice was coming from behind the door. with little hesitance you turned the knob on the door and with a gasp you awoke with a start. you were safe.

warm and safe. safe and warm. far, far away from that room. far away from them.

they had all deflated like a balloon, rife with heartache when you finally woke up from the nightmare. your panting and whimpers of "help" and "stop" and "please" had distressed them, watching you flail around haplessly made them want to cry. it was only when könig started to utter "sweetheart" to you that you calmed for a bit, then finally rousing from that horrid memory.

when you had registered that they were all there, at your bed, waiting for you, you nearly burst into tears again. a small wobbly smile gracing your face as you pulled them all into a tight hug.

"i'm happy. i'm so happy to see you all again. i love you all so much. thank you for waiting for me." they melted into your touch, your hug, until you pulled away and wiped at your eyes.

you muttered what had happened without any prompting from them, all too shaken up from the dream to keep quiet. "i saw them again. in my dream. i was in that room again. i think something will happen soon. it.... it felt different this time. my captain was there, too. he's usually never present in them."

they had made sure to be hyper vigilant around you that week. nearly pouncing on any of the 141 whenever they got too close or looked at you for too long. barring their teeth and snapping their jaws, before ushering you far and away from them.

but even the most hyper vigilant of hounds can't protect all the time.

it happened after you went to the bathroom during dinner. one way in, one way out, no where for you to run. at first it was mactavish, of fucking course it was mactavish. cornering you in that hallway to beg for your forgiveness, asking for you to return. what emboldened them so much this time around? oh you definitely knew. seeing you happy, oh so happy without them.

they knew their window to get you to return to them was closing, and fast. but they hadn't realized that it closed a long, long time ago. instead, your tolerance for them was dwindling, slowly, slowly draining until you'd finally explode.

mactavish just wouldn't let you go, kept sputtering on and on about how sorry he was until garrick and riley had showed up as reinforcement. at least garrick had enough balls to look you in the eyes as he begged you to return. riley didn't even look at you, staring at the tile above your head instead. allowed mactavish and garrick to do all the talking for him, the despicable bastard.

as if it wasn't bad enough to be hounded by the three of them, their ring leader had finally showed up too. strutting onto the scene with a stride far too casual to be appropriate. the man who you saw like a father, the one who tossed you to the dark without a second thought, the one who was too cowardly to show up and do the dirty work himself.

you didn't want to say anything. didn't want to give them the satisfaction of your reactions, your emotions, anymore of your life that they'd taken from you without remorse. but you had more than enough.

"don't you know when to take a fucking hint? haven't you done enough already?! when the hell did i ever say i wanted to return? what sort of message did you manage to delude yourselves into thinking was real?" you barked at them. they had looked taken aback, not expecting your outburst.

"but-- bonnie, i promise this time we'll be better! we promise! we'll take care of you--" if looks could kill, frankly, mactavish would've been a pile of ash on the floor.

"what makes you think you can take better care of me better than my own team can? where was this attitude when i first joined, huh? where was it? you don't even feel bad about what you did to me! you're just saying sorry to absolve yourselves from the guilt of what you did. like doing that could fix anything you did to me. you don't actually care and you never did! just-- all of you can go fuck yourselves."

mactavish looked like a kicked puppy but you couldn't care less at all. until price spoke up, just had to open his fucking gob didn't he.

"ye don't mean that." he muttered as you attempted to leave.

you turned abruptly to level him a nasty glare.

"oh i'm sorry. did you become a mind reader all of a sudden, price? what the hell do you even know about intention anyway? i'm pretty sure you didn't give any second thought to whether i actually intended to "betray" you all, now did you? well listen to me when i say this, if you ever try to pull this fucking stunt again i intent to make sure that no one would've ever even heard of you. i will make damn sure, that it was like you never even existed in the first place."

you had been gone for suspiciously long, their food trays abandoned without second thought as they went to look for you. rounding a corner near the bathroom they saw you muttering something to price.

they all watched as your eyes lit up when you saw your team, eagerly scampering over to them. horangi had pulled you into a hug, asking if you were ok, if they touched you all the while glaring at them. from the corner of you eye you could still see them, standing still as if you couldn't.

"what the hell are you all still standing there for? either use the bathroom or leave already, jesus christ."

as they were leaving, now, now riley thought it was a good idea to finally speak. the gall of these men is ridiculous.

"sergeant--" he started.

"that's lieutenant to you, riley." you barely spared him a glance before you turned to talk to könig once more.

"lieutenant.. we just--" could they seriously not take a hint? it's not even a hint, it's as obvious as a stop sign.

"are you that dense? do i need to sound it out for you? leave. me. the. fuck. alone. riley." he stood stock still for a few moments, looking at and searching for something on your face.

"you heard them, leutnant." he didn't even bother to look at könig, only shaking his head as he drifted down the hall.

you let out a deep sigh when they were all finally out of sight. practically collapsing boneless against könig's chest as he rocked back and forth soothingly. he patted your hair adoringly, cooing at you as they led you away, back to their barracks.

they lay you on top of konig's chest, with krueger and horangi holding you from each side, whilst nikto lies on top of you like a weighted blanket.

squished between all of them, you've never felt more content and loved. the 141 had their chance, but with you in their hands now? kortac would never, ever let you go.

one man's trash is another man's treasure after all.

taglist: @erintaro @trulovekay @rainingkatzen @blackcats-and-witchcraft @callsofthesky

[airosuiren]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫 ℜ𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡

𝔓𝔄ℜ𝔗 𝔒𝔑𝔈: Bat family x Neglected illegitimate reincarnated reader x Oc. {Royal historical au.}

A/N: EEEEEE I’ve been waiting to drop this!!! This is the origin story of [Y/N], Queen of Virelya (aka pre-Gotham), her rise, her fall, and her rebirth. You’ll meet her soul-bound companions, her past-life husband (hello, Evander Thorne 😍), and see how she goes from unloved Wayne kid to the returned monarch of a world long-forgotten. Buckle up. This one gets mythic. This is not the usual style cuz I'm experimenting to find MY style. lmk if you liked it

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 2

The world knew her first as a slave.

In the blood-soaked mines beneath the Hollow Mountains, [Y/N] had no name, no rights, and no future. But even in chains, she dreamed. She dreamed of a land where justice ruled, where no child slept in fear, where power served peace. And when the gods answered her dreams, they didn’t send salvation.

They sent companions.

Alarion Vael'Thyr was the first. A former prince turned exile, Alarion found [Y/N] when she escaped the mines and collapsed at the edge of a ruined forge. His hair glowed like firelight; his eyes held centuries of sorrow. He gave her warmth, food, and the strength to keep going. He taught her how to fight. And when her fury over injustice ignited, he taught her how to forge it into flame.

Next came Lysandra Solenhart, a noble-born oracle who had ripped out her own eyes to stop seeing the lies of kings. She had been wandering, blind and brilliant, until she heard [Y/N]'s voice in a vision. She found [Y/N] and Alarion on the edge of a battlefield, and said, simply, "You shine with the light of truth. I will follow it."

Kaelen Rhyzar joined them in the city of broken statues. A former paladin-turned-renegade, he had become a weapon without a master. When [Y/N] called out to the people during a rebellion, he watched her bleed for strangers and knew his new god had arrived. From that day, he swore himself to her cause.

With each companion came a gift.

Lysandra's Moonvein Sight allowed her to read shadow-script—the secrets etched in time, objects, and people.

Alarion's Heart of the Wyrmforge allowed him to forge weapons from pure emotion, flame and steel made one.

Kaelen's Living Armory let him summon divine weapons and battle auras from a celestial vault known only to him.

And then there was [Y/N].

When she saved a dying child in a storm, reality buckled. The world paused. She cried a single tear—the Tear of Elyndor, the divine essence of lost time and life. That tear resurrected the child and awakened her power. She could now bend time, shift fate, glimpse truths, and touch emotion like threads in a loom.

She did not want a throne. But people demanded one.

They called him the Winter Wolf.

Evander Thorne, warden of the north, warlord of the frozen wilds. He led armies through storms without saying a word. Men followed him blindly, out of fear or faith.

He met [Y/N] during a siege. Her army was losing, magic dwindling, hope flickering. And then the snow parted. He rode through the mist like a god of war, his blade slicing silence into the air.

She stood in the wreckage, bloodied and defiant. He dismounted without speaking.

"You're late," she said, panting, sword raised.

He didn’t answer. He only looked at her, eyes like ice, and knelt.

"My Fire," he murmured.

She blinked, startled. "You remember."

He took her hand and kissed it, reverent. "In every life. I would find you in every life."

She laughed through blood and tears. "I needed you."

"And now you have me," he said. "Forever."

Evander never left her side again. He stood behind her throne, silent and still. He held her when her nightmares returned. He whispered ancient poems in her ear when she couldn’t sleep.

In public, he was the sword of the queen. In private, he was hers entirely.

They trained together. They sparred until bruised and breathless. They argued in old tongues, kissed in empty war rooms, danced barefoot on frozen battlements.

"You trust too easily," he growled one night.

"And you not enough," she replied, tilting her head.

He pulled her into his chest. "I trust you. That is enough."

She laid her head against him. "Then build with me. A kingdom where no child fears."

He tightened his arms. "I would burn the world for it."

Virelya rose. A kingdom of magic, fire, frost, and dream. Her companions ruled distant realms, but returned often. Their children were legendary, half-divine.

[Y/N] and Evander ruled with fierce grace. They fought side by side. He watched her light grow brighter with every battle, every speech, every child she saved.

And she—she loved him not for his blade, but for the way he stayed. Always, he stayed.

They died as they lived—together. Peace achieved. Their work done. The world mourned.

Centuries passed.

[Y/N] awoke in Gotham.

No crown. No court. No Evander.

Only cold silence. And the bitter taste of being forgotten.

She was the twin who didn’t matter. But her magic whispered beneath her skin. Her past clawed at her in dreams.

Then came the child.

"Live as me," she said, and handed over a golden coin.

Everything returned.

[Y/N] fled Gotham and found war in the north.

She fought. Rose. Became myth again.

And then she saw him.

Evander.

Standing at the edge of the battlefield, cloak of wolf fur, sword already bloody.

He saw her and dropped to his knees. "My Fire."

She ran to him, armor clanging, tears spilling.

"You always find me."

"And I always will," he whispered.

He cupped her face, kissed her forehead. "No one will take you from me again."

"I won’t let them."

They stood like that, gods reborn.

Lysandra, Alarion, Kaelen returned.

The court rebuilt.

And [Y/N] sat the throne once more.

Evander stood beside her.

And the world would learn:

She had not been lost. She had only been waiting.

A/N: WHEW my soul is in this one. I wanted more Evander/[Y/N] moments and I hope you felt every stare, every touch, every whispered vow. Let me know if you want a bonus chapter with their private moments or flashbacks from their past life!! Long live the Queen 🖤👑

(Also lmk if you want suggestive chapter between [Y/N] and Evander 😉)

Taglist: @trashlanternfish360, @nixxiev, @eclipse-msoul, @plsfckmedxddy, @viilan, @kittzu, @bunniotomia, @bunniotomia, @rattyrattyratty, @texas-fox, @1abi, @niamcarlin,@tomoyaki, @silken-moons, @kittzu

[novaursa]

Hello lovie! I'm a very big fan of your fanfictions especially the Maegor and Aerys Targaryen ones!! So...maybe a dark!Maegor x daughter!reader where he's older, desperate for heirs, so he married his daughter and eventually had two sons, but daughter!reader died in childbirth along with their 3rd child?

I'm sorry if this is too complicated, if you're able to make it thank you so much!

The House That Bleeds

Requests are closed

- Summary: You birthed him an empire and then you burned it down to ashes when the last breath left you.

- Pairing: daughter!reader/father!Maegor I Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (there is no adult content, but due to the nature of the story the rating is high)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: I hope I've managed to capture everything you wanted in this story, dear anon. This is another work which I've managed to rewrite from my old fics and reuse some chapters for your request.

The bells of the Red Keep had been silent for days, as though the city itself held its breath beneath the oppressive heat of summer. You wandered through the shadowed halls like a ghost, your bare feet muffled against the cold stone, the weight of eyes ever upon you. They watched you from the shadows—maids who dared not meet your gaze, knights who lowered their helms in shame, septas who muttered prayers beneath their breath as you passed. But none dared speak what all of them feared. None dared name it aloud.

Not even you.

You had always known your father’s eyes. Hard, amethyst-colored and cold as a winter sea. He looked at the world as if daring it to defy him, and often it did—but never for long. You had grown up in that shadow, his only child, the blood of the dragon but born a girl. No sons came to him, no true heirs, no male continuation of his might. His wives bled and wept and died, their wombs unable to tame the fire in his blood. But you… you survived. Not just that—you thrived. The fire had not consumed you. And so, as the years passed and his gaze lingered longer upon you, you came to understand the terrible truth before it was ever spoken aloud.

He would not give you away.

He would take you for himself.

You stood at the high window of Maegor’s solar, your fingers tracing the red veins in the dark stone, your reflection pale in the glass. Behind you, the door groaned open, heavy boots striking the floor with familiar weight.

"You summoned me, Father?" you asked without turning.

Maegor's voice was a growl, low and measured. "Come here, daughter."

You obeyed. You always had. You turned, your silk skirts whispering around your ankles, and crossed the chamber. He stood by the great black table where the painted map of Westeros sprawled beneath his hands like a conquered corpse. His silver hair was bound back, a crown heavy upon his brow, though there was no one here to see it. His years had thickened him, not dulled him; his arms were still iron, his shoulders broad beneath layers of dark velvet and dragon-scale leather. He looked down at you with a gaze that saw everything, and nothing, all at once.

"The court mutters." His voice was quieter now. "The septons say I defy the gods."

You said nothing. You’d heard the whispers. How could you not? The High Septon had come in person to beg your father not to follow through with the horror he planned. The Faith threatened another rebellion. Your name had become a stain in the mouths of pious men, and yet none dared challenge Maegor openly.

He lifted your chin with one heavy hand, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw.

"But they forget," he murmured, "that I am a dragon. I answer to none but fire and blood."

You could feel your pulse beneath his fingers. You had not wept. You would not. But fear had a taste—bitter and hot, like ash on the tongue—and you swallowed it down like wine.

"You would make me your wife," you whispered, the words fragile even as they left your lips.

"I would make you my queen," he corrected, voice hardening. "You are the only one worthy. The only one strong enough to bear my heir. The blood of the dragon runs pure in you. There is no law older than Valyria’s, and no sin in what was sanctified by the flames of Old Valyria."

"But I am your daughter," you said, eyes searching his, desperate for something—remorse, doubt, even shame.

He bent his head close, his breath brushing your cheek like smoke. "You are mine. That is all the world needs to know."

The ceremony was held at night, beneath the light of the twin moons, in the newly made Dragonpit where Balerion sleeps. No septon officiated. Instead, the high flames of a pyre lit the chamber, and the words of binding were spoken in High Valyrian, ancient and terrible. Your gown was crimson and black, sheer and silken, clinging to your skin like molten heat. Gold circled your wrists and throat, heavy like chains. At your side, Maegor loomed—crowned and cloaked in the scales of the Black Dread himself, a beast in human form. He took your hands in his, calloused and hot, and swore not to the gods, but to the fire that birthed your house.

"This man is hers," he intoned, voice echoing through the cavernous dark.

Your reply trembled in your throat, the ancient words unfamiliar, cursed. But you said them. You had no choice.

"This woman is his." 

The flames cracked and roared as the ritual was sealed with dragon’s blood, spilled from a golden bowl and poured onto your joined hands. Your skin burned where it touched his. You did not flinch.

Later, in the darkness of the royal bedchamber—once your mother's, now your prison—he undressed you with ritual care, fingers reverent and possessive. You did not speak. Neither did he, for a long time. He simply watched you, as though trying to carve your image into memory, or into stone.

"You are the only part of me that has not failed," he said at last, his voice hoarse. "I will not let you slip away, like the others."

You turned your face from him then, not wanting him to see your tears. But you felt his hands on your skin, unrelenting, claiming, as the prophecy of your bloodline twisted itself into something monstrous.

You were not a princess anymore.

You were Maegor’s queen.

And soon—if the gods were cruel enough—you would bear the future he could not carve from any woman but you.

The birthing bed was soaked in blood.

The crimson stain bloomed beneath your trembling body, vivid and spreading like wildfire across the white linens, soaking through the furs, dripping onto the cold stone floor of Maegor’s bedchamber. It should not have been like this. Not this time. Your first son, Aenar, had been born strong, his tiny fists clenched as he screamed into the night. The second, Baelon, quieter and paler of hair, had clung to life with equal strength, suckling at your breast with hunger and fire in his eyes. You had proven yourself, again and again, as the mother of the bloodline he craved. You had done what the others could not. You had lived.

But this time, you were not living. You were dying.

You lay half-upright, drenched in sweat and silk, your skin as pale as the moonlight spilling in through the narrow window. Each contraction ripped through you like dragonsteel. Your body refused to yield, and the child—stubborn, silent, wrong—remained lodged within your womb, a weight of death that refused to be born. The Maester had long since begun to tremble, bloodied to the elbows, muttering that he could do no more. The midwives had fled. Only Maegor remained.

He stood beside the bed, arms crossed, his mouth a thin line carved of iron. He had not left your side in two days. He had not slept. He watched as if trying to will you to survive with the same sheer will that had built the Red Keep and bathed Westeros in fire. But this was not a kingdom. This was you.

And you were slipping away.

Your voice cracked, barely audible above the rustle of dying flame in the hearth. “It hurts, Father…”

You hadn’t called him that in years. Not since the wedding, not since the moment he’d crowned you with the blood of your own name and chained you in silk. But in your agony, the word returned like breath after drowning, a whispered plea that shattered the silence.

His jaw clenched. “You are strong. You are a dragon. You will not die.”

A choked sound broke from your lips—whether a sob or a laugh, even you did not know. “I’m not a dragon. I’m just a woman, Maegor…”

He dropped to his knees beside the bed, grasping your hand in his, his calloused fingers slick with your blood. “No,” he growled, shaking his head as though denying the truth could bend the will of the gods. “You are mine. You will live.”

Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes, sliding down your temples. Your strength was gone. The child had stopped moving inside you, the only sound left in the room was the wet, dreadful rasp of your breath. Your lips trembled as you forced them to speak one last time.

“Promise me…” You gasped. “Swear to me—don’t force her to wed anyone. Don’t… if the child lives. Not if it's a girl…”

He stared at you. The unyielding Maegor the Cruel, destroyer of the Faith Militant, slayer of his own wives, conqueror of Westeros’s spine—his eyes finally softened. A flicker of something human passed across his face.

“I swear it,” he said, voice low, broken.

Your fingers loosened in his grip.

By the time the sun rose over the Red Keep, the child—his third son, malformed and breathless—lay in a swaddling of crimson silk, untouched and unwanted at the foot of the bed. Your body, still and serene in death, was arranged with ceremony. Flowers could not mask the stench of blood and loss. Aenar and Baelon, too young to understand, were kept away, their nursemaids whispering prayers to gods Maegor would never allow near his hall.

He stood there long after the Maester departed, long after the flames in the hearth had died out. He stared at your face—pale, perfect, marred only by the faintest smile that had lingered even after death. He did not cry. Dragons did not weep. But he sat on the edge of the bed and did not move, as though if he stayed there long enough, you might stir again, and look at him with those wide, wary eyes you once had.

“You were meant to be eternal,” he said hoarsely, brushing a lock of silver hair from your forehead. “You were meant to outlive me.”

But the fire had finally devoured even you.

And now there was nothing left but ash.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | series

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦."

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 1

masterlist of the series!

next | chapter 2

The Texas sun had a way of casting long, dramatic shadows across the sprawling landscape, painting the world in hues of gold and amber. In small town near Austin, the heat clung to everything, wrapping the town in a sweltering embrace that seemed to slow time itself. You, a preacher's daughter on the cusp of graduation, trapped in the rigid confines of a life dictated by faith and fear.

Your father, Reverend Gibson, was a towering figure in the community, his voice booming from the pulpit every Sunday, filling the church with sermons about sin and salvation. To the congregation, he was a man of God, a beacon of righteousness. But within the walls of your home, he was a tyrant. His heavy hand and harsh words left marks not just on your skin, but deep within your soul. Your mother, ever the obedient wife, offered what little comfort she could, but her love was a quiet, subdued thing, overshadowed by her fear of defying your father.

The Millers lived just a few houses down, their home a testament to both prosperity and tragedy. Joel Miller was your father’s best friend from high school, a bond forged in the fires of youth but strained by the paths they had chosen. While your father found his calling in the church, Joel built a successful construction business with his younger brother, Tommy.

Joel and Tommy not live far from each other, while your house is just one house away from Joel, Tommy is a few houses down from Joel's.

The Miller brothers were well-known and respected in the community, their work evident in the many buildings that dotted the town.

Joel’s life had been forever altered by a single, devastating moment. He had lost his wife and daughter in a car accident, an accident where he had been behind the wheel. The guilt of their deaths weighed heavily on him, a burden he carried in the lines of his face and the shadows in his eyes.

Since that tragic day, he had distanced himself from the church, finding solace instead in his work and in raising his adopted daughter, Ellie. Joel has adopted Ellie when she was only 10 years old with the help of Tommy.

At 16, Ellie was a spirited girl, one of your juniors at school. She attended church every Sunday with her uncle Tommy, her presence a reminder of the Millers’ lingering faith.

Tommy, married to Maria, had recently welcomed a baby boy into their family. The joy of new life was a stark contrast to the sorrow that had marked Joel’s existence. The Millers were a close-knit family, their bonds of loyalty and love a stark contrast to the fractured and tense environment of your own home.

You had known the Millers your entire life, their presence a constant thread in the fabric of your existence. Yet, as you stood on the brink of adulthood, your interactions with them took on a new significance. Your father’s sermons about the dangers of straying from the path of righteousness echoed in your mind, but so did your longing for something more, something real and tangible.

It was just another Sunday, and you were helping your dad with the after-service fellowship. The congregation mingled in the church hall, sharing coffee and pastries, their voices a low hum of conversation and laughter. You moved through the crowd with a tray of refreshments, offering smiles and polite nods, your mind elsewhere.

The Sunday service had been like any other, filled with hymns, prayers, and your father’s booming voice delivering his sermon. Today, he had spoken about temptation and the perils of straying from God’s path, his words heavy with the weight of his own fervent belief. As always, you felt the eyes of the congregation on you, the preacher’s daughter, the living example of his teachings.

You couldn’t help but glance towards the back of the room, where Tommy and Ellie stood, their presence a rare but welcome sight. Joel, as expected, was absent, his appearances in church growing increasingly sporadic since the accident.

Your thoughts kept drifting to Joel Miller. It had been years since the tragedy that had claimed his wife and daughter, leaving an indelible mark on him, transforming a once regular churchgoer into a haunted, reclusive figure.

You didn't really know or remember Joel's wife and daughter. Sarah Miller had been much older than you, and she passed away when you were only five. The memories you had of them were hazy at best, a blur of faces and voices that you couldn’t quite place.

Ellie caught your eye and waved, her smile bright and genuine. You waved back, feeling a pang of longing for the carefree spirit she embodied. She was one of the few people in your life who treated you like a normal person, not just the preacher’s daughter.

After the service, as the crowd began to thin, you found yourself gravitating towards Tommy and Ellie. Tommy, ever the warm and approachable figure, greeted you with a smile. “Hey, kiddo. How’ve you been?”

You returned his smile, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “I’m good, Tommy. How’s Maria and the baby?”

Tommy’s face lit up with pride. “They’re great. Little Luke’s growing like a weed. Maria’s over the moon, of course.”

Ellie nudged you playfully. “You should come over and meet him sometime. He’s the cutest.”

You laughed softly. “I’d love that.”

Tommy’s expression grew more serious as he glanced around the room. “How’s your dad doing with all the church activities? Keeping busy?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, he’s always got something going on. Keeps him out of trouble, I guess.”

Tommy chuckled. “Good to hear. Your family always looks so put together. It’s impressive, really.”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the compliment. “We just try to do our best.”

As you continued chatting, the weight on your shoulders seemed to lighten, if only for a moment. Ellie shared stories about school, her infectious laughter bringing a smile to your face.

“So, any plans after graduation?” Ellie asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

You hesitated, the uncertainty of your future looming large. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve been thinking about college, but it’s complicated.”

Tommy’s expression grew serious again. “You should follow your dreams, kid. Don’t let anything hold you back.”

You nodded, grateful for their support. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Tommy.”

As you chatted with Tommy and Ellie, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Glancing around, you caught your father’s stern gaze from across the room. His eyes were a silent warning, a reminder of your place and the expectations that came with it.

Excusing yourself, you slipped out of the church hall, needing a moment of solitude. Your dad won't notice you are gone a little, your job has been taken by your mom.

The Texas heat hit you as soon as you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the gravel parking lot. You decided to walk, the streets feeling empty because everyone was still in church. As you walked aimlessly, your mind whirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

You found yourself drawn towards the lake behind the church and the town, a place far enough to avoid everyone. The lake and the surrounding forest were comforting, a sanctuary from the oppressive atmosphere of your home.

Looking around to ensure you were alone, you carefully pulled out your cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag. Your parents never knew you were quite a smoker, especially your father. If he ever found out, the repercussions would be severe, his wrath swift and unrelenting. The thought of his anger made you shudder.

You decided to sit by the old fallen tree near the lake. It was very quiet, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. You loved to come here every chance you got, a hidden escape from the prying eyes and harsh judgments of your daily life. As you exhaled a cloud of smoke, you heard a rustling sound in the underbrush.

Startled, you quickly put out your cigarette and looked up. Emerging from the trees was Joel, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze. "Joel?" you stammered, hoping he hadn’t noticed the cigarette.

He looked at you, then at the still-smoking cigarette butt near your feet. His expression was unreadable, but you felt a wave of fear. What if he told your father?

Joel approached, his steps slow and deliberate. "Didn’t expect to see you out here," he said, his voice as gruff as ever.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "I… I just needed some air."

Joel’s eyes flicked to the cigarette again. "That why you’re hiding out here? To smoke?"

You bit your lip, the truth hanging heavily between you. "Please don’t tell my dad," you whispered, the desperation clear in your voice.

Joel sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Your secret’s safe with me," he said finally, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Relief flooded through you, and you nodded gratefully. "Thank you,"

As you stood up, brushing off the dirt and bits of wood that had stained your dress, you noticed Joel's gaze lingering on the rifle in his hand and the heavy boots caked with mud.

"You didn’t come to church today," you said, your curiosity overcoming your apprehension. You had noticed his absence with the frequency that had become almost routine over the years.

He glanced at you, the stern lines of his face softening slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been... busy,” he replied, his tone clipped and noncommittal.

You took in the sight of him, his rugged appearance a stark contrast to the tidy, polished look of the other churchgoers. The rifle and the muddy boots seemed to tell a story of their own, a story that was far removed from the neat rows of pews and the polished wooden floors of the church.

“You know, Father always says that you used to come every Sunday,” you said, trying to sound casual. “He misses you at church. Everyone does.”

Joel’s expression hardened again, the hint of vulnerability disappearing behind his usual reserve. “Yeah, well, things change,” he said tersely, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “People change.”

You wanted to press further, to understand what had driven him away, but you knew better than to push too hard. Joel was a man of few words, his emotional landscape a guarded territory. You had seen it in the way he interacted with Ellie, the way he kept his distance, the way he seemed to be perpetually battling some invisible storm.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly, your concern slipping through despite your efforts to remain detached.

Joel’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something raw and unspoken. He shook his head, as if to clear the thoughts from his mind. "Just trying to get by, same as anyone," he said gruffly. “Out here, it’s a little easier to do that.”

You nodded, accepting his answer even if it left many questions unanswered. The silence between you stretched, filled only with the distant chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves.

Joel shifted, breaking the silence. “What are you doing out here anyway? It’s quite a trek from town. This place isn’t exactly safe, you know.” His tone was a mixture of concern and curiosity, revealing a sliver of his protective nature.

You sighed, glancing around the lake and forest. “I needed a break. Just... needed to be away from everything for a bit. It’s peaceful here." You looked at Joel, your eyes subtly asking if it was okay to continue smoking.

Joel noticed your look but chose not to comment immediately. Instead, he took a few steps closer, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. You took that as an invitation and sat down under a large tree near the lake, patting the grass beside you.

“Feel free to join me if you want,” you offered, your voice light despite the heaviness of the situation.

Joel hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to you. His presence was a grounding force, even if he wasn’t the most expressive. He glanced at the cigarette pack you had placed on the grass between you.

“Want one?” you offered, extending the pack towards him.

Joel shook his head with a faint, rueful smile. “Nah, I’m good. I’m not sure it’s right to be smoking in front of you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I thought you of all people wouldn’t judge me for it.”

Joel chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m a bit of a hypocrite when it comes to that. I’ve had my share of bad habits.”

You nodded, accepting his refusal. “How are you, Joel? I don’t see you much,” you said, your curiosity evident. It was true; Joel had been increasingly distant from the people in your town, retreating into a shell of his own making.

He met your gaze briefly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his features. “Just... getting by. Working hard, dealing with stuff. Not much else to it.”

There was a weariness in his voice that spoke of battles fought silently and wounds healed only with time. It was clear that the years had not been kind to Joel, even if he tried to mask it behind a facade of rugged determination.

You sensed that pushing further wouldn’t get you anywhere. Joel was not one to open up easily, and you could see that the topic of his feelings was closed off. You decided to shift the conversation, sensing that it was best to focus on something lighter.

"How’s school?” he asked, his tone shifting to something slightly more personal but still restrained. “Almost done, right?”

You nodded, a smile touching your lips despite the lingering tension. “Yeah, I’m just a few months away from graduating. It’s been a whirlwind, but I’m looking forward to it.”

“That’s good to hear,” Joel replied, giving a slight nod. “High school’s a big deal. A lot changes after that.”

You shifted slightly, tucking your legs beneath you as you sat on the grass. “It is. It feels like the end of one chapter and the start of another.” You took a deep drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling around you in the still air. Exhaling slowly, you continued, “I just want to get out of here.”

Joel’s gaze, always direct, fixed on you. He didn’t speak immediately, allowing the weight of your words to settle between you. He shifted his weight, leaning slightly on the rifle, his hands still coated in the grime of the day’s work. “Yeah?” he finally said, his tone soft but edged with curiosity. “Where do you want to go?”

You looked out over the lake, its calm surface reflecting the last rays of the sun. “Anywhere but here,” you said with a sigh. “I want to leave this town, start fresh somewhere new. I’ve been dreaming about it for a long time.”

Joel watched you silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes getting out can seem like the only way to find something better,” he said slowly. “But it ain’t always as simple as it sounds.”

You took another drag from your cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as you exhaled. “I know it’s not that simple,” you said quietly. “But it feels like I’m suffocating here. I just need... something different. Something real.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze not unkind but keenly observant. There was a protective instinct in him that had always been there, even when you were much younger. He sensed there was more to your words than just a desire to leave town. The carefully constructed façade of normalcy that your family projected wasn’t lost on him, though he had never delved into the specifics of your home life.

“You know,” Joel began, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone, “sometimes people want to leave for reasons that go beyond what they’re willing to say. It’s one thing to want a new place, but it’s another to be running from something.”

You stiffened slightly, the cigarette now nothing more than a stub between your fingers. You were careful not to let your emotions betray you. “It’s not just about running away,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s about finding a place where I can breathe.”

Joel nodded, his gaze steady. “And you think you’ll find that out there?”

“I hope so,” you said. “I just need to get out and find out for myself. It’s been hard to see beyond this place.”

Joel shifted his weight, leaning on his rifle. His rugged face, often set in lines of stoicism, now bore a hint of concern. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of folks runnin’ away from what they don’t want to face. Sometimes they find what they’re lookin’ for, sometimes they don’t. But it’s dangerous out there for someone who’s not ready.”

You looked at him, sensing the genuine concern behind his words. “I’m ready,” you said softly. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”

Joel studied you for a moment longer, his fatherly instincts kicking in. He could see the innocence in your eyes, the quiet strength that belied your troubled soul. He had been a father before, and he knew what it was like to want to protect someone from the harsh realities of the world.

But then, with a shift in his demeanor, Joel decided it wasn’t his business to involve himself further. He cared for you, that much was clear, but he also knew his boundaries. His expression hardened slightly, a testament to his tendency to keep people at a distance. 

“Look,” he said gruffly, his Southern accent thickening his words, “it’s not my place to get too involved in this. You’re gonna have to handle things your way.” His tone was direct, carrying the weight of a man who had learned to let his actions speak louder than his words.

Despite the coldness in his voice, there was a flicker of tenderness in his eyes, a brief glimpse of the protective instincts that lingered beneath his guarded exterior. Joel operated in a morally gray area, making decisions that were often difficult and controversial, and he understood the complexities of navigating a world where right and wrong were not always clear.

He wanted to help, but his experience had taught him that sometimes the best way to show care was to step back and allow others to find their own way.

“You know,” Joel said, shifting the topic slightly, ��Ellie talks about you sometimes. Says you’re smart, and she admires you for stickin’ it out. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, but she looks up to you. So, if there’s ever a time you need someone to talk to, or if you just need a friend, don’t hesitate to reach out. I may not be the best at this whole ‘talkin’’ thing, but I’m here if you need me.”

You appreciated his attempt to offer support, even if it came in a roundabout way. “Thanks, Joel. It’s nice to know that someone cares,” you said, smiling as you put out the cigarette.

Joel watched you with a mixture of concern and curiosity, as if weighing whether to press further. You could see that he was struggling with how much to say, his usual reserve at odds with the genuine warmth he was trying to convey.

“Well,” you said, glancing at the fading light, “I should head back to the church before Dad notices I’m gone.”

Joel shifted his stance, a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want a ride back? It’s a long walk, and it’s gettin’ dark.”

You shook your head, feeling a pang of guilt for declining his offer. “I appreciate it, Joel, but I don’t want to trouble you. I can manage the walk.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he gave a firm nod. “It ain’t no trouble. It’s just a ride. Besides, I’d rather make sure you get back safely.”

His insistence made you feel slightly uncomfortable, but you also recognized his sincerity. Raised to be polite and considerate, you found it difficult to refuse when someone was being genuinely helpful.

“Alright,” you said reluctantly, “if you insist. Thank you.”

Joel nodded, his face softening a bit as he walked over to his truck. The vehicle was old but reliable, with a rugged appearance that matched Joel’s own. He opened the passenger side door for you, gesturing for you to get in.

As you climbed into the truck, Joel got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The interior was a mix of practical and worn, with a faint smell of leather and earth. Joel drove with a steady, practiced hand, the truck rumbling over the uneven terrain as he navigated the path back to town.

The silence in the truck was comfortable, with only the sound of the engine and the occasional rustle of the trees breaking it. You stared out the window, the fading sunlight casting a warm glow over the landscape. You could feel the weight of the day’s conversations settling in, and the quiet offered a moment of reflection.

After a few minutes, the truck rolled into town, the familiar sights coming into view. Joel slowed as he approached the church, where you could see the remaining congregants beginning to disperse.

Joel pulled up to the curb and stopped the truck. "We're here."

"Thank you once again, Joel. It’s good catching up with you," you said, giving him a grateful smile. Just as you were about to step out of the truck, you spotted your father from a distance. A sinking feeling washed over you as you realized he had seen you.

“Oh no,” you muttered, catching Joel’s eye. He turned to see your father walking towards the truck, a determined look on his face.

Joel, ever the gentleman, exited the truck as well. You followed suit, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. Your father, who had been conversing with some church members, excused himself and made his way towards you and Joel.

“Evening, Reverend,” Joel greeted, extending a hand.

“Evening, Joel,” your father said with his usual charming demeanor, shaking Joel’s hand firmly. “It’s been a while. I hope you’ve been well.”

Joel’s expression was polite but reserved. “Can’t complain. Been keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” your father replied smoothly. “You know, we’ve missed you at church. It would be good to see you back.”

Joel gave a noncommittal nod, his discomfort barely masked. “Maybe sometime.”

As your father turned his attention to you, his smile faltered slightly. “And where have you been, young lady? You were supposed to help with the service.”

You flinched at the stern tone, feeling his grip tighten around your arm as he spoke. “I was just taking a walk, Dad. Joel gave me a ride back.”

Your father’s grip was rough and unyielding, his fingers digging into your arm with a strength that was both painful and controlling. Joel noticed, his gaze briefly flicking to your father’s hand before returning to his face.

“Is that right?” your father said, his voice carrying a hint of disapproval. “Well, I hope you weren’t gone too long. We have responsibilities.”

"Yes, I'm sorry, father." You said smile a little to hide the pain he's causing you.

Joel cleared his throat, attempting to steer the conversation away from the tension. “I’m just making sure she gets back safe."

“Of course,” your father said, releasing your arm but maintaining a veneer of politeness. “We have a dinner invitation from Tommy and Maria next Saturday. I trust you’ll be joining us?”

Joel looked momentarily surprised. “Well, I'm supposed I am,"

Your father’s smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Yes, they extended the invitation to our family. It will be good to catch up.”

Joel nodded, his expression neutral. “I’ll have to check with Ellie, but I’m sure we’ll make it.”

“Excellent,” your father said, still maintaining his charming facade. “It’ll be good for everyone to reconnect.”

As the conversation continued, Joel’s discomfort grew. He noticed the strain in your father’s demeanor and the way he seemed to be masking a more sinister undertone behind his polite words. Joel had been out of the social loop for a while, but he was perceptive enough to sense when something was off, even if he chose not to probe further.

“Well,” Joel said, his tone shifting to one of finality, “I better be on my way. Got some things to take care of. It was good seeing you again, Reverend. And you too,” he added, offering you a brief, reassuring smile.

You gave him a grateful nod, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Thank you, Joel."

Joel, giving one last nod before turning to leave. As he walked away, you could feel the weight of the evening’s encounters settling heavily on your shoulders. The brief respite you’d found in Joel’s company had been overshadowed by the return of your father’s control and the unsettling realization that your escape from this small town and its complexities might be more challenging than you had hoped.

After the Sunday service, you returned home with a heavy heart. The warmth of the day had turned cold, and the familiar feeling of dread settled over you as you approached the house. Inside, the tension was palpable, and the moment you walked through the door, you knew there would be consequences for your absence during the service.

Your father’s voice was stern and unforgiving as he called you into the living room. “You’ve abandoned your duties. Do you have any idea what that means?”

You tried to explain, but his anger cut you off. “I was just trying to get some fresh air, Dad. I didn’t mean—”

Before you could finish, he was on you, grabbing your arm with a grip that left no room for argument. He dragged you to the center of the room, his face a mask of fury. “You’ve abandoned your duty. It’s about respect and responsibility. You know how important this is.”

“No, please, Dad, don’t. I’m so sorry. I will not do it again,” you pleaded, your voice trembling.

The fear in your voice only seemed to fuel his anger. He disappeared into the hallway, returning with his belt in hand. The leather looked menacing, and your heart raced as you saw it.

“Please, Dad, I’m sorry,” you continued to beg. “I didn’t mean to disobey. I’ll make it right. Just please—”

Your father’s face was a mask of cold determination. “Take off your dress and face the wall,” he ordered, his voice steely. “You needs to be taught a lesson.”

You could barely keep your composure as you undressed, your body shaking with fear and dread. The scars on your back from a previous punishment throbbed with anticipation. When you were finally positioned with your back to him, every nerve in your body was on edge.

The first crack of the belt was sharp and painfully immediate. The sound echoed through the room, followed by a searing pain that made you flinch. You cried out, tears streaming down your face. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” you sobbed, your voice breaking with each cry of pain.

You could feel the belt cutting into your already tender skin, the sensation of bleeding mixing with the agony of the blows. Each strike felt like a betrayal of your trust, a reminder of the harsh world you were trapped in.

Your mother stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her face pale and tear-streaked. She wanted to intervene, but fear held her back. She could only watch helplessly as you were punished, her own sobs mingling with your cries of pain.

In a desperate attempt to mask the sounds of the abuse from the neighbors, she turned the gospel music up loud, hoping the noise would cover your screams and your father’s harsh words.

The music blared in the background, a twisted contrast to the suffering in the room. It felt like a cruel mockery, the joyous hymns clashing with the reality of your punishment. Your mother’s tears fell silently as she stood by, unable to offer more than the muted comfort of her presence.

As the beating continued, your strength waned. The pain was overwhelming, a relentless reminder of the control your father exerted over every aspect of your life. You could only endure, hoping for it to end soon, each moment stretching out painfully as you clung to the hope that this would be the last of such torment.

When he finally stopped, you were left huddled on the floor, your body aching and your spirit broken. Your father’s anger subsided, leaving him with a cold, resolute expression. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said gruffly, his voice devoid of empathy. “Disobedience won’t be tolerated.”

Your mother rushed to your side as soon as your father left the room, her hands trembling, “I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her tears, her voice filled with sorrow and helplessness.

You looked at her through blurred vision, your own tears mingling with hers. “I—It's okay, mama." you said weakly, your voice strained and shaky. “It’s my fault."

She helped you put your dress back on, her fingers brushing gently over the raw marks on your skin, causing you to wince. Each movement was a reminder of the pain you were enduring.

As you slowly gathered your strength, your mother helped you to a nearby chair, her hands still shaking. She sat beside you, her presence a small but comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions. The music from the kitchen blared on, a cruel backdrop to the quiet moments of shared sorrow between mother and daughter.

In the midst of the pain and turmoil, there was a flicker of hope that someday, somehow, you might find a way out of the darkness. For now, though, you could only cling to the small comforts and the hope that things might one day be different.

[millersfinest]

WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE | 1

ELLIE WILLIAMS, YELLOWJACKETS AU, SERIES!

SERIES MASTERLIST

001 — When You’re Gone wc: 14.4k

chapter blurb: the struggles of a soon-to-be high school graduate was rough—leaving home, leaving the girl you love behind knowing you weren’t strong enough to love her aloud; it was fear inducing. however, not as fear inducing as the sounds of a plane breaking down while in the air with you and everyone you care about inside of it. now, that was bone chilling! it’s the beginning of many, many, many nightmares to come.

cw: use of the word ‘dyke’, r and ellie being teenage lover girls, closeted abby, dramatic teenage girls, reader is working on her internalized homophobia, sarah miller, ellie being the best non-girlfriend ever, mention of a teacher/student relationship, plane crash, character deaths, reader lowkey has main-character syndrome, ellie/abby beef, reader calls her dad ‘daddy’ because she’s southern-ish (because it’s the midwest technically), 90’s accurate alcohol, little bit of r and ellie angst.

note: omg this is the first chapter in the summer act! by the time you guys see this, all of the parts for this act should be finished and queued for weekly releases (if i hold myself accountable)(i didn't but i refuse to sit on this). after i watched yellowjackets i immediately thought about ellie for obvious reasons. happy valentine’s day and happy yellowjackets s3 premiere day hehehe. hope you guys enjoy!! (if you wanna be added to the taglist, pls feel free to fill out this taglist form) also... if you see a typo, no you didn't!

The woody smell of a forest was never a comfort for you; however it wasn’t a disrupter either. Like most people, you loved the smell of flowers, fresh plants, the aroma, and texture of fresh soil—but you didn’t care for it enough to linger within it. Haunt the spaces between the tree, to feel a sense of connection to the Earth. That wasn’t the type of person you were. It didn’t mean that much to you. Although, you signed many petitions to save the trees. Save the wilderness. She had a right to be preserved.

The layered sounds of cheering echoed through the gymnasium as you and your team ran in a line toward the middle of the court. Grins adorned your faces, waving and pumping up the crowd like you were used to. Cameras flashed from the sidelines, snapping pictures of the celebration of Jackson Hole High’s victory. The Fireflies have been invited to Boston to participate in a national championship.

You’re fucking going to nationals in Boston!

Nearing the end of your senior year, with college looming at your door, it felt good that you could have one last hurrah with your favorite girls—loosely including the junior varsity players who were waiting for your dismissal so they could move up.

Loving every member of the team was hard, but you truly did; they were your sisters. Minus one faithful central striker who stood before you on the field. It would be weird to call her your sister since you’ve been sucking each other’s faces off since sophomore year.

The both of you may have been an okay pair off the field, but on the field… You were perfectly unstoppable! She was fast, while you were tactful. Even though, you were surrounded by supportive players who were eager to make a goal—a lot of times, it felt as though it were just the two of you.

You couldn’t help but be a romantic when it came to her. She was always determined to put on a show—a good show, at that. The eighteen-year-old had a reputation to uphold: mean, small town lesbian. But she was so much more than that. Under the many course layers of being a skillful forwarder, a notable lover of female company, and totally hot; she also respected the bounds of science, had an obsessive amount of Savage Starlight memorabilia, and has the intention of becoming an astrophysicist in the future. She wanted to become a scientist for the sake of the game, not to make a shit ton of money.

However, despite all of this good, there was a minor wooden hedge that kept the two of you at an arms length distance from each other.

And here’s the real kicker… You’re not one hundred percent out to the public about your sexuality. Therefore, in the past three years you’ve been sharing with this beloved girl, it’s all been experienced under pressured wraps. You didn’t necessarily hide your attraction from women—you just hated feeling other in your hometown. While you were cocky about your soccer skills, you didn’t harbor that same meanness to protect yourself when it came to who you romanticized.

Jackson Hole, or Jackson, was a town that was surrounded by elements of the Earth—right beside Yellowstone Park—there were so many other things to talk about than the fact that you were a lesbian. But that just wasn’t how small towns worked. Perhaps, it was a born and bred thing. Whenever you were born or bred into a small town, you activate this gene that forces you to be interested in everyone’s lives but your own. People from your town loved a spectacle.

And to be fair, hanging out with Ellie Williams was spectacle enough.

There were rumors that the two of you were gay for each other—that you were hooking up in hidden places. You never confirmed or denied whenever you were boldly asked. Unless your parents were pressing you about being out so late. Those claims were dead on, though!

Now, your parents were in on the whole thing, and they loved her. They were so supportive of the relationship that you sometimes thought they loved her more than you. She was labeled spunky in their eyes.

But, with all this considered, she wasn’t your girlfriend. She was just a girl that happened to be yours; someone you kept all for yourself. And Ellie being Ellie, didn’t always appreciate that phrase. It wasn’t until this year that she became indifferent to it.

“Let’s congratulate our varsity Fireflies for being chosen for nationals!” The principal of the student body praised over the choppy, cracking microphone. He had called your names out one by one, getting you onto that shiny, scuffed basketball court. Coach Tess Servopoulos stood at the head of the line, while the assistant coach, Owen Moore, stood at the other end. Accompanied by the soccer manager, Mel Teagan.

The pep rally was fast, and you were standing around the quad before you knew it, discussing a course of action for a junior varsity player who was good but not great. She lagged during games whenever she was brought on as a substitute—failing to take initiative to score. Since tomorrow was the morning that you were leaving for Boston, Coach Moore decided on throwing a scrimmage between varsity and junior varsity as a fun arrangement. However, some of the girls found this to be a moment of opportunity.

“I think we should push Lucy a little bit…” The auburn-haired player suggested, crossing her arms over her chest. Surrounded by her trusty friend group: you, Riley, Dina, and Cat.

You bunch your eyebrows, glancing at the other girls. “What do you mean by push ‘er?”

“I don’t know, make her actually work for her position.” Ellie responded, shrugging her shoulders. They all just looked at her, waiting for her to further explain. “If she’s coming with us to Boston as a substitute, she needs to work harder than just kicking a fucking ball around.”

“And she barely even does that…” Riley added, snickering, letting her eyes wander around the quad.

Cat put her hands on her hips, rocking on her feet. “If this includes physically pushing her, then I’m out.”

Ellie shook her head, holding out her hand. “Nah, that’s my job if it comes down to it.”

Dina deepened her eyebrows, squeezing her eyes shut. “So, what are we gonna do? Ice her out the whole game?”

“Yeah,” She nodded. “Only pass the ball to each other— everyone on the team except for her. Maybe it’ll finally get her to fight for a score.”

You puffed air from you lips in thought, glancing over your shoulder, uneasy. As captain of the team—yeah, you were team captain—it wasn’t ideal that you were plotting against your own. Although, she was junior varsity, it didn’t change the fact that she was a Firefly. You just wished that Lucinda Henderson did more for her team—she needs to learn to play aggressively not passively. That’s how you score. That’s how you win.

A sigh flees your mouth, peering at the central striker with narrowed eyes. “If you’re gonna push her, do it safely… I cannot afford to have a hurt freshman on my conscious.” You tiredly spoke, preparing to walk away, but Ellie grabbed your hand before you could leave the small huddle.

“Seriously, what do you think I’m capable of?”

You placed your hand over hers, squeezing, gently. “You’re different on the field… Just remember that, okay?” Sliding your hand from hers, you glance to the other girls. “I have to go run a few things over with Abby. See you in a few.”

Ellie scoffed as you trotted away, seeing your goalie talking on a bench with some bashful cheerleader. “Hey, Abs, can we talk for a sec?” You question, not giving her much of a choice by walking past the bench she was sat on, perching yourself beside a tree.

From a distance, you could feel the eyes of your undercover lover watching you from her spot. Her lips moved, still engaging in conversation about Lucy Henderson, probably, but her olive eyes remained on you. Whenever you had these sidebars with Abby, she tensed. Ellie rarely talks about why Abby gets under her skin so easily—you wondered if it was intimidation, or worse, jealousy.

Abby rolled her eyes, muttering a quick farewell to the cheerleader. “What now?” She perked an eyebrow, crossing her muscular arms.

“Don’t what now me. You think I didn’t notice those eyes you were giving to the coach?” You prodded, authoritatively. “What did I say about him— fucking drop him!”

The blonde groaned like a stubborn child. “Can’t you just mind your business, Turner?” Abby retorted. “I get that you’re captain an’ everything, but that doesn’t mean you have the right to poke your nose in things that don’t involve you.”

“You know, this is a crime, right? Statutory rape—“

“Ugh, you’re always so serious. I’m eighteen.”

“Yeah, but you’re still a student here, and he’s an instructor.” You placed your hands on your hips. “Do you wanna be on the front-page paper listed as a victim? I wonder what that would look like when you’re playing pro in a few years…”

A sneer stretched onto her lips. “Couldn’t be as bad as being called a dyke by ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the population.”

“Says the two-hundred-pound, six-foot goalie who was just flirting with Calliope Kimber…”

She stiffened, averting her eyes from you. “I wasn’t flirting…”

You chuckled behind your fingers, sizing her up. “You totally were.” With a perched eyebrow, you analyzed her features. Blue eyes shifting, twinged with bothered nerves at the mention of her behavior. “I don’t care if you’re using a man to hide behind, Abby. But I do care about the legacy of our team.” You began, nudging her arm. “Plus, Coach Moore is annoying as shit. If I were you, Henry Harmon would be more of my shtick.”

Abby shook her head, her long braid falling over her shoulder. “You’re such a control freak…” She muttered, sucking her teeth.

“Or I’m just a very passionate person.”

“Nope… You’re a control freak.”

“Okay, whatever, Popeye. God.” You hold up a dismissive hand.

The both of you walk around the school to the soccer field to prep for the scrimmage Coach Moore was hosting. You sat on the ground stretching and ensuring your laces were tight and knotted. Some of the junior varsity team sat around doing the same thing, conversing amongst each other.

Ellie, Riley, Dina and Cat joined the group as if they had something up their sleeve—not paying much of attention to the young coach marking on a clipboard. The auburn-haired player plopped herself beside you. Like usual, you adjusted yourself to do an assisted stretch with her, touching your straddled feet together and pulling each other’s hands like a seesaw. “How different am I on the field— what did you mean by that?” She asked, pulling you forward, causing her to lean backwards.

“Uhm, Ellie, you’re a threat on the field to anyone who isn’t on your team.” You pulled her forward, causing you to lean back, smiling in amusement.

“I’m not a threat, just a girl who takes her sport very seriously.” She shrugged, pulling you forward again.

You laugh, pulling her forward, but this time inching your hands up her arms so you wouldn’t lean back so far from her. “No, babe, you’re definitely a threat. But… I like that about you.” You bat your eyes at her, playfully.   

She smirked, glancing down at your lips in such an obvious way. A way that you couldn’t give much attention to—at least, not in the way you wanted. “Well, then… I guess I’m the worst of threats— the most threatening girl in the world.”

You snickered, sliding your hands back down to her hands. You pushed your legs together to do the same thing, back and forth. “Be whoever you wanna be.”

To be honest, you’d probably love her regardless of anything. She was so admirable to you—her boldness in her identity; God, Ellie was such a dream. If only she knew how much she meant to you.

“All right, I’m gonna break ya’ll up— some of varsity will be playing with jv, some of jv with varsity.” The assistant coach announced, with the sport manager standing right beside him, eagerly. Upon his immediate direction, the girls groaned—mainly, the older varsity team. Not caring for their younger peers or their feelings. “Don’t complain. It’s Coach Servopoulos’ choice!”

The choice to split them up made Ellie’s plan a bit difficult to carry out, especially if the group wasn’t split up on Lucy’s team. Coach Moore began to list out the names, the manager handing out jerseys to the ones he called. Luckily, Ellie and Dina were put on the same team as Lazy Lucy, while you and Cat were placed on the opposing team. Separated by your team with an orange jersey, and her team having a blue one.

Before the scrimmage began, you pulled Ellie aside. “Remember this is an opportunity to teach someone, not to hurt someone. Be careful out there.”

“I’m not a fucking child, y/n. I know how to be careful.” She responded, curtly, walking to her place across from you at the starting zone. You rolled your eyes, gritting your jaw in irritation. You were told to play central striker for your team, which meant that you and Ellie looked right into each other’s’ eyes before the match. Through a heavy glare, you attempt to remind her once more, but she ignores your gaze.

When the whistle blared, the game began, brutally. After all, that’s how the both of you played—even against each other. Unfortunately, her team had more varsity members, meaning you and three other people had to carry the burden of keeping your team afloat.

There was a moment where the ball was sequestered between your feet, and you were moving toward the goal with quickness. That wasn’t until Riley swiped the ball from your feet with a giggle, muttering a small apology. While you tried to get the ball back, you watched as Riley and Ellie shifted ownership of it. Obviously, excluding the calls for a pass from the copper-headed player, Lucy.

Instead of asking, Lucinda grumbled, running toward Riley to steal the ball, heading straight for your goal. You slowed down, getting the intuitive feeling that something was about to go wrong. Even Cat paused on the field, glancing at you with concerned eyes. Ellie cast her eyes toward Riley, huffing from her lips. And, just like that, she made an effort to steal the ball from Lucy—getting overwhelmed by her competitiveness.

Her cleats made a move for the patterned ball, but instead of kicking it forward, the steel of the tip of her shoe made a collision with Lucy’s fibula. A crack sound echoed over the field, followed by a shriek expelling from the girl. Lucinda dropped to the ground cradling her calf with horror.

Ellie stopped, emitting a gasp. She gripped the roots of her hair, noticing the image of her bone sticking through her skin. It was surrounded by oxidized blood, dripping all over the freshly painted turf. Briefly, you froze. Eyes widening at the scene. “Fuck,” You grimaced, sprinting over to the area, along with everyone else.

You glared at auburn-haired player, kneeling to try and help the girl, pulling her head onto your lap. “Fuck, it’s going to be okay, Luce.” You looked around for the adult authority. “Coach Moore!” You called, worriedly, trying to avoid looking at the appearance of the injured girls leg. Every time you looked at it, the image of her exposed bone caused bile to rise in your throat.

He was already in transit, with a look of weariness, running over with his hands on his head. “Shit! Mel, go to the office and tell Tess, so we get can 911 on the phone.” Coach Moore directed to the short-haired manager, clutching onto a plastic first aid kit.

“You mean Coach Servopoulos?” She raised a finger.

“Fucking obviously, Mel!” The blonde goalie told, crouching toward the sobbing freshman. The manager jumped into a sprint, running toward the building while Abby darted her eyes over the brutal injury. Her father was a surgeon, and she had always been really curious about his job. He was wildly busy, but on the weekends, when he was on-call, he’d take her with him. There was a surgery gallery above one of the operation rooms, and he snuck her in a few times. Blood never bothered her as much as it bothered others.

Coach Moore forced the girls that weren’t helping to head inside to the locker room and wait for an update, because practice was now over.

The ambulance came in due time for her to get the medical attention that she needed. Lucy winced and whined as they lifted her onto a gurney, loading her into the back of the loud ambulance truck. Abby and Nora stayed behind with you as you monitored the situation. You couldn’t help but feel at fault for this—you should’ve just told Ellie no.

“Is your girlfriend tapped?” Nora questioned, while the three of you watched the coaches tell the EMT’s what happened, even though they didn’t know much. All they knew was that a player accidentally kicked her fibula through her leg in an attempt to kick the ball.

“Nora!” You scolded, glaring at her. Partially, for outright blaming Ellie for her actions, but also for labeling her your girlfriend aloud. That part was debatable. While you were warming up to the idea, a part of you felt like you didn’t deserve that title.

Abby chortled, “It’s a valid point.” Shrugging with her arms crossed over her chest. “I watched her ice Lucy out the whole game, y/n. When she finally had it, Ellie tried to steal it from her— her own teammate. What the hell was she doing?”

You shook your head, puffing air from your lips. “Lucy played a little lazy, so she was trying to… Teach her a lesson.”

The curly-haired, right-wing central striker scoffed, fixing a pair of disappointed eyes at you. “And you let her? Some kind of captain you are.”

“Hey, I told her to be careful.”

“You should’ve told her not to do it. Now, we’re short one sub for nationals. So, thanks a lot.” Nora concluded, turning her back on you to walk toward the locker room, leaving you with the disapproving sighs of Abigail Anderson.

The both of you watched the assistant coach hop into the vehicle with Lucy, since her parents where meeting them at the hospital. Coach Servopoulos instructed that he did so—he didn’t decide to join the injured teenager on his own accord. “She took it too far…” Abby sighed, as the head coach approached the two of you with a grimace on her features.

“It was an accident, Abby. Ellie didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“You saw what her leg looked like… I find that hard to believe.” The blonde goalie frowned, walking away once Tess Servopoulos got closer, glaring at you. Like you mentioned to Ellie, sometimes she got carried away during games; she wasn’t her usual self. As in, her competitiveness gets the best of her at times. It skews her vision and makes her decide on the most aggressive courses of action, which aren’t always the best. There has been a few games where they consistently got penalties because of her rough housing.

“Turner, what the hell happened out there?” Coach Servopoulos questioned with a firm voice, running her fingers through her mousy-brown hair.  

You slumped your shoulders, rubbing your hand over your pulled back hair. “I don’t know…” You lied through your teeth, sighing. The idea of snitching on Ellie wasn’t option. She’d get benched, or worse, kicked off the team. Tess Servopoulos wasn’t a coach that just let things slide; so, there was going to be hell to pay.  

She raised her thin eyebrows at you, dryly chuckling. “Her fibula is sticking out of her leg, and you’re tellin’ me you don’t know?”

“It happened so fast, Coach. Too fast. I think it was just a misstep.” You told with layers of uncertainty.

She sighed, pressing her lips together. “This misstep just sent a fifteen-year-old to the emergency room… Now, this isn’t the first time Ellie—”

“It wasn’t her fault.” You tried, fiddling with your fingers.

Tess side-eyed you before speaking, walking toward the school building. “This isn’t the first time Ellie has been rough on the field, but it’s the first time it’s resulted in something this severe—which leads me to this… In Boston, if she as so much as shoves another player too hard, she’s getting benched. Do you hear me?” The older woman raises an eyebrow, peering down at you. A frown fell onto your lips as you casted your eyes at your moving feet.

“I hear you.” You replied, solemnly.

“I have a lot of paperwork to fill out, so… Do me a favor and let her know that. I’m not gonna care for her attitude in Boston if you forget to tell her. I’m just gonna look at you.” Coach Servopoulos told as you neared the school, entering on the athletics side, leading you to the locker room. You were absolutely dejected, feeling waves a guilt that you shouldn’t have. The image of Lucy’s leg couldn’t leave your mind, making your stomach to stir. On top of the responsibility of, basically, threatening your companion.

When you entered the locker room, the team was sat on benches tiredly, awaiting the verdict that you were looked upon to deliver. They all sat upright when they noticed you strolling in after the fuming head coach who had seemed to already reach her maximum level of stress. “What’s up? Is she gonna be okay?” Ellie was the first ask, standing to her feet from the bench, her features scrunched with worry.

“Well, I’m sure she’s getting pumped with fentanyl as we speak, so… I think she’s gonna be all right.” Tiredly, your hands fall against your thighs, passing her to walk to your locker. A frown pressed onto your features because of the nausea building in your throat.

Abby sighed, leaning her arms to the side on bench. “If only you didn’t wanna teach her a lesson…” She muttered, causing Ellie to shoot her a glare.

“What?” She snarled.

“Was that not your plan? Maybe y/n relayed it wrong tryin’ to save your ass.” Abby exposed, but you ignored her trying to focus on not throwing up, rummaging through your locker.

Riley stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. “How ‘bout you just mind your fuckin’ business, Anderson.”

The blonde snickered. “Yeah, you were probably behind it, too, huh? Best friends until the end—“

The feeling of bile rising in your throat caused you to drop the lock in your hands. It clambered to the floor, shutting them up mid-argument. “Fuck, I’m gonna vomit.” You covered your mouth with your hand, running to the nearest trashcan you could find. It was large, and thankfully, without any trash inside of it. You gripped the rim that was wrapped with a black trash bag, leaning your face over it to relieve yourself.

“Now, look what you made her do!” You heard the sound of Ellie’s voice.

You lurched, groaning at the uncomfortableness of unleashing your breakfast and lunch into the trash covered in stomach acid. You felt hands on your back, rubbing, softly. When you peered over your shoulder, you noticed the dark, wavy hair of Dina standing over you. “Made me barf, too.” She kindly smiled, patting your back.

When you finished, you wiped your mouth with your shirt. “Should’ve never agreed to that shit…” You murmured, shaking your head.

“Maybe it’s for the best that she doesn’t come to Boston with us, anyway. There’s an upside to everything!”

“Whatever, Dina.” You sighed, thanking her with a pat to her shoulder.

She mirrored your sigh, following you to the group, getting close to you. “This isn’t your fault, you know?” Dina starts, as you ignore the tension in the air while your teammates changed. Ellie had walked to the other side of the locker room to hide from everyone, probably drowning in that same level of guilt you were. The dark-haired girl leaned her shoulder against the cool, gray metal.

“Then, who’s is it? Throwing Ellie under the bus, would mean throwing myself under it, too. I might as well just do it alone.” You grumble, beginning to pull the athletic clothes from your body.

After you changed into your casual clothes, a pair of jeans, blocky sandals, and a printed tube top. A thin, knit cardigan covered your arms during school, but the final bell had rung a long time ago. Ellie had always been your ride home, so you found her waiting in the quad for you on a bench—lonely, with a pair of headphones covering her ears. They were connected to an old Walkman you gifted her some time ago.

You waved a hand at her as you approached. She slid the tiny headphones from her ears to hang around her neck. She stood up, slinging her school bag and duffle bag over her shoulder. “Hey…” Ellie greeted, timidly.

“Hey,” You smiled, watching how she adjusted herself. You adjusted the thick strap of your own duffle bag, examining her freckled features. “What a day, huh?”

“Yeah…” She started walking toward her truck, pulling her keys from her pockets. Now, would be the best time to tell her of the limited amount of fuck-ups she had left, but the words wouldn’t come out. You followed her, swinging each foot in front of the other. “You were right… I shouldn’t have pushed her… I fucked up so bad today.” Ellie shook her head, running a hand through her shaggy, short hair.

You shrug, pressing your glossy lips together. “It happens…”

“I shouldn’t have let you take the fall for it.” She takes your hand, as you walk toward the emptying parking lot. You glance at the desperate hand, grasping for consolation and understanding.

In return, you grip her to reassure her. “You’re lucky Coach Serv didn’t ask too many questions— I barely took the fall for anything.” You lean into her arm, holding her bicep with your other free hand. “She probably has loads of paperwork to fill out since it happened on the school’s property. I think she has bigger concerns, right now.”

When you arrived at her blue Ford Bronco, you trot to the passenger side. “But I don’t mind taking the fall for it. I wouldn’t wanna go on this trip if you weren’t going, too.” Ellie grinned, watching you toss your things into the back seat.

The both of you got into the truck, shutting the door at the same time. The auburn-haired girl started the engine, causing the radio to switch on. Her earthy irises looked over at you, with a gleam of adoration. You smiled, cheeks warming under her gaze. A giggle leaves your throat as you lean over the center console, pulling the fabric of her shirt towards you so you could plot your lips against hers. Her windows weren’t that tinted, but you didn’t care in that moment.

Kisses always heightened Ellie’s mood, and you didn’t want her to worry about what happened with Lucy anymore. It was nothing but a mere accident—she would never want to hurt anyone.

You pulled away from her lips, not before plotting one final chaste kiss, leaning back into your seat. “Are we going to your place or mine?” You reached over to stretch the seatbelt across your body.

“Do you have everything you need for the party later?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“My place it is then.”

As we die, both you and I with my head in my hands I sit and cry…

No Doubt played on the radio, distracting you from the minor, small town traffic that got on under your skin—even though, you weren’t the one driving. You leaned your head on your fist, watching Ellie from the side of your eye. Her window was wound all the way down, elbow resting on it while her other steered the wheel. Her shaggy, auburn hair was blown across her head from the intensity of the wind. But she didn’t care, and neither did you. Her thumb tapped along the leather steering wheel to the beat of the music, nodding her head, rhythmically.

God, you were so in love with her. You were going to miss the days driving down the skinny roads of your hometown with her manning the wheel—because you rarely drove when she was around.

There was a secret that you were keeping tightly under wraps, though—amongst that love. Away from her, and the rest of the team. The joys of traveling to Boston with your team, and your non-girlfriend, is that it’s like a final hurrah before you all graduate and go your separate ways.

A few weeks ago, you received a letter from the admission’s office at University of Notre Dame for their soccer and Literature program—you got in! To your knowledge, Ellie had already committed to Massachusetts Institute of Technology. There was a family friend that lived in the area, which made her feel comfortable with moving so far away. Once you tell her about your commit to Notre Dame, everything will be set in stone; that the both of you were moving on. Everything would be too real—too fast. You were really leaving each other.

That was a topic you always found a way to jump around. At the end of the day, she wasn’t really your girlfriend. The pair of you had been in his happy mix of a relationship and a friendship—calling each other friends but doing the things that people in relationships did for a few years now. It kept too many people from asking you questions you didn’t feel enough conviction to answer. But that left you in a vulnerable position.

Once she sets foot up North, girls will be all over her as if she were a walking aphrodisiac. The prefect blend of masculinity and femininity relied in her spirit. She’d be the apple of any woman’s eye—well, any woman in their right mind—if she does half of what she does for you. Perhaps, one day you’ll rack up the courage to claim her, loudly.

She pulls into the driveway of her two-storied, brick home, sighing, casually. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Sarah’s back early from school for my graduation. I’m gonna try and get her to be our ride for tonight.” Ellie shuts off the engining, gripping the handle to open up the door.

“Ellie, you know she’s gonna say no. If you wanna drink tonight, I can take one for the team…”

“I want us both to be able to celebrate, and after today, we both deserve a drink. Plus, she owes me.” She shrugged, grabbing her bags from the backseat, and you doing the same.

You chortle, walking around the to truck, to her side. “A drink won’t kill me.”

She looks at you, adjusting the straps on her shoulders. “Okay, you hate driving. Why do you wanna be DD so bad?” Ellie passed you, walking toward her front door. The sound of you giggling, trailing behind her.

“I’m just making sure we have options. Did she drive, this time, from Washington?”

The auburn-haired nodded, unlocking the door and pushing inside. “No, she took a flight. So, she shouldn’t have a problem borrowing Maxie” She referenced the dull, blue Bronco that she trusted with her life.

Ellie’s adoptive sister was a second year at the University of Washington. Every summer she comes back home to be with her family because dorm-life called the shots.

You walked inside behind her, passing the kitchen to get to the pair wooden stairs that led to her bedroom. “I’m home!” Ellie called, walking toward the fridge with you lingering behind her. “Sarah!” She offered you a cold bottle of water, handing it to you as she awaited her sisters’ response.

“Up here!” Her sister responded from up the stairs.

You trailed after your lover, trotting up the wooden steps to follow Sarah’s smooth voice. There was a light echo of The Cranberries, When You’re Gone, playing on the radio, coming from her bedroom. She must’ve been playing the new album. Ellie peeked into her bright space, placing her eyes on her laying figure, doodling in an artbook. Her pale, blue eyes looked up from the coarse page, twirling her charcoal pencil in her left hand. “Dad’s gonna be workin’ late tonight. So, I might be the one dropping you off tomorrow. Hope that’s all right.” Sarah hit the eraser of her pencil against the page, looking up at her sister leaning on the threshold of her bedroom door. Before she had shipped off to Washington, there used to be a thick southern twang that caught the attention of many Jacksoner’s. Sarah replicated the vocal inflections of her father—and Ellie’s voice did the same occasionally. She glanced at you, wiggling her fingers as a greeting.

You smiled, waving your hand.

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. Also… Could you do me a favor?”

She rolls her eyes, pushing her stuff aside to adjust herself onto her butt, narrowing her eyes at Ellie. “y/n and I are going to this party tonight, and we wanna drink— safely, so… Could you drive us?”

Sarah sighed, hopping from her bed to turn her silver-gray radio down, twisting the knobs with her index and thumb, plum nail polish artistically chipped. “I thought you had friends, Els… With cars.”

Ellie chuckled, dryly. “I do, but I don’t trust them to drive us back sober.” She rocked on her feet, furrowing her eyebrows to show humility. “C’mon, Sare, you owe me.”

She raised a blonde eyebrow, crossing her arms. “I owe you? From what?” Sarah dubiously asked.

“That one time sophomore year when I lied to Joel about where you were— saying you were at Natalie’s house, when you really were at Cole Matthew’s playing horizontal Twister.” Ellie blinked, feigning innocence. “If you don’t take us… I don’t mind clearing that up with him when I get back from Boston.”

The college girl gasped, then shook her head in disbelief. “Teenagers are evil. Wow.”

“You just turned twenty in April…” Ellie deadpanned.

“Fine. I guess I’ll take you, but I’m picking you up no later than one.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, lips curling at the edges. “Whatever,” She pivoted, taking your hand. “Thanks.” Her eyes glanced at you over her shoulder as she led you a few paces down the hall to her bedroom.

You shut the door behind you, snickering to yourself at the little threat she made to her sister. “You’re a manipulator…” You mutter, dropping your bag near the door. Her room was comfortably dim, with a dark, earthy motif. While her walls were still a white-ish tone of beige, its starkness was diminished by the many posters layered over each other. There was a slight lack of orderliness to her bedroom—a touch of clutter, making it all the more comforting.

Immediately, Ellie walked to her closet to change into some comfortable clothes. She dropped her jeans, sliding on a pair plaid boxers and a t-shirt. “Sometimes you need to do a little manipulating to get the job done.” She shrugged, humorously. “Sarah’s been trying to live down Cole Matthew’s since they hooked up her senior year— it was an easy shot.”

The softness of her made bed called out to you, making you leap onto it after kicking off your sandals. You rolled onto your back, sprawling out over her mattress. “I don’t think Dr. Daniela Star would approve of this.” You sit up on your elbows, ogling her from the center of her bed, referencing the protagonist from her favorite comic. Ellie turned to look at you, lips curling into a boyish smirk.

She sauntered toward you, crawling onto the mattress, over you, settling between your legs. You drape your arms around her shoulders, looking up at her with gleaming irises, examining her round features—olive, doe eyes, sprinkled freckles over her cheeks and nose, plush lips exposing her straight teeth. “What she doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.” Ellie grins, pressing her body against yours as she leaned down to plot her lips on yours. Smooch. Smooch. Before she begins to devour your face like it was the last time.

She braced one elbow by the side of your face, using the other hand to drift down your body, gripping and groping in ways you’d ever allow her to do. You giggled against her lips, completely comfortable under her devoted and doting caress. You were going to miss this most of all—the intimacy of her touch.

So, you spent the time before the party, memorizing every crevice of her body. From the follicles of her auburn hair to the birthmark on her ankle, breathing her in like your own addictive brand of oxygen. After you indulged in each other for a few hours, she pulled out guitar and played for you. Sat by her desk, facing you as you watched her fingers press along the copper strings of her acoustic guitar.

When it was time to get ready for the party, Ellie didn’t do much but throw on an outfit that appeared to have come straight from a Delia’s catalog. You had packed a boxy corduroy mini-dress and a pair of converses that matched hers; they were just a smidge cleaner, though. While you primped and primed yourself, you managed to convince her to smudge some eyeliner around her eyes—it brings out green in your eyes, you say; after propping yourself on her bathroom counter, welcoming her between your legs to add charcoal eyeliner around her eyes.

Ellie then peered in the mirror, over your shoulder, cheeks warming up at her own reflection. She wasn’t a typical wearer of makeup, but whenever she did partake, you noticed her expression of elevation. If it was small, and dainty, she never minded adding to her appearance with a little bit of makeup. However, she only did so when you applied it for her.  

You left the house borderline fashionably late, with Sarah swinging Ellie’s keys around her index finger. She hopped into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and seat to accommodate to her style of driving. Ellie had to push her seat forward to allow you climb into the backseat. The blonde took her time, causing her sister to side-eye her, pointedly. “Sarah, you are killin’ me.” Ellie spoke, holding out an annoyed hand.

“You asked me to drive you, and you’re complaining? I got a hundred on my driver’s test for a reason—”

“Nobody cares. Please, just drive, dude.”

She pressed her lips into a line, shifting the gear to backing out of the inclined driveway. “Ellie, you just get bitchier with time.” You snickered in the back, pulling your seatbelt over your body, clicking it into the lock. As she started down the road, she peered into the rearview, getting a glimpse of you while her lips percolated to speak. “So, y/n, have you committed to a school yet? I know time’s just a’tickin’…” Sarah offered conversation, smiling in the small mirror. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the rigidness in Ellie’s shoulders at the mention of university.

Ellie nudged her over the console, scoffing. “No pressure…” She filled in, giving you comforting glance.

“I haven’t yet… I’m waiting until after nationals… I don’t want my decision to be heavily influenced by anything, you know?” You slowly explain, looking at the blonde through the mirror.

Sarah glanced at Ellie, making a face you couldn’t quite read. “Yeah, for sure.” She responded, chuckling, lightly. “I forget— what are you going to school for? I know Ellie’s doin’ Biophysics. She’s going full astronaut on us!” She playfully punched Ellie’s arm, laughing, joyously. Clearly, already proud of her.  

You lick the cherry gloss on your lips, priming them to speak. “I’m going for Literature. I used to want to be a professor, and I might still go down that route, but I think I’m going to take soccer serious for a little while.”

“She wants to go pro.” Ellie added, winking over her shoulder at you.

“Hopefully, I can qualify for the Olympics within the next two years.” You shrug, nodding your head, timidly. It was always hard to tell people what you wanted for your future—especially, when your goals seemed so far away. It was always fifty-fifty when sports players wanted to go pro—hit or miss! That’s why you wanted to get you degree; so, it could seem more realistic.

The eldest in the truck, hummed. “I’ve seen you play. I’m sure you could qualify now.” Sarah laughed. “Who do I have to call to make it happen?”

“Oh, my God! You sound just like Joel!” The auburn-haired player gasped, chortling in her seat. The two siblings then began conversing between themselves, asking for your input every so often.

In the dark, she pulled into a clearing that was already lingering with drinking teenagers. She sighed, putting the car in park. “I swear this is like the beginning of a slasher film— you guys be safe!” Sarah told, leaning down as the both of you exited the car. For a moment, you had to wait for Ellie to release the passenger seat, so you could climb out the same way you climbed in. “And cover your drinks… There’s some odd-lookin’ character’s out here.” Ellie gave her thumbs up, attempting to shut the door, but her sister had to say one more thing. The blonde snickered behind her slender fingers before speaking. “I was also gonna say wrap it up, but… You know—”

Ellie decided to cut her off. “Okay, see you at one!” She shut the door, peering at your amused face. “She’s so not funny.”

“I disagree.” You slide your arm through hers, holding onto her as your feet crunched through the grass. Her earthy eyes glanced at you, glancing down at the touching of your skin to hers—boldly in front of your peers. You weren’t entirely thinking, you just wanted to be close to her. That simple feel for physical touch caused her cheeks to fill with warmth, eyes sparkling under the full moon.

She didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to freak you out. Make you coil into your own touch. Earlier, Ellie didn’t make a note of your touch when you were walking to the parking lot after school, because barely anyone was around to tell the tale. The tale of two girls cuddling up with one another in a more than friendly way. Now, you were surrounded by your peers, other upperclassmen, and you were holding onto her like she was your girlfriend. Not your friend.

You approached a wiggling fire, burning a pile of logs, a bonfire. A few fireflies hovered around it with red solo cups in their hands, conversing and laughing. When they noticed you and Ellie, they smiled and waved—some of them. If the varsity team could be cleanly divided in half, that would show the exact turn out of the smiles and frowns.

“Hey, Turner.” Abby greeted you, and you alone. Nora lingered close by, with Dina and Cat hovering in the back. They waved, but they could see the tension developing and didn’t want to get involved.

Instantly, Ellie stiffened, groaning under her breath. “I’m gonna go find us somethin’ to drink.” She pulled from your grasp, leaving you colder than before—and it was leaning more into summer by the day. Riley held her red cup by the white line along the rim, following her as she walked into the dimly lit dark. You could already hear her rants of internal fury coming from Ellie’s pinched mouth.

“Stop trying to piss her off.” You tell the blonde, deepening your eyebrows.

She pushed her long blonde hair behind her ears, shrugging. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Let the situation be done with. It’s over, so get the fuck over it— I’m serious, Abby.” Your voice firmed, glaring up at her, since she was so much taller than you. “We are leaving tomorrow, and I want us to all start off on the right foot.”

“Right leg, you mean?” Nora lifted an arched eyebrow. Shamelessly, she referenced the bone-white fibula that was sticking out of Lucinda Henderson’s leg on the field.

“Is that supposed to be a joke, Nora?” You ask her, narrowing her eyes. “You were so upset about what happened, and now you’re joking about it?”

“Well, if it never happened, I wouldn’t be joking about it now, would I?” The curly-haired forwarder retorted.

You scoffed, having enough of their paired hooplah—it was annoying you, and you were wanting to have a good night. “You know, what? Fuck you guys.” You mutter, pushing through them toward Dina, Cat, and another one of the players, Aisha Conrad. They were watching with keen eyes, clutching their drinks in their hands.

“They’re such bitches…” You grunted, crossing your arms, wondering where Ellie was with your drink. You could certainly use one.

Cat swallowed a sip of the jungle juice, nodding her head. “Tell me about it.” She shook her head. “I should’ve never told my dad about this— we should’ve booked public instead. They would have booked an entirely different flight than us, and we could’ve all been spared of their endless bullshit.”

“You know, the only reason I think Abby is still on this team is because she’s fucking Moore.” Aisha added, rolling her eyes.

Dina gasped, covering her lips with her hand. “Wait, what?”

“Aisha, we shouldn’t be talking about that.” You remind her, widening your eyes, warningly.

“No, wait.” Dina held up a hand, eyeing you. “Abigail Anderson is fucking Owen? The same girl who I always catch chatting up cheerleaders?” She raised her thick eyebrows, guffawing, loosening up from the alcohol in her hands. “Hell, I’m surprised she’s not doing it right now!”

The short-haired midfielder, Cat, looked to the dark sky in thought. “I wonder why she chose Owen of all people. He’s so… Lame.”

“And good for nothin’.” Aisha added, shrugging.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that—good for nothin’—yeah, that checks out. He definitely wasn’t as good of a coach as Tess Servopoulos; you didn’t even know why he was hired. Who cares if he attended Jackson Hole High a few years prior?

“Why not Henry Harmon?” The freckled girl questioned, swirling her drink in her cup. “Now, he’s hot.”

A surprised laugh left your throat. “Dina, don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him— plus, everybody knows that Henry’s hot. Even you. Just because you’re a lesbian doesn’t mean you don’t have eyes.” Dina rambled, carelessly, until she abruptly covered her mouth with her hand, again.

Instead of cowering from the term of your sexual orientation, you barely flinched. You only narrowed your eyes at your friend, chuckling. “Shit, sorry, y/n.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sure half the student body already suspects it.” You wave your hand.

Aisha pursed her lips, glancing around the teenager-filled clearing. “I mean, it’s not like you had a boyfriend in the last four years…”

Cat nudged her, roughly, arching her lips in shock. Aisha could be a little bit too honest for her own good. You were surprised that she hasn’t told everyone in a five-mile radius that she was friends with a lesbian. Or, maybe, she had. There was one afternoon—junior year—when you checked your main locker and a note fell out. It was scribbled with pink cursive handwriting, signed with heart and purple lipstick.

I always knew you were a lesbo!

In that moment, you thought your life was over. Then, a girl by the name of Laura Leony privately came forward, saying it was all her doing. She didn’t declare why, but she didn’t have to—you could understand. After that, you just tried to lay low.

That might’ve been the worst of you and Ellie. To argue was to breathe when it came to the two of you last year.

“Aisha, what would I do without you.”

“Crash and burn.” Innocently, she touched her ears with her shoulders, giggling to herself. “I really don’t think people care as much as you think.”

Deeply, you inhaled. “You’d be surprised.”

The sound of your name was spoken from behind, causing you to swivel. It was Ellie and Riley approaching. She had two drinks in her hands, and was mid-conversation, talking with her eyebrows burrowed together. “Spiked punch,” Ellie informed, handing you the red solo cup, filled a bit more than halfway. “And it’s pretty strong.” She sighed, jutting her eyebrows up at the girls as a greeting.

“Did you guys know that Abby’s fucking the coach?” Dina abruptly asked them, pointing a lazy finger.

“Yeah,” Riley chortled, sipping her drink.

“Tess?” Ellie questioned, incredulously, snapping her head toward her best friend in confusion.

You sigh, rubbing your fingers along your eyebrows, tiredly. It was better that less people knew about Abby’s silly affiliation with the young coach—it was better for the Fireflies. “Owen. Not Tess.” Still, you clarified, glancing at her. There was a reason you kept this one thing from Ellie. Her and Abby rarely got along, what if she exposed this interesting fact aloud during an argument? They could open a case, and the entire team could be put on probation until it was solved.

Her jaw dropped in mischievous shock. “What? You knew about this?” Ellie asked you, while her eyes gleamed in the dark. The ‘and you didn’t tell me’ part was silent, but you somehow could still hear her saying it in your mind, filling the gaps.

Your response was none other than a sip of your drink, and a brief lift of your eyebrows. You’ve been captain of your team since the end of sophomore year—of course, you knew about this!

“It’s not obvious?” Aisha perched an eyebrow, downing the rest of her drink.

“Some of us mind our business, Aisha.” Riley snickered, crossing an arm under her elbow. She squinted her eyes at her as a bratty response. “It’s not a secret if it’s obvious.”

“This is great.” Ellie muttered into her cup, shrugging her shoulders.

You snapped her your head toward her. “No, it’s not great. Don’t get any ideas.”

Her best friend laughed, peering down at her amusingly. “Oh, Turner, you’re late. Far too late— the ideas have already began flowin’.” Riley laughed. She was always a subtle lover of chaos and disturbance. She rarely ever caused it, though; Riley was more the type to watch it unfold, and step in if she needed to.

“Ellie,” You warn, deepening your eyebrows.

She put her hands up. “Your secret is safe with me— or, I guess, her secret.” Her smokey, olive eyes glanced at her closest friend, snickering.

You suck your teeth, tapping your fingers against the plastic of your cup. “Why don’t we talk about something else? Boston! Are we excited about Boston?” The lip of your cup found your lips, and you began sipping the drink like your life depended on it. It was the only way to numb your anxieties.

Dina grinned, pointing her finger at Ellie. “Oh, my God— wait, didn’t you get into MIT?”

Immediately, she grew bashful, nodding her head. “Yeah… But I’m not going.”

You paused, turning your body to face hers. “What do you mean you’re not going?” Your eyebrows were deepened, eyeing her intently. “It’s fucking MIT…”

She inhaled, deeply, pursing her lips. “They didn’t have the major I wanted.”

“You never said anything about this.”

“You never asked…”

An awkward beat passed through the group. Mainly hovering between you and Ellie. Your free hand fell to your side, slapping against your bare thigh. Aisha’s voice barrels through the silence, looking around a few parked cars. “Henry!’ She called, waving her hand high above her head, breaking the silence. “I’m gonna go… Come on, Cat!” Aisha took Cat’s hand, dragging her from the group. Whoops, things just got awkward. However, you didn’t care; your eyes were stuck on Ellie’s with a worried irises.

“I’m sure Jesse is somewhere lookin’ for me… I’ll leave you guys.” Dina gave a tightlipped smile, slipping away, leaving the two of you by yourselves.

“You’re still going to college, right?” You ask, looking at her intently.

“Yeah, of course! Joel would have my head otherwise.” She responded, chuckling, glancing off into the woods.

You blink at her, scoffing under your breath. “Okay, so where? I know you applied to Brown, USC… Uhm—“

“Notre Dame.” Ellie answered, plainly, rocking on her feet.

Your jaw practically unhinged itself, flickering your eyes between hers. Notre Dame? That was your school. “What?”

She sighed, downing the rest of her drink, crumbling up the plastic and tossing it to the side. “They had the major I wanted. Biophysics. And… I saw the acceptance letter in your kitchen while you were in the shower a few weeks ago.” Ellie paused, running her hand through her short hair. “It’s your dream school— I knew you’d commit. Their soccer program is phenomenal— aren’t they, like, second in the country?”

With your lips gapped open, you were frozen in surprise. Ellie had decided to attend the same school as you? Even after her set plan of going to Boston? To say the least, you were surprised—as surprised as a person could get. The possibility of the two of you going to college together never seemed to cross your mind. Indiana didn’t seem like Ellie’s gig.

“I was hoping for a better reaction than this.” She tapped your jaw, lightly rubbing her thumb against the structure of your face.

You blinked, again. Taut breath escaping your throat. Instead of speaking, you wrapped your arms around her neck, tugging her against your body, causing your drink to spill down the back of her shirt—it was an accident. “Woah,” Ellie chortled, pulling you in from your waist.

“Fuck, I would’ve said something sooner about Notre Dame— I just…” You stammered, inhaling, sharply. “I don’t know… I was getting really existential about everything. Leaving the team behind— leaving you behind! I was fuckin’ losing it…” You pulled back, keeping your arms draped around her shoulders. Her fingers finding comfort at your hips. “But I swear, I was gonna tell you once we got back from Boston… I wish you would’ve said something earlier. Now, I look like an asshole.” You plucked her shoulder with your fingers, pouting.

“I was waiting until you wanted to tell me for yourself— it just took longer than expected s’all.”

Ellie was patient when she wanted to be. At first, you thought it was because she knew that you were separating soon, wanting to end on a good note an all. She used to gripe about being in an unlabeled relationship, but since the spring semester started, she was a sweet as pie. “I’m sorry…” You mutter, playing with the short hairs at the nape of her neck. The comment of your coach rang through you mind—maybe, you should warn her about messing up… But you didn’t want to ruin this moment.

“It’s fine.” She hummed, flickering her eyes over your features. It really wasn’t fine, in your mind, but whatever she said went. If you were her, you would’ve broken up with yourself a long time ago. “We’re goin’ to college together.” Ellie grinned, leaning toward your lips.

You laugh, adjusting your arms around her neck. “We’re going to college together.” You parrot, leaning into her, carelessly. Not caring for the off-handed looks of your peers—as their expectations were met by the physicality of your relationship.

Before your lips could meet, surrounded by trees, the sounds of an altercation pulled her from you. It sounded like—

“Is that Riley?” Ellie questioned, looking over your shoulder.

You turned around, narrowing your eyes on the figures getting at each other. They were pointing fingers and yelling, causing a group to develop around them. “What the hell…” You mutter, dropping your cup, and jogging over to the scene. Ellie was on your tail with a similar look of confusion.

People had gathered in a circle around them, urging them to have a cat fight. You shoved the guy instigating to the side, pushing into the middle of the crowd. Heat burrowed under your skin, glaring at the two girls—Riley and Abby—as you mentally decided on the course of action.

“You know what, meat-head? I suggest you keep your fuckin’ mouth shut!”

“Or what?!” Abby exclaimed, holding up her arms, tauntingly. “You gonna kick my shin in—? I’d like to see you try!”

“Am I gonna do that before or after you fuck Coach Mo—“

That’s when you interrupt, running between the two of them. Ellie following in your steps, placing a hand on Riley’s shoulder. “Riles, leave it.”

You snap you fingers, glaring at the both of them. “Fireflies! What the hell are you doing— let’s go!” You instruct them, pointing your fingers toward the semi-crowded wood. There was a path leading you down, but you need them to separate from the rest of your class. Abby hesitated, gritting her jaw, glaring at the girl with braids running down her back. “Go on…” You push her arm, lightly, guiding her to lead the group.

The core group of the team lingered in the crowd, pushing through as soon as you commanded. When you found privacy, they stood in a line before you. In the order of: Ellie, Riley, Aisha, Cat, Dina, Nora, Abby, Sid, Uma and Mei. You didn’t even realize Uma and Mei had been in attendance until they materialized from the shadows of the party.

You paced down the line like a military general, with your hands held behind your back. “Clearly, none of you heard me when I said that tomorrow we need to be starting off on a good foot— so, now, I have to treat you girls like children.” You scold, glaring at the most argumentative on the team.

Sid raised her hand, pursing her dainty lips. “You don’t have to…”

Your eyes peered at her, smirking. “Oh, my God! Sid, thank you so much for volunteering for my exercise—“

“Huh?”

“Come here.” You tell her, holding out a hand. She comes forward, stuffing her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “Here’s what you’re gonna do… You’re gonna go down the line and say what love about your teammates— each and every one.”

Sid groaned, slouching her shoulders. “Ugh, that’s embarrassing! y/n, do I have to? My team knows I fuck with them…”

Dina raised her hand, snickering. “Actually, I didn’t know that… You’re always so quiet.”

You grip Sid’s shoulders from behind, peering over her shoulder. “Now, look at that… Why don’t you start with Ellie?”

She dragged her feet forward, positioning herself to stand before the girl. “Uhm, Ellie… I think you’re one of the best this team has. It may not always seem like it, but I appreciate the feedback you give me when it comes to defense.” Sid sighed moving into the player beside her. “Riley, despite how much it annoyed y/n… I do find it commendable that you were so quick to defend your friend for something that she wasn’t even around to hear.”

Riley glanced at Ellie, earning a soft nudge.

Sid continued, going down the line of the team, awkwardly complimenting until her turn was over. The line went from the end to the front, until everyone had gone; you being the last to compliment your team.

The core argumentative four managed to say nice things about each other, through their opposing opinions, causing everyone to neutralize their emotions. After, Riley Abel had found herself apologizing about nearly exposing the relationship between Abby and Owen—it was fucked up, she said.

Then, Abby apologized for tempting her to fight, which led to her apologizing to Ellie for her harsh judgement. Nora followed suit, hesitantly.

So, your plan worked! Either they were all completely humoring you, or the tactic that Coach Servopoulos mentioned last year actually worked.

It wasn’t long before you heard the horn of Maxine honking at you and Ellie. The complimenting session brought you guys to one, meaning it was time to leave. And neither you nor Ellie didn’t mind. The party wasn’t the most relaxing shindig, but improvements were made within the group. Hopefully, meaning that tomorrow morning everybody will be walking onto that plane with a fresh start.

Sarah had dropped you off at your house. Ellie letting you out the backseat, kissing you goodbye, longingly. Her hands clutched your sides like she didn’t want to release you—like you weren’t seeing each other in seven hours. When she finally did, you held onto her hand until your fingers slipped from hers, walking up the path to your home.

You were a bit of a last-minute packer, meaning you spent the next hour making sure you have everything you needed for Boston. Your uniform, pajama’s, cute clothes, three pairs of shoes—including your cleats. In the case of boredom, you shoved two options of books into your duffle bag. Since you were flying privately, because of a large, humble purchase made by Cat Yoon’s father, there was more give to the weight of your bag.

When you were finished, you put the bags by your front door, as quietly as possible to not wake your parents. Then, you showered and slipped into bed, falling asleep to the image of furthering your education with the love of your life. While it slightly worried you, excitement was the most noticeable emotion coursing through you. More so because it gave you time. Time to open up and be yourself to not only Ellie, but to the world moving and progressing around you. You didn’t want to hide beneath a blanket of neutrality anymore.

To love a woman wasn’t a crime to be charged with. Not anymore, at least—its 1996.

The morning came around fast. Your blaring alarm woke you up with a screech, which was followed by your mother knocking on your door for breakfast. Quickly, you did your hygiene routine. Then, you rushed down the stairs to consume something hearty to last the whole flight, or most of it. You never liked eating on planes. It always felt like the food never digested properly in the air, or perhaps, that was your slight neurosis of flying. Your parents spoke of how proud they were of you, going to nationals, getting into college—they were getting emotional before your eyes.

In a way, their emotions shifted onto you, causing your eyes to water. It felt as if you were already saying goodbye to them. Your father helped pack your bags into the car, before he kissed you farewell. He couldn’t drive you to the airport because work had called him in. “Please, don’t forget to call us when you get to the hotel.”

“Remember, your dad is prone to strokes…” Your mother added, walking around to get into the driver’s seat.

You laugh, pulling from the embrace he had wrapped you in. “I remember. I won’t forget!” You patted his arm, reaching for the handle of the passenger door. “As soon as I get to the hotel, I’ll call you, daddy.”

“All right, have safe flight, honey.”

The sound of the foreign engine of your mother’s car sounded as you slipped into the passenger seat with a departing smile. When your mother pulled out of the driveway, you waved to your father as he watched the car roll into street.

Jackson Hole Airport wasn’t far from your home—under ten miles. So, you didn’t spend a lot of time chatting with your mother before you drifted into the independence of traveling to Boston. You couldn’t get far from the drop-off point before she reminded you to call when you arrived at the hotel. After sharing quick I love you’s, you dragged your luggage, with your duffle bag draped atop of it, into the semi-busy airport.

On your way inside, you catch the frantic movements of Mei Hawkins. She was hitching two medium-sized luggage’s and a backpack. They kept falling over, tilting over sidewalk curbs and bubbles on the pavement. “Mei,” You waved, trotted over toward her. “You need some help?”

Her shoulders were hunched, a whine-like laugh coming from her throat. “If you can…” Mei smiled, showing her slight gapped tooth smile. “Flights always frazzle me.” You took one the luggage’s from her, pulling it along with your other hand. There was some weight to it, more than you thought. “A few years ago, my aunt was in a plane crash— it was minor. Barely lifted off the runway before it came back down. She was stuck in Kyoto for a week.”

You snickered, walking through automatic doors of the airport. “I don’t know if we could count that as a plane crash…”

“You can to! The wheels went up, so everybody felt the collision. It was like a bad landing, but worse.” Mei explained with lifted skinny eyebrows. “It’s freaked me out ever since. I haven’t visited Japan in three years because of it.” She shivered, adjusted the straps of her Jansport. “The only reason why I even agreed to this because, one— it’s nationals, and two— it’s within the country. Slowly, but surely, I’m conquering my fear…”

She was a bit of a nervous rambler, but she played completely opposite of that. Like you, she was a center midfielder—she stood right next to you on the field. When Mei focused, she was a totally different person compared to who she was off the field.

“That’s one way to look at it. Glad you could make it— we need you.” You told her, shuffling through people. The team was able to evade customs since the flight was private, thankfully. Especially, with the load that Mei was carrying.

She chortled, peering her hazel eyes around. “No need to butter me up. I’m already coming.”

“Yeah, clearly. And you brought your whole closet with you.” You laugh, looking over at her. “What’s in this luggage? A dead body?”

Mei looked at you with a pointed expression. “I pack for emergencies…” She leaned closer to you, as you approached the outer boarding area. “All types.” The girl spoke with such diction that made your mind go straight to the gutter.

“Mei, is there alcohol in here?”

Her lip fell between her teeth, mischievously. “I’ll tell if you sit next to me on the plane…” She shrugged, walking ahead of you.

“Sold!” Although, you were planning on sitting beside Ellie, the offer was too good to pass up. If she snuck in the goods, Boston was going to be so much more fun than you expected.

The aircraft came into view, obstructing the morning sun from your eyes. It was the perfect size for your team. A smile creeped onto your face, wheeling yours and Mei’s belongings toward the plane. Coach Servopoulos stood outside, chatting with Henry Harmon, and his brother Sam.

Your eyes widen at the sight of them, jogging toward the two. “Oh, shit! Henry, Sam— since when were you guys coming to Boston?” You ask through a friendly smile, doing a mixture of a waddle and jog to approach the brothers. Mei had simply waved at them, before walking up the metal stairs into the airplane.

Henry grinned, waving his hand, boyishly. He was a senior just like you, approaching graduation with ferocity. He was the president of the school newspaper and worked very hard to earn his position. His brother, Sam, was a sophomore following right in his footsteps, knowing how to man a camera like it was easy. Sam took the pictures, and Henry wrote the stories.

“We’re plannin’ on publishing a story on JHH’s Fireflies going to nationals. Coach T just approved the request yesterday.” Henry grinned, leaning onto his tough-box luggage.

Sam gave a shy, tightlipped smile. He pulled his camera around his body, aiming it you. “Smile!”

The flash of his camera shocked you into being ready, but it didn’t work. “Okay, Sam… At least try and get my good side.” You pose for the photo, turning to the side. He chuckles, snapping the picture, then giving you a thumbs up. “All right, I’ll see you guys inside.”

“What am I chopped liver?!” The head coach calls, slapping her hands against her covered thighs.

“Sorry! Morning, Coach Serv!” You grit your teeth, trotting up the steps. Slightly, struggling with Mei’s bag.

Most of the team had already arrived and they already sat in their seats. Abby jutted her eyebrows at you from her cushioned position, sitting beside Nora. They both had neck rests of different patterns and had faces that exposed their fatigue, and potentially, their hangovers. Dina sat beside Mel, and you knew that wasn’t by personal choice. She waved her fingers at you, keeping place in her book with her other hand. Cat and Aisha sat together, already talking up a storm. Ellie and Riley were the only ones running behind, and it made you frown.

“Mei,” You complain, attempting to put the luggage in the overhead.

“Sorry!” She hopped from the seat she was getting comfortable in, deciding to help you get the luggage into the compartment.

After securing it over your seats, you put your luggage in an empty one a little way from your seat, then the both of you sat. She took the window seat, while you took the aisle, in the front half of the plane. Perhaps, it made sense for you to be ahead of most of the team—you were the captain, after all. And, if you could choose a co-captain—which you asked Coach Servopoulos about a variety of times—it would be the girl sitting beside you, Mei. Not only would she deserve the position, but she’s the next best player beside Ellie. Because the two of you have been involved with each other for some time, choosing Ellie as your co-captain would be a recipe for disaster. Frankly, if she were, the decision would be made on the warm front of collective bias; she played entirely too rough to be considered the co to your captain. And the girls would have a riot.

You lean into Mei, squinting your eyes with inquiry. “What’s in the bag?”

Stubbornly, she shook her head. “I’m not telling you until we take off.”

“You say that like I’m gonna snitch on you, or something.” You bunch your eyebrows together. “I would never… As long as I have in on it.” A snicker fell from your lips, and she playfully shoved you.

“I don’t wanna tell you now because then you’ll just ditch me to sit with Ellie… Whenever she gets here.” Mei pursed her heart-shaped lips, looking through the oval window. She hid behind her words a bit, but you could feel the genuineness peeking through her skin.

An empathetic smile spread onto your lips, gleaming at her. It was always a soft feeling to be liked and appreciated. What a page-turner from the night before. “I already told you that I was gonna sit with you… I wouldn’t go back on my word. Swear.” You held out your pinky-finger, bending it to get her attention.

She narrowed her honey eyes, taking your pinky with hers, releasing a sigh. “Fine…” Mei released your pinky, peering over her seat for prying ears. She leaned toward your ear, and you waited with a slight grin of anticipation. “My sister’s boyfriend sells weed, so she got us fourteen grams to split— but only for the seniors, duh.”

You glance at her. “That can’t be it— your bag weighs a ton.”

“There’s two bottles of Mad Dog 20/20, and the rest of the weight should be my clothes…” She says, looking up at the ceiling in thought.

Your jaw dropped, blinking at her. She had two bottles of Mad Dog 20/20… You never took her for a girl who thrived under rebellion. “Mei, holy shit—” Did her parents know about this?

“What are ya’ll whispering about?” A familiar, raspy voice speaks. Immediately, she caught your attention, causing you to swivel you head around.

“Ellie, where the hell have you been?” Quickly, your attention was diverted—purposely, changing the subject from the items Mei had brought. Sometimes, she had the tendency to be late; and every time it drove you up a wall. “We were told to be here by a certain time for a reason. We’re on a schedule.” You nagged, ignoring the soft kisses she was plotting along your forehead.

She chuckled against your skin before speaking. “Last minute, we had to pick up Riley—”

“My bad!” The brown-skinned girl interjected, raising up a hand while she got situated in her seat toward the back of the plane.

“And some morning traffic picked up— this isn’t my fault. Plus, I bought you some tea!” Ellie offers up a warm cup, holding it in front of you. “It’s lavender.” She grinned.

Your eyes lit up to the drink in front of you, taking the warm cup with quick fingers. “Ugh, I love you…” The mumbled words tumbled from your lips before I could catch them. Every proclamation of love you gave to Ellie was all to yourself, or Dina because she knew about the most when it came to your relationship.

Her olive eyes widened, lips parting in genuine shock. For a moment the world went silent, and neither of you spoke. The process of saying I love you in an environment that wasn’t her bedroom, was an odd feeling. It modeled after the uncomforting bite of a crisp, winter morning—poking at your flushed, sensitive skin.

“Awkward…” Aisha poked her head above her seat, and you shoot her a glare.

Coach Tess Servopoulos walked into the plane, which automatically settled the team. Henry and Sam followed after her, finding their seats somewhere in the middle. Abby waved at Henry, reaching to dap his hand as a greeting.

And she wants to pretend that she’s not lesbian.

Just as she does so, the assistant coach walks steps into the plane, nodding his head curtly at those who spared him a glance. Mel jumped onto her knees in her seat, to wave at him.

Ellie scratched the back of her neck. “I’m assuming you’re sitting with Mei— hey, Mei.” She awkwardly waved.

“Hey, Ellie.” She kindly smiled, bending her index finger at the auburn-haired player.

As you held your warm cup, your skin wrinkled between your eyebrows with internal confusion. Did she not love you? Was this a bad time say that—did you say too much, too fast, too loud? Holy fuck. “Yeah, I am…” You respond, distantly, attempting to meet her eyes but you couldn’t fully.

“Cool, uhm, I’ll be back there,” She juts her thumb toward the pair of seats her best friend was settling in. “With Riley… Uh, maybe Mei and I can switch sometime after take-off…?”

“Maybe… I might be asleep, though…” You scratch your eyebrow, pressing your lips into an awkward smile.  

“Oh,” Ellie pursed her lips, chewing on the skin inside of her mouth.

“Yeah… You should probably go find your seat— take-off should be any minute now.” You found a way to blink at her. The auburn-haired player chortled, nodding her head. Her cheeks had reddened from your undignified confession, but with your sudden coldness, she felt the need to retaliate with frustration. A scoff left her plush lips as she stepped away from you, down the aisle. “Thanks for the tea!” You raised the cup, turning your head to face the leather in front of you.

Mei bored her eyes into the side of your face the moment Ellie left. “What the hell was that?”

“As if I would know…” You casted your eyes to the cup in your hands, feeling its warmth.

“I’ve known you guys for a long time…” Mei began, puffing air through her lips. “I thought you were the one with the concerns.”  

Mei Hawkins had known about your reservations with your sexuality and was one of the few people to understand why you felt that way. She wasn’t a lesbian or thought of women the way you did but she could empathize. Growing up in Jackson wasn’t always the easiest for her either. Her dark, often chained, fish-netted appearance was always a topic of discussion.

“Me too… I don’t know what the hell that was about.” You frowned, scrunching your eyebrows. Ellie has never acted like that before. The moment your louder with your adoration, wether it was on purpose or not, she quivered away. It was such a discomfort that it made your skin itch.

“Maybe, she was just surprised. I love you is kind of big…”

“I’ve already said it before. There’s no reason for her to be so surprised.” You curtly added, intently peering at your friend. Eyes glinting with a shell of worry. For a moment, you thought your eyes were welling up with tears, heating up behind blinking eyelids.

Before the plane took off, the head coach stood up to speak. She demanded that they were to behave the whole flight, be kind to the two attendants, and don’t cause a stir. The girls acknowledged her word all together, nodding their heads, and speaking the saying ‘heard’ in unison.

Within moments the plane finally took off with an unnerving shake of the vessel.

As it rumbled along the track, and gradually lifted off the ground, your stomach folded. Mei had reached for your hand, clenching it with a firm vice. You placed your other hand over hers, puffing air from your lips. Flights weren’t your favorite thing in the world, but your fear wasn’t as great as hers. Under the light weight of her hand, you could feel her trembling. What happened to her aunt must’ve really frightened her—phobia’s truly know how to bury its roots within a person.

Once you were in the air, you dropped her hand, not before massaging her palm, comfortingly. Soon enough, the attendants were walking down the aisle offering snacks and drinks. You were still good on drinks, considering your tea, but a bag a chips wouldn’t hurt. You weren’t hungry, but you offered to share with Mei. To get her mind off the fact that you were floating in the air in a heavy machine.

Within the next few hours, Mei was the first to fall asleep. She swallowed some allergy medication, probably something to help her sleep, and slumped against the window. You tried to sleep but the idea of Ellie being ashamed of loving you bothered your mind. Sure, it was a thought of insecurity, but she’s never done that before. Has she finally had enough of your tiresome ways? If so, you’d understand. That wouldn’t negate the fact that it would still hurt, though.

However, it wouldn’t make sense. She had just admitted to committing to Notre Dame… Because they had the major she wanted, but also, for you. You were confused, and overwhelmed. Perhaps, it was the flight that was making your brain run slow and obsessively.

There was slight turbulence that made you shut your eyes, holding onto the arm of your seat. But it wasn’t enough to completely freak you out—until the shaking got worse. A flight attendant was walking down the aisle, collecting trash into a bag with a kind smile. Another turbulent bump occurred, causing her to run face first into the wall leading to the pit.

After that, there wasn’t much reaction time to laugh or wonder if she was all right.

The private plane began to wave side to side in the air. Beside you, Mei was startled awake with wide eyes. “What the fuck is happening?”

You couldn’t respond because your eyes were stuck on the attendant. Blood had secreted from a wound the accident caused. Her forehead dribbling with thick, crimson blood. Then, the plane dipped in the air, dramatically.

There was a muffled sound of your seat partner calling your name, but your ears had tuned it out while chaos began to nest within the aircraft. Screaming, wailing, yells for order happened all at once.

Masks dropped from the ceiling, but as you began plummeting from the highest point in the sky, you froze. Hastily, Coach Servopoulos appeared, placing the masks over you and Mei’s face as you both panicked in different ways.

Unexpectedly, a hole materialized in the side of the front of the plane, peeling its mechanics away every passing moment. The pressure sucked the head coach out of it, right it front of you. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you released sobs of trepidation.

Mei was right. She had every reason to fear airplanes—but you hated that she was right. It seemed to be your final moments; you peer at her, reaching for her arm, deciding to cling to her. Somehow, your life flashed before your eyes. The moments you shared with Ellie, the moments you hid from the world in the hopes to be seen as normal. What a fucking waste of time.

With Mei in your arms, you shut your eyes, tightly. To brace for the impact of the earth. However, that was something you never got—well, while you were conscious.

In its plummet, sometime between the crash onto the ground and breaking down of its parts, yours and Mei’s seats had been sucked out of the same hole in the wall that Tess had. When it happened, your body shut down out of fear. And for that, you were subconsciously thankful.

However, when your eyes fluttered open after the fall… To your shock, you were hovering over the ground. Moist soil, covered in green leaves, was the only thing in your line of sight. Birds poked at the back of your head, pinching at your skin. Anxiously, you fanned them away.

There was a pressure pulled against your lower stomach, keeping you suspended in the air. You released a groan, reaching for the tightness restricting your lower abdomen. It was the belt of your seat, still locked into the gear that was connected to the cushion. Mindlessly, you tugged at it, dizzy from the fall and the oxygen being squeezed out of you.

When your thumb found the release button, you yelped as you dropped from your suspension, hitting the ground with a thud. Your arms barely braced your fall, causing you to fall face first into the dirt, getting a mouthful of soil.

Its dry, tanginess shocked your senses—waking you up from the trance that had enveloped you. You coughed it up, rubbing your tongue along the fabric of your shirt. “Oh, my God…” You muttered, leaning back onto your knees, taking in the endless environment that surrounded you. Slender stalks of trees went on for miles before you, and it set fear into your muscles.

Mei.

Just then, you gained the memory of the crash. The shutting down of the engine, a hole being blown into the side of the aircraft, the screaming and wailing—you crashed in the woods, but where? You were in a fucking plane crash!

“Mei!” You called for her, rasping, attempting to stand to your feet. You wobbled, scratching your sore throat. But, as you pivoted on your feet, you didn’t have to search far for your seat buddy. Your eyes widened at the sight, lips parting to erupt a horrified shriek.

Her body was strung up, caught in thick branches. Her warm, hazel eyes were wide open, frozen in a state of fear—looking at you. A branch was impaling her chest, propping her body up like a piece of meat on a skewer. It was the same branch that your seat was attached to; the one you fell from.

Your hands covered your mouth in horror, falling back onto your knees. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…” You chanted, leaning into the ground, rocking your body to soothe yourself. Not that it was working. If you could climb the tree to take her down, you wouldn’t have enough strength to pry her from the branch. You couldn’t help her.

Then, the thought of everyone else flooded your mind. “Oh, my God— Ellie…” You whined, wiping your face that was getting covered in more dirt by the second. If something had happened to her… You wouldn’t know what to do. You’ve never been one for suicidal thoughts, but the idea would entice you.

For a moment, you couldn’t help but panic, imagining the worst. What if she was the one strung up like Mei—you wouldn’t be able to take it. The image of that flashed behind your eyelids, causing a cry to emit from your lips. Please, don’t be dead.

The smell of smoke and gas wafted into your nostrils, causing you to sit up. It must’ve been the plane.

Boom!

The sound of an explosion startled you, but it sounded close by. You refused to be alone—out in the middle of nowhere—so, you straightened up. You stood to your feet, dusting the dirt from your shorts. With a final glance to the fallen Mei, you pressed your fingers to your lips, sending a kiss her way. I’m sorry. Internally, you made a promise to never forget her because that was all you could do. She succumbed to one of her greatest fears—what a tragic way to meet one’s end.

However, you had a team to locate, despite the looming temptation of death looking you right in the eye—for the sake of self-preservation, and for the sake of proving to yourself that you weren’t alone in the torture that was the grief nesting inside of you.

taglist: @sawaagyapong, @violetszn, @vxsellie, @vahnilla, @cherryvinyl-777, @aphrodyk3, @lovinglynny.

[wirewitchviolet]

Let's talk about how Ranma is trans in the 2024 anime, part 1

Way the hell back in 2018, after a random exchange with a friend, I sat down and wrote a series of four blog posts where I looked at the manga Ranma ½, which ran from 1988 to 1996, explicitly through a lens where I assumed the protagonist is in fact a trans girl. A major component of the series being that Ranma and several other characters fell into various pools in a cursed set of natural springs causing them to magically change into whatever tragically drowned in one when hit with cold water, then back to their original body with hot, and Ranma fell in the girl one, so it was bound to be a series that would crack a lot of eggs regardless, but my memory of reading it years before transitioning was that it worked on a mundane level too, particularly later. I did somehow forget a bit towards the end where Ranma honestly just kinda straight up comes out of the closet, but I'm not going to link to that panel yet again for the sake of preview links not blending together. Anyway, those posts were already the most popular things I ever put on this blog and have never stopped circulating, despite it being a pretty old and largely forgotten series at the time.

I had always had the idea that I really should go back and also watch the anime adaptation(s) of Ranma, which deviates a good bit from the manga, but that is 161 episodes, 3 movies, and 11 OAVs which are terribly terribly paced, and I don't actually get paid for this. But then lo and behold, here's a brand new anime adaptation coming out decades later, looking really nice, and surely that will deviate even more from the source material, so here I am diving in to find all new bits of gender stuff to talk about, under the fold here and-

Oh. Turns out the new anime series is actually an EXTREMELY faithful adaptation of the original manga and the only deviations I've actually noticed are that there's a little bit less nudity and the one scene with Ranma's breasts fully on display goes the route of not drawing nipples. And really that's only significant because the original anime adaptation somehow got away with that one. Speaking of the original anime run, this adaptation brings back the entire surviving voice cast, and continues the tradition of coloring Ranma's hair red in cold-water form as an extra tell for the audience. And speaking of color, one thing this adaptation does now and then that I really appreciate is punctuating certain scenes with the sort of cool pastel palettes (see above) that were used for the cover illustrations of the original manga.

Another thing the 2024 anime does is throw in a quick little vignette before the opening credits of each episode to restate that Ranma and Akane are engaged, and the feminizing water thing, which mostly feels like it's there as just a little extra emphasis that regardless of all the other shenanigans going on, those two are the one actual couple and making it clear that the rest of the tangled web of crushes and obsessions don't really matter. Something I feel like this adapatation is keen to emphasize in general. In fact, being as nearly 1 to 1 an adaptation as it is, the title of every episode is directly lifted from the chapter names of the manga, so we can just slap together a little infographic and see what's getting compressed a bit and what's getting the time it needs to breathe!

We're chewing through the extended fight scenes pretty quick and slowing down any time Akane's having an emotional moment or some time in the spotlight basically. Which makes sense since the action scenes in the manga are like all full page splash images with a word of text and need to be flowing quickly, and because we have the benefit of hindsight knowing that the Kunos become irrelevant real quick. We're also squeezing out a little early identity crisis stuff for Ranma in the process (there's an early dream sequence after first meeting Kuno, coming to grips with the whole "since I'm a girl, dudes want to sleep with me" realization that barely makes it in and a few early moments of internalized misogyny that get dropped), and we really give Shampoo's debut some space (not QUITE as much as the above suggests, most of episode 10 is wrapping up a three parter on the ice skating with her just punching through the wall as a cliffhanger at the end).

The whole thing is also paced out to nicely cover the first four volumes of the manga, out of 38. They might up the compression rate a little, but as it stands, it's going to take another 8 or 9 seasons to get through everything at this rate. In comparison, my first blog post got through three times this much of it, but the original anime covered only the first half of this in the same episode count (and then for some reason introduced Shampoo and Mousse early and didn't get through the ice skating until episode 27).

Anyway, like I said, this doesn't really change things up enough to have a lot to say about how clearly Ranma is trans. Jumping back to the start though yet again, it really cannot be emphasized enough though just how clearly, even from the very first episode, she is SO much more comfortable presenting as a girl, not at all nervous meeting Akane's family like that, then suddenly super tense and awkward and closed off when interacting with... really anyone while boy-moding. So I guess it's time to bust out some of these other lenses to look at this...

Let's talk about how Akane is gay, part 1

I mean, we've established she's into Ranma, with extra emphasis in this adaptation, and we've established that Ranma is in fact a girl, but that's just the one data point. What else do we have? Well, she's quite explicitly not a fan of guys, particularly guys who are attracted to her, and we're keeping plenty of a focus on that while not wasting time trying to pretend Kuno matters at all in the grand scheme of things. The closest she ever comes to showing interest in a guy is Dr. Kuno, and the anime here is strongly emphasizing how that's less of a real crush and more just emulating her oldest sister (Nabiki of course is also some flavor of queer, and I don't think anyone has ever questioned that) since that's kinda what you do, right? She also gets intensely jealous of the idea of Shampoo kissing Ranma while assuming Ranma is a girl, talks about how hot she is, and hell, at the start of things when everyone's assuming they've somehow gotten into a situation where one of the three sisters has to marry a cis girl, Nabiki points out how that works out perfectly for her. Because she is extremely gay.

Let's talk about how Ryoga is trans, part 1

OK so this isn't the same absolute slam dunk as Ranma turned out to be, but there is a surprisingly strong case to argue that Ryoga is also a trans girl. What do we know about Ryoga after all? Real real socially awkward. Only has one sorta-friend from childhood, who turned out to be trans later. Can we call Ryoga a furry? I'm not even talking about the pig curse, but there's this whole feral wolf vibe before that's even established. In a series where basically every guy who is ever introduced is a horny creep obsessed with rigid gender roles, Ryoga does not bat an eye at seeing women naked (which comes up oddly often), spends a lot of these early arcs hanging out with the gal pals to help practice gymnastics and skating, deals well enough with the pink heart collar and being called Charlotte, and like so many of us, Ryoga is introduced to the series indignantly sputtering about how Ranma's situation shouldn't really be called a curse and is a situation we'd be happy to be in. You could argue that Ryoga's saying this just relative to the pig curse, I guess, but I do at least get the vibe that Ryoga wouldn't be too super worried about finding hot water with that one.

Speaking of the pig curse, I feel like every time I revisit Ranma I have a different perspective on the whole "P-Chan" situation. With this adaptation, it does feel significantly closer to "it's really just this super awkward situation where I've been looking for a good moment to explain and at this point it's been so long she'll probably kill me" than "I am a loathsome sex offender using a disguise to snuggle up with this girl who thinks I am a small animal" and Ranma is doing an appropriate amount of "I'm not going to blurt it out, but you should seriously come clean already" so, glad to know we're downplaying that.

Also, the emphasis on Ranma and Akane as The Couple in this adaptation really makes it clear that Ryoga isn't so much into Akane as just kinda... incapable of conceiving of any sort of existence that doesn't involve being Ranma's rival/friend/polycule member.

Anyway, I guess that's where I have to leave this until the second season drops? Have a patreon link?

[whorediaries-09]

touch me, not feel me;

pairing- priest!sirius black x virgin!reader warning(s)- 18+ content, corruption, dark (demonic?) themes. a/n- please this is so filthy it's got my pussy throbbing like crazyyyyyy. please let me know if you'd like more parts to this hehe. also this isn't strictly a standalone, but it's better if you read it after the first one.

part one

the diner

sirius stood at the pulpit, his tall, imposing figure silhouetted against the stained glass windows. the colored light cast an ethereal glow over his high cheekbones, sharp jaw, porcelain skin, making him appear almost otherworldly as he gazed out over the congregation. he could feel your presence among the faithful, could sense your eyes on him, with a fervor that set his skin prickling.

he had always been a man of intense emotions, a soul that felt too deeply for the confines of the mortal world. it was this very intensity that had drawn him to the life of a priest, seeking a higher purpose, a way to channel the dark forces that raged within him. and yet, it was also this same intensity that had led him to temptation, to the sinful delights of the flesh.

sirius' gaze drifted over the sea of faces, his piercing gray eyes seem to linger on your for a moment longer than was strictly proper. he could see the way you watched him, your eyes wide and shining with a devotion that went beyond the merely spiritual. it was a look he had seen before, in the heated moments of passion, as he had claimed your body and made it his own.

he cleared his throat his deep voice echoing through the cavernous space as he began his sermon. the words flowed from him, a lyrical and poetic invocation of faith and redemption. he spoke of the struggles of the soul, of the battle between light and darkness that raged within every human heart. and yet, even as he preached of the virtues of righteousness, he could feel the demon within him stir, whispering sinful temptations in the depths of his mind.

'but i say to you,' he intoned, his voice rising to a fervent crescendo, 'whoever looks at anyone with lust has already committed adultery with them in their heart. if your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. it is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into the fire of hell.'

as he spoke those words, sirius could feel the weight of his own hypocrisy settle heavily upon his shoulders. for had he not himself looked upon you with lust, had he not already committed adultery with you, in his heart, a thousand times over?

his eyes locked onto yours, a jolt of dark electricity passing between you as your gazes collided. he could see the wicked, knowing grin spreading across your face, a smirk that spoke of shared secrets and intimate knowledge. it was a look that set his blood ablaze, that stirred the embers of his desire into a raging inferno.

for a moment, sirius forgot where he was, forgot the dozens of eyes watching him expectantly, waiting for his divine words. the world narrowed down to just the two of you, the sinful priest and his fallen angel, bound together by a web of carnal sin and forbidden lust.

he could feel the demon within him roar to life, clawing at the chains of his faith, desperate to be unleashed. it whispered to him, urging him to cast aside the shackles of his vows, to take you then and there, to claim them in front of god and all the faithful servants. to show them all the true nature of the man beneath the robes, the man who had been consumed by the very temptation he now preached against.

sirius swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he tore his gaze away from yours. he could feel the heat of a blush staining his cheeks, a telltale sign of his shameful arousal. he gripped the sides of the pulpit, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to regain his composure.

'let's pray,' he said, his voice strained and tight. 'let us all pray for the strength to resist the temptations of the flesh, to turn away from the path of sin and walk instead in the light of righteousness."

but even as the words left his mouth, father black knew it was too late. he was already lost, already fallen, already ruined for all others. and as he bowed his head in prayer, he could feel your eyes on him still, your wicked grin burning into his very soul.

****

as the last notes of the final hymn faded away, sirius quickly made his way out of the sanctuary, his heart pounding in his chest. he could feel your presence behind him, could sense your eyes on his back, burning into him like a brand. he knew you were following him, knew you were eager for a moment alone, a chance to continue the sinful dance they had begun.

father black slipped into his private chambers, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind him with a sense of finality. he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the tumult of emotions that raged within him. but before he could even begin to collect himself, he heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching, the rustle of fabric against fabric, and then the door was opening once more and you stood there, before him with a wicked, knowing smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

'father,' you purr, your voice low and sultry, dripping with sinful promise. 'such a moving sermon. it seemed to me that your words held a special...meaning. a hidden message, perhaps, meant only for these eyes.' you stepped closer, your hips swaying with each step, the very picture of temptation made flesh.

sirius' breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged bird desperate for freedom. he knew he should rebuke you, should cast you out of his chambers and into the cold, harsh light of day. but he could not bring himself to do so. instead, he found himself drinking in the sight of you, his eyes roaming over your curves like a starving man presented with a feast.

'my child,' he said, his voice a low, strained rasp. 'you play a dangerous game, coming here like this. do you not know the temptations that plague me, the demons that i battle daily? the very same demons that i preached against mere moments ago?'

he took a step towards you, his eyes blazing with a feverish intensity. 'or perhaps...you are here to help me give in to those temptations? to be the instrument of my downfall, the sinful temptation that will lead me straight to the gates of hell?' father black's hand reached out, his fingers hovering just shy of touching your cheek.

'yes father,' you whisper, your steps slow. your shoes squeak against the polished tile of the floor with. 'neither of us deserve anything but hell. so why resist the temptation anymore? you were born to be a demon. and i was born to be a fallen angel. your sweet fallen angel, father.'

sirius control snapped like a frayed rope, your words striking a chord deep within his tortured soul. with a low, almost feral growl, he surged forward, one hand tangling in your hair as the other gripped your hip and yanked your body against his own. he could feel every curve, every soft swell and dip, pressing against the hard planes of his own frame. the contrast was electrifying, the union of opposites that set his blood ablaze with a hunger that could not be sated.

'you're right, my sweet, little angel,' he captured your lips in a searing, bruising kiss, pouring all the pent-up passion and forbidden desire into the fierce meeting of mouths. his tongue delved deep, claiming every inch of the warm, wet cavern, tangling with yours in a dance as old as time itself. he could taste the sweetness of your surrender, the ambrosia of a soul yielded up to sin.

'please father,' you breathe, pulling away, your knees heavy, wobbly, 'let me worship you. let me worship my demon. teach me,'

father black shuddered, a dark thrill racing down his spine at your wanton plea. he could feel the last of his resistance crumbling away, the final traces of his vows dissolving like mist beneath the scorching heat of his desire. in that moment, he knew he could no longer deny the truth of what you were - a demon and his fallen angel, two lost souls destined to be entwined in eternity.

'very well, my sweet child," he growled, his voice low and rough with barely restrained hunger. 'i shall allow you to worship your demon. i shall let you kneel before me and offer up the praise that only a true disciple can provide.'

with a sudden, sharp tug, he pulled you down to your knees, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly. he could feel the tremor that ran through your body at his touch, the way your bones seemed to melt and mold against the unyielding strength of his fingers.

'but know this,' he began, his piercing gaze boring into yours, 'when you take my cock into your mouth, you are not merely worshipping me. you are sealing your fate. you are binding yourself to me for all eternity, now and forevermore. there will be no turning back, no escaping the devil's grasp.'

he could see the way your eyes widened, the flicker of fear and exhilaration that played across your face. he knew that you understood the gravity of the moment, the irrevocable nature of the choice you were about to make.

'so I ask you again, angel,' he said, his voice a low, sinful rumble, 'are you ready to be mine? to be my own personal fallen angel, now and for all the days of your life? to take your demon's cock and drink down his sin?'

'yes father,' you nodded, moving closer, your face inches away from his crotch. 'i want to worship you, my demon. i want to be your fallen angel, your devout. your disciple in the path of lust,'

sirius shuddered with dark satisfaction at your eager, breathless affirmation. he could see the desperate, almost manic lust shining in your eyes, the way you gazed up at him with a worshipful fervor that bordered on religious zealotry. it was a look he had seen before, in the fevered gazes of the damned and the lost, those poor souls who had given themselves over completely to the temptations of the flesh.

'very well, my sweet little disciple,' he purred, his voice a low, sinful rumble. 'i shall teach you the ways of demonic worship, the secrets of pleasing your demon. but first, you must learn to venerate the instrument of your salvation.'

with that, he reached down and unfastened his robes, the heavy fabric parting to reveal the thick, throbbing length of his cock. It jutted out, angry and red and already glistening with the first beads of his sinful essence. he could feel it pulsing with a life of its own, the demonic heart beating at the core of his being.

'kiss it,' he commanded, his hand fisting in your hair, forcing your face closer to his straining erection. 'show your demon the depths of your devotion, the way you will serve and pleasure him for all eternity.'

he could feel your hot breath ghosting over his sensitive flesh, the way your lips parted eagerly, ready to receive the first taste of hellfire. he ground his hips forward, rubbing the leaking head of his cock against the soft, pliant skin of your mouth, marking you with his scent, his essence.

'that's it, my sweet child," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, of denying his own desperate need. 'worship your demon as only a true believer can. take him into your mouth and let him fill you, body and soul.'

he could feel the first tentative brush of your lips against his aching flesh, the soft, shy caress of a neophyte. but he knew it would not remain so for long - he would see to that. he would teach you to take him deeply, to swallow him down to the hilt and beg for more. he would make you a true disciple of sin, a servant of the demon.

'please father,' you began, your lips trail over his slightly trembling thighs, as you beg, to teach you. 'please, show me. show me how to worship you,'

sirius groaned, a deep, guttural sound that rumbled through his chest as your soft lips brushed against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. he could feel the ghost of your touch lingering, the phantom pressure of your mouth a brand against his flesh. it was a delicious torment, a sweet anticipation of the pleasure to come.

'such an eager little disciple you are,' he purred, his voice a low, sinful rasp. 'so hungry to learn the ways of demonic worship, so desperate to please your demon. i will revel in your education, my sweet angel. i will take great joy in corrupting your innocence and shaping you into the perfect vessel for my sinful desires."

he guided your head lower, his fingers threading through your hair and applying a steady, insistent pressure. he could feel the heat of your breath against his aching cock, the way it jumped and throbbed with each shallow puff and exhale. he was painfully hard, the thick shaft of his cock flushed a deep, angry red and glistening with the copious amounts of pre-cum that leaked from the swollen, purplish head.

'offer me a deathless death, father,' you whisper. it's a plea. a fervent, delirious plea. one that makes sirius shudder, a dark thrill running down his spine.

he could feel the desperate, manic energy radiating off your trembling form, the way you clung to him like a drowning soul grasping at a lifeline. it was a chilling reminder of the power he held over you, the complete and total control he had seized over your heart, their mind, their very soul.

'a deathless death, you say?' he murmured, his voice a low, sinful purr. 'is that truly what you desire, my sweet child? to be bound to me for all eternity, to live and die a thousand times in service to your demon?'

he tangled his fingers more tightly in your hair, wrenching your head back to force you to meet his piercing, hypnotic gaze. he could see the feverish, almost fanatical light burning in your eyes, the way you stared at him with a worshipful adoration that bordered on madness.

'you must understand, my dear, that a deathless death is not a gentle or merciful thing. it is an endless cycle of pleasure and pain, of rapture and agony, of ecstasy and despair. you will be pushed to the very brink of what you can endure, again and again and again, for all of time immemorial. you will scream for mercy, for release, for an end to your torment...but there will be no mercy. no release. no end.'

father black leaned down, his face hovering mere inches from yours, his breath a searing brand against your skin.

'you will be my plaything, my toy, my instrument of sin for all eternity. i will use you as i see fit, in whatever way pleases me. i will fill you with my seed, my essence, my very being, until there is nothing left of you but the shell of a creature bound to my will. is that truly the fate you wish for yourself, angel? to be forever and always the demon's bride, the devil's wife, the fallen angel of his own twisted desires?'

he could see the way your chest heaved with each ragged, desperate breath, the way your lips parted as if to speak. but no words came, only a thin, choked whimper that spoke of a soul already lost, a heart already claimed.

'please father,' you begged, 'i want that. i want to be nothing but your bride, your fallen angel. please, father, i'll worship you at the shrine of your sins. be my incubus, father.'

father black's eyes flashed with a dark, triumphant light at your fervent declaration. he could feel the victory surging through his veins, the heady rush of power and domination that came with claiming such a willing, eager soul. it was a intoxicating sensation, one that set his blood alight with a hunger that could never be sated.

'very well, my sweet angel,' he growled, his voice a low, sinful rumble. 'i accept your offer, your vow of eternal devotion. from this moment forth, you are mine - my bride, my fallen angel, my plaything forevermore. i will take you, ruin you, and remake you in my own twisted image, again and again and again, for all the days of your deathless, unending life.'

'open your mouth for me, my fallen angel,' he commanded, his voice a low, sinful growl. 'wider, my love...i want to feel the back of your throat, want to see those pretty lips stretched wide around my cock as i plunge into the hot, welcoming depths of your mouth.'

with a single, brutal thrust of his hips, father black buried himself to the hilt in his bride's eager maw, the thick, swollen head of his member slamming against the back of your throat, cutting off your air and your protests alike. he could feel you gagging, choking, struggling to accommodate his girth and length as he began to piston in and out of your face, his heavy balls slapping lewdly against your chin with each savage thrust.

'that's it, my fallen angel," he panted, his breath coming hard and fast as he used you mercilessly, ruthlessly. 'take it, angel, take every fucking inch of your father's cock, like a good little bride. this is what you were made for, what you crave...to be used, to be claimed, to be fucked like the wanton whore you are.'

sirius could feel his climax building, the hot, electric zing of impending release shooting up his spine like a bolt of lightning. he drove into his bride's throat with renewed fervor, his grip on your hair tightening, his hips slamming against your face with brutal, punishing force.

'fuck, i'm going to fill your whore throat with my seed, pump you full of my holy fucking cum...drink it down, you filthy girl...drink down every last fucking drop,'

as his words washed over you, a sense of pure, unadulterated bliss and belonging consumed you. being used so roughly, so thoroughly, in the way you had begged and pleaded for; it was everything you had ever wanted, everything your soul had yearned for in the darkest recesses of your mind. each brutal thrust of your father's glorious cock into your throat, each cruel slap of his heavy balls against your face, only served to fuel the raging inferno of your desire, the all-consuming need to be claimed, to be owned, to be possessed by the man you loved more than life itself.

you could feel the thick, hot, pungent essence of his arousal flooding your senses, the musky scent and salty taste of his flesh, the way it coated your tongue and the back of your throat, choking you, gagging you, forcing you to fight for each desperate breath as he fucked into your face with reckless abandon. the pain and the pleasure, the agony and the ecstasy, it was all one and the same, a delicious torment that you reveled in, that you craved, that you knew she had been born to endure in the name of your love.

ss father black's climax approached, you felt the heavy, pulsing throb of his shaft growing more urgent, more insistent, the way it jerked and shuddered in the tight, sucking clutch of your desperate throat. you could hear the ragged, animalistic sounds leaving your father's lips, the way his breathing grew more and more labored, more and more strained, until at last,

'fuck...FUCK! angel, take it, you filthy fucking whore, take it all, every last fucking drop, swallow it down, you cock-hungry slut, FUCK!'

the first molten spurts of his release erupted over your tongue, flooding your mouth, scalding your throat, choking you with the sheer volume and intensity of it. you could only gag and sputter and choke as sirius' seed pumped into you in thick, creamy ropes, the bitter, salty taste of it filling your senses, the heat and the weight and the sheer overwhelming abundance of it threatening to drown you utterly.

but even as you struggled to swallow it all, to obey her father's cruel but loving command, you could feel a sense of profound peace and fulfillment washing over you. this was your purpose, your destiny, the reason you were born and bred and shaped and molded to be the woman you were today, to be the vessel for your beloved father's pleasure, the wellspring of his dark and eternal rapture.

you knew that you would spend the rest of your days, the rest of your life, the rest of your deathless existence, striving to be worthy of the love and devotion and unholy passion that your father held for you. you would be his bride, his angel, his fallen temptress; his, now and forevermore.

with a final, guttural roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth, father black hilted himself deep in your spasming throat, the last shuddering spurts of his release painting your insides white. you could feel his pulsing cock throbbing against your tongue, his heavy balls churning and clenching as they emptied themselves of every last drop of holy seed into your greedy, sucking mouth, marking you, claiming you, branding you as his own eternal bride and possession.

you could only whimper and mewl around the thick, throbbing flesh that stuffed your mouth and stretched your lips obscenely, your eyes rolling back in bliss as you felt the hot, sticky essence of your father's love painting your insides, painting your soul, painting your very being with the indelible mark of his dark and sacred rite.

as the final, shuddering waves of his climax ebbed away, he slowly, almost reluctantly, withdrew his softening cock from your abused and dripping mouth. you saw the strands of your saliva and his seed connecting you, stretching and thinning before breaking altogether as he pulled back, his breath still coming in harsh, ragged gasps.

'my sweet, sweet, angel," he murmured, his voice a low, sated rumble, his eyes glinting with a dark, possessive light as he gazed down at his bride's disheveled and debauched form. 'my fallen angel, my sinful temptress, my perfect and beautiful bride...you have taken your father's cock and his seed like the wanton, loving wife you were always meant to be.'

father black reached down, his fingers cupping your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense, burning gaze. with his thumb, he wiped away the tears and the drool and the sticky remnants of his release that clung to your cheeks and lips, his touch almost tender, almost gentle, almost, but not quite. for even in this moment of post-coital bliss, there was still a dark and hungry edge to his caress, a silent promise of the endless pleasures and depravities that awaited you both.

'rise, my love,' he commanded softly, his other hand reaching down to help you on your her feet, to pull your trembling, pliant body against his own. 'rise, and know that you are mine, now and forever, my angel, my bride, my eternal and beloved wife.'

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taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

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BYE WHY IS THIS SO LONG 💀

[sinning-23]

Publicity Pt.7

Warnings: fighting, swearing, smoking, y/n can fight and Paula can too apparently, bathroom stall? makeout, cunnilingus, proper use of a tooth gap, hair pulling, crying and cumming but also crying cause you’re drunk, multiple orgasms, unprotected (wrap it up sluts), confirmed relationship, drunk sex? kinda? tipsy? IDK-

A/N: So this chapter is a hot mess and maybe 2D and y/n finally have that much needed discussion about what they are before shit gets any worse. I HOPE YALL ENJOY? SORRY THIS ONE TOOK ME A BIT-

P.S this one is for the 2018/2017 rap girlies (#raesremmurd, #migos, #y/n shakes ass)

Link to:

Publicity Pt.5

Publicity Pt.6

Enjoy!

“Baddie baddie shot o’clockkkk!” You slur, a wide smile over your face and Noddle giggles all the same.

The bass was booming, and the strobe lights of the club made the slight shimmer in the dress Noodle lent you shine like stars. At least that’s how you felt now 7 shots deep.

You feel so much lighter, an air of confidence and calm washing over you as liquor fills your system.

"Gotta hand it to Murdoc, not a bad idea coming out tonight," You admit with a slight smirk.

You can feel a set of eyes burning into you as you raise the next dark brown shot to your lips. He's watching you, standing against the wall across the way as Paula talks his ear off.

2D's disinterested though, a cigarette hanging from his lips as you swallow down the liquid. Your tongue slips out to lick your lips clean. He faintly shakes his head, briefly looking at Paula, who had stopped talking to sneer at you.

That shot was well earned, especailly after the car ride had you really pushing your limits.

-2 hours ago in the car-

You finally sit back, releasing your grip on the seatbelt as the radio plays. You feel your phone vibrate, the message from Noodle making you sigh.

🍜: I’m about to cuss him out,, why the fuck is she on his lap?!?!

With how hard you rolled your eyes you’re surprised you didn’t see the back of your skull,

Reply: Don’t know, don’t care. I’ll be too drunk to gaf in about 10 minutes

Paula leans foreward, making eye contact with you.

“So, you get around- I mean, get out a lot y/n?” She asks, your blood already boiling but you pride yourself on remaining calm.

“Don’t need to. Get around I mean, I usually can stay faithful to one person.” You hum, hearing noodle choke back a laugh.

“You seem to though, get around?” You speak again, Russel looking at you from the rear view mirror.

It’s a warning of sorts. He knows a fight is bound to break out at any moment. 2D huffs out a laugh which he covers with the clear of his throat.

“‘Scuse me? I-.” Paula’s got this grimace on her face, and the look is making you feel slightly better.

“Oh no you misunderstand. I meant you party often?" You hum, seeing her eye twitch.

The car parks, each of you stepping out and easily walking through the entrance. You can feel eyes on you, but you can’t tell who’s. Russel's because of the caride, Murdoc, because he knows whatever schemes he's got going is working, or 2D...because he can see just how pretty you look in that dress.

It doesn’t matter.

-Currently-

If someone didn’t scoop you up and toss you over their shoulder soon, you would surely be knocked out at the booth Murdoc swindled somehow. Speaking of which? That slimy fucker was nowhere to be seen, having eyes on this little blonde thing that walked in when you all arrived.

You knock back another, and the liquid starts to taste more and more like water.

“Listen, we need to go dance before we- oh my god y/n, LISTEN!” Noodle gasps, her hand grabbing your shoulder as you pause to try and hear better, eyebrows knitting together in focus.

The beat is somewhat ominous, the vocals coming in low at first over the crowd but you catch it, that bass hitting with the lyrics

Rack city bitch

Rack rack city bi-

You’ve never hopped out of your chair quicker, stumbling a bit but gripping Noodle's wrist as you both giggle wildly. The floor had filled up with several people each finding their own space to dance. You can't help the way your hips roll with each vibration of bass, your hands coming to rest on your knees.

The room is spinning, palms coming to hold your waist as you complete a successful body roll. You hope they're his, but you know it's not deep down. They don't feel like his. Don't rub little circles on your waist like he would.

Don't grip like his do.

The flash of cameras catches you off guard but again, you're too drunk to care. The media team would have to deal with it later.

"Damn mama, I didn't know you could do all that." The stranger speaks, your mind blocking his face out.

It didn't matter who he was...because he wasn't D.

"Yeah, anyway, Noodle?" You call, feeling yourself become irritated the longer he speaks.

"What's your deal, I'm tryna talk to you?" He scoffs, but you simply look through him in hopes of seeing Noodle's round glasses.

No luck.

"Okay, I don't care. I'm looking for my friend so move." You scoff back, pushing past him in a bit of a drunken haze.

The stranger smacks his lips and its also a miracle he doesn't make a bigger deal of the situation. You stumble to a wall, head spinning as you take a breath. Yeah that was fun but...it would've been better if it was him.

You curse yourself, looking around, your stomach sinking at the feeling of being alone. Noodle disappeared, Murdoc was gone, Russel, you couldn't even remember where the booth was...and 2D......

2D was probably being seduced by that wicked woman Paula and maybe she was sucking the fuckin soul out of him. Your eyes sting, the lump in your throat working its way out in small sobs as your eyes fill with tears.

Crying in the club? Seriously?

You try to hide in the darkened corner, trying not to ruin your makeup as your heart aches. You shuffle to the bathroom, drunken ladies much like yourself offering you comfort as you try to fix your melted mascara and eyeliner.

The washroom empties, leaving you alone in from of the mirror, overstimulated and ready to leave.

"Are you seriously crying right now?" She speaks, an amusement of sorts lacing her tone.

Paula stands at the sink beside you, applying a fresh coat of deep red lipstick.

"I mean, I would be too if I thought I had a chance at something serious with Stupot." She hums, mater-of-factly.

You can feel your fists balling up at your sides, the sober self-restraint you had dwindling.

"What's your problem? Why are you being such a vicious bitch!? You don't even know me!" You argue, stepping to her as she does the same, quite skilled at making you feel small.

"Honestly, I couldn't care less about you. But Stu, I think I got another chance with 'im. Murdoc seems to think so, and I want my spot in this band back." She admits, your eyes scanning her with rage.

"So you come and squeeze your ass where it doesn't fit? Didn't you want to go after Murdoc in the first place?" You rage, fists still clenched with the last, dwindling ounce of restraint you have left.

"I can have em' both. Stu is a lil.. well let's be honest daft, and Murdoc knows exactly what I wan' an' how to give it to me."

Your knuckles turn white.

"I doubt he'll make me leave the band, he's desperate." She explains, backing up from the mirror, and flashing a smile.

You're at a loss for words, anger boiling within you. Paula walks out, the click of her heels echoing down the hall. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. It's almost as if your reflection speaks to you.

"You're just gonna let that slide? Go fuck her up y/n."

You didn't need to be told twice, your strides were quick and focused, and the only thing on your mind was to wind up and let her have it. You spot her at the bar, her head turning towards you as your palm pulls back.

Whatever drink she had in her mouth went flying out.

She stumbles, reaching for a fistful of your hair and you yelp, taking each punch she throws while she drags you onto the main floor.

The flashes of cameras and the sounds of Nicki Minaj blaring only stimulate you more as you use your leg to kick her off you. Your arm swings full force, landing almost helicopter-like punches as you chant swears, your knuckles becoming bruised.

You can feel your eye pulsing and blood trickle down your lip.

Paula manages to flip you, her fist back in your hair as she lands more punches. Between heaves of 'Bitch, bitch, bitch" and "let me go hoe", the two of you hash it out and are way far less sophisticated than you anticipated.

-moments before disaster-

Stuart sits in the booth, cheek resting again on this palm as music booms through the club. He wasn't sure where you were, that was his biggest concern. Earlier he'd seen you sprint to the floor to dance and some dude had managed to wedge his way to you.

Yeah, it pissed him off but...was he really allowed to be upset right now? You two...weren't in an established relationship. He said he had feelings for you but that was it. Then Paulal showed up and things just felt tense.

The car ride pissed him off, why Paula decided to sit herself where you belonged, he didn't know. However. before he could protest you were already entering the car. He wanted to die right then and there, the look of utter irritation and betrayal written on your face made his heart sink.

And now, you're nowhere to be found...probably with that guy you were dancing with... He perks up at the sound of swearing, something that sounds like confrontation. The crowd seems to swarm to one spot and he can hear your voice, raging and heaving.

"BITCH! GET UP! GET UP!"

Russel, who had been sitting at the booth with him, was already getting up to go separate you from your opponent. He squeezes his way past, spotting both you and Paula beat up, the fight looking to have been pretty fair. The brunette's hair was knotted, red lipstick smudged, and glasses cracked. He doesn't know what to feel, tugging your back as you spit more insults through gritted teeth, lunging to attack her again as she does the same.

-currently-

You're unsure of who won because both of you were being pulled apart by either security or a stranger who just wanted to finish dancing and drinking.

"Wha' happened?!" 2D gasp, tugging you away as you spit blood at her feet, animosity clouding your vision.

"I'm sick of her ass that's what happened. She's a fuckin snake D." You explain, lurching forward as she shoots you a blood-filled smirk.

"Sure am you sleazy twat!" She seethes back, rage flashing in your eyes before you're pulled back again.

You're being dragged away faster than you can process, adrenaline still rushing through your veins as your knuckles twitch. You look up, only seeing a mess of blue hair.

Your stomach drops when you reach a neutral bathroom and when the door clicks locked.

"...D, I-I'm sorry I-"

"Stop. You go' a busted lip" He speaks shortly, running multiple paper towels under the faucet before ringing them out and approaching you.

The lights are dim and, your body beginning to ache now. The cold paper towel meets your lip and you avoid eye contact, silently awaiting something, anything.

"She fucking evil." You whisper, looking down at your shoes, only to have him lift your chin.

"You beat 'er pretty good though," He hums, taking care to not apply too much pressure.

Your head is still fuzzy, the room having a slight spin.

"I did? I was running on whiskey and rage." You giggle, seeing him smile faintly.

"Yeah, I thin' thas' enough for you for tha' nigh'" He explains, a slight frown replacing the brief smile.

"Are we okay?" He asks finally, giving you whiplash almost.

"W-What do you mean? I mean...I don't know. We don't have a label for this and Paula's been all over you. You haven't seemed too much against having her again." You speak tone albeit quite bitter.

When you finally tear your gaze from the tile floor and look up, he's already staring at you, hurt. Fuck that look...those stupid pathetic puppy eyes. Like he was lost and the only guide was you.

"What? No, I.- again? Who told you we-?" He's got so many questions he can barely complete the sentences.

"Murdoc. And Noodle gave me the rest of the details, but that doesn't matter. You didn't even stick up for me. Or dismiss her... or I don't know. But that's not your responsibility because we're not together."

"Oh..." He states simply, brows furrowed just as much as yours now.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn' think you...I don' know I thought that maybe that was only a one-time thing and you didn' wan' me hangin' all over yo-"

"Why would I want that?! Dude, I literally told you I didn't want to mess up whatever this was and you told me you had feelings for me. I want you!" You burst, eyes wide at your confession.

"You do? Though' that' guy you was dancing with was takin' up your attention." He states almost as if you're playing him.

How many trust issues did this guy have?

"Yes Stu, why would I lie. Why would I fucking fight with her over you? I've literally never done that before. Ever. And I was just trying to make you jealous! Kept wishing it was you..." You explain, lifting your bruised knuckles whilst shaking your head in disbelief.

"I want you." You reitorate, eyes searching his. He's not thoroughly convinced almost, his pitch-black hues scanning yours for a hint of malice, maybe even dishonesty.

He finds none.

You can't help but cup his cheek, feeling kinda stupid for the events of the night but it didn't matter now. Like magnets, the two of you pull towards one another, pausing for reassurance between your lips meeting.

He doesn't hesitate to close the gap.

Sobering, you pull him closer, your fingers lacing through the hair at the back of his neck and he whines.

You can feel his body envelope yours, his own hand mimicking your movements, one hand at your waist while the other guides your kisses, each deepening by the second.

Neither of you bother to pull away for air, puffs of air hitting your face as you maneuver to grip the collar of his shirt.

"Here? N-Now? Right now?!" He asks in a huff, face flushed and red under the dim lighting.

"Fucking, yes. Now." You insist, eyebrows furrowed, you pop each button one by one.

"W-Wait no you're drunk,' He gulps, gripping your wrists.

What?! No no no! Why give you that kiss and get you all worked up as if you weren't running off adrenaline? A whine leaves your lips and you rest your forehead on his chest,

"A-A little but please? Please I need you." You whimper, the strap of your dress sliding down.

"Love, you're not...you need to sober up. And I don't thin' you wan' this in a bathroom stall." He explains, pressing a kiss to your temple.

No convincing this one. You sigh, nodding before standing and using him for support. Your phone dings in your dress's pocket and with another heavy sigh you answer.

3 missed calls 7 new messagess 🍜: Who was that guy you were dancing with??? 🍜: Hey whered you go? Missed call from 🍜 🍜: Hey girl where are you? I think Paula finally left D alone you should talk to him 🍜: Girl answer your phone! Missed call from 🍜 🍜 : Holy shit there's a figth?! Two chicks- 🍜 : OH my god that's you?! AND PAULA 🍜 : Where did you and D go? We're outside in the car we need to bounce asap! Missed call from 🍜

You blink hard, glancing up at 2D who’s got one arm around your waist, the other keeping you steady, holding your free hand with care.

“We gotta go. Like now. I think everyone’s in the car.” You whisper, feeling your head start to hurt.

He nods, planting another soft kiss to your temple.

“I know, jus’ focus on keepin’ your balance.” He explains, doing his best to keep you guys along the darkened walls of the club.

Just outside was the bullet-hole-filled Camaro. Inside are Noodle and Russel. Both of them sitting front seat. You stumble down the stairs and into the car with a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorryyyy.” You groan, reaching for Noodle's shoulder as she lets out a breath of relief.

“Girl don’t do that again! I didn’t know where you were!” She scolds, gripping your hand with a scowl.

“I was looking for you but I couldn’t find you!” You explain, telling her about what had happened from the washroom all the way to the dance floor and the way up to the fight.

“About that, where’s Paula?” You ask, looking beside you as if she’d just appeared somehow.

“Quit I guess. Said she’s getting her stuff later and just caught a ride after you whooped her ass.” Noodle chuckles. Showing you clips of a video that was already posted on Instagram.

“Fuck, my media team is gonna kick my asss.” You huff, already thinking of what you’d be reprimanded for upon your arrival in New York.

You groan, eyes squeezing shut. You can feel 2D squeezing your hand, keeping you grounded as the car takes turns you won't quite remember by the morning. Speaking of which, you don't even quite remember how you got back to the studio so fast. Hell, you didn't even know how you got up the stairs and seated atop a soft mattress.

A mess of blue hair and a gentle touch remove your heels, each strap pulled off your sore ankles and feet before being set aside. He pulls bobby pins from your hair, each one clinking softly against the nightstand which held an ashtray and the blunt you two had smoked the prior.

Your head is clearing up now, at least a little and he raises a cup with a straw to your lips.

"You're treating me like a princess." You hum, using your free hand to cup his cheek.

He only smiles softly, setting the water aside before kissing you're forehead. What the fuck were you two? The dreaded forehead kiss?! You don't have time to question it because he's already out the door, reminding you that he'd be right back.

You swing your feet off the edge of the bed, the water helping keep whatever headache at bay.

It's dark, the only source of light being the faint glow of the bathroom. Standing, you clumsily walk to the bathroom, observing your state in the mirror, growing at the realization of how fucked your face was.

Mascara and eyeliner were smudged and melted over your eyelids, while the gloss you wore had long gone. In its place was a gash, dried blood surrounding the won't as you poke your lip out to inspect.

Glitter littered your cheeks and adorned the growing bruise there. Your eye's swelling had gone down so that was a plus... You sigh, looking briefly as 2D when he re-enters the room, catching your displeased look in the mirror.

"Got you some pajamas" He offers, offering a soft glace.

"Why don't you just let me wear one of your shirts?" You ask, pleading almost as he paused, but complies, guiding you back t the bed to sit.

He's careful, lifting your dress over your head, face flushing as the sight of your body. God you're just too pretty for your own good. There's a pause, the eye contact strong between the two of you and you cant help but crack first, your arms looping around his neck.

"Thank you, for taking care of me." You whisper, bodies melting together as he tugs this dress shirt of.

"Always. He states simply, your lips meeting again, and you can taste the remnants of a cigarette and butterscotch on his tongue.

The room is filled with soft gasps, mainly on your end as 2D practically caters to you, gauging your every move.

"Le' me make everythin' up to you darlin'" He states, not a question, more of a plea.

"Thought you said I was too drunk?" You recall, raising a accusatory brow.

"We're both drunk" He chuckles, the look in his eyes solely trained on you and filled with anticipation.

"I was jus tryin' t' be responsible'" He explains, seeing a slight grin take its place over your lips.

"Yeah right, drunk and responsible don't even go together." You huff, connecting your lips again as he happily accepts.

Downnn your neck he trails searng hot kisses, sences heightened by the last bit of alcohol still in your bloodstream

"Hey, you don't have to-"

"I want to, 'specially after everythin' yesterday and tonigh'." He explains, already at your waist, peppering kisses along the hem of your panties.

"You already made it clear I'm all you want...now it's my turn."

He nips at your thighs, the sting making you jolt.

Long, slender fingers curl over the waistband and tug the fabric swiftly down your thighs, over your knees, and off past your ankles. You can feel his breath just ghosting over your wetness, each puff of air sending a chill of anticipation down your spine.

He parts his lips, enveloping your folds with a slow, open-mouth kiss, taking time to close over your clit. You jolt again, this time a loud "Ah!" spilling past your lips. You can feel him smirk, and both hands come to rest against either of your thighs.

With brows knitted together in pleasure, 2D takes his chance to look at up at you from under his lashes.

So pretty.

Your head tiled back against the pillows, bruised knuckles turning white as you squeeze the sheets. It's almost impossible to look away as he eats you for all your worth. He particularly enjoys how your back arches off the mattress when he decides to push two fingers into you.

"FFFuck Stu, I-Im gonna cum," You speak breathlessly, more of a warning to him than anything.

"I know, can' feel you squeezin' down on me." He huff happily, curling his fingers in, up, and out again.

Its enough to snap the line of pressure that'd been building since he first slipped your dress off.

You lurch forward, hot, heavy moans rolling off your tongue in waves as he laps up your arousal, humming in satisfaction.

"So good love, you taste so good." He praises, peppering soft kisses over your core all the way back up to your lips.

Despite the exhaustion filling your body, you fight to keep going, still needing more.

Wanting more

"Need to feel you. Please, let me feel you." You beg desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue with each kiss.

"I know, I know love." He huffs, accent thick against your lip as he manages to slot himself between your legs, parted just enough to feel his bulge press against your sopping wet folds.

You've got a bruising grip on his shoulder, his lanky arm wrapping around your waist as he pushes his briefs down just enough to let his length spring free.

Still so pretty.

You're staring at it, mouth watering at the thought of having it in your mouth again. It's almost as if he can read your mind because, with a gap-toothed smirk, he captures your lips in a kiss just barely slipping the tip of his cock between your folds.

"Another time, f-fuck. Jus' le' me do this for you." He begs, whining mid-sentence at the contact.

He's warm against you, and you nod, eyes meeting his just before he pushes in.

The stretch, just as delicious as before has you sucking in a breath as he does the same. You're wrapped in one another, Your back against the pillows, arms slung around his neck now. 2D pulls your waist close, bare stomachs and chests touching as your legs wrap around his waist.

He rolls up into you, your bodies connected and burning.

"Yes, right there." You whine, burrying your makeup smudged face into his neck.

He huffs out a moan, back to gripping your waist with the hand that's wrapped around you. The other is tucked behind him, steadying himself with each upward roll of his hips.

"I've really got you this wet l-love?" He whimpers, each squelch sounding more vulgar than the last.

He rolls up hard this time, picking up his pace.

"Fuckkk yes, all you, all for you." You cry, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as he reaches the deepest parts of you.

Another thrust had your head tossing back, the moan tearing from your throat making him push again, lips kissing against your pulse. He sets a bruising pace, the echo of your bodies meeting over and over combined with the faint squeak of his bed.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry I- fuck don't stop," You whimper, feeling him shake his head against your neck, his mouth coming to envelop one of your nipples.

Your eyes water, tears spilling past your waterline from the sudden overwhelming guilt mixed with far too much pleasure it almost hurt.

"Don' you dare apologize righ' now. You jus' focus on feelin' good. Le' me make you feel good." He instructs, every word he speaks and every upward plunges into you sending you closer to your peak.

He kisses your tears away, moving his hand from your waist to stroke your hair lovingly.

You can feel him stutter, that same focused look on his face from before written all over his face. It's almost impossible to not look down and admire.

His face is flushed red, eyes almost closed. He's got this knot in the middle of his furrowed brows, mouth trying to find a place between slightly agape with whimpers and moans, or tucking his lower lip between his teeth.

"W-Wait, love I-need to pull-"

"Don't. Don't, just let me feel you, Stu, please." You whine, nails clawing at his back, his slender frame sitting so perfectly in your arms as he fights against his better judgment.

"Shit, y/n you can't just- oh fuck!" He groans, hips trying their best to keep pace, fighting off his own high.

"Please? I'll beg so pretty Stu."

"L-Love, I need you to say it. Say it and it's yours." He huff seriously, trying his best to keep a standard pace as to not throw you or himself over the edge too quickly.

He reached his fingers down to pinch your clit, a yelp leaving your lips as you fix them to ask exactly what you need

"Please cum in me."

It comes out as a breathless whimper, the stimulation of his thrusts mixed with his fingers and the overall tension sends your second orgasm of the night washing over you like a tidal wave, the crash trapping air in your lungs.

"Fuckkkkk yes." He whimpers, your mouths meeting once again, each sound of your releases swallowed up amongst passionate, sloppy kisses.

Heavy breaths and slow-paced thrusts only let you hear how absolutely soaked you are, 2D slowly pulling out of you. The thick ropes of cum slide down past your thighs, his length coated in you.

You're tangle with one another, lips coming back in contact with passionate firey kisses, each one softer and more loving than the last.

"Y/n," He begins, holding your face in his hands, black eyes searching yours, the tip of his nose touching yours.

"You mean so much more to me than jus' a fuck. I want you t' know tha'. An' I don' wan' you to think I'm sayin' this cause we uh..we just- anyway, will you to be my girlfrien'? Officially?" He states, panic written in his features.

It's like he was worried you'd reject him, despite having explained yourself and your feelings already.

Your heart races in your chest, eyes searching his.

This was what you wanted…so why were you so scared to accept it. The invitation of affection and adoration from the singer you'd fallen for in the span of a month you'd been working on this god-forsaken album.

After dealing with his fucking boss...and his evil ex-girlfriend, what you wished for had finally fallen into your lap, literally. And it was holding you, searching your reaction with panic.

Your heart twists and flutters at the thought of being involved...while your stomach churns with fear. What would this mean when it was all said and done...

With the album somewhat finished, you'd be shipped off to New York again at a moment's notice. You'd become strangers even. The paparazzi would get a hold of it and twist your relationship into something...Your mouth hangs open, fear lacing the response.

"Yes."

AN: Heyyyy so I made a little taglist fr some of you that seem to be really enjoying this story so far! Thank you so much for the love and support and I hope you guys are ready for the last few chapters ass I wrap this one up!

Mini taglist: @wolflikesmp100 @washed-up-and-feeling-blue

@bunbun007 @starfire21 @pop-tart0

[kckt88]

Imzadi V

Summary:

In the aftermath of Aemond winning the vote and being declared heir to the Iron Throne, Viserys reveals a secret and Lucaera discovers the truth.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Jealousy, Language, Marriage, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Oral Sex, Fingering, P in V, Knotting, Abandonment, Threats of Violence.

AEMOND x O.C NIECE

ALPHA/BETA/OMEGA DYNAMIC

Word Count: 7230

A.N - 'Imzadi - Beloved'

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @zenka69 @aemondsbabygirl @aphroditesblunt @iamtoriasworld @persephonerinyes

A heavy silence filled the Dragon pit, the weight of Viserys’ words pressing down on all gathered like a living thing.

Aemond barely breathed.

He had won. They had chosen him.

The realization crashed into him, stealing his breath. He had prepared himself for rejection, for another cruel slight in his father’s favour of Rhaenyra.

But the lords of Westeros had spoken, and they had chosen him.

For a moment, nothing happened. No one moved, no one spoke.

Then, a single clap echoed through the vast chamber. Another followed. Then another.

Within moments, the Dragon pit was filled with the sound of applause. Some clapped out of genuine support, others out of begrudging duty.

Regardless of their reasons, the decision was made, and Aemond Targaryen was now the named heir to the Iron Throne.

Aemond stood frozen, his singular violet eye wide, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. He had spent his entire life in Rhaenyra’s shadow, always second, always overlooked.

But now, he was the heir. The Iron Throne was within his grasp.

Lucaera squeezed his hand, but he barely registered it. He only stirred when she discreetly elbowed him in the ribs.

He blinked and straightened, regaining his composure just as Otto Hightower stepped forward, his expression solemn but victorious.

“The ruling lords of the realm will now come forth and pledge their fealty to the named heir of the Iron Throne,” Otto declared, his voice steady and commanding.

Aemond inhaled deeply, stepping forward as Otto began calling the great lords of Westeros.

“Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark.”

The Sea Snake stepped forward, his face impassive. He lowered himself onto one knee, his voice strong but unreadable.

“I, Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, Prince Aemond. I pledge fealty to them and will defend them against all enemies, in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New.”

The words were spoken, but the hesitation in Corlys’ posture did not go unnoticed. He had supported Rhaenyra, but duty to the realm now bound him to another.

“Jeyne of House Arryn, Lady of the Vale.”

Lady Jeyne stepped forward, sparing Rhaenyra a glance before lowering herself.

“I, Jeyne Arryn, Lady of the Vale, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, Prince Aemond”

Aemond could tell she had not voted for him. But she was respecting the decision, and that was enough.

The pledges continued.

“Ormund of House Hightower.”

His kin bent the knee swiftly, his voice firm with unwavering loyalty.

“Borros of House Baratheon.”

The Lord of Storm’s End did the same, his deep voice echoing in the chamber.

Then came the one Aemond had been waiting for.

“Cregan of House Stark.”

The young Lord of Winterfell stepped forward, he unsheathed his ancestral sword slowly, before sinking onto one knee.

“I, Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, Prince Aemond. I pledge fealty to them and will defend them against all enemies, in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly as he noticed that Cregan wasn’t looking at him.

His storm-grey gaze was locked onto Lucaera.

Aemond’s fingers twitched at his side, a sharp possessiveness coiling through his chest.

He saw the way Cregan’s eyes lingered—not with open challenge, but with something else. Something that made Aemond’s teeth clench and his pulse quicken.

His singular violet eye darkened as he fought the urge to bare his teeth like a dragon warding off a rival.

The growl that rumbled in his chest was low, nearly inaudible,

More lords stepped forward, pledging their loyalty one by one. The weight of it all settled on Aemond’s shoulders, heavier than any sword he had ever wielded.

Then, the final name was called.

“Rhaenyra of House Targaryen.”

Lucaera inhaled sharply, her gaze snapping to her mother. The crowd fell into an expectant hush.

Rhaenyra did not move. Beside her, Daemon clenched his jaw, his violet eyes dark with barely concealed rage.

A silent conversation passed between them before, at last, Rhaenyra stepped forward.

The whispers started immediately. Would she refuse? Would she defy the vote?

Aemond’s grip on his sword tightened as she hesitated, standing before him and the gathered lords.

Then, slowly, she lowered herself to one knee.

“I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, Prince Aemond. I pledge fealty to them and will defend them against all enemies, in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New.”

Aemond exhaled, barely aware he had been holding his breath.

The tension in the chamber shifted as Maester Orwyle stepped forward, carrying a golden chain adorned with the sigils of the great houses. He placed it over Aemond’s head, the cold weight settling against his chest—a symbol of his newfound authority.

Then, Viserys stirred.

The frail King grasped the arms of his makeshift throne, pushing himself to his feet with visible effort.

Every breath was a struggle, every movement a fight against his decaying body. And yet, he stood.

His withered hand rested on the hilt of Blackfyre.

His gaze lingering on Lucaera before he spoke:

“I, Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby name Aemond Targaryen heir to the Iron Throne.”

Aemond took a slow, shuddering breath.

Then, he turned to face the crowd.

One by one, they began to bend the knee. The sight of it sent a sharp thrill through his blood.

The moment he had never dared to dream of—it was real.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucaera lowering herself onto one knee.

But Aemond turned sharply.

“No,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence.

Lucaera froze, looking up at him in confusion.

Aemond held out his hand.

“Not you. I want you with me. By my side.”

Lucaera hesitated for only a moment before reaching up, slipping her fingers into his.

As the realm knelt before him, Aemond Targaryen stood tall—with his mate at his side.

As the echoes of the lords' oaths faded in the Dragon pit, Viserys raised his hand and despite the pain in his body, his voice was firm as he declared, "A celebration shall be held tonight in honour of the heir to the Iron Throne." His sharp gaze swept over them before he added, "And I expect my family—all of my family—to attend. No exceptions."

Lucaera did not miss the pointed look her grandsire shot at Rhaenyra. Nor did she miss the way her mother’s jaw tensed before she dipped her head and muttered, “Yes, Father.”

Satisfied, Viserys allowed his attendants to help him into the chair they had prepared, his body too frail to make the journey unassisted. He was carried out of the Dragon pit, placed carefully into the waiting carriage that would take him back to the Red Keep.

Aemond and Lucaera lingered for a moment longer, standing side by side as the chamber slowly emptied.

As they descended the great steps, Lucaera’s eyes found Luke’s. Her twin brother hesitated before he lifted a hand in a discreet wave.

She smiled softly and returned the gesture before stepping into the carriage that awaited them outside.

Inside, they found themselves accompanied by Otto, Alicent, Aegon, Helaena, and Daeron. The moment the carriage lurched forward, Otto turned to Aemond, his expression unreadable.

“Now that you are the named heir, it is time to start thinking about how you wish to rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

Aemond exhaled sharply. “Can’t it wait?”

“The sooner you consider these matters, the easier it will be when the time comes.”

Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose before muttering, “And what exactly should I be thinking about, Lord Hand?”

Otto’s gaze was steady. “Rhaenyra and Daemon.”

Beside him, Aemond felt Lucaera’s grip on his hand tighten at the mention of her mother.

“What about them?” Aemond asked, his voice careful.

Otto leaned forward slightly. “We cannot trust that the former heir will simply accept this decision without retaliation.”

Alicent frowned. “But the realm chose Aemond—Rhaenyra has already bent the knee.”

Otto scoffed, shaking his head. “She only did that to placate her father. She is still a threat.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed. “What exactly are you assuming she will do? The lords voted for me. There are none to rally to her cause.”

“It is not just Rhaenyra we must consider,” Otto said evenly. “There is also Daemon. If she does not act, he likely will. He is reckless, impulsive, and dangerous. He could send assassins in the night.”

Aegon let out a loud scoff, rolling his eyes as he slumped back in his seat.

Aemond scowled “You really think our uncle is that much of a coward? To send another to do his dirty work?”

“It is not about cowardice—it is about being smart,” Otto replied. “You are now the heir. Daemon cannot be seen making an attempt on your life. But if a lowborn sell sword were to slip into your chambers and slit your throat while you slept? And if that man were caught and executed? Daemon would escape the blame.”

A tense silence filled the carriage. Helaena, who had been staring absently at her hands, muttered, “A King bathed in silver as another is shrouded in gold.”

Aemond’s head tilted slightly as he considered her words. But before he could question her further, Otto continued. “Aemond, you need to be cautious.”

Aemond sighed. “And what would you have me do?”

Otto’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Once you are crowned, the former heir cannot be allowed to remain free.”

Aemond’s expression darkened. “You mean for me to imprison her?”

Otto did not blink. “There are also her sons to consider. Bastards or not, they are still Targaryens, and—”

“Enough-”

Lucaera’s voice was sharp as steel, cutting through Otto’s words like a blade.

The tension in the carriage thickened as she lifted her chin, her gaze locking onto the Hand of the King.

“Despite what you may think, Lord Hand, she is still my mother, and they are still my brothers. Aemond is not yet King, and I swear by the Seven that if I hear you whispering in my husband’s ear, and planting ridiculous notions in his head, I will slit your fucking throat in your sleep.”

A stunned silence followed her words.

Then, Aegon let out a loud, boisterous laugh, slapping his knee in amusement. The tension cracked as he wheezed, “Gods, I knew there was a reason I liked you good sister"

Aemond smirked, lifting Lucaera’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Otto, for the first time in years, looked truly at a loss for words.

Alicent, meanwhile, sighed heavily and muttered a quiet prayer under her breath.

The carriage rolled to a halt before the Red Keep, its wheels grinding against the stone pathway. The moment the door was unlatched, Aemond all but flew out, his grip tight around Lucaera’s wrist as he dragged her along with him.

"Aemond!" Alicent called after him, her voice laced with both concern and reprimand, but he paid her no heed.

Behind them, Aegon let out a boisterous laugh, his words loud and lewd. "He needs to get it wet!" he cackled, his amusement echoing through the courtyard.

Aemond barely registered it. His singular focus was Lucaera. The need burned in his veins, his Alpha instincts roaring to the surface, the events of the day, the tension, the triumph, all culminating in an overwhelming urge to claim.

They moved through the halls in a blur, Aemond’s stride long and determined.

Servants quickly stepped aside, heads bowed as he stormed through the corridors, Lucaera breathless at his side. Her heartbeat raced, excitement and curiosity warring within her.

Finally, they reached their chambers, and with a sharp push, Aemond flung the door open before slamming it shut behind them.

Lucaera gasped, caught between exhilaration and surprise. "Aemond, what—?"

Before she could finish her question, his lips crashed against hers, hungry and demanding. He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin as he pressed her back against the nearest surface, his hands already roaming.

"I need you," he rasped, his breath hot against her lips. "Now."

Their kiss was rough and vicious. Consisting of teeth and tongue.

Aemond backed Lucaera towards the bed, his hands tearing off her dress until it was a ragged mess on the floor.

It was an eruption of frustration and passion. Hands everywhere, grabbing, scratching, and pulling at one another.

Aemond took a brief minute to yank off his leather tunic and shirt before he shoved Lucaera on the bed, her back colliding with the mattress with a soft thump.

His body covered hers as he sucked and licked the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Lucaera moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her mating mark.

Aemond pulled away to unfasten his breeches and push them down, freeing his hard cock.

Lucaera lay back on the bed, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

Aemond ran his hand up and down the length of himself, eyeing his wife with an animalistic hunger, a smirk on his lips as she parted her legs for him.

As he guides himself to her entrance, Lucaera barely has a moment to adjust before he is pressing his cock forcefully inside and stretching her brutally, causing her to cry out.

“FUCKING TAKE IT!” spits Aemond, wrapping a hand around her throat while the other digs into her hip, pulling her aggressively against him to meet each one of his hard thrusts.

Lucaera can’t think of anything but the intense pounding thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, causing tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond sets a brutal pace, his hips crashing into hers.

“YES! YES! AEMOND!” screams Lucaera.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond as he feels her cunny clenching around his cock, his knot forming at the base.

As Aemond’s hips begins to falter in their movements, he snakes a hand between their joined bodies, his long fingers expertly circling her pearl, causing heat to bloom across her stomach.

He presses down more firmly, making faster movements against her bud making her shudder, as a sudden warmth crashes over her in waves making her cry out, her cunny tightening around him.

“AEMOND!!” screams Lucaera as her hands claw at his back.

“Fuck!! baby, that’s it come all over my cock!” growls Aemond as he moves to grab the headboard, bracing himself as he continues to pound his hips against hers.

“A-Aemond” gasped Lucaera as he forces his knot inside her.

With a loud animalistic groan, Aemond stills, leaning over his wife, his cock pulsating as he spills his seed deep inside her.

Lucaera and Aemond lay tangled together in the aftermath, the warmth of their shared passion still lingering between them.

Aemond’s fingers traced idle patterns along the bare skin of her back, his touch slow and deliberate. He exhaled softly before asking, “Was that alright?”

Lucaera lifted her head from his chest, a sleepy smile playing at her lips. “It was wonderful.”

Aemond tilted his head, searching her face for any sign of discomfort. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She shook her head, brushing stray strands of silver hair from his forehead. “No—although, I am rather curious as to your urgency in wanting to take me.”

Aemond grinned, his violet eye gleaming in the dim candlelight. “The way you spoke to my grandsire—I just couldn’t help myself. I had to have you.”

Lucaera chuckled, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

He pulled her closer, stealing another kiss before resting his head back against the pillows. Silence stretched between them, comfortable yet weighted.

Aemond could feel the subtle shift in her emotions through their bond, the worry that clung to her like a phantom.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured.

Lucaera sighed, fingers absentmindedly tracing along the ridges of his chest. “What’s going to happen to my mother and brothers once you are crowned King? Your grandsire clearly has his own ideas on the matter, but I want to hear it from you.”

Aemond was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Providing that she doesn’t rise against me, I could grant her possession of Dragonstone. And upon her natural passing, Jacaerys could inherit it as her heir.”

Lucaera considered his words before asking, “And Luke?”

“He’s heir to Driftmark.”

“And you’d let him remain as heir?”

Aemond shrugged. “That’s for Lord Corlys to decide, not me. Not unless I truly had to.”

Lucaera nodded, pressing further. “And Aegon the Younger? Little Viserys?”

Aemond sighed. “They’re but children. I need not decide their fates now. But perhaps when they’re older, they could hold positions of honour at court.”

Lucaera smirked. “What, like being your cupbearer and squire?”

Aemond chuckled. “Not exactly.”

Lucaera laughed, shaking her head. “Just as well. I can practically hear Daemon’s response—I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for that cunt of a King”

Aemond scowled. “Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Lucaera confirmed. “That’s exactly what he’d say. I know my stepfather-”

Aemond exhaled sharply. “I looked up to him, you know. When I was younger. Like me, Daemon was the second son, in line to inherit nothing, so he had to carve out a reputation for himself. I admired his skill as a warrior and his rebellion—that he wasn’t afraid to step outside of what was considered normal behaviour for a Targaryen prince- I often wondered what it would be like to face him-”

Lucaera hummed. “It would be a battle for the history books, I’m sure. Although, I dare say you’d probably end up killing each other in some grand, dramatic showdown.”

Aemond smirked. “You have quite the imagination, my sweet.”

Lucaera grinned. “It keeps life interesting.”

Aemond kissed her deeply, before whispering against her lips, “It sure does.”

Later that evening, the air was thick with tension as Lucaera took her seat next to Aemond at the long banquet table.

Aegon was already slouched in his chair, looking bored as he sipped wine, while Helaena sat twirling a fork in her hand, muttering, "A King bathed in silver as another is shrouded in gold-"

Daeron sat next to Alicent, eagerly telling her of his first flight with his dragon, Tessarion, while Otto listened in with a small smile.

Rhaenyra sat next to Daemon, the two of them speaking in hushed tones. Baela, sitting next to Jace, elbowed him, and he gazed at her for a moment before nodding his head in acknowledgment. Luke and Rhaena smiled at her.

Beneath the table, Lucaera felt a hand slip into hers. She glanced at Aemond, his expression as stoic as ever, but the firm grip of his hand spoke volumes.

Her heart quickened, and she gave his hand a subtle squeeze in return, feeling a quiet comfort in his presence.

Moments later, the heavy doors to the hall creaked open, and Viserys was carried in. The entire room stood in unison, waiting as he was gently placed at the head of the table.

Once seated, they all followed, retaking their places, Aemond’s hand once again finding hers beneath the table.

“Wine, Princess?” asked a maid.

“No, thank you—just water,” replied Lucaera. The maid bowed slightly before she left the table, returning moments later with a cup of water.

“How good it is to see you all tonight,” Viserys rasped, a pained yet heartfelt smile on his weathered face.

Alicent, seated beside him, folded her hands in prayer. “Prayer before we begin?” she suggested, her voice soft yet firm. She bowed her head, and the others followed.

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love,” Alicent began, her voice carrying over the silent room. “May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to my son Aemond and his wife Lucaera—may they have a long and blessed marriage.”

Viserys, still smiling, then continued, “Speaking of marriage, I’m happy to announce that my grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses.” He raised his cup with trembling hands. “A toast to the young princes—and their betrothed.”

“Hear, hear,” Daemon said with a grin, raising his cup. Lucaera looked over at Otto, his face a mask of barely concealed surprise—clearly, he had no idea of such betrothals being made.

But the air shifted when Aegon leaned over toward Jace, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he reached for a decanter of wine.

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman. You do know how the act is done, I assume?” Aegon’s tone dripped with mocking amusement. “At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that. If you want, I can provide you with a demonstration.”

Jace’s face flushed with anger, and he snarled back, “You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed.”

Aegon laughed, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Or perhaps you could ask Aemond,” he said with a wink. “Judging from the noises that come from his chambers every night, your sister finds herself well satisfied—”

The jest hung in the air, and while Aemond scowled in irritation, Jace’s gaze flicked curiously toward Lucaera, who had lowered her head, her cheeks a faint shade of pink.

Jace’s eyes narrowed slightly, his mind clearly turning over the implications of Aegon’s words, but before he could speak, the sound of Viserys struggling to stand shifted everyone’s attention.

The King rose shakily from his chair, gripping the edge of the table for support. "Today the lords of the realm cast their vote, and tonight we gather together in celebration of Aemond being named heir to the Iron Throne." Viserys paused, taking a breath, and then continued, “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table,” his voice raw with emotion. “The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.”

With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached behind his head and unclasped the golden mask that had been concealing his disfigurement.

The mask landed on the table with a dull clunk, and Lucaera, still holding Aemond’s hand beneath the table, felt her breath catch in her throat.

Half of her grandfather’s face was rotted away, his eye gone, and his cheek nothing but decayed flesh.

She squeezed Aemond’s hand tighter, feeling his grip return just as firmly.

Viserys’ voice, though frail, was filled with the weight of decades of leadership. “My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a King, but your father. Your brother. Your husband and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.”

Lucaera's stomach rolled a little at the stench of rot emanating from Viserys. She let go of Aemond’s hand and reached for her water, taking small sips.

Aemond could sense her unease through their bond, and he leaned over, whispering, "Are you okay?"

Lucaera nodded and whispered back, "Just feel a little queasy, that's all."

Aemond placed a hand over her stomach, rubbing it gently.

Lucaera noticed that her mother was watching—her eyes widening in realization— But then,

Viserys spoke again, his voice growing softer. “Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

Aemond’s hand left Lucaera's stomach and grasped her thigh, his jaw clenched at his father's hollow words.

As the dinner progressed, the tension in the room ebbed and flowed. The dinner was supposed to be a celebration of Aemond being named heir, but it didn’t feel much like one.

So, Lucaera rose from her seat and made a toast.

"To Prince Aemond-" she said, her voice clear and strong. "My husband, my Alpha, and the future of this realm. He has proven himself time and time again—a warrior, and a scholar, he will make a fine King, one this realm will be proud of. May he reign with wisdom and strength, and may his rule bring peace to Westeros”

Daemon glared at her as she spoke, but she simply smiled at him and raised her cup to take a sip.

Alicent, Otto, Aegon, Helaena, and Daeron eagerly followed suit, raising their cups and toasting Aemond’s name.

Then, after a moment of silence, Rhaenyra raised her cup to Aemond and drank, with Daemon, Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena following her.

Lucaera sat down and asked, "Was that alright?"

Aemond leaned in, his nose nuzzling her jaw, and rasped, "It was perfect—thank you, my sweet."

Lucaera blushed and leaned into Aemond, giggling as his hot breath tickled her skin, the two of them disappearing into their own world of whispered words of love and affection.

Further down the table, Aegon leaned in close to Baela, his voice low but dripping with arrogance. “I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” he said, his words laced with mockery. “But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

The air snapped with tension as Jace slammed his fists onto the table and stood abruptly, his eyes blazing with fury.

Aemond's attention left Lucaera and he rose from the table. But Jace forced a smile and raised his cup.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond,” Jace said, his voice cool yet heavy with underlying menace. “We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.”

Aegon huffed. “To you as well.”

Viserys, oblivious to the mounting tension, nodded approvingly at Jace. “Well done, my boy.”

Helaena suddenly stood, raising her glass awkwardly. “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena,” she said, her tone as detached as ever. “They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you—except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Lucaera glared at Aegon, who rubbed a hand over his face, clearly embarrassed by his sister’s blunt honesty.

Helaena, however, smiled sweetly and sat back down as if she hadn’t just revealed the stark reality of her marriage.

Viserys, trying to lighten the mood, called for music. Soon, a sweet melody filled the hall, easing the tension just enough for the moment.

Jace rose from his seat and approached Helaena, offering her his hand. She accepted with a shy smile, and the two began to dance.

Aemond watched for a few moments before he stood and offered his hand to Lucaera. She eyed him curiously, but when he gave her a small nod, she accepted, letting him lead her to an empty space in the hall.

As the music continued, the world around them seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them moving together.

Aemond twirled her gracefully, and when he lifted her off the floor, a soft laugh escaped her lips, filling the air with a moment of joy.

They danced, oblivious to the curious eyes watching them, as if they were the only two people in the room.

When the music ended, Lucaera, slightly breathless, smiled and thanked Aemond before the two of them resumed their seats.

Viserys began to get tired, so the guards moved to take him back to his chambers.

More food was brought out, and Lucaera's eyes widened as a roasted pig was placed in front of her and Aemond.

Then she heard a laugh and looked over at Jace, who had ended his dance with Helaena and was standing beside the table.

Lucaera could feel the rage wash over Aemond through their bond, and before she could stop him, he slammed his fist into the table and rose from his seat, his cup in hand, his expression dark and unreadable.

“Final tribute,” Aemond declared, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “To the health of my nephews, Jace and Luke. Each of them handsome, wise—hmm—strong.”

“Aemond,” gasped Lucaera, but he ignored her, his gaze fixed on Jace.

“Come,” Aemond continued, his smirk widening. “Let us drain our cups to these two Strong boys.”

Jace, his face flushed with anger, snarled, “I dare you to say that again.”

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment,” Aemond replied, his voice laced with mockery. “Do you not think yourself Strong?”

Jace lunged forward, punching Aemond in the jaw. Chaos then erupted as Luke tried to intervene, but Aegon grabbed him, slamming his head into the table.

“Jace!” Rhaenyra shouted, rising from the table as Alicent yelled, “That is enough!”

Lucaera, upon seeing Aegon manhandling her brother, rose from her seat and grabbed a handful of his silver hair, wrenching him away from Luke.

Aegon wound his arm around her and dragged her away from the table as Jace and Aemond were dragged apart by the guards.

Lucaera struggled against Aegon, but he said, “Feisty little thing, aren’t you? No wonder my brother constantly has his cock in a knot for you.”

Lucaera elbowed him and freed herself from his grip.

Alicent seized Aemond, pulling him aside. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?” she demanded, her voice filled with frustration.

Aemond, his face impassive, simply smirked. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother. Though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

As Jace broke free from the Kings guard, ready to charge Aemond again, Daemon stepped in, his voice calm but commanding. “Wait, wait!” he said, halting everyone in their tracks.

Rhaenyra, her voice sharp, said, “Go to your quarters. All of you. Now.”

Lucaera stepped away from Aegon, her chest heaving with anger as she glanced at Aemond before whispering, “How could you?”

This was her family he was mocking—her blood, her brothers. The bond between them flared with the intensity of her emotions, and she turned swiftly, leaving the room without another word.

Aemond growled as realization struck him—he had wounded her as well. His public teasing of Jace and Luke had not just humiliated them but had also cut into Lucaera’s heart.

Without hesitation, he followed her out of the dining room.

Lucaera stood on the balcony, her arms wrapped around herself as the cool night air brushed against her skin.

The city sprawled beneath her, bathed in the dim glow of torchlight, but she could not see it—her vision blurred with unshed tears.

The door to their chambers opened behind her, but she did not turn. She heard Aemond’s slow, measured steps, as he moved toward her.

Then, his arms encircled her waist, pulling her against his chest, his nose pressing into the crook of her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

At first, she said nothing, only closing her eyes as he placed feather-light kisses along her throat.

“I know you will never care for my brothers,” she finally murmured, her voice quiet but strained. “But what you said back there-it wasn’t just an insult to them, Aemond. It was an insult to me, too.”

His grip on her tightened. “Lucaera—”

She pulled away from his arms, turning to face him. Her brows furrowed, her eyes shimmering with pain. “I know what I am,” she said, her voice cracking. “I know I was born out of my mother’s recklessness. Do you think I haven’t suffered for it? That I haven’t heard every whisper? That I don’t see the way people look at me?” A tear slipped down her cheek, and she shook her head. “I have hated her for it. I have questioned her reasons, over and over again. But I didn’t ask to be born, Aemond. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Aemond exhaled sharply, as if her words had struck him. He reached for her, but she stepped back, her shoulders trembling.

“All my life, I have endured it,” she continued, her voice rising. “The stares. The accusations. The endless whispers of bastard wherever I go. And I bore it—I bore it because I had no other choice. But you—” her voice broke, “I can’t bear it from you.”

Aemond’s face twisted with anguish. “Lucaera,” he breathed, stepping closer. This time, she didn’t stop him when he gently cupped her face. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Then why did you do it?” she whispered, searching his face desperately.

He let out a slow breath, his thumb brushing over the tear-streaked curve of her cheek. “Because when I saw that pig, and I heard Jacaerys laughing, I was ten name days again. I was that boy they humiliated, the one they mocked and tormented, the one who would never be enough because I had no dragon.” His voice shook as he spoke, and she could feel his emotions crashing against her through their bond. “I was that boy again, Lucaera. And I lashed out”

Lucaera’s breath hitched as she saw it—the sorrow in his eye, the vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

A single tear slipped down Aemond’s cheek, glistening in the moonlight. His grip on her tightened, desperate and remorseful. “Aside from Vhagar, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. And the thought of hurting you—” his voice broke, “-It kills me”

Lucaera let out a shaky breath, her heart clenching at the rawness in his confession. She wanted to stay angry, wanted to push him away—but she couldn’t. Not when she could feel his regret and his love, wrapping around her.

So, she cupped his face, her fingers tracing the sharp planes of his cheeks. “That should never have happened to you,” she whispered.

Aemond let out a shuddering breath, leaning into her touch, his forehead pressing against hers.

“I am sorry,” he murmured again, softer this time.

Lucaera closed her eyes, feeling the steady thrum of their bond between them. And despite the hurt, despite everything—she forgave him.

So, she kissed him, slow and deep, an unspoken promise that no matter what shadows haunted him, she would always bring him back to the light

The knock at the chamber door was soft but insistent.

Aemond stirred beside her, his arms still wrapped around her, but it was Lucaera who turned her head towards the sound.

A voice from the other side called, “Princess, His Grace the King has summoned you”

Lucaera exchanged a curious glance with Aemond. His eye narrowed in suspicion, but she slipped from the warmth of their bed.

Quickly pulling on er robe, and tying it loosely at the waist, before she moved toward the door.

“I’ll come with you,” Aemond said, his voice still rough from sleep.

Lucaera shook her head. “I’ll be fine”

His jaw tightened, but he did not argue. Instead, he sat up, watching as she disappeared through the door.

Ser Erryk, her newly appointed sworn shield, fell into step beside her as they walked through the dimly lit corridors.

The clinking of his armour echoed against the stone walls, a steady rhythm in the heavy silence.

When they reached Viserys’ chambers, the door was opened for her, and she stepped inside.

The stench of rot hit her immediately, thick and cloying. She swallowed against the instinct to recoil.

The room was dark save for the dying embers in the hearth, casting eerie shadows across the grand space.

Her grandsire lay propped up in bed, the frailty of his form nearly lost beneath the heavy blankets draped over him.

But in his gnarled hand, he clutched a Valyrian steel dagger, his fingers wrapped around the dragonbone hilt as though it was the only thing tethering him to this world.

“Grandsire,” Lucaera spoke softly, stepping closer. “You wished to see me?”

Viserys’ eye blinked sluggishly, as though focusing on her took great effort. But when he did, a slow, tired smile spread across his lips.

“Y-You’re so much like her,” he rasped.

Lucaera frowned. “Who?” she asked, easing herself onto the edge of the bed.

“A-Aemma,” he whispered.

Lucaera hesitated, taken aback. “Even with my dark hair?”

“Yes-” Viserys sighed, his breath rattling in his chest. “Even then. You have her eyes. When I look at you, it is almost like she is staring back at me. And sometimes, when you laugh, you sound just like her-”

A strange pang went through Lucaera’s chest. She had never known her grandmother, only the stories passed down-tales of her beauty, her grace, and the tragedy of her death.

For the first time, she wondered if it was his love for Aemma that had shaped everything—the reason for his unwavering favouritism toward her mother, the reason for his indifference toward the children he had with Alicent.

Or was it guilt? The weight of the choice he had made that day so many years ago?

She did not know which answer was worse.

“L-Lucy,” Viserys’ frail voice pulled her from her thoughts. “There’s something I must tell you. Something important. It might be hard for you to understand, but you must hear it.”

Lucaera nodded, watching as he took a slow, ragged breath.

“The histories tell us that Aegon looked across the Blackwater from Dragonstone and saw a rich land, ripe for the taking. But ambition alone did not drive him to conquest. It was a Dream.”

Lucaera’s brows knitted together, but she did not interrupt.

“Just as Daenys foresaw the Doom of Valyria, Aegon foresaw the end of the world of men,” Viserys continued. His grip on the dagger tightened. “It is to begin with a terrible winter, gusting out of the distant North. Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds. And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living.”

A chill ran down Lucaera’s spine.

“What is it?” she asked hesitantly. “What’s in the darkness?”

Viserys shook his head. “If Aegon knew, he never said. But he saw that there would be a light, brilliant enough to stand against it. The fire of dragons.”

“The dragons?” she muttered.

Viserys nodded, his breaths growing more laboured. “Whenever this Great Winter comes, all of Westeros must stand against it. And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A King or Queen—strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark.”

His glassy eyes locked onto hers, and he whispered, “Aegon called his dream, The Song of Ice and Fire.”

Lucaera sat in silence, absorbing the weight of his words.

Then, Viserys reached out with trembling hands, offering her the dagger.

Lucaera hesitated only for a moment before she took it, her fingers curling around the dragonbone hilt. Slowly, she unsheathed it halfway, the Valyrian steel glinting in the dim light.

“The secret is in the steel,” Viserys murmured.

Lucaera’s gaze flickered to him before she slid the dagger back into its scabbard.

“This secret has been passed from King to Heir since Aegon’s time,” he rasped. “You must promise to now carry it. To protect it.”

His bony fingers clutched at her wrist. His grip was weak, but there was desperation in his gaze.

“Promise me this, Lucaera.” His voice trembled. “Promise me.”

Lucaera swallowed hard, her throat thick with something she could not name.

“I-I promise,” she whispered.

Relief flickered across Viserys’ worn features, and his lips parted in a breathy exhale.

“T-Thank you, my girl-”

Lucaera stared at the Valyrian steel dagger in her hands, the weight of it pressing down on her like a shackle.

The words Viserys had spoken echoed in her mind—the prophecy, the destiny, the burden of the throne. But something gnawed at her, something that didn’t sit right.

Her grip tightened around the dragonbone hilt as a thought surfaced, unbidden but undeniable.

She lifted her gaze to her grandsire, suspicion creeping into her voice.

“If this secret is passed from King to heir-” she said slowly, her pulse quickening, “-shouldn’t you be saying this to Aemond?”

A beat of silence.

Viserys’ expression flickered—just for a moment. His lips parted, but no words came.

And that was all Lucaera needed.

Her stomach twisted violently, nausea creeping up her throat as she rose from the bed. Her mind raced, pieces of the puzzle snapping into place with horrifying clarity.

Viserys had named Aemond his heir. He had spoken the words before the entire realm.

But in his heart—in his rotten, withering heart—he hadn’t meant it.

Her breath hitched, her skin crawling.

It was never Aemond. It was never supposed to be Aemond.

If Viserys could no longer name Rhaenyra, then he had settled for the next best thing.

Her.

Not because he thought her capable. But because she was the closest thing left to Rhaenyra.

Lucaera felt bile rise in her throat.

“How could you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling hearth.

Viserys’ breath rattled, his lips forming her name like a prayer. “L-Lucaera—”

“How could you?” she repeated, louder this time, sharp and venomous as her hands trembled at her sides. “After everything he’s done, after everything he’s suffered—you still don’t see him.”

Viserys flinched. “I-I’ve tried—”

“No, you haven’t!” Lucaera spat, her disgust boiling over into fury. She stepped forward, her chest heaving. “You named him heir before the entire realm, and yet you sit here, dying in your bed, and still you choose someone else!”

Viserys’ clouded eyes shimmered with something—guilt, shame, regret. “It’s not like that—”

“It’s exactly like that!” Lucaera’s voice cracked, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Do you even see him, Viserys? Do you even know your own son? He trained harder than anyone, he studied, he claimed the largest dragon in the world and lost his eye for it and yet you treat him as if he’s nothing!”

Viserys’ breathing grew ragged as he reached out a trembling, withered hand. “P-Please—”

Lucaera recoiled. She had never felt such disgust, such betrayal.

She looked at him now—truly looked at him. Not as a King, not as her grandsire, but as a man.

A frail, pathetic man, whose love had always been conditional. Whose favouritism had shattered a family.

A man who had spent his entire reign failing the ones who needed him most.

Her grip on the dagger tightened.

“You don’t deserve him-” she said coldly.

Then she turned on her heel and left the room without another word.

TBC

[izzabela]

Hi! Can I request fem reader who is tall, strong basically ideal woman for Bi-Han who is interested in her but instead reader chose Kung Lao cause “he makes her laugh.” (*^▽^*)

Jessica Rabbit - Kung Lao x fem!reader x Bi Han

in which you find your Roger Rabbit between two men

a/n: if you make her laugh and giggle, you can make that gyatt clap and jiggle

ship[s]: kung lao x fem!reader x bi han

warning(s): semi-kanon

You laugh at Kung Lao's horribly flat joke as you ate lunch. Midday, perfect breeze, and at a temperature not too hot, it was a good day for lunch outdoors.

While you're laughing wholeheartedly, it's Kenshi who points out the obvious cringe in that joke.

"It wasn't even that funny, he missed the punch line," Kenshi states in his usual deadpan voice.

You shake your head as you keep laughing, and he sighs as Johnny pats his back.

"You seriously don't get women, Ken-doll," Johnny tuts, and Raiden rolls his eyes as he continues to watch his best friend and newfound friend share a laugh.

Kung Lao has been interested in you since you came to the Academy as the final Champion for Liu Kang. You were but an ordinary farmer in the village over, past Fengjian, picking out crops for the upcoming festival. Suddenly, your village was attacked by black-clad ninja-warrior-men-things, and you had run in to join the fight with your limited knowledge.

Of course, like the rest of the champions, Liu Kang revealed himself, explained the circumstances about this "mortal kombat tournament" and the existence of realms. Oh, and how your mentor was the descendant of a former champion.

As you trained, you got to know your other champions better. You were stand-offish first, since many people were taken aback by your height and overall broadness of body. You were right to do so since the monks avoided sparring with you since your height may give an advantage.

The first person to break that ice between you and them was Kung Lao. You learned from Liu Kang that his ego knew no bounds, but you didn't think his ego was afraid of social anxiety. He came up to you like a normal person, treated you as such, and sparred with you that fateful day.

You remained reserved, since you were afraid this was all a joke, but when his friend, Raiden, came along, then Johnny, then Kenshi, you realized it was in good faith.

Since then, you five have grown close, but no one can deny that you were closest to Kung Lao. Despite his inflated personality, he's honest, kind, sensitive, objectively attractive, and personable.

You understood why he and Raiden were friends, and you commended him for not letting his ego get to him despite everyone praising Raiden. You remembered what he said about that topic.

"I trust Raiden as much as he trusts me. He gives me the strength to act like this, because I know he has my back."

That made up a good seventy-five percent of the reason why you liked him. But what about the other twenty-five? Well, that brings us back to the lunch outside the academy.

You wipe your eyes as you give Kung Lao a weak high five, and he smiles brightly before tackling you into the biggest of bear hugs. You can't help but laugh more as he tickles your sides, tears of happiness leaving your eyes.

"Kung Lao, stop that. She'll have cramps later during our spars," Raiden scolds, pinching his ear for him to let go. Kung Lao whines, releasing your reluctantly as you settle down fully.

"Alright, mother. Whatever you say," Kung Lao teases.

"She could've peed too," Johnny points out the (gross) truth. You sigh and shove him playfully, and he's feigning shock that everyone's turned on him.

"Oh come on, I'm funny too!" Johnny pleas, and Kenshi flicks his forehead.

"Vulgarity does not equal hilarity," Kenshi quips.

As you guys finish up, you all take the trash from your lunches back to the canteen room, only to meet Liu Kang and three men in blue, yellow, and gray uniforms. You five recognize them as the grandmaster and his seconds-in-command: Bi Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas.

All five of you bow, and you lead the introductions. "Greetings to the Lin Kuei."

They nod their heads as a sign of acceptance, and Liu Kang asks you all to rise. "I see your meals are over, I hope everyone enjoyed, yes?"

Everyone nods, and Liu Kang hums in content. "Well, since everyone is present, I will announce our next training plan for the month."

Liu Kang states that because it is the final month before the tournament, he invited the Lin Kuei's leaders to take charge of a more intensive training.

Of course, the final representative would be chosen the week before they left for Outworld, so everyone was getting learning how to defeat different kinds of opponents.

The Lin Kuei would be aiding in representing figures like General Shao, Reiko, Kotal, Sheeva, and other "magically huge" (Johnny's words, not Liu Kang's) opponents.

Not only were the contenders non-human, but possessed qualities and traits only heard of in fairytales.

"Hence," Liu Kang finished. "I have enlisted the help of the Lin Kuei to train you all. I hope you all get along well."

Liu Kang bows and takes his leave, also stating he had prior engagements. So, it left the eight of you in an awkward situation. Rather, awkward silence.

"You've all eaten, yes?" Tomas breaks first. Raiden then answers, and they walk together as everyone else follows suit.

"Thank the elder gods for Raiden and his personability," Kung Lao whispers to you, and you nudge him playfully.

It's Tomas's turn to talk, and he immediately talks to Johnny about his movies. While Tomas doesn't see he's clearly stroking his ego, Johnny keeps rambling about how this experience will make a great movie (if he can make it). Kenshi just rolls his eyes and tells Tomas to ignore him.

The only one left to say anything was Bi Han, the leader of the clan. He pulled back behind everyone to assess the current situation.

He didn't address you nor Kung Lao, and you two kept to yourselves as you talked about other matters. Even so, Bi Han can't help but stare at you.

Your height was the first thing he took into account when looking at you. Your hair suited you as well, long and the color practically glowing under the sun. Your arms were out due to the attire of the training clothes, but they were muscular and well-toned.

And when you smiled at whatever the hell Kung Lao was yapping about, Bi Han can feel his chest hurt a bit. Tight, warm, and burning with... a feeling.

After walking out of the canteen, down the shaded walkways of the training grounds, you all stop at the courtyard where the training dummies are. Bi Han gets in front of everyone and announces the new changes.

"We'll be sparring every day for two hours. Meals will be shortened to thirty minutes instead of the forty-five, and at the end of each week, I will host mini tournaments to see how far each of you has come."

You collectively sigh, Johnny more vocal about the loss of his break time. Kenshi and Raiden are the first to speak-up about their distaste of the changes.

"I don't think all of this is necessary, Grandmaster," Kenshi begins carefully. A vein in Bi Han's forehead is visible as he lays out a punishment already.

"Laps. All of you."

Ah, what lovely training you'll be receiving.

*******

A month passes by and training with the Lin Kuei is actually okay.

Waking early, shorter lunches, longer training, it all benefited when it came to the accuracy and power of landing hits.

Except for you.

"Sloppy," Bi Han sums you up as you're panting and gasping for oxygen. You look at him with an incredulous look.

"Grandmaster, I don't understand?" you ask as you breathe heavily between words.

"We train after your dinner," Bi Han orders you. "Dismissed for the night, except you."

You groan, the sun beating down on you before the shadow of a familiar silhouette falls over you.

"See you at dinner? In a couple?" Kung Lao asks as he helps you up.

"Of course, I have yet to hear those jokes you made up," you giggle.

Kung Lao is doing his best to keep his shyness to a minimum, but it's hard when his hand is touching yours as he lifts you. It's difficult when his hand fits so well on your lower back.

It's impossible when his heart is beating through his ears, and three of his friends are staring bullets into the back of his head.

Kung Lao walks with the other boys, looking back at you one last time before you're left alone with the beast.

Bi Han tries not to come off like an asshole, he's actually way more chill than this. With the weight of the tournament, plus his need to do something for the clan, he can't help it.

Besides, sparring takes his mind off of things.

You deal with it surprisingly well, and Bi Han doesn't know if he feels bad for his methods of keeping you around or proud of how well you deal with stress.

Bi Han has had a crush on you the minute he saw you and Kung Lao together. He wasn't rude enough to interrupt the conversation, but he wanted more of you.

Over the course of his and his brother's stay, he held you back purposely to talk to you. Invited you to eat with him and his brothers, hell, he even sparred one on one with you.

He usually reserves that last aspect for people closest to him.

However, despite Bi Han's darndest efforts, you could not feel anything towards the man.

He was enjoyable to talk to, his brothers were equally matched in that aspect too. He was kind and considerate to you after the fact he was a strict instructor.

But something was... missing. He's as stiff as a board, a little too rough around the edges for you.

But Bi Han didn't know that, and since the training is coming to an end, Bi Han decided to really step up his game and confess to you. Something he talked to his siblings about.

While Tomas was more than supportive, Kuai Liang was a bit more reserved with his opinions.

"Brother, I don't wish to look at yourself differently, but she might be looking at someone else completely," he said to him as they were cleaning up one day.

"If you have nothing better to tell me, make yourself useful with Tomas," Bi Han gruffed.

He kept that in his mind, though, and now that you were here, just the two of you, in the warm afternoon and setting sun of the academy, there was no turning back.

"So, Grandmaster, what about me is sloppy this time?" you ask, settled down and finally having gathered enough air.

Bi Han places a dummy in front of you, then another one next to it.

"Your knees lock too early when you kick," he point to the torso of the dummy. "Strike here."

You give a good sidekick, but it's caught early. The grip he has on your shin is surprisingly soft as he points out the flaws.

As you two talk, you don't realize that Kung Lao has the perfect view of you two. He's slurping his congee and hard-boiled egg, glaring at the sight of Bi Han holding your leg like that.

"If you stare any longer, she'll die to a gunshot wound on her head," Johnny teases.

Kenshi flicks his forehead, scolding him about his senselessness. Raiden, though, looks at him with more concern.

"What has you so concerned?" Raiden asks. "Do you believe that she actually will choose the Grandmaster over you?"

Kung Lao freezes, his eyes widening a bit at the thought. You and Bi Han, a couple. Deadly, beautiful, a perfect match for each other.

Still, Kung Lao recovers, "What's there to worry about? I'm the greatest catch on the market!"

Raiden's hand is on Kung Lao's shoulder, and he stares into his eyes to try and fish out what's really eating at him.

"Kung Lao..." Raiden calls his name softly.

For once, Kung Lao sighs and admits defeat. He takes his hat off, dropping it next to him as his head meets the table with a harsh thud.

"I just... She is such a catch!" Kung Lao admits with a red face. "She has been with the Grandmaster after every meal, and for hours on end..."

Johnny and Kenshi stop bickering finally, hearing the dilemma their dear friend is in.

"And she and Grandmaster Bi Han would look great together..."

It's true that perhaps you and Bi Han would make a great couple, but Kung Lao underestimated himself greatly in the part of him that made him... well, Kung Lao.

Bi Han couldn't make you laugh as hard as Kung Lao did. Often times, his jokes fell incredibly flat, or the punchline was missed, or his tone was just off.

This was unknown to Kung Lao, though, so he sits with his friends as he continues to ramble.

"Just, stop.." Kenshi halts his incessant yapping. "You're going to have to tell her. You can't keep this a secret forever."

Johnny burps before adding on, "Especially with the tournament so soon, who knows when we'll have time like this again."

Kung Lao groans heavily, throwing his head back and scratching his head roughly with thoughts on how he'd do so.

What he doesn't realize is that you're in front of him. Freshly showered, clothes somewhat sticking to your body, and the most damning thing that makes him realize he's too late.

A bouquet. Beautifully assorted flowers are wrapped in paper and tied at the stems in an arrangement that screamed "money money money". You were smiling at him as he looked at you from his point of view, head parallel to yours.

"What'cha thinkin' about, Lao?" you ask.

Kung Lao doesn't hear a thing as his heart beats erratically. Harsh, angry, frustrated, he stands up abruptly to leave dinner.

With his food still unfinished.

Knowing something is wrong, you place the flowers in Raiden's arms and rush after him, not even bothering to say anything to the other men. He may be tall and fast, but your strides were longer and you peak over him a bit in height.

You catch up to him with ease, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to face you (isn't this supposed to be the other way around?)

"Lao, you left your food... you never do that," you inform him, and his looks away with gritted teeth and a scowl.

"Leave me, I am not hungry anymore," Kung Lao lies.

You scoff, "Kung Lao, be real with me." You let go of his wrist, your eyes trying to find his as he obviously darts away.

"The flowers," he breaks. "Where did you get them."

It's not a question when he "asks" you. He's pissed, clearly disappointed too.

"The Grandmaster," you answer truthfully. "He gave them to me as a gift."

"Why."

"He confessed to me."

Kung Lao turns away to walk, "Congratulations. I wish you two-"

"I rejected him," you interrupt him.

He turns back to you, his eyes practically spilling out of his eye-sockets as he waves his hand in a motion that says "continue".

"He told me that he had intentions of courting me, but I rejected him," you explain as you begin walking back to the canteen. He follows you, listening in disbelief.

"Why would you reject such an offer? He is the perfect suitor!" Kung Lao praises, dropping his egotistical façade. You shake your head, a bit pink on your neck and ears as you tell him the truth.

"He doesn't, well- he can't make me laugh."

Kung Lao is slack-jawed, shocked at such a trivial personality point that tipped Bi Han out of your favor. Taking this opportunity, you take his hands and slip your fingers in his.

"And besides, you're my favorite clown among everyone here," you admit shyly. Kung Lao is beet-red now, stuttering like a failing engine as he tries to sell himself short. You stop him, though.

"No matter what anyone says, you are you. This version of you is the one I want," Kung Lao is silent as you keep going. "You're not a Raiden copy, 'Thunderland', or anything else."

Kung Lao's heart actually skips a beat, and he taps his chest to try and get it back in rhythm. You giggle and kiss his cheek.

"This is what I mean by clown. You're always making me smile, no matter what."

Kung Lao forgets about his food, and you ignore your stomach as you both go on a moonlit walk on the training grounds.

Just the two of you, the pleasant sound of your laughs ringing in the air as Kung Lao keeps firing joke after joke.

=====================

"seriously, what do you see in that guy?", "he makes me laugh."

never settle for less, Jessica Rabbit loves a man who makes her giggle

see y'all in the next fic!

[lieutenantbatshit]

CHAPTER 10 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

previous chapter | next chapter

----

The kiss still lingered on your lips - you could still taste In-ho. Every step back toward the dormitory felt heavy, as if your body was caught in the weight of something you couldn’t quite name. Was it the kiss? Was it the fact that you actually murdered someone? Was it your conscience eating you up?

Your fingers twitched at your sides, remembering the way In-ho’s touch had burned into your skin, the way he had pulled you in like he was afraid to let go. And then, your thoughts drifted as to when you snapped that player’s neck, as if you were an expert on it. You wanted to justify it by stating that he deserved it, remembering his O patch. It was his decision, after all, to stay in the games. In this game, you were bound to kill anyone to win the prize.

Except you weren’t in this place to win the prize. You were just curious. How can your curiosity lead to something darker?

It should’ve been a victory. You survived the game. You made it through. And yet, there was something suffocating about the silence on the way to the dormitory, with In-ho behind you.

The tension from the Mingle game still clung to the air, thick and unshaken by the passing of time. Even as the remaining players shuffled back into the towering dormitory, the echoes of what had happened inside that cold, merciless arena followed you like shadows that refused to be left behind.

In-ho’s presence behind you was silent but palpable. You wanted to stop and look at him, to read the storm behind his eyes, to see if the kiss had shaken him the same way it had shaken you.

But you couldn’t.

Instead, you focused on the rhythmic sound of footsteps, the quiet murmurs of those who had barely escaped death. Gi-hun’s back was in front of you as he made his way down the labyrinth of stairs. He turned his head to you and In-ho slightly as he spoke. “When we get back, let’s count the number of people remaining.”

“Why?” In-ho asked, his eyes focusing on Gi-hun.

“If we count the numbers of Os and Xs, we’ll be able to see who’s likely to win the next vote.”

You softly chuckle, your mind telling you elsewhere to somehow ease the tension. “We’ll have to hope more people from the other side died.”

You could see Gi-hun almost stop to his tracks but continued, though his head turned to you, staring at you confusingly. There was cockiness, almost mocking, in your voice in the way you said it. You averted your gaze from him. There was no way you would admit your faith in humanity has died, even taking someone’s life in this game from your own hands.

You got blood on your hands, and there was no way you would tell that to Gi-hun who wanted to save everyone. 

You felt In-ho’s hand on your shoulder, pressing it lightly with his thumb as if to comfort you, just like he did in the old times. Gi-hun shot you two a look again, much to his confusion. As you remembered, Gi-hun was aware that In-ho’s wife was still alive.

Right. Gi-hun still knew that. But what didn’t make sense to you was why In-ho lied to him. You planned to ask him later as he was already beginning to be warm towards you, or some sort. You had questions from the start, from when you first met him again, and what his role was in these games. Your gut feeling tells you that he’s a part of it, but you couldn’t piece it together yet. 

You focused on the cold of the dormitory seeping into your skin, your heartbeat hadn’t quite settled since the moment you pressed your lips against In-ho. It was immoral to be more worked up on the kiss than taking someone’s life in your own hands, yet you couldn’t figure out whether you were just distracted from that, or you were just becoming a dark, terrible person. 

“Don’t be so sad,” you heard the Shaman woman say as you walk near Hyun-ju’s group. “You will be joining her in the underworld soon.”

You snapped your head up at the Shaman, her eyes circling on Hyun-ju who seemed to be devastated. You barely had a second to process it, seeing Hyun-ju’s face drawn tight, her hands clenched into trembling fists. Her breaths were uneven, sharp, as if she has been trying to keep them steady.

Hyun-ju stared at the Shaman, glaring at her as she flashed her a cocky smile. Your eyes darted over Hyun-ju’s group, seeing Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Player 246.

Only Young-mi wasn’t there.

It didn’t hit you immediately. You wanted to deny it. Yet their faces were enough of an answer for you to know the truth.

You felt as if you were floating, waiting for your mind to make sense of the fact that Young-mi was gone. But when they did, they landed like a blade to the gut. Your breath caught, and for a second, all you could do was stare at Hyun-ju, then at Geum-ja, then at Yong-sik, then at Player 246, much to your surprise. You hoped that you had somehow gotten it wrong.

“I’ve put a curse on you all,” the Shaman said, her eyes gazing over everyone, including you. “I’ve been praying to the gods of heaven and earth with all my heart to let me see all of you die in this place, one by one.”

“You’ll never get out of here alive,” you said, gritting your teeth as you leaned towards the Shaman. “One more word from you, and you’ll never see another day in this place. You will die a miserable, painful death— enough for you to see whoever God is up there.”

The Shaman was clearly taken aback, seeing her clear her throat as she shot you a look first before walking away. You heard her mumble a curse, but you didn’t care anymore. At this point, with humanity being ripped away from you, you were sure that one wrong move from her will trigger you to knock her off in an instant.

You turned to Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Player 246, who seemed to stare at you in shock. You quickly softened your expression, realizing you were showing this other side of you so plain. Young-mi was supposed to be here with you and the others, yet in this selfish place, she was gone just like that.

“Young-mi is dead,” Hyun-ju’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes darken and sunken with something raw. “She was killed. They found her after the game ended.”

The room suddenly felt too bright, too suffocating. The world around you pressed in, the air thinning as your fingers curled into tight fists at your sides.

You had seen Young-mi last before the game, her usual sharp wit and and biting sarcasm still intact. You heard her voice. You stood alongside her, knowing and believe that you would both walk out of this. And now, she was gone.

Your pulse pounded against your ears, a sickening rhythm that made your knees feel weak. A thousand thoughts crashed into you at once, along with guilt. Was she betrayed? Did she fight back? Was she also killed the same way you killed another player?

But none of them mattered now. All the questions, the possibilities, everything. Because you had been out there, kissing In-ho, holding onto him, getting lost in the game, lost in him — while she was dying.

Your stomach churned violently, feeling dizzy from all that was happening so fast. You wanted to scream. You could hear your inner voices. It was your conscience eating you up.

A hand, warm and firm, brushed against yours, almost like an anchor. It was In-ho’s. You wanted to melt into his touch, to surrender. But this time, you didn’t take it. 

You stepped back, walking towards Gi-hun’s group, seeing them plotting something else. You walked past them and went towards your bed, not minding their stares as they wondered what was wrong. Concern was evident on their faces, but you weren’t in the mood to talk. Not especially with all that happened.

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat and forced yourself to breathe as you laid down, but it did nothing to stop the realization curling into your chest like a slow, venomous burn.

The game was still winning, and you were letting it.

“Gi-hun,” you heard Jung-bae call out. “There are fifty-five people who voted in favor of continuing.”

“Are you sure?” Gi-hun asked.

“I counted them twice.”

“What about you?” Dae-ho asked, his fingers pointing at Jung-bae’s patch. “What about you? Did you include yourself?”

Jung-bae looked at his patch, the realization hitting his eyes. “It’s fifty-six.”

You heard Dae-ho sigh. “We have forty-four people on our side, so we’re outnumbered by twelve.”

“Shoot, that means we’re likely to lose again,” Jung-bae whimpered slightly, staring at the players with O patches.

“It may seem like a big difference,” In-ho said as you felt him motioning beside you, but you kept your eyes closed, your arms covering your eyes. “But if six of them change their minds, it’ll be 50/50, all tied. If seven of them change their minds, we could win.”

“But those who pressed X might change their minds too,” Dae-ho replied with worry.

“They probably won’t change their minds easily,” In-ho replied, more of a statement and not a hint of question in his answer.

“Why not?” 

“They wanted to quit even when the prize was smaller. Now, they can leave with even more money. They wouldn’t want to risk their lives playing another game.”

“Impossible,” you spoke up, much to the group’s surprise. “They can still change their minds. The more that they see themselves surviving and the more the prize money goes up, the more the temptation to play more will get to them. It’s the greed talking.”

In-ho stared at you, a quiet recognition flickering in his eyes. You could almost see the twitch in his lips as if to smile. As if you made a very great point. 

 “I’m going to press X this time,” Jung-bae said, a hopeful glint present in his eyes. 

You scoffed. “You should’ve pressed X when you had the chance.”

Jung-bae raised his eyebrow on you, clearly taken aback. Gi-hun and Dae-ho did the same, while Jun-hee was staring at you as if to study you. There was wonder in their eyes, a bit of shock as you spoke. You were being too pragmatic— cocky, even. You were too sure.

Yet Jung-bae only looked away. Somehow, you still had a point. He knew that. If he really wanted to quit, he could’ve voted for X from the very start and not change his decisions right away. Your patience in this game was growing thinner with each second. 

“Why don’t we try to convince them?” Gi-hun asked, his voice hopeful for another acknowledgement from the others, hopeful for an agreement. 

“No, that’s too risky,” In-ho replied. “Most of them will want to continue the games. If we make a move, they won’t just sit back and watch.”

“So you think we should just stand here and pray they change their minds?” Gi-hun asked in disbelief.

You shot up from your bed, your eyebrows furrowing as you looked at Gi-hun. “Don’t try to be the hero, Gi-hun. It’s their choice to be here, to continue the games. It’s what the game is trying to tell us.”

“I’m no hero,” Gi-hun retorted, his voice low, the desperation in his voice evident as he gritted his teeth. “But what if we lose again? We march down, hand in hand, to play another game?”

“I understand how you feel,” In-ho said, his hand motioning at you to not speak. “I also wish I could leave right now. We do. But this is the moment to stay calm.”

“Stay calm?” Gi-hun said in disbelief. “We’ve already taken a vote twice. If we can’t convince them, we’ll have to bring them over to our side by force.”

“If we provoke them now, we may end up in a big fight before we even get to vote,” In-ho replied. “Is that what you want, Gi-hun?”

Gi-hun stayed silent, though his eyes were focused on you and In-ho. He was sensing something between the two of you - the sudden understanding seemed to catch him off guard. As far as he knew, In-ho was still married. To you, he was a widower. That was the truth. But Gi-hun was more disturbed with your sudden shift. The one who held on hope for humanity was gone, and was replaced by this cold, dark person. 

The alarm buzzed, just in time to ease the tension on your group. By the door, the triangle-masked guards gathered as the square-masked guard stepped in, his presence signaling a sense of command. “Congratulations to all of you for making it through the third game. Now, here are the results of the third game.”

The TV displayed a total prize money accumulated to 35.6 billion won, divided by 356 million won for each player. You stepped out and positioned yourself next to In-ho, giving him a pat on his shoulder as your eyes glued to the monitor. 

“With that kind of money, some of them will change their minds,” Jung-bae muttered.

“It’s either the money is enough for them or they’ll want to play another to win more,” you said, your eyes still fixed on the TV.

“The vote will once again be conducted in reverse order of your player numbers,” the square-masked guard said. “Player 456, please cast your vote.” Gi-hun stepped out from the crowd as the guard spoke again. “To ensure fair and democratic voting, we will not tolerate any disruptions from this point onward. Please bear that in mind.”

With no hesitation, Gi-hun pushed the X button, retaining his vote as the X number increased to 1. 

You were almost unattentive to your surroundings, not minding the scoreboard of the X and O votes. Though you couldn’t deny the weight of choices before yours. X or O - a simple vote, but it might as well have been a knife at your throat.

You shouldn’t be hesitating at all. You weren’t like the others. You weren’t drowning in debt, clawing for salvation in a place that offered nothing but destruction. You had entered the game out of curiosity - a whim, reckless craving to see what was happening behind the curtain all because of that recruiter. But now, you stood here, waiting for your player number to be called for you to vote that would define the person you were becoming.

You felt the villain in you creeping beneath your skin with every game. The cold calculation, the growing numbness. The way your hands had moved without hesitation when it came down to survival. And yet, a part of you still wanted to believe that there was something left to salvage. Maybe in the next games, you would see humanity change. Or not at all.

“You look like you’re thinking too much,” In-ho’s voice was low and smooth that melted your thoughts, snapping you back to the present.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze. This time, his eyes were soft as he looked at you, then to your lips, then to your eyes again. His mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smirk as he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath ghost over your skin. 

“What does it matter to you?” You asked.

He gave out a slow exhale, barely a sigh. Then, his fingers brushed against yours, deliberate but fleeting. A touch that barely lingered, yet left something behind. “Because you don’t belong here.”

You felt your breath hitched as you held your gaze on him, searching his face for an answer. But he gave you nothing. Just that unreadable and calm one. Too calm. “What?” You asked, your voice quieter this time.

His head tilted slightly, watching you with an unsettling kind of certainty. “You’re not in debt. You lived a good life in America only to come back here in Seoul after your father died. You wanted to play ddakji just for the sake of seeing if you were still good at it. Money was never a problem to you, Y/N,” In-ho stated, as if he had always known the truth. “You didn’t think you walked into this place unnoticed, did you?”

The implication made your stomach turn. 

He knew. He had known from the start.

But why?

Your lips parted, but no words came. And in that silence, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your temple. “What’s someone like you, who was so full of life, doing in a place like this ready to kill people?” Your pulse pounded against your ribs as he continued. “I was once like you. But in this place, it changes you. The truth will always come get you in the end.”

“The truth?” You managed to ask, though your voice a bit cracking. 

“About me.”

Your stomach twisted. “And what exactly would that be?”

For a moment, he just watched you, searching for something in your eyes. Then, he leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “I won.” Your breath caught, but before you could speak, he continued. “And I have a role in all of this now.”

It wasn’t a confession. Not completely. He didn’t say what role nor what it exactly meant. But you weren’t stupid. 

But you should’ve known it from the very start.

The Young-il name was already a give away, as if he was ready. The coincidence of being the Player 001 and being named Young-il didn’t make sense. It was far from being a coincidence. He carried himself too much, the way his words were always a little too measured, a little too careful, as if they were being placed exactly where they needed to be. The name, the persona — it was all a mask. A carefully crafted lie.

“After we vote, I’ll tell you everything.”

You felt your body shot up, the curiosity plastering all over your body. What did he know that you didn’t know from all this? What role could he have in all these? If you know about everything, will it endanger your life even more?

“Who are you?” You stared at him, your throat dry as you felt your heart hammering against your ribs.

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Something familiar. Something painful. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His stare fixed on you indicated something darker and deeper. Something that told you — he had been waiting for this. 

“Player 002.”

You snapped away from In-ho, turning your attention to the vote. You walked towards the voting box, the buttons gleaming under the cold, artificial light, its surface smudged from countless trembling fingers before yours. 

O or X.

You could end this. You could walk away. But deep down, you already knew what your fingers were going to do. A sharp beep echoed in the silence as you pressed X, a cheer from the X crowd erupting.

You turned back to In-ho, who was waiting at the end of the crowd as he stared at you intently. His lips barely curved — not a smirk, but something else. Something unreadable.

——

The voting ended with a tie, which meant that the voting will resume again tomorrow. Yet you felt uneasy. Anytime, you knew that the O team would attack anytime soon. Just for the sake of winning the money more and more. 

It was going to be a special game. You tried to piece it together as you progressed through the games. The system was trying to make you kill each other, giving you less and less food as it progressed. Hunger was the main source of greed, it's why humans would do anything just to not starve. The gimbap on your hand and a glass bottle of soda were enough of a hint for you that there was something more happening.

The glass bottle could be your source of weapon in case something goes wrong in this place. You kept your silence as you ate the dry gimbap, its flavors still present but the dryness was scoring your throat in. It felt like you were eating a piece of paper, but to you, it didn’t matter. As long as it fed your stomach well.

“Y/N,” you blinked, snapping away from your thoughts as you heard Gi-hun’s voice. You glanced up and saw his expression was careful, but there was something else beneath it. “You got a minute?”

You nodded, but there was hesitation in you as he sat down beside ypu, resting his forearms on his thighs. 

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor, his fingers fidgeting on the wrapped gimbap as if trying to find the right words. “It’s about Young-il,” he finally said.

Your stomach twisted, though you forced your face to be stern. “What about him?”

Gi-hun exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You two are close, right? Like real close.”

You shrugged, keeping your voice even. “Hmm?”

“Isn’t he married?” Gi-hun’s voice dropped slightly, but still careful. “Maybe you shouldn’t get too attached.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you swallowed, keeping your face unreadable.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Gi-hun—“

“Where do you get the nerve?” He cut in, his voice edged with something sharp, something bitter.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

His jaw tightened. “I’ve seen you. The way you act in the games. The way you don’t even flinch anymore,” his fingers curled into fists. “When did you stop caring? When did you decide it was easier to be a monster?”

The words slammed into you harder than you expected. Your throat tightened as you stared at him. “I’m not a monster.”

“Then why are you here?” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “You’re not even like the rest of us. You said yourself that you weren’t drowning in debt. You weren’t desperate to be here.”

You scoffed. “Oh, and you are?” You spat, leaning in, voice dripping with venom. “You won the games before, right? You have 46.5 billion won sitting in your bank account, and yet you still came back. So tell me, Gi-hun, why the hell are you here?”

Gi-hun’s face twisted. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” You let out a laugh, almost mocking. “You had a choice. You could’ve walked away. You could’ve lived. And yet, here you are, just like the rest of us, pretending you’re better.”

Gi-hun flinched, but his jaw tightened. “At least I know when to stop,” he muttered.

You felt a bitter taste in your mouth as you spoke. “But you’re here pretending to be a hero.”

A thick silence settled between you, feeling the tension on your shoulders. You stared onto space as you felt affected towards his words. You didn’t know whether to take it into consideration or to feel insulted.

Then, a voice cut through the tension.

“That’s enough.”

In-ho stood nearby, his presence commanding, gaze locked onto Gi-hun. There was no warmth in his voice, only quiet authority, the weight of someone who had been watching long enough.

Gi-hun exhaled, standing up. His shoulders slumped slightly, but his eyes never left yours. “Just don’t lose yourself in here,” he said, his voice quieter this time. “This place eats people alive.” He walked away, leaving you there.

You stared at the ground, weighing his words, feeling their weight settle deep in your chest. But when you looked up, your eyes met In-ho’s. You weren’t sure which was heavier — Gi-hun’s warning or the pull of In-ho’s gaze, the silent reminder of everything you were letting yourself become. 

“Hey,” In-ho said, his voice warm enough to make you feel at ease. “You alright?”

You nodded, remembering you still had your one remaining gimbap in your hand. “Yeah. Gi-hun just noticed us becoming too close.”

“Is that a bad thing?” In-ho asked, though his voice was a bit teasing but there was questioning in his voice, as if he was testing you.

“No,” you shrugged. “Let’s just go with the others and see what they’re up to.”

In-ho nodded as he helped you up, holding you as if you were something fragile. Your cheeks flushed a bit but kept your gaze in front, knowing you would melt if you met his gaze. You sat beside Geum-ja, who was grouped now with Player 246, who you now know as Gyeong-seok, then Yong-sik, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Jun-hee, and Gi-hun. As much as possible, you distanced yourself from Gi-hun, still feeling disturbed by your recent conversation with him.

You noticed Yong-sik standing up, facing the players who had O patches on the other side. “Hey!” He called out. “Don’t agonize over your decision while eating this dry gimbap. I just want one of you to come over to our side. If we get out of there tomorrow morning, we could get Korean beef! I’ll tell you what. It’s my treat!”

You shook your head, feeling the secondhand embarrassment. This was a pity attempt to make the O players change their minds. This wouldn’t end well.

“And after that, the noodles are on me!” Geum-ja spoke up. You wanted to stop her, but she was too determined to speak up. Despite the evilness in this place, you can’t deny that there were pure, good-hearted people like her.

Yet to you, evilness always prevailed. Your point was proven when Player 100 spoke from the O crowd.

“Once you all die in the next game, we can all leave with 800 million each!” Player 100 spoke with diction, his words echoing through the silence prevailed over the X crowd. “With 800 million, we could buy a freaking cattle ranch!”

The O players cheered from behind him, their taunting smiles and growls echoing through the room. Dae-ho stood up, taking a step forward as he pointed his fingers at them. “You’ll get 800 million? Who are you kidding? Do you think you’ll still be alive after the next game? If you don’t get out now, you’re all going to die!”

“So let’s play one more game to see who dies,” Player 226 from the O crowd snapped back. “Stop trying to run away like a goddamn coward.

Dae-ho scoffed. “What did you say?” He moved towards the O crowd but still near the X crowd. “Come here, asshole!” Jung-bae followed in attempt to stop Dae-ho from walking towards the O crowd.

“I’ll take you down, chump!”

“Not with civilians,” Jung-bae dragged Dae-ho by the shoulder, only to be snapped away by Dae-ho. He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, revealing his Marines tattoo. 

“I was in the Marines, fucking asshole!”

The O players laughed mockingly. You looked away, feeling your cheeks flush in secondhand embarrassment. You noticed In-ho watching the scene intently, though his stare was cold as if assessing. 

“Oh, yeah? Then I was in the air force, fucker!” Player 226 retorted, earning more laugh from the crowd behind him.

Then, for a split second, the X crowd start to gather in the middle, though they weren’t crossing the line. The division between two crowds was evident as the lines from each O and X were enough for them to not cross. The room was echoing with hatred, evilness, and something vulgar. If you were expecting the guards to step in and bring peace, you were wrong. They stayed still in the corner, their guns in hand watching the scene unfold.

Your eyes turned to the foil on your hand where the gimbap was wrapped. Though as you were about to crumple it, something cold and metallic brushed against your palm. Your breath hitched as you unwrapped the foil, revealing a fork.

Your fingers curled around the handle, heart thudding against your ribs. This wasn’t a mistake. This was deliberate.

You were right. The system wanted you to kill each other.

In-ho’s hand reached out to your fork, covering it. His grip was firm, but his thumb traced the ridge of your knuckles as if there was unspoken reassurance, a warning wrapped in something softer. He leaned in, his breath ghosting near your ear.

“Keep it.”

Your fingers tightened around the utensil, swallowing hard as you glanced up at him. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes held something heavy, as if it was calculated.

“What?” Gi-hun’s voice was low, but the edge was unmistakable. Across from you, he stared down at his own gimbap, his fingers pulling away a fork of his own. His eyes then flickered to yours, then to In-ho, suspicion bleeding into every inch of his face.

Something was coming. The guards never made mistakes. This wasn’t some mere accident.

You exchanged one last glance with In-ho before lowering your head, slipping the fork into your sleeve. Your mind raced as you realized, muttering under your breath as it washed over you. “X versus O…”

“They want us to turn on each other,” In-ho murmured, just loud enough for you to hear. He sensed the growing weight pressed against your chest, he added, “I’ll protect you.”

You flinched. The words were so quiet they barely existed, but they were there. You turned to him, but he was already staring at you.

“There’s going to be a plan,” In-ho continued, his voice smooth but he seemed unaffected. He didn’t need to say whose plan. You both knew Gi-hun wouldn’t sit still. “He’s going to try to rally the X players, maybe propose an alliance before the real bloodshed starts.”

“It won’t work,” you replied, your tone with certainty but the concern was evident on your face. “But you, you already have a plan, don’t you?”

“I have a foresight,” he said simply, though it wasn’t enough for an answer.

“Tell me,” you pressed, leaning towards him.

He held your gaze for a moment too long. Then, his lips twitched. Not into a smirk, not into a smile, but something close to amusement. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Somehow, his words sent a shiver down your spine. That was more terrifying than anything Gi-hun could come up with. With Gi-hun, he wanted to survive. 

But with In-ho, he knew the rules better than anyone.

----

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A/N: I'm so so sorry this took a bit long. I had to move things around in my house as we're moving out from the family home. You know, for a fresh new start. I admit that I'm not doing a bit well lately but writing this chapter still lifted my spirits up somehow. I kinda feared this chapter would be a bit long but turns out it's kind of the same from the other chapters. I'm also excited to write the next chapter and I'll definitely started to work on it immediately. Anyway, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

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[novaursa]

Ashes of the Faithful

- Summary: After Faith of the Seven has sent an assassin to kill you, Maegor declares war against the gods.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Note: This story is part of Fire and Blood series, and it happens right after Fragile Hope. The masterlist is pinned to the top of my blog.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The flickering light of torches casts an eerie glow over the Great Hall, illuminating the black banners emblazoned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. The air buzzes with the voices of lords and ladies gathered to celebrate Maegor’s victories and his long-sought return to the Iron Throne. A bitter smile plays across your lips as you shift your hand to rest protectively over your stomach, feeling the soft, burgeoning weight there—the promise of Maegor’s heir. After years of separation, of exile and whispered prayers in the cold halls of Dragonstone, you’ve finally returned to his side, bound by his unbreakable will. Maegor’s unwavering gaze follows you as you rise to mingle with the guests, his expression one of fierce pride and possessiveness.

The evening wears on, and you share fleeting glances with your husband from across the hall, silently marveling at the sheer force he exudes even from a distance. Though your union remains contested by the Faith, and many openly despise him, none would dare deny the power Maegor wields. The hall quiets as he rises to make a toast, raising a goblet of wine.

"To House Targaryen, unbroken and bound by blood and fire," he declares, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that commands attention. "And to my queen, who carries our future within her.”

The guests raise their goblets, voices mingling in a chorus, though you can see the apprehension in some eyes, the covert glances exchanged by certain highborn lords and pious knights, wary of the Faith's condemnation.

As the applause fades, you make your way toward the shadows for a brief respite from the crowd, grateful for a moment to gather your breath. But in the next heartbeat, the chill of steel presses against your throat, and you realize—too late—what is happening. The assailant’s voice is a venomous hiss in your ear, dripping with fervent conviction.

“Your unholy union will end here, for the gods do not suffer blasphemy.”

You struggle, reaching instinctively to shield the precious life growing within you, but the assassin’s grip is unyielding. A muffled shout erupts somewhere in the hall, and the clash of steel on steel fills the air. In the chaos, you’re suddenly yanked backward as Maegor’s knights descend upon the attacker. The glint of Maegor’s own sword, Blackfyre, catches the torchlight as he strides forward, his face a mask of pure, unrestrained fury.

His voice is a low snarl. “Who sent you?”

The assassin glares defiantly, his eyes bright with fanatical zeal as he spits, "The Faith will never bless your bastard line."

The words are met with the brutal swipe of Maegor’s fist, sending the man sprawling. Maegor’s rage is unmistakable, a tempest waiting to be unleashed. He barely spares a glance for the blood pooling beneath the assassin as his gaze shifts to you, his voice softening, though the raw intensity remains.

"Are you hurt?"

You shake your head, reaching a trembling hand toward him. "Our child… I feared…"

He clasps your hand in his, grounding you with the weight of his presence. “No one will dare harm you again,” he promises, his tone as unyielding as iron. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a rare display of tenderness that only you are allowed to see, and in his eyes, you catch a glimpse of the lengths he would go to keep that vow.

The assassin, barely conscious, is dragged upright by Maegor’s guards. Without hesitation, Maegor approaches, towering over the man like an avenging shadow. “Tell me the names of those who sent you,” he demands.

When the man remains silent, defiance flickering in his gaze, Maegor lifts his sword. Blackfyre’s blade gleams ominously in the torchlight, and his words are laced with icy finality. “If the Faith dares to send another of your kind, I will burn their septs to the ground. And you will be the first to watch.”

A ripple of fear passes through the onlookers, their expressions a mix of awe and terror as they watch their king take vengeance. Maegor turns to you, his voice softer. "Return to your chambers, Y/N. I will handle this."

Though you hesitate, knowing the bloodshed to come, you nod. "I trust you, my king," you whisper, pressing a hand to his cheek before leaving.

In your chambers, guarded on all sides, you try to steady your breathing. The shadows outside flicker, signaling the torches carried by men as they move through the halls. Soon, shouts echo from the square below, where you know Maegor has gathered his court to witness the assassin’s fate, a display meant to instill fear in any who would challenge his claim—or threaten his family.

As you sit, the quiet hum of life within you reassures you. Whatever comes, you and your child are shielded by the relentless force of Maegor’s love, a love bound in fire and forged through blood.

Hours later, he returns, smelling faintly of smoke and steel, his eyes softening when they meet yours. "It is done," he murmurs, his voice a mixture of exhaustion and conviction.

You reach for him, pulling him close, and whisper, "Thank you, Maegor. For us… and for our child."

He presses his lips to your forehead, a rare, almost reverent gesture. "No one will take you from me, Y/N. Not the Faith, not the realm. None can come between us."

And in that moment, beneath the pale moonlight, you believe him.

The dawn breaks in a haze of gray clouds, but for you, the morning feels no less ominous. You watch from a high window in Maegor’s hall as Balerion, the Black Dread, spreads his wings wide across the sky, casting an enormous shadow over the land. Maegor’s resolve is unshakable, and he has vowed that the Faith will answer for their transgressions. He has given orders, brief and absolute, his voice carrying the weight of his fury. None could miss the look in his eyes—the wildfire rage that demanded to be sated.

As he prepares to mount Balerion, he approaches you, his gloved hand reaching out to tilt your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark and relentless, seem to devour you.

“This realm has mocked me for the last time, Y/N,” he says, his tone simmering with a quiet rage that sends a chill through you. “They do not know loyalty or respect; they only know fear. I will make them remember it.”

You rest a hand over your belly protectively, feeling the faint stir within you, as if the child growing there senses the dread. “And the Starry Sept?” you ask quietly, knowing all too well what its destruction would mean, not only for the Faith but also for the Hightower family—his late wife’s kin.

His lips twist into a cruel smile. “That den of false gods and hypocrites? It shall be the first to burn. None will dare to insult my queen again.”

You nod, feeling an odd mixture of fear and awe as you stand beside him. The Maegor before you is no longer just a man—he is a storm incarnate, a maelstrom of fury bound to a creature of fire and shadow. “They will see Balerion’s flame from miles away,” you murmur, almost to yourself.

He leans in, his hand settling over yours on your stomach, where his heir grows. “I do this for you and for our child. So you will live without fear. So our child will not know a world that questions his right.”

You swallow, feeling the intensity of his words and knowing that, in his twisted way, Maegor does love you deeply—perhaps as much as he can love anything. “Come back to me,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his. “Return to us, Maegor.”

He gives you a rare, almost tender smile, before pulling away, the steel in his eyes returning. “Wait for me, Y/N,” he says, his voice firm. “By the time the moon rises, the Faith will feel the fire of House Targaryen.”

With that, he mounts Balerion, and you watch as they rise into the sky, becoming a dark silhouette against the dawn. The moment they disappear over the horizon, you turn back into the hall, nerves tingling with the knowledge of the destruction to come.

The Starry Sept in Oldtown stands proud as it always has, a beacon of the Faith’s ancient power. Its towering walls, adorned with stars and golden trimmings, seem almost untouched by the passage of time, a testament to its sanctity. The Faith Militant, dressed in their glinting silver armor, stand guard outside, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords.

And then, a shadow falls over Oldtown.

The people in the streets look up, gasping, children screaming as they behold the black shape in the sky, his massive wings blotting out the sun. The bells of the Starry Sept toll, signaling a warning, but it is already too late. Balerion lands with a bone-rattling impact, his claws digging into the earth just outside the grand doors of the sept. Dust and debris fly as the ground trembles beneath his weight. The Faith Militant immediately raise their shields and swords, but they are little more than ants to the dragon that towers over them.

Maegor, seated upon Balerion’s back, calls out, his voice echoing like thunder through the city. “I am Maegor Targaryen, your rightful king! And I declare the Faith Militant enemies of the realm!”

There is a murmur of defiance from the knights below, and one of the septons dares to raise his voice. “You blaspheme, Maegor! The gods themselves deny your union. You will face judgment!”

Maegor lets out a short, humorless laugh, glancing down at the man with disdain. “Then let your gods protect you from my wrath.” He raises his arm, signaling to Balerion.

With a rumbling growl that reverberates through the stone walls, Balerion opens his jaws, and a torrent of fire bursts forth, consuming the sept’s doors in an instant. The flame spreads with terrifying speed, licking up the stone walls and turning them to blackened, smoking ruin. The Faith Militant try to flee, but Balerion’s fire is relentless, consuming them as they run, their silver armor melting, the flesh beneath charring to bone.

The people of Oldtown watch in horror from the streets and rooftops, their faces pale, their voices strangled with fear. Maegor’s voice rises above the roar of the flames, clear and unyielding.

“This is what happens to those who defy the Crown,” he shouts, his voice filled with the fury of a man wronged for too long. “To those who think they can take my queen from me.”

The sept’s grand structure crumbles as the fire sears through wood, stone, and glass alike. The stained glass windows, depicting scenes of saints and the Seven, shatter in the intense heat, raining shards upon the Faith Militant and those unfortunate enough to be nearby. Balerion’s fire leaves no sanctuary, no corner of the sept untouched. Statues of the gods melt under the flames, the Seven themselves reduced to ash and rubble, as if even they cannot withstand Maegor’s wrath.

From his perch atop Balerion, Maegor watches with an unsettling satisfaction. His expression is grim, merciless, as he surveys the destruction below. The High Septon himself, garbed in his white and gold robes, flees the Starry Sept, clutching a holy tome to his chest as though it might shield him from the flames. Maegor’s gaze locks onto him, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

“You, who claim to be closest to the gods, will not escape their punishment,” Maegor calls, his voice carrying across the square.

The High Septon falls to his knees, raising his trembling hands in a plea. “Spare me, Your Grace! I have served the gods faithfully—I am but their humble servant!”

Maegor’s face hardens, the glint in his eyes cold and unfeeling. “Your Faith sent assassins after my queen, my child,” he growls. “You will burn for that.”

With another signal, Balerion releases another torrent of fire, engulfing the High Septon in a scorching blaze. His screams echo through Oldtown, a terrible symphony of agony that seems to reach even the highest towers of the Hightower itself. The onlookers, paralyzed by fear, watch as the flames consume the last remnants of the Starry Sept and those who served within it. The High Septon’s cries fall silent, leaving only the crackling of fire and the distant sobbing of townsfolk horrified by the display of power.

As the Starry Sept collapses in a smoldering heap, Maegor directs Balerion to soar higher, circling the ruined city below. His gaze sweeps over the Hightower, a place where he once lived when he took a wife from among their daughters—a wife who dared to defy his queen, to question the place of Y/N at his side. Her blood, like that of the septons below, was shed without hesitation. Maegor has always ensured that no voice rises above his own, not even those of the gods.

But now, his voice rings out again across Oldtown, a decree that none can ignore.

“Let it be known throughout the realm,” he declares, “that the Faith Militant and any who align themselves with the false righteousness of the gods shall face the same fate. No man, no god, no Septon shall question the rule of House Targaryen or my right to claim my queen.”

The words echo in the silence, seared into the minds of all who listen, the weight of them settling upon the city like a brand. And then, with a final glance down at the burning ruin below, Maegor commands Balerion to rise, leaving a trail of smoke and ash in their wake.

Hours later, Maegor returns to the capital, his armor and cloak singed, his face streaked with soot but unbowed. You wait for him at the entrance, heart pounding, watching as he dismounts Balerion and strides toward you, his gaze hard and impenetrable. Yet, as he nears, that hardness softens, if only slightly, as his eyes meet yours.

Without a word, you reach for him, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the heat still radiating from his armor. “You’ve done it, then,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

He nods, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, his grip firm but protective. “No one will dare threaten you again. They have seen what becomes of those who defy us.”

You meet his gaze, searching for the man beneath the rage, the one who has risked everything for you, who will stop at nothing to secure the life of the child growing within you. “And the Faith? Will they stop?”

His jaw tightens, and his voice lowers, almost gentle but carrying a fierce undercurrent. “If they don’t, I will burn every sept in the Seven Kingdoms until not a single one remains.” His hand slips to your belly, resting there possessively. “They will never again come close to you or our child.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his promise, the depth of his wrath. Maegor may be feared, hated even, but in his own brutal, unyielding way, he is yours, and he will keep you safe no matter the cost.

He steps back, exhaling, his eyes never leaving yours. “Tonight, let the realm know that House Targaryen’s fire is boundless,” he says, his voice softer now, almost a murmur. “I will destroy all who oppose us. And in time, they will kneel, knowing they have no choice.”

In that moment, you feel a surge of fierce pride, not only in Maegor’s power but in his loyalty, however ruthless. With him, you will carve a place in this unforgiving world for your child, even if it must be forged in flame and blood.

“Then let them see,” you reply, matching his intensity, feeling the strength of his determination coursing through you. “We will stand together, and the realm will learn to fear us.”

Maegor’s hand tightens over yours, a silent vow exchanged between the two of you. And as he pulls you close, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, you know that whatever comes next, you will face it together—bound by blood, fire, and an unbreakable loyalty that no god or mortal can shatter.

[muddyorbsblr]

relinquish the crown: as long as i've known you pt2

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: Season 1, Episode 17 (finale); immediately after 'as long as i've known you pt1'

Summary: Your mother, Lady Sif, reacts to the news of your betrothal and the Allmother Frigga intervenes before she goes on a rampage to shed Loki's blood. Meanwhile, you and Loki have a conversation about your future

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning/s: themes of incest (he's adopted but still) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: literally everyone except Halley & Narda is stressed out here; headaches headaches and more headaches

Feedback is greatly appreciated! Remember, likes are great but comments & reblogs are treasured.

Of the thousands of years that she'd lived, the Allmother Frigga rarely, if ever, made any choices that she deeply regretted. But as of late, there was one that constantly haunted her every thought. A spell that she'd performed without taking the proper time to consider the long-term consequences of that action.

The spell to lock your memories of Loki and the love, the romantic love, you held for him.

Had it not been for that forsaken spell, there would not be this pit in her stomach over how your spelled self would react to Loki's surrender. To his confession of his own love towards you, if he chose to disclose it. For she knew in her heart how you, the real you, would react to such news.

You would have been tripping over yourself to plan the wedding. To even announce the betrothal yourself.

Your grandmother had seen with her own eyes how you once loved Loki so much with your whole heart that it was a wonder he himself did not see it whenever he looked at you. But perhaps you were both so consumed by your need to mask the love you both deemed too scandalous to see the light of day that you couldn't even see what was right before your eyes all along.

No matter how much she wished to, it was her sworn duty from the Norns themselves that she not interfere with the journeys of two fated souls. That she aid in whatever they would wish and have faith that no matter the obstacle, the souls would find their way back to one another. If the thread that bonded them was strong enough.

And she had seen your souls' threads with her own eyes. A brilliant glowing crimson stronger than even the thread that bound Thor to Sif, or Fandral to Narda. And so she needed to hold faith that you would break this spell yourself. That you would eventually fall in love with him again despite the barriers that prevented your mind from knowing of the events surrounding the Autumnal Equinox. The events at the pinnacle of your affections for him.

Even as she saw you storming out of the war room with your face crestfallen and fighting back sobs, your thread still gleamed that brilliant crimson hue. Not so much as a flicker in its glow.

She did not feel the need to ask what had transpired. If she knew her son as well as she thought she did, then he had done exactly what was needed to pull you out of your predicament with the crown prince of Alfheim. By whatever means he deemed necessary.

Frigga only hoped that he had told you enough to understand his actions, and why his hand had been forced to take such a crucial life choice away from you. She'd known that for as long as you so much as knew about the concept of marriage, you'd always wished to marry for love, like the princesses in those Midgardian fairytales you adored so much growing up.

And once more she loathed her having to cast that spell upon your request. Had you not had your memories locked away in the dark unreachable constraints of your own mind, you would have known that you were marrying for love when the time would come that you would walk the aisle with Loki waiting for you at the altar.

Perhaps through the events of your betrothal you would finally come to fall in love with him again. At your own pace. But for now, she could only keep the faith that these actions from many moons ago could eventually be righted. And her vision of your life together with your fated, blissfully married and in love, was not too terribly far off into your future.

It wasn't long after the men dispersed from the war room that the queen had to intercept your mother Lady Sif from going on a murderous hunt for her brother-in-law. "Where is he?!" she bellowed, her booming voice echoing across the halls. Frigga stepped in front of her daughter-in-law in hopes of halting her. "Your Majesty, much as I love you like you were my own mother, I suggest you stay out of this, your lecherous son--"

"I know, I know what he's done, Daughter," the queen tried to speak calmly, holding her open hands out towards your mother. "And there are other factors at play here that you know not of…at least not yet. May we sit together and I could provide you some context before you go off on a quest to divest Loki of his body parts?"

Sif took a long, deep breath before answering. "He has hurt my daughter--"

"No," Frigga protested. "Hurting her is the last thing he wishes to do. Please, Lady Sif." She motioned down the hall, in the direction of her workroom. "I ask for an hour of your time, and if you are still convinced that my son has come from a lecherous, selfish place, then I will bring him to you myself."

She did not need an hour to relay to the warrior the events that led to the day you were carried in by Loki into her workroom, looking faint in his arms before you begged her to perform the ritual that landed you in this predicament. That once upon a time, not too long ago, you would have happily accepted his confession and disclosed to him that you returned his love.

"She loves him?" your mother asked incredulously. "And this love of hers burned so fiercely that she feared what she would do once he'd chosen to love another? Because of course her logic would decree that Loki's affections could never have been towards her."

"Precisely."

"Can this spell be broken?" Frigga nodded at her. "How?" Her voice cracked as she continued on. "My daughter found the exact type of love that Loki once talked of before he left on his near millennium-long assignment. The kind that makes one wish to move the Realms itself. And her fear of this kind of love led her to a decision so impulsive and frankly idiotic that it looks like something Thor would have done not too long ago." She looked at the queen with frantic eyes. "Why did you not stop her? Tell her that her love was not unreturned? You could have saved her so much strife."

Tears welled in Frigga's eyes as she explained. "It is both a blessing and a curse to be able to see one's thread. I can only be a guiding hand, but I cannot interfere with their choices. Much as I tried to guide her down a path that would have led to this marriage under more joyous circumstances, she seemed steadfast in her belief that he would find her affections abhorrent. She was quite stubborn the day she begged for me to perform the ritual. Reminded me of both her parents when not too long before she was born, they also required a bit of pushing into one another's arms."

"Yes, but Mother this is different," Sif insisted. "I never approached a magic wielder to rid myself of my feelings for Thor. This spell…it's hurting my daughter. I refuse to watch her helplessly, I must help somehow. You may have promised to the Norns that you will not interfere with her journey, but I have made no such promise."

"What would you do, then?" Frigga questioned her. "Telling her what she felt long before will not miraculously make her fall in love again. This spell can be broken, Daughter. But only by Y/N. In her current state, if she falls in love with him again, her memories will return. All we can do is guide her."

Your mother slumped in her seat. "He saved her," she said in a surprised scoff. "He saved her, and now she loathes him. Brilliant as my daughter might be most of the time, I need to say it. These actions of hers…were imbecilic."

"On that, Lady Sif, we can both agree."

"So what do we do now?"

"Guide her," she said once more. "With a gentle hand. If she feels we are pushing her to feel a certain way, she may write us off the way she's already done for her father and grandfather."

"Perhaps a day in the seas," Halley proposed, her fingers tapping away on her handheld device from Midgard. "We could procure a few bottles of champagne, play some salacious drinking games?"

She and Narda had been giddily planning away the events of what would be your bachelorette party, deciding that it would take place in Midgard so that lodging would be squared away by means of one of the properties that you owned. Now it was simply a matter of booking the festivities proper.

"Ooh, perhaps we could hire one of those deliciously attractive male dancers?" Narda perked up. "Is that not a staple for these sorts of getaways with one's bridal party?"

Your head began to pound more furiously at the very mention of a male dancer, so you shook your head at your bridesmaids. "Perhaps it's best not to tempt my impulses, my friends. We know not what the parameters of this Norns-forsaken betrothal is and considering the precarious conditions it already stands on, I would much rather not engage in a risky dance with fate," you told them with a sulking pout. "Though I wouldn't abandon the idea altogether, we do still have Narda's nuptials to plan someday soon."

The three of you broke out into giggles, the heaviness on your heart unburdening by the slightest as you made your way down the palace halls arm in arm. The jovial mood, however, was short-lived, as you made a turn to find Loki a few yards away from you.

"Ladies," he addressed your friends with a curt nod. "May I have a moment with the princess?"

"Oh--Of…of course, your highness," Narda spoke, both she and Halley letting go of your hands and starting to walk further down the hall to pass the god. "We shall speak with you later tonight? To continue planning?"

You nodded at them, a tight-lipped smile on your face. "I'll find you."

Only once they'd passed Loki did he speak. "I see you've already begun your plans?"

"They volunteered for the task," you said in a clipped tone. The pounding in your head became sharper, a part of you almost feeling guilt for speaking to him like this. When you winced he took a step toward you, leading you to sit on the bench.

When he took the seat next to you, it almost felt normal, as if nothing had just happened in the hours past and you'd fallen right back into your former routine. And you wanted nothing more than for that to be your reality. To forget about the betrothal…and his confession.

But it was far too late for feeble wishes now. "What do you want?" you asked him with a sigh.

"Odin informed me not long after you left that we are to partake in a public courtship."

Your face contorted into anguish at his words. Your migraine worsened, pulsing at all sides of your head now, and you buried your face in your hands, willing yourself not to break into a fresh round of sobs. Not here. Not around him. You refused to let him see how this turn of events has wrecked you so thoroughly.

He placed a hesitant hand on your back, trying to soothe you, but you flinched away from him upon contact. "Don't touch me," you murmured into your hands.

"I'm sorry, darling," he said softly, retreating his hand back.

"You lied to me," you said, your voice trembling as you straightened your posture to face him.

He simply shook his head at you, reaching over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "You know in your heart that that isn't true, little Princess. I have only ever spoken the truth with you. Your perception was simply mismatched with my own."

"So this is my fault, then? That I didn't see your lechery?"

"No, sweet Y/N, never." You flinched away from him again when he moved to cup your face. "No one would ever fault you for choosing to view our time together before today with nothing but the purest of intentions, and neither should you. You had never any reason to believe they were anything but."

"Why?" you asked him, exasperated. "Why would you do this?"

"There was no other way."

"What, because of the duel--?"

"Because of Damien," he blurted out, his eyes brimming with desperation as he took your hands in his. "Because of his intentions. My love, you may think me a lech all you wish, but I could not bear it to have to witness him worm his way into your life and gain Odin's approval to force your hand into agreeing to marry that prince. He wished to take you away to Alfheim and relegate you into barely anything more than an incubator for his heirs.

"He would have stripped you of all your choices, made you barely more than a prisoner in his Realm. My claim to the throne was all I had to bargain with the Allfather to keep you here. I did not surrender for fear of losing the duel. I surrendered for you."

His new confession took all the air from your lungs. Your rage turned towards the visiting prince, for you knew that despite the pain of your memories with Loki being tainted, you still implicitly trusted him to tell you the truth. He would not fabricate such a story about Prince Damien simply to make himself look even a modicum more honorable.

The knowledge of the elven prince's dark intentions for you softened the blow of your new arrangement somewhat. But there was still the somber truth that you both had to face. "You need to know that I could…I could never return your affections, Loki. This will not be a marriage of love. For either of us."

He only gave you a somber smile. "We shall see what the future holds," he said, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth once he voiced his optimism. "But Y/N, I would be remiss if I didn't at least ask for you to try."

HIs words caused you to let out a sound between a scoff and a chuckle. "Loki, there is no trying to fall in love with someone. Either you are or you aren't. Where does one even begin to try?"

The god scooted closer to you on the bench, briefly licking his lips before his eyes met yours once more. "Perhaps we could begin by you not flinching away from me when I show you affection," he proposed, your heart beating frantically and pulsing at your throat as he begun to lean closer, your faces inches apart. "And then we can find our way from there."

He took your lack of moving away from him as a sign to move closer, and he softly pressed his lips to yours in a tentative kiss.

At least try, the faintest voice in the back of your mind spoke, and your eyes fluttered closed. But the moment your lips begun to move with his, kissing him back, you recoiled, standing abruptly from the bench and taking a number of steps back, putting as much distance as you could between your body and his.

"I can't," you said, holding your hand over your mouth as you continued to step back from him.

You turned and took large strides down the hall to return to your chambers, feeling as if your lips had been branded with that fleeting kiss.

"What is wrong with you?" you hissed into the empty room. "What in the Nine Realms could have possessed you to kiss him back? He is your father's brother, for fuck's sake."

And just like that, your head began to pound away once more.

A/N: Well well well we're finally here. Welcome to the Season 1 finale of 'relinquish the crown'! I'm still in the process of properly planning Season 2, but I can tell y'all right now…the second half of S2 is fucking jacked with plot. Meanwhile the first half is filled with pre-wedding shenanigans, an auction, and some regular scheduled ✨drama✨

Thank you to everyone that's been reading this story, and seeing everything that these two have gotten up to throughout the events of Season 1! I can't wait for y'all to see what they've got cooked up for Season 2 💖

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814 @jaidenhawke @km-ffluv @huntedmusicgardenn

[merchantziro]

Something I've been thinking all day.

You know those fanon MCU fic scenarios where it's like the Avengers all live at Avengers Tower like a family and Peter's Class having a Field Trip to Stark Industries? Either usually set up Pre-Infinity War or Post-Endgame but Tony lives.

But I was thinking about what would happen if you dropped modern Late-20's to Early 30's year old Spider-Man from the current comics into that universe.

So anyway-

---

MCU Peter: ...Yeah I'm unofficially an Avenger but I prefer to remain the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

616 Peter: Honestly, you could do so much better than them. I encourage you to stay the latter, for our own sanity.

The Avengers, staring at 616 Peter and then at MCU Peter: ...

---

MCU Peter: So that's kinda the short version of how I got caught myself being dragged into a Civil War between Tony & Steve regarding the Sokovia Accords and their attempt to regulate super-powered individuals...

616 Peter: Well at least your Iron Man didn't have you reveal your identity to the world during your Civil War as a show of good faith. Only for it to later backfire and results in your Aunt being shot by an assassin hired by Kingpin so you have to sell your marriage with MJ to Mephisto, basically the devil, in order to save her and restore the status quo of your secret identity.

Tony, who was watching that entire interaction: I'm sorry, you sold your what to who because why because I made you do WHAT now!?

---

Strange: You know you're pretty calm for someone ripped out of their dimension of origin and interacting with a different self and versions of the people they recognize?

616 Peter: Oh it's no biggie. This is far from my first interdimensional rodeo, especially not after fighting the Inheritors who were basically dimension hopping vampires who feed on Spider-People. They tried to also kill us all by pouring the blood of 3 certain individuals onto the Web of Destiny to prevent the prophecy of me and a bunch of other Spider-People defeating them.

Strange: Alright, this raises several questions-

616 Peter: Yeah... A lot of multiversal shenanigans going on these days with a lot of different versions of Spider-Man from different worlds teaming up.

MCU Peter: Wait really? Then how come I wasn't involved in any of them? I'm a Spider-Man too aren't I?

616 Peter: Eh, can't get em all on short notice. A good chunk of Spider-Men were bound to miss the memo when dealing with an infinite multiverse if they weren't dead by then. But tell ya what, I'll make it a note to grab you next time there's a threat to the Spider-Verse.

Strange: ...

---

Tony: So Peter 2, was my counterpart a good mentor to you on your Earth?

616 Peter, not even looking up from what he's tinkering with: First off, don't call me Peter 2. Second, you once forgot I had a secret identity and showed up in my front lawn asking my aunt for Spider-Man in broad daylight.

Steve: Well certainly my counterpart and the elder Spider most certainly have a better relationship.

616 Peter, without missing a beat: I once learned you loved drawing and tried to get you back into the hobby. You explained you left it behind because you viewed it as something the weaker and sicker you would do before you became Captain America, and it hit a little too close to home when you asked me if I still play with my first chemistry set when I never stopped in the first place.

Wanda: Well at least I haven't done anything since I have nothing against our Peter.

616 Peter: You once rewrote the entire universe to basically make mutants the majority and normal humans a minority. As a result I woke up in a life where I was beloved by the public with a public identity albeit because I was lying about being a mutant, my Uncle Ben was alive, and I was married to my now alive and well former girlfriend, Gwen Stacy. Only to have all that ripped away from me and being one of the few who remembered. Granted, not all of it was directly your fault post-rewriting and my life was merely a side effect but... I'm still a little bitter.

Bruce, doesn't know if he should say anything knowing how Hulk usually is: ...

616 Peter, making a note to smiling at him: Don't worry Dr. Banner, both you and Hulk were at least good to me. Hulk was even one of the few people who even remembered my identity post selling my marriage to restore my identity because, "Hulk never forgets" and thanked me for staying with your counterpart after an Incident where I was basically Hulked myself. Because while Hulk viewed you as family, he could never be with you physically.

Bruce, looking surprised before smiling back softly: ...Thank you, Parker. That means a lot to me actually.

---

Thor, out of the blue: I'm sure my counterpart looks forward to it, Man of Spiders.

616 Peter: Hmm? Look forward to what?

Thor: To when you die of course.

616 Peter, blinks before sighing with a dejected look: Oh...

Thor, chuckles and pats him on the shoulder: Not like that, I mean what'll happen to you when you die. When you'll be welcomed into Valhalla, home of the heroes and honored warriors, with open arms. I'm sure my counterpart must agree, few heroes, let alone mortals, have proven to be as worthy as you have based on your stories and how you have proven yourself to act. You are not a warrior, but you are someone better than that.

616 Peter, surprised and actually kinda tearing up: ...Oh.

---

MCU Peter, watching: Man refilling web cartridges so often must suck.

616 Peter, working on making more web fluid: Oh yeah definitely, almost miss the time I had organic webbing instead.

MCU Peter: Oh? You could just produce webs on your own, no web shooter needed?

616 Peter: That's right, though unfortunately I couldn't modify the formula so this stuff is way stronger than that organic webbing.

MCU Peter, curious: And how exactly did you learn you had such a power? Did it come up during a fight or tense situation where you ran out of web mid-fight?

616 Peter, looking up in throught: Eh... Not quite? More like I turned into a giant pregnant spider monster, exploded into a violent death, and gave birth to a myself who was the exact same as before but with organic webbing.

MCU Peter, staring at his counterpart in horror before taking a deep breath: Alright... WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS YOUR LIFE!!??

Steve, walking by: Language.

616 Peter: Yeah... though I seemed to have unfortunately lost that power after making that deal and selling my marriage.

Tony: WHY DOES IT ALWAYS KEEP COMING BACK TO YOU SELLING YOUR MARRIAGE TO THE DEVIL!!??

---

616 Peter, stopping in the middle of the lobby as his Spidey Sense goes off: It feels like... Someone...

616 Peter, turning around and pointing at an entrance: WANTS TO BOTHER ME!!!

The other Avengers & MCU Peter, confused: ...

Wade, whispering to Logan while both are hiding around the corner: I told you he was on to us.

616 Peter, used to Wade's bullshit by this point, immediately calming down: Oh nevermind, it's just Deadpool. False alarm everyone!

---

616 Peter: Oh yeah. I once lost my body to one of my rogues named Dr. Otto Octavius, also known as Doc Ock, where he became an anti-hero and called himself the Superior Spider-Man after seeing my memories. He eventually gave me my body back though when faced with Green Goblin and realized he couldn't defeat him but Peter Parker could.

MCU Peter, looking at the sunset: ...The future looks grim.

616 Peter, patting him on the back: You'll get used to it. Anyway, wanna hear about the time an alien symbiote named Venom bonded to me?

The Avengers, wondering if they really SHOULD send 616 Peter back to his world: ...

---

Natasha: You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

616 Peter: In my defense, it was originally just because I've lost my sense of what is and isn't normal with everything I've experienced, and I thought your world was similar. But it eventually became a bet with Sam & Bucky to see which of this Earth's Mightiest Heroes will crack first with my trauma dumping and I have 5 dollars riding on this.

Natasha: ...Where can I join?

[squidlykitten]

Everyone ready for a fresh month of challenges?

This prompt list was created for the RP Garden's monthly art and writing challenge, and was inspired by @jilymicrofics 's 2024 Moody March! I thought I would share it here as well, just in case someone else feels like using it. And also because putting this together was a lot more work than you might expect.

Spotify playlist of the songs can be found here! There's no real rules. Feel free to make art or writing or whatever your heart desires! If you make stuff, please do tag me or use the hashtag #MoodyMarch2025 . I'm nosey and I wanna see. :> Happy March, ya'll! Text version of the prompts is below the cut.

The Prompts

1. Brave Burning Heart | Outside of Self | A Rising Power Through the pale moonlight, our hearts ignite to the call / Oh claim your price for a crown of stars / In the name of love be the sacrifice / You and I will stand and fight, our backs to the wall Hero - Elizaveta

2. Focused Duty Bound | The End Justifies the Means | Target It’s set in motion/ The legends spoken/ This is my moment/ Can’t break my focus/ Know where I’m going/ This is my moment Conquer - Magnus & Neoni

3. Panic Frantic | Crumble | Abject Horror Your lips are moving but I can't make out a single word/ I'm shaking like a leaf/ Hope the gods that you can't see/ Clawing at my chest cause I can't breathe/ Now I got scars that never bleed PANIC ATTACK - PEGGY

4. Uneasy Discomfort | Judgement | Suspect I feel a rush on me/ Come get these cuffs off me / Come get me out of my head/ And I'm stuck inside of what I see / These walls are blinding me/ Makes me crazy, I'm feeling uneasy Uneasy - Rita Ora

5. Contented Sunlight Filtering through a Window | Fulfilled | Serenity Loosen up on the grind/ Simmer down/ Settle back and mess around/ Be the cat in the sun Be the Cat - Kylie Dailey

6. Nostalgic Dreamy Thoughts | Faded Memories | Displaced Self Everything stays right where you left it / Everything stays but it still changes / Ever so slightly / daily and nightly / in little ways / everything stays Everything Stays - Bentelou

7. Joyful Mirth | Festivities | After Rain Comes Sunshine It don't matter if it's raining/ Nothing can phase me/ I make my own sunshine/ And if you think you can break me/ Baby you're crazy I Make My Own Sunshine - Alyssa Bonagura

8. Surprised Overcome Adversity | Skepticism | Doubt I know you hate it when you know I could be anywhere/ So complicated, when you try so hard not to be scared/ I’ll be hiding under your bed or behind the bathroom door/ It’s so fun to watch you freak out. Ha ha, scared you! Sneak Attack - The Aquabats!

9. Disgusted Depraved | Decay | Disappointment I almost settled for you/ Thank God you do what you do / And now your colours are true/ Took me a while, but I grew/ I’m so disgusted with you Disgusted - Song House & Wé Ani

10. Calm Untouchable | Tranquil | Water Darling, you gotta keep breathing/ Lose yourself in the feeling/ Just be slow(x2) / Take it back to that moment/ Before you start to feel broken/ Just be slow (x2) Be Slow - Harrison Storm

11. Amazed Reverence | Devotion | Striking No masters or kings when the ritual begins/ There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin/ In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene/ Only then, I am human, only then, I am clean Take Me to Church - Hozier

12. Furious Burning Face | Tense Muscles | Blood Pumping Punch your lights out / Hit the pavement / That's what I call entertainment Lights Out - Mindless Self Indulgence

13. Proud Overcome | Earnest | Achievement So as you go please know on your way / as you explore and as you learn and as you play / I hope it shows how much it is true/ that I'm so proud of you Proud of You - Five Times August

14. Heartbroken Chest Pain | Heavy Body | Cold Mind Tell me how to say goodbye/ Peel away the shame so I / Can tear apart my ribs to shed the dark Tell Me How to Say Goodbye - Red

15. Loving Together | Care | Faith I find it hard to believe you don't know/ The beauty you are/ But if you don't, let me be your eyes/ A hand to your darkness so you won't be afraid I'll Be Your Mirror - Courtney Barnett (Velvet Underground cover)

16. Anxious Shortness of Breath | Shaking Hands | Nausea I get overwhelmed / so easily / my anxiety / creeps inside of me / makes it hard to breathe / whats come over me/ feels like I'm somebody else overwhelmed - Royal & the Serpent

17. Admiration Mesmerized | Wonders of the World | Idol Well I see skies of blue and I see clouds of white/ And the brightness of day highlight the dark/ And I think to myself what a wonderful world What a Wonderful World - Israel Kamakawiwoʻole

18. Bored Finnicky | Dull | Repetition A heart that's full up like a landfill/ A job that slowly kills you/ Bruises that won't heal No Surprises - Radiohead

19. Amused Wrinkles around the Eyes | Spry steps | Cheerful Heartbeats synched as one / endless summer fun / we are never done / underneath the sun Laughing with my Friends - Patranesia

20. Excited Promises fulfilled | Energetic | Eager I'm a shootin' star, leapin' through the sky like a tiger/ Defyin' the laws of gravity/ I'm a racin' car, passin' by like Lady Godiva/ I'm gonna go, go, go, there's no stoppin' me! Don't Stop Me Now - Queen

21. Embarrassed Accident | Secrets Unveiled | Unrequited Stranger, that's all I see/ When I look into your eyes/ A soulmate who wasn't meant to be A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant to Be - Jess Benko

22. Desperate Voice Breaking | Pleading | One Last Chance There's a time to pray / and there's a time to fight / Anything can be a weapon if you're holding it right / Defend what is yours / They will not take our souls / It's time now to rise / and FIGHT! Save Our City - Ludo

23. Grieving Change | Not Anymore | It mattered A single thought, a singular touch of grace/ Then following this single point, this single flame/ This single haunted memory of your face A Thousand Years - Sting

24. Playful Melody | Humor | Refreshed No need for morning coffee/ When you've cereal and cartoons / Let's skip the work and deadlines / And ride our bikes till noon Don't Grow Up, It's A Trap - Denny Haze

25. At Peace Forgiveness | Final Words | Idyllic And I found peace in the desert/ I found peace in raging waves/ And I found peace in the valley/ found peace in what you said Peace - Anna Golden

26. Stressed Tension | Choice | Urgent I'm addicted to stress/ That's the way that I get things done/ If I'm not under pressure then I sleep too long/ And I hang around like a bum/ And I think I'm going nowhere and that makes me nervous/ Everybody's out to get me, but I feel alright/ Everybody's thinking about me Stress - Jim's Big Ego

27. Terrified Voiceless | Harrow | Abandoned I've swallowed all my pride/ 'Cause I can't get this right/ There's nothing left to hide/ And I know deep inside/ I'm terrified Terrified - Versus Me

28. Compassionate Helping Hand | Kind Words | Unexpected Ally This is not just a pile of stones, okay?/ We are building a castle together/ And we are gonna to build it brick by heavy fucking brick / And I'm going to be here with you, every moment / Talking you through it GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE - The Narcissist Cookbook

29. Lost Lifeless | Wanderer | Point of No Return Because the thing about things/ Is that they can start meaning things nobody actually said/ And if you're not allowed to love people alive/ Then you learn how to love people dead The Thing About Things - Amanda Palmer

30. Insulted Vexing | Sticks and Stones | Pride There ya go, just spit in my face/ Keep my name in your mouth, how bad does it taste?/ Why do you sit there and belittle me?/ When you choke on your own animosity Disappoint Me - Left to Suffer

31. Fulfilled Grounded | Lightness of Self | Satisfaction You only live once / I'm good with myself / I'm there for my friends / to the very end I'm Good - The Mowglis