#then Cole came along and ruined her

[ryukisgod]

Cole Turner is the JustinBobby of Charmed

[caffeinatedmunchkin]

Nourishment, Beyond the Physical

Emmrich Volkarin x Fem!Rook ✦ Rating: M (MDNI!) ✦ 11.7k words

He almost didn't recognize the sound that came from him as his own; a whimpering, pathetic noise. Sick. The closest comparison to the feverish hue that rushed his clammy skin. The most apt identifier to the brutal, qualmish onset. He was a lot for her to take, though she'd have it no other way. The first time she laid with Emmrich he left her ruined, and never before had she submit to ruination with such abandon. He had the tendency of holding her needs paramount to his own. Now given the chance to return the favor, she offered herself to his exigency, unconditional and absolute. If he lost himself in her, so be it. She'd light the way back, like a beacon to ships in the night. And she'd piece him back together again. Such messy business - love.

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Crossposted to AO3!

I had an out of state wedding, a death in the family, and double-shifts at work all week long, but none of that could STOP me from finally finishing whatever the hell this is. Inspired by the beautiful and wonderful Cole’s post here, this was one of the realest things I’ve ever read everyone say thank you Cole for being correct and being vocal about it !!

I honestly have nothing to say for myself, other than this was supposed to be no more than a quick and dirty drabble with a double shot of angst at best. Before I knew it, this thing grew legs and booked it. I hope you're as exhausted by the end of reading it, as I am now having finished writing it. I've been working on this one for a minute.

I love you all so much, and I pray to whoevers listening that you like it !!

The last gasp of winter stained his high cheeks, and nipped his nose. Blistering gusts whistling past his ears, the frigidity cut through the wool of his coat with icy talons; swiping at any and all that strode along in it's wake. Spurred by desperation it to cling to it's dwindling reign, as it slipped from it's clutches a little more with each day.

An early evening that marked the start of Wintersend, the suns retreat came later and later, yet the chill in the air refused its dismissal.

Emmrich was but one casualty of few who walked the thawing domain this time of night, having traced this exact path through Nevarra's streets many times.

An ordinary stroll home, after an unassuming day back within his classroom. During the middle of a week that was decidedly without note.

No stranger to the Necropolis's unforgiving temperatures, the elements outside it's walls throbbed bone deep. The bitterness raw, whereas the former was tempered.

A flush of nostalgia was quick to warm him, as he passed the storefront of the florist he had seen prior to his escapades with the Veilguard, Safeia.

She was delicate and attentive with their romance; he felt tended to, like one of her prized blooms. While their affair was as lovely, it wasn't meant to last. Just as the crisp of spring wilted to summers swelter, the annual that was their courtship neared it's end.

They wanted different things out of life, out of their partners. Gentle as she was considerate, their release of one another saw her wistful, but to the same end of her understanding. Their parting amicable, they sometimes bumped into one another around the city. Only ever having gratefulness to offer, in their exchanged nods, and kind smiles.

It allowed him to appreciate the flower shop every time he passed it by, more anxious than ever for the approach of springtime. To see budding greenery overflow through doors she liked to prop open, inviting the mellow sweetness of the air, and prospective patrons alike. His memory of her, just as the woman herself, was always perfumed by fresh soil, and Freesia.

A pleasant smell for a pleasant recollection, Emmrich held nothing but fondness as he thought back to his time with her, however brief.

Spring his favorite season, no one's anticipation for its arrival was greater. Though winters stubbornness held firm, he had his own, personal little slice of spring every day. Waiting for him back home, to where he was en route.

Yet as he strode past, the gentle smile that crept across his face was not for the florist.

Nor was the accompanying tightness in his chest for the anticipation of her floral arrangements that would soon line the windows.

It was for his destination, and his newfound eagerness to reach it. Eagerness that quickened his gait along the paved walk.

All for the woman who awaited him there. Milk and honey in her kiss. Petal curved, and satin soft.

The one who gave him reason to return at the end of each day, instead of idling at one shop or the next, stalling the loneliness that used to receive him.

The one he wanted to be back to, even more than he wanted to stop and admire Safeia's blossoms.

The one who made his house a home.

It was their first of this holiday spent together, and as a couple proper. Far away from the horrors of the blight, and genocidal elven gods that sought the worlds destruction. Though it was a morbid little thought, he couldn't help but pay due credit to those horrors. Stowing aside that guilt and selfishness, it was what brought he and Ariadne together, after all.

Without that interference - be it fate or coincidence or dumb luck - he may have spent the rest of his days without ever knowing the resplendence of her affection. Fierce and unbridled, just like the young necromancer was herself.

Many months had passed since then. Returned to Nevarra, he brought Ariadne back home with him, and brought her back for good.

After the expected reluctance, and no small sum of bluster, the order had agreed to reopen the case of her transgressions. All at his insistence, of course.

Insistence that expressed in no uncertain terms the thorn he'd pose in the sides of not only his colleagues, but the nobility whose favorable relations they prioritized, in the event it fell on sudden deaf ears.

It was almost comical, the utterance of Watcher Ingellvar shifted from the air of an ill-favored black sheep, to one of high esteem in but a blink.

With impressive restraint, Ariadne waited until she was given a formal pardon - as well as an invitation to return to their fold - before taunting with flippant indecision. Exaggerated hemming and hawing, as to whether or not she'd deign to grace their ranks with her presence once more. All through a cloying simper.

Emmrich expected no less.

Prior to his sabbatical, the right of Emmrich's predominant dwelling belonged to the Upper Mortuary, though he owned more than one property.

The Volkarin Estate in the heart of the Nevarran countryside made for an exceptional holiday retreat, and little else. It's distance from the obligations and responsibilities of his day to day made for an impractical primary residence.

It only made sense to whisk her away to his town home, tucked within the city walls on the upper-east side.

Accessible to both the Necropolis, and the tamer portions of the city he frequented, his private niche sat adjacent a sprawling botanical garden. A regular haunt of his, he now had a beautiful young blonde to steal away with amongst the orchids and delphiniums upon their return.

The space of this lodging was always meant for more than just one. Three spacious stories that boasted multiples rooms, each spanned a near obscene amount of square footage, when compared to its occupant; a single, lone necromancer.

So she came to live with him. No theatrics, or pondering. Just emphatic agreement, in the form of the arms she threw around his neck and wound tighter than a copper coil.

All that remained was for them to begin again, anew. To lay the foundation for the life they'd share; and theirs was a quiet one. Their mutual appreciation for that stillness the axis on which they thrived.

Ordinary strolls home, after unassuming days, and weeks without note.

Taking full advantage of her new status, she'd slink through the Necropolis' halls whenever the mood struck, otherwise her appearances were to surprise him. Luring him to the memorial gardens to share the lunch she'd prepared.

True to her reputation, she caused quite the stir amongst his pupils, much to the chagrin of their fellow superiors.

Legs folded beneath her in the grass while her lap cradled his head, his lank stretched along the ground beneath him in comfort. Rattling off the adjustments to his syllabus he was entertaining for the next semester. Or reading aloud to her the poetry of the late Nadia Ulpius, his possession of such rarity all thanks to their dear Neve.

During which she'd hum, and comb her nails through his hair, mindful to go with it's styled pattern, so as to not muss a single strand. Halting his prattling only to lift a strawberry, or wedge of clementine, to his lips for a bite.

Believing themselves to have ample privacy situated behind their preferred tomb, he had made the mistake - for the first and last time - to suck the juice from her finger-tips. Damning impropriety for long enough to indulge a throaty rumble, his tongue lapped the pads of her fingers and lacquered nails in suggestion.

Only to bolt upright once the giggles from some of his first year students burned his ears, rigid with mortification. Clustered and whispering to one other with fervency a little ways off, their distance suggested a discretion that didn't match their prying eyes, and craned necks.

From then on their lunch dates never went behind the walls of his classroom. Door shut and the shades drawn.

Of course it didn't deter Ariadne from trying her best to persuade him back. His romantic involvement with her was every bit as tantalizing as one would expect, and she delighted in the scandal of it all, the wretched little vixen that she was.

It had been only a few days since her last drop-in, but already he'd been spoiled by her presence there, natural as it was familiar. Though she had dashed any hope of the sort for that day, with the litany of errands she recited over breakfast, it didn't prevent his longing for her little figure to saunter through his door all the same.

Before he knew it he was rounding the corner of his block, spotting the lit candles that dressed the south facing windows of their home; the glow combating the dreariness with soft glints through the glass. Beckoning him back to her, like a beacon to ships in the night.

As Emmrich approached their front door, the steady thrum in his chest then soured, no longer weightless with his reminiscing. A once placid heartbeat, it jerked with every step he took that closed the distance.

No warning, no immediate trigger made obvious, as he thought of his little Watcher, and their home together.

They were now on the other side of the insurmountable odds they bested. Together at long last, and happy. The sap in him liked to attribute such things to fate, their story mirroring that of the fairy-tales Bellara had introduced to their book club.

He got the girl in the end. Even though she wasn't promised to him.

Nothing of their future was.

But if his experience with fate taught Emmrich one thing, it was that she was nothing if not a cruel mistress.

Simple, unadorned contentedness appealed to him more and more in his later years. He appreciated the little things; the magic in the mundane. Now having achieved such fortune, it only increased his anxiety that he would lose it.

Just as his fear of death had slithered it's way in when he was at his most unsuspecting, this startling new and very unwelcome loathing had roused when he lost her to the Fade, all those months ago. Her return should have seen it snuffed, but it continued to flicker, faint yet undying.

While he couldn't deny the predictability of such a turn, that was a beast he kept caged in the dark.

He tried to quell it by the way he hugged her a little tighter than he did before, and for longer than either of their full schedules would permit.

He thought to soothe it by staying up later than her, if only to watch her eyes twitch, and her lashes flutter in dreams. Tracing her clavicle, before resting his palm above her heart, stilling himself to it's mesmeric beating.

Able to take a breath in their bed; knowing that the heart that pulsed against his touch was indeed right there alongside him, to be cherished. To be held.

Foolish habits of a foolish man.

He blew in through the front door with an energetic burst of the cold, it's final stab at domination. Pulling the knob with a firm hand, he shut it out, denying it further infestation.

"Emmrich?"

Her call to him echoed the latch as it tumbled with a click. Surmising her to be in the kitchen, if the sugared aroma that tickled his nose upon entry was any indication, it returned his smile.

As did his fears subside. A flaming torch thrust into the snarling face of the beast, banishing it back into the fetid depths from whence it dragged itself. Back behind lock and key.

He was home.

"-Only me, darling." He called back, dropping his shoulder to let the strap of his satchel fall down the length of his arm. Beginning to shrug out of his coat, light foot falls pranced the distance of the hall runner behind him before he pulled out of the first sleeve.

"I missed you today." Ariadne then at his side, she pinched his coat sleeve to help it the rest of the way off.

"And I you." The elf poised on the very tips of her toes in a wordless request for a peck, one that Emmrich was already stooping down to steal. "How did your day treat you? Did those errands keep you very busy?"

"It was all wonderfully dull, thank you for asking." She beamed, relishing mundanity's pace. "What about yours?" Grasping his coat collar, she shimmied it from around his shoulders. "All went well?"

"Very well indeed. My junior apprentices have made remarkable progress, and their aptitude for psychometry continues to astound." He watched as she collected his jacket and bag, and left him for only as long as it took her to hang them up for the next morning.

His look of pride then struggled. "Though, while the subject presents, some have developed a worrisome habit of... oh, how shall I phrase this... enquiring on matters most private. In regards to myself, and my amorous displays with a certain elven Watcher."

Ariadne's lips pulled into a grin, and though her back was to him, he could hear it hugging her words. "Sounds like their fantasies have been piqued."

Back on him twice as fast, she knotted her fingers into the ends of his scarf to coax him back down to her. And he allowed himself to be, her fiendish simper spreading. "Surely you, least of all, are no stranger to some smitten pupils."

His grimace taut, it strained his usual velvet timbre to loose gravel. "They look at me as though I'm some roguish heartthrob straight from a pulpy Minrathous serial."

"Well, I can hardly blame them," she sighed with a bat of her long lashes, chest pressed to his abdomen as she continued to sag against him. "You really are quite dreamy."

"I've no doubt that my stunt in the gardens will shadow my academic career to an indefinite end."

She leaned back for a better view of the grave face angled down at her, one that didn't crick her neck so. For all his lamentation, his eyes sparkled.

"My perfect gentleman, assuming all the credit?" Her tease curled through a wicked pout, the saccharine purr of 'my perfect gentleman' dripping from the tip of her tongue like caramelized sugar, sticky on his teeth and heavy in his stomach. "I played a hand in that one myself, need I remind you."

"Your culpability needs no reminding, my dear." Rocking back to her toes, he seized the opportunity to snake an arm around her waist, sweeping her back into him with a wickedness all his own. "Nor does your insatiability."

A spot of flour dusting her nose caught his eye, it's placement looking purposeful. Spidery digits cupping a rosy cheekbone, he reached forward to brush it away with his thumb, though not before she squeaked from his frozen touch.

"You're as cold as death." She tsked, a flurry of fingers reached up to swipe across his cheeks and temple. He couldn't fight his smile if he wanted to. Emmrich leaned into her, savoring the infectious spread of her body-heat. Her nose crinkled in just the way he adored, murmuring as she fussed. "I'll go run you a hot bath."

"Lovely of you to offer, my darling, though unnecessary. I'll warm up before long." Without breaking their gaze, he turned to lay a kiss into her palm, as it continued to rub the chill from his blushed skin. "That aside, I'm much too interested in that exquisite scent wafting from the kitchen."

"Hmm? Scent?" Expert coyness he was now practiced to poke straight through, her efforts were all for naught, betrayed by the creep of her own sly grin. "What scent?"

Contentedness weighing as heavy on his lips as in his eyelids, he hummed in thought. "What ever are you up to?"

She wrinkled her nose; believable offense feigned, her grin persisted. "Do you always believe me to be up to something?"

Voice kicked into his chest, the abrupt lower in octave had her sway in his hold. "Not at all, my love. Only when you look as though you're up to nothing, is when I begin to suspect you're up to something."

"Wouldn't Neve be proud." Tittering as she slipped from his grasp, she gathered one hand in both of hers, toes planted behind her heel. "Come with me then, and close your eyes."

"Such secrecy." He mused, allowing her to disappear from sight as his eyes fell shut.

Spinning around, Ariadne began to coax him forward with a bounce to her bare step. Flitting a glance over her shoulder to make certain he followed instruction, her timing was precise enough to find his left eye slitting for a peek, only when he knew he'd get caught.

"Ah-!" She chided through a cheeky smirk. "Absolutely not, young man."

Emmrich did as he was told, though not before barking a deep chuckle.

Eyes shut, no so much as twitching to sneak a peep, he allowed his tiny elf to lead him by the hand from the foyer and down the main hall, into the kitchen that they shared. The fragrance strengthened the nearer they drew; something sweet, and still warm from the oven. He could lift the aroma of toasted hazelnut through a haze of fresh sugar paste.

It ghosted across his lungs in bittersweet familiarity, before it spread throughout the breadth of his chest at an alarming pace. Pooling around his heart, it roused an old, dull ache to spasm throughout the muscle. One he knew well, he hadn't felt it in quite some time.

Emmrich didn't need to open his eyes to know what it was.

A chair positioned for him at the table, she guided his tall frame down to take a seat. Traipsing to stand behind him, he felt her breasts against his back, as she gathered his tapered upper body into her arms. Linking them around his neck with fingers dangling against his buttons, her cheek came to rest at his temple.

"Alright." She cleared her throat, the words cracking under her anxiousness. "Now you may look."

The sight of a dessert came into view. A cake, propped up square in his field of view. But not just any cake, if his nose was to be believed.

His mother's hazelnut torte.

It's presentation was pristine. Centered on a black crystal server, the sides were smooth with the whipped silk frosting, though pebbled with crushed hazelnut, just how he liked. Swirled peaks dotted the circumference of the top, dusted with cardamom, and flecks of what appeared to be orange zest.

Both assembled and decorated with a diligent hand, Emmrich could scarcely believe it was crafted by the same one that blurred in a lackadaisical whirl when extending a whisk. Whose 'pinch's and 'dash's were more akin to 'handful's.

Baking was a precise art, and Ariadne, by her own admission, was an imprecise woman.

Mother Volkarin's Nevarran Hazelnut Torte was every bit the labor of love she feared, one that consumed the lion's share of her day.

The hands that brought one of her gods to his knees before her, were the same that shook as she folded the egg whites into the batter. Emmrichs written instruction to 'do so gently' so heavy in it's emphasis, she could hear the ink admonish her from the page.

The cakes almost cracked during the transfer from pan to cooling rack. She drizzled the espresso into the icing before it was whipped, curdling the chocolate in the process, so she had to make it twice.

An adept cook, that skill was much looser with the rules. It allowed for improvisation, and fudging. She could afford to be distracted, and make substitutions without worry.

They often alternated the role of cook, unless it was a shared evening off, in which case they did it together. A testament to their complimentary opposition, seamless cohesion while preparing a meal was not a feat just any couple could boast. But they could.

Baking allowed no room for error, and would punish even minor offenses without discrimination. So much as one under performing ingredient would see the whole suffer. Baking would sooner bite the hand of the uninitiated than show it grace. Not dissimilar to how a beast snaps at one unfamiliar, one that approached with unease.

It required focus. Dedication. Her full, undivided attention.

Judging by it's looks, she had done just that. Having gone through the endeavor for no other reason than to surprise him. To do something special for his favorite time of year. To let him know her adoration of him was boundless, and what she was willing to give went without limit.

Even if it meant baking from scratch.

The length of ring adorned fingers closed around her wrist almost twice over. He stroked the knob of bone there with brisk thumb strokes, as if to quell her doubts through touch, while he was too overcome that moment to speak.

"I know you're not one to spoil your dinner, but your secret'll be safe with me." She pulled away, lips curling to a kiss against his forehead. Tugging the scarf from his shoulders to fold in half, she peered at him sheepish and sidelong. Unwilling to rush him, but anxious for his validation in the same breath.

Those bright eyes of hers boring into him in impatient wait, Emmrich shook himself free of the beginnings of his spiral only as her gaze began to burn.

Finally inclined to speak, the words snagged against his throat, strangling his inflection with what what of his voice managed to escape.

"Forgive me my discourtesy, dearest, I'm... at a loss for the proper words."

Draping his scarf over the back of an empty chair, she came to his side again. "How about your improper words, then?" Taming her nerves, Emmrich clasped her hand and lifted it to his lips.

A soft snicker misted into her skin, before molding his pout to the valleys of her knuckles. Spine then erected, he intoned through an easy smile. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather get on with spoiling my dinner."

She left him sitting there, alone with the torte, to fetch a plate and utensils. Shifting in his seat, Emmrich arranged himself over the side of it, one long leg crossed over the knee of the other. Turned away from the table to instead face her, she returned as if she had never stepped away.

He then eyed her as she placed the setting before him. Counting one plate between the two of them with a knit brow.

"Won't you join me?"

"I'll sneak a bite of yours." She teased, sinking the knife down in two clean, angled lines. Forming a neat triangle, she divulged where her motivations for such an act of service stemmed as she did.

"Lucanis told me when you gave him the recipe. I've been holding onto it for so long, I'd almost forgotten he'd given it to me." Lifting the wedge free, she plated it for him with ease. "It's only taken me so long to get around to because I saw you specified that your mother made it for you every Wintersend, and I wanted to do this properly."

Satisfied with the slice, she then passed it to him, trying to mask her shyness by babbling over it.

"I'm sure you could just make it for yourself perfectly well, but it's... different, I think, when it comes from someone else. Made for you, by someone who loves you." She continued to explain, and he continued his stunned silence. Willing himself to nod when appropriate, all else he could do was swallow hard against the cold lump in his throat.

A heaviness settled around him, but one that posed a comfort. Shielding. A hearty glass of mulled port on a frigid, lonesome night. That warded against the chill, and wrapped the heady spice of cinnamon and anise around his weariness, until it all melted away. An embrace of care. Of affection, and devotion.

For him, by one who loved him.

It patched another of his holes, one leftover from the accident. Another one of his empty gaps tailor-made for her shape, greedy to receive her. Left cold and open until she came along and filled it. No longer having a mother's doting, having been deprived of it at the tender age of old enough to suffer it's absence with appreciation.

Ariadne propped her hip against the edge of the table alongside where he sat. Arms folded, they then fell to twist her fingers at her naval.

Severing a piece with his fork that was both modest yet polite, Emmrich slid it between his teeth. Woefully heedless.

Until the taste settled.

Her fidgeting next balled fists at her hips, before dropping to hug herself around the middle.

Whipped frosting dissolved against the grooves of his tongue, and the airiness of the confection yielded to his thoughtful chewing in a slurry of rich mocha, coffee, and cream. All culminated with the barest hint of a crunch from pulverized hazelnut. With the first bite swallowed, he stilled.

Fingers knotted to keep still, she gnawed at her lower lip. Brows furrowed with an intensity that contrasted against her inhibition.

His stoic features twitched with pain, one that he fought to keep quiet.

Searching him for any signs of encouragement, he stared either directly into her - or through her - she wasn't certain. But it made little difference.

He didn't see her, or whatever it was he zeroed in on. Ever alert and keenly observant, Emmrich's look of foggy displeasure sank her heart to the pit of her stomach.

"That bad?" She offered in hesitation, as she steeled herself. Working her inflection gentle and light, he flinched against her words, as if her doubt struck him across the face. Her panic spiked.

Shutting his eyes, a harsh exhale flared his nostrils. And then nothing. Wound so tight and rocked stiff, not even his broad chest rose and fell with the rhythm of breaths.

She had tempered expectations.

Of course it would pale in comparison to his mother's, but surely her efforts would be appreciated, no matter how amateurish her attempt.

However he remained tensed, and aloof.

It bubbled resignation up her throat to spill between them, like a pot boiled over. Rushing to distance herself from the flicker of hope that she succeeded, only to retreat to forgone failure. Much more familiar to her, she burrowed in that experience, and sought it's shelter. "I know its not quite the same, but I did tr-,"

Breaking himself out of the reticence that held him captive, without addressing her - or even glancing back her way - he turned in his chair to face the slice head on, before he mauled it.

Wolfing it down like a man starved, he hunched over in his seat, no different from how a hound seeks to hide their bone from prying eyes before they gnaw it to shreds and marrow.

Ricocheting the fork back and forth between his mouth and the plate, not a hint of deviation, or break, in his ferine.

His heart throbbed by a chest that squeezed against it, intent to cave in. He didn't come up for air, not that his lungs would be able to suck it in against his body's constricting. Every part of him felt heavy and tender; the sore fatigue of succumbing to grief, after ignoring it for longer than it would tolerate.

The clinking of metal against the china was all the noise between them.

"Oh-," squeaked from her. One so quiet, he recognized it wasn't meant to be playful. He had startled her, just as he had himself.

Emmrich felt himself surrounded by her intent gaze, swelling with his every hurried inhale. Little muted whines were shook loose, before they were able to be strangled by his rabid mastication. With every one that groaned from the cavernous need he rushed to fill with her, the wider her eyes grew.

And the hotter her cheeks.

She couldn't fight the allure of when he presented so unrefined. To witness such vulnerability meant that she, and she alone, withheld the privilege of the one who he lowered his walls for. Ariadne offered to him her heart for his consumption, and he accepted. Selfish and with voracity, he took all she had to give, and it worsened his body's demand for more. It pulsed and twitched around a hollow hunger. One that would never be satiated, so long as she was near.

His teeth ground through her meaning behind the torte, as though the more earnest he was in savoring it, the closer he'd bind himself to her. The stronger the hit would be. The more potent the sense memory would cement itself, should he never get the chance for it again.

Should he ever lose her again.

A fool he was, to believe he reconciled the pain of being made to go without her.

Throbbing low and dull, it shared the space with his heart, and presented like an old scar. His body's hasty work to patch it saw it numbed and gnarled, stitched closed with a ragged touch before he bled out on the spot.

Unbothered to make it clean, or pretty. To lay nice beneath the skin so he wouldn't feel it there. To eventually fade away with time, like all the rest.

This picked it back open. Confronting him with the blood, and the mess. The beast found a weak spot in the cage.

And Emmrich kept eating.

His throat felt thick, and his molars buzzed. Head clotted and hazy from the rush of sugar, it wasn't enough discomfort to keep him from going in for more.

Until every crumb was devoured. Until his fork scratched empty plate. Only to then use the flat of it to scrape the smears of leftover frosting, he sucked it clean from the tines.

He didn't indulge in sweets often, not in a long while. And never like this.

It was like just his mother's, and it wasn't.

So different from how he remembered, yet it warmed him from the inside out, just as it did when he was a boy.

He detected her use of both rum and coffee in the icing, in place of the orange liqueur. A personal preference of his mother's in which her faithfulness was strict.

It tasted like Ariadne. Her bite. How she burned down his throat and boiled in his stomach. An addictive delight, tinged with the inescapable aftertaste of regret that plagued a treat. Something that tasted too good to resist, though he knew better.

Her heavy-hand, and decadence.

Her affection for him, overwhelming as it was unapologetic.

He didn't need his mother's torte. He needed hers. And now that he got a taste, he was ravenous.

It awakened something so deep-seeded within him he didn't recognize it at first. He didn't know how to appease it. Dredged from his depths, it ordered his acknowledgment with the same loud insistence that begged her consolation.

All he could do was reach for her.

He clawed at her hips with too much strength behind his nails, and yanked her into him. Blossoming a squeal that reached his ears, but went no further.

All but snatching her off her feet, Emmrich closed in to curl around her like a sniveling child. Burying his face in her abdomen, he wrapped himself around her in a plea for security only she could give.

He was the small and frightened boy, and the man he worked so hard to become in order to leave him behind, all at once.

Too tall and long-limbed to hide himself in her, it didn't stop him from trying.

The precious trivialities on which they'd built a life upon teased behind his squeezed lids.

Her call of his name through the door when he got in. How she hung herself from his neck, and gazed up at him with those soft brown eyes, like there existed an additional lifetime just for them to admire one another.

How he'd come into their bedroom from his morning bath, to her choice of his cuff links, or ascot for the day, laid out and ready for him. How serious she contemplated his wardrobe whenever he desired her input. A regular occurrence, as he delighted in the perk of her pointy ears when deep in consideration.

Cooking together. Wine blushing her cheeks and loosening her grin. Throaty giggles echoed into her glass at some-off hand remark of his that wasn't meant for laughs, but adoring it had done so.

Eating their meal in silence shared, for even their lack of conversation was a comfort.

Her nimble fingers gliding over the curve of his rump in a playful, yet possessive squeeze as she slipped past to goose him. Her preferred method of getting his attention.

How effortless she could communicate to him, the very same sentiment she spoke aloud just as often.

I love you.

The beast was loose, and it lunged straight for his weakness, snapping at the vestiges of his composure with it's slobbering maw. No longer would it be ignored.

Vision speckled and swimming, Emmrich blinked against it in hopes that would return his acuity, while his fingers curled their way around the waistband of her pants. A thin, clinging material, they goaded his ferocious weakness for the curvature of her hips and thighs. Soft, supple, full. Fecund. What of his faculties persisted, it was not near enough to stop him from yanking them down her legs.

Needing no further clarification of his needs, one of her hands hand grabbed for the meat of his broad shoulder to steady herself. Helping him pull her leggings the rest of the way in hurried accommodation, before kicking the pooled material from her feet.

Having forgone her underthings, a keening whine rattled his teeth at the discovery. Had it been any other time, he would have better expressed his appreciation for such boldness. Her womanhood bared to him, pink and puffy, he gazed at her and began to salivate, sugar still coating the inside of his cheeks.

Another time. When he didn't feel like he might have been ill if he didn't push himself inside her that very moment.

Naked from the waste down, he knocked the chair out from under him with a squawk of its feet skidding across tile. Clutching at the little elf, he sank to the floor, and dragged her down with him.

Scrambling to mount her, he insisted she lay down and open herself up to him; beyond mere words, but begged by way of how he pushed and pulled her.

Emmrich had weathered many romances and heart break, all of which conditioned his hands with an expertise that now failed him. Gifted with unspeakable adroitness with the body of a lover, those hands now shook and misfired, and with his own trousers, no less.

Directionless, he pawed her with brutish fumbling, grabbing at her everywhere and touching her nowhere. Breaths too tattered for blush-worthy adulation. Trembling with such force he was unable to free himself as quick as he needed, much less still himself long enough for a kiss, even one chaste.

Embarrassment had set for a myriad of reasons, though the feud with his clasps whipped him back to his first time - that sweet classmate of his, all those years ago - flushed and inexperienced.

A gangling lad on the edge of seventeen, not yet acquainted with his new height fresh off a growth spurt. Navigating his hormones and fledgling manhood with tragic ineptitude, that was, until Julian.

A strapping young man with the vibrancy of a midday sky in the blue of his eyes. The same height as Emmrich, he carried it so much better, having hit his metamorphosis much earlier. He moved with confidence, an attribute that both attracted Emmrich, and made him green with envy.

Julian kissed him sweeter than his perpetual mischievousness hinted. A biting wit softened to moaned praise. Assertive hands with an exploratory touch over Emmrich's wiry, virgin body. It was romantic in the way that young, puppy love often was; affection warm and dewy as early morning grass in mid summer, their romance carried through that season to the following.

Their end reached it's natural conclusion. He missed his companionship as he did the intimacy. But more seasons came and went, missing him a little less with each one. Dulling the sharp edges of his longing to rosy remembrance, like sand and waves to fragments of glass.

In that light, he held no pain, or grudges. How could he, when he had been left with something so beautiful from his first love? A memento forever treasured.

One shaking hand pulled himself through his slacks, having at last slipped the buttons free after much fervent appeal. Unable to take the time to fold the flaps out of the way, let alone remove his clothes, for his flaring need forbade any further delay.

Her breaths were just as uneven as his own. Hazelnut eyes full of assurance, and all for him, the sight had him twitch with a vengeance against the crease of his palm. Buried beneath his furious desideratum, he was almost appalled to feel himself erect with such ferocity. The sensitive flesh hot and angry grasped within his ringed fingers.

He shifted himself further up her body, seeking to align their sexes. Taking care not to rest too much of his weight atop her, the first nudge of his swollen crown to her folds saw him hiss at the sensation. She was ready for him. Despite the absence of proper foreplay, rubbing his length at the apex of her thighs, it came away puckered raspberry and drooling.

He found his little elf always seemed to be just a little primed for him, an affect of his presence he hoped would never calm with complacency.

A reality he accepted with shame, he could spare her no further attention, or prelude, driven mad with the urgency to be inside her.

His bruised head resting heavy at her entrance, he dropped himself between her spread thighs, and crammed himself in with a stuttered cant. A choked gasp ripped from him while he ripped his way through her, wet and guttural. Shuddering against her frantic contractions to his abrupt intrusion.

Ariadne arched up off the ground as far as the cage of his body allowed. A harsh yelp shot through her lips. The ringing in his ears deadened the blow, as it did the breathless cry of his name that followed, fragile and tumbling. Fingers grabbing at his drawn shoulders, she twisted the cotton of his shirt to anchor herself.

Time was on pause. A hush fell over them as he stalled on top of her, his thumping heartbeat nipping the heels of her own. Only once her dainty hands swept up and down his back, a pressure deliberate to stroke him still, did he realize he was trembling.

He almost didn't recognize the sound that came from him as his own; a whimpering, pathetic noise. Sick. The closest comparison to the feverish hue that rushed his clammy skin. The most apt identifier to the brutal, qualmish onset.

He was a lot for her to take, though she'd have it no other way. The sweet sting of his brunt hilted inside her was ecstasy unlike any she had ever tasted. The first time she laid with Emmrich he left her ruined, and never before had she submit to ruination with such abandon.

He had the tendency of holding her needs paramount to his own. Now given the chance to return the favor, she offered herself to his exigency, unconditional and absolute. Thrust as deep as her body's accommodation could withstand, with widened thighs and a nurturing caress, she welcomed his struggles as she did his prowess.

If he lost himself in her, so be it. She'd light the way back, like a beacon to ships in the night. And she'd piece him back together again.

Such messy business - love.

A quavering sigh seethed through grit teeth, her flutters were almost too tight to be comfortable. Emmrich began to rock himself in and out to stretch her to better fit his girth. Beginning slow and shallow, his thrusts were stilted, unwilling to peel himself away from her embrace long enough for proper gyration.

Their mismatched heights made for an already awkward coupling on the floor even more difficult. Her face tucked into his chest, the top of her head bumped into his chin with her every jostle forward. Steadied by forearms planted along either side of her, he shifted his weight to his lower body, throwing as much into the momentum of his frenzied canting as possible.

The otherwise respectable kitchen now invaded by obscenity, the slap of flesh drowned only by the cacophony of their sighs, and the shrill clatter of his grave gold against both itself, and the tile.

It wasn't romantic, or impassioned. It was distressed, and sloppy. A fast-spreading sickness of which this crude joining was medicinal. Her honey, her heat; the strength and tightness of muscle, that ushered him inside her plush depths. Seeking to knead him to better health.

All of his finesse - his artistry - when it came to making love abandoned him. Exiled to flounder in a shallow pool of desperation. An aspect of all his relationships of which his confidence was unshakable, he then felt like he was laying with someone he was unfit to touch.

Beautiful, dexterous fingers clawed at the floor in front of him until the tips blotched white from the pressure. Afraid to sink them into her, he knew the scratches left behind would taunt him for as long as they'd last.

Locking her ankles at the small of his back, she wrapped her arms around his back to hold him. Her furrowed brow twitching above eyes screwed shut, as he chafed her backside against the edge of tile bared from uneven grout.

"It's okay-, it's alright-," lilting in breathlessness, she fought his attempts to steal them with every snap of penetration. "Y-you're okay."

He hadn't felt such helplessness since his Orlesian artist, Anastriana. Lissome and mystifying, she was the first woman he'd ever seduced that made him feel as though he had to prove himself in order to keep her. Or rather, she was the first woman who'd seduced him.

She liked to claim conquests instead of lovers, and he managed to hold on to her for longer then she planned to string him along. Endearing her with his eagerness to please, his devotion to her needs.

Emmrich would have pried himself open with nothing but blunt finger tips in servitude, all to pluck a rib from its cage, if it might have won her approval. But her approval wasn't equal to her love.

He proved himself a dutiful marionette, one too amusing to put back in the cupboard.

Until the next came along, and he was no longer a befitting muse.

More a heinous co-dependency than it was a relationship. To think he'd been such a willful accomplice of his own heartbreak, when he disregarded the obvious, and asked for her hand. A request denied, and none too gently.

It ripped him apart. Leaving him bitter with wounded pride, and sullied by wild jealousy. Yet, even with how thorough his dismantling by her fickle whims, he remained the same. That pain, visceral as it was, fizzled and faded. Swept away by time, the sting a distant memory.

He had gained better sense alongside self-respect as he matured. Far more guarded with his partners thereafter, Emmrich offered them a scrupulous love. He didn't know any other way to be. If what he had to give wasn't enough, then it simply wasn't meant.

"E-Emmrich-," Her moans brought him back, puffed against his collar bone as she squeezed her thighs against his hips. Her pelvis pinned under his, it wriggled in attempt to match his rhythm, but she couldn't follow a lead he didn't provide.

Withdrawn fully into himself, huffing and grunting as he rut her into their kitchen floor, still she sang for him, as if he were worshiping her the way he should. "F-feels so nice-," she sobbed, perhaps just as far gone herself. Toes curling and heels dug into his low back, her whimpers broke against his ear, finding him through the thundering of his blood, and the roar of his heart. "You're perfect - so perfect-,"

The haughty, bejeweled visage of Anastriana was exiled back to the cobwebbed annexes of his psyche where she belonged. A ghost of his past that deserved internment for what of his mind she saw fit to besiege.

He no longer looked to dissect himself, and discard the more unsavory bits. He'd never again rearrange his parts for a lovers favor.

But for Ariadne?

She'd sooner clap him against the cheek for daring to suggest such a thing, though his inescapable truth remained. The deeper in love he fell, the more certain he was of his unworthiness to have her.

Not with all his flaws. The very same unsavory bits he had been so self-righteous of before her.

Be it by shame, or neediness, he wanted to hide. Sheathed inside her as he was, the urge was demanding.

He couldn't bury himself at her neck in their current position. Stopping just long enough to shift to his knees, the joints bruised and aching from the press of the tile, she stuck to him like a leech. Refusing to detach for even that terse beat of readjustment, claws sunk and legs like a vice.

The first time he glimpsed her face since before they began, her eyes watered above cheeks smeared rogue. Loosened tendrils of silvery blonde clung to her forehead and wrapped around the front of her throat, she mewled up at him like a submissive kitten. The luster of her sex drunk haze heightened by how her pupils spilled across the irises.

Hoisting her up with him to keep her hips flush in his lap, his palms slid up along her back to grip her by her traps. Hunched over, he retreated within the crook of her neck, before rolling his hips in earnest.

His pants huffed against her throbbing pulse, the fingers he had been so worried about hurting her with prior, now bit down into her shoulders to hold her still. To keep her steady as he overwhelmed her with his gluttony.

Messy and without coordination, his heft pushed at the velvet confines of her channel, the ridges clenched tight around his every spear.

Wetness then leaked against the spot on her where he nuzzled. The gallop of her heart was all that protected it from breaking.

Though it was he who helmed this onslaught, Emmrich twisted himself around her with staggering necessity. A needful, clinging tender spot, and no more. Afraid the moment he eased up, she'd fade to nothingness beneath him. Ripped from a dream, the most beautiful he'd ever known.

"Darling, please-," He rasped into her skin, slick with perspiration and stray tears. "Don't- don't leave me."

His inner torment had been plain, but to hear it thicken his tone; so small and despondent, alarm sheared through her like cold wind.

"W-what?" Battling her own disorientation, bleary eyes blinked up at the ceiling, her grasp on him curled tighter. "What are you-t-talking about?"

Ariadne didn't make his townhouse their home. She was home. His home. A home that was taken from him long ago.

One he didn't have the stomach to lose. Not again. Never again.

And he almost had.

But not that dread. That only metastasized.

The sour taste at the back of his throat. Shaking and sweat-dampened in the middle of the night, pawing at her side of the bed to make sure she was still there.

The very thing he wanted most of all had been snatched away from him the moment he received it, and all before he could even recognize it for what it was. Their last argument echoing inside his head without end, his weaknesses and insecurities blinded him from what had been waiting there for him all along. Yet there he was, trying to reject what he had craved all his life. Perhaps the beast had been there from the start.

He could have drowned in that thought if he stayed in it any longer.

Grief was funny that way.

Unpredictable as it was unavoidable. The first week she was gone, Emmrich remained strong. Focused on what he needed to do in order to get her back, he busied himself with optimism, however contrived.

Neve began to visit him those nights in the beginning, when sleep refused them both, and cast each away.

She touched his shoulder as if the company was for his sake, but the bags beneath her eyes conveyed her struggles equaled his own. Telling him that burden was one shared.

"How are you holding up?"

"About as well as your estimations, if the look on your face is to give you away. Though truth be told, I fear I'm faring not even half as well." He attempted a chuckle, but the mirth that would have lent to it's credibility refused to surface with it, rending it a scratchy, parched wheeze. One he hadn't the bandwidth to smooth over, or excuse by that time of the night. "I'm... well."

Whether he said it to convince her, or himself, neither were sold.

The ice mage peered up at him with a tilt of her head. An invitation for him to unload. "And you know it's alright... not to be?"

"Of course..." He declined her lifeline with a tired smile, the sheen of his gaze intensified as it unfocused. "Though it would be of use to no one should I pander to such selfishness, to waste precious time wallowing. Least of all to... her." His throat closed around the acknowledgment, as if speaking about her would jinx her return.

Neve uttered a small noise of agreement from the back of her throat, before gesturing towards the spiral staircase. "Shall we, then?"

The two would set out on his balcony like weary sentinels amidst the starry night. Solemn in their silence, they were each granted a moment in the company of a friend, simply just to be. A break from having to pretend.

She'd offer her cigarette each time, and each time he abstained.

For about the first three evenings.

Catching his stolen, longing glances, and interpreting them as curiosity. An oversight she fast rescinded, for when he accepted it from her, he pulled the burn into his lungs without hesitation. His fluidity betrayed a practiced ease that hinted to an old - or secret - habit. With a taut bob of his Adams apple, he shut his eyes and tipped his head back.

Neve watched with a smirk, as Emmrich blew it back into the night a steady, flattened stream from between his lips, the smoke tugging with it a noise from him. A hum that bordered on a groan, and throaty with relief. It was one she knew well.

"I see you've met before."

"Oh yes, my dear, we're well acquainted. An admission I scorn the taste of almost as much." A hoarser edge snagging his signature silk, he rushed his next drag, and the acridity furled to mild retaliation within his rusty throat. Waving away the quick burst of a cough, he shook his head at himself with a smirk that more earnestly wanted to be a sneer. "Old friends turned adversaries, I dare say."

So became their ritual. Most nights saw them together on his balcony, passing her quellazaire back and forth about as often as their weak words of conciliatory encouragement. Whenever one would find it within themselves to proffer to the other.

Ever tactful, Neve opted to continue sharing hers, to perhaps lessen the blow of his relapse. He was as grateful for her discretion as he was her empathy.

The first week was like wading through wet cement. Every step forward a battle, he held tight to his vigilance, if only for Ariadne.

The second week was when it began to harden.

They had been moving at a break-neck pace, careening down their path quicker than they could formulate the next plan of attack. And then she was gone, and everything halted. Now idle, he had a little more time to think. To dwell.

It smothered him. Everything did. Waking, walking, breathing. A constricting pressure seeking faults so that it may get him to crack, in the form of steady, unhurried fear. The fear that no progress had been made. That she still wasn't back.

His presentation deteriorated a little more each long day that bled into the next. The circles around his eyes darkening, his stubble grown out from days unbothered to shave it. Though he held himself together with little more than threads of the hope, he held tight to them still. Regardless of how tattered.

Neve shortened the time between her visits to his balcony.

Before long, the length of those days strung him right along into the third week.

That milestone a bitter one to accept, the beast then came knocking.

Before it's arrival, he loathed being in his room at the lighthouse alone; for the whispers of their argument slithered through the air in suffocation whenever he opened himself to that vulnerability. With the beast taking that place, he would have welcomed those taunting echoes back with open arms.

It reached for him like a shadow stretching across the ground, its inevitability lurking in his periphery. In the dark corners of her quarters, when he ventured there to sit alone, and breath in her smell.

It sunk its claws into his feet and dragged him down, down, down. Into himself, into self-destruction, into agony so old and familiar it hurt just to look at it. A malignancy he believed to be bested rearing in spite.

It knew Emmrich, and knew him well. It had been a long time, but they had a history. The longer and harder Emmrich looked it in the eye, did the horrified realization dawn.

I know you. And it can't be you. It cannot be. You only come when... and she can't be...

To say he looked haggard from thereon was a kindness. Iron scruff covered his jaw, sunken in and hollow with starvation. He raked fingers through his hair over and over again, leaving it to stick up in erratic tufts that he never tamed back into place, no matter how often he threaded them through it.

By then, when Neve came calling for their regular commiseration, she discovered he'd taken to starting without her.

Perseverance no longer saw fit to bestow him it's mercy.

He turned to face her with bloodshot eyes. His tall height halved as he bent at the waist and slouched over the rail, his perfect posture disintegrated along with his nerve.

The stub of his second consecutive cigarette dangled from his shadowed frown. Without a word uttered, he snapped fingers out towards her, producing a spark between them, as a small flame appeared. Hovering above his fingertips, at the ready to light her up.

Heavy lidded eyes, they were glassy with the tears he denied himself. The top few of his buttons yanked loose, while his waist-coat hung wide open. Just so he could breath.

He had been doing so well.

Having spurned fate at numerous points throughout his life, childish as it now seemed, the frequency of the habit across all his combined years paled in comparison to those dreadful weeks.

And then, as vicious and greedy as it was; as much as it took from him, it at long last returned.

She was back.

One unassuming day. During the middle of a week that was decidedly without note.

All he could do was hold her close, and steady himself to the beat of her heart. Sighing into the top of her head how relieved he was she was back, over and over again. And he was.

They hadn't the time then for proper acknowledgment, or the right words. Already on borrowed time, and he'd squander none of it on dwelling over his anguish.

She was given back to him. And there was a god to kill.

So Emmrich laid to rest the horrifics of how he suffered in a shallow grave, one neither visited.

Why now, after all this time, after she was returned to him for a life shared, a life just beginning - why now did he see fit for its desecration?

Why couldn't it stay buried?

Somehow she managed to draw it out from him. That wound gaping once more, all either could do at that moment was let it weep. For where there was blood, coagulation would soon follow.

And then the sting would dull to an ache. An ache could be ignored, could be carried. Could be learned to live with.

That grief stripped him to his bones, weary and frail. And she cradled them. Shielding them from the hard floor, and using the heat from her own body to warm them. She looked at him no different from how she did when he was at his suavest, at his strongest. At his best.

The tragedy of his parents death shaped him, an inevitability in his story.

But those weeks where he never knew if he'd see Ariadne again, the fragmented echoes of their argument left unresolved, hers would be a loss that would define him.

And then she was back. Safe in his arms. Constant in his heart.

Emmrich spoke firmer, almost a growl. Sharpened with indignation, the words still shook with the tenuous resolve of agony just barely held at bey. "Don't ever leave me, ever again."

She laid there for him, clutching the hair of his nape her fingers thread through. Thinking to assuage him, the act of speech was was a challenging one. The mass of him stuttering into her, every time she opened her mouth, all that knocked from her were gasps.

As though she were fighting against the waves of a sea as they broke over her head, cold and unrelenting. Pushing her back, pushing her away. She hushed into the air in hopes he'd be able to hear.

"I'm-here," choked it's way out against his rutting. "I-It's alright-Emmrich- I'm here."

It wasn't enough. Unconvinced, his thrusts met her harsh and jagged. "I can't lose you, not again I-I'm not- I'm not strong enough, I-"

Far more stubborn than the two of them combined, she pulled him from his hiding place and down into a hug. Forcing him to feel her sincerity through the strength of her embrace.

Shielding him from the beast that snarled in wait.

"Not even death could keep me from you." Bruising him with the weight of dedication too heavy to hold, she begged for his trust. "I promise you, I'll never leave you again."

Usually just before release he quickened, and his movement became focused. Purposeful. This time he slowed, trying to savor her, or stall himself from too quick a release. But it was too late. Rigor had settled. He could feel the little tremors throughout his muscles as they burned. That coil seated behind the root of his cock began to un-spool with the finality of an over-tensioned wire then clipped.

"Ari-," somewhere between a hiccup and a sob, it was low and needful, and unexpected in the best of ways. If she wasn't darling, or love, or my dear - she was Ariadne. Proper, and with much reverence. He had never before called her just Ari.

Deepening the rosy hue that prickled over her every inch, it wound him tighter in her arms. To say that she knew. She understood.

As quick as it mounted, it all toppled over.

A harsh prickle behind his eyes that swept from left to right, the spasms held his lids shut. Not that he would have wanted her to look into them, even if he could fight his body to hold them open.

He emptied inside her, unable to hold it back. A sluggish release, one that seemed to worsen his inner malady as it oozed. Shaking like a wet dog and growing nauseous with the dawning of what he had just done, Emmrich didn't wait for his breath to return before falling over himself in apology.

"Oh, my darling, I-I... -forgive me, I-,"

"Don't you dare." Her tone as firm as the adoration that imbued it. "Of all the things you've sought forgiveness for, that is about the most foolish."

Emmrich felt as sensitive and needled as a nerve rubbed raw, and looked twice as battered, struggling for breath that stuck to the air too humid and thick for his lungs. He had just crashed through the final stage of grief, knotted inside her as he was. Right there, on the kitchen floor.

He thought to roll them to the opposite position, but he feared movement. He still felt everything, and entirely too much.

"Foolish habits of a foolish man." He winced upon hearing himself without the tinnitus to muffle it. Gruff beyond recognition, a raw voice belonging to someone else. In that suspension of sobriety, he very much wished he was.

"Mmm, my foolish man." Her correction loving, her arms draped lazily around his neck, peering up at him glossy eyed and meek.

Humiliation digging at his back, he peered down at her with too grim an expression for all their common vulnerability. "May I... make a confession?"

Her own face fluttered a little as it softened. "Please do."

A palm at her cheek, her crystalline gaze was alight with sincere infatuation. His tongue stalled, hesitation slithering back in. The beast heeled, but still breathing down his neck.

Would he tell her of how he couldn't eat when she disappeared? That scarcity rivaled only by his lapse in personal hygiene? Would he crush that blinding acceptance she basked him in, as he told her how often he had lost his temper with Manfred?

Or that in his withdrawal of her, he thought the dry bitterness of tobacco a worthy substitute for her sweetness? That he replaced one addiction with the other, as if his relapse reduced her to no more than a vice. One he was forced to quit, one he had to reconstitute.

No, he couldn't allow her to visualize him in such a way. Though the jaws of the beast would not unlatch until it was appeased, lest he be left with those punctures for the rest of his days, hot and festered, like wounds that wouldn't close. With a deep breath, he lowered his gaze to the space of her chest that covered her heart. Trained to it's rise and fall, instead of looking her in the eye.

"All this time I thought ill of fate; thinking it cruel to have lead me to you so much later in my life. But I was wrong. It wasn't cruel, but merciful. I've been left behind to live on in the absence of those I loved most. I could not... do that again. Not with you." His utterance just above a whisper. "Not again."

The dour severity of his words flustered her. "That's very sweet."

"Rather disconcerting of you to perceive that declaration as such." He shook, eyes wide and head hung in defeat. The ruefulness of his inflection cut through them both. "I'm a weak man, Ariadne. A coward."

"And I'm a horrid little woman." She all but groaned.

He drew back with a blink. A more familiar, perplexed look settled into the lines of his face, one she was ever grateful to see back on him.

She hadn't meant to snap, but it startled him out of self-loathing long enough to allow for reason. At the very least, their eyes had finally met. "While we're exchanging confessions I have something of my own, if you'll hear it."

Emmrich urged her on, wordless. The pallor in his face receding.

"If I died tomorrow, I'd haunt you for the rest of your days." The mischievous twinkle was unable to mask her honesty, one she was none too proud of. "I know I'm supposed to say that I'd want you moved on and happy, but I'm viciously jealous."

To what she offered, he scoffed, though not one of contempt, or ridicule. That candor of hers brought him solace, one he was gracious to accept. A fullness in his heart, a balm to that nagging ache that throbbed low and steady when she was gone. A piece of it missing in the shape of her, he was then strong enough in acceptance that it was back.

Steadfast, and unequivocal.

As was a different nagging he had been trouble by on and off, in the months following their homecoming. It was far less monstrous, though it frightened him much the same.

Though the way she gazed up at him with those big, brown eyes confronted him with a decision then made. That his rationale for its evasion was unfounded.

He could think of no better time than now, tangled in one another on the floor, as bared to her as he'd ever been.

True to his creed, he didn't dissect himself to rearrangement. He ripped himself open and let her see it all; the ugliness, the cowardice, the unsavory bits. The parts of him that begged recoil, the parts to be shunned. He bared it all. A soul laid naked and plain in oblation. All he had to give.

Should she accept, it would be hers. Forever and always.

And Emmrich knew better than most the rot of things left unsaid, how they lingered like a restless spirit when their time came to an abrupt end, and it was too late to voice them.

"Marry me?"

Clawing it's way through a tight throat that sought to cage it, the blurted plea left him breathless. Hanging between them, tender and exposed.

There was no grand romance. No honeyed poeticism, or candlelight dinner. Not the way Emmrich had expected it might be. Not the way he felt she deserved. It was coarse and raw, just as she made him feel.

Then again, he knew the little Watcher better than that.

She'd always prefer unrefined sincerity, to overwhelming sentimentality. Perhaps this was just as it should be.

No matter the dressing, whether there were dozens of candles - or not one - the promise was the same. The words themselves were the heavy lifting. She trembled beneath them.

"I-," her words caught, and she winced. A blush pooled outward from the bridge of her nose, and moisture webbed across her eyes that only broke over her lashes when she tried to will it away. She continued to blink, looking to hide her face as fresh tears welled to replace the old. "You want a horrid little woman for a wife?"

"Does she love the weak, cowardly man?"

"Point that man out and she'll tell you." She sniffed, allowing for silence to coalesce between them as she collected herself. Though the importance of the request was one that ordered immediate response, he felt weightless as she kept him waiting for it.

"Ariadne Volkarin." Her breath hitched at the taste of the title in full, the flutter of her heart kicked to dizzying thumps with every syllable, every press of her tongue to her teeth. Trying it on for size.

A name she'd be honored to bear.

The first name she'd been offered. And not because there was simply no one else for her to be, but because he wanted her to be no one else.

"Ariadne Volkarin." He repeated, a hoarseness to his deep inflection. "My love... I must burden you once more with a confession, one I'm far more hesitant to impart."

Eyes widened to saucers, they glistened with delicate tears she did well in blinking back. "Oh?"

"I... I don't have a ring." Brows bowed, frown sheepish, resignation muddled his cadence.

Her gaze still blown and shining, it fixed on him, unflinching.

And then she laughed. Breathy, gentle, and blessedly reassuring.

"Does that mean I can't accept your proposal?"

A pressure closed around his heart and squeezed. Unbearable, he could have lived a lifetime in that heartache all the same. "Do you?"

"Yes." Her touch light and trembling, she guided his head down to rest his forehead against hers. When next she spoke, it was no more than a whisper, and a reflection of his frailty she handled with such care. "I do."

Tagging as per request: @pinkuranium @goddessnyx216

[lvndrfucks]

Hiiiii I love your writing smm and you’re one of the only people writing for the wallows 😭😭 Do you think you could do a Braeden or Cole fic where the reader’s the new photographer for the band and one of them starts having feelings for her? Thank you!!!💕

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆ you’ve been hiding in plain sight｡˚📹 ࣪𖤐💋

You’ve only had one job in your life and you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You were lucky to get an opportunity like this, knowing how many would kill to be in your position. But it was also the fact you were doing what you loved with the people you loved supporting you.

You were first introduced to the Wallows members during a photoshoot. Nothing crazy, just a basic background and the boys being themselves. Despite the seriousness of the photos, they were always cracking jokes. You couldn’t help but laugh a few times with them.

“I feel like I’m doing those Kohl’s family photo shoots,” Braeden said. “Can we pose like that?”

You chuckled a bit. “Go for it.”

They lined up close together, putting their hands on each other’s waists and stared into the distance. You laughed while getting the shot.

“Okay. Why don’t we take a break and then we’ll bring in the bench prop for the next portion.” They nodded at your instruction.

While you were reviewing some of the photos on your laptop, you noticed one of the boys approaching.

“Hey. I was just wondering if I could look at how the pictures came out so far.”

“Yeah, of course.” You moved over to let Braeden view the screen.

“These are amazing,” he spoke after a moment of silence. “The lighting and everything is like perfect. How long have you been doing photography?”

“Well, I started in high school. Just taking photos for yearbook and stuff. Then, in collage, I got my Bachelor’s in Fine Arts. I didn’t get hired until two years ago,” you explained. “I’ve also done a few concerts and events.”

“Wow. Thats impressive,” he complimented. “Do you mind if I see your other work?”

You nodded. You decided to show him the photos you took from a festival at the start of your career. It was the first time you’d ever been to an event so wild and full of energy. You felt lucky to had been given the opportunity.

“Wait, is this Lollapalooza,” Braeden questioned.

“Um, I think so. I don’t actually remember.”

The further he scrolled, the more excited he became. “Oh, my God, it is! Look, there I am!” He clicked on one of the photos that showcased him singing on stage with the rest of the band.

You laughed slightly. “It was so long ago, I didn’t recognize you guys. What a crazy coincidence.”

He smiled, agreeing with you. “These photos are sick, though. You’re really talented.”

“Thanks.” You looked down after feeling your face start to warm.

“I don’t know if this seems appropriate or not, but we’re going on tour soon and we could really use a photographer. I don’t want to steal you away from your job or whatever, I just think you’re the perfect person we’re looking for.”

You must’ve heard between the lines because all you could pay attention to was the fact he called you the perfect person.

You were speechless at the offer and told him you’d have to think about it. It sounded like a dream, but you didn’t want it to backfire in the future and ruin what you’d built up so far. It took a lot of time to think over and you consulting your friends about it. In the end, you were sure you made the right choice.

The concert had just ended. Everyone was still high on adrenaline and congratulating each other on another successful show. You were packing up all your belongings when Braeden walked towards you.

“Hey, did you make sure to get my good side?” He made a model-like face that made you laugh.

“All your sides are good,” you replied playfully.

He grinned. “We were thinking of going out for some drinks. You should come with.” You hummed unsurely. “Come on,” he urged. “It’ll be fun.”

“Fine. But I’m gonna change really quick.”

“That’s fine. I can wait and we can ride together.”

As much as you got along with Dylan and Cole, you and Braeden seemed to have a different relationship. You two often complimented each other so much that it was borderline flirting at this point. On plane and car rides, you both always sat next to each other and have shared hotel rooms before. There was one incident of having to share a bed because all the other rooms were booked. Neither of you complained.

You enjoyed the company of Braeden and how you felt around him, but you couldn’t help but wonder if it was more than friendly behavior.

Back on the tour bus, you put your camera equipment away and changed. Braeden was waiting in the small living room area when you stepped out. He looked up from his phone when he heard you.

“Uh, you look great. Very, very pretty.” He let out a small nervous laugh.

“Thanks, handsome.” You smiled and patted his chest. “Come on. Let’s get drunk.”

The music was loud inside. There were flashing lights on the dance floor and bodies everywhere. You and Braeden held hands while maneuvering around to find the others. For safety reasons, of course.

The others were already occupying a booth in the corner. You and Braeden managed to squeeze in, your bodies pressing close to each other. You could feel his chest against your back and he kept one arm behind you on the back of the booth.

Shots went all around, which you weren’t very fond of. Braeden laughed at your cringed face in disgust as you downed the drink. He left briefly to order something else.

“So,” a smirk painted across Isabella’s lips, “you and Braeden showed up together?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing where the conversation was going. “Yes. Just like you and Dylan and everyone else showed up together.”

She threw her hands up in defense. “I’m not saying anything. Just pointing out a fact.” You nudged her shoulder with a smile.

Braeden returned with two drinks in hand; one for you and one for him. You thanked him and clinked your glasses together.

The next hour or so consisted of laughing and drinking. In that time, your head was already buzzing and you were swaying in your seat. You gasped suddenly hearing the music change.

“I love this song!” You patted Isabella’s arm. “Let’s go dance! Please!” She laughed and nodded.

Braeden moved out of the way to let the both of you out. He wasn’t that drunk, wanting to keep an eye on you. And everyone else. He watched you and Isabella start singing along to the song, jumping around with everyone else. There was a faint smile on his face that he didn’t realize was there.

He felt someone pat his back. Dylan gave him a knowing look.

“Are you gonna make a move or stare like a creep?”

“I don’t know if she likes me like that,” Braeden told. “Yeah, I guess we flirt and stuff, but don’t friends do that?”

The whole table stared at him.

“Dude, no,” Cole said. “Have you heard how she talks to me? One time she yelled at me for drinking her Dr. Pepper. When you did, she said it was fine and bought more.”

“Trust me, she likes you,” Dylan concluded. “Go over there, man.”

Braeden looked down in thought, then nodded to himself. He chugged the rest of his drink and stood up. The boys cheered behind him.

Braeden said something in Isabella’s ear you couldn’t hear. She nodded and walked back to the table. She gave you a thumbs up over her shoulder.

“Is it okay if I cut in?”

You nodded at his question and felt your body draw closer to him. There was small hesitancy in his movements when all of a sudden, his hands gripped your waist. You raised your brow before draping your arms over his shoulders.

“Can I tell you something,” he asked.

You gulped. “Of course.”

At first, he didn’t say anything, like he was trying to find the right words. He looked into your patient eyes and decided: fuck it.

Braeden surged forward, his lips landing on yours. A few seconds later, he pulled away. He awaited your reaction. Your mouth slowly upturned before tugging him towards you.

hera speaks!

tysm for the request and i hope you like it <3 i’m working on a few more and some of my own, but requests are always open !!

[quindriepress]

This week's spotlight is on Beth Fuller and her comic Witching Hour. Beth is an illustrator and concept artist from Dublin, Ireland. She’s considering putting down the stylus pen and heading off into the wilderness to live as a hermit, but likes hot showers and horror films just enough to keep her in civilisation. For now, anyway. (@bethfuller | website | instagram | twitter)

"Witching Hour is about a young girl sent on a mysterious journey by her father. Two pale trees with intertwined branches form a strange gate at the edge of 12-year-old Esio’s town, and beyond it lies an old, ruined land. Over their pints, as dusk falls, the villagers say it’s where lost things - and people - eventually end up. She’s got sandwiches, an apple, plasters, a bottle of Tipperary Kidz water and a Horrible Histories book in her rucksack and she’s heading off into the unknown, with only a talisman to guide her. There’s no telling who she might meet along the way."

Read the spotlight below the cut!

"That’s the initial rundown, anyway. Speaking more subjectively, I wanted to create a setting where two totally different characters - as different from each other as you can get - are forced to work together and end up changing each other’s lives. I really do think you can get on and find common ground with almost anyone, in the right circumstances."

Witching Hour took several years to incubate. "I’d been working on a comic slowly and haltingly since I was 18. There are pages kept deep, deep in my computer with old, badly drawn versions of Esio in a radically different setting, but it never really made sense as a story. I don’t think I made it past page three! Still, the fantasy atmosphere and character of Esio stuck with me over the years. Plus I really like to mix the dull, routine and mundane aspects of everyday life with things that are otherworldly and strange."

"Eventually we had a visual narrative module as part of my degree, and while recalling my old comic pages (I was mulling over it in the shower, which is where I think many of us do our most important thinking) an idea came to me that would form the basis of Witching Hour. Adding this to the embers of my previous project gave me more than enough fuel to sit down and start drawing.

"I have plenty of ideas for what I want to get up to next. I’ll work on a tarot set, keep working on freelance concept art and illustrations, design some tattoos, maybe try my hand at another comic at some stage. As always, feel free to get in touch and let me know if there’s anything you’d like to see from me!"

Beth draws inspiration from many sources: "The landscapes of south-west Ireland. Horror films, foreign language films, fantasy films, anything animated. The writing of Michelle Paver, Neil Gaiman and Ursula LeGuin.

"For me, though, it’s primarily the work of other illustrators that has inspired me the most, and it’s often only through seeing and evaluating lots of different brilliant styles that you can start to discern your own tastes. As a child, the obligatory Ghibli film catalogue. Then the work of Chris Riddell, Max Prentis and Ian McQue were enough inspiration to foster an interest in art school. I went, studied Illustration at DJCAD, and discovered Jake Wyatt, Celia Lowenthal, Juliette Brocal, Linnea Sterte, Jack T. Cole, Evan Cagle, Alphonse Mucha and (of course) Moebius. Seeing their work is like taking the creative spark and making it into a deodorant flamethrower."

Beth's work often centres around fantastical worlds and sweeping landscapes. "I think somehow you always come back to what you know. Sometimes you don’t even notice you have a fascination with something until you start to create and it keeps returning.

"My family and I spent a lot of time around Irish coastlines growing up, especially during the warmer months. Kerry, in the south-west, has mountains that turn brown in winter, then when summer comes are carpeted with a haze of purple heather, not unlike the hills of Scotland. There are crumbling ringforts and monastic ruins on isolated hilltops. I could be in the most beautiful place in the world but still miss the coconut scent of Kerry gorse. The fantasy aspect is fun to play with, and it adds a nice sense of mystery, but fundamentally I think the landscapes I draw are an attempt to capture, and return to, the shores I kicked about on as a kid."

For aspiring comic creators, Beth has this advice: "This is a common one, but I think it’s still worth saying: if you have a story, get it down. You don’t need to consider yourself a comic artist to make a comic. You also don’t need to wait around for the right time, or enough expertise - nobody is going to give you a nametag with ‘comic artist’ on it. If you can draw, and you need to say something, just start drawing boxes and see where it goes. Also, ‘Necropolis’ by Jake Wyatt is really good."

You can pick up Witching Hour, alongside the other three comics in our 2023 collection, right here on Kickstarter! 

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Five

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

CHAPTER FIVE - PAIN IN MY HEART

Some time has passed for the dust to settle in the wake of the betrothal, unshed tears, and attempts at fratricide. Aegon and Abby begin adjusting to the new state of things and Alicent begins to show her hand. Mommy issues abound for all.

The maester's hands were cold and uncomfortable as they examined him, searching for sores and whatever the fuck else he rattled on about as he came entirely too close to his person. Aegon's fists clenched at his sides, his head tilted back so he had no chance of catching sight of the grizzled head below him, bobbing around his cock. It would certainly ruin any pleasure that he would ever experience again.

It was too damn early for this. The sun was still creeping over the walls of the Keep, not even past the early morning. Dreadful.

"No unsightly marks, your Grace," the man affirmed. "Ensure that any pleasure house you visit keeps clean quarters, and you should be safe from giving illness to your Lady wife."

His Lady wife. He saw the smile that graced her features, the spray of freckles along her nose and cheeks. Her bright eyes were blue as the sky he found escape in, and her cascade of sunset curls were his. Every bit of her would belong to him in a few moons. Cool hands that tempered his fevered skin would touch him without a barrier. The soft pout of her heart-shaped mouth pressed open by his thumb-

"I don’t need guidance on spreading illness to my wife when I visit her bed. I’m more concerned about avoiding having my cock fall off," he snapped defensively, yanking his trousers up as soon as the maester pulled away, not wanting the stirring from where his thoughts had been wandering to manifest in front of his current company. Ser Criston was on the other side of the low partition and Aegon did not need to meet his gaze to know that he was being examined and judged and found wanting.

Aegon could barely resist mouthing the words that followed, for they were as familiar as his mother's prayers. "Every woman is an image of the Mother and should be treated with respect," Cole reminded him with a level voice. Aegon knew it, as intimately as his mother's judgment, that the man was disappointed; disappointed in his inability to be better in the training yard, and his inability to keep his cock in check.

For as long as Aegon could remember, Ser Criston Cole had been by his mother’s side and by extension, that of him and his siblings. While Viserys (he could never think of the rotting king as his father, only Sire, for all that the word entailed) had noticed him in Aegon’s earliest memories, telling him how he would tame a dragon one day, and regaling his young self with stories of the Black Dread, it was Criston who came to his mind when one asked or spoke about father. Just as he desired to keep and then win back his mother’s affection, lost to time as it had been, he felt the same with the man who was currently judging him like the Father and Warrior themselves. Once, Cole had seemed heartened by Aegon’s natural talent with a blade and his hunger to prove himself in the training yard, especially in the face of Rhaenyra’s growing brood of dark haired brats. It hadn’t hurt as much then, the lessons. The weight had not come upon him all at once. It was a slow build. Stone by stone, they pressed down on his shoulders, with each turn of the moon until he struggled beneath the weight of the expectation.

His mother’s growing paranoia and panic with each new son born to his sister, and what Aegon suspected was pressure from outside sources, left his cheeks mottled pink and red from her hands and the bite of her nails on his shoulders. It left him sensitive to raised voices and sudden movements. It left him pretending to be more in his cups than he was, if only to keep watch of what went on around him, what people said, what someone might do to him. Then came the times when he was beyond caring of his fate and hoping some percent oblivion might be found beyond the next bottle.

Cole’s growing shift in praise to Aemond and his increasing barbs for Aegon to pay attention and how a warrior and a prince did not prowl after the ladies and the serving maids poured salt on the growing wounds his mother gouged.

“A man saves himself to perform his husbandly duties,” he’d said when catching him in the hall with his tongue down Lady Melia’s throat when he was three and ten. The older girl had been dismissed from his mother’s service within days of the event.

Ser Harrold had told him that he should not force himself on a lady, that a good and honorable man does not use his power as an advantage over young lasses. A good and honorable man treats them with respect. “A man denies the temptation to sully himself for one night for a simple promise or a hope of a dream,” he’d said when Aegon had been dragged back from the Street of Silk, soaked to the bone from the rainstorm, and bruised and beaten from the paramour of the woman who’d lured him in. He’d been five and ten. She had been the daughter of a merchant, sharp and lovely with brown ringlets that frizzed in the heat. Aegon thought she loved him, or at the very least, desired him enough that maybe he could run away from everything that hurt. Maybe, with this other woman and her dark curling hair, he could forget how beautiful Abby looked laughing beneath the dappled sunlight of the weirwood tree, for surely he would never be allowed to have her. She would be sent away, meant for someone else because he was a growing disappointment and do you not see how Aemond applies himself? Why is it so difficult for you?

Ser Harwin had sat him, Aemond, and Jace down one afternoon after coming upon them doing something ridiculous in the garden. He couldn’t remember if it was because he had pulled Abby’s hair, or the fact that Aemond and Jace had been fighting over something - a toy or some such nonsense. He’d said that when you found the perfect someone, you would make a deal with the seven devils if you had to, to be with them. And that it was always worth it.

“Women and young ladies are not here for such earthly pleasures. They are all that is pure and good in the world, and are ruined beyond measure when they fall into the depths of pleasures of the flesh. Every woman is the image of the Mother, and every young girl the Maiden herself. Protected and unsullied,” Criston said when Aegon had come bounding to him, barely ten years of age, flushed and with bubbling nerves and excitement in his belly. He’d asked if Abby kissing his cheek meant that she loved him. “Do you think Mother would let me marry her if I asked?’” For she was his Rhaenys, and Cole knew his mother better than anyone in the world.

‘Always with the Mother,’ Aegon thought, feeling as if the cascading shadow of the Seven-Pointed Star shone on him now. ‘Always with the Mother, and every girl an image of the Maiden, so thank you so much for that.’

The smile Aegon turned on the Kingsguard was deceptively innocent, dimpled cheeks and all. "Funny, pretty sure the two I fucked the other night would have my queenly mother scream in terror and bar herself in the sept."

Now Ser Criston wasn't even trying to hide the look of judgment on his oh so perfect face. Aegon snatched his tunic off the partition and shoved his arms through. "Is she going to keep me under house arrest until the tourney? The wedding? Lock me in a tower like a maiden in a song?"

"Your mother could have married you to the princess."

Aegon felt a curl of nausea in his stomach at the thought of bedding his sweet sister, regardless of the custom of his forefathers. "And make dear little Aemond a kinslayer? I would not survive long enough to make it to the sept."

"Or she could decide to marry Lady Abrogail to your brother."

“And we’re back to Aemond kinslaying, or worse, to get himself out of a marriage he never asked for. Not with our sweet sister right there and ripe for the taking.” It mattered little to Aemond that it was becoming increasingly obvious to anyone who cared to look that Helaena’s affections had withered, that, in truth, they had really never been what their little brother thought they were. Aegon scoffed. “It puts us all back in the same boat." His gaze flitted to meet the knight's through the mess of hair hanging in his eyes. "Me miserable and alone, or dead. Such love you hold for me. Not to mention, how cruel of you to flaunt my betrothed’s narrowly avoided demise to prove a point." His waspish tone didn’t feel like enough to banish the pressure of unease that settled inside Aegon’s chest at the thought of harm befalling Abby, poor point or not.

Such love and regard his family held for him, while screaming that he was to be king. Expecting one thing from him, and something he didn't want.

At least we like one another. That counts for something, doesn't it, Aegon?

But it didn’t count, did it? Liking had nothing to do with what he wanted. He didn’t want the neglect and cruelty within his parents’ marriage. He didn’t want Abby to simply like him.

Aegon lifted his wrist to adjust the cuff of his sleeve and hissed softly when the fabric dragged over the healing scratches Abby had left. He instinctively pressed his mouth against the injury to soothe it before doing the clasp. So rarely did Abby’s teeth bite at him, and there was something satisfying and pleasing at the reminder of it.

Unlike Cole, who continued to speak to him as if he were a child, as if he were some squire or recruit. Sometimes Aegon felt as if the knight treated him no better than a troublesome hound. As if the man were his true father, thinking it his right to speak to him in the same tone he already heard from his mother. This man was Kingsguard, his mother’s sworn shield, and if they were so hellbent on making him king one day, Cole would answer to him. Perhaps he should remind Cole of that more often.

"You didn't answer my question, Ser Criston." Still waspish, his tone grew firmer. He might not be king yet, but Aegon was a Prince of House Targaryen, one of his father’s heirs, and a dragonrider - no mere mortal man, not a backwater soldier from who knows where.

Cole watched him steadily, the muscle in his jaw ticking before averting his eyes "Not so much locked in a tower, but confined to the Keep, my prince.” Cole spoke as if the proper etiquette physically pained him and Aegon smirked, humming softly. “You may go to the Dragonpit, escorted, but should you try anything, your mother has ordered that we bar you from it."

Something ugly curled in his chest and he barked out a laugh as he pushed open the door and headed out. "Cruel woman." It almost impressed him. Only once had they ever barred him from Sunfyre, and it was when he thought, after several cups, that going riding was the best idea ever. He still thought it was. His mother? Not so much.

He still had the scars from her nails along his elbow. A half crescent around the joint like a bite mark.

Cole was not far behind, and he glanced sidelong at the man. "Is there a schedule now? Classes with Aemond and his favorite maester? How lovely to be shown up by him in another arena."

"Well, that's why you're going to the yard. Your… everything could use some work. And it'll be a good release for you, since you're under confinement."

They had confined Mother for three moons before she had Daeron. Seven hells, he and Abby were going to have to have children. He was supposed to sire heirs and be a father, and his father was utter shit. But making heirs wouldn't be so bad?

A clap on his shoulder jogged him back to attention. "Physical exertion helps."

Aegon sneered. "Says a man who doesn't fuck. You can't trust a man who doesn't fuck, with only his own hand for company." He made a lewd stroking gesture before miming a spray of victory.

"Says a man who was once seven and ten," Ser Criston corrected, and Aegon rolled his eyes. His point still stood. Fucker never gave into the bait that he laid for him. Aegon still felt annoyed, although he acknowledged it deserved some respect.

As they reached the training yard, his eyes still bleary with sleep and the lingering headache, the coil of tension in his chest eased. Aemond was not alone, making the impending humiliation more bearable. Helaena may cheer for every time he'd get whipped in the yard, but there was no malice in his sweet sister.

"Good morning!" Helaena sang, her voice like a bell bouncing off the worn red brick of the yard, and she waved excitedly at him and Ser Criston. "It's been so long since I've seen you with a sword."

Sweet, supportive sister.

Aegon peered into the basket she was holding, snatching a piece of gingerbread. "Wine?" he asked with a hopeful look.

"Mother says you're to dry out so that you stop sweating wine." Aemond's tone was neutral, but his sly little smirk - what Mother would call sweet innocence - was all that he needed to provide.

"Does she not care to witness her son's humiliation that she ordered by her own queenly command?" His voice was light as he pulled on his padded coat over his tunic. At least Ser Criston was letting him ease back into things. No need to cut him and have him grow leprous the way their father had. He felt a vague dread at his siblings' pitying glances. He yanked at the strap on his tunic as Aemond moved towards the ring, twirling his wooden sword in hand.

His brother had long moved to live steel and Aegon's bitterness was acrid in the back of his throat. Or maybe it was just the lingering effects of the wine. He grimaced at the weight of the practice sword in hand and reached for a second one. It had been months since he'd dragged himself to the training yard. When Aemond lost his eye, he threw himself into the blade, and Aegon felt overshadowed as his brother earned admiration and love for something he was supposed to excel at. The presence of Daeron would worsen the situation, but it might shame Aemond with him before the shining little star.

"Alright, let's warm up. Aemond, what we did yesterday. You," Ser Criston pressed the tip of his own wooden sword - a toy in the hand of a Kingsguard and the Queen's sworn protector - into Aegon's chest, “You surely remember how this goes, right? It's been some time. Mayhaps you'd like to start off with only one, my prince?"

The taste of bile continued in the back of Aegon's throat. This man might be the closest thing he had to a father, no matter how he rejected it. Ser Criston Cole was there, without his gleaming Kingsguard armor, and he spoke to him in the same holier than thou tone he would to Ser Harwin Strong.

“Breakbones.” Ser Criston's voice would drip in sharp venom. Breakbones to the man who he'd witnessed act with kindness to his little sister, who had inquired to his well being when Aegon had been hacking away at the practice dummy until splinters of his sword had embedded into his palms. Who'd pressed a cup of cold water in his hands and simply sat with him as he desperately tried to catch his breath.

Aegon felt the muscle in his jaw tense and jump, his ears burning with a feeling that he would not acknowledge. It was the wine. The hangover. Nothing more. Aegon used his left sword to knock Ser Criston's away and the man let him with a smirk.

He should apologize.

He should ask Abby how she truly felt. He should ask her why she had gotten so upset when he laughed. He should… do a lot of things. Aemond was probably right, insufferable as always, despite his lack of understanding when it came to their sister.

Riding. He would take her riding, Aegon decided, while his man set out fresh clothes and his riding leathers. He scrubbed the sweat off the back of his neck and concocted his plan. Yes, he'd pack a basket of wine - no, cider, Abrogail preferred cider, but he preferred wine. So, a sweet wine. Yes. Perfect. There certainly would be cakes in the kitchens, and they would picnic beneath the afternoon sun in the Kingswood. By the lake, he thought, tugging the loose, bleached linen shirt over his head and shoving his legs into his trousers. Black wool for warmth and leather along the inside of the thighs for strength. The lake where they'd played as children would be perfect.

The last time, they'd played capture-the-treasure, during Rhaenyra's nameday before she'd left for Dragonstone. Helaena refused to be the princess, so Abrogail took her place and had been quite the quarry. She'd called Jace and Luke for help and he had to fight them off until Aemond and Helaena showed up.

Aegon paused as he pulled his hair back from his face. Maybe he should get her something. Girls liked trinkets and pretty things. It always excited Helaena when Aemond brought her bugs and flowers. A frustrated sigh and he grabbed his jacket. "Where's my sister and her ladies?" he asked his man, who'd been tossing the used water out the window.

"With her Grace, your mother, my prince," he said with a bow.

He winced. With his mother. Aegon wondered if he should ask if Lady Abrogail was there, but Abby was always with Helaena.

The path to his mother's room was an achingly familiar one, and the knots in his stomach were frustrating and unpleasant. Why did she have to be with his mother? She'd been angry about the fight, and Aegon had been doing his best to avoid her while Aemond sported the worst of the bruises. Laughter echoed down the hall when he made the turn towards her chambers, and he flexed his hand, wiping it along his thigh. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

"You are close enough to my size, but I do not think this suits you for a wedding," came Mother's voice, through the half-open door. Thoughtful, critical, but not bad-critical. "Turn? I don't think this shade of red goes well with you."

"The curse of red hair," was Abby's reply, light and agreeable as always. "It's a beautiful dress, your Grace, but should this not be for Helaena?"

"I don't like it," came her sister's complaint. "It feels like it wants to hook into my arms. Oh! Hello Aegon!" she called, and he realized they caught him before he could even announce his entrance.

He wondered if Helaena knew he was coming.

Mother's room was full of afternoon light streaming through the southern facing windows. Helaena sat on the couch facing towards him, running her fingers through an assortment of brightly colored ribbons in her lap. Mother stood by the window, speaking to the woman who knelt at her feet, adjusting the hem of the dress that Abby wore. She stood on the stool in front of the mirror, and from where he stood in the doorway, he had the perfect view of her reflection.

The red of her curls glowed almost as gold as Sunfyre's scales where the sun caught them unbound down her back. Abby smiled uncertainly as she gazed at her reflection, her hands on the golden dragon decorations on her shoulders. She wore a cream dress with deep Targaryen red slashes in the back of the skirt and long tapered sleeves lined in the same blood crimson.

Aegon's mouth went dry at the sight of her, and the way her eyes widened when she looked towards him over her shoulder. As his mother turned to look at him also, he tried to school his appreciating expression to one that wouldn’t get him scolded and thrown out. Abby’s face was one of surprise, his mother's expression one of exasperation.

"I…" He couldn't speak. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he wiped his hand on his thigh again. The twisting sensation in his gut moved lower, familiarly, and he shifted his jacket in front of him.

"Ser Criston tells me you performed well in the training yard this morning," his mother said, and the exasperation turned… into a smile. Not a large one, but a genuine smile all the same.

"Did he?" Abby asked, looking at his mother, then she positively beamed at him, which wasn’t what he expected after the way things ended in the garden a fortnight ago. "Well done! Did you use both swords today, or just the one?"

Aegon swallowed and felt the blood rush to his cock and to his cheeks. "Just the one. The one sword." Not quite a lie, as his dual swords did not last very long. Why did he sound like that? High pitched and voice cracking as if he were a kitling like Aemond. "I don't think Ser Criston wanted to face me with both, no matter how rusty I am." He cleared his throat, rocked on his feet. "Need to lull him into a false sense of security. Underestimate. Your opponent, I mean."

Helaena giggled.

Aegon's cheeks flamed hotter.

"Well," his mother stared at him, and it really did nothing to dissuade the discomfort in his trousers. "I'm very glad to hear that. Was there something you needed?"

‘Her. I need her.’ Aegon didn’t know how to voice the prayer.

"I… I was just letting… I'm going riding. On Sunfyre. I'll be back by supper." His voice didn't crack again, and he got all the words out. Huzzah.

"Oh! Abby's outgrown my old riding clothes," Helaena said with such excessive delight that Aegon wanted to throttle her. "We should also have new ones made for her. Perhaps they could match Aegon's!" His sister's bright eyes met his, and he could sense the mischief radiating off her. "You could leave your jacket, wear your spare today."

Aegon took everything back. He hated his sister.

"That's a good idea, but Aegon doesn't need to leave anything," Mother mercifully cut in. "Enjoy your riding, Aegon."

"Have a wonderful ride, Aegon," Abby echoed, averting her eyes and turning back to the mirror.

"Are the rooms prepared for Lord Tully and his retinue?" the Queen asked Lady Fossoway, who sat across the table with parchment scattered across the blue and green tablecloth. Abrogail took her seat on the other end of the Queen's settee, the elder woman sparing her a glance and a small smile of greeting.

"Yes, your Grace. Lord Tully and the Lords Bracken and Blackwood will have rooms within the South Tower," Lady Fossoway confirmed. "Lord Vance will join them, and Ser Simon Strong will meet with their party when they reach Harrentown."

"Uncle Simon's coming?" Abrogail broke in. Lady Fossoway's green eyes flicked up to her and Abrogail felt as if she should apologize for speaking out of turn. The words caught in her throat and she broke the lady's gaze to look at the Queen, who was watching the exchange with an unreadable expression in her dark eyes. Something in it felt like a test, and so Abrogail continued. "Larys said that Uncle Simon would relay to Aegon and I about the current state of Harrenhal and where we might start."

She almost said where Aegon might start, but Abrogail understood that in running a lord's holding, both husband and wife had their duties. Queen Alicent sat on the Small Council, and she knew from stories that her own lady mother had run Harrenhal before they joined her father in the capital.

"Yes, he'll be staying with us through the tourney, so that the pair of you may be better acquainted," the Queen confirmed and Lady Fossoway's eyes averted back to the parchments. "Abrogail, I'd like you to join me in the small council as our cupbearer."

Lady Fossoway's gaze rose again, only just.

"Shouldn't…" Confusion overtook her previous uncertainty. "Shouldn't that be for Aegon, or Helaena, or even Aemond?" Or Jacaerys, she thought, but did not say.

"Aemond will also serve. The two of you will take turns, but I want you to have the experience before you leave for the Riverlands. Della, Lord Grover's maester, has requested a meeting with Grandmaester Mellos to see about the ailments he's having. Make sure he tends to him. Can't have him dying beneath our roof." Clipped tones, matter of fact, one item after another.

They passed a parchment to her, and Abrogail took it. A list of ladies and houses filled the page. Alerie Blackbar, Wylla Karstark, even Allana Tyrell and Josana Lannister. She even saw the names of the Blackwood girls as she scanned down the page. "You and Helaena will each take a Baratheon into your circles, and then between you both, you can find which of these ladies will be appropriate for your needs." The Queen continued to speak to another of her ladies who had just come in and Abrogail took a deep breath, fingers wrinkling the edges of the page.

"Aegon should do it," she said in a rush, and the gazes of the three women now gathered around her turned to look. Abby took a deep breath and licked her lips.

Marrying Aegon makes me a princess, she thought. And she wants to make him King, and I'll be his Queen.

"With respect, I am grateful for the opportunity, but Aegon should be cupbearer before we leave. It would be prudent for him to understand the workings of the council, especially since he shall be in the position of vassal in the future." Vassal to his elder sister. To speak otherwise would be treason, even among this circle.

The Queen’s large, brown eyes watched her for a long moment and Abrogail did all she could not to shrink away from it. There was something deeply unsettling about it, as if she saw something weak inside her that she wanted to sink her teeth into at worst, or at best, bat around like a lazy cat to see what Abrogail might do. The watchful gaze felt like it lasted for eternity before the Queen finally lifted a hand towards her ladies in dismissal. The women quickly moved and Lady Fossoway shut the door, leaving Abrogail with Alicent Hightower and the anxiety at speaking up threatening to suffocate her.

"You are a good girl, aren't you?" she said after a long exhale that did not quite ease the tension riddled line of her shoulders. The Queen reached out and her cool fingers tucked Abrogail's hair behind her ear. Her curls hung free down her back, a simple twist on either side of her head keeping them from getting in the way.

The Queen was beautiful, as she always was, with her auburn curls pulled back with tendrils loose around her face, untouched by gray. Beautiful, and ever melancholy. Even when she smiled, it did not wipe away the shadow that lingered along her regal features.

Abrogail would never speak it aloud, but the Queen and Aegon looked more alike every day, and it broke her heart.

She did not answer, and one did not appear to be expected of her. The knuckles of the Queen's hand traced along the curve of Abby's cheek and instinct compelled her to reach up and take the woman's hand in her own to hold. No different from what she might do with the others, even if it was stepping over a boundary that she wasn’t supposed to cross. There was pain in the woman's eyes that hurt to see, for the Queen, for Alicent Hightower, was the closest thing that Abrogail had left to a mother anymore.

An almost child she might be, but Abrogail was under no illusion that she was as important to the Queen and the Hand as if she were a true child of the crown. There was no one left for that, and so, she would do all that she could to be valuable.

"I am merely a reflection of the lessons and values you've instilled in me, your Grace," Abrogail said, fingers squeezing the Queen's hand. "I want to make you proud, and to not dishonor you, especially now that I am to be your good-daughter."

"A daughter," came the swift correction that had Abrogail looking up with surprise. "You are like one of my own children. I have watched you grow the same as them. The only difference is I don't have to worry about you the way I do them, now do I?" The Queen extracted her hand and Abrogail folded hers in her lap. "You are a wonderful influence, and I am ever grateful."

“Always smiling, it warms my heart in these trying times, a stór,” her papa would tell her when Mama was sick. Never stop.

So she didn't.

"Forgive a mother for her inclinations," the Queen continued. "I understand that the decision made has changed everything for you and it's not a simple thing. This is one of those events in our lives that we as women must endure, and we must make do." The Queen paused, looking away, and Abrogail watched the Queen's fingers twist, fingers picking at her thumbnail. “Aegon is certainly not whom you imagined. I never thought I would marry the King. I was young and thought I might marry a Tyrell, or perhaps a Tarth. Knights of flowers and charm."

Something cold settled in Abrogail's stomach. It was an unsettling and familiar sensation, one that ran through her veins when they stood as witness to Aegon's tongue lashings, the sharp crack of a hand. Sometimes there would be the thunderous threat of warning when the Lord Hand was giving it, for he would raise a hand to Aegon and Aemond both.

She'd noticed the Queen flinching during those moments, a pale look of dread on the woman's face in the presence of her father.

"My apologies, your Grace," Abrogail spoke softly, mouth turned into an uncertain, her brow furrowing. "I don't quite understand what you mean."

She wanted to hear Aegon's mother say it.

The Queen reached out to take both of her hands and held them tightly, thumbs rubbing soothing strokes along the back of Abrogail's palms. Brown eyes glistened with unshed tears, a softness to the Queen's features that reminded Abrogail of Aegon and a faint memory of her own mother.

"Aegon refuses to listen to me. He’s out of control. He is determined to flaunt every privilege granted to him, every opportunity we set before him." When the Queen took a shuddering inhale, it felt as if she was drawing the air from Abrogail's lungs to sustain herself. "He's like Rhaenyra in that way, but she was eager to serve the King on his council. Aegon, sadly, lacks the same ambition she has. Fortunately, you and I, my dearest, are very much alike. Therefore, I've asked you to serve, not him."

Abrogail's gaze followed the Queen's fingers as they held hers, unable to face the hurtful expression in her eyes. She thought of Aegon vomiting in the bushes after he dragged her from the Hand's tower. He clutched at her like demons from the hells would reach up and tear them apart. Even when he’d hurt her the way he had, unintentional as she was sure it was, Abrogail couldn’t hate him.

Slowly, she extracted her hands from the queen and leaned back to put some distance between them. Teeth caught at her lower lip as she tried to find her words.

‘I am to be his wife, and that is a sacred thing,’ she thought. It didn't matter if they were Lord and Lady, or King and Queen. They would be Aegon and Abrogail, married beneath the eyes of the Old Gods and the New, and like the example shown by the Queen, Abrogail would stand by Aegon through whatever trials awaited.

The promise was made years ago in the cold room at Driftmark, while she cut his long curls with embroidery scissors and he wept for his brother and cursed his father.

"You've watched us our whole lives. You’ve borne witness to the games we've played, the companionship and trust that we've built, and yet you feel you must apologize to me?" Her voice wavered, but her posture was strong, and she held the Queen's gaze. "I know Aegon. I've known him my whole life and while maybe we aren't as close as we once were, I know these good things are still there."

Abrogail remained steadfast and silent, hoping the Queen would understand Aegon was not a punishment. Despite everything, she knew that the kind boy she had known was still there, and she was confident that she could help him find his way back. She wouldn't have to spend her nights wondering if news of Aegon's death in Flea Bottom would reach her by morning.

"Abrogail, your heart is gentle, but your fond memories do not erase the egregious things he does now. Not his drinking, his lechery, his bad habits. But, if we work together - you, me, and your Uncle Otto? We can shape him into the king that he needs to be. That takes trust, my dear child." With each word out of the Queen's mouth, Abrogail's heart fell, and a mournful understanding took root inside her chest. "We do not leave you to handle Aegon on your own. You tell me everything, and we'll handle it. Do you understand, my sweet Abrogail?"

Did she understand everything, sweet girl that she was?

Sweet girl. Darling girl. Dearest Abrogail. Sweet Abrogail. Little Maiden Marchpane, sweet as honey, and so easily devoured.

Mo stór beag, Papa would call her, the River tongue rolling off him as easily as common. My little treasure.

The loud sound of the door opening broke the silence, boots scraping across the stone floor, and both of them jumped at the suddenness of it. Aegon entered silently, his jaw tight, lips pursed, and hair disheveled.

"Aegon," she said, her voice lilting, immediately drawing back from the Queen, feeling an easing sensation in her chest that chased away the cold. Abby smiled while the queen frowned at the intrusion.

She watched him move, glancing between them, and Abby stood up, fingers smoothing the pale blue and gold silk of her gown. She wondered if she still had to curtsey to him now that they were engaged; Aegon was apathetic about such things, while the Queen was not.

At the moment, Queen Alicent's thoughts were irrelevant to her. Despite still feeling heartsore from the morning in the gardens, Abby smiled at Aegon. It was not a bright one, but it was there all the same, and focused on him.

Aegon seemed confused, then his face softened as he searched her face for something she didn't understand. He then turned his gaze to his mother. "Abby's coming with me this afternoon," he said with no sort of greeting except the clearing of his throat. "We're going riding. We'll be back before nightfall."

The command of it all brought a flush to Abby’s cheeks, and she cast her eyes to the ground to avoid the piercing look the Queen was giving them both. It was a complicated feeling that tumbled inside of her chest; she was still hurt, though the bruise on her arm from where he’d grabbed her had faded. In truth, Abby was still sour about it all, but in the wake of the conversation and the Queen’s request, in the aftermath of her frustration and distaste for her son, and her own insistence of Aegon being given a place to serve and not her, she felt protective of him - gentled towards Aegon. And it was a feeling that was most certainly helped by the way he simply walked into his mother’s room to state "Abby’s coming with me." There was no asking for permission, nor even a greeting to his mother. She wondered if it was nerves, she wondered if he had seen something in her expression that spurred it.

Abby knew though that she didn’t have to wonder at her answer to it.

"Abrogail is assisting me with the arrangements for the tournament, Aegon. Perhaps you should find Aemond. I believe he's still training in the yard with Ser Criston," the Queen said, indulgent but firm in her tone.

Abby's mind was racing as she swallowed nervously. "Your Grace, I apologize, but Aegon and I had already planned to ride." She looked at the Queen with her eyes demure, a curtsy dropped, the lie flowing from her so easily she could not believe herself. "I’ll take the time to pry his mind for things he'd like at the feast."

As Abby moved, Aegon's gaze shifted from his mother to her, making her stomach tighten. It reminded her of the look on his face in the fountain beneath the weeping cherry tree. Her hand reached out for him and she bobbed another graceful curtsy to the Queen. "Your Grace," she murmured. It was her turn to pull him out of the suffocating room and Aegon’s huff of surprised laughter made her grin.

[Chapter Six]

[kozukatt]

i wanna see those ninjago headcanons pleaseeeeee

ask and you shall receive :3

Lloyd:

𑁍 he would be the one to sneak food out of the kitchen

𑁍 whenever Zane’s baking he’s there ready to taste test and steal chocolate chips

𑁍 everyone keeps forgetting he’s just a kid in an adult body so even though he acts tough Lloyd is actually terrified of fighting 

𑁍 after Harumi died in the collapsed building he took a few days off to process the whole thing

𑁍 Kai is a big brother to Lloyd so whenever he’s upset Kai’s always there to help

𑁍 same thing with Nya; she’s a big sister and the middle sibling of the RGB trio

𑁍 Lloyd respects everyone on the team for practically raising him and dealing with his evil phase

Kai:

ꕥ will ironically say “FIYAAAA!” But everyone is used to it so there’s no reaction

ꕥ literally an oven

ꕥ remember in s1 when he found Zane in the fridge? Yeah he never lets him live it down even though he chilled in the oven around that time

ꕥ blames himself for every little thing that goes wrong on a mission

ꕥ takes criticism hard

ꕥ grew to be less protective of Nya but he still worries about her time to time

ꕥ relies on his elemental abilities so when they’re taken away (s10) he feels utterly useless 

ꕥ avoids water because 1: he’s terrified of it and 2: so he won’t ruin his hair

ꕥ Kai’s only afraid of bodies of water so anything more than Nya’s abilities is terrifying to him

Cole:

 he’s simply a bear

 a plus size god

(Minor TW for eating disorder)

 developed an eating disorder during the 1 year time skip as a way to punish himself 

(TW over :3)

 video games are his outlet

 never actually had a crush on Nya he was just confused and felt like he had to feel like he liked her

 amazing at sarcasm

 his and Jay’s bromance can never be broken

 even though his relationship with his dad got better he still never feels like he’s enough

 is afraid of singing because of a deep rooted fear of failing stemmed from his dad

 he’s an amazing listener and comforts the team whenever they need

Jay:

✫ has repressed his comic nerd until Lloyd came along

✫ ADHD at its finest

✫ hyper fixated on comic book characters to try and escape his responsibilities 

✫ gaming with Cole is one of his outlets 

✫ doesn’t like to be called out on his faults but will take them well and improve

✫ still feels resentful to his biological mother and father for leaving him but is glad he has Ed and Edna

✫ his hair is always staticky and always shocks people

✫ isn’t allowed in the kitchen because once he tried starting a fire and blew up the oven

✫ his freckles developed after acne and are a result of scars from said acne

✫ a natural ginger

Zane: 

❄︎ his hair is individual strands of synthetic hair

❄︎ whenever his skin got damaged in s1-3 it would mend back together like real skin

❄︎ when he rebuilt himself he only had basic functions but as time went on Jay added on the ability to feel temperature and other things

❄︎ he constantly has imposter syndrome for being a nindroid

❄︎ he has immense respect for his team and Wu

❄︎ the only rational braincell of the group

❄︎ acts irrationally though when it comes to family (Falcon, the ninja, etc.)

❄︎ he sometimes gets rusty and has trouble moving without pain

❄︎ constantly cold but doesn’t feel it so it takes fire or some other super hot thing to make him even a little warm

❄︎ cooking and baking for the team and people he cares about is his way of showing love

❄︎ whenever someone is having trouble with something he will be there to help no matter what

Nya:

༄ she’s a buff queen

༄ one of the tallest of the group

༄ doesn’t have a good relationship with her mother until the end of seabound

༄ even after she reached her full potential Nya is constantly afraid of failing 

༄ her and Kai relied on each other a lot when they were growing up

༄ they didn’t have a good relationship when they were younger but after Wu took them in they had a stable environment and were able to have a better relationship 

༄ wants to prove to herself and others that she’s worthy of being on the team

༄ has a grudge against Dareth for trying to downplay her 

༄ HATES being put into stereotypes 

༄ never backs down from a fight 

༄ even when she knows she can’t win Nya’s able to stall until catching them off guard to gain the upper hand

[helaenalyst]

since i saw someone else do it i'm gonna write my own version of rook's rest just for fun (with less blatant kinslaying and with more gwayne hightower)

it starts the same way, with aemond spotting aegon riding sunfyre into battle and getting pissed because there's now a wildcard present in his perfectly calculated plan. while having two dragons does give them an advantage, he doesn't trust aegon, and thinks that he will be a hindrance. aemond has no plans of kinslaying at this point. he's just pissed that his lil bro is going to ruin his plan and make him look bad

aemond goes after aegon but vhaegar is slow to rise so sunfyre gets into the fray first and engages in battle with meleys. same conversation between criston and gwayne, then criston rallies the troops to advance. he has no idea why it was aegon who came, the most likely explanation is that aemond couldn't make it for whatever reason and sunfyre was the only other dragon they could send, so he's determined to make do with what they have

when aemond does get there he's pissed to see that the army already engaged, but at least rhaenys looks like an easy target while meleys and sunfyre are locked in battle. aegon says his "thank god" line and aemond orders vhaegar to chomp rhaenys off her saddle, however aegon's reaction tipped rhaenys so she can order meleys to let go of sunfryre and dodge the attack. aemond is beyond pissed. if aegon wasn't so transparent, then they would've already won!

this would be the first instance during the battle that aegon being aegon (earnest, loving, naive, stupid) would fuck things up. aemond grows increasingly convinced that aegon will lose them the war because he can't be focused and ruthless, while aemond can

aegon and aemond have the obvious advantage in a 2vs1 (with vhaegar to boot) but rhaenys is an experienced rider and warior so she can hold her own for quite a while just dodging and maneouvering fast. aegon thinks they should work together and keeps trying to order aemond around but aemond just wants him out of the way so he can do his thing and hes getting increasingly pissed because why the fuck is he here, why does he keep getting in the way. eventually aemond fires a "warning" shot at aegon by firing near him and at rhaenys, implying that he won't hesitate to fire at him if he needs to do it to win. ageon stands back and aemond goes alone after rhaenys

aegon is going through a lot right now because even in the fucking dragon battle he's being told to step aside and do nothing because he's a nuisance. he turns his attention to the castle and figures it should be easy to just go there and burn them all but he's shocked to see the storm of arrows actually has a chance to hurt him and sunfyre and once again he steps back. it's his first time in battle, he's panicking like crazy, he doesn't want to die. he looks for criston among the troops but he obviously can't communicate from such a height. he's alone in this and he doesn't know what to do

we see criston on the ground looking up and muttering "what are you doing, aegon...?". he's worried for the kid. gwayne is just grateful that sunfyre at least has the attention of the arrows and presses criston to advance, criston snaps out of it and nods and off they go

(maybe gwayne could stop an arrow headed for criston while he's distracted by ageon's confusing actions or something for extra points, let him get a W and repay his debt)

in any case, rhaenys sees the green army advance and goes full speed towards the castle, circling along the rear of criston's army to burn the troops. aemond does the same, but the vanguard of criston's troops is really close to the castle so when aemond burns the enemy troops he also burns his own troops. we get a couple of shots of criston and gwayne (separately) barely dodging vhaegar's fire. aegon sees what aemond is doing and he's horrified to see it because hey, what are you doing, cole is right there! he flies up to aemond and tells him to stop, aemond obviously ignores him, then aegon tries to command vhaegar to stop (in english of course) in a very dumb desperate attempt, and tries to grab the reins from aemond, this is where aemond reaches his limit and looks at aegon with immense fury and orders vhaegar to knock him out of the way, too irritated to care for what happens to him or sunfyre or cole and just wanting to finish the job

aemond didn't expect rhaenys to show up and dracarys the hell out of aegon while sunfyre is stunned after vhaegar's blow, though. he looks briefly guilty, but he quickly steels himself and goes after rhaenys, engaging one last time to finally take her out. we see a reaction from gwayne on the ground, who clearly saw what happened since he couldn't take his eyes off the dragons, and who will fear aemond like he's death itself from now on

the ending goes the same as in the show, criston goes after aegon but gets knocked out by vhaegar while aemond and rhaenys are fighting, eventually aemond kills rhaenys and meleys falls over the castle, gwayne rallies the rest of the troops to take it, etc

aemond looks for aegon after the battle, trying to block the guilt for what happened. he tries to justify his actions. maybe this is better for everyone? without aegon they can win the war. he's just too stupid. he didn't expect to find aegon alive. he tells himself that he can't possibly survive those injuries, but that he may live long enough to tell everyone what happened and have him executed for what he did. he's still the king. if he can speak at all, aemond is fucked

with these thoughts in mind he starts to draw his sword, but that's when criston arrives, so he stops. criston can't tell for sure if he saw what he thinks he saw, and doesn't want to believe it (unlike gwayne who is very sure of what he saw. whether to tell alicent or not would be something that they argue about in future episodes). he falls to his knees, looks heartbroken, etc. and aemond walks away

tldr i just wanted to play up the fact that rhaenys is experienced and very very good at what she does as well as the relationships between the team green characters and aegon's good heart vs aemond's ruthlessness. i also tried to give aemond a really good reason to reach his limit and hurt his brother bc i dont think he was at the point where it was a first resort for him yet. if that makes sense

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 32

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

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

Chapter 32: The Hunt

AO3 - Masterlist

Swinging his sword with controlled precision, Aemond cleaved through the air, the blade’s descent accompanied by a swift swooshing sound. With deft movement, he evaded an imagined adversary’s assault, seamlessly transitioning into another strike. The crunch of the gravel beneath his boots harmonized with his rhythmic motions. 

The maids in Daenera’s entourage had assembled, busily unloading the contents of a cart that bore the princess’s possessions. However, despite their presence, Daenera herself had yet to appear. 

Aemond’s jaw clenched, his grip on the sword’s hilt intensifying as he executed another spin, bringing the blade down upon a makeshift opponent crafted from wood and straw, the impact slicing into the dummy’s shoulder. 

Daenera’s return to King’s Landing left Aemond in a state of conflict. Part of him longed for her to remain distant, concealed from his thoughts and vision, granting him the illusion that she didn’t exist. But, such endeavors had always proven futile. She had become an inescapable presence, like a persistent specter haunting his thoughts. Despite his relentless efforts to sever these ties, they clung to him, a potent poison that seemed to course through his veins. And now, with her return, he felt as if that poison would only be reinforced, further entangling him in a web of emotions he had struggled to suppress.

Each swing of Aemond’s sword brought forth the sharp crack of wood splintering, the impact of metal against the strawman’s frame resounding in the air. His breath came in short, rapid bursts, as beads of sweat formed on his brow and trickled down his face. His every muscle seemed to tense and coil beneath his skin as he restlessly moved, the rhythmic thud of his heart synchronizing with the rhythm of his strikes.

“Princess!” A shrill gasp broke through the air. 

Aemond clenched his jaw, his grip on the sword firm as he extracted the blade from its target. 

“What happened? Are you hurt?” The eldest among Daenera’s maids inquired, her voice trembling with concern. 

The air in the courtyard seemed to shift, becoming thick and stifled. 

Aemond’s brow furrowed, and he pivoted slowly, his sword’s arch somewhat lackluster as his curiosity overpowered his focus on the practice. His movement halted abruptly when his gaze fell upon her figure. Blood streaked her face, tracing a dark path down her neck and collecting within the folds of her dress. The fabric was disheveled and marked by stains of both blood and dirt, ripped and ruined. 

What gripped his attention most keenly, however, was the distant look in her eyes, as though she were detached from her surroundings. 

Several guards, along with Ser Criston Cole in his pristine white cloak, converged around her. Aemond also moved closer, his face now a hard facade concealing the swell of emotion he felt–his heart seemed to falter within his chest. 

“We were set upon by a group of men,” Daenera spoke, her voice bearing a distant quality, as if it were an echo of itself. “Anthor and Byren… they’re dead.”

“And Fenrick?” The older servant inquired hastily. 

Daenera blinked, her gaze shimmering with tears that threatened to fall. “I don’t know. He ordered me to run, so I ran.”

“Ser Criston,” Aemond interjected sharply. “Assemble the gold cloaks and a contingent of the Kingsguard. Sweep the city.”

His gaze locked with hers, and he noted the spark in them. Aemond felt his fury burn within his chest, searing through his veins and out into his body. She looked so fragile, as if a touch could make her shatter. It didn’t suit her. 

Aemond tore his attention from her and brought it upon Ser Criston as the kingsguard spoke. “This is a matter for the gold cloaks, my prince, not for the Kingsguard.”

The older maid’s frown deepened, transitioning into a clear sneer. Her name came to him then; Joyce. 

“Princess Daenera is a member of the royal family,” Aemond growled at Ser Criston, his voice cutting off Joyce’s attempt to interject. “And a member of the royal family has been subjected to an attack.”

The expression on Ser Criston’s face tightened, his teeth visibly grinding and his eyes narrowing. After a curt nod at the prince’s order, he allowed a subtle, disdainful look to slide towards Daenera. If Aemond’s patience hadn’t been so precariously stretched, he might have been tempted to knock out Ser Criston’s teeth then and there. 

Taking a decisive step towards Daenera, Aemond met her gaze, her eyes wide yet wavering, still present despite her ordeal. He fought the urge to reach out to her, his hand lifting slightly from his side before falling again. “Rest assured, we will find your man and ensure those responsible are brought to justice.”

If it had been anyone else, he would not have cared to make such promises. In the back of his mind, he knew he should have stepped away and left the gold cloaks to sort this out, that if anyone looked too closely they might imagine there to be more between them. 

As he moved to continue on his way, his attention drawn to the task at hand, her arm shot out, her fingers gripping his bicep. He turned his head towards her, finding her gaze momentarily on the ground before it locked onto his. 

“Aegon is in one of the whorehouses,” she informed him, her voice carrying an urgency that made him pause. “The one with the blue door.”

Acknowledging her words with a curt nod, Aemond let her hand fall away from his arm. She turned from him, her maids enveloping her in a protective circle as they guided her back towards the Keep. A mix of emotions rumbled within his chest – annoyance at Aegon’s involvement, whatever it might be, concern for Daenera’s safety, and a gnawing sense of responsibility that he hadn’t asked for. 

With a terse exhale, Aemond reasserted his focus on the situation. He didn’t need the additional burden of worrying about Aegon’s wearabouts. 

“Fetch my armor,” he commanded a passing servant, the urgency in his tone mirrored by the servant’s hurried departure to fulfill his order. 

“My prince, I advise against–,” began Ser Criston, his tone cautious.

“We shall see how your teachings will hold up, Ser Criston,” Aemond curtly interrupted, cutting off Ser Criston with a determined and decisive voice. He wasn’t interested in Ser Criston’s advice. 

Aemond had no desire to be hidden away like some fragile trinket. He didn’t need to be shielded from the rough edges of the world, afraid of a few scrapes and cuts. What he needed was to exact justice upon those who dared to harm his family – no matter how loose the concept of family was between them. Regardless of the family’s internal divisions, an attack on any Targaryen could not go unanswered. 

Swift retribution, delivered without mercy, was essential. They had to set a precedent. 

And he couldn’t allow the men who had put their hands upon Daenera to continue breathing. 

As the servant returned, bearing his armor, Aemond’s focus shifted to the task of putting it on. He allowed the servant to help him into the breastplate and shoulder guards, the familiar weight of the armor settling upon him. His practice sword was exchanged for his true blade, the grip settling perfectly into his hand. 

All of Ser Criston’s efforts to dissuade him from participating in the search were futile. The gold cloaks had been organized into groups of fives and dispatched throughout the city to comb every corner and crevice for the culprits. Much to Aemond’s annoyance, Ser Criston and Ser Erryk insisted on shadowing his every step, like overprotective hounds. 

Their presence grated on him. He didn’t require their protection, nor their incessant scrutiny of his decisions. What he needed was to obliterate the ones who dared lay hands on a member of the royal family. 

News of the incident had evidently spread, casting an eerie stillness over the once-bustling streets. Now, only a few inebriated souls and the homeless roamed about. The feeble light from the streetlamps and windows merely accentuated the encroaching darkness, a fitting backdrop for the turmoil that had been unleashed. 

They turned onto the Street of Silk, where the atmosphere was oddly different from the rest of the city. Here, the air bore a sense of tension, and the locals seemed to shrink in the presence of the white cloaks, like vermin exposed to light. The air smelled sickly sweet, and it seemed to stick to the back of his throat. 

Aemond’s contempt for these wretches surged. Pathetic and frail, these men were weak, a slave to their own indulgences. And among them, the weakest of all was his own brother. 

“This is hardly a place for a prince,” Ser Criston grumbled, voicing the blatant truth. Nevertheless,  the halls of brothels had been tread upon by countless princes and kings, their secrets concealed in the dark corners of these very establishments. Some had left mere coins behind, while others left their reputation in shambles and bastards hiding in the shadows.

“My brother possesses a specific taste for depravity,” Aemond muttered as his mind involuntarily revisited the memory of the brothel his brother had brought him to during his more innocent years. 

“Too inexperienced,” Aegon had mocked, his tone dripping with a peculiar blend of mockery and brotherly love. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint your future bride, now, would you?” 

The barb from his brother’s past jest stung anew, fanning the embers of resentment that had long smoldered. 

His thoughts were jolted back to the present as they stood before the very brothel his brother had once dragged him into. It had seemed much more enticing to the young Aemond, even though he felt woefully out of place. The memory of Aegon’s chuckles and his own blush at the time still haunted him. 

Further down the street they found the blue door, an oddity amidst the more dazzling facades of the neighboring brothels. The contrast was not lost on Aemond; it was as if this place strived to stand apart, a bit more discreetly sinful. 

Rapping his knuckles against the door, Aemond couldn’t help but rest his hand on his sword’s hilt as restlessness gripped him. He despised having to extricate his brother from these sorts of escapades. If only Aemond could keep himself out of trouble for once. 

The peephole shifted, dark eyes sizing up Aemond and his companions before disappearing, the sound of locks being manipulated echoing from within. As the door creaked open, a somber-looking man of dark complexion stood before them. 

“We seek my brother,” Aemond’s voice was controlled, a barely veiled impatience running beneath it. He assumed the man recognized him, as most did in the city.

Guided by the dark-skinned man, they moved through the brothel’s opulent interior, a study in contrast. They passed a central courtyard adorned with a fountain where rose petals floated upon the water’s surface. The air carried the sounds of a band playing an overtly sensual tune, accompanied by lyrics that bore no subtlety.

Aemond’s slips twisted in disdain at the scene. 

They continued further, eventually reaching a secluded chamber concealed behind a billowing silk curtain. With a rudeness that seared into Aemond’s chest, he found Aegon balls deep in the mouth of a dark haired woman.

Aegon remained oblivious to his brother’s presence, engrossed in his own fleeting pleasure. A flagon of wine was tilted precariously, the liquid cascading down his throat like a reckless stream. The red rivulets painted a gruesome parallel to the streaks of blood on Daenera’s form – an image that ignited Aemond’s simmering anger. 

He wanted to be out on the streets hunting Daenera’s attackers, not forced to intervene in his brother’s vices. 

“Ah!” Aegon’s exuberant exclamation reverberated through the room, arms extended wide in a gesture of ostentatious welcome. “Brother! Have you finally deemed it necessary to extricate the stick from your ass and embrace a bit of revelry?”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, his annoyance underscored by the words flung carelessly. He gathered Aegon’s rumpled clothing, the fabric bearing the distinct odor of dirt. With a curt motion, he hurled the garments at his brother. “We’re leaving.”

Aegon’s laughter rippled like silk on the wind, his response teasingly melodious. He suppressed a grin, his lips forming an impish curve even as the whore continued her attentions. 

“Oh, come now,” he purred, his tone a dangerous mixture of playfulness and defiance. His teeth sunk into his lower lip, a fleeting reaction to the ministrations of the whore.”Surely we can find someone to your particular taste, dear brother.”

The flick of his fingers grazed the girl’s head, her mouth relinquishing the hold on his cock. She pivoted, her gaze now meeting Aemond’s own intense stare. Her features, youthful and innocent, seemed almost at odds with her chosen occupation – round cheeks, a pert button nose, and full lips. 

A storm of anger twisted within Aemond, its intensity coursing through his veins like liquid fire. It took immense self control to restrain himself.

As she reached for the fastening of his belt, his grip clamped down on her wrist, hoisting her upright. In a single motion, he propelled her towards the silk curtain that veiled the chamber, her collision with a stoic Ser Erryk punctuating her exit. The curtain fell back into place.

“Get dressed,” Aemond growled through gritted teeth, his patience hanging by a string. 

Aegon raised his hands in an exaggerated display of surrender, a grin twitching at the corner of his lips. He retreated a few steps, positioning himself nearer to a table, where he deposited the flagon before seizing another, pouring its contents into two glasses. 

“Still nursing the sting of hearing about your lover’s betrothal?” He quirked an eyebrow, sly amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’m certain we can locate a remedy for that.”

Aemond’s frustration simmered, urging him forward. He retrieved the clothes once more, purpose in every step as he approached his brother. He pressed the bundle firmly against Aegon’s chest, each word dripping with a quiet vehemence. “Put on your clothes, Aegon, or I shall have you escorted back to the Keep in nothing but your shame.”

Aegon’s eyes rolled, and instead of immediately taking the clothes, he drained both cups of wine. “Mother wouldn’t approve.”

“I find myself rather indifferent,” Aemond sneered, “Considering that a substantial portion of King’s Landing’s population has already been treated to the sight of your cock.”

Aegon begrudgingly accepted the clothes, tugging on his trousers and slipping into the shirt, a stain of blood smearing across the collar. His boots posed a challenge, an overt struggle with the right foot refusing to accommodate the left boot. The act held a tinge of deliberateness, a shade of defiance that Aemond could all too easily read. 

“Perhaps some gratitude would be in order,” Aegon muttered, annoyance evident as he wrestled with the wrong boot, his hair clinging in greasy strands to his face. “Had I not intervened, your precious little paramour might have met a less fortunate fate.”

“Aegon, I swear upon the gods, if those boots don’t find their proper place on your feet within your next breath, you’ll find yourself returning to the keep with nothing but bare soles. I haven’t the patience for your games,” Aemond snapped, his patient none existent at that point. 

“And would your devotion to the gods match your devotion to denying your dalliances with a certain prin–” Aegon’s words were abruptly halted as Aemond’s fist closed around his shirt, yanking him unceremoniously to his feet. Aegon’s laughter hung in the air for a brief moment before Aemond’s stern expression extinguished it. 

“Whatever fantasies you’ve concocted, I suggest you keep them to yourself,” Aemond warned, the weight of his threat underscoring his words. Aegon seemed to grasp the severity of the situation, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. 

Aemond released him, exasperation tugging at his features as he watched Aegon easily slip into his boots. Without further delay, Aemond seized his brother’s arm, hauling him to his feet and dragging him towards the doorway. 

“Escort my brother back to the Keep and make sure he is well taken care of,” Aemond instructed Ser Erryk, his tone firm as he directed his gaze toward the knight. With a nod of understanding, Ser Erryk reached for Aegon’s arm, aiming to guide him out. Like a child, Aegon promptly withdrew his arm, leading the way himself in a show of stubborn independence. It did not stop him from stumbling on a crooked stone and almost colliding with the fountain.

“We should leave,” Ser Criston said, eyes running through the crowd in the brothel. “There are many eyes here, not all friendly.”

Aemond hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze shifting to take in the curious stares of the onlookers. 

His eye briefly caught a glimpse of a woman dressed in white, observing the unfolding spectacle from a balcony above. Aemond tore his eye away, landing on the girl who had been servicing his brother. He tossed a purse of coins at her feet before leaving the brothel. 

Navigating the bustling thoroughfare known as the street of silk, Aemond and Ser Criston found themselves in the company of the city's gold cloaks, the royal guards responsible for maintaining order amidst King's Landing's chaos. The street lived up to its reputation, teeming with life and intrigue that seemed to cling to every cobblestone and alleyway.

They wound their way through the city, combing through the street. Taking another turn, they ventured into a narrower alleyway, where the subdued moonlight struggled to breach the enveloping darkness. There, their gazes met the sight of a gold cloak, kneeling beside a lifeless figure. The soft flicker of torches ignited by the gold cloak illuminated the scene, the interplay of light and shadow dancing against the walls. 

The gold cloak lifted his gaze, the flickering flame casting a dance of orange across his somber features. “We found three men attempting to move the body.”

Aemond’s gaze followed the trajectory of the gold cloak’s eyes, tracing the direction to where three figures knelt, defeated and submissive, at the mouth of the alleyway. Yet, his attention soon reverted to the lifeless form before him. 

“It appears the princess put up quite a fight,” the gold cloak remarked, his words laden with an acknowledgement of Daenera’s resilience. 

“Indeed,” Aemond responded, with a sense of pride. 

The victim’s throat had been savagely slashed, the gaping wound snapping almost from ear to ear, the cruel cut severing both windpipe and jugular. A dark, viscous pool of blood marred the ground beneath the body, its inky hue contrasting starkly against the surroundings. The scene was a testament to the brutality of the attack.

Aemond’s emotions shifted, a complex mixture of grim satisfaction and a twisted sense of arousal at the evident ferocity with which Daenera had defended herself. It wasn’t just self defense, Daenera had been ruthless and brutal. Yet, he couldn’t erase the image of her disheveled appearance, bloodstained and seemingly disconnected from the world. He tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword. 

They had almost killed her. They had almost taken her from–

“And her guard?” Aemond inquired, his tone edged with an undercurrent of intensity.

“Alive,” the gold cloak replied, rising from his crouched position and motioning for Aemond to approach the row of subdued men. “He’s with the prisoners.”

Seated on the stone steps leading to a nearby house, Fenrick cradled his injured leg, leaning heavily against the intricately wrought iron railing. His appearance was a testament to the grueling struggle he had endured, with bloodied features, a broken nose, and a collection of bruises and lacerations that painted a portrait of what he had endured. Upon spotting the prince’s arrival, Fenrick laboriously pushed himself upright, relying on his uninjured leg and the railing for support. Despite the pain etched on his face, his greeting held a certain level of exasperation.

“Prince,” Fenrick acknowledged, the sentiment clearly less than enthusiastic.

The situation carried a tinge of irony that Aemond couldn’t help but find slightly amusing, were it not for the gravity of the circumstances. He turned his attention away from the battered guard, his interest waning. Meanwhile, the trio of captives on their knees cast furtive glances toward him – one tinged with fear, the others seemingly resigned to their fate.

“Is this the entirety of their group?” Aemond inquired, the question seemingly directed into the wind.

“No,” Fenrick grunted, adjusting his weight to approach the subdued trio. “There were more.”

Aemond’s gaze remained impassive, the scene before him underlining Fenrick’s limitations. “Were they all incapacitated, or did some escape?”

Fenrick’s scowl deepened, and a note of frustration laced his words. “I couldn't kill all of them.”

Aemond’s lips curved into a mirthless smile, a harsh observation poised on his tongue. 

“It appears that not only were you ineffective in thwarting the attack, but you also failed to eliminate the threat entirely. An interesting display of your capabilities as a sworn shield,” he remarked, with his words accompanied by the unsheathing of his sword. The mere movement made the captives instinctively recoil, granting the weapon a wide berth. Aemond’s gaze disregarded Fenrick – a man he now deemed incapable of fulfilling his duties as a sworn sword. 

“How many of you were there?” Aemond’s tone was unwavering, his scrutiny shifting to the trio before them. 

The captives exchanged wary glances, sealing their lips tightly. 

“Who gave the order?” 

A resolute silence met this inquiry. 

“My prince,” Ser Criston interjected, his voice measured and reasonable, “Perhaps it would be more prudent to transport them to the dungeons for more extensive interrogation.”

Aemond’s gaze held steady for a moment before he inclined his head, pursing his lips in thought. 

With unflinching coldness, he thrust his sword into the gut of the captive positioned at the center, the blade penetrating so forcefully that it emerged from the opposite side. The man’s eyes widened in sheer shock, his pained gasp cloaked by the rush of blood and agony. 

Blood spurted from the wound. A gurgled rasp escaped the man’s lips, the metallic scent mingling with the pungency of despair. Those wide eyes shifted, locking onto Aemond’s face as if seeking solace or understanding amidst the whirl of pain. 

In a swift motion, Aemond retracted his sword, the withdrawal accompanied by a torrent of viscera and gore that spewed forth, a gruesome offering to the ground. The dying captive clutched his own entrails for a moment, the gore slipping through his fingers as his body shuddered in its final throes. His breath grew increasingly ragged until they abruptly ceased, leaving behind only a vacant stare that seemed to look through Aemond. 

The macabre display seemed to unravel time itself, a grim spectacle that captured the horrified attention of all present. The remaining two prisoners recoiled in horror, their terror-stricken screams blending with the gruesome display before them. Yet, it wasn’t just the captives who stared in astonishment. 

Fenrick’s countenance twisted into an expression of disapproval, but he wisely shielded any retort, aware that this wasn't the time to voice his thoughts. Ser criston’s expression bore a heavy frown, a subtle shake of his head suggesting a belief that this method might have been better confined to the hidden depths of the dungeons, away from prying eyes. 

The gold cloaks – loyal, yet weary from the grim proceedings – maneuvered the surviving prisoners back into position, enforcing a relentless order amid the unsettling chaos that unfolded. 

Aemond regarded them with a flicker of amusement dancing in his eye. “If I were in your position, I would find my voice sooner rather than later.”

Tears mingled with dirt on the youngest captive’s cheeks as he pleaded for mercy, his desperation painting a pitiable image. His voice trembled as he spoke, pleading for his life. “Spare me, please! I have a family! They depend on me – Please .”

Aemond’s sword glistened with blood, its metallic sheen matching the intensity of his gaze as he pointed it at the trembling figure. “Talk.”

“I swear, I don’t know anything,” the young man blurted out, his words stumbling over each other in his haste. “I was just doing what I was told. He–” he nodded towards the lifeless body in the alley, “recruited us. Our job was to abduct the girl and return her to a ship. That’s all.”

Aemond’s single eye narrowed, the suspicion he felt echoing in his words. “That is all…?”

Contemplation danced in the depths of Aemond’s eyes as he absorbed the young man’s revelation. They intended to abduct Daenera, but why? The torn dress bore a tale of its own, evidence of a far darker plot. This wasn’t a simple abduction, there was more to it. 

His grip on the sword tightened, and he bore down on the blade, allowing it to cruelly dig into the young man’s flesh. Each flinch, each tremble, fueled Aemond’s anger and sense of justice. Was this a fraction of what they intended to inflict upon Daenera? The pool of blood around the lifeless body seemed a fitting reflection of the cruelty that had brought them to this grim scene. 

“Let us return to the Keep and continue this interrogation on the morrow,” Ser Criston’s voice broke through the charged atmosphere. “The gold cloaks can continue their search for the others.”

Aemond’s gaze shifted to the knight. 

“Agreed,” he purred, withdrawing the sword from the youth’s neck. He breathed a momentary sigh of relief. 

Aemond lifted his sword once more and slashed it across the young man’s throat, delivering a swift and decisive blow. Blood spurted in crimson arcs, and the young man gasped, his hand futilely clutching at the gaping wound. The light in his eyes dimmed rapidly, fading into the embrace of death. 

Turning his attention to the sole remainder of the attachers, Aemond’s voice carried an eerie coldness. “I only have need of one of you.”

With that declaration, he sheathed his blood-smeared sword, leaving the scene behind.

[lya-dustin]

All is Bliss

Chapter 19

Cw: childbirth, dark magic, death in childbirth, stillbirth, blood, murder

Gif by:@criston-cole

Taglist:@mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9 @ewanmitchellcrumbs @sweethoneyblossom1

The moment Alicent cut her own palm and stained the feet of the Crone with her blood, Viserys’ heart stops and Alys begins a premature labor.

The queen tries to call for attendants and the maester for help, but something has her frozen to her spot as the Whore of Harrenhal braces herself at the foot of the Mother’s altar and calls for the Gods in the old Andal Tongue.

Hours pass or minutes, she cannot tell as tone feels as still as the statues encircling them.

Alys only grunts, as if used to the pain Alicent never got used to.

Aegon’s birth had been difficult, but quick, within the hour he had been expelled from her. Helaena’s had been easy compared to her brother’s even if she took half a day to come. Aemond’s had been long and painful, longer than his sister because of the scant ten moons between them.

And yet it did not compare to Daeron, Daeron who is her least troubled child and yet he nearly killed her as he came drenched in her blood and ruining her womb in his wake.

He had almost died with his cord around his little neck, the maester had even suggested they cut him out even when she was still alive.

It had been Rhaenyra who had stopped them.

Who ordered them to save her and let the baby die if they must.

She has three children already, they do not need another brother, they need their mother.

Somehow knowing she owed her for saving her made it all worse.

Alys Rivers births something that slithers in the shadows, like a snake or a worm.

Somehow, the Queen knows it has slithered into Rhaenyra’s rooms, into her womanhood and settled inside her as it consumed the life and soul of innocent babe within her.

When it ends both women are panting, cold with sweat and yet there is nothing except the cut on her palm to prove it was all real.

“They give life and take it; I am but their humble servant. With life comes death and with death comes life.” Alys says as she wipes away her sweat with her handkerchief. “If it makes you feel better, your grace, Princess Visenya would not have lived and her mother would have joined her in two years, you only hastened their reunion.”

Alicent pretends none of this happened as he kisses Rhaenyra’s cheek before they depart.

Had she lived, they would have been forced to kill her.

She never wanted this, but she needed to do it.

It is better this way.

A mercy, even.

Aemma was home a week when her grandmother came.

She had stayed behind for some matters regarding a potential betrothal between Joffrey and Lord Royce’s daughter, Rhea.

They had gotten along, with Joff wanting to write to little Rhea if mother permits it.

Aemma doesn’t know who hates it more, Lord Royce or Daemon.

This they laugh about when mother is abed because Gerardys fears all this stress has brought upon some minor pains for her.

When Meleys roars as she comes fast as fire. Mother disregards the twinges in her lower back to receive her.

If she is flying like that it means grandfather has died.

“I come will ill news.” The Red Queen said as she comes dressed in her bronze and steel armor with an old cloak about her shoulders.

“Princess Rhaenys, might we hope for news of Lord Corlys’ recovery?” mother asked demanding they attend to her at once and call for a meeting.

“The king is dead. I grieve your loss with you, Rhaenyra. My cousin was a good man.” Princess Rhaenys says as they wait for the lords to gather.

“When did he die?” mother asked heartbroken, looking paler as another contraction comes harder than before by the looks of it.

“A week or less, his death was hidden but the smell gave it away within the day.” Princess Rhaenys answered solemnly and knowing the words she says next will be the final nail on the coffin.

“There is more. Aegon has been crowned as his successor.”

Mother faints dead away and that is when they see the blood coming from her.

When the maesters tell her the baby is dead inside her, mother locks herself in the birthing room ignoring those who only wished to help her.

She rages, curses everyone including the dead babe inside her.

Syrax roars in an echo of her rider’s anguish as it drags on.

Sea Dragon Tower shakes with their screams and then it all stops.

They know what’s happened and yet no one speaks.

When Daemon breaks open the door, mother is dead with a monstrous thing filled with maggots in her arms.

“They killed her, they killed her and the babe. First Laena and now Rhaenyra.” Daemon says as he takes out his anger and grief on the nearest thing he could find. “The witch, they Rivers woman. I should have fucking known she was a shadow binder.”

Princess Rhaenyra was three and thirty when she died.

Syrax breaks out of her chains after the death of the woman who’s cradle, she once shared.

A week after her mother’s funeral, Aemma is crowned before the lords and smallfolk.

She wears white linen with no adornments whatsoever and no shoes to symbolize humility and purity of the soul as she walks from Dragonstone to the town and past it until they reach the black sand shores Daenys the Dreamer once kissed upon arrival.

She is cloaked in Targaryen colors as if she were a bride by her Lord Hand, the Sea Snake, while the Highest Septon in the Crownlands blesses her and anoints her with holy oils and denounces the High Septon for his corruption in the same breath.

He does not crown her, no, that honor belongs to the Queen Who Never Was and only her.

The crown is blessed as Helaena, flanked by Baela and Rhaena, carries a black velvet cushion where Queen Rhaenys’ Valyrian steel and ruby diadem rests.

“Long live Aemma the Great.” Her grandmother whispers as she crowns her with the Crown her father and Queen Alysanne had chosen for her.

Aemma Velaryon was seven and ten years old when she was crowned Aemma Targaryen, first of her name.

Or as history will know her: Aemma the Great.

Anyways here's a poll cuz I'm stuck on the next bit.

[smolwritingchick]

Forced To Believe Chapter 72- I Win (All Hell Breaks Loose)

Chapter Summary: All hell breaks loose as Morgan shocks the world when she watches Ambrose and Rollins go at it at SummerSlam.

Words: 5,000+

Author's Note: Relax....

---------

Backstage as Melanie and Milena walked together, the duo received a standing ovation from everyone which got them emotional. Their rivalry was over. And now those two were headed to different storylines after tonight. It was bittersweet as they were praised for their hard work despite the time cut on the match.

After numerous conversations with staff and their peers, Brie rushed over to them.

"Oh my God! You two scared the crap out of me, during that whole match!" Brie said to them. "How are you two still standing!?"

Melanie laughed and smiled at Milena. "We did good. If you excuse me, I seriously need a doctor to get rid of all these crazy thumbtacks. Thanks Milena."

"No problem!" Milena replied with a giggle.

"Grapes, that match was awesome." Randy hugged her.

"OW! OW!" She yelled.

"Aw crap! Sorry!" He pulled away and backed up, but showed a half smile when he saw her laughing.

"Joking! The look on your face was priceless. I'm okay. The pain isn't that bad anymore. And thanks."

"I hate it when you do that."

"I love you too, buddy!" She gave him a pat on the back and began walking around backstage, to the trainer's room.

Everywhere she went, her and Milena would receive compliments and praises for the match, despite how short it was. It made them smile at how much respect they were earning from the locker room.

SummerSlam continued to go off with a great start with WWE's favorite show off winning the intercontinental championship. Then they showed Paige going up against AJ for the Diva's Championship. Melanie watched as AJ started pulling Paige's hair out, from the diva's locker room.

She laughed when she heard Paige yell "What the hell!?"

Melanie had on skinny jeans, boots, and a Dean Ambrose Unstable shirt that was cropped and showed her right shoulder, along with her fingerless gloves. Luckily all the thumbtacks she had been pulled out and she took a shower to wash off the blood while placing ointment on her wounds. As she looked at the TV again, she saw that Paige won the championship again, and on her 22nd birthday.

She headed out of the locker room to meet up with Jon at the gorilla while Rusev had his match against Jack. She saw her Lunatic already in his wrestling attire, and a Dean Ambrose themed hoodie, checking himself out in a mirror.

"And...I look like crap." He rasped out.

"Haha! You look cute." She embraced him.

"Saw your match. Badass. Those thumbtacks made me think about Christina."

"I thought about her, too."

"You did great out there. I'm proud of you." He smiled at her.

"Thank you." She returned the smile and kissed him softly. "Now lemme do something about this." She tried to do something with his hair.

"It's already ruined; you're making it worse!"

"Aye! I'm making it better!"

"Lies..."

"Get a room!" Colby chuckled as he stood by them, with his briefcase.

"Shut up, Colby." Jon and Melanie simultaneously say.

-------

For one final Rosa segment, Rosa was getting treated in the trainer's room, clearly exhausted and defeated. The crowd cheered when Triple H came into the room. Triple H wasn't too pleased with her as he eyed her down, shaking his head.

"You're out," he declared, officially kicking her out of everything associated with The Authority.

Shocked at the sudden news, Rosa began to freak out as she begged him while he left the room. "W—wait! Wait, Hunter, please!"

As the screen transitioned back to the ring, the Lumberjacks surrounded the ring, and they were Big E, Bo Dallas, Cesaro, Curtis Axel, Ryback, Damien Sandow, Luke & Erick, Fandango, Goldust & Stardust, Heath, Jimmy & Jey, Kofi, RVD, Sin Cara, and Titus.

"Well, it looks like that is the last of Rosa Mendes associating herself with The Authority," Cole said as he shook his head.

"She couldn't get the job done. Morgan prevailed. The Authority saw her as a weak link. Gotta get rid of the dead weight," JBL bluntly said.

"Almost every one of these men were at sometime victims of the former Shield." Cole informed as the camera showed all of the lumberjacks.

"I'm not sure I want to be surrounded by the ring, with 20 people who don't like me." JBL stated as Seth's theme came on with him walking out with his briefcase.

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is the Lumberjack match! Introducing first, from Davenport, Iowa, weighing 217 pounds, Mister Money in The Bank, Seth Rollins!" Lilian announced.

Cole starts acknowledging some celebrities in the crowd, while Seth raises up his briefcase on the top rope, before jumping off. Dean's theme comes on, to a big pop.

"And his opponent, being accompanied by Morgan Lopez, from Cincinnati, Ohio, weighing in at 225 pounds, Dean Ambrose!" Lilian announced.

"The fact that Morgan is still walking around with her head up high after the most insane opening women's match is beyond me. She had thumbtacks all over her body earlier tonight and she is good as new. Talk about strength," King informed.

"Shades of Chyna flowing through her veins," Cole praised.

Morgan seriously did not want to see these two kill each other but it had to be done. Dean needed closure and wanted to get even with Seth, after what he did, these past months. And having a strong feeling Kane or even Triple H was going to come out and interrupt the match, made her blood boil. She just had to come out here and keep a close eye.

"Why is she here? She has no business out here!" JBL shouted as the couple held hands and walked down the ramp.

"Actually, she does have business out here. She's just as involved in this situation, as Dean. And Morgan isn't stupid. She knows The Authority is going to try something. So, why not be at ringside to keep a close eye." King countered.

"Here we go guys, this has been building, and building for months," Cole said.

Dean takes off his jacket and gives it to Morgan. The couple stop at the end of the ramp and she gives him a sweet kiss on the lips, before walking around ringside, placing his jacket near the timekeeper's area.

Ambrose gets in the ring and has a stare down with Rollins. Meanwhile, all the lumberjacks move out of Morgan's way, still acknowledging the match she just had. The men knew not to even think about putting their hands on her.

If there was one thing that Morgan was sure of, is that as soon as that bell rings, all hell was going to break loose. And boy was she ever right.

'Ding Ding Ding'

The Outspoken Diva heard the bell ring as she stood by, near the time keeper's area, leaning on the barricade.

"And here we go!" Cole shouted as Ambrose & Rollins started brawling back and forth. "These former best friends, buddies who grew up in this industry, together, now going after one another."

Dean catches Seth with an elbow, dropping him down.

"This may turn into a slug fest inside and outside the ring," King said. "I wonder what's going through the mind of Morgan as she watches these two go at it."

"Would you stop worrying about her? She's fine." JBL replied.

Dean starts stomping away at Seth, seated in a corner. He tosses Seth across the ring as Seth rolls over to the edge. Stardust, Goldust, and Titus shove him back instead, making Morgan laugh.

"Come on!" Seth shouted at the Lumberjacks.

He turns around to get blasted back down by Dean. Moments later, he clotheslines Seth out of the ring, and he gets shoved back inside by the Lumberjacks.

"So, far guys, Ambrose has gotta be liking this stipulation that he picked," Cole said as Dean stomped on Seth's stomach, making him yell out in pain. "Ambrose has gotta be loving this."

"This is exactly what Dean Ambrose wanted. Seth Rollins, in the ring, where he can get his hands on him. No place for Seth Rollins to go—oh the nose!" King shouted as he trapped Seth in a submission and gripped his nose back, making him yell out in pain.

Morgan looks on with an amused facial expression. This was priceless.

"Ambrose is gonna punish Rollins. He's gonna torture Rollins." Cole guaranteed.

Dean gives Seth a chop to the chest, as the crowd 'Woos' in response. He drags Seth's face into the ropes but gets kicked in the midsection and tossed out the ring.

"He built Dean Ambrose. Ambrose should thank him." JBL stated.

"Wait a minute, did you just say he built Dean Ambrose?" Cole asked.

"Yes."

"Oh, and now Ambrose tossed out." Cole looked on but then Dean punched Fandango and Damien before sliding back in the ring, unloading on Seth. "And Ambrose is not gonna go in quietly. That's one way to go about it. Now Ambrose taking down Rollins."

Seth manages to hit him with a reverse STO into the turnbuckle, gaining the upper hand. Seth runs to the ropes and dropkicks Ambrose out of the ring. Still holding a grudge, Bo Dallas, Fandango, and Damien begin stomping down on Dean.

"Oh and look out. The Lumberjacks." Cole pointed out.

"Aye! The heck are you doing!?" Morgan shouted as the heel Lumberjacks continued to beat down Ambrose.

The face Lumberjacks try to break it up while Dean gets thrown back into the ring. Seth gets on top of Ambrose and continues pummeling him down with punches.

"Rollins called Dean Ambrose a hellcat with rabies, and a bipolar nutjob." Cole quoted.

"I dunno if he has rabies but everything else is true." JBL agreed.

Seth hits Dean with a knee to the face, as he was laid out, on the mat, and goes for a pin.

"1!" The referee counted but Dean managed to kick out.

Dean begins fighting back with punches but gets irish whipped into a corner. Seth runs to attack but gets kicked back. Dean gets on the top rope, with his back to Rollins. Rollins takes advantage and catches Ambrose in the tree of woe. This catches Morgan's attention and she starts to look worried.

"Déjà vu. We saw Morgan in this position, earlier tonight." Cole recalled as Seth stomped away on Dean and then he fell off, clenching his stomach.

Seth puts Dean in an arm bar while the crowd begins to clap, to motivate him. Ambrose begins gaining more momentum and tries to go for a crossbody but Seth moves out the way. Dean gets on the apron and kicks Luke away, who was near him. Rollins tries to go for a suplex but Dean counters and hits Rollins with the suplex instead, onto the Lumberjacks.

"Whoa!" King shouted as Seth slammed his head on the announce table.

"Rollins! And Ambrose!" Cole shouted as the crowd cheered.

"Man, oh man!"

"Wow! Taking out the Lumberjacks. And this is a dangerous situation for both Rollins and Ambrose, out here." Cole said as the two continued fighting at ringside.

"As I feared." Morgan looked on, amused at the two.

She moves out of harms way as all the Lumberjacks get involved, trying to break the two up. As soon as they do, Dean jumps on top of Rollins and the group holding him back.

"And now Ambrose startin' to brawl. Ambrose brawling out here with the Lumberjacks, trying to get to Seth Rollins." Cole looked on as the Lumberjacks desperately tried to break them up.

"This is melee!" King exclaimed.

Dean and Seth finally get separated but start punching and elbowing the Lumberjacks away from them. Seth runs over to Dean but gets tossed up in the air, over the barricade as he holds his knee.

"Rollins sent over to the WWE fans!" Cole shouted.

Dean tries to get over the barricade but gets Ryback's arms wrapped around his waist, trying to pull him back, along with the other Lumberjacks.

"Just let them fight! It's no use." Morgan mentioned.

The crowd boos once Ambrose gets thrown back into the ring.

"Lumberjacks finally doing their job," JBL said.

"Ambrose now taking out more Lumberjacks!" Cole shouted as he hit them with a suicide dive. Dean got on top of the announce table. "Look—a—look at this! Look at it! Ambrose! Ambrose! Ambrose!"

"Look out!" King shouted in a high pitched voice as he jumped on top of Rollins, in the crowd, taking out Kofi and Bo as well.

"That's my lunatic." Morgan grinned and looked on, entertained.

The crowd cheers as Dean tosses Bo and Kofi back at ringside and goes right after Rollins. Rollins starts running away, through the crowd.

"He's a wild one, ain't he?" RVD grinned at her as the Outspoken Diva nodded in response and chuckled.

"Rollins is trying to escape in the Staples Center but Ambrose is huntin' him down!" Cole looked on while Dean hit Seth from behind.

"I love you, Dean! You're the best, Dean!" A male fan shouted.

Ambrose continues pummeling Seth through the crowd as they go up the steps.

"These Lumberjacks are at ringside, watching the fight!" JBL scolded.

While the two fight in the crowd, the crowd boos loudly when Kane walks out.

"Oh great..." Morgan retorted and rolled her eyes.

This was exactly why she came out here. She knew someone was going to come out and try to ruin the match.

Kane started yelling at the Lumberjacks. "Get them back in the ring! Do your job!"

Dean prepares for the dirty deeds in the crowd until some of the Lumberjacks go and separate the two, earning more boos. The Lumberjacks drag Dean back to the ring, while Rollins continues to escape. He punches Sin Cara and hits his head on the railing.

"Seth's leaving! Seth's leaving!" JBL shouted.

"Seth Rollins has had enough!" Cole said. "I think Rollins is taking off, guys."

"I don't blame him." King replied.

Seth sees the Usos, Big E, and Stardust in front of him. He tries to reason with them but then attempts to jump over them. He fails as he gets caught as the crowd cheers.

"Now they're doing their job!" King added.

"Seth Rollins gonna be dragged back down to the ring, by the Lumberjacks," Cole said.

Morgan starts cracking up as Rollins desperately tries to escape but gets lifted up in the air by the Lumberjacks, Adam Rose style.

"There you go, guys! Get him back in the ring!" JBL shouted.

Dean climbs on the top rope, as the crowd cheers loudly with anticipation.

"Ambrose!" Cole shouted as he leaped on top of Seth and all the Lumberjacks.

Dean sits up and widens his eyes, revealing a crazed look. Kane doesn't look too happy, as he begins to look worried.

"Kane's gonna blow! This is incredible!" Cole said in amazement.

Dean tosses Seth back in the ring as the crowd chants 'This is awesome!'.

Seth gets on his knees, looking groggy as Ambrose makes gun sign and shoots it to the back of Rollins' head.

"Ambrose gonna finish him off here! He's been waiting on this!" JBL said as Dean positioned Seth for the Dirty Deeds.

Seth counters and pushes him away. He kicks him from behind, making Dean lean back, between the ropes to come back with a vicious clothesline.

"Yeah!" Morgan cheered with the crowd.

"Ambrose explodes off the ropes!" Cole shouted.

"Ahh!" King screamed in a high pitched voice as Dean went for the pin.

"1!"

"2!"

"Kick out by Rollins!" Cole said with excitement.

Things were really starting to pick up as Kane looks relieved. Ambrose starts to show a cheeky grin.

"What a blast!" King said happily.

Dean begins to show a blank look before getting on his knees, and turning his attention to Rollins. Seth begins gripping his grey tank top, trying to get up. Ambrose stands up and grabs Seth's hair.

"I love you, brother." He kissed his head and ran to the ropes.

He lays Seth out with the curb stomp, making everyone 'Oh!'

Morgan puts her hands over her mouth in shock.

"Curb stomp!" Cole shouted as Dean started to get emotional. "That's Rollins' move!"

"He hit him with his own finish!" JBL shouted.

"Here's the cover and now wait a minute!" Cole shouted as Kane broke up the pin. "Kane!"

"Are you kidding me!?" Morgan shouted as the crowd booed.

They start to cheer once Goldust gets in the ring and gets in his face.

"Hey! What are you doing!? What are you doing, man!" Goldust shouted but Kane hit him in the face.

And that's when all the Lumberjacks get in the ring and start fighting, as Kane gets out of harms way. The crowd cheers loudly as the big brawl breaks out. Kane returns to ringside, adjusting his tie. Morgan glares at him and starts heading his way, shaking her head. It was not going to be like this. Not this way.

"And now Morgan!" Cole shouted as the crowd cheered.

"Hey, asshole!" She shouted.

Kane turns around only to get kicked in the groin. Face scrunched up in pain, he falls down.

"That's what you get!" She shouted and turned her attention back to the ring.

"Woo hoo! Low blow!" King cheered and turned his attention back to the ring. "Wait a minute! Wait a minute, look out!" He shouted as some of the Lumberjacks got thrown out of the ring. "What in the world!? What is happening here?"

"Kane was supposed to control things, and he set this thing into this!" Cole replied.

"Not to mention getting low blowed in the process," JBL recalled.

Dean and the Wyatts were the last ones in the ring. Luke tries to go after the Lunatic but gets tossed out the ring. Erick tries to clothesline him but gets clotheslined instead. Meanwhile, Seth manages to snatch his briefcase while Dean was distracted by the Wyatts. Morgan decides to take action by stepping on top of the apron, yanking the briefcase out of his hands, as the crowd cheers.

"The hell are you doing!?" Seth shouted.

"Look at Morgan!" Cole shouted.

"She has no business doing that!" JBL exclaimed.

"She's looking out for Dean! Seth was about to cheat! She had every right to do that!" King retorted to JBL.

"Give me my briefcase!" Seth got in her face.

The Outspoken Diva glared at him. "Forget it! You think you're gonna win, like that!? Hell no!" She turned around, about to jump off, but got yanked back, by her hair as she yelled out in shock.

"Oh, come on! Get off of her!" King shouted as she got forced into the ring, by Rollins.

"You think you are gonna ruin this for me!?" Seth shouted, backing her up into the corner.

"Seth! Stop it! Get off!" She shouted back.

"Rollins is putting her in her place! She shouldn't have messed with his briefcase." JBL shrugged.

"He doesn't have to do this! Just leave her alone, Seth!" King exclaimed, sounding concerned for Morgan's safety.

Seth can be dangerous when he wants to be. And having Morgan ruin his chance of stealing a win, made him irate.

"Always in the way!" He growled as she struggled to escape his grip.

"Enough!" She shouted back.

"This is uncalled for! Let her go!" King demanded.

"Always in the damn way! Just stay in your place!" He struck her in the face, making her fall down as the crowd looked on in surprise.

"Oh my God, is Morgan okay!?" Cole said with worry.

Morgan holds her face and rolls over to the apron. Seth kicks his briefcase over to its original spot in the corner and continues seething, trying to cool down after being so angry with the Outspoken Diva.

"Stay out of my business!" He shouted and ran his gloved hands through his hair.

"This is what happens when you stick your nose where it doesn't belong." JBL scolded as Morgan held the side of her face.

"How can you say that? Morgan saw that something was wrong, and tried to stop it." King exclaimed, getting fired up at JBL criticizing Morgan's actions.

"It was a stupid move."

"I wish you'd shut up. If you saw things in Morgan's point of view, you would have done the same thing. So, shut your trap."

Turning around after dealing with the Wyatts, Dean sees Morgan laid out, face first, holding her face in pain. Seeing red, Ambrose goes berserk and starts attacking Rollins, viciously unloading on him with punches.

"And now Dean Ambrose! Dean Ambrose getting fired up!" Cole shouted in anticipation as the crowd gave him a big pop.

Dean drops Rollins with DDT as the crowd gets hyped up. He waits for Rollins to get up, but then Kane gets on the ropes to distract the referee. Rollins rolls over to the corner, diagonal from where Morgan was recovering at the bottom turnbuckle. Ambrose starts yelling at Kane, while standing in the middle of the ring, between his former teammates.

"Can somebody get Kane out of here so he can stop distracting Ambrose? Ambrose had this match won!" King exclaimed.

"Lesson learned. You shouldn't get distracted in a match like this. This is chaos! What kind of Lumberjack match is this? First Rollins and Ambrose fight outside the ring, and into the crowd! Then Kane has to try to restore order, but caused a brawl with all the Lumberjacks. And now Morgan gets involved and gets hit in the face, for heaven's sake!" JBL rambled on. "And she's not even in the damn match! What is going on!?"

While Jerry and JBL continue to argue, Morgan begins standing up. Dean starts walking up to Rollins, who is still in the corner.

"And now Ambrose looks to finish Seth Rollins off," Cole said. "This may be it!"

"I think you're right!" King said in a high pitched voice.

Morgan narrows her eyes across the ring and walks up to Dean from behind. She drops down to her knees and gives him a low blow as the commotion from the crowd causes the arena to get loud at the sudden turn of events.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! What the hell!?" Cole shouted as the crowd got loud with cheers and boos.

Dean's face expression shows pain and discomfort as he drops to his knees, falling down, face first. The Outspoken Diva rises up and shoots Ambrose a blank look while Rollins looks on in shock. The Architect widens his eyes, processing what just happened in front of him.

"Oh my God! Morgan, what the hell are you doing!?" King screamed as she ran a hand through her hair.

"The hell is going on!?" JBL exclaimed.

"What about her face!?" King shouted as the crowd chanted 'Holy shit!'

Celeste tweets 'WHAT THE HELL!? What are you doing WWEMorgan101!?'

"Never trust a woman!" JBL stated.

Morgan looks at her hand and takes her ring off her ring finger. She examines it before putting it on her right index finger instead, showing power and Authority, instead of love.

"What is going on!?" King exclaimed. "And was that ring what I think it was!?"

Seth begins to grin, revealing that he was faking his shocked look and continues to watch on.

"L­—look at Rollins, grinning. He knew this was going to happen?!" Cole exclaimed. "Don't tell me Morgan just joined The Authority!"

"But he punched her in the face," JBL recalled.

"Morgan doesn't seemed to be hurt. I think they faked it."

"What are you doing!?" Fans shouted. "Why!? Why!?"

"I­—I can't believe Morgan just...she just low blowed Dean! Her boyfriend! Why? Why help Seth Rollins?" King asked, looking startled.

Ambrose starts to get on his hands and knees, while Morgan continues to stare at how helpless he looked. Seth grabs Ambrose and gives him to Morgan, putting him in the backfire position for her.

"W—­wait a minute! Wait! Morgan! Don't do it! It's not too late to reconsider! Don't do it!" King shouted.

"After what she just did? There's no turning back, now! This is a done deal!" JBL said as the crowd gave off mixed reactions.

"Oh no. You've gotta be kiddin' me!" Cole shouted as she slammed Ambrose down hard with the backfire.

Dean grunts as she sits down, next to his laid out body. Morgan begins to look uncharacteristically relaxed after what she's done. She glances at Dean and shakes her head, smirking as she gets helped up by Rollins.

"I don't believe this..." Cole grumbled.

The crowd boos as Seth and Morgan grin at each other and embrace.

"Morgan, what are you doing!? This isn't you!" King said in disbelief.

"Maybe this is the real Morgan," JBL replied.

"Man...the look on the face of Morgan! No regret. No remorse."

"I don't understand. What did we just see?!" Cole asked as the crowd chanted loudly, 'You sold out!'

Dean, who is struggling to get up, manages to grab Morgan's left boot, for support. With one of Rollins' arms around her waist, as she holds onto him, she and Seth look down at the beaten up Lunatic.

After getting released by Rollins, she kneels and lifts up Dean's chin. She roughly shoves his face away and gets up to hit him with a sickening heel kick to the face. The crowd 'Ohs' and continues to look shocked. She turned all those smiles into frowns after what she did. And there was not a sign of regret on her face.

She tosses Seth his briefcase and leans her back against the corner, crossing her arms. Dean begins to get back on his hands and knees, turning his head to his ex. She slowly shoots him a wicked smirk as he clenches his fists. Ambrose shot her a dangerous glare, but in his eyes, they showed the look of distress. Not phased by his look, she continued to look indifferent as she watched Seth lay him out with his briefcase.

"Rollins with the briefcase to the face!" Cole shouted as Kane let the referee go, and he started to count. "No! Not like this! Not this way!"

"1!"

"2!"

"3!"

"And Rollins takes advantage of this disarray out here,"

"Here is your winner! Seth Rollins!" Lilian announced.

"Guys, that was more action than my eyes could follow. I can't even speak after what Morgan just did." King said as they went to the highlights of the match.

"The Architect of The Shield, Seth Rollins, just beat Dean Ambrose." JBL proudly announced as Morgan helped Rollins up.

"What a disappointing night for Dean Ambrose," Cole added.

"For sure. He just lost Morgan. Got low blowed and hit with a backfire, and lost the match." JBL replied as Seth lifted up Morgan's chin and examined her face, amused that they fooled everyone. "She's not even hurt. I wonder how long these two planned this."

"I am even more excited for RAW, tomorrow. I cannot wait to hear Morgan's explanation for her actions." Cole said as Seth laughed and raised up his briefcase with Morgan.

"Wait a minute, look who it is." Cole pointed out as Triple H walked down the ramp, with a huge grin on his face.

He gets in the ring and embraces Morgan as the crowd boos, loudly. "For crying out loud...After all that she's done to The Authority? Why is she with Triple H and Seth Rollins?" King asked.

"Morgan has sold her soul to The Authority. I...I can't wrap my head around that." Cole murmured.

Triple H raises her hand and smirks at the crowd.

"I win. I finally got her." He proudly said.

"Triple H saying he won, he finally got Morgan. The question that is on everyone's mind, is how did The Authority get into the mind of the Outspoken Diva? After all, that she's done to fight against them? I just can't believe this is happening." Cole said.

Morgan, Seth and Triple H exit the ring. Triple H goes backstage after patting the two on the back. Morgan and Seth head up to stand in the middle of the ramp.

Rollins wraps his arms around her waist from behind, and rests his chin on her shoulder, laughing at Ambrose. Dean manages to get up on his knees, looking at his ex with sorrow and shock.

The shocking events played back in his mind.

She hit him with a low blow.

She hit him with the backfire.

And now she aligned herself with The Authority. With Seth. It was a slap in the face to the WWE Universe. And a dagger to his heart.

Morgan shrugs at Ambrose, giving him another smirk. It was absolutely hilarious to her, seeing the shocked crowd reactions and Dean's face. She could have sworn she saw his eyes getting watery.

"Hah, hah, hah. She's mine, Ambrose. She's where she belongs. Dark side called her home." Seth taunted, kissing her on the cheek.

"This has to be one of the most shocking scenes we've ever seen in WWE history. I can't..." Cole trailed off.

Fans tweet:

'Oh they pulled the trigger?! I didn't think they were gonna do it!'

'BOLD! They teased it but I didn't think they'd actually do it!'

'What the fuck they made her heel!?'

'That was a total #SlapInTheFace'

'WWEMorgan101 has lost yet another screw for betraying Ambrose #YouReallyDoneItNow'

'Just cleaned my glasses to make sure I was looking at what WWEMorgan101 did clearly. #IsThisReallyHappening?'

'It's about time! Finally, she's with The Authority! If you can't beat them, join them. And that's exactly what WWEMorgan101 did!'

'WWEMorgan101 must be really confident about her safety after attacking Dean Ambrose. Watch your back.'

'How dare you do that Dean Ambrose!? You are gonna get it WWEMorgan101! #WhyMorganWhy'

'Please just do not let Morgan explain anything tonight. Let this marinate. I'm loving this,'

'And just like that Morgan has become the most hated woman in WWE'

Celeste tweets 'I don't understand. Was this about power? Success? It's not worth it. #SoldYourSoulForWhat?'

Naomi tweets 'WWEMorgan101 just made the biggest mistake of her life! #DeanAmbroseAlwaysGetsEven'

Triple H tweets 'I finally got her. Welcome to The Authority WWEMorgan101. You won't regret it. #WelcomeToTheDarkSide'

Paul Heyman tweets 'WWEMorgan101 is a brilliant conniver! She fooled everyone.'

Seth Rollins tweets 'What can I say? I knew she'd give in to me. She deserves better. She's mine, now.'

AJ Lee tweets 'WWEMorgan101 Why? You just pissed off all your fans! What do you gain from this? You and I need to talk on Raw.'

--------

Natalya and Naomi angrily walk around backstage.

"Where is she? Where the hell is she? We are gonna find her little ass. She isn't going to be off the hook from this." Natalya looked around while walking with Naomi, in a hurry. "I can't believe her...What the hell was that!?"

"I know. I mean after all she's done to The Authority? Now she joins them? This is not right," Naomi said in disappointment.

"Did you see that engagement ring on her finger that Ambrose gave her? And how she took it off, like it was nothing to her? That is unforgivable! Dean loves her to death! He did everything for her! He sacrificed so much for her, and now she turns around and does this?"

"Yeah. Wonder why she didn't tell us about that, ring. There is no loyalty around here. How could she?"

"Guess there's no engagement now since she wants to take off the ring and sell out. It's a slap in the face—there she is. Morgan!"

The two divas walked up to her and Seth. "Why would you do that!? Why!?" Natalya shouted.

"How could you? Why would you do that to Dean?" Naomi asked, looking at her in disappointment.

Seth, who had his arm around Morgan, spoke up. "Ladies, can't you see that this doesn't concern you? Now move it, along. Morgan doesn't have to explain herself to you."

Natalya shook her head, shooting her an angry look. She firmly stated, "You...are such a hypocrite. You chose power. The Authority over a man who loves you? Who stood by you through everything? Dean deserves so much better."

"Correction. Morgan deserves so much better." Seth smirked and continued walking with the Outspoken Diva.

Natayla's words did not bother Morgan at all. She couldn't care less what she thought.

"After all you've done against The Authority...? For your family and friends? For the fans? For Jane? Your own mother?" Nattie asked.

"She did what was best for business," Seth stated.

"I'm pretty sure the OUTSPOKEN diva can speak for herself." she sharply replied to Rollins, giving him a dirty look, before turning her attention back to Morgan. "How could you? Why? We were all rooting for you and Dean. Ever since that last week before WrestleMania. And now you do this?"

Morgan looked at them up and down before smirking. She brushed past them and kept walking with her held up high.

"Instead of worrying about Morgan, worry about yourselves," Rollins glared at them and walked away to catch up with her.

The two continued to walk around backstage as everyone stared at them in shock.

"Morgan! Morgan." Renee rushed over to her. "Morgan, why did you attack Dean Ambrose and align yourself with Seth Rollins?"

All of a sudden, Morgan starts laughing. Getting Seth's arm wrapped around her, she sighed and left with him, leaving Renee confused.

----

"Damn it!"

The sounds of growls, thumps, kicks, and punches were heard backstage, as a vexed Lunatic paced around. He wanted to rip Seth Rollins' head off. He wanted to tear him apart. But most of all, he wanted to get his hands on the woman he envisioned to have a life together. He thought their relationship was going great. He gained her trust back after what he did back in January. He thought he was doing everything right, and nothing could stop them.

His mind went back to the day he asked her to marry him. He remembered the innocent gasp she made when he went down on one knee. Her angelic laugh she let out when he said cheesy things about how

much he loved her. Her emotional 'Yes!' and how she tackled him into a hug, letting out tears of joy.

How could all of that be an act? How couldn't he see right through her deceiving ways? She looked fine. Smiling, loving the crowd, and taking on Rosa and The Authority. What happened?

Ambrose ran his hands through his damp hair, which was covered with water and sweat. WWE Superstars, divas, and backstage workers looked on with sympathy, worry, and fear as Ambrose continued to assault everything in his path, from black storage boxes to walls, chairs, and tables. They kept their distance, letting him take all his anger out. They pondered if Morgan knew what she was doing. Dean can lose his cool, but no one saw him become this enraged. Not even when Seth betrayed The Shield.

"Dean." Eden's voice filled his ears as she cautiously walked up to him, for an interview.

His cool, blue eyes filled with sadness, rage, and disgust over the events that transpired, turned his attention to her.

"Morgan shocked the WWE Universe when she low blowed you­—" Her words got blocked away in his mind as he mentally cringed at the thought.

He begins to remember the events that happened in the ring, not too long ago. That uncharacteristic look she gave him when he was helpless in the ring.

"Dean, can you please give me your thoughts on what happened out there?"

Ambrose came back to reality and exhaled, letting the question sink in. He shook his head, trying to calm himself down. He then let out an unamused laugh.

"Oh, Morgan...she really done it, now. She really screwed up this time." He growled. "She broke my heart. She tore my heart into pieces. She stood there and watched me get beaten. No...that isn't going to happen again. It won't happen again." He looked at the camera, with a crazed look. "Harley...I want you to know that this isn't over. I'm going to get you. And I want my damn ring back. And if I have to rip or bite it off your finger, I will. You're going to pay for this." He stormed off.

[swampythesweetsketch]

Sorry I got Pink Ninja AU on the brain this evening and :]

Stuff under cut cause I am going to ramble

SO ACRONIX

I Have not said this officially in any post yet and since this au is gonna be retired sometime in the future I think it's only fair to give the full backstory to what the hell has been going on with the timeline.

So hear we go! The OG timeline.

Warning for mentions of abuse, murder, and essentially skybound 2.0(?)

In the timeline, the EMs had to deal with not just the Serpentine spurred by Chen, but with the royal ninjagen empire.

The Emperor wanted EMs to become private soldiers for their armies, but some of the EMs are from neighboring kingdoms so- no???

Anyways, Acronix wanted nothing more than to start figuring out what the hell to do with his life. With him and Krux the youngest EMs of the group, they were tasked with protecting the kin of the current EMs. Cue Lilly.

Lilly was old enough to inherent Earth but her dad sucks and is kind of sexist, but jokes on him. Lilly is his only child and he's too old by the time he tries looking for a successor.

Lilly and Aceonix train and hang out during their time waiting out the worst of the Serpentine War and fall in love.

Krux wasn't happy that his only family was starting to go off on their own, so Krux started causing issues and pushing for him and Acronix to have more power in the group.

Siding with Chen, Acronix finds his brother intentionally being evil and tries to talk him out of it. It doesn't work, Acronix then goes along with it to hopefully get his brother back.

Well you know how that goes. He can't convince Krux, suspects that the council will take away their powers somehow, and he'll have to be imprisoned.

HE WAS NOT EXPECTING A TIME VORTEX TO TRAP HIM FOR SEVERAL YEARS.

Before the vortex, he met with Lilly one night to talk things over. She knows what he's been up to and wants him to stop. But he can't, he has to convince Krux to stop. But if he keeps siding with Krux...

How will he ever be there for his child?

And there we have it folks. The big twist.

Acronix is Cole's father.

Lilly thought she had to raise Cole alone, but Lou was always there. Even if he was only Lilly's best friend, he loved her.

Cole never knew his bio dad, but he did know the man that actually raised him before his mother passed.

And as years passed, Cole grew up in a small town and eventually moved closer to the city when his mom became sick.

There he met Candyce. The two were set in the same class and became instant friends.

But Candyce's family were known to be low-level royals. A connection to one of the royal cousins through her father. But his dream was to bake, and that infuriated the wife he married. Who only married him for his status.

What Candyce didn't know was that on her mother's side, their family were the few of EMs to join the empire. Her family were known to hold the power of Fauna, to turn into animals.

Her oldest brother, Lillard, got the power. And her mom encouraged him to use it in the worst way possible. And he did.

Candyce and Cole ran away a bit after Lilly died, and things progressed further.

Lillard was caught doing horrific things, but falsely promising change from him- his mother sent him off to a school deeper in the city to keep him from serving any time in juvie and eventually prison.

At the school, his main goal was to party around, ruin more lives, and live long enough to get his mothers's spot back in the royal family.

Along his massive list of ruined lives, Jay was sadly in it. He got a scholarship to go, and as a freshman, barely 14- he met Lillard, 19, and turned 20 only a month in dating.

Lillard did unspeakable things to Jay, and Jay ran for it when worst came to shove. Lillard ran after him, tried to kill Jay, but several witnesses were starting to catch onto the scene and Lillard bolted, leaving Jay to die and Wu to discover them barely alive at the side of a sewer canal.

Jay lived, and terrified of Lillard getting ahold of him, agreed to join Wu.

Zane was a bit after, thankfully unharmed by anything, and the four (Candyce, Cole, Jay, and Zane) all lived in the Monastery with Wu training them.

Lillard eventually got what he wanted. But for him to secure a place back in the Emperor's rank, he was tasked to investigate rumors of a old enemy (Wu) recruiting new members for the Elemental Council.

Lillard tracks down the four, and finds Jay there. With Cole. He's not happy to know he had a EM in his grasp a year ago, but he figured capturing Jay and killing the rest would be enough.

He tries following them back to the Monastery, but found that he couldn't find the stair leading up the mountain. Like a mental fog over took him while he searched.

He then plotted to stake out the base of the mountain for some of the group to come back down.

And one day, he got them.

Cole and Candyce were lazing about when Wu chastised them, and for an idea- why not go hiking? The two were used to moving through thick forest terrain. And the two did kinda miss being free spirits.

They head down, they play and bicker, and eventually they get to a point where they feel they can sit down for water and snacks.

They hear rustling from the bushes.

They freeze up unsure of what's near them.

Something rushes from the bushes.

Candyce tries to shield herself.

Cole jumps in the way.

Lillard kills Cole. And Candyce watches in horror.

She pulls a blade she took in the case of cutting down blocking debris, but it was used to slash at Lillard's face. Cutting at his eyes and nose.

She didn't know it was him, as he was in the form of a beast.

As Lillard retreated, Candyce grabbed Cole and hurried back to the Monastery screaming for help. But it was far too late.

Wu blamed himself for the next few years, thinking if he hadn't sent the two down, then Cole would still be alive. That the odd beast that attacked them may of hunted for anything other than them.

Candyce shut herself off from the others, blaming herself for not reacting fast enough. If she did, then Cole wouldn't of jumped in front of her.

Jay and Zane mourned their friends and tried keeping spirits up, but they were broken. Jl

Jay loved Cole, but he never moved past the pain of his last relationship to confess. Zane loved Candyce, but she pushed him away and refused his comfort.

Two years later, and Kai joined. He wanted to rescue his sister and Nya was back in record time.

Jay tried moving on and took interest in Nya, but something felt off about her. He can't put his finger on it.

Lloyd joins, and Candyce is quick to take him in against the others' complaints. But Lloyd reminds her of when Cole was young and bratty, acting like he was the defacto leader of their adventures, and that helped cheer her up a bit.

The great battle happens. Without Cole, Lloyd's powers are not dulled enough to keep the golden power from consuming him and Garmadon. Both son and father die.

Then the Overlord returns, Zane sacrifices himself. And a year later, the lure to rescue him from Chen's Island is a total lie.

Wu goes to the Cursed Realm to stop Chen's Faux-Anacondrai war. Leaving Misako to soon abandon the rest of the surviving Ninja.

Nya and Kai decide to leave, and they take Jay with them. Jay, with no Cole to quarrel with, never broke up with Nya. And the three leave Candyce alone up on the mountain.

Candyce tries to pull help from previous allies, even the new EMs that have chosen to use their powers to help the public. But something is stirring, and the Empire once again are trying to hunt after the new EMs for their private armies.

Back with the three, Kai notices that Nya's anger has made her more and more unhinged. Spotting her destroying (Jay's) things, messing up (Jay's) things, blaming others for her problems. He catches on that Jay is terrified of Nya, and he already covers his face or covers when his sister is raging.

He pulls Jay aside when Nya goes off on her own mission as Samurai X, and Jay confesses that Nya is heavily reminding him of his abusive ex. And while she's only screamed and broken his things, at least she hasn't beaten him.

Kai is sickened, guilty that he's seen his sister effectively become a abuser in their own home. And he decides right there that it was for the best if Jay was removed from the house.

The two pack up and quickly leave in the night before Nya can wake, and they go back to the one spot they know they can safely rest. The Monastery.

Candyce is surprised to see them, but it happy they're back at all. She told what Nya has been doing and she agrees to let Jay stay. Kai wants to go back and talk to Nya.

But as he returns to Ignacia- the rice farmers and neighbors are telling him that his family home has burned to the ground, and Nya was nowhere to be found.

He goes back to Jay and Candyce to tell them what's up, but hears frightening news. Nya, in her worst rage yet, went and about destroyed the Junkyard to scare Ed and Edna into telling her where Jay and her brother were.

The three decide that they should rally the EMs and look to vacate asap. If Nya didn't find Jay and Kai at the Junkyard, then her next stop was most likely the Monastery.

Skylor agrees to let them hide on her father's old island, freed to the Kabuki Girls, who now run the place with Skylor's financial assistance. The EMs meet back to hear about Nya's rampage and the Empire's revived plan to capture them.

Meanwhile, Acronix has been released from the vortex and is tracked down by Krux. It's not long for him to realize his brother has not changed. At all. In fact, he's gotten worse.

Krux has taken pay from the Emperor to create and raise the Vermillion Army to strengthen the numbers against the new Elemental Alliance. And since he hasn't been around for about 20 years now, it's best if Acronix got the run down of what Krux has done in the short amount of time given.

He's tracked down and killed Arthur (the previous Ice EM), kidnapped and gifted Libby to King Vangelis to bear his only child, he's trapped Ray and Maya on the threat of killing their children! Oh- and the best part-

Krux had successfully worked with Vangelis alongside the Emperor to poison and slowly kill Lilly.

Acronix is... he's...

He asks where Ray and Maya are being kept. Krux says the small shed in the middle of the Vermillion Swamp.

Are they alive. Yes.

Was it worth it? Krux says it will be when they're the ones ruling Ninjago in the end.

Acronix waits for his brother to turn away. He cannot believe that he's been so foolish. All this time he was trying to steer away a fate he thought Krux was blind to.

But Krux knew all along what he wad doing.

So Acronix chews on his decision, asking Krux more questions. And Krux is happy that he has his dumb little twin listening to him like old times...

And time ran out for Krux. The second he had his back exposed, Acronix used a sharp metal strip he took earlier from Krux's workbench- and stabbed him dead.

He didn't know what to do with the body, but looking at it- all Acronix could see was a younger version of his brother bleeding out, gasping for air as the life seeped out of them. Like back in the war, before Krux went down this path.

Acronix somehow wishes he could've left his brother for dead back then, if he knew of the future. But now it's... it's too late. He can't save his love, his son is dead. God knows what was or is the fate to the remaining kids involved.

He frees Ray and Maya, and with the Vermillion under his control (as told by Krux), he chooses to use the snakes to seek out any EMs to make contact with.

But Ray and Maya are distraught, showing their powers are again working for them.

Which means-

Cut back to a month.

The EMs have been dealing with the Emperor sending waves of soldiers after them, and having to battle their own in some capacity. EMs that've long since deemed lost or missing due to them joining the royal ranks.

Nya is among them, as Lillard has tracked her down. Spilling lies to her angry heart that Wu was a villain, using her and her brother to usurp the Emperor as per his and Garmadon's ultimate plan made way long ago.

A final fight was pushed to the Emperor's palace where most EMs were captured, but the trio had evaded the royal army. As Candyce went to break them free, Kai and Jay confronted Nya.

Jay went down first, then Kai-

Then Candyce snuck up from behind and chopped Nya's head off.

The place was in flames, falling apart. And Candyce only raced back to her friends' side only to arrive too late. Even with Nya dead, she felt like no one was really saved in the end.

The palace was consumed by flames, she was trapped with nowhere to go. So she sat there, waiting for the flames to eat her.

Acronix, Ray and Maya, and the escaped EMs watched on with pain as the last of the Palace remains were picked though, bodies of royal and EMs were found.

The surviving retreated back to the island to talk about what to do. Even with Ray back, the other Elements of Creation were gone to the wind.

Machia, the commander at that point, spoke to Acronix of Krux's true plan. To go back to the past and change fate to where the Time Twins were the victors.

Acronix didn't doubt for a second that Krux never let their defeat leave his head. Hell- it what motivated the monster behind the scenes.

The time blades are brought back to focus, and the EMs agree to track them down. If not a full reset, then at least to a point where a majority of the Ninja could be saved.

Acronix pushes for him to be the only one to go back. As it was his failure to intervene that caused this massive domino effect. Maya and Ray are suspicious, yet quickly change their tune when reminded of Krux's body left rotting in the museum's hidden dungeon.

They get to Borg, pleading with him to make a machine to help Acronix go back. Pixal urges her father since Zane would then have a chance to live in the new timeline.

With the machine completed, Acronix goes back. A single memory in his head as time warps around him.

... It's a nice calm night, he's standing along a long stream. Stones tiny and circular are stacked in odd towers, and small stagnant pools are full of frogs. The crickets are chirping against the dead silence. Fireflies hug the wet grass and glow in uneven spurses. And not too far from him, a woman approaches.

She's crying, saying something that he can't hear. He tries to recall why his hearing is so bad. And then it comes back. The hours earlier, they had to fight the EM of sound. Their screaming rung his ears and he was uncertain if he was going deaf.

His eyes stay on her lips, reading her words as she tries to beg him. He knows but doesn't know what she's saying. She stops and stares at him, and turns to leave-

"Lilly. Lilly, please stop. Please." He hangs his head down. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lilly."

He didn't look up to see if she stopped.

"I know. I know what I am doing is wrong. I never should have listened to him. I never should have believed I could change his mind."

Tear bleared his vision, the rocks under his feet meshed into one thick gray haze.

"Please. I don't want to do this. I don't."

His chin was lifted, and in the moonlight was her. Her own tears have dropped.

"Then stop," he barely heard her past the ringing in his ears. "Stop and come back home. Lou is worried about you. I'm worried about you."

He carefully reached out, placing a hand over hers. Squeezing it to make sure it was her and really her.

"I- I have to stop this. I can't let him destroy everything."

"We can stop him, togeth-"

"No. Krux has... I- I know. I know. He has to be stopped. He won't let anyone close to him besides me."

"... Nix..."

"... Go home, Lilly. By the end of this week, Krux will be taken care of. Until then, I want you... I want you to go home, be with him. Stay put, stay safe."

The end of the week came. Krux was ready to storm the Monastery with Acronix by his side.

He was at the doors when he felt a sharp sensation in his chest.

The doors swung open, and the alliance were ready to fight-

Krux staggered in, barely able to get a word out before he dropped to the ground. A sharp dagger lodged right in his back.

There Acronix stood, at the doorway, taking off the ridiculous helmet his brother made them wear to match.

He felt memories ebb away as he watched his brother bleeding out, gasping for air as the life seeped out of them.

He looked to the alliance and stood there as everyone inspected Krux's body and detained him for safety.

But Acronix sighed an air of relief as he saw his brother's body be covered by a sheet.

The timeline was fixed.

[plutonify]

My Ninjago Seasons Tier Lists

EXTREMELY GOOD

Secrets of Forbidden Spinjitzu Pt 2

Prime Empire, PRIME EMPIRE, PRIME EMPIRE. Just everything about this story is so so good. The way they showed the characters dynamics, my sweet baby boy Jay getting to live the celebrity lifestyle like his parents. The humor, the designs, the colors! I LOVE THIS SEASON.

Sons of Garmadon

There isn’t much to say about this season that hasn’t already been said. There’s a reason why this season is so loved by fandom. This season is filled with drama, and it’s so good! Harumi is an amazing character, and while I dislike how Ninjago keeps introducing new characters, she’s an exception(along with Pixal). THIS IS SUCH A GOOD SEASON!

Tournament of Elements

I know I just mentioned how I don’t like how they keep introducing characters, but this season does a good job at introducing characters without actually introducing characters. It’s such an interesting concept, this idea of all of the elements going up against each other and in a tournament none the less. Mmm tasty. I keep rewatching this season, it’s so captivating, there’s so much drama!

GOOD

Hands of Time

I really like Hands of Time. This season introduces a lot of interesting concepts, most of which are very hard to do and risky. Like time traveling, betrayal, and twists. This season does it all and I’d argue that they do it well(well somewhat). WE GOT MORE WU AND GARMADON AND PREVIOUS ELEMENTAL MASTERS, just a lot of stuff that was wished for but not expected.

Possession

HERE IT IS, THE ONE WE ALL KNOW AND LOVE, MORRO! I personally am not a fan of paranormal concepts but Ninjago does it so well and make it so interesting! I love flawed characters like Morro. Also, ghost Cole is so good, people might not agree with me on this but ghost Cole is one of the best things they’ve done in the entire show.

ISLANDS/SEABOUND

Tears, sobbing, crying. This season is an emotional roller coastal, first it makes you laugh, then terrified, and then sobbing on the floor. But I love it for that, it makes me feel, exactly what I want a show to do. I find the writing this season to be some of Ninjago’s best, especially the way they built up Jaya and Nya’s fate.

OK

HUNTED

This season is pretty meh for me, most of it is forgettable, the only reason why it’s not in the bottom row is because it’s really funny. Tons of comedic moments this season, thus I have some joy I can attribute to it.

RISE OF THE SERPENTINE

This was a typical first season. It did everything that a first attempt did but it was still somewhat enjoyable. Most of my gripes with this season came from the beginning. I’m REALLY not a fan of the first half of this season. The second half is okay. This season is tolerable.

BAD

SKYBOUND

I actually like Skybound. I find it more watchable then the first season, but while I find it watchable, there are some some really bad writing choices. Biggest flaw being the pacing. I also have a bias towards Jay and most of what I enjoy about this season was the potential it had, not what actually happened. So if I take away my “bias and potential goggles”, we have a not great season, thus it’s low ranking.

EXTREMELY BAD

CRYSTALLIZED

Awful, just awful. This season does not install joy in me. While I love that they brought Nya back, I can’t ignore the fact that she should’ve stayed dead and they didn’t do a good job at reviving her. This entire two part season did all of the characters bad, absolutely ruined them. I hate you Crystallized.

SECRETS OF FORBIDDEN SPIJITZU PT 1

Just as bad as Crystallized. Tons of wasted potential(haha). While Skybound was too fast, this season is too slow, this season is awful, I hate it. It’s funny how bad part one is compared to its second part.

[moonlightstar27]

The Cowboy Virus

Sombra x Cassidy

Contains: Smut, Death, Intoxication sex, cursing, rough sex, fluff near the end.

"Sombra where are you?! The target is getting away stupid girl!" Oh I don't think so, widow was always so mean to me during missions but it didn't matter we still get paid the same. "Already on the target widow, tell reaper to meet me on the east side of the building!" I was running so fast not even the cameras could catch me.

But then that's when it hit me. "OH FUCK!" A flashbang, but from where could have it come from- oh you have to be kidding me. It was none other then Cole Cassidy. That asshole, how dare he get in my way! That's when I threw my translocater and sprang back up just in time for reaper too show up.

"Sombra go get the target I'll take care of the cowboy." Nodding as I went along I found Alexander Turner, he had been an ex Talon scientist who was planning to sell out Talons sleeper agents. "It's over amigo, you know how this goes. You should've never turned on us." The door then busted open. "Oh no you don't, you're gon' leave him alone Pumpkin. I don't want Morrison on my ass."

I grabbed Alexander by his hair and twisted around and pointed my SMG to his head. "Mmmm, I don't think so and besides, I had two blood thirsty teammates who would kill me if i don't get this job done so....." Cassidy started chuckling then pointed his pistol at me. "I'm the fastest gun in the new west, what Makes you think you can beat me?" how foolish can this man be?

"See what happens when you try to play hero cowboy? People still die because you failed." Cole then fired off six shoots which only 2 of them managed to hit him. "Reaper, Sombra we must go now. They are ready for us." Reaper was the first one to leave. Making sure to take care of anyone else he saw on his way back.

"Oh cowboy don't look so down, you see me one day or another." I then booped his nose and left him there.

After that mission, I kept seeing him more and more. He was always there like he was tracking me down just so that he would be the one to take me out. But I always manage to slip away from him and laugh at him. But sometimes he dose cause me problems. I swear the last thing he did Moria nearly mademe her next test subject.

I spent most of the days trying to just rid of him, he's becoming a real pain to my fun. I don't like when people ruin my fun. "Aye dios mio, that man is gonna get my pay docked. I need a drink." I immediately went to my favorite bar in town where they make the best tequila shots ever.

I was on my fourth shot when the bartender yelled out "Cole Cassidy welcome back friend!" Cole.... Cassidy.... Well, this could be fun. Of course he took a sit right next to me, we locked eyes for a moment but only a moment. How does someone so annoy look at me with such eyes.

"Bartender the usually please." I continued to drink my shot and slammed it down on the table. "So, how many times did Morrison get on your ass for not catching me?" letting out a small chuckle I tilted my head into my hand which made a fist and looked at him.

"For the amount of shit you put me through, I reckon that you would make a nice cash reward." Nice huh? I thought my worth would've been more. I feel hurt. Cassidy then took a sip of his whiskey. He looked so somber. "Well, how bout I buy you a drink, one different from this?" for the first time tonight his brown eyes looked at me differently.

Loud laughter came from the both of us as the night came closer to the end. "Oh and then I shut the door on his face. Oh reaper was so mad!" Cassidy and I were at the point of tears, this night was one of the best I had since I joined Talon. "Okay guys you. I have to close up, don't worry about the tab Sombra. I'm too scared you might just empty my account if I even ask."

I just had to Boop his nose before cassidy pull me away. "To think a troublemaker like you would turn me on like this." Before I could say anything Cassidy turn my head and kissed me. It tasted fiery, guess it's from the whiskey, I could help but wrap my arms around his neck. It was like fire meeting Electricity.

Pulling away from the kiss he went straight to sucking and licking my neck, it felt so warm. "Mm wait, is this a trick to try and turn me. If so at least mm~ buy me dinner first cowboy." removing his self with a loud pop noise he looked up at me. "Now, if I wanted to that pumpkin. You would've beenbout the moment I step in. But no I want you doll. If you mind following me?" Wow this night just got interesting even more.

I found myself at the overwatch base, it turned me on that he was sneaking me in to a high level place like this. When got too his room. He immediately threw me to the bed. "I am going to show you things even you didn't know pumpkin."

Our lips intertwine once again that night, it felt so good. Cassidy then started kissing down my neck, stopping near my chest. Cassidy started fondling my chest. I started letting out soft moans. It didn't go unnoticed luckily.

"All those times you saw me, I wanted to be the one. I wouldn't let it be anyone else but me." That's when he started sucking on my titties, like he was hungry. It made me arch my back an make the loudest moan ever.

"Let me hear those beautiful moans pumpkin, let me be the one that makes you feel this good~" After he said that he switched tit and started rubbing my clit through my soaked panties. It felt like I was on fire at the moment.

The assault on my body didn't let up my legs started closing around his hands. "Oh come on, don't tell me you don't like this." He then moved down and pulled my legs open and started eating me out. He took his sweet time licking my clit. Giving it soft licks before he started eating it out like a hungry man.

My hands went straight to his hair pulling him closer to me, to feel it deeper within me. He wrapped his arms around my legs and lift me up. "Aw f-fuck. What are you that hungry. You about to... Shit- about to make me c-cum." He started sucking faster after I said that.

I was so lost in the feeling I nearly blacked out from the pleasure. After I few more sucks, I came all over his face, he had drunk every last drop. His beard was soaked in my juices. "You taste delicious doll~"

He then pulled me towards him and kissed me once more. His dick was pressed up against me, I started grinding on him and he started grunting and bucking his hips up towards me. "Woah there cowboy, at least let me take your pants off before you even cum."

He chuckled and let me down. I had unbuckled his pants and took his cock out. I gave it a few good rubs before popping it Into my mouth. "Yeah that's it, get it nice and wet for me. It's- fucking damn. It's so warm inside your mouth doll."

He grabbed the back if my head and thrusted into it roughly, then held it there for a moment. I felt like chocking cause of how deep it was in my mouth. He removed me from him and lifted me back on to the bed. He pumped himself before rubbing his tip against my pussy.

"You're such a fucking tease Sombra, but god do I love it so much." He pushed my legs up and plugged himself in me. His movements were slow, slowly pushing in and out, in and out, in and.... Out. He managed to drag out every moan from me. He grabbed the head board to giving him support.

I wanted him to go faster, I wanted him to pound me. "Hey, Cassidy. Oh~ G-go faster." He chuckled at my request. "Beg for it. Beg for me to go faster." He stopped waiting for me to beg. I rolled my ears and looked at him. "Please Cassidy, please pound in to me." That's all he needed before grabbing my sides and rammed into me.

He was fast and brutal with his onslaught oh my pussy. It was so intense I had wrapped my legs around him and clawed at his back. He then pull out all the way to his tip and slammed back down in me. His way of fucking me made me scream his name out loud.

At this point I was in tears, I felt close to cumming and it started to get really hot. "C-cassidy! I'm gonna cum!" He rammed deeper into me, I could feel he was close to. Cassidy then grabbed my face and kissed me, his paced quicken fast until he stopped.

He had still as he emptied his cum into my warm pussy. Cassidy then rolled over on the other side of the bed and pulled out. His cum poured out of me, I was tried and out of breath. Cassidy wrapped his arms and pulled his cover over us. "You're one bad cowboy." "You're one helluva good kisser." We bussed out laughing, till we cuddled and when I was just about to sleep.

"I love you Sombra."

[chryzuree]

nitw chrysijacks au!!! tell me more abt it im so invested i love nitw!! do they get to be animals too...if they were animals what would they be!!!

AAAAH, okay okay, so it’s still a work in progress bc i haven’t decided if i want to have chrysi be in mae’s position but with elements of bea, or if i want jacks to be in mae’s position and have chrysi be mostly bea with just a hint of cole (bc i think chrysi would’ve absolutely left town for a bit), but as of writing this.. i’m erring towards chrysi as mae, since she defs can perceive things that most ppl can’t, plus she’s charismatic and generally a mess.

i was thinking chrysi shows up a couple days before her bday & you know. dismembered arm is found as usual. YES, chrysi’s thrilled abt this!!! VERY important to know!!! honestly, it’s a relief for her to find that arm, bc the vibes in that diner were in SHAMBLES. she was rlly trying to avoid eye contact w jacks and jacks was staring her down w his laser eyes. put those things AWAY, it’s literally four in the afternoon…

the party scene happens on chrysi’s bday itself, and guess who FUCKING FORGOT IT WAS HER BDAY. when the rest of their friends arrive at the party later (bc unfortunately, chrysi had to drive jacks out. she’s going to scream. that’s the worst, most awkward car ride over ever) & wish her happy bday, jacks is like “😦 oh………. happy birthday……….” <- has been in the same space as her for the past two hours. like. damn.

JACKS is the one that gets drunk (saw an ex, to which chrysi says, “you can’t run away from the town’s population”, since jacks is a serial dater), so chrysi takes him home and it’s the worstttt. she should’ve stayed at college. ((actually, jacks asks why she came home.. he’s rlly glad but he’s worried for her. unfortunately for him, he does NOT phrase it like that and chrysi gets even angrier w him))

they start repairing their relationship right around the same time chrysi starts seeing cult members / having fucked up dreams. so mostly, jacks comments on how exhausted and ill she looks. you really know how to compliment a girl, don’t you??

on one of their outings, chrysi finds out that jacks hasn’t rlly dated anyone in a while (omg.. theyre both single at the same time again.. which hasn’t occurred since jacks ruined their makeout session in senior year of high school!!!! wrow!!!!!) but anyway. still have to unpack allllllll the drama of high school before it goes anywhere.

their halloween celebration is fun.. i think that jacks would jst tag along w chrysi…. she’d win at the water balloon toss & they’d both laugh at their fortunes being read & jacks suspiciously goes missing when chrysi’s asked to cover for the witch play the town’s putting on. i jst think they need to reminisce abt halloween celebrations past… they neeeeeeed to kiss abt this, but they will NOT!!! never ever!!!!

jacks is the first to agree to research ghosts w chrysi <333 ughhh, he wants her so bad. does he believe in ghosts?? well.

THE SCENE IN THE WOODS, WHEN SHE GETS SHOT AT??? JACKS HAS TO BE PHYSICALLY DRAGGED AWAY SO HE DOESN’T ALSO GET SHOT AT. he’s sick with worry the whole time chrysi’s in the hospital. who cares abt the cult member keeping an eye on the appt??? he only cares abt how chrysi’s holding up…

he is dragging chrysi into the appt & picking her up bridal style when she shows up!!! he is putting her on the couch and tucking her in and curling up beside her!!!! they actually have a heart to heart there + chrysi begins to forgive him… before she “falls asleep” against him and jacks falls asleep too.. then chrysi gets up and goes to the woods w/o telling anyone.

jokes on her, bc jacks wakes up within ten minutes of her leaving bc he misses the feeling of her curled up against him. can NOT stop his obsessive crush and hyper-awareness of her. it’s been on overdrive since, like, ninth grade.

he’s the one to yell at her when they show up in the woods. OMG, JACKS ALSO HAS A CROSSBOW!!!! he fucking sucks at shooting at the guy tbh, he’s jst glad he managed to hit him.. then he hands off the crossbow to hold chrysi the whole way into the mines.

i haven’t rlly decided what i wanted to do here, bc i kinda want to deviate & play w story stuff regarding castor’s death.. kinda want it to be the valors that are part of the cult + they’re trying to bring castor back… but i also kinda want to up the level of danger throughout this whole time, so maybe castor’s already been revived as a vampire, but he’s like… super fucked up and ghoulish and nothing like the castor they knew… what if the mines were castor’s living quarters & they were jst trying to protect him?? plus this could mean that jacks can finally choose chrysi over castor !!!!!!! ,,,,mmm, yeah, i’m going to do that.

anyway. chrysi does NOT feel bad abt caving in the mines behind them!!!!!!! bye bye, valors!!! die then!!!!! jacks is a little more like, well, that was maybe not the best course of action? WHO CARES MAN!!!!!!

chrysi defs passed out bc visions or w/e but it’s FINE!!!!

the story would end w chrysi wishing jacks happy bday (fucked up two and a half weeks there, huh?) + jacks giving chrysi her bday present, bc he felt like an asshole that he a) forgot it was chrysi’s bday, and b) got blackout drunk on it… then they kiss abt it <333 and now they’re a couple!!!!

i wasn’t rlly thinking they’d be OFFICIALLY animals, but i think they’d both have a cat / fox motif…. lots of shirts + trinkets to call to mind those animals for them!!!!!!!!!!!! they should kiss…

[romikawai]

Joel's Alpha

eleven

"I'm coming" says a voice

I knew it was a little early, not so much for the sun to rise but for the work schedule

When he opened the door, he thought it was someone from work. I don't expect it was his son Joel, seeing him embarrassed by the time it was

"Son…

"Hello mom" he smiles "I… I'm sorry about the time but I needed to talk to someone and…

"Yes, of course" he says "come in, I'll make coffee" he indicates

Cash knew that he had to go into mom mode because it was his son who needed him in those moments while he thought that he had motivated him to appear now.

He saw his son sit calmly in the chair while he thought for a few moments. But he was aware of how the water was heating up and preparing the coffee that they both liked

"You told him…

"I told Mitch, Chris's friend, that I was coming here" he looks at his father "I told him to say that you needed me for something and that's why I came"

"Which, you lied because you need me" says cash while serving

When he turns around with the cups, he notices that nervousness in his son as he looked at his hands and didn't look up. Putting Joel's cup down, I just looked at him to say thank you and then looked down again.

"Son, what's up" he takes his hand

"I…I'm in doubt" she looks at him "I know…Brad hurt me and he's not my alpha but…Chris is different and I'm scared"

"Afraid that" he doubts but understands

"What if it's all a mistake and I screw up and do something to make him go away…" He looks at the ground "I don't know how to behave with him and he makes my heart beat but I'm afraid of ruining everything"

"Hey" she calls him "I know this true love is scary"

"How do I know what that is?"

"First, you felt a nice smell coming from him" he raises an eyebrow

"Yeah"

"Your heart is beating fast and your cheeks turned red with his closeness or something I do to make you that way"

"Yeah"

"That's true love, it's not the same as first love" he clarifies "first love, it's what you felt for Brad and you knew you weren't going to be reciprocated because of many other things that happened but…" He takes a moment " True love, they are butterflies that fly inside you the moment you feel that smell that lets you know that your destiny is there…"

"But…

"True love takes its time to find itself because to keep it is to overcome every obstacle that appears to be that… While first love only lasts its moments, it doesn't always follow and hurt the ones you love the most along the way"

"So… Is that" she looks at him "that would be what I feel for Chris… True love and not first love like with Brad"

Cash knew his son's fear was there, he could see it in his eyes as he held back the tears that wanted to come out. This made him remember once that he knew who his partner was and that he had to shut him up because he didn't want to ruin his life but if Tango hadn't taken the first step, they wouldn't be where they are now.

"I'm like all the omegas but he's not like the alphas I met because he's sweet, attentive to something I need and there's always permission if he can kiss me or hold my hand" he blushes

"You're in love son" Cash smiles

"That would be" he looks at his cup "Chris asked me out on a date on Sunday and I…I…

"What do you think if you call me that day to help you choose what clothes you should wear, do you want" he caresses her hair "now, you better go back to the university or your father will give him something for not seeing you"

"Right" he blushes "you could take me, I came here in Cole"

"Sure, I'll wash the cups and let's go" he says and grabs Joel's cup

"Thanks mom" he smiles

"Always" she smiles and hugs him "I will never allow fear to attack you again, I will take care of you the same as your alpha and your father"

"I know" something separates "well, come on, I don't want to worry Chris about my absence either"

Cash nods to his words but his mind was on how his son, even though he wasn't born to him, was having the same character as both of them and that they hadn't known him for long but it made their lives happy

[lokiified]

rant piece

i made the wrong fucking choice i actually cant believe it, i was so focused on proving my parents wrong that i convinced myself it would never work with you and now im regretting so badly. i focused on the attention he was giving me but really he never did anything for me like you did, we went on three damn dates in a day, you flew across the country to come see me, you let me pick any book at coles as an early birthday present, you tried to give me everything but i wanted my parents to be wrong so badly that i ignored it for him and he was new and cute and he seemed to like me and you literally told me you didnt have feelings for me why did you do that i probably wouldve chosen you if i knew you felt the same way.

i found the pin i got at the museum with you. i found the pictures i took of you in the weird red room with all the lizards in it. ive been thinking about the used book store a lot lately. i was talking to a friend who i thought i had feelings for and we started talking about book stores and i was struck with an inconsolable sadness at the memories of being there with you for hours, trying to find the right books.

i found the videos and pictures from the mock prom, how well you got along with my friends and how you looked in your suit, how excited you were for that night

i remember how angry your mother was when i chose him over you and i thought she was crazy at the time but she was right, i made the stupidest decision of my life when i picked him.

you came to a baseball game with my family and you dont even like baseball for fucks sake, an hour ride 3 hour game and hour ride back who would do that if they didnt have fucking feelings for someone.

i had to spend an hour and a half sitting in a hotel hallway trying to calm down his anxiety about my relationship with you while you tried to give me everything and lied to my face that you had a girlfriend just to try and protect my feelings.

why did you have to go and say you didn't have any feelings for me when i told you that day.

and now youre in your 20s and you have a girlfriend and youre probably gonna get married and im gonna regret it for what feels like forever.

i made the wrong choice and i dont know what to do

i cant tell my parents and i cant tell you because youre probably gonna marry her and you talked to me about her like shes the best person in the whole world so yeah im definitely not, you live on the other side of the country so ill probably never see you again so yeah i blew it.

you made a playlist for me of all kinds of songs you liked and 80% of them were love songs and i thought it was nothing when EVERYTHING you were doing and saying pointed to having some kinds of feelings for me but i dumped it all for him because i was scared of my parents saying they told me so.

and i certainly cant tell him because what the hell is he gonna say, im sorry you decided to waste a year on me while your real love was off making a life for himself?

i dont even know if i love you i just know that i missed out on something good just because i was scared

i convinced myself you were too much like david, that you werent even cute, excuses upon excuses when really i was just scared and i felt like he was the safer choice because there would be so much less people disappointed if it went south

for gods sake he wouldnt even dance with me at prom and now all i can think about is dancing with you at that mock prom that i thought was so stupid, i ruined all my mom's planning and probably shattered all your hopes for the night, i wish id worn my prom dress and let it happen because obviously it was supposed to