#they would turn suicidal in the second section

[violetrainbow412-blog]

From hate to love… or something like that

Aegon II Targaryen x fem!reader

word count: 15.7k (sorrrryyyy)

warnings: arranged marriage, hate-to-love, mentions of rape, mentions of incest, mentions of suicidal thoughts, drinking alcohol, mommy issues, daddy issues, mentions of sex without love, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), porn with plot (but something cheap, tbh) and I probably forgot something but I think that makes it clear that this shit is not for minors, so MINORS DNI :)

A/N: I started this since the second season premiere started so if you find any canon-like scenes I completely promise it wasn't intentional. I also want to make it clear that you are responsible for what you read and if you don't like something please just let it go, that would be very kind of you!

And this doesn't make me team green at all, I'm a defender of the rightful queen to the death… it's just that her brother is too sexy to ignore 🫦

Enjoy!

taglist (who I thought might be interested): @barcelonaloverf1life @ilovequeen978

FIRST ACT: HATE

Finding a wife for Prince Aegon II was probably one of the most difficult tasks Alicent Hightower had to face.

The engagement with his sister Helaena had been broken after a more tempting offer for the princess, which would get them a permanent alliance with the Lannister house that they couldn’t refuse. Viserys himself had agreed to accept and the queen consort had no choice but to give her little daughter in marriage to a blonde lord. The problem was that her son was left without a fiancée.

Aemond didn't worry her, after all he was growing up quite quickly and she knew that he was more inclined to become a warrior than to fulfill his marital responsibilities. But Aegon, however, was a lost cause.

It was no secret that Alicent had always felt disappointed in her eldest son. He was careless, lazy, and a hopeless alcoholic, qualities that couldn’t be celebrated at all. Now that her beloved father had returned, the queen didn’t hesitate to consult him on the matter, hoping that the man had a solution for the problem that afflicted her, and together they analyzed what was the best option to unite the king's first-born son. Especially after, years ago, Rhaenyra and Daemon got married and moved to Dragonstone indefinitely.

“It must be someone we completely trust, someone who cannot dare to hurt us because they know that their blood is linked to ours.”

The Arryns were loyal to the future queen Rhaenyra and some of the houses south of Vale were too. The Westerlands was the richest section of the Seven Kingdoms and was already secured, so it seemed prudent to the king's hand to go for the next widest section: The Reach. The most formidable options within this area were the Hightower and the Tyrell. Obviously taking the first option would be a waste since the members of that house would support Aegon without complaint due to their kinship, so the decision was made with the direct heir of Highgarden.

King Viserys agreed to the idea without putting up many obstacles, since poppy milk clouded his judgment most of the time and also the affairs of his first son had never interested him much.

The union was sealed as soon as the deal was offered to Lyonel Tyrell, who was extremely happy to be able to assure his family a future with said marriage. It was thus that he gave you, his only daughter, to Prince Aegon II Targaryen.

And the second the boy saw you, he absolutely hated you.

He had come to the idea (very unpleasant, by the way) of marrying his younger sister and now that his mother was forcing him to marry a complete stranger, he couldn't be angrier. In a short time he would turn twenty and it seemed pathetic to him that at that point he would have to offer shows like those before the kingdom. Because the wedding wasn’t simple, of course, but thousands and thousands of guests were present at the banquet that Alicent forced the king to prepare, claiming by saying that he had done the same for Princess Rhaenyra's wedding.

“It is a pleasure to finally see each other, your grace. They have told me a lot about you”

You had said those precise words the first time you had met, when his mother organized a walk so that you could 'get to know each other better', although supervised by her own eyes that were behind you, making sure that her son didn’t commit any indecency. But no matter how sweetly you smiled and spoke them, Aegon could sense that you were lying.

There was hatred in your eyes and a clear resentment towards the life from which you were torn, as if it weren’t an honor to have the opportunity to marry the prince of the seven kingdoms. Your hypocritical words represented an insult to the boy and that is why he decided from the first moment that he would hate you deeply.

With your mere existence you would have deprived him of his freedom, his entertainment, his youth. He would be tied to you for future occasions, he would have to take you to all the events, secure your food, your clothes. share the same roof and pretend to be nice to you in the eyes of others. And, besides, he could have thought of a lot of candidates better than you, physically speaking. Your beauty was quite ordinary for his taste, as if he were looking at any painting; cheap and repetitive.

“I regret to admit that I am not so fortunate, Lady Tyrell. But I am happy for the union of our houses” he lied, in the same way that you had done.

And it was obvious that this didn’t go unnoticed by you, that you had the same critical eye as your recent fiancé but that you sought to maintain composure in the presence of your future mother-in-law.

On the wedding day Aegon had a good time only because he was able to drown himself in monumental quantities of liquor and because he was able to eat as much as he wanted of the exquisite banquet. He didn't even pay a bit of attention to how you looked in the wedding dress that the royal seamstresses had been in charge of making in record time, because when the time came he flattered you superficially and then ignored the matter. The ceremony kiss was the first you shared, and it was so fleeting and awkward that the prince felt disappointed. On the wedding night he was so drunk that he didn't even look at you.

You knew that the unfortunate day would come when you would have to carnally please the young man and the simple thought of being defiled in this way caused you terror and nausea in equal parts.

It was a stranger whom you had married, of whom the only thing you knew was his noble title and name.

In the days following your marriage, unfortunately or fortunately, Aegon didn’t even speak to you. You didn't have to share a room, so it was easier for him to completely ignore you while he went about his ways.

You had to admit that the only good thing about having taken this trip was the beautiful landscapes that King's Landing offered you. Your room had a direct view of Blackwater Bay and you spent several days looking out the window at the beautiful sea. Sometimes you could watch Prince Aemond ride his dragon, and honestly, the size of the beast scared you a little. You hadn't had the chance to observe Aegon in Sunfyre yet but if he was as impressive as Vhagar, then he would be quite a sight.

A week passed, then another and another where you were nothing more than a guest in the palace. You didn't talk to anyone, you ate dinner alone, you barely saw the outside of the castle. Sometimes you went to the Sept, pretending to pray, but really just killing the endless boring hours of the day. You were somewhat lucky if you found Helaena, the most sensible and calm within the royal family, because you had pleasant conversations with her. When you met the queen it was a little more difficult, because she asked you endless questions in which you had to fake the answers. How could you be fulfilling your parenting responsibilities if the capricious prince wouldn't deign to lay a finger on you?

After a month, Alicent seemed to take matters into her own hands and forced her eldest son to take you to sleep in the same room as him. However, Aegon seemed to want to blame you for something you hadn't chosen. He never spoke to you and every time you went to bed, he would stand with his back to you as far away as possible. And as if that weren’t enough, he had explicitly ordered his guards not to allow you to leave the room unless it was in his company. It was his way of punishing you, of getting even for the complaints of his mother and grandfather regarding his lack of interest in marriage.

“My mother wants us to attend a dinner tonight” you were so unaccustomed to hearing his voice addressing you that it took you a second to process what he was telling you “I will talk to the maids to bring you a suitable dress.”

You didn't know what to say. You didn't want to go to that dinner, nor did you want to be with him, or wear one of those tight, annoying dresses. Aegon, noticing your silence, deigned to look at you and in your eyes he could see the aversion you felt for him. It was something difficult to mask and he had seen it on so many faces that it was nothing new.

“As you wish, prince.”

A bitter laugh came from your husband's throat.

“Don't be a hypocrite, for God's sake. I know you hate me as much as I hate you. Save appearances for guests, not in the chambers."

You wouldn’t have had the courage to admit out loud what his majesty had said, but you didn’t dare to contradict him either. You had to play the role of a self-sacrificing and suitable wife for the man if you wanted to keep your honor, but above all your head.

You tried, with all your might, to see some quality in Aegon that you liked so that you could treat him in a better way, which always resulted in something useless. Perhaps if he had been nicer to you, you could have known how to forgive his faults, but even that wasn’t granted to you.

The dinner was mostly family-oriented, with the guest of honor being from House Baratheon whose purpose was to discuss some political matters with the king and queen. Due to his health, Viserys didn’t usually leave his room more than necessary, however, that night the occasion warranted it.

“Lady Tyrell, how is your stay in King's Landing?”

The king had a reputation for being gentle with his guests and was the first person to ask you a personal question, so the smile you showed him was genuine.

“Very pleasant, your grace. The servants treat me as well as possible and I must admit that the views from my room are beautiful. Your dragon is impressive, Prince Aemond, by the way.”

The boy, who wasn't all that expressive, just looked at you for a moment and tilted his head down slightly.

“I'm glad you like it, princess.”

"And my son? How is our Aegon treating you?”

That question was more complicated to answer, since it required expressing a lie. Everyone present focused their attention on you, except your husband who had been staring into nothingness for a long time.

“Very well, my king. He’s a good husband and I am happy to have been able to unite our houses.”

The aforementioned snorted, incredulous at what you were saying at the table, and took a long drink from his glass of wine.

“And I hope very soon you can give us strong and beautiful heirs.”

Although that was intended as a compliment, you felt the weight of that responsibility pressing down on you again.

“I wish the same. It will be an honor to serve the crown and bear the progeny of a house as formidable as yours."

The queen was pleased with your answer and for a moment felt sorry for you. She knew her son well, so deep down she knew that it wasn’t a gift from the gods to be married to him. The rest of the table looked at you curiously, wondering if you were serious, trying to be ironic, or just trying to play the good girl role.

Aegon, as expected, became intoxicated during dinner and when Queen Alicent announced that she was going to retire to sleep you thought it prudent to do the same. Your husband, however, had other wishes.

“Stay here,” he asked, his voice serious.

When he was drunk he looked you up and down, probably evaluating how worth it would be to decide to strip you naked and fuck you once and for all. Your body in the dress you were wearing looked better with a few drinks on him.

“I think it would be best to retire, my husband. This way you can stay with the men to chat and… drink”

“But I want you to stay here to keep me company,” he insisted, holding your wrist tightly “Or don't you want to please your prince?”

It wasn’t a loving request, but one for control. He wanted to have you there only to demonstrate his power over you, without paying attention to you or talking; only as an ornament.

“Aegon, enough,” Alicent interrupted, observing the scene that had begun to unfold. “Daughter, let's go to sleep. “I will accompany you”

“Fine, do whatever you want,” he spat contemptuously, abruptly releasing the wrist that was holding you. There was hatred in his eyes, but also pride.

The queen said goodbye to everyone present and then offered you her hand to take you away from there. You spent most of the way in silence, walking through the long, wide corridors of the fortress followed only by the faithful footsteps of Ser Criston Cole.

“You must be patient with him” he began to say “He is a particular man and sometimes… difficult, but I know that with your docile character you will be able to deal with his temperament.”

What did she know about your character? She didn't know you at all.

“So it shall be, Queen Alicent.”

“I understand what you are going through, dear. We both come from the same lands to endure the difficult task of accompanying a monarch. But it is our duty to carry it out with all the honor and temper worthy of our homes. Of course, I can trust that as a woman you will be able to help him fulfill another of the most important marital commitments, such as having children, to maintain the lineage and blood. For a virgin like you, Aegon may be rough, but... patience and resilience are among the best virtues. A woman in royalty must endure these things to give the best to the people.”

You had never wanted to be a princess. And just when you thought the queen was showing you compassion, you realized that she was only looking out for her interests and those of her family.

"Thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind"

She smiled and immediately left a kiss on your forehead, which could have been taken as a maternal kiss but which you didn't like at all. The longer you can postpone suffering, the better. If Aegon didn't even want to look at you, it was perfect.

That night, as soon as you touched the mattress and the silk sheets that decorated it, you began to cry until you fell asleep.

SECOND ACT: CONTROL

Time passed again and although the punishment of not leaving your room was not revoked, you found multiple activities with which to entertain yourself in the prince's absence. You filled your mornings and afternoons with reading, writing, knitting and embroidering. The nights were even more boring because most of the time your husband wasn't there either.

Rumors that you hadn’t yet consummated the marriage had spread through the halls of the palace and soon the smallfolk would murmur too. After all, the people couldn’t entertain themselves with anything more than the gossip and the plays that were going on in the poor neighborhoods, making fun of royal affairs.

You no longer even had the energy to deny those accusations and Aegon had given you the perfect opportunity by throwing you out of his room and refusing to leave the four walls of yours: if you didn't leave there, there was no way anyone would question you. And since you didn't have family inside the Keep, you didn't have any visitors either.

One night, however, your husband surprised you by entering your room. It had been days since you two had seen each other and his staggering around the room warned you that he was drunk again. You often wondered how he resisted drinking so much and the long-term effects it would have on his health, but right now your mind could only focus on the fear of what he might want in that state.

“Good night, dear,” he drawled, sounding as sarcastic as possible.

You were in your nightgown and you were carrying in your hand an old book that you had been reading and that you threw on the nightstand as soon as you saw him approaching you. You didn't have time to say or do anything else when he had already approached you in giant steps to grab you by the back of your neck and start kissing you. He was abrupt, careless, with his mouth smelling of wine and tasting even worse. You wanted to cry from helplessness.

“It's what everyone wants, isn't it?” he murmured, separating himself from you, but still holding you by the hair at the back of your neck. “A marriage arranged in a couple of days to form alliances. And that's it, my life was ruined thanks to my father wanting your stupid castle to expand his domain."

The truth is that couldn't be further from the truth. Viserys’s ambition had never been that, as he had been so little involved in the process that he simply didn’t care who his children were or were not married to. Except for Rhaenyra, of course.

Aegon continued:

"I didn’t want this. I didn't want to marry you, or anyone..."

“And you think I do?” you confronted him.

You were tired of the insult, the humiliation and him ignoring you as if you were worthless; even if that was what a husband did. And the most likely thing was that your words would be forgotten due to alcohol or that they would put an end to the wait for your suffering to begin and Aegon decided to take you once and for all.

“You have nothing to lose, prince,” you continued. “You get drunk as much as you want, you run away from your responsibilities and walk everywhere when I have to stay locked up here all day just because you want me to. I have to endure the suspicious looks of everyone because I still don't have an heir in the womb while you go and fuck your whores."

“I'm the prince and I fuck whoever I want, did you hear me?” he hissed. The grip on your hair had already begun to become painful and a few tears slipped down your cheeks “And I stop fucking whoever I want too. I'm not going to please anyone by getting you pregnant. There they will see if they come and force me to put my cock in you”

“Do you doubt that, your grace?” you exclaimed bitterly “Doubts that will force us to conceive?”

“So that's what you want? Do you want me to do it?”

“I want to go home. That is what I want. But my father used me as a bargaining chip and that's why I can't do anything."

“I'm sorry it was like that. If I had chosen my wife, I would surely have chosen someone prettier and more educated than you, but I can't do much either."

Once again, the man pushed you until your lips joined his and the same discomfort settled in you. He didn't kiss you with love, but with fury and violence to the point that you had to push him away when he bit you so hard that a trickle of blood began to come out of your lower lip. Aegon was also stained by it and with an acidic smile he ran the tip of his tongue all over his mouth to remove any traces.

Looking at you he didn't look happy, but he didn't look angry either. He just seemed fed up.

Everyone knew, or suspected, that the prince was very capable of taking sexual advantage of any woman. He had done it before with maids and prostitutes and had slept peacefully throughout that time. However, there was something about you that encouraged him not to. He didn't even think it was something about you specifically but about the situation, because he wanted to do the opposite of what he was ordered: if everyone ordered him to take you to have an heir, it automatically became an unpleasant act and at the same time that he refused.

He was hurt, not because of you but because of years and years of abuse and neglect. He didn't really know you at all, he only knew what you represented.

You were just the unlucky one who had married him.

"I hate you. I hate that you are my wife and you are not worthy of me even touching you” he snapped with disdain. You were still fighting to keep the tears inside your eyes and his vision had also blurred slightly “I wish I had never met you.”

“The feeling is mutual, your grace,” you expressed, your voice breaking. If it was an offense to the crown, you wouldn't even care anymore and if he killed you right there you wouldn't regret it too much either.

Aegon looked at you one last time before staggering back out the door without another word, closing it behind him with a loud gesture and leaving you alone in the room. The reality that you had escaped, once again, from being raped by the man fell on you like a bucket of cold water and your knees weakened until you fell to the floor.

You were hurt, tired, and defeated by the stress of the situation and the fear that had washed over you the entire time. Luckily he was gone, otherwise you didn't know if you would have endured what he had to do to you. It was better to have him busy in a brothel than to have to endure him in your bed.

You wished you could talk to someone and cry on a loved one’s shoulder, only to realize a second later that that was impossible. Aegon was your new family, now you belonged to the Targaryens and you would have to do as they wished.

Anger completely overwhelmed you to the point where you stood up from your seat and began throwing pieces of glassware all over the room, in a violent outburst at what had just happened and the way you felt. None of the guards outside your door dared to come in to check on you and soon enough you fell back to the ground, exhausted from the effort.

As you cried, perhaps for the umpteenth time since you had been married, you thought about how you would never be able to love Prince Aegon. Not even if you tried.

THIRD ACT: PAIN

After months, the inevitable arrived. The truth was that the first time you felt sorrow and anger, but the following times it became more tolerable. Not because it was better, but because you began to get used to it. Aegon didn't change his attitude towards you one bit. You indeed spent more time together, although that didn’t mean that you got along better or that you had begun to have more sympathy for each other.

The only advantage was that you had started to be friends with some people in the palace. Your sister-in-law, to begin with, as well as some of the maids who were in charge of looking after you, as they turned out to be your only company during those days. Those distractions were more than enough for you, considering the situation you were in, and they kept you sane as time went by.

Almost like a punishment from heaven, it seemed that you weren’t pregnant yet, since your biological processes seemed to continue working to the letter. That meant that, unfortunately, you would have to keep trying; when Aegon was lost enough to forget who you were and you had to stand still as a statue to let him loom over you.

You often liked to imagine what your life would have been like if you had stayed in Highgarden. Nobody knew it yet, but there you had found your first love and although it never went beyond a few kisses, you treasured the memory with particular affection. You had always wanted to marry a sweet man who loved and respected you, who would give you your place as a wife and adore you day and night; someone with whom you could feel protected, cared for, but above all happy. You thought, naively, that that boy you had met and who was nothing more than a commoner could have given you that life, but all those possibilities were nothing more than fantasies in which you tried to lock yourself in to feel less miserable with your unpleasant reality.

One night Helaena had invited you to a modest dinner in her company that you couldn't refuse, since none of your husbands were present and some time with friends could clear your mind. You didn't even know where the prince was, although it was expected that he was spending some time in the town with his friends.

“Sometimes I feel sad about our situation,” said the blonde. You were in the privacy of her chambers, not even with the maids present, so confessions like that were allowed “But I am happy that you are my friend, something that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise.”

“I'm glad to talk to you too,” you smiled sincerely. “You're the best thing I've found around here.”

“My brothers aren't that bad, they're just… well, we've had a hard life. And that's why they behave like that."

“I think there is no justification for being a…” idiot, you wanted to say, but you had to remember that you were in the presence of the princess, “a person who is rude to others. But I guess that happens with royalty, right? They do what they want without consequences”

"I guess so. Kings, princes, the heirs, lords, dukes…”

“Okay, I get it,” you laughed bitterly “It's probably a masculine quality.”

You never thought your sister-in-law would have that kind of humor and to be honest, most of the time she was a comic relief for the situations you two were going through. Sometimes her prophecies scared you, especially the way she phrased them, but you wanted to think that her premonitions would never affect you directly.

When you finally got tired of chatting and the food was finished, you decided to return to your room, so you could have a peaceful night's rest. It was raining outside and thunder echoed in the distance, making the atmosphere slightly gloomy, but at the same time cooling every corner of King's landing.

The novelty of your position was no longer important enough to require you to be escorted by guards twenty-four hours a day, so you were able to slowly walk through all the corridors that led to your sanctuary. It was modest but cute, although not on the level of Aegon’s.

A man was guarding the door and you bowed your head to him to let you pass, which he did without any opposition. Once inside you got rid of your shoes and unbuttoned your corset, not caring that the room was almost in darkness; only the moonlight illuminated from the window. You took a few steps forward and squealed when you discovered that there was another person in the room, sitting at the small table with a drink in his hand. You would have started screaming for help if you hadn't noticed that said intruder had silver hair falling like a curtain over his face.

"Your grace?" you asked cautiously.

It isn’t usual for Aegon to drink in your room, as he preferred other places with more interesting company, and when you didn’t receive an answer you approached slowly. You thought that at best he had simply fallen asleep and at worst he would be dead.

At first his long, wavy hair covered your view of his face, but when he noticed your presence he raised his head and then you could see him. His features became clearer as lightning illuminated him from the outside and for a second you were horrified.

His cheek was red and a trickle of blood was dripping from his nose, however, what surprised you the most was seeing his eyes completely swollen.

“For the seven, I… I'll go call a maester”

“Don't even think about it,” he exclaimed hoarsely, seeing that you were already rushing towards the door.

Your husband didn't sound like his usual angry tone, but rather he seemed... hurt.

You thought for a second about what the appropriate reaction to the situation was. You couldn't leave the room because, in addition to the guards murmuring, it would be impolite to leave him in that state; also, where would you go? If you ignored him, he would probably take it as an insult and he had already made it clear that he didn't want to see someone who could take care of those injuries.

You hated him, it was true, but you weren't an insensitive monster either.

"Who did this to you?"

Aegon was surprised by how soft, even kind, your question sounded and the intoxication gave him some courage to answer.

“My mother and my grandfather. Mostly my mother, my grandfather rather dedicated his efforts to reminding me how useless I am”

You didn't know what to say. You never believed that the queen would be capable of hitting one of her sons like that. You didn't believe it from any mother, actually.

With some trepidation you took one of the chairs and placed it in front of him, expecting him to immediately push you away or ask you to get out of his sight. However, the prince didn't seem to have enough energy to do any of those things.

He had a lost look on his face and tears began to run down his face.

“Nothing… nothing I do pleases her. Neither to her, nor to my grandfather. All the time they are pressuring me, demanding me, yelling at me. Apparently Otto still hopes that my father will name me king, but I've never wanted that. They blame me for drinking all the time and how do they expect them not to? My father cares so little about me and my mother hates me. All his life he has hated me. She does it, my brothers… and so do you. My own wife hates me. Everyone… everyone who knows me does it”

You were silent for a moment.

There were mixed feelings inside you, because you couldn't forget the mistreatment that the man had given you during those months, nor the way he used you for his pleasure. He was right when he said you hated him. However, there was a compassionate part of you, deep down, that felt sorry for the man's state.

“And sometimes I just want to be dead. I just wish all the shit would go away and drowning in alcohol and dying would take away Alicent's problem and allow her to focus her attention on something better”

His gaze lifted and he looked at you with crystallized eyes.

“Maybe you should poison me one day. So your suffering would also end”

“Your highness, I cannot do that”

“But would you like it? Do you hate me enough to wish me dead?”

“Of course not,” you said quickly.

"Liar. You lie like everyone else. You want me dead”

You knew that saying something negative at that moment, in the state he was in, could result in him making some incoherence that you would be blamed for the next morning. So it was best to act cautiously.

“I don't think anyone wants that”

“My mother does. My father, Rhaenyra does it, and so does her stupid new husband…”

“Your grace…” you interrupted him harshly. Listening to him sink into his self-indulgence was too much to bear “You better go to sleep, don't you think? Now you're not thinking clearly, you'll feel better in the morning."

But Aegon seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to anything you had to say to him.

“I guess I just wish someone wouldn't completely detest my existence, you know?”

Aegon had done terrible things to you, of course, but seeing him at that moment made you wonder if all of this was the product of poor parenting and psychological abuse that had been perpetuated for twenty long years. You couldn't say your father loved you, not after what he had done, but at least he hadn't constantly hurt you as the man in front of you had. You knew better than anyone that hate had to be healed with empathy and for a brief moment you felt soft for him.

Once Aegon was a small child, without sins, without accumulated hatred, without evil... and apparently that frightened child hadn’t been completely buried, because it was him who cried inconsolably and saw death as a viable alternative to end that suffering. However, there is no redemption without guilt, right? You don't get to heaven without first repenting.

You stayed silent for a long time, listening to him sob, and when you gathered the courage you spoke:

“Prince, can I be honest with you?”

You had spoken in a low and benevolent voice, while you slid from your chair until you were kneeling in front of him. The boy didn't even want to take advantage of that position for a sexual act, he was simply too tired and drained to think. You placed your hands on his knees and seeing that he nodded, you continued:

“You say you wish someone wouldn't hate you, but have you ever made an effort to do so? Or have you even wondered why people feel that way about you?”

“It's something natural for them”

“I didn't feel it,” you said, honestly. You hated the idea of getting married out of obligation, but if he had been different from the beginning maybe your feelings for him would be too “And you made me feel it. With your contempt, your humiliations, your punishments…”

“If everyone thinks you're a monster, what's the point of contradicting them?”

“And then you prefer to agree with them?”

You were probably taking too many liberties with the prince, but you would never have a chance to talk to him like that again. He was vulnerable and therefore less defensive than normal.

“Every person is responsible for their actions,” you continued. “You can't change how the queen or king feels about you, but you can choose to offer something better to others. If it’s your desire that people not hate you, that won’t happen overnight just because you tell it to. It takes time, effort and above all it requires kindness. If you live regretting the concept that people have of you, without doing anything to change it, then you will live a lifetime of dissatisfaction. If you seriously want someone to feel happy about your existence then pursue that goal, don’t expect it to be granted to you as a divine work.”

A deeper cry began to well up from the man and you almost thought he would lean down for your hug. Still, he didn't.

“I don't know how to be someone else. I have always been this”

“Not always, that's for sure. Water that stagnates rots and becomes a swamp. The one that runs, on the other hand, becomes a river and flows into the ocean.”

You raised the handkerchief you always carried and, in an act of kindness that was also intended to be an offering of peace, you gently wiped the tears and dried blood from his face. Aegon squirmed as he had never experienced that kind of care.

“You just have to ask yourself: what do you choose to be?”

For an endless moment he watched you. His judgment was clouded by drunkenness, but he wondered if he wasn't hallucinating and you were simply the voice of his conscience telling him something he had never wanted to accept.

It was easier to blame others for his mistakes, to justify himself by saying that everything about him was his mother's fault and that if he behaved the way he did it was only a defense mechanism. Aegon had never thought about how his treatment of women was a direct consequence of Alicent's upbringing: if his own mother had hurt him, why wouldn't other women do the same to him? And since he was convinced that they were all going to do it, he preferred to turn them into objects that he could use for his benefit.

He was so drunk and so exhausted from all the crying he had shed that he simply pushed your hand away from his face and stood up from the chair, without saying a word. You, now standing, saw him begin to undress and the first thing you thought was that he would seek to heal his sorrows by having sex with you. However, he only got rid of the essentials and then lay on his stomach on the bed. Without any choice, you took off your clothes for the day, put on a nightgown and also lay down on the mattress to sleep.

You were sure that the next day Aegon wouldn’t remember anything and you weighed the possibility of the whole story repeating itself, in an endless and painful loop for the two of you. And if you were right, it would be a shame if you had to live like this for the rest of your days.

FOURTH ACT: REDEMPTION

“Do you know where Meryna is?” you asked one of the maids who had come in to change your bedding.

“No, your grace”

“I'm starting to get hungry and she still hasn't brought my breakfast,” you exclaimed sadly.

You had woken up a while ago and had gotten dressed to go for a walk after eating, to see if this would cheer you up a little. It had been a few days since Aegon had opened up in the privacy of your room and after that you had barely seen him, much less spoken to him. You believed that everything was due to a matter of pride or even shame for what you had witnessed and you simply didn’t give it importance, because you knew that eventually he would approach you again. You just had to wait for him to want to do it.

Almost as if by summons, the black-haired girl appeared through the door, looking agitated and embarrassed by the delay. Furthermore, she came empty-handed.

"Princess…"

“Didn't you bring breakfast?” you asked, still sounding cordial but slightly surprised.

“I'm very sorry, it's just that Prince Aegon asked me to bring the food to the royal dining room. He is waiting for you there, he told me to come and get you.”

He hadn’t mentioned requiring your presence for any breakfast and, according to you, there were no guests in the palace to accompany. The two women noticed your dismay and Meryna stood waiting for a response.

“Did he tell you why?”

“No, your grace”

"Good. Then tell him I'll be there in a moment."

You only took a few minutes to change your dress, one more suitable for being in the presence of the prince and in case there was a guest you didn't know about. There were no guards at your door so you were able to walk to the dining room by yourself and were surprised to see that only your husband was at the table. He had an expression that you interpreted as a mix of impatience and nerves.

“Oh, you finally arrived. Sit down. You, bring the princess something to drink,” he ordered a maid. He used to call you that in the presence of guests, but it was rare for him to have that courtesy when alone.

“Are we waiting for someone?”

"No. I just thought you might want to have breakfast together.”

You were already sitting next to him, and for a second you watched him with a frown. Had he hit his head somewhere or why was he acting so strange?

“Do you prefer juice or wine, your highness?

"Juice"

“And bring her some strawberries,” Aegon exclaimed.

There was something about the situation that scared you, because you imagined that he wouldn't be treating you so kindly without wanting something in return. But you were already his wife and he did whatever he wanted with you, what more could he want from you?

You looked him up and down, as if searching for some sign, but he looked completely normal. He was wearing one of those full black robes he was used to, with a golden chain with emeralds decorating the hem of his neck and a belt accentuating his figure. The dark circles in his eyes were pronounced, as always, but the look was not that of someone angry; you would even say that he looked somewhat passive, even sleepy.

While you were thinking about all that, you remembered the last conversation you had had with him. You feared that madness had finally exploded in your husband and the food you were about to eat was poisoned, as he had suggested at the time. Perhaps out of courtesy he was waiting for you to take the first bite and, trying to control the trembling in your hands, you took a portion of the cold cuts on your plate to put it in your mouth. Luckily the food didn't taste different and after seeing that the man ate it with the utmost calmness, you assumed that it didn't contain any poison either.

There was freshly baked bread, jam, some cheeses, the aforementioned cold cuts, a variety of fruits, scrambled eggs with fresh herbs and chives, as well as some stuffed buns for dessert. It was a mini banquet and as you ate it you couldn't help but wonder why this show of kindness was due.

Aegon didn't seem to have any intention of talking and you didn't try to force him, not wanting to either. The atmosphere was one of peace and tranquility, one you had not experienced since your wedding day until now, and it was a very different but strangely pleasant feeling.

It was just a couple sharing breakfast time, but for two people who come from such a broken home it felt like a totally new experience.

You continued in silence until most of the things served were finished, leaving only what wasn’t to your palate's liking or that your body was simply no longer able to ingest.

“Do you need anything else, your majesty?”

“Clear this table, we won't eat anymore,” he said to the maid, nonchalantly pointing to the leftovers you had left. Then he looked at you “Satisfied?”

"I am. Everything was delicious”

“I want us to do the same tomorrow. I will send a maid for you, so get ready soon,” he said decisively.

Then he got up from his chair, stretched a little, and left the room without saying anything else to you.

You didn't see your husband the rest of the day, but the next morning he kept his promise without fail. Although the breakfast menu was different the routine was the same and again it made you wonder what the reason for it was.

The next day he also requested your presence for breakfast and you concluded that he intended to make it a habit. For the rest of the morning you were supposed to dedicate yourself to your activities, but after a week of following that routine Aegon informed you that he had other plans for you.

“I want you to come with me for a walk.”

"To the exterior?"

"Yeah. I have training with Ser Criston but I don't wish to attend, so you will be my excuse. I'll tell him that the princess wanted to go for a walk and that I couldn't let her go alone."

He was telling you that lie almost like a childish prank and you would swear he was about to smile.

“Huh, okay. If you want it, we will”

You were still confused by his actions, because in all the time you had been there it was the first time he treated you decently. You didn't know if he was still drinking in large quantities, but at least when he went to sleep he no longer reeked of liquor in the same way. And all that week he hadn't forced you to have sex with him.

What had motivated the prince to change his way of behaving towards you?

"Do you want to go to the beach? I will order a couple of horses to be saddled for us” he exclaimed when you had already left the dining room.

You couldn't refuse to go to the bay, because in your entire life you had never seen the ocean and your curiosity was greater than any other feeling. Besides, you loved horses, and being with them might even make you feel better.

Aegon did as he told you and soon enough you were in the stable. He had ordered a beautiful white mare for you, with a silver mane the color of your husband's hair and a formidable build.

You approached to pet the animal, carefully, and tensed completely when you felt another body behind yours. Until that moment you hadn't realized how warm your husband was.

“She's pretty, right?”

His voice sounded at your ear level, as he had also reached out to touch Frostfire’s hair.

"She is"

“I guess you know how to ride,” he muttered under his breath and you let out an offended sigh.

“Of course I do. Highgarden is the heart of the chivalry of the seven kingdoms”

After saying that you turned your head just a little and met his gaze, indigo eyes with hints of lilac looking at you carefully. You could feel his breath against yours and at that closeness your cheeks had already turned red involuntarily.

He separated from you and then went to choose his horse, a black thoroughbred with beautiful braids, to get on it and ask the guards to open the door for you. You almost managed to sneak away, but Ser Criston stopped the two of you just before you could do so, claiming that he had a scheduled practice with the prince.

“I'm taking my wife to Blackwater, she hasn't had a chance to visit since her arrival.”

“But your grace, your father…”

“We will continue with training later, Ser Criston,” he said firmly.

“Will you go to Blackwater without an escort?”

“I will”

"That's impossible"

“Don't worry, I don't want to be accompanied. Just rest for now.”

“But you are the prince.”

"Exactly. I am the prince and I want my orders to be respected."

The boy was a smug son of a bitch when he put his mind to it, just like now. The man had no choice but to obey the words and then the two of you were able to leave. You could get there on foot, but Aegon had felt like riding and had wanted an alternative to quickly escape if something went wrong.

You walked along a path that still belonged to the Red Keep grounds, so there was no great danger of being attacked along the way, and you soon reached the bay. It was even more beautiful up close and as soon as you got off the mare you forgot any courtesy towards your husband, as you rushed towards the shore to watch the waves crash. Your pumps and dress were soaked when the water reached your calves, but it didn't bother you too much because you were happy for the reason.

“Have you never been to the ocean?”

“I'm afraid not, your grace. There was never any business that required me to be on the coast of The Reach and I have always lived surrounded by hills and forests. I had seen some rivers, but…”

Before you could continue your story you staggered because of a wave and to avoid falling you tried to hold on to whatever was within reach, which turned out to be the man next to you. He supported you from the elbows with his strong arms.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he laughed. For the first time in your presence, he had laughed “But we should get away from the shore. I wouldn't want to take you back to the castle all soaked”

You heeded the boy's advice and, still leaning on him, walked towards the sand. The sky was slightly cloudy, so the weather was perfect for walking around without any discomfort.

“I've never visited Highgarden, is it as impressive as rumored?” he asked, as he began to walk in the opposite direction of the Red Keep.

Although you never believed that the prince would be interested in such things, you began to talk to him about your hometown with particular emotion. You told him about his surroundings, about the castle and you also told in greater detail the gardens that once belonged to you and were full of golden roses, as was the emblem of your house.

You were surprised by how attentive the boy was to everything you had to say to him and for the first time since your arrival, you didn't feel like a stranger in your own skin. Talking about your home was like remembering a part of yourself, as if you were showing him your insides through stories of the beautiful hills where you had ridden so many times.

“Everything sounds wonderful,” he concluded. The sea breeze had already ruffled both of your hair and he took advantage of this to brush a strand out of your face “Someday I should go visit it”

“Yes, maybe you would like that” you exclaimed smiling. You had come too far and it was time to walk back, towards where you had left Frostfire and Moonshadow tied up “Your grace, may I ask you a question?”

"Yeah"

You opened your mouth to ask him why he was doing all that and why he had suddenly started showing so much interest in you. You wanted to know the reason for his unexpected kindness and his abstinence from activities that weren’t very pleasant for you. But before you could speak, you took a moment to observe him. His skin looked paler in the light outside and his silver hair waved in the wind, however, what caught your attention the most was the serene expression on his face.

Although you couldn't say that you knew Aegon, the time you had lived together had shown you that his personality was extremely challenging. If you pointed out that he was being nicer to you and questioned him about it, he would most likely revert to his old behavior towards you simply on a whim. So no, you couldn't ask him about anything or you'd ruin the minuscule part of a good relationship you had managed to build.

“I was thinking... Do you think we can one day bring golden roses to the royal gardens? Green and gold are part of your emblem too and that would beautify the place. I could take care of them, if you want.”

“That's a good idea,” he exclaimed happily. You had already turned around to return and you calculated that it must be after noon “I will order them to be brought in as soon as possible, in the hope that the hot weather at King's landing will not ruin them”

“I hope not,” you said, although a little less enthusiastic than before.

You had been lost in thought after the appearance of that question that you did not verbalize and suddenly Aegon feared that he had made some mistake. You walked a few meters in silence, until this state was unbearable for his majesty and he stopped you by holding your shoulders. You were about to ask what had happened when he pulled you against his lips, stealing your breath. It was still a rough kiss, but this time less desperate than before. His hands went down to your waist and held you to his body until there wasn’t even a centimeter of distance left, with your belly touching the heat of his stomach.

“Still no signs that you are pregnant?”

You thought that, perhaps, your answer was in that question and that the only thing the man wanted was to convince you to hurry up the matter of producing an heir.

“I'm sorry to say no. It's very unfortunate."

“We'll have to keep trying,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as if he wanted to downplay the matter “Mother insists on it.”

“Has your mother always been like this to you?”

"What are you talking about?"

“It's just… she seems to have everything under control all the time.”

You couldn't be further from the truth and rather than describing it that way Aegon would have said that she was controlling. She wanted to have things under control, but she couldn't and as an example was the eldest prince himself, whom she had never been able to persuade to behave the way he did.

“Well, she is the queen. I guess that's how she must be” he exclaimed without much encouragement. He was still holding you by the waist and was surprised by how intimate that position was. “But we better get back, they must be wondering where we are”

“Maybe they even think I ran away, taking advantage of the fact that you weren't there to watch me,” you joked.

"Would you do it?"

"Do what?"

“Run away”

You looked at the man, incredulous, because it was stupid to think that if you were planning to run away you would just tell him like that. That was the characteristic of it, that it was surprising and hidden.

“Why would I do, your grace?”

“Maybe because I'm a bad husband,” he said quietly. You weren't understanding the game Aegon was playing and it was driving you crazy.

“I wouldn't dare do it. I have nowhere to go and I know I couldn't even get through the doors without your majesty noticing,” you replied.

The prince didn’t want pragmatic reasons like that, but rather his question was more aimed at whether it was your will to abandon him.

Against all odds a couple of raindrops began to fall and very soon a storm had already brewed over your head. It was useless to run, but you did it anyway and Aegon held your hand to prevent either of you from falling due to a trip. Somewhere along the way you lost one of your pumps and at this you began to laugh and he, infected by your joy, did the same. It amused you greatly to think of the face the queen would make when she saw you enter the castle, with her eldest son soaked from head to toe and your clothing incomplete. But you also laughed from the joy of feeling so alive in that moment. You felt like a girl playing in the rain and despite the coldness of the falling water, you felt a certain warmth traveling from the tips of your fingers to your chest.

Although he was sure that you were an excellent rider, your husband insisted on taking you on his own horse to avoid any accidents and you agreed without complaint. His body sheltered you all the way to the Red Keep and once there, under the roof, he helped you down from the chair with extreme care. You didn't think he was that strong until you felt him grab your waist and place you on the floor effortlessly.

“Ask the maids to prepare a bath for you, or you will catch a cold,” he said, putting on your back a cloak he had found hanging on one of the walls.

There was the hint of a smile on his face and seeing him behave like this towards you made you feel weird. You almost felt like he was trying to be affectionate with you, even though he wasn't quite succeeding.

“You should do the same,” you exclaimed softly.

Motivated by the kind moment you had shared, you reached out to brush away the wet hair that had stuck to his face and he shivered at your touch. It was the first time you touched him that way, out of conviction and with care.

“Your majesty, Lord Hand is looking for you. He says he needs to talk to you urgently."

“My grandfather,” he sighed at you, as if wanting to apologize for the words the guard behind you had just said.

He gave the man Moonshadow's reins and then explained that someone had to go get the horse you had left in the bay, so you assumed your presence there was no longer necessary. You were about to leave when he stopped you, grabbing your arm somewhat roughly and looking at you with a feeling that you couldn't decipher.

“I'll go to your room tonight,” he informed.

You felt a little disappointed by the reality of having to share a bed with him, after so long without having done so, but you were grateful that he was at least warning you.

You nodded your goodbyes and he did the same, forming an unspoken agreement. You thought maybe that was why he had been polite to you, so he could get back under your bed sheets. But there was no point in doing it, he wasn't courting you to win your hand, but you were already his wife and he had made it very clear that he could do with you whatever he wanted.

Still a little confused, you were escorted to your bedroom, where you hoped that a tub with hot water and essences would be enough to appease all those doubts that were growing in you.

FIFTH ACT: LOVE

At some point Aegon would get tired of all this, you were sure. But while that moment arrived, you were thoroughly enjoying all kinds of attention you received from your husband. He kept his promise to bring golden roses for the gardens and although the queen wasn’t very happy, in the end they adorned some of the busiest sections of the place. You took that as an act of good faith, so you thought that maybe the thought of repaying him for some of the decency he was showing you wouldn't kill you.

There wasn’t a single breakfast that you skipped, except when the prince was required for political matters or had to travel. You were too proud to admit that you had begun to genuinely enjoy his company, as you still had some distrust due to how temperamental the man was. It wasn't all sunshine and flowers, as the young man still had some outbursts that made you fear him and reminded you that this was who you were really talking to.

His drinking habits hadn’t changed much, since although he was able to handle it during the first week after that period, it was inevitable that he would go back to his old ways and drink an entire jug of wine in a couple of minutes. With sex it was the same, because he continued to fuck you without signs of care and regularly when he was lost in drink. It amused you to think that perhaps that was the reason why you still didn't carry a child in your womb; that he was too drunk when you tried to be of any use.

However, as your relationship strengthened you could notice slight (you almost swore they were imaginary) changes when having sex. He was no longer as rough towards your body as before and tried to thrust into you a little slower, as if he wanted to lengthen the moment and not just unload into you and sleep like a baby after that. Maybe it was just that the drink made him lethargic, but he had even started seeking your lips in the middle of the act or kissing everything within reach of the skin on your neck. You didn't intend to spend much time analyzing his behavior because for you it already represented a victory that he had stopped hurting you after every time you had sex and, honestly, you didn't want to inquire about it. Once again you thought it was more prudent not to question the prince and simply let him continue behaving that way.

Until one night, things looked different for you.

When you heard your husband open the door, quite late at night, and saw him approach your bed, you knew that the same dynamic of nighttime visits would take place. Aegon, already hard as a rock, would kiss you a few times, undress, order you to undress, and then position on top of you to satisfy himself. Needless to say, under the confidence that being in the dark gave you and your husband's lack of interest, you looked away or concentrated on something else while your martyrdom was carried out. He would finish, lie naked next to you, and then sleep soundly with no memory the next morning of what had happened.

Aegon called your name, just to check that you were awake or otherwise wake you up, and you were surprised to hear that his voice sounded quite normal. He wasn't slurring his words like usual.

"Your grace?" you called back, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could look at him.

He did what was expected and as soon as he was far enough away, he started kissing you. You must have known something was wrong from that first moment, when he grabbed your cheek with his wide hand and offered you the most passionate kiss you had ever had. It is reiterated that Aegon was always somewhat careless in intimacy, but this first contact hadn’t felt as impatient as others, but rather was something more careful and planned.

Only one other man had kissed you like that in your life and although the feeling brewing in your chest must have been pleasant, the truth was that it wasn't. You had endured too much abuse from the white-haired man so your body didn't know how to react otherwise. That's why when he continued kissing you for longer than usual and then laid you down meekly, you couldn't do anything but tense uncomfortably.

You were only in your nightgown so there wasn't much difficulty in sliding the straps to the side, almost exposing your tits. Suddenly Aegon lowered his kisses to your neck, where his stubble scratched your skin. Knowing that he would be busy in that area, you turned your head away to focus your gaze on a tapestry on the wall. However, you got a surprise when you felt the prince move away from you and then a bigger one when he took your face between his fingers, placing his index finger and thumb on each of your cheeks to force you to look at him. At first you thought there was anger in his eyes, but after looking at them for a second more you concluded that the feeling was more like that of someone insulted. And why? you asked yourself. What had you done that had offended the prince?

“Why are you looking away?”

His question had a certain aggressive tone, but, at the same time, he sounded hurt. With that you confirmed that he wasn’t drunk or that, if he was, he had drunk just enough to make him feel slightly dizzy. You couldn't tell the way your eyes looked at him, but Aegon interpreted your expression as one of disdain.

Unbeknownst to you, he had his own whirlwind of feelings inside him, one that was driving him crazy and causing him to look you up and down while still holding you. He’d never been like this on another night, so you were at the mercy of knowing how good or bad that would turn out.

Suddenly he seemed upset, you would even say disgusted, and surprisingly stood up from his position. The cold air hit you where he had been before and you sat on the bed to watch him, completely confused by the way he was behaving.

"What's going on…?"

“You don't want this,” he spoke firmly. It was obvious that you didn't want to and you wondered how he had barely realized it. “Not like that… I… no. Not this way"

His babbling confused you even more and when you saw him walk away with exaggerated steps until he left through the door, you couldn't help but feel totally amazed.

What was the reason for what your husband had just done?

The feeling of being abandoned was more hopeless than having him fuck you would have been, and for a moment you even felt ashamed. Maybe he didn't like you anymore or he would just go and cure his frustration in the bed of a woman you didn't know.

He had watched you very strangely and the whole scene wasn't like him. You even pinched yourself just to check that it wasn't some strange dream, getting a moan of pain in response to your question. You thought that perhaps you were acting impulsively, but barely a minute later you put on a green robe over your nightgown and headed towards the door, still not knowing exactly what you were going to do.

“Where are you going, your grace?” the guard on duty asked, putting his voluptuous body in your way.

“Prince Aegon, do you know where he went?”

“In that direction, your majesty. But I'm afraid I must recommend that you return to your room, it is dangerous to walk around the palace at this time."

“But I wish to see my husband,” you said firmly.

The man let out a sigh and then slid to the side of the hallway, leaving you a clear path. Even so, when you started walking you felt his footsteps following you because he probably wanted to make sure that something didn't happen to you. You walked for a while, but you knew it was useless when all you found were locked doors that you couldn't knock on and that you couldn't open either. If Aegon was in any of those rooms, you wouldn't know it. Defeated, you returned to your room and, as expected, found it empty again.

The next morning there wasn’t a single word about that event, but it was present in your mind throughout the day. You had already lived with him enough to realize that something was bothering him, however, upon noticing that he was less talkative during your usual breakfast, you decided to give him time.

You were about to leave the table when he stopped you, asking you to take your seat again and looking at you seriously.

“I have to travel for a couple of weeks,” he informed you. You were surprised to hear that he almost sounded sad “The king is required on some business and since my father can no longer travel, I will have to do it.”

“I hope the entire journey is favorable and the visit profitable, your grace,” you exclaimed cordially. However, your husband didn’t seem pleased with it.

One of his hands slid to hold yours, with a strength that surprised you. There was urgency in his grip, like he needed to hold on to something.

“Is that all you have to say?”

A couple of wrinkles appeared on your brow, as you clearly weren't understanding what he expected of you. Accompanying him would be reckless and you didn't know if he wanted you to keep him there at King's landing.

During those last months something had changed in the man's face, because those eyes surrounded by purple marks no longer saw you with the same aversion as the first time. And it disheartened Aegon that his attempts to please you were yielding no apparent fruit. He was giving you time, effort, and being kind to you like you had said was necessary, but he still couldn't help but feel that you still considered him a stranger.

He had been patient because he thought that, as time went by, you would begin to seek him out or not shy away from his touch. Aegon cared a lot about the physical, so every time he sneaked into your room he did so with the hope that you would welcome him with open arms and give yourself to him willingly. Countless nights he waited in his own room for you to show up to keep him warm and love him throughout the night. But it never happened and a part of him couldn't blame you either.

However, he was already tired of it. He wanted to make it clear to you that he not only wanted to give, but also receive. But forcing you to do anything would ruin everything; you had to want it.

“Have I said something that offended you, prince?”

“I just thought you would say you were going to miss me”

A laugh echoed in your throat at those words and for a second Aegon felt hurt, like you were mocking you. He was going to let go of your hand and walk away, insulted, but you squeezed his hand harder as a sign that you didn't want him to do that.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you. I just didn't think that if I harbored feelings of that kind they would be of interest to your majesty."

“Do you miss me when you don't see me?” he asked now, allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of you “Or are you glad to have me away?”

You didn't know what those direct questions were about, because you didn't expect that a man like him would be plagued by uncertainty about knowing the answers.

“Not at all. I will always be willing to be with you whenever you want.”

“And you want to be with me?” he insisted.

“I think that what I want is not important”

“But I'm trying to make it so. I thought I was making it clear enough,”

He was angry, but not for the reasons you might think. It frustrated him that he was trying hard to improve and that your eyes continued to see him like that first time. Too many people were already observing him like that and he thought that, perhaps, since you were the most recent to do it, you could also be the first in whom he could manage to modify it.

You, however, were still too confused by his signs. Sometimes his attitude didn’t coincide with the intentions he had, since antipathy was often the only emotion with which he allowed himself to express and feel, accustomed to what he received during all his years of life.

All those months of effort were a direct product of the talk you had had with him, of that moment of weakness in which, instead of ignoring him like everyone else did, you had stayed with him. Aegon was aware that the treatment towards you was sometimes inhumane and he couldn’t explain how despite this you had wiped away his tears with such care, expressing nothing more than an act of integrity. Sometimes he even just imposed things on you to see if he could push you to the limit and he was surprised to see that you endured everything with honor and decency. You were good, something he could never be.

He didn't want to hear anything more and then let go of your hand, feeling rejected again.

"Majesty…"

"It's getting late. I have to go feed Sunfyre so he can endure the trip.”

“Will you travel by dragon?”

“How else would a Targaryen do it?” expressed obviously.

You were silent for a moment and then he stood up, ready to fulfill his obligations. In the afternoon he had already left, without emotional goodbyes or anything like that.

You had those weeks alone to reflect on everything that had been happening. You firmly believed that a cruel and evil person would always be that way, even if they hid it, because humans can’t change from one day to the next. Still, you had to allow Aegon the courtesy of admitting that he wasn't being a complete jerk lately.

You tried to think of any unpleasant moments with him during that week and although you found a couple, you realized that they had all been because of minor arguments or simply that one of the two of you had woken up in a bad mood. The hatred for the boy had been so ingrained in you that now it was difficult to decipher how much of it was due to things that were really happening and how much of it was a resentment carried from the past, at the beginning of that harmful relationship that existed between you.

He was no longer a mean man to you, he just sometimes had those logical slips for anyone who has never been taught to love. He didn't know how to care for you, how to talk to you, or even how to touch you properly. He had always existed alone and could still be seen reflected in his incessant desire for you to be the one to look for him, in his longing to know that you would miss him during his absence and in wanting you to look forward to his return. He wanted you to pay attention to him. He needed it.

One fine afternoon the vision of Sunfyre finally appeared in the bright blue of the sky, with you watching from the huge window of your room. He looked majestic, flying deftly and confidently with the rider above him grinning from ear to ear. Aegon had once confessed to you that he loved to fly on his dragon and he spoke about it with a devotion that completely touched you.

You thought about going to look for him, grateful that he had returned, but you were afraid that your presence would bother him or, in that case, that there would be murmurs about you. You didn't want to seem like a desperate wife so you thought it would be best to look for him at dinner time and in case he wanted to see you before, you stayed in your room all afternoon.

Once night fell, you put on one of your prettiest dresses and went to the royal dining room hoping to find him there, but it was in vain. Luckily one of the cooks had seen him and he told you that he was in his room, since he had ordered that something to eat and drink be brought there.

Determined, you made your way there and took a moment before entering. You hoped that the time away from King's landing had not hardened your lover's character, because it would be a shame to waste what you had built for some time and have to start over, or not do it at all, which would be even worse. Since there were no guards at the door, you were able to push the wood without any hindrance and then you saw it.

Aegon was sitting near the fireplace, his back to the entrance and leaning against a table that had a jug that you assumed was full (or not so full anymore) of wine. When he heard your footsteps he turned slightly and when he saw you, he kept a serene expression on his face.

“Hey,” he exclaimed quietly.

“The maids informed me that you were here” you explained and he nodded.

You noticed that he no longer wore his black doublet with the Targaryen emblem, he only kept the breeches of the same color and a mint-colored linen shirt that left part of his chest exposed. His white hair had some natural curls that fell delicately over her shoulders.

“Yeah. I don't feel like seeing my parents.”

“I understand” you assumed that if he hadn't wanted to see you he wouldn't have hesitated to tell you, so you approached him. Undecided whether you should greet him with a kiss or just stay to the side, you placed your hands on his shoulders and leaned a little to look at him “How was the trip?”

“It was good,” he responded with reluctance. “But my body feels completely crushed”

“Hm. It shows” you whispered, amused. The tension in his body was palpable and that's why you began to massage him, pressing hard just where he needed it. Aegon, feeling your skilled hands doing this, let out a satisfied grunt and leaned his head back with his eyes closed.

Doing that wasn’t something you had planned when you went there, it had only happened out of the heat of the moment and the reality that your husband's body was taking its toll on him for the hours he had spent riding his dragon.

With each passing second Aegon's burden felt lighter and lighter, wondering where you had learned those movements and how your hands were strong enough to exert the right pressure.

"Feel better?" you asked kindly and he nodded immediately, eyes still closed.

Suddenly one of your hands slid lower, towards his chest, to caress him. This time your fingers were light as feathers, sending an electrical current up and down the man's spine under your touch. No whore had ever touched him like that, with that force and at the same time so delicately.

But it was clear that you were not a whore. You were his wife.

“Come here,” he said firmly, reaching out to wrap his hand around your wrist and pulling you directly into his lap.

It was extremely painful to admit that he had missed you. He was physically frustrated because he hadn't dared to take any other woman in your absence. It had been a long time since he had frequented pleasure houses, since his appetite was awakened only by being with you.

What the hell had you done to him?

“The cook told me that you ordered some food, but I only see wine around here. Have you already eaten anything?”

“Mhmm,” he said absently. Your legs dangled to the side and one of his hands came up to your face, brushing your loose hair away from it. The other one surrounded you until it planted itself firmly on your belly. “Still no signs of anything?”

“Honestly, I don't know. The maesters can’t say with certainty… I am sorry”

“What if you are sterile?” the mere possibility of it made you nervous and you wondered what your fate would be if that was the case. Aegon didn't look so worried “What a disappointment for Alicent.”

You didn't know how to take that, because on the one hand it could be that your husband was amused by the irony of the matter and on the other hand it was that he would never have wanted to have children with you. For a moment you thought that the tranquility of the environment had been fragmented by this, but it turned out that the man couldn't care less. He was completely focused on your lips, almost as if hypnotized.

“I trust that is not the case, your grace. Just… it was a streak of bad luck.”

“I guess so,” he murmured nonchalantly. He was still watching your mouth when you spoke “But now I don’t care much about that.”

He carefully grabbed you by the back of your neck and brought you closer to shorten the distance, giving you an eager kiss that took your breath away. The hand that was on your waist pulled you closer to his body, leaving practically no separation between you and him. You could feel the desperation on his lips and in his touch, like he was eager to make you his. And at the same time, he was kissing you like he had never done before: it was sweet, yearning, passionate. You felt like he really wanted you.

He separated from you so you could breathe and, as best he could, he maneuvered to lift your body until he placed you on the table, where it was easier for him to place himself in the space between your legs. You instinctively placed your hands around his neck and wrapped one of your legs around his body.

“I longed for you. These weeks” you finally confessed. You heard him, and felt him, breathe more erratically at this because your words had fallen on him with the force of an axe.

From there, Aegon acted solely driven by the feeling of knowing that you had wanted to see him as much as he had wanted to see you.

His entire body leaned over you to kiss you, with the same urgency as at the beginning. While he did that he grabbed you by the lower back, pulling you until your body collided with his crotch which, if it wasn't already hard, wouldn't take long.

His kisses were clumsy due to urgency and after a while he moved away from your mouth to descend to your neck. Sometimes he left a kiss or two, at most, but this time he seemed to want to take his time. His tongue ran all over your skin, freshly washed, and he spread caresses without restraint. Every place the dragon's lips touched lit up with fire and his hips grinding against you weren't doing much for the blush on your cheeks. Inevitably you began to sigh from so many stimuli, right at the level of his ear, which only motivated him to continue.

As best he could he pulled the laces on the back of your dress and it didn't take long to get rid of the restraints. He slid one of your sleeves over your shoulder to begin kissing that section, the same way he had done with your neck. An indiscreet moan escaped you as your husband bit into your soft flesh and you could feel him smile against your skin.

“You're mine, right?” he sighed brokenly. You had tilted your head back to give him more space and he took the opportunity to lower the entire torso of your dress. “Only mine…”

With the same devotion he took care of your breasts and you couldn't do anything but continue alternating between sighs and some muffled moans. You could feel how he longed for you, eager to be able to kiss every inch of your skin even if it took him the entire night. Suddenly your body had become a temple, an object worthy of worship. The prince continued to distribute kisses that each time descended towards your belly, until with one hand he violently threw everything that was on the table and you ended up lying completely on it. Then he walked away.

You were about to ask what had happened when he took care of taking off your ballerina flats and throwing them somewhere far away in the room, only to stretch your leg up to the height of his torso to start kissing it. No one, not even him, had ever done that to you, so it was natural for you to be dismayed. His kisses moved quickly up your thigh and once he did that, he dropped to his knees in front of you. The skirt of your dress blocked your view and when you tried to get up something made you scream. Aegon had bitten into the tender flesh of your thighs, quite close to your crotch and with more force than he had hit your shoulder. You could only imagine his face when he carefully licked the mark he had surely left on you, once again making your chest exhale a moan.

What he did next and the sensation it caused, you could never have even imagined. That mouth, which most of the time was used for ironic puns and sloppy kisses, was now taking expert care of all of your pussy. Aegon was devouring you completely, touching just where it was necessary to make you squirm on the table. He wasn't careful at all; it was a touch hungry and extremely dirty.

You wanted to hold on as much as you could to keep yourself attached to reality, but it was difficult with your husband eating you like that. One of his arms wrapped around your leg and placed it over his shoulder, probably to give him better access. You had never moaned like that in his presence and it only made him harder and harder beneath the tight fabric of his breeches.

The pleasure was barely getting to your head when he stopped and a dissatisfied grunt escaped you shamelessly. Aegon laughed unabashedly at this, pleased at the control he had gained over you, and then went up again to kiss you hungrily. You couldn't do anything but welcome his salty lips and you moaned against him as he leaned against your body and you could feel his crotch, not knowing if it was your own wetness or his that was present.

He held you from behind and, without stopping kissing you, carried you until he placed you on the bed. You considered it somewhat unfair that your husband already had you trembling beneath him and still hadn't taken off a single piece of clothing, but your complaints were silenced when he hurriedly pulled his shirt over his head and took off his breeches in record time. In the same way, he pulled your dress towards your legs so that a second later it ended up on the floor, along with everything else.

He knelt down on the mattress and spread your legs roughly, lining himself up with your entrance. He began to rub the tip of his member up and down your already wet center and that did nothing but drive you crazy again.

When a delicate, pleading, «please» escaped your swollen lips, Aegon knew it was more stimulating to have you begging for him than to worry about only satisfying himself.

He played with you for a while longer, smiling from ear to ear at the sight of his delicate, pretty wife vibrating from having him close, until he finally plunged into you. For the first time there was enough wetness in you that the stroke felt satisfying rather than painful and both of you let out a delicious moan.

He set the pace, slow at first, but after a while his movements became more desperate. He wanted to get to the core of you, he wanted to fill you completely so you knew that only he could make you feel that way. When his body began to ache he leaned towards you, resting each of his arms on the side of your head and looking directly at you. You had stopped looking away from him, now you were looking at him with your mouth open with pleasure, your eyes watery and your pupils dilated on your completely flushed cheeks.

“Aegon,” you sobbed pathetically, clouded by everything you were experiencing and proving that it wasn't long before you reached your orgasm.

You had never called him by his name. You always referred to him as «your grace», «prince» or «husband», at best. So hearing his name come out of your lips like that, under those circumstances, was too much for him to bear.

Knowing that he couldn't last much longer, one of his hands moved down to rest his thumb on your clit and once there he began to make erratic circles. You closed your eyes, completely seized by pleasure and a couple more thrusts were enough to make you lose the battle. Hearing your whimpers, combined with the way your walls squeezed him, was enough to make him cum too. With trembling legs you felt the warm liquid filling you and, for the first time, it was comforting.

When Aegon plopped down next to you, you immediately missed his body warmth. Both of you were breathing heavily, trying to catch the breath that the orgasm had taken from you. You could clearly feel your heartbeat bouncing off your bare chest and the stinging sensation coming from your crotch and running through your entire body was something you could get used to. Your hair had stuck to your face from the sweat and not to mention your lips, which you felt were burning from your husband's attention.

Aegon had already had many orgasms in his life so this time he decided to turn his gaze a little to see you enjoying yours. The mere idea that he was responsible for your condition made him completely shake.

“You look beautiful,” he blurted out suddenly. You thought he had heard wrong because of the rush, but from the way he was smiling at you, you highly doubted it. “Just like that”

“Like what?”

“Freshly fucked. Well fucked” he corrected himself.

A laugh bubbled up from within you and you blushed even more, if that was possible, perhaps from the nerves and elation of what had just happened. The man stood up a little from his seat and leaned down to kiss you, although this time he did it with a calm and affection that you never thought you would see in him. It was just that he couldn't deny it anymore; from that moment on he would become an open book for you, where you could see all his feelings, desires and fears.

“I don't know why you're doing this,” you suddenly murmured and Aegon pulled away enough to look at you “And I don't know why you've been acting like this these past few months. But I like it. I think it's a good time for you to know."

“You said I could choose who I am,” he said meekly. One of his hands grabbed your chin and stole another fleeting kiss from you. “I haven't forgotten, every word is present in my head. It's just... sometimes it's hard. And I thought I would have a better chance with you, even with the things I did to you when we got married”

You smiled at him and were happy to know that the change in his behavior was because of the talk you once had with him. If he continued like this, ignoring the demons inside him and trying to be better, then your marriage had a chance to become more than just a condemnation.

Driven by the pleasant feeling growing in your chest you reached out towards him to reward him with a kiss. The man's breath hitched when you pushed him to the side and reversed roles, now you being the one pampering him while he was lying down. There was a playful glint in your husband's eyes as you looked at him.

“Do you know this is the first time you kissed me?” he exhaled softly.

You couldn't believe that was possible and for a few seconds you tried to remember so you could contradict him. But every time you remembered you realized that it was always him who initiated the contact to which you only responded, so, effectively, it was the first kiss you gave him out of conviction.

Maybe it was an omen that something good was coming.

Still happy with how everything had turned out, you snuggled into his side, your head resting on his chest while he hugged you and threw a sheet over your bodies. You planted a hand on his bare skin and began drumming your fingers, alternating with small circles made with the greatest delicacy.

You were silent for a long time, you even thought that your husband had fallen asleep until you heard him speak again:

“It's also the first time I'm doing this.”

“Are you talking about sex, your grace?”

“No, I'm talking about cuddling,” he confessed softly, his hand caressing your back the same way you did with him, “And don't call me your majesty anymore. I am Aegon. Or my prince, at any rate. But my is important”

With the affection worthy of a wife, you raised your head to place a kiss on his cheek and assured him that from now on you would call him that in the privacy of your chambers.

Suddenly, after another moment of silence, Aegon pulled you close to him as if afraid you were going to suddenly evaporate. Intending to calm his fears, you climbed until you were on top of his body, hiding your head in his neck so that the distance became minimal.

There was silence for another couple of minutes.

“Do you think I can ever be forgiven?”

Apparently the atmosphere of the moment had managed to soften the boy's heart.

“We can all be absolved, Aegon.”

"And you?"

"Me what?"

“Do you think you can ever love me?” you were quiet for a second, thinking about your response. Then, he added “Or could you at least try? It would be a nice detail for me. No one has ever done it before.”

Not wanting to ruin the mood with a false word you decided to kiss his neck gently and that was enough of an answer for him. He would have to trust in your goodwill and that he could continue to restrain his impulses to keep this newly discovered gem that was his wife. With some luck you could even be that person he prayed for so much all his life, one with whom he could feel safe.

The slowing of the man's breathing revealed to you that he had already fallen asleep and you discovered that it seemed not so bad to find yourself in that position, sheltered by your lover's arms.

Under that scenario, the idea of eventually loving Prince Aegon Targaryen no longer sounded so far-fetched.

[tomriddleslove]

Blood on Love’s altar.

✩Tom Riddle x Reader

Summary: Tom Riddle did not know he could grieve. But now? He’d give up everything to not feel it.

Warnings: Mentions of Death, Suicide, Self Mutilation (brief)

A/N: 🙂

Song: Dove - Antihoney

Antent - hope to see you again

“You ought to put that away before Professor Dumbledore sees.”

The very first words you spoke to Tom.

First year, 2 weeks into school. It was a Thursday afternoon, to be precise. It was during a transfiguration lesson. Tom had managed to nab a copy of Markov’s ‘A Guide to the Dark Arts’. It was a forbidden book, but one that had greatly intrigued him. He held it under the table, reading.

You nudged him and when he sent you a scowl you did not look away, rather speaking those very words.

“You ought to put that away before Professor Dumbledore sees.”

He just about manages to snap the book shut and shove it into his bag when Dumbledore walks past, the eclectic man giving the pair of you a once over before moving to the next desk.

The second time he spoke to you was in the library a few days later.

“Still sticking your nose in the restricted section?” You pry, sliding up behind him as he startles. He turns to face you, a look of annoyance on his face as he speaks.

"And what business is it of yours?" he retorted, his eyes narrowing.

“You’ve already quite the reputation. Lurking in the restricted section should taint that, no?” You hum.

Infuriating. Nosy. Intransigent.

-•-

“Morning Riddle.” You quip as you walk into potions, taking a seat next to him.

Second year, 3rd day back.

He looks at you but says no more, internally cursing you.

You work on a strengthening solution and accidentally drop a jar of bat spleens onto Tom’s bag.

He debates getting back at you for it, but he doesn’t.

Clumsy. Persistent. Agitating.

-•-

Third year, same scene, same setting.

"Still poking your nose where it doesn't belong?" you tease, sidling up to him with a mischievous grin.

Tom's annoyance flares, but there's a flicker of something else in his eyes, a begrudging amusement perhaps. "You never learn, do you?" he mutters, though there's less bite in his tone this time.

You laugh, the sound echoing through the potions classroom. "Where's the fun in following the rules?" you reply, settling into the seat beside him.

Tom's lips twitch into an almost imperceptible smile before he turns his attention back to the brewing cauldron. Your laugh isn’t awful, he supposes.

-•-

Fourth Year, Charms. The sun was particularly nice that day. It casts a lovely glow on your face.

Professor Trinfort announced a partner project, pairing students for a collaborative spellcasting assignment. As fate would have it, you found yourself paired with Tom Riddle.

You exchange a glance, nudging him lightly. "Looks like it's you and me," you say with a faint smile.

Tom nods, his expression less guarded than before. "Seems that way," he replies, his tone less curt than usual.

As the two of you work together, you notice a subtle shift in Tom's demeanour. He's more open to your suggestions and more willing to listen to your ideas. There’s a newfound ease between you, and you don’t say anything for fear of disturbing it. Tom has left one of his books on his desk again. Professor Trinfort was walking past and you quickly grabbed the book, hiding it underneath your bag. Tom notices and looks at you with an unreadable expression for a second.

Nosy. Irritating. Perhaps not too bad, though.

-•-

5th year. You’re not there. Your absence is noticeable in the first week. It’s suffocating in the second.

Tom finds himself searching for you in the corridors, and he cannot help but feel as though something is missing. He values the quiet he now has during lessons, but it’s not as rewarding as he thought it would be. There’s a nagging feeling in him that he can’t quite shake.

He learns very quickly that you’d been attacked on the first day of term and had been in the hospital wing for quite a while. He visits you whilst you’re sleeping. He stares at your weakened form, not moving. It’s odd, seeing you in such a state.

You wake the next morning to news of the perpetrators being withdrawn from school after they all woke up missing fingers. You somehow know who it is.

Tom does not visit you till you are asleep. When he does, he places your book by your bedside. He doesn’t let himself stay for too long, berating his foolishness as he leaves.

-•-

6th Year. Tensions are running high after the death of Myrtle Warren. You’re all to face your boggarts, and Tom notices how apprehensive you are. You chew at your bottom lip, leg bouncing up and down relentlessly.

He places his hand over your thigh, focusing ahead as you turn to look at him.

“It’s agitating.” He mutters, and he can tell how ridiculous it sounds. You suppress a smile and turn back to the front.

He can tell you’re a bit shaken up from the lesson, so he offers to study with you in the library during the evening. He meets you after dinner, spotting you in the far corner.

You’re wearing a black corduroy skirt—a white vest with lace trimmings and a baggy green cardigan. You’ve pinned your hair back with your wand, the end of your quill pressed to your lips as you work. You’re rather beautiful, he notices. He takes a seat next to you, ignoring the smile you beam as you work together.

Hours have passed and he hasn’t noticed, enjoying your company. He feels a weight on his shoulder and turns, realising you’ve fallen asleep. He huffs in annoyance but he does not move, a hand coming up to remove your glasses from your face as he carefully sets them down on the table. You wake up in your bed, your books neatly placed on your desk. You must have come back at some point, you think to yourself.

-•-

“Hey,” You hum, plopping down next to Tom on the frosty glass near the black lake.

“Morning.” He responds, not looking up from his book as he acknowledges you. You reach into your satchel, producing a small thermos flask. You transfigure a pebble into a cup and pour a glass of steaming cinnamon tea for Tom.

As you hand him the cup of cinnamon tea, Tom finally looks up from his book, a faint hint of surprise crossing his features at the unexpected gesture. He accepts the tea with a nod of thanks, taking a sip before setting it down beside him.

"Thank you," he says quietly, his voice softer than usual, a hint of warmth in his tone that catches you off guard.

You smile in response, a gentle warmth spreading through you at the sight of his rare display of gratitude. "You're welcome," you reply, “Cinnamon tea is my favourite comfort drink.” You add, and Tom finds himself storing that piece of information in the ever-growing folder in his brain labelled ‘you.’

-•-

7th Year. Tom is elected Head Boy. You’re a bit upset you didn’t get Head Girl, but you suppose you weren’t that extraordinary. Tom feels otherwise.

You still got awarded prefect and found yourself paired on patrols with Tom.

“Seems like the universe is set on keeping us together. You finally warming up to me Tom?” You tease, grinning lopsidedly as you both roam down the dark, empty hallways. He meets your gaze with a small smile of his own, a rare display of warmth that sends a flutter of excitement through you. "Perhaps," he replies cryptically, though the glint in his eyes betrays a hint of fondness that you can't help but return.

You continue to walk in silence for a bit more till you (stupidly) have an idea. Upon digging around in your pocket you find a Gorpin’s exploding powered parcels, a tiny thing about the size of an acorn that exploded colourful powder when thrown. With a small grin, you call Tom’s name, tossing the parcel at him. He turns around and meets your gaze for a second before he’s enveloped in a cloud of pastel blue.

You laugh at the sight, clutching your stomach as a string of giggles escape your lips. As the cloud slowly clears, a flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, a sudden fear that perhaps you've overstepped some invisible boundary. Your smile fades, replaced by a furrow of worry as you open your mouth to apologize.

But before you can utter a word, something unexpected happens. Tom's lips quirk up into a small smile, and he’s chasing after you.

“Tom!” You laugh, the sweet sound echoing through the halls as you begin running away from him.

His laughter joins yours, his footsteps getting closer and closer as you turn a corner. Your lungs burn, laughter bubbling from within you when you’re suddenly swept upwards, two strong arms wrapping around your midsection.

“Got you. Gonna make you pay for this.” Tom says, an uncharacteristic smirk on his face as he practically hauls you over his shoulder.

“Wait, Tom!” You protest, a yelp escaping your lips as he begins running with you in his arms.

Your protests are ignored as you enter the prefect's bathroom, and the second his intentions are clear you laugh, whilst pleading. He shifts his hold on you so you're being carried almost bridal style, and he raises a brow as he looks down at you.

“Wait, Tom. It doesn’t have to be like this.” You plead, trying to free yourself from his gasp. A smile tugs at his lips as he hums, seeming to retreat for a second. But he then holds you tighter, and in two swift steps jumps straight into the baths (which was more like a pool), sending you both into the water. A small shriek escapes your lips, and as you resurface from the water, laughing and sputtering, you shoot Tom a mock-complaining look. "Tom, you're incorrigible," you exclaim, your laughter bubbling up between your words.

Tom chuckles, the sound resonating in the spacious bathroom as he treads water beside you. For a moment, his gaze lingers on you, admiring you.

"You're quite something, you know that?" he says softly, the words carrying a warmth that sends a shiver down your spine.

Before you can respond, he closes the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss. You all but melt into the kiss, a hand coming up to cup his face, resting in his drenched black curls as you sigh into his mouth.

“Tom…” You murmur.

He’s never heard a more beautiful sound.

It’s nearing a month till your final exams and you haven’t seen Tom for a few days. You venture up to his dorm, knocking on his door.

“Tom?” You call out softly, leaning against the door. “It’s me.”

There’s silence for a second, and then the door unlocks.

As the door creaks open, you find Tom sitting on his bed, looking pale and dishevelled. He coughs weakly, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of surprise before he quickly looks away.

"Hey," you say softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. "I heard you've been under the weather. Thought I'd come to check on you."

Tom nods, his expression unreadable as he shifts uncomfortably on the bed. "Yeah, just a bit under the weather," he mutters, his voice hoarse.

You frown, concern creasing your brow as you move closer to him. "You should be resting," you say gently, reaching out to feel his forehead for signs of fever.

Tom flinches slightly at your touch, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he meets your gaze with a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "I know," he admits quietly, "but I hate feeling like this. It's... frustrating."

You nod in understanding, your heart aching at the sight of him looking so uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I brought you some cinnamon tea," you say, pulling a thermos flask and a few biscuits from your bag. "Thought it might help."

Tom's lips quirk up into a small smile at your thoughtful gesture, a hint of gratitude shining through his usual stoicism. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice softer than usual.

You smile back, and Tom shuffles over to give you some space. You take a seat next to him, crossing your legs as you pour him a cup of tea. You blow on the tea to cool it slightly, taking an experimental sip to ensure it’s not too hot. When you're satisfied with the temperature, you hand the cup over to Tom. He twists it around to make sure his lips touch the same part of the cup yours did. It faintly tastes of cherry lip balm.

You don’t notice the gesture.

You lean back against the headboard, legs outstretched in front of you as you stare up at his ceiling.

“You should go. You’ll get sick.” Tom murmurs, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic apprehension that has you smiling.

“It’s fine.” You smile. You shuffle down slightly and very carefully place your head on Tom’s chest.

He tenses for a second but relaxes soon after. His hand hesitates for a moment before tentatively coming to rest on your shoulder, his touch light and cautious as if unsure of whether he's allowed to show such vulnerability.

"You don't have to stay," he murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper, but you can hear the underlying plea in his words.

You shake your head, a small smile playing on your lips as you nestle closer to him. "I want to," you reply simply, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, banishing the chill of the room.

“You shouldn’t.” He repeats, and his words are undoubtedly laced with an underlying meaning that should warn you.

But if you realise that, he certainly can’t tell. You simply close your eyes and speak.

“I’ve never been the best at listening, have I?”

-•-

Exams are over, and graduation day arrives. Tom feels a conflicting mix of emotions swirling within him, and he hates the fact he’s grappling with things he shouldn’t be worried about. On one hand, there's a sense of relief that he won't have to worry about dragging you into the complexities of his life any longer. The thought of you being free from the burdens and dangers that often accompany his endeavours brings him a measure of solace.

Yet, at the same time, there's a pang of sadness that ebbs away at him when realizes that this may be the last time he'll see you. The prospect of saying goodbye, of parting ways, suddenly becomes unthinkable, and he feels a little sick.

As he scans the crowd of graduates, his gaze eventually lands on you, a soft smile gracing your lips as you chat animatedly with your friends. For a fleeting moment, he considers approaching you and saying goodbye properly, but the fear of attachment holds him back.

Instead, he watches from a distance, silently wishing you well. As the ceremony draws to a close and the graduates begin to disperse, he turns to leave, only praying you’ll never have to see him again.

But just as he's about to turn away, you catch his eye, a knowing smile playing on your lips as you make your way over to him. "Hey, Tom," you say softly, your voice filled with warmth and affection.

Tom's heart skips a beat at the sight of you, his resolve wavering in the face of your unwavering presence. "Hey," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile up at him, a glimmer of mischief dancing in your eyes. "Trying to run away? You know, you won't get rid of me that easily," you tease lightly, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand.

Tom's lips twitch into a small smile, a flicker of hope betraying his rationale at your words. "I certainly hope not," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

You lean up on your tip toes, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. You pull back and a small laugh escapes your lips, rubbing the faint lipstick mark it left.

Nosy. Irritating. Beautiful.

Tom doesn’t see you for a year after that.

A hesitant knock at the door of your dingy little flat nearing 1:00 am has you alert, and slightly on edge. You reach for your wand, carefully treading towards the door so as to not alert a potential intruder of your presence. You peer through the peephole, and you feel as though your world stops when you see Tom outside.

Hastily undoing the wards and spells that enchant your flat, you unlock the door and Tom all but collapses into your arms.

He reeks of dark magic, and you know. You’ve always known, really. What other mind could be so sadistically brilliant, who else would be able to crumble the Romanian Ministry of magic in a mere week?

You pull Tom into your flat, closing the door behind him as you guide him to the nearest chair. He looks drained, his usually sharp features drawn and weary. Blood stains his clothes, tension evident on his face.

You set to work immediately, inspecting the various wounds all over his body as you frantically recite healing spells, rummaging through a small leather trunk filled with an assortment of vials.

Tom observes you through half lidded eyes that threaten to permanently shut.

He always knew you’d become a healer. He had known since that day you came into his dorm and took care of him when he was ill. He had known since that day you had found an injured crow lying by the side of the greenhouse and nursed it back to full health in a mere hour.

You preserved lives, he took them.

“Up.” You murmur, pulling the hem of his shirt. He obliges, pulling his lead-like arms up as you unbutton his shirt and pull it off. You frown at the scars that mar Tom's chest and he wants to laugh.

Don’t stress over me, sweetheart. It’d be better off for you if I were dead.

He no longer flinches at your touch as you trail your hands down his chest, murmuring spells that alleviate the ache. You're exhausted by the time you're done, slinging Tom’s arm over your shoulder as you help him walk over to your bed.

He settles onto the bed with a heavy sigh, his body sinking into the mattress as if it's the first time he's allowed himself to truly relax in ages. You gently place your blanket atop of him, your brow furrowed as you take a seat at the edge of your bed.

You brush a strand of hair away from his forehead, his eyes drifting shut as exhaustion finally overtakes him. You watch over him for a while longer, lingering by his bedside as he slips into a fitful sleep.

You can't help but wonder how things came to this. How the boy you once knew, the one who had captured your heart with his sharp wit and brilliant mind, had become so lost.

You slide into your bed beside him and turn over, your back facing his. You let your eyes shut and find yourself falling asleep.

You wake up in the morning, and you know before you even turn around. Your bed was empty, barely a trace of warmth left. You had to be sure you didn’t dream last night's events, padding into the kitchen as you yawn.

A singular cup of warm cinnamon tea is there. You smile softly as you take the cup.

You didn’t see him for another two years after that. The news got worse and worse. Attacks were often and many. People were scared to leave the house.

Just when you've almost given up hope of ever seeing him again, there's a knock at your door in the dead of night. You're startled awake, heart pounding as you stumble out of bed and rush to answer it.

As you swing the door open, you're met with the sight of Tom standing there, looking worse for wear. His clothes are torn, his face bruised and bloodied, and it feels like a scene all too familiar.

Without a word, you reach out and slap him across the face, the sound echoing in the silence of the night.

Tom's startled reaction is almost comical, his hand flying up to his cheek as he recoils from the force of the blow. He stares at you in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief as he tries to process what just happened.

You glare at him, your fists clenched at your sides as you let out a string of curses, venting all the frustration and anger that has been building up inside you for years.

"You can't just waltz in and out of my life whenever you please," you spit out, your voice trembling with emotion. "You can't just show up here, covered in blood and bruises, and expect me to drop everything and help you."

Tom opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a sharp gesture, your eyes blazing with determination.

"But you know what the worst part is?" you continue, your voice dropping to a whisper. "The worst part is that no matter how angry I am, no matter how much I want to hate you, I can't. Because despite everything, I still fucking care about you! I sit there, and I read the news, and every day I pray it’s not your death I’m seeing. Do you know how fucked up that is?"

For a moment, there's silence between you, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air.

"I know," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a kiss, his lips pressing against yours with a desperation that takes your breath away.

You melt into the kiss, your anger melting away as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. Despite everything, you know that you can't stay away.

For better or for worse, you're his weakness, and he's yours.

He pulls back and you have to resist the urge to dissolve into tears, bottom lip wavering as he pulls you into his chest.

“Don’t you dare leave. Don’t you dare fucking leave.” You tremble into his chest, and his heart pangs at your plea as he speaks.

“I won’t.”

He stuck to his word. He hated you for it. But he hated himself more. Because every second he stayed, was only binding you more and more to your demise. He was killing you, he knew it would happen, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

You erode his being, taking away everything that he was sure he was certain of. There were many times he would contemplate simply killing you, ridding himself of this foolish weakness that was causing him so much turmoil. A single look at you and Tom knew that there would be little to no meaning for immortality if you weren’t to be there beside him.

Tom would disappear for days on end, and you’d hear about an attack shortly after. He’d always come back. You turned a blind eye to his actions, ignoring the furious accusations of corpses that lay there in your name.

Truthfully, you could stop him. You knew that you could turn him in, and he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you. But you didn’t, and so by association every person he killed had their blood on your hands too.

You had been called by Tom at the crack of dawn one morning. His voice echoed through your head, waking you from your slumber.

Clifford close. House 17.

You apparate without second thought, your eyes widening as you take in the scene.

Tom is standing there, covered in blood that you’re sure is not his. You turn around and spot another person, a frail old man who can barely look up.

The frail old man's plea is cut short as a burst of green light erupts from Tom's wand, ending his life in an instant. You watch in horror as the life drains from the man's eyes, a sickening realization settling in the pit of your stomach.

Tom turns to you, his eyes gleaming with a dark intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. Without a word, he turns his wand to you, muttering something that knocks you straight out.

He knows that making you a Horcrux is a drastic and irreversible decision, one that will bind your soul to his for eternity. But at the same time, he can't bear the thought of losing you.

The idea of immortality without you by his side is unbearable, and he knows that making you a Horcrux is the only way to ensure that you'll always be together. It's a selfish decision, born out of desperation and fear of losing the one person who has come to mean everything to him.

A sense of self-loathing creeps in. He knows that making you a Horcrux will condemn you to a life of despair, but he can't shake the feeling that he has no other choice.

When you awaken, you find yourself back in your apartment, the events of the previous moments feeling like a distant nightmare. Tom is sitting beside you, his expression unreadable as he watches you stir.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

You blink in confusion, trying to make sense of what just happened. You recall the sight of the old man dying before you and slap a hand over your mouth, stumbling out of bed as you rush towards the bathroom. You collapse over the toilet bowl, retching. Your eyes sting, and you don’t hear Tom coming in until you feel a comforting hand on your back, one holding your hair up.

“Get the fuck off me.” You snap, pushing him away with a weak shove as you cough.

Tom steps back, his brows furrowing in concern. "What happened?" he asks, his voice tinged with worry.

You whirl around to face him, your anger boiling over as you shout, "You killed a man in front of me!"

He takes a step towards you, his voice cool and collected. "You must have been imagining things," he asserts, his tone firm and unwavering. "We were home all night yesterday."

Your hands tremble with anger and disbelief as you glare at him, tears blurring your vision. "You're lying!" you sob, your voice cracking with emotion. "You're making me seem crazy!"

Tom's gaze narrows slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. "I assure you, I am not," he retorts, his voice tinged with impatience. "If you don't believe me, use Legilimency on me. Check for yourself."

You close your eyes, muttering legilimens under your breath. You probe into his mind, and he doesn’t keep his guard up.

In Tom's mind, you see a vividly detailed memory of him being home all night. He sits with you by the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in hand, engrossed in a book. You drink with him, a drunken giggle escaping your lips as you kiss him.

As you pull away from his mind, a sense of dread washes over you. The memory he showed you is so convincing, so detailed, that you find yourself doubting your own recollection of events.

You come back to this reality, blinking as you suck in deep breaths.

Tom's expression softens slightly, a hint of sympathy in his eyes as he reaches out to gently touch your shoulder. "It's alright," he murmurs reassuringly. "You had quite a bit to drink last night. You're probably just tired."

You nod, though you can’t rid yourself of the nagging feeling within you. Slowly sitting up, you follow Tom back to your bedroom. You lay back down in bed with him, convincing yourself it was a nightmare.

The second you close your eyes, the man calls out to you.

It’s very real.

In the following months, the cycle of Tom's disappearances and reappearances continues, each time leaving you more drained than before. You watch helplessly as he delves deeper into darkness, his actions becoming increasingly erratic and unpredictable.

You're alone in your apartment when it happens, a sudden surge of overwhelming emotions washing over you. You double over in pain, clutching your head as a vision flashes before your eyes.

In the vision, you see Tom, his face contorted in rage as he inflicts unspeakable torture upon an innocent victim. The scene is so vivid, so horrifying, that you can barely believe what you're seeing.

Gasping for breath, you stumble back, your heart racing as you try to make sense of the vision. You feel sick, your mind reeling as you stumble back into one of the chairs.

Tom returns in the evening, and you cannot bear looking at him.

You wash the blood off his hands. He could have used a cleaning spell, but he prefers for you to do it instead. To face the reality of what you’ve chosen. To wash the blood off his hands knowing it could have been yours.

You do not ask him about the vision, because you want to delude yourself into the comfortable reality that it was merely a nightmare of sorts.

‘Those only occur during sleep’ a voice points out in your head. You choose to ignore it.

Egged on by confusion and fear, you begin reading. Researching. A mirror image of Tom, hiding dark books from his sight as you read.

You bring it up one day.

You stand in the kitchen, brewing some tea as you speak.

“Is it possible to make a Horcrux out of a human?”

Tom's eyes widen in alarm, a flicker of apprehension crossing his features before he quickly masks it with a calm facade. "Why would you ask such a thing?" he replies, his voice steady despite the unease that lingers in the air.

You don't miss the subtle shift in his demeanour, the way his gaze flits away from yours for just a moment before returning.

You shrug nonchalantly, feigning innocence as you pour the tea into a pair of mugs. "Just curious," you say casually, though your heart pounds in your chest.

Tom watches you closely, his expression unreadable as he takes a sip of his tea. "It's not something that should concern you," he says finally, his tone firm.

"But is it possible?" you press, your voice tinged with determination.

Tom's jaw clenches, his gaze hardening as he meets your eyes. "Yes," he admits reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it's a dark and dangerous magic, not something to be trifled with."

You nod slowly, your mind whirling with possibilities. "I see," you murmur, though you're already formulating a plan in your head.

You reach for one of the barely touched knives nestled in the drawer you had open and without second thought stab it straight through your hand.

Tom immediately drops the cup he holds, rushing over to you.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He exclaims, eyes wide with disbelief as he stares down at the gruesome sight.

You grit your teeth, a pained sob escaping your lips as you yank the knife back out, and Tom’s heart is pounding at the sight of your blood dripping onto his hands.

“[Name], please. Stop-“ He pleads, stammering as he tries to staunch the bleeding.

You watch in disbelief as your skin begins to heal itself together, an almost grotesque sight. It seals together, and in no less than a minute it’s completely healed, not a scar in sight.

Your stomach fills with dread, eyes widened in betrayal as you look up at Tom. His gaze meets yours, guilt riddled in his eyes as you snatch your hand away.

"Fuck," you shout, your voice filled with a mix of pain and fury. Tears stream down your face as you struggle to process the revelation. "You... you made me a fucking Horcrux?!"

Tom's face pales, his own emotions mirroring the turmoil within you. He takes a step forward,

"I... I didn't mean for this to happen," he stammers, his voice laced with desperation. "I never wanted to hurt you."

But your rage consumes you, and you lash out at him, your voice filled with venom. "You ruined me, you fucking monster!" you scream, your words echoing through the room. "How could you do this to me? How could you use me like this?"

Tears mix with your words as you continue to berate him, your emotions spiralling out of control. You feel a searing pain deep within your chest, reaching out to shove him.

“I’m sorry. I thought it would work out! You’ll be immortal! Can’t you see it’s-“ He starts, and you snap.

"Sorry won't fix this!" you cry out, your voice breaking. "You've destroyed me, Tom. I can never be whole again."

He doesn’t know what to say, remaining silent as he tries to reach out to you.

“Get out!” You scream, reaching for your glass as you throw it in Tom’s direction. It smashes against the wall behind him, but he can’t look away from you.

He ruined you. He really did.

"Get the fuck out!" you scream, your voice filled with venom. You grab whatever is within reach and hurl it in his direction. Books, vases, anything that can cause damage. Each object crashes against the walls, shattering into countless pieces.

Tom has never felt like crying before, but this might be the first time he does. He turns and leaves, for he can’t bear to face what he’s done to you.

He was weak, after all.

You sink to the ground, your body racking with sobs as you hide your face in your hands.

What a cruel thing it was. Even if you wanted to, you could never permanently rid yourself of Tom.

You claw at your chest, as though you can just pull the fragment of Tom’s soul that was bound with yours.

You feel trapped, imprisoned within your own body. Your heart aches with a profound sadness, knowing that you were both beyond redemption. If only you hadn’t warned him that day if only you weren’t selected as a prefect, if only you didn’t try to save him.

Tom hasn’t heard from you for weeks. He doesn’t dare intrude either, no. He had already done enough damage.

The date is permanently engraved in his mind.

August the 17th. 7:03 pm.

He feels a searing pain in his chest. His hand comes up to clutch his heart as a pained groan escapes his lips. He can’t see for a second, his vision blurred.

Every breath is a struggle as he clutches his chest, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

The realization hits him like a tidal wave.

A Horcrux must have been destroyed. He only had two to date.

One was the ring engraved with his family sybil, which he wore on his hand.

The other?

Fear grips him, a fear he has never known before.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

He all but stumbles upwards, his mind focusing on one image as he apparates without a second thought. He appears at the door of your flat and doesn’t entertain the idea of knocking, bursting through the door with such force it splinters.

“[Name]?” He calls out, his voice a desperate plea as he searches through the eerily quiet apartment.

His heart pounds in his chest, his breaths shallow and rapid as he calls out your name, his voice laced with desperation and urgency.

"[Name]?" he repeats, the sound of his voice echoing through the silent space. There is a sense of foreboding, a heaviness in the air as he navigates the chaos, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow.

His footsteps are quick and purposeful as he moves from room to room, his senses heightened, attuned to any flicker of your presence.

Finally, his gaze lands on a small table, and there, amidst the disarray, he sees a letter addressed to him. His heart skips a beat as he snatches it up, but within the depths of his mind, he knows what the contents of the letter will read.

Tom.

You by no doubt will know by now. I must preface by saying that I hate you. I will never ever forgive you for what you’ve done to me.

I remember with frightening clarity the day we had both first met. You were quite rude, but you backed down slightly when I had covered for you. It was then that I knew you must have not had very good people around you in your upbringing, for you were very reserved.

Despite all that, despite the fact that it was a very clear warning not to get entangled with you, I still did.

Year after year, I persisted. I could tell when you got annoyed, yet I did not give up. I was determined to know who Tom Riddle was.

I knew I loved you the day you had stayed with me after that boggart lesson. It’s rather silly, it was quite possibly the bare minimum someone could have done. But coming from you? Merlin, it was essentially the same as being gifted the moon.

I was not oblivious to what you were doing. Even from a young age, I knew of your plans, of your intentions. I suppose in a sense you’re not to blame, for I chose to love you willingly.

I only wish you had trusted me. You may have loved me, but you never trusted me. If you did, you’d have known my soul was already yours. I was bound to you indefinitely, there was no chance I wouldn’t have loved you.

I wanted love, you wanted devotion. They aren’t the same, my love. Devotion would have been me following you to the ends of the earth if you asked without question. Love would have been me not wanting to, but knowing I’d travel further to save you should you need it.

I would have given the world for you, Tom. I just wish you had let me do it on my own accord.

I love you. I always will. I always have. If there is a heaven though, I hope we never meet again.

Do not be afraid to be human. You, out of despair, and fear, and greed, drove everyone away from you. You cannot mourn a loss that you perpetuated. We are all human, flawed and imperfect. You are too. You may try to avoid it, you can split your soul and continue killing, but you’re only deflecting the truth.

I hope in my death you will meet your own. Mortality is a beautiful thing, Tom.

Do not postpone it. Existence has no better gift.

- [Name.]

-•-

It’s rather cruel how he can recall the entirety of your life in mere minutes. It doesn’t feel right, for the only time Tom truly lived was when he was with you. A lifetime, an eternity.

A mere recollection as he stands at your grave.

The rain is harsh, unforgiving. It seeps into his skin though he’s grateful, for some feeling was better than none.

He thought he would be immune to grief. It wasn’t that bad of a thing.

He can’t recall a day he hasn’t thought about you.

He threw himself further into the dark arts. He became more prominent, more ruthless. Many thought he was simply becoming more powerful.

Tom only hoped that in his efforts someone would find a way to end him. He threw himself into the most haphazard situations with the hope that a spell would misfire, that he would make an enemy of someone who would be able to kill him.

His eyes flicker up to the tree that grows above your grave. It was perhaps the first and only time he had cultivated a living thing.

Cinnamomum verum.

His fingers trace the inscription on the stone. Your laughs are buried deep within the recesses of his mind. They echo everytime he steps foot into your apartment.

It had been 6 years since you were found dead. He hasn’t touched a single thing. He sees life in your unmade bed, in the plants that he has an elf tend to. He keeps your necklace on him at all time, rolling the small pendant between his fingers when he finds himself thinking of you.

He forgoes tending to his own wounds. If it killed him then so be it.

There is not a day that goes by when he doesn’t read your letter.

Losing you was beyond losing a piece of his soul.

It was losing everything.

[armyoftheforgottenruler-blog]

just a small part of the self destructive/ suicidal reader fic

How many times have you been here? How many times has you tub been stained red with your own blood? that's a question you can't bare to think about, how did your life end up like this. that's a question you can answer it started back when you still loved your so called ‘mother and father” just thinking about them makes you feel sick like fresh ink being poured down your throat you hated them but it wasn't always this way when you were younger you loved them you trusted them but after a while the fights started turns out your dear old “dad” wasn't satisfied with your “mother” and started to see another Older woman not that you can blame him that girl was a nut case and after he left your “mom” wanted something to take away the pain and then suddenly you were diagnosed with many “mental illnesses” and was “given” pills that you never took soon she became more and more aggressive she never left a mark on you but her words made up for it each insult became harder and harder to heal from until she left one of her used razors out at first it was an accident… it always was you just wanted to throw it out but you sliced your fingers and it hurt but it distracted you from what your mother said if only for a moment. soon your dresser was filled with sweaters and jeans after all they covered you up the most you didn't want others to see your scars you were already picked on because of your parents divorce you didn't want to give them more ammo. yet the pain soon became addictive since it was the only thing in your life that you could actually control and your body became litter with scars and cuts most of them were on your arms and thighs each one perfectly lined up with the next over time your ‘bad’ habit became a crucial part of your life you would spend at least 30 minutes marking up a new or old section of your body when you were 18 and got kicked out by your “mother” you got an apartment and thats when things got a better more interesting the first thing you did when you became an adult was to get a good job and pay your apartment rent and then then next thing you got was a phone it wasn't the best model known to man kind but it was good enough for you and a month or two after that you discovered a neat little game called genshin impact and it took an extremely long two seconds before you became in loved with this world everything even the monsters were cute and their colors vibrant and each character was so cool, cute, or hot now since you started at 3.0 you didn't have any “good” Characters but you didn't care when ever you had a character you treasured them and you had habit of staying up till 12:00 researching about them and try to model your gameplay style after that oh ganyu and lisa are vegetarian well you'd stop serving them the sweet maddams and grilled tiger fish oh qiqi hates warm places and things well dragon spine was just waiting to be explored with proper safety precautions of course but under all the code and pixels there was something that you didn't see something brewing they became aware of everything you did even the NPCs and monsters became aware and soon they saw you and everything you've done for them even if it sometimes scared them with how In loved with each of them you were after all they saw you cut those cuts were different from the ones you usually do these cuts were for getting them killed or hurt when you were playing with them or for failing to pull for them or their signature weapon but what made them worry for you the most was when you would cut their names on your body every new character was a new name.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 3.2

The thing is Paul just physically can't say what he feels. It's just an impossibility for him. So if he says reading a negative article about himself “doesn't help” or “it's not good” but it “doesn't get home” I just assume he means ‘It hurts, but I can't think about that too hard or I'll go into a self-hate suicidal spiral again’. 

I always love how Paul says Linda. “Linder is er, nature mad.” 

She!!

Hearing Paul talk about watching Mary be born makes me wonder if John was there with Sean? Also I wonder if Linda would talk about the experience so glowingly. Probably. She's tough as nails. I had a lovely experience, personally, after the epidural lol

“Dear friend . . . I'm in love with a friend of mine.” This is such a strange and beautiful song. It's a man who has to apologize to his friend for falling in love with someone else. At least, that's my interpretation. What's everyone else's?

I understand why he's so closed off. I do. But when John is going off every five seconds, we're missing half the picture here and it's turning out warped. They really are such a good study of attachment honestly.

“Nothing will ever break the love we have for each other.” White-knuckling my way through this section with this quote clenched in my fist.

Yoko, talking about John fighting with Paul: any couple will go from swearing to kissing and it's like that. What favors are you doing yourself here, babe? Maybe John's the PR mastermind between the two of them.

I find John's comparison of working with his romantic partner to being ambidextrous very confusing. Does he mean just doing two things at once?

“If I can't have a fight with my best friend, I don't know who I can have a fight with.” -- Intro slutty gender-fluid Wings Paul my beloved -- “Tell me why, why, why do you treat me so bad? So bad? When you're the best friend a man ever had?” I heard on some podcast somewhere. Someone was going on about how forward-thinking the Beatles were to refer to the women in their songs as “friends”. And I was like, nununununu do not give them that credit.

This is just soooo. In this era? 90 minutes in the middle of a recording session?

John: Sorry, my estranged fiance is calling, gotta take a break. Guitarist: again? Drummer: how estranged can they be if they call every three minutes? Yoko: should we just record the other parts or . . . John: (receiver cradled to his cheek, lovesick grin on his face) Hey, how was Heather's school program? Haha, yeah, I bet she was.

Okay, so you've made up with Paul and now you're done being homophobic? *Cardi b voice* well that's suspicious. 

The fact that John's asking Paul to play on stage with him in 1972?? Ugh! If it was just about legalities and money and shit I would be genuinely so pissed at Paul for not going. If only because Come Together sounds incredibly lame without his bass and piano. But also for the obvious fix-it reasons. I have to remind myself of how truly awful Klein was. By being the only one to stand firm against him, Paul actually ended up saving them all from a lot of trouble. But gosh would this have been good!

Things normal people say, for sure, for sure.

Okay in my head it went like this. John calls George and bitches about what an egomaniac Paul is because he won't do anything with him as long as Klein is involved. George gets off the phone and calls Ringo and they make a bet as to how long it is until John decides they should get rid of Klein. 

“Where's your audience, Paul?” “In the theater, Dave.” As he should. The cuntiness is unparalleled. Yeah, maybe people like to see a family friendly eclectic magic pixie sexy hard rock floor show? Ever thought about that, Dave?

Anyway, he seems genuinely pissed when the interviewer even mentions the other Beatles and he refuses to even admit he still talks to any of them. Why? 

John's just so benevolent and selfless. He's completely straight, of course, but he's always offering to do gay shit. You know. To be nice. 

I forget that not only was May their literal employee, but she was ten years younger on top of that. And yet, she managed to do so much good in that relationship. I have so much respect for her. 

There's obviously a lot going on behind the scenes that they don't say in interviews. Duh. But I wonder what it is that caused Paul to be so open and happy in this interview where he's asked about the other Beatles compared to before. I wonder if he and John had a really lovely talk, or if he's heard a demo of “I know, I know.” Or maybe it's just he's so reassured that they've got rid of Klein that he feels safe acting open to a reunion on record. Who knows, Yoko. 

So so smart to pair “In My Life” handwritten lyrics with the matching lyrics of “I know I know” playing at the same time. I forget about that connection (“I love you more”) because it's so overshadowed by the “than yesterday” right after. I seriously wonder if John thought he was being so obvious with this one the way he was with HDYS and half hoped people would ask him if it was about Paul and he could make up for the whole thing. Because it's just so heavy-handed. It's beautiful. I love it. I'm sure Paul loved it. But yeah. John's just beating us over the head with the references here. 

I also wonder (very tentatively!!!) if Paul was maybe a bit more emotionally vulnerable with John than we usually think. I would never think this except for the “you know I nearly broke down and cried” “I'm sorry that I made you cry” and “no more crying!” I don't know. What do we think? 

His little baby smirk. It's so silly and cute. He's being very positive about getting back together, and the interviewer asks if John would initiate that. Just a very coy, “a, well, I couldn't say.” I wonder if at that point if he'd said on live tv that he wanted to get together again if it would've happened. Seems like it might have, but I understand him being scared. 

Elton John taking pictures like a fan and John: I wanna impound all those photos till I get me green card. What a random idea for a commercial. I love it, obviously, it's hilarious. I wonder who thought of it. 

This doc is so good at implication. The smirk as “loving in the palm of my hand” plays. That's not a reference to hand jobs, is it? Certainly not talking to someone with beautiful hands?

Everyone go look up Nineteen Hundred Eighty Five on YouTube. The singing sex is something else, yeah, but I'm always so blown away by the piano part. The fact that he's self taught and doesn't read music and this man will go on to compose symphonies. 

[kwamiwayzz]

After reading AverageAstronaut's fic (aka spaceboyden on Tumblr), the artist-Nicole headcanon has also occupied my brain. Artist Nicole was also a thing I was thinking about after the pilot came out.

The way I imagine it is after the route from the first game where Nicole ditches Crispin to go to the concert with him and decides to try and off herself (but then her mom catches her and sends her to the mental ward).

Jecka and Emily haven't heard from Nicole in a few days. They both get a little concerned and decide to go to Nicole's house to check in on her, but then they hear from her mom that she's been sent to the mental health facility after attempting. The two are worried and guilty for even suggesting to the suicidal girl to try and off herself. However, Jecka feels an extra layer of guilt because she didn't take Nicole's issues, that led up to her resorting to attempting, seriously.

Nicole's mom isn't really giving them details on where Nicole is staying (either out of being overprotective or just not caring that Nicole needs her friends that aren't just people from the mental health ward). But Emily figures out a way to trace where Nicole is at.

When they go to visit her, Nicole is surprised that she even has any visitors since her mom hasn't made too much of an effort to check in on her ever since she was thrown in there. She's more hollow and quiet, but still seems to have that sarcastic quip in her. But if Jecka and Emily keep visiting her, maybe parts of the "old Nicole" won't completely disappear from the meds and therapists who pretend they're trying to help people like her.

Nicole says she's stuck there until she turns 18, and Jecka decides to try and visit her as much as she can. Emily visits too during those two years, but with Jecka's guilt (and saviour complex), she's going to try and be there for her friend.

During one of her visits, she sees Nicole drawing. Nicole just tells her that it's something that the therapists recommended she do to "keep her mind occupied" or something like that. She thinks it's all bullshit, but still kept at it for some reason. Jecka thinks it's actually helping because she sees Nicole's room scattered with a bunch of loose sketches. They're filled with a lot of things. Some mundane. Some disturbing. At some point, Jecka ends up gifting Nicole a sketchbook so that her room wouldn't be such a mess.

Years later, after Nicole gets discharged, she ends up living with Jecka and Emily as roommates. She knows she's not "cured" from all her fucked up issues, but it's better than when she was stuck in all those hostage friendships and hopping from state to state with her mom. Having visitors from the outside on a consistent basis also probably helped her from turning into a complete husk.

While Nicole is out, Jecka gets curious about Nicole's sketchbook (the same one that she gave her while she was in the mental ward). When she opens it, she sees the same pictures she first saw (some mundane, some disturbing). There's a lot of messy lines, sketches, and drawings littered across the pages. But Jecka can also tell that there's progression with her art as time went on. She's actually surprised that Nicole kept at it and didn't just stop.

Some pages are filled with sketches of the room she stayed at at the mental ward. Other pages are filled with her mom physically abusing her. Some pages have her violently attacking various men (assumed to be the many stepfathers she has).

When flipping through the pages, Jecka stops at a section where there's all these drawings of the same person.

Wow, creepy much? At least that's what Jecka would say if this was Jeffery's sketchbook. But when she takes a second longer to look, she realizes that Nicole has been drawing her (Jecka) the whole time she was at the ward.

[cushfuddled]

I wish I didn't hate Ed and Stede but here we are I guess

I didn't have time to put a section about this in my review (since it would add another ten minutes onto a fifty minute video hhhhh) but I just gotta take a second and vent about how much I dislike Stede and Ed in season two.

When I watched season two for the first time, I assumed I didn't ship Gentlebeard anymore because I'd...I dunno...gotten bored of the ship or whatever. But when I went back to rewatch season one, I was immediately sucked back into the Ed/Stede jet engine. I loved them through the finale, up until around the middle of season two...at which point I became totally disinterested again.

Even going back through season one clips for this review...the chemistry is soooo strong for me. The only time I got that feeling from season two was like, from the mermaid scene and the finger-stacking scene.

And I honestly think my disinterest stems from the fact that I can't stand Ed and Stede as characters anymore. They're dicks in season one, but ANNOYING dicks in season two, and I guess I just...don't ship characters who make me want to tear my hair out.

In season two, Ed behaves like a petulant five year old with a gun. It's so "say sorry to your friend right now!" "I don't wanna! :(" followed by a stint in the time out chair and a mumbled non-apology. For all of season two, Ed behaves like a spoiled brat, and I really can't stand it.

My friend pointed out that Ed is in a position where he needs to reparent himself. His emotional development likely stopped around the time he killed his dad (when he was still a kid). No one modeled healthy behavior and emotional regulation for Ed past the age of...maybe fifteen? So of course he's gonna behave like a kid. It's gonna be a long road for Ed to learn these regulating strategies as an adult, and I guess...hhhhhh.

None of Ed's trauma excuses Ed from torturing and traumatizing his crew. It feels shitty to find a deeply traumatized character's behavior "annoying," but...I mean. I say this as someone who's experienced suicide ideation myself: Ed isn't real, and I'm not Ed's friend, and so I don't really feel obligated to extend patience and understanding to a fictional construct when that construct spends 90% of his screen time behaving like a stuck up, self-obsessed, capricious, whiny, murderous asshole.

Add season-two-Stede to the mix and CHRIST...Stede—like Ed—was always a dick, but the way he encouraged Lucius to divulge his trauma only to react with cartoonish disgust, cower like a cornered animal, and then flee while begging Lucius to be quiet...

Then Stede decides to veto the crew's decision to ban Ed—their abuser—from the ship ("talk it through as a crew" my ass)...? Oh, and gotta love how Stede-"I've been the cause of death. It changes you"-Bonnet sets a guy on fucking fire and laughs, then kills a bunch of English soldiers with nary a backward glance. Okay. Would've loved some kind of exploration re: that major heel turn, but fine. And then Ed and Stede stand over Izzy's grave—the (mutilated) body of their dear friend and crewmate—and their combined eulogy amounts to "He was tense. Very tense." "Yeah, he was a fucking nightmare. What a guy." How endearing. Season two turned these two bastards (affectionate) into bastards (derogatory) for me and I'm still salty about it. God DAMMIT.

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Capitol Punishment X

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, rape (though never explicit), alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts, swearing, illness, pregnancy, miscarriage

Word Count: 3.1K

Part IX | Masterlist | Part XI

A/N: Sharing this because I think it’s kind of cute. Since the movies don’t dive into Annie super deeply I based her character off one of my friends because she’s literally the sweetest person in the world

“It’s a clock, with a new threat every hour, and every threat is confined to its wedge,” Katniss explained, leading the group to the cornucopia. “Where that big tree is, that’s 12, which strikes every night at midnight. Next is the blood rain, next to that is the toxic fog, and then monkeys. And then at 10, that big waves comes from over there.”

“Okay, so we just stay out of whatever section is active, should be easy enough,” you put together, resting against the cornucopia. You were all then interrupted by a gasp. Turning your gaze you saw Gloss pull a blade from Wiress’ neck and heard the canon go off. Katniss didn’t waste a second before launching an arrow into his chest, another canon.

The other careers appeared as members of your group began fighting them off. Cashmere ran towards Katniss, causing Johanna to move her out of the way before launching an axe into Cashmere’s chest, another canon.

You looked over, finding Haymitch in a sword vs spear fight with one of the women from two. “Duck!” you yelled, pulling out a knife. Just as the woman was about to stab her spear at him again, he ducked, rolling to the side, allowing you to put a knife in her chest. It wasn’t enough to put her down at the moment though, as she merely pulled it out, attempting to throw her spear at you now. But before she could release it Haymitch put the blade through her stomach, stopping her short. Another canon.

And another canon as the body of the other female from 1 fell into the water. District 1 was officially out of the games now. Katniss went to chase a fleeing Brutus and Enobaria but Haymitch stopped her, telling her to let them go.

We couldn’t even stop to catch our breaths as the island started spinning. You were pretty sure you screamed “What the hell?” as you fell, grabbing onto the rocks desperately.

Weapons were flying out of the cornucopia and all you could do was pray nothing would hit you. You could feel your hands slipping as you continued to be whipped around. Fortunately the spinning slowed just as you couldn’t take it anymore. Once it stopped you stood up, immediately becoming dizzy but you didn’t care, too worried about your husband. You spotted him, throwing up next to the water. Not far away you could see some of the others helping Katniss out of the water. You reached Haymitch, patting his back as he finished emptying his guts.

“Are you okay?” he asked, placing an inconspicuous hand on your waist.

“Yeah,” you agreed, knowing what his hand placement meant. “Everything feels fine.”

“Y/N! Haymitch!” Finnick called, “we have to go.” You helped Haymitch up, grabbing a spare sword for him as the two of you followed the others off the island.

You, Haymitch, Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Beetee, Annie, and Finnick all settled in the tree line, Beetee informing you that he had a plan. But before he could explain it you heard a scream from the jungle. “Katniss!”

She stiffens. “Prim?” she yells, running off in the jungle.

“I’ll get her, stay here,” you tell the others, “no sense in splitting up the group more.” You run after Katniss, jumping over hazards on the ground. Eventually you find her, “Hey, what’s-”

You’re cut off by a deep scream. Haymitch’s voice was screaming your name? As you tan towards the sound you wondered if he had followed you and run into a tribute on his way to find you. You didn’t really care as you continued into the jungle.

“Y/N It’s not him!” Katniss called after you. “It’s a jabberjay.”

“Jabberjay’s copy,” you insisted, Haymitch and Prim’s screams getting louder. Another voice you recognized as Gale’s started screaming too.

“Get to the beach,” Katniss called as the mutts started swooping down. They were screaming in your ear, beaks pecking at your skin as you ran. Eventually you spotted the others, your mind not connecting why it looked like they were banging on glass. Once you hit the forcefield you understood. Haymitch was looking at you, yelling something but you couldn’t hear him. All you could hear were tortured screams. You crouched down low, Katniss doing the same, trying to cover your ears and protect your head from the screaming, pecking birds. You felt tears flowing down your face as they continued, Haymitch desperately trying to keep your attention from the other side of the forcefield. You knew he was okay, he was right in front of you, but his screaming and yelling were still torture.

~

From the other side of the forcefield Haymitch was banging on it desperately. When he heard you shout for him he thought you may have run into another tribute. When he hit the forcefield and couldn’t get to you, that was the scariest moment of his life. Not when he was reaped, stood in the arena the first time, or even when he received an almost fatal wound in his first arena. Not when you got into fights your first games, not when you were taken from him the first time, and not even when the Quarter Quell was announced. It was torture to hear his wife scream but not be able to reach you. And when you came into view and reached the forcefield, screaming and crying, that was the most pain he felt. He was desperately trying to keep your focus on him but you were crouched in a fetal position, trying to protect yourself from the jabberjays. Unable to do anything, both he and Peeta sat down, trying to comfort each of you.

Haymitch wondered to himself whether or not the Capitol suspected or knew of your relationship yet. He wondered what the commentators had said when you reunited. It didn’t matter whether Snow was angry you both may have revealed the secret, Snow was trying to kill everyone from 12 anyways. After so many years of torture he wanted to send a “fuck you” to the Capitol, showing them that they didn’t own his wife.

~

You had no clue how long it was until the jabberjays flew away but it was very suddenly silent and Haymitch collapsed next to you, having been leaning up against the forcefield. “Y/N!” he immediately cried, pulling you towards him. “What happened?”

“I heard you screaming,” you sobbed. “I reached Katniss when I heard you yell. I thought you ran into another tribute but it was just the jabberjays. They sounded like you, they were screaming for me to help you.”

“Hey,” he shushed you. “I’m okay,” he stroked your hair. “And so are you. C’mon let’s go to the beach with the others. The water may calm you down.” You nodded, standing up on shaky legs as he led you to the ocean.

You settled down on the sand next to Katniss and Johanna as Haymitch went to find Peeta who was getting water.

“You know Peeta was right,” Johanna told Katniss. “The Capitol won’t touch your sister. If they tortured her or did anything to her, forget the districts there’s be riots on the fucking Capitol.” She turned her attention up to the sky. “Hey how does that sound Snow? What if we set your backyard on fire?” Katniss looked appalled at Johanna’s dare to outwardly defy Snow. “What? There’s no one left I love. He can’t hurt me,” she informed cavalierly.

Finnick and the others approached along with Haymitch and Peeta each cupping leaves of water. “I have a plan,” Beetee informs. “Where do the careers feel safest? In the jungle?”

“Jungle’s a nightmare,” Johanna countered.

“Probably here on the beach,” Peeta guessed.

“And why aren’t they here?” Beetee asked. You felt like you were in school again.

“Because we claimed it, it’s ours,” Johanna stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And if we left they would come?”

“Or stay hidden in the tree line,” Finnick suggested.

“Which in just under four hours will be soaked from the 10 o’ clock wave,” Beetee remarked smugly. “And what happens at midnight?”

“Lightning strikes that tree,” you returned.

“Here’s what I propose. We leave at dusk, we head to the lightning tree, that should draw them back to the beach. Prior to midnight we then run this wire from the tree to the water. Anyone on the water or on the damp sand will be electrocuted.”

“How do we know the wire’s not gonna burn up?” Haymitch asked.

“Because I invented it. I assure you it won’t burn up.”

We all exchanged looks, everyone in the know about this plan except Katniss, Peeta, and probably Annie. “Well it’s better than hunting them down,” Johanna said, perfect in her begrudging attitude. “What do we do?”

“Keep me alive until midnight,” was all Beetee said.

~

Seeing as you all had a little while until you could set Beetee’s plan in motion you and Haymitch found a spot on the sand with Finnick, Annie, and Johanna. “Ugh everyone and their partners,” Johanna remarked in disgust. “Even District 1. Cashmere and Gloss were too close to just be sibling.”

Everyone laughed. “You could always date Beetee,” you joked, looking over at the man still fiddling with the wire.

She scoffed, “Not in a million years. Besides,” her tone became serious again, “I’m not gonna give the Capitol anymore ammo.”

“Fair,” you replied. “They didn’t have the chance to take anything from me.”

“What do you mean?” Annie asked curiously from Finnick’s arms.

“My mom died having me. It’s common in 12, there aren’t any real doctors. We have healers like Katniss’ mom but if you need surgery or something… you’re out of luck. And then my dad died when I was 12 in a mining accident. Also pretty common unfortunately,” you explained.

“You didn’t have any friends?” Annie asked, genuine concern painted on her face.

“No, not really. After my dad died I had to go to school and appealed to work in the mines. In 12 you’re supposed to wait until you’re 18 but because I had no way to get any money, I was allowed to work.”

“That’s awful, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. What about you Finnick? What’s your tragic backstory?”

He chuckled, thinking for a second. “Umm well, my parents had me, they’re both still alive. I had a lot of friends in school,” he shot a smug smile at you to which you rolled your eyes, “and then I was reaped at 14 and you all know the rest.”

“Better to be unremarkable than-” Johanna began.

“Excuse me? Unremarkable? I’m the youngest ever victor,” Finnick cut in with feigned offense.

“With a mommy and daddy who loved each other and plenty of food on the table,” Haymitch mocked.

“Okay Haymitch, what’s your story?” Finnick countered.

“I also grew up poor and then I was reaped for the deadliest Hunger Games. After, everyone I loved was dead so yeah,” Haymitch countered. It was all such sad, tragic information but the way each of you delivered it and framed it, it became a game to see who had suffered the most and each of you wanted to be the winner.

“Johanna?” you asked.

“Pretty much the same as Haymitch,” was all she said.

“Annie?”

She shrugged. “I was raised like Finnick,” she answered shyly.

“So I win,” Haymitch concluded proudly.

“I had the same fate as you,” Johanna scoffed.

“Yeah but my games had 48 tributes,” he countered.

“No I said backstory,” you interrupted, “which I win unless anyone else can beat orphan with no friends pre-their games. No one?”

“Okay fine,” Finnick conceded. “But if we’re talking post-games? I win.” You gave him a look. “Fine we both win.”

“Everyone I cared about was murdered,” Haymitch insisted.

“Yeah!” Johanna agreed. As they began to bicker you wondered if the Capitol was broadcasting this conversation. You doubt they’d allow the country to hear how they killed victors’ families and sold them into prostitution.

Finally Beetee interrupted the argument. “It’s time.”

~

You had helped Beetee wrap the wire around the tree and now it was time for you, Katniss, and Johanna to take it to the beach. “Make sure it doesn’t break, we need the connection,” Beetee stressed for the fifth time.

“Yes, Beetee, I know how electricity conducts,” you gave a sarcastic smile.

“Maybe I should go with them… as a guard,” Peeta interrupted.

You glanced at Johanna. Shit, you needed Katniss alone long enough to make the game makers think she’s dead. Fortunately Beetee stepped in. “No, I need you here to protect me. There are four tributes left, two of which are careers.”

“Why can’t Johanna stay?” Katniss asked.

“Look, it’s his plan,” Johanna interrupted. “Just do what he says.”

“Thank you,” Beetee said, turning back to the tree.

Katniss conceded, picking up the roll of wire. “Wait,” Haymitch said, stepping towards you. He then did the last thing that you expected. He placed a hand on our waist, the other on your jaw before pressing a kiss to your lips. You were surprised but returned the kiss nonetheless. when you finally pulled away Haymitch said, “Come back to me, okay?”

“Of course,” you agreed with a smile that he returned.

“Can we go?” Johanna called. “I don’t wanna be anywhere near the tree or the beach when the lightning hits.” So you complied, following the two girls.

You weren’t walking for very long when Katniss stopped. She tugged on the wire when it suddenly snapped. “Get down,” Johanna whispered, essentially tackling Katniss onto the ground. As she began cutting out Katniss’ tracker you spotted Brutus and Enobaria.

“I’ll lead them away,” you whispered. You threw a knife, barely scraping Brutus’ shoulder. He spotted you as you climbed out of the little valley you were in. Once you reached the top you ran off into the jungle, hoping to lead the careers away. Brutus and Enobaria were chasing after you as you ran around the jungle, gradually leading them towards the beach, away from Beetee and the others.

You were getting tired and you knew you couldn’t keep this up. Enobaria had become distracted by some other tribute but Brutus was still hot on your tail. As you reached the beach you found it extremely difficult to run in the sand given your legs that felt like lead. Brutus had the opportunity and he took it, tackling you to the ground. Hard. You didn’t notice anything at first, just trying to grab one of your knives as quickly as possible. Brutus had dropped his sword as he had tackled you, leaving him to try to get the knife from you. Fortunately you were quicker as you shoved the knife up into his throat, blood spilling all over you.

As you pushed his body off you heard a canon go off. And then you felt it. Intense cramping in your stomach like none you had ever felt. Tears began to slip down your face as you realized what was happening. You could faintly feel blood pooling in your pants as you rolled over, curling into a fetal position.

You felt sobs wrack your body as you realized you were having a miscarriage. You had made it through the games, you were almost to the end but it happened now? Why couldn’t Brutus have just not tackled you? How were you going to tell Haymitch? He so rarely let himself get excited over things but he was excited to start new and have a family.

Just then the entire arena went dark. Not even a minute later there was a hovercraft over you, the death claw scooping you from the sand. Had they accidentally grabbed you instead of Brutus? But before your questions could be answered you blacked out from blood loss.

~

“Katniss!” Finnick yelled just as she released the arrow into the forcefield. Haymitch and he had been running towards her but were blown back as lightning hit the tree, causing the explosion. Fortunately for him and Finnick they were far enough away that they didn’t get hurt too badly but Katniss was still half conscious as a hovercraft appeared, lifting her out of the arena like on of the deceased. “Go!” Finnick told Haymitch as a ladder dropped. “I’ll get Beetee.”

“What about Y/N and Annie?” Haymitch asked.

“Annie is near the other pickup site, Johanna should’ve brough Y/N there too. We gotta go before the Capitol gets here!” So Haymitch reluctantly went up the ladder, following up after Katniss. He looked down briefly, finding Finnick climbing the ladder with Beetee wrapped around his shoulders like a sack of flour.

Once Finnick was a couple feet off the ground the ladder started to be pulled up automatically. As soon as Haymitch got inside, he turned to help Finnick with Beetee.

Once everyone was safely inside the hovercraft, Plutarch made his presence known. Finnick was the first to speak. “You got Annie and Y/N?” All Plutarch did was purse his lips and look down. Haymitch felt dread fill him. “What?” Finnick demanded sharply. “You got them out right?”

“There was an issue. The Capitol found out sooner than we anticipated and were were only able to secure this hovercraft and because you were all close to Katniss. The people on this ship are the only ones we were able to rescue.”

Both Finnick and Haymitch were angry and terrified. “You left them in there?!” Haymitch yelled. “Why didn’t-”

“You both knew the risks!” Plutarch interrupted. “You both knew not everyone was coming out of that arena and that Katniss was the target. I’m sorry but there’s nothing that we can do. We can’t get back into Capitol airspace and the arena is swarmed with Peacekeepers now.”

Haymitch was furious. More so than when he was reaped, his family was killed, or all those times when you were taken from him. If he and you couldn’t get out together, at least you should’ve gotten out. You and his child that you were carrying.

Part IX | Masterlist | Part XI

[wildbwills]

Before he Fell

Hi uh this is the first fic I’ve ever written. I was inspired to write something after reading @the-flaminhos story Real or Not Real (Also they were super awesome reading through it as I wrote so thank you! :3) This is Supposed to be Newt’s and also Minho’s perspective on a bit of their life before Thomas came to the Glade. I tried to make it as close to canon as possible, with the exception of the character Darwin (I made him up) Warning: This does depict Newt’s suicide attempt as well as his pretty dark headspace in the time leading up to it. There is also some description of gore (nothing worse than in the books) So be warned and take care of yourself. 8k words :)

*Newt*

The days started to feel the same. Every morning at the wake up he felt heavy. He had to be shaken and reminded that the sun was up and risin’. At dinner he pushed Fry’s food around in circles. The only time his mind was quieter was when he was runnin’. But then all he could think was of the walls. There was no way out of  the Maze, they knew that much. They’d figured out it’d just been repeatin’ itself, and would keep on doing that for ever and ever. Newt remembered the day where all the runners had sat around a table and laid out the maps, watchin’ the patterns repeat until their eyes went crossed.

Newt felt sweat bead on his forehead and drip down his face like tears. His runnin’ shoes were runnin’ thin at the soles. He’d tell Minho to send another note down askin’ for a new pair soon. Newt reached the last turn in his section. He knew he should keep on runnin’, keep on runnin’ back. 

Instead Newt just stood there with the blood rushin’ to his head. He felt so heavy with all of it. They were never gettin’ out of this buggin’ maze, they were never leavin’ the Glade and every buggin’ month they were just going to send more kids up  here to die. More of them to die until the big stone bowl of the glade was filled with graves marked with Gally’s hack-job headstones.

His watch told him the doors closed soon.

Would a Greiver be that bad of a way to go out? Newt groaned and started runnin’ again.

“You’re late klunk-for-brains!”

“Yeah,” Newt agreed. The doors were almost ready to close, he’d made it out with barely a few minutes to spare.

“Greivers kissin’ your butt ain’t enough for you?”

“Slim it Minho I took a long lunch.”

Minho snorted at him and turned around, joggin’ off towards the kitchens. Newt braced himself against the huge wall, breathin’ in and out. Minho was a piece of work.

When he sat down next to the other runners Minho had already cleared half the plate of Fry’s chicken. Fry was real sweet makin’ them special runner food. Newt looked down at his own plate, it was food alright, and good food too. But somethin’ in him was too tired to eat it. He felt like a piece of klunk for wastin’ Frypan’s hard work.

Minho glanced over at him so he quickly sawed off a bite and swallowed. Minho thumped his back.

“You’ve been real quiet lately, savin’ all your chatter for the next Greenie?”

“I guess so- what’d ya just call the kid?“

“Greenie. Like a fresh little greenbean straight from the gardens.”

“Minho likes makin’ up words doesn’t he ya big shank!” Louis laughed, flickin’ a chicken bone at Minho. Minho made a face,

“You lot use em’”

“Sure we do,” Louis snickered. Minho watched the other boys, smilin’ for a second before turnin’ back to Newt. Minho glanced around as if someone might be listenin’ before speaking:

“You sure you didn’t find anything today? Anything new that might have made you a bit late?”

“What? Mate- I told ya, I lost track of time on my lunch break.”

“Fine. Then what’s got you looking so depressing?”

Newt wanted to punch the look off his face, what wasn’t there to be sad about in this place? George had bloody died not a month ago. Newt could still picture all of the blood. After Alby had killed him he’d still bled. Red blood had spread over the green grass. And none of them had any clue what to do with his buggin’ body. The whole thing made him so sick.

Newt pushed his chicken up to the edge of his plate.

“There’s no bloody way out of this place,” Newt hissed. Minho’s head snapped up,

“We don’t know that, any day we could find something new.” Minho fired back. They were talkin’ in sharp little whispers, pretendin’ not to look at each other.

“That’s a load of crap and you know it. Out of all of the…shanks here you’re the one who’s supposed to tell the truth.”

Minho turned to look at him then, starin’ him down with angry eyes.

“Get your head on straight and be ready to head back out tomorrow, you’re the last person I expect to be giving up.”

Minho got up and dropped his plate into the dishwasher. Newt watched him walk out. Minho was right. Newt was the last person to be givin’ up. So they were all bloody doomed.

That next mornin’ was one of the worst wake-ups he’d opened his eyes to. He felt sick all in his stomach. He’d woken up later than any of the other Gladers. Maybe they’d gotten tired of wakin’ him up. Newt just wanted to roll over and fall back to sleep.

That night when he got back late again Minho was waitin’ at his door again.

“What’s with you?”

“Nothin’ got a late start this mornin’.”

“You know something I don’t?” Minho accused him,

“Mate I’m just tired, get out of the way,” Newt pushed him aside, feelin’ a horrible sinkin’ feelin’ he walked to the side of the wall and threw up. He kept lurchin’ a bit until his insides calmed down.

“What the hell?” Minho walked over to him, pattin’ his back. Newt swallowed the foul taste of his own stomach, wincing.

“I’m good now, I’ll just head on over to Fry’s-“

“Newt!” Minho shouted after him but Newt had started sprinting. Minho’s shorter legs wouldn’t reach him fast enough.

Like a pathetic little buggin’ kid Newt hid. Right behind the kitchen pressed to the back wall tuggin’ on the long bits of his hair that Alby kept tryin’ to convince him to cut.

He shouldn’t be a runner, really shouldn’t. Not anymore, not like this.

Minho wouldn’t make a scene, he wouldn’t try too hard to find him. Newt really hoped he wouldn’t. This was no way to see him.

That night Newt trudged over to convince one of the boys nearest to the animals to trade Hammocks with him. The boy was happy to switch right out of his noisy one. Newt woke the next mornin’ early to the sound of the big rooster screaming his bloody head off. Newt showered that morning, running his face he stared down his reflection in the sliver of mirror they’d hung up in the shower room.

If he felt like the world, the bloody Glade was fallin’ to pieces in his face the least he could do was act like it wasn’t.

*Minho*

Minho knew something was going on. He just couldn’t really figure out what. Newt was acting like a freaking crazy man. Could he have been stung? No way…they turned all ballistic and veiny. Minho watched him carefully in the next week, Newt seemed like he was going back to normal. He ate, slept, and ran like anyone else. Then the shucking alarm went off.

The damn thing rang for about half an hour before anything happened. It was annoying as hell. Even the other sweaty stinkin’ runners came all around when it was time for the box to come up.

“Hey what about what we said last time? About sendin’ a shank down with the box afterwards?” Someone called over the noise of the clanging alarm. Minho looked to Nick, he was standing with his arms crossed looking down the hole with an old man frown. Nick glanced over and shifted his stance slightly.

“Worth a shot I figure!”

Minho glanced at Newt, who was standing with his eyes stuck on the hole, freaking glued to it, the big doors wide open like a mouth.

The box came up clanking and shaking and eventually screeching to a stop.

“Hey, we got a big one!” A boy shouted as he tossed down the loop of rope, Minho leaned over the edge, getting a look at the boy. He was big, built like a bear with black hair and a long face. But the big boy was shaking like a little bunny.

“Hey there Greenie!”

“Is that what we’re callin’ newbies now Minho?” Alby elbowed his side, Minho looked to him and grinned,

“Yeah, Greenies, they’ll water all the plants in the gardens with a big fresh flow of tears.”

“Ay!” Several boys reached out to steady the Greenie. He looked about to klunk himself.

“What’s your name huh Greenie?” Minho asked the newbie, but Niel was already pushing past.

“My name’s Nick and I’m the leader of this fair place.”

“Fair? Yeah real shucking’ fine place!” Gally hollered. Nick glared him down before looking back at the boy.

“What’s your name huh? We all have em’”

The Greenie looked at him with big scared eyes for a second,

“I’m- I’m Mozart.”

Laughter erupted from all the boys, Minho couldn’t help but snicker, that was the dumbest shucking name he’d ever heard.

“We’ll call him Zart then right?” Minho suggested, catching the new boy’s eyes.

“Zart work for you man?” Nick asked, Zart nodded shakily.

“Zart the fart it is!” Minho announced, Alby elbowed him again,

“You’re scaring the newbie, keep your trap shut.”

Once all the supplies had almost been lifted out a boy reminded them of the plan.

“Hey what about sending someone back down!”

“Right, well Nick’s taken Zartie off on the tour,” Another complained.

“We’ll have to wait a month to try this klunk again, forget Nick,” Minho said, looking around. “Okay then, who volunteers to shoot back down in the good ol’ box?” Minho asked, rubbing his hands together and looking around.

“Darwin’ll do it,” Some of the boys murmured. Almost as they said it Darwin stepped forward. Darwin was a younger gangly boy with one arm shorter than the other and a shaggy haircut that was starting to look a bit like Newt’s if he didn’t cut it soon.

“I’ll do it!” He grinned. Minho nodded.

“This a good idea?” Newt asked suddenly, catching Minho’s eye from the other side of the Box hole.

“Figure if they come up safe in the box they can go back down in it right?” Minho shrugged.

They threw the stepping loop down, Darwin hopped right down into it, eager to be lowered down into the steel trap.

“If you see anything start hollering!” Minho shouted down to him before the boys helped shut the big doors.

They waited for the rumble of the shaft. Instead there was nothing, no movement, no clanking.

“Hey I don’t think this Box is goin’ anywhere!” Darwin shouted from inside.

“Give it another minute slinthead!” Gally argued back. Minho frowned.

“Gally slim it, he’s braver than you for being down there.”

“Braver than being stung by a Griever?”

“At least he’s never been stupid enough to waltz into the Maze!” Minho was a second away from screwing up Gally’s ugly nose a bit more. Newt had stepped forward and Alby had put a hand on Minho’s chest.

“Why don’t we all slim it and take that kid out of the box huh?” Newt said

The Gladers watching murmured in agreement, and the doors were pried open. Darwin was taken out, seeming unbothered.

Almost the second they’d closed the doors after Darwin got out the Box started rumbling down again.

“Well that’s that I guess,” Darwin said.

“I mean not unless we chuck someone down there,” Minho joked, giving Alby a shove towards the closed doors. Alby twisted around and put him in a headlock. Minho struggled against him screaming,

“Feed the freakin’ box hole with some fresh Glader meat!” he burst into laughter.

“I’d do it.” Darwin shrugged. Alby let go, Minho stopped thrashing, He looked Darwin in his Big ol’ brown cow eyes.

“You’re one crazy shank,” Minho said.

“No I mean it. Send me down in there, it can’t be too far down can it?”

“Get the crazy dude some Rope!” A boy shouted, and some of the builders were already off to go grab some.

Everyone burst into chatter while they waited. Minho stayed at the edge of the doors. Newt walked up to him slowly.

“You’re not gonna let him do this are ya?”

“Why not?”

“What if that kid gets hurt huh?”

“Look, we’ll get some real strong rope, lower him down about fifty feet, he gets scared craps his little shucking panties and then we bring him up. And just maybe he’s found something important in his way down.”

“Minho,” Newt’s voice was warning.

“Newt! You’re the one who went off about the maze having no freakin’ exit door! Why not try the other options?”

“This is a kid! He’s barely fifteen!”

“Newt, everything is going to be just fine, they wouldn’t give us a box hole and not expect us to poke around!”

Minho bumped Newt’s shoulder, “You get real jittery sometimes, but the only way we all get back to our mommies and daddies is if we find our way out of this clunk-filled hellhole.”

“You’re right I guess.”

“I’m always right, get used to it.”

Minho helped Gally tie up a harness for Darwin. Once the knots were tied down tight and checked three times to satisfy Newt they brought Darwin up to the edge of the box hole and threw open the doors. 

“You ready mate?” Newt asked, Minho rolled his eyes. Newt was probably hoping Darwin backed out at the last moment.

“Yeah, just send me down already!”

Minho patter Darwin’s shoulder for a moment before grabbing hold of the long rope connected to his back. Alby and a few other boys grabbed on as well. They brought Darwin to the edge where he sort of just hopped in. Minho and the others leaned back to balance out the weight.

“You good dude?”

“Yeah!” Darwin called back. All the Gladers had gathered around the rim of the box hole and were looking down watching the dangling boy. Minho watched Newt watch him, his face was tight in a little grimace. If only Newt would relax for ten seconds.

“Okay we’re gonna send you down slowly!” Alby announced down the hole.

“Right on!”

The boys slowly let the rope inch down. He went down five feet, then ten, everyone waited and watched slowly. Ever few minutes Darwin would hoot and they could hear the echo shooting back up.

Then about twenty feet down Darwin started to scream like crazy. The rope got about twenty pounds lighter and all of the boys pulling it stumbled back a few feet.

“Whats going on!?” Minho shouted, the boys watching looked just as confused.

“Get him out of there! GET HIM OUT OF THERE!” Newt was screaming, he ran to the rope holders and started pulling frantically, Minho joined him, it was easy now that he weighed about half as much as before. In a minute they had him out, he was still screaming. The second his body made it up some of the boys backed away in horror. He was sliced clean in half just below his belly button the rest was gone. Blood leaked all over the edge of the box hole. There was no way he was going to survive. Newt leaned down, kneeling next to the boy and holding his face. Darwin was crying. In a moment or two he went still. Newt slowly got up, he turned to Minho and punched him right across the face. Minho grunted and stumbled back a few feet as pain exploded in his entire face. He could have sworn it knocked some of his brain clean out of his nose. Then Newt turned and started walking towards the deadheads.

Minho spent a week in the slammer with a new runner taking over his section. He felt shucking awful about Darwin, he really did. Newts face had made him feel half as awful again. How had he been supposed to know the Box hole ATE people? They’d thrown notes and crap down there every other week. 

Alby visited him sometimes, mostly just to drop off food, but today he stayed for a moment longer.

“How’re you doing in there jailbird?”

“Just fine and dandy, some shucking idiot put a chair with a short leg in here.”

“That was your idea remember? Had a good laugh about it too,” Alby said, leaning against the wall to look Minho in the eye through the tiny window.

“Well I guess I’m a shucking genius then.”

“I’d keep that talk to a minimum for at least a month after what happened,” Alby warned,

“Right,” Minho agreed. He closed his eyes, 

“Tell Newt I’m sorry.”

“I did that already.”

“Well do it again! I mean it.”

“He knows you do, he’s not that mad anymore.”

“Tell that to the purple side of my freaking face!”

“He said he’ll talk to you when you’re not behind bars, then you can sort things out.”

Minho stood in silence for a moment.

“How’d I end up in here, and you get off free?”

“Because I got a big long talking-to from Niel.”

“And I’m in actual jail?”

“A talking to wouldn’t work on your stubborn ass.”

“I guess,” Minho sighed, touching the side of his face that was swollen. It hurt bad. He knew honestly that Newt hadn’t punched him as had as he could have. If Newy really wanted to he could have split Minho’s skull in two. That didn’t stop it from hurting like freakin’ hell though.

“You enjoy your thinking time alright?”

Alby jogged away. Minho groaned and sat back down on the crappy wobbly chair.

When Nick came to unlock him Minho could have kissed his shoes. The slammer sucked big time and cold meals for a week were enough to make anyone feel like a load of clunk.

Mostly though he wanted to see newt, and say a real big sorry.

“Minho,” Nick said. He had this deep drawling accent that made anyone turn their head.

“Yeah?”

“You ever do somethin’ like this again and you’re banished. You and Alby or whoever you drag into your crap.”

“I got it.”

“Look at me,” Nick growled, Minho looked up gritting his teeth.

“You killed that boy.”

Minho felt his stomach swim.

“You’re not running for another week, you’re going to help the new boy in the garden.”

“But-“

“Shut your hole.”

Nick turned to walk away, then paused. 

“And shower, you smell like…klunk.”

Minho showered a weeks worth of sweat off of himself and then went straight to Newt’s door. Alby shared a door with Newt and usually came out first. At sunset the Maze could be pretty freakin’ beautiful. The whole Glade turned red, the sun over the huge walls caught and shone in a perfect way. It’d be nicer if there weren’t freakin’ monsters after their butts.

Newt came out first, panting and jogging slowly he sped by Minho and then slowed to a walk, puffing in and out.

“You’re here.” Newt said, straightening up and looking him over.

“In the flesh.”

“Your face looks like a Greiver’s arse,” Newt joked. Minho nodded, swallowing.

“I’ll give your complements to its shucking sculptor you slinthead.”

“You’re supposed to apologise to me.”

“Yeah, I’m really freaking sorry.”

“Are ya now?”

“Newt I don’t mean for him to die you know that.”

Newt nodded, looking out over the glade with this faraway sad look he’d picked up. Minho tilted his head to catch Newt’s eye, “You good man?”

Newt didn’t answer for a moment, but he snapped back.

“Yeah, sorry about your face.”

“It’s alright, you’ve brought me down to about a regular level of handsomeness.”

Newt snorted, slugging his shoulder gently he started off towards Fry’s.

Over dinner Newt was quiet as usual. Nothing Minho did really changed anything. He could make the other runners laugh until they cried but Newt just chuckled dryly and stared back down at his plate.

Newt had his day off soon, Minho hoped they could catch up then, while he was stuck weeding with Zart the Greenie Fart.

But after their little meet-up outside the Maze Newt seemed bent on avoiding him. Or everybody really. Newt was sort of always wandering away, spending a freakish amount of time off in the Deadheads.

“Did the kid in the…box hole really get sliced in half?” Zart asked Minho quietly one day.

“Yeah, he really did,” Minho said, yanking at a little sprout in between the healthy carrots.

“In half which way?” Asked another boy, one who apparently hadn’t been next to the box when it happened.

“In half, no more legs, no more bottom,” Minho said, ripping at a larger weed.

“Someone said he was still screaming was he-“

“Can’t you shucks stick to farming?” Minho sighed, leaning back.

“Nick said he’s buried him with a window into his grave so anyone who needs a reminder knows not to be as stupid.”

Minho’s eyes widened. Newt’s been in the deadheads for days staring at graves.

“Holy shucking klunkballs- seriously?”

“I’m too freaked out to look,” Zart admitted quietly.

Minho found Alby that night.

“Man something’s wrong with Newt.”

“I don’t disagree with you but seeing a boy get sliced in half is enough to make anyone sick.”

“Yeah but you…y’know actually killed a dude a few months ago and you’re fine.”

Alby gave him a look.

“What I did to George was to keep all of us safe.”

“I know, that’s what I’m saying, and you’re all good now right? Newt’s the one bugging out.”

“Just give him space Minho.”

“What if he’s been stung or something? Shouldn’t we go try and-“

Alby grabbed his shoulders,

“People need time, after I…killed George I needed shucking weeks just to feel like I was Alby again, Newt agreed to our little box-hole stunt just as much as we did, you might not feel like a killer, but maybe he does.”

Minho scrunched up his full face and growled, 

“This place sucks, all of this sucks donkey klunk, I want my memories, I want you all to have your shucking memories!”

“Yeah,” Alby breathed, squinting up at the setting sun, “Yeah, that’s about right.”

*Newt*

Newt didn’t own much. He had the clothes on his back and the ones that sat in a pile next to his hammock. He had a journal too, Alby had handed it to him after a bunch of them came up in a supply delivery. He’d never wrote in it though, never had much to say. Other than  that he had just a few clear, sparkly lookin’ rocks some of the boys had found in the garden and passed around. Nothin’ worth giving away.

It was his day off tomorrow. He wouldn’t have to go in that bloody maze. He’d started to hate the maze, after his little freak out behind the kitchens he’d spent every day inside hating it more and more. He’d always hated it, the big stone walls and the long vines. There was no way out. Never would be. He hoped whoever built all those walls up was gettin’ their laughs in. He really hoped they were.

The maze was as shucking big as it would ever be. Beetle Blades shot out to watch him as he ran. Nasty, creepy buggers. The first time any of the boys  had seen them they knew what them Beetle Blades were for. With one steady red eye they were meant for watchin’, spyin’. Nothin’ could be done without a beetle blade slitherin’ through your ankles. If Newt hadn’t been so worried about Darwin, (worry that meant nothing to the dead boy now) he might have seen the Beetle Blades scurryin’ up close to get a view at the boy sliced clean in half.

The last dead end of his section was marked down. Newt turned on his heels. Nearer to the door he paused for a moment, reaching to one of the walls covered in vines. He grabbed one of them, pulling at it. It made a ripping sound all the way up until it stopped. Newt tugged at it hard. The vine held on tight. He tugged again. The vine stayed strong.

Newt paused for a moment. He closed his eyes and felt the weight of the glade, all the hell around him crash down. He took his hand off the vine and started to run again. He was going to get out of here. He was going to make it out.

When he got back he walked to the Deadheads. The baggers had already dug Darwin up a grave and tossed him inside. Nick had put a big piece of plastic over it so you could see right down where his body lay. Newt watched it sometimes. Maggots crawled from his rotting eyes, bugs gnawed at his skin. Just a week ago he’d been alive, runnin’ around, laughin’.

What if Minho was the next one? An’ then Alby after that? What if Newt was just goin’ to watch his friends die? One by one. Newt walked over to George’s grave. George had been in so much pain. It had been mercy what Alby did wasn’t it? So this would be mercy, Newt would be mercy.

He sat outside the kitchens. It wasn’t breakfast yet, but the runners were already heading out. Newt waved to Alby. Minho would be workin’ away in the gardens, Newt had to remember to say a fast goodbye and avoid him. The Glade felt quiet for once. He showered, a long nice one, running the waxy glade bar soap through his hair. He remembered a time, however long ago when he would clean off in a warm white tub. Newt had stopped searching for his old memories so long ago. All of them had.

Winston, he should say something to that creepy guy. Newt liked him a fair bit to be honest. When all the boys had gathered around the Box hole for their little experiment Winston had left halfway through, disapprovin’ of all their meddling’.

“Winston! Mate!”

“Newt?” Winston asked, turnin’ around and taking his hands off the big dead pig loaded onto a table. Newt looked away from it, focusin’ on Winston.

”You alright, having a decent day?”

”Yeah, ‘bout as decent as it gets, you?”

”Fine,” Newt said, taking a deep breath out, “Well take care mate, I just wanted to drop by, it being my day off and all.”

“Right on,” Winston agreed pleasantly, turning back to his pig.

Newt found Zart next, out all the way into the cornfields, the kid had a talent for farmin’. Newt only thought it right to say somethin’ to Zart, he was the newest newbie- or greenie whatever Minho had come up with now.

“Hey mate,” Newt greeted him, Zart looked up, nearly dropping his basket of freshly picked corn,

”Hey Newt.”

“How’re you likin’ the Glade?”

“Oh, well…” Zart looked down, and then everywhere except Newt’s eyes,

“Its s‘alright if you dont like it much, if you miss something you can’t remember, that’s how all these shanks feel, weather the shanks mention it or not.”

Zart nodded.

“Newt you want to know the worst part of the Glade?” Zart asked, and for a moment Newt felt an empty pit open up within himself ready to gulp down everythin’ he’d ever been, instead he swallowed it a bit, and nodded,

“Yeah?”

“Having a…shucking name like Mozart,” Zart snickered shyly, Newt laughed suddenly at that, almost in relief. He slapped Zart on the back, smiling.

“Thank Minho’s big klunkin’ brain for that one huh?”

“What’re you shuck-faced slintheads saying about me!” Minho burst from the corn, trampling a good part of it before shuffling up to Zart and Newt.

“Talkin’ to Zart, Bugger off.”

“You love me,” Minho announced, trying to sling an arm around Newt’s shoulder. He wasn’t quite tall enough, settling for another back pat.

”Sure I do, you and your ugly mug,”

“I told you, I’m down to human levels of good looks.”

“I’m assuming all is good with the almighty Minho?”

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“Just wanted to know.”

Newt turned away, starting to walk towards the Deadheads. Minho started walking to follow him, he had to jog with how fast Newt was walking.

“Newt!”

“Yeah?”

“Newt can we talk?”

“Sure.”

“Newt I just want a day to talk to you Y’know just catch up.”

“Minho that’s just fine, I gotta take my time out in the forest though.”

“Alright, I’ll wait for you back at the farm,” Minho agreed. Newt felt his heart clench,

“Don’t wait for me, I’ll be awhile,” Newt choked out.

“We’ll you’re-“ 

Newt started to walk, then run. He was seconds away from bawlin’ his buggin’ eyes out. Minho was gonna wait for him. But he couldn’t make good on that, he had to go now, before anythin’ horrible could happen again.

The Deadheads was the thickest a forest could possibly get, sometimes if entered at the wrong place he had to fight through leaves and branches, watch his feet for roots. And in the center was the graveyard.

Newt collapsed onto a bench right outside of the forest. He couldn’t go in there, not just yet. Minho was watchin’ him, he could feel it. Newt stayed still, staring at the ground until the feelin’ of being watched lessened. Newt closed his eyes and breathed in and out. It would all be done soon, really, actually done.

Newt pressed his hands into his thighs. He tried then to remember somethin’, anythin’ real. The thing that always ached inside of him wouldn’t quiet. There was somethin’ he must miss, must miss like a bloody limb. But it was gone. 

Newt got up, trudging into the forest. He’d worn a path down in the past week. Every time he headed through it was easier. The clearing was small, with about five headstones.

Newt knelt down. He felt his face fall. It was like the normal-ness suddenly drained from him and the only thing left was the hollow hole. What if today Minho came back stung, Alby with a chunk taken out of him by a shucking Greiver. What if the next time someone needed to volunteer for some stupid, death-trap plan it’d be Minho, and Newt would be dragging up his body, cut in two shucking pieces. The hollowness that had opened up stretched wider, the ache of longing something he couldn’t remember, the feeling he’d known since he’d woken up in the glade, how alone he felt, it grew bigger an’ bigger until Newt fell forward, his face twisted into pain. He started to sob, wrapping his hands around his head to try and quiet his thinkin’. He just wanted all of this to stop.

Newt pawed at his eyes with the palms of his hands, trying to wring the tears out of em’. Newt got up. He marched out of that awful bloody forest and out into the Glade. He walked out to the Maze door, the closest one, the one he’d ran in and out every buggin’ day. He knew it real well, knew it like it was just another part of him. His tears had stopped, face had set itself. He marched into the huge opening between the walls. He knew this section so well he could have walked it blind. He turned around the corners and walls, his walk turned into a run. He was looking for a wall, one covered in bloody shucking ivy, a big tall wall.

Newt found it.

The wall like all the others reached up almost into the sky. Newt was going to climb to the very top. He grabbed the nearest piece, this time he didn’t check if it could hold his weight, it didn’t matter. Newt dug his feet into the nicks and cracks, hauled his weight up with his arms. His breathing was shaky, he kept glancing down, was this enough? How much more? He was almost halfway up and suddenly it felt like he couldn’t go any further, like someone put a big bloody hand in his brain and squeezed. Newt pulled himself up a few more feet, then a few more. He looked up to the wall reaching up above him. He was sweating hard now, sure he couldn’t even make it up another shucking inch. Newt swallowed. He looked back to the wall clinging to the vines and breathing in and out. He heard it then, the little metallic clicking of a beetle blade. He turned his head to see the beady red eye of the creature starin’ him down. Newt met its eye, feelin’ anger fill him in an overwhelmin’ crash. 

He reached to the beetle and grabbed it, he’d never been able to touch one before, much less grab it, the metal cut into his hand, but the beetle stayed still watchin‘ intently.

“I don’t know who you people are, but I hope you’re happy. I hope you get a real buggin’ kick out of watching us suffer. And then you can die and go to hell. This is on you.”

Blood ran hot down his wrist and to his elbow. The beetle wriggled then, cutting deeper into his palm, he let go, kicked off the wall and let go.

Newt felt air rush through his ears, go up in a gust all around him. All he could think was Minho, Alby, Winston, George, Frypan, Darwin, Nick, even shucking Gally in a blur in his mind.

And then he hit the ground.

An explosion of pain ripped through his whole body. Newt cried out, he couldn’t move. One of his legs was bent the wrong way, it felt like hell, his whole body felt like hell. Newt inched up, Hissing and groaning. He shouted again, pure pain swaying his vision. He pulled his wrecked leg to his chest. He hadn’t bloody died, why didn’t he die? The bloody creators must have stopped it. Newt felt tears runnin’ down his neck, he groaned, shakin’. Everythin’ hurt so damn much. If he lay here he might die eventually. Newt drew his head back, starin’ up at the fake sky, he started to cry again, his broken body was wracked with horrible lurchin’ sobs that made his insides ache. Newt cried molten hate and molten pain. He should have died. He should have died. He grit his teeth hard together, screamin’,

“I hate you! I HATE YOU!” Newt nearly passed out. He heaved in big breaths, gasping for air. Newt didn’t know who he hated more, the shucking creators of the Maze or himself. His stupid shuckin’ self he couldn’t even die properly.

Newt fell backwards, his head hitting the stone of the ground. The pain was too loud, thumpin’ an aching heartbeat through his ears. Newt went out then, eyes rolling over to the hurt and exhaustion.

He woke up suddenly to hands grabbin’ him, draggin’ him forward. Newt groaned, reachin’ up to find the arm with a hold on him, he looked up and it was Alby. Alby glanced down at him.

“What shucking happened you idiot?”

“I jumped,” Newt admitted shakily. Alby stopped, starin’ at him. Newt didn’t even know what to say, his leg hurt so bloody much. Alby leaned down and lifted Newt up a bit, draping him over Alby’s shoulder. Alby grunted, stumblin’ forward. Newt had his cheek pressed to the damp shoulder of Alby’s shirt, breathin’ in shaky little gasps.

“Why?”

Newt didn’t say anything. He just let himself be dragged back. Right before they got to the door Newt gripped his shoulder tightly,

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Wasn’t going to dude.”

Alby dropped him off by the door and sprinted over to Clint. Clint was the only bloody decent Med-Jack they had. Clint and Alby came back with a stretcher. They helped Newt up on it and started running back to the homestead. Newt kept his eyes open, everyone seemed to be at dinner. He hoped Minho was at dinner, if he had to see Minho right now he might start shuckin’ crying again.

Clint had to set the bones in his leg. They didn't have anything except for a mild painkiller. Clint gave him about three pills, said that was all he was comfortable with.

“Newt, buddy I’m not gonna lie to you this is going to hurt like a shucking Greiver bite.”

“I broke the damn leg I can stand to see it sorted out Clint!” Newt bit back, hissing in pain.

“Alright,” Clint grabbed his leg, Newt shouted out, grabbin’ the sheets of the bed and nearly rippin’ a hole right through them.

“Bloody- Clint just get the damn thing over with!” He cried, Clint twisted his leg slightly, shovin’ it together. Newt screamed, his brain was so white hot with pain he could barely breathe.

“It’s done now!” Clint announced, steppin’ back and quickly gatherin’ bandages. Alby helped him arrange a splint to secure both sides of his leg. The whole thing hurt like torture. Clint gave him something to put him to sleep a bit faster. Newt took it greatfuly.

The next time waking up, after waking up on the floor of the Maze a different boy was watching over him.

Minho had a chair pulled up next to his bed, staring at him.

Newt grimaced, closing his eyes.

“Clint says you need to take some pills.”

“Clint could have told me that himself,” Newt mumbled. Minho frowned, handing Newt the glass and his medicine. Newt took it, swallowing the pills and smacking his lips. He looked up to see Minho still standing there. 

“What shucking happened Newt?”

Newt shook his head, picking at one of his fingernails.

“Newt what happened!”

Newt lay back down in bed, closing his eyes.

“He awake?” Clint asked, arriving and walking over to Newt’s bedside.

“Not anymore apparently,” Minho said. Minho could be a piece of work sometimes.

The next day Minho was back.

“Ably won’t shucking tell me what happened!”

“Good! He shouldn’t.”

“Newt you got hurt, how did that happen?”

“None of your bloody shucking business that’s how!”

Minho stood there for a while, just standing with a slowly rising and falling chest and watching Newt.

“Newt…what happened?”

“You know what happened.”

“I don’t.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Dunno, Greiver finally got your ass?”

Newt laughed out loud, his whole body ached at the movement. He winced, clenchin’ his teeth together. 

“Nah,” He choked out.

Minho pulled up a chair beside him and sat down.

They stayed in silence for a while. Newt couldn’t help but think how much of an idiot he was. To think Minho would have been standin’ over his grave just a week later, to think Minho would elect each new runner thinkin’ how they couldn’t make up for his being gone. Newt was such a shucking slinthead.

“Your face is getting better.”

“Yeah, all you shuck-faced klunkslingers are gonna have to start shielding your eyes, wouldn’t want you tripping over yourselves when you see my glorious mug.”

“I’ll screw your mug right back up,” Newt argued, smoothing out the sheets on the bed.

“You could’ve split my skull in two couldn’t you?” Minho laughed, leaning back in his chair.

“Maybe,” Newt shrugged.

“Oh polite little humble Newtie!” Minho whistled. Newt smiled to himself.

There was another minute of silence.

“Minho I tried to climb up one of the walls, ya said it couldn’t be done but I wasn’t convinced, I climbed about halfway up. Turns out those buggin’ greivers can climb because before I knew it a big nasty one shuckin’ jumped out of nowhere. I fell about the whole way down then Alby grabbed me and dragged me out like a brave little shuck warrior.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, we were real close to the door, lucky shanks we are.”

Minho looked down, biting his lip.

“Newt I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, nothin’ can be done about it now though, I’m just glad it wasn’t you or Alby.”

“Yeah sure, but it’s still you in a full shucking leg brace, I’d take that a hundred times before I let you take a fall like that.”

Newt felt his heart ache. He was so buggin’ selfish, how could he have left them like this?

“Aww, you’re a real sweetie aren’t ya?”

Minho stayed with him until Newt got drowsy and took his sleepin’ pills. Minho was real sweet, too good to him. Minho could never know about what really happened. Newt had to keep that until he died.

Thank goodness Minho was gone the next day, back to his Runner job. Newt spent most of the day staring at the ceiling and having boring buggin’ conversations with Clint.

Alby hadn’t visited him. He knew Minho had been banned from running for a while but Alby had his mornin’s and nights to drop by. What if Alby hated his shuck guts? What if Alby couldn’t bare to even see his face? On one hand he was terrified to hear what Alby had to say, on the other he was was achin ’ to find out.

That night Newt called Clint over,

“Clint, mate!”

“Yeah?” Clint got up, walking to the foot of his bed,

“My hammock is down by the bard, would you mind fetchin’ a journal I got down there? I’d like to write a bit.”

Clint through about it for a second, 

“Sure I can, but you gotta promise not to do anything stupid while I’m gone, alright?”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly fit to be klunking around am I?” Newt said dryly. Clint nodded,

“Good that.”

Once Newt had his journal, and Clint had given him one of the pencils he used to mark down sick boy’s names Newt got to writing.

My name is Newt. 

Newt wrote on the first page, and then stared at the sentence. He frowned, rubbing it out with the palm of his hand.

I woke up with the name Newt, It must not be mine because what bloody parent names their kid after a slimy lizard?

Newt chewed on the end of the pencil, thinking.

I live in a big stupid place called the Glade. My two best friends are Minho and Alby, they’re alright I guess if you like ugly-mugged shanks.

Newt laughed to himself, 

I’m just joking, they’re not too hideous or that big of slintheads, but sometimes Minho makes me want to tear all my hair out.

Newt breathed out shakily, relaxing. He put the book off to the side of his bed.

Alby came that night. Newt woke up to the sound of the bed next to his creaking. Alby had sat down, looking over at him. Newt groaned, sitting up.

”Hey there mate,” Newt winced, trying to shift his healing leg,

”Hey,” Alby mumbled.

they sat there for a longer silence than could have ever happened between Newt and Minho. Alby eventually looked down, and then back up,

“I’ve been thinking a lot, about what happened.”

Newt looked away quickly, thumbing at the sheets.

”I told Minho it was a Griever. He believed me, we can just pretend nothin’-“

”Are you going to lose it again?” Alby cut him off. Newt looked up, terrified of the judgment that might be in Alby’s eyes, but instead he just looked worried. Newt sank into the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“I never felt worse than wakin’ up the next mornin’ and realizin’ you an’ Minho would be standin’ over my grave if I did the job right.”

Alby nodded. Newt closed his eyes and breathed in, he could feel his throat staring to ache and his eyes burning with tears. He breathed until it faded away. When he opened his eyes Alby was still there.

“We only got each other in here, and if- if there’s something you need to see, y’know get it off your chest you should say it.”

Newt shook his head,

”Nah, Mate I need…I need some time I think.”

Alby nodded again and scratched the back of his head.

“Minho worries his shuck ass off about you.”

”I wish he wouldn’t,” Newt laughed dryly.

”I worry my own butt too,” Alby added, Newt’s smile faded. “Don’t get bummed man, what I’m tryna say is, you mean a whole big deal to us, and if you were gone we’d be crying our eyes out. So don’t go anywhere any time soon okay?”

Newt nodded. Alby reached forward and sunk a hand into his hair, ruffling it.

Then Alby got up and left. Newt sighed to himself and reached over for his journal. He flipped it open and started writing again.

I don’t think I spend too much time thinking about how much they want me around. Might do me some good to think on that. Might do me a lot of good actually.

Epilogue.

Newt breathed a big sigh out. He was getting used to the crutches. His leg was all wrapped up and protected. He’d gotten used to swinging around the Glade, visiting all the keepers and their boys. Jeff the new Med-Jack had cushioned over the splintery beam that sat under his armpit, because Newt got awful sore there. No thanks to the builders for makin’ him sutch crap crutches.

Today had been long, he’d stood about watching the boys farm. Then he’d hobbled back to get lunch and headed over to the builders to watch them tack more wood onto the homestead. Spendin’ all his time with the keepers and their boys made him real familiar with all of ‘em. He knew the oldest boys and the greenest of greenies. He was a bit of a popular fellow himself, gettin’ waves and welcomes ever time he showed up anywhere. Newt wrapped up with the builders and headed out. Restin’ every once in a while he made the long trek over to Minho’s door.

Newt waited, leaned against the Maze wall. Minho was trainin’ a new runner, former builder, Ben. He and Minho came out at the same time, both red in the face and pantin’ like dogs. 

Newt tossed them both peaches from the new grove. They took the fruit gratefully, tearing into the fruit. Minho sent Ben along to dinner, and stayed back with Newt.

“How was your day?”

“Bloody boring, but ya know, better than layin’ around in bed, how about you?”

“Fine, Ben’s pretty sloppy, but getting better.”

Minho kicked a rock along as he walked, 

“What do Clint an Jeff say?” Minho asked, 

Newt paused for a moment, breathing hard. Minho, even exhausted from runnin’ all day quickly took Newt’s arm over his shoulder. Newt frowned, leanin’ on him,

“You don’t need to do that,” Newt said.

“Don’t you worry your little butt about it,” Minho grunted, shufflin’ along.

After a while Newt got back on his crutches,

“They say I’ll never be a runner again, busted it up that much, but I’ll be walkin’ fine eventually.”

“Screw Clint and Jeff, you’ll run however much you want.”

“Yeah maybe,” Newt sighed, lazily joinin’ in on Minho’s delusion.

That night back up in his clean white bedsheets Newt said his goodnight to Clint and picked his journal back up.

Well the dog that came up with supplies last month is fitting in nicely. Minho thinks he’s a real funny guy naming it Bark. The sweet thing is real quiet. 

I spent the day with Keepers. Zart is doing real well for himself in the gardens, Nick says he’s probably the top pick for keeper of the Track-Hoes (Stupid name I know, but Minho named it) Either way I hope Zart gets it, the kid certainly deserves it.

My leg is getting better, good as it can I guess. Haven’t had any feelings like going off cliffs anytime soon. Thank god I didn’t think of the real cliff when I was set on jumping a few months ago.

That’s all for tonight you nosy shank.

-Newt

[doctorbunny]

Hi! I hope you don't mind the sudden question, but i got really into Milgram recently and was wondering: What reasoning did people give when they voted Haruka guilty in the second trial? Like, generally speaking, what did the consensus seem to be?

Haruka is a character i strongly relate to, so i have a lot of Thoughts about him.

Firstly: Wow the start of the second trial was that long ago, huh 😅

Secondly: I need to explain that Haruka's trial was a bit different than most Not sure how recently you joined but in a normal trial, the MV will upload the same day a CD releases, and stuff like the instrumental, DECO covers and most importantly the voice drama will be officially uploaded at the same time

But for Haruka, due to some unspecified CD issue, we were getting the MV as planned then wouldn't get the voice drama for another two weeks This will be very important to his voting

Thirdly: Going into his trial, things were uncertain, a lot of people really liked Haruka and were very worried for him due to his new relationship with Muu. Whom many saw as a potential bad influence or threat. I won't get into it too much, but before this trial it was definitely more common to have a.... soft image of Haruka as a harmless little guy who had gone through a lot, who just made some mistakes because he didn't know any better

Its worth remembering that without the context of AKAA, Weakness is a very dream-like MV and not many were sure which parts were real or imagined One of the biggest debates about weakness was about if the blue haired child was a younger bother or Haruka himself It all seems quite quaint from here Some people thought Haruka might not have even killed a person, just animals, I was even considering a theory suggesting Haruka was in milgram for his own suicide (in the words of Danganronpa 'killing the person who is most important to you: Yourself') The girl with the plait wasn't thought about much as other than a possible childhood friend due to her being shown running next to young Haruka.

Fourth: The premiere of AKAA was super emotional and intense, it was a beautiful MV But like Purge March later, it would contextualise parts of Weakness we didn't expect it to Mainly the animal murder and the girl's death.

But without the voice drama, many were unsure what verdict would be best for Haruka Despite the failure of T1 Amane, many still thought we could fix the prisoners through voting right Some people saw this vote as a chance to get Haruka to break up with Muu if we played our cards right Overall people were confused and conflicted and couldn't wait for the voice drama to come out I think the best summary of feelings is a comment from the top of the AKAA comments section

This was posted right after AKAA came out and reflected a common mood

This part of his voting period was very strange. Because of the uncertainty, people were pretty split People didn't think he deserved an innocent verdict, but they didn't want to punish him so harshly with a guilty one either And it turned into an interesting situation: What happens if a prisoner gets exactly 50%? It was an unlikely truce between two passionate sides but for about 2 weeks straight, 50-50 was sustained Or more accurately, it was a constant flux of 49.9-50.1, changing by the hour if not minute (I actually dreamt up a fic of this causing Haruka to get a migraine but like most of my fics it never materialised)

Then the voice drama released

At the time I was the mod of the second biggest milgram server (rip Fancult - unfortunately that place got nuked so I'll have to go off memories alone) so I got to watch as a lot of people gathered and listened to the VD at the same time We were still waiting on translations, but still people could appreciate the acting and pick out key words like the prisoners' names and... other common phrases

お母さん, "Okaasan" The Japanese word for 'mother' or 'mum'

By the time we got to here it was Harukover 😔

Then a second Okaasan hit the verdict

And this giant mess ended with the suicide threat that's been haunting us for the rest of the season...

Needless to say, people were not too pleased

The 50-50 pipe dream was immediately shot down and betrayed

This graph (by paiplushie on twt) shows it pretty clearly

One thing to keep in mind is that even before Muu's MV was out, people were certain she'd be voted guilty, there was a fervour for it (mostly because people saw her as having taken advantage of Haruka and having the wrong attitude towards her verdict)

For some reason, voting Muu innocent was never really considered an option

It was 'Haruka threatened to kill himself if we vote Muu guilty, how do we stop him doing that after we do' [personally I voted him innocent because I had a pipe dream that if both Haruka and Muu were inno then they'd be obnoxious about it but unharmed]

People justified voting guilty in different ways, some thought it'd make him break up with Muu and not want to die for her, some just didn't want to enable his action (threatening suicide is awfully manipulative) and some people genuinely believed that physical restraint was the most effective way to prevent him from attempting suicide... which all I'll say is I disagree with that logic

But yeah, once the VD was out it never really showed any signs of returning to inno

[yesthisismycurrenthyperfixation]

Lo'ak Leaves Spider Scarred: Part 4

Couple of things before we get into the story.

Talk of suicide. Please if you find this triggering do not read. If at anytime you or someone you know is contemplating suicide seek help.

This is a short update today. I wanted to show Spider and tell a little more of his story without trying to bring anyone else into the chapter. Reactions will be next chapter in what I want to call the epilogue, but don't quote me on that.

Part 3 available here.

Spider's face felt like it was on fire when he reached his final destination. Stepping through the last of the foliage he entered a quiet clearing, on one side a small stream murmured while the roots of a giant tree created a bordered on the other. It was towards this tree that Spider turned.

At the base of the tree sat a couple large mounds. At the top of each mound was a grave marker made from carefully bound pieces of wood creating a T shape. Spider never understood why they had wanted a T, or a grave marker at all, but they had asked and he had done it. Kneeling between the graves Spider reached out a hand and ran his fingers over first one of the names and then the other.

LYLE WAINFLEET

MILES QUARITCH

The two surviving Recoms from the Battle of Three Brothers Rock had been gone for nearly a year and Spider missed them so much.

The second time Spider had wanted to end it all, mere months after his face had healed enough to wear a mask, he had been stopped. Not by any of the Na'vi or scientists, no, he was stopped by his dad and the man he would begin to think of as his uncle. The two Recoms had never returned to the RDA. Instead they had been keeping as much of an eye on Spider as they could… from a distance.

The pain Spider felt was nothing compared to the knowledge that someone care about him. Someone loved him and were doing everything they could to remain close to him. Spider had been happy for a few short years. He was seen, he had a family, life was good. He had made the right choice in saving his dad's life that day. Then tragedy struck. The two Recoms had been ambushed by a small Na'vi hunting party. Lyle had been killed instantly while Quaritch, body of his best friend held in his arms, had been able to get away.

Spider had heard about the ambush from some of the scientists, later that same day, and had rushed to the clearing to find Quaritch, barely alive, lying next to Lyle's body. Spider had tried to help his dad, tried to save him. But there was nothing he could do except offer comfort in his dad's last moments.

It had taken hours for Spider to dig both graves, and hours more to carefully carve the Recoms names into their grave markers.

The next night, after making it back to the human section of High Camp and as the Na'vi had celebrated the death if their enemies, Spider had tried ending it all for the third time. If only Norm hadn’t left the celebration early to check on him.

Everyone had tried getting Spider to talk to someone, anyone, but every time he got close to opening up all Spider could picture was the look on Lo'ak's face: the anger, the hurt, the betrayal, the rage. Spider’s fear, both of the reaction to his confession and of the pain he could remember so clearly, kept his mouth closed.

With a quiet sigh Spider laid down on his side, front facing his father's grave. Quaritch's last words echoing in his mind over and over again. 'Oel ngati kameie, son.’

“Oel ngati kameie, dad.” Spider whispered as he removed his mask. Taking a deep breath Spider could feel his lungs seize in his chest as they fought for oxygen. Forcing a deep breath into his lungs, Spider reached out placing his hand on his father's grave. A smile covered his face as the constant pain from his injury seeped away and his eyes closed.

Finally, it was over.

Part 5: coming soon

[lifewillalwaysbe-lavieenrose]

GUYS!! I saw Les Mis! In Munich!!!

Let's recap!

The Cast:

Daniel Gutmann as Javert. He was incredible. Definitely my personal highlight. Everytime he sang his voice just ROARED. And he was menacing holy shit. Aggggggh I'm normal about him

Barbara Obermeier as Eponine. When I first heard her sing in Act 1, I knew she was gonna kill it in Act 2. And she did.

Merlin Farcel aka Enjolras. His voice was so perfect I LOVED all the high notes, BUT:

The beard. Sorry, but in my world Enjolras doesn't have a beard. Plus, it makes him look like Peter Maffay

Madame Thenardier was PERFECT (I don't remember who played her that night😭) She was so funny and the audience really loved her.

The Music:

At first, I felt a bit underwhelmed by the orchestra. To be fair, I listened to the 10th anniversary recording SO much, that I really got used to that grand orchestra sound.

There was an electric guitar and at one point an electric bass when Javert sang, which I really loved.

During Master of the House/ Beggars at the Feast you could really see the orchestra bopping their heads and having fun and that made me very happy

I really loved the brass section, they really stood out (That French Hurn during On My Own????!)

The Costumes:

I don't know why, but the Les Amis were wearing these caps all the time. I have never seen a production with them in it. Is this a historically accurate thing?? I didn't really like them, they looked very plastic/shiny and fell out of place

I cannot find a picture but in the beginning of Act 1 Valjean wore a pink vest and then a purple coat which both looked very cheap and which I both didn't like (maybe it was because of the light? The colors felt very unnatural)

Eponine's outfit. At first I thought it didn't look shabby enough. But it looks so badass I'll let it pass

Why don't you let Enjolras wear his red vest??

What is Marius wearing? Goofy boy

Big Mad Hatter vibes from Thenardier. I loved his and the Patron Minettes outifits, they looked very edgy

This is perfect. Perfect. I only wished he had undone his hair for Javert's Suicide (he did, but only for the last 10 seconds)

The Stage:

The stage had a turning middle and stairs that could be moved around, similar like in Hamilton.

They did a cool transition with young Cosette walking up the stairs and old Cosette walking down

Also, they had some cool staging with buildings moving around for Stars. But I feel like there was almost a bit too much happening in the background for this song.

I don't know why they didn't have the Barricades turn and show Enjolras hang upside down. It's such a cool/tragic moment!

During the Barricade scenes, the stage sometimes felt a bit empty. I mean, there were always like 15 people standing around. Maybe the Barricades were to small/not high enough

Empty chairs at empty tables. Where were the empty chairs and empty tables??

In Everyday/A Heart Full of Love Reprise single leaves started falling down on the stage (Like Valjean entering the Fall/Winter of his life) I loved that.

Also, the parallel of Marius learning to walk again using a cane, and Valjean loosing his ability to walk using a cane. I never noticed this before!

There are SO many cool things about the staging I could talk about here. But I want to mention some other topics as well:

The "Spirit" of the Show:

There wasn't a single French flag to be seen. Some red ones, but no French flags.

In the trailer, the director said he wanted to create a more universal setting, speaking to everyone in the audience

I think that's a great sentiment but like. Everyone has French names. There were titles above the stage telling us the year and locations (Places in France) of the events. The title of the show is French.

So I think adding the flags (aka a bit more French nationalism?) would have seemed a lot more convincing for the cause of the students and the whole spirit of the show

But maybe this also has to do with the show being in German? I don't know and I'd really like to discuss it. Maybe someone here made a similar experience seeing it in another language

And last, but MOST importantly:

What about Valvert and Enjoltaire?

In the Confrontation, Javert and Valjean got really close to each other. And I mean fighting each other and then stopping just to sing directly into each other's faces.

Instead of running infront of the court in Who Am I, Valjean just goes to Javert and rips his shirt open? Okay, go off I guess

In Drink with Me, we have a platonic forehead touch between Enjolras and Grantaire. Sadly, that's all I noticed between them 😔

Also, the fact that Grantaire is supposed to be ugly/shabby/a drinker/a sceptic got totally lost, which really takes away from his character.

Conclusion:

All the actors were good, some of them were FANTASTIC. I'd watch it again just for the guy playing Javert, if I could. God, he was SO GOOD

The music was all it should be, maybe a bit too reserved (but again, this might be because I am so used to the 10th anniversary concert)

I really loved some costumes and I also really disliked some

The staging was great, some choices confused me (flags, barricades etc.)

Would I watch it again?

Absolutely!

To be clear, some of the things here might sound more negative than I actually mean. It's just that I have watched SO many different productions online, that I fixated on all the great performances and how I think they should be done. Of course everyone has different opinions here.

Okay thanks for reading if you made it here. Have a great day!

[writefightandflightclub]

Just right (Marc Spector x fem!reader)

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: Marc joined the Marines thinking he might finally belong somewhere. Turned out, he belonged next to you.

Author’s note: I wanted to do a bit of exploration of younger Marc, years prior to the show. And here it is! (Second attempt at posting, after my mobile version yesterday was full of bugs and kept deleting sections, ach!)

Warnings: strong themes of rejection and loneliness. Some negative self-talk about being “different”. Some ableism from fellow soldiers. Canon typical mentions of blackouts / memory lapses / time loss. Mentions of violence, blood, death, injury. Allusions to childhood abuse but not explicit. Allusions to brother’s death and self-blame. Allusions to suicidal ideation and self-harm (vague, brief). Mentions of smut but fade to black. Lmk if I missed anything.

GIF by clonecaptains

Marc had never quite felt like he fit in. Had always felt a little different. He hadn’t fit in at school. Hadn’t fit in with his faith community, nor with the other people in his neighbourhood. Not even with his own family, in the end.

Marc blamed himself, of course. When people were distant. Even when they were cruel. Thought that he was the one who was “off”. That it made sense that people would shy away from him. Treat him badly.

After all, look at what he’d done. The worst of deeds.

He’d tried to escape. To move on from all of that, in a way. Maybe a small part of him had hoped things could be different when he left home. For the most part though, joining the army had simply seemed like the logical next step. Where else was there for people like him? For killers? He’d honestly believed that he would finally find his place.

And yet... even here. Even amongst a regiment of people trained to be the same, act the same, walk the same, dress the same… Marc still stood out. Marc still didn’t feel like he fit in.

It was beyond him to understand what he was doing so wrong. He tried. He really did. Tried to the point of exhaustion.

In many ways it worked for him. Held him. The predictable routine. The clear rules. The order. In other ways, he knew that even in a mess hall filled with people trained to be the same, he was still… different. The worst thing was, the others saw it too. Unlike his mother, they didn’t even know what he’d done, and yet… they were still distant. They were still cruel.

He’d started to wish that he could just leave all of this behind. That he could simply be an army of one. Thought that he would be better off that way. But the truth was, Marc had never really known how to be alone - even if everyone else in his life had seemed to leave him behind, one way or another.

Marc didn’t want to stand out. He didn’t. In fact, he craved the opposite, these days. All he wanted now was to disappear.

That’s exactly what Marc was thinking about as he sat there in the emptied med bay, his knuckles singing with pain.

After it had happened again. After he'd blacked out.

He'd blacked out in the field. During a mission. Had taken a life with his own bare hands.

He didn’t remember how. Only knew that when he had zoned back in there had been blood. That his hands were red and his knuckles were singing with pain, like this. He only knew that there was a dead man on the floor - and that it wasn’t him. He'd felt sick for being thankful. Then, he'd felt even more sick for feeling disappointed.

Marc hadn’t been the only soldier to kill today; but he’d been the only one to do it like that. Messy. Close up.

Some of the squad had praised him afterward. But only the soldiers -Marc had noted- with that rabid, reckless, soulless glint in their eyes. With wolfish smiles on their mouths. The ones that took up too much space. Took everything too far. The killers. The army would always contain some people like that, Marc thought. People like him. And yet, no matter how hard Marc stared into the mirror, his eyes never looked quite the same way as theirs did, even if his whole life he’d been told he was the same. That all he could do was harm.

Shouldn’t he be good at this? Isn’t this his nature? To end things? He had some talent for it.

Why then, did he wretch and vomit when his first shot had bedded itself in human flesh? Why did he cry after in his bunk, writhing his legs under the blanket for hours and tensing all his muscles until they hurt?

Some of the other soldiers had reacted differently. Some withdrew from him. They had killed today too, some of them. Clean, distant shots, so they could pretend like they hadn't. Marc couldn't pretend that, covered in red and dust. In the helo, he could feel their eyes on him - burning uncomfortably. He could hear the whispers. Even here, amongst men who killed and amongst killers, Marc was considered strange.

He didn’t fit in.

He didn’t fit.

He never fit.

He never seemed to get things right.

He clenched his fists even tighter, until his nails dug bloody crescent moons into his palms. It hurt, but he didn’t notice that it hurt. He was too used to the hurt.

Even here, then.

Even as part of a squad, Marc was lonely. Lonely like he had been for so long.

But then, there was you.

You were the only friend he had out here. One of the only true friends he’d ever had, actually. At least, he thought you were friends. Hoped you were friends. Around you, apparently, Marc could manage to say the right thing. Do the right thing.

Maybe you didn’t think he was so different - or maybe you did, but you liked him anyway. Maybe you simply tolerated him. Maybe you simply pitied him. But Marc didn’t care about that, in truth, because at least you weren’t distant, and at least you weren’t cruel, and he never had been very good at being alone.

You were a good thing. One of the few good things out here.

In a world where everything always seemed too much for Marc, or too little. Too loud, too quiet. Too bright. Too intense. In a world where everything was off, you were just right.

And still, he felt like he was all kinds of wrong.

You though? You never made him feel that way.

You made him feel like he fit.

For the first time in a long time, like he belonged.

***

You looked for him after. After it all turned red and loud, the sound of explosions ringing in your ears. The vibrations of the ground shaking through your body. The adrenaline buzzing under your skin.

You had heard the whispers. You saw the wary glances, as Marc sat coated in blood while the rest of the squad loaded themselves up into the helo. Saw him looking down at his hands, sweat gathering in beads on his forehead.

They saw what he did.

They saw how he did it.

Marc unnerved them. He was unpredictable. He didn’t always comply with convention. Didn’t always behave in ways people might've expected him to.

At first, he’d flown under the radar. Kept his head down. Done the work. At first, he’d simply been interpreted as stoic. Strong, silent, all that. A lone wolf. Guys like him -brooding good looks - could pull that whole thing off without much trouble.

At first.

But, there was more to him than that. Much more. And he couldn’t keep all of it hidden. Not for long.

Sometimes, Marc would go AWOL.

Sometimes, he would speak in different accents.

Sometimes, he would clamp his hands over his ears and yell like he was hurt, even when nothing visibly ailed him.

And sometimes? Sometimes, Marc did things which he didn’t remember doing afterward.

Always, you knew that he was afraid.

You knew that, because he was your friend. One of your only friends out here.

You’d always known there was more to him than what he let you see at first. The things he couldn’t hide from you. The things he could. Regardless; after, you had looked for him.

“Hey. Goldilocks,” your squad-mate Reaper had probed cruelly in the helo, a twisted, joyless grin on his face. He had jutted his chin towards Marc’s red, spoiled arms. “What the fuck did you do?”

Marc hadn’t answered him. Hadn’t done anything which could be interpreted externally, in fact, save for drawing his thick brows down over his fearful brown eyes.

Your stomach had twisted with discomfort, at his discomfort. He pushed everything down so far, you thought his insides must be made of diamonds.

“Why do you call him Goldilocks?” you’d asked Reaper one time.

“Because he’s a picky little Princess. Too good for this place, he reckons. Nothing is ever quite right for his highness.”

In the helo, you had batted Reaper in his tac vest with your fist. “Knock it off,” you had warned through your teeth. Tempers were running hot, but you were so done with his shit.

“Don't worry about it. He’s a lost cause, Cinders. With his record he’ll be shipping out of here within the month. Before he gets himself killed. Or worse. Before he gets someone else killed.”

You had watched Marc twist in on himself even further then at the insinuation, his body hunching protectively, hands drawing up to cradle his face. His brown eyes had swum with emotion, his reddened fingers tapping rapidly against his temples as he tried to shut this asshole out.

You felt a surge of protectiveness. You couldn't stop it. “You know what? Go fuck yourself, Reaper. Christ - somebody’s got to.”

After, back on the ship, you had looked for him. Looked for Marc.

You found him, eventually, sitting inside the otherwise vacant med bay. He was staring down at his now clean hands, still clenching them into fists.

You had coughed lightly to announce yourself, and gestured down to the space next to him on the bench. “Can I sit?”

He had nodded, and instinctively you’d kept your movements soft and slow. Your voice low. “What are you still doing down here?”

Marc took a while to answer, his brows knitted together so tightly it looked painful. “It’s quiet.”

The metal can of a room was stuffy. Windowless. Below deck. Just above the engine rooms. But sure - save for the constant background whirr, you guessed it was quiet.

You looked over Marc with concern, searching for anything you could do for him. Your eyes skimmed over the butterfly strips criss-crossing on his cut cheek. Over one split knuckle. His visible wounds had been treated, but there were deeper wounds left - you could tell.

And so, with a gentle exhale, you wordlessly gathered up a cloth from the supply shelf. You crossed the space, wetting it in the metal basin which hunkered in the corner of the room.

“Here,” you said softly, gingerly reaching to press it to Marc’s forehead, trying to soothe him. To smooth out some of the tension. “Does that feel nice? Not too hot? Too cold?”

His eyes closed, and he leaned his head back against the wall. “It feels just right.” A deep exhale had raised his chest. His voice had remained small. “Thank you.”

Good, you think. Good.

Next, you noted his clenched fists, and, thinking on your feet, you fished a small, round object from the pocket of your cargo pants. “Here. Hold this for me would you?”

Marc obliged without thinking. Just like you'd hoped he would. His fingers were rough and warm, grazing you as you passed it over to him, the weight of a smooth stone settling in his palm.

Unconsciously, Marc began to smooth his thumb over the surface of it. Began to roll it around in his fingers. Between his hands.

“Good,” you said out loud, as he released another deep exhale. This time, his eyes opened. Those big, wet, puppy-dog eyes. His thoughts had crept in. He seemed to grow self-conscious. “It’s okay,” you encouraged him. “Don’t stop.”

Marc continued to move the stone from palm-to-palm, his fingers exploring every ridge and texture of it. And meanwhile, you simply sat there beside him. You didn’t say a thing. You didn’t ask anything of him at all.

Eventually, you leaned back on the bench too, your head coming to rest on the cool metal wall, your eyes closing.

Eventually, his deep, Chicagoan voice bled through the hush. “What is this?”

You explained without looking. “I found it next to my boot last week during the raid. Thought it was a gem when the sun hit it. Turns out it’s a regular damn rock, but it’s still pretty anyway, right? Nice weight to it.”

You’d noted the way smooth objects found their way into Marc's palms. How they seemed to calm him. You’d picked it up for him. To give to him.

You’d never tell him that.

“What are you doing here?” Marc asked next, his voice strained all of a sudden, like you’d already gone to far too much trouble on his behalf. You felt his voice was angled towards you though, closer, and so you opened your eyes to meet his gaze with yours, dancing it over him. His wet cloth was now set aside, but his brown skin still sheened with delicate beads of moisture beneath the line of his buzz cut.

Your lips tipped into a vague smile. “What do you mean? In this room? On this ship? In the army?”

Marc shook his head almost imperceptibly - no. "Next to me.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Couldn't - completely lost in the soulfulness of his deep, beautiful, apologetic eyes.

He looked down at his hands again, as though they still had blood on them - even though they were clean. “I don’t scare you?”

“No,” you answered without thinking. Answered with your gut.

“Maybe I should.”

“Do you want to scare me?”

He shook his head. Parted his lips just enough to suggest the shape of the word. The outline of it. No.

You had noted the angry half-moons carved into his palm.

“Are you in pain?”

“No,” Marc answered without thinking. But you didn’t think that was really true.

“Discomfort, then?” His glossed eyes flicked towards you, as though no-one ever thought to ask him that. As if he didn’t know how to answer. “Because you don’t have to tolerate that, you know.? Marc’s eyebrows leapt up, as though he was genuinely surprised that tolerating discomfort wasn’t expected. As if it didn’t have to be a way of life. As though no-one had ever told him that before. Like no-one had cared enough to let him know.

“Why do they call you Cinders?” Marc asked next, his brows knitting again. You shifted, following readily with his tangent.

You hummed softly. “Well. Funny story,” you recounted with a lopsided smile. “I fucked up in ordnance training. Shot a barrel. Burned down a building. So now I’m Cinders, because while I may look like a princess, watch out! I’ll damn sure burn everything to a crisp, whether I was s'posed to or not.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

There was a beat. “At least they don’t call you Goldilocks.”

It hurt him, you realised. And you hated those self-inflated bullies just a little more than you thought might be possible in that moment. Hated them for hurting him. Anyway. You attempted to lighten things. “I dunno, Marc. Needing things a certain way? There are worse things,” you said in earnest. “I mean. Imagine being called Reaper. Your defining characteristic could be that you’re a killer and an asshole, huh?”

Marc blinked at you then, that pebble still turning over and over in his palm. Not for the first time, he looked genuinely surprised by your remark. “It… isn’t?”

Your stomach twisted into a tight knot. “No, Marc. No.”

He looked briefly hopeful. Then he looked immediately afraid. “What is my defining characteristic?” He batted his eyelashes at you, with zero awareness of what he was doing to you, of course. You had to fight the urge to answer “being pretty”.

“Well,” you began, unexpected nerves hampering your voice. “It’s hard to pick just one thing. But if I had to? You’re kind.”

Marc squeezed the pebble into his closed fist then, his jaw clenching. A lump bobbing in his throat. A smattering of jewels beading in his long lashes as he wrestled with whatever emotion you had just instilled in him.

You opted to go out on a limb then, your heartbeat hammering. Needed him to know. “You know. I always liked you, Marc.”

He turned his face away from you. Maybe fumbled away a tear, you couldn’t tell. “It doesn’t matter,” he said solemnly. With an air of resignation, and a crack in his voice, which quickly became a crevasse. “Sooner or later, you won’t.”

It broke your heart that he truly sounded like he believed that. That caring for him could only ever be short-lived. “Well," you had protested weakly, not knowing exactly how much difference it would even make. "It matters to me.” You reached out to him, gingerly, unsure, settling your hand over his balled fist. Your breath hitched. “I-Is this okay? Not too much?”

He looked down at his hands now. He looked at them as though he’d forgotten there was ever blood on them. His voice sounded a little hoarse. A little choked-up. “No. No, it’s…” He fumbled his words, settling a warm palm right on top of yours in return. Slowly, ever so slowly, he succumbed to the first smile you’d seen on him in a long while. “It’s… just right.”

Your chest constricted, in a happy way.

Good, you thought. Good.

“Uh. Listen,” Marc ventured. “You know I’m likely outta here. As soon as we dock they’re gonna wanna talk to me. They’ll have questions.”

You swallowed. “Did it happen again? Y-you don’t remember?”

He nodded efficiently, apologetically, his mouth turning down at the corners. He’d been yanked out for questioning before. For "evaluations". You were never sure whether he would come back. Your chest tightened again - this time at the notion of him being gone.

“For what it’s worth,” Marc offered next, looking up at you with gentle eyes. A self-deprecating look about him, like he really didn't think it would be worth much. “I, uh. I always liked you too, you know.”

Your breath stalled in your chest at his words. You didn’t want to ask the question. Not really. But, at the same time, you had felt compelled to ask. “Do you like me, Marc? Really? Or… Or am I just the first person to show you kindness for a while?” You didn't want that to be his baseline. He deserved so much more than that.

He squeezed your hand just a little tighter in his grip. You noticed that your bodies had gradually moved closer together, huddled in place. “Can’t it just be both?”

You chewed on your lower lip, thinking things through. Tossing a thought back and forth. “Listen. Do you maybe… Uh. Do you wanna copulate? With me, I mean?” Marc’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. You backpedalled a little. “I’m sorry to be so forward. You’re just… you don’t seem good with hints. Been giving you plenty these past few weeks and... nada. I really can’t get a read on you that way. so I thought... I just thought I'd say it out loud. Because I... I'd like it. If you wanted.”

His brows had drawn down again, and your heart was in your mouth. You wondered whether you’d said the wrong thing. But you wanted him - you had for a while - and you didn’t even know whether, this time, he would come back. If you would ever see him again if he didn't.

Besides, you thought about how much you would love to offer him a little comfort, if he would like that too.

Marc pursed his full lips together, his response wholly unexpected. “Why?”

Your face crumpled in confusion. “Come onnn, man. Do I honestly need to explain myself? Because… it would feel good? Because another of your defining characteristics is that you’re hot as hell, pretty boy?”

“No,” he shook his head. There was that crack in his voice again; widening. “No. I mean. Why? When I’m… I’m so goddamn broken.”

Emotions twisted in the pit of you then, and you reached out for him. Slowly, gingerly, carefully, you cupped his face in your sure palm. “No, Marc. You’re not broken. You just... You need a little help, maybe. Yeah?” He looked into your eyes then, deeper than he ever had before. Maybe deeper than he had ever dared to, and the embarrassment - following your rather brazen proposition - had begun to surge in. Your hands turned clammy in his grip. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. That’s probably the last thing on your mind right now. Forget about it.”

For a moment longer, Marc didn’t say a word; but still, his gaze never dropped from your face. For a moment, he looked like he was thinking. Passing a thought -or a possibility- back and forth, like that stone between his palms. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, his mouth had dipped towards yours, slanting against your own with the softest, most tender brush of his lips.

It was not too little, nor too much. In fact, it was just right. It was a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. That made your fingertips tingle. Made your stomach lurch pleasantly. His lips were warm, even in this cold metal room.

“I think that… I think I’d like to do that," he said finally, his lips flushed from kissing you. A nervous gulp had sunk down his corded neck. “With you.”

You had smiled with only your eyes, and had grasped his hand in yours. You had led him to your bunk, where you had tangled your bodies together, your limbs and breaths entwined. You had tried, so desperately - with your lips, your hands, your voice, your enclosing heat - to bed comfort down so deep beneath Marc’s skin that he would never have to feel discomfort again.

Still. Nothing good ever lasts that long.

In the morning, when your ship had docked, they hadn't let him stay. Marc was gone, before you even stirred. Before you woke to find the smooth pebble placed ever so deliberately, delicately in the cushion of your cupped palm. When you realised he was gone, your fingers had tightened around it instinctively, until they had ached. Until you dug angry crescents into your palm.

The rock reminded you of him. It had a hard, unassuming exterior. But it was still a beautiful thing, for those who cared to notice. A treasure in the right hands, you'd thought.

You wondered if Marc would ever be back. You didn’t know whether he would. But you were sure that nothing would be quite right without him. He was a little different, sure. But with him, somehow, you’d always felt like you fit. Next to him, you always felt like you belonged.

Besides. You never had been very good at being alone.

[bbcphile]

WIP Wednesday, Part 2

Thanks for the enthusiastic response to my previous WIP Wednesday post! This is the immediate continuation of my Mysterious Lotus Casebook Post-Beach Fic where Li Lianhua's Shiniang tried and failed to sacrifice herself to save him, and he's fled to the beach and collapsed. (Don't worry, the lotus trio will have a happy ending, ultimately!) Here's Fang Duobing's section! (Cw/tw: suicide attempt)

Despite chanting “please be alive” under his breath every second of the mad gallop to the donghai beach, Fang Duobing had dreaded but expected the scene the beggar had described to him: a slim, bedraggled corpse in a fur coat, tossed up by the waves. 

Not the man himself, alive and standing, staring out to sea. 

It was Li Lianhua. Fang Duobing knew that back by heart—how could he not, after all the times he’d watched Li Lianhua leave him behind—so somehow, that ridiculous man had done the impossible and brought one more person—himself this time—back from the dead. 

He should have known. The beggar’s comment must have had more clues hidden in it than he had realized.

Well, it didn’t matter. As long as Li Lianhua was alive, he would not begrudge him the sleepless nights of searching, or nightmares about less positive outcomes. Not much, at least. Anyway, Lao Di would probably growl about it enough for the both of them.

And speaking of the devil of the jianghu, there he was, a streak of bright red tearing across the beach, his eyes fixed on Li Lianhua as though he’d disappear if he blinked. Wuyan must have sent the message about the beggar to him instantly for him to get here that fast.

Fang Duobing hopped off his horse moments behind Lao Di, Huli Jing trailing behind, tail happily wagging.

They were finally together again. All of them. And any minute now, Li Lianhua would turn around and greet them. He’d scratch that spot by his nose just under his eye, then fling a causal pointed finger at him, saying “Xiaobao, what took you so long? You call yourself a detective? Baichuan’s standards are really slipping,” a clear invitation to run over and hug their old fox and cry, or maybe just whack him on the arm several times for everything he put them through, or maybe both. 

Oh, and Lao Di would definitely throw Shaoshi’s remains at Li Lianhua, and grumble something about how Li Xiangyi should be more careful with his own things.

And then, together, they’d all go back to the Lotus Tower. 

Home. 

And it would all begin any second now.

Fang Duobing waited. 

Nothing changed. 

Li Lianhua kept facing the sea.

What was happening? This didn’t make any sense. Had Li Lianhua not heard them arrive? They hadn’t exactly been quiet, what with yelling the horses onward while riding at full speed. Had Li Lianhua lost his hearing? Was he still poisoned?

Something was wrong. They shouldn’t just wait for him anymore, they had to do something, move towards him, call his name, anything but this—

–With a quiet rustle, the cloak fell to the ground. Li Lianhua took a step toward the waves. 

“Li Lianhua?” Fang Duobing whispered, suddenly growing cold.

Time slowed. 

Lao Di gathered his qi. Fang Duobing echoed him automatically.

Li Lianhua wavered, then crumpled toward the sand. 

“XIAOHUA’ER!” Fang Duobing screamed. Lao Di grabbed his shoulder and yanked him, airborne, towards the water.

They caught him in their arms before his head hit the sand.

(Thanks to @slangerogkatter, @kingsandbastardz, @shamera, @sufficientlylargen, @the-surreptitious-albatross, and @howdaretrashships for looking at drafts of this and talking about it with me! Y'all are amazing! <3 )

[waywardrose]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 27

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

6.9k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, everyone survives, suicide ideation, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: This was going to be the last chapter, but it's too long. I'm splitting it and posting what's completed. Expect a last chapter and epilogue. Thank you for sticking with me!

27

The doorbell chime made him start, which was stupid. An invasion wouldn’t start with someone ringing the goddamn doorbell. He stared unseeing at the den’s television while MTV went to commercial.

Also, he should be used to the noise. Steve’s house was a hub of activity, between the phone ringing and the doorbell going off and people talking.

Footsteps thumped overhead. He identified that as the man of the house himself walking to the front door. A moment later, multiple voices, all male, rumbled from the foyer. Several pairs of footsteps moved farther into the house.

Then your voice joined the mix. He couldn’t gauge your tone, other than you weren’t pissed. He turned down the TV volume and frowned at the basement ceiling when you kept talking. A male voice said something you replied to.

Eddie eased from the sectional couch and padded to the foot of the stairs. Of course, it didn’t gain him anything. The door at the top remained closed, muffling any conversation. He considered creeping up the stairs, but he didn’t know where the creaks hid in the treads.

He put a knee on the third tread and crawled forward to half-lay on the stairs. Now midway to the door, he could distinguish between the voices. Yours, of course, Steve’s every so often, then three others.

No one sounded defensive or upset, so that eased his mind. Somewhat.

Everyone kept talking, though. He racked his brain for what they could be discussing. It probably had something to do with yesterday’s visit. He hoped it wasn’t government officials who’d changed their minds about not dragging him to prison. Or worse yet, to some underground lab to conduct experiments on him.

What if they were here for you, though?

Maybe they’d figured out you had magic and wanted you to do stuff for them. While in their clutches, they’d take bio-samples from you. They’d clone you — was that even possible? — or make babies in petri dishes — that had to be possible — to grow a whole witch army and take over the world.

Of course, the thought of having a second you intrigued him. Would a clone kiss like you? Taste like you? Would she moan like you do when he sinks inside her? Would one of you sit on his face while the other rode his dick?

His cock grew heavy and hot in his borrowed briefs.

Jesus H. Christ, he chided. Fucking focus.

It was quiet. Too quiet. He strained to hear what was going on.

Soft footsteps shuffled near.

He shot off the stairs and turned towards the TV. He couldn’t be discovered hanging around near the stairs with a half-chub like a perv. And the sleep-pants did nothing to hide it. His gaze darted to the VHS tape storage cabinet by the TV.

That would work.

He careened around the scuffed coffee table. The loops of the cable-box controller tangled around his foot. Like Gandalf in the Balrog’s whip, he’d been caught.

He hissed, “Shit, shit, shit,” as he hopped to the cabinet, shaking his foot free.

The basement door opened. He grabbed the cabinet for balance. A drawer of tapes wobbled open. He shoved it closed. Tapes clattered. Whoever opened the drawer next was going to have to repack it. Whoops. But it was cool. Everything was cool. He checked his crotch. His half-chub had subsided.

“Eddie?” you said as you descended the stairs.

He faced you, propping an elbow on top of the cabinet.

You’d changed into those black jeans he liked. They hugged your thighs and ass. He willed his dick to stay soft.

“Hey, hi, what’s up?”

You gave him a curious look as you stepped down into the basement.

“You okay?”

He waved a hand in a general sort of way.

“Other than, you know, everything, yeah, I’m okay.”

You nodded, though he could tell you knew something was off.

He said, “I was going to pick out a movie.” He glanced at the stairs. “Is everything okay up there?”

You approached him like he was a cornered dog.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, but don’t freak out—”

“Freak out about what?” he asked, warning sirens blaring through his mind.

“The police are here, and they want to take your statement.”

He straightened.

“Statement about what?”

“The night Chrissy died.” You held up your hands before he could protest. “I just gave them my statement about my interactions with Jason Carver. Who is dead.” With eyes wide, you gave him a leading look and head tilt. “I know you’ve had interactions with Jason, too.”

He nodded along as the implication clicked into place.

“Yeah, I’ve had interactions with Carver.”

“You want to give a statement to the police about that night with Jason and Chrissy?”

No, he did not, yet if he didn’t, he’d never be free. Vecna would continue to ruin his life. While Eddie still wasn’t sure about the existence of an afterlife, he wouldn’t give that asshat the satisfaction.

He girded his metaphorical loins — why did everything circle back to his crotch? — and headed upstairs. You walked behind him, not crowding him, but close enough to be supportive. He wanted to look at you, really look at you, and confess his love again. Just in case this all fell apart. There wasn’t time — and he was certain if he did, he’d wuss-out. Compound that with the fact he couldn’t hold your gaze for more than a second, he’d definitely wuss-out.

Taking two steps into the living room, he froze. He must be hallucinating. Chief Hopper, the very one who’d been there at Dad’s arrest, who supposedly died in the Starcourt fire, stood by the dining table. Though there was considerably less of him around the middle, his hair was buzzed short, and he looked like he’d lost a fight with the Wolfman, there was no question it was him.

Chief Powell sat at the table, facing the room. Metal crutches had been propped against the table next to him. Eddie recognized the deputy who stood at Powell’s left. He couldn’t recall a name, but he’d seen the deputy around town.

Steve leaned a shoulder on the tall curio cabinet behind the table. It was a King Steve pose he’d observed many a time at school. The sling and bandages were absent, courtesy of you.

You stepped beside Eddie and took his numb hand. On instinct, he curled his fingers around yours.

Hopper stepped forward, expression calm and hands placating.

“You’re not in trouble, kid.”

If it had come from anyone else, he’d consider it a lie. For a cop, Hopper had been a decent one. He’d ignored Eddie’s underage drinking at the Hideaway. He’d issued warnings instead of speeding tickets.

You turned your head to whisper, “I won’t let them take you even if they try.”

He gave a minute nod before releasing your hand and marching to the table. If they tried to arrest him, he hoped he’d retained that undead speed. He pulled out the chair across from Powell to sit.

You went to stand by Steve, who gave you a warm look. If anything happened, Eddie knew Steve would protect you and vice versa.

Powell cleared his throat and pressed the Record button on the cassette recorder to start the interrogation.

“Chief Calvin Powell and former Chief Jim Hopper speaking with Edward Munson, Monday, March 31st, 1986.” To Eddie, he said, “Mr. Munson, you’re not under arrest. All we want is your account of what happened the night of March 21st.” When he nodded, Powell said as an aside, “Note Mr. Munson nodded in understanding.” He continued, “We have multiple statements from witnesses placing you at Hawkins High School during the basketball game that night. We also have several overlapping accounts attesting to Jason Carver threatening them at gunpoint at a later date.”

Eddie nodded again, wanting to say that didn’t surprise him. However, Dad’s warning to never talk to cops kept him silent. “These folks stated Jason Carver said he’d sacrifice them for this town. They claim he’d wanted to break their bones. Does that sound like something he could do?”

Eddie glanced at you and Steve. If he followed Dad’s warning, he’d never get out of this. Of course, he didn’t have to give them everything at once. That would be out of character. He had to think like a DM and give them just enough to lead them where the party wanted them to go.

“Yeah, along with pinning all those murders on me,” he said.

Planting his elbows on a nearby chair back, Hopper said, “Sounds like he had the whole town fooled.”

He bobbed his head in agreement.

“I heard he hijacked a town hall meeting.”

Powell shifted in his seat.

“Mr. Munson, did Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham enter your home the night of March 21st?”

“Yes.”

“Do you recall the time?”

“No, not exactly.” He glanced up in thought. “I guess after ten?”

“What were they doing there?”

“Said they wanted drugs.”

“Did you sell them drugs?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have drugs.”

Which he didn’t. Now.

“But they thought you had drugs to sell?”

He met Powell’s gaze and said, “I can’t presume to know what they thought.”

Powell sighed, frustration clear.

“Alright. Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham enter your house sometime after ten, looking to purchase drugs. Then what?”

“I left them in the living room.”

Just like he’d left Chrissy for Vecna to kill. Bait on a hook.

“To do what?”

“Get my cigarettes.”

He could do with one right about now.

“Why would you get your cigarettes?”

“Why does anyone get cigarettes?” He shrugged with a huff. “I wanted a smoke, and I forgot them in my room.”

“Then what happened?”

He rolled his shoulders as if uncomfortable.

“They began arguing.”

“About?”

“I don’t know. I was still in my room.”

“But you know they were arguing?”

“Yeah, Jason raised his voice at Chrissy.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I grabbed my cigarettes and came back to the living room.”

“Did you step in?” Powell angled his head. “Try to intervene?”

“No, it was too late—”

“Too late?”

“Look, he was yelling at her. She said something. Might’ve been his name, I don’t know. Then it got quiet, and then I heard a real loud thump. When I came out, Chrissy was on the floor.”

Instead of floating midair.

“Alive?”

“I don’t know, but she wasn’t moving.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I wanted to go to her, but Jason was…” He shook his head, remembering how intense Carver could get. “Jason was out of his mind.”

“What do you mean, out of his mind?”

“He was, like, in a rage. Scared the shit outta me.”

“How so?”

“He screamed and pounded on his chest.” He mimicked what he saw in his mind, knocking his fist against his breastbone. “His eyes were wild, like something else was behind them.”

“Something else?”

He blew out a breath. This was make-or-break in the story.

“I’m not religious or anything, but he looked… He looked fucking possessed.” He rubbed his forehead. “I know how this sounds, okay? I know this sounds crazy.”

It was quiet for a moment before Powell asked, “Did Jason Carver have the same reaction the night of March 25th at Lover’s Lake?”

“I don’t know. He and—uh…” He snapped his fingers as though trying to recall. “A teammate?”

“Patrick McKinney.”

“McKinney, yeah. They were in the water, coming after me.”

“Where were you?”

“In a fishing boat, trying to get away from them, but I lost my balance and fell in the water.”

“Did you see what happened to Patrick?”

“No, I was swimming away from them.”

Powell nodded in acceptance.

“Okay, back to March 21st: Jason and Chrissy. Jason was screaming, and Chrissy was on the floor.”

“Yeah, I wanted to go to her.” He looked at the table, muttering, “I wanted to save her. Get her away from him.”

He’d tried to do it. He’d shaken her shoulders and yelled for her to wake up, snap out of it, anything, but Vecna’s hold was too powerful. Whatever she’d needed to break the curse, he hadn’t had it.

“What did Jason do?” asked Powell.

“He came after me. He chased me out of the living room.”

“Where did you go?”

“I ran out of the trailer.”

“Did you go to a neighbor?”

“No, I got in my van and left the trailer park.”

“Why didn’t you report this to the police?”

He threw a glance at Hopper. He suspected Hopper would’ve taken him seriously, but that hadn’t been a possibility. Everyone thought Hopper was dead. Including himself.

“Like any of you would’ve believed me — the son of a convicted car thief, trailer trash, a super senior, a freak — over Hawkins’ golden boy, the captain of the basketball team.”

Powell and the deputy looked equal parts uncomfortable and insulted.

Good.

“So, yeah,” he said. “I ran and hid, and Jason kept chasing me.”

While you morons stood around with your heads up your asses.

“Why do you think he did that?” Powell asked.

“Probably because I saw him hurt Chrissy. I was the only witness. Get rid of me, one way or another, and no one would ever know what he’d done.”

Powell shared a look with the deputy, whose face was unreadable. Powell saw something there, though, and turned to him.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Munson. We’d appreciate it if you stayed in town until we conclude our investigation.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.”

He didn’t know where he’d go or how he’d get there. He’d hidden his van in the woods off Coal Mill Road. He needed to retrieve it, but not until it was safe to leave this house. Also, he didn’t know where Wayne was, or if he’d survived. The thought made his insides shrivel and tongue stick to the roof of his mouth.

Hopper clapped him on the back, knocking him into the present. The cassette recorder was gone.

“Glad you’re still with us, kid.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Powell arranged his crutches to stand. The deputy assisted, while Steve straightened to show them to the front door. Powell shuffled around the table, his right leg supported at an angle.

Eddie felt your concerned focus directed at him, but he couldn’t indulge himself. Instead, he watched Steve lead the police to the door. Something compelled him out of his chair and moving towards them.

“Hey, Hop,” he said.

Hopper faced him, heavy brow lifted in interest.

“Wayne— Have you seen— I mean, do you know if my uncle’s alive?”

Hopper contemplated the question for a second.

“No, but I think I know who might.” He jutted his chin in a reassuring way. “I’ll give ‘em a call.”

“Thanks.”

Hopper nodded before jogging to catch up with Powell and the deputy outside. He said something to Steve in passing that made Steve grin.

Once Steve shut the door, Eddie dragged his ass to the table and flopped into his chair.

“Jesus, fuck…”

You asked, “Want a beer?”

He rubbed at his eyes, saying, “That’s a good start.”

-

“Holy shit,” Robin said from her seat at the kitchen island.

You kept smearing melting butter on your toast. Steve grunted in front of the gurgling coffee maker. Eddie, who sat across from her, remained quiet.

You’d learned Robin said ‘holy shit’ about a lot of things.

“Guys,” she said with a flap of the morning newspaper. “Guys, look at this.”

Steve abandoned his vigil to see what Robin was holy-shit-ing about. You took a bite of toast and turned. His eyes widened when he read what Robin had pointed out.

“Holy shit.”

Eddie, chin in hand, hummed as he stared at the window over the sink. However, your curiosity had been piqued. You stopped beside Eddie, anticipating Steve sliding the newspaper in front of you. When he did, you swallowed and stared at the headline:

DEVELOPMENT IN LOCAL TEEN MURDERS

You scanned the article. It mentioned the nationwide Satanic panic and how citizens had been led to believe a local cult was sacrificing children to the Devil. The writer praised cooler heads, namely Chief Powell and his deputies, who continued to investigate despite the earthquake and subsequent volcanic fissure eruption.

Ah, you thought, that was how they were covering up the destruction near the closed nexus.

Chief Powell was quoted:

“There is irrefutable evidence Edward Munson is the victim of false accusations. This office has cooperated with federal investigators and spoken with numerous local, credible witnesses to determine such a conclusion.”

Despite police not identifying a person of interest, the writer insinuated the actual murderer might be amongst those who had advocated for hunting down Eddie. They speculated the public accusations against Eddie had been a diversion. While the police investigation remained ongoing, an insider let slip police were closing in on a suspect.

The writer went on to report neither local nor federal investigations uncovered any cult, Satanic or otherwise, in the area. Of course, citizens were welcome to report any cult activity to the sheriff’s office. The article ended with the newspaper promising to keep readers informed.

Holy shit.

“Eddie,” you said, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Read this.”

He blinked a few times before pulling his attention away from the window. With a concerned look, he glanced around the island.

“What?”

You pushed the newspaper in front of him and tapped a finger on the headline. He perused the accompanying article, eyes widening as he read.

To Steve, you said, “Better call Nancy.”

He nodded and dialed Nancy’s number on the kitchen phone. After a playful exchange with Mrs. Wheeler, during which Robin rolled her eyes, Steve’s manner turned serious. From listening to half of the conversation, you deduced Nancy had seen the article. He mentioned Dr. Owens, along with Jason Carver. Nancy said more about Jason, but you couldn’t make out her words.

Steve nodded as she spoke, though. When he hung up, you gave him an expectant look.

“The Feds found Jason Carver’s body. Or what’s left of it. His gun’s missing, but there were bullet casings nearby. Nance told Owens about Carver at The WarZone buying a gun, so that’s a lead for them.”

“It corroborates my story about him, too,” you said.

“And the Sinclairs’,” Robin said, leaning an elbow on the island.

After she’d returned to Steve’s last night, she told you, Eddie, and Steve about the police collecting statements from Lucas and Erica. Their statements had led to yours, then Eddie’s. Maybe others’. Who knows how many people Jason had terrorized after Chrissy’s murder.

You nodded as you pondered how many doors he’d knocked on before coming to yours. It was fortunate he’d found you before Mom. If he’d confronted her instead of you, she’d know all about you and Eddie. It’s funny how you’d been debating on introducing him that day. Eddie still had no idea.

Eddie slid from his stool, mumbling something about a shower. You watched him leave the kitchen. While you’d give him privacy, you first needed to tell him. It was an urge, like a hand pushing at the middle of your back.

He was halfway up the stairs when you reached him.

“Eddie, hang on.”

He stopped without turning to face you, hand on the railing.

“What?”

“The Saturday after Chrissy was killed…”

“Yeah?”

“Jason came looking for you.” When he said nothing, you continued, “I was out front planting—”

“Why’re you telling me this?”

“It’s called backstory.”

He turned his head enough for you to see his jaw around his hair, yet he remained quiet.

“He called me your girlfriend.”

“And I bet a whole bunch of other things.”

You sighed, though you remembered Jason’s accusations.

“That doesn’t matter. What matters was my plan for that day.”

“Plan?”

“I wanted to introduce you as my boyfriend to my mom when you picked me up. I was going to run it by you first, of course, but I wanted to.”

Voice dripping with sarcasm, he said, “Well, the pressure’s off now, isn’t it? They’re out of town for the foreseeable future, right?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Your mouth fell open as he stomped from view.

What an asshole thing to say. You’d been trying your best this entire goddamn time.

“I hope your shower sucks,” you snapped, climbing the rest of the stairs.

His bedroom door closed with a definitive click.

You went to your room and shut the door. If he wanted to be a little brat about it, let him. All you’d wanted to do was tell him the truth. You understood he’d had the worst week and a half in the history of the world. You’d cut him some slack, but you were no doormat.

Maybe it was too little too late, though, and maybe he didn’t need to know. You sat on the bed and wiped at your stinging eyes. Why did you have to bring this up now? Of all times? It was just… It was just that you wanted him to know you’d… Been serious about him? Remained serious about him? That you’d never been embarrassed to be with him?

But shit, he’d been the one who wanted to pause the relationship. If he hadn’t, you would’ve introduced him much sooner. Sure, your father wouldn’t have been supportive, but no one you’d ever associated with ever met with his approval. He hadn’t liked your friends in New York. You weren’t sure you liked your friends in New York anymore, either.

Mom would’ve been more open-minded, though.

Dammit, you needed to call them.

It would still be foolish to call from Steve’s house. You could call from the hospital’s payphone again. You thought you remembered one in front of Bradley’s. With all the extra people Steve had been hosting and feeding, you assumed he needed groceries. A visit to Bradley’s would take care of both issues.

You changed into street clothes and slung your purse over your shoulder before heading downstairs. Steve and Robin sat at the kitchen island, chatting between spoonfuls of cereal. It reminded you of hearing their voices in the middle of the night. It made you miss Eddie even though he was only upstairs.

Greeting them with a soft “hey,” you volunteered to do a grocery run. Steve fumbled his spoon when you asked for a shopping list. Milk sloshed onto the counter. He wiped at the spill with the hem of his t-shirt.

Robin watched him with exasperation before fetching a paper towel.

“That shirt’s going to smell so bad tomorrow.”

He snatched the paper towel from her hand, saying, “You’re going to smell so bad tomorrow.”

“Real mature, dingus.”

He aimed a goofy sneer at her.

After cleaning the spill, he finished the shopping list and retrieved some cash. Robin offered money, but you and Steve refused to accept it. With their hours at Family Video reduced, and Robin’s parents making her pay for her band equipment, it didn’t feel right. You and Steve weren’t hurting for money, in any case.

“Remember, we’ll be gone by the time you get back,” he said, handing you the list and money.

You nodded and pocketed both. They were volunteering at the school, which was kind of them. It was also convenient for you since you’d probably argue with Eddie when you returned. He’d acted like a brat and deserved a spanking like one.

“Maybe I’ll join you two tomorrow?”

“That would be awesome,” said Robin, perking up and scooping soggy Cheerios from her bowl. “You can make meals with me and Vickie.”

“Cool.” You gave her a teasing look. “I want to meet Vickie and hear all about you two in Band.”

Robin blushed, hands fluttering. An arc of milk and cereal splashed across the counter.

Steve laughed, “God, Robin!”

“Shit, sorry!”

With a chuckle, you wished them a good day and left the kitchen. You didn’t want to be the next thing they flung milk on. As you crossed the living room, you noted Eddie’s closed door. That was fine by you. He should stay in there and chill the hell out.

On the drive to Bradley’s, you mulled over what to tell your parents. You couldn’t say you wanted to stay because of your boyfriend, who they didn’t know existed, or that said boyfriend was the accused cult leader everyone in town had been hunting. You couldn’t say you hated Hawkins, but the thought of leaving right now made you want to cry. And you certainly couldn’t say you were bunking with the flirty clerk from Family Video.

Bradley’s half-full parking lot was a strange sight for a Tuesday. With the ads in the windows exclaiming Two For Tuesday, you expected a swarm of shoppers. Then again, half of Hawkins had fled less than a week ago.

You bought two cans of generic soda from the machine out front with a couple of dollars. That supplied plenty of coins to make a long-distance call. You carried the sodas to the car. They’d be nice with lunch. Which was a meal. And Robin had invited you to volunteer making meals with her and Vickie.

Volunteering was a decent excuse to stay.

You deposited the sodas in the car’s drink holders and rushed to the payphone. After paying and dialing the Cincinnati number, the line rang twice before Mom answered. She sounded relieved to hear from you and asked after your car. It took you a second to recall the lie you’d left on their answering machine. You replied the radiator leak hadn’t been bad and had been repaired.

“Then when should we expect you?”

You sighed.

“I don’t want to come down to Cincinnati.”

Incredulous, she asked, “You want to stay in Hawkins?”

Your father’s voice rumbled in the background.

“Yes, actually,” you said. “I’m volunteering at the school. With friends.”

“The same friends you’re staying with?”

You nodded with a “yes.”

In reply, you got the swish of Mom putting her palm over the receiver. Your father’s voice sharpened, though you couldn’t make out his words. Mom responded, yet it didn’t sound like that pacified him.

You closed your eyes, waiting for him to grab the phone from her. Shaking your head, you realized preparing to be berated was something a previous version of yourself would’ve done.

“Mom.” When she didn’t answer, you said, “Mom.”

“Y-yes, honey? What is it?”

“I gotta go — I’m in the middle of a grocery run — but don’t worry about me. Everything’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll call you again, alright?”

“Honey… Where—? Your father—”

“No. I don’t care what he wants to yell about. I’m fine here. I’m safe, I promise. Just…” You took a stuttering breath. “I love you.”

She sighed.

“We love you, too.”

Your hand trembled as you placed the phone handset on the hook. A nickel dropped into the return slot. You never make anyone’s life easier, Vecna had said, using Eddie’s voice. You left it. The next person might need it. Besides, it was only a nickel. You turned to rest your back on the sun-warmed brick.

You’d done the right thing by staying. You were doing the right thing. It was the difficult thing, but you’d faced tougher. You weren’t some spoiled little rich girl who ran away from the aftermath. Even if it hurt — and it probably would. Even if Eddie left you — and it appeared as though he might.

You couldn’t worry about that right now. There were practical things to do. You felt like Scarlett O’Hara as you told yourself you’d think about the aftermath later.

Inside Bradley’s, shoppers and clerks spoke in hushed tones. Beeps from the checkouts didn’t carry beyond the cart corral. The quiet helped you concentrate on Steve’s shopping list. Item by item, you filled your cart, having to substitute skim milk for 2%, whole-wheat bread for white, and a carton of eighteen eggs instead of a dozen.

Steve had written ‘12 eggs,’ like you could buy them individually.

You huffed a laugh when turning into the ransacked paper aisle. The shelves for the industrial-sized packs of toilet paper were empty. That left you stepping onto the lowest shelf and struggling for the last two packs of the expensive floral-printed stuff at the back.

At the checkout, the clerk issued a rehearsed apology for the shortages. With the volcanic fissures now closed and road crews fixing the damage, they assured you shipments would start coming again soon. They helped bag your order since there weren’t enough baggers. They apologized for that, too.

You waved away their apologies and thanked them for their assistance. Because you weren’t an entitled person who didn’t appreciate a favor when it was offered.

Once the car’s trunk was loaded, you headed back to Steve’s. You didn’t know what you were going to say to Eddie about this morning, or how to broach the subject. He’d been dealing with so much stress. You understood that. You didn’t want to be another stressor. He needed to talk to you — or someone. He couldn’t just bottle up his emotions and get snippy when someone wasn’t mindful of his unspoken wishes.

As you made the left onto Cornwallis, an older truck paused at the stop sign on your right and followed you. You hoped they wouldn’t get aggressive when you slowed to get your bearings. You still weren’t used to the neighborhood. Something about it kept screwing with your sense of direction. Maybe it was how all the houses were set back from the road and obscured with manicured shrubs.

You recognized evergreen bushes and the u-shaped driveway of Steve’s house. You put on your turn signal. The truck did the same. You frowned at the rearview mirror, but pulled into the driveway. If the driver was some irrational, as your father had put it, country bumpkin, you’d make them regret tailing you.

You parked beside the enclosed carport and stepped out of the car, leaving your keys in the ignition and purse on the passenger seat. The truck stopped a few yards away. Sunlight glinted off its windshield. The engine went silent.

You stayed inside the vee of your open car door and waited for the driver to reveal themself.

The truck’s door creaked open, window reflecting the greenery of the front yard. Dusty work-boots hit the driveway. Something about them struck you as familiar. You studied the truck as you racked your mind for why.

The truck door clapped shut.

You gasped, eyes going wide. It was Eddie’s uncle, Wayne. He had a black eye and a shallow scratch at the top of his forehead, but otherwise appeared unharmed. You pushed the car door closed and hurried to him.

“Mr. Munson, oh my God! I didn’t— I’m so glad you’re okay!”

With a wry note in his voice, he said, “It’s good to see you, too.”

You offered your hands, which he grasped in his rougher ones. Tears prickled at your eyes. You hadn’t realized how on edge you’d been about Wayne’s absence until he was there.

You squeezed his hands, saying, “Eddie’s going to be thrilled to see you.”

He squeezed back as his expression softened, yet hardly shifted.

“Is he here?”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded. “He’s okay. He’s been asking about you.”

Wayne hummed, sounding pleased. “After that girl was found… Well, I’m sure you know by now. And with the trailer park done split in two, I’ve been staying at the Motel 6.”

“Of course, that makes sense.”

“This Henderson boy said Eddie was in the hospital when I dropped by the school on Saturday, but then that eruption happened.” He gave you a knowing look. “Course, the hospital didn’t have a record of Eddie being there.” He harrumphed and gently released your hands. “Then this morning, Agent Stinson, the one that put me up at the Motel 6, paid me a visit and told me about my nephew recuperating here.”

You glanced at Eddie’s bedroom window.

“Please, come in,” you said, pivoting to show him inside. “I’ll take you to him.”

“I first have a favor to ask.”

“Sure, anything.”

“Will you help this old man get a few things from the truck?”

You grinned.

“Absolutely.”

He led you to the back of the truck. You gasped a second time in so many minutes. Three guitar cases lay in the truck bed. You put a hand on your tight chest.

“I didn’t want to leave ‘em with no one at home,” said Wayne.

He’d never given up on Eddie. Like you, he’d known Eddie was innocent. His days must’ve been horrible, full of waiting and dread. You couldn’t imagine the stares and comments he must’ve gotten at work.

“—fit the amps, but I know these mean more.”

You nodded, feeling like a bobblehead doll as you blinked back tears.

“Whoa, hey now, don’t cry.”

You tried to reply you were fine, but the words wouldn’t come.

Wayne put a strong arm around your shoulders, grounding you. His faded denim jacket smelled of tobacco.

The guitars were just objects and could be replaced, of course, but Wayne was right: they meant something. You’d bet Eddie had resigned himself to replacing them. Coming to terms with that must’ve hurt.

You shook your head at the good fortune, then gave Wayne a smile. Now, Eddie wouldn’t have to go through that.

It took you a few tries, but you finally said, “He’s going to lose it when he sees you and these.”

“Eh, I reckon more for the guitars than me.”

You laughed as Wayne lowered the tailgate. He handed you the acoustic case and bossed around the two electrics. You closed the tailgate for him and led the way into the house. Television noise came from the open basement door.

In the living room, you and Wayne had a hushed conversation about leaving the guitars there. He wanted to surprise Eddie. You loved the idea and propped the acoustic against a sofa arm. Wayne added the electrics next to it before following you to the top of the stairs.

“Eddie?” you called.

“Yeah?”

“You have a visitor.”

“What? Who?”

You stepped to the side, giving Wayne access to the stairs. Eddie choked out something when Wayne was halfway down. You leaned on the doorframe, biting your grinning lip, waiting for their first exchange. However, it was quiet. You snuck a glance. Eddie’s arms were around Wayne, and Wayne’s around him. His fingers dug into Wayne’s jacket.

You closed the door to allow them privacy.

Taking a step towards the guitars, you remembered the groceries thawing in your car. That was unlocked. With the key in the ignition. And your purse in the passenger seat.

You dashed to the car and began unloading it. The kitchen counters filled with bags. Each trip obscured the counters until brown paper surrounded you.

By the time you finished stocking the refrigerator and pantry, Eddie and Wayne had emerged from the basement. Eddie’s excited voice came from the living room, making you smile. You padded to the doorway to watch the second reunion. Eddie knelt in front of the red guitar’s open case.

Wayne said to him the same thing he’d told you: he couldn’t abandon the guitars.

Wordlessly, Eddie nodded and stood. He hugged Wayne again, murmuring something into his shoulder. Wayne put a hand on the back of Eddie’s head and ruffled his hair as he replied. Eddie laughed with a sniffle.

You ducked your head and crossed your arms. If you saw him cry, you’d cry. Then Wayne would be stuck in a house of the emotionally compromised.

When Eddie and Wayne separated, you cleared your throat to make your presence known. Eddie beamed at you in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. Wayne was more restrained, but he appeared just as happy.

“Mr. Munson, would you like to stay for lunch?” you asked.

“I’d like that, but I can’t. The plant’s understaffed, and I’m workin’ a double.”

Eddie wilted, but you didn’t want him to give up hope. He needed something to look forward to.

You asked, “Maybe on a day off?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He glanced at Eddie. “My Friday’s free.”

“Come for lunch,” said Eddie.

“Yeah, stay as long as you want. Stay for dinner.” Raising your eyebrows at Eddie, you said, “We can invite the rest of the party. Make it a potluck.”

“I think we better run that by Steve first.”

“Like he’ll refuse.”

Eddie conceded the point with an agreeable shrug.

To Wayne, he said, “Steve’s got cable downstairs. There’s at least one sports channel.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a good enough reason to return.”

Eddie barked a laugh and knocked his elbow against Wayne’s. He then turned to Wayne and perched his chin on the back of his hands, blinking owlishly.

“You mean my spectacular personality isn’t reason enough?”

Wayne said drily, “Your personality is a spectacle, alright.”

Eddie laughed again. Wayne’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips curved into a private grin.

After a moment, Wayne said, “Well, I best be off.”

“Thank you for coming by,” you said.

Eddie nodded.

“Thanks for everything.”

“Anytime.”

You heard the love in that one word. Eddie must’ve heard it as well, because his face softened. It was easy to forget his sharp smile and smart-ass remarks and big personality masked a tender heart.

As you thought it, you asked, “Do you have the phone number here?”

“No, ma’am.”

You hurried into the kitchen, found the pad of paper Steve used for the shopping list, and wrote the number. When you came out with a pad and pen, Wayne and Eddie stood in the foyer. You tore off the top sheet and asked for the motel’s number.

“Just in case plans change,” you said.

After trading numbers, you saw Wayne off. Eddie followed him down the front stairs while you remained in the doorway. Once in the truck, Wayne held up a hand in goodbye before reversing down the driveway.

As soon as Wayne’s truck was out of sight, Eddie brushed past you without meeting your eyes. You closed the door and trailed after him into the living room.

“You want to talk about this morning?”

“What’s there to talk about?” he asked, kneeling in front of the guitars and closing the red’s case.

“Well, geez, I don’t know.” You put your hands on your hips. “Maybe how you brushed me off?”

He laid the acoustic case flat and paused with his hands on top.

“I didn’t ‘brush you off.’ I didn’t want to talk about fucking Jason Carver, okay?”

“That wasn’t the point.”

“No, that is the point. He wouldn’t have targeted you if I’d left you alone from the start.”

You narrowed your eyes at his back. That was a crappy excuse. And still not the point.

“Why did you say it was good my parents had left town so I wouldn’t have to introduce you?”

“I don’t know, alright? Everything got screwed up.” His hands balled into fists. “I know part of it’s my fault.” He shook his head as his shoulders hunched. “I can’t undo it, so… It’s whatever.”

You huffed a breath through your nose.

“It’s whatever?” Letting your hands drop to your sides, you said, “Me being serious about you, about wanting my parents to know you, is not whatever.”

He muttered, “They wouldn’t have liked me, anyway.”

“Maybe not, but I’d make them respect my choice.” You tried to breathe with a too-tight chest. “Because I choose you. It sucks that doesn’t seem to mean a lot to you.”

You didn’t wait for a reply and headed into the kitchen. There were empty grocery bags to deal with. You folded and stacked them on the island while swallowing around the lump in your throat.

If Steve’s parents were anything like your own, there was a stash of empty grocery bags somewhere around here. You found a bag of bags in the pantry — something you’d missed a few times. Of course, you missed it. You’d missed plenty of things these past few days, evidently, but you wouldn’t cry over them. Not now. Not in Steve’s pantry. You added the new bags to the collection, then closed the pantry door.

You turned and startled at Eddie dawdling in the kitchen doorway.

“I choose you too, you know,” he said, fingers playing with nonexistent rings. “And it does mean a lot to me — that you’re serious about me. I’m serious about you, too.”

You nodded, voice constrained by the sudden stranglehold of too many emotions.

“I’m going to go upstairs now.”

You nodded again, though you didn’t like it.

He shifted from foot to foot before leaving the doorway. His faint footsteps disappeared from the first floor. All the while, you mentally screamed for him to come back. You didn’t need him to say more. He just needed to stay. Maybe to make lunch with you, though the idea of eating turned your stomach. However, you wanted to do something dumb, something mundane, with him, like make lunch and drink the cheap sodas you’d bought.

Instead, you trudged into the sunroom and flumped into one of the armless chairs.

[yanderes-galore]

For my second request, may I request Walter Sullivan from Silent hill 4, the room? I’d imagine that he could be a cool Yandere to do. It can either be headcanons or if reader was supposed to be a sacrifice at first before he started his obsession with them. Anyways, thank you again for considering doing this request (it’s my final one this open ask box round since everyone deserves a chance to get their ask in 💙) Thanks again!

-MsPlacedHero

I'm not very familiar with Silent Hill 4 yet I did my research! Hope you enjoy :) Just a warning, I made this darker than my usual stories due to the character. So expect triggering themes mentioned in the TW section. You have been warned!

Yandere! Walter Sullivan Concept

(Silent Hill 4: The Room)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Delusional behavior, Obsession, Death, Murder, Mentions of religious sacrifice, Clingy behavior, Trauma, Forced affection, Manipulation, Blood, Stalking, Kidnapping, Breaking and entering, Suicide mention, Cults, Rituals, Mutilation, Haunting/Paranormal, Yandere watches and holds you when you sleep, I get creepy with this one because he is a creepy man, I like to write unhinged characters at times, I don't condone any of this like usual, This is to depict horror, Forced relationship.

When it comes to Walter you can view his obsession as having two different parts.

When he was alive... and when he becomes a ghost.

You most likely first meet Walter when he was alive.

Sometime during his life, before he resorted to the killings, Walter was vulnerable yo kindness.

His view on humanity/society is that they're all cruel in his delusional mind.

So I imagine he'd get attached to you if you tried to help him when he was struggling.

For example, helping him when he was homeless.

Walter hasn't experience much kindness in his life so he easily clings to it, similar to when Eileen gave him her doll as a little girl.

You don't understand why he sobs so much when you try to help him.

Turns out... helping this one homeless man becomes your greatest mistake.

Like you said, Walter may see you as a needed sacrifice to obtain Paradise and see his mother at first.

Once he begins the sacrifices for the ritual he probably begins to stalk you.

Walter would eventually decide not to sacrifice you when his obsession settles in.

He loves your kindness and wants you to direct it towards him.

You may be the one good thing humanity has to offer in his eyes.

So I imagine you'd be spared from his blade... for now.

No, instead your fate may be worse.

You're the obsession of a religious fanatic serial killers who has killed countless victims of all ages for some sort of ritual.

Just because he isn't going to kill you doesn't mean your safe.

Walter most likely has worship yandere characteristics paired with delusional yandere behavior.

He sees you as important to him and feels he should pursue you.

You should witness paradise... you seem like you deserve it.

Walter most likely has no idea how to process romantic attraction.

He hasn't been close enough to anyone to really explore it.

So why does he feel this obsessive need to be closer to you...

Very close....

I imagine there's a pause in his killings where he just... finds you.

He stalks your home, be it a full house or an apartment.

For now he just watches your life.

Soon he gets bolder and tries to get into your home.

Maybe he succeeds before you notice.

Walter does seem like the type to cling to his darling.

He'll watch you as you sleep, maybe even lightly reach out to touch your skin, afraid you may break or something.

He may even be the type to try and hold you in your sleep to add to the horror of this situation.

He's not a good or sane man.

Walter just seems like a yandere with no boundaries, he feels his darling is perfection and that he's blessed to be in your presence.

Even if you're unaware.

As he's already committed murders by this point, this most likely alerts the cops as you call them out of fear.

In fact, your second "formal" encounter with Walter may be right before he's arrested.

Walter maybe decided to get bolder and tried to enter your home when you were awake.

He coos to you through the door and window about how you're meant to be.

You are a key to paradise and he'll reward you for being so nice in a world of corruption!

Meanwhile all you see is the homeless man you helped years ago trying to break into your home.

Safe to say before Walter can get his hands on you he is arrested.

Which leads into the second part of his obsession.

We all know in the original story he dies in jail by his own hands as the 11th victim of 21 sacrifices.

Which due to the cult he is a part of, he continues on as a ghost to finish the ritual.

I imagine as a ghost he'd immediately haunt his darling while searching for his final victims.

You'll notice it through hallucinations and portals to his "dimension".

The entire time Walter's playing with you, telling you in his own way he's still in your life.

Ghostly touches drift over you and you see visions of him.

Safe to say you feel like you're going insane.

Walter still keeps an eye on you while trying to finish the ritual.

He tells you in "dreams" that he'll show you paradise.

When he eventually meets his supposed "mother" he wants you to meet her.

For some reason he feels a strong connection to you and believes this is "love".

However, Walter most likely has never seen people display this type of love.

So he feels forcing himself into your life to gain your attention must be the right way.

Walter is delusional and thinks you must love him too, even as a ghost.

In his eyes... the fear in your eyes is just excitement.

I unfortunately think your fate is the same even if Walter loves you.

Eventually he feels the only way for you to be together is if you join him.

Which means, sadly, your death.

Walter promises he'll be gentle while he does it because he cares.

He says that as a ghost you can be with him in paradise after the ritual is complete.

So please don't struggle much as he carves the numbers into your flesh...

The pain will finish once he has your heart.

Hearts are needed for the ritual.

Yet for a little while Walter finds himself holding yours in his hands with an expression of adoration.

By the time you wake as a ghost, Walter is there to greet you.

He gives you a smile, claiming it was fate to meet you.

He's happy that he can finally show his love for you.

Here is where you belong... right with him.

Normally acts of kindness towards strangers is rewarded...

However you can barely call this a reward, despite what Walter keeps telling you.

Walter, regardless on if he's alive or not, would be obsessive over your touch.

He wants to hold you and just stay there.

Humanity is corrupt to him... yet you're different.

So he must preserve you.

To him, your murder was not only important for the ritual, but to keep you from becoming like the rest.

In his eyes this is mercy, this is a reward for helping him out.

Now... he's helped you too.

Here, when paradise eventually arrives, he'll take you with him.

He can't wait for you to meet Mother.

[sketchfanda]

A Little Moxxie Love: Teacher’s Pet

Sinners came and went in Hell especially when it came to the annual purge from the Exorcists of heaven, most wound up there with a good reason to a point that the inferno more or less seperated itself into sections. There was the residential 9 circles of course and then there was that little chunk of limbo occupied by the absolute scum of the Earth, the racists fascists and what not all getting their deserved eternal damnation. Within the circles among the hellborn demon denizens, you of course had the Sinners, confined within the pride circle and often occupying locales such as Imp City or Pentagram town, who did bad enough to still wind up here or you had those who spent all their life being good and due to petty reasons or one absolute FUCK-UP due to circumstances found themselves here. Such was the case with one Mrs.Mayberry, a devoted spirited and friendly school teacher who unfortunately punched her ticket to hellfire and brimstone all because she went a LITTLE batshit crazy.

Well okay so a little was an understatement but you expect her to be rational trying to make a video phone call to your husband on his birthday..which you forgot, only to wind up getting a full audio visual view of him cheating you with some whore? Alright so the chainsaw and shotgun may've been excessive and it would've been nice not to traumatise her classroom, who saw every terrifying second, right up to her committing suicide out of the horror she'd done but maybe she more than punched her ticket for Hell. It just would've made for some closure to know that the Bitch known as Martha had gone down with her, but NOO! She'd survived and just the thought of what came to afterwards.

That damn homewrecker got hailed as hero and she was to be remembered in passing as some psycho bitch, just the idea that Martha whatever had not only still kept drawing breath but got some good karma out of it made her absolutely FUCKING LIVID!! So of course it felt there was a sign that there was God, even in this infernal inferno and that he smiled on revenge via seeing that tacky billboard or that commercial with the annoying jingle. A professional hitman group dedicated to helping you get payback from beyond the grave, now how poetic would that be? Okay she had doubts when meeting them given that the boss was beyond fucking insensitive after she'd confided about her circumstances and yeah there was that shit about their office being set on fire by electric eels but really who keeps a fish tank full of electric eels?!!

But hey least she got a discount for the hire and best of all was they actually managed to do the damn job!! They not only got the whore but her family as well, turns out they were Satanist cannibals, talk about something right out of some goddamn cliche slasher flick but the only thing sweeter than her revenge had to be the cake for the after party. But of course Mayberry had then found something even sweeter during said party, thanks to a very vivid and detailed description from that Millie girl about how that homewrecking slut-whore's death came about. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't actually going to get off at night just even thinking that the bitch would be rotting in Hell with her but goddamn how fucking ironic and poetic that she literally and figuratively got fucked to death?! Well it made he just want to kiss the triggerman responsible, said Imp being none other than Millie's husband.

Now mind you back in life, Mayberry had done just about everything right to stay on the straight and narrow path from abstaining from sex outside of Marriage to smoking, drugs and alcohol but we all know how well that turned out. But there wasn't any doubt that before damnation, she'd have not hesitated to politely but firmly reject the quite kinky, generous offer Millie had made her, but after days to weeks in this part of Hell? Fuck it, she was all on board and if a marriage could somehow manage to be functional and healthy for these two imps in Hell that the missus had no issue with this kink of hers? Well it was small wonder she decided to take her up on her offer.

Which of course was how she had wound up being taken by the erotic little short-stack back to the modest little apartment she and her man called home. Surprising the imp himself when he came back to find the lights off and the presence of a set of lips kissing him that most certainly didn't belong to Millie. But he certainly knew when to run with the momentum, that was for damn sure as the former teacher found Millie hadn't been exaggerating or lying in the slightest as the kinky imp watched on with voyeuristic thrill at the sinner and her man making out out on the couch. Mayberry of course found out first hand that Moxxie wasn't just, pardon, one helluva kisser but there was a damn good reason or at least one of key ones as to why Millie married the guy.

That being that despite what his height and overall body-shape implied, the guy was FUCKING HUNG!! It's small wonder Millie had this kink for having her man bone other women a dick, no a COCK like this was all too much for anyone woman to handle and there was no doubt he knew how to use it. It was small wonder he managed to bang Martha's brains out figuratively well enough in order to do so literally with a length and girth like this. His make out skills alone had put her worthless chump of a husband to shame but this, well suddenly the guy now seemed like a pencil dick compared to this thing.

Shock and awe on her face as her eyes began to twinkle with a glow of rising lust as witnessing such a cock awakened something within the former school teacher. A dormant primal urge, the innate animalistic primitve urge to mate...to breed even!! Before she knew it, she found herself naked together with this sex god among imps, body draped upside on the couch at a 90 degree angle with her hanging off of the edge. Glasses askew as those heavy crimson red balls smacked her forehead, Moxxie delivering a power-froce facefuck as he held her horns firmly in his grasp while the sinner experienced her first real act of fellatio in a into the deep end manner of deepthroating.

And she was loving every goddamn second of it, as if all that abstinence back in life had been rewarded with this, recalling just how much of an utter disappointment her honeymoon had been. Or her first time in general, no sir this wasn't vanilla love-making,this was raw, passionate FUCKING, all goddamn caps and it was absolute ecstasy!! But of course Moxxie showed he was no slouch at eating a woman out either and oooh lord what that sweet tongue could do to and for a woman, it'd be a miracle if she'd be able to walk straight for a few hours, days even!! But then of course the moment of penetration itself came and so did she, long, loud and hard with erotic abandon.

Had she gone to hell or was this in fact the real Heaven hiding within it?!! Well it didn't matter about what could've, would've or should've been when she was finally experiencing a real man here and now, as she found herself pinned up against a wall, arms and legs wrapped around Moxxie’s compact yet quite toned form. Hearts glowing in her eyes as her face was wearing what the Japanese called an ahegao, drool dribbling from her lips as her pussy was pounded and hammered by inches of imp length and girth. He wasn’t just hitting her G spot, he was getting the whole alphabet!

Even the most basic vanilla positions such as missionary felt surreal in how fucking amazing they felt but chalk that up to Moxxie not only having size but knowing how to use it. To say nothing of how lewd she felt when Millie joined the fear, having felt she’d done enough of just watching. Now mayberry knew she’d never so much as thought of kissing another woman even for experimenting but Christ could this imp make even the most hetero woman question her own sexuality. Especially in Mayberry’s case when she found herself eating out the wrath shortstsck’s pussy as Moxxie plowed her her doggy style.

For Martha of course, that one time with Moxxie became more than a one time deal in expressing her gratitude for killing that home wrecking bitch. Not long before parting ways, Millie had only offered to exchange contact details but seems she had wanted to let the former school teacher in on something very special she had planned. She thought about this offer for all of about several nano seconds before she accepted it. After all why turn a chance to have herself a little vitamin Moxxie on the regular now and then?

Now as said back in life, this sort of wild spontaneous lust and lewdness was not Something she ever would’ve thought about, period!! It was all just too scandalous to consider but then again she was in hell now so this sort of thing felt natural and really, what women in and out hell wouldn’t want some of this action? Especially with an imp who was hung like a beast and was possessing of such sexual prowess that he could be considered hell’s equivalent to sex a god. It only felt like the least she could enjoy given how much a shit show her life spiralled out into.

And so it had come to pass that was how Mayberry found herself one of the first and earliest members of wha Millie was coming to call a circle of intimacy. Something only a select couple of women like herself would be in, yes that spunky kinky short stack had even worked out a tier system for this passion project of hers and she was all on board for it. So of course in between when she wasn’t having Moxxie rock her world at either his place or hers, she’d be keeping an eye out for any sinners or demons who were looking for something a little better than their current lot in life. Lesbians who wanted a little taboo spice, lonely singles who wanted to end their dry spells and of course married women or girls in relationships who found their men lacking or left wanting, any and all potential candidates, it was rathe fun t like shopping for a quality piece of fashion at a sale.

But of course just when Mayberry her damnation couldn’t get a little easier and sweeter, one fine day she found a large crate delivered to her apartment. A note attached, sealed with a kiss from Millie who wrote “A Lil’ Someone to keep You company. No worries Moxxie made sure she was as tame as a kitten….”. This made the sinner rather curious as she wasted no time in popping the crate open, finding auite sight before her. There was no mistaking her one bit, even if she now had the physical looks of a sinner, as in the crate laying bound and gagged in nothing but lacey lingerie was none other than Martha herself.

And Millie’s note hadn’t been kidding, the homewrecker in life was as sweet and affectionate as a puppy or kitten, greeting the teacher whose life she had ruined with licks and kisses. The shock and surprise in Mayberry of course soon gave way to lust as it occurred to her what exactly the hell was happening. Seems her alpha male imp had an encounter with this damn sinner snd once again, his sexual prowess got one over on her, proofing too much for the satanist cannibal killer to handle. It was all too delicious, sweeter than sugar than honey combined, the bitch who had ruined her life and marriage was a slutty sex pet that belonged to her, she owned this bitch!!

So of course she wasted no time in getting intimately, erotically acquainted with her new pet slash roommate as she asserted her dominance as Martha’s second alpha female. Getting herself a revenge much sweeter than the attempted chainsaw and shotgun murder she tried on when they were both alive. Having Martha squirm and moan, crying out her name, calling her mistress, making her lap up her pussy juices, it was delicious ecstasy. Hell she even got to try out a few of those toys she had bought and been stockpiling, especially Ozzie’s Brand M.

It was a lovely little toy well worth its price tag and handy for filling the void and scratching the itch for when she couldn’t get herself access for some quality time with Moxxie. But ooh using it on Martha more than validated her purchase of it so it more than ensured that homewrecker knew who held her leash, figuratively and literally. Now if you were to tell Mayberry in life that she’d be in hell living with another woman who she kept around as a sex pet? Well she’d call you a deviant with a wild and overly active imagination.

But that was then and this was now of course and far as Mayberry was concerned, she was living her best afterlife. So it came as no surprise that next time around Moxxie and Millie came by her place for her latest session of Vitamin Moxxie intimacy, she had her little sex pet in on the fun. Hell was what you’d make of it, especially with the impossibility of reason and for this former school teacher? She’d say she made a pretty sweet afterlife for herself and how goddamn sweet it is, heaven likely coils t come close being this good.