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munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Summary: Will's birthday party brings back some familiar faces and gives Eddie the perfect opportunity to make amends with Corroded Coffin, but an unexpected interruption might have him hurtling towards his old ways.

Warnings: some dirty talk (18+ only just in case), drinking/drunkenness (everyone is over 21), pregnancy and labor complications, mentions of past bullying

WC: 8.2k

Chapter 14/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special shoutout to @storiesbyrhi and @corroded-hellfire for helping with the fluffy sections and making this piece strong.

Afternoons at Hawkins Preschool are predictable: storytime on the carpet is followed by the kids’ pack-up routine, and once all belongings are shoved into their proper backpacks, they file out the door to go home.

Predictable is good. It’s safe. And it certainly doesn’t include a fire drill half an hour before dismissal.

Herding nine children through the bustling hallways and trying to ensure no one is left behind is overwhelming enough. Factor in the ear-splitting alarm and the surge of adrenaline pulsing through your students once they re-enter your classroom, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for chaos.

Instead of fighting a losing battle to keep the kids calm and quiet, you’d opted to plunk them down with myriad art supplies and called it a day.

Now, after the last student had been picked up, you and Will are left cleaning the mess they’d made. Broken crayons are scattered across the tabletops, there’s Play-Doh of various colors stuck to the floor, and gold glitter—when did you even acquire glitter?—dusts every surface.

“Seriously…who thought that that timing was a good idea?” Will grumbles, tossing a Crayola stub into the crayon basket. He adopts a nasal, mocking tone. “‘What would help out our teachers? Oh, I know—let’s interrupt their dismissal routines!’”

You laugh despite your own exhaustion. Somehow, you’ll have to muster up the energy to tutor Harris tonight.

Will reaches into the cupboard to grab his car keys, turning back around with a smile that he only offers you when he needs something. “Could I ask you for a little favor?”

There it is. “How little?” You cock one brow as you clip a stack of papers together.

“Eensy weensy. Miniscule. Microscopic–”

“The more you say it, the less I believe you.”

“Okay, okay,” Will acquiesces, twirling his keyring around his forefinger. “So, for my birthday thing on Saturday…a bunch of my childhood friends are gonna be there. Mike, Dustin, Suzie, Lucas, Max, Jane…” he lists them, ticking off each name on his fingers. “Anyway, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to Eddie about a Corroded Coffin reunion? I know they’re on a hiatus or whatever, but if anyone can convince him to play, it’s you.”

He’s not wrong; you’re the most likely person to get Eddie to do, well, anything. But asking him to make amends with Danny and Gareth and getting their band to play a gig three days from now seems like a mountainous task.

Will is staring at you, hands clasped together pleadingly. He’s too optimistic for his own good, and you can’t help but give in.

“Fine, I’ll try. But–hey, don’t get excited yet,” you warn when he pumps his fist in celebration. “‘Try’ is the key word here. I’m not making any promises.”

Your admonition goes unheeded as Will already considers it a victory. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You give him a small, tight-lipped wave as he dashes out the door. You and Eddie were already planning to attend the party; you’d spent part of last night scouring an art store for the perfect gift. And he and Jeff were back to being thick as thieves…maybe this could work.

“All right, Mr. Harris,” you say with a laugh, hurriedly placing tiles of various shapes in front of him. You need to make the most of the few minutes you have left until Eddie arrives. There’s a soft, familiar flutter in your stomach as you think about seeing your boyfriend, but you know you can’t compete with him for Harris’s attention. “Can you find the…trapezoid?” The inflection in your voice makes it sound like a much more exciting task than it really is, and you hope it’s enough to wrangle his focus.

Harris pokes out his tiny pink tongue as he assesses the tiles. He initially reaches for the blue rhombus, but as soon as his little finger touches it, he pulls away as though it’s on fire. “No…that’s not it.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to suppress your amusement as he thoughtfully taps his forefinger on his lips. A solid ten seconds pass before he triumphantly snatches up the correct tile. “Got it!” he beams, showing off the red trapezoid in his hand.

“You did! You got the trapezoid!” You hold up your hand for a high-five, frowning when he shakes his head. His overgrown curls brush along his eyebrows, and you wonder if it’s your place to suggest that Eddie take him for a haircut. “No high-five?”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, now swiveling his whole body in defiance. “I want…tickles!” He holds his arms out, leaving his torso wide open.

Lips pursed in faux consideration, you lower your voice to a hushed whisper. “Hmm…I think that warrants a visit from the Tickle Monster!” You flex your fingers so they resemble claws; he instinctively scrunches up in anticipation, arms tucked into his stomach. You let out your silliest wicked cackle as your fingers dig mercilessly into his sides in pursuit of his most ticklish spots. Delighted peals of laughter emanate from his chest, and you don’t stop until the buzzer rings, signaling Eddie’s arrival.

Harris’s eyes get wide, mischief dancing behind his pupils. “Do you think the Tickle Monster should get Daddy?” he asks, keeping his voice low despite it only being the two of you.

“Oh, absolutely.” You buzz Eddie in while formulating the game plan aloud. “I’ll grab the pizza and you go on the attack. Once the food is secured, I’ll join you.” You stick out your pinky, and he wraps his own around it.

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His words turn your heart into a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven, ooey gooey and destined to crumble if handled too harshly. “I love you, too, Harris,” you manage, blinking back embarrassing tears. The flood of emotion is absurd; he probably tells his stuffed animals that he loves them with the same fervor, but you can’t deny the adoration with which he looks at you.

He flings his arms around you in a hug, squeezing tight. Face pressed to your ribs, his words are muffled but still audible when he says, “I don’t know why Daddy says it’s hard to say ‘I love you.’”

He doesn’t have time to further elaborate before Eddie’s knocking on the door. “Special delivery for my two favorite people!” Your heart beats faster with the knowledge that he’s on the other side, that you’ll be able to sneak in a kiss or two.

You and Harris share devious grins, the little boy emulating your monster-esque stance from earlier. He creeps behind you on his tiptoes, and bites back a giggle when you slowly open the door, counting down from three under your breath.

“Hi–whoa!” Eddie stumbles back as Harris barrels into him, little fingers dancing across his lower stomach. You quickly snatch the pizza box from Eddie’s grasp and place it on the table before darting back to where his son has ambushed him. You start on his bicep and let your nails travel upwards until they reach the crook of his neck.

“I’m under attack!” Eddie yelps, twitching this way and that way in a meager attempt to protect himself. “I bring you pizza and this is how I’m repaid?” He easily scoops Harris into his arms, flinging him over his shoulder. Harris lets out an exhilarated squeal, carelessly kicking his sock-clad feet into his dad’s chest. “Jesus, little dude. You’re getting too strong.” Wincing slightly from the pinch in his back as he places the boy on the floor, he gives his tush a little pat and tells him to wash up for dinner, reminding him to use soap and water.

As soon as Harris scampers off into the bathroom, Eddie’s grabbing you by the belt loops of the wide-leg jeans you’d changed into when you got home. One hand slides around your waist and the other finds purchase on your cheek as he kisses you deeply, keeping a listening ear out for the telltale pitter-patter of Harris returning.

“Missed you,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you shiver at the intimacy this closeness brings.

You laugh quietly, biting your lower lip. “We just saw each other this morning,” you remind him, sneaking in another quick peck.

Eddie shakes his head. “Y’know what I mean. Can’t do this while you’re on the clock,” he counters, shifting his grip so both hands rest on either side of your face. You think he’s going to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today.” He rests the slope of his nose on yours, only snapping out of his trance at the sound of Harris rapidly switching the faucet on and off. “Let me go check on him before this place is underwater,” he whispers, giving your own ass a smack as he shuffles towards his mischievous son, a cheeky grin deepening his dimples.

You do your best to compose yourself, heat creeping up your neck and into your face. Busying yourself by placing pizza slices onto paper plates does little to distract you; it’s as though every neuron is dedicated to flooding your brain with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

The way the pads of his fingertips brush against your cheeks when he holds your face. The plush moisture of his lips when he kisses your forehead. The tickle of his brown tresses when he nuzzles into you and takes a deep breath, finally able to relax after a long day.

“Are you expecting a guest?” Eddie pipes up from the kitchen entrance. A perplexed frown overtakes your lips until he gestures to what you’ve laid out in front of you: four slices of pizza, two plain and two with olives, on four plates.

Your vision gets a bit fuzzy with tears when you realize what you’ve done. “No, it’s, um…” Nostrils flare as you huff out a short puff of air, hot under your nose. “Force of habit, sorry.” You’ve been so diligent about only serving three slices, but your preoccupation with his touch had your mind drifting from the task at hand.

It takes him a moment to process what you mean, but when he does, his face falls. It was for Grandma. “It’s okay,” he says, cringing as the words leave his mouth. Because it’s not okay that you’re sad; it’s normal, but frustration still tugs at his heart that he can’t take it away.

It feels wrong to return the slice to the box, so you leave it where it is. Eddie balances the three plates, sliding a plain one in front of Harris. The boy digs in hungrily, sauce caught on the edges of his smile.

“How was work?” you ask Eddie, grabbing a napkin from the pile in the center of the table. It’s a simple question, one that people ask each other all the time, but it stirs up a warmth inside of him. It’s you asking him, fostering a domestic routine that he could follow for the rest of his life. He’d walk through the door of your house, wiping his shoes on the welcome mat you two had picked out together. The kids–Harris, plus another Little Munson or two–would practically knock him down trying to greet him, and he’d engulf them in bear hugs before reaching out to you, kissing your forehead with a murmured, “there’s my girl.”

“Eds?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was good.” He stumbles over the words, trying to clear his head of the fantasy he’d conjured up. “Lotsa paperwork, y’know.” He takes a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “What about you?”

You shrug, watching amusedly as Harris sinks his teeth into his slice and manages to pull all of the cheese off of the crust in one fell swoop. “The usual. The kids are learning about springtime, so Will decided to do a craft making flowers using finger paint and their handprints.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agree with a weary grin, “but it was super cute, and Will is great with all that art stuff.” You excuse yourself from the table to get the water pitcher and three glasses, stopping when you remember your TA’s request. “He also asked me if a certain local metal band could play his birthday party on Saturday…?”

Eddie pauses mid-chew, nearly choking on his food. The cheese seems to congeal in his mouth when he tries to speak. “Um, I don’t know about that,” he finally manages, nervously massaging the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked to Danny or Gareth since…”

“I know, but you said you wanted to make things right with them,” you point out. “Maybe Jeff can test the waters? See if they’re ready to talk to you?”

“Maybe.” He averts his gaze, staring at the pizza slice without taking another bite.

You don’t want to further push the subject in Harris’s presence; instead, you turn your attention to the little boy. “Anything fun happen at school today, Har?”

“Nah,” he responds automatically just a half-second before his eyes light up. “Actually, yeah! My friend Charlie ate a bug at recess today!”

“Ew!” you exclaim, wrinkling your nose in pure disgust, as Eddie simultaneously poses the question, “what kind of bug?”

“An ant,” Harris answers his dad nonchalantly, as though ant-eating is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is, which is even more unsettling.

“Did you eat any bugs?” You’re afraid of his response; you’re unsure why you even asked in the first place.

To your relief, he shakes his head, a forlorn look on his cherubic face. “No, I couldn’t catch any in time.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” you mutter, turning back to your original task of getting something to drink. Though if the topic of bug consumption continues, you’ll need something much stronger than water.

Could Corroded Coffin play again?

It’s a thought that consumes Eddie for the entirety of his drive home, barely able to listen to Harris yammering about how there’s a coin in his jacket pocket that he doesn’t remember putting there. He throws a few lackluster mhms his son’s way and hopes he’s too distracted by the mystery coin to catch on.

We’re getting the band back together. Well, if Jake and Elwood Blues could swing it, maybe he could, too.

He waits until Harris is asleep to call Jeff. Getting his son to do his bedtime routine is easiest on Wednesday nights; he’s usually exhausted after a full day of school and tutoring. The one time that Eddie could use an excuse to procrastinate, Harris is out like a light.

Go to voicemail go to voicemail go to—

“‘Lo?”

Shit. “H-Hey, man,” Eddie begins awkwardly. “How’s it going? Viv doing okay?”

“We’re good. She’s ready to have this baby already. I reminded her, ‘just two more weeks,’ but then she told me to ‘fuck off’ until I’m the pregnant one, so…” he chuckles, more nervous than amused. “Everything good with you? Harris?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just, um,” he struggles to find the words, blurting out the first ones that enter his brain. They come out in a rush before he can stop them. “Do Gareth and Danny still hate me?”

Jeff takes a sharp breath in; his reaction does nothing to temper Eddie’s nerves. “They never hated you. They were just…disappointed? Jesus, I sound like my mom.”

Eddie misses his friend’s anecdote, too wrapped up in his head to fully pay attention. Somehow, disappointed stings worse than the prospect of being hated, especially when the people he’s let down are ones who used to idolize him. “Do you think there’s a way they could be…undisappointed in me? Like, enough to forgive me and maybe play a gig this weekend?”

There’s an extended pause, and then a one-word response: “Christ.”

Eddie can picture Jeff rubbing his eyes in exasperation, and he scrambles to explain. “Will Byers–you remember him? He was in Hellfire; had that weird bowl cut thing going on?”

“Mhm.”

“He’s having a birthday thing at the Hideout on Saturday and asked if we could play. Just a coupla songs.”

Jeff thinks for a moment; Eddie can hear him drumming his fingers on a nearby surface.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night around…6?” he ventures. “I’ll invite the guys and we can…I dunno, figure something out.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” He’s about to hang up when he remembers to ask, “Can I bring Harris?”

“Of course.”

“Har, slow down!” Eddie’s barely unbuckled his son’s car seat before Harris has wriggled out of the sedan, bolting straight for Jeff’s door.

“But I haven’t seen Uncle Danny and Uncle Gareth in forever!” he laments, reaching the house far faster than Eddie. He stands on tiptoes and rings the doorbell like a madman, forefinger jamming into the button at warp speed. “Uncle Jeff! It’s me!”

Jeff opens the door with a huge smile. “Mini Munson!” He scoops the boy up into a hug. “What’s new with you, little dude?”

“I got a wiggly tooth!” Harris exclaims, jutting out his jaw and pressing his tongue against the front center of his mouth. Sure enough, the baby tooth moves slightly forward, and he giggles. “Daddy says the Tooth Fairy’s gonna come and leave me a dollar,” he matter-of-factly reports. He peeks his head over Jeff’s shoulder, squealing and squirming out of his grip when he spots the two men sitting on the couch. He flings himself onto the sofa and plunks himself down into Gareth’s lap. “Hi!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Gareth chirps. “You’re getting so big.”

“‘M five now. I had a birthday party because I turned five.” He splays out his palm to offer five fingers.

“Did your friends go?”

“Yup!” Harris beams at the memory. “An’ Daddy an’ Grampa Wayne an’ Ms. Sweetheart.”

Danny furrows his brows. “Who’s Ms. Sweetheart?”

“She’s my almost-mommy. Daddy has to fall in love with her first.”

“Is that so?” Gareth smirks at Eddie. His teasing look is the first crack in the wall that has separated the men for the last six months, and though Eddie is thoroughly embarrassed, it alleviates some of his anxiety.

“Uh, Har Bear, why don’t you go hang out with Auntie Viv while I talk with the guys?”

Viv holds out her left hand, looking utterly exhausted. Her right hand rests on her bump, eyes sending a telepathic message to Jeff that they have five minutes—ten minutes, if Harris behaves well—to come to a solution before she needs a break.

Silence filters into the room as Eddie fumbles to address the mess he’s made. If Danny and Gareth are here, they’re at least willing to listen to him, which is honestly farther than he’d assumed he’d get.

He remembers what Harris said about apologizing; technically, what you’d taught him about apologizing: the act of saying sorry, not merely implying it, makes a world of difference.

“I was an asshole,” he starts. It’s not his most eloquent statement, but it certainly gets the point across. “Not just that night at the Hideout, or at our last practice. I was an asshole for a long time before that. And…I’m sorry.” It feels good to say it; it feels even better that they’re nodding, seeming to believe him. “You guys didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Of the rest of the band, Gareth is the one to speak first. “I guess I’m just wondering, why? Why be an asshole to us? We’ve always been there for you.”

“I know.” Eddie fiddles with a thread hanging from his t-shirt, pulling on it until it snaps off. He shoves it in his jeans pocket, not wanting to mess up Jeff and Viv’s place. “Honestly…I’m not sure, but I think it’s because you guys are everything I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny asks, tone heavy with disbelief.

“In high school, I was the one you looked up to. The person you wanted to be like. And then I had a kid with some random chick I thought I knew but barely did, gave up my dreams of being a musician, and started selling weed again just to scrape by. And here you guys are. Jeff,” he motions to the friend leaning against the sofa’s arm, “you have a baby on the way with the love of your life. And all of you have goddamn college degrees and jobs that you don’t despise and don’t require you to hide from the law.” He shoves his ringed fingers into his jacket pockets, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “And I was nothing.”

Gareth scratches at the upholstery with one finger, absorbing everything he’s just heard. “You know we never stopped looking up to you, right?” He gives a short laugh when Eddie’s eyes widen. “Yeah, man. Leaving Chicago so you could take care of Harris? Putting your kid before yourself? That’s pretty badass.”

Danny nods. “Ed, if there’s someone here to look up to, it’s you.” Both he and Eddie visibly relax. Shoulders drop from their hunched positions, thin lips unfurling into smiles. “No matter what you went through, you never gave up. Even if it almost killed us,” he adds wryly, referring to all of the sleep-deprived Corroded Coffin practices fueled by black coffee and pure adrenaline.

“No fancy diploma can teach us how to stand up for ourselves, or how not to take shit from people, or how to be a dad,” Jeff pipes up from where he’s standing. “We learn from you, man.”

Eddie’s cheeks burn at the compliments, unsure how to accept them. He’d walked in expecting to have to beg for forgiveness, and they were the ones reassuring him. It’s now or never, and he forges ahead while he still has the courage. “Do you…can we get the band back together?” Can we be friends again is the underlying plea, but it’s too vulnerable a statement to make. “We’ll keep it low-key, I promise. Work, family, anything comes up…we can cancel or reschedule. And I won’t be a dick about it.”

The three other men look at one another, nod and turn back to Eddie with smart grins and mischievous glimmers in their eyes.

“On one condition.” Gareth crosses his arms over his chest, smirking as he sinks back against the couch. “You tell us all about this ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’”

The Hideout, normally dingy and coated in a film of sticky ale, has been decked out for Will’s birthday party. Helium-filled balloons in every color bob along the low ceiling, vibrating with the thumping bass of the old sound system. Crepe paper streamers–purple, Will’s favorite color–sway gently with the air that rushes in from opening the door. This has to be Marshall’s handiwork, and it brings a smile to your face. If anyone deserves a partner who fawns over him, it’s Will.

You spot him surrounded by a group of people as the bartender slides a row of tequila shots across the bar and into their eager hands. While they’re distracted by alcohol, you take the opportunity to dart towards the backstage area.

Eddie’s there, digging around for his lucky pick. You wrap your arms around his waist, fingers pressed into the soft dough of his tummy.

“Hey, Rockstar,” you murmur against his neck, kissing just below his earlobe.

He turns around, jaw dropping when he sees you in a maroon slip dress. The heels on your feet have you two inches taller than usual, and he has to shift where his gaze normally lands to meet your eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby,” Eddie practically growls, kissing you deeply. One hand presses against the small of your back while the other grabs the plush of your ass, kneading it in his palm. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. How’m I gonna go out there and play with you looking like that?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggle when he offers up a bemused smile. “If you do a good job tonight, I’ll give you a reward.” You let your fingertips graze over the metal teeth of his pants zipper, feeling him twitch at your light touch.

“You’re dangerous,” he winks, delivering another kiss; this time, he gives your lower lip a little bite when he pulls away. His kohl-rimmed eyes draw you in just as they did that first night you’d met, but now you dive into them without the fear of drowning.

A tactful “ahem” from the now-open doorway startles both you and Eddie, having been floating in an embrace that’s equal parts comfort and desire.

“Sorry to interrupt the lovefest, but we’re on in five,” a man’s voice calls from the doorway. You turn around to see the other three Corroded Coffin members standing there, amusement evident in their expressions.

“You must be Ms. Sweetheart,” one of the guys, soft curls resting atop his head, pipes up. His tone is teasing, but not mocking; the nickname is said with admiration and affection. “I’m Gareth, by the way.”

“Danny,” the one with tight, wiry curls offers, giving a small wave.

Jeff just shrugs. “You know me.”

Eddie grabs his guitar, slinging the strap across his body. His pants’ fly is tight, and he wills himself to calm down before it’s time to perform. He hasn’t worried about being hard on stage since he was nineteen, but thoughts of your bodies perfectly melding into each other has him subtly adjusting himself as he turns his back to his bandmates.

“See ya out there, baby,” he says before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The brief contact between you has you biting your tongue in self-beration for suggesting that the band play tonight. All you want is to dance with him, allowing the steady flow of alcohol to dull your inhibitions as you pull him impossibly close. Not caring who sees or what they think.

But this night isn’t about you or Eddie. It’s about Will, your TA-turned-friend who has kept you sane amidst your adorably chaotic students and their decidedly less adorable and more chaotic parents. He wanted Corroded Coffin to play his party, and that’s the least you could do for him.

Will’s already teetering between tipsy and inebriated, breath tinged with the scent of tequila as he introduces you to his friends.

“This is my amazing boyfriend, Marshall.” He smacks a wet kiss to the man’s cheek. “And these are my friends from growing up: Dustin and Suzie, Lucas and Max, and Mike and Jane.” His face melts into a sappy grin as he leans on Marshall to hold him up. “You guys! We’re all in looooove!”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin mutters, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning his attention back to you. “Can we get you something to drink?”

Will raises his empty glass. “I’ll take another–”

“Not you.”

You manage to sneak in a quick conversation with Max, Suzie, and Jane before Corroded Coffin starts their set. Max is finishing up her Masters in English literature at New York University, set to graduate in two months. Suzie programs for NASA, and though Florida is a far cry from her home state of Utah, she loves her job. And Jane is a social worker at a local adoption agency, the cause close to her heart, as she was adopted by Chief Hopper years ago.

“Damn,” you laugh, taking a small sip of your vodka soda. You’re having so much fun that you don’t even care that it’s been watered down. “You’re all such badasses!”

Your admiration of their collective girl power is cut short by the sound of Corroded Coffin taking the stage. It’s as though they’d never taken an extended break; just picked up right where they left off. You cheer so loudly that there’s a pinch in your throat, but you push past it. It’s more than applause. There’s so much tucked away in your yell: I’m proud of you; you’re a rockstar; you’re my person forever, if you’ll have me.

“Hello, Hawkins!” Eddie bellows into the mic. There’s no missing the grin on his face. He’s happy. He’s in his element. He’s where he belongs.

“No way!” Lucas exclaims, awestruck as he turns to Will.

“Dude, you got Corroded Coffin?” Mike mirrors his friend’s excitement. He slings an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulls him in for a side hug. “This is fuckin’ awesome!”

“The first song of the night goes out to our guest of honor, Will Byers!” Everyone hoots and hollers as Eddie plays the opening chords to The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go. Eddie told you he remembered that the song was one of Will’s favorites growing up; his older brother had gotten him into the band. Sure enough, Will’s bopping to the rhythm, singing every word, albeit quite off-key.

Corroded Coffin plays a few more songs from their usual setlist, nerves dissipating with each note, before Eddie speaks into the mic again.

“This next one is for my beautiful girlfriend,” he announces, eyes gazing into yours. “Baby, if my teachers looked like you, I actually would’ve gone to class.”

He nods at Gareth, who starts playing an incredibly complicated beat. As soon as you hear it, you feel your cheeks heat up. The rest of the guys join in on their own instruments, and Eddie oozes bravado as he sings.

“T-Teacher stop that screamin’ Teacher don’t you see Don’t wanna be no uptown fool.”

Max leans in to you and whisper-shouts, “I’ve known Eddie for years, and I’ve never seen him so…happy.”

Lucas overhears his girlfriend and adds his two cents. “That’s because we’ve never seen him in love.”

Warmth spreads all over your body, but it’s not from embarrassment. Allowing yourself to believe that Eddie loves you—is in love with you—opens a door you’d deadbolted until the time was right. You hadn’t wanted to rush things, but the jolt of exhilaration following Lucas’s statement means you can’t deny it any longer: you love Eddie Munson. You’re in love with Eddie Munson.

“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad I'm hot for teacher I've got it bad, so bad I'm hot for teacher.”

Will takes the opportunity to twirl you around, and you laugh as you spin amongst new friends, your drink threatening to spill over the sides as he turns you faster.

“Hey! Thank you, by the way!” he shouts, probably a bit louder than he needs to.

“For what?”

“For getting Corroded Coffin to play!” He jerks a thumb towards the stage, stumbling a bit as he does. He’d managed to sneak another tequila shot when his boyfriend left him unattended to use the restroom, and it definitely shows. “And for, like, being there for me.”

You give him a hug, immediately understanding the full implication of his statement. “I’ll always have your back,” you promise, filled with the mingled buzzes of alcohol and belonging.

“I think of all the education that I've missed But then my homework was never quite like this!”

Eddie jumps off of the tiny stage and into the crowd of nine twenty-somethings, each at various levels of tipsiness, and reaches for you to pull you close to him. He’s sweating from constantly moving around and the stage lights, his fingers slick with perspiration as he laces them with yours. Jeff picks up the rhythm for the lead guitar while Eddie kisses you, soft and slow and sensual. He loses himself for a moment before hopping back up to join the rest of the band.

As Corroded Coffin wraps up their Van Halen cover and stops for a quick sip of water, there’s a small commotion behind the bar.

“Is there a Jeff Reynolds here?” the bartender calls out, phone receiver in hand.

Jeff gives a little wave, eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s me.”

“Someone named Jess on the line? Says your girl is in labor and you need to get to the hospital.”

“Holy shit!” Danny claps a hand to Jeff’s back and grins. “C’mon, man! Let’s get you outta here!”

Jeff freezes up; hands clammy as he grips the guitar’s neck. “Can you drive?” he asks Eddie.

Eddie recognizes the fear in his friend’s voice. The selfish part of him wants to refuse to take Jeff to Hawkins General. He could easily plant his feet on the stage and keep playing, claiming that ‘the show must go on.’

No, he silently chastises himself, Jeff needs me. He needs me and I’ll be damned if I let him down again.

“Of course,” Eddie says, trying to force a relaxed disposition. It doesn’t matter; Jeff is too overwhelmed to notice the obvious effort.

“Take my car,” you offer, keys already dangling from your fingertips. “Eds, I can take yours and pick up Harris from Wayne’s tomorrow.” It’s easier to swap rides than to uninstall and reinstall the carseat, so you’re perplexed when Eddie shakes his head.

Two words slip through his lips, soft but pronounced: “Need you.”

Dustin catches wind of the situation and insists on watching Harris until you and Eddie can come back home, claiming he needs to squeeze in as much uncle-nephew bonding time as possible before returning to Florida.

“Henderson, it’s late; don’t let him stay up,” Eddie warns as he tosses over his car keys.

Dustin tries catching them in one hand, but they hit the center of his palm and fall to the ground. “But the best part of being an uncle is breaking the rules!” he laughs as he scoops the keys off of the floor. “By the way, I’m not drunk; just a shit baseball player.” Still, Eddie’s sigh of relief is audible when Suzie plucks the keyring from Dustin’s hand.

With Harris taken care of, you turn your attention to your boyfriend. Eddie’s face is flushed pale, and you’re worried about him behind the wheel. “Want me to drive?”

He nods and grabs onto your hand as you lead the two men to your car. Eddie’s doing his best to keep Jeff calm, reminding him that the doctors and nurses have everything under control until he gets there.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Jeff murmurs, a disbelieving chuckle permeating the otherwise silent car. “Holy shit.”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. “It only gets crazier from here.”

The bright lights of the hospital’s waiting room are anything but soothing, especially compared to the dimly-lit bar you’d just left. You speak to the receptionist, an older woman with a tired smile and red-rouged cheeks, explaining the situation as she pages Jess while Jeff and Eddie take a seat.

Jeff’s voice is nearly impossible to hear despite the stillness of the room. “The baby was breech at Viv’s last appointment.” He clocks Eddie’s confusion and elaborates. “Feet first, instead of the head. If they didn’t get into the right position and the doctors can’t, I dunno, flip ‘em around? They’ll have to do a c-section.” Long overdue tears spill over his lash line, and he makes no attempt to swipe them away. “I just wanna fix it and I can’t.”

Helplessness. It’s a feeling Eddie knows all too well. He spins a ring around his finger, exhaling softly as he considers a response. He can’t say it’ll be alright, because he has no idea whether or not it will be. He and Jeff both know that.

“No matter what, I’m here for you.” Eddie’s gaze flits over to the receptionist’s desk, where Jess has now arrived and is waving her brother-in-law over. “You’re up.”

But Jeff remains in his chair, hands shoved under his thighs as though they’re glued to the seat. “I…I don’t know if I can do this. What if something happens to Viv or the baby? How can I…?” He doesn’t allow himself to complete the sentence, to finish the thought.

Instinctively, Eddie puts his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. He can feel them trembling slightly as his friend heaves another shaky breath. “Listen to me. You’re gonna do this. You’re gonna go in that room and watch your girl give birth to your baby. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your fuckin’ life.” He glances around and lowers his voice. “I know you’re scared, okay? I get it. And once your kid is safely here, we can talk about it. But right now, you need to pull it together and go be a goddamn dad.”

Jeff nods, finally acquiring the physical stability to stand. “Thank you,” he whispers, clearing his throat and wiping the wet stains from his cheeks. He starts towards Jess before turning back to Eddie. “Could you stay until the baby’s born? If you have to get home to Harris, I understand…”

There it is: his out. He can easily use his son as an excuse, despite the fact that Dustin and Suzie were perfectly capable of babysitting him. He can hightail it out of here and never look back. He can crawl into bed and feel sorry for himself for having to step foot in a godforsaken maternity ward again.

“Yeah. I can stay.”

Nearly an hour passes with Eddie’s head resting on your shoulder, relaying what Jeff told him. Identical knots form in your stomachs as the seriousness of the complications sets in. You don’t say a word as he speaks; you just try to shift without disturbing him. The cushion on the chair back, worn thin, digs into you uncomfortably, but you don’t dare move too much. His vulnerability is a deer that will scamper away at the slightest startle.

You think he’s fallen asleep until you feel his soft lips on your cheek, a muffled, “mine?” against your skin. You note his phrasing; it’s careful and unsure, a symptom of being in his own head for far too long.

“Of course I’m yours,” you whisper back, pressing a kiss to his scalp. “What’s got you asking such silly questions?”

“I don’t like this.” It’s an answer and non-answer all in one.

“Being in a hospital?”

He shakes his head, frizzed curls tickling the crook of your neck. His forehead is sticky with cooled perspiration. “Waiting to see if the baby is okay.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach, immediately hollowing you out. The last time he went through this, it was when Harris was being born. You can’t think of anything to say, so you just nuzzle in closer to him and exhale.

“Why do I feel like this?” Neither of you are sure if he’s asking you, himself, or the universe. “‘S not the same. Viv’s not using drugs; Jeff stuck around the whole time…”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s not how this stuff works, y’know?” You adjust your position so you can look into his eyes. The whites are stained red with worry and exhaustion. “Your gig got interrupted, just like when Harris was born. And there's uncertainty now, too. It’s normal for these kinds of memories to get dredged up.” Your palm rests on his cheek, thumb gently stroking the skin as you ask, “can you try to get some sleep?”

“But what if Jeff needs—”

“I’ll wake you up if he needs you,” you reassure him, settling back into the chair. You lean your head against the wall; the heaviness in your eyelids battles the anxious fluttering in your stomach, but it seems as though sleep is winning.

Eddie’s hand finds your forearm, rubbing up and down the gooseflesh that has appeared courtesy of the air conditioning blasting through the building. Shrugging off his jacket and resting the leather fabric over your shoulders, he can relax once he’s reassured that you’re comfortable. He assumes his previous position, using your shoulder as a pillow and falling asleep gradually, body jostling itself awake from the unfamiliar sleeping arrangement. Eventually, you can hear his soft snores; for the first time tonight, he’s peaceful.

You could tell him now, a whisper under your breath that he’s unlikely to hear. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. Your lips part in anticipation, but you snap them shut. You’re delirious and overwhelmed; Lucas’s throwaway comment about Eddie being in love is rattling around your brain. If you say it and Eddie hears you…

You keep it to yourself for now, letting your body rest while still supporting Eddie’s head. Tomorrow is a new day, with a new life brought into the world. Love—if that’s even what this is—will have to wait until then.

The soft pink of breaking daylight streams through the windows when Jeff wakes Eddie up six hours later, shaking him by the shoulders.

“What the fuck?” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes. When he registers where he is and the potential urgency of the situation, he sits up straight, head filling with fuzziness from the sudden movement. He wouldn’t call the evening restful, but he’d managed to doze off for longer than he’d expected.

“It’s a girl!” Jeff announces, beaming from ear to ear. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with enthusiasm and emotion.

As soon as Eddie’s vision clears, he’s on his feet and pulling his best friend in for a giant hug. When he steps back, he realizes that he and Jeff sport matching misty eyes. “Dude, you’re officially a dad now. You have a daughter!”

“I have a daughter,” Jeff repeats incredulously. His eyes cloud with tears, and he blinks them away as he peers over at the empty seat next to Eddie. “Did your lady go home?”

Eddie swivels around, so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t realized he was alone. She left. She left without me; she didn’t want to stick around and deal with–

“Did Viv have the baby?” Your excited voice penetrates through his intrusive thoughts as you stroll in from the hallway. The makeup around your eyes is smudged; you’d tried to wipe some of it off in the bathroom, but water and thin hospital paper towels are no substitute for makeup wipes. “Sorry, I had to pee.”

Eddie smiles at the sight of you, still wearing his jacket. He hopes his sigh of relief is concealed by Jeff’s exuberance. “A girl. Six pounds, ten ounces.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wanna meet her?”

“Of course!” You and Eddie begin following him down the corridor. “Wait, is Viv feeling up to having visitors?” You’re mildly ashamed to admit that, in your eagerness, you’d forgotten about the baby being breech and the possible c-section.

Jeff nods. “I think my daughter’s gonna be a gymnast, ‘cause she’d flipped herself back around between the appointment and last night.”

There’s no masking Jeff’s pride when he says my daughter, and it makes Eddie want to hug him again. “That’s amazing,” he murmurs. There’s a small pang in his heart, a bead of resentment that Harris’s birth didn’t go so smoothly, but it’s unimportant right now. His best friend just became a father, and he refuses to let his own hang-ups take away from this moment.

“Hi,” you whisper when Jeff opens the door to room 1007. Viv is propped up against pillows, exhausted but happier than she’s ever been before. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the hours-old bundle in her arms. “How are you?”

“Sore,” she replies truthfully, brushing her forefinger against her baby’s closed fist, “but the epidural was a lifesaver.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, unaware that your words have Eddie’s heart skipping a beat at the idea of you bearing a little Munson. “Is it okay if I hold her?” You don’t want to intrude on the new mother’s bonding time, but your insides turn to mush when the baby opens her tiny lips and yawns.

Viv carefully places the newborn in your arms, and you gingerly adjust to support her head. Eddie swears that you holding a baby, in that dress, wearing his jacket, is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Did Jeff tell you her name?” Viv asks, stifling a yawn. When you and Eddie both shake your heads, she smiles and glances at her partner.

He clears his throat, suddenly bashful. Eddie forces himself to tear his gaze from the way you smile and coo at the baby and look over at Jeff. “Her name is Nicolette,” he starts, “but that’s a big name for a little girl, so we figured we can call her Ettie, and she’ll kinda…share a nickname with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, convinced he heard incorrectly. “You…I’m her namesake?”

“Mhm,” Jeff confirms, the grin never leaving his face. What neither you nor Eddie know is that they had had a different name picked out, and had fully intended on using it until the first time Jeff held their daughter. It filled him with a feeling of wholeness, of being complete, and it strangely had him thinking of his best friend. Without Eddie taking him under his wing, he might not even be here to experience this.

It was only by chance that he had stumbled upon Hellfire Club during his freshman year. He was running from Billy Hargrove and his posse, who were determined to beat the hell out of him simply because they could, and had ducked into the drama room to protect himself. Eddie had taken one look at his face and immediately recognized the expression of fear and defeat from being incessantly bullied. “You know how to play Dungeons & Dragons?” he’d asked, and when Jeff had managed a nod, he’d pulled up a chair and motioned for him to sit down.

Being Eddie’s friend, being part of something, gave him a reason to keep going. To live. And in that instant, he vowed to teach his child to extend kindness toward any misfits who need a place to be themselves.

“What about Nicolette?” he’d asked Viv. “Ettie for short.”

You turn to Eddie now, continuing the steady rocking rhythm that keeps Baby Ettie calm. “What do you say, Mr. Namesake? Wanna hold her?”

There’s a brief flash of panic that floods through his veins; he hasn’t held a newborn since Harris. He’d always worried about dropping him or tripping and falling. Truth be told, he was terrified until his son could hold his own head up.

It’s similar, but not the same, he reminds himself, shuffling even closer to you so you can safely transition Ettie into his arms. She stirs slightly in her swaddle but doesn’t cry.

“Hey, little lady,” he says, a delicate smile dancing on his lips. “I’m your Uncle Eddie. The coolest uncle you’ll ever have, for the record.”

“Harris is gonna love her,” you add, heart swelling at the imagery of him cuddling up to his newest cousin.

“Babe?” Viv pipes up from the bed. “Can you grab me something to eat? ‘M starving.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jeff turns to Eddie. “Come with me? I think Viv needs to feed Ettie, anyway.”

Viv extends her arms and Eddie begrudgingly hands the baby to her. Ettie’s so adorable and small, and it makes him yearn for the days when Harris was that little. Maybe not the sleepless nights or the lack of head control, but the scent of baby powder, the toothless smiles, the way he would fall asleep in Eddie’s arms to whatever song happened to be on the radio. Harris Munson might have been the only infant to be soothed by Twisted Sister.

The two men make their way to the hospital cafeteria, sneakers squeaking along the freshly-waxed linoleum tiles.

“I, um, I’m really proud of the way you stepped up for Viv,” Eddie says, eyes trained on the floor. “You’re a great partner. I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Jeff laughs, shaking his head. “That's where my expertise ends. I have no idea how this whole fatherhood thing works.”

“Wanna hear a secret?” Eddie leans in, shifting his weight onto one foot. He doesn’t wait for his friend’s response to divulge, “none of us do. We’re just…” he waves his hand aimlessly, “…figuring it out as we go.” And making plenty of mistakes along the way, he silently adds.

“I don’t know how you did this alone,” Jeff puffs out an incredulous breath. “I mean, I know you had Wayne’s help…” he trails off, not needing to further elaborate on the missing parent.

“Yeah, me either, man. I’m just glad I’m not alone anymore.”

Jeff stops walking, turning to face him. There’s the unmistakable look of pride that manages to make itself prominent despite his evident exhaustion as he says, “You really want this with her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie chuckles. “It’s like, for the first time, I’m not just thinking about just me or just Harris. I’m thinking about us as a family.” The dinnertime conversations, the gentle ribbings, the tenderness that seamlessly weaves itself into vulnerable conversations.

“She’s good for you,” Jeff agrees. “And you love her.”

“I mean, I—”

“That was a statement, not a question. You love her.”

And in a single breath, Eddie lets go of the fear he’s been clutching to like a life preserver. The one thing he hasn’t allowed himself to say aloud because it makes it so real, so fucking real.

“I love her.”

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witchofhimring · 1 year ago

Text

Loyalty Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Synopsis:

As the threat of war looms over Westeros you fight a battle of your own. Aemond Targaryen breaks off your friendship and marries. And so the alliance between House Baratheon and Targaryen in sealed with a kiss.

Excerpt:

You had imagined this in your dreams. The sept decked out in all its splendor. Every member of the court dressed in their best. The weather was perfect. The sun was out as if celebrating this union. Birds could be heard chirping outside. The sweet scent of early spring flowers hung in the air.

And you, dressed in white as the perfect bride.

Except it was not you.

Instead, you were merely one of the spectators. An inconsequential accessory to HER victory. She had specifically order that you be placed near the altar. Originally you had hoped you could slip out after their nuptials, but Ellyn Baratheon had other plans.

Warnings:

Angst, heartbreak, childbirth, emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external) Plot twist at the end!

Book 1:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 (part 1)

Chapter 7 (part 2)

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Sequel preview

Book 2

Chapter 1 (coming soon!)

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lokisprettygirl · 1 year ago

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Brokenhearted (Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon Modern AU) (18+)

Read Chapter 10 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 11

Summary: Daemon steps ahead in the league. Samantha is on a mission to bring him back to her.

Trigger Warning: 18+ Sex, Smut, Degradation kink, reader gets turned on by the thought of Daemon hurting people to protect her, weird kinks, Discussion of mensuration and Pregnancy, bloodshed, flashbacks of abusive relationship, toxic masculinity, sexual abuse, Samantha, traumatic distressing content, Daemon is a big time smoker so if it’s something triggering don’t read it, alcohol drinking, mention of past trauma and therapy, cigarette smoking, possessive behaviour, violence, baby needs therapy, baby is trying

Daemon was in the last round of the match, you had hoped that it would be easy and fun to watch him kick some ass but you weren't ready to watch him get beaten up as well, his face already had a nasty bruise under his eye, his cheekbone was splintered, there was blood all over his body, it belonged to both him and his opponent. The crowd was going wild as they got ready for the last round, on his one minute break he looked your way and asked Jonathan to bring you to him, he wanted to be with you even if just for a second.

"Heyyyy" he leaned down on his knees and pressed his head against the fence so you grabbed onto his fingers.

"You're doing so good..I'm so proud of you" you yelled from the top of your lungs so he gave you a smile.

"I want to win darling, I have to win" he huffed so you squeezed on his finger in a reassuring manner.

"You already won the moment you stepped in there baby"

As the break came to an end, you stepped away from the fence and went back to the stand, even though he was physically wounded his eyes seemed to sparkle like never before, he really was born to be a fighter.

And as the fight began again, you watched with bated breath, cheering him on with everything you had. You knew that Daemon could do it, he really needed this win.

As the last bell rang, you felt your heart pounding in your chest, dread washing over you at the thought of what was to come. You knew that Daemon had given everything he had, but you couldn't bear the thought of him losing.

The announcer stepped into the octagon, holding the mic close to his mouth. You could feel the tension in the air, the crowd holding their breath as they waited for the results.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this has been an incredible fight, and both fighters have shown tremendous heart and determination," the announcer began speaking, all of a sudden the arena has gone completely silent.

Your heart sped up as he continued speaking "but there can only be one winner. After five rounds of intense fighting..."

The world seemed to slow down as the announcer finished his sentence, "the winner and the contender to make it to the quarter finals... by split decision... Daemon Targaryen"

A deafening roar filled the arena, as the announcer raised Daemon's arms in victory. You felt a sense of relief wash over you, mixed with pride and joy, that's when you were finally able to jump and scream in happiness.

Viserys was at the airport when he got the news, he couldn't have been more proud of Daemon for knocking the first match of his comeback.

Jonathan hugged and lifted up Daemon to celebrate, his team was rallying around him, all of them felt ecstatic at the moment, he was returning to the game after so long and he didn't have much time to train for this so it seemed like an impossible feat at first.

After a few minutes a bodyguard came to you and took you away with him, Daemon wanted to see you in his dressing room, he had a robe on and a medical expert was working on his injuries, his room was filled with people but as soon as he saw you he walked towards you and pulled you in his arms, he placed his head down on your shoulder as you hugged him tightly.

"Can you all clear out the room please?" He looked around so everyone stopped what they were doing and fled almost immediately, his new assistant Darryl closed the door behind him and that's when Daemon cupped your cheeks to kiss you, he then picked you up and walked towards the nearest wall to press you against it.

"Tell me that you're proud of me" his eyes were teary as he spoke and yours did too as you noticed the look on his face.

"I am always so proud of you baby, no matter whether you win or not" he placed his head between the crook of you neck, your arms flung around his neck, fingers running through his scalp, he was sweaty and ruining your dress with his blood but you didn't care, you just wanted to hold him and let him know that he was loved and taken care of.

"I need you babe" he whispered in your ear as he put you down.

"Well you also need medical attention" you bit on your lips as you said that, you clearly desired him too, how could you not? Especially after watching him be so fearless in such a brutal sport.

"Hmmmm i need You first" his hands sneaked under your dress and he pulled your panties down and you took his shirts off, your eyes gazed over the the groin pad he had underneath his brief,

"That looks oddly erotic"

He chuckled as you took it off, he picked you up again and your legs wrapped around his waist, his fingers played with your lips to arouse you further, he didn't really need to go on for long, his cock was fully erect as he shoved the tip inside your warmth slowly.

You moaned as his girth stretched you out, the sound was like music to his ears, he was still high on the rush he had felt in the ring and all he needed now was to submerge himself in you.

"Watching you there in the crowd was everything I needed my sweetheart" he mumbled sweetly so you cupped his cheeks to kiss him.

"I'd always be there for you even if I'm not in the crowd, though I have to admit, I don't enjoy watching you get hurt like that" he smiled at the comment, hips moving back and forth in a perfect rhythm. The look of pride on your features warmed his heart.

"Mmmm part of the job love"

"I know baby"

He always knew you were nothing like Samantha but moments like these always came as a reminder to him that he had now what he had wanted with her. She couldn't wait for a chance to hurt him, you on the other hand always wanted to take away his pain.

As he came inside you his body finally felt sated not just because of the release but because of the woman he had in his arms. He had ruined your dress so once you both showered, he gave you a spare t-shirt of his to put over the dress, the dress neatly worked as a skirt.

After getting his wounds patched up Daemon took you to go see Viserys who had called Daemon and asked him to meet at a restaurant. As soon as they met, Viserys just lifted him up and twirled him around like a child, he was so happy and proud of his little brother, not just for facing his fears but successfully accomplishing what he had wanted. He had a long way to go but Viserys knew his brother was getting back to being the man he was born to be.

"Mum would have been so proud of you" Daemon's eyes teared up and he placed his head down on Viserys shoulder.

He had told you that his mom had passed away before both of them had arrived in NYC. That's why when he met Samantha and she took such good care of him in the beginning he fell hard and fast for her, she loved him like a lover but cared for him like a mama would and when she started to hurt him he just blamed himself at first because he couldn't grasp why his girl would ever want to hurt him like that.

He just always believed that he was in the wrong and must have done something to warrant that behaviour.

He had vowed to himself that he'd never make the same mistake again, that he'd never allow anyone to make him feel so vulnerable, so open but you changed it, his resolve was shaken as soon as he had seen you that night in the alley, you didn't know any of this but he had spent that night just thinking about you, a part of him warned him to not seek you but he didn't listen and now he felt lucky that he followed his instincts.

"Didn't bring your wife?" Daemon asked him as all of you sat down for dinner, you had met Viserys's wife Allison at his birthday party but you didn't get a chance to talk much, she was also ignoring you and she looked at you a certain way that didn't make you feel welcomed. Daemon's young niece Raina lived in London so you had never met her either.

"You know she has a name" Viserys scoffed at Daemon's tone. You placed your hand on his under the table to gesture to him to calm down. Viserys had a phone call so he excused himself for a minute and you turned to Daemon. You had an inkling that Viserys had a troubled marriage but you never asked for details. It didn't feel proper but now that your relationship has developed you wanted to know more about his family.

"Do you not like her or something?" You asked him so he snickered, it's been a while since you had seen him snickering that way.

"His cunt of a wife? No i detest her, detest that she's considered family" his tone regarding his sister in law surprised you.

"Why?" You asked him softly so he looked at you,

"You know I escaped Samantha? But he married his Samantha, she's…not exactly that awful but she's a cheating whore and has been caught in the act multiple times, makes sense that she bonded with Samantha" your eyes widened as he said that.

"They are friends?"

"They used to be, got no clue of their current situation " he said nonchalantly.

As soon as Daemon said that suddenly everything clicked, maybe Allison and Samantha were still friends, maybe she was the one to tell her that daemon was moving on. You remembered her watching you intently at the birthday party. It would explain how she was able to find his house address so easily and even the name of the hotel you both were staying at. You had several doubts but it was a day for celebration so you didn't want to ruin it with those negative thoughts.

"You want to go dancing?" He asked you so you smiled.

"No I want you to get rest tonight, you need it. Also since when do you dance?" You chuckled and the smile on his face faded as he looked down.

"I used to, until I was repetitively told that I looked ridiculous" you gulped as he said that. That bitch. She truly was the bane of his existence, she made sure to ruin everything he ever enjoyed in life.

You caressed his shoulder and leaned into him to kiss his cheek, he instinctively placed his head down on your shoulder.

"We can go tomorrow okay? Can you just rest for me tonight?" You said to him so he nodded. "I love you"

"I know, i know" you pulled away from him as Viserys returned to the table.

"Apologies my folks..a client needed me" you smiled as he said that.

Daemon's next fight was scheduled for five days later and you had plenty of time to kill and he needed full recovery from his minor injuries so he didn't have to train in between either, he had made it to quarters already and if he clears that match there will be semis and then the final, you had no doubt in his abilities as a fighter but unfortunately you won't be able to be here for the whole league, it was a three week long event and you knew you'd get fired if you were to disappear for that long.

Daemon had told you that he'd fly you in and out for his matches and you were in no position to deny him, you didn't want to deny him. Normally a guy spoiling you with money and jewels would have made you feel like an object but you knew your relationship with him was deeper than those materialistic things. He needed you and you wanted to be there for him.

As you were stepping out of the restaurant, hand in hand with him you weren't really watching ahead of you as your eyes were focused on him, you then bumped into a guy who was entering the restaurant.

"God I'm so sorry" you turned to the man to apologize and he glared at you.

"Watch your fucking steps bitch" he said as he walked inside, you didn't even have time to blink before Daemon had stormed towards him and grabbed him by the neck, he dragged the man towards the nearest table and smashed his head onto the surface with sudden force.

You walked towards him to get him off the guy and other people in the restaurant helped as well. The other man didn't even try to fight back, he was terrified as it was, you grabbed Daemon's arms and you had to drag him out of the restaurant.

As soon as you both sat down on the backseat of the car there was an uncomfortable silence between you two, when he couldn't take it any longer he finally spoke,

"Why are you upset?"

You glared at him as he said that

"Just because you're a fighter doesn't mean you can just beat up anyone who looks at me wrong" he sighed as you said that.

"He didn't just look at you wrong he called you names for no absolute reason"

"Name..one name" you argued

"Same thing…you really think I'd just watch when my girl is being disrespected like that?"

Now how do you argue with that?

"You can't just attack people like that Daemon, it has consequences"

You sighed again so he placed his arm around your shoulder and kissed your cheek,

"You remember how we met right?" He smirked as he turned your face towards him and pecked your lips.

"That was different, I was being attacked"

"It's the same thing.. on my watch nobody gets to hurt you like that, words and actions alike" he said softly and your eyes narrowed.

"Yeahh then what about Samantha? I'm sure she's going to pull some shit again someday" He stiffened up for a moment as you said her name before he cupped your cheeks and locked his lips with yours.

"I'd kill her for you if you'd ask me to" he mumbled between the kisses and the gasp that left your mouth was unreal.

"Daemon.." his name on your lips came out in a whisper, you didn't know a comment like that would arouse you, such a morbid but scintillating thought.

"I would..i would kill anyone for you"

"Gods to the hell" you pulled away from him as you realized the driver was perking up his ears.

The moment you were back in the hotel room you sat him down on the couch and straddled him, the hard on was enough for you to continue, you didn't even undress, you just pulled your panties down, took his cock out of the confinement of his pants and sunk yourself on his length, his fist gripped your hair and he pulled you in for a kiss.

"It excites you..I can see it, you know I'm capable of that, don't you? you know I can be a dangerous man when I want to be'' he whispered sinful words in your ears as you hopped up and down.

You didn't want to encourage this violent, borderline criminal behavior but you were too turned on to think straight or logical right now.

"Shhh don't say that dae..it's so wrong" you resisted with your words but the way your cunt was dripping on his cock told a different story. He couldn't help but smile at the effect he was having on you.

"So wrong but it feels soo good right?"

"Mhmmmm" you whimpered as the pleasure fueled by the physical intimacy as well as his words began to rise slowly.

"And you're such a depraved whore for enjoying these thoughts are you not?" He asked as he pulled on your hair slightly, just enough to cause a sweet stinging burn.

"Gods yess I'm a whore"

The smirk on his face was now replaced with a mixture of lust and need for you, he wanted to see how far he could take this thing with you.

"Not just any whore, you're mine..all mine" he said, his tone was authoritative.

"Yesss pleasee…all yours" yours was a whimpering mess.

"And I'd do anything for you my private little whore..even kill the woman i once loved"

Your body convulsed on top of him as he finished his words, milking his own cum as your walls squeezed around him, it felt too much but too good, in the past year of your time with daemon and his resistance to not take any action against Samantha had left a lingering doubt in your head, you feared that he was still hooked to her in some ways so these awful words he spoke about her sort of invalidated those fears. Well for now atleast .

You felt horrible for having such thoughts. You also felt helpless for allowing a man to have such an effect on you but you didn't want to stop, not now, not ever, and if you were really blessed you were hoping these feelings would last forever.

You didn't even remember when he had taken you to the bathroom and cleaned you up, you didn't remember when he had put you down on the bed, your mind felt completely hazy in the wake of your orgasm.

"I love you sweetheart, I need you to understand that" he mumbled softly so you looked in his eyes.

"I know..so do I and I just want you to be safe" you caressed the bruise on his cheek and he leaned into the touch.

"I'm safe with you..you keep me safe..it's something I didn't have with her and if worst comes to worse I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe as well, you never have to worry about her, she means nothing to me" his voice was soft as he spoke, he wasn't a sappy guy, he never was but in moments like this he always let his guards down.

"I know I'm sorry baby"

"Shhhh it's okay love"

As soon as his body felt the comfort of your warmth and the soft bed he fell asleep.

As you caressed Daemon's hair and unwound his braids, you couldn't help but feel a sense of tenderness towards him. He seemed so soft, so precious, almost fragile at that moment. More so than before, like all of his past battles and struggles had been stripped away, leaving behind only the man in front of you.

You longed to protect him, to wrap yourself around him and shield him from the world. You knew that he had fought hard to get to where he was, and that he would fight even harder to stay there. And you wanted to stand by his side, through thick and thin, to help him through each fight.

You wanted to spend the next three days just lounging with him on the bed and have him rest but he had other plans, he figured that you had never been to Vegas before so he made it his mission to spoil you with sightseeing, buying you everything you even as much as glanced at for a fraction of a second. And ofcourse the mind numbing pleasure, even though he wasn't allowed to relieve himself that way he couldn't stop fucking you, he was a bad boy afterall.

He won't be seeing you for the next fight as much as he wanted to, but you had promised him that you'd be there for the semis, he had never felt such a need for a woman like this, the last time he felt this way was when he had first met Samantha. But he had been with you for a year now and the feelings he had for you only seemed to grow deeper with every passing day and he felt the happiest he had ever been in life, things were finally falling in the right places.

The night after he had smashed the quarters and made it to semis, he fell asleep all alone and suddenly he woke up with a nightmare, he saw you treating him the same way Samantha did, he knew he was just reliving the trauma through these frequent nightmares but watching you like that had made him curl up in a ball on his bed and cry, once he was assured he won't do or say anything that would hurt you, he finally called you. He just needed to hear your sweet voice and make him feel loved again, he wanted to forget that nightmare.

But It was around three am and he almost regretted it when he heard your sleepy voice,

"Hey baby" you mumbled and his eyes teared up.

"Can I see you? FaceTime?" He asked you so you immediately converted the call,

"Are you okay? Bad dream?" You asked him softly, the sight of you on your bed made him want to curl up to you right that moment..

"How do you know?" You smiled as he questioned you,

"You're okay baby, I'm here" he gulped as your soft voice melted in his ears, he didn't want to seem weak but you made it impossible with your tender voice.

"Did I wake you?"

"Yes but you can call me whenever you want" you answered honestly so he hummed.

He stayed on the phone with you for an hour before he hung up so you could get your sleep, he wanted to keep talking to you but he didn't want to be the selfish man he used to be with you before.

In the morning when he was out on the run he bumped into the person he didn't want to see again, he was just hoping she'd leave him alone because he didn't understand her longing obsession with him, it's been seven years. What was she thinking? What did she want from him now?

"Hello sweet boy" she smiled as she walked closer to him, honey sweetness dripping from her tone, he took several steps behind because he didn't want to indulge her, not in the slightest.

"Saw your fight last night, I guess you didn't see me in the crowd…those scars on your body..tch tch..I feel bad our little games in bed gave you such lifelong scars" she closed the distance between their bodies and caressed his arms, that condescending pitiful look on her face, that filthy touch made him freeze for a moment and she used the opportunity to hug him tightly.

The same day as you came back to your apartment after work there was an envelope waiting for you on the door. At first you thought it was something from Daemon so you smiled and picked it up but it wasn't from him.

As you flipped through the contents of the envelope, The pictures inside were of Daemon and Samantha together, hugging and at one point she seemed to lean in for a kiss. But that was not what bothered you, she must have stalked him like she always did. But as you flipped through the pictures, your blood ran cold as you saw something that made your heart sink.

He had a smile on his face and it terrified you. Why was he smiling at her like that? What was he doing?

😌😌😌😌😌😌😌😌😌😌😌😌😌😌

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#daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader smut #daemon Targaryen x reader angst #daemon targaryen fic #non canon #alternate universe

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yiga-hellhole · 3 months ago

Text

TFTK 23&24

His forces gathered, Zant plots his next move. The Triforce of Power is within reach now, and he will need little more than a Blade to retrieve it.

hiiii everyone. since i've added the prologue (which will be getting its own promo image.. eventually...) the chapter counts are a bit out of wack so this update is both. the update has been up on ao3 for a bit but artfight season made me a little slow on the visual art side! but no longer! SOOO excited to bring you all this update!

once again thank you to the lovely @bulgariansumo and @orfeolookback for betareading!!!

CW this chapter for body horror, graphic violence, mutilation

ao3 mirror

As the days at the Bulblin settlement went on, so did their army grow. Those who stayed at the encampment as visitors spread the word home, and as perilous as it was to spread the information of the deceptively alive lieutenants, Zant had permitted it gladly. After all, Hyrule was much too busy celebrating victory to pay any mind to those fractured tribes, now without a cause to unite under. Oh, what little did they know!

Very much united under a cause, Zant had gathered commanders from their haphazard bands in the new Chief’s tent – Earl Eydra, second daughter of the late Hallra, also accompanied by Lord Banayu, spokesman of the Bokoblin tribes. His very own Ghirahim, of course, stood right beside him, etching away at a map that Zant gingerly brushed his fingertips along.

The Valley of Seers. Zant had never seen it, but Ghirahim had twice over. Being meticulous as ever, he had of course committed every second of footage to memory, and translated every measurement and possible point of interest onto paper.

Negotiations followed as usual. Instead of being a silent bystander who offered his knowledge only when an interruption was permitted, Zant took an active role. He stood at the front of the map, all his pegs and baubles at his disposal, and commandeered it as though his movements would shift the fabric of reality itself. Intel was exchanged for commands ‘round the strategy table. One bokoblin stood by the side of one particularly dull-looking, flat-faced hound man, relaying information through a different tongue in hushed whispers. The dimwitted lug nodded hard, his floppy ears wiggling with the effort. Ghirahim wondered if brute strength among dolts like those would be enough to win them this battle.

But he supposed that’s what he and Zant were for.

Ghirahim quickly returned to sketching his map. Zant was catching up to him, his brow increasingly furrowed by what he saw. “Is it not possible that, at this point, Sorceress Lana is instead taking residence in the Temple of Souls?” asked Zant, seeming perturbed by the inhospitable sights of the Valley.

“We find it unlikely, Sire,” hissed a Hyrulean soldier from across the tent, bearing a voice far slimier than a human would suggest.

This out-of-place figure soon turned out to be perfectly where he should be. He grimaced, his hands tightening in claws. The metal on his gauntlets melted to black, then to skin, then to dark brown fur over clawed, spindly paws. Helmet and pauldrons similarly fused to his flesh, until it became his flesh itself. The plumed feather on his helmet ripped into two, twitching to each side of his head to form ears. Finally, his cloak unfurled into a pair of ink-black bat wings, quivering and flapping with relief of freedom. Now revealed, the Ache perched its hands on the edge of the table and leered at his General with great anticipation.

Only to have the gloved hand of his Lieutenant smashed indignantly in his face.

“You will not speak unless permitted,” snarled Ghirahim, baring his teeth at this defiance. “Now you may continue.”

The lesser demon whined, rubbing its wrinkled snout. It gulped down any other sniffles and spoke. “Egh… Th-... The Temple is currently being used as a jail. Lieutenants Yuga and Wizzro are held prisoner there, awaiting prosecution, Sire.”

Zant perked up almost pleasantly. “Is that so? I expected them to have been executed by now. Well, that saves me some time and effort.”

Before Ghirahim could frown too hard at his statement, Zant disturbed him even further. “Perhaps Hyrule noticed that right now, for Yuga, being alive is enough of a punishment. But that will have to wait until later. Tell me of our battlefield.”

The team of scouts relayed their findings. Having eyes in the skies once again worked thoroughly in their favor; the whole of the Valley had been surveyed in practically no time at all. On a dark, cloudy night, the hides of their demon forces would be noticed by none. And to their luck, as Zant expected, their target was scarcely guarded. A handful of outposts, at most, with hardly five hundred men huddled about in total. A disaster to encounter in formation, but pathetic when spread thin across the entire territory. Even better, with Ganon’s defeat, Hyrule had sent its guests across time home in a teary goodbye. Left in this realm were only the Princess, her Knight, her General, and the Sorceress. In other words, Lana was thoroughly unprepared for any sort of siege.

“How awfully convenient,” said Ghirahim, bringing a hand skeptically to his face. “I’d almost think this is a trap.”

Zant snickered under his breath, arranging pawns wherever the little tippy-taps of batty fingers told him where outposts sat. “On the contrary, Ghirahim. It makes perfect sense. What enemies does Hyrule expect to have left, that they cannot confidently tackle in isolated groups?”

Pawns thwacked decisively in place. “It’s clear to me. Tell me, Lord Eydra, have you heard anything, at all, from our neighbors further out into the sands?”

Eydra shook her head, her horns clacking and bangles jingling. “None at all, Sir. Not a peep from ‘em since ‘ey’ve gone and blown up a couple weeks ago.”

Ah, that whole incident. So he was not suspected of having caused the moon crash in the desert. At least, not by these people. Ghirahim restrained his expression and turned to him. “So they’re leaving the Gerudo alone. That means…”

“The ones who birthed their nemesis? Who conspired against Hyrule’s throne? That ought to have been their first order to persecute. Yet they are not. Most definitely, Hyrule is laying low. Staying out of trouble as it rebuilds, I’ll wager,” Zant smiled, flicking Ghirahim’s finger as he pointed it at the map. “Oh, my blade. Taking the Valley will be a breeze. And the Triforce with it.”

That was when a slight snort caught their attention. Lord Banayu stuck his snout over the table and made himself heard. “Respectfully, Sire. If it will be such a ‘breeze’, as you say… I don’t see why our starting numbers are to be so small,” he asked, tapping a thick-nailed finger at a group of pawns on the map. “We ought to clear them out as quickly as possible.”

“On the contrary. I intend to deceive her.”

Brows raised around the room.

Their collective confusion only served to make Zant grin more. “If we go all out from the start as you suggest, Lord Banayu, the Sorceress will cry to the Palace before we can even reach her dwelling. If we give her the idea she can win on her own… She will spell her own doom, and we will decimate her at the last second.”

As his fellow conspirator stood there, palms upturned in an inviting gesture and his ego swelling to burst, Ghirahim clicked his tongue. “A bit of a cowardly move.”

Earl Eydra, once hesitant, now nodded along to Ghirahim’s words. “Aye. Your old boss never would have bothered with such mind games.”

“And that’s precisely why he is dead and I remain standing,” Zant stated bluntly, unflinchingly, his hands folded behind his back. “Any further questions?”

–

Their march would be a long one, rife with delays and detours. They simply could not risk their procession being spotted by any opposing force; tension in Eldin, in particular, ran wild, with clades once squashed now once again vying for territory. But the Valley was right around the corner. Zant’s forces had set up their camp (the one he was in, at least), just past the hills that separated the rain-shadowed grasslands of the south with the green hills of the north. Beyond the tallest of those hills, the Valley was in sight.

That was where Ghirahim and Zant then stood, overlooking that promised land. It was strange seeing the place free from Cia’s influence. Where the sky was once swirling and ominously crimson, it was no different from the dark blue veil of the horizon now. They would gather no intel just standing there, watching from afar. Zant likely just wanted to brood.

Speak of the devil, there he went, and said, “just between us, Ghirahim.”

Ghirahim perked up, not looking at him just yet. “My. I’m privy to your secrets, now?”

Zant frowned a little. “I’ve none more to keep from you. Either way… We will be the only ones to face Lana tomorrow. I’ve played up our strengths to our men, but they will only be taking care of her fodder. That being said, we cannot underestimate the Sorceress whatsoever.”

“Oh? We’ve taken care of her just fine before,” Ghirahim noted, idly turning a dagger in his hand to check it for nicks.

Shaking his head, Zant looked down the hills. “And yet I believe she’s stronger than she lets on. In fact, I think she might be older than this land itself.”

“Impossible,” Ghirahim frowned, dismissing the dagger with a snap of his fingers. “I’ve never heard of her until I arrived here, and I’ve lived eons before Hyrule came to be.”

Zant stepped up to loom over him, eyes narrowing. “You’re not listening. I meant this land.”

Whenever Zant was being vague like this, he’d usually think he caught onto some mystery or other. Ghirahim saw no point in delaying the inevitable and sighed. “This again… Fine, prattle away.”

At once, the shadow over his eyes faded, replaced by a manic glint. Ghirahim almost spotted a smile when Zant turned away from him. “I was doing some digging before we entered this phase of the assault,” because naturally, he had. “Of course, I wasn't the first to be curious about the nature of this world. I stumbled upon it in the Sorceress’ library – the bizarre ways of timekeeping in this area, the oddities in the landscape; it did not escape the notice of scholars in this time.”

Ghirahim put his hands on his sides, fully prepared to stand there for another hour or two. “And, I take it, they came to a similar conclusion?”

“Indeed. At some point, the different branches of time must have converged, and their landscapes with it. We saw it in Faron Woods, and the Master Sword’s pedestal, deep within,” he said, his gestures leaving light trails behind his hands. Odd runes shaped into approximate images of the locations he named, but could hardly take shape before he clawed them to smoke and turned insistently to Ghirahim. “Which, in and of itself, was a duplicate! An empty husk!”

When he thought on it, he recalled that the Master Sword of this era had been stored in a different temple, right in the middle of Lake Dumoria, southwest of Faron Woods. Yet, a pedestal remained in Faron, the one they saw for themselves. Did the sealing place change? Ghirahim realized any question he asked might leak into another hour, so he simply nodded. “As you say.”

“Think about it, Ghirahim. For Lana – for me, to have command over allies and monsters of the past, all of these worlds must have once existed. Otherwise, we would have to reach across realities, a power befitting only a God. And I, not yet, have recognized such power, neither in her or in myself.”

Suddenly, Zant turned around, giving himself room to pace about frantically. “But for them to merge in the first place… This would explain why the magicks she uses are unknown to us both. They must have been born from divine force, to be uniquely wielded by Cialana, with the Triforce of Power as its conduit. It must have been her to merge these worlds.”

Ghirahim frowned, cocking his head. “... Right. And, you don’t suppose this god-like power could have perished with Cia?”

Turning back to look at the Valley, Zant’s expression lightened by an uncharacteristic degree. “I wholeheartedly admit I haven’t the slightest clue. Let us not risk finding out.”

Bemused by his attitude, Ghirahim sidled up next to him, deciding to give him attitude by bending at the hip and leaned into his field of vision. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

Zant grinned. “I’ve combed a fair share through this magic. It requires vocal commands first and foremost. When we come to face her, silence her,” he said, reaching to cup Ghirahim’s chin in his fingers. He tilted him back upright, guiding their eyes to meet. “Cut her tongue out if you must.”

Ghirahim returned a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Zant seemed content with this exchange, though the thumb stroking across the Sword Spirit’s chin and the eyes latching onto him for a moment made it seem like he’d wished for more. But the open air always made Zant uneasy, and Ghirahim knew this. So when the former did indeed step away, the latter was only mildly disappointed. “If all that is clear to you,” Zant said, “I’m going to do something I should have done a long time ago. When my usurpation comes to fruition, I’ll be far too busy for it.”

The allure of bloodshed putting him in a bit of a mood, Ghirahim turned to him with a croon. “And what might that be?”

With thorough nonchalance, Zant then proceeded to kick off his shoes. Toes wriggling in the grass, he promptly set off almost gleefully, as if mere seconds prior they hadn’t discussed a violent coup.

“You’re a looney,” Ghirahim said, watching him wade through the plains. “You’re sick in the head.”

“And you are functionally immortal,” Zant quipped back. He climbed up on the roots of a gnarled cedar nearby, his hand resting on its bark. “Confident as I am in our victory, I’m grabbing my little shreds of joy where I can get them. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Ears piqued at the sound of some insect, Zant’s eyes scanned the green expanse before him. When spotting what he was looking for, he didn’t so much as prowl for it as he hopped down from his vantage point, shambled towards it, and launched himself into the grass with a slapdash vault.

“As I thought,” he exclaimed, struggling to keep the object of his interest trapped in his cupped hands. “I haven’t seen this species yet!”

It was a miracle he’d even caught the damned thing. How could he think about such frivolous things now? Ghirahim stood and shook his head in sheer disbelief, but felt compelled to follow him either way. Just in case, (and it was likely), Zant’s lack of self-preservation had remained even as his plans were unfolding successfully, and he somehow managed to slip and crack his head on a rock, or some such nonsense. A little nest of grass denting below him, Zant sat in the meadows, the brittle strands of his hair waving along in the wind with the sea of green. He cradled a bottle with the cricket carefully in one hand and consulted his field journal in the other, a smile on his face as he noticed Ghirahim beside him.

So calm he was, the night before a crucial, all-deciding siege. Normally, mortals would pace before a war, even the mightiest of generals anxious in the face of death. Lacking sleep, decreased appetites, heart rates skyrocketing, and pleasantries ‘round the camp dwindling to an all-consuming air of dread. Consuming all but Ghirahim, at least. Battle was his purpose, his joy. Nerves were just about the last thing on his mind.

And now, beside him, there was a man studying wildflowers like it was just another day. Ghirahim found himself jarred by just how much he understood him, then. So, an odd, tickling weight rolling about in his core, he kneeled beside him and watched along.

—

The night of their assault arrived quietly. A deep black sky, with stars shimmering like the facets of an onyx, served as the hiding blanket for hundreds of demons. On foot, the first wave of their army marched to the hills circling the Valley. Without Cia’s influence, the Valley appeared that much more tranquil. Heather grasses and saplings reared their heads timidly above healing soil, not knowing they’d have been better off staying below. In the epicenter of the Valley, hovering above a fog-stained cliff, was the Sorceress’ altar. Like swarms of ants, the alerted soldiers rushed their way to their posts, all eyes aimed at the hills where they would meet their match. Down the dozens of staircases, they ran, clinging themselves to every corner they could think to fortify, and then, lay in wait.

Beside Ghirahim, Zant was calm. He was without helmet, and would remain that way, it seemed. When Lana broke it back in the Gerudo Desert, it must have been gone for good. They had been spotted by a band of Hyrulean scouts much earlier, whose horses kicked up a concealing cloud of dust as they galloped to warn their commander of the impending ambush. But they would not know all – beyond the hills, many more Blins were waiting, and their aerial troops remained undetected.

How eerily this first stretch of the battle resembled Zant’s exact plans.

In this initial quiet, before Zant could raise his hand and release the floodgates on their troops, Ghirahim pondered just how strange a situation he was in. Once again, he was at war, taking commands from a man other than his Master. For Cia, it had been the promise of Demise that had strung him along sufficiently enough to tolerate it. But Zant… By all means, he should hate this man. And he did, in a way, but the anger he felt no longer needed a vengeful release.

They had shared a bed again. Hands wrapped lovingly, yet fiercely around his waist, his wrists, his throat, as if grasping onto his hilt. Ever since Zant had used part of him to behead the late Bulblin Earl, he’d been drunk on the feeling of being wielded. So he didn’t care anymore, how treacherous it felt to have a part of him presently thrumming in Zant’s zealous grip. He sensed death in the eyes of the man who wielded his so-precious shard, and like the starved hunting dog he was, he wanted to chase after it. There was blood to be spilled, power to be taken. As any legendary blade, Ghirahim lusted for his name to be chronicled. In the past, he had scarcely been remembered. This changed today.

Zant marched onward, and onward, and onward. Eyes set on nothing but his goal, he waded his way through the crowd as if it hadn't existed at all. Any soldiers that dared close in on him were repelled instantly by an unseen force, and those that did manage to push past, met their end by the instinctive lash of Ghirahim’s blades. The Demon trailed his false king like a shadow, as thoroughly under his dominion as all of darkness had ever been. His scimitar swung over his shoulder, he hadn’t drawn it even once, depending instead on his Blade to guard him differently. Their passage left a scar on the battlefield, of dead meat and soil. That was how they combed through the Valley, cleaving the crowd as they traversed the scattered islands that would lead them to their prize.

The only thing to shake Zant out of his enduring resolve was the first display of the Sorceress’ magic. A pale blue light appeared ‘round the corner of the Altar’s gates. From it, swinging its pincers fiercely, came a towering Gohma, scuttling its way directly to the pair of commanders.

Zant instantly zipped himself behind his lieutenant. A light, encouraging tap on his shoulder and a whisper, caught Ghirahim’s attention.

“Buy me some time.”

So he did. Ghirahim swerved around to the raging creature’s legs, jabbing his swords into its joints, to little more avail than slowing it down. Out of earshot, Zant had hissed an incantation, and though he hadn’t followed its words, Ghirahim knew the spell had been cast from the eerie chill that traveled to his every extremity. Piercing past the droning arcane hum from earlier, a screech and the flapping of wings prompted Ghirahim to get out of dodge as soon as he could. Once he had joined Zant’s side again, he could see a King Helmaroc, pecking the Gohma to bits.

They intended to slip past this distraction, but Lana wouldn't let them. Cyan lights broke past nearly every corner of the battlefield, massive shadows raining down from pillars of light. More and more monsters poured forth, pulled from corners of the past even Ghirahim could recognize. And though Zant made his best efforts by summoning beasts to their defense, Ghirahim yanked him out of focus before he could rip open his fourth portal. When he pulled back, the glove he’d covered Zant’s mouth with was smeared with blood.

Panting, wiping the thin streams of crimson that poured from his eyes and nostrils, Zant never took his eyes off the altar.

“This… This is incredible, Ghirahim,” he stammered, a mad grin on his face. “I can’t keep up.”

Ghirahim ducked behind him with a grin and ran through the first soldier who dared to approach. “Singing praises of our enemy now?”

Now, Zant drew his scimitar, hacking it into an ambushing Hyrulean in one clean swing. As Ghirahim faintly shivered with delight, Zant berated him. “Fool! Of course I do! That is the power I covet, that I deserve,” Zant snarled through his teeth, fending off soldiers by the dozen. His speech, his violence, equal in cold execution. “I was unflinchingly loyal to his cause, to him, and yet, Ganon kept everything to himself. Now that I have it all within my grasp… How can I not fawn over it?”

“You can save your fawning for when it’s actually within your hands, you lunatic,” pulled from his basking, Ghirahim bit back, spying trouble as the pair guarded each other's flanks. The monsters Zant couldn't keep up with were catching up. “And, for when we are not under the threat of these beasts! Collect yourself, and go!”

“No… No, not yet,” Zant yelled, flinching when an enemy blade bounced off his wards. “We are to mask ourselves in the chaos of these giants, and when we’ve kicked up enough dust… We will go straight to her.”

As if hearing of this plan, a last-ditch effort exploded from the north. The stone bridge connecting the Altar to the rest of the valley had collapsed.

Zant saw this and hardly batted an eye. Their troops, however, seemed far more alarmed. Bridge after bridge crumbled into the depths, some with their men still traversing, plummeting right along. The setback left their army with fewer and fewer routes to advance. Hyrulean and Blin numbers were almost even now, Ghirahim reckoned from their vantage point. And as their side was funneled back out through the remaining bridges, Ghirahim looked behind him.

Zant nodded. Taking a page out of the Hyruleans’ book, Ghirahim raised his fingers to the sky, and set loose a trail of diamond sparks. Strings of light whistled and twisted high, high up above, red and flashy among Lana’s still-bleeding portals. The reaction was almost immediate. Rushing forth from the hills, Blins cascaded onto the battlefield and rushed through the bridges still left intact. What was once intended for the escape of the invading forces, now simply funneled in more. Men were pushed off the bridges and trampled in the footfall, while a select few managed to die a dignified death amidst the senseless crowd.

Above them, the stars in the night sky seemed to flicker. A deluge of airborne demons rushed by them, undetected until crossing the threshold of the altar’s pale moonlit stone. Hyrulean soldiers were lifted off the ground, others eviscerated on the spot, all while a desperate few hacked and slashed with wild abandon in an attempt to defend themselves.

Chaos. Exactly what they were looking for. Another Gohma, almost fallen into the abyss, clambered back onto the cliff’s edge and made for the pair of commanders. Just as its pincer was about to bore into them, Zant grabbed onto Ghirahim’s wrist and pulled him into the shadows.

When they reappeared, Ghirahim looked around to find himself in the altar’s inner room, strewn with bookcases of which the contents were largely toppled. But before anything else caught his eye, there stood the Sorceress, hunched desperately before a scrying orb. She whipped around the second Zant’s transportation magic rustled behind her.

“Hello, Lana,” Zant said pleasantly. Lana glared back, placing one hand back on the crystal ball. The sight made Zant smile. “Oh, please. Do you think your precious Hyrule will be here in time? Who do you think they’ll send? A few little platoons? Clearly, they’ve already given you what they could afford. And those men are not holding out very well out there.”

His words were emphasized by the sounds of clashing outside. Soldiers yelling, screaming, the sound of arms hitting armor and lifeless bodies hitting the ground.

“This will take a minute, at most. Hold still, if you’d please.”

For a moment, Lana looked afraid, deathly so. But her courage gathered itself remarkably quickly, giving her the strength to turn around and shield her crystal ball behind herself. “ ‘Hold still’? Who do you think you are, you creep!?” she yelled. “How dare you come into this sanctuary and defile it, just as we worked so hard to recover it!”

Zant grinned at her, squinting his eyes the slightest bit. “That’s a funny thing to accuse me of, considering the dynamic here. Either way… Ghirahim, if you will.”

At once, Ghirahim launched himself at the Sorceress. The first slice of his sword she just barely managed to step back from, but not without drawing the slightest bit of blood from her collar. In response, Lana strengthened her wards – a shimmering layer of pale, iridescent blue flashed in view to cover her body.

But the barrier would not save her from what was to come. As Lana became duly occupied with defending herself against the Sword Spirit’s merciless attacks, Zant began weaving his spell.

The first sentence was enough to make her flinch, but the second sent her into full-blown alarm. In her urgency, she ceased simply defending and instead attempted to push back against Ghirahim. She intended to break past him at all costs, and put an end to the words pouring from the Twilight King. Try as she might, though the whacks of thunder from her spellbook jittered Ghirahim down to the teeth, he would not let her gain even an inch on him. They were at a thorough standstill – one incapable of drawing blood, the other, finding a weakness but finding her enemy’s will too strong to overpower. All the while Zant kept chanting, and chanting, and chanting, the world around them not silenced, but rather, the three of them cast in a muffling cloak of darkness. But soon, Ghirahim would lose. Annihilation, his most precious weapon, failed him when he needed it most, and wouldn’t reward his wicked strikes with more than a nick past his opponent’s clothing. She truly was strong. Just a few more thundershocks and he would be brought to his knees, and with his Blade out of commission, Zant would not be able to defend himself against her.

He had to knock that grimoire out of her hand. The makeshift wards on her body protected her from the cutting edge of his sword, but the impact of his swings could still knock her off balance.

Ghirahim didn't get the chance to just yet, though. Their sprawling army of demons found her little hideout. The lot of them crawled along the windows, claws dragging and fists pounding on the barriers. Were they to break through, the enemy commander would be overtaken in seconds.

Lana realized this too. She withdrew instantly, her grimoire snapped shut, and made for the only spot in the wall unoccupied by bookcases. She, of course, ran straight through. Had Ghirahim’s intuition not stopped him, he would have smacked face-first into it. One hand bracing against the stone barrier, he realized it would need a key phrase to grant him passage.

Or, as per Zant’s stroke of simple genius, simply blow the wall to smithereens. Powder-turned stone and pebbles blasting outward around him, Ghirahim burst through the rubble and sprinted after the first sight of cyan he could catch. Bouncing against the walls, masking her every direction in this endless maze, Lana recited her counter-incantation.

Behind him, Zant laughed at the challenge, weaving his spell longer and longer. Ahead of him, Lana’s rapid footsteps kept his prey drive red-hot.

Run, run, but there’s no hiding from me. Along the floor, the thrum of Ghirahim’s core showed him the path the Sorceress had taken. He remembered these hallways perhaps better than she was aware of and, wagering a lucky guess at her meandering trajectory, he cut a few corners. He rammed solidly into her at the intersection. Just as he wanted, the grimoire went flying, and he placed himself between her and its landing spot.

Unfortunately for him, it didn’t render her powerless. But she did become weaker. The lightning she flung behind her as they resumed her chase was enough to hurt him, but not to slow him down. The little drops of blood he’d drawn that disappointed him before now worked as an irresistible lure, second to his expert dowsing. He could hear her breath, her heartbeat, and almost, every panicked thought as she tried to stall for enough time to think of a better plan than simply running and chanting with her heaving breath. Such was the power of that delectable fear! He had to have it. Closer, and closer, and closer he drew, his once graceful run now turning into a desperate, bestial sprint. She, the poor thing, was slowing, immortal in soul but human in guise. When even her last ditch effort, the casting of a lightning bolt point blank at his core, didn’t work, her desperation buckled her. Hands clawed, Ghirahim swiped for her.

At long last, he’d grabbed her, her arms locked in his elbows. Lana struggled fiercely, but no matter the power she borrowed, she couldn’t break free from steel of this caliber. How lucky she was, that his daggers couldn’t pierce her! Grappling fresh blood like this made him feel positively starved.

Even then, he wouldn’t have been able to play for very long. Zant had carefully followed his blade, his every step haunted by the all-consuming echo of his voice. As that voice grew closer, the world became still around them. Colder. Twin breaths turned to foggy clouds as the pair of locked combatants panted, their eyes each glued on the hallway before them. Shadows poured around the corner, only to be drowned out by a pale blue light, hovering around the Twilight King like an aura. His eyes, normally golden, now carried that same ethereal hue. When he extended his hand, there was a cavity in his palm, the void of which made Ghirahim’s core spin just looking at it.

Lana struggled again, until she steeled herself. The incantations she’d failed to recite in their scuffle came back to the forefront of her mind, the first words passing her lips. Just one glance from Zant, and Ghirahim moved instinctually. He rushed his hand to her face, and stuck the point of his dagger against her tongue. Of course, none would think to place wards there. The Sorceress shrieked, but every movement of her head sliced deeper into her cheek, her lips, the inside of her mouth. Ghirahim shushing in her ear, she froze wide-eyed, her chest heaving up and down rapidly in breathing. Like a rabbit on a butchery table.

One more sentence and Lana began to writhe, groaning in pain. Zant stood before them, palm upturned. It was almost done – Ghirahim could feel it. It was practically in their hands. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the face hovering above them. All else disappeared. Not even the blood, that precious ambrosia that trickled from his dagger down his glove, could shake him from his mesmerization.

With those last words, the skies went dark. The rim of light once encircling Zant burst outward into shards, leaving only an endless dark that splattered across the walls like paint. It left them in a void; cold, and deafened, and unfeeling, just the three of them locked inside. Just the three of them, and the little golden triangle hovering between them. Lana wept in terror, in regret, in pain, while her two adversaries made no sound at all. For just a moment, childlike wonder sparkled in Zant’s eyes, before that little bit of innocent hope was throttled by an overwhelming flame of greed and vengeance. From having their treasure dance above his palm, he suddenly seized it, snatching it out of the air.

With a deafening roar, like the sound of a mighty river rushing by overhead, the shadowy expanse around them imploded in on itself. Every inch of its fabric tore rapidly to one point: below Zant’s feet, sucked into his shadow. When the light returned to the hall again, there stood Zant, the same man as before.

The triforce now glowed on his palm.

But past that gently humming light, another sound caught their attention, now that the veil was lifted. War horns, far unlike theirs. Lana had stalled for enough time.

The second the both of them turned to the sound, Lana wrenched herself free. Though claws tore into her arms, and the dagger sliced through the corner of her mouth, she stumbled from Ghirahim’s grip and made for the light at the end of the hallway.

“Ghirahim-ili, how unlike you… Ah, well. I say let her run. She will be useless without this, anyhow,” he giggled, admiring the back of his hand.

But Ghirahim knew better. Eyes set on the desperately shambling woman, he aimed for her, hand outstretched, and snapped his fingers. A trio of daggers glistened in the light as they soared through the hallway, and thwacked into her back. Then he ripped back around, bound for his general in a steadfast march before the man could praise him – and it was a look of praise that colored his face – and snatched him by the wrist.

Yet Zant shook himself loose. His eyes blazed with unparalleled drive and fury. He glared down the still-stumbling Sorceress from afar, before clenching his fists. A throat-rending cackle ripped loose from him as his head was encased in shadows. Shrouded he was, then he was not, as particles of blackness burst outward to reveal a new sight.

Zant’s helmet. Once again perched on his shoulders, but entirely different. A wicked snarl was encased in the metal, and a finned collar encircled the reptilian face. At the peak of it all, a crown of horns declared him king. Now, Zant accepted Ghirahim’s so-hastily offered hand, and blinked the both of them outside the altar.

After just that split second, Ghirahim was jarred to find himself floating, high, high above the Valley, Zant’s fingers still lacing around his’. With a raise of his hand, and his triumphant, wet giggling still holding, he forced Lana’s portals to a close. One more wiggle of his fingers… that was all it took, and one by one, their troops disappeared from the battlefield.

Before Lana’s body could hit the ground, the two invaders were gone. Her efforts had been for naught. When the Hyrulean reinforcements finally crossed the foothills, the Valley was empty.

#ghirazant #ghirahim #zant #lana #lana hyrule warriors #hyrule warriors #loz fanfic #tftk #beararts #bearwrites

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myreia · 3 months ago

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fic authors self rec

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the love ❤️

I was tagged by @lilbittymonster to fill this out, thank you so much!

I'm a little late with this, but I'll tag a few folks (I think this is going around as an ask meme, too?). If you've already been asked or tagged, I'd love to see a second selection of your favourites! 💖

@bearlytolerant @tsunael @anneapocalypse @ievaxol @ardberts

@fourteenthz @birues @thewitchofelpis @a-shakespearean-in-paris @thevikingwoman

@impossible-rat-babies @autumnslance @gatheredfates @hylfystt

—01. Divergence of the Heart

Final Fantasy XIV | Heavensward | Wolmeric, Wolcred + background Thancred/Hilda Explicit | 53,996 words | 11 chapters

Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love, on the other hand…

I wrote this fic last year and it quickly became both extremely personal and also one of my favourite things I've ever written. It's also me poking fun at myself for creating what is probably the worst love triangle based off a couple lines of in-game dialogue from Thancred.

But I think the thing that makes it special to me isn't the love triangle or the emotional entanglements or the drama, it's exploring the different facets of Aureia's asexuality as a sex-positive and greyace person. This is a pretty complex topic and asexuality isn't as straightforward as "no sex ever". I also wanted to approach the erotic scenes with a certain sensibility and pull back the curtain on the romanticism of first times in search of something a little more grounded.

—02. Bound by Faith

Final Fantasy XIV | Shadowbringers | Wolcred Explicit | 28,406 words | 5 chapters

With their enemies defeated, the Crystarium is alive with celebration. Despite the joy around her, Aureia is uncertain about the next steps to take. So is Thancred, for that matter. The puzzle of their lives has sat incomplete for years, but finally this last, precious piece may be able to slide into place.

Okay so. 🥺 This was the first big Aureia/Thancred piece that I finished. I wrote it when I was going through an extremely rough time last year, and I think it was cathartic in a way to have them have all the right things come together so that taking a chance on a relationship finally feels right.

—03. As We Move Forwards

Final Fantasy XIV | Endwalker | Wolcred Mature | 8,140 words | 2 chapters

With tragedy averted and the world in recovery, Thancred and Aureia finally have some time to themselves. It’s nice—good even—to spend time alone, focusing on the things that matter most. But as they depart on a trip across Ilsabard, the question of what comes next lingers in his mind. Where do you go from here? How do you pick up the pieces of something broken and put it back together?

This is a much more recent Aureia/Thancred fic than the previous ones, and I'm enjoying poking at their Endwalker timeline. So much happens. Many things have been said and done, and their marriage has been put through the wringer. It was fun to explore what moving on looks like when they came so close to everything falling apart due to the pressures of outside circumstances. Marriage for them is not a happy ever after, it's just another point on the journey and they both still have a lot of growing to do.

—04. Resistance

Dragon Age: Origins | Tabris x Daveth Explicit, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death | 25,370 words | 7 chapters

Numbed by the events that took her away from Denerim, Rhea Tabris arrives in Ostagar to become a Grey Warden. But as she prepares for initiation and encounters an unexpected person, she discovers she can never truly let her past die.

I think this is my favourite DA fic back from when I used to write a lot of DA stuff. I don't know what it is about the Tabris x Daveth ship, it's such a rarepair but my mind latched onto the possibility and wanted to shake it up and down like a salt shaker and see what fell out. Angst and smut, apparently.

—05. Leave Me At the Shore of the Heart

Dragon Age 2 | Bethany Hawke x Anders Mature | 9,332 words | 4 chapters

On the eve of the Deep Roads expedition, a chance conversation between Anders and Bethany sparks feelings neither of them expected.

This one is special to me because it's the last DA fic I wrote. I'm not entirely sure what possessed me to write this ship, but I was turning a few things over in my head while playing DA2 and I just had a thought about the possibilities of character interactions — tl;dr the conversation I made up in my head was interesting and I needed to follow it haha.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfic #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #wolcred #wolmeric #tabris x daveth #aureia malathar #rhea tabris #oc tag #writing tag

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lord-and-master · 7 days ago

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My Dearest Enemy [11]

◤• Commander Peepers x Reader • ◢

╰┈➤ This is not slow burn at all and with a serious tone (just saying!). This is THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER, you can read the rest here:

https://www.wattpad.com/story/222059481-my-dearest-enemy

ׂ╰┈➤ BACKSTORY TIME (kind of)

Chapter Eleven: But Somewhere Deep Inside

She had no name, no identity, no home.

Was she a child, or was she not?

Thruthfully it was hard to tell. Her soft features and small stature spoke that indeed, she was, however her soul held a completely different story. Her face never seemed to change, it was always filled with fear. The times where happiness was evident in her expressions were long gone, right along with her confidence. She was so fragile, so innocent, yet forced to see and experience things that no child should ever have the displeasure of seeing or being a part of. There was no one at her side, no one and nothing besides the firearm in her trembling hands, as she watched in horror the ground beneath her break.

In that moment the world was all the she had, and the world was a battlefield.

Amidst the chaos and violence, she was alone. There were no moments to stop and think, to share a kind word, to see a person inside of her. She was just another number, and without anyone standing by her, the system choose her purpose. The dreams of finding something on her own, of being someone she wanted to be, there was no room for such foolishness. She knew. And so she fought on, battling for a cause she didn't understand, her spirit and body trapped in a conflict she didn't want to participate in.

Did she fight for herself? Or for others?

W̴h̷y̸ ̴s̵h̷o̵u̷l̶d̶ ̷i̶t̷ ̶m̷a̵t̴t̷e̵r̸?̸

Battle after battle, war after war, she moved ahead, her small frame carrying the weight of a world that forgot her innocence. She saw the cruelty of what humanity and alien races were capable of, the atrocity and the pain. But she also saw the flicker of hope in the eyes of her allies, the hope for a future she might never see. However she knew that it was just how things were supposed to be. She was just a trivial little flower, with no space to bloom.

...B̶u̵t̵ ̶w̵a̸s̸ ̷i̸t̶ ̴s̶o̷ ̵b̵a̸d̶ ̵t̵o̵ ̸n̴o̷t̸ ̸w̵a̶n̶t̵ ̶t̸o̸ ̶d̸i̵e̶?̶

The fear of death hung over her like a shadow, even though she didn't fully understand what it meant. She tried to avoid thinking about it. Tried to push it to the back of her mind. Though the constant battles and the horrors of war left her with a sense of uncertainty, her young heart torn between hope of a better future and the fear of what lay ahead. She fought on, but her ever-present threat of the unknown loomed over her like a specter, her youth snatched from her by the cruel hands of warfare. She didn't know what death would bring, but the idea of leaving her whole life behind, of leaving everything behind, scared her more than the battlefield ever could. And the girl didn't dream of having a long life. That was too much to hope for. Her thoughts, her dreams, her fears, they all swirled around that one point, with that one realization...

S̵h̴e̸ ̵w̴a̶s̶ ̵e̷x̵p̴e̵n̷d̵a̵b̴l̵e̴.̶

Just a cog in the machine, a tool to be used an discarded at the will of those in charge. Her desires and worries, they were not of importance, her existence only valued based on what she could offer in the grand scheme of the conflict. She fought for a cause, but it wasn't her cause. It wasn't something she would see an end to, a victory to celebrate. So she had accepted her role, her purpose, her future.

To be a weapon. Nothing more.

Yet as the war ended, and she was on the losing end of the fight, she found herself held at gunpoint, the only human left in the entire universe alive. There was no more trepidation, no more deep thoughts. The only companion the tears that welled up in her eyes as she waited for her whole world, the one she wished to know so much, to end.

But it didn't.

Why didn't they shoot her?

T̴h̵e̸y̷ ̶s̷h̷o̸u̸l̴d̴ ̸h̵a̸v̴e̴.̸

That was the first question that appeared in her head when she was taken away, her small frame being manhandled by the aliens as they dragged her from the battlefield. She didn't know what awaited her, her heart racing with terror and confusion once again, the uncertainty about her fate like a weight on her chest. Soon her surroundings chaned from fire and ruin to a ship, a spaceship to be exact. Her enemies were silent as they guided her through the corridors, her whole body dwarfed by their larger forms. She couldn't help but look around, taking in her surroundings with both fear and fascination, her mind racing with questions.

"What's that?"

"What does this do?"

"Why is it so colorful and shiny?"

But as the child-like curiosity escaped her lips, it was never sated.

Her attempts were met with another wave of silence and indifference. The aliens didn't bother to answer her, they only ignored her, her questions unanswered. It was like she was invisible, her presence just another part of the surroundings, not worth acknowledging or responding to. Because of that she felt the bitter taste of despair, her hopes of receiving an anything, at least some kind of acknowledgment, crushed. The tranquility was deafening, the only sounds being the echo of their footsteps in the spaceship. But through it all, that tiny spark remained, a small flame that refused to be extinguished by apathy.

She soon found herself in a room, her thoughts still swirling in her head. She looked around, trying to understand, her heart racing a little still. The place was bare, with nothing but a bed and a single window overlooking the vastness of space. Her captors left her alone, and the silence returned, but that time it was almost deafening. And so she made her way to the opening, her frame standing against the cold glass, looking out into the endless blackness, the stars twinkling in the distance.

Why didn't the stars look beautiful that night?

Their beauty, the bright light they emitted, they meant nothing to her. All she saw was cold indifference, the void a reflection of her whole shell, empty and unfeeling.

And she wondered, what would happen next?

The next few years were a blur for her, a never-ending cycle of switching families. She was just a tool to be used and discarded once more, without a second thought. No one wanted her, no one wanted a human. She was seen as dangerous, a reminder of a war the aliens had won. She was passed from one family to another, each time she would hope to find some kind of belonging, a small flame of hope kindling in her heart. But each time, her hope was met with indifference and hostility. She was alone, an outsider, a strange and unwelcome presence in every home. With no identity, no name to claim as her own. People forgot to ask, her age a became a mystery in the strange world she was brought into. She longed for something that would feel like love, but it was as elusive as peace. Yet, she clung to life, holding onto the faint hope that one day, she would be free.

But why did they keep her?

W̸a̷s̷ ̴s̸h̷e̵ ̸a̸ ̷t̷r̴o̵p̸h̸y̵?̵

That's exactly what she was in their eyes, a reminder of their victory. She was nothing more than a spectacle, dehumanized to an unrecognizable level, her own individuality ereased and replaced by their twisted views and perceptions. The system that kept her alive, however, was corrupted, using her to prove a point, making her feel inferior, treating her as if she was merely a pet, or a novelty to be displayed and showcased. The way she was used, the way she was treated, it all served to further the sense of worthlessness that had already settled in her heart. She was powerless to prevent it, unable to change her circumstances, stuck in a loop of exploitation and subjugation. Though the system wasn't broken; it was functioning exactly as it was designed, just like everyone intended for it to work.

B̵u̵t̷ ̷w̸h̴y̸ ̸d̴i̷d̵ ̶s̵h̵e̸ ̸h̴a̷v̸e̸ ̷t̸o̷ ̷b̸e̸ ̷t̷h̴e̵ ̸o̵n̸e̷ ̶t̶o̶ ̴e̷x̴p̶e̵r̴i̶e̵n̷c̸e̶ ̶i̶t̸?̸

To her, the war had never ended, in a sense, because she had never witnessed the end. True peace was something she hadn't seen, or experienced. Perhaps it was a cruel fate, a form of prolonged torment, where the battle waged on endlessly within her mind, the memories and scars of the past lingering like an unhealing wound. She was left behind, forgotten, abondoned to a life without true closure.

"Weak."

"P̷a̴t̵h̴e̵t̸i̸c̵.̸"

A̴̺͌ ̷̘͌r̴̝̾e̵͂͜l̸̮̄i̸̜̋c̶͉͘ ̸̛͔ȍ̷̘f̵̲̽ ̸̺̌t̸͓̚h̷͓̀ȩ̶̀ ̶̯̓p̶̦͌a̷͉͛s̷̃ͅt̷̬̃.̵̘́

The aliens, with their condescending voices and dismissive attitudes, would make comments about her being a human, mocking her for her perceived weakness. And the children, their cruelty sometimes even more apparent than that of the adults, would make fun of her nature, further adding to her sense of otherness and isolation.

But could children be blamed for their words?

T̷h̶e̷y̴ ̴d̷i̸d̶n̶'̴t̶ ̶k̶n̵o̵w̴ ̵b̸e̴t̴t̸e̶r̴.̶ ̴

Indeed, it was true that kids were merely imitating the behavior of the adults around them. After all they were like sponges, absorbing the prejudices and beliefs of their surroundings without any thought or judgment. They were merely products of the environment they were raised in, and their harsh words towards her were a reflection of the hostility and ignorance ingrained within the alien culture. Which is why they weren't entirely to blame, but it didn't matter.

Because she was a child herself.

S̴h̸e̶ ̶d̵i̸d̸n̴'̶t̵ ̷k̵n̶o̸w̸ ̶b̸e̵t̷t̸e̸r̵ ̸e̵i̸t̷h̶e̸r̸.̴

And so, one day she sat on the floor, surrounded by scraps and wires, her small hands working almost frantically on the device before her. Her eyes were filled with a fierce determination, a focus that was almost unnerving for someone so young. The makeshift lab she had created in the back of a shed she was staying in was littered with tools, manuals, and broken equipement. But in the midst of it all, she was in her element. As she worked, her thoughts swirled around her head, a jumble of anger, sadness, and resolve. She felt powerfless, weak, and she didn't like it.

"If they want me to be dangerous, I'll show them dangerous."

Her fingers nimbly connected wires, her orbs scanning the manual on her lap. The plans for the bomb were easy enough to comprehend for her. She knew the components and how they needed to be arranged for maximum damage. After all, she has seen explosives being set up before, she has observed their creation and how they worked. The thought of holding such power in her hands was exhilarating. The thought of finally being able to push back against the universe that seemed to be constantly pushing her around made her heart race. It filled her with a sense of control that she had been lacking for so long.

With a final twist, the device came together, its circuits connecting with a satisfying click. The tiny bomb lay in her palms, its destructive potential contained within its compact frame. She held it gingerly, examining her handiwork. If she used such a thing, she wouldn't be weak. She wouldn't be helpless. She knew that the consequences of blowing it up would be severe. There would be no turning back. But the fear that would fill any creature's heart who looked at her was the thought that enticed her. The girl was so faulty before, though in that moment she would show them she was not something they should scoff at. She was done being the pawn in their game. It was her turn to throw the chess pieces around.

And so she decided to blow up the school, the place where she was supposed to learn but only experienced more pain. Where the only thing she was taught was her insignificance.

It was a night like any other. Moonlight streamed through the windows of the building, casting long shadows on the empty hallways. The only sound was the faint hum of the ancient heating systems. Everyone was tucked away in their homes, safe and oblivious to the events that were about to unfold. But to her, it wasn't just a normal night. She was outside the school, her small frame crouched behind a bush in the shadows. In her hands was the bomb she had worked so carefully on. Her heart raced with anticipation, her eyes almost glinting in the dim light. The air felt charged, as if the world itself was holding its breath in anticipation. The area was quiet, its usual activity replaced by an eerie silence. It was the perfect playground for her little game. And so, with a deep breath, she threw the object ahead and pressed a button on a different device.

AN EXPLOSION ERUPTED.

As the ground trembled under her feet, the night sky lit up brightly, she couldn't help but compare it to before, the war. Back when the ground shook violently and the sky was filled with the sounds of explosions and chaos. She had been scared then. She had felt so small and helpless. But in that moment, it was different. It was her who made the whole world crumble.

And she loved it.

L̷o̴v̷e̴d̴ ̴b̶e̷i̸n̴g̴ ̵b̶a̴d̶.̴ ̵

A small, almost imperceptible upturn appeared at the corners of her mouth. It was the first time, in a long time, that her face had ever looked like that. It was the first time in a long time, that there was a hint of joy in her expression. The rush of adrenaline coursed through her veins like a tsunami. The sound of the explosion, the light — it was almost beautiful in its own right. She loved it. She loved having the power to make something so loud, so destructive. It felt right. It felt like she was finally in control of something. Like she wasn't just a pawn in the hand of fate anymore. For once, she felt like she found her purpose on her own.

And she wanted more.

S̸o̵ ̷t̸h̶a̶t̵ ̸s̴h̴e̶ ̸c̴o̷u̴l̵d̷ ̴f̵e̵e̷l̸ ̷s̷o̷m̷e̸t̷h̴i̶n̷g̸ ̶o̶t̴h̴e̸r̸ ̷t̴h̸a̸n̸ ̵d̶e̸s̴p̸a̴i̸r̴.̶

She quickly became addicted to the feeling. The power that came from the act of chaos and destruction, the thrill of watching something crumble at her hand. It wasn't long until she was caught, though. Her destructive tendencies didn't go unnoticed by the powers that be. Soon she was brought to a facility, where children like her were held for 'bad attitudes' and 'unruly behavior'. But it didn't make her break. Despite the attempts to subdue her, she refused to give in. The facility, with its bland walls and sterile environment, felt like a cage. But she was not some animal, to be contained and controlled. Every attempt to do so was met with a fierce will to resist. Every punishment was seen as a challenge, to strengthen her resolve and feed her rebellious nature.

There, she also met a small girl, someone who also found joy in destruction.

T̶h̸e̸y̶ ̷w̷e̸r̷e̵ ̴a̵l̴i̴k̸e̸.̷

She could have never expected to meet someone else like her here. This girl was different; her defiance was not just a product of a bad attitude or an unruly demeanor, it was a hunger, a thirst for destruction. And the girl relished in it, like it was her lifeblood. Clearly, for the white-haired female all of it was fun. It was exactly the same for her human peer. And since they were thrown in the same room - or rather a cell - their interest in terror blossomed.

"You like.̵͚̠̦̗̽͊͊͗̎̊̈́̏ to destroy things too?"

"What a dork.".̵͚̠̦̗̽͊͊͗̎̊̈́̏

"You're such a pain."

"What's.̵͚̠̦̗̽͊͊͗̎̊̈́̏ your name though, .̵͚̠̦̗̽͊͊͗̎̊̈́̏weirdo?"

She was used to hostility, but that girl was something else. The way she talked, her blunt words tinged with anger, it was almost fascinating. When she asked for her name, she hesitated for a moment. It had been so long since anyone had asked for it, it was strange to even think about it. After all, she had no identity. No one ever cared enough to give her one. But then, she thought, her life is her own. And she could do anything that she wished to, even if meant something as trivial as choosing her own name.

"It's ___.̵͚̠̦̗̽͊͊͗̎̊̈́̏"

She finally said, her voice quiet yet firm as a smirk played on her lips.

The other girl, an alien one, with her sharp words and defiant attitude, chuckled at the reply. The sound was harsh, almost scornful, but there was a hint of respect in it."___.̸̡̬͓̳͍͍͈̭̪̦͙͉̯́̊͑̾̇́̒̄͆̽͛̐̓̅͑̉̎̋̾͘̕͜, huh? That name suits you. It's kinda dumb, though." She replied, with a small sly smile of her own, but the human rolled her eyes at the remark, unimpressed by the cruel words.

"And what do you think your name is better.̶͙͈̫̉̈́̀?" She retorted, her voice tinged with irritation. "I bet it's something dumb like Sparkle.̶͙͈̫̉̈́̀ or Rainbow."

The girl's face darkened at the jab, and she gave the one in front of her a sharp glare. "As if!" She snapped, her voice laced with anger. "My name's Dom̸̛͍̟̄̑̒̋͝inator, like, way cooler, duh!"

"Dominator.̴̧͍̳̝͑̈́̄?" The human repeated, a hint of disbelief in her voice.̴̧͍̳̝͑̈́̄ She had to admit, the name was rather fitting for the small girl sitting across from her. It was strong, powerful, and imposing. But she couldn't help but feel a bit amused by the contrast between the name and the tiny, childlike appearance.̶̙̗͍̬͙̦̀̄̅̌̃͠

"Yeah, that's right.̸̢̭͖͈̘͙̒" Dominator replied, her tone still sharp. "I'll rule the entire unive.̸̢̭͖͈̘͙̒rse someday.̸̢̭͖͈̘͙̒"

The other one couldn't help but chuckle at the statement. The thought of her, the defiant and grumpy child, ruling the universe was almost ridiculous. But at the same time, there was something about the girl that made it feel possible. And so, the human made a slight, almost imperceptible nod. ".̶̦̭̘̞̺̻͕̳͍̈́̿̄̉̿̾̑̑̑͠͝You want to rule the universe, huh?" She said, her voice soft, yet calculated. She leaned in closer towards her peer, her orbs glimmering with subtle malice. "You know, I think I want that too..̶̦̭̘̞̺̻͕̳͍̈́̿̄̉̿̾̑̑̑͠͝"

As expected, Dominator laughed at her words, her face scrunching up in an even wider smirk. "You? A.̴̧̣̳͕̜̋ human?" She said, the mockery clear in her tone. ".̴̧̣̳͕̜̋You can't even rule a room much less the .̴̧̣̳͕̜̋universe."

The human's jaw tightened at the jab. Her hands clenched into fists, her eyes darkening with anger. But she hid the emotion behind a veneer of calm. She couldn't lose control. Not now. So she forced herself to smile. "You don't believe me,.̴̧̣̳͕̜̋ huh?" she replied, her voice steady. "Well, I don't care if you.̴̧̣̳͕̜̋do or not. I know what I can do. And I'm going to rule the entire galaxy, with or without you.̴̧̣̳͕̜̋."

Her words took the alien by surprise. The small girl's smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion. "Without.̴̧̣̳͕̜̋ me? Pfft, please. If .̴̧̣̳͕̜̋anything you would need me, idiot.̴̧̣̳͕̜̋." She retorted, her voice filled with arrogance.

"Oh, I don't need you." The other one replied, almost sweetly. "I don't need anyone..̴̧̣̳͕̜̋ But... I guess it would be more fun that way. Wouldn't it? R.̴̧̣̳͕̜̋uling together, I mean." As she looked at the small, defiant girl before her, her mind was already scheming. She could practically see the plans forming in her head. But for now, she would put on a façade of kindness. She would play the game. For after all, what's a little bit of lying for the sake of world domination? She leaned in closer towards Dominator, her voice soft and honeyed. "Imagine it," She said, her eyes locked onto the smaller girl. "Ruling .̴̧̣̳͕̜̋the galaxy, together..̴̧̣̳͕̜̋. All those worlds, under our command. We could make them all kneel before us, if we .̴̧̣̳͕̜̋wanted to."

A look of curiosity flickered across Dominator's face, and the human knew she had piqued her interest. The alien was listening, her pink orbs wide and almost dreamy, as if she was imagining exactly what she had described. "It would be amaz.̴̧̣̳͕̜̋ing," She continued, her voice full of a false excitement. "The two of us.̴̧̣̳͕̜̋, unstoppable. No one would dare to stand.̴̧̣̳͕̜̋ against us."

The white-haired girl was silent for a moment. Her face was filled with a mixture of excitement and caution. She was clearly tempted by the idea, but at the same tim.̴̧̣̳͕̜̋e, she wanted to make sure it wasn't a trick. "And.̴̧̣̳͕̜̋ what makes you think I'd trust you?"

"Because both of us need a f̵r̶i̶e̵n̷d̶ ."

And with that she reached out her hand, a gesture for her to take it, make the deal.

Dominator was silent for a long moment as she looked at the human's extended hand. She had always been on her own, relying on no one but herself. Friends were a liability, a weakness that could be exploited. But something about the way her peer spoke, the way she looked at her... it made her want to give in. To reach out and take the hand offered to her.

She hesitated for another moment, her eyes flickering between the other girl's face and her hand. Then, finally, she slowly reached out her own small one and grasped the other. Their palms fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle."This.̵̨͎͈̂͒̓ means nothing," She said, her voice still sharp but with a hint of reluctance. "Don't think this makes us.̵̨͎͈̂͒̓ friends."

"Of course it doesn't..̵̨͎͈̂͒̓" Her new companion replied, a small smirk playing on her lips a she squeezed her hand. "It just means we're allies.̵̨͎͈̂͒̓. Partners.̴̱̙̌͗̀͒̈́̀̓͛̍̅͐.̵̛̗̞̘̟͕̖͈̞̿̈͛̃͑̿͋͠."

For as long as she was of use to her.

They years in the facility passed by in a blur of days, months, and years. ___ and Dominator grew closer, their bond strengthening with every shared moment. At first, it was all planning and scheming. They spent hours sitting together in their shared room, brainstorming ways to escape and take over the galaxy. They would sketch their plans on any surface they could find, from the wall to pieces of paper they managed to smuggle out. But as time went on, their conversations became less about planning and more about themselves. Despite the alien's tough exterior, she couldn't help but open up to her human peer, if only a little bit. They would talk about their pasts, their dreams and fears. Their conversations were still laced with sarcasm and sharp words, but beneath the surface, there was a genuine connection beginning to form. And in the quiet hours of the night, when the rest of the facility was asleep, they would sit together in the darkness, sharing secrets that neither had ever told anyone else. There were times when they would talk and talk until the first light of day.

And even though neither of them would ever admit it, they had become something more than just partners in crime. They were the best friends neither of them knew they needed.

It wasn't all smooth sailing, though. There were rough patches along the way, arguments and fights where words were spat out in anger. But they always managed to find their way back to each other, realizing that they needed the other's presence.

"You're so annoying sometimes.̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛, you know that?"

"Pfft, .̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛and you're always so grumpy. Maybe you need to chill.̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛ a bit."

"Maybe you need to stop pissing me off .̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛.̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛all the time."

"Hey.̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛, I'm just being entertaining."

"Right. Entertaining. That's exactly what you call pissing me o.̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛ff."

Friendship seemed like such a distant prospect.

"Why .̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛do you always talk so much? It's giving me a headache."

"And why do you always look so grumpy.̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛? Do you ever smile?"

"No. Smiling is for weaklings."

"Pfft. So, what does that make me then?"

"Probably the .̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛biggest weakling of all."

And yet it passed through their minds, more often than they dared to admit.

"You .̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛know, sometimes you're not that bad."

"Are you actually admitting that you like me?"

"Oh, please. Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late. I'm going to have a big head for.̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛ days now."

"Annoying little-"

Maybe sometimes it was worth a few bruises.

"Hey, I got a question for you."

"And what's that?"

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to not be evil?"

"...What do you mean?"

"I mean, if we weren't planning ways to rule the world or destroy it."

"...Why would we do that?"

"I don't know. Just a thought."

A small silence followed Dominator's question, the air between them suddenly heavy. ___ didn't respond at first, her eyes fixed on the wall in front of her, her thoughts swirling in her head. Could they do anything other than evil? Could she be anything other than... her? Finally, after what seemed like eternity, she turned to look at her partner-in-crime, a mixture of confusion and something else in her look. "What else would we be?"

The white-haired girl's face remained in its usual frown, but there was a hint of something else in her orbs, a slight gleam of vulnerability. She had asked the question, but as her peer looked at her, she realized that the the human had her own doubts too. "I don't know," Shereplied, her voice unusually quiet. "I just... I wonder what it would be like if we were normal, I guess."

"Normal, huh?" The other one repeated, a smirk playing on her lips. "And what is normal, exactly?" It was a genuinely curious question. They had never been normal, both of them being considered abnormal since the moment they were born. The thought of being 'normal' was almost laughable, but the look on Dominator's face made her pause.

"You know," Dominator said, a hint of sarcasm returning to her voice. "Normal, as in not constantly thinking about plotting crimes and taking over the universe."

"So... boring, then?" The human retorted.

"Ugh, I suppose so," The alien groaned, rolling her eyes. "But still... maybe it wouldn't be so bad." Another silence followed her words, a longer one this time. Her 'partner' studied her face in the dim light, watching her small frown and the thoughts flickering in her gaze. There was something there, a hint of longing or even a bit of melancholy.

___ snorted suddenly, her smirk widening. "Yeah, right." She replied, her tone both amused and dismissive. "And be bored out of my mind? No thanks."

"I should have guessed you'd say that."

"What, did you think I'd actually want to be normal?" The human asked, raising an eyebrow. "Please. Being normal is for losers. And we're definitely not losers."

"Pfft, I guess you're right." Dominator said, a small smirk returning to her face.

Their usual banter had returned, the hint of vulnerability that had been there moments ago suddenly disappearing. But beneath the surface, the thought that Dominator had planted in her mind remained.

And for some reason, she couldn't shake it off.

The final years of their stay in the facility passed in a blur, filled with late-night planning and days full of tense anticipation. Both of them were seventeen then, and the time to set their plan in motion was nearing. The air around them felt charged, heavy with the knowledge that their dreams were about to come true. But even as the time ticked by, things began to change between them. The arguments decreased, the tension between them gradually fading. They still bickered, still teased each other, but there was a new note of understanding and trust that had never been there before. They were in sync, their minds practically in tune with each other.

On the day before they were scheduled to leave the facility, they were sitting together in their shared room, the silence between them unusually thick. They were both lost in thought, their heads already consumed with the plan they had been working on for years. But there was an underlying tension, an unspoken question that hovered in the air.

Finally, Dominator broke the silence.

"So, we're really doing it, huh?"

"Yeah, we are."

"Tomorrow, we'll be out of here for good."

"I still can't believe it. We've been working on this for so long."

"I know. It has to work."

"It will. We've planned ever single step. Nothing can go wrong."

___'s eyes flickered towards her companion as she spoke, her gaze betraying none of the guilt churning in her stomach. She knew she had a plan of her own, something she had been keeping from her partner all along. But as she looked at Dominator's face, all determined and resolute, she suddenly felt a pang of remorse. The young white-haired woman's features were filled with determination, her hands clenched into fists, a contrast to her usual grumpy expression. She was ready for this, more than ready. She had waited years for this day, and now it was finally here. It was the moment they had worked for, the moment they would finally get out of this hellhole and take their place in the galaxy.

Together.

The word echoed in the human's head, almost as if their minds were seriously connected, sending a jolt of guilt through her. But she quickly pushed it aside, burying it deep down. She couldn't let her emotions get in the way of her plan. She had spent too many years working on it, sacrificing too much. She couldn't back out now. So she glanced at her partner again, studying her determined face. She had always seen her as a weapon, someone she could use to further her own goals. But now, as the day they had both been waiting for so long was about to come, she felt a flicker of another emotion, one that she quickly pushed aside.

Affection.

No, she told herself firmly. She couldn't let herself feel anything for Dominator, no matter how much the girl had grown on her over the years. She had to stick to the plan, to betray the girl who thought of her as a friend, a partner. She couldn't let weak emotions mess everything up.

"Yes, together.̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛." She forced a smile on her face.

"Together." The alien echoed, her voice filled with so much confidence, so much trust.

It made the human's heart ache.

B̷u̸t̶ ̸s̴h̷e̶ ̵h̸a̸d̶ ̷t̶o̶ ̴d̶o̷ ̶i̸t̸.̸ ̴D̷o̴m̶i̵n̵a̶t̸o̸r̵ ̷w̴a̴s̴ ̸a̸n̷o̸t̷h̷e̴r̷ ̷a̶l̷i̷e̶n̷,̸ ̵j̶u̷s̵t̷ ̴l̴i̴k̸e̴ ̸e̶v̷e̴r̸y̶o̵n̴e̴ ̷e̷l̷s̴e̴,̸ ̴s̷h̶e̶ ̶d̶e̷s̷e̷r̶v̷e̵d̶ ̷i̶t̸.̵

And with that thought, the guilt slowly faded away, replaced by a strange kind of cold determination. This was the right thing to do, the only thing she could do. Her peer that was unfortunately of another species wasn't her friend, she was a means to an end, a tool to be used. And yet, no matter what, a small shred of doubt remained, whispering in her mind, telling her that it was wrong. But she pushed it away, refusing to listen.

She was nothing to her.

S̵t̸o̵p̶ ̶l̶y̶i̵n̴g̸.̵ ̶S̷h̸e̵ ̸m̷e̸a̸n̴t̵ ̴e̷v̷e̸r̵y̶t̶h̸i̶n̶g̷.̶

The next morning, the day of their escape, they were ready. They had both spent hours before dawn making the final adjustments to their plan, going over every detail one final time. As the time drew nearer, the anticipation in the air was almost tangible, the atmosphere charged with excitement and tension. They stood near the door to their shared room, their fixed on the clock on the wall. Five minutes until the guards would do their rounds, five minutes until they made their move. Dominator fidgeted beside her friend, her hands clenching and unclenching, a clear sign of her nervousness. ___ watched her silently, her cool exterior hiding the nervous flutter in her stomach. She glanced at the door again, as if she could see through it, could see the guards slowly making their way to them.

One minute.

She turned back to the alien female, her orbs flickering over her whole form, taking in her trembling hands and the nervous expression on her face. There was a part of her, buried deep, that wanted to reassure her, to tell her that everything was going to be alright. But she pushed it away. She couldn't afford to be soft. Not now.

Thirty seconds.

Dominator noticed her look and turned to meet it, her features a mixture of anxiety and determination. They looked at each other, their gazes meeting for a brief moment.

Ten...nine...eight...seven...

As they stared into their eyes, a brief moment of hesitation flashed through ___'s mind, a flicker of doubt and guilt. After all, the alien in front of her was the only one who had ever been there for her, the only one who she'd allowed herself to get close to. They had been each other's only support for years, fighting and planning together. Though with a quick breath, the doubt was quickly squashed, a coldness taking over her heart. Dominator was simply a means to an end. She couldn't let herself care. And with that in mind, the last number appeared in her head.

One.

The moment the clock hit one o'clock, Dominator and her human companion moved. They had both memorized the guards' schedule down to the second, so they knew exactly when the guards would be closest to their room. They burst out of the door and sprinted down the hallway, their hearts racing. With every step, ___'s heart grew colder, the guilt slowly fading as the focus on her plan took over.

It was necessary.

They weaved through the empty halls, avoiding the cameras and sensors that were placed all over the facility. They had studied the layout of the place for years, knowing every single room and corridor by heart. They arrived at the supply room, its door protected by a code and a retina scan. The code was easy, a simple pattern that they had been able to crack a long time ago. Dominator quickly entered it, and the door slid open, revealing rows and rows of supplies. They began gathering the items they would need for their escape, filling a backpack with small tubes of highly reactive chemicals, wires, metal scraps and other objects that could serve as weapons or improvised explosives. Everything they grabbed was packed up with a speed and precision that spoke of months or even years of planning. When the backpack was filled, the alien from the duo pulled out a small device from her pocket, tapping a few buttons on it. The device came to life with a soft hum, and a light on its screen started flashing. A signal, a silent alarm to make their escape from the facility just a bit easier.

They shared a final look, and silently, they turned and ran out of the room, their footsteps nearly silent on the polished floor. Together, they made their way towards the exit, following the path they had planned and practiced so many times.

The building was an endless maze of corridors and rooms, but they managed to move through it swiftly. Any guard unlucky enough to stumble upon them was swiftly dealt with, a quick move from their combined strength enough to knock them unconscious and into the nearest closet. Their steps and breaths were the only noise filling the silence, both of them completely focused on their destination. Finally, they arrived at the last security check, a series of high-tech sensors and lasers standing between them and freedom.

The two girls stared at the intricate security system, their minds immediately focused on the problem at hand. Dominator began scanning the devices that made up the sensors, her eyes flickering as she mentally calculated the optimal points for the explosive charge. ___, on the other hand, began to assemble a makeshift explosive device with the materials they had gathered. They worked in a well-practiced rhythm, their hands moving with a steady precision. Dominator pointed out the exact points where the charges would cause the most damage, and the human carefully attached them to the bomb. Within minutes, the device was packed tightly with enough explosives to take out the entire security system. All that remained was the final step.

With a nod, Dominator detonated the device. The explosion was deafening, sending a shock wave through the entire corridor, rattling the walls and the ground beneath them. For a moment, everything was dust and smoke, the security system reduced to nothing but scrap metal and broken circuits. And as the dust began to clear, they could see the path to freedom before them. The security system had been completely destroyed, leaving the exit doors unprotected. They shared a brief look, and together, they sprinted towards the exit, the remaining guards running after them.

The air outside was cold and fresh, a stark contrast to the stale air they had breathed inside the facility for years. But they didn't hesitate, their steps quick and determined. They ran as if their lives depended on it.

Which, technically, it did.

They reached the spaceport, the rows of parked ships spread before them in a neat line. The human female spotted the nearest one, and without hesitation, she leapt onto it, her limbs moving with a grace and precision that showed how well she had trained the past few years.

Dominator followed close behind, but as she arrived at the ship, ___ suddenly spun around and pushed her away, sending the girl flying onto the hard concrete.

W-What?

The alien female let out a gasp of surprise, her small form hitting the ground with a thud. She looked up at her only friend in confusion, not understanding what was happening.

For a moment, their eyes met, and ___ hesitated. The sight of Dominator, on the ground, looking up at her with trust and confusion, filled her heart with a sharp pang of guilt. But she pushed it down, her face hardening. This was only a small flicker of doubt, a tiny feeling, easily ignored by the cold determination that had settled deep in her chest.

"What-" Dominator started, her voice small and full of betrayal.

"You've served your purpose..̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛" She said, her tone betraying nothing of the guilt and doubt that were currently warring inside her. "I don't need you anymore.̵̳̜̺̹̏̽͌̓̎̈͐͛."

The hurt woman's expression shifted from confusion to shock and hurt at the human's words. She stared up at her, a million questions and emotions flickering through her small form. "W-What do you mean... I've served my purpose? You- You need me..!"

___'s expression remained cool and detached, as if the girl on the ground in front of her was nothing more than a tool that had fulfilled its function. "No, I don't..̵̡͎̳̗̋̌̒̎̾̅̇́̓̆͛̒̇͜͠" She said firmly, her voice cold. ".̵̡͎̳̗̋̌̒̎̾̅̇́̓̆͛̒̇͜͠You've been nothing but a means to an end. A resource to be used. And now, that resource is no longer needed." She almost laughed. "Now, be a good toy." With that she leaned forward, her expression emotionless. "And stay down..̵̡͎̳̗̋̌̒̎̾̅̇́̓̆͛̒̇͜͠"

Dominator's eyes widened, the words hitting her like a physical blow. She couldn't believe what she was hearing, couldn't understand how the person she had considered a friend, a partner, could speak to her like this. Her body trembled with a mixture of hurt and anger. "Y-You can't just... you can't just use me and discard me like garbage!"

___ looked down at the young female, her heart cold, her eyes betraying nothing of the inner turmoil she was feeling. She spoke, her voice cool and detached. "Consider this a lesson, Dominator. In this galaxy, nobody truly cares for you. You're nothing but a small, i̴n̷s̶i̴g̴n̴i̴f̴i̷c̵a̸n̶t̶ ̸p̷i̷e̴c̴e̸, expendable and replaceable. Now... farewell..̵̡͎̳̗̋̌̒̎̾̅̇́̓̆͛̒̇͜͠"

The white-haired female stared up at her, her eyes wide and tear-filled. She tried to speak, to say something, anything, but no words came out. She was speechless, her heart shattering under the weight of the human's cold words. As she watched her turn and climb into the ship, she felt as if everything she had believed in, everything she had hoped for, had just been ripped away from her, leaving her alone and helpless on the cold, unforgiving concrete. Within seconds, the spacecraft was lifting off the ground, rising higher and higher into the air. All the while, her mind was a maelstrom of emotions, her heart heavy with pain and betrayal. She didn't move, just watched as the ship slowly disappeared from view, until it was nothing but a small speck in the vast sky.

How could she do that to her?

And as the ship flew away, the young human woman allowed herself a moment of weakness, the cool, detached facade she had carefully maintained cracking slightly. She closed her eyes, a wave of guilt and remorse washing over her, nearly overwhelming her. But she quickly squashed that feeling down, her jaw clenching. She sat in the cockpit, her orbs fixed on the cold expanse of space before her. There was a stillness to her, a coldness that was at odds with the fiery determination burning in her. But as she stared out into the vastness of the galaxy, she felt something different as well.

For the first time in years, she felt free.

___, the human girl, was like a flower, small and seemingly insignificant in the whole universe. For years, she had been contained, her potential held back and suppressed. But as she took control of her own destiny, the small flower began to change. Like how the petals of a flowerette unfurl, so did she. But in her case, the unfolding wasn't a sight of beauty. Instead, it was a dark and twisted one. Soon it began to rot, it's petals shedding to reveal a rotting core.

She was going to rule the entire galaxy. And nothing, and no one, was going to stand in her way.

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aloneinthehellfire · 2 years ago

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Fortress Of Memories

AloneInTheHellfire's Masterlist

Summary: Y/n Byers and Eddie Munson were killed in the battle. Vecna had claimed their lives and murdered them right in front of their friends’ eyes. They died heroes, saving the town that hated them both. And now, months later, the first New Year since Hawkins’ destruction had come around. But no one celebrates. Instead, they are entering hell to finally stop Vecna. They were prepared for everything. Or... so they thought…

This story is set after ST4, featuring kas!eddie and reader. It focuses around different characters, often switching between past and present so pls bear with me.

Sacrifice [Snippet]

Intro: Sacrifice

Chapter 1: Soldiers

Chapter 2: Taken

Chapter 3: Grudges

Chapter 4: Leverage

Chapter 5: Wounds

Chapter 6: Nightmares

Chapter 7: Devotion

Chapter 8: Reunion

Chapter 9: Connections

Chapter 10: Souls

Chapter 11: Part One: Fortress

Chapter 11: Part Two: Memories

Chapter 12: Victory

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moseslikellamas · 3 months ago

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♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.22

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - The Blackwoods and Brackens plan to disrupt the upcoming marriages.

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, adult language, period typical misogyny, condescension, adult language, feelings of shame, feelings of guilt, manipulation, benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2.2k

Okay, am I dragging this out? Maybe a little. But I am a sucker for shenanigans. Sorry its late!! I was too tired last night.

Benjicot came into her room that night victorious, with a smile so big it was like to break his face. He’d picked her up and spun her around laughing. To say her mood was less jubilant was an understatement. She’d spent the better part of an hour consoling Martyn who was utterly baffled that he might be used as a political pawn as an eleventh son. Royce had been pleasantly surprised and amiable towards his match once he saw his betrothed. For that she was thankful, one less headache to deal with. It was clear Benjicot had not spent that same time trying to reassure his aunt. If anything he had probably avoided her, afraid of showing his hand and gloating too loudly.

But he would hear none of her complaints when she tried to voice them over his joyous celebration which included laughing himself silly and booping her on the nose when she grew irritated. It was maddening but she’d eventually dissolved into laughter herself at his antics. He was a man grown acting worse than someone half his age, running around her room like a chicken with its head cut off.

“Stop it! Have some self respect would you?” The sting was taken out of her words by the giggles still escaping her.

“We’ll be married on the morrow. We’re the only ones using the godswood. Gives us the best time slot.”

He winked at her but all of the laughter had died inside her throat. Noting her sudden frown he inquired about her sudden change in mood. His own excitement dwindled down to smolders. He approached her slowly before grabbing both of her hands.

“Surely you’re not still shocked at this?” He smoothed out her wrinkled collar before laying a hand on her cheek. Delicately rubbing the skin beneath her eye with his thumb. “I couldn’t have spelled out my intentions any plainer than this. What troubles you?”

What wasn’t troubling her? She was not so sure that mass forced marriage would absolve the riverlands of generations of grudges. What guarantees did they have that upon returning home the same attitudes wouldn’t start back up? How was she supposed to respect a marriage sanctified by gods she didn’t recognize? How could they make a successful family together if his guardsmen made nasty jabs about her children's cousins or uncles? It seemed to her this issue was more nuanced and complicated than the solutions proposed. Sure it would take time but it would also require a conscious effort on their part to ensure change was made.

As she contemplated this the answer came to her quite simply. If she wanted to ensure a change in the values of the people around her, she had to embrace that same change within herself. Now was not the time to rock the boat. The marriage would happen all the same regardless of her behavior. She knew it would be best to raise her complaints once they were gone from RiverRun. She did not intend to sit idly by and allow Benjicot to rule her life for her. She would insist on a sept at Raventree. And that was all there was to be done about it. Compromises were going to have to be made to bring this new chapter to life in the riverlands but Shanda knew when to push and when to pull.

“I’m just lamenting my last hours as a free lady. I should check on Alysanne, as I’m sure she’s experiencing a similar feeling. And you were no help, no doubt.” She huffed pulling his hand from her face and walking away from him.

He caught her hand and pulled her back, grabbing her shoulder when she turned back to face him. She hadn’t expected to leave that easily and it was nice if nothing else that he was predictable to her now.

“I did check on her, I’m not an animal. But believe me you don’t want to be around her right now. She’s been giving Lord Elmo an earful for hours by now.” He rolled his eyes and poked her in the side, unhappy with the scowl plastered on her face. “I’m not worried for her, you should visit your brother if anyone.”

That was probably true but she knew Alysanne was actually plotting a revenge attack against the Lord Elmo. Nothing too crazy but a tad dangerous and definitely something Shanda wanted to get in on. If the Lord wanted them all to spend more time together, to get on like a proper family, then a prank was the perfect way to cement the bond. Shanda was not going to let Benjicot in on that or any other man if she could help it. She’d already clued Bellena in and was assured that meant the rest of the women would follow shortly after.

“Perhaps you're right but either way, you should be on your way. I’m sure there’s a large barrel of summer wine being tapped right now. You wouldn’t want to miss out.”

He only grinned at her and took a step forward, crowding in around her.

“You’re plotting something.”

“I most certainly am not.”

“You’ve got that look in your eyes, like a rabbit right before it bolts.” He leaned in closer as if he could hear her heart thudding in her chest.

She tried edging around him but he continued walking her backwards, his hands shooting out to cup her face as her legs hit the back of the bed frame. She stopped in her movements and stubbornly stared up at him, crossing her arms. Her mind was a steel trap and there was no way she was going to spoil the surprise by letting him in on it.

“Tell me.”

Predictably he went for the direct approach first, bloody brute.

“I don’t know what you mean, ser. But I’ll thank you to unhand me.”

He paused, his eyes gauging her reaction. Testing her to see if this was really how she intended to play this. When she held her head high and did not buckle, he smirked.

“You know, a lady shouldn’t wander the halls unaccompanied. Just isn’t proper, especially in strange walls unfamiliar to her. What if you got lost? The guards around here are just never on duty are they?”

He was looking down at her with an arrogant expression that made her blood start to simmer. She knew what he was getting at.

“I’m afraid I must insist on accompanying you to your destination. So, where are we going? To see your brother I presume?”

His voice was nothing short of cordial and proper, an insult when contrasted against the way his hands held onto her, making sure she couldn’t leave.

Her face was flushed and she was working hard not to let her breathing pattern increase with her frustration. She knew there was no shot he would let her walk out of the door without him.

“You truly are fucking insufferable.”

The hand holding her waist came up to rest on her neck, feeling her pulse beneath his fingers.

“A lady should watch her language.”

“Better I wasn't a lady then, incorrigible prick.”

In a blur of shifting colors she was suddenly flipped over, disoriented; it took her a second to realize he’d shoved her face first into the bed. She could feel his body heat against her as he ripped her arms back behind her before laying on top of her, where she was bent over the bed. His breath was hot on her neck when he spoke.

“You don’t mean that baby. If you weren’t a lady, I’d have ripped your dress off an fucked you that first night.”

The hand that wasn’t gripping her hands snaked up to pull her head back by her hair and her back arched with the pressure.

“Don’t you remember? You would’ve been so cute, gasping for air in the pouring rain, half covered in mud.”

She couldn’t think straight anymore. She knew in the back of her head he meant to throw her off. Get her to tell him about Alysanne’s plan but in the moment she thought only of his words. Her mind flashing back to that night, his blade pressed firmly against her neck.

“And you’re still a spineless brute.” She huffed back trying to keep her mind focused, then she stamped her heel into his foot as hard as she possibly could.

The only sign she had that he felt it at all was the sharp little exhale he did and that was enough for her.

“Don’t you ever think of anyone else besides yourself?”

She was annoyed by his continued presence and lack of respect for her plans.

“I think about you day and night. I wake up at your altar and linger there late into twilight. I look at the moon and see your face.”

He pulled them both up off of the bed, his arms wrapped lovingly around hers. She was so warm and held securely but she couldn’t care as long as he keep talking.

“I won’t spoil your fun, I promise.”

He rocked them from side to side, his lips brushing against her neck feather light.

“Just let me come with you.”

She prickled at that. “We’ll have the rest of our lives together. Can’t you give me one last night?”

As much as she verbally protested, she didn’t mind him wanting to tag along. She had enough of being alone for a lifetime. It would be sad to leave RiverRun after seeing so many people and embracing long lost cousins. Despite the problems that seemed to needle her mind constantly, it was a relief to see Benji cared to be around. Enemy husband or not, she didn’t want a cold, touchless home.

“Do you really want me to go?”

She felt the rumble of his words through her chest and closed her eyes. Maybe it was time to start making this union work for her.

“Let’s find Alysanne.”

***

“Oh you spineless cunt.”

Benjicot was smirking at his aunt while she berated Shanda, who looked rightfully abashed. But felt unashamed in her heart. Alysanne shook a finger at her and grabbed her by the shoulder, walking her away from Benjicot.

“You’ve really got to get a grip on him, you know. And you need to find a way too soon or else he’ll never leave your side. You’ll be packed up and taken on the road with him everywhere he goes.”

Alysanne had turned back to make an obscene gesture at her nephew then before continuing. She snapped at Shanda who had also looked back and became ensnared in golden eyes.

“Listen, I know you aren’t thinking with your head right now but this is important! Benjicot doesn’t give up easily, he does everything with all of his energy. That includes winning arguments, so figure it out!”

It was honestly good advice but she wasn’t of a mind to listen currently.

“Anyway, just be glad I gathered the girls elsewhere.”

Had Alysanne anticipated that Shanda would give their position up to Benjicot? That thought was amusing to her and annoying. The Blackwood brood was too observant by half. That was a problem for a girl who liked to move in the shadows.

“I’ll worry about Ben, you need to sneak into Lord Elmo’s study. On the top shelf of the bookcase behind his desk he keeps a little blue book. It has gold filigree on the outside of a jumping trout. You’ll know it's the right one because it has finger indents in it from use over the years.”

Shanda nodded listening as she laid out their plans. The book was full of riverland secrets and she was practically salivating as Alysanne explained the plan to her. It didn’t matter if the prank worked at all now, looking inside that book for a second would solve all of her curiosity for many moons. What did Elmo have on the Brackens? Once she knew what was at stake there was no question about doing it.

“What’s the distraction?”

It would be hard to draw the lord's attention away. He was wise to their shady ways. You don’t become next in line for Lord Paramount without being able to read people and Lord Elmo was the best at it in a generation.

Alysanne snorted. “You should be familiar enough with it, you used the same tactic many times before.”

Momentary confusion settled over Shanda but then she remembered Martyn and Alysanne would be spending a lot of time together now.

“You talked Martyn into it?”

She shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “I handled it, now get out of here before Ben comes over.”

Shanda snaked through the hidden hatch Alysanne had led her over to as they talked. It was no more than a fancy hole in the floor but there was a torch waiting inside. Alysanne looked down at her, handing her a slip of paper. It was a fantastically drawn map of Riverrun, outlining her trip to the study. She knew Alysanne had done the map in Raventree Hall’s library but here was the proof. It was incredibly detailed and she wondered how long the lady had been working on this.

The door above her closed and she was alone in the cool, dark place. They had a short window of time to pull this off and Shanda didn’t intend to miss it. Picking up the torch she began the long walk towards the Lord’s study.

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snakegorl212006 · 2 months ago

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Chapter 11 final part

It lowers her head ,hot breath stemmed at my face as it snarled "Angela" Lloyd called making me turn around but as soon as that happened the ground below me shook "RUN" i yelled as i slithered as fast as I could as the Devourer followed behind us,after devouring wu and pythor in the process. We made it to the bounty where we escaped to scattered canyons only to be surprised attack by her making us crash land away from the bounty as we witnessed it's destruction. We sought refugees underneath a rock "there's no time to rest. We need to warn people before it gets bigger" zane said "Bigger?BIGGER!? That thing in one whole bite crushed our entire ship!we need to save as many as we can. Uh we'll find sime kind of refuge, somewhere safe to hide. Ooh the Serpentine tombs. Yeah , they're underground. We'll be without sunlight but they're perfect" jay said "it can dig. And we shouldn't just give up" I replied "But you know as well as I do, we have no chance at stopping that thing" Jay replied "there is a way. Call me delusional but there is we just need a plan" i replied then kai had an idea and instructs us to follow then the Devourer followed. The ninja did the tornado of creation making a machine which helped repel the Devourer but then she destroyed it and ran off. Kai informed of a weak spot on the forehead "umm. Guys… it's heading to the city" i said interrupting Jay's ranting "if it consumes the biggest city of ninjago there's nothing that can stop it" kai committed "lets go" i concluded. We used the mech and the vehicle to travel to ninjago where i help lured the people out of the area then from above i saw a dragon with four heads using the element to stun the snake then getting sneak attack by the dragon. I knew i had to do something "HEY OVER HERE" i yelled at the Devourer. I ran around "guys we need for it to say in one place" i called "way ahead of you" cole replied "go meet Garmadon on the tower" kai instructs "why" i asked "she's your mom right. You should be the one to finished it" he answered as he ran ahead. I nod and head to the building without a second thought. Managed to get on top where I had a direct view of the snake. It struggled as it bit its own tail. "You must make a choice it's now or never" Garmadon said. I sighed and jumped pulling out a sword i got from the bounty as Garmadon followed. When we stabbed her, she exploded and his fluids got everywhere. Everything was black. Then a golden light brightened my vision. "Angela " a voice spoke as I was shaken awake. I gasped only to be laying in the Devourer's fluids "is everything.. ok now" i asked "yep were all good" Lloyd answered. I just gave him a hug which was returned "wait. the golden weapon! didn't you say tha-" i was cut off "ah yes that's true but the ability tl better oneself is limitless " a voice spoke from behind "wu!? I thought you were eating and got digested by now. I'm glad that you're ok" i replied as Lloyd helped me up. At the end we celebrated our victory over the Devourer but a new day awaits and the destiny continues

#lego ninjago #ninjago #ninjago oc #ninjago serpentine #ninjago jay #ninjago nya #ninjago kai #ninjago cole #ninjago zane #wu ninjago #garmadon #the great devourer

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tarttheart · 1 year ago

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PRECIOUS LOVE CHAPTER 11 - JAMIE TARTT x YOU

summary: you talk to Jamie.

word count: 870 words

warnings: language

chapter 11: there that I see

You were in Rebecca’s office after another victorious match at Nelson Road. Rebecca was your ride home and she had needed to retrieve a few things from her office before the weekend. You were scrolling through your phone when someone knocked on the door. You both looked up to find Sam.

“Hi, the team are going to head to Ola’s to celebrate the win and Ola’s anniversary. Please come and join us.”

“Oh, thank you, Sam, and congratulations on both wins. But, I promised my friend that I would get her home after the match today.”

“The more the merrier, you are invited too,” Sam said with a bright smile.

“Oh, not sure if that’s a good idea,” Rebecca started, mindful of the position it might put you in.

“I insist, Coach Lasso used to say that everyone here is part of the team and we really enjoy when you join us for the celebrations, it would mean a lot.”

Rebecca’s eyes darted to you, uncertain about the consequences her consent could bring when you spoke up, in a really calm voice that immediately assured Rebecca, “thanks, Sam. We will be there.”

So there they were. Rebecca had asked you repeatedly if you were certain you had reached this point in your recovery. Ola’s was not a big party place, it was a small intimate restaurant. Jamie was almost definitely going to be there and given the size of the venue, he would be close to impossible to avoid.

“It’ll be fine, Rebecca.”

It was the first time Rebecca thinks she had ever heard you speak so firmly and seeing your calm demeanour, Rebecca blurted out, “you mean that, don’t you? You are actually okay with all of this now.”

You shrugged, “I don’t know about okay but if I don’t try, I won’t know how much more I need to work on.”

Rebecca pulled you into a hug and you laughed as she proclaimed, “I am so proud of you. You’ve grown so much since the first time we met.”

“Thanks to you, Rebecca. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Cheers to you, for all the work you’ve put into yourself,” Rebecca toasted, clinking her wine glass against yours.

“Cheers to you for all the support and love you’ve shown me,” you reciprocated.

“Oi, cheers to the girl who set the both of you up?!” Keeley exclaimed and the two of you held your arms out for her to join in for a group hug with a laugh.

Across the restaurant, Jamie was struggling a little. The last place Jamie expected to see you was at Ola’s. Fuck, he was not sure he expected to ever really see you again, especially not in such a small intimate venue where it would be hard to avoid each other.

But, Jamie tried. Afterall, the last thing he wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable merely by being present as himself.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice while Jamie stood at the bar getting his drink. Jamie turned, unsurprised by whose voice it was but surprised that you had approached him.

“I… uh… I can go if you want,” Jamie started, turning and gesturing towards the door.

Yet again, he was surprised when you shook your head and joined him, leaning against the bar counter.

“No, don’t. It’s your celebration. I’m the one imposing.”

The room was loud but the silence that settled between the two was deafening.

“Great goal today,” you complimented.

“Uh, thanks.”

Jamie still was not certain what was going on here or how much he should say, allowing you to lead the conversation.

“I know I’ve been imposing at Nelson Road heaps and it’s been awkward so I’m really sorry I’ve made your workplace a bit difficult.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. It’s, uh, fucking wild that your best mates happened to be…”

“Your ex and her best friend? Yea, it’s wild,” you said with a laugh and it was then that Jamie felt himself relax and loosen up a little. Your laugh had the power to do so much and the way it was carefree and light, he knew you were maybe comfortable with him again. Like way back when. Maybe.

“Keeley fucking Jones. She just wouldn’t take the hint and leave me the fuck alone,” You said, cracking a smile at the thought.

“She can be a bit like that. Fucking good at trying to make people better, bit like you, really.”

You laughed, “like me? What? A sucker for the broken ones, is she?”

The both of you looked over to see Keeley looking adoringly at Roy and scoffed.

“Listen, are you free tomorrow?” You asked and Jamie was surprised yet again.

“Uh, yeh, did you want to…” he trailed off, tilting his head as if he was trying to read your mind.

“Oh no, not a date. Sorry, just. If you’re free, there’s something I think would be nice if we did it together. But, maybe dress down a bit?”

“What do you mean dress down?” Jamie asked, shocked by your request, “I’m iconic, babe.”

He gestured down to his somewhat flamboyant outfit and you shook your head, “yea, maybe don’t wear that.”

< chapter 10 | master list | chapter 12 (FINALE) >

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt x ofc #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt fic #jamie tartt imagine

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adhd-coyote · 6 months ago

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Update day for And Wait for Yours to Interlock! We’ve got a double update today, because the first chapter is ✨spicy✨

(Different update post style because I’m on my phone today. Might edit later, idk)

Chapter 11: Basking In Your Glory

Summary: Cody and Obi-Wan celebrate a victory and further explore their relationship.

Chapter 12: Love is Stored in the Flimsiwork

Summary: Cody and Obi-Wan bask in their afterglow and discuss love and Fox.

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sunnydaleherald · 7 months ago

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The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Friday, April 12

XANDER: I know what you're thinkin'. Can I get by him? Get up the stairs, out of the building, seconds ticking away... I don't love your chances. JACK: Then you'll die, too. XANDER: (raises his eyebrows) Yeah, looks like. So I guess the question really is... who has less fear? JACK: I'm not afraid to die. I'm already dead. XANDER: Yeah, but this is different. Being blowed up isn't walking around and drinking with your buddies dead. It's little bits being swept up by a janitor dead, and I don't think you're ready for that. (Jack tries to leave but Xander blocks him. Xander is calm. Jack is clearly afraid.) JACK: Are you? XANDER: (glances at the bomb, smiles thinly) I like the quiet. (Jack and Xander face off, the bomb timer counts down. Both are taking deep breaths. At the last second Jack caves and deactivates the bomb.) XANDER: Good boy.

~~The Zeppo~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

No Biggie by NotASlayer (unrated)

Weekly Drabbles #111 — Nothing Inside by veronyxk84 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Poolparty by AnkiKind (Buffy, Spike, Scoobies, G)

Dark Night by mabus101 (The Time Machine (HG Wells) xover, T)

Le revers de la médaille by LadyHeather92 [francais] (The Sentinel xover, T)

Say Yes to Heaven by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, R)

Stay by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Kiss It Better by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Pandora's Box by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

What the Drabble? Vol. 2 - Ch. 11 by VeroNyxK84 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Paschendale - Ch. 1-2 by Ninjaviolinist (SPN xover, Buffy, Winchester brothers, M)

Hand in Flightless Hand - Ch. 1-2 by tragic (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Green Eyed Monster - Ch. 3 by Melme1325 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Angel Doesn’t Know - Ch. 2 by fortes775 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Celebrating You - Ch. 10 by DeamonQueen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Glimpses of the Cellar Dwellers - Ch. 34-35 by Maldorana Complete! (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Love Lives Here - Ch. 47 by Passion4Spike (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Early One Morning - Ch. 32 by all choseny (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Goodbye to Everything That I Knew - Ch. 29 by fortes775 (Buffy/Spike, R)

Transformed By Love - Ch. 5 by Buffyworldbuilder (Ilyria/Fred centered, The Originals xover, FR15)

Xander Harris and the Little Pink Pill - Ch. 7 by KyliaQuilor (Xander/Cordelia, FR21)

The Boyfriend Swap - Ch. 5 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Glimpses of the Cellar Dwellers - Ch. 34-35 by Maldorana Complete! (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: cangel-tattoos-posting again... by artsying-ifer (Angel/Cordelia, worksafe)

Artwork: Vampires only want to pose ... [with song link] by novivi (Spike, worksafe)

Poster: "No two people in this world are the same..." by l0veisntbrains (for Spuffy fic, worksafe)

Banner: Guess what I was watching while making this Spuffy banner by effulgent-girl (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Gifset: BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER | 7.18 by whatisyourchildhoodtrauma (Faith, Spike, worksafe)

Gifset: You know kids today and their buggin’ street slang. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER 6.11 | Gone by spikedaily (Buffy, Spike, worksafe)

Gifset: [IWRY scene] by ptieuca (Buffy/Angel, mildly NSFW)

Gifsest: Buffy the Vampire Slayer | 4.20 - "The Yoko Factor" by buffysummers (Buffy, Riley, Angel, worksafe)

Gifset: Willow: If I had that blue one... Jo- Joyce really liked the blue one... by andremichaux (Anya, worksafe)

Fanvid: Buffy The Vampire BROKE me by shaun-middleton (Buffy/Angel)

Fanvid: My old Buffy fanvid! [Bring Me Victory] by borninwinter (Buffy/Spike)

Artwork: [key] BTVS 518. Intervention 🤖 by tmcarlee (Spike, Glory, worksafe)

[Reviews & Recaps]

[series recap by new viewer partway through S3] by coolbeansnico

Season 5 - Destiny (Spike and Angel) by AppropriateYou5011

[Recs & In Search Of]

ISO: swiss_marvin [in Switzerland] is wondering where to find [all] the comics

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prettylittlewrites · 1 year ago

Text

Sinners

A Gale Hawthorne Story

Chapter 1

Summer was never a pleasant time. Specifically the middle of the warm season. While the weather was warm and the sky didn’t seem so gray, there was a foreboding sense to the air.

The Hunger games took place in the middle of Summer, the day used to be called Independence Day before the collapse of the old nation.

The weeks spent leading up to the reaping were full of Wren taking care of Haymitch and attempting to get him somewhat sober. She’d dump all his alcohol down the drain or hide it in her own home. But he always seemed to have some more whiskey stashed somewhere. It seemed like such a tedious task but, for them it was normal. Repetition, the sad normalcy of it all is what kept them sane.

Wren and Haymitch would never have your average father-daughter relationship. They would share the same eye color and their hair would lay flat on their heads the same way. But resemblance-wise, that was all they shared.

Wren looked like a spitting image of her mother. From the size of her button-shaped nose, right down the way her eyes squinted when she truly laughed. Had it not been for her bright blue eyes, Haymitch would have been convinced that it was the ghost of her late mother.

After Haymitch won the 50th Hunger Games, he returned home to find his whole family slaughtered at the hands of President Snow. A sickness is what they told Haymitch, a cover up for Snow's murderous pastimes.

Haymitch knew why they were killed of course. A couple of the Victors warned him what he might find in his old home. He had outsmarted the Game makers. Using their own arena against them. Rebelion. Even if he didn’t see it that way, that’s how Snow saw it. Therefore in Snow's eyes he needed to be punished.

He wasn’t desirable to the Capitol, at least not enough to bring in a steady clientele. So instead of the remainder of his innocence being taken by the Capitol. They took the remainder of his security and support.

He would have no one to support him and get him through the aftermath of his games. Not very many Victors could offer much support for the teenager.

They were restricted in communications between Districts, and it wasn’t like District 12 had any living Victors. He was utterly alone.

It wasn’t until his Victory tour did Haymitch finally turn to alcohol to calm the raging night terrors. It had been a Victor in District 11 who had offered a bottle to the teenager. ‘An easy way to cope’, he had claimed and he was right. Gulp after gulp, the world blurred around Haymitch, blurring his reality and numbing his mind as he watched the amber liquid disappear.

His Capitol escort quickly caught on to his reckless behavior and took it upon herself to remove all alcohol from any and all events. She couldn’t stand the idea of her Victor being intoxicated during such prestigious events. Forcing Haymitch, for the time being, to relive the games at full force with a sober mind. He was ruined, every Victor could see it. But to the Capitol, all they saw was their most recent Victor.

It was in District 2 where he found the second thing that could numb his brain. Sex. He could turn off and just feel good. And plenty of people were willing to offer that feeling to him in the inner Districts. Because to them, winning the Hunger Games was a reason to celebrate. To be honored and showered with favor.

Soon the Victory Tour ended, and Haymitch returned to District 12. Where everything was gray and gloomy.

Like a child, his mouth was always glued to a bottle. He was nothing again, no one special to anyone. He was okay with that. The least amount of contact he had with people, the better.

But then came the fact that he didn’t know how to do anything on his own. Before the Hunger Games, he worked with his family in the local store. They received all the basic necessities that each business needed to keep going. But with the loss of the whole family, the store sat vacant. Each family now receives their materials directly from the Capitol trains.

But that was when he met her. Someone he didn’t want, but desperately needed.

She was a Coal Miner's daughter, Oldest of eight siblings. She had taken on the job of collecting laundry from the citizens of District 12, for those who could afford to have their clothes washed by others.

Haymitch always rolled his eyes at the thought of having someone who wasn’t family wash you stuff. But he didn’t exactly know what to do now that his mother wasn’t around to teach him, so he gave in. And that is when his eyes landed on Fauna Ridge.

At the time the two denied any and all attraction to each other. Haymitch out of fear and Fauna out of defiance.

Fauna somehow had weasel her way into Haymitch's life. Becoming a confidant when he needed it. She was the one who would clean up after him, but made sure he knew she hated the smell of old alcohol each time she walked in. She would pick him up food from the town square, but said it was only so she would have something to eat when she came over to clean. She would wake him from the nightmares, but only because she said she didn’t like all the screaming.

She did all of this without him asking her to, and even though each time she found an excuse when he asked her why she was helping him, he knew it was because she cared. She cared about him. In what way he didn’t know yet. But he cared about her just as much.

When he knew Fauna would be coming over, he would take extra long to finish his drinks, so he wasn’t completely drunk by noon. He would try to clean up but would often get distracted. He had even attempted to make her lunch one day but failed miserably. He cared for her, and she for him. But they were just too blind to see it.

When Haymitch left for his first Hunger Games as a Victor, Fauna had never seen someone become so hollow. Haymitch turned into a shell of himself. All Fauna could do was watch and count down the days until the reaping. Praying that her younger siblings weren’t reaped.

The morning of the reaping, Fauna watched helplessly from the kitchen as Haymitch chugged his drinks in between sobs and sputtering. Each time Fauna tried to approach her friend, he would just back further away, mumbling for her to stay back.

“I can’t go back. I can’t go back there!” He sobbed into his arms. His words slurred and broken as his drinks slowly began to take hold of him. Fauna, finally gathering the courage, approached her friend. Knowing that the reaping was beginning soon and that Haymitch needed to be present.

“Haymitch we have to go. They will send peacekeepers after us if we don’t go soon.” She stressed trying to tip the drunk out of his chair.

“Oh what are they going to do? Put me in the games? Kill me? Punish me? I don’t care anymore.” He slurred, pushing his anger onto the brunette girl.

“These kids deserve a Mentor. Whether you like it or not. You are all they have the second their names get called.” Fauna seethed at him. The two stared at each other, suddenly they found their positions switched. Fauna the calm and composed one was raging, and Haymitch oddly quiet as he felt himself sober suddenly as a thought occurred to him.

“How many times?” He mumbled his eyes bordered into her face as her face rapidly paled but didn’t answer him. “How many times is your name today?”

“66” She whispered back, her face downcast at the thought of how small the odds of her not being picked were. “Lennon and Lacie have 44 each. My mom and I wouldn’t let anyone else take any out. But there are six of us eligible today. I guess the odds aren’t really in favor of my family.”

Hamitch sat quietly for a second before he stood up and held his hand out to his only friend. Vowing to himself that if any of Ridge’s went into The Games. He would do anything in his power to bring them home.

The odds were in their favor that time.

Haymitch returned home just three weeks later. His tributes did not make it far in the games, and he was left with nightmares and relapse all over again. It felt like it was his games all over again. But one good thing did come out of the ending of the Hunger Games.

He was back.

When he opened his front door, he was met with the smell of food cooking, and a clean home. The smell of alcohol and Bile, not present in the large home. He could faintly hear the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen. He peered into the room and smiled at the sight. Fauna had seemingly taken over his home, she was moving about the kitchen like she had lived there her whole life. Like she was comfortable in his home, as it was hers.

He knew then how he cared for her. He didn’t know if she felt the same way, but he didn’t care as long as she stayed.

With a quick sharp knock on the arch way, Fauna spun around to see who had entered the home. With a bright smile, she raced towards him and embraced him, locking her hands around his waist and holding the newly eighteen year old tight. Burying her head in his shoulder. His hands found their own way to the small dip in her back where her spine ended and pressed his face into her hair.

He was Home.

Seemingly the years passed without incident. Fauna’s and Haymitch relationship remained stagnant, until it didn’t.

Neither one knew exactly when the shift happened but the now twenty two year old adults often found their touches lingering, their gazes holding longer than a friend would. They were together, just without the official labels.

Waking up next to each other every morning. The nights where Haymitch would wake up screaming were still frequent, but now he would wake up to Fauna holding him. Slowly Fauna unintentionally moved in. Only going home once a week to see her family and help out at home. Often bringing meals to her large family. Haymitch would often accompany her. The one day a week when he made sure not to drink, no matter how much he wanted to. Because Family days were important to Fauna.

When Haymitch returned home after the 56th annual Hunger Games, the last thing he expected to find was Fauna sitting on the couch with a tear stained face, pale as her olive skin would let her go.

Then she said the two words he never thought he would hear. He felt his heart drop as panic set in. He reached out and gripped her hand as he sat next to her on the couch. Staring into the unlight fireplace. His mind is going a million miles an hour.

He was going to be a dad.

He wanted to be happy. He was happy to be starting a family with Fauna, but the thought still stuck him cold. The Games. His child could be reaped. They probably would. There was a reason Victors didn’t really have kids.

“Everything is going to be okay.” He soothed the Sobbing Fauna as she leaned into him. He knew she was terrified. They had talked about kids once, only once. Fauna told him her greatest fear was having a child, only to have them ripped away from the Games. So she didn’t want any, not when she couldn’t protect them from the same fate of every tribute. Because, no one ever won The Hunger Games.

The couple sat there for a couple of hours, just holding each other. Slowly coming to terms with the fact that they were going to become parents. After the tears had been shead and the fears had been discussed, they finally began to feel the giddiness and excitement cloud over the fear.

They were going to be parents.

Because there were no real doctors in District 12 they would guesstimate how far Fauna was along. Fauna herself wasn’t even sure what was going on until an old school friend came over to keep her company with Haymitch gone for the time being.

The woman had been lovingly rubbing her Large baby bump, talking about how she found out she and her husband were expecting. In the mits of their chatting Fauna felt her resolve crumble, as the connections were made in her mind. How she was feeling, and how her body had been acting lining up with Hazelle’s. She promptly broke down and ran to the Apothecary shop, where they confirmed that her symptoms were most likely due to pregnancy. Fauna, having full access to Haymitch's winnings, bought the extremely expensive test to confirm her suspicions.

Hazelle had comforted Fauna, and promised her that they would get through their pregnancies together and could raise their children to be best friends.

Haymitch and Fauna quickly grew to love their unborn child. They would dream of a girl who looked like Fauna or a boy that resembled Haymitch.

As Fauna grew larger and hit every milestone, Haymich became more and more anxious. He slipped away for the day to the Hob. A place he frequented often for Alcohol but knew that some of the booths sold finer things. Most selling their prized possessions so that they could put food on the table for their families, or buy the medication needed to keep their sick family members alive for a few months more.

At a booth near the back, A woman sat, worn items sat around her. Pretty dresses that had seen better days, hand stitched dolls, old looking chests, and jewelry.

Haymitch knew he could just take the train down to the Capitol and buy a new, expensive, ring from there. But he knew that one that had history, and meaning, would be more meaningful to Fauna than the size of the stone or the price of the metal.

The asking price for the ring was high for the Hob. Most men and women in the districts couldn’t afford rings to symbolize their marriage. So it wasn’t a custom, but Haymitch, being a Victor, knew he could splurge on something other than alcohol for once. Especially if it was for Fauna or his Child.

The ring was a silver color, and had one small black crystal in the middle in the shape of a raindrop. On either side of the black crystal sat two small Black stones. It was perfect.

Haymitch quickly passed over the money to the woman, his eyes only focused on the ring in front of him.

2 months later he was a husband, 2 months after that he was a father.

Officially he was a father, a father that could hold his baby in his hands instead of just feeling the kicks through Fauna’s stomach.

He had a daughter.

The second that he heard the sharp cries from the hallway outside of the guest room, he knew he would do anything for his child. When he found out he had a daughter, he was filled with so much joy his heart felt like it would burst.

Haymitch up until that point didn’t know you could fall in love with another person so quickly. But the second that his daughter wrapped her small hand around his finger, a burst of love, and protection overcame him and brought him to tears. He couldn’t help the overwhelming smile as he sat next to Fauna and admired the small human they had made together.

Fauna would admit only to herself that she had never seen Haymitch smile so wide as he held their daughter to his chest. She felt her heart grow in love for her husband, and she suddenly understood why people purposefully had multiple children. She suddenly couldn’t imagine a world without her little girl, where she wasn’t a mom.

They named her Wren Neva Ambernanthy

Haymitch looked over his shoulder at Fauna, and pressed a hard kiss to her sweaty forehead. He felt like he was on top of the world.

Then suddenly he wasn’t.

Eight days.

That’s how long it took for Snow to find out that his daughter had been born. Eight days for bliss as a complete family, before Snow showed his ugly face.

Fauna had refused to recover for longer than a week in bed and had left the house to go to see her siblings and parents for the day and bring them lunch. Haymitch was supposed to be with her, but Wren needed to go down for her nap. Haymitch had offered to stay back and meet her at the Ridge’s household once Wren woke up.

One hour after she left, a package arrived at Haymitch's house. A bouquet of white roses, 16 white roses that reeked of perfume with a gift tag.

Congratulations on the birth of your daughter, I look forward to meeting her in the future. ~ President Snow’

Suddenly Haymitch couldn’t think, he couldn’t breath. To anyone else who had not met President Snow face to face would assume that he was genuine in his gift. But any Victor could read the threat that was woven into the innocent message.

He scooped his sleeping daughter into his arms hastily. Not caring that the sudden movement woke her up or that she was screaming as fat tears rolled down her face. Not pausing to look at her pouting lips or the distressed look on her face.

He couldn’t think of anything but the life of his infant daughter. The message from Snow was a promise. A promise that due to his act of defiance, his daughter would go into The Hunger Games. A promise that she would become a pawn to the Capitol. His worst fear was on the horizon, and He didn’t know how much time he had with his family as a whole before it was to be torn apart by the sadistic man.

While Haymich was running, his only thoughts being about protecting his daughter. He failed to see the dark clouds of smoke coming from the Seam. He failed to hear the commotion of people screaming as his heart pounded in his ears. His body fully on autopilot as he raced towards his second family.

But he was too late. Fauna’s childhood home was up in flames. It hadn’t even occurred to Haymitch that up until that point Fauna wasn’t mentioned in President Snow's note. The man had signed off on the marriage certificate but they never received any congratulations from the President. Haymitch felt his body collapsing onto his knees, Wren still whaling in his arms as the Peacekeepers pulled up from down the road to extinguish the flames.

There was a crowd of people who were watching the flamed house from afar. But it was Quiet now. Not a sound escaped the house that was alight, or the crowd of people who watched as Haymitch sobbed into the ground.

Snow had taken his second family from him.

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myreia · 11 months ago

Text

Divergence of the Heart

CHAPTER TWO: THE NATURE OF THE BEAST

Chapter Rating: Mature (full story rating is Explicit) Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 4,788 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3 Avi’li Sostomi belongs to my dear friend @lilas!

When she reaches the Forgotten Knight, Aureia shoves the doors open and clatters down the stairs. Though the sound causes some heads to turn, the tavern quickly reverts to its drunken murmurings and clandestine conversations. She has always had an affection for Gibrillont’s establishment. The lighting is dark, the hearths warm, the food and drink good. She is rarely identified as the Warrior of Light here, blending in with crowds too drunk to recognize her. Here, everyone’s business is their own. Here, she is just another patron stepping in from the cold.

“Ah, Aureia!” Gibrillont nods in welcome, his hands occupied by cleaning out tankards with a worn rag. “I hear congratulations are in order—”

She rests her arms on the counter and leans into it. “No. Not in order. As far as I’m concerned, nothing of significance happened today.”

He pauses, regarding her with a knowing smile on his face. “Very well,” he says. “‘Tis but an ordinary day, with ordinary struggles.”

“And ordinary drinks,” she adds pointedly.

Gibrillont chuckles and stoops, resurfacing a moment later with a bottle. “Then perhaps this miraculous brew will serve you well, Mistress Malathar,” he says and slides it across the counter to her waiting hand.

Aureia eyes him—the honorific has not gone unnoticed—and hefts the bottle. Wine. Likely cheap, likely strong, and likely to give her a phenomenal hangover the next morning. “Thanks,” she grunts. The dark glass slips against her fingerless glove and she reacts quickly, tightening her grip before she drops it.

His eyes narrow. “I apologize if this is not my place,” he says carefully, picking up the rag and returning to cleaning tankards. “But I suspect this is not a celebratory drink.”

The nape of her neck prickles. Thoughts of Thancred race through her mind, jagged and raw. No matter how hard she tries to banish him, he lingers. Making a face, she yanks the cork out and downs a mouthful of wine. She coughs, the tart, heady scent clogging her nostrils, the fragrant flavour lingering on her tongue.

“There’s nothing to celebrate tonight, Gibrillont,” she says and slams a handful of gil on the counter. “I’m here to get drunk.”

Bottle in hand, Aureia forces her way through the crowd, searching for a table. The cacophony of a dozen conversations fills her ears. From the merchants to the off-duty Temple Knights to minor scions of lesser nobility, all are focused on one thing: the Grand Melee, the Alliance, and the Warrior of Light’s thrilling duel with General Raubahn.

Notably—at least to her—Sidurgu is absent from his usual post. He must have not wanted Rielle caught in the midst of all this revelry, not when there are so many Temple Knights around. The day they dispatched Ystride de Caulignot together is still raw in her mind. Though the church has changed, any number of her former allies or supporters could be among the knights’ numbers.

Aureia pauses in the centre, twisting left and right as she scans the room. “Seven hells,” she mutters, taking another swig. She is glad for their success, truly, she is. Aymeric was correct, this was the only way to incorporate Ishgard into the Alliance without upsetting the Holy See’s delicate internal politics. She hates to give it to him, but Thancred was right—Ishgardian pride has been the source too many of their difficulties. The whole nation is too arrogant for its own good.

And the last thing she needs now is a recount of her heroics on refrain.

Pushing her way through a cluster of loud-mouthed knights, she rounds the corner and flies down the stairs, disappearing into the lower level.

Aureia feels the change as she descends. Though Aymeric is doing his best to pave a way for a new future, dismantling a thousand years of tradition is not a feat accomplished overnight. The highborn and the lowborn still separate instinctively, and that divide could not be more palpable than in the Forgotten Knight. The hearths are dark, the rooms cramped, the floors and tables scratched. The air is mustier here, thick with the scents of the Brume. But the alcohol is strong, the patrons lively, and there is a sense of fierce, fearless freedom about this place that she has never found upstairs.

“Aw, c’mon, Avi, I had it that time!”

A familiar voice cuts through the din. Aureia pauses on the third step and scans the room, searching. Hilda sits slung in a chair, boots on the table, cards in her hand. A wrought iron lamp lies off to the side, its candle casting a warm glow over a collection of discarded plates and half-finished tankards. Her carbine rests against the wall behind her, its polished finishings glinting in the dim light.

A white-haired Miqo’te perches across from her, his tail curled casually around one of his stool’s legs. He holds his cards close to his face, eyes alight with an impish grin. “Looks like fortune says otherwise,” he says. “I win.”

Hilda harumphs and tosses her cards. “Cheater,” she snorts, grabbing her tankard. “You’re never this good.”

His ear twitches. “Or perhaps the sun has finally risen, understanding has dawned, and I am finally decent at Triple Triad,” he replies, rolling a card between his fingers. “Play enough and even the worst of us get better eventually.”

She eyes him over her tankard and takes a drink. “Or you cheated.”

“I did not.”

“Keep telling yourself that—”

The Miqo’te chortles and throws down his cards, forearms pressed against the table as he dissolves into a fit of laughter. Hilda coughs and lowers her tankard. Spotting Aureia from across the room, she balances it on her knee and raises a hand in greeting.

“I was just beginning to think I wouldn’t see you tonight,” she says casually, adjusting her feet as Aureia draws close. She gestures to her companion. “Avi’li, Aureia—Aureia, Avi’li. Don’t trust him, he cheats at Triple Triad.”

Avi’li’s mouth drops open. “I don’t cheat—”

“Mhm. You’ll have to be more convincing than that.”

Avi’li flashes her a grin as she pulls up a chair. “Always good to meet a friend of Hilda’s,” he says, eyes flicking curiously from her to Hilda and back again. They narrow with that distinct inquisitiveness that comes over anyone who spots the two women together. “Pardon the intrusion, but you two aren’t—”

“No,” Aureia and Hilda say together.

It’s become a habit—if six separate incidents so far can be called a habit. From their similar colouring, heritage, and builds, it is easy for the indiscriminate eye to assume they are sisters. After all, how many ruby-eyed, black-haired women of mixed Hyur and Elezen parentage find their way to Ishgard? The truth of the matter is that their origins couldn’t be more different. But despite it, they are connected—if not by mutual experience, then by respect and solidarity. Hilda has been one of the few in Ishgard unafraid of her reputation and status. Her keen awareness and blunt honesty are a breath of fresh air in a nation who has alternatively seen her as a hero to be worshipped or a threat to be put down.

Aureia is forever grateful for it.

“I see you came prepared,” Hilda continues, eyeing the wine bottle as Aureia places her staff against the wall and throws herself into her chair. “You made a memorable display in the Grand Melee today. Tired of all the lordlings fawning over you, I reckon?”

“Didn’t stay around for that,” Aureia replies, slouching down.

She regards her with an amused smile. “Abandoning Aymeric to field them for you? Now I feel sorry for the poor sod. I wonder how many propositions of marriage have landed on his desk in the past half-day.”

“None, if I have anything to say about it,” Aureia replies, raising the bottle to her lips. The wine is just as sour the second time as it was the first.

Hilda chuckles and shakes her head, her long, dark ponytail rippling down her back. “Don’t think you have a choice there, Aur,” she says grimly. “If you hadn’t won over the blue bloods yet, you’ve certainly done so today. More eyes are on you now than ever before.”

She grimaces.

“If you wanted to avoid this mess entirely, you could have… I dunno… thrown the fight with that general bloke. But that would have led to quite an upset. Best not think on it now, eh?”

She grunts noncommittally into her bottle and takes another drink.

Hilda presses her lips together, eyes narrowed, and slowly unfurls. “Give us a moment here, huh, Avi?” she says, removing her feet from the table.

Avi’li glances at Aureia, his tail flicking quietly behind him. “Good to meet you, Aureia,” he says with a graceful bow. “See you around sometime, yeah?” Swiping his tankard from the table, he turns and threads his way through the crowd.

Hilda folds her arms across her chest. “Right,” she says as he disappears. “Now tell me what’s really going on. I ain’t seen you like this since Haurchefant passed.”

“Nothing,” Aureia replies, sipping on her bottle. “What’s wrong with wanting a drink?”

“Because you shouldn’t be drinking on your own after that display today!” Hilda grips her chair by the seat and drags it forward. The legs scrape horrifically as she shuffles it across the floor. “You should be celebrating. With your fellow Scions, the Ul’dahn delegation, or hells… why not Aymeric? You should have seen the look on his face when you disappeared. So, tell me—” She prods a finger into Aureia’s shoulder. “What in the seven hells are you doing down here with a bottle of Gibrillont’s worst wine, looking like the world just ended?”

Aureia lowers her bottle, chewing her lip as she stares absently at the flickering candle. “It’s nothing,” she says. “I’m tired. And someone who I thought was my friend may no longer…”

She trails off, the words catching painfully in her throat. Saying it now is as good as admitting it. She isn’t prepared for that—not yet. As furious as she is with Thancred, she sees too much of herself in him. He is struggling with something he refuses to voice, something she knows all too well. She should have seen it the moment he ran off after the cyclops on his own. It wasn’t that long ago that she was going through the same motions, taking off across Coerthas on her own, battling whatever monsters she could find alone and unprepared.

But Aureia had help when her luck ran out. Estinien tirelessly shadowed her as she stupidly threw herself into fight after fight, pulling her out when she encountered a foe she could not handle alone. Sid watched her back, his initial resentment and mistrust bleeding into hope and faith as they stood their ground against Rielle’s pursuers. Hells, she thought she foolishly thought she was alone when she came to Ishgard, but she was wrong. So impossibly wrong. Alphinaud and Tataru never gave up on her, even when she pushed them away. Even Ysayle—wonderful, relentless Ysayle who had risked so much and sacrificed all—came for her at the eleventh bell.

But Thancred has no one. He was fortunate today, scraping by with only a handful of minor wounds. If Y’shtola’s theory is correct and his aether is disrupted… How long will it be before he puts himself in a situation he cannot overcome?

Bastard, she thinks. Wherever you’re going, don’t you dare get yourself killed for this. I’ll never forgive you if you do.

Hilda sighs irritably and plucks the bottle from her hand.

Aureia opens her mouth in protest. “Hey—”

Hilda sets it on the table and firmly pushes it out of the way. Twisting around, she grips her by the forearms and pulls her in. “Listen to me, Aur,” she says, staring her in the eye. “That friend of yours? Fuck them. If they’re making you feel this miserable, tell them to bugger off. You’re the bloody Warrior of Light, you don’t have many chances to catch a break. Good days are priceless where you’re concerned. Don’t let anyone ruin that for you.”

Aureia swallows hard. If only it were that easy… “I’m trying,” she says.

Hilda raises an eyebrow.

“I am,” she insists. “Give me my wine back.”

Hilda smirks. Swiping the bottle off the table, she digs her heels into the floor and pushes herself backwards, sending her chair scooting across the floor and out of reach. She leans back, one leg crossed casually over the other, and eyeing Aureia as she raises the bottle to her mouth and takes a long drink. Grimacing, she lowers the bottle and coughs into the back of her hand. “Yeah…” she says hoarsely, holding the bottle out. “That’s, uh… bad. Extremely bad. I’m gonna have to have a word with Gibrillont over how bad that is, aren’t I.”

Aureia snorts with laughter and retrieves the bottle, taking another swig. The tartness has begun to fade—or perhaps it’s turned her tongue numb. Looping a lock of hair behind her ear, she lounges in her chair and casts an eye around the tavern. The cacophony washes over her, the noise and commotion strangely soothing after the icy silence on the bridge.

Hilda retrieves her own drink. “If you want my advice, Aur—”

“Hmm… not particularly, no.”

She chuckles. “Too bad. I’m gonna give it to you anyway.”

Aureia makes a face.

Hilda shifts in her seat, her foot bouncing on her knee. “If I were you, I’d find someone to enjoy myself with,” she says. “Take the edge off, eh? Have a little fun. Don’t say it hasn’t occurred to you. Someone like you, with your standing and fame? You must have more than one suitor calling—”

Aureia flushes. “Not interested in that,” she says firmly.

“No?” She raises an eyebrow. “Not once? Not in all this time you’ve been in Ishgard? Surely someone here has caught your eye—”

“Not interested.”

“Not even that Auri fellow? The one upstairs with the girl following him around like a lost puppy?”

The description twists sharply on her gut. “Rielle isn’t a lost puppy. And Sid and I—”

“Oh ho?” Hilda raises an eyebrow, her smirk barely contained. “Never realized you were on first-name basis with those two. Is there something you ain’t telling me, or am I to figure it out for myself?”

Aureia rolls her eyes. “It’s not what you think.”

“No? He’s a handsome enough bloke, if you ask me—”

“Well, I’m not—”

“The only time I see that scowl wiped off his face is when you’re around.”

“Sidurgu and I are friends, that’s it. Besides, I said I wasn’t interested in all that and I meant it.”

Hilda shuts her mouth and raises her hands, silently indicating that the point has been made and understood.

Aureia sighs, rapping her fingers against the bottle. This is not an easy discussion to have—and certainly not now, certainly not here, certainly not with Hilda.

This isn’t about Sid. It’s not.

She flushes at the thought and shoves it away, annoyed at her friend for making assumptions. There’s no point belabouring where she and Sid stand, they aren’t anything more than war comrades. Though there have been times when she has wondered differently. A casual touch here, a look there… She flushes remembering the scolding of the century he gave her after she threw herself in front of him and Rielle and took a temple knight’s blade to the gut. Bleeding out in the ass-end of Coerthas, turning bright snow to red sludge, while he cursed and swore and made her promise to never do anything so foolish again.

But even if it were different, would she even want to act on it? There’s a queasiness in her stomach whenever a subject like this is raised, a sense that something isn’t right with her. She envies how damn easy it is for others. It’s not about love—she knows what that feels like, and how intensely it can strike—but intimacy. It has always been a barricade, growing larger and more insurmountable with every passing year, not helped by her utter lack of interest in sex.

Sometimes she wonders if it’s too late for her. Even if her feelings on the matter have shifted in recent years, it’s easier to ignore it entirely than admit this humiliating truth.

“Point taken,” Hilda says finally. “I see why you like to drink now.”

Aureia grimaces, bristling at the tone. She shoves a hand into her seat and pushes herself upright. “I—”

A hand brushes her shoulder.

She reacts on instinct. Ripping free of its grasp, she throws herself out of her chair and falls into a defensive stance, hands raised, fingers curled. A messenger in silver and blue stares at her, mouth agape, fear in his eyes.

“Mistress Malathar?” he stammers. “I meant no offense—”

“Announce yourself properly next time,” she snaps, dropping her stance and folding her arms. “What do you want? Which House do you represent?”

“I… uh…” The messenger flushes and stares at his feet, still shaken. The Elezen must be relatively young. Though he is much taller than her, he is gangly and nervous. Oddly, he reminds her of Emmanellain. “May we speak upstairs? The message I bear is not for… well… certain ears.”

Aureia exchanges looks with Hilda. Despite recent advances, some things never change.

“Us lowborn, you mean?” Hilda offers, a dark look in her eye. “Are you that scared of the Brume, boy? You’re gonna have to work on that if you intend to remain a messenger for the Lord Commander.”

Aureia curses inwardly, taking in the messenger’s colours once again. Of course. Temple Knights… The messenger is from Aymeric. She’s had more to drink than she thought and she’s falling into foolishness.

“Seven hells,” Aureia mutters and ushers the boy forward. “Let’s talk upstairs.”

She guides him through the crowd to the foot of the stairs, then clambers up them two at a time. He follows, his armour clinking in her ears, and breathes an audible sigh of relief when they surface on the upper floor.

Leading him into a far corner, she takes up position with her back to the wall and crosses her arms. “Now, then,” she says brusquely. “What is this about?”

The messenger quickly salutes. “Mistress Malathar, I bear a message from Ser Aymeric.”

“Yes. I gathered that. What is it?”

“I… I don’t know. It is here.”

He proffers a letter, stamped and sealed with the insignia of House Borel.

Aureia takes it from his shaking hand, brow furrowed, and flips it over. Aymeric has written her many times, but always in an official capacity as Lord Commander of the Temple Knights. But now he’s using the insignia of his own house… This isn’t official. This is personal.

Her heart clenches. “Is that all?” she asks.

The messenger nods, bowing, and retreats. Aureia watches him go, rubbing the envelope’s luxurious parchment between her fingers, her mind racing. Though part of her wants nothing more than to race down the stairs and return to Hilda’s company and the comfort of her wine, curiosity has set her aflame.

Why the personal message? What does Aymeric want?

Chewing her lower lip, she tears the envelope open and unfolds the letter.

Aureia, I am loathe to begin with “congratulations are in order” as I am certain you have heard that phrase far too much today. Nevertheless, it is true. This victory was more than a simple triumph in the heat of friendly combat. We have secured Ishgard’s position within the Alliance and safeguarded the course to her future. I cannot say how grateful I am for your involvement. Nor would I have wanted to be the one opposing you on the field of battle! Livia assures me that General Raubahn holds no grievance over the thrashing you gave him. I am told he was beaming with pride at his defeat and has requested a rematch the next time your travels bring you to Ul’dah. I must apologize for conveying this within a letter. This conversation is ill-suited to the pen—one-sided even, as it leaves no opportunity for your immediate reply—but circumstances allowed us no time for proper conversation once the melee had concluded. Or perhaps I am merely accustomed to writing to you now, given how far your travels now take you from Ishgard. You recall my somewhat mortifying request for a drink some nights ago? I would ask again. Perhaps more legitimately, this time, and with more grace and sincerity. I did not intend to put you on the spot with my words the last time, and yet I did. I do not begrudge the silence you gave me in return, I was, to put it quite frankly, a fool. And so I ask again. Please, my dearest friend. Join me for an evening. It would be a delight to spend the night in your company.

Aureia exhales slowly, staring blankly at the elegant script. A lump forms in her throat, her heart beating rapidly. Aymeric, as always, is far too kind to her. Too thoughtful, too genuine, too damn polite. She doesn’t know why he thinks so highly of her when she is prickly and disagreeable, no charm, no patience, all sharp edges. But their friendship has been tried and tested through more ordeals than she count this past year. He has been the one consistency through it all.

Once she thought it was Thancred who kept her grounded, but then the bloody banquet fractured the Scions and the man he was then is now gone forever. After her flight to Ishgard, Haurchefant was a shining beacon, as dear to her as the brother she never had—and now he is gone, cut down before her very eyes. Estinien was her source of strength in the dark days that followed, their rivalry softening to friendship over the course of their trials. He, too, is now gone, lost to Nidhogg’s rage.

But Aymeric has remained a firm, resolute presence in her life.

She remembers that day in his office, when he blurted out his initial invitation. She was so shocked, she couldn’t even garble a reply, staring at him with her eyes wide, like a deer facing a hunter. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks not long after and she excused herself, passing through his door with her back perfectly straight, praying that he did not see the colour on her cheeks.

It was only after that she realized he intended it as a friend. A friend. Somehow, that only made her response all the more humiliating…

At least she knows he was as mortified as she was. She can take solace in the fact that they can be fools in equal measure.

Aureia folds the letter and stuffs it in her pocket. She needs to return to her room, write a reply… Or perhaps it would be faster to go to him herself? Then again, there is wine on her breath and she is still sweat stained from the melee. Better to write him. He doesn’t need to see her like this.

She is halfway to her room in the inn when she remembers her staff is on the lower levels. Cursing inwardly, she wheels around and hurries through the tavern, weaving in and out of the crowd. Clattering down the stairs, she makes beeline for her table—

Her staff is there, but Hilda is gone.

Aureia pauses, frowning in confusion as she retrieves her staff and straps it to her back. The messy collection of plates and tankards remain. Even her bottle of wine is there, now emptied. In the centre of the table, the lamp’s candle flickers from a pool of wax, burning down to the stub. Its light glints off Hilda’s carbine, left unattended against the wall. She must be here, somewhere… It’s not like her to forget her weapon.

Grabbing the carbine, she withdraws from the table and casts an eye around the premises. The floor is emptier than before, many of the patrons having found their way outside one way or another. Aureia rounds the tables, searching, but Hilda is nowhere to be found. And she wasn’t upstairs, either… Either she exited to the Brume or she’s elsewhere in the tavern. The Forgotten Knight is filled with pockets of odd space—knotted hallways leading nowhere, oddly-shaped rooms tucked away in the corners or beneath the stairs. There are plenty of places she could have gone. Patrons find their way to them for one reason or another.

Slipping through a door, Aureia paces down a tight, dark hallway, cradling the heavy carbine against her chest. Her throat is dry, her head is aching—she forgot to drink water and now the side-effects of Gibrillont’s miraculous brew raising their ugly heads. She blinks, ignoring her body’s complaints, and pushes on. She can’t leave now. She needs to find Hilda.

“…so you admit it, then?”

“Admit what?”

Voices echo through an open door. Droll and heady, drunk on too much wine and spirits.

“…and here I thought it would take more than that for you to say you felt some affection for me.”

“Affection? Please. Far too strong a word.”

Auriea’s heart leaps into her throat. She freezes in the shadows of the hall, floorboards creaking underfoot. Hilda and Thancred stand together in the adjoining room, their profiles illuminated by the dusty moonlight filtering through the narrow window. His arms are locked around her, pulling her into him. She tilts her chin, a playful smile on her lips, red eyes dancing wickedly.

“You wound me, my lady,” he says, his lips brushing her cheek.

She smirks. “Not a lady.”

“To me you are.”

“Oh, please. Is that what you tell all the women in your life or did you truly expect a line like that to work on me?”

He kisses her, fierce and desperate. She melts into it, her fingers scraping the sides of his face, his jaw, pulling him into her. His fingers brush her ear, tentatively cupping the point, and thread through her hair. He releases it from its tail and the dark waves fall free, flowing over her shoulders and shadowing her face like a curtain. She chuckles huskily and shoves him back against the wall. He grunts and seizes her, lifting her up. She wraps her legs around him and allows him to spin them around.

Hilda pulls back from his kiss, face flushed and eyes wild, and scrapes her fingers through his hair. “You sure about this?” she asks huskily, lips pressed against his ear. “Don’t mistake me for her. Because I’m not.”

He freezes, his arms going stiff. “I am here for you. Only you.”

“Good. Just wanted to be clear—”

He kisses her, pinning her to the wall, his mouth on hers, still kissing, always kissing. She presses against him, her hands wandering, reaching, urgent, desperate—

Aureia tears her eyes away, cheeks flushed with the heat of anger and humiliation. She stoops, setting the carbine against the doorframe, and stalks down the hall. She doesn’t care if the floor creaks, if they hear her footsteps, if they know she was there. Chances are they never noticed. Chances are they will never know.

Bitter tears pang in the corners of her eyes. Seven hells, why is she crying? Why does she care so much? They are her friends. She should be happy if they’ve managed to find some solace in each other, gods know they’ve needed it. It’s not like she could give it to them herself, what with the way she is. Even if she wanted to, it’s too much.

Too much.

She kicks the hallway door open and storms through the tavern, scattering the remaining patrons in front of her. Gibrillont catches her eye when she storms up the stairs and quickly retreats. He knows better than to interfere. He know he must leave her be.

Aureia is certain she will become a snivelling mess when she finds privacy. But when she reaches her room, the tears refuse to fall. The best she can do is lay on her bed, staring numbly into the silver of moonlight dancing across her floor, and let her symptoms take her. She will welcome the hangover tomorrow. No matter how bad it is, it is nothing compared to the pain and isolation she feels tonight.

Aymeric’s letter remains folded in her pocket, all but forgotten.

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv fic #ffxiv fanfiction #wolcred #wolmeric #ffxiv wol #thancred waters #hilda ware #aureia malathar #oc tag #writing tag #long post

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 11 months ago

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Christmas Reruns 2023 Day 22: The Christmas Wish

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t! One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia. A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns. So here you go! Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Word Count: 1849

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

CS Genre: 5x21 Canon Divergence (beware this one starts pretty angsty)

Notes: This story was written for my “Christmas with Captain Swan” collection in 2020.

These last three months had been the worst, the hardest and the most painful of Emma’s life. No contest. She wouldn’t wish this pain on her worst enemy, not even on the worst villain they’d ever faced.

Three months ago today she’d left Killian in the Underworld after promising to go on with her life, after promising not to put her armor back on.

In the first few days, her time had been occupied with the battle against Hades. Like with every villain they’d faced, it had taken a team effort, all of them, all of the Nevengers, as Henry liked to call them, working together to find a solution with the least collateral damage they could manage, but they’d succeeded in the end. What was even more amazing was the fact that they’d definitively defeated Hades without losing any of the heroes (although Robin Hood had only narrowly ducked out of the way before being hit by the Olympian Crystal.)

The town had held a huge victory celebration in Granny’s after Hades’ defeat, and Emma supposed she should feel some sort of satisfaction at their victory, but all she felt was…empty.

Without Killian, it was hard to force herself to even get out of bed in the morning. Turns out losing your true love felt a lot like having your heart pulled from your chest, only the pain never went away, never stopped, never seemed to lessen.

She tried her best for Henry’s sake, for her parents, who were clearly worried about her, for the promise she’d made Killian, but it felt like she was constantly alternating between aching sobs and white hot anger. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that Killian had, no doubt, moved on, and that she’d join him one day when her time came, but it was cold comfort when she had to climb into her empty bed every night.

Everything reminded Emma of Killian. Everything. Maybe one day the memories would be a comfort to her, but for now, they were like a dagger to her heart.

Emma had started going to see Dr. Hopper once a week, trying to work through her grief. He told her she was doing well, that she was grieving in a healthy way, but if this was what healthy grieving felt like, she couldn’t imagine the dysfunctional kind.

Emma took a sip of her cocoa and looked up at the beautiful Christmas tree in the front room of the home Killian and Henry had picked out for her. Her parents, Regina, Robin, Zelena and Henry had shown up at her doorstep this morning with the tree, all the decorations, and everything they needed to make enough Christmas cookies to feed the town. They’d insisted on bringing her Christmas cheer and brightening up her life with the sights and smells and tastes of the season.

“I know this holiday will be hard for you, honey,” Snow said, giving her a big hug after they’d finished and everyone but her parents had left. “I remember those first few holidays after my mom and then my dad passed. The joy and excitement of everyone around me felt like a slap in the face.”

“How did you bear it, Mom?” Emma asked through her tears, which had started falling yet again. “I’m trying to be strong, I’m trying to go on with my life, but it feels like a part of me–a vital part–is just….gone, and I don’t even know how to function.”

Snow caressed Emma’s cheek. “You let yourself feel what you’re feeling, and you give yourself time. You lean on your family and let us help you. I don’t want you to ever feel like you need to stay strong for your father and me. If you need to cry, cry. If you need to break down, break down. We’ll be here to hold you, to give you whatever you need.”

She had finally broken down then, sobbing for what felt like hours in her parents’ arms, but when her emotions were spent, she had to admit she felt a little better. It had been cathartic.

“Thanks,” Emma said, finally. “For the tree and the cookies and everything. It really is beautiful.”

David pulled her toward him, hugging her to him and holding the back of her head. “I’m glad you like it. Enjoy it if you can, treasure the good memories.”

But after her parents left, it didn’t take long before the pain returned. She’d been looking so forward to the first Christmas she and Killian would spend together as a couple. She’d looked forward to all the firsts they’d have, looked forward to introducing him to all this realm’s traditions. She’d looked forward to making Christmas memories and traditions of their own.

But that, all of that, had been stolen from her, from them.

Emma looked up at the top of the tree, at the bright, shining star. Her mom had told her that in the Enchanted Forest, they’d had a tradition of making a Christmas wish upon the star on top of the tree. It was said that if your heart was true, your Christmas wish would be granted.

What the hell; couldn’t hurt.

“I wish–” she began, having to stop and clear her throat, will away the tears that threatened to overwhelm her again. “I only have one wish. I wish he was back here with me.”

She waited, but nothing happened. She hadn’t expected it to, but somehow it still felt like a betrayal.

Emma turned from the tree, threw on her coat and nearly sprinted out the door. Suddenly her house felt stifling, the tree, the decorations, all of it was too much. She had to get out of here; had to be with him, even if “being with him” now consisted of standing before his headstone.

It was a beautiful evening, the wind calm, the snow glistening in the last rays of the sun. He would have liked it; he’d always had a fondness for snow, though she told him she thought he was crazy for it. She smiled through her tears as she rounded the corner and then stepped through the arches into the cemetery. She remembered the day he’d coaxed her out in the snow with him. She’d been miserable. It. Was. So. Cold! But he’d been as excited as a child, and somehow his joy had been infectious.

It had always been that way with him. He brought her comfort and joy whenever she was with him, had since the very beginning, if she was truly honest with herself. That’s why she’d been so cold and distant to him at first. It scared her how much he made her feel.

She stooped down before his grave, laying a flask beside the flowers her mom had no doubt left. “Hey, I thought you’d like this more than roses. Thanks for the pages. Hades…Hades he’s gone now. It’s done, so I hope you’re in a better place. I know I should be happy about that, but it just feels like now you’re really gone, and there’s nothing left to do but just–”

The sobs threatened to overcome her again, but with a force of will, she pushed them aside.

“I miss you.”

For long moments she remained there, looking down at the stark letters of his name etched on the headstone. She should have something else engraved, shouldn’t she? She should say something about what a true hero he was. Somehow, nothing seemed appropriate. How did you sum up how much someone meant to you, to everyone he met, in a few short words?

The twilight was quickly fading into night before Emma decided there was nothing for it but to go home. She’d no more than turned away from the headstone, when a sudden whoosh, a rush of energy passed over her.

What the hell was that?

“Swan?”

Her heart stopped and then began pounding. It couldn’t be….could it?

She whirled around, not daring to hope, not daring to believe, but when she was once again facing the grave the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen met her.

Killian!

She raced to him, leaped into his arms, her lips connecting to his in a desperate kiss. Oh gods, if she was dreaming she never wanted to wake! She’d missed him so much–the feel of his scruff against her face, the soft, silkiness of his hair through her fingers, his taste, his smell. Him.

She pulled away, resting her forehead against his as the tears–happy tears this time–streamed from her eyes.

“How are you here?” she asked through her emotions, before surging forward, kissing his cheek, his mouth, any part of him she could reach.

He laughed joyfully. “It was you, love, your wish,” he said in between kisses. “For some time, Zeus has been looking for a way to reward us–all of us–for our part in defeating Hades, but until today his hands were tied. King of Olympus though he be, there are immutable rules surrounding the Underworld.”

“Wait…what?” She asked, before diving in for more kisses. “Never mind. I don’t care how you’re here, I’m just glad you’re back.”

They remained standing before his empty grave, one kiss leading into another as night settled in around them and the snow began to fall.

“I am, Emma,” he said finally. “I’m back, and I’ll never leave you again. Never.”

She laughed, cupping his cheeks and bringing him down for yet another kiss. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Emma took his hand, leading him back to her home–his home too, she hoped–her heart feeling so full it might burst, as he exclaimed in wonder over the Christmas tree whose lights twinkled merrily in greeting.

“I have so much to tell you; so much to show you,” she said, laughing in pure, incandescent joy, as they sat together on the couch before the tree, holding each other close. “Killian, you’re going to love Christmas!”

He smiled down at her, before leaning down and taking her lips yet again in a long, slow, achingly deep kiss. “I’ve no doubt I will, Swan, but for the moment I have more pressing matters on my mind.”

“Yeah?” she asked. “Like what?”

His grin turned mischievous. “Like moving our reunion to your bedchamber where I can properly–or rather, not-at-all-properly–show you just how much I missed you and precisely how glad I am to be home.”

She laughed, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs.

Her Christmas wish had given them a second chance, and she was determined that she wouldn’t waste a second of it.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#christmas reruns 2023 #cs fanfiction #captain swan christmas ff #my fanfiction #the christmas wish

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