#tw graphic depictions of injuries

[aftgficrec]

My Personal Favorite Fics EVER!! All Neil/Andrew

I hope I am doing this right! I just hit the share button on my bookmarked fics. Idk if any of these have been on here before (I have read a lot of fics and it gets confusing to know which ones I found on here bc there are so many good recommendations, or ones I found on my own. But these are 3 of my favorite fics that I feel like are the most well done!

• Everything's Alright by DarkD: This fic is unfinished but so worth the read!! It is a soulmates au, and in it Neil and Andrew are looking out for eachother since they are 6 and 7 years old. It completely changes their dynamic but manages to keep the characters realistic. I love the direction it was going, I hope the author finishes it, but even if they don’t what they have written so far is worth the read.

• If I Knew You by AceSirenSinger: This fic is soooo amazing!! It was posed pretty recently (starting January 2024 and finishing in May) and It shows a different direction with Aaron and Andrew’s bonding, and different reasons for them having problems with each other. It features writer/author Andrew and Law Student turned police officer Aaron. The writing is so high quality and it is a completely finished fic!! The writing to show the writing of the book Andrew has written alone is impressive enough to get you to read it. I love it so much, it also gives a more realistic approach to Neil’s life and trauma as well as gives you more of a perspective on the problems of Aaron’s life. (Even tho it’s an au and doesn’t show his life during AFTG)

• Deep blue ( but you painted me golden ) by Jeaneil_22: This fic is not finished but completely captivated my attention when I saw it. I was surprised I had not read it before (because I am obsessed with Raven Neil fics, and this is one of them) but then I realized it was posted within the last year or so. It’s completely underrated. It does have a lot of hits but the kudos count not being in the thousands is a crime against humanity. The realistic take on. Neil’s trauma and different things going on as he is still connected very heavily to the Moriyama’s is sooo interesting. And if you are looking for a fic where Neil is a victim of SA/Rape this fic is also a good one for you. (Though it does have a lot of trauma so mind the tags) I know a lot of people are looking for fics like that tho and it’s hard to find bc there is so much SA trauma in AFTG 😔

Thanks for the recs and for sharing your thoughts on the fics! Readers, all of these stories lean toward the darkest themes of AFTG. -A

Everything's Alright by DarkD [Rated E, 182901 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2023]

Previously recced here

Souls weren't meant to be left alone, so they split, always looking for their other half. No matter how long it took, the moment a soul existed, it sought the one that would complete it. The main indication is, when one of the halves of the soul turns seven years old, an identical mark appears on both parts. Along with that comes a set of unique abilities that soulmates can only use with each other—for protection, for finding each other. Soulmates would never be alone.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: child abuse, tw: torture, tw: blood, tw: gun violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: murder, tw: canonical character death

If I Knew You by AceSirenSinger [Rated T, 43145 Words, Complete, 2024]

Previously featured in this long andreil + aaron angst ask, our staff recs writers post, and as a random rec

Neil is imprisoned at sixteen years old for being the Butcher of Baltimore. Andrew obsesses, and Aaron obsesses because Andrew does, and everything goes wrong and raw and painful. Feat. the twinyards breaking each other’s hearts, and a decent amount of shade on the American justice system.

tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: recreational drug use, tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: implied/referenced torture

​​Deep blue ( but you painted me golden ) by Jeaneil_22 [Rated M, 163298 Words, Incomplete, Updated Sept 2024]

After the horrific incident that happened in the nest and the sound of Kevin crying, Nathaneil made the hard call and bargained with his life to get Jean and Kevin out, having no slight idea about the storm that was heading his way And after being missing for two years, Jean and Kevin swallowed the hard truth that Nathaneil might be dead somewhere To their surprise one day he appears out of the blue looking so much like their brother but nothing like Nathaneil at all Or Nathniel went on the run with his mother when he was 9 years old but three years later Nathan caught up to them and threw Nathaneil in the nest So we can say some things went a bit different .

NB: playlist for this fic

tw: dark, tw: gang rape, tw: dubcon, tw: human trafficking, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: assault, tw: flashbacks, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: abuse and torture, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: medication addiction and withdrawal, tw: recreational drug use, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: vomit, tw: homophobia, tw: canonical character death

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 3: "Make it stop"

Read it on Ao3

- Wild & the Chain

- Summary: When Wild is captured by the Yiga Clan, Master Kohga decides to get his revenge

CW for graphic depictions of violence, torture, blood and injury, vomiting, and a character briefly wishing for death

----------------------

“Get up!”

Wild pries open his eyes just as a boot connects with his side. He jerks away with a hiss of pain. 

Of all the horrible ways to wake up…

The face of a Yiga assassin comes into view as his vision clears and he groans. 

Even better.

“I said, get up!”

Another kick that takes Wild’s breath away.

“Yeah that’s not the best way to get me off the floor,” he remarks, dragging himself into a seated position.

That earns him a sharp smack across the face. Wincing, he watches as the assassin bends down, unlocking his chains. They fall to the floor with a clatter. But Wild hardly has time to breathe a sigh of relief, or rub his wrists, or even to plan a quick escape. Almost immediately, the Yiga yanks his hands behind his back, then ties them tightly with a thick rope.

The coarse material rubs at his already raw wrists. It only adds to the cacophony of aches that have begun to arise now that he’s conscious. Wild blows out an annoyed sigh. As if he could forget how sorely he had lost his last fight.

Rough hands haul him to his feet and he stumbles. His surroundings go fuzzy and dim and for a moment he is certain he’s going to faint. But then it passes. And not a moment too soon. The Yiga shoves him forward and wrenches open the cell door.

The same one they’d thrown Barta into, Wild realizes dazedly. The thought doesn’t make him feel any more comfortable.

“Walk,” comes the sharp order, accompanied by another, hearty push. Stumbling on achingly numb legs, Wild starts forward.

He falls more than walks down the stairs. Between the Yiga’s forceful movements and the haze he has yet to pull himself out of, he can hardly keep himself upright. Even the journey across the main room is difficult.

Especially once he realizes where they’re headed.

“Master Kohga will be so pleased to see you,” his captor hisses, no doubt noticing the sudden increased tension in Wild’s shoulders.

“Didn’t I kill him?” Wild asks, with a forced chuckle. Maybe if he feigns nonchalance it will mask the thundering of his heart. He sends a furtive glance around the space, looking for anything that could possibly allow for a quick escape. But there is nothing.

…and no one. Save for the few assassins who leer at him from beneath their masks.

He swallows, hard. “I think I remember dropping his own weapon onto his head.”

That garners him a swift kick to the shins. He trips, only saved from face planting by the Yiga’s tight grip.

“You are a fool to think our master is so easily defeated. You on the other hand…”

The hallway narrows, then widens into a familiar room. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

“…you will meet your end today.”

Wild lifts his head as he walks through the doorway, heart situated painfully in his throat. Master Kohga sits before him, looking very much alive.

“You,” he snarls as soon as he lays eyes on the champion. “You cocky, undying little punk! You thought you had seen the end of the Great Master Kohga, didn’t you?”

Wild shrugs, a slight smirk on his lips. “I did drop a boulder on your head.”

The Yiga restraining him kicks his legs out from under him. He hits the ground with an “oof.”

“That-that is inconsequential!” Kohga replies, huffily. “I am more powerful than death! But for the pain you caused my beloved, loyal followers” – He rises now, stomping his foot along with every word– “You. Are. Going. To. Die!”

His captor’s grip tightens and he yanks on Wild’s hands. Wild falls back, head bumping against the assassin's hip.

“Shall I take him outside, Master Kohga?” A sadistic sort of excitement colors his voice. It makes Wild’s blood run cold.

Kohga nods. “Yes, take him. I do not wish to ruin my furniture with his blood.”

Again, Wild is hauled upward, though this time a vicious sickle finds its way into his back. It bites into his flesh and he fights not to let out a hiss of pain.

“Move,” the Yiga snaps and Wild stumbles out into the sun.

Kohga sits cross-legged over the crater Wild had been so certain he had plummeted into, hovering serenely just above it.

“Come forward, hero,” he sneers as Wild is shoved toward the gaping hole. “You will be pleased to find that I have perfected my art more than ever!”

With a snap of his fingers, a massive boulder appears above his head. Dozens of tiny spikes protrude from its smooth surface. Wild’s blood runs cold. Abandoning his more measured, methodical tugs of before, he begins yanking ferociously at his bonds.

But then, the Yiga drives his sickle into the back of his leg and all thoughts of an escape vanish. He chokes on a cry. His vision bleeds white. It’s all he can do not to pass out.

One, swift movement and the weapon is out of him, tearing through his flesh as easily as fingers through tissue paper. This time he screams.

He hardly registers it when the Yiga backs away, barely realizes that a large, stone door is sliding over the opening behind him, blocking any exit.

But Kohga’s shrill laughter pierces his ears like knives and he drags his head up to look at him.

“If I were you I would run,” he says, voice nearly brimming with excitement. “Because the time for vengeance has come!”

He begins to swing the boulder over his head. With each trip around it gains momentum, growing closer and closer to the moment when it will break free and careen straight at Wild.

Come on, get up. You’ve got to move.

Gritting his teeth, Wild forces himself to his feet. Pain shoots through his leg anew, like a thousand tiny shards of glass have entered his wound. A scream breaks through his parched lips. His lungs burn, breath coming too fast, heart beating erratically. Stars explode before his eyes.

And still the boulder spins. The motion makes him dizzy.

On trembling limbs he stumbles forward, bile rising in his throat. But each step is sheer agony and he’s slow.

…much too slow.

When the boulder flies free, he can’t evade it. It collides with his body and he goes flying. Pain erupts within him. It steals his breath, propels forth a shout of shock and agony, makes his extremities go numb. He can hear his bones cracking even over the rushing in his ears. His vision goes blindingly white, then spotty, then dangerously dark.

He hits the ground, crying out at the agony of the impact. And the boulder comes down with him, crushing his prone body.

Somewhere, Kohga is laughing. The boulder disappears, retreating back to its owner to prepare for another round. Wild knows he should get up, knows he should at least attempt to run. But all he can do is lie there, trying to breathe. Trying to stay awake.

Blood gurgles in his throat and he pitches sideways, gagging on it. Against the blurred sand, the liquid looks far darker than usual. Almost black.

Like the blood of the Shadow, he thinks dazedly.

He doesn’t get much farther than that thought. Because once more the boulder shoots forward. This time it rolls into him more than flies, shoving him against the far wall and pinning him there.

He doesn’t have the strength to scream, even as the spikes tear out chunks of his flesh and his shattered bones protest this newest assault. He yearns for oblivion that refuses to come.

“So, hero, how do you like it?”

It hits him again, smashing him against the cool stone. He gags on blood once more. It drips into his eyes, runs in rivulets down his face, pools in the gashes that run along his body. 

“Painful, isn’t it? Well, that is what you did to me!”

Wild teeters on the edge. Of death or unconsciousness, though, he isn’t sure. Death, he hopes.

(Though at the same time, he doesn’t, because that means he has lost the battle again, failed everyone again, but sweet Hylia he just wants this to stop. Please make this stop.)

And it’s clear now that there will be no other escape.

Your brothers aren’t coming for you. Even if they are, they’ll be too late.

It’s already too late.

“But the mighty Master Kogha prevails over pain and death! You, however, are weak! Weak, weak, weak!”

The boulder retracts and Wild watches it dimly. One more hit is all it will take. He is certain.

So much for coming back to life.

He can see bone, he realizes, shining gorily from his left arm. It is at a strange angle too.

Must be broken. 

It certainly isn’t the only thing. But somehow, that hardly seems important at the moment. 

His eyes slip closed. Everything hurts. The only other time he felt like this was when he collapsed on Blatchery Plain.

I’m sorry, Zelda, for putting you through this again.

I’m sorry…

“Champion!”

A shout rings out across the space, protectively furious and wonderfully familiar. There’s a scream and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. But the blow he expects doesn’t fall on him.

Instead, gentle hands lift his head, cradling it. He blinks open swollen eyes to see the blurred face of Twilight hovering just above him. Legend and Sky appear over his shoulder, seconds later.

“Twi.”

Clumsily, he tries to reach out with his less injured arm, eager to touch him, to prove that he is real. But his body refuses to follow his commands. He doesn’t have to worry, though. The rancher’s hand easily finds its way into his.

“I’ve got you, Wild,” he says, and there is pure fire in his tone. “You’re safe now.”

A head of familiar pink hair leans over him. Gentle, trembling hands nudge his chin upward. 

“Here, you’ve gotta drink this.”

Potion is poured down his throat, lukewarm and burning. But the magic of it begins its work immediately, zipping purposefully toward the worst of his wounds.

Wild swallows it with an effort. Then, he drags his eyes back up to meet Twilight’s. “Kohga?”

It is hardly a whisper, yet they hear it anyway.

“Dead.” He thinks it’s Sky who answers, though his voice doesn’t quite have its usual tone. It is a brittle thing. Dangerous. “For good this time.”

Wild tries to grin, but finds he isn’t quite up to it. “Good,” he mumbles instead. “Tired of his dumb belly.”

Twilight’s lips quirk the slightest bit. Gently, he brushes aside Wild’s bangs, wet with blood and sweat.

“Well, he’s never gonna touch you again.”

“Now, rest up,” Legend says, shakily. “We’ve got this handled. You focus on not dying.”

Any other time Wild would laugh and tease the vet about his blatant caring. But all he can focus on is the pleasantly numb feeling that has begun to spread throughout his body, and how warm Twilight’s embrace is as he scoops him carefully off of the ground. His eyes slip closed of their own accord. Before he even realizes what is happening, the darkness swallows him and he is gone.

[wayward-sherlock]

goodbye stranger.

They’d already made it to the end of the world. There was no point in waiting, not anymore — Will was almost certain that if he waited any longer, the words he wanted to say would be his dying ones, melting on his lips with warm blood and his last breath.

Will loved Mike.

And now he was going to kill him.

will's been taken by vecna. he's killed mike hundreds of times, and he has no idea which one is going to be real.

for @bylerween2023 day 4!

[sam-loves-seb]

we got time (but we're only human)

“What happened?” he asks carefully. Mickey works his jaw, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, but no sound comes out. “Hey. It’s okay,” Lip tells him gently. He puts a hand on Mickey’s shoulder, his grip firm. “Just tell me what happened.” Mickey shakes his head and looks away. “It came out of nowhere.”

// post-canon: ian and mickey are in an accident

whumptober 2023 -- day 8

prompt: overcrowded ER

[ ao3 | ko-fi | etc ]

[ryderdire]

Cw: blood animal abuse light body horror eye strain

And still It was never enough. I was never enough no matter how much I let them cut out.

——

I’d apologize for my hand writing but I am not sorry soooo

[rottedcreatures]

How Janus got his scars.

Tw: abuse, graphic depictions of violence, unsympathetic!Virgil, blood and gore.

(Fic under the cut)

The argument had started off so small.

Janus had been telling Virgil he wanted Virgil to stop drinking, and to put the bottle of bourbon down.

"You fucking slut!" Virgil screamed, smashing the bottle against the wall. He stared at Janus, face flushed from drinking, vision blurry.

Janus flinched when the bottle shattered, and put his hands up, palms out, to show he meant no harm. "Virgil, my love, please- you've burned through three bottlessss alrea-"

"Shut up!" Virgil screamed, grabbing Janus by the hair and forcing him to come closer, a clump of Janus's hair falling after he slammed the broken end of the bottle into Janus's eye.

Janus stumbled back, hands touching his face. Cold blood began to pour from around his eye, and the side of his mouth. He breathing shakily and looked up at Virgil. "Virgil, I'm ssssorry! But you can't keep doing thissss!"

Virgil grabbed Janus by the neck.

"Virgil, ssstop!" Janus cried, as Virgil sliced open his human cheek with the end of the broken bottle.

"You don't fucking talk to me like that, you whore." Virgil threw Janus to the ground and kicked him. "Don't get blood on my fucking carpet." He spat on Janus, and walked off.

Laying there, hands pressed to the wounds on his face, Janus began crying. But only from his human eye. Snakes can't cry, after all. He slowly sits up, taking a shuddering breath and using his extra hands to push himself up. The young deceitful side felt his way to the bathroom, turned on the sink, and splashed his face with water.

Dark crimson blood stained the marble countertop and the steel inside of the sink. Janus placed his gloved hands, now stained with blood, on the counter and looked in the mirror, eyes still wide. He was met with the sight of blood pouring down his face, his hair ruined from Virgil pulling out a massive clump of it.

He felt frozen, staring at his reflection. His vision began to grow spotty, and he quickly finished cleaning the blood off his face. He searched the cabinets for a healing plant or potion or something- he found a bundle of the plant Remus had discovered in the imagination that would heal wounds. He untied the bundle and ate the plants quickly, slowly starting to calm down.

He checked his phone. Another apology text from Virgil. Janus wiped the tears off his cheeks and cleaned the sink and countertop.

[naviculariis]

BORN TO BREAK.

Rating: Explicit Warning(s): Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Blood & Gore, Injury, Amputation, Hysteria, Waterboarding, Specifically Post-Marineford but before the end of the Timeskip. Spoilers. Relationships: Eustass Kid/Killer [ lowkey ] Characters: Shanks, Benn Beckman, Yasopp, Lucky Roux, Eustass Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire, Original Male Character(s) Summary: “Captain!” Heat called from behind them. They’d covered them in water- had splashed them once, twice, three times before ducking his head under the water of the river. Waterboarding him, drowning him, snuffing out the fire that they spewed regularly. That’s why he couldn’t help, Killer thought as Shanks relented, stepping away, blade pulling free of his throat. “Captain, get up!” Heat called out once more. “What did you do?” Killer whispered as sat up slowly, body screaming in anguish. His ribs were certainly broken; how many? He couldn’t tell, but breathing hurt, moving hurt, his arm was bloodied and oh, god, was that blood surrounding Eustass? “What did you DO?!” He howled, launching himself to his feet only to be met with the muzzle of that damned sawed off shotgun that Beckmann used.

Notes:

PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE TAGS. This gets gnarly. Remember how I've mentioned I can get into Dead Dove territory? Here it is. Oh, right. Do y'all remember that scene in episode 67 of the original Naruto series where Gaara is screaming hysterically during the exams about his blood?

Yeah. Keep that in mind for me, will you? You'll know when it comes into play.

Sometimes, you really underestimate how things will go.

The sound of footsteps was loud in the silence that followed after the clash. The movement caught Killer’s attention first; he glanced up towards Shanks, who watched with an almost smug expression. That spiked something in him, some dormant fear that prickled with anxiety, that had his hands sweating, had his heart racing in his chest. He shifted, attention turning towards where his Captain should have been. The ground was dry, too dry; dust was kicked up with every small movement. With the blood and sweat that was in his own eyes, it was hard to see, hard to make out what he was seeing.

Beckmann was walking away- no, walking towards him. That’s why Shanks was so smug, pinning him with his foot on his skull, his blade at his throat. Anytime he swallowed, the steel dug in a little more, drawing forth scarlet that trickled slowly down the length of it. His breath caught in his throat as the dust finally cleared away, giving way to… Kidd? Why was he on the ground? “What-” he croaked out, only to groan as Shanks pressed his weight into his foot. The pain was excruciating, his jaw clenching as a yell pulled free from somewhere deep within him.

“Captain!” Heat called from behind them. They’d covered them in water- had splashed them once, twice, three times before ducking his head under the water of the river. Waterboarding him, drowning him, snuffing out the fire that they spewed regularly. That’s why he couldn’t help, Killer thought as Shanks relented, stepping away, blade pulling free of his throat. “Captain, get up!” Heat called out once more.

“What did you do?” Killer whispered as sat up slowly, body screaming in anguish. His ribs were certainly broken; how many? He couldn’t tell, but breathing hurt, moving hurt, his arm was bloodied and oh, god, was that blood surrounding Eustass? “What did you DO?!” He howled, launching himself to his feet only to be met with the muzzle of that damned sawed off shotgun that Beckmann used.

His finger was on the trigger.

His arm was black; coated in Haki. Haki- Beckmann had Haki?

Shit. Killer blinked hard beneath the mask, trying to clear his vision. “Heat, what do you see?” He asked their third mate, who was silent. Silence was never a good answer. “Heat, answer.”

“I uh…” The waver in their voice was enough to set them all on edge. “I don’t think-”

“An arm for an arm, though your captain wasn’t the one to cost me mine.” Shanks answers in a near-chipper manner from behind him. “What will he do now? The Captain of the Kidd Pirates, beaten like a bad dog. But that’s what you all are, aren’t you?” The chuckle that escapes from Shanks is nothing short of sinister. “You come here to challenge us, to challenge me… For what reason? I have nothing to give you.”

An arm. Beckmann took Kidd’s arm.

“I-” Killer began to retaliate verbally before a sound caught their attention.

It started softly. Like a pained whine from a dog, high and reedy and nerve-grating. “My arm,” Kidd whispered, his gaze trained on the limb sitting on the ground three feet in front of him. It bled, oozing garnet onto ivory sand. He could see the bone standing out; shattered mid-way, nothing near a clean break. This wasn’t a break. That was his arm. Those were his fingers, painted black. Those were his rings.

That was his arm.

His arm.

“My arm.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he blinked once, hard. His heart was hammering in his chest so hard, he could see the remnants of his shirt moving with each beat. “My arm.” He repeated, dazedly. Adrenaline was starting to leave his bloodstream, sweating out through his pores. The pain was odd. He could feel his arm, still- no, no, he can’t. That’s only his mind thinking that he can feel it, that he can feel the sensation of his fingers twitching, of the nerves dying, of his hand growing numb and cold because the blood isn’t returning, it’s leaking out on the ground and oh, gods, that’s his FUCKING ARM. “MY ARM!” He screamed as reality set in. He reached over to the freely bleeding stump, fingers meeting torn flesh and muscle and fatty tissue that just hung limply, and shattered bone that pricked at his fingertips. “MY ARM! YOU TOOK MY ARM! MY ARM! MY ARM! MY ARM!”

“Ah, the hysterics.” Shanks hums, cleaning Gryphon on the edge of his trousers. The steel hissed as it returned to its home within the sheath.

Wire was stilled in the grasp of Lucky Roux, blood trickling down his forehead as he stared at Eustass. They took his arm? His arm ripped clean off. How the fuck did Beckmann do that? Did he have a devil fruit? Haki? He felt sick to his stomach, turning in Roux’s grasp to gag once, twice, before the bigger man released him to allow him to spill the contents of his stomach.

“I could finish him off,” Shanks offered Killer, reaching out to settle his arm around his shoulders, pulling him back against himself as if he were some friend, some companion. “What do ye say, lad? I finish off yer Captain, you lot come an’ join me and my crew?”

“Fuck you.” Killer spat, shaking in his grasp. “Fuck you.”

“Not my type.”

Beckmann snorts as he turns the gun, aiming now at Kidd. “One shot to the head, all it takes.”

“NO!” Heat screamed, pulling himself free from Yasopp, rushing forward to stand between Beckmann and his Captain, who was muttering under his breath about his arm. Hysterical; they couldn’t blame him. “Please- spare him. Spare us.” They pleaded, falling to their knees before the two men. “We won’t come after either of ye again. Just- spare him, spare his life. Please.”

Shanks and Benn study one another; a silent conversation between Captain and First Mate, something Killer was familiar with. He and Kidd did that often, knowing the other well enough to not have to use verbal language. “Fine.” Shanks shrugged, grinning as he released Killer, and stepped back. “I’m tired of this anyway. Find us in the New World, if yer Captain survives. I’d like a rematch, there. Get stronger.” Brown gaze settled upon Kidd, taking in the damage Beckmann had dealt. “You’re in the big leagues, now.”

And just like that, it was over.

Killer rushed forward, falling to his knees in the blood soaked sand before Kidd. “Eustass?” He whispered, reaching up to cup his cheeks, dragging his head up. His pupils were blown; his skin was pale with blood loss and shock. “We gotta get you up. It’s gonna hurt.”

“The arm-” Eustass tried to argue.

Killer shook his head. He didn’t argue as Heat came round the other side. It took a moment of figuring out where hands could rest before they had him up and balanced between themselves. Wire did grab the arm, wrapped it up in his jacket. The Red Haired Pirates went back towards the beach; they retreated to the town.

Eustass Kidd passed out two minutes into the walk, much to the alarm of his crew.

The next time he came to, he was laying down on a cot in what he assumed to be a doctor’s office. He blinked hard, eyes squeezing shut. Everything felt dulled; his head lulled to the right, meeting with a white wall. Huh. To the left, then. Ah, that’s better. A room! Killer is standing, talking to some dude in a white coat. Doctor, he hopes and assumes. Wire is sitting across from him in some chairs; Heat is slumped against his shoulder, their eyes closed, breathing even. Sleepy, sleepy Heat.

Eustass looks down to his torso. Bruising already beginning to bloom; he can feel a cracked rib or two, certainly. Drip, drip, drip. What was dripping? Did someone leave a faucet on? He huffed, going to sit up, only to find himself suddenly unable to. Something was holding him down. What? He frowned at the black straps that held his shoulders and chest. Why was he pinned?

“Hey, doccccc,” he drawled out, slurring his words like a drunkard. “Wha’s happenin’? Why cannae I… Shite.” He winced at the sudden flare of pain. What the fuck? “Wiiiire?”

“Eustass-” Killer began, stepping over as Wire shook his head. Heat woke up, then. Rubbed at their eyes, smearing their eye black. “You need to stay still.”

“Why?” He didn’t WANT to stay still. He needed to piss. “I need t’tae a leak.”

“You-” Killed glanced back. Wait, where was Killer’s mask? Why could he see his pretty blue eyes so clearly? Why was his lip split open? What-

The fight.

It all rushed back suddenly, playing out in the forefront of his mind. Eustass reels from the memory, from the pain that also returns in a weird, dulled form. “My arm,” he whined, head lifting to look at the bloodied bandages that covered the stump. “He took my arm!”

“I’m afraid there’s still work t’be done, lad,” the doctor murmured, coming to stand by his head. Eustass looked up, ruby gaze frantic as he searches this strange doctor’s face. His eyes were lighter than Killer’s, hair a mousy brown. “I’ve got to close you up.”

“You can’t reattach it?”

“No, laddie. I cannae.”

Oh. Kidd swallowed roughly, looked to Killer who reached up, cupped his cheek. “I’m not leaving the room.”

“Okay.”

“Bite down on this.” The doctor placed a block in his mouth. Wood, thick, slotted between his jaws to allow his teeth to clench down onto, grind into.

His breath started coming quickly, then. Chest rising and falling rapidly as Killer was forced to move, to stand at his head while the doctor moved further down. He couldn’t watch, didn’t want to watch, squeezed his eyes shut as Killer settled his hands on his shoulders.

Killer watched, instead.

He’d seen his fair share of amputations over the years. Things got bad back home; sometimes, you do what you must to survive, even if that means sawing through your own leg because it’d grown necrotic. That was the fear, here, that Kidd’s stump would grow necrotic. Stump. That’s what it was, Killer realized as the doctor- a man named Ronan- removed the wraps. Already soaked through, a small puddle on the floor had formed. The bandages landed with a harsh splat on the ground. He looked beyond, gaze settling upon the bone saw that sat on the table.

They should have called Law.

But Trafalgar was Gods know where, now. A hundred meters under the water, probably. Or less. Or more, Killer didn’t know how that weird ass yellow submarine worked.

Ronan sprayed the stump with water. Kidd hissed, whined, whimpered, wheezed at the sensation.

“Can’t we knock him out?” Heat asked from the side.

“I did. He woke up.”

“Killer?” Heat pleaded, and Killer shook his head.

“The pain will knock him out in a minute,” Ronan added as he grabbed hold of the bonesaw. “Or the shock.”

“Are you sure you’re a doctor?”

“As sure as you are that you’re a pirate.”

Killer shut up, then. Lips pressed tightly together, the bolt of pain like lightning from his split lip. His helmet had been cracked in more than one place; it would need to be repaired, eventually. But not right now. Not now. No, now-

He felt like he would puke.

The saw settled on the exposed bone. At least three inches of bone was still exposed after Ronan had cut away the “skin flaps”, as he’d referred to the loose skin. Eustass had been under for that. Ronan began to move his arm back, forth, back, forth.

The scream that escaped Eustass had every hair on Killer’s body standing on end. It warbled, high and pained and oh, Gods, he wished he would just pass out. Just pass out, pass out, pass out now. Please, Gods, please! Eustrass tried to pull away, but Killer held him in place.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Killer whispered over and over as Eustass sobbed, tears rolling from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Boss.”

Eustass fell limp. For a brief moment, Killer assumed he’d just died. No- no, he was still breathing. It was a relief, then. He wouldn’t be able to feel any of this. The bone was cracking beneath the saw, falling away after ten minutes of consistent sawing. Ronan worked quickly, suturing and cleaning and doing things that Killer wasn’t really sure of, but the bleeding had slowed, and if Kidd died, he knew where to find this doctor.

It was dark when Kidd woke again. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, his head felt just as heavy. The bed beneath him was soft, though; it didn’t rock with the movements of waves, meaning he was ashore. He groaned softly as pain rocked through him. “Shite,” he hissed, reaching up to rub at his face.

His arm didn’t move. His left arm didn’t move.

He looked down in confusion and saw empty space and blood speckled bandages instead. That’s right- he’d lost the arm. Beckmann had ripped it off of his body. Movement drew his gaze up, watching as Killer stepped in. Maskless, bandaged, hair tied up in a messy bun. “Eus?”

“‘M awake.” He grumbled, rising up with a hiss and far more effort than it should normally take. His back settled against the headboard. “Where are we?”

“Same island we’ve been on. It’s-... It’s been a week.”

“A week?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Kept you loaded up on pain killers. You uh…” Killer rubbed the back of his head. He had been asleep in the other room. “You needed them.”

Eustass frowned as he stared at his partner. Killer shifted his weight. “C’mere. Bed’s cold.” He huffed, watching Killer carefully climb into the right side. He didn’t wait for him to settle, leaning in against him heavily. “Beckmann ripped off my arm.”

“He did.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“We are.”

“We are gonna wipe those shitty little rodents off the map.” Eustass muttered, eyes closing. His breath started to grow uneven; the hint of a sob escaping. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill them all.”

Killer didn’t speak as he wound his arms around Eustass, pulling him close, lips pressing to his temple as Kidd broke down. Yes, they would kill Shanks, and Beckmann, and Yasopp, and Lucky Roux. They would all die for what they did to Eustass. To his Captain. His partner. His world.

Killer would make sure of it.

[fletcherwilbury]

@febuwhump Day 10: Killing in Self-Defense

Warning for Illness, respiratory issues, injury, faking injury, robbery, attempted murder, murder, minor character death

[deadstarsrisingsblog]

Hi hello yes everyone should read Shoulder The Sky. It's on my rec list and I have every installment downloaded for offline reading ngl so if you like excellent, descriptive writing, clone trooper antics, and the 212th I highly recommend this one.

Also I would absolutely fucking die for Stitch, Helix, and Needle thanks. 🥰

A scene that will only be referenced in the next chapter, but I was overcome with the urge to write it out anyway:

Boil catches Stitch's entry onto the bridge out of the corner of his eye.

He elbows Waxer, grinning. The kid's got a pair of crutches under one arm, and they'd both noticed the way the Commander had been leaning on the holotable, stubbornly ignoring the General's not-so-subtle disapproving look and the chair Waxer had fruitlessly nudged into place behind him.

This is going to be a show.

Stitch scans the bridge, eyes narrowed, until he catches sight of the Commander. He walks forward, stopping a few respectful feet behind him, and--

waits.

Thirty seconds pass.

Then a minute.

More and more eyes are landing on him. Poorly-muffled giggling blooms across the bridge.

"Hi, Stitch," Waxer says cheerfully.

"Hi, sir," Stitch says politely, his gaze flickering sideways in acknowledgement before returning to Cody's back.

Cody's shoulders slump.

Eventually, the holocall ends. General Kenobi is the first to turn around.

"Hello, Stitch," he says, smiling faintly. "Can I help you?"

"No thank you, sir. I'm waiting for the Commander, sir."

There's only so long Cody can avoid turning around, and he knows it. With a long, deep sigh, he turns.

"Hi, sir," Stitch says brightly, and thrusts the crutches forward. "You forgot these."

"Those aren't mine," Cody says immediately. "I left mine in my office. I'll grab them after."

"These are yours," Stitch says patiently. "I put a sticker on them when Helix first gave them to you. See?"

He points. Cody leans forward, searching despite himself--

His expression flattens out.

"It's a lightsaber," Stitch says helpfully. "Needle made it. He said you'd forgotten your crutches before, and I thought a sticker would be helpful for you to remember which are yours. Helix says taking initiative is a good thing."

"I... see."

He still doesn't take them.

Stitch sighs. "Is this because Helix yelled at you for kicking droids again, and you don't want to prove him right?"

"No," Cody grinds out, and Waxer muffles a wheezing laugh in Boil's shoulder. General Kenobi's expression is carefully blank.

"Is it because--"

"They're uncomfortable," Cody sighs. He lowers his voice, conscious of their delighted audience, and there's a ripple of coughing and clearing of throats as people turn back to their assigned tasks. "They-- my shoulders keep cramping. I need to be able to fire a blaster, Stitch. I'm minimizing my movement as much as possible, I promise."

"Uncomfortable," Stitch echos, looking baffled. "Why didn't you say so, sir? Give me-- ten minutes, please. I can fix that. I'll be back soon. Can you sit down in the meantime, please?"

"I'll make sure he does, Stitch," the General interjects, and Stitch nods seriously.

"Thank you, sir," he says, and nods at them both before vanishing out the door.

"You're enjoying this far too much, sir," Cody hisses, as Kenobi carefully helps him settle into the long-ignored chair.

"My dear Commander," Kenobi says, laughing, "I'm simply glad it's not me this time."

Cody's glare could incinerate a Hutt. The General remains cheerfully unaffected.

When Stitch returns, he brings with him a painstakingly adjusted pair of crutches. Layers of cotton batting is tied carefully to the pads, and the grips have been adjusted a few levels upwards.

"Try these, please," he says, handing them over.

Cody reluctantly accepts them. "All right. Later, when I--"

Stitch is looking at him very expectantly.

He sighs. "Yes, Stitch."

He levers himself to his feet and takes a few halting steps. Boil watches, fascinated, as astonishment flickers across his expression before it settles into a quiet resignation.

"This-- is better," he mutters. "Very much so."

Stitch beams. "Thank you, sir! And you'll make sure to use them until you're cleared?"

"Yes, Stitch."

"And you won't forget about your follow-up tomorrow? You can have a juice box. Or a pudding cup. You can choose. Needle got some."

Waxer coos. Cody glares at him.

("That's KP duty for you," Boil whispers. "Just you wait.")

"I won't, Stitch."

"Good. Thank you, sir. And- Helix told me to tell you that you- that you're lucky you got me and not him, sir, because he'd be, um- a damn sight louder, sir, because he's got no patience for- for idiots, sir."

A beat.

"That's from him, sir," Stitch repeats anxiously.

Cody sighs. "That's all right, Stitch. Well done."

Stitch brightens immediately, rocking back on his heels. "I'll save you a chocolate pudding cup, sir, if you like. Those ones are the best, so they tend to go fast."

A smile flickers across Cody's face. "Thank you. I'd appreciate it. You're dismissed."

Stitch salutes-- shiny little tubie, small gods-- and vanishes out the door.

Kenobi has given up the game entirely, now, and is grinning broadly. Cody turns on him immediately.

"Stop that."

"Stop what, my dear?"

"The thing you're doing with your face."

"Smiling?"

"Smugly. Yes."

"I'm just pleased with our medics' professionalism, Commander."

"I've got two dozen witnesses to that for the next time you try to dodge them."

"Noted. Can I have your pudding cup?"

"No."

[aftgficrec]

Can you please suggest fics where neil and bee have more interactions. Or even ones about andrew and bee talking about neil or anything else

Btw I really really appreciate everything yall do! God bless you.

Here is what we found for you. -A

Neil/andreil talk to Bee:

Neil goes to therapy here

‘we softly stir the violence’ and ‘Healing’ series parts 1 & 3 here

‘“I wish I'd never…”’ here

‘Andrew Minyards Crystal’ here

‘pain our brain has made’ here (updated)

‘not to blame for falling’ series and ‘sidelines’ here

‘on the tip of my tongue (say something)’ series here (completed)

‘Andrew and Neil's guide to getting better’ series here

‘True Love Waits’ series here

‘Cyberstalking’ here

‘Promises’ here

‘A Taste of Your Own Medicine’ here

‘The Massive Continuity of Ducks’ and ‘Ghost of You’ here

‘A collection of Andreil one-shots’ ch 3 here

‘I Don't Know’ here

‘The Destination Was Always Forever’ (updated), ‘Minyard-Josten Rivalry’ (updated), ‘sunrise, abram’ series, ‘and in a flash, it's gone.’ series part 2, and ‘Stay Where I Can Reach’ here

Andrew talks to Bee about Neil:

previous ask here

‘Unspoken’ here

‘AFTG Drabbles’ parts 1 & 8 here

‘Paper Cut Hearts’ here

‘the shuffling of cards’ here

‘words can't warm the windows of my soul’ here

‘The Hand That Needs Me’ here

‘Mother Mannequin’ here

‘Anything’ here

‘the icarus to your certainty’ here

‘No straighter path than to struggle’ here

‘Can we can pretend like we're (not) in love?’ here

Neil Josten is Not Fine by Anonymous [Rated T, 3362 Words, Complete, AFTG Then & Never 2024]

After weeks of nightmares and an embarrassing discovery, Neil finally decides to pay Betsy a visit.

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: nightmares, tw: bedwetting

i'll take anything you have (if you could throw me a line) by ifitmeanslosingyou [Rated M, 923 Words, Complete, 2024]

the sunrise can be pretty, neil thinks, but instead of the pinks and oranges washing him with ease, neil can’t help the panic at the thought that he’s been up here for longer than he planned to he wonders if anyone has even realized he left the dorms in the first place, wonders if andrew even looked when neil left the bedroom, wonders if he gave up, wonders if he finally came to his senses and realized neil was more trouble than he’s worth wonders if the roof of the court is high enough that the fall would kill him day 31: asking for help | therapy | “i’m alive, i’m just not well”

tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: implied/referenced self harm

help, I've lost myself again (but I remember you) by abitsillygoofy [Not Rated, 5320 Words, Complete, 2024]

“Neil we have to talk about it,” Betsy said “I don’t think so” Neil replied “Nope, not happening” He popped the p at the end trying to make the woman mad at him. “You just tried to kill yourself, so I think we have to have this talk” Betsy didn’t seem bothered by his act and kept her nice, neutral facial expression, but unlike on his session looked worried too. or Neil wakes up in the hospital after his suicide attempt and has to face what he did.

tw: suicide attempt, tw: self harm, tw: blood

keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?) by phan_taloon [Rated M, 15415 Words, Complete, 2022, Locked]

Previously recced here

AU where Neil never met the Foxes, with a little less mafia and a little more pain for Neil when he ends up captured by Nathan for months, and has to deal with the consequences by himself. He ends up in treatment for chronic pain with opioids, and let's just say opioid use is tricky when you're alone and in pain; one thing can lead to another more easily than it seems.

tw: drug addiction, tw: drug overdose, tw: withdrawal, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: vomit

an acquired taste the asbestos is lovely by cyanica [Rated M, 6617 Words, Complete, 2024, Locked]

“What did you take?” Andrew demands. Neil wonders if Andrew will taste all that is wrong with Neil when he kisses him. He wonders if Andrew will recognize it. Andrew knows what it is to hurt himself, and this must be familiar. It’s deja vu, Neil thinks, if only a little bit worse, a little more terrible. Neil shakes his head, groaning into the toilet, “I don’t want to tell you.” Andrew pulls out his phone, and Neil can already hear it dialling when he says, “You can tell the paramedics.” Or; “Cigarettes,” Neil says. “I ate your cigarettes.”

tw: self harm, tw: overdose, tw: pica, tw: eating disorders, tw: vomit, tw: blood, tw: mental breakdown, tw: implied/referenced abuse

If it means protecting you (I’ll pay my dues) by Intangibel (duskbutterfly) [Rated T, 125462 Words, Incomplete, Updated April 2023]

Previously recced here

What if the threat of Aaron being charged with murder was more significant and Neil found out that he could prevent Andrew from having to be at the trial if he were to testify. What would he be willing to sacrifice to achieve that? What if instead of refusing to testify for Aaron, Neil decides to make a deal with the FBI to become their witness against his father if they’ll backstop his current identity. He thinks it means signing his death warrant and losing the Foxes. Betsy, Aaron and the Foxes are determined to convince him it doesn’t have to be all or nothing, his father’s people are coming for him and that’s not even starting on what Andrew will have to say about Neil choosing to martyr himself.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: child abuse, tw: torture, tw: blood, tw: scars, tw: vomit, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: homophobia, tw: conversion camp reference, tw: reenactment therapy with noncon

The Sun Still Rises by mordax [Rated E, 474451 Words, Incomplete, Updated Oct 2024]

Previously recced here

Somewhere on the road, Mary Hatford gets pregnant with her second child. When she passes, she leaves behind not only Neil, but his toddler brother. Survival is difficult without also raising a kid. Worn out and desperate, Neil still somehow ends up at Palmetto, only this time, he brings his four-year-old brother with him.

tw: violence, tw: anxiety, tw: panic attacks,  tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: drug use, tw: involuntary sedation, tw: reenactment therapy with noncon

NB: find fanart for this fic by @/elidanus on twitter here

Ain’t it fun by jemejem [Rated T (we say M) 30672 Words, Complete, 2018]

Neil can't sleep. Andrew can't feel. High school is going well for the both of them.

tw: homophobia, tw: mental breakdown, tw: anxiety, tw: depression, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: suicide attempt, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: scars, tw: ptsd, tw: psychological trauma, tw: flashbacks

I been here all along (so why can't you see?) by alexcherry [Rated G, 8691 Words, Complete, 2021]

Andrew leans on the counter beside Neil's thigh. "Where do you want to go, Josten? What favor do you need from me?" Neil looked at Andrew and steeled himself. "I want you to come with me to the next therapy session with Betsy posing as my boyfriend." "Like one," Andrew thought for a moment. "Couple therapy?" Neil perked up. "Yes! Exactly, and then we see how long it takes her to find out we're not connected at all."

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder

If You Need Shelter by AfraidOfBananas [Rated M, 2642 Words, Complete, 2021]

“The boy is staring at Neil with a startled expression like he’s just seen a ghost. Well, maybe he has. Neil hasn’t felt alive for a very long time.” Or.....Neil meets Andrew while he’s on the run

Family by BlueJay26 [Not Rated, 9420 Words, Complete, 2021, Locked]

The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. Three adults who certainly proved this was true, and their (sort of) children who realised a family isn't always linked by blood. Also known as, how Abby, Bee and Wymack earned their family's love and trust.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: internalized homophobia

Art

Abby and Betsy art by @rainbowd00dles 

Betsy 💕💕 art by @neroholik

Mom and Dad and Mom art by @llstarcasterll

Betsy and Abby 💖 art by @jeannemaybedarc

Betsy Dobson cosplay by @/toobeetofunction on instagram

@drbetsydobson instagram account/moodboard

[flippinpancakes64]

Could you write the Cullen's accidentally hurting their SO and how they would react?? (I alr know Jasper's is about to be so angsty lol)

The Cullens accidentally hurting their S/O

I've literally been rubbing my hands together like an evil villain waiting to do this request. I saw it in my inbox and had to hold myself back lol. And yes, I cannot resist the temptation to make Jasper suffer, so be prepared

Edit I got so carried away. If I had a word count on these it might be like 10k lol sorry not sorry

And thank you for this request! This was so much fun to write lol I hope you enjoy it!

Also quick note I might have channeled a bit too much inspiration from Saw or something cause I ended up getting a bit too into my descriptions of the injuries so

TW for graphic depictions of violence

Edward:

You really wanted to go to this concert

Edward knew that, so as a birthday gift he bought you two tickets

One for you and one for him of course

He drove you to the stadium, studying the songs he was going to be hearing later that night

He bought everything that you looked at

You basically had your own merch table

The night was going great

You both found your seats, you were happily eating some overpriced stadium food, and the show was about to start

When a guy stood directly in front of you

The bad part about floor seats is that there aren't seats

The guy was easily 6'6, towering above you even if you are taller

Reading your thoughts, Edward tapped the guy on the shoulder, asking him if he would kindly move or crouch or something

He just looked, rolled his eyes, and stared forward again

"Dude, my partner can't see the show. Please just move a little"

"Don't care. Not my problem."

Edward's getting pissed, and the guy can tell

"What, you wanna fucking fight? Square up rich boy."

"No I don't want to fight I just want you to move a little"

"Okay, then maybe your partner here will fight instead"

And the next thing you know, you see the guy's huge fist heading straight for your head

Before it can land, Edward's hand pushes on your chest, sending you back into the people behind you and ending with you flat on the ground

Your back aches from the impact, your neck torqued from where your head whipped, and your cheek stinging from landing on the side of your face

You feel Edward's chill hands on the sides of your face, and faintly you hear him ask something frantically

You groan in pain as you feel him pick you up, and finally succumb to sleep

You wake up in Carlisle's clinic, staring at the white ceiling

A cold hand is wrapped around yours, and when you turn your head, you're greeted with bright gold eyes

No words are exchanged for a moment before you clear your throat

"So... did you at least rock that guy's shit?"

He laughs and kisses you

Alice:

Alice was having a terrible week

She had been getting vision after vision, and none of them were true

Everything from a huge motor accident to what color shoes someone at school was going to wear

It was constant

She was running in circles, going somewhere, seeing a vision, turning around to go somewhere else, seeing a vision, turning again, and on and on

She was currently driving

Or more like swerving

All you needed were some damn glue sticks for a project you needed to do

But every time Alice decided on a new destination, a vision of a horrible catastrophe would enter her mind, and she would change her course

You had enough

"Alice! Enough of this! Just pull over and let me drive!"

"No! I need to know the safest route... ugh! Everywhere is dangerous!"

"Name one vision you've had in the past week that actually came true."

"Well I don't know if they would have come true or not because I didn't go to those places. And look! We are perfectly fine! Everyone is fine!"

"But I don't have all night, Alice! Just choose a fucking store and go there!"

"Fine."

And so she did. She chose the small supermarket right outside of town

She looked nervous as soon as she placed the car in park

But you ignored it and walked in

You walked through the aisles, looking for the one thing you came here for, when you hear Alice gasp behind you

In her mind, she sees you tripping and falling into a display of DVDs, cutting your arm on one of the metal frames holding them in place

And straight in your path is the DVD case

So naturally she tries to grab you

Only she doesn't grab you, she accidentally pushes

You don't fall in her vision, just like how you didn't fall in real life

She was the one who hurt you, pushed you

That was the problem

The reason why there was a horrible disaster everywhere she tried to go was because she was going to cause something one way or another

Only this is worse, because now it involves you

The DVDs scatter, and she hears your cry of pain as the sharp, crooked metal frame pierces the skin of your arm

She is by your side in a moment, scooping you up and not even bothering with the mess you both left behind

On the way home, you are trying to convince her that it's not that bad, but she is beside herself

After Carlisle's inspection, you get a couple of stitches in your right bicep, but other than that you're perfectly fine

And Alice doesn't leave your side

She is constantly fussing

Asking if you're okay, if you need anything, if you're mad at her, if you want to leave her, if you blame her

But after you go to sleep and she watches over your peaceful form, she convinces herself that you're alright

Jasper:

It was spring break and the Cullens decided to go to one of Carlisle's many tropical properties

It was the third day of the trip, everybody went to do their own things

Alice, Esme, and Rosalie went into town to go souvenir shopping

They dragged Emmett along to be their personal bag carrier

Edward and Bella were down at the private beach that came with the property, enjoying the sun and relaxing

That left you, Jasper, and Carlisle

The three of you were at the attached pool on the house

Carlisle was marinating in the hot tub, sunglasses on and a book in his hands

You and Jasper were in the pool doing anything and everything

Diving, jumping, swimming, racing (he always won), and messing with the pool toys

You had just climbed up the stairs to get out of the pool again, intending on showing Jasper your graceful canonball

But he noticed you were walking a bit too fast

He saw you trip, and like slow motion he sprang out of the water to save you

Only he didn't

His arms wrapped around your middle, saving you from a possible twisted ankle or scraped knee or bruised butt

But that didn't stop the back of your head from smacking onto the concrete

White hot pain erupted behind your eyes and knocked you out instantly

Your blood began to seep onto the wet floor beneath you, and he couldn't help himself

Carlisle heard everything and got up immediately

But he didn't get there in time to stop Jasper from wrapping his mouth around your throat and biting down

In a flash Carlisle threw Jasper up and off of you, rocketing him into the water, and scooped you up to run inside

You awoke some hours later, a throbbing in your head and a dull pain in your neck

The beep of a heart monitor was all you heard

Looking around, you were in the room you shared with Jasper, where just the night before you wrapped around his cold body and drifted to sleep

Only he was nowhere to be seen

Carlisle came to check on you, and he told you what happened

"Where is he? Where's Jasper?"

"... He... left."

"What do you mean he left?"

"He almost killed you. He would have killed you if I wasn't there. He feels terrible- no. Terrible isn't strong enough of a word."

It takes Emmett and Edward tracking him down and dragging him home for you to see him again

And even then he insists on Edward and Emmett holding his arms in case he were to try anything

He looks so broken

Muted red eyes, golden blonde hair shooting in every direction, the same swim trunks he had been wearing that day were covered in dirt and blood- presumably yours

And his face

He looked on the verge of tears, he would have been crying if he could

If the dry heaves coming from deep in his chest were any indication

He flinches when you take his face in your hands, trying to get away, not wanting to hurt you more

But when he kisses you, he remembers why he tries so hard to be good in the first place

Rosalie:

You had been asking Rosalie for WEEKS if she would pleeeeeeease take you hunting with her

And she had been turning you down for weeks

It's a very gross, animalistic process that she, quite frankly, doesn't want you to see

But she loves you

And she is only so strong

So after so many begs, pleads, and puppy dog eyes, she caves

She decides to make it a cute little weekend trip

Taking you to one of Carlisle's properties farther north into the snowy mountain region

You settle in to the spacious cabin and Rosalie makes sure you're all bundled up in luxurious furs and warm scarves before you both venture into the wilderness

She explains what she's doing step-by-step while she sniffs the air, searching for her prey

A wolf because she's part of the "Fuck Jacob" team

She sits you in a clearing and tells you to stay in place while she finds her wolf

You do, finding a snowy log and brushing it off to sit on

She ventures into the forest, eventually finding a suitable wolf and beginning her hunt

Chasing the wolf, being chased by the wolf, until she eventually leads it to your clearing

She knows you'll love the theatrics of seeing her kill it in live action

She chases the beast all the way until it's about to clear the tree line before she pounces

She can imagine herself from your point of view

Bright, shiny skin, flowing hair, posed in midair, and finally coming down gracefully upon her prize

Except she doesn't

The wolf takes a quick turn at the last moment, sending her flying straight into you

There's not much she can do while suspended in flight, and it happens too fast for you to recognize

In an instant her whole body slams into you at full force, knocking both of you onto the powdery ground below

The grunt of pain you let out is excruciating

She rolls off of you quickly, holding onto you, asking if you're okay, if you're hurt

You try to put on a brave face, but when you move your left arm in an attempt to prop yourself up, you find you can't move it

Broken. Completely snapped. And you scream

She paces in Carlisle's home clinic while he puts your cast on, worried out of her mind

But when Carlisle opens the door and she sees you sitting on the table with a goofy grin and a bright red cast, she can't help but relax

"You said red was your favorite color, right?"

And she just kisses you

Emmett:

You'd been dating Emmett for a while now, and had decided it was time for him to meet your family

And what better time and place for a first meeting than your nephew's fourth birthday party?

It was the middle of August, and the sun was hot

The icing was melting off of the cake as it sat on the food table

All of the adults were drinking margaritas and the kids had decided to play with the water balloons to cool off

Your uncle and Emmett were filling up the balloons as all of the kids at the party talked excitedly

You laughed as your nephew came up to you and asked you to be on his team for the fight

Of course you couldn't say no

And of course, to even the playing field, the other team got to have your human tank of a boyfriend

Very even

Emmett just smirked at you as your uncle assumed his place as the referee and commenced the battle

Pink, blue, green, yellow, and red balloons were flying like crazy

Small party hats were knocked off of even smaller heads

The giggles of 20 little kids rang loud in the air as water spurted all over the grassy lawn

And you took your chance to pelt your boyfriend as hard as you could

His light blue shirt was soaked, and his khaki shorts had a huge wet spot on the front

You were doubled over in laughter at the sight of your scary boyfriend covered in little pieces of rubber, with one particularly large piece hanging off of his ear

But he hadn't thrown any at you yet

"Come on, big guy! Don't be a wussy!"

"Oh you asked for it now!"

You saw him grab a little pink water balloon, it looking even smaller in his hand, and he threw it straight at your head

You briefly wonder if he filled his balloon with cement

The next thing you know you're laying in bed, an ice pack perched on your forehead

"Oh my god, you're awake. I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't mean to, you know how I get out of control sometimes. Not that that's an excuse! I'm just trying to explain-"

You cut him off with a finger to his lips

"Shush... .'m tired"

And so he just lets you sleep the rest of the night, his hand in yours the whole time

Esme:

Frankly, she doesn't know why you asked for her help

The Cullens had just moved into their newest house, and everything was set for the "kids" to join the local highschool the next day

You wanted a new look

"New place, new people, new me" you had said

She understood that much

But when you approached her one night with a box of hair bleach and a pleading look on your face, she was lost

Why her? Why not Alice or Rosalie? Or- and hear me out- a professional? They had the money

But you wanted to do it yourself. But not actually yourself For some reason you wanted Esme to do it

And even though she didn't understand, she still agreed

So that's how she found herself closely studying the instructions on the back of the little box telling her what to mix and where

"What's taking so long?"

"Hold on... ugh! This thing doesn't make any sense!"

"It's okay I'm sure it's super simple. I mean they give you all of the stuff. Just mix it all together and slap it on my head!"

Bad idea

She mixes everything together just like you asked, and plops a big lump of it onto the crown of your head

Instantly your hair starts smoking

You scream, asking her to take it off

And she tries, but it's not working

Carlisle to the rescue once more

She is so apologetic

She feels so bad that she hurt you so much

And at least you did get that new look you wanted

Shaved-to-the-skin bald

Carlisle:

He was feeling a bit cooped up

He loves his family, and he loves his life in the Americas, but sometimes he misses traveling and his old friends

So he decided to take you with him to Europe to see some old pals

Not the Volturi obviously

But some other acquaintances he hadn't seen for a while

You were a month into the three-month trip Carlisle had planned

You'd visited Italy, Greece, Spain, France, Britain, and were on your way to Germany

This next friend you were on your way to visit was a man named Friedrich Hans

Carlisle spoke passively about him, nothing positive or negative

He was one of the ones he hadn't been able to contact beforehand about visiting

He wasn't even sure if Friedrich was still alive, or if he even lived in Germany

He wasn't betting on either, but he still figured he would try a visit

The taxi pulled up in front of an unassuming house on a busy street in Berlin, painted a light grey with black paneling around the windows and doors

Carlisle opened your door for you, extending a hand to help you out

He walked with you to the door, rapping his knuckles against the solid wood

Instantly it creaked open and a voice inside whispered "Perfect" before a pale, veiny hand reached out and grabbed your arm

You yelled for it to let you go, begging Carlisle for some help

He grabbed you around the waist with one arm, using the other to try to pry the man's hand from your wrist

The opposing forces splintered on your bones and a sickening crack ran through your arm

Your hand fell limp and Carlisle was finally able to pry you away from the force in the house

"Ah... Carlisle... old friend"

"Old friend? You just tried to kill my S/O!"

"S/O... you always were a weird one Mr. Cullen... sincerest apologies... come in for chat?"

"No thank you, I believe we will be taking our leave now."

And with that he rushed you to the nearest hospital

He didn't have his medical equipment, so he just pretended to not know German so they wouldn't ask questions about how you broke your wrist

He cuts the trip short then and there

He sends letters to all of his friends that he wasn't able to visit, explaining that something urgent came up

He is so apologetic for the weeks afterward

He is convinced it was his fault even though it wasn't

He doesn't relax until your cast is off btw

Vampire! Bella:

Since she's so new to the vampire life, she doesn't know her own limits yet

She has hurt you a lot in the past

All accidents of course

Hugging you too hard, punching you playfully on the shoulder, telling you to catch something and literally lobbing it as hard as she can

She always feels terrible afterwards

But the worst was the time you took her bowling

It was 10 am on a Tuesday and there was no one at the bowling alley

Not even the competitive grandmas and grandpas in their bowling leagues

The only other person in the building was the bored looking cashier who wasn't even trying to hide that he was on his phone behind the counter

You both took your time to pick your balls, trying out all of the ones on the rack to see your best fits

You laced up your ugly shoes, input your names on the scoreboard screen and off you went

It was fun for the first couple of turns

Until the ball return does that stupid thing where it doesn't actually return your ball

It's your turn, and you're standing at the ball return tapping your foot restlessly waiting for it to show up

"You know, you can just use mine"

Bella stands up and grabs the ball she chose

The resin was a beautiful mix of black, purple, and pink with some reflective glitter sprinkled throughout

It's so gorgeous that you don't even check the weight

You hold out your hands to take it and it just drops straight through

And directly onto your foot

You let out a loud scream and try to move, but the ball won't roll off of your foot

Bella starts panicking, asking what she should do, scrambling around until eventually she picks up the ball and throws it onto the ground behind her

Maybe she forgot that the cashier was there, or maybe she didn't care, but she picked you up and started sprinting at full speed back to the Cullen house

She even left the car at the alley smh

On the verge of inconsolable

She is so frustrated that she can't learn to control herself

Doesn't leave your side tho

Note: Just for shits and gigs I timed how long this took me

Started at 12:01 am

Jasper done at 12:21 am

Edward done at 12:40 am

Alice done at 12:56 am

Rosalie done at 1:19 am

Emmett done at 1:33 am

Esme done at 1:44 am

Carlisle done at 2:03 am

Bella done at 2:16 am

Total time 2 hrs 15 mins

[fruitedsnack]

Having very serious thoughts about the Aphmau multiverse rn.

Also hey! If ur interested in reading abt this scene I drew from my MCD rewrite, that’s below the cut ! :>

Small TW: child abuse (not graphically depicted, just mentioned), religious trauma, fire, injuries

This is a scene from my MCD rewrite I’ve been working on. Basically in my rewrite Aphmau is a bastard child between a Lords wife and millers husband. The lords wife carried out the pregnancy in secret and in shame, and when she was born abandoned her on the steps of a convent where she was taken in and raised by nuns. Aphmau in my au has retained some memories and feelings from being reincarnated thousands of times over as Irene. She talked about this but because reincarnation is blasphemous she is mistreated and misunderstood by the other children and the nuns. She feels connected to Irene, but disagrees with the church itself. After years of mistreatment, she finally escapes the convent at about 20-21.

Zane is the first person she ever sees outside of her convent. After escaping to a nearby town, she finds it nearly leveled by flames, in the wreckage is Zane searching for an Apostate he’d leveled the town looking for. Immediately he recognizes her as a descendant of Irene (not yet realizing not only that but literally shares a soul with Irene) and attempts to return her to her convent, and essentially force her to be a nun. She’s badly injured, and has just picked up a weapon for the first time, so she’s pretty defenseless. But at the last minute before he can return her she has a surge of magic leaving her with strange black marks, running off into the woods.

Then from there she ends up at the steps of the guard tower in Phoenix Drop, badly injured, severely traumatized, and in a horrible state of shock. That’s where Garroth takes her in, and gets her back to health. I could rant a little bit more, but that’s all that I wanted to say. Anyways I was feeling insipired so I made this. Though if you’re interested hearing more about my Aphmau rewrite, feel free to drop anything in my ask box. Or if u have any suggestions! Always working on stuff like that.

[springbandit]

"What is a man without his work?" he asked, genuine in his belief that his creations were the beginning and ending of his entire worth. "Automatons are the future of humanity, Edgar. You're just too blind to see it. But I, I will be amongst them. Leading them, even." This was nonsense at almost every level. William's skills, though genius for their time, were all but redundant as technology had advanced, leaving electromechanical engineering in a very niche and specific spot. The digital age was replacing the physical, William having even confessed to having garnered outside help to programme Fortified Foxy. "They are my children. A part of me. Created from my own hard work, flesh and blood. They won't deny me my rewards." His words were more true than he was even aware. His firstborn, his beloved Spring Bonnie, now sharing flesh and organ with its doting creator. Though, had he the ability to check his body and notice this, it may not have displeased him. "What's in the box? Is it...? Is it his head?" he took the box into his hands, caring precious little for the caution his tethered hand required. "Have the rest of him brought to me, won't you? But, I suppose I can wait if I have this."

@lcvenderhcze

"DON'T TAKE THIS PERSONALLY, BUT .. YOU'RE QUITE FOCUSED ON YOUR WORK, ARE YOU NOT? EVEN IN THE PAST? EVER SINCE I'VE MET YOU.. IT'S ALL THAT YOU CHOOSE TO TALK ABOUT." which.. well, edgar himself couldn't say that much about it but then again? it was also not something that he wanted to think about right now. work? had to come second until pederson was dealt with. "certainly will, my friend. would you like for me to bring you one of my books that i've written in the past about my work to keep you entertained?" he was only slightly joking. those were boring and outdated and perhaps, he'd have to focus on writing something new. wouldn't he? yes. "ah," the nurse finally returned, giving him the box that he had asked for. "here it is. inside." @springbandit

[thornsssdoodles]

TRIGGER WARNING: BLOOD, GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF INJURIES, MENTIONS OF DEATH

Now, when the reader is warned i can show the mini-comic i made for st.valentines day :)

now that i think about it i should have put "narinder now speaks shakespearian" in tw

skipping english classes was a mistake.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 12.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.6k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, death any tw's and cw's will be added to chapters with them in it.

story playlist

Shera’s head pounds, laden with rocks and gravel as if she were resting at the bottom of a creek. Joints cracking and aching, she sits up. 

She doesn’t recognize where she is, only smelling the salt air and the distant crash of the tides. Her mouth is dry, sticky with a cloyingly sweet flavor. “Mhh,” she groans, vision blurred more than usual, throat tight. 

“You’re awake,” a taunting voice observes. “Good.” 

It takes her a few moments to match the voice to Prince Daemon— her situation going from bad to worse. 

She must’ve made a putrid expression, as the rogue prince gave a chuckle. “Am I that off putting, Lady Stark?” 

She continues to grumble, unable to form words yet— she remembers being hit in the throat particularly hard, rendering her voiceless and silent at the time of her capture. “W… wh,” she breathes, lifting her head to glare at the blurry figure of Daemon. “Wh… y…” 

“Why?” he asks, tilting his head. “I did you a favor, rescuing you from the usurper’s halls. I’m sure that Otto Hightower would’ve had you wedded and bedded with his one-eyed grandchild at a moment’s notice if he thought that your brother might waver to his side.” 

“I… didn’t…” she grasped at words, the ability to speak fleeting, like birds spooked from a windowsill. “I don’t…. w-want…” 

“Don’t strain yourself now,” Daemon chided, scolding her like a child. He watched her for a bit longer, seeming to take in each minute detail of her face. “Nasty scar that,” he gestured to her eye. “Baela didn’t seem to have as good of an aim as Lucerys. At least my nephew’s injury was swift work, taking out the eye entirely,” he was closer now, brow perked. He unsheathed his dagger, embossed in swirling depictions of scales and dragon wings, and began to cut a strip of fabric from the blanket upon the bed.

Shera watched him in blurred confusion, backing herself up against the headboard, trying to be small— mayhaps if she was small, she would disappear. 

The prince offered the fabric to her. “To cover it up— ‘tis a ghastly sight, as you seem to know from your usual garb. I’m sure we’ll have some more… suitable dregs for you soon enough.” 

Her eyes flicked between the fabric and his hand, back and forth. Something in her blood welled to the surface as she leaned forward to grab the cloth. It was a feral rage, something ancient swirling in the pit of her stomach as she lurched forward, sinking her teeth into the soft of Daemon’s wrist. 

She tasted his blood, her nails scratching at any exposed skin she could grasp. Her senses darkened as she heard his far away voice, saying words she didn’t understand, yelling at her, pushing her off. 

The back of his hand met her face as she landed back against the headboard once more, chest heaving. She spit at him, body shaking with rage and adrenaline. “Your blood… t-tastes… like shit.” she cursed him, spatting his foul copper ichor back at him. 

He was enraged, she could tell, feeling a similar dragon-esque heat emanating off of him. A small part of her sobbed, deep within the recesses of her mind— it reminded her of Aemond, even if only for a moment. 

And yet, despite Daemon’s rage, he retained some sort of manic lightness in his eyes, even as he was bleeding, teeth marks indented onto his skin. He stared at her with a morbid interest, as if she was some type of animal he had never seen before, never encountered so close— and in captivity.

It was a blur as the maester walked in and lifted a cool liquid to her lips, tasting of that same saccharine sweet that filled her mouth when she awoke. It was undoubtedly an attempt to subdue her. She drank it gladly, wanting nothing more than to be asleep again. Mayhaps she would dream of Aemond. Mayhaps she would never need to wake and could dream forever. 

As her consciousness faded again, she never once broke the locked stare between her and the prince until her body gave out. 

If he ever got that close to her again, she would love nothing more than to sink her teeth into his neck, maybe even sinking her nails into his eyes. 

She would dream of ways to kill him, surely.

— 

He hasn’t been granted a marble yet— not even an official title for his seat has been bestowed. And yet, he is there, sitting at the head of the table across from the King. 

It had been ten days since Shera was taken, six days since the Velaryon fleet enforced its blockade upon King’s Landing, and four days since court had been held in the throne room to hear concerns from the smallfolk and lesser lords. 

Days upon days of doing nothing— of doing diplomacy as Aegon had put it, to parrot the words from Otto’s mouth. Aemond rolled his eye at the sentiment, knowing he would have this war snuffed out in a moment’s notice. 

Our house’s words are Fire and Blood, are they not? And yet we are nothing more than simpering whelps— for the sake of diplomacy. Aemond suppressed a scoff as Tyland Lannister spoke about the costly nature of the blockade. He could only think, mayhaps Shera would be proud of his restraint in holding his tongue. 

The thought brought a small bit of warmth to the tips of his ears, suddenly grateful for his hair covering them.

Aegon twirls his yellow and pink tinged marble in its circular setting, seemingly bored with the conversation at hand, his eyes set upon the marble as one council member or other continues to drone.

“… the shipments have been delayed due to the Sea Snake’s blockade…”

“… the shepherds are asking for compensation for their sheep being taken…” 

Aemond’s ears begin to ring— a high pitched, ugly, grating sound, drowning out the noise. He looks down at his fist on the table as it flexes and relaxes, the tendons and ligaments snapping and mending back into place like a taut bowstring. All this time of doing nothing, nothing, nothing— 

“Well,” Aegon’s voice snapped through his fog, effectively cutting off whomever was speaking. “I believe I have a plan that will solve all of these… predicaments.” he clasped his hands together with a self-assured smile. 

Otto visibly tensed, sprouting another proverbial gray hair. “Do share, your grace.” 

“You have dragonriders on your side, with very capable dragons. I don’t see why we don’t dissolve the blockade with fire.” 

“I will assume you are speaking of you and Aemond,” the hand spoke, his tone light. “The princess’ side has many dragons as well— what is stopping them from attacking King’s Landing while our two capable dragons are traipsing in the bay?” 

“You’re correct in your sentiment, grandsire. My half-sister’s army consists of more dragons than we— but most are babes or hardly fledglings,” Aegon drawled, looking down at the marble. “You are also discounting that we have another capable dragon and dragonrider. Do you forget your Queen’s dragon so easily?” 

There was a palpable silence in the room as Otto stared at the King. “Helaena is… she is no warrior.”

“She is no more a warrior than Rhaenyra is, than any of us are— but she does know how to say ‘Dracarys’, if I recall. Dreamfyre is large enough to defend the city while Aemond and I are gone on our quick incursion. I don’t believe I need to remind you of the speed at which dragon travel differs from horse travel, grandsire.” Aegon hummed now, seemingly pleased with himself. 

“Even so— it is incredibly reckless for you to be out. You are the king, not some paltry foot soldier,” Otto’s calm demeanor was shedding slowly, irritation bleeding into his words. “It doesn’t bode well for a king to fight so openly.” 

“Nor does it bode well for me and mine to sit and hide here and let paltry foot soldiers die in the masses when we could end it before sundown. I fear you won’t persuade us otherwise, lord hand,” Aegon stood up, pushing his chair back. “In fact, we will even return before you pass your evening constitution, grandsire. Does your privy have a good view of the Blackwater?” 

The Hand turned to his younger grandson, who’s single eyed gaze met him in kind. “Aemond? Do you believe this wise, as well?” 

Aemond didn’t move an inch, merely glazing over Aegon’s smug expression before returning to Otto. “I would not be so capricious as to challenge the king’s wishes, grandsire. I shall do as he commands and nothing less. The blockade needs to be eradicated— all of our diplomatic approaches have been exhausted. As his grace said, it shall be ended swiftly before Dragonstone hears a word of us even mounting our dragons.”

A cold chill befell the council room as Otto let out a tempered breath. There was a vein bulging at his temple, coupled with a myriad of new gray hairs. His expression could only be described as regret, for he is a tower cornered by two fire hungry dragons. “Very well. Rid the bay of the blockade and nothing more.” 

Soon enough, the chamber cleared. All that remained were Aemond, Aegon and Otto, the latter of whom waited until the door closed to speak. “You’re both being incredibly reckless. I expected this from you, Aegon— but Aemond, you are better than this. You have more restraint, more patience.”

The king wilted ever so slightly at the admonishment, turning towards the open window with his goblet. He remained silent. 

Aemond, however, stayed sitting. His leg was propped up against the table, one hand tracing the deep engraved ridges of the pommel of his sword. “Patience,” he echoed his grandsire’s words, mulling over the meaning of it. “Restraint,” the prince continued, finally looking back up at Otto. “I indeed have those qualities in spades, to some extent. But, patience is like an hourglass. The sand dwindles, granule by granule until there is nothing left. I am reaching my limit, becoming bereft of such patience, sitting here on my hands for days upon days. We are ready to do something.” 

Otto’s brow knit together as he observed his second youngest grandchild— a man grown now, always studious and hardworking, a true shining example of a prince. It was a perfect illusion, adept at fooling those who didn’t look deeper. A single crack at the surface reveals a fathomless gaping hole could be seen, leading to molten fire and an adept ability to not be swayed, not to be controlled by someone else. 

This is the first time Otto Hightower realizes how dangerous his grandson had become— and how much he was reminded of a certain rogue. 

Swallowing softly, the hand nods. “Do what you think is wise, Aemond.” 

—

The wolf still follows him, like a mangy shadow. Aemond didn’t care for the animal, but couldn’t bear sending him off somewhere else. 

Moongeist would let out a warbling whine each time they passed the corridor that led to Shera’s guest chambers, glancing down the hallway to see if she might be there, before padding to catch up with Aemond, who wouldn’t permit the wolf into his room. 

Aemond, admittedly, had done the same a few times, having to will himself to not venture to the guest quarters. His breath would catch if he saw a blur of auburn hair somewhere in a crowd, he would smell her scent of lavender and rosemary in the oddest of places. It felt like she was haunting him, her ghost steeping into every facet of his life.

But she wasn’t dead— was she? 

That was the ever clouding thought on his mind. He just wished to know if she was alive— even Lord Larys Strong, a man known to have his fingers and eyes in many places of Westeros, couldn’t catch a bead on Shera’s whereabouts. That in itself was disconcerting to Aemond. 

His gaze was glazed over as he knocked upon Helaena’s door, stepping in without a word or greeting to her handmaiden. The wolf, of course, followed. 

“I was wondering when you would visit today,” Helaena murmured, kneeling at one of the tables in her solar. She was fiddling with wooden cages fashioned for her crickets, facing away from Aemond. “Maelor will be happy to play with Moongeist, I’m sure,” she paused and murmured softly to herself. “The vines are overgrown, they strangled a green dragonfly just this morn…” 

The mention of the cherubic toddler caused Moongeist’s ears to perk up, his tail giving a small wag. Finally breaking away from the invisible chain that held him to Aemond, the wolf walked over towards the doorway of the nursery and took a seat, waiting patiently for the arrival of Maelor, who undoubtedly was taking an afternoon nap. 

“This one has been very quiet lately,” Helaena continued, bringing up one of the cages closer to her face, lips tugging into a frown. “Do you think it’s lonely?” 

Aemond walked to his sister, leaning down ever so slightly to observe the silent cricket. “Mayhaps,” he replied, hands behind his back. “Do crickets get lonely?” 

“Sometimes. They get lonely when no one listens to their song, so they stop singing. What would be the point to sing if no one can hear it?” she ponders, giving the cricket one last look over before putting the enclosure back on the table. “How are you feeling as of late, brother?” 

He was caught somewhat off guard by her question— it wasn’t usual in their family, perhaps even society itself, to ask something so directly. It took him a few moments to answer. “Fine. I am feeling fine.” his words were plain, hollow. 

“I miss her too,” Helaena responded, sitting up and straightening out her skirts. “It isn’t your fault, Aemond.” 

Aemond peered at his sister, hands finally unclasping from behind his back. His shoulders slumped for the first time in days, the muscles previously strung taut like thread on a loom. He couldn’t say anything for a long moment, brow furrowed. “I…” he cleared his throat, feeling more vulnerable at this moment than he would like to. It felt as if he was belly up, soft innards ripe for the slaughter. “It is my fault. I faltered in a time of weakness.” 

“Love isn’t a weakness. We all must love.” 

“Love— love is a… weakness. I allowed for one sliver of something good, I indulged when I should have starved. Look what it has gotten me, gotten us,” he continued, cracking a finger with each inflection. He needed to be doing something, anything rather than to be still. To be still, to be at peace, is to lie down and die. “I won’t make another mistake.” 

“You’re just like mother in that way,” Helaena sighed softly, taking her brother’s hands in her own to stop his incessant fidgeting. “You both have such a staunch code of what you think you deserve. All goodness is an illusion— a trick,” she squeezed his palms. “You deserve much and more.” 

His eye glazed over for a moment as he savored the feeling of Helaena’s hands in his own. He hadn’t been touched by another human being since Shera had gone— he would never let anyone else get so close. Aemond’s throat bobbed, mouth opening to say something, but the steel within him cut it off. 

Helaena felt this, letting go with a nod. “I think today is a good day for flying, don’t you think?” she began to hum again as she looked to the open window that overlooked the bay.

It had been a while since Aemond had left her chambers, leaving her to get on her riding leathers. She didn’t prefer wearing them, as beautiful as they were– she would opt for her regular dress and mayhaps some long pants to prevent chafing. The leathers felt restraining and tight, when all she wanted was to be free and to fly. 

Maelor giggled in the background as he played with Moongeist, who was gentle for such a large beast. But, it didn’t surprise Helaena in the slightest. The wolf was imbued with Shera’s soft sense of humanity, the thought of it making the queen’s heart ache. If she were more fierce, more brave, more fire blooded, she would go to Dragonstone herself and negotiate for her release. But where Aemond’s blood was molten fury, untethered and unpredictable, her veins were full of dreams and predictability. 

She knows that negotiating wouldn’t work, nor would burning down the island. Shera’s escape comes in the means of green dragonflies and barn owls.

“Will you watch him?” she asks Moongeist, who lifts his muzzle to lick her open palm as she approaches. Maelor is laying atop him, arms wrapped around the wolf’s torso as he sleeps, using the poor beast as a makeshift bed. He does not seem to mind though. “He isn’t like the twins. He’s more fragile, you see. The maesters say his heart is bad– how can that be possible? He is just a boy, never doing a bad thing in his life. He is pure of heart, you know that.” 

The wolf’s amber eyes blinked slowly as he gave a small chuffing sound in response. The wolf had attached himself to the toddler since they met, Maelor second to only Shera herself. Now with Shera gone, Moongeist likely felt the same amount of shame Aemond did, if not more. He couldn’t protect his master and she was taken– as much as he tried, as much as he fought, it wasn’t enough to save her. He favored Maelor now, perhaps because he reminded the wolf of Shera, and perhaps he likened himself to protect the little toddler with an irregular heartbeat.

Helaena leaned down and kissed Maelor on his head, then Moongeist between his ears before slipping out of her solar, off to the Dragonpit.

— 

He threw his leg over the saddle, not quite buckled in yet. Vhagar doesn’t rest in the Dragonpit any longer, opting for a craggy shore near the bay. She grumbles, lamenting softly at being awoken. Aemond thinks her akin to an old cat nowadays, opting more to nap than to burn and conquer like she did in days of old. He almost felt bad to disturb her, a gloved hand patting the exposed scale above the saddle. 

“Just burn a few boats, Vhagar, then we shall rest on the cliffs,” he murmured as they took flight, skimming low above the roiling waves. It took Vhagar longer to climb in altitude, but soon enough, they were looking at King’s Landing from the clouds. Her mass blotted out the sun temporarily, casting a shadow over the sprawling city. Even through the dim, a glint of gold caught his eye. 

Sunfyre, with Aegon atop, raced through the sky like a whizzing bee. The king’s dragon was young, hatching as an egg in the cradle, an admittedly gorgeous golden and pink whelpling. Aemond could remember the jealousy he felt at his brother’s bond with his dragon. Aegon had loose ties to many humans of the world– his nature wasn’t made for forging meaningful relationships, as much as he tried. Apart from his children, as well as a confusing relationship with his sister-wife, he was bereft in anything beyond that. 

But, Sunfyre was different. In many ways, the golden dragon reminded Aemond more of a giant dog than a fearsome beast. He was keen on giving and being given affection and was quite pompous, puffing out his chest to Dreamfyre and giving mewling coos when the she-dragon was in his vicinity. Aegon spoke to Sunfyre in broken High Valyrian, mostly opting to speak in the common tongue– the way the dragon learned to understand Westerosi and anything Aegon seemed to say was beyond Aemond. The bond between Targaryen and dragon was bound in ancient magic, but the bond between the king and his mount was even more so– supernatural, even. 

The golden beast lingered a good length away from Vhagar, knowing that she was in a testy and irritable mood. The two dragons seemed to converse, Sunfyre giving trilling whistles, while Vhagar returned in low grumbles. 

“Your old lady is upsetting my boy, Aemond,” Aegon laughed, head thrown back. He was always in his best moods in the sky– they all were. 

“Tell your boy to leave Vhagar alone, I know he must be spewing obscenities at her. You two are alike in that way,” Aemond bit back, the bite in his voice in more of a teasing manner. Aegon wouldn’t get a smile out of him, though. 

A low trill of a third dragon broke through the clouds above them, the cerulean and opalescent sheen of Dreamfyre parting from the blue in the sky as if she were invisible previously. Helaena atop her dragon, waved to them with a wide smile. 

“Seven hells, Helaena,” Aegon and Sunfyre reeled almost in unison at the sudden appearance of the duo. “How did you get above us? You hadn’t even left the pit when we took off!” 

“Camouflage, brother. Dreamfyre blends into the sky at this time of day so well, doesn’t she?” Helaena preened, hands off the reins and resting behind her head. She was always so carefree when riding, especially since Dreamfyre was one of the most steady flyers. When the twins were still little babes, Helaena swaddled them both to her chest and flew, much to Alicent’s absolute horror. They slept soundly against her breast, not disturbed by the movements of dragonflight in the slightest.

“Are we all prepared, then?” Aemond cut in, getting straight to business. “Helaena?” 

“Yes, we shall skim the clouds and keep an eye on the horizon. There aren’t many bugs this high… too cold for them,” she hummed, clad in her deep turquoise colored riding leathers. It was imprinted with embroidery of dragonflies, coupled with a matching engraving on the front of Dreamfyre’s saddle. 

Aemond nodded, not waiting for his brother to answer before he set off towards the bay, knowing he and his fast golden beast would be in tow. 

The Velaryon fleet laid beyond the outcast of the Blackwater, barely floating above the skyline. There were approximately twenty ships encircling and blocking entrance to the harbor. It was a bold move on their part, to taunt the King and his family so openly, in their own waters. Aemond sneered slightly as arrows were notched and released to no avail— Vhagar’s skin was as tough as armor to the pitiful splinters they let forth, and Sunfyre was much too swift to even be nicked. 

The two brothers made quick work of the blockade, blessing the boats in fire and watching them sink to the bottom of the sea. They met in the middle, lines of inferno mingling together. 

“Now we’re clear for the second bit?” Aegon yelled, eyes squinting from the ashes blowing in the wind. 

Aemond nodded, waving his arm towards the north. Decidedly, to the next part of their plan— a bit they did not reveal to the council nor their grandsire. It was something only shared between the three siblings and their dragons. 

They continued northward, the tailwind carrying them towards Dragonstone. 

–

It’s light, the luminosity of the sun reflecting off of the water. The lake was so large, the largest Shera had ever seen, she couldn’t even see the end of the opposite side. The waves were calm, lapping at her bare feet as they sunk into the soft sandy clay sediment that made up the shore. It was very different to the pebbled beach of the Blackwater, and the muddy, reedy embankments of northern lakes.

The air is still, quiet, her hair ruffling only when a dragonfly races past her, then circling back and hovering in front of her face. It is a green color, iridescent in its hue as the rays hit its thorax.

“Hello,” she whispers, greeting the bug like she does with all insects; a habit picked up from Helaena. She lifts her hand, finger perked. It lands on her pointer finger, impossibly fast wings coming to a resting speed. 

But then, it’s spooked by a gust of wind from behind them, fleeing off into the atmosphere. Watching it leave sparks an unexpected feeling of hurt deep within her chest. 

As she turns, she sees him— dressed in the traditional robes of Old Valyria. A garment of beige, steeped in red ochre at the ends. It is tied taut to his chest, a sanguine ichor dripping from his shoulders. His hair is down, his eyepatch forgotten, a pleasant smile lives on his face— one reserved just for her, just for them in this moment. Aemond’s hand extends, his palm eerily cold against her own.

Red leaves fall from the weirwood above them as a woman recites something. Her voice is garbled and as Shera tries to look upon her, a shadow is cast upon her features. Only her long, dark hair and the glint of a green eye is visible as she speaks in a manner of tongue Shera’s never heard before. The language feels… old, primal even, as it tugs at the very roots of her soul. 

Aemond palms her face, parting her lips ever so slightly with his thumb. She feels the cool shard of dragonglass pressed to her skin as it slices into her— barely a prick, blood beading at the surface. He offers her the knife, a shaky hand doing the same to him in turn. Bloody lip against bloody lip, the tang of copper satisfying the need of the Old Gods. 

Shera turns to look at the woman again— but she is gone, only a flitting feather remaining in her place. Her brow knits in confusion, head feeling airy and full of cotton. 

Aemond distracts her from her worries, murmuring slurred words in her ear. She is unable to discern what he is saying, a high pitched ringing drowning out the sound. 

“Ae—mond,” she whispers, clutching at his tunic, the red ochre staining her finger tips. “Aemond, Aemond.” 

He keeps speaking, but none of it makes sense. He still has that pleasant smile upon his face, his lip continuing to drip a steady stream of ichor. 

Splat. Drip. Splat. 

Droplets of blood spatter to the ground, overtaking any and every thought Shera had— it was all she could hear now. Her mouth is full of bile and viscera as the world around her changes. It darkens, castle walls enclosing around her lit only by a few candles. 

She feels the heavy burden of a cloak around her shoulders as a cup of wine is brought to her lips, her arm intertwined with another. 

“In the sight of the Old Gods and the New,” a gravelly voice spoke. “I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for all eternity.” 

The wine feels like putrid spew as it’s tipped into her mouth, trickling down her throat. The arm laced with hers gives her a reassuring squeeze— and just for a moment, she looks to see him, to see Aemond. 

Except it is not Aemond. It never was Aemond. 

Jacaerys looks back down at her, brown eyes dilated into complete darkness. He is as sad as she is, it seems. 

“The union of Jacaerys Velaryon and Shera Stark is now absolute, in every respect. They are wed in the eyes of the Old Gods and the new.” a man speaks, his voice infallible with authority.