#v: bloody surrender

[toomanydamnmuses]

@bleachbrainrotbro

Well. This is certainly inconvenient. The senkaimon to take him to the world of the living has taken him...

Well, not where it was supposed to. He can tell from the energy signatures around him that he is certainly within a realm of the living. But given the variety of... beings around him, he is given reason to believe that this is not the one to which he is semi-accustomed. Not to mention the energy within the air itself, almost feeling more akin to what is found in Hueco Mundo or the Soul Society, than the world of the living.

The architecture, too, is different. He supposes it is reminiscent of other regions within the human world that he is used to, something he remembers Rose showing him once or twice in a book. From somewhere called. Rope? Your-Rope? He can't remember what it's called, but it was something like that he thinks.

The script upon many of the signs are unfamilar, too. Thanks to Rose, he can at least read some of it. After much staring, that is. And only the words that haven't been overly decorated or otherwise made illegible from how curly they are. One sign catches his attention, and it takes him a moment to decipher it. 'Elfsong Tavern' sounds promising enough. After all, if he remembers correctly from some of Rose's attempted lessons on the human world, taverns are commonly a place to drink and rest. And, perhaps more importantly in his case, to gather information.

He doubts that this place, wherever it is, would take the little bit of currency that he carries with him. But perhaps there are some pests that might need handling, maybe a troublesome hollow even here. That he could easily take care of in exchange for information at the very least.

With this in mind, he steps into the building, pausing for a moment to take in the occupants. Given how dark it is outside, and therefore how late into the evening it likely is, he isn't terribly surprised at how reasonably empty it is. Certainly, there are a few patrons here and there, a musician half-heartedly strumming away at some stringed instrument in their lap. His gaze passes onto and pauses at a pale man with silver hair don't think of him, it isn't him, it's the right color but the wrong style dressed in very expensive clothing. Aside from the hair, however, what catches his attention are the ears.

He's only seen ears like that on the ressurreccion of the Sexta Espada. While this man has a strange energy around him, it does not feel hollow. So, feeling that the scene is secure enough, Izuru steps forward to the bar beside the man and clears his throat to catch the barkeep's attention.

"Apologies, but I seem to have gotten a bit turned around at some point. I'm... Far from here. Very far. Could you tell me where this is, perhaps?"

[swordgrace]

𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘.

༺ aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the aftermath of rook’s rest, you seek aemond out to inquire about his wellbeing. instead, you find him somewhere else — somewhere unexpected. (set after S2 EP4).

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 5.2K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni) , spoilers for s2 ep4, public sex / risk of getting caught, knifeplay, imbalance of power, rough sex, darkish!aemond, dom!aemond, p in v sex (unprotected), oral (f!receiving), fingering, brief tiddy sucking, groping, biting / marking, hair pulling, choking, fucking right in front of the iron throne, inaccurate high valyrian, brief dirty talk, lots of aemond’s inner thoughts, breeding kink if you squint, aemond is extremely possessive of the reader to an unhealthy degree.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: to preface, I am working on requests, this just happened to make its way out of my brain before anything else did. This was inspired by the single shot of Aemond standing in front of the Iron Throne in the S2 EP5 trailer, you can tell how desperate I got as soon as I saw it. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! There will be a Jace fic dropping tomorrow, too! ❤️

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄 — a seat of power constructed by Aegon the Conqueror in the aftermath of a bloodied war, forged from thousands of surrendered swords.

In the days of Aegon the Conqueror, it was said that the Throne was sometimes too high to climb, a jagged labyrinth of blades melded by dragon’s fire, a throne fit for any ruler. Men impaled themselves upon one another’s blades for it, turned against one another, endless betrayals and treacheries ensued all for the sake of the endgame, to see themselves upon the Throne.

Brother turned against brother — you didn’t expect anything less from Aemond, whose desire to exact revenge boiled just beneath the surface. The Battle at Rook’s Rest had proved a slaughter on all fronts, between the decimation of both Cole’s armies and the castle they laid siege upon, to the death of the Princess Rhaenys and her dragon, Melys.

Whispers spread through the Red Keep in regards to King Aegon’s condition, bones crushed beneath the weight of Sunfyre, who plummeted from the skies in a ball of fire. His flesh was scorched, half of his body melded to the Valyrian Steel armor he wore, burnt beyond recognition.

If they were to be believed, King Aegon was gravely wounded — and if a fatality ensued, who would then bear the mantle of King?

A restless dusk gripped King’s Landing as the surviving soldiers from Cole’s armies arrived at the city gates, King Aegon amongst the wounded. In what you considered to be a mass panic and hysteria, Maesters rushed to diligently attend to their King, who seemed to be meeting a simmering grave inside of his armor — it would be his tomb if they weren’t careful.

Merely a handmaiden and servant to nobility, the antics of your masters didn’t interest you — you were wholly preoccupied with your own survival and self-preservation, amongst other things. It was said that Aemond and Vhagar had swarmed the battlefield and come to King Aegon’s defense, but by the time they had, Aegon had been swallowed by dragonfire.

Part of you had difficulty believing that Aemond truly attempted to save his elder brother, given Aemond’s embittered sentiments. Your relationship with the Prince had transcended all bonds of propriety — and if anyone were to find out, they would likely have your head for sullying his virtue.

Nevertheless, as chaos swarmed around you, you knew exactly who to seek out. Queen Alicent had little desire to be hounded by handmaidens while her eldest son struggled to hang onto his own life, something you could understand. Instead, you made for Aemond’s chambers, the route embedded into your mind.

You sought him — all of him. His lilac hue, a maelstrom of forlorn emotions, and his silvery tresses, like cascading silk, embedded themselves into your mind. His cunning countenance and beguiled expression were like hot-iron brands cast onto your thoughts, tormenting you with each waking moment.

As you stepped closer to the Throne Room, no longer guarded by Kingsguard, you saw the great door ajar — no King atop the throne. You wondered if he would live, Aegon — a drunken, broken man who preferred his cups and whores over ruling — or if he would perish.

You knew who would sit the Iron Throne, should Aegon fall.

A heavy darkness had befallen the throne room, fitting for the many tragedies, like the gloom of a shadow haunting all who dared to enter. Curiosity gripped you as you stepped inside, a place well above your station, yet you wondered if there was anyone inside.

The doors remained shut, save for the one you slipped through, the gap slim. Flickering braziers provided some illumination to such a grandeur hall, but it seemed so dour and lifeless without the presence of the day, without subjects fluttering in and out. Instead, it provided an ominous sense of dread, as if luring those inside with dark omens and false promises.

A familiar crown of silvery tresses stood at the very center, before the throne — he didn’t need to turn around for you to know who it was. He seemed entirely unscathed by the battle at Rook’s Rest, hands carefully folded behind his back, posture poised and dignified.

Aegon’s dagger flashed within his right hand, clutched tightly at his side. You wondered how he had acquired the blade so swiftly after a tragedy — but you knew. You had always known of Aemond’s nature, of his restrained resentment towards his brother, the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Aemond.” Your voice reverberated throughout the throne room, carrying a fair distance as you closed the door behind you. The studded mahogany groaned in protest, yet bent to your will as it closed with a noisy thud. Admittedly, you were surprised to see him here, and not in the comfort of his chambers.

He didn’t move, rigid and still as you quietly approached, dresses sweeping across the smooth stone beneath you. His violet hues remained transfixed upon the Iron Throne, a throne that would soon be his, if fate favored him. So many swords, so much strife and conflict that forged such a chair — so much bloodshed.

Aemond often wondered what the weight of the crown would feel like upon his brow — and even then, he knew he would wear it better than Aegon ever could. He had stood by the wayside for far too long, learned in his studies and a talented swordsman, wondering if it would all have some reward, some payoff.

Now, his opportunity was swiftly approaching.

Whatever anger he’d often kept leashed, it had struck out, like the bite of a poisonous viper, sinking into its prey with all its bitter viciousness. It was the same tempestuous rage that had lashed at Lucerys Velaryon, and now it had struck his brother, Aegon the Magnanimous.

A stupid sobriquet for a stupid man — a drunken fool. Aemond would simply pass it off as an unfortunate accident, with Aegon carelessly stepping into the line of fire whilst tangling with the Queen Who Never Was. Swift decisions had to be made on his part, his brother a victim of such action.

Any silver-tongued words that would placate his Mother, he was prepared to let them fly. Aemond knew enough to know that the consequences would be slim, and those of true action and cruel intentions would take Aegon’s place — men like himself.

Soft footfalls fell across black stone, and you called his name again, like a siren’s song luring the sailor into deeper waters. “Aemond.” It was saccharine, dripping with genuine warmth that the Prince was simply unaccustomed to.

The unexpected lull of your voice broke his fixation, and he looked to you with a gaze full of desire. It was a farcry from the frustrated, despondent man you’d encountered days prior following the incident at the brothel. There was a newfound fire within his eyes, a confidence restored — a sense of triumph.

Admittedly, you were rather perplexed by this invigorated side to Aemond — that wild gleam within his lilac eye only seemed to grow in intensity as you approached him. “I heard the news of what happened to your brother,” You began, pondering his reaction. “You have my deepest sympathies.”

The admiration he had for you only seemed to blossom, knowing that you were simply keeping up appearances for his sake. Aemond’s mouth tilted into the ghost of a smirk, feigning melancholy despite the truth of his own actions. “It was a horrible thing, what happened to the King,” He uttered, glancing toward the throne. “I wish for his swift recovery.”

A facade was a mere understatement — you could almost taste the smug bemusement that rested within Aemond’s tone. The slight quirk of his mouth, the manner in which he spoke — his sympathies for Aegon were nonexistent.

“As any good brother would.” You replied, stepping closer until you stood before the Iron Throne, gaze falling upon the thousands of swords swarming the seat, blades of many shapes and sizes. You wondered about the people behind each sword — who swung it, what their lives must’ve been like.

A brief hum escaped Aemond, who observed you hawkishly as you approached, violet hue greedily drinking you in as he had many times before. You had stood so faithfully by his side, never admonished him for the brash actions taken against his family, never deemed him pathetic for what happened at the brothel.

He cared little for your station, little for your status as a lowborn — if he sat the Iron Throne, he could have whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter if you were a commoner, Aemond could envision you as his wife, a Queen — no longer bowing to the whims of greater men and women who cared little for you.

“Did my Mother dismiss you this evening?” Aemond questioned, digits tense around the pommel of Aegon’s knife — now his. Seeing as he was no longer fit to carry the weapon, it was only just that it pass to his brother, his next of kin.

“She did,” A gentle exhale escaped you, one that allowed you to maintain your composure. Being in Aemond’s presence seemed to make you dizzy with desire with each passing moment — not a new sentiment, but an intoxicating one. “I was coming to find you, to see if you were well after the battle.”

Shamelessly, Aemond became quite aroused at the thought of you wandering about the Red Keep with the single-minded desire to see him. His blood ran hot after the battle — the surge of adrenaline did not lessen in your presence.

His jaw tensed slightly as he appraised you, taking a step closer, brazenly closing the distance between you both. He could smell your perfume, the warm bouquet of flowers and a touch of honey. “How thoughtful.” His voice dropped to a low purr, dripping with the first inklings of lust.

Your breath hitched, words turning to ash upon your tongue as your fingers curled into your dress. Aemond enticed you in ways that no man had before — and he saw you, a woman beneath the gowns of a servant. The hammering of your heart within your chest had stirred something powerful — your want for him consumed you like a tidal wave.

Before you could utter his name, he descended like a starving wolf to kiss you, open-mouthed and bleeding lust. You shivered, wanting to coax him into returning to his chambers before things became heated. His hand dropped to seize your hip, hauling you closer to him until no space was left between your bodies.

You reciprocated his kiss, able to hear a faint growl of approval building up within his throat. It was fiery and hot, with little concern of who might see you. Aemond was growing emboldened, brazen knowing the power he now held within his grasp.

“We should return to your quarters,” You whispered, a strained whimper tearing past your lips as Aemond kissed your jaw, sucking at the flesh of your neck. “Aemond, we can’t — not here.” Your breathy pleas fell upon deaf ears — what better place to claim you than before his new throne?

“We can,” Aemond murmured, pushing your tresses aside as he claimed your throat, laying waste to your flesh in his rabid kisses and hungry bites. “The rest of the Keep is preoccupied.” His reassurance was threadbare at best, but you were beginning to slip off of the deep end, fingers clawing at his tunic.

“What if someone sees?” Fear trickled into your voice, a subtle fright that Aemond found to be enticing. You worried for your own skin — he could understand that. A moan escaped you as Aemond nipped at your jugular, squeezing at your hips.

You failed to comprehend that he would protect you, shield you if needed. He did not need to justify his obsession for you, just as Aegon never offered any justification for his nightly whore hunts. Aemond seemed quick to soothe your worry, hand clasping at the nape of your neck.

“Then I will have their head,” His delectable purr dropped an octave, scratching the itch within your head. “You needn’t worry, ñuha dōna. I can do whatever I wish.” Aemond assured you, a great fire burning within his lilac hue. The leather of his eyepatch concealed the listless sapphire beneath.

He only needed to serve himself — his family cared little for him, and the world was often against him. He looked forward to facing Daemon whenever the time came, should he be bold enough to challenge him. Aemond dismissed it all — Aegon, his mother, Criston Cole — the only thing that mattered were the both of you.

Aemond’s streak of possessiveness had grown into something uncontrollable, a festering desire to keep you close, spiraling into obsession. You were many things to him, many things he coveted for himself.

After a moment of hesitation, you decided to make things tempting for Aemond, loosening the bodice of your dress. His breath hitched, the noise subtle if one wasn’t observant enough. He seized the back of your head once more, hungrily pressing his lips to yours, consuming you in another heated kiss.

A dour portrait of dusk hovers around the Red Keep, its shadowy tendrils slinking into the throne room. Only moonlight and dying braziers are your guide, and Aemond is at his prettiest whenever he’s touched by the silvery rays. It strikes his narrow visage, paints his silky tresses in pale light.

He is closer to a god now than he is a man — fortunately, you were willing to return to religion if it meant that Aemond was who you worshiped. As much as you liked to believe it was the foundation of your relationship, he thought of it alternatively, the roles reversed.

Your digits slip beneath the overcoat he wore, marred by speckled dirt and brimstone. His broad, sinewy shoulders are concealed by his tunic, and he seems vastly overdressed compared to you, still wearing your servant’s clothes. Aemond had gotten you a dress to wear with him before — you never wore it otherwise.

There is a certain intensity in the way he kisses you, as if each embrace might be your last. In the aftermath of a battle, you understand such sentiments, given the fate of the King and the Princess Rhaenys.

A growl reverberates within the depths of his throat as he pries his mouth away from you, gesturing toward the flight of obsidian steps that ascend toward the Iron Throne. “There,” He uttered, more of a command than a suggestion. “Lay down.”

A shudder rolls down the length of your spine, followed by an onslaught of goosebumps that snake across your flesh like a fever. Your stomach churned with anticipation, filling with the sensation of sloshing heat, burning brighter as each moment passed.

Without question, you step toward the throne, noticing the sharpness of some blades, the dullness of others. You find your footing upon the last step, feeling Aemond stalk closer. The rustling of his belt makes you shiver, only to find the steely chill of the Conqueror’s knife pressed against the dip between your shoulder and neck.

Aemond closes in behind you, caging you against his chest, like a predator swarming hapless prey. His narrow nose brushed along your soft tresses as he dragged the tip of the knife from your shoulder to ribcage. “Shall I cut this from you?” He uttered, digging the Valyrian steel into the fabric of your dress.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you brace yourself for the bite of the knife, for the unruly tear of fabric, but it never comes. Instead, Aemond’s mouth pressed vigorous kisses against your neck, hand seizing you by the throat.

“Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke.” Aemond purred, feeling you turn within his grasp. Desire oozed between you both, an onslaught of carnality soon to follow. His lilac hue flickered over your countenance, drinking in your beauty with unrestrained rapture. You belong to me.

From what little High Valyrian you’d learned in the time you’ve been with Aemond, you strung enough of the sentence together to know what he meant. “Iksan aōhon.” A soft whimper emerged from between your parted lips, noticing the way his pupil dilated with amorous intent.

I am yours.

A flame of obsession roared within his gaze, enough to burn you alive where you stood. Aemond reveled in your submission to him, drank in your devotion — a devotion that would prove fruitful, should he ascend the throne. The tip of the knife prodded into your sternum, and you absentmindedly leaned forward.

Aemond captured your mouth once more, laying claim to you — his paramour. There was nothing sweeter than your desperate mewls and reciprocated passion, the succor of your mouth, the saccharine scent of your perfume.

The both of you descended to the floor, icy and stony as it prodded into your back. He knelt between your legs, gaze momentarily flickering between the shadow of the Iron Throne and your mesmerized visage. Aemond kissed you again, nipping at your lower lip before rucking up your skirts, pushing them toward your hips.

With one knee, he bullied his way in between your thighs, breaths heavier, wrought with anticipation as he lowered his mouth to your collarbone. In one smooth tug, he loosened your bodice, wrestling with the coarse material as he buried his face into your silky skin.

The throes of passion filled the air — short gasps and labored pants accompanied by the constant shuffling of fabric. “Aemond,” You moaned, watching as he bit the leather of his glove, removing the garment in one jerk of his head. Flesh to flesh, he moved to drag his digits along your weeping slit. “Aemond.” Urgency crept into your voice, strung-out by need.

“Hm,” His cajoling hum sent shivers down your spine, heat sloshing around within your stomach. Arousal pooled between your thighs, nectar sticky and gathering swiftly. “What a delicious gift you’ve given me.” Aemond uttered, slender digits continuing to stroke at your cunt, his pace agonizingly slow.

Lifting his fingers to his lips, he let them rest upon his tongue, gathering your juices to taste. A satisfied grunt of approval escaped him, one that made you meld into the floor. It was an uncomfortable surface, yet any thought of discomfort dissipated the moment Aemond’s lips pressed against the inside of your knee.

Instinctively, your hands flew toward his crown of silken tresses, digging in with an ironclad hold. Aemond released a low hiss of satisfaction, pressing hot kisses along the inside of your thigh. He dipped lower, breath fanning across your cunt.

His tongue raked hot embers across your aching core, delivering a series of deliberate strokes that were sure to make you squirm. Aemond preferred to savor you, consuming every drop of your nectar as if it were the finest of wines.

“Aemond!” Your voice rose above the cacophony of lewd noises ensuing below, noisy enough to reverberate throughout the throne room. It worried you, the potential of someone finding you with the Prince-Regent between your legs, but pleasure began to outweigh logic.

His name felt sweet from your mouth — if Aemond had it his way, he would make you say it a thousand times over. The sharp bridge of his nose buried itself into your mound, cock twitching within the leather of his breeches.

Another breathy moan left you, stomach pooling with a rush of molten heat. It oozed between your legs as your arousal fell upon the Prince’s tongue, much to his delight. He did not waste a drop, mouth traveling wherever he pleased, lapping at every inch of your cunt.

The Iron Throne overshadowed the both of you, a jagged mess of swords surrounded by dusk. Slats of moonlight trickled in from the stained glass above, falling across his visage, violet hue sparkling with lust. His lips greedily kissed at your clit, causing your hips to lurch forward.

“Look at me.” A pointed demand spoken from an edged tongue, one that commanded your attention without wavering. With a strangled moan, you turned your head to him, furthering the fire within your belly. Your doe-eyed stare locked onto him, lips falling apart.

As your eyes flickered over his poised features, your hand tightened within his tresses, coaxing him closer toward the apex of your thighs. Aemond wasn’t sly at suppressing the delight he felt in that moment, greedily lapping at your cunt.

You watched, enthralled by the ministrations of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, the tantalizing efforts made to draw you back in. His features were carved like marble, by the steady hand of a sculptor — godly, in the best way possible.

Aemond hoped that your blissful cries would alert the guards — perhaps, all could bear witness to his carnal delights, know that you belonged to him and him alone. His lips crawled to a sluggish pace, made only to torment you as he peppered feather-light kisses against your clit. The lack of pressure nearly made you wretch, digits curling into a fist.

Every fiber of your being felt as if it had been set ablaze, washed within the fires of his affection. He knew your body well, as well as he knew his own, tongue dipping to have a taste of your core as it lightly jutted against your entrance. You whimpered, the noise pathetic and pitiful, yet overwhelmingly eager.

“Please,” You moaned, breathy and clawing for some shred of release, canting your hips forward. Aemond retreated, just enough to leave you writing upon the steps before a sly chuckle reverberated between your thighs. His torture of you was playful and intimate, intended to make you beg. “Please, Aemond!”

How could he deny you when you sounded so sweet?

With a soft hum, Aemond returned to devour your cunt, drink from the nectar that oozed between your legs. His hands situated themselves against your thighs, nails digging in enough to leave behind traces of angered crescent marks.

The heat between your legs intensified, arousal stinging your bones, body bent underneath Aemond’s will as he lapped at your core. His lips were accompanied by his spindly digits as two fingers prodded at your entrance, feeling the crescendo of your whimpers before sinking themselves into your tight cunt.

Squelching intermingled with that of brazen pants and your myriad of moans, a cacophony of lust that permeated the throne room. It felt sinful, to defile the steps of a seat of power, but that shame swiftly contorted into bliss — it felt good.

It felt good to be desired, for Aemond to feel not an ounce of regret or remorse for being with you or for the carnage his actions wrought. The darkness that festered within his eye only grew, once a flickering shade, now growing into something sprawling.

At last, his lips pursed around your clit, stimulating that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your back arched from the stone, thighs rattling like falling leaves as he brought about your ruin. His digits viciously pumped in and out of your cunt, preparing you for the act that was to follow.

His tongue lashed across his lower lip, not wasting a drop of what sweetness you provided him with. Aemond’s mouth hastily abandoned your cunt, yet the curling of his fingers seemed to make up for the loss of pleasure. You felt his wet lips purse around the pebbled peak of your breast, suckling like a greedy babe.

Aemond’s senses drowned in desire, cock throbbing within his trousers, desperate to be inside of you. It wouldn’t be much longer now as he bit and kissed your chest, letting the work manifest as love bites, evidence of his carnal want for you.

“I need you, Aemond. I need you inside of me.” The suddenness of your words left him reeling, a snarl stirring within his chest as his teeth gnashed into the soft flesh between your breasts. You longed to feel his cock lay waste to your cunt, for him to fuck away his anger, his frustration.

Hastily, his hand flew to the ties of his breeches, loosening the threads of leather. You grabbed the front of his tunic, enough to effectively grab his attention as you pulled him in for a hot kiss. Passion bled through, and you could taste yourself upon his tongue as it danced with yours.

The warmth of his cockhead prodded against your folds, already slick with your cum and his own. It was messy, an entanglement born of desire, of the will to possess one another — a claim eternal. Aemond’s hand snaked toward your hip, the other keeping himself afloat before he snapped forward.

His cock invaded your cunt without any sluggishness to it, the deliberation gone entirely. A wild shimmer glistened within his eye, a domineering edge that seemed to wrestle with itself. Aemond wanted to submit to you, but in the wake of Rook’s Rest, adrenaline and a desire for power simply wouldn’t allow it.

As he fucked you like a hound, as Aegon had colorfully put it, Aemond could see you seated beside him, a crown upon your brow, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A commoner, crawled from dirt and from nothing, into his arms — into a seat of power that none would dare challenge.

Fantasy consumed him, making him mad with lust. He wanted to crawl beneath your flesh, reside there, hear your heart hammering within your breast. He seemed pleasantly surprised when you claimed his mouth, your tongue advancing past his parted lips.

With your skirts having fallen to the swell of your hips, you hitched one leg around him, hand clawing at his back, between his shoulders. “Aemond,” You moaned, overwhelmed by his barrage of erratic thrusts. His stamina was something to witness as he kept a rather vigorous pace. “My King.”

A low growl stirred within his throat, a stark warning not to continue with your current line of thought. Aemond bit at your lower lip, prompting you to moan into his mouth, but you surprised him again when you reciprocated. Things were intense, far more fiery than they ever had been before.

Battle made him hot — such a sensation wasn’t aided by your presence, intensified tenfold. With Aegon wasting away inside of his chambers, steel melting into his flesh, swarmed by flocks of Maesters, Aemond felt no remorse — none at all as he fucked you before the Iron Throne.

He felt no remorse when he ordered Vhagar to burn his brother, he felt no remorse when he brought you into his bed — and he would feel no remorse when he ascended the throne and made you his Queen.

His cock furiously battered away at your cunt, the lewdness of flesh and intermingled breaths being the only sounds that mattered. That lilac hue of his studied your countenance, the devotion and rapture that rest upon it, your complete and utter joy. Aemond had been blessed with the loveliest creature — you.

The stretch you felt as Aemond invaded your nethers was a pleasant one, your walls tight around his length as he continued to fuck you. Face to face, chest to chest — there was no room left for deception, nowhere left to turn to. With a groan, Aemond kissed you yet again.

“Kesan mazverdagon ao ñuha dāria.” I will make you my Queen; he growled into your ear, biting at the shell, the act enough to make you whimper. He filled your cunt with his cock, the only one that it would ever take. In the heat of the moment, he bit at your neck, hand gripping your thigh so hard that it was bound to leave bruises.

Darkness swallowed the hallowed halls — braziers flickering out completely, leaving only moonlight. Even through the silvery haze, Aemond’s face remained a picture of living perfection, his brow creased with concentration.

The fervor of his pace began to slow, cock throbbing with an onslaught of arousal, one that flooded his body with waves of bliss. He wasn’t neglectful of your needs, swiftly placing a hand between your bodies, thumb rubbing circles around your clit.

Heavy footfalls of guardsmen resonated from outside of the sealed doors, a nightly patrol, prompting you to shiver from worry, but Aemond did not stop — and he wouldn’t. His blazing eye bared down upon you, glistening with the sheen of lust, of obsession, a man starved of the love and devotion he so desperately chased.

Your lips felt swollen, a byproduct of Aemond’s biting, of the many shared kisses that had turned into hunger. You were ravenous for him in ways that you had little knowledge of, scraping the surface of what desire truly meant.

Silky, pale tresses fell through your digits as you threaded them within his hair, gripping it in fistfuls as you continued to kiss him until every wisp of air was stolen from your lungs. Aemond did not relent, continuing to adopt a rhythmic pace of fucking you, cock halfway out before he thrust forward again and again.

As the both of you approached the precipice, falling into a white-hot abyss, you could hear him murmuring something in High Valyrian, strings of sweet praises and compliments. His thumb continued to circle your clit even after you had your release, milking his cock with an onslaught of your nectar.

Aemond grunted, forehead nudging against yours as he snapped forward one final time, cock sheathed inside of you as he found a warm place to spill his seed. The recklessness of it was of little consequence to him — an herbal tea could remedy it, yet the thought of filling you with an heir became tantalizing.

Not yet — not now.

If his seed were to take, it would sow discord across his house, and there was enough of that already. Aemond huffed, gathering his composure as your whimpers dwindled into soft pants. His claws sank so deep into you, talons wrenched into your heart, your body, everything.

He placed a kiss upon your brow, a subtle gesture that reminded you of his lingering duality. Aemond pulled himself out of you with an onslaught of stickiness, a mess that would only be remedied by a long soak in the bath — something he would need you for.

Your chest felt tight, both from exhilaration and the intensity of it all. As you adjusted your skirts back into place, Aemond gently coaxed you to your feet, pressed close against you as he stared at the throne. “Perhaps, once I ascend, we will have to make use of the throne.” His salacious purr made you shudder.

“There is no law forbidding us from acting upon that now,” You challenged, and Aemond had to restrain himself from acting upon such a lascivious impulse. For as coy as you could be, you were just as lustful as he was at times, a quality that he greatly adored. “Your Grace.”

As much as the teasing title seemed to provoke him, Aemond grabbed your hips, lips twitching into his familiar smirk, a near-permanent expression. “Aemond,” He corrected, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “For now, I will need assistance with drawing a bath.”

The Throne’s harrowing shape cast its shadow as the both of you abandoned the dark halls and into the light of Aemond’s chambers.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not attempt to steal or translate my works onto other platforms or claim it as your own.

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART I: HEAVEN KNOWS

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part II // part III // part IV // part V

wc: 4.7k cw: guns, brief descriptions of violence author's note: ty @mirconreadzztuff22 for being my arcane encyclopedia!! This is gonna be a seven part series so buckle up!!!

You blink awake, the world slowly coming into focus as a cacophony of muffled sounds pierces your slumber. Squinting one eye open, you’re able to see shadowy figures dragging your companions away, their struggles futile against the intruders' iron grips. Your heart races, but instinct kicks in. You remain still, feigning sleep, as footsteps approach.  

Someone looms over you - in the dim light filtering through the drugstore's grimy windows, you catch a glimpse of her scarred face and steely gaze. As she reaches for you, adrenaline surges through your veins. In a flash, you slam into her, catching her off guard.

For a split second, you had the upper hand - but it's short-lived. The woman recovers with lightning speed, her combat skills levels way above yours. She easily corners you against the cold, dusty shelves, her knife finding its way to your throat. The blade's edge kisses your skin, a thin line of warmth trickling down your neck.

"Move any further, and I can end this now." she growls, her breath hot against your ear.

You raise your hands in surrender, and she roughly drags you to join the others. You're thrust into the main area, forced to your knees alongside Vander, Vi, Caitlyn, and Powder. The scene before you is horrifying - Through the front window, you see a horde of walkers slamming against the glass. Their decaying faces press against the surface, leaving smears of rot and congealed blood. 

At the fore stood the woman who captured you, her gang forming a menacing circle around your group. You noted how tall and muscular she was, her dark skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat in the dim light. A red shawl draped over her left side, obscuring her arm and shoulder.  Her short, styled hair framed a face set in stern lines, but her eyes, they sparkled with something dangerous, almost predatory.

The woman’s gaze swept over your group, lingering on each face before settling on yours. "Looks like we've got ourselves some lost lambs," she drawled, her voice a low, smoky rasp.

You felt Vi tense beside you, her fists clenching. On your other side, Caitlyn's fingers twitched near her now empty holster. Powder, uncharacteristically quiet, had her gaze fixed on the panels with the undead clawing their bloody fingers at.

The air crackled with tension as Vander spoke. "We're just passing through, we don’t mean to cause any trouble."

"Do you know whose territory you're in?" she demands, her voice cutting through the moans of the undead outside.

"No… but we weren’t going to settle here, let us go and we’ll get out of your hair."

The woman's laugh is harsh and devoid of humor. "I don't care," she sneers. Her eyes scan the ransacked shelves of the drugstore. "What I care about is where the remaining medications are. Hand them over."

Your throat tightens. You know exactly where they are – hidden in your pack. "I have them."

Her gaze locks on you. "Hand them over."

"Why should I?"

In an instant, she's in your face, so close you can see the flecks of amber in her dark eyes. Her scarred lip curls into a snarl. "Because you don't want to know what happens if you don't."

Your mind races, torn between protecting your group's precious resources and avoiding the wrath of this formidable woman and her gang.  Would she really let you go if you acquiesced? 

The tense standoff is suddenly interrupted by a burst of static. One of the woman's group members fumbles with a radio clipped to their belt. A male voice crackles through, urgent and clear.

"Sevika, the store's surrounded now. Get out before dark hits. Over."

The tall woman - Sevika, you now know - snatches the radio. "Copy that," she replies tersely, her eyes never leaving your group.

With a sharp whistle, her group springs into action. They wordlessly pack supplies, secure weapons, and prepare for evacuation. The efficiency is impressive, and you can't help but admire their coordination even when you had two of them keep their guns trained on your group.

“What about us?"  

Sevika's lip curls in amusement. "What about you?"

"Are you going to let us go?" Vander presses, his voice steady despite the circumstances.

"Sure," Sevika drawls, then points directly at you. "After she gives me the meds."

"What? How the hell are we going to get out of here ourselves?" Vi protested. 

Sevika's response is cold and indifferent. "If you want to get out that bad, do it yourself."

You watch Vander's mind work, always strategizing. "You have a base, it’s obviously well-supplied based on the amount of weapons and people you have. Take us with you, we can fight and help."

Sevika scoffs. "Now, why would I do that? You're lucky enough I'm letting you go alive."

Someone in her group chimes in with a smirk, "If they can get out alive." Snickers ripple through the gang, and your stomach turns at their callousness.

As Sevika's group continues packing, she allows your group to stand. You seize the moment, stepping forward. "I've got EMT training. I know how to use the medications I took."

Sevika dismisses you with a wave. "No thanks. We've already got a doctor."

"More help wouldn't hurt."

Her patience wearing thin, Sevika snaps, "I'm not picking up strays, especially ones so easy to put down."

You step closer, your face inches from hers despite the notable height difference between you two. "We were easy to capture because we were sleeping. That's a coward's move."

One of Sevika's people moves to intervene, but she halts them with a raised hand. Her eyes lock with yours, and to your surprise, her scowl turns into a smirk. 

"Okay," she says, her voice low and challenging. "Prove to me right now that you can survive.  However many survive, we'll take them in. But anyone left behind, I'm not coming back for. You're responsible for this."

Vander nods grimly. "Fine with us."

The moans of the undead grow louder outside.  While Sevika's group finishes their preparations, your group hurries to gather what few possessions you have. 

Vi angrily stuffs clothes into her backpack. "This is bullshit," she hisses. "We can take 'em. I say we fight our way out."

Caitlyn shakes her head. "That's suicide, Vi. They outnumber and outgun us."

You kneel beside Powder, helping her gather her collection of odds and ends - Her hands shake slightly as she works.

"It'll be okay, Powder," you whisper, giving her a reassuring smile. "We'll stick together, just like always."

Powder's eyes dart nervously between you and the others. "But what if they separate us? What if-"

"Shh," you soothe, squeezing her shoulder gently. "We won't let that happen."

Vander's deep voice cuts through the murmurs. "Enough," he says firmly but quietly. "I know none of us like this, but we're out of options. We can't keep running forever."

Vi whirls on him, eyes flashing. "So we're just gonna roll over and let them take us? After everything we've been through?"

Caitlyn places a calming hand on Vi's arm. "Vander's right, Vi. We're exhausted, low on supplies. This might be our only chance at something better."

You stand up, looking around at your makeshift family. "Maybe this is an opportunity. We don't know what their community is like but it could be a chance for a real home."

Vi scoffs, but there's a flicker of hope in her eyes that she quickly tries to hide. "Yeah, right. And I'm sure they invited us out of the kindness of their hearts."

Vander steps into the middle of the group, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "Listen to me," he says. "I don't trust them any more than you do. But right now, we need to play along. Stay alert, watch each other's backs, and be ready for anything. We're stronger together, remember that."

There's a moment of silence as his words sink in. Then, one by one, you all nod in agreement.

As you finish packing, you catch Sevika watching you, that same unreadable expression on her face. 

"Alright, time's up," Sevika calls out. "Let's move."

The moans of the undead grew louder outside, time was running out. With one last look at each other, your group falls in line behind Sevika's squad. 

Sevika's group snap into formation, they move with a fluid precision that speaks of countless drills and shared experiences. Sevika stands at the center, her scarred face set in grim determination as she outlines the plan to her team. You edge closer, straining to hear every word.

"Listen up," Sevika's voice cuts through the air. "Dustin, you're the distraction. When I give the signal, toss the radio into the parking lot. That should draw most of the horde away."

"Margot, Ran, Renni take position at the rear, pick off any stragglers that get too close. Conserve ammo, make every shot count.  Finn, you’ll lead - make sure everyone is accounted for, then go, don’t wait for us."

"The rest of you, we're on supply duty. Grab everything you can carry, and prioritize non-perishables." Sevika's eyes sweep over her team, then land on your group. "I'll be keeping an eye on our new 'friends'."

As the plan springs into action, adrenaline courses through your veins. You dash to your pickup truck, sliding into the driver's seat. Powder hops in beside you, her eyes wild with excitement. In the rearview mirror, you see Caitlyn and Vi taking up defensive positions in the truck bed, their guns at the ready. Vander moves with surprising agility for his size, efficiently loading supplies.

You hear hard rock playing from the blaring radio that Dustin hurls into the parking lot. The walkers' heads swivel towards the noise, their groans intensifying as they shamble after it.

Gunshots crack the air as Sevika's shooters pick off the walkers that didn't fall for the distraction. You grip the steering wheel tighter, ready to peel out at a moment's notice.

Sevika appears at your window. "Ready to prove your worth?" she challenges, eyebrow raised.

You’re about to respond when a voice from above steals your attention.

"Sevika!"

All heads turn to the roof. A kid stands there, panic evident on his face. Sevika's eyes widened in disbelief.

"What the fuck? They forgot Ekko?" she snarls, livid at the oversight.

The momentary distraction costs you. Walkers, drawn by the commotion, shamble towards your truck. Only one corner of the store remains clear, but it's too far for Ekko to reach safely.

Your mind races, and adrenaline sharpens your focus. "I know how to drift," you blurt out. "If you guys can clear as many walkers as possible near that open corner, I can whip the car close enough for him to jump down."

Sevika eyes you skeptically. "You have an interesting set of skills…  you’re confident you can get us close enough?"

"I can do it in my sleep. So, are we doing this?" you ask.

She nods curtly. "Fine. But don't get tempted to fling me out of the car."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Sevika barks orders into her radio, relaying the plan to Ekko. The air fills with gunfire as both groups focus on clearing a path. You rev the engine, calculating angles and timing in your head.

"Hold on!" you shout, then slam the accelerator.

The truck lurches forward, tires screeching. You weave through the thinning walkers horde, your heart pounding in your ears. As you approach the corner, you crank the wheel hard, initiating a perfect drift. The world blurs around you as the truck slides sideways, stopping just beneath Ekko's position.

"Now!" Sevika roars.

Ekko leaps, landing with a thud in the truck bed. You don't wait for confirmation, immediately spinning the wheel to face the exit. In the passenger seat, Powder whoops with glee, while gunfire erupts from behind as Caitlyn and Vi pick off any pursuing undead.

A sharp tap on your window startles you from your laser focus on the road. You roll it down, coming face to face with Sevika's intense gaze.

"Need some directions?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you realize you've been blindly following the road away from the store. "Uh, yeah. That'd be great," you manage, trying to mask your embarrassment.

As you follow Sevika's directions, a sight on the horizon makes your jaw drop. A gated community looms in the distance, its high walls painted with the word “Zaun” on it represent safety you haven't seen in years. Suddenly, the organized efficiency of Sevika's group makes perfect sense. This is nothing like the ramshackle shelters you've cobbled together over the years.

The convoy of trucks comes to a halt in front of the gates. You expect them to open, but Sevika raises her fist. Your brow furrows in confusion, but before you can ask, she's out of the truck, moving with predatory grace toward the other vehicles.

She stops at one truck, yanking the door open with such force you're surprised it doesn't come off its hinges. In one fluid motion, she drags out the man who was supposed to be in charge in her absence earlier, Finn, and slams him against the side of the vehicle.

"You coward," Sevika snarls, her voice dripping with contempt. "You're a disgrace to this group."

You're transfixed by the sheer intensity of her anger, the way she towers over Finn despite not being much taller.   Then you see it - movement in your peripheral vision. A walker, stumbling closer to Sevika's unprotected back. Your heart leaps into your throat, panic flooding your system.

"Sevika!" you try to shout, but it comes out as a strangled whisper. Ekko's grip on your arm tightens, holding you back.

"Don't." he warns, but you barely hear him roaring in your ears.

Your mind races, unable to comprehend why no one is reacting. The walkers are mere feet away now. You struggle against Ekko's grasp, every fiber of your being screaming to do something, anything.

The walkers' rotting hands reach out, inches from Sevika's shoulder. Time seems to slow down. You're about to break free, to hell with the consequences, when-

CRACK!

The walkers crumples, a clean hole through its skull. The bullet whistled so close to Sevika you swear it must have grazed her.

But Sevika doesn't even flinch. 

"You're pathetic," she spits, her eyes boring into the man.

And suddenly, it clicks. The walker was never going to be a threat, but Finn was going to let the walker get her.  That decision was a huge fucking mistake.  

Before she let go, he leaned in to whisper something imperceptible but it had enough effect that she practically threw him onto the ground in response.

The gates begin to open, and as Sevika strides back to your truck, you can't help but feel a mix of admiration and fear.   The woman before you was no ordinary one, she was willing to put her life on the line to protect her people and weed out the weak links.

Sevika slid back into the seat next to you, her eyes meeting yours.  You feel exposed, like she can see right through you. There's a challenge there, a silent question: Do you know what you’re getting into?

You swallow hard, gripping the steering wheel tighter. 

As you drive through the gate, you couldn’t conceal your awe. The scene before you is like stepping into a different world - one untouched by the horrors of the apocalypse you've grown accustomed to.

Neat rows of houses line well-maintained streets. Lush gardens and small farms dot the landscape, bursting with life and color. People - actual living, breathing people - stroll along sidewalks, chatting and going about their day as if the world outside these walls hasn't ended.

You count maybe 15-20 houses in total, but the sheer number of people you see is staggering. There are more living souls in this one community than you've encountered in years of scavenging and surviving.

Sevika directs you to a parking spot, and as you're climbing out of the truck, a woman approaches. She's tall and dressed in a neat uniform, with short-cropped gray hair and a face etched with the kind of hardness that comes from years of survival. Her sharp eyes remind you of a hawk's.

"How much longer were you gonna keep talking before you let me shoot?" she asks Sevika, a hint of amusement in her gruff voice.

"As long as it takes to make my point, Grayson." Then, gesturing to your group, she adds, "I picked up some strays today. Oh, and a spot just opened on my team, by the way. If anyone in your group wants to switch sides..."

"Enough of stealing my patrol, Vika."  For the first time, you see Sevika truly laugh. You notice her tooth gap, she looks almost carefree.  

“Well, looks like you survived,” Sevika says, turning to your group.

“You could say that with a bit more enthusiasm next time.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips at your quip.  “It’s your turn to uphold your end of the bargain now.”  She puts out her hand.  

You retrieve the bag you stuffed under the seat, it rattles with the pills as you hand it over.  Without even a goodbye or thank you, she turns to leave, and you watch as her group immediately follows suit.

Grayson gives you a once-over, then nods. "Alright, let's give you the grand tour."

The houses were luxurious and belonged to a class you never knew. Some have solar panels on the roofs, explaining the electricity you can see being used. There's a central square with what looks like a communal dining area. The smell of cooking food makes your mouth water - real, fresh food, not the canned goods and stale rations you're used to.

You pass by a building that Grayson identifies as the infirmary. Through the window, you can see shelves stocked with medical supplies. It's more medicine in one place than you've seen since the world fell apart. You notice guard towers strategically placed along the walls - despite the idyllic appearance, it's clear this place is well-defended.

"I've got a meeting to attend but Ekko here will take care of you, though I do hope that we will meet again - my patrol squad is always looking for new members." With that, Grayson strides away, leaving you all trying to take in the scenery.

"Come on, let's get you settled in! Sky will get you guys all sorted out." Ekko waved at your group to follow.

He leads you through the streets, and you can't help but marvel at the sense of normalcy. People are going about their daily lives, talking, and laughing. It's like stepping into a memory of the world before.

"Welcome!" Sky says, her voice gentle with a hint of anxiety at the sight of your group - soot ridden and blood stained clothes weren’t the most friendly image. "We got a spare house. It’s not huge, but it should accommodate all of you comfortably."

She hands Vander a set of keys and a small map. Then, with a delicate clearing of her throat, she adds, "If I may suggest... There are showers in your new home. I think you'll find them... refreshing after your journey."

Vi snorts at the polite understatement, while Caitlyn looks slightly embarrassed. 

Sky continues, "Once you've had a chance to clean up, Ekko can show you to the pantry. We'll make sure you have enough food to get started."

You can hardly believe what you're hearing. Showers? Fresh food? It seems too good to be true.

As if reading your thoughts, Sky's expression softens. "I know this must be overwhelming. Take your time to settle in. It must be hard adjusting to how it is here, but this place didn’t happen overnight. Everyone here has a part in maintaining things the way it is. "

Ekko nods, gesturing towards the door. "Ready to see your new digs?"

As you follow him out, you exchange glances with your companions. There's hope in their eyes, but also caution. This place seems like a dream come true, but you all knew that nothing was ever permanent. 

The moment you step into your new house, chaos erupts. Bags fly everywhere as you all rush to claim spaces. Vi tosses her pack onto a bed, while Caitlyn more carefully sets hers down. You and Powder are a whirlwind of motion, exploring every nook and cranny.

Tears prick your eyes as the reality sinks in. A real home, after so long.

"I call the couch!" Powder shouts, leaping onto it.

Vi raises an eyebrow. "You can have the bed, you know."

"Nope! This is perfect," Powder grins, bouncing slightly.

You all burst into laughter, the sound foreign but welcome after so much hardship. As the laughter dies down, you realize just how hungry you are. Powder’s stomach growls loudly, causing another round of giggles.

"I think that's our cue to hit the pantry," Vi says, standing up and stretching. "Come on, let's see what they've got around here."

At the pantry, you're shoveling food into your mouth, barely pausing to breathe. "I know this is canned, but why is it so good?" you mumble around a mouthful.

Ekko chuckles. "We have fresh fish, vegetables, and fruit too."

Your eyes widen in disbelief just as Sky walks in, Sevika close behind.

"Oh perfect, we were looking for you guys!" Sky says warmly.

Sevika's eyes scan your group. "I see you're settling in already. We’ve got jobs for you."

She starts assigning roles, Vander and Vi in food gathering. Then she turns to you, Caitlyn, and Powder. "You three will be working here in the pantry."

"What? Even after all those 'interesting skills' you said I had?" The words are out before you can stop them, tinged with disbelief and a hint of anger.

"This is a serious job. Making sure everyone gets the right rations is important. Preventing theft, too." Her tone is cocky, almost challenging.

Fury bubbles in your chest. After everything you've been through, all the skills you've developed to survive, you're being relegated to... food inventory? You want to argue, to prove your worth, but the words stick in your throat. You're acutely aware of how precarious your position is here.

Beside you, Caitlyn looks equally stunned. She's an incredible shot, her skills were wasted on this task. But like you, she remains silent.

"Understood," you manage to say, the word tasting bitter. You exchange a glance with Caitlyn, seeing the same resolve in her eyes. 

The days blend into one another as you settle into a routine at Zaun. It's surreal, to be able to think beyond mere survival. Conversations here with others touch on memories, hopes, dreams - luxuries you'd almost forgotten existed.

You're lost in thought, mentally cataloging the supplies, when a familiar voice cuts through your concentration.

"Looks like our newest recruits are really getting into the swing of things."

You turn to see Sevika leaning against the doorframe. Her presence fills the small space, making the pantry feel even more cramped than usual.

"Don't you have something more important to do?" you mutter, trying to hide your annoyance. "Like, I don't know, running this whole place?"

Sevika chuckles, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into the pantry. "Multitasking, sweetheart. I can keep an eye on you and run this place at the same time."

You roll your eyes, returning to your task. But Sevika doesn't leave. Instead, she picks up a can, tossing it from hand to hand.

"You know," she drawls, "when I brought you in, I thought you might be more... useful. Didn't peg you for the grocery store clerk type."

Her words sting more than you'd like to admit, and it was also enraging - how dare she act like it wasn’t her fault you were assigned here in the first place? 

"We can't all be badass scavengers," you retort, reaching for a high shelf. Before you can grab it, Sevika's arm extends past yours, easily plucking the item you were struggling to reach.

"Here," she says, handing it to you. Your fingers brush as you take it, and you're struck by the calloused warmth of her hand.  You mutter a reluctant thanks, hyper-aware of her proximity. 

From the corner of your eye, you notice Caitlyn watching your interaction intently from across the room. Her gaze flicks between you and Sevika, a mix of curiosity and concern in her eyes.

Sevika notices too. She turns to Caitlyn with a raised eyebrow, the casualness in her voice from earlier gone. "Something on your mind?"

Caitlyn quickly averts her gaze, busying herself with her task. 

As you reach for another box, Sevika beats you to it, effortlessly lifting the heavy container. 

"How do you even have time for this?" you blurt out, frustration and confusion coloring your voice. 

Sevika sets the box down, her eyes meeting yours. "I don’t." 

The moment stretches between you, fraught with tension. Sevika's typical scowl returns, and she turns to leave.  "Try not to burn the place down with your expert can-stacking skills," she throws over her shoulder as she exits.

These encounters with Sevika were becoming more frequent, each one leaving you more uncertain than the last. But the random checkups made sense - you don't trust her, and neither does she.  

The pantry job was a way to keep your group in check but it coincidentally became a test of patience as well. Powder flits in and out, her time increasingly spent with Ekko. While part of you was frustrated by her lack of help, a larger part was glad she actually got to enjoy her childhood.

The breaking point comes during an argument with a burly man demanding extra rations. 

"Sorry, but rules are rules," you say, trying to keep your voice level. "Take it up with Sevika if you have an issue."

His face reddens. "Screw that, I'll go straight to Silco!"

The name hangs in the air, the mysterious leader of Zaun you've yet to meet. You knew Sevika's role as his right hand, but Silco himself remains an enigma, spoken of in hushed tones.

As the man storms off, you lock eyes with Caitlyn. Without a word, you both know - it's time for a change.

You find Grayson at the tennis courts, an incongruous sight that still makes you do a double-take. She's lounging in a weathered lawn chair, a beer in hand, watching a lackluster game between two residents.

The sun beats down on the cracked concrete court, weeds pushing through the fading lines.

Grayson spots you approaching, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes a long swig of her beer. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You can smell the alcohol on her breath as you draw closer, noting the slight flush on her cheeks. Despite her relaxed posture, there's a sharpness to her gaze that tells you she's far from incapacitated.

"We need to talk," you say. "About our roles here."

"What about them?"

Caitlyn steps forward, her posture straight and confident. "I want to join your patrol team."

You nod, adding, "And I want to join Sevika's scavenging group."

Grayson snorts. "If you want to join Sevika's group, why come to me? Why not ask her yourself?"

You feel your cheeks heat up as the memory resurfaces. "I did..."

Sevika stands before you, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk on her face. You've just finished explaining your request to join her team.

She laughs, the sound both mocking and somehow enticing. "If you can beat me in sparring once, sure." Her eyes rake over you. "But we both know that's not happening anytime soon, pantry girl."

"I need you to train me," you tell Grayson, determination in your voice. "Make me a better fighter. All I did was drive and fix wounds, but I know I can do more."

Grayson's eyes narrow. "How do I know I won't be wasting my time helping you two?"

Before you can respond, Caitlyn moves. In a blink, she's drawn Grayson's pistol from its holster and fired at a beer bottle perched on a table at the end of the court, shattering the bottle.

"Because we have the skills to prove it," Caitlyn says coolly, handing the gun back.

For a moment, there's silence. Then Grayson's face splits into a grin. "Alright, I'm convinced." She stands, stretching. "But today's my day off. I'll see you two at the west watchtower tomorrow morning." 

Her expression turns serious. "If you're late, don't bother asking again.  Do we have a deal?"

You and Caitlyn share a look.

“Deal.”

[moon-lit-petal]

Believe Me

Neville Longbottom x Fem!Beauxbatons!Reader

Summary: 5 times Dean and Seamus don't believe Neville and the time He proved them wrong.

Warning: not proof read, possibly not so nice friends, Neville being totally in love.

Word Count: 5k

Notes: this takes place when they are much older, I'd like to think that moldy V doesn't exist and the triwizard tournament happens much later in their hogwarts career :) I tried to keep it as ambiguous

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The Gryffindor common room was a cozy haven, illuminated by the flickering flames of the fireplace that cast warm shadows on the maroon and gold walls. A rowdy bunch of Gryffindors lounged comfortably on the oversized sofas, laughter and chatter filling the air as they reminisced about their latest escapades at Hogwarts.

"Honestly," Ron said, a frown spreading across his face, "I don’t know what’s worse—having a crush or trying to figure out what to say when you actually talk to them!"

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Tell me about it. I thought I was doing well with Cho until I accidentally called her 'Hermione' in the middle of a conversation!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, a playful smirk on her lips. "That’s not going to help your case, Harry."

The boys erupted into laughter, the sound bouncing off the stone walls. Dean leaned back, his arms behind his head, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I can’t even get a proper conversation going. It’s like every time I try to flirt, I end up sounding like a complete idiot."

Seamus snickered. "Remember when you tried to impress that girl from Slytherin with your 'amazing' Quidditch skills? You barely made it through the first sentence!"

"That was one time!" Dean retorted, though he couldn’t suppress a sheepish grin.

Just then, Neville spoke up with hesitant confidence.

"I mean, dating isn't that hard when you're with the right person."

The room fell silent, a few eyebrows raised in curiosity. Ron snorted, breaking the stillness. "No offense, Neville, but what do you know about dating? You've never had a girlfriend before, right?"

With a half-hearted shrug and a giddy smile, he looks at his friends. “Well actually, I've been dating this girl for a little while now.”

"Wait, who is she?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"She’s from Beauxbatons!" Neville said, his voice gaining confidence. "Her name is Y/N. She’s really nice, we met over the summer when she was visiting some family”"

Seamus squinted skeptically. "A Beauxbatons girl? Come on, Neville, that sounds a bit too good to be true."

Hermione frowned, clearly disapproving of the boys’ reactions. "Guys, come on you shouldn't just dismiss him, I'm sure she's a nice girl Neville." She gave him a small smile, Neville could tell she too, didn't believe him

Ginny crossed her arms and chimed in. "Exactly. Just because you lot can’t seem to get dates doesn’t mean you should tear him down."

Ron raised his hands in mock surrender. "I’m not tearing him down! I’m just saying it’s hard to believe. Neville and a girl from Beauxbatons?"

Neville’s face turned a shade of crimson. "I’m serious! We’ve been writing to each other, and she even sent me a few drawings, she does portraits and sent one shed done of herself"

Laughter erupted around the room, the sound mingling with Neville’s embarrassed smile.

Hermione’s expression softened. "That sounds just lovely Neville. Maybe you could show us next time?"

Neville blushed even deeper. "I’m planning to! Well, I was… but they fell in the black lake the other day and got ruined..”

Seamus grinned. "Well, that's just a bloody shame, isn't it?”

"I swear! I'm not lying!!" Neville replied, sounding both desperate for someone to believe him and annoyed they would think he'd lie about something like this, to begin with.

Ginny smirked. "It's ok Neville, we believe you really."

The boys continued their good-natured teasing, but Hermione and Ginny shot them looks that conveyed they should ease off. Gradually, the teasing softened, and Hermione quickly sought to change the subject.

"So, what about that new potion Professor Snape was on about?" she suggested, her smile brightening, and at the mention of Professor Snape everyone groaned out a whine.

The conversation shifted effortlessly as they delved into tales of misadventures in Potions class, leaving the topic of girlfriends behind, at least for the moment. Laughter filled the room once more, but Neville couldn’t help but shake his head at his friends. He knows they mean well, and as long as he knows he's telling the truth, then they'd eat their words eventually

----------

The greenhouses were buzzing with the sound of shovels scraping soil and the occasional screech from a particularly unruly Mandrake. Neville Longbottom, expertly handling a Venomous Tentacula with gloved hands, chatted absently with Ron as they worked together.

“I was talking to Y/N the other day,” Neville said, his tone casual as he patted down the soil around the plant. “She gave me some really good advice on how to deal with these sorts of plants. Apparently, they grow some massive ones in the Beauxbatons greenhouses.”

Ron looked up from his struggle with his own plant. “Oh yeah? Beauxbatons, right?”

Neville nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, she said they have this whole section dedicated to magical flora that we don’t even study here. She told me about this method they use to calm them down, so they don’t snap at you when you get close.”

Hermione overheard and looked over, curiosity piqued. “Really? I’d love to read up on that. Beauxbatons must have a fantastic Herbology program. Did she mention any specific techniques?”

Neville smiled. “Yeah, something about using lavender essence mixed with dragon dung fertilizer. It keeps them relaxed but still healthy. I’m thinking about trying it on one of the plants here.”

Ron gave him a sideways glance, his expression caught between amusement and doubt. “You’ve got an answer for everything these days, don’t you, Neville? Y/N’s always helping you out, eh?”

“Well, she knows a lot about Herbology,” Neville said earnestly. “We talk about plants all the time.”

Harry, busy with his own re-potting, chuckled softly. “Sounds like you two have a lot in common, Neville. It’s nice to have someone who shares your interests.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Exactly. And Beauxbatons is known for their magical plants, so it’s not surprising she’d know a lot. What else has she taught you?”

Before Neville could respond, Seamus, who was struggling with his own plant a few tables away, joined the conversation. “Wait a minute, are we still talking about the mysterious Beauxbatons girlfriend? You’ve got to admit, Neville, it sounds a bit too good to be true. A French girl who’s an expert in magical plants? What are the odds?”

Dean snorted in amusement. “Yeah, Neville, no offense, but you talk about her like she’s perfect. She’s beautiful, smart, loves Herbology… I’m starting to think you’ve been reading too many romance novels.”

Neville flushed, but he shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. She’s real, I promise. She just… understands me. We have a lot in common.”

Ron patted Neville on the back, grinning. “We believe you, mate. It’s just hard to imagine someone who’s basically a Herbology goddess and happens to be your girlfriend. We’ll believe it when we see her.”

Harry, who had been silent for most of the exchange, gave Neville an encouraging smile. “Well, I’m sure she’s real, Neville. It’d be great to meet her one day.”

Seamus, however, couldn’t resist another quip. “Maybe she’ll show up with a rare magical plant to prove it, eh?”

Neville forced a smile but didn’t push the subject further. He knew they didn’t mean to be harsh, but it was clear that, despite their friendly tones, his friends still had their doubts about Y/N. He returned to his work, focusing on the plants.

----------

It was a typical morning in the Great Hall, sunlight streaming through the tall enchanted windows, casting golden beams across the long tables filled with Hogwarts students enjoying their breakfast. The scent of fresh bread, eggs, and pumpkin juice filled the air. Chatter echoed from all sides, students murmuring about Quidditch matches, homework assignments, and weekend plans.

Neville sat at the Gryffindor table, absently pushing his scrambled eggs around his plate. His thoughts were far from breakfast. He had been waiting for weeks now—hoping for a letter or, even better, a package from Y/N.. Their relationship had been going strong, though the distance often made it difficult. But lately, he'd mentioned her so many times that his friends had begun to give him knowing looks, and their teasing, though lighthearted, always made him feel a little self-conscious.

“Oi, Neville! You alright, mate?” Seamus Finnigan asked, nudging him gently. “You’ve been staring at those eggs for ten minutes. Something on your mind?”

Neville smiled faintly, trying to shake off his nervous anticipation. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… waiting for the post.”

At that moment, as if on cue, the familiar sound of wings fluttering through the air filled the hall. Dozens of owls soared through the enchanted ceiling, delivering letters and parcels to their waiting owners. Neville’s heart raced as he scanned the sea of wings, hoping to see something special. And then he saw it—a stunning, silvery owl with long, elegant wings gliding toward him, catching the light as it flew. It was unlike any owl he’d ever seen at Hogwarts.

The owl swooped down gracefully, landing right in front of Neville with a soft hoot. In its talons was a thick package wrapped in delicate lavender-colored paper, sealed with the distinctive wax crest of Beauxbatons. Neville’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he just stared at the package in his lap, hardly believing it.

“Blimey, Neville,” Ron said from across the table, his eyebrows raised. “That’s a fancy delivery.”

“Is that… from your girlfriend?” Hermione asked, looking at the package curiously.

Neville nodded, trying not to look too pleased. “Yeah, it’s from Y/N.”

His friends exchanged glances, but there wasn’t any teasing, just mild surprise. Neville had spoken about Y/N often, but she seemed almost like a mythical figure to them—this beautiful, mysterious girl from France whom none of them had ever met.

“That’s some owl she’s got,” Dean commented, leaning over to get a better look at the package. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like that.”

Neville nodded again, feeling a bit self-conscious under their gazes. “She mentioned it once. Said it’s a rare breed from France. She’s… pretty proud of it.”

Seamus grinned. “Well, go on then, mate. Open it! Let’s see what she’s sent you.”

Neville hesitated for a moment, feeling all eyes on him. He knew they weren’t trying to be skeptical or mean, but he could sense the curiosity behind their words. His friends had never outright doubted him, but it was clear that after months of hearing about Y/N and not seeing any proof, they were a bit… unsure. Still, there was no mockery in their faces—just genuine interest.

With a deep breath, Neville carefully broke the wax seal and unwrapped the package. Inside was a beautifully embroidered scarf in the deep blue and silver colors of Beauxbatons, along with a folded letter. The scarf was soft, clearly handmade, and it smelled faintly of lavender.

“Wow,” Hermione said, leaning in closer. “That’s lovely, Neville. She made this for you?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Neville said quietly, running his fingers over the delicate stitches. “She’s been learning how to embroider. I, um… mentioned I needed a new scarf for winter, and I guess she remembered.”

Ron nodded appreciatively. “That’s impressive. Not many people make things like this anymore.”

Harry smiled from beside him. “Looks like she really cares about you, Neville.”

Neville smiled, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the scarf. It felt good to hear that—not just because it was true, but because it seemed like, for once, his friends weren’t doubting him.

But then Seamus, ever the joker, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’ve got to admit, though, Neville—it’s almost too perfect. A hand-embroidered scarf? From a Beauxbatons girl who sends you packages by a rare French owl? It’s like something out of a storybook.”

Neville laughed, shaking his head. “I know it sounds a bit… unbelievable, but I swear it’s true. She’s real.”

Dean, who had been eyeing the letter, grinned. “Well, if she keeps sending you things like this, we’ll start believing in miracles.”

Hermione shot Dean a disapproving look, but Neville chuckled along with the others. It wasn’t mean-spirited—they were just having fun. He didn’t mind the light teasing, especially now that he had proof to show them. And even if they found it hard to believe, they weren’t questioning him outright, just amused at the unlikely situation.

“That’ll be the day,” Ron said with a grin, though he quickly added, “But hey, She sounds great.”

Neville folded the scarf carefully and slipped it into his bag, feeling a little lighter. “She is.”

As the conversation shifted back to Quidditch and schoolwork, Neville glanced down at the unopened letter in his hands. He could read it later, in private. For now, he felt content knowing that, whether his friends believed him or not, Y/N was real—and she cared about him enough to send something as special as this.

Even if they still found it hard to imagine, that was enough for Neville. And maybe, just maybe, one day soon, his friends would get to meet her and see for themselves that she wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. But until then, he’d hold on to the scarf, the letter, and the quiet certainty that she was thinking of him as much as he was thinking of her.

----------

The Gryffindor common room was quieter than usual, the usual hustle and bustle replaced with a mellow atmosphere as the school year drew to a close. Most of the students had already packed their things, their trunks neatly stacked and waiting by the fireplace. The chairs around the room were occupied by groups of friends chatting, playing games, or simply lounging around, savoring the last few moments before heading home for the summer.

Neville sat with Seamus, Dean, and a couple of other Gryffindors near the windows, gazing out at the grounds. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow on the stone walls.

“I can't believe the year’s over already,” Dean said, leaning back in his chair. “Feels like we were just getting back from Christmas break.”

“Yeah, crazy,” Seamus agreed, his tone relaxed. “But I’m not going to miss the essays.”

Neville, absently fiddling with his wand, smiled. “I was telling Y/N about how busy it’s been. She’s had a lot going on too. The end of the year at Beauxbatons is apparently just as hectic as here.”

Seamus shot him a quick glance, his expression neutral, though Dean exchanged a brief look with him. “Y/N, huh?” Seamus said, not missing a beat. “Sounds like she’s got it rough over there.”

Neville nodded, completely unaware of Seamus’s inner skepticism. “Yeah, she’s been swamped. But we’re planning to meet up over the summer. She might even come to England for a bit.”

“That’s great, mate,” Dean chimed in, his voice casual though he raised his eyebrows slightly.

Neville stood up suddenly as if remembering something important. “Oh no! I forgot to pack my Astrronomy textbooks. I’ll be right back.”

With that, he hurried off to his dorm room, leaving the rest of them sitting there. The moment Neville was out of earshot, Seamus turned to the others with an exaggerated sigh.

“Alright,” Seamus said, leaning forward. “I like Neville, you all know that, but I’m telling you, there is no way Y/N exists.”

Dean grinned, leaning in as well. “You’re still stuck on that?”

Seamus shrugged, but the look on his face said he was convinced. “Come on, Dean. You’ve heard him talk about her for months—perfect French girlfriend from Beauxbatons who just happens to love magical plants as much as he does? I mean, sure, it could be true, but she’s never sent a picture, she’s never visited Hogwarts, and the only proof we’ve got are a few letters that could be from anyone.”

One of the younger Gryffindors, who had been listening in, piped up. “So, you think Neville’s lying? He doesn’t seem like the type to make something like that up.”

Seamus shook his head quickly. “No, I don’t think he’s lying, not really. I think he believes it. But I’m just saying—it sounds like he’s being catfished. It’s not like he’s met her in person since they started writing. For all we know, it could be some bloke from Durmstrang having a laugh.”

Dean chuckled. “You reckon someone’s really going that far to mess with Neville? That’s pretty dedicated.”

Seamus leaned back, his arms crossed. “Look, I’m not trying to be mean. I just don’t think she’s real. Or if she is, maybe she’s not exactly what Neville thinks. It’s just a bit… convenient, isn’t it? All these grand stories, but no one’s ever seen her.”

One of the girls nearby, who had been half-listening, frowned. “But Neville doesn’t seem like he’s making it up. He talks about her like she’s the real deal.”

“I know, that’s what makes me feel bad about doubting him,” Seamus admitted. “But you’ve got to admit it’s a bit suspicious. Every time she’s supposed to visit, something comes up. She’s ‘too busy,’ or ‘there’s something going on at Beauxbatons.’ It’s been almost a year and still no sign of her.”

Dean raised a hand to stop Seamus. “Alright, alright. But what if she is real and just… busy?”

Seamus snorted softly, though his tone was lighter. “Then she’s the busiest girlfriend in the world. Look, I’m not saying I’d tell Neville to his face that I don’t believe her. The poor bloke would be crushed. But between us… I just don’t see it.”

There was a brief lull in the conversation, and Seamus’s words hung in the air. The group seemed divided—some more skeptical, others wanting to believe in Neville’s story.

“Maybe she’ll surprise us,” one of the younger students said. “Maybe she’ll show up next year and you’ll all feel silly.”

Seamus grinned, though his expression remained doubtful. “If she shows up, I’ll buy Neville a drink. But until then… I’m betting we’re in for another year of stories about a girl we’ll never meet.”

As they laughed and talked, the door to the boys’ dormitory creaked open, and Neville came back down the stairs, his arms full of books.

“Found them,” Neville said, smiling as he returned to his spot by the window. “I almost forgot the Mooncalf studies Y/N recommended too.”

Seamus caught Dean’s eye but quickly smiled at Neville. “Glad you found everything, mate. All set for the summer, then?”

“Yeah,” Neville said, sitting down and looking a little wistful. “Just can’t wait to see her.”

Seamus nodded, his tone friendlier now. “Hope it all works out, Nev.”

As the conversation moved on to other things, the quiet skepticism lingered, but none of them had the heart to say anything to Neville directly. As much as they doubted Y/N’s existence, they couldn’t bring themselves to crush Neville’s enthusiasm. They just hoped, in their own way, that somehow, Y/N would turn out to be real after all.

----------

The Hogwarts Express rattled along the tracks, carrying its excited students back to school for another year. Laughter, chatter, and the occasional call of a vendor selling sweets filled the air as students reunited after the summer holiday, exchanging stories and catching up on the latest news.

In one of the compartments, Neville sat with Seamus, Dean, and a few other Gryffindors, a wide grin on his face as he animatedly recounted his summer adventures.

“… and then we went to this amazing garden in Kew! She couldn’t believe how many magical plants were hidden in plain sight. I’ve never seen her so excited,” Neville said, his eyes sparkling as he spoke about Y/N for the umpteenth time since they’d boarded the train.

Seamus leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, nodding along. “That sounds pretty great, Neville. So, you finally got to go on a proper date, huh?”

Neville beamed. “Yeah! We went on a few, actually. We had the best time. She was in London visiting her family for a couple of weeks, so we got to meet up almost every day.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, curious. “You said she was visiting family before, right? Didn’t she have plans to stay longer?”

“Yeah, she did,” Neville admitted, his tone dropping slightly, “but something came up. Her family had to leave earlier than expected, so she didn’t get to meet you guys like we’d planned.” He looked apologetic as he said it, clearly disappointed that his friends hadn’t been able to meet Y/N again.

“That’s too bad,” Dean said, sharing a glance with Seamus. “We were looking forward to it.”

“Yeah, me too,” Neville sighed, but then perked up again. “But we did take loads of pictures! I wanted to show you all, but… uh…” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “She took the photos with her by accident when she left. We were using her camera, and she packed it with all her stuff.”

Seamus blinked, his expression carefully neutral. “So, no pictures?”

Neville shook his head, he saw the clear skepticism beneath Seamus’s question but brushed it off. “No, but she’s going to send them by owl as soon as she can. She promised. There were some really good ones too—us in front of the Leaky Cauldron, at Kew Gardens, and a few near the Tower of London. I can’t wait to show you all.”

Seamus exchanged another glance with Dean, a small smile tugging at his lips, though he kept it from looking too patronizing. “Sounds like it was a great time, mate.”

“Oh, it was,” Neville said earnestly. “Y/N’s amazing. We even talked about coming up with ways to visit more often during the year. Maybe meet up during the Hogsmeade weekends. I’m going to send her a letter as soon as we get back to Hogwarts.”

Seamus nodded along, though his smile faltered slightly. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Dean shifted in his seat, glancing out the window for a moment before leaning forward. “So, Neville, you said her family comes to London often, right? Does she have a lot of family here?”

“Her dad’s English,” Neville explained. “Her mum is French, so they stay over there most of the time but they come back to visit every summer, and sometimes during the holidays. That’s how we managed to spend so much time together.”

Dean nodded slowly, while Seamus leaned forward just a little. “And you didn’t think to borrow one picture, maybe a keepsake for yourself?” he asked lightly. There was no malice in his voice, but there was an unmistakable undertone of doubt.

Neville ignored it. “I didn’t need to. We’ve been writing so much, and she’s going to send the pictures soon. Besides, I’ve got her letters, and I brought back a few things we picked up together. Look.” He pulled out a small, intricately woven bracelet from his bag. “We got these matching bracelets from a little magical shop near Diagon Alley. Hers has a charm for luck, and mine’s for protection.”

Seamus studied the bracelet for a moment before leaning back. “That’s nice, Neville.”

Dean smiled at the bracelet, genuinely trying to be supportive. “Yeah, it looks great. You two must’ve had a good time.”

“We did,” Neville replied, relaxing now that he was surrounded by his friends. “She’s just… brilliant. I really wish you could’ve met her. I know you’d all get along.”

Seamus offered a friendly smile, though his eyes flickered with doubt. “Yeah, maybe next time, Neville.”

The compartment grew quiet for a moment, and the sound of the train clacking along the tracks filled the space. Outside, the countryside whizzed by in a blur of green fields and distant hills, and the feeling of excitement for the new school year was still palpable.

Dean, always the diplomat, broke the silence. “Well, I’m glad you had a good summer, Neville. Hopefully next time, the timing will work out better.”

Neville nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’m sure it will. She really wants to meet you all. She’s heard so much about you.”

Seamus shot Dean a look, and Dean just shrugged, his face carefully neutral. No one wanted to say it, but the story about Y/N was starting to sound a bit too convenient—another summer gone by, another set of plans that didn’t quite line up. And now, no photos to show for it, either.

But despite their growing doubts, Seamus and Dean weren’t about to crush Neville’s enthusiasm. Not after he had spent the entire train ride practically glowing with happiness. Still, once Neville got up to stretch his legs and grab some snacks from the trolley, Seamus leaned toward Dean with a raised eyebrow.

“So… still no Y/N, huh?”

Dean chuckled quietly. “Still no Y/N.”

“I swear, if she’s real, I’ll eat my own shoe,” Seamus muttered under his breath. “Every time he gets close to introducing her, something comes up.”

Dean glanced out the window again before replying. “I don’t know, Seamus. Maybe she’s real, but there’s just bad timing. Or maybe…”

“Maybe she’s in his head,” Seamus finished, his tone soft but resigned. “I just don’t get how one person could have this much bad luck when it comes to us meeting her.”

Dean shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “At this point, I just hope for Neville’s sake that she’s real. You can see how much he cares about her.”

“Yeah,” Seamus sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I hope so too.”

When Neville returned with a handful of Chocolate Frogs and a Butterbeer, his smile was as bright as ever, blissfully unaware of the quiet conversation that had just passed between his friends. And as the Hogwarts Express continued its journey, his thoughts were already on the letters he’d be sending to Y/N once they arrived at school.

----------

The atmosphere in the Great Hall was buzzing with excitement. The start of a new school year always brought surprises, but this time, there was something different in the air. The students were seated at their house tables, eagerly awaiting the feast, when Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat to address the hall.

“Welcome, students, to another year at Hogwarts!” Dumbledore’s voice echoed throughout the room, immediately capturing everyone’s attention. “I am particularly pleased to announce that this year, we will be hosting a most extraordinary event… the Triwizard Tournament!”

A murmur spread through the hall, rippling with whispers and shocked expressions. Neville, seated at the Gryffindor table with Seamus, Dean, Harry, Hermione, and Ron, exchanged confused glances with the others.

“Triwizard Tournament?” Dean muttered. “That wasn’t in the usual announcements.”

“Yeah, didn’t see that coming,” Seamus added, leaning in to hear more.

Dumbledore continued, explaining the rich history of the tournament, how it had been revived, and the prestigious honor of being chosen as a champion. Then, with a wave of his hand, he motioned to the entrance of the hall.

“And now, may I introduce our esteemed guests from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute.”

The heavy doors at the end of the hall swung open, and the students of Beauxbatons Academy entered. They moved with grace and poise that captivated everyone, wearing their sky-blue silk robes as they marched in perfect unison. Neville’s heart raced as he scanned the group, but he couldn’t spot Y/N among them.

“Who are they?” Harry asked, squinting to get a better look.

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied, intrigued. “But they look amazing.”

“They’re all so… elegant,” Ron said, trying to take it all in. “Do you think they’re all that good-looking?”

“Probably,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes playfully.

As the Beauxbatons students completed their entrance, Neville’s heart dropped when he didn’t see Y/N. Just when he thought he might be imagining things, she stepped forward, performing acrobatic flips and graceful spins, her hair flowing behind her like a cascade of river waves. She looked more stunning than Neville could ever have described.

“Bloody hell, who is that?” Dean whispered, eyes wide in disbelief.

Seamus was staring, frozen in place. “No way…”

When the introductions were done, Neville leaned closer to his friends. “That’s her! That’s Y/N!”

Harry raised an eyebrow, glancing between Neville and the group. “Wait, who’s Y/N? Which one?”

Neville pointed toward Y/N, who was beaming with joy alongside her classmates. “The one in the front! I didn’t know she was coming!”

The others turned to look, their expressions shifting from curiosity to disbelief. “No way!” Ron exclaimed, glancing at Neville. “You weren’t joking about her being real?”

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “She’s absolutely brilliant!”

Before anyone could say another word, a voice called out from across the hall.

“Neville!”

Neville’s head snapped up, and there she was, weaving through the crowd, her face lighting up when she spotted him. “Y/N!” he breathed.

The next thing he knew, Y/N was rushing toward him, a wide smile on her face. “Neville!” she called again, and in an instant, she was there, throwing her arms around him.

Without hesitation, she began planting kisses all over his face—on his cheeks, forehead, and nose—her laughter bubbling up as she clung to him. “I’ve missed you so much!” she said between kisses.

The entire Gryffindor table stared in stunned silence. Seamus’s mouth was hanging open, while Dean could only blink in disbelief. All around the hall, students who had been casually talking or laughing stopped to watch the unexpected display. Whispers started spreading like wildfire, but Neville didn’t care—he was too overjoyed, too caught up in the moment.

“Y/N!” Neville finally managed to say, his face flushed from the attention. “I—I missed you too! I didn’t know you were coming! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Y/N giggled and pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her hands still resting on his shoulders. “I wanted to surprise you, silly. You should’ve seen your face when I came in!” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

Neville was too overwhelmed to respond properly. His heart felt like it was about to burst from happiness. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, grinning ear to ear.

“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” Y/N said softly, wrapping her arms around him again in a tight hug.

The Gryffindor table was still frozen in place, watching the entire scene unfold with wide eyes. Seamus finally found his voice and leaned toward Dean, whispering, “Well… that is not what I expected at all...”

Dean shook his head in disbelief. “You’re not the only one, mate.”

Y/N finally pulled away from Neville, her smile never fading. She glanced around at his friends, who were still recovering from the shock. “You must be Neville’s friends,” she said brightly, offering them a cheerful wave. “It’s so nice to finally meet you all!”

“Y-Yeah, we’ve heard… a lot about you,” Dean stammered, offering a friendly, albeit awkward smile.

Y/N laughed, completely oblivious to the lingering disbelief. “I hope all good things!”

“Definitely,” Seamus managed to say, shooting Neville a look that was a mixture of awe and apology. “Welcome to Hogwarts, Y/N.”

As the rest of the Great Hall resumed their chatter, Neville stood there with Y/N by his side, his face glowing with pride. After a year of doubt, teasing, and skepticism, here she was—real, vibrant, and wonderful.

For once, Neville didn’t need to say anything. His friends finally believed him.

[miyamiwu]

Vein and Xia Fei: Song Analysis

Last edited: Jan. 1, 2025, 15:31

---

Vein’s PV is associated with surveillance and control:

Xia Fei’s PV is full of him being the subject of a camera:

Vein is always looking at Xia Fei:

(In the scene above, only Vein reacted to XF. Liu Xiao didn’t bat an eye at him the entire time.)

One is behind the camera, while the other is in front of it.

Song lyrics analysis under the cut. Lyric videos have been included for your reference. Make sure to turn on the closed captions.

Burning Palace

In the beginning of the song, Xia Fei’s and Vein’s parts are intertwined. Notable lines:

The stubborn guys are fighting back. I’ll let them talk.

Incompetent guys better understand, time to shut your mouth.

Bloody Storm

Don’t lie to me, I see through your delusions If I want to win, I win with open dignity

....

If I don’t claim the throne, who dares to act more arrogant than I? Bow your head, surrender, and hand your kindness over to desire Absolute victory, this duel is already decided I want this world to surge and churn with a bloody storm

...

If I don’t claim the throne, who dares to act more wild than I? Like a blade unsheathed, shedding its disguise and revealing its edge Adore my facade yet dread my madness Slander or praise, it’s futile to think of shaking my scepter

Rent a Shell

To the lights, I lend this exquisite shell To stand in the center and excel I don’t care what it takes to stride Until the others choose to move on Or realize I wouldn’t do it wrong

...

Heaven hasn’t favored me, so I’ll crown myself with this star path Sharp whispers scatter, harsh and loud Like moths diving into flames unbound But I got the flame that can put out all the streams So just back off, back off

...

’Cause I got nothing to lose All I do is pursue

...

No need to guess, this seamless disguise The crowd will forget this masked facade in time Let the wildfire drown the truth’s cry Who will perfectly hide the stolen gaze now? Yeah, I know I gotta run Yeah, fake a smile in calm

Conclusion

Red Lines: Disallowing lies vs Allowing lies

V: Don’t lie to me, I see through your delusions

X: To the lights, I lend this exquisite shell

Orange Lines: Open vs Hidden

V: If I want to win, I win with open dignity

X: I don’t care what it takes to stride

V: Like a blade unsheathed, shedding its disguise and revealing its edge

X: No need to guess, this seamless disguise

V: Adore my facade yet dread my madness

X: The crowd will forget this masked facade in time

Green Lines: Receive vs Pursue

V: If I don’t claim the throne, who dares to act more arrogant than I?

X: Heaven hasn’t favored me, so I’ll crown myself with this star path

V: Bow your head, surrender, and hand your kindness over to desire

X: All I do is pursue

Blue Lines: Absolute Victory vs Nothing to Lose

V: Absolute victory, this duel is already decided

X: ’Cause I got nothing to lose

Pink Lines: Truth by Water vs Lies by Fire

V: I want this world to surge and churn with a bloody storm

X: Let the wildfire drown the truth’s cry

Edit: After rewatching Bloody Storm, I’m no longer sure about Vein being water because…he’s got literal fire in his PV lol. But water/fire association aside, the storm in his song does still represent truth / being true to desire

Violet Lines: On external opinions: Uncaring vs Defensive

V: Slander or praise, it’s futile to think of shaking my scepter

X: Sharp whispers scatter, harsh and loud

X: But I got the flame that can put out all the streams

X: So just back off, back off

In Burning Palace, Vein’s and Feifei’s parts were a celebration of their similarities. However, their individual character songs show how much they contrast each other

Edit: I was wrong. Burning Palace also juxtaposes Vein and Xia Fei. While Xia Fei is telling his enemies to shut their mouths, Vein is letting them talk.

[wing-ed-thing]

Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Chapter IX

Synopsis: The territory between the Uchiha and the Senju dwindles by the day. And in an era where social lines have been blurred, and new clan heads have been chosen, you're stuck between a scorned lover and a man who relentlessly pursues your hand in marriage. You don't have much time before you're forced to confront the sins of your past.

Word Count: 6.8k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including tags for blood and descriptions of gore. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: Hopefully we can wrap all this up soon... god willing... but hey this piece finally has somewhat of a direction (?) now.

An Uchiha warrior with a fatal wound should give his life in a suicide attack, but not Izuna. No, the brother of Madara would not die a warrior’s death on the battlefield. Instead, the Uchiha retreated from their path to the northern shoulder, surrendering the territory to the Senju in a victory their rivals would call “The Conquering of King’s Neck.”

The Uchiha returned suddenly, earlier than they should have, and having lost great numbers. Madara did not use the village gates but shot right over the sharpened walls like a deranged comet falling from the sky. He carried Izuna’s body in his arms, holding his brother close to his chest. Both were covered in blood and heavy wounds. They had been the first to arrive, heralding in the news of their defeat without a single word of it uttered.

Madara shouted for medical assistance loud enough to startle the entire settlement, and in a blur of confusion, agony, and chaos, Izuna was brought to a doctor, and the two brothers were sealed inside a private room as quickly as the commotion had started.

The entire village stirred to life with urgency. People emerged from their cottages and herded their children out of the street as the rest of the battalion emerged from the forest and trudged toward the front gates.

The men who had stayed behind rushed the injured to the hospital and hurried around the newly returned soldiers to assist in treating their wounds. Women gathered water from the well, ready to help receive the weary soldiers. 

Most injured warriors were gathered in one large room and treated on cots side by side, but not Izuna. Even in the sunlight, gathered citizens could see Madara’s hulking form pace back and forth from inside their private room.

No one else was allowed in except for the best physician in the village, who was currently facing the brunt of Madara’s furious rage. You could hear the clattering of furniture and thrown items hitting the mat floor from down the road. 

You clutched your medicine pack, shouting and shoving through the crowd as you approached the triage.

“Make way for the apothecary!” 

You came running as soon as you received word. The medics who went to the scene before you had their own medical packs with prepared remedies within them, but if the medics were to perform treatments on such a large group of men, they would need all the medicines they could get. 

Madara had, after all, forbidden you from creating more heavy-duty remedies in anticipation of a victory for the Uchiha. He told you that fast-acting cures would be all that would be needed and did not discriminate when it came to potency. The high ground belonged to the Uchiha, and Madara himself formulated their strategy for the ambush. But Madara was left with little more than the taste of defeat and bloodied hands after the battle. 

You hurried across the dirt path, the dry pebbles and earth making hurried scratching noises below the soles of your sandals. You clutched your oversized medicinal bag. The material wasn’t strong enough to carry the number of remedies you had shoved haphazardly inside. Your eyes were set on the treatment center where the soldiers were being taken. The little time you had was crucial for saving as many lives as you could.

Time seemed to slow as you ran past the paper door leading to Izuna’s private room, and you failed to notice the large hand that shot out from inside until it had grasped the back of your robes and pulled you in. 

You were thrown onto the woven matt floor with barely enough time to break your fall, let alone catch your compilation of medicines. You skidded against the hard surface, ripping the cloth on your shoulder as the fabric folded under you with the motion. Your arms wrapped against your oversized pack, and the glass bottles rattled against one another as you held them close to your chest.

Madara stood over you: hulking, broad, impeding, and crazed, but still as he slowly slid the paper door shut. His palm splayed out in the middle of the door, leaving a streak of crimson across the delicate white material. The air dried the red color into a muddy rust.

An unmoving, pale hand appeared in your peripheral. You scrambled to your knees, grip still clutching your medicinal bag. You hardly recognized Izuna as he lay in front of you.

All color had drained from his cheeks, but you could hardly pay attention to the grayness of his skin in the face of the massive open wound across his stomach. Izuna bled all colors of red, his gash like a gruesome flower clawing out of his torso and streaking across the room. His chest heaved up and down at an inhumanly slow pace, pumping a wheezing sound out of his throat with every strangled breath. Everything smelled of blood, and what used to be an entirely white room was marred with ghastly streaks of gore. 

The doctor worked frantically over him, but even looking at Izuna for a second told you all that you needed to know. His wound was already decorated with herbal remedies, the leaves and ground flower buds a stark, soft contrast to the wet, oozing gash that churned just below. The colors illuminated with an effervescent glow under the light of the doctor’s healing jutsu. 

Izuna’s head fell to the side toward you, your name dripping from his lips in a voice hardly above a whisper. You scrambled to his side, shedding your bag, and scooping his hand up in yours without a thought. 

“Izuna—!” 

Your heart sank into the pits of your stomach, and your face felt numb. Tears flooded your waterline as your pulse started to drum in your ears. One of your hands, now sporting a few streaks of blood that you didn’t notice, came over your mouth in mortified shock.

But even so, Izuna gazed at you fondly. His eyes were lidded, pain written across his face, but he did his best to grasp onto you weakly. You stared widely down at his giant wound, almost hypnotized by the terrible sight of it, before returning to Izuna’s face. Your hand dropped back down to your lap and joined the other in morphing over his palm. 

Your lips parted, but no sound left them. They wavered in the bitter-smelling air as an ugly sound stalled in your throat. You didn’t have it in you to tell him that it all would be okay. He wouldn’t have believed you anyway.

“I do not know what to say…” Your voice came out in a breathless hiss, your lips crinkling upwards as your brows creased together into two wavy lines. 

“I apologize…” Izuna was barely audible, and his words held an incoherent rasp. “The words I spoke to you last were most regretful… and most dishonorable…”

“Izuna, do not speak like this!” Your scolding was less than a whisper.

You looked at the doctor, whose eyes were already on you. Wordlessly, he confirmed your fearful thoughts.

Izuna wasn’t going to—

“How does he appear?” Madara implored. “I demand you tell me. Tell me that you deem him treatable with your remedies!”

Izuna gave your hand a light squeeze. When you looked down at him, two tears fell right onto his blood-stained clothing.

His other hand slowly rose, shaking as he brought it to his face. It stopped, trembling over his neck as Izuna raised his pointer finger. He brought it over his lips. 

The sound of your name boomed across the paper room.

“Why do you fall silent? You are able to revive him, are you not?” Madara thundered frantically. “You told me! You told me of your chakra remedies!” Madara’s hand shot out from behind you but missed your shoulder as his fingers grasped about wildly. You could feel the force of his motion in the air as the slight breeze of his movement rattled the hair behind your ear.

He made another grab for you, and you turned to grasp him by the shoulders as if you were taking a bull by its horns, dropping Izuna’s hand in the process. The metal of Madara’s armor was dirty and solid, pinching your fingers as you tried to keep him at bay as he lunged. He ranted something incoherent, nearly knocking you back into Izuna. Your core tensed, trying to keep yourself from falling back onto Izuna’s open torso as you tried to fight Madara away. 

“Madara, this is madness!” you shouted directly into his face. Your arms were beginning to shake under the weight of him, the locking of your joints being the only thing keeping Madara from pinning you down in his deranged rampage. But the fear and confusion in your gaze immediately widened as you met his gray irises. “Madara! Your eyes!”

“Clan Head, that is enough!” The doctor had since stood, stepping over Izuna’s body to ram into Madara with his shoulder. Your limbs were granted relief as the two of them stumbled back, nearly punching a hole in the paper wall. 

The doctor was not as large of a man as Madara, but he held his own against Madara’s unrestrained rage. His shoulder dug into the right side of Madara’s chest, and the doctor used all his weight to keep him from charging. But he was ultimately not enough to keep Madara restrained. 

Madara shoved him back with a violent push to the doctor’s chest.

“Who are you to cease treatment on my brother?! Who are you to attack your Clan Head— I’ll have you banished for your indiscretion—!”

“Madara, that is enough!” You shot to your feet, placing yourself between the two men. One of your palms splayed across Madara’s chest plate. He continued to scream over your head, gesturing pointedly somewhere behind you. Tears streamed down his face as his skin scrunched up in rage. — “Madara!”

— “You dare to impede me? My younger brother lies dying before my very eyes, and I cannot even see his face! And you dare stand against me when Izuna’s chakra weakens! You are traitors! You are traitors to the Uchiha; I will have you banished and then hunt you down myself— why do you refuse to help my brother? —”

— “Madara, please, I implore you to listen—”

Madara’s hand whipped across your face with enough force to make your ears ring. You fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the power of Madara’s strike making you almost spin as you went down. Your hand shot to your nose, which had begun to bleed. Your blood mixed with Izuna’s.

“Madara, that is enough…” Izuna began to sit up somewhere behind you. He groaned in pain, almost collapsing as he propped himself on one elbow. The doctor was already beside him, urging him to lie back down. But the sound of Izuna’s voice appeared to be enough to sate Madara’s mounting rage. He visibly melted, perking up as he tried to pinpoint where Izuna’s voice came from with a rapid gesture of his head. 

You were lost, hypnotized by the red that dripped from your nose and onto your hand. The droplets were thick and hot, only diluted by the tears of disbelief that seemed to fall in sheets from your eyes. You struggled to gather yourself as Madara knelt by Izuna’s side. 

“We will find a way,” Madara insisted with certainty. He nodded several times, taking up the straps of your medicine pack in his hand. He rooted around in it, searching for powder. “There is an ointment crafted for deep wounds—!”

“It is too late, Madara.” Izuna collapsed back onto his cot. A sharp hiss of pain tore from his throat. Izuna grabbed at his brother’s sleeve, willing him to come closer with his little remaining strength. The hold he had on Madara’s clothes was a death grip. “You must listen to me.”

Madara bowed like a child in prayer, lending his ear to Izuna’s lips. He crouched on his knees, hair cascading over his brother’s pale face as he blindly clung onto any part of Izuna he could reach. Izuna’s voice, perhaps meant only for Madara, faded in and out.

“For the good and future of the clan, you must not fall victim to Hashirama Senju’s trickery… promise me, I…” You could barely hear him. You hovered just behind Madara, sitting with your knees tucked under you and the fabric that made up the skirt of your robes balled in your fists. You tucked your chin to your chest. Hot tears continued to dribble down your face.

Your head spun, unable to listen to Izuna’s words even if you tried. You became lost in yourself, only resurfacing to reality when the sound of your name rang across the room. It was the doctor.

One moment, Izuna was speaking to Madara, and then the next—

“We will be performing an ocular transplant,” the doctor said. “Are you able to assist?” His grave gaze bore into you.

Your mouth gaped. You shook your head in disbelief. You turned toward Madara, who couldn't see you.

“You are taking his eyes?” you asked accusingly. Your tone held a harsh snap. “Are you so obsessed with battle that you dare take the sharingan of your own brother—?”

“Enough.” Izuna’s voice somehow found its way out of his throat. Just barely. His tired eyes met yours. “I forfeit them willingly… for the sake of the clan.” Izuna’s lids fluttered closed, even as you continued to stare. A new wave of tears welled in your vision. You were growing sick of weeping.

“For the sake of the clan…” you repeated, a part of you hoping that if you spoke the words, they would make better sense to you. You didn’t have to yield advanced jutsu to understand the implications of Madara obtaining Izuna’s eyes. With the Senju closing in, you knew there were few other choices.

Madara, the leader of the Uchiha, had exhausted his mangekyo sharingan. Izuna, the second strongest fighter in the clan, was fading quickly as he lay before you. And while the Uchiha had more than formidable soldiers, too many had been defeated in the ambush, and the rest had been injured during their retreat. It was truly up to Madara to protect you now.

Izuna spoke your name again. It would be the final time he would do so.

“I implore you… please, do not deprive me of my final wish,” he said weakly, the frailty of his words a stark contrast to the unfair burden he bestowed upon you. You glanced back toward the doctor. “I need you by my side.”

“I— I just make the medicine, although I— I…” You closed your eyes to shed more tears, but none fell. You tried to blink again, only to find your waterline dry. “I can administer some remedies.”

“The extra set of hands is more than plenty,” the doctor affirmed. “But we must make haste.”

Izuna’s hand found yours. His touch was cold. He gave your hand a weak squeeze.

*** 

It wasn’t enough to hang onto every moment you could. You tried to take him in during every second of the procedure, focusing so hard on being with Izuna for the dwindling amount of time you had left. You could feel the minutes slipping through your fingers. Your eyes searched every inch of him, trying to hang onto the patches of snowy white skin between the dirt and red stains. Izuna was here now, and you pulled a single moment into a thousand.

And when it was done, and Izuna was dead, you sat back on your calves. Madara lay to your left, his face bandaged with wrappings adorned with healing herbs. And Izuna rested to your right.

He had passed just moments before, long before the doctor had left the room. A thin sheet rested over his head, extending down to his blood-stained boots. But even as he lay such a short distance away, all presence of him had been vanquished from the room. The form under the cloth was an object, a thing taking a shape that certainly wasn’t Izuna. 

Your skin was taut from all your weeping. The tears still came in bursts, but the muscles in your face felt fatigued by it all. Any noise from the outside sounded muffled. Even Madara’s heavy breathing didn’t make it to your ears. 

You could see the light from the sun behind the paper walls. You stared blankly at the random swipes and spatters of red that dotted the room, staining the light eggshell color of all the fixtures. 

You lay down between them, letting your body go limp for the first time that morning. Some medics had since taken your bag of extra medication to use outside. The commotion in the village seemed to have dwindled some. You let your eyes fall closed. Exhaustion had grown so great in your head that your lack of energy made you wired. Your thoughts ran across your brain on their own, and you could do little to stop them.

You could sense that Madara was about to speak even before he parted his lips. He breathed in, taking a familiar pause before his voice dared to break through the silence in the room. 

“Your resentment radiates off of you like fire.”

In one of his final acts of life, Izuna had sated Madara’s rage, leaving his brother in this world quiet and pensive. Madara had been eerily silent. 

You let your eyes open lazily. They traced the outline of Izuna’s face beneath the cotton sheet.

“Now is hardly the time, Madara,” you muttered. 

“But it is true.”

You didn’t answer. You shepherded the silence back into the air, hoping that your ignorance of him would be enough. You couldn’t handle his talk in the face of your bubbling and agitated emotions. 

“It is true—"

“Silence, Madara,” you snapped, your words lashing across the silent atmosphere you tried to curate. You held your arms close to your chest, nuzzling your cheek into the side of one of your hands. You curled farther in on yourself, only isolating Madara more. “Izuna just...”

“He is passed,” Madara rumbled solemnly with all the clarity of the world. You cast your gaze to the light just outside the paper doors. It looked warm. “And you believe it should have been me in his place.”

“I said no such thing.” Your face was tired and puffy.

“You would be right.”

“Cease with your grandstanding—” You sat up, propping yourself on your palm as you faced Izuna’s body. You could barely keep yourself from collapsing from the mental exhaustion alone. — “It is inappropriate at a time like this.” You could feel the sting of tears shocking the nerves behind your nose, yet your eyes remained dry. “Why must you make these things so difficult?”

“I am making the death of my own brother difficult?” He sat up somewhere behind you.

“Do not twist my words. Timing has never been your strong suit, Madara.” You also rose to sit up straight, now sitting cross-legged near Izuna’s knees.  

“You believe that I am not in grief?” He held a thundering bite to his words, although even the slightest increase in volume sounded like a storm within the context of the hauntingly quiet room. “Do you believe that I do not feel deep despair over one who I have loved so dearly?” 

“You were not the only one who cherished Izuna!” You snapped around, knees hitting the opposite side of the mat floor. “Of all the times where you must be a fool, Madara! Why must it be now? Why must it have been this past visit to my apothecary? Why must it have been on the battlefield where you could have saved him a hundred times over, and yet you condemn yourself to play the fool!”

You weren’t used to seeing Madara’s face bandaged. He looked like a ghost, sitting upright where he was with his legs outstretched before him. Even blinded, you could almost feel his gaze boring into yours.

When he spoke, his voice was low.

“I am well aware,” he growled, trailing a tense silence in his wake. Madara sat up farther, and it wasn’t until the faint shadow of his large form eclipsed half of your face that you realized how quickly he bridged the gap between the two of you. “I am not blind enough to reflect on my hubris, nor am I blind enough to recognize my own twisted nature in my jealousy.”

You found yourself once again face to face with bandaged eyes, hypnotized by the infinity of cloth strips layered over each other. You took in every fold, watching where blood slowly seeped through the fibers. And perhaps if it had been a more tender moment and if you had loved Madara more, you might have tenderly taken hold of his jaw. But instead, you sat, slowly sobering up to the reality of what just occurred a few moments prior as your face was contorted by a demon of despair. 

Your resolve imploded.

“A mere reflection is hardly recompense,” you hissed, your voice coming out as barely a whisper. “How must it feel to have sacrificed your only living blood and continue to prove yourself so fruitless in your rivalry with Hashirama Senju? You have no excuse for your arrogance!” You steadily grew in volume, suddenly finding yourself standing. “So lost in your fruitless rivalry with him, you have indeed been left blind, with your flesh newly broken and easily swayed heart—no, you do not view clearly enough the hubris in your ways! You are a soft man, Madara!”

The tears came back all at once. You shed them like a waterfall as the wind caught in your throat. You gasped for air, hiccupping and choking all at once as the words tumbled from your lips. 

“Izuna—" You could hardly get his name out between gasps. “He—! Izuna, he thought—!” 

And perhaps if Madara had loved you more, he would have done something other than take the brunt of your broken rambling in silence. To him, that was gesture enough. To you, it was an indulgence in self-pity.

He let you leave, and no one stopped to question you as you quickly pushed through the crowd of people back to the apothecary. Although things seemed to have settled compared to the roaring chaos that captivated the late morning, people still milled around, collecting food and fluttering around the loved ones who were fortunate enough to make it home. 

You needed more time to analyze things. You honed in on the apothecary doors, barreling through them without regard for the medics coming in and out. 

You said little aside from your curt and adamant wish not to be disturbed before retreating into your loft at the far end of the apothecary. You curled in on yourself for what would feel like days, wrapping your cotton sheets around you as you buried yourself further from the world. 

The tears seemed to flow without you completely now, soaking the fabric of your pillow to create a wet circle just below your ear. Your thoughts ran on without you, and your heart ached from what felt like a hole sliced clean through it. The grief rested over you like a blanket, coating you from head to foot in numbing density. You would stay like that for what felt like days, unaware of what was happening outside. 

And the world would turn upside down, disrupting the mundanity you were trying so desperately to cultivate. 

When you weren’t lying in bed, you spent your hours lazily picking at things in your garden. In the rare moments of mustered energy, you would bathe and tend to your hair— more out of a necessity for maintenance than anything else. 

You didn’t even know that Madara had left until he returned. And when he returned to the village, he did not seek you out. Instead, a member of Madara’s council visited you at the apothecary. 

A young man with a severe face around Izuna’s age, he stood with his back erect on the porch behind the apothecary. You sat in your herb garden, absentmindedly fiddling with a particularly large flower blossom as a small collection of random herbs sat in a basket at your hip. He had called out to you in that militant voice that soldiers tended to use. You had hummed in response.

“There is a truce,” he said. “The Uchiha and the Senju have agreed to unite.” 

***

There were so many questions that the village hall overflowed with people. Members of the Uchiha even stood outside, hoping to catch an explanation. 

Madara and what was left of his council sat before the crowd, still adorned in their light wrappings from the Conquering of King’s Neck and the second face-off Madara had apparently had with Hashirama Senju. The room chirped, filling with murmurs and speculation. But when Madara began to speak, all fell silent. 

“The time has come…”

You watched from just barely inside one of the wide doorframes. Madara stared straight ahead, his voice confident, stern, and sure. 

He held himself like a clan head.

“The time has come for wartime to end,” he announced, surveying the gathered crowd. “It is time to put a stop to a violence started long ago, one that has forced our children to pay the price for a conflict started by the fathers of our father’s fathers. For I challenge you to find me a soul in this room that has not been exhausted from war and the act of burial.”

The room remained eerily quiet. You stood on your toes, trying to catch a better view over a man’s shoulder.

“Let me do away with your primary concern; The Uchiha stand on the same ground as the Senju, as equals, and in collaboration with one another. Our combined power has the potential to create a village where all people shall live without fear of violence, and small hands may never know the handle of a kunai nor the weight of the metal. This is a thing that Hashirama and I agree upon, and as the leader of the Senju clan, he has agreed to honor our terms.” 

The room erupted in a low clamor, everyone wanting nothing more than for Madara’s words to be true. They held their questions high, finally breaking their collective silence at the mere mention of Hashirama Senju. 

The sound of his name struck your heart no differently, and before you could even think, you were a distance away from the meeting hall. Your spot by the door had filled in swiftly. You had one place to retreat, one sanctuary, and you hid yourself in the loft.

***

“I need you by my side.”

You thought it was cruel for Madara to use Izuna’s last words in such a way, but you doubted that Madara even remembered his brother’s last words to you. 

The meeting had adjourned late into the night. The people had many questions, at least, that’s what Madara would tell you later. You hadn’t needed him to tell you to believe it.

It startled you when lantern light from the street flooded through the open door of the apothecary. You sat up in your bed, already halfway between wakefulness and mental exhaustion that kept you from falling into a meaningful slumber. Madara always swung the door open wider than he needed, and aside from that, you could place his hulking form anywhere.

He waited wordlessly as you descended from your tower. You did so lazily.

“Are you ill?” you asked at the bottom of your set of steps that wasn’t quite a ladder or a proper set of stairs. “A physician would have an easier time tending to you than I. At the meeting, I do believe I saw—”

Madara pulled you close in an instant. Your sleep-addled mind had little time to process the action as you stumbled over your feet. Your face hit Madara’s chest. He had a strong scent to him, which, while not unpleasant, was as overpowering as the man. 

A sliver of light trickled in from where the door sat ajar. It cast a faint highlight around Madara’s figure. Your tired eyes traced the shadows that the faint glow created on the fabric of his sleeve. 

It felt out of place being in his arms like this. You weren’t used to him not wearing armor. You could feel it in the tension of your muscles and the awkwardness of not knowing how to touch him in return. You let him hold you, and yet, for how none of it felt right, there was an odd, fragile comfort that had never belonged to Madara before. 

Madara, who imposed himself in every space he ever stood and could never be found wearing not even a piece of armor, felt soft. 

“I need you by my side,” he had told you. You felt his cheek against your hair. “I need confidence that I am making the right decision.”

“Madara,” you spoke softly, pulling back to meet his gaze in the dimness. “How do you expect me to give guidance on these things? I am not—”

You stopped yourself right there, feeling foolish in less than an instant. Nothing but the chirp of insects outside disrupted the silence of the apothecary. It felt as if so much of your time with Madara was filled with silence. But Madara’s eyes held no judgment. 

“Izuna watches over us from the heavens, and I have thought little more than the day he passed and the terrible way I behaved toward you,” he said with a slow nod. His voice held the rich timber that it typically had. Madara brought a hand gingerly to the side of your face. His skin was rough and scarred. He spoke lowly, surprising you with more softness. “I would feel confident with you by my side. You need not labor yourself, nor would you have to speak a word… For you just to be would be enough.”

“What do you speak of, Madara?” 

Madara cast his gaze off to the side, his jaw tensing slightly. 

“Perhaps Izuna would think it weak of me to bring a woman to such prestigious negotiations…” He pulled back, taking his warmth with him. Madara turned with one hand on his hip and the other clasped over his face. 

“Of what do you speak?” You nearly choked on air. 

— “But what if said woman was close family? 

When Madara whipped back around, he did so in the middle of a thought he did not bother to share with you. You blinked a few times, letting your eyes flutter closed as you tried to gather your thoughts, and to your dismay, Madara didn’t speak a word in your silence. You stared at him for answers, prompting him to elaborate.

“Izuna should be by my side,” he finally said, perhaps a bit louder than he needed to have been. When he continued, he did so with a lowered tone. “Our parents passed when we were young. Izuna was my one and only brother, and he is now gone… And so, I implore you…”

Madara took in a sharp breath, not daring to speak the rest.

“Is that what we are now?” you asked. “You consider me family?”

A familiar silence once again took hold of the space between you.

“Is a wife not considered family?”

It was only due to a moment of shock that you let the question sit in the air.

You turned on your heel, your hands coming to your face as you shook your head with fatigue.

“Madara, must I remind you how terrible you are with time? —” 

Your name shot from his lips, as did a hand to your shoulder. 

— “Perhaps you should see a physician—”

“You are the closest thing I have!” Madara’s desperate cry halted all words on your tongue. He grabbed you hard enough to leave bruises, forcefully spinning you around as he moved forward, caging you against a nearby counter. His face was so close to yours, and when you looked deep into his eyes, you saw Izuna. 

“You and I have known each other for as long as I can remember,” he said with faintness. “Has it not always been you and I? Have you not always thought it was destiny how we have always been brought together like this?”

You couldn’t say why tears began prickling at your eyes. It felt as if anything could make you cry nowadays. Madara brought a hand back up to your face, skimming the wetness from your cheek. 

“Please—” It was the first time you heard Madara use such a word. — “I can assure you that things will improve, that I shall improve. Be with me by my side. I do not ask you to marry me tomorrow, but perhaps if you may see— perhaps you may come to see things as I see them.”

“You have always been one to set your expectations far too high.”

“Can you deny that we are as close as family? We have only each other.” Madara’s hand traveled down your arm to grasp your fingers in his. “I do not ask for your commitment. I ask only for the openness of your mind.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, and you breathed out a deep breath. Unconsciously, you leaned into him. Nothing made you feel right now.

“With your track record of anger and empty promises? What have we ever agreed upon?” Your words came out weakly as you met Madara’s gaze in the dimness again.

You wanted so desperately to stop staring into his eyes.

But… Izuna…

“You would have protested such things not too long ago. It all seems quite ridiculous, does it not?” You found yourself laughing, and Madara cracked a smile for the first time in a long while. 

It was thin-lipped and, indeed, did resemble a crack. The wrinkles that ripped across his face made him look young, a lot younger than he had been looking as of late. A small chuckle shook his chest and hardly made a sound in his throat. You let out a light laugh. What you said hasn’t been funny, nor was it meant to be. 

A handful of memories from when you were a teenager sat at the back of your mind, and perhaps if you tried not to think about them, they wouldn’t hold any importance. 

***

That had been a foolish thought in and of itself, and in the days following, you wondered why you had let Madara persuade you. You decided that he had beaten you down with sentiment and nostalgia, knowing that considering any other reason would only disturb what little peace of mind you had. 

It would have been wiser to give it all some thought. It would have been wiser to have turned Madara away in the first place rather than humoring his charged words, and yet, a part of you wanted to move forward. Even on your way to the neutral meeting ground, you wanted to be a part of the new dawn, spurred on by a nagging curiosity and a morbid sense of fate. 

Foolish. Foolish, with little sense to it at all!

You caught a glimpse of white, and you purposefully averted your eyes. Madara stood next to you, sporting his best robes as members of the Senju unfurled two banners to be hung. The amount of Uchiha who came in support of the agreement surprised you. Most of your settlement gathered somewhat behind you, still unsure what to make of the crowd of unarmed Senju directly ahead.

The two groups remained segregated for the most part, standing around awkwardly even as the banners featuring the Uchiha and Senju crests were hung side by side. You glanced to your left toward Madara, feeling the stuffiness and tension yourself. But Madara remained stoic and upright, hardly regarding you even as Hashirama approached.

“Today is a day for celebration! Why must everyone be so serious?”

And from the tales you had been told of Hashirama, he had not been what you expected him to be. He instantly spotted the two of you as he emerged from the crowd. His round, kind eyes seemed to glitter, along with the perfectly white teeth he bared with his smile. 

“Madara! My friend!” Hashirama, an already tall man, held his arms up. He only needed to take a few long strides before he was upon Madara, wrapping him up in a hug great enough to cause Madara to take a half step back. (You almost took a step back with him.) Just as quickly as Hashirama embraced him, he pulled back, planting his hands firmly on Madara’s shoulders. And Madara let him. “It is good to see you!”

Hashirama turned to you and positioned himself directly before you, eyes remaining as wide as his smile. 

“Madara, how could you not send notice that you would be bringing a goddess to smile upon the union of our clans?” He fell quickly into a deep bow as you gaped. You instinctually turned to look at Madara, a girlish grin of your own contorting your lips. Madara rolled his eyes with a knowing sigh. Hashirama returned to his full height. “You may call me Hashirama. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you hummed, offering your name in return. “I hope you do not consider primary names informal as we have just met.”

Hashirama let out a boisterous laugh.

“Are you not all Uchiha as we are all Senju?” Hashirama chuckled, eyes drifting to the crowd of Senju for a moment before he did a double take. “Ah!” He turned back to you and Madara, gesturing to his right. “Speaking of Senju, might I present my brother, Tobirama.”

“Everything is prepared, brother, the people are waiting on you—” 

Tobirama’s gaze latched onto yours like a magnet, causing him to stop short just to Hashirama’s right as his mouth snapped shut instantly. Your jaw dropped, and you quickly clasped your lip closed to not bring attention to your light gasp. You prayed that neither Hashirama nor Madara, who stood between the two of you, noticed your out-of-place surprise. Hashirama seemed to breeze past the micro-interaction entirely as he spoke your name.

“This is my brother, Tobirama. Tobirama, this is…” You didn’t take your eyes off Tobirama’s red irises for a second, lost in the pounding that threatened to burst open your chest. You couldn’t stop yourself from moving. Your foot slid back, positioning you just behind Madara’s shoulder. Your hand tightly grasped the back of his sleeve.

Your movement didn’t escape Hashirama. When you looked back at him, you found his gaze anchored directly to the grip you held on Madara’s arm. You watched as his face seemed to droop, his broad smile wavering for a moment as an expression of what you could only describe as genuine sorrow swept over Hashirama’s face. It was a contortion so sincere that you almost felt bad for how your body reacted. But Hashirama recovered quickly as he faced Madara once again with a friendly smile. 

“... your wife, Madara?” 

You hadn’t realized that Hashirama was still talking. 

You and Madara gazed at each other simultaneously, expecting the other to answer, but instead, you found yourselves engaged in a silent, second-long debate.

“This is, uh,” Madara started, now as thrown off as you were. His forehead twitched as he glanced back toward you instinctually. 

“I am an…” You made the mistake of accidentally making eye contact with Tobirama once again. He stood stoically by Hashirama’s side, quietly awaiting an answer. Your panicked gaze once again darted between Hashirama and Madara, who didn’t appear to be in a rush to come to your aid. — “advisor.” You nodded with pseudo-certainty. “I am an advisor on the Uchiha council.”

Hashirama wasn’t allowed time to comment. 

“Pardon us.” Two members of the Senju tentatively approached your group. Hashirama pivoted a foot to acknowledge them.

“Yes, what is it?”

“All has been prepared for us to begin. We wait only on the two of you.” 

Hashirama turned to spare a half-glance over his shoulder.

“Ah, that is what you were here to notify me of, was it not? Telling me to quit my chatter, eh, Tobirama? Why did you not speak sooner?” Hashirama laughed. “Let us make haste and not leave the people waiting longer than they have already. I am certain that everyone would rather be at the banquet than listen to my dry speech!”

With Hashirama having decided to begin, you retreated to the Uchiha side of the crowd and Tobirama to the Senju.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Hahaha would you believe that I forgot that healing jutsu existed for, perhaps, this entire fic?? I certainly wrote other things with healing jutsu. Hell, I’ve written whole stories centered on it, but this?? WHOOPS.

I thought to myself that I might add another section to this chapter but I saw that 6.8k and went hahahahaha nope!

My grammar checker no longer works on the document that this was originally written on, so I took the chapter and isolated it to do edits... resulting in weird indentation issues. Ah so goes the world...

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Edit: I think I’ll drop the next chapter when this one reaches 100 notes.

[burntsaltsblog]

i didn't know - billy butcher x reader

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details: set in season three. you find out that butcher took a dose of tempt v and you're highly pissed<3

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"Who the fuck gave it to you?" I demanded as I threw down my bag and headed straight to Butcher, seated in the back of the boy's office. Frenchi, MM, Hughie, and Kimiko were gathered around him but quickly dispersed upon my sudden arrival. Their eyes were trained on me as I came to stand in front of Butcher, who stared at the floor, avoiding my angry gaze.

Silence wrapped around the room, and I looked at each member of the group after realizing no one was going to answer me.

"I said, who the fuck gave it to you," I seethed through gritted teeth.

"Je ne sais pas, Mademoiselle. Perhaps Monsieur Boucher had a mental breakdown. I heard mid-life crises are quite common in men his age," Frenchie replied, trying to cut the tension with a joke. But I wasn't in the mood. My head whipped in his direction, and my eyes widened in warning. Frenchie backed up slowly and held his hands up in surrender, apologizing quietly.

"Will ya put your bloody claws away? I ain't dying," Butcher said, finally deciding to speak up.

I immediately crouched in front of him and placed my hands on either side of his jaw, turning his head back and forth. "No, but you could have," I muttered, examining him closely. I took notice of the dried blood that caked his face, and my brows creased in concern.

"S'not mine," he whispered.

"Doesn't matter. You still look like shit."

I returned to a standing position, and Butcher looked up at me as he placed his hands over his heart mockingly. "Aw, love, ya flatter me."

My face remained hardened. "It doesn't matter that it isn't your blood because your pupils are blown, the bags under your eyes are the darkest I've ever seen, and if your pulse gets any quicker, you'll have a heart attack. Taking the tempt V was the dumbest shit you've ever done. And that says a lot, considering it's you we're talking about."

"Ok, we're gonna give you guys some space," MM interrupted. I didn't bother acknowledging him and listened as everyone filed out of the room while I kept my eyes on Butcher. This was not an argument I was going to back down from.

After the office door shut softly, Butcher sighed deeply, dragging his hands down his face. "I didn't mean for ya to find out this way."

"You mean that you didn't intend for me to find out at all," I corrected.

"Fuck, doll. Course, I wanted to tell ya. I was waiting for the right opportunity-"

"Oh, yes. I'm sure it was incredibly difficult to find the perfect moment to tell me that you were using an illegal and deadly substance. It's not like you're my boyfriend or boss, who I see every fucking day." Sarcasm laced my tone, and I pivoted away, needing to calm my continuously rising anger.

"Well, now that ya mention it, love, it was a little tricky, considering Mauve only gave it to me last night."

My breath hitched, and I slowly turned back to face Butcher. "Since when did you start having secret meet-ups with Mauve at night?"

"The meet-ups ain't a secret."

"Well, they sure were to me!"

Butcher rose to his feet and stepped forward with a hand extended. "S'not like it sounds. She stops by when she finds tabs on some of the supes we're chasing. Her info has been why we've caught so many of the cunts the past few months."

I nodded my head as I laughed humorlessly. "I'm glad she's been so helpful. Thanks to her, the streets are safer, and you're hooked on something that could potentially threaten your life." I began pacing the floor, my body's way of trying to rid itself of the intense anxiety. "I mean. fuck, Butcher. We've seen what that poison does to adults. There's a reason why it only works on newborns. And I can't fucking believe that you take that shit without even telling me."

I stopped pacing to look at Butcher before continuing. "How did you even know it would work?"

His silence confirmed what I had feared the moment I found out he had injected the tempt V into his veins when Hughie admitted it over the phone.

"You didn't, did you? You didn't know if it would work, yet you took it anyway. Not giving a damn if you were injured or died as a result."

Butcher bowed his head before saying lowly, "If I'm on the same level as these supe cunts, then they have nothing over me. It's a fair fight. One I could win."

"I'm all for killing the fuckers, but that doesn't involve you dying in the process."

"But if that's what it takes, then it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

I stood, stunned, as tears stung my eyes. I stared at Butcher with my mouth parted and heart aching as the realization hit me. "You don't get it, do you?" I asked quietly. My voice threatened to waver, and I harshly sank my teeth into my lower lip to subdue the emotions crawling up my throat. "If something happened to you, do you have any idea what that would do to me?" My voice broke that time, and concern filled Butcher's face.

He started toward me, but I put my hands up as I let the tears fall freely down my face. "I love you so much that if you died, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I couldn't fucking live. And I know you don't have any self-preservation instincts, but you'll have to find some. Because if you die, Billy Butcher, I swear to God, I'm going with you."

Butcher charged forward this time and pulled me into his chest as my tears fell quicker. I gasped for air and clutched the collar of his shirt as his strong arms wrapped around my body, crushing me to him. His lips grazed my forehead as he shushed me softly. "S'ok, love. I've gotcha."

He kept repeating the same phrase as he slowly rocked me back and forth. When my breathing slowed, Butcher pulled back and cradled my head in his calloused hands. His eyes traced the details of my face, taking in my bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

"I didn't know, doll. M'sorry," he mumbled as he used a thumb to catch a stray tear.

"You didn't know how much I love you?" I asked. My voice came out horse and strained.

He shook his head. "I didn't know how much my death would affect ya. I-" he hesitated before tilting my face up so I could meet his lips in a kiss. It was slow and deep, displaying the love we both felt for one another.

When we parted, Butcher rested his forehead against mine. "M'not used to having someone care about me. After Becca left, I was on me own, and for years, my only priority was killing every fuckin' supe cunt that I came across, no matter the price." He shook his head. "M'so sorry, sweetheart. If I'd known it would do this to ya, I never woulda touched that fucking supe venom, I swear."

I wordlessly pressed my face back against Butcher's chest and breathed in his comforting scent of mint, nicotine, and whiskey. His arms rewound around my waist, and I closed my eyes, wanting to memorize the way his body felt against mine. How safe I felt when he held me like this.

"Promise me, Billy," I whispered as I pulled back to look into his face. "Promise me that you won't touch that shit again. And if you want to do something that drastic, talk to me first." My fingers fiddled with a button on his shirt as my eyes drifted away from his stare. "I need you, Billy," I whispered so quietly I wasn't even sure if he heard me.

Butcher placed a finger underneath my chin and tilted my head so I would look back up at him. "I promise ya, love, with everything I have, that I won't pull some shit like that again. You have my word."

I nodded as my hands found their way into his hair and tugged his lips back down to mine. "Thank you, Billy. I love you."

"I love ya too, doll."

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[kckt88]

The Lost Dragon XIV - Lingering.

Summary:

Aemond and Vaelys have returned to Kings Landing to attend a celebration in honour of their son's birth, Aemond takes an instant dislike to Cregan and later he reveals his deepest fear.

Warning(s): Nightmare, Angst, Apology, Language, Insults, Jealousy, Possessive, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut -Breeding Kink, Lactation Kink, P in V, Proposal.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 5788

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

The skies ablaze with dragon fire and the air thick with the scent of death. Aemond watched helplessly as Vhagar, burst through the clouds and devoured Lucerys.

His heart heavy with sorrow, Aemond watched as Helaena Targaryen, was forced to make an impossible choice— Jaehaerys or Maelor? His heart breaking at his sweet sisters scream of anguish as her son was killed.

The scene shifted, and Aemond found himself standing in the courtyard of the Red Keep, surrounded by the sound of the desperate pleas from prisoners. His hands, slick with blood, trembled as he carried out executions with ruthless efficiency, each blow a painful reminder of the cost of war.

The funeral of his nephew, his body wrapped in the shroud hand stitched by Helaena, his little hand clutching his favourite dragon toy.

His own decent into darkness, the cold grip of ruthlessness had seized him and refused to let go.

And then, the fall of Princess Rhaenys and her dragon Meleys at the Battle of Rook's Rest—the gruesome bloody show of the dragon’s severed head paraded through the streets of Kings Landing.

His brother Aegon, injured and vulnerable-as Aemond found himself being crowned Prince Regent, tasked with ruling in his absence.

Alys Rivers, the witch of Harrenhal-her eyes dark and inscrutable as she beckoned to him with a knowing smile. Aemond was drawn to her, unable to resist the magnetic pull of her presence.

As they drew closer, the nightmare twisted into a grotesque parody of intimacy, with Alys wrapping herself around him in a macabre dance of seduction. Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he watched himself become ensnared in her web, his every instinct screaming for him to break free, to flee from the darkness that threatened to consume him.

But in the nightmare's cruel grip, Aemond was powerless to resist, his will subsumed by the allure of desire and pleasure. And in the throes of passion, he surrendered to the darkness, his actions driven by impulses he could neither comprehend nor control.

As the nightmare continued to unfold, Aemond watched in horror as Alys grew round with his bastard-a son with no name.

Then he saw her-Vaelys, her eyes wide with fear as he stood before her, his own hands wrapped around her throat. He watched in horror as his grip tightened, squeezing the life from her with a brutality that tore at his soul.

The dark version of him, had no love for her-in this world she had been responsible for the death of his brother Daeron, unflinching as she bathed him in dragon fire during the second battle of Tumbleton.  

"No-" Aemond's voice broke, a strangled cry escaping his lips as he recoiled from the sight before him. But in the depths of his nightmare, there was no escape, no respite from the anguish that consumed him.

As Vaelys' lifeless form crumpled to the ground, a primal scream tore from Aemond's throat.

His nephew Maelor torn apart by a mob of common folk, the decent of his siter into madness and her fall from the window’s of Maegor’s Holdfast.

In the skies above the God's Eye, the air crackling with the energy of impending battle. He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline course through his veins as he soared through the clouds astride Vhagar.

But his exhilaration was tinged with dread as he spotted the silhouette of another dragon, its massive wingspan blotting out the sun. It was Caraxes, ridden by his uncle Daemon, a formidable adversary with a reputation for ferocity and skill.

As the dragons clashed in a deadly dance of fire and fury, Aemond felt a cold knot of fear tighten in his chest. The air rang with the deafening roar of their flames, the ground below a blur as they circled each other in a deadly game of cat and mouse.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he urged Vhagar onward, his mind consumed by a primal instinct to survive at any cost. But as he looked up, his eyes widening in terror, he saw something that chilled him to the bone-a flash of steel glinting in the sunlight, the deadly point of Dark Sister, his uncle's legendary Valyrian steel sword, aimed straight at him.

With a strangled cry of horror, Aemond tried to veer away, to escape the deadly trajectory of the blade. But it was too late, he felt the sharp point of Dark Sister pierce his remaining eye, driving through flesh and bone, agony engulfing him as the blade tore through his skull, its tip emerging from the back of his throat.

With a gasp, Aemond jolted awake, his heart racing in his chest as he struggled to shake off the lingering tendrils of the nightmare. Beside him, Vaelys stirred, her presence a comforting anchor in the darkness.

Trembling, Aemond reached out to her, his fingers tangling in the soft strands of her silver hair as he pulled her close, seeking solace in the warmth of her embrace.

As the dawn's light filtered through the windows of their old chambers in Kings Landing, Vaelys watched with a heavy heart as Aemond stirred fitfully in his sleep. She could see the lines of worry etched upon his brow, the restless toss and turn of his body betraying the torment of his nightmares.

With a sigh, Vaelys reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from Aemond's forehead, her touch light and soothing against his skin. "Aemond," she murmured softly, her voice a gentle caress in the stillness of the morning, "You haven't been sleeping well. Your nightmares-are troubling you."

Aemond's eye fluttered open, the weariness evident as he gazed up at Vaelys with a mixture of gratitude and resignation. "I'm sorry, my love," he whispered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I can't seem to escape them, no matter how hard I try."

Vaelys' heart ached at the sight of her husband's anguish, the weight of his nightmares a burden she could scarcely bear. "You don't have to face them alone, Aemond," she reassured him, her voice filled with quiet determination. "I'm here for you, always. We'll face them together."

With a tender smile, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close in a comforting embrace. "We'll find a way to ease your troubled mind," she promised, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Whatever it takes."

"Aemond, perhaps the maesters could offer something to help with your sleep," she suggested softly, her voice laced with a mixture of hope and apprehension. "Maybe some dreamwine, to ease the burden of your nightmares."

Aemond's expression softened at her suggestion, a flicker of gratitude crossing his weary features. "It's worth a try," he conceded, his voice tinged with a note of resignation. "Anything to find some relief.”

"I'll speak with Maester Garrick, when we return to Dragonstone-but for now you must try and get some rest" said Vaelys, her voice filled with resolve.

Aemond turned to her, his gaze filled with gratitude and weariness. "I'll try, Vaelys," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But the nightmares-"

Vaelys shook her head, her eyes filled with determination. "You don't have to face them alone," she assured him, her voice firm yet gentle. "Let me be your anchor in the storm”.

With a sigh, Aemond nodded, allowing himself to relax into her embrace. As Vaelys wrapped her arms around him, she felt the tension drain from his body, his breaths slowing as he surrendered to the comfort of her touch.

Gently, she began to stroke his hair, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against his scalp. "Close your eyes, my love," she murmured, her voice a tender lullaby in the darkness. "I'll be right here beside you, every step of the way."

As Vaelys continued to stroke Aemond's hair, she felt the tension gradually ebb from his body, his breathing growing slow and steady against her chest. With each gentle caress, she whispered words of comfort and reassurance, her voice a soothing balm against the turmoil of his troubled mind.

And then, gradually, almost imperceptibly, she felt Aemond begin to relax into sleep's embrace. His eyelid fluttered closed; his features softened by the peace of slumber.

Vaelys held him close, her heart overflowing with love and gratitude for the man who had captured her heart. She pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, silently vowing to stand by him ,to be his rock in times of storm and his beacon of light in the darkest of nights.

As Aemond finally succumbed to sleep's gentle embrace, Vaelys felt a sense of profound relief wash over her. In his arms, she found solace and strength, a sanctuary from the cares of the world.

And as she held him close, nestled in the warmth of their shared embrace, she knew that together, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead, united in the unbreakable bond of their love. With a whispered prayer for peaceful dreams, Vaelys closed her own eyes.

As Aemond watched Vaelys gracefully slipping into her light red gown, his breath caught in his throat, stunned anew by her radiant beauty. The delicate fabric hugged her curves, the colour complementing the warmth of her skin, and he found himself unable to tear his gaze away.

"Vaelys," he murmured, his voice tinged with awe, "You look absolutely breathtaking."

Vaelys turned to him, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips as she caught the admiration in his eyes. "Thank you, my love," she replied, her voice a melodic whisper. "I wanted to look my best for the celebration."

Aemond couldn't help but chuckle at her modesty, a warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of her. "Well, you've certainly succeeded," he said, his tone affectionate.

Vaelys laughed, the sound like music to his ears as she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to trace the line of his jaw.

Aemond's heart swelled with love for the woman before him, his fingers intertwining with hers as he drew her into his embrace.

And as they shared a tender moment together, bathed in the soft glow of their love, Aemond knew that there was no greater treasure in the world than his wife.

Vaelys met Aemond's gaze with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, her lips curling into a playful smile. "And what of your beauty husband" she teased, her voice laced with affectionate sarcasm, "I know there are ladies at court who will glance at my husband. With his long flowing silver hair, his reputation as a great swordsman, and let's not forget, the rider of the largest dragon in the world."

Aemond chuckled at her jest, a warm glow of pride spreading through him at her words. "Ah, yes," he replied, a hint of amusement in his tone, “They can look all they want but they'll quickly learn that my heart belongs to only one."

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "And she's standing right in front of me," he added, his voice filled with sincerity. "The most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms."

Vaelys' cheeks flushed with colour at his words, her heart swelling with love for the man who had captured her heart. "Flatterer," she teased, but her eyes sparkled with genuine affection as she leaned into his embrace.

As they made their way through the quiet hallways of the Red Keep, Aemond couldn't shake the sense of unease that gnawed at him. He could feel the tension radiating from Vaelys beside him, her usual poise marred by the weight of their surroundings.

He stole a glance at her, taking in the furrow of her brow and the tightness of her jaw, and he knew without a doubt what troubled her. This was the first time she had set foot in King's Landing since the argument with her mother, Queen Rhaenyra—a rift that still lingered between them, a wound not easily healed.

But this celebration, in honour of their son Aemon, demanded their presence, and Aemond understood the necessity of putting on a united front for the sake of their family. Still, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the discomfort it caused Vaelys.

"Are you alright, my love?" he asked softly, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. "I know this must be difficult for you."

Vaelys offered him a small, reassuring smile, though he could see the tension still lingering in her eyes. "I'll manage," she replied, her voice tinged with resignation. "For Aemon's sake."

As Aemond and Vaelys entered the grand throne room of the Red Keep, the opulence of the surroundings seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the warmth and joy that filled the air. Aemond cradled their son, Aemon, in his arms, the babe’s amethyst eyes wide with wonder.

Vaelys walked beside him, her hand intertwined with those of their other children, Sovia, and Daevyn, who beamed up at their parents with excitement.

The room was alive with music and laughter, the sound of lively conversation mingling with the strains of a cheerful melody. Tables laden with sumptuous food and drink lined the walls, inviting guests to partake in the feast laid out before them.

“Vaelys-over here” said Helaena brightly as he patted the empty chair next to her.

“Hel-where are the children?” asked Vaelys as she sat down.

“Daeron has taken them to visit my mother-“

At the mention of Alicent, Vaelys looked at Aemond who busied himself with making sure Aemon was covered with his blanket.

“She keeps asking for him” whispered Helaena.

“It’s Aemonds choice-” replied Vaelys.

“I know-“ muttered Helaena softly.

“Sovia-please don’t do that” scolded Vaelys as she caught her daughter pulling at the ribbons in her braided hair.

“But mama-” complained Sovia pursing her lips together.

“Listen to your mother byka grēges” said Aemond (Little bug).

“Daddy-nyke ȳdra daor raqagon ziry” replied Sovia (I don’t like it).

Vaelys smiled slightly as she took a sip of wine, any minute now Aemond would cave in and undo the braids in their daughters hair. Her silver curls had always been wild, and she barely tolerated anyone even brushing her hair.

Rider of the mighty Vhagar weak for his daughter.

“Let me take them out then” muttered Aemond handing Aemon to Helaena so he could lift Sovia onto his knee.

“Avy jorrāelan” whispered Sovia (I love you).

“Softie” whispered Vaelys as Aemond rolled his eye as he began undoing Sovia’s braids.

As the revelry filled the throne room, Queen Rhaenyra rose from her seat at the head of the room, her presence commanding the attention of all who gathered there. Her gaze swept over the assembled guests, her expression one of regal pride and affection.

"My lords and ladies," she called out, her voice ringing clear above the din of conversation, "I would ask you to raise your glasses in honour of a joyous occasion—a celebration of new life and boundless hope."

As the room fell silent, all eyes turned to the queen, their attention captured by her words. With a graceful flourish, Rhaenyra lifted her goblet high, the golden liquid within catching the light as it sparkled in the dimly lit room.

"To Prince Aemon Targaryen, my grandson" she declared, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity, "May his future be as bright as the flame of his ancestors, and may he bring honour and glory to House Targaryen for generations to come."

With that, Rhaenyra took a sip from her goblet, the sound of applause erupting around her as the guests followed suit, offering their own toasts to the newest member of their family.

As Rhaenyra's toast echoed through the grand hall, Vaelys raised her goblet with a strained smile, her eyes flickering with a mixture of emotions. The weight of the past argument with her mother still hung heavy in her heart, casting a shadow over the joyous occasion.

Sensing her discomfort, Aemond reached out beneath the table, his hand finding hers in a comforting gesture of solidarity. Their fingers intertwined, a silent reassurance passing between them as they shared a moment of quiet understanding amidst the revelry.

As the festivities continued to swirl around them, Vaelys felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, drawing her attention to her brother, Jace, who stood beside her with a warm smile.

"Vaelys," he said, extending his hand to her, "Would you do me the honour of sharing a dance with your dear brother?"

Vaelys returned his smile, her heart lightening at the sight of him. "Of course, Jace," she replied, placing her hand in his with affectionate familiarity. "I'd be delighted."

Together, they made their way to the centre of the room, where couples twirled and spun to the music. Jace guided Vaelys with practiced ease, their steps falling into rhythm with the lilting melody that filled the air.

Vaelys smiled up at her brother, grateful for this moment of connection amidst the whirlwind of the celebration.

As they danced, they talked about their children, Jace giddy with excitement as he spoke of his daughter Laena, a precious little thing she was, the pearl of his world.

Out of the corner of her eye, Vaelys spied their brother Luke reclined lazily against his chair, he looked rather exhausted, but given the fact that his wife Rheana had recently birthed twin girls, it made sense.

“Mayhaps Luke should retire for the night” laughed Jace.

“Oh, come on brother-you know what the nights are like with a babe” replied Vaelys smiling.

Jace returned her smile, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "I think you look beautiful tonight, Vaelys," he said, his voice filled with brotherly pride.

Vaelys' heart swelled with love for her brother, her own smile widening at his words. "Thank you, Jace," she replied, her voice soft with emotion.

As the music swirled through the grand hall, a familiar figure caught Vaelys' eye—Cregan, his tall dark form standing out amidst the throng of guests. With a warm smile, he approached her, his gaze earnest as he cleared his throat.

"Princess," he began, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of nervousness, "Would you do me the honour of sharing a dance with an old friend?"

Vaelys' smile widened at the sight of him, her heart lifting at the prospect of dancing with Cregan once more. "Of course, Cregan," she replied, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "I'd be delighted."

As they embraced in a brief hug, Vaelys felt a surge of happiness at seeing her friend again after so long. The bond they had shared during their time together had always held a special place in her heart, and she was grateful for this chance to reconnect.

Together, they stepped onto the dance floor, their movements fluid and graceful as they moved to the rhythm of the music.

As Vaelys danced and conversed with Cregan, a sense of lightness and joy enveloped her, temporarily shielding her from the weight of her worries. However, as she glanced over her shoulder towards Aemond, her heart sank at the sight of his furious expression.

Aemond's gaze was fixed on her, his features contorted with anger. Vaelys' stomach churned with apprehension as she felt the tension radiating from him, a sharp contrast to the warmth she had felt dancing with Cregan.

Concern etched into her features, Vaelys excused herself from her conversation with Cregan, her steps faltering slightly as she made her way towards her husband. She approached him cautiously, her heart heavy with worry.

"Aemond," she murmured softly, reaching out to touch his arm, "Is everything alright?"

Aemond's jaw clenched visibly as he tore his gaze away from her, his anger palpable in the air between them. "Was that Cregan Stark?" he demanded, his voice low and tense.

Vaelys swallowed hard, her throat dry with apprehension. "Yes-“ she replied, her voice tinged with unease.

Aemond's expression darkened further at her words, his fists clenched at his sides. "I don't like the way he was looking at you," he growled, his voice barely more than a harsh whisper.

Vaelys' heart sank at the realization of Aemond's jealousy, a pang of hurt piercing her chest. She had never seen him like this before, consumed by such irrational rage.

"Aemond, please," she pleaded, her voice tinged with desperation. "There's nothing between us. He's just a friend."

But Aemond's fury remained unabated, his gaze unwavering as he continued to glare at her with undisguised resentment.

“A friend that you were almost betrothed too”.

"Aemond, please," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "Cregan was a good friend to me while you were in exile. He offered me support and companionship when I needed it most. There was nothing more between us, I swear."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. "Oh, I'm sure he was a good friend," he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But just how good of a friend was he, Vaelys?"

His words struck her like a blow, and Vaelys felt her heart shatter into a thousand pieces. The insinuation that she had been unfaithful to him cut her to the core.

"Aemond, how can you say that?" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "You know that I would never betray you. You are the only one I love."

But Aemond remained unmoved, his expression hardened by suspicion. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe," he retorted, his voice laced with bitterness.

“You know what believe what you want” snarled Vaelys as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the throne room.

After entrusting the care of the children to Ceci, Aemond went to find Vaelys.

Lost in his thoughts, he rounded a corner and nearly collided with Cregan, who stood before him with a cool expression. Aemond's jaw tensed at the sight of him, his possessive instincts flaring to life in an instant.

"What are you doing here?" Aemond demanded, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his demeanour calm but tinged with a hint of challenge. "I could ask you the same question," he replied evenly. "But I suppose it's none of my concern."

Aemond's grip tightened on his fists, his jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. "Don't play games with me, Stark," he growled. "I know what you're up to."

Cregan's gaze hardened, his own temper beginning to fray. "And what, pray tell, am I up to?" he shot back, his voice laced with frustration.

"You're trying to come between me and Vaelys," Aemond accused, his words laced with venom. "But let me make one thing clear—she's mine, and I won't let anyone take her from me."

Cregan's eyes flashed with anger at the implication, his own temper flaring in response. "I have no interest in your wife, Aemond," he snapped, his voice sharp with indignation. "But if you can't see past your own insecurities, that's your problem, not mine."

The tension crackled between them, a palpable force that seemed to fill the corridor with its intensity. Aemond glared at Cregan, his chest heaving with fury and frustration, while Cregan met his gaze with unyielding defiance, refusing to back down in the face of his aggression.

As Aemond's anger simmered, he glared at Cregan, his possessiveness over Vaelys flaring to life with renewed intensity. "Don't try to deny it," he spat, his voice thick with resentment. "I know you were close to her when I was in exile. You think I don't see the way you look at her?"

Cregan's expression hardened, his jaw clenching with frustration at Aemond's accusations. "You're mistaken, Aemond," he replied evenly, his tone firm. "Yes, Vaelys and I were friends during your absence. But our relationship was purely platonic. I care for her deeply, but not in the way you seem to think."

Aemond scoffed, his disbelief palpable. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe," he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You were practically betrothed once. What's to stop you from trying to steal her away from me now?"

Cregan's gaze softened, his frustration giving way to pity. "Aemond, you don't understand," he said, his voice tinged with sadness. "Yes, Vaelys and I were once almost betrothed, but that was long ago. We've both moved on since then. I befriended her during your exile because she needed support, not because I had any ulterior motives."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his jealousy still burning bright despite Cregan's assurances. "And yet, here you are," he shot back, his tone accusatory. "Hovering around her like a vulture, waiting for your chance to swoop in."

"Do you realize what you've done, Aemond?" he demanded, his tone biting. "This celebration was supposed to be for your son, a joyous occasion to celebrate his birth. But your jealousy has ruined it."

Aemond's jaw tensed, his own anger flaring at Cregan's words. "I am not jealous," he shot back, his voice defensive. "I just-I want to protect what's mine."

Cregan scoffed, his disbelief evident. "Protect what's yours?" he mocked; his tone laced with scorn. "From whom, exactly? Me? The truth is, Aemond, your insecurity is what's driving a wedge between you and Vaelys. And frankly, it's pathetic."

Aemond's fists clenched at his sides, his temper flaring at Cregan's taunts. "You have no right to judge me," he retorted, his voice sharp with indignation. "You don't know anything about our relationship."

Cregan's lips curled into a sneer, his contempt for Aemond evident in his gaze. "Oh, I think I know plenty," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "After all, when one has to kidnap a woman in order for her to marry him, then your insecurity can't be helped."

Aemond's eye widened in shock at the barb, his face flushing with embarrassment and rage. He opened his mouth to respond but found himself speechless in the face of Cregan's cutting words.

With a final look of disdain, Cregan turned and walked away, leaving Aemond seething with anger and humiliation. And as Aemond stood alone in the empty corridor, the weight of his own insecurities pressed down upon him like a leaden cloak.

As Aemond stormed through the corridors of the Red Keep, his heart heavy with regret and determination, he searched frantically for Vaelys. Every step echoed in the empty halls, a stark reminder of the chasm that had opened between them.

Finally, he found her in the library, her form illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight. She was engrossed in conversation with her brother, Luke, their heads bent close together in whispered conversation.

With a sense of urgency, Aemond approached them, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room. Vaelys looked up as he drew near, her expression guarded as she met his gaze.

"Aemond," she greeted him coolly, her tone betraying none of the warmth he had grown accustomed to.

"Vaelys, may I speak with you privately?" Aemond requested, his voice strained with emotion.

Luke's eyes narrowed at the request, his lips curling into a sneer as he glanced at Aemond. "And why should she speak with you, after the way you've treated her?" he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain.

Aemond's jaw clenched at the implication, his frustration mounting with each passing moment. "This is between Vaelys and me," he replied evenly, struggling to keep his temper in check.

Luke chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head in disbelief. "You truly are an idiot, Aemond," he remarked, his voice filled with contempt as he brushed past him.

Aemond's fists clenched at his sides, his heart heavy with despair as he watched Luke leave the room. He turned back to Vaelys, his gaze pleading as he searched her face for any sign of forgiveness.

But Vaelys remained silent, her expression unreadable as she regarded him with a mixture of disappointment and resignation.

As Aemond stood before Vaelys, his heart heavy with remorse, he took a deep breath, steeling himself to apologize. "Vaelys, I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft with sincerity. "I shouldn't have said those things, and I shouldn't have doubted you. I let my jealousy get the best of me, and I regret it more than anything."

Vaelys looked at him with incredulity, her eyes flashing with a mixture of hurt and disbelief. "You're sorry?" she scoffed; her voice tinged with bitterness. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound, Aemond? How could you even for one minute think that I would ever look at another man? I'm married to you, Aemond. I've birthed three of your children. And yet you still doubt me?"

Aemond's heart sank at her words, the weight of his own insecurities pressing down upon him like a suffocating blanket. "I know, Vaelys," he replied, his voice tinged with desperation. "I know I messed up. But please, you have to believe me. I love you more than anything in this world, and I would do anything to make things right between us."

As Aemond stood before Vaelys, the weight of his insecurities pressing down upon him like a heavy burden, he took a shaky breath, steeling himself to confess his deepest fear.

"Vaelys," he began, his voice barely more than a whisper, "I-I'm afraid."

Vaelys' brow furrowed with concern as she gazed at him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. "Afraid of what, Aemond?" she asked softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

Aemond swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. "I'm afraid-that you only love me because of what happened between us," he confessed, his words tumbling out in a rush. "That somehow, our love isn't real. It's-it's almost like an illusion."

Vaelys' heart shattered at his words; the pain evident in her eyes as she took in the depth of his insecurity. "Aemond, no," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "That's not true. Our love is real, I swear it. It's not based on what happened in the past. It's based on us, on who we are together."

Aemond shook his head, his gaze filled with self-doubt. "But how can you be sure?" he pleaded; his voice laced with desperation. "How can you know that it's not just some twisted result of me kidnapping you?"

Vaelys reached out and cupped his face in her hands, her eyes locking with his as she spoke with unwavering conviction. "Because I know you," she declared, her voice steady with determination. "I know the man you are, and I love you for it. Our love is real, Aemond, and nothing will ever change that."

Tears welled in Aemond's eye as he looked at her, his heart overflowing with emotion at her words.

As the tension between them began to ease, Aemond mustered a small smile, his eye twinkling with mischief. "Now that we've finished arguing," he quipped, "Does that mean we get to make up?"

Vaelys couldn't help but laugh at his cheeky remark, her heart lightening at the sight of his playful demeanour. "Given the severity of our argument," she replied with a teasing smile, "There needs to be a lot of making up done."

Aemond's grin widened at her response, his gaze filled with warmth as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. "I'm up for it if you are," he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire.

Vaelys' cheeks flushed pink at his suggestive tone, her heart fluttering in her chest at the promise in his words. "I think I can manage that," she replied, her own voice tinged with anticipation.

“Aemond” gasped Vaelys her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it ābrazȳrys, take every fucking inch of me-let me fill your sweet cunt” (Wife).

“Oh, please Valzȳrys. I want it. I want all of you” moaned Vaelys (Husband).

“FUCK” roared Aemond as he hauled Vaelys away from the bookcase and placed her the edge of a desk.

“Yes-Yes Aemond, Oh gods” breathed Vaelys.

“I love you-I love you so fucking much” growled Aemond as he mercilessly fucked his wife, filling her over and over again with sharp penetrating thrusts.

“Aemond-yes, right there. Don’t stop-don’t stop” cried Vaelys the tears running down her pale cheeks.

“That’s it Issa jorrāelagon. Come on daddy’s cock” rasped Aemond lurching forward and wrapping his lips around one of his wife’s erect nipples.

Suckling greedily as her mother’s milk flooded his mouth, he reached down and began expertly circling her pearl with his long fingers.

“AEMOND” screamed Vaelys her entire body seizing before going slack and pliant.

“FUCK-I’m going to come-“ groaned Aemond.

“I want it-fill me with your seed Issa dārys” gasped Vaelys (My King).

“FUUUUUCK” roared Aemond, his head thrown back as rope after rope of his seed spilled inside his wife’s cunny.

“Aemond” breathed Vaelys as her husband collapsed on top of her.

“I love you so much-“ replied Aemond.

“-And I love you. I never want you to doubt my love, no one will ever compare to you-my soul mate”.

“Issa idañnykeā perzys” muttered Aemond (My twin flame).

“Husband” breathed Vaelys as she slid her hands into his long silver hair and pulled his face towards hers.

“Wife” replied Aemond as he pressed a kiss to her soft lips.

As they basked in the warmth of their reconciliation, an idea began to form in Vaelys' mind, a way to prove to Aemond once and for all that their love was real and unshakeable. With a spark of excitement in her eyes, she turned to him, her voice filled with determination.

"Will you marry me?” asked Vaelys.

Aemond's brow furrowed in confusion. "We’re already married," he pointed out, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Vaelys shook her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I know, but marry me in the ways of old Valyria," she explained, her voice soft but determined. "On Dragonstone. On our beach"

Aemond's eye widened in surprise at her suggestion, his heart swelling with love and admiration for the woman before him.

With a trembling voice, he finally found the words to respond. "Vaelys," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion, "I-I would be honoured to marry you-again”.

[tokkiwrites]

fIRE NECTAR : Qu’est-ce que l’incassable ?

➛ in which the allure & danger of one man makes you question all but your heart.

ʕ•̫͡•ʔ c.w : 18+ joel miller x afab reader, fem reader, no outbreak au, mob boss joel (kind of), stalking themes, mention of cheating, alcohol, violence, some angst, age gap, mentions of infatuation, p in v sex unprotected, pet names, degradation, f and m receiving, knife play, mentions of blood, mentions of being pure. (the pic doesn't represent readers body, its there just for the aesthetics. lmk if i missed anything) not proofread

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'Perfect is a word lost at the bottom of wine bottles perfect is a foreign word, to me. you and i both have uncountable mistakesㅡ lost wars. i want to be your good, but I dont want to be what im not. I'd surrender my arms, I'd lose all fights.. for you.'

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everyone says you're lucky. lucky you have what most only dream ofㅡ You've been with your boyfriend for almost 5 years now. You two met when you were only 19, and he was 20. life has been great. You're even planning on moving in together on your 5th year anniversary, buying a pet, and spending more time with one another. you can't express the happiness you feelㅡ or felt, better said.

it's been six months. six grueling months that have kept you up wondering if this is what you really want, who you really want. it was all so peaceful until it wasn't. until you met him.

enter Joel Miller, the man who beat the shit out af a creep who tried to touch you when you were out with your friends at a club. that happened six months ago. six months ago and a few hours. you'd been lying if you said seeing someone bloodied up because they wanted to protect you didn't pull at your heart.

your encounter with Joel was short and sweet, unfortunately. you told the officers at the scene he was the reason you turned out safe and that you think he's a nice man for that, scrunching up their nose as they tried to make sense of what you just said: Joel Miller a nice man? maybe when alseep, all though even in he sleeps, he's probably dreaming of destroying everything in his way.

Police prefer not to entangle with him. they did it many times, but when he hit 35, doing the same shit they gave upㅡ sort of making a pact for the sake of everyone's well-being. He was a nice man. Losing loved ones and years got to him, the wrong people got to him first, and so he built his own life climbing the steps of crime.

He was a nice man.

You hate it when you do this. You go outside more often than you did 6 months ago to that same spot ㅡ where you first and last saw him. you don't go at night, but after you finish work every day, hoping he's searching for you like you are for him. it's like a fix, and he's the drug, only you had no time to indulge into him.only the image of his bloodied knuckles projecting onto your closed eyelids as you fall asleep next to your boyfriend.

ㅡ

As the neon lights flickered against the rain-soaked streets, you found yourself standing outside the club. Your heart raced as you pushed open the heavy doors, the bass thumping through your veins. "Hey, beautiful," a smooth voice whispered in your ear. You turned to see Joel, his dark eyes smoldering with intensity. "I've been waiting for you."

"I shouldn't be here, Joel," you protested weakly, torn between loyalty to your boyfriend and the magnetic pull of this dangerous man. He chuckled, a shadowed glint in his eyes. "But you couldn't stay away, could you?" You bit your lip, feeling the weight of his gaze like chains around your heart. "I need to leave," you said, but your feet refused to move.

"You just got here, baby." Joel urged, his voice low and persuasive. "Just one drink." Against your better judgment, you found yourself nodding, allowing him to lead you deeper into the pulsating club.

You swallowed hard, the guilt of betraying your boyfriend warring with the intoxicating thrill of being with Joel. "I can't do this," you whispered, but even as the words left your lips, you knew they were a lie. Joel's lips quirked into a knowing smile. " not foolin' anyone, sweetheart," he said, his voice sending shivers through your body.

ㅡ

Before you could respond, the sound of your phone goes off, causing you to wake up. Your eyes shoot open, turning to see if your boyfriend is yet awake. his side is empty, only the wrinkles on the sheets remembering his presence. As you reach for your phone, its vibrant screen illuminates the dimly lit room, casting shadows that dance across the walls. With a delicate touch, you unlock the device, revealing a text from your almost beloved:

The words, though tender, fail to dispel the lingering echoes of Joel's presence in your mind. Your brain flickers back to the dream and the moment you met Joel, its façade a beacon amidst the city's nocturnal.

── had to leave early, sorry for that, babe. Can't wait to see you tonight. Love you ❤️

The memory of Joel's voice, velvety and commanding, resonates in the recesses of your consciousness, a siren's call luring you into the depths of uncertainty. Despite your protestations, the tendrils of temptation coil around your resolve, entwining with the delicate fibers of loyalty that bind you to your partner. With each heartbeat, the dichotomy of emotions swirls within, a tempestuous maelstrom of desire and guilt, desire Joel, and guilt for the betrayal it entails.

And yet, beneath the veneer of steadfast resolve lies a flicker of uncertainty, a gnawing doubt that whispers of the inevitability of succumbing to the intoxicating pull of his magnetism. In the depths of your soul, you grapple with the unsettling truth that the want you feel for Joel might stem from something deeperㅡ it was something carnal. It consumed you for so long.

his gaze, a smoldering ember amidst the darkness, kindles flames of longing that lick at the edges of your conscience. his eyes that cut like knives.

────────

'About time you escaped, imprisoned isn't what I'd imagine you'd want your heart to be written upon.'

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Amidst the throng of pedestrians, a familiar silhouette emergedㅡ him. it felt like seeing an old friend. no, like finding an old toy that brought you joy. only that toy was stolen, which is why you had to hide it; hide it so good you had to forget about it.

With a jolt of recognition, your gaze locked with his, a fleeting moment suspended in the maelstrom of time. 'Will he recognize me?' Joel's eyes, obsidian pools that mirrored the depths of your soul, held a myriad of emotions: recognition, intrigue, and perhaps, a hint of longing. at least you hoped so. wanted so.

With a wistful smile, Joel broke the spell that bound you, his voice a melodic symphony amidst the murmur of the city. "Happy to see you're fine." You returned his smile, a fragile facade that masked the tempest of emotions raging within. "Why wouldn't I be?" you replied, your voice a whisper lost.

"I was honestly thinking something might have happened after that night...seeing that you almost always visit the club." he quirks his eyebrows. "nothing happened." but it did. he ripped the heart out of you and kissed it goodbye all at once, leaving you to deal with it all whilst he carried on with his drug escapades and crime shenanigans. nevertheless, you smile, swallowing back your own thoughts as it seemed.

"I've been following you, y'know?" joel admits.

my, and what a strong grasp he has onto your heart right now.

"You'veㅡ seriously?" why did you sound happy? when joel tells someone this, their first reaction is to go wide-eyed and back out. but it is rare that he feels such a pull towards someone. someone like you. maybe you reminded him of when he was so untaintedㅡ the thought of danger strangling him to the point he couldn't help but give in. "Tell me why."

you've been caught. isn't this what you wanted?

"I- uhm...I don'tㅡ"

"Don't even bother lying. What would an angel like you want from someone-" joel steps closer. "like me." a sense of inevitability washed over you. you were reminded of the immutable truth. The words, uttered with a conviction born of desperation. "It's you that i need." you can't believe your own courage. maybe you were just drunk on his scent.

they slip past your lips like a plea. absolution and complete submission, you surrendered. this was your god, the one you've prayed for all those nights when your boyfriend was fast asleep. it was wrong, but oh, how sweet, like honey wrong is. you weren't scared to kick everything away for a mere second of this. just a touch of his fingertips. that's all. you found solace in that.

──────────

"Do you wanna go back to my place, sugar?"

'Love is an apple, and i am the serpent forcing it down my throat.'

──────────

rough, red, and raw. that's how his kisses were. he made no stop until he had you splayed over his bed. he was eating you with every stare, like a predator. you needed him to do something, dive into you. it was carnal.

"If you wanna stop, just say so, yeah?" joel causes you to look back up at him. nipping at your lower lip, you spread your legs further apart as to invite him further. "I want you to hurt me, Joel." and how could he refuse you? you looked so pure and beautiful all spread under him, waiting for his command. "that so." and you whimper a pathetic 'mhm'.

"I never made you out to be this kinda girl, all though ㅡ" he retracts, reaching out into his back pocket to take out his switchblade. "I don't mind it." joel chuckles before yanking you up by your hair and pulling you to the ground. "Kneel." he commands. and you obliged, intoxicated from his presence alone. "This what you want? huh?" he asks, traching your neck with the tip of the knife as you shiver. "pathetic slut. forgot you've got a man at home?" he taunts "bet you've been dreamin' bout me stuffing you up with my cock, yeah?"

you nod, eager not to let him slip through your fingers. "Yeah.." he drags the kife down, cutting through your top, knicking your skin and exposing your breasts. the slight pain drowns you as you press your thighs together. "Look at that." he tuts, mocking as he drags the knife over the small cut to gather the blood, bringing it up to your mouth.

"lick" and lick you do, swirling your tongue around the blade, keeping eye contact as the metal aroma washed over your tastebuds. "atta girl. good little slut." joel chuckles as he proceeds to unbuckle his pants. "now imma let you suck my cock, butㅡ" after hes done freeing his shaft from his briefs he holds the knife up to the side of your neck. "if you stop I'll make sure you won't like it."

you weren't scared at all. maybe it was from all of the time you spent yearning that totally disrupted your sense of fearㅡ You wanted to make him proud and not regret what he'd done until now.

so you take his member into your mouth, slowly sucking on the tip before trying to take more. you lied if you said he wasn't huge, your jaw already hurting once you made it halfway. the knife was still digging at your skin, his eyes fixed on your every move. moving you head up and down, you felt as joels muscles tensed, his breath growing shallow as he snaked his free hand around your hair again.

"Just like that. yeah, keep doin' that.." tears well up in your eyes as your core tightness, still not dwelling on you that you're on your knees, sucking Joels dick whilst he holds you at knifepoint. "ok, thats enough, angel-baby." he pushes you back, motioning you back onto the bed. " all fours."

"n-no.." You muster up. "What's that?" joel furrowed his brows. "Not all fours..wanna see your face." You stare up at him, and you swear you saw his gaze softened. "what the fuck are you doin' to me, girl..?" he laughs, pulling you up and placing you on the bed, the sheets enveloping you.

"been dreamin' about this, baby. look at you..." he groans, undressing your delicate skin. "you're a fuckin' dream." he trails kisses from your stomach to your knee and traces his nose back up to your lips before he crashes his onto them.

you cling onto that kiss, it awakes you from the deepest hole on earth, pulls you to the heaven, then plummets you down againㅡ you needed this.

joel breaks from the kiss, sitting like that for a second. he then traces his digits between your folds that dripped with desire. "so wet for me, angel. all f'me.."

"please, mmhg.." whining, you try to rub yourself onto his fingers, but he quickly slaps you again, this time on the side of your thigh. "don't be a greedy whore." he clicks his tongue before leaning down spreading your pussy lips as he does, blowing onto your sensitive clit. you jump and moan in frustration. "i know, baby, i know." he spreads your legs further, finally landing a soft and teasing lick between your folds. it doesn't take long for joel to go at it, sucking and licking at your cunt like theres no tomorrow, your desperate pleads to come only fueling him. "not yet, angel-baby." he gorans, picking himself up.

"please fuck me, Joel." you plead. "needy thing." and with that he lines himself up with your hole and eases in. your whole body vibrates as a sting spreads through you, and you squeeze around Joel. "fuckㅡ so fuckin' tight." he moans before plunging straight into you. your tongue luls out, tears on the brink of your eyes as you cand only squeal out pathetic moans and incoherent blathers. "shitㅡ ! squeezing me so good, baby."

joel fucks into you harder and harder, the bed creaking whilst you let him take over you. he grabs your hips pushing himself even deeper into your cunt, groaning when you arch your back, breasts perking up. "fucking angel. my pure angel." ㅡ you can only moan and cry as you feel your orgasm approaching. desperately, you clench around his cock, sending joel into a frenzy.

"gonna come, baby?" he's stern and rough with his request. "hhhaㅡ y-yes, plea-se..." you don't know if you're crying because you feel too good or because of how long you've waited for this.

"gonna come soㅡ fukin' deep inside of you- shit!" he almost growls, and you not your head dizzy. "p-leasee...insideㅡ!" and you don't wait more than two more seconds as joel spills his warm seed inside, painting every inch of you. he leans down, leaving a tired kiss upon your forehead.

"go ahead, angel-baby." you writhe as the knots in your core begin to untie, shaking under joel whilst he fucks you through it. it doesn't take long for him to reach his limit, digging his nails through your thighs, gritting his teeth and moaning your name.

"thank you."

────────

'wandering companionless, I've finally found you.'

────────

⏜⃞♡⠀⠀🐰 hey, guyyyyssss, i honestly dont know what this is. It's kind of shitty but i wanted to try writing something more. i incorporated some verses of poems i wrote, so i hope you enjoyed it!!! love ya

[toomanydamnmuses]

He's making himself depressed.

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Badge Bunny Part V

Masterlist Here!

Summary: It all comes to a head with Roy. Will Gator let the sins off his past dictate his future or will he be the better man that he knows you deserve?

18+ Only! Minors DNI!

CW: Reader is referred to as "Bunny" or "Bun". Minimal use of Y/N. Canon type violence. Gun use. Gator is wounded - no graphic detail. Mild angst. Smut! Unprotected P in V. Creampie.

WC: 8.7K

“Something's going down at the ranch. I think Roy's finally lost his goddamn mind. Feds are headed over there.” Andy rushed out, breathless as if he'd run all the way here, face a little bloodied and bruised. He was still in uniform, though it was dirty and disheveled, sans his duty belt.

“Gator?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded, gaze falling to the floor.

“He's been there all morning.”

“What's going on? And don't lie to me Andy.” Pushing your finger roughly into his chest.

“I want the full story. Not some half-truth bullshit.” Tired of sitting in the dark, you needed some answers.

You took him to the back so you could talk in private without the whole bar hearing about the sorted affair. They would all know soon enough. Small town gossip spreads like wildfire, especially if it involves the Tillman family in any way.

Roy had the entire ranch on lockdown. He'd somehow gotten wind of a traitor in his midst that was feeding information to the FBI.

Andy was an immediate suspect. After the entire incident with your kidnapping and sending those blood samples off despite Roy telling him not to, it had earned him a spot at the top of the man's shit list.

“They had me tied up in one of the sheds. If it weren't for Gator, I…” he swallowed thickly, as if he were reliving it all once again. “I don't know what Roy would have done. He showed me some tunnel on the back of the property. Helped me escape. I flagged down a car once I made it to the main road and had them bring me here.”

“Oh my God, Andy! Why didn't he come with you? What the fuck is he doing?” You groaned, swearing then and there if he made it out of this shit alive you were going to kill him.

“He told me to place a call to the feds and made me promise to make sure you stayed put. There's nothing else we can do.”

You stopped pacing back and forth looking at him with a dumbstruck expression.

“What? So, you are working with them?” Trying to wrap your head around everything that he was trying to tell you.

“No, Y/N. Gator is!”

Not even Roy could have seen it coming. Everyone pegged Gator as the Sheriff's idiot son. A fuck up so blinded by getting his father's approval that no one thought for a second he could have been the informant.

If Roy asked him to jump, he'd ask him how high but that all started to change a little over a year prior.

There was only one thing that would make him flip on the old man in a heartbeat.

You.

He'd asked you to trust him. Told you whatever happened it was for the best. Now you truly saw why. He was taking Roy down. It was his way out.

“Andy, how am I supposed to stay put when you know what Roy is capable of? If he even thinks for a second that it's Gator…” You trailed off. Taking a seat at the edge of Henry's desk to let the weight of it all sink in.

“I think he's got this. There's nothing else for Roy to do but surrender.” He tried to reassure you with a half-smile but you saw right through it.

You sighed, standing back up.

“Let me clean that cut up for you. It's the least I can do. You're a good friend to me and Gator.” You grabbed the first aid kit and went to work. It was deeper than you thought, probably needed a stitch or two but he was dead set on keeping the both of you here.

After Gator helped Andy find the underground passage, he made his way back to the main house where he knew Roy would be waiting.

He took a deep breath before entering. Knowing his part, he has to play it cool just until the feds get there. He gave Andy strict instructions to let them know what they were going to be up against.

The kitchen was left in shambles. Roy told Karen and the girls to leave before they finished breakfast. At least he seemed to care enough to spare them from some of what he had planned that day.

From that point on it had been madness. He'd called in what was essentially his calvary. A lot of armed idiots that had no business holding a gun.

Somehow, he'd gotten word the FBI was coming to raid him. Gator was still unsure of where it actually came from, but he knew Roy had friends in high places.

He wandered down the small hall that led to the back of the house where Roy's office was, the door sitting ajar.

He didn't bother knocking, pushing it further open and taking a step forward. Roy's eyes shot up as soon as the door opened.

“Gator, what are you doing here? I told you to watch the goddamn shed with Bowman.” He hissed out.

“Yeah, uh… Andy and Bowman are both gone. Shed's empty.” His gaze fell to the floor briefly before looking back to Roy.

“Gone? Both of them?” His face flashing confusion.

“Yup. Suppose Bowman moved him? Ya’ give him the order to execute or somethin’?” He asked, trying to draw his suspicion.

“Fuck.” He gritted out between clenched teeth getting up and coming around his desk. “I didn't give any kind of order. Get your ass out there. Tell everyone to start looking for them.”

“Yeah, course.” Gator turned, making his way back down the hall and out to the porch telling the rest of the guys to start looking.

He was sure it had given Andy enough time to get to the highway. No one knew about that escape hatch except himself, Roy and the other being Bowman, who was currently unconscious and tied up in said escape tunnel.

He set about pretending to help look for the two missing men hearing the sirens in the distance, breathing a small sigh of relief. It would all be over soon.

As Roy stepped out onto the porch, pulling his hat down tight upon his head the caravan of black SUVs made their way down the highway stopping at the front gate.

He had the entrance blocked by his armed cohorts.

“Well, here we go.” He said, looking over to Gator with a sinister smirk.

“Dad,” he said, sounding more like a frightened boy than the man he was trying to be, as Roy turned back to look at him. “No one has to get hurt. Ya’ could just… just give yourself up.”

“Give myself up? You do realize you're going to prison too, right? It's not just me going down at the end of all this.” He fixed him with a glare before turning and mounting his mare. “Shut the hell up and find those two idiots.”

He nodded, biting his lip as he watched him mosey toward them, taking a leisurely pace as if he was unbothered by the entire scene. Roy seemed to see it as more of a nuisance than any kind of real threat.

He couldn't tell what was being said, so he made himself scarce trying to bide his time.

The feds already had a plan in motion. Gator told them about the hatch and tunnels that would lead them to the back of the property. It would be easy access and they could take everyone from behind while they were still occupied with the front gates. They knew once they had Roy the rest would give up without their so-called fearless leader.

Gator made his way to the back of the property, meeting about 10 men dressed in SWAT gear along with FBI Agent Joaquin.

“He's in his office, but ugh… y’guys mind if I have a word with him before ya’ barge in there?” He asked.

“I think we can spare a few minutes. I can give you head start but if bullets start flying, hit the deck.” He waved Gator off turning back toward his team ready to give their orders.

He made his way back to the house, hitting his vape trying to steel his nerves.

This time the door was shut, so he quickly rapped his knuckles against the smooth wood.

“Yeah?” Roy grunted, as Gator popped into view.

“Son, what the hell is it this time?” He was exasperated dealing with him for the day.

“I need to talk to you. Man to man.” He stated, coming to stand in front of his desk. Roy finally looked from the window to face him.

“Well, spit it out.” He hissed.

“The feds are on their way, already on the ranch. Thought it would be better to hear it from me.” Roy watched him intently but stayed silent letting him continue.

“If you had just left her alone.” He looked him dead in the eye as he spoke. “You tried to take away the one thing that matters most to me.”

Roy had gravely miscalculated just how much you'd meant to his son. He saw you as nothing more than a bump in the road assuming that Gator would eventually get bored of his new, shiny plaything.

He was losing that grip on him little by little thinking his only way to get it back was to get rid of you.

The kidnapping had gone according to plan, just like Roy intended, until it didn't. Those idiots he'd hired had gotten greedy. Threatened to let you go if they didn't get more money but before he could take matters into his own hands Gator had found you.

The FBI had reached out months prior, it was only after that stunt that he finally placed the call that set everything into motion.

“So, that's it then? Turn your own father in over what? Some fuckin' whore. I should have fuckin’ killed you a long time ago. You're nothing but a sniveling worm. I'm ashamed to even call you my son.” He was seeing red, reaching for his gun.

Gator grabbed his own, before Roy had the chance to flinch. His words had no effect on him. He'd all but given up hope of ever winning his father's affections and praise. He didn't care anymore. He had you.

“Don't.” He aimed right at Roy's chest, finger on the trigger. He never wanted it to end this way.

Shouting down the hall pulled Gator's attention for a split second, as his eyes drifted from their target giving Roy enough time to get his hand around his own pistol.

Two shots rang out as the swat team swarmed the house.

“So, what should we do? How much longer do we just sit and wait?” You'd finally asked after thirty more agonizing minutes. You'd both made it back out to the bar, taking a booth in the corner.

Your knee was bouncing, unable to keep from chewing your nails and looking out the window every few seconds.

“He wants you to stay put. So, we'll stay put.” Taking another sip of his soda, watching you over the glass. “Don't even think about it.”

“What? I wasn't thinking about anything.” The way you glanced at your keys sitting next to you told him otherwise.

“Y/N.” He warned, with a glare.

“Fuck, fine.” You crossed your arms, continuing to look out the window with a huff. “I'm going to get a drink. You want a refill?” Asking as you got up.

You had your back toward the door when an SUV peeled into the parking lot. A woman with short, dark hair got out and made her way into the door.

“I'm looking for a Miss Y/L/N.” She announced, looking around the near desolate place as she removed her sunglasses.

You whipped around.

“Um, that's me.” Voice coming out meek. You knew she had to be FBI. You suddenly felt sick, preparing for the worst.

“I'm Agent Meyers. We need you to come with us please.” Her curt tone left no room for arguing as your eyes cut over to Andy. He got up and met you both.

“I'm Deputy Andy Tate. I'm the one that called you guys. You mind if I tag along?” He didn't want to let you out of his sight, even if they were supposed to be the good guys.

She looked him up and down before nodding.

“Sure, follow me.”

-

Agent Meyers wasn't much for small talk. She had explained you were needed but didn't go into detail. Apparently, it was a need-to-know basis, and you didn't need to know.

Your stomach was in knots as you watched the world pass by outside. Andy tried to soothe you, telling you it would all be okay, but every doubt was swirling within you.

As you pulled up to that familiar gate and picture-perfect farmhouse that was anything but, you saw they had people lined up and handcuffed on their knees against the fence.

They'd managed to round up and arrest everyone. As predicted, when they found out Roy was done, they all gave up without a fight.

There were two ambulances, one pulling off as you all pulled in the other parked directly in front of the house.

“Where is he?” You anxiously asked.

“He'll be over there.” You opened the door and shot out running before they had the chance to come to a stop.

“Hey!” Meyers yelled, but you didn't hesitate. You needed to see him. Needed to make sure he was okay, and your worst thoughts had not come to fruition; make it all tangible.

He finally came into view, sitting on a gurney at the back of the vehicle. His shirt was removed. They were bandaging up his shoulder as you shouted his name.

He turned, standing up as you slammed into his chest wrapping your arms around him as the tears began to flow.

He groaned with the impact, pain shooting through his shoulder and back, but he didn't care, wrapping his arm tight around you pulling you into him.

Roy had managed to shoot him in the left shoulder, while Gator's aim had been much more accurate. A shot straight into the gut. He'd been taken by the other ambulance for emergency surgery and then he'll be swept off straight to a federal prison halfway across the country.

“Gator… I …” You sniffed, looking up at him. “I thought…” Your hands roamed his chest, easing over his bandaged shoulder taking it all in. Cupping his cheeks, your thumb running under a slight bruise that was blooming under his eye.

He pressed your head back to his chest, kissing your temple.

“It's okay baby. I'm okay. We're okay.” His words soothing as they washed over you.

You just held each other for a few more minutes before someone cleared their throat from behind you.

“Sorry to break this little moment up but it's time to go.” Agent Meyers spoke.

Gator nodded, as you looked between the two of them.

“Bunny, look at me.” His eyes pierced yours as he spoke calmly.

“We’re going to be okay. But I have to go with them. There's a lot of shit I did, that I'm not proud of I still need to answer for.”

You knew what he meant. For all the good he did, there were still things he would have to pay for which still meant prison time.

“I'm proud of you.” You looked right into those soft, hazel eyes as you spoke. He looked so downtrodden, but you lifted his chin.

“I'm so proud of you baby!” You stood on the tips of your toes, smashing your lips to his. They were a little chapped but warm as you melted into him.

It suddenly crossed your mind this may be the last time you get to feel him for a while as his tongue grazes your bottom lip. Allowing him entry, you glide against one another so effortlessly it was easy to get lost in the moment.

You broke apart only to catch your breath. Whispered “I love yous” were spoken before he was handcuffed in front of you.

“Okay, Mr. Tillman.” Agent Meyers guided him to an SUV, sitting him in the back.

His eyes were filled with worry as they shut the door, mirroring your own. Andy sidled up beside you as they drove out of sight.

5 Months Later

“You don't have to keep coming every week.” The way it came out let you know he was tired but so were you. Tired of him acting like you were just going to give up and leave him to rot in a prison cell.

Since he'd helped the feds, they had given him a nice plea deal with a reduced sentence of 18 months. With good behavior, he might be out in 12.

It was the best he could have hoped for with all the involvement in Roy's dealings, but Gator had given them enough to send him away for the rest of his life.

It was still going to be agonizing but you wanted to be there for him every step of the way.

“Yes, I do. Who else is going to bring you these nasty cookies you love?” You teased. Packing another overnight bag for your 8-hour trek.

“Y’gonna make me fat, if ya keep bringin’ those.” He chuckles on the other end. “But seriously, if the drives gettin' to be too much, ya’ don't have to.”

“I don't have anything else to do. I know that sounds pathetic but it's true. All I do is work, and then come home. The only thing that's getting to be too much is how quiet the house is. I miss you.” You said it earnestly, sighing into the phone sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I'm sorry Bunny, if there had been another way…” he trailed off, sighing on his end as well.

“No. Don't start that. I am so damn proud of you, Gator Tillman!”

Of course, it was all over the front pages, but they left out the part where he had been an informant. Everyone assumed the very worst about him, just like Roy. But he was your hero.

If only you could see the grin that split his face any time you told him that. The way his eyes lit up. He had sought Roy's approval for so long, it felt refreshing to hear that he'd done something right from the one person who truly loves him for him. All the fuck ups, all the short comings he saw in himself that you never judged him for. You loved him. You were proud of him.

“I love you, be safe. I'll see ya’ tomorrow.” He had his one-minute warning come through the line.

“Ok baby. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you more!”

“Not possible.” He grinned again, as the line clicked dead.

He'd been sent to FCI Sandstone, a low security facility in Minnesota. It was a little over 8 hours from Lehigh. Thankfully Roy was sent halfway across the country to a maximum security facility so neither of you would ever have to cross his path again.

In the few months that he's been away, it's been a struggle. You were left on your own again, but you could breathe a sigh of relief. The entire town felt like a weight had been lifted. No one was looking over their shoulder fearing they might be on the bad side of Roy Tillman.

Andy was appointed interim Sheriff, since half the department went down with the raid. Andy and just a few others were left to pick up the pieces and start from scratch.

He was a good man. Gator made sure that he was never implemented in anything to do with Roy or himself. He was doing a great job, weeding out the few left behind and hiring new, upstanding deputies to help run things. There was no doubt he'd be running and win the upcoming election.

-

You had your routine down, leaving out every Tuesday afternoon after your shift. Hitting up the same motel halfway there. Waking up before dawn to go the rest of the way. Spending Wednesdays with him at the prison.

They'd give you one-hour allotments of visiting time. You'd been his only visitor.

You drive through the gates, flashing your smile and waving at the guards. They knew you by name at this point.

“Hey Bill!” You greeted the guard at the entrance.

“Hey, Y/N. Must be Wednesday.” He chuckled, waving you through the X-ray. You knew the routine. Tossing everything into the bin to go through, then yourself. Pat down examination and you were off to the designated visiting area.

You'd always sit at the table closest to the window, furthest away from the guards. It was quiet. No one bothered the two of you.

You sat the cookies in front of you. The one thing you had actually taken the time to learn how to make and you'd gotten good at it. He loved them.

You were staring out the window, when the buzzer went off alerting you to the door being opened.

He walked out, hands cuffed in front of him wearing that prison issued bright orange jumpsuit you were now so accustomed to seeing. His hair was never slicked back anymore, but he kept the cut the same. Soft brown locks hung down against his forehead.

He donned that crooked smile that made your heart melt as he made his way over to you.

“Hi baby.” He sat across from you extending his hands as the guard unlatched the cuffs. He rubbed his wrists before placing his hands to the table.

“Brought your favorite.” Shaking the Tupperware in front of you, then sliding it over.

They allowed some touching in the visitor's area but not enough. You longed to push the hair from his face and kiss those lips you've missed.

He took the lid off and immediately dove in, taking a cookie and humming around the sugary taste.

“I think these get better every time, Bun.” Finishing it before looking back at you, a crumb at the edge of his lip. You reached up, and brushed it away with your thumb, lingering just a moment.

“God, I miss you.” You whispered, dropping your hand as he reached across the table intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I'm right here, and hey, if I stay off the naughty list I get conjugal visits next month.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively making you laugh and roll your eyes fondly.

“As much as I would love for you to fuck me senseless, you know that's not what I mean.”

“I know, baby.” The grip on your hand becoming a little tighter.

You fell into an easy conversation. You always told him about what was happening since he left.

“Spoke with Andy. They're expecting and he's absolutely over the moon. They're still planning on getting married, but they're going to wait until after the baby.”

You were still talking but he was hung up on that first part. He felt like a failure all over again. That could be you and him. Happy. Engaged, maybe even married. But no. He was stuck here because of all the stupid choices he had made long before he'd met you. He knew he didn't deserve you.

You stopped talking when you noticed his crestfallen appearance. Eyes glossy, and pouty lips.

“Hey, what's wrong?” You shook his hand lightly. “I know that look. Don't.”

“It's just…” he began but you cut him off. He got like this from time to time.

“I know what you're thinking. Stop, ok. We'll get our happy ending once you get out of this place.” You smiled.

A happy ending. What you truly wouldn't give. You'd both been through too much to not see this through.

“Plus, I'm moving closer. I can get another job, another place to live. We don't have to go back to Lehigh. Nothing ties us to that place.”

“Bunny,” his gaze softened. He truly didn't deserve you.

“Nope. I know what you're going to say. I've already made up my mind.”

“Fine, just make sure to clean out the house good before you do. Attic too.” You looked at him with confusion, knowing you had never stored anything up there.

He simply smirked and winked at you.

“Um… ok weirdo. If you say so.” You eyed him warily. “I…”

“Tillman, times up!” The guard shouted, interrupting you.

“I’ll call you tomorrow to make sure you got in, sweet thing.” He said, winking before his hands were cuffed once more.

You watched as the guard led him away. It was always inevitable, but it didn't hurt any less each time.

It scratched at the back of your mind on the drive home. He was so adamant about checking the attic. It was going to bug you the entire way.

This time you wouldn't stop halfway to rest. Making the drive back to Lehigh in one go, making a few gas station runs but nothing more.

You got in late that night, feeling dead on your feet as you walked into the house throwing your bag on the couch making a beeline for the hall where the access to the attic through the ceiling lay.

You reached up, straining, barely grabbing the thin string but you were able to pull it down as it fell open with a creak.

You took the rickety steps one at a time, grabbing your phone to use as a flashlight. Your head popped up looking around but not immediately seeing anything. To your right, there was a duffle bag you didn't recognize but this must be what he was alluding to.

Your hand gripped the handle, it was fairly heavy, as you brought it back down slowly, placing it on the kitchen table.

Taking a deep breath, you tugged the zipper, gasping when the contents were finally revealed.

The bag was full of cash. More than you'd ever seen at one time in your life.

What you hadn't known is that Gator found that bag when he had rescued you, immediately recognizing it because it was the same one, he had seen at Roy's a few days before it all went down.

That was his turning point. The final nail in the coffin. If Roy could do this to you, there was really nothing he wasn't capable of.

The feds had been whispering in his ear for a few months. After you had broken it off that morning, that was his first call. Even if the future with you was uncertain, he had to keep you safe and taking Roy down was his only choice.

As the initial shock wore off you noticed an envelope sitting to the side.

You tore it open immediately to find a handwritten note.

Bunny,

I figured sooner or later you'd find this before I got out. Knowing you, you're ready to high tail it out of Lehigh and I don't blame you.

Get out of Lehigh, you deserve better than this. Better than me. I never understood why you stuck around, you're too good for me.

On the off chance you still love me, there's enough to get you by until I get out, if you want to wait for me. I understand if you don't. I'm writing this knowing what lays ahead of me.

I know you're going to be pissed, but I did it for us. For our future, if you'll have me. I know I should have done it sooner, and I'm kicking myself for writing it in a letter instead.

There's a velvet box hidden in my sock drawer, if you haven't found it already. I promise I'll ask you proper once I get out. I love you Y/N, more than anything.

Love, Gator

PS- Got your necklace fixed. Missed seeing it around your neck.

Tears began to stream down your face as you clutched the letter reading it over once more before your feet started carrying you toward the bedroom you once shared with him.

You hadn't touched any of his things since he'd been gone. So, you'd never happened upon the small velvet box he was referring to.

You shoved his socks out of he way until your fingertips brushed up against it. You hesitantly pulled it into view, holding it in your hand until you sat on the bed.

You were still crying as you lifted the edges. Your necklace slipped out, catching it before it hit your lap. It had been broken during the kidnapping but with everything that had gone on since you hadn't thought about it but were now grateful to see it again.

Your eyes roved over the ring that was held within. It was simple, modest by most standards, but it was perfect. You'd never expected this from him.

It was a thin, gold band with three diamonds. A center cut with two smaller ones flanking each side. You hesitantly lifted it from the box, sliding it down your ring finger and holding it up to examine it more closely, as it caught the light and sparkled with your movement.

Finally, you clasped the thin gold chain back around your neck, holding the delicate “G” between your fingertips once more.

You knew he'd be calling around noon the next day, expecting you to have stayed at the hotel overnight. You had an idea, not letting on that you'd found everything laid out for you, instead surprising him on your next visit.

It was bittersweet, packing up your things and getting ready to leave Lehigh. The first home you shared with someone you truly loved.

Since you'd let him know you were moving to Minnesota to be closer to him, it had been a whirlwind of emotions and planning. Your next weekly visit was tomorrow.

In a week's time you had already found a small apartment for rent not far from the prison that would be perfect until he was released so you started the packing process.

During your calls, you'd never let on about the duffle bag. He couldn't say anything, so there was no way he'd mention it over the phone which played to your advantage. Keep him waiting and wondering.

Today when you walked through the gates you were positively giddy. Not only were you surprising him, but this would be your first conjugal visit.

Unlike before, they led you to a small room in the back of the prison. It provided privacy with a small bed and seating area, a counter dividing the room in two.

You were instructed to sit. They'd bring him in.

Your knee was bouncing with anticipation at the thought of finally being able to touch him after 6 long months of waiting.

The feel of running your fingers through his hair, his arms wrapped around you in a warm embrace, vibrating at the thought.

You moved the container of cookies to the small table in front of you as the door swung open.

Gator stepped in, a wide grin splitting his face, as he walked further into the room. His eyes never left you, licking his lips as he turned his body toward the guard so they could unshackle him.

“Alright Tillman, you've got an hour. Just be dressed by the time I get back.” He nodded, “ma’am” leaving the two of you alone.

“Hey, sweet thing!” He rubbed his wrists, watching you ease up from your seat crossing the room, quickly advancing toward him, barely giving him enough time to move his hands out of the way before you pummeled into his chest throwing your arms around his waist pulling him into a bone crushing hug.

“Damn Bun! Miss me that bad?” Letting a small chuckle escape, circling his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.

“You know I miss you!” Melting further into his chest. The fabric of his worn, orange jumpsuit scratched at your face, but you just buried it deeper, breathing him.

You held each other for a few moments before finally lifting your head. As your eyes met, he moved his warm, calloused palm to your cheek before he moved in letting his lips crash to yours, nose pressing into your cheek as he tilted his head pulling you further into him.

He immediately deepened it, hungry for more. His tongue darts out, licking at your lower lip as you part your mouth for him. You hummed at the taste of him, almost making you weak in the knees and rushing a spark to your core.

You finally broke apart, panting as your foreheads came to rest together.

“It would have been a yes, you know.” You whispered. “You should have just asked a long time ago.”

His brows knit with confusion as he pulled away to look down at you, his eye catching the glint of gold around your neck immediately cluing him in to what you meant as his gaze softened, and a lopsided grin returned to his face.

“Yeah? That so?” He reached for your left hand, pulling it into view. The ring was situated on your hand perfectly. “So, you still want to be with me?”

“Of course I want to be with you! I love you, you idiot! And you absolutely are asking me properly once you get out of here!” You giggled as he lifted you excitedly, peppering kisses all over your face as you tried to squirm away from the sudden onslaught of affection.

“So, does that mean I'm fuckin' my fiancé today?” Setting your feet back on the ground.

“God, is that all you're worried about?” Rolling your eyes, slapping at his chest.

“No. But Bun, I'm dyin’ here. It's been six fuckin' months.” He suddenly pressed his hips into you, his already hard length pushing into your lower stomach.

“Sure you haven't fallen for your burly bunkmate? I know it can get really lonely in here.” You laughed, as he groaned.

“Real cute, Bunny.” He was walking you back as he spoke, suddenly lifting you up on the small counter stepping between your legs and crashing his lips to yours once more.

The kiss turned more heated as you both tilted your heads, melting into each other as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him further into you by the collar.

He began to trail lower, kisses to your jaw to that little spot below your ear that has you releasing a breathy moan that instantly has his cock twitching between you.

“Oh fuck, I've missed those sounds.” He hissed out, helping you shed your jacket letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor reattaching his lips to you, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of your neck.

Your fingers trailed up his chest finding the zipper on the orange jumpsuit you've come to loath, slipping it down as he let you pull it from his shoulders, letting it fall open to his waist. He wore a plain white shirt underneath, fisting the material in your hands as he pulled your hips closer to the edge of the counter.

His hands drifted under the fabric of your top, sending goosebumps across your flesh, as they roamed higher. Raising your arms to let him discard it alongside your jacket.

He's quick to drift to the clasp of your bra, undoing it with ease, letting the fabric fall away from your chest as his large palms engulf your soft flesh, kneading it a little roughly only spurring that now prominent ache between your legs when his thumbs graze over your nipples causing your back to arch further into his touch.

“Oh fuck, baby!” You moan out, gripping the bottom of his shirt trying to pull it up. You were needy. It felt like a lifetime since you'd been able to give him so much affection. Feel his warmth, skin to skin, lips skimming over your soft flesh. Reacquainting with each other's bodies.

Once his shirt was discarded, his hands traced your curves sending a shiver through you.

Your eyes caught the scar on his shoulder that hadn't been there before. A harsh reminder of what he's had to go through.

He follows your eyes, as your fingertips trace over the bit of gnarled, dark flesh.

“I would take a million more as long as I knew you were safe.” Whispering between you.

“I know you would. I just wish you didn't have to. I love you.” Whispering back, moving forward to place a kiss there before placing another to his lips that quickly turned heated once again.

You pushed at the jumpsuit, he helped you discard it and toe off his shoes as you worked quickly on your jeans.

Once his attention came back to you, he helped you lift your hips and slide them down your legs. His hands were immediately back to you, roaming any of your exposed flesh he could reach.

He took a moment, pressing his lips to your forehead, hand to your jaw.

“I've missed you so fuckin’ much Bunny. I love you.” Leaning his forehead to yours, closing your eyes, feeling the warmth of his palm to your cheek.

“I've missed you too.” Whispering as he captured your lips once more, less rushed. His lips glide across yours, tongue ghosting along your bottom lip begging for entry as you parted them. Tongues moving against one another in a slow, passionate dance.

He closed the small gap, as you wrapped your legs back around him. His clothed length pressing into your core as your hips seemed to move on their own accord grinding down against him, catching your clit on the downward movement eliciting breathy moans from both of you.

His hand slips between you, finding the damp spot on your panties, pressing the pad of his thumb into the soaked fabric.

“Bunny, you're so wet. All this f’me? Fuck, I'm a lucky bastard.” He hissed out, finding the edge of your underwear pulling them to the side and letting his fingertip trace your slit before pushing at your aching entrance only breaching slightly, making your hips chase his hand for friction. He trailed up, finding your swollen clit as the pad of his thumb swiped deftly before pulling away. The band of your panties snapping back into place.

“You wanna move… this over t’the… bed?” He rushed out between pants and feverish kisses.

“Please.” You manage to get out before he's gripping your ass, hauling you up and over across the small room without his mouth ever leaving yours.

His knees find the small bed and tosses you down. The springs are a little hard and unforgiving squeaking under your weight with a small bounce that makes you giggle all the same as you lean back to stare up at him.

He's long and lean, looking a little more toned than you remember. Boxers doing nothing to hide his raging erection. His hard cock straining against the fabric, now eye level with you.

You reach up, tracing a finger down the length of him, leaving him gaping and throwing his head back.

“Fuck, I need you.” He hisses out, as you gingerly reach up pulling his boxers down his toned legs, finally releasing him. His length bobs against his abdomen, standing at full attention. Your cunt clinches at the thought of getting him inside of you. Never satiated properly for the last six months you were aching.

He didn't miss the way your thighs rubbed together as he looked down at you, as you took him in your hand, bringing your lips to his soft, ruddy tip, placing a soft kiss there before shifting your head as you ran your tongue up his entire length.

“Oh fuck, baby.” He pulled your chin up to look at him, as you smirked. “Hey sweet thing, as much as I would love to have your mouth, I need your pussy.” The end came out as almost a growl as he began to ease you back onto the bed, his fingertips grabbing at your panties as he practically ripped them from your legs as you heard an audible rip but you didn't mind as he tossed them somewhere across the room.

Crawling between your thighs, parting to accommodate him eagerly. His thick chest hair rough against your nipples, as he presses himself to you taking his length at the base, suddenly running it up your soaked folds making you moan out and arch further closing any gap between you.

“That's it baby. Need it as much as I do, huh?” He hummed, bumping your clit on the way up that made you whine as he captured your lips once more, lining himself up as his head catches your dripping hole.

Your hands grip at his back, running your fingers through the short locks at the nape of his neck pulling the strands when he pushes himself in an inch more.

The toys at home could never fill you the way he could with his thick, long cock. It began to sting as he pushed further. A moan caught in your throat, as your head hit the back of the bed, mouth going slack at the feeling.

“Goddamn, Bunny. You're so… mmmph…. Fuckin' tight.” He grits out, face turning soft once he looks up to notice your brows pinched tight.

“Hey, Bunny. Relax f'me, baby.” He coos, cradling your jaw, thumb rubbing soothingly under your bottom lip.

“I'm relaxed, you're just a lot, baby.” You finally say, opening your eyes gazing into his lust blown irises, nearly black save for the thin mossy ring around the outer edge.

“Yeah?” Lopsided grin returning. “Too much for that tight little cunt?” Not letting you answer before finally burying himself completely as your nails dig into his back with a near pornographic moan escaping your lips only spurring him on.

He slowly pulls out, feeling your walls stretch and flutter around him before quickly plunging back in, feeling impossibly deeper before rocking his hips into yours at a brutal pace.

The stretch and sting slowly subsides giving way to pleasure as he pushes in and out, a fresh wave of arousal soaking you both. You can't suppress the filthy moans falling past your lips.

“That's it baby, let them know how good I'm fuckin' MY pussy. Ya’ don't have to be quiet in here.” He continues roughly pushing his hips into yours as you gasp and writhe beneath him. The sounds of your slick as he drives into with each thrust would have you blushing, but you were too wrapped up in the feel of him to care.

The way your walls were sucking him in and pulsing around his cock, like you were made just for him, was enough to make him cum right then and there.

“Mmmph, Gator you feel so… g-good.” Managing to squeak out, the head of his cock continually massages that spot on your frontal wall with ease.

“Missed this pussy so fuckin' much. Been dreamin’ about the day I could… fuck… cum in her again.” His thrusts get more urgent, as your pussy flutters around him once more.

“Yeah, Bunny? Want my cum? Stuff you full until you can't take anymore?” You whimper at his words, that coil within you winding tighter with each in and out motion working you both toward your high.

He nips at the soft skin at your bared throat, gaining your attention.

“Huh, bunny?”

Barely able to think or speak at this point, you nod at his question knowing he wants an answer. He moves his mouth higher, taking your bottom lip between his, sucking lightly before letting it go with a slight pop. He loved you like this. Too cock drunk to speak and about to fall apart only for him.

He moves his hand between you, expertly finding your clit, as he begins rubbing circles against you working in tandem with his thrusts bringing you closer to the edge. Your back arched off the bed, crying out.

“Fuck! Don't stop!” You huffed out.

“Wouldn't dream of it, sweet thing. Need you t’cum f’me. Gonna leave you so full I'll be leaking out of ya’ for days.” Another whimper slipped out, just as that coil began to snap.

You didn't have time to warn him before your pussy clamped down around him.

“Oh fuck! There she is.” He hissed out, taking his hand from you so he could pound you into oblivion, chasing his own release while working you through yours.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, sure they were drawing blood at this point from the grip you had on him. Your orgasm hit so hard that your toes curled as sparks flew behind your eyelids.

A few more thrusts and he follows behind you, his dick throbbing and kicking up inside of your tight channel as his balls tightened, painting your walls with his spend. He continued to fuck it into you, cursing and panting before collapsing onto your chest.

“Oh fuck Bunny. Goddamn, I missed you.” It came a little muffled, his lips pressed up against you where his head lay in the crook of your neck.

“I missed you too, baby.” You hummed, as he finally pulled his softening cock from you, laying on his side, so you could be face to face kissing the tip of your nose and pulling you close.

“You're an idiot, if you thought I was going to run. We've come too far to give up now.” You whispered, with warm affection and brushing his hair softly from his forehead before leaning in for a kiss before you were so rudely interrupted with a loud knock.

“10 minutes Tillman!” The guard shouted through the door.

“Fuck.” He hissed, leaning his forehead to yours. “That went by too fast.”

“Yeah, it did.” You giggled, kissing his cheek, sitting up.

“Hey,” grasping your hand, once more looking at the ring on your hand. “I’m sorry ya’ fell in love with such a fuck up.”

“I'm not. You're a good man, Gator Tillman. You just needed a push in the right direction. No one ever thought you were a fuck up except Roy and look where he is.” You placed your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

You finally pulled away to get up and get dressed, as he followed suit knowing your time was dwindling.

“You better grab a cookie, while you still can.” Pulling your shirt back over your head.

“Bun, I got my sugar fix.” Grabbing you from behind, pulling you back into his chest, kissing your cheek as you melted into his touch. “Just needed my sweet thing.”

The door swung open, jarring you both from a few moments of bliss.

“Thank God your dressed.” The guard sighed and laughed as you both rolled your eyes.

You faced him quickly, stealing away one more kiss.

“I'll be back next week.” Smiling softly.

“I know, baby.”

You watched him go, winking at you before he walked out the door.

The next few weeks were a blur, seemingly going by in the blink of an eye.

You had said your goodbyes in Lehigh. Henry throwing you a small going away party for the hell of it. There were a few tears and lots of well wishes. Of course, Maggie made you promise to keep in touch.

You could have easily used the money that Gator had supplied for the next couple of months, but you didn't see a reason to waste it all. Using it more for a nest egg for the both of you.

Finding a job wasn't difficult. Every bar or diner usually had a high turnover, easily securing a waitressing job at a diner not far from your apartment.

Life went on for the next few months. Seeing Gator weekly, phone calls every other day to get you by.

As it drew closer to his incarceration hitting the one-year mark, you became anxious. The parole board would be looking at a possible early release and you had hoped the feds would put a good word in for him, but it wasn't a given.

“So, by this time next week we'll know if you're finally a free man?” Phone pressed to your ear, sitting on a wooden crate by the dumpster out behind the diner.

“Yup. Warden told me yesterday that the parlor board was already reviewing the case.” He sounded hopeful but you weren't convinced.

“That’s great baby.” Voice coming out a little weak, ready for all of this to just be over and done with.

“Cheer up, Bunny. I have a feelin’ it'll all work out.”

You hoped he was right. Never failing to believe what came out of his mouth. He had a way of sounding so sure of everything.

The day of the hearing, you sat by the phone practically chewing your nails down to the quick. Busying yourself with whatever would distract you, but it wasn't working, as you found yourself glancing at the nearby clock every few minutes the closer it drew to noon when the hearing would begin.

You knew it may be a while before you would hear from him, but anticipation and anxiety were getting the better of you.

12:15, 12:30, 12:45

Still no word. It felt like torture, every agonizing second drawn out.

Suddenly that familiar number popped up, quickly pressing that green button with frenzied energy.

“This is a call from Sandstone Correctional Institute. To accept this call from Gator Tillman please press 1.”

You held your breath as it connected him over.

“Bunny?” His almost breathless voice came through the line.

“Hey, baby. I'm here.” You rushed out, heart pounding in your chest.

“I'm coming home.”

Home. Such a funny notion to him now.

He didn't think of the house on the ranch or even Lehigh. He only pictured you. Your kind smile that captivated him the first time he laid eyes on you. That unruly mouth that could knock him down a peg but was heaven all the same. He loved everything about you.

The only person that had ever made him feel truly loved.

He was coming home to you.

-

Processing was completed and 48 hours later you were sitting outside the prison gate, leaning against your car.

The loud buzz signaling the gate opening grabbed your attention as he strolled out. That cocky demeanor was still intact, dick first, head held high; smirking when he spotted you across the lot already running toward him.

You jumped straight into his open arms, being fully enveloped by him burying your head into his chest. It was like you could finally breathe for the first time in months.

“It's finally over?” You spoke timidly, holding tight as if he might be wrenched from your grasp.

“It's over.” A simple but all-encompassing answer; both free to live the lives you want.

“So, where to handsome?” Starting the car and looking over to him.

“Well, I thought we could make a stopover in Scandia.”

You quirked an eyebrow his way.

“Uh… My sister, Nadine, well Dot reached out to me a couple of days ago. Thought we might swing by.” He smiled and shrugged.

“You have a sister?”

“Yeah. Well, she was also my stepmom. Long story.” He chuckled.

“Gator, what the hell?” Rushing out with a look of abject horror on your face.

“Bunny, it's not what you think. I can tell you all about it on the way. She's expecting us for supper.” He leaned over, kissing your cheek.

“God, your family is more fucked up than I thought.” Pulling out of your spot and getting onto the highway.

He grasped your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Yeah, but you still agreed to marry me.” He grinned.

“I haven't agreed to shit. You still have to ask.” Giving him a smirk in return but admiring the ring proudly situated on your left hand. You wouldn't trade him for the world.

You'd gone through literal hell, and you weren't about to let him go now. It didn't matter where the two of you ended up as long as you were together.

[rauthschild]

THE INCONVENIENT TRUTH ABOUT THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY.....CAROL SWAIN

When you think about racial equality and civil rights, which political party comes to mind?

The Republicans? Or, the Democrats? Most people would probably say the Democrats. But this answer is incorrect.

Since its founding in 1829, the Democratic Party has fought against every major civil rights initiative, and has a long history of discrimination.

The Democratic Party defended slavery, started the Civil War, opposed Reconstruction, founded the Ku Klux Klan, imposed segregation, perpetrated lynchings, and fought against the civil rights acts of the 1950s and 1960s.

In contrast, the Republican Party was founded in 1854 as an anti-slavery party. Its mission was to stop the spread of slavery into the new western territories with the aim of abolishing it entirely. This effort, however, was dealt a major blow by the Supreme Court. In the 1857 case Dred Scott v. Sandford, the court ruled that slaves aren’t citizens; they’re property.

The seven justices who voted in favor of slavery? All Democrats. The two justices who dissented? Both Republicans.

The slavery question was, of course, ultimately resolved by a bloody civil war. The commanderin-chief during that war was the first Republican President, Abraham Lincoln – the man who freed the slaves.

Six days after the Confederate army surrendered, John Wilkes Booth, a Democrat, assassinated President Lincoln. Lincoln’s vice president, a Democrat named Andrew Johnson, assumed the presidency. But Johnson adamantly opposed Lincoln’s plan to integrate the newly freed slaves into the South’s economic and social order.

Johnson and the Democratic Party were unified in their opposition to the 13th Amendment, which abolished slavery; the 14th Amendment, which gave blacks citizenship; and the 15th Amendment, which gave blacks the vote.

All three passed only because of universal Republican support.

During the era of Reconstruction, federal troops stationed in the south helped secure rights for the newly freed slaves. Hundreds of black men were elected to southern state legislatures as Republicans, and 22 black Republicans served in the US Congress by 1900. The Democrats did not elect a black man to Congress until 1935.

But after Reconstruction ended, when the federal troops went home, Democrats roared back into power in the South. They quickly reestablished white supremacy across the region with measures like black codes – laws that restricted the ability of blacks to own property and run businesses. And they imposed poll taxes and literacy tests, used to subvert the black citizen’s right to vote.

And how was all of this enforced? By terror -- much of it instigated by the Ku Klux Klan,

founded by a Democrat, Nathan Bedford Forrest.

As historian Eric Foner - himself a Democrat - notes:

“In effect, the Klan was a military force serving the interests of the Democratic Party.”

President Woodrow Wilson, a Democrat, shared many views with the Klan. He re-segregated many federal agencies, and even screened the first movie ever played at the White House - the racist film “The Birth of a Nation,” originally entitled “The Clansman.”

A few decades later, the only serious congressional opposition to the landmark Civil Rights Act of 1964 came from Democrats.

Eighty percent of Republicans in Congress supported the bill. Less than 70 percent of

Democrats did. Democratic senators filibustered the bill for 75 days, until Republicans mustered the few extra votes needed to break the logjam.

And when all of their efforts to enslave blacks, keep them enslaved, and then keep them from voting had failed, the Democrats came up with a new strategy: If black people are going to vote, they might as well vote for Democrats. As President Lyndon Johnson was purported to have said about the Civil Rights Act, “I’ll have them n*****s voting Democrat for two hundred years.”

So now, the Democratic Party prospers on the votes of the very people it has spent much of its history oppressing.

Democrats falsely claim that the Republican Party is the villain, when in reality it’s the failed policies of the Democratic Party that have kept blacks down. Massive government welfare has decimated the black family. Opposition to school choice has kept them trapped in failing schools. Politically correct policing has left black neighborhoods defenseless against violent crime.

So, when you think about racial equality and civil rights, which political party should come to mind?

I’m Carol Swain, professor of political science and law at Vanderbilt University, for Prager University.

[oc3anawrites]

Shattered reflections

read chapter one here

summary: Steven Grant has been losing time and hearing a man talking to him in the mirror. he thinks he's gone "absolutely bonkers"

cw: sad steven grant

Chapter 2: Steven, with a V.

Nearly 3 months after Marc’s disappearance she receives a phone call. When she picks up the phone, a timid British man answers.

✦

present day

Steven has had a rough few months. He wakes up in his apartment, checking that his legs are still chained to the bed. As he gets up he checks that the sand around his bed is undisturbed and that the tape on his door is still sealed. He gets dressed and starts his morning by making a phone call to his mother.

“Hello mum, it’s me. Just checkin’ in. I got your postcard, putting it up on Gus’ tank now. It’s nice. He keeps asking me why I don’t take him anywhere nice.” Steven says as he feeds Gus, his goldfish.

“Anyway mum, I still wake up everyday feeling like I’ve been hit by a bus. Other than that, all's well here. Anyway, sorry I missed you mum, I’ll try again tomorrow. Laters, gators.” He says before he ends the phone call and heads to work. 

Stevens day is filled with inconvenience. First he nearly misses his bus, then he falls asleep on a random person's shoulder during the ride. Still exhausted even though he seemingly got a full night's rest. Once he gets to work he makes conversation with a little girl. He tells her about the ‘field of reeds’ your soul goes to after you die and shares his passion about Ancient Egypt. She makes a snide comment about him not being allowed into the ‘field of reeds’ before his boss, Donna interrupts them.

“Don’t know how many times I have to tell you this but you’re not the bloody tour guide Stevie.” Donna says.

“Steven, actually. I am.. Steven.” he responds.

As the day passes, one of his coworkers asks him on a date. 

“7 O’clock tomorrow?” she asks.

Confused, Steven asks if she’s asking him out. She laughs and walks away.

Steven spends the rest of his day at work talking to Donna about his passion for Ancient Egypt. Shut down at every attempt to share his knowledge. 

As Steven leaves work, he nods to the security guard.

“Night J.B.”

“Night, Scotty.” The security guard responds.

“Scotty? It’s Steven with a V.” Steven responds, flustered. And makes his way out of the door.

Before heading home, Steven stops to talk to a man pretending to be a golden statue for tips. He shares all his thoughts about his blackouts, how his body just wants to get up and wander around.How lately he’s been missing pieces of his memory. He also shares his excitement about the date with the girl from work.

“Anyway, if I am going to have a girlfriend, at some point, obviously can’t have ankle restraints on my bed can I? That’s like the definition of a red flag, isn’t it?”

He thanks the statue man for letting him ‘catch up’ and heads home. Before bed he fixes the sand, tapes his door, and puts on his ankle restraints. He listens to a podcast and fidgets with a puzzle cube, trying to stay awake. But eventually he falls asleep.

The next morning he wakes up in an unfamiliar place, pain in his jaw.

“Go back to sleep worm. You’re not supposed to be here. Surrender the body to Marc.” A deep, intimidating voice says.

“Sorry, what? ‘The body’ what’s happening?” Steven responds.

“Oh the idiots in control.” The menacing voice responds.

Over the next hour, Steven fights with the voice in his head. He wanders around an unfamiliar city while men are shooting at him. Utterly clueless, Steven is terrified. Once in the city, he watches a man with blonde hair ‘judge’ an older woman and take her life. The people around notice Steven as an outsider and begin to chase him. They insist he has something called a ‘scarab’ and when Steven tries to hand the scarab over to them, it seems like he’s lost control of his own hands, they’re darting away from the men and his legs are running as fast as they can. Suddenly, his eyes roll back into his head and he blacks out. When he wakes up, his face is covered in blood and there are bodies around him. Terrified, he steals an ice cream truck and drives away. The menacing voice in his head continues to scold him. A chase ensues as he drives the icecream truck, freaking out because he ‘doesn’t even have his license’. Steven blacks out once again and wakes up in his bed, covered in sweat.

“Thank god, it was just a dream.” he says to himself.

He spends the next day doing his usual routine, calling his mom, feeding Gus, making sure none of his measures are tampered with. Suddenly, he notices his fish Gus has somehow magically grown back a fin. He takes the fish to the petstore and the woman there insists she saw him yesterday and that he’s “not quite right” in the head. He realizes the time and gets ready for his date with the woman from his work. He arrives at the restaurant and waits an hour for his date but she doesn’t show. So he picks up his phone and calls her.

“Punchy huh? Calling me now,” The woman says.

“What? What do you mean? I’m at the restaurant for steak. It’s steak time.” His voice was innocent and cracking slightly.

The woman tells Steven he stood her up 2 days ago and tells him to lose her number. Steven could’ve sworn it was Friday but the waiter tells him it’s sunday. A somber expression on his face, tears in his eyes, Steven (who is a vegan) orders one steak for himself. Sits in the restaurant and eats his steak, alone.

On his way home, he calls his mother telling her that the date went great and he’d bring her around soon and introduce her to his mom, just wanting his mom to think he’s okay. He throws away the flowers he got for his date and when he gets home, devours the box of chocolates he bought. He drops some chocolate on the floor and then notices one of his wood panels is scratched, he follows the scratch to a panel in the wall. Inside the panel he finds a set of keys to a storage room and a phone. There is only one name in the phone “Amaya”. So, he calls it.

“Oh my god you're alive. I’ve been texting and calling you for months. I thought you were dead. Where are you? Where have you been?” Amaya states. 

“S-sorry I just found this phone in my flat and I’m trying to figure out whose it is.” The voice on the other end says, sporting a british accent.

“What is with the accent?” She asks.

“Sorry, who do you think I am?” He responds.

“Who do you mean ‘who’ what the hell is wrong with you Marc?”

The name “Marc” throws Steven off guard, he questions why she would call him that. Then the phone hangs up. 

On the other side of the phone, Steven tries to redial the number before hearing a voice in his head.

“Steven.. Steven…Steven… You need to stop. Leave her out of this. You’re going to get yourself in trouble.” The voice is different from the one before. He sounds calm but stern and has an American accent.

Steven begins panicking, searching around his apartment for an intruder. He comes across a mirror and suddenly he sees himself. Except, it’s not him. The man in the mirror tells him,

“stop looking.”

 Steven runs out of his apartment into the elevator. The lights begin to flicker and he hears loud thumping footsteps on the other side of the elevator doors. When the doors open he sees a tall figure with the head of a bird skeleton and a large staff. Steven panics and throws himself against the elevator wall. Questioning his reality, Steven begins panicking further before blacking out once again. When he wakes up, he sees the figure once again.

“Oh my god he’s real.” Steven says to himself. 

Hurriedly, he runs into his work as he has woken up on the bus, at the bus stop for his job. Steven is sweaty, dark circles under his eyes. It looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. At work, the blonde man he saw before confronts him, trying to convince Steven to give him the scarab. He begins talking about Ammit. He begins mentioning “avatars” of the gods. His name is Arthur Harrow and he is Ammit’s avatar. He uses Ammit’s powers to judge and punish those before they can commit to evil. He explains.

“Oh uh avatar, blue people yeah love that film.” Steven says, flustered.

The man continues talking about how Ammit was betrayed by her avatar.

“By avatar I mean-”

Steven interrupts him.

“You mean the anime.”

The man, growing impatient, tells Steven to stop and listen. Saying he knows about the voice in Steven’s head. The man grabs Steven’s arms and tells him,

“There’s chaos in you.”

 Steven manages to escape away from the man when a flood of guests walk in. Thinking he’s going insane, Steven returns back to work as a gift shop attendee. 

After hours, the lights begin to flicker and a dog growling can be heard, the air whips around Steven and shadows begin to appear

 Suddenly, Harrows voice booms over the intercom-

“Steven Grant from the giftshop, give me the scarab and you will not be harmed.”

an ancient egyptian jackal begins chasing steven around his work, terrified for his life steven runs, nearly tripping over himself and knocking over artifacts. The jackal is menacing, only one thing set on its mind, killing steven.

Steven locks himself in the bathroom and suddenly he hears a voice in his head once again.

“Steven, look at me.” the voice says.

“No, no you’re not real, this isn’t real.” Steven says, slapping himself in his face.

“This is real, I’m real. You have to give me control, it's the only way. Let me save us.” 

Reluctantly, Steven lets go allowing the man to take control of his body. His neck turns back, his face up at the ceiling and his body begins to be enshrouded in white cloth.

The next morning, Steven wakes up in his bed. He runs to work, trying to get there before anyone can see the security tapes of what happened with the jackal last night. He insists to the security guard there was a jackal chasing him but only Steven can be seen on the tape. When he leaves the bathroom it is destroyed. He’s called into a meeting with one of his bosses which suggests he see a psychiatric doctor. The man tells Steven that he no longer has his job. Ashamed and embarrassed, Steven hands over his nametag and heads home.

He decides he needs to use the keys he found to find the storage locker that the keys unlock and prove to himself he’s not “gone mad”.

a/n: i felt so bad writing this why is everyone so mean to steven

chapter 3 out now click here

[rwac96]

Just one more prompt for the Boys vs the DC universe;

Batman vs Billy Butcher!

They both lost people dear to them, and regularly go against those with powers despite being powerless, all in the name of vengeance.

But Butcher let his vengeance consume him to the point that he stopped caring about the lives of the innocent who get caught in the crossfire, only caring about getting back at Homelander to the point that he thinks EVERY superhero is just as bad as he is.

Batman on the other hand learned how to control his rage and channels it to motivate himself to NEVER cross the line, because it make him just as bad as the scum he fights. He knows that killing is like a drug that can darken the soul, and if he were to allow himself to cross that line, he knows he’ll never go back. He made a promise to never do so.

Bruce would definitely feel insulted by Butcher’s actions, since Butcher is essentially what he has to keep himself from becoming every-time he dons his mask. A man who takes the easy way, who enjoys hurting others to the point he became EXACTLY like the people he despised.

Bruce would find the evidence to permanently take down Vought, go after the Boys, give Milk and Hughie the chance to go back to their normal lives, and easily take down Butcher, and drag him kicking, and screaming bloody murder and lock him up in the most secure holding cell that Arkham has to offer. Because Batman is more than vengeance, he’s a true knight of justice! Something that Butcher has long since turned his back on.

"F-Fuck," panted an injured Billy Butcher, who clutched the crowbar in his shaking hands.

Beaten black & blue, blood pouring from one of his nostrils and the edge of his lips; his right eye was nearly swollen. The leader of The Boys found himself in a situation that many criminals dreaded; a fight with The infamous Batman. Billy didn't know how, but he figured that the Dark Knight had a hand in something he tried and failed to do for years: Bring down Vought. The once untouchable company was now facing many charges, the top executives & CEOs facing prosecution and many victims of Compound-V Supes were stepping forward.

If it was back when he first began his crusade against Vought, it would've been the end of it for William "Billy" Butcher. But, his rage against Homelander grew into hatred against all Supes, heroes & villains. In his eyes, they were corrupt hedonists, ticking time bombs. He wanted to see every Supe dead and was nearly successful if it wasn't for the Seven being brought down by the Justice League. Now, he was alone, the other members of The Boys likely have been likely taken out. Frenchie and Kimiko were tied to a pillar, meanwhile, Soldier Boy was found knocked out. Milk and Hughie seemed to have surrendered without a fight, due to the fact that there wasn't a reason to.

"It's over, Butcher," Batman's voice ring out from the shadows, making the injured man look around. "we can end this without further violence."

"Is that so, eh mate?" Billy replied, letting out a pained chuckle. "you and your Supe pals taking down those Vought Cunts and suddenly we're all buddies?!"

"You're unhinged," the Bat of Gotham answered, as he drops down from a railing; shrouded in the shadows. "you planned on killing every metahuman on the Earth with Luthor's enhanced Amazo Virus."

"It would've wiped every Supe off the bloody Earth! Bastards like Homelander, Pyscho, Veritgo!"

"They deserve to stand trial for their crimes," the Caped Crusade said, approaching Billy. "but not every Metahuman is like that. There are heroes, genuine in their cause. Other Metahumans who wish to live in peace, the peace that you and Beth were robbed of."

"Keep her name outta your bloody mouth!" Butcher proceeded to charge toward Batman, who evaded the swing of the crowbar and delivered decisive blows to his torso and face. Billy fell down onto his back, groaning in defeat.

"William," Batman spoke, "you need help. Your vengeance turned you into the very thing you fought against, nearly taking down everyone who followed you. This is not what Beth wanted, Billy, and deep down you know that."

"S-Shut up," he panted, his blue eyes glaring at the vigilante in black & grey.

"Stop," the Dark Knight instructed, kneeling down to restrain Butcher's wrist with custom-made rope. "it's over. Maybe time in Arkham will give you some perspective, or at least get you to see how far you've fallen."

[paganimagevault]

Schlacht bei Pressburg by Peter Johann Nepomuk Geiger 1850. Army of Eastern Francia crushed by the Magyars. For more details watch this youtube video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHUSCs4Nacg

"Arnulf of Carinthia was supported by a Hungarian army when he invaded Moravia in 892. In the tenth century, Ottonian authors accused this late Carolingian monarch of unleashing the Magyars on Europe because of his desire to bring down the Moravian state. This chapter attempts to show that there is little reason to doubt their judgment. On the basis of admittedly fragmentary evidence, I surmise that Arnulf not only used the martial talents of these nomads to destroy Moravia, but he also probably employed some of them to further his policy aims in Italy, which resulted in his imperial coronation in 896. Although the Magyars remained loyal to Arnulf, they launched a major raid on Bavaria following his death in the autumn of 899.

In the early years of the tenth century, the struggle for control of the central Danubian basin began once more, this time between Bavarians and Magyars. The Moravian realm, by now in shambles, no longer played a major role, though Bavarian leaders belatedly tried to prop it up as a buffer against the Hungarians. One should not, however, consider the eventual Magyar triumph as an inevitable outcome. By the beginning of the tenth century, Bavarians had been conducting military operations in Pannonia for more than a century. They knew the terrain, and on several occasions they defeated Hungarian forces. There is no reason to believe that the Bavarians intended to surrender this huge frontier region to nomads from across the Carpathians without a struggle, which finally came to a bloody end in July of 907 at a place called Brezalauspurc [aka Battle of Pressburg or Battle of Pozsony], probably not modern Bratislava, as we shall see. In this encounter a large portion of the Bavarian nobility perished, permitting the Magyars to settle in the central Danubian basin, whence they raided Latin Christendom for the next half-century."

-Charles R. Bowlus. Franks, Moravians, and Magyars: The struggle for the Middle Danube

[koutiv]

More identity V moments i experienced because maintenance is happening and my addiction to the game needs to be fed !!

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- Patient kept barking at me so i started saying stuff like “Opera singer please chair me” because i needed to ESCAPE. Turns out Opera singer went friendly BUT took me on a balloon far away from patient at my request HELP

- That time a Nightmare and Fools gold went friendly but it turned for the worse when they started going back and forth with eachother before Professor joined in on the fun… (my eyes)

- Opera singer also downed patient when they found me and tried coming to me. I WAS gonna save but i forgot cause i was dancing in front of them (they flew into the sky in front of me erm..)

- During that whole round people kept dropping and soon i was chaired by Sculptor, soon Opera singer came so i started talking in the games vc and laughing before Opera singer LITERALLY said ONE WORD then i got kicked out for maintenance after managing a very surprised “OH-“

- I WAS KITING FOR SO LONG BUT SOMEONE POPPED IT AND I GOT DOWNED. THAT ONE POP MADE EVERYONE DIE BECAUSE THEY WERE TRYING TO SAVE ME AS I WAS HIT BY TWO HUNTERS CONTINUOUSLYYY

- Little girl mains. Im sorry but just, them.. theyre either really helpful or make me wanna rip my hair out. (Totally not because one pushed me and another person away from the exit and left us to get chaired as they escaped)

- THE NAIAD AND NIGHTWATCH THAT WENT FRIENDLY AND STAYED IN MATCH WITH FOUR OF US EVEN THO OTHERS LEFT (The other three survivors kept using things on them but they stayed friendly after pretending to be sad a few times)

- Naib mains i truly appreciate you all for saving when you guys do actually save

- THAT ONE LUCKY GUY. Ohmygod, me(seer) embalmer and naib were in the match with him. We were all decoding before Embalmer got chaired so me and Naib went to help, we kept spamming focus on decoding BUT THIS MAN KEPT COMING TO US. He got downed obviously and made me and Naib get chaired, it was a mess of “focus on decoding” and “get out of here” throughout this bloody queen hunting us down and chairing. Pretty soon Naib and Embalmer die and im left with lucky guy, i keep telling this man to decode while i kite but he doesn’t (i was about to surrender at this point) and finally did when bloody queen downed me. I try and tell this man to decode so i can die (i really didnt wanna continue the match) AND I SEE THE FAINTEST OF YELLOW OUTLINE COME CLOSER. So i surrendered but he refused and got me out, i ran but eventually gave up because he got caught and i didnt see myself making it to dungeon. That round made me a step closer to rank matches because QM and randoms are such a mix of good or bad

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That last one was a rant im sorry but it was going so well before the lucky guy kept coming to save to just get terror shocked immediately LMAO