#Shadow 7-11 is not and likes to watch
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Just a day in Shadow Company ;D
#phillip graves#shadow company#call of duty#mwii#cod mw2#Shadow 4-38 is new and easily flustered#Shadow 7-11 is not and likes to watch#my stuff
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Whumptober 2023
Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!
COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE
To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!
Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.
This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.
And this years playlist can be found here.
There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!
We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!
Best of luck and happy whumping,
Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro
(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)
Whumptober 2023 Prompt List
No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”
Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”
No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”
Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”
No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”
Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”
No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”
Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”
No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”
Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”
No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”
Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”
No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”
Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”
No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”
Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”
No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”
Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”
No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”
Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”
No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”
Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”
No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”
Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”
No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”
Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”
No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”
Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”
No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”
Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”
No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”
Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”
No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”
Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”
No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”
Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”
No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”
Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”
No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”
Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”
No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”
Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”
No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”
Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”
No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”
Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”
No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”
Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”
No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”
Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”
No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”
Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”
No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”
Matches | Scars | “Let me see”
No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”
Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”
No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”
Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”
No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”
Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”
No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”
Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”
Alternatives List:
Betrayal
Aftermath of Failure
Brass Knuckles
Decoy
Body Modification
Playing Cards
Examination
Hunting
Drugging
Shaking
Panic
Broken
Miscommunication
Lab Rat
Reluctant Whumper
Event Info & Rules
~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~
WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.
The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!
In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.
Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.
When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:
#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)
#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)
#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)
#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)
#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)
#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )
#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)
#your own tags go here
PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]
Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.
Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.
Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?
You can create something based on:
The overall theme/lyric of the day
Prompt 1, 2 or 3
One or several of the alternative prompts
A combination of the above
Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?
When in doubt: JUST DO IT!
Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?
Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.
Q. Can I post early/late?
Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.
Q. Will you reblog my post?
Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:
tag your post properly
post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.
Q. What if I don’t understand a prompt/theme?
Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.
Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?
This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe.
Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?
Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.
Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?
Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.
Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?
Yes.
Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?
If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.
Q. What kind of characters can I write for?
Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.
Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?
No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.
Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?
Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.
Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?
No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.
Q. Where can I post my work?
Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.
Q. Can I start posting early?
You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.
Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?
Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.
Q. Is co-writing allowed?
Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.
Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?
One continuous story is fine. The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)
Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?
There is no limit.
Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?
No limit and combine as many as you’d like.
Q. Is a hc/angst/emotional whump focus ok?
Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.
Q. What’s considered nsfw?
See this post
Q. What is whump?
Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.
Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?
If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.
Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?
Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!
Q. How do I tag triggers?
tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw
Q. Do I have to use your tags?
Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.
Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?
Yes
Q. Can we @ you?
Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2023 tag.
Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?
There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).
Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?
Here on Discord or come into our ask box.
Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?
Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.
Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?
Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.
Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).
Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!
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bedtime stories
a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader
words: bitch this was supposed to be a blurb. 2.4k
summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where night shift with him runs late, but you don't mind at all. You won’t admit a lot of things to Luke Castellan, but perhaps he knows something you don’t. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader
warnings: none, banter and fluff on a night shift
a/n: Introducing luke castellan x trouble!reader… this is just gonna be ongoing blurbs and one shots of an idea in my head (and my latest hyperfixation) reader is essentially reformed unhinged bitch now camp mom and it’s enemies to friends to lovers. Working through reading the pjo series hehe
(posted 1/16/24, beta’ed by the lovely @ttulipwritezz @mrsaluado & @lixzey thank you bunches)
—
Dragging your feet across the dirt of the forest floor, you sigh to yourself in the quiet night air. It’s gonna be another long night and with the beep on your digital watch, you blearily peer at the time and sigh. Almost 11. Swaying slightly, you whistle a familiar tune as your nimble hands straighten out the deck chairs near the firepit, pick up trash to toss into the receptacle, and turn off the lights in the dining hall. All on the way to check Cabin 7, mind you, and the Apollo kids will undoubtedly loop you into singing a song with them before you shut the lights off and close the curtains.
Gods, your dad is definitely gonna hear about this in the morning.
It’s not like Mr. D ever really cares, or listens, more focused on droning on about missing his wife and playing pinochle even when you rattle off his…your to-do list for the week to keep Camp Half-Blood running and the younger demigods in mostly one piece. Honestly, he should be grateful he has you, and even if he is, he’ll never let you hear it. At least you’re Chiron’s favorite.
A shadow passes your field of view, and before you can rub at your sleepy eyes, strong hands pin you to the side of a tree on the dirt path you were supposed to take across camp.
Sorry, let’s correct that—you’re one of Chiron’s favorites. The other all-star camper stares at you like you’re a three-headed dog under the beam of his flashlight.
“Just me, Castellan,” you grumble, a bit winded as you blink harshly at the bright light. “Still doing checks.”
“You’re losing your touch. You making a habit of going to bed late?” Luke smirks, and it’s actually annoying how he always looks like he knows something you don’t.
“You always pin campers to trees?”
“Just the pretty ones.” His smirk turns into a sly grin that makes you roll your eyes.
“Okay loser, I’ve got cabins to check,” you drone as you push off from the tree. “6 cut into my time after staying there longer than I had to. The little ones kept asking these otherworldly philosophical questions and Annabeth just laughed at me while I tried to not pluck my eyelashes out one by one.”
Your clipboard taps lightly against your hip despite the aggression in your voice and Luke laughs much like his little sister, a burst of sunlight overflowing into the dreary and mundane. Your lips quirk upward before you can stop and remind yourself of who you’re talking to. The tall boy reaches behind him to scratch the nape of his neck and sighs, sucking at his teeth.
“You’re always doing the most, huh?”
“Who else is going to, my dad? He’s probably already out like a light.” Once, you found your dad asleep at his desk after dinner, snoring loudly instead of keeping watch. You started taking more night shifts after that.
“Well, no. You know I’m here to help you, even if you’ll never admit it.” Luke extends a hand to you so it’s easier to navigate the step back onto the dirt-trodden path, but there’s no fun in that, so you hop around him and start walking away. The sound of his footsteps fall and match yours as he follows you, both in tandem like the sound of a steady heartbeat.
“The day you catch me admitting anything about you is the day the Underworld freezes over. You should know that by now.”
“Woooooow, so I don’t get a thank you for singing the Apollo kids to sleep? You should’ve seen the look on their faces when I walked in and not you. They ended the song pretty quickly after I opened my mouth to croak out a chorus,” he says, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth and nudging your side as you both laugh.
He’s a terrible singer, to be honest. Not even the Fates would’ve expected that from someone who otherwise seems like a perfect boy. Sometimes you wonder what he’s done in a past life to have it so easy–to look like he’s been chiseled by Michelangelo, have the athletic prowess of ten Spartan soldiers, and the heart of a hero only legends could get right. He’s probably the closest thing to an actual hero here at camp. You often find yourself looking at him in hopes of finding a crack in the porcelain of his perfection, but any fault of his seems to just build up his endurance in his quest for glory.
Maybe that’s why your dad doesn’t like him, his aspirations for something greater than the camp that’s kept you safe all these years, though the multiple complaints and headaches the both of you have given him as squabbling teenagers must’ve added onto that. Sometimes, though, the way he helps ease your load prods a funny feeling you do your best not to acknowledge in your stomach. Luke walks ahead shining the flashlight onto the dark path so you both don’t trip. It’s there now, at the sight of him offering an arm for you to latch onto to hop over fallen branches.
Mental note: tell the satyrs to move that in the morning.
As you hurdle over the brambles, you let go immediately after you steady your feet, moving his hand that’s holding the flashlight back towards the path with no other words. You are your father’s daughter after all, and he knows this—stubborn and your name have the same face.
Moving further towards your destination, the light reveals a teenage couple entangled within each other’s arms at the base of a tree out there for everyone to see in the moonlight.
“Jeez, guys, alright— pack it up, wrap it up! Could’ve at least found somewhere private… It’s curfew already, if I see you two again it’s a citation.”
The boy blushes and mumbles an apology to you, scurrying back to cabin 7, and you raise an eyebrow at a sheepish son of Hermes who swears they were all in their beds when he was singing to them.
“I don’t wanna go back to my cabin, all the boys are gross…” the girl whines, cheeks flushed from embarrassment as she flutters her eyelashes at you and Luke. You sigh. What has the world come to that young demigods are entrusted to the care of two people who barely consider themselves adults?
“Well, if you’re still in 11 with this one,” you simper, blatantly pointing at Luke, “I can’t blame you. He’s gross. Come by mine tomorrow and I’ll get you privacy curtains, okay? Trust me Yvonne, you don’t think boys are all that gross if you like kissing them.”
She nods, smiling charmingly at the two of you, before brushing past Luke and winking, “See you inside!”
Your head swivels to look at Luke with a coy expression, “There’s no way she’s not an Aphrodite.”
Luke huffs as he clicks his flashlight on and off. His hands are always fidgeting, always searching for something to do. He’s more like his dad than he thinks, carrying the quieter traits of quick fingers and more obvious ones like his constant search for amusement. Talking to you consistently satiates that itch.
“Aphrodite isn’t the only god that attracts attractive people, you know.”
“Oh? Do tell, because if she’s one of you, your cabin’s gonna be extra trouble,” your mouth curves into a smile, and he thinks he likes it more when you’re trying to be mean to him like this because the back and forth between you two is a comfort Luke cherishes. The words have lost their bite over the years, and there are no more cuts and bruises besides an occasional wounded ego, but it’s still entertaining, to say the least. He can’t imagine a day without hearing the teasing lilt of your voice, always easy to prod at and always wanting to have the last word.
“My dad is the god of thieves and messengers. We’re fast, smart, charming, and also good-looking. Do the math.”
“Also apparently the ones with the biggest egos, but okay.” There it is. He shoves you and you trip over your own feet falling fast.
“Hey! Jerk.”
“Definitely a daughter of Dionysus, crazy as always, and clumsy too.” Luke’s nose crinkles at the sight of your crumpled frame.
“Your hand is like the size of my face, what the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”
A fleeting thought in the back of your mind reasons that maybe violence is the answer, but he’s still not finished making fun of you even after he helps you up.
“And vulgar! What a shocker.”
“Ugh. You better hope your dad stops populating because if there’s any more that come here and act like you? I’m quitting.”
Luke watches you gaze at the heavens, probably looking for a fuck to give and he snickers at how easily you give in nowadays. Maybe he’s the one losing his touch—usually you’d put up more of a fight to argue.
“You wouldn’t. You love this job. Camp. S’why you’re not as fun anymore, trouble.”
A noise of agreement leaves you as you glare at him and the stupid nickname back from when you used to wreak havoc just because you could, a direct juxtaposition to the honorary position you hold today. Finally following him up the front steps of Cabin 11, Luke opens the door and beckons you in, pushing at your hip with his knuckles.
Checking this place last has become a habit with Luke helping you out, and all the kids—Hermes’, minor gods’, and unclaimed, love it when you come to stop by before lights out. They especially loved the later bedtime, but hugs and cool stories from you were a close second.
“Everyone good and ready for bed in here? Sorry it took so long guys,” you say, visually scanning the perimeter and matching faces to bunks, seeing them all settled beneath their sheets, all except for one Luke Castellan. He’s still leaning against the doorframe, breath grazing your shoulder as he hands you a copy of his log from the other cabins he kindly relieved you from.
“What, no bedtime story this time?” He says through hooded eyes, and though he won’t admit it, he adores the sound of your voice. Luke does anything he can to get your attention to hear it more. It almost has a calming effect on him, and maybe it’s the fact that your dad can cause and cure madness, anxiety, and all alike, so something in him believes you do the same, powers or not. One look from him has you sputtering out snarky remarks; different strategies, same results—works every time.
“Castellan…” He grins at the look on your face, and tiny voices pop up from around the cabin, all asking for a bedtime story. Chris even starts a chant from his top bunk, making you want to hurl your clipboard at his head. Hypnos is calling your name at this point, and you’d do anything to crawl into your own safe haven in Cabin 12, but your heartstrings pull at the sight of the little ones pouting, hoping for you to tuck them in with a blanket of comforting words and stories of something more than what these walls meagerly provide. Camp Half-Blood only keeps them safe for so long, and not a lot of them make it out of here alive. You and Luke both know that being two of the oldest at camp, and his smug expression as he settles into his bed is confirmation that you’re about to give in.
“Fine. One quick story, and then everyone goes to sleep okay? Who wants to sit on the floor with me?”
You take your place sitting on the ground next to the foot of Luke’s bunk as he lays upside down on the twin-sized mattress, peering at you through one open eye as the younger children, mostly the unclaimed ones—drag their blankets and form a circle in the middle of the room, waiting patiently for you to start enchanting them with something to occupy their tired minds. Acting— that’s the gift your father had to give you; this time you decide to tell the story of Atalanta and the golden apples, how she ran from love and it still found her in the end, and how some stories can have good endings, despite what’s often found in Greek legend. Multiple tired eyes droop closed as you finish the story and carry the ones who’ve fallen into Hypnos’ embrace back into their bunks, tucking them in with kisses on their foreheads and it leaves you with a warm feeling that will help you brave the chill on your walk back.
Admittedly, this next part is your favorite part on nights like these. The overflowing cabin of rowdy pranksters and babbling children is as quiet as the secret you hold close to your heart, tiptoeing back towards Luke’s space and draping his blanket over his muscular frame, exhausted from another day of trying to achieve greatness. Your hand brushes a dark curl away from his forehead, fingertips ghosting his pale skin like a kiss you’d never have the guts to give. With everything you have in you, you summon thoughts of serenity and peace, hoping whatever keeps him up at night lets him rest for even a few hours. You don’t pray often, finding yourself spiting your father instead of honoring him on most days, but in the dim light of Cabin 11, you find yourself making time to do so for a pain in your ass called Luke Castellan.
Perhaps he knows something you don’t after all, the crease in his forehead relaxing as you pull your fingertips away.
“Sweet dreams, angelface.”
Mental note: Put his ass to work tomorrow for falling asleep halfway through the story.
It’ll only give him another excuse to ask you to tell it again a few nights later. You find yourself not minding that, a sliver of a smile pulling at your face as you walk towards the door and shut the lights off, a sleeping son of Hermes illuminated by the gentle shine of the moon.
You’d never admit that, though.
—
“you steady me and stir me
all at once.”
-Tanya Wright
ask to be added to luke/general taglist!
luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings
#luke castellan x dionysus!reader#luke castellan x reader#pjo imagine#luke castellan fanfic#luke castellan x reader fanfic#made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo x reader#luke castellan fluff#thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
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FORESHADOWING IN ACOTAR YOU MAY HAVE MISSED
*Spoilers*
1. Feyre painted the night sky on her drawer in the cottage.
2. Feyre had heard of Rhysand long before she met him. She recalled hearing of “One High Fae that could turn your bones to dust from a hundred yards away.”
3. One of the first things Lucien says to Feyre is that her eyes “are like stars.”
4. When first arrived at the Spring Court, Feyre unknowingly dresses herself in Night Court colours. (A dark blue tunic, another tunic “one of purple so deep it could have been black.”)
5. When Lucien and Feyre encounter the Bogge, Feyre distracts herself by thinking of “a starry, unclouded night sky, peaceful and glittering and endless.”
6. Rhysand appears as a “shadow I could never quite glimpse” in Feyre’s nightmares before they met. “Behind me - a shadow lurked - no, watched. I didn’t dare turn to look at it, to see who might be within the shadows, observing.”
7. Amarantha appeared in Feyre’s nightmares before she knew of her, as a “A pale, faceless woman dragging her bloodred nails across my throat” - a nightmare of Rhysands perhaps?
8. When the Suriel told Feyre to “Stay with the High Lord”, it didn’t specify which High Lord.
9. When Tamlin takes Feyre to see the pool of starlight, she describes the setting filling her with “both longing and mirth…it just seemed…right.”
10. Despite only having heard and not seen the Attor, Feyre manages to paint its exact image “a tall, skeletally thin gray creature with bat ears and giant, membranous wings.” How would she have been able to do this? Possibly an image from someone else’s mind?
11. During Calanmai, Feyre disregards Tamlin’s order to stay in her room as “there was a string - a string tied to my gut that pulled me towards those hills, commanding me to go, to hear the faerie drums…” “but a wild wicked voice weaving in between the drumbeats whispered otherwise. Go, that voice said, tugging at me. Go see.”
12. The first thing Rhysand ever says to Feyre is “There you are, I’ve been looking for you” before telling the three lesser faeries, “Thank you for finding her for me.”
13. During Feysand’s first encounter, Feyre thinks to herself Rhysand’s words “were tinged with an arrogance that only an immortal could achieve” to which he “laughed under his breath” having heard the insult.
14. When Feyre first drinks faerie wine, she describes it as “like a million fireworks exploring inside of me, filling my veins with starlight.”
15. Still intoxicated she states she wants to swim in the night sky, “to bathe in its colours and feel the stars twinkling between my fingers.”
16. Tamlin and Feyre had their first kiss during the shortest night of the year.
17. Rhysand states “only my prisoners and my enemies call me (Rhysand).” It’s then interesting that Feyre refers to him as ‘Rhys’ in her POV in moments when she can see beneath his villain mask. (And EXTRA interesting when she refers to him as such during their first kiss.)
18. When Rhysand senses Tamlin and Lucien have hidden Feyre “a flicker of excitement - perhaps disbelief - flashed across his features.”
19. Rhysand was the only person Under the Mountain that bet on Feyre slaying the worm.
20. Feyre’s bargain tattoo is similar to the Illyrian tattoos that are given for luck and glory.
21. When Rhysand dressed Feyre under the mountain he crowned her with a “small golden diadem imbedded with lapis lazuli” - a stone that inspires confidence and is worn by royalty.
22. When Rhysand informs Amarantha of his bargain with Feyre, it’s also an act of defiance as he mentions the bargain is “for the rest of her life”, hinting he believes she will survive the remaining tasks.
23. Before the second trial, Rhysand dresses Feyre in a ‘blood orange’ gown - a colour symbolising good fortune.
24. During their first mind convo, Rhysand says “Good girl.” (Not a fact, just hot tbh.)
25. When Rhysand sends the music to her cell, she unknowingly imagines Velaris and “a palace in the sky of alabaster and moonstone, where all that was lovely dwelled in peace…everything I wanted was there - the one I loved was there-“
｡･:*˚:✧｡
#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#rhysand#feyre archeron#feyreandrhysand#rhysand and feyre#feysand#sjm spoilers
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The Man in the Black Mask
[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]
[ warnings: angst, violence, assassination attempt, mention of the murder of multiple people, descriptions of murders ]
[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his 'ghosts', a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]
This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.
Series & Characters Moodboard
Lady Walford Moodboard
Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard
Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Lips | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
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Her father, the King, only realised how many enemies he had after a man dared to attack her while she was strolling around the fair during one of her walks. He wanted to get closer to her and slipped a dagger out from behind his cloak − if it hadn't been for the woman selling fish and her shouting, she wouldn't have noticed him or the steel gleaming in his hand.
She did what any other person in her position would have done, which is to say, she screamed in terror, stepping back, bumping into a wooden makeshift table full of vegetables, which toppled over with her − the assassin gave up at the last moment, terrified by the sudden outbreak of panic, and disappeared among the crowd.
Some elderly man helped her up, the knights of her father's guard rode up on horseback, alarmed by these frightened noises. One of them, Ser Lucas, her father's friend from his youth and the great rebellion furrowed his brow as he saw her face.
"Princess?"
She wasn't sure if her father was more furious with her or with the man who had tried to attack her. He commented on her irresponsibility and disobedience, her recklessness, and expressed outrage that her guards had not even noticed how she had escaped them.
"I just wanted to see the fair, my King." She said in a trembling voice without looking at him; she stood before him with her hair loose, wearing a beautiful navy blue gown with sleeves that reached to the ground − her shoulders were bare, on her hips a delicate golden belt made up of tiny eyes in which sapphires were framed.
"That's enough." He said agitated and impatient, raising his hand in a gesture of frustration, his dark hair and beard adding to his seriousness, his brow furrowed in anger. "Until you learn prudence, one of my ghosts will not leave your side."
She looked at him, horrified, and then turned her gaze to the man standing beside him, a few steps behind his throne, his figure hidden completely in shadow. He was dressed all in black, a hood over his head and a black mask on which a single tear was outlined under his right eye.
It was said that it was molded so that the people they were killing would have the feeling that they had compassion for them, that they were just a tool used by someone else.
People called them ghosts because they weren't seen on a daily basis – or at least that's what it was believed. They were forbidden to take off their mask or speak to anyone but her father, and were his principal emissaries that found his enemies, invigilated them and killed them.
Since the days of the rebellion and the overthrow of the earlier king, her father was perpetually in fear of an attempt on his or his children's lives, so he found, she supposed, people desperate or fond of killing, those who owed him everything and had no reason to betray them.
She passed and saw them extremely rarely, only during sumptuous feasts in the company of guests or gatherings of magnates from all over the country.
They stood then by her father's side, as always in the shadows, though invisible, constantly reminding her of their presence with their very posture, menacing and stony, the people around them afraid to look at them.
She didn't know how many of them there were in total; they were almost identical and differed only in height, besides that they wore the same clothes, masks, hoods and black leather gloves, probably to avoid staining their skin with blood.
The thought that someone like that was to accompany and guard her sent shivers down her spine − she had feared that her father would now know of her every move, that she would never leave the fortress again.
She lowered her gaze, saying no more, listening to his orders to find the man who had attacked her, whom she had described in detail to the other ghosts.
She left, feeling that if she stayed there another moment she would vomit.
It seemed to her that these black hooded figures were sucking the life out of everyone around them, that they were a walking harbinger of death and misery.
That night she heard his voice for the first time.
Her guards were outraged when he dismissed them.
"You are not a King, by what right do you command us?" Asked one of them, a cold, deep, mocking voice answered them.
"Shall I inform the King that not only are you incapable of guarding his daughter, but you refuse to obey his orders?"
She heard someone's growl and an unclear voice full of impatience, the clack of steel and armour proving that they had walked away − she was left alone with the cold murderer outside her door.
She pressed her lips together, felt her eyes burning due to the gathering tears at the realization that she had never felt more alone and abandoned than she did now.
She wriggled in bed, as she did every day, unable to fall asleep. It was raining loudly outside and she looked towards the window, seeing nothing but darkness. She felt small and even though she was lying under several thick furs, she was cold.
She rose slowly, putting a soft cashmere shawl over her shoulders, lighting a candle that illuminated her chamber with a pleasant, warm glow.
There is a man behind that mask, she thought.
He was not a ghost.
If she made any kind of bond with him, she would stop being afraid of him.
She walked to her door and stood in front of it for a long moment, feeling her heart pounding hard and fast. She swallowed hard and opened it with a loud creak of old wood.
Her candle instantly illuminated his figure − he was standing exactly opposite her door, leaning against the wall with his hands clasped in front of him. She wondered if he was asleep in that position, but after a moment she noticed something behind the translucent black material in the area cut out for his eyes, a blue iris staring at her.
She looked at him for a moment, wondering if he would move, but he stood like a statue − it seemed to her as if he were made of stone.
Was he supposed to stand like that all the time?
Her father had told her that he would gift her his one ghost.
Would they be exchanging? After all, he had to sleep at some point.
"What's your name?" She asked uncertainly, softly, wanting to sound as open and honest as possible.
Silence.
A long one.
"How am I supposed to address you if I don't know what your name is?" She asked again, looking at him pleadingly, asking him to let her at least get a little closer to him, to be able to give him humanity.
Silence.
She pressed her lips together and thought something else would make him speak.
"Should I complain to the king about you not answering my questions?" She asked lowly, wrinkling her eyebrows, wondering where she had got the courage to speak to this man in this way. A shudder went through her when she heard him let out a breath, as if he had given up, resigned.
"Call me any name you see fit." He said in a low, deep, indifferent tone, as if the fact that he had to speak to her frustrated him incredibly and he didn't understand what she wanted from him.
She felt a tightening in her throat at the thought that there was no more human thing than being given a name − it was the first thing given to a child at birth, and he renounced it.
"Shall I name you?" She asked shaking her head, not understanding what he was implying − he turned his face to the side, despite the mask she could feel the growing impatience beating from him.
"Yes. My Princess." He added after a moment, his words razor-sharp, cool, angry, mocking. She had the impression that he treated her interest as something completely unnecessary − apparently it suited him to remain in the shadows and he had no intention of coming out of it.
She looked at him with pain mixed with disappointment and thought he reminded her of one of the horrific mythological beasts her mother had once read to her about before bed, a great mighty dragon that sowed death and destruction.
"Vhagar."
She heard the word she had spoken echoed, followed only by the sound of rain, and felt that there was something final in what she had done.
"I will always treat you with respect and I will never make you do anything to humiliate you or offend your good name." She choked out with difficulty, wanting him to understand that they were condemned to each other and that this in itself was a misfortune, however, it would be even more so if they both pretended that he didn't exist, that he was just her shadow that followed her everywhere.
He did not respond.
She closed herself back into her chamber only walking towards her bed feeling that her legs were trembling. She lay down on her bed covering herself with thick furs, frozen and terrified, closing her eyes, praying to the gods to show her mercy.
That they would not lock her away in this cold, stone fortress forever until her father claimed to have found a suitable candidate for her to marry.
As she did every day, she also prayed for someone else.
Someone who had lived in this chamber before her.
The next day she got up awake, a terrible headache accompanying her from the moment she opened her eyes. She sat down at the table, covering herself with her shawl − overnight the wood in her fireplace had burned out.
She lifted her gaze as she heard the door to her chamber open, her servants entering with golden trays on which they served her breakfast.
She saw Vhagar follow them inside, his hands entwined behind his back − it seemed to her that his footsteps made no sound, that he could sneak up on someone silently.
"You're supposed to taste everything first." He said to one of them dryly and emotionlessly − the girl looked at him apprehensively, clearly already knowing stories of men of his ilk and what they did.
"My Lord?" She choked out, clearly not understanding what he was asking her.
"Anything the Princess wants to eat or drink − you are to taste it first. This is how it will be from now on with everything you bring her. Do you understand?" He asked coolly and insistently, and she nodded, lowering her gaze, pale.
"Is this necessary, Vhagar?" She asked looking at him with a furrowed brow − he turned his face towards her but answered nothing. He looked back at her servant after a moment.
"Begin."
"I've lost my appetite. Take this away. You can eat it all, let it not go to waste." She said raising her hand, allowing them to leave turning her head to the side, looking blankly at her wardrobe standing on the other side of the chamber.
She saw out of the corner of her eye that he hadn't moved from his spot, that he was looking at her, his aura giving her shivers.
She knew he was about to say something.
"My Princess…" He started and she turned her face towards him. "…are you going to eat your meal, or do I have to shove it down your throat?"
She looked at him with huge eyes, feeling her heart pounding fast.
She thought with horror that he was mad.
"That is all, Vhagar. You may leave." She said in an unobjectionable voice, clasping her hands in her lap, trying to hide how much they were trembling.
He stared at her, his black tear-streaked mask seeming even more frightening and mocking to her, cold and lifeless.
"Mmm." He hummed, though it sounded more like a purr, bowed barely visibly and left her chamber.
She let out a loud breath, burying her face in her hands, feeling a desperate burbling in her stomach from hunger, thinking that she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him dominate her life, ordering her servants around, locking her in a cage.
She asked her servants to help her dress − she put on this time a light-coloured gown with a fine gold belt around her hips made up of tiny chains, some of her hair pinned back in a bun, some falling down her bare back, her sleeves reaching all the way to the ground.
She walked out of her chamber without looking at him, without telling him where she was going, hearing that he immediately moved to follow her.
Her shadow.
She saw the ladies of the court looking at her, terrified of who was accompanying her, as if she were being followed by death itself − people turned their faces away and froze in silence, not knowing what to do, how to react to this unwanted sight.
She headed for the main castle library hearing him enter behind her − he stopped at the door when it slammed behind them, standing in front of it with his hands folded behind his back.
She was starving and decided to distract her mind with some reading. She picked up a few books on the history of her kingdom, sitting down at one of the large oak tables right by the window to get more light. She opened one of the books in front of her, looking for the chapter that interested her.
"You may sit down, Vhagar." She said dispassionately, not wanting him to think she expected him to stand there like some stone pillar, but he didn't move from his place.
An hour passed before he spoke to her, snapping her out of her reverie.
"You need to eat." He communicated a little more softly than before − she felt him looking at her, but she did not lift her gaze to him, uninterested.
"My servants will not taste my food. You yourself watch the cooks and what they put on my platters." She replied with reserve, answered by a long silence.
"Very well."
She looked up at him, sighing quietly, his face turned towards her − she knew what was the reason for his impatience, what he was afraid of.
What would the King think if it turned out that under his watch she had begun to refuse food and starve herself? How would that reflect on him as her protector?
She rose from her seat, putting her books slowly back on the shelf, returning to her chamber without changing another word with him.
As she sat down to supper with her father, her younger brother, and his closest associates, the King immediately asked her what she thought of her new sworn protector, who stood behind her chair right next to the wall, as usual, hidden completely in the shadows.
She swallowed loudly a piece of the roast she had just had in her mouth, noticing with a kind of discomfort that her father spoke of him as if he had given her a thing, not a man.
"Thank you, Father, I do indeed feel safer in his presence." She lied, clutching the wine cup in her hand and taking a loud sip from it, wanting to end the subject quickly.
The King nodded, looking impatiently to his confidant secretary, a companion to all the major battles won during the rebellion.
"Has Prince Aemond's body been found at last? It's been eight years, for goodness sake." He said sternly, impatient; as far as she understood, only his body of the entire Targaryen family had not been found after the great massacre that had taken place in the fortress where they were now feasting.
Lord Ronan grunted loudly, shifting in his seat, blinking rapidly as if thinking of what to answer.
"We are getting closer, my King. We're searching the city's underground, likely to find his corpse soon. The cut of the sword fell right on his face, he couldn't have survived that." He said with a certainty that was filled with the need to sound as convincing as possible, which did not escape her or her father attention.
She lowered her gaze, setting down her cup with a loud clang of metal on the wooden tabletop, looking down at her plate, losing her appetite completely.
The entire royal family slaughtered in their beds after her father at the head of the army stormed into the fortress, elected by the people to rule after the inept reign of King Viserys.
"With apologies, I will retire to my chamber. My King. My Prince. My Lords." She said bowing in turn and moved ahead, not waiting for her father's permission − she heard rustling behind her, she knew her ghost had not left her side.
They walked in silence through the dark corridors of the fortress illuminated only by the warm light of torches − she knew the way to her chamber by heart. Her mind, however, was elsewhere, wondering what would happen if Prince Aemond lived.
If he came in with his army and slit their throats as her father had done to his family.
She stood in front of the door to her chamber, glancing up at his tall black figure towering over her like a cold shadow.
"Thank you for your devotion, Vhagar. Rest now." She said turning her head and opened the door, but stood in half step, surprised to hear his voice behind her.
"How does it feel to sleep where she slept?" He asked with a kind of excitement, as if the thought of it gave him satisfaction.
She felt her heart start pounding like mad, a cold sweat on her back at the thought of Princess Helaena bleeding to death in the bed she was now sleeping in.
She looked up at him − in the light of the torch she could see through the black fabric his blue irises, his pupil looking at her in such a way that she had the impression that he was a predator who was looking at his prey, whose entrails he was about to tear apart.
She was silent for a long moment.
"Horrible." She said dispassionately lowering her gaze.
"I imagine her lying in my place and all I can think about is that the same thing will happen to me one day." She muttered, feeling his heavy gaze on her − there was some kind of tension between them, though she didn't know why. "I pray every day for her forgiveness."
"Ghosts do not forgive." He said coldly, as if stating some foreboding, indisputable fact − she looked at him with a pained expression, furrowing her brow.
"What else can I do?" She asked in a trembling voice, but got no answer, his black mask with a tear running down his cheek looked at her indifferently.
"Sleep well, Princess."
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Aemond Taglist:
(bold means I couldn't tag you)
@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes
#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#hotd aemond#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell fanfic#dark aemond angst#modern dark aemond#dark aemond smut#dark aemond#dark aemond targaryen#horror#horror fanfiction#gothic fanfiction#gothic story#aemond kinslayer#prince aemond#aemond#aemond one eye#aemond the kinslayer#aemond fanfic#aemond x original female character#aemond x female#aemond x fem#aemond x fem!oc#aemond x original character#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#ewan mitchell smut
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Dating the MHA characters (pt.1)
Includes: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Fumikage Tokoyami, Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Shoto Todoroki, Tenya Ida, Hanta Sero, Mashirao Ojiro, Yuga Aoyama.
A/n: Hope you enjoy.
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Izuku Midoriya (15)
1.Loves when you pet his hair.
2.Lets you out flowers in his hair.
3.Loves to cuddle while watching all might.
4.Hates when he has to leave you to train.
5.Lets you watch him train, if it's not super late.
6.Loves it when you make him food.
7. Takes notes on your quirk.
8.Loves to brush your hair, and paint your nails.
9.Will watch scary movies with you. (Even though he's scared)
10.Loves to pick you flowers
11.Loves to make you flower crowns
12.If you wanna go on a walk at night, he will go with you.
13.Hates when all might trains him on date night.
14. Loves to take pictures of you.
15.Nicknames for you: Baby, pumpkin, princess, babe, my love.
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Katsuki Bakugo (15)
1.Tries to not yell at you.
2.He will train with you. (He wants you to be able to protect yourself)
3.Will cuddle you.
4.Watches scary movies with you. (He protects you)
5.Threatens mineta if he touches you.
6.If you take medicine, he will remind you to take right on time. (He has it ready for you.)
7.Loves when you sleep on his chest.
8.Will do your nails and hair for you.
9.He plans date night every Saturday.
10.Will watch romance movies with you. ( he thinks they are cheesy)
11.Will get up past 8 to help you with anxiety. (If you have it)
12.Will comfort you if you have a nightmare.
13.Loves to play with your hair.
14.Gets you a locket.
15.Nicknames for you: teddy bear, baby, mine, love, my queen.
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Fumikage Tokoyami (15)
1.Dark shadow loves you
2.Loves to cuddle you.
3.Loves to take you out on picnics.
4.Loves to get you stuffed animals.
5.Will massage your back if it hurts.
6.Loves to pick you flowers.
7.Makes you flower crowns.
8.Makes your birthday so special.
9.He takes you out to eat, then gives you a stuffed bear, then you go star gazing and then he gives you a promise ring & a necklace.
10.He got you a stuffed animal that is a baby deer.
11.he buys you anything you want.
12.Will go camping with you. (If you like camping)
13.Loves to take pictures of you. (& your dates)
14.Loves to watch movies with you.
15.Nicknames for you: baby, my love, my birdy, my queen, sweetie.
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Denki Kaminari (15)
1. Loves to flirt with you.
2. Will charge your phone for you.(willingly)
3. Loves to cuddle you.
4. Gets embarrassed by short circuiting.
5. Let's you paint his nails.
6.Loves to match outfits with you.
7.Loves to play video games with you.
8. He tries to help you with homework.
9. Loves to watch movies with you. (All of them)
10. Loves to star gaze with you.
11. Buys you snacks.
12. Loves to get you flowers. (He does it randomly to)
13.Loves to watch YouTube with you.
14. Buys you stuffed animals.
15. Nicknames for you: baby, my love, my pumpkin, my queen.
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Eijiro Kirishima (15)
1. Let's you help dye his hair.
2. Loves to nibble you. (He just bites you)
3. Loves to cuddle.
4. Gets you random cards.
5. Loves to draw on your skin. (Little stars and hearts)
6.Takes you on Lazer tag dates.
7. Loves to take you to the movies.
8. Loves to go to the beach. (He builds sand castles with you)
9. Goes to look at puppies with you. (And cats at the animal shelter)
10. Loves to cook for you.
11. Loves to try new things.
12. Gets matching pajamas.
13. Has an album of pictures on his phone of you guys.
14. Loves late night walks.
15. Nicknames for you: pebble, love, my star, my love, babe.
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Shoto Todoroki (15)
1. On hot days he uses his ice to cool you off.
2. On cold days he uses his heat to warm you up.
3. Love to spend money on you. (It's his dads money)
4. Loves to watch movies with you.
5. Loves to watch the the sun set with you. (And sun rise)
6. Loves to cook for you.
7. Let's you try new foods.(if your super picky)
8. Loves to slow dance with you.
9. Let's you mess with his hair.
10. Loves to match.
11. Is okay with family dinners
12. His sister loves you. (So dose his mom)
13.His family pretty much loves you.
14. Goes on walks with you.
15. Nicknames for you: princess, love, my baby, babe, my queen.
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Tenya Ida (15)
1. Has a schedule for everything.
2. Loves to walk with you.
3. Trains with you.
4. Loves to go on dates, at the park.
5. Will watch movies with you
6. Will make you a schedule. (If you need it)
7. Helps you clean and cook.
8. Loves to try new foods.
9. Loves to get you new clothes.
10. Lectures the class if they are mean to you. (Mostly mineta)
11. Loves to protect you.
12. Tries to train you so you can walk by yourself. (If you need alone time)
13. Stays up when you go on a night walk. (If you went by yourself)
14. Loves to cuddle you, when you have had a back day.
15. Nicknames for you: My love, my queen, my hero, baby.
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Hanta Sero (15)
1. Has a ton of pictures of you.
2.Loves to cuddle
3. Hates when mineta is near you.
4. Will tape mineta's mouth shut. (For you)
5. Loves to get you flowers.
6. Loves the fast and furious movies. (Will watch them with you)
7. Will watch true crime documentaries with you
8.Gets you to try spicy food.
9. Loves to go on walks with you
10. Loves to look at the sun set
11. Loves to climb trees with you.
12. Tries to bake with you.
13. Loves when you lay on his chest to sleep.
14. Will read books with you.
15.Nicknames for you: Mi alma,Princesa, Media naranja, Mi amor. (Translation:my Soul,my princess, the other half, my love)
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Mashirao Ojiro (15)
1. Lets you play with his tail
2. Teaches you martial arts
3. Loves to cuddle
4. Walks around town with you
5. Loves to go out to eat.
6. Let's you do his hair.
7. Picks you flowers.
8. Has hit mineta because he tried to look up your skirt.
9. Loves to give you piggy back rides.
10. Loves to go to the petting zoo, with you.
11. Loves to sleep on your chest.
12. Loves to star gaze.
13. Loves to walk at night.
14. Has a locket with your picture in it.
15. Nicknames for you: baby, love, my star, babe, sweets.
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Yuga Aoyama (15)
1.Matches with you 100% of the time.
2. Hates late night walks. (He needs beauty sleep & so do you)
3. Will go on walks with you.
4. Will feed you cheese.
5. Hates stress and hates when you are stressed.
6. Loves when you guys cuddle.
7. Loves to snack on cheese.
8. Loves romance movies.
9. Brags about you to everyone.
10. Specifically brags to mineta on how he has a gf and he does not.
11. Loves picnic dates.
12. He let's you wear his hero costume
13. Loves to flirt with you.
14. Reads magazines with you.
15. Nicknames for you: my fabulous queen, . Y love, my star, my queen, my sweet heart.
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End, let me know if you want a pt. 2!
I do not own any gifs or characters, they belong to their rightful owner!
Hope you enjoyed!
See you in my next post! <3
#anime x reader#x reader#mha deku#mha x reader#deku#bakugou katsuki#deku x reader#yuga aoyama#mha#bakugou x reader#denki x reader#kirishima x reader#sero hanta#sero x reader#Yuga Aoyama x reader#onjiro x reader#tenya iida x reader#shoto todoroki#shoto x reader#shouto todoroki#todoroki x reader#tokyoami x reader
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Right Kind of Wrong (10)
She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.
Part Summary: she finds herself as a pivotal lead in the case. wc: 4k
Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide
a/n: I’m so sorry this took so long. I realize I’m not smart enough to be writing a crime-mystery plot so this went through a lot of editing😭
Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
Y/N NEVER THOUGHT SHE WOULD SPEND HER MORNING THIS WAY, the unfamiliarity of this foreign place had her questioning how her life turned out the way it did. Becoming a witness to a heinous crime was already overwhelming enough for her, and now sitting in this cold, empty interrogation room was making her lose her mind.
She had never thought of being in this situation—a scenario that solely belonged to crime novels and thrilling movies. Yet, here she was, feeling more uncomfortable as time passed by. She slowly glanced toward the two-way mirror and the thought of watchful eyes observing her every movement intensified her discomfort, leaving her feeling judged and exposed. But above all that, there was one question that seemed to float at the top of her head.
Was Spencer there?
She heaved out a sigh. The one time she allowed herself to indulge further with her one-night-stand, it didn’t go the way she expected. She had thought that maybe—maybe—opening her heart was something she could try again. After a long time of not wanting to be romantically involved with anyone, waking up in his bed hadn’t seemed so bad...
Now it was just wishful thinking, her past naive self becoming a mockery to her now.
She was engrossed in her own thoughts when the door to her left suddenly creaked, drawing her attention, and she couldn't stifle the disbelief laugh slipping through her mouth.
"Out of all the agents in this building and they decided to send you?" She wondered as Spencer cautiously walked into the room with a file in his hand. "Isn't this against the rules?"
"What is?" He asked, pulling out the chair across from her.
"Questioning someone you know personally."
He regarded her with a look she couldn't quite decipher. Something about him seemed so different, it was baffling how someone could change so drastically in such a short period. Last night he had been sweet, attentive, and full of affection. But now, as she looked at him, it was as if he had morphed into a completely different person. The warmth that had once radiated from his eyes was replaced by a distant, guarded gaze.
Spencer Reid and Doctor Reid were really two different people.
"My personal matters won't intervene in the work I do."
"Somehow I doubt that," she murmured, watching as he sat down. She leaned back and crossed her arms. If he was going to act like they hadn't spent the night sleeping on the same bed, she might as well give him the same reserved attitude. "So, what now? Are we going to continue where we left off?"
"Actually, there's something else I'd like to know." He pushed the folder in his hand across the table and opened it. "I'm aware that you were associated with Harvey Webb?"
What the—
A sudden chill ran down her spine as the name slipped from his mouth. It was the last person she wanted to remember, a name she had fought so hard to push into the depths of her subconscious. But now it all came rushing back, threatening to engulf her in a wave of memories. She saw glimpses of piercing eyes that held malice, a voice dripping with menace, and a presence that loomed like an ominous shadow.
As she laid her eyes upon the files in front of her, a shiver coursed through her body. The face that stared back at her from the photograph was etched with lines of time. His eyes, once filled with unsettling intensity, now bore the weight of years gone by, their depths guarded and inscrutable.
"Why are you showing me this?" She asked quietly, trying to think of any possible reason why she was forced to recall her past.
"Did you know him?"
With a hesitant pause, she uncrossed her arms. "I did."
"And how did you know him?"
"He—" she stopped, trying to decide how to describe the nature of her relationship with that awful, dreadful man, and finally responded with, "He was my landlord."
"Was that all there is? Was your relationship with him simply one between a landlord and a tenant?"
She met his gaze. "What are you trying to imply?"
"One of our agents visited his wife before this."
Oh.
This was probably why he seemed so guarded, his words laced with a hint of something familiar yet unspoken. She was sure he already knew what happened. It was in the way he carefully chose his phrases, the slight pause that followed, and the knowing glimmer in his eyes that gave it away. But even when the buried memories were fighting to resurface in her head, a sense of unease gripped her. Why was he delving into her past?
"Why are you—" She shook her head. "What does he have to do with the current case?"
There was a pause before Spencer replied, "We believe he might be a link to the investigation."
She narrowed her eyes. "How?"
The room suddenly fell into an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the quiet hum of tension that seemed to hang in the air. Their eyes locked.
"Let's make a deal," he suggested. "If you answer all the questions I have for you, I'll tell you what you want to know."
She considered his words and slowly nodded. "Fine," she agreed. "But you probably know who he was to me if one of your agents had already questioned Mrs. Webb."
"I want to hear it from you."
The weight of her past bore down upon her, pressing against her conscience. She understood, with unwavering certainty, that the time had come to lay bare the chapters of her history that she had kept hidden. With a breath that carried the weight of her past, she finally mustered the courage to speak her truth.
"Harvey and I had an affair."
A subtle change swept across his face as her words hung in the air. His expression remained stoic, a reflection of the knowledge he carried within him. She wasn't sure how much he already knew, but she continued.
"It wasn't my proudest moment," she admitted. "I was young, it was my first time in the city and I got this great apartment at an affordable price. Harvey helped me when I moved in so we talked a lot back then and easily became friends. He eventually mentioned how his divorce had gotten to him very badly, and I... I guess I took pity on him."
"He told you he was divorced?"
"Yeah, he told me the property that he owned, this apartment building of his, was the only asset he got for their divorce settlement. I was too young and naive to even consider he could be lying, I guess I was too smitten by the attention he constantly gave me."
"How long did it happen?"
"A couple of months. It wasn't until he kept on disappearing that I started to suspect him. He said he had to go out of town for his work, but curiosity got the better of me and I decided to follow him one day." She gave him a pointed look. "Turned out he wasn't leaving town, he was going back home to his wife and kids."
"What happened then?"
"I confronted him about it..." Her body shifted uncomfortably. "That was when I realized how messed up he really was."
"What do you mean?"
"Harvey was a manipulative son of a bitch." He raised his eyebrows at her choice of words, which she shrugged in return. There really was no other way to describe him. "It was as if a switch had turned inside him the moment I confronted his lies. He became overbearing, controlling, possessive, and just—he became someone I was very afraid of."
He studied her closely, trying to decipher the unspoken layers of her narrative, the nuances hidden beneath the surface. "Did he ever hurt you?"
“Physically? No—well, there was this one time he got physical when he got so mad, but that was it," she confessed as her past flashed through her mind. "Although mentally, he was draining me. He would often threaten to harm me, or himself, if I ever left him. I think he was also diagnosed with a lot of mental disorders."
"Was his wife aware of everything happening?"
She nodded. "One day I visited their house when he wasn't home and confronted her about everything. Instead of blaming her husband's questionable behavior, she blamed me for ruining their marriage and started calling me a slutty home wrecker."
"Did he find out about this?"
"Yes," she replied. "He was not happy about it."
"And how did you get out of that situation?"
"I got accepted for the current job I work at now."
"He was fine with that?"
"I didn't tell him about it." She looked down, her gaze focusing on her hands sitting in her lap. "I had to move my things secretly whenever he went home to his family. When most of the stuff I needed was secured at my new place, I finally left, changed my number, and never looked back."
"You never saw him again after that?"
"The next time I heard of him was his own obituary printed on the paper." As the weight of her past slipped into the open, exhaustion suddenly settled over her. Her gaze then flickered toward the files on the table. "Now will you tell me how he's linked to the case?"
Spencer’s attention was completely focused on her, analyzing every detail of her movements. He paid close attention to the way she shifted in her seat, the way she blinked, and the way she tilted her head. "Were you aware of how he died?"
"Yes, he... he hurt himself."
Spencer shook his head, the lines on his forehead etched themselves deeper, highlighting the concentration etched upon his features. He leaned forward, his movements deliberate and controlled, as he turned the files over, taking out a few pictures before presenting them in front of her. "We believe his death was a homicide."
"What?" Her eyes widened in surprise as she gazed at the collection of photographs spread out before her. She should be appalled by the amount of blood seen in the shots, but her eyes darted across the blotched writing carved along the bruised skin. "Something was written on his arm?"
"You didn't know?"
"Of course not, why should I know of this?" She glanced up and was taken aback when she noticed the same doubt on his face she saw this morning. Her heart sank as the realization washed over her like a chilling wave. "You're still pining me down as a suspect."
"Your personal connections to all three victims have raised some concerns," he pointed out, voice carrying a controlled intensity, each word measured and deliberate. "And what's even more concerning is that they all had somehow wronged you in the past."
She suddenly felt a surge of anger as he leveled his accusations. Her lips thinned into a tight line, and her eyes narrowed as all her frustration and tension bubbled over. "I had nothing to do with their deaths."
"So it's a coincidence that they all suffered the consequences of their actions that affected you directly?"
"Just because I had issues with them doesn't mean I'd resort to murder," she spat. "Why are you so persistent in painting me as a suspect?"
"Your past grievances with these victims paint the picture." Spencer leaned forward, his palms pressed firmly against the cool surface of the table. His eyes, narrowed with determination, locked onto hers with palpable intensity. "Tell me, do you have an alibi for the times of their deaths?"
She leaned forward and held his gaze, not wanting to back down. "I'm not responsible for any deaths, so no, I don't have an alibi for something I didn't do."
"That's a very vague answer."
"You don't say?" She responded sarcastically. "Are you going to dump me with facts on how my body language is being defensive right now?"
"Would it help you to answer my questions clearly?"
She felt her patience breaking. She had been doing her best to remain calm and collected, but as his gaze remained fixed on her and he continued judging her with that harsh stare, she finally snapped.
"You know what, you want an alibi? I'll give you a damn alibi."
The tension she had been holding in her body suddenly exploded. With every inhale, her chest tightened, a reservoir of pent-up emotions yearning for release. And then, like an unleashed storm, she let it all pour forth.
"According to his obituary, Harvey Webb's death happened on Halloween and that was when I attended this stupid party held at the office. I was in the parking lot when Jamison called for my help before I scurried back only to witness his death. And don't get me started on Kevin Marshall."
She steadied her gaze on him.
"I studied his files for work so I'm aware of the time frame when it happened, and for someone with an eidetic memory, you sure had forgotten where I was that night so let me help you jog your memory back, Doctor Reid, because I spent the night in your bed before you fucking kicked me out the door!"
A heavy silence settled upon them only to be broken by her labored breathing and the pounding of her heart.
Had she really said that?
Y/n was never one with a foul mouth, but with the way the cuss word flew out of her lips in the heat of the moment, it was clear to her how furious she was. Although she did feel a sense of relief as if a huge burden had been lifted off her shoulders after speaking her truth... But at what cost?
The room seemed to hold its breath, suspended in a fragile stillness, as his eyes locked onto hers. The weight of her words settled between them, casting a heavy shadow in the room. And there he sat, frozen in the moment, his face etched with shock and surprise. His mouth opened and closed, but no words emerged, as if the force of her words had momentarily robbed him of his ability to respond.
She wondered what was going through his mind right now. Was he processing her words, attempting to unravel the layers of her frustrations? Or was he grappling with his own emotions, struggling to find the right words to respond?
And suddenly she couldn't take it anymore, feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion washing over her. All of the emotions unleashed during her frustrated rant had left her feeling drained. Every fiber of her being ached for respite and seeing him again felt like an additional burden she wasn't ready to bear. So she let her eyes fall on the two-way mirror, focusing in nowhere particular.
"I want to request another agent in here."
She noticed the way his shoulders tensed from the corner of her eyes but decided to ignore it, keeping her gaze on her reflection instead. And just as she was about to accept the fact that nobody was going to listen to her, the sound of the door opening echoed throughout the space, its noise cutting through the silence.
A dark-haired woman stood by the entry, her hand gripping the door as she focused her attention on the only man in the room. "Dr. Reid, I can take it from here."
The weight of the situation suddenly settled him. He studied the woman sitting across from him who was trying to maintain her control. But beneath it all, he saw the cracks in her facade, the vulnerabilities concealed beneath her frustration. It became clear that her actions, though seemingly distant and cold, were rooted in a desperate attempt to protect herself from further hurt.
And he was responsible for it all.
With a heavy sigh, Spencer finally rose from his seat, the chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back. His mind was telling him he was only doing his job, yet his heart was pointing out the unfairness of his judgment of her. And for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do.
"There you are," Emily announced, walking into the meeting room as she spotted Spencer standing by the large board adorned with webs of information, his back facing her. "Are you okay?"
Spencer turned around and regarded her with a sigh. "No."
She gave him a sad smile. "She left already." Then she crossed her arms, studying the way his expression fell at the mention of the woman she had questioned for the past hour. "Do you really think she has anything to do with the case?"
He opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head, his shoulders dropping at the revelation of his words. "No."
"Then why were you being so hard on her?"
"I... I don't know."
As her gaze focused on his face, she observed the flash of vulnerability that briefly danced across his features. His eyes darted away, evading direct contact, betraying a flicker of unease that she couldn't ignore.
"I think you do," she noted. "I think you have this logic in your head that if she had something to do with the case, you'd have a reason to stop getting involved with her. But now that you know she's innocent, you think it's too complicated to harbor your feelings after the way you accused her. "
He drew his eyes back to her. "I thought we agreed not to profile each other."
"I wouldn't consider this profiling when you literally have your heart on your sleeves."
He let out a sigh, his voice trembling as he mustered the courage to acknowledge the truth of his actions and the pain he had caused. "What should I do?"
"You're asking the wrong person for relationship advice here," Emily remarked. "But what I do know is that if you wronged someone, you apologize."
But was it enough? Was apologizing to her enough to compensate for the hurt he had put her through?
Guilt has a funny way of coming after the moment has passed, like a relentless pursuer in the shadows of our conscience. Right now it was sneaking up on him, resurfacing with a relentless grip on his emotions. After he left the room, he got inside the small space behind the two-way mirror, continuing his job as an observer instead of the one questioning her.
Hotch had looked at him pointedly when he stepped to his side, and although his boss kept his mouth close the entire time, Spencer knew he was secretly assessing him with judgment. Especially when, after observing Y/n behind the glass, it was clear that she wasn't a suspect. He saw the scars of his misjudgment etched upon her face and the guardedness in her eyes.
It took him as an observer to comprehend she was innocent, that the darkness he had attributed to her was merely a reflection of his misguided assumptions. But it was too late now. He had allowed his biases to cloud his judgment, staining their relationship—or the potential of it anyway—with a hue of mistrust that was now difficult to wash away.
"I don't think she'll ever forgive me," he admitted, feeling dejected.
"Reid, you haven't even tried, and even if she won't, I'm sure you'll find a way to fix it." As the weighty words of their conversation hung in the air, a playful spark suddenly ignited in her eyes. "So."
Her teasing look cut through the tension, catching him off guard. "What?"
"I didn't know you had a girlfriend."
"She's not my girlfriend," he quickly responded.
"After all that tension between you two and you're still denying it?"
"She's—" he stopped. "I'm not sure what we are, honestly."
Emily let out a soft chuckle. "Well, any type of relationships are complicated. That's why I don't bother with them anymore." Her eyes then shifted behind him, noticing the numbers written on the board that wasn't there the last time she was here. "What do you have there?"
Spencer let out a sigh of relief. Her request to shift the conversation to something else offered him a lifeline, a respite from the vulnerability of delving into his own feelings. A flicker of gratitude flashed in his eyes as he realized that she had unknowingly granted him an escape from his discomfort.
"I did the geographical profiling and these numbers are each respective coordinates of the location where all the victims were found." Emily nodded and he continued, "Basically, I did a coordinate rounding to eliminate the decimals until I come up with two digits for each location."
"And you think these numbers mean something?"
"They must. Here, take a look at this." He motioned her to step closer toward the round table before showing her the map he had drawn over with his handwriting, highlighting three precise locations that formed a triangle. "Even when Harvey Webb wasn't found at his house, he was found at his apartment which was technically his second residence. The same goes for Kevin Marshall, his body was found at home."
Then he pointed at one of the marks located at the top of the map.
"But Jamison Lynch was found at his workplace. The Unsub must have a reason to commit the crime six blocks away from his house."
Emily scanned the map before turning her attention back to the board. "So these numbers represent each location? Eleven is the first victim's residence, ninety-one is the second victim's workplace, and nineteen is the third victim's apartment?"
"Precisely."
"You know," she started, head tilted to the side and eyes piercing onto the numbers presented before her. "The third victim is technically the first victim if you consider the timeline."
As her words lingered in the air, a spark of realization ignited within him. It was as if a puzzle piece he had been searching for had finally fallen into place. "Wait." He walked over and grabbed the marker by the table. "You're right."
Emily watched as he rearranged the line of numbers.
19 91 11
"Does that mean anything to you?"
But Spencer couldn't hear her, his head was already turning its gear as shreds of evidence he had gathered these past few days swarmed his mind. "The Unsub has the same MO in all the victims and they're fixated using verses from the bible so if those numbers have an indication of that conviction then the first two digits could be the number of The Old Testament which means—"
He quickly wrote down his next words.
"Psalm 91:11," Emily read out.
"For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways,"Spencer recited. "That's it—a guardian angel."
Emily's eyes widened as she stared at the revelation before her. The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, revealing a connection that had eluded her grasp until now. It was as if a veil had been lifted, granting them to reshape the narrative of the case.
"Y/n isn’t the killer," she mumbled, turning her head towards him. "She's being protected."
He returned her gaze with the same disbelief.
"Someone else is doing it for her."
>> NEXT PART
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I Didn't Ask For This (part 11)
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10
Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought
.All her dreams would be shattered.
But maybe she can salvage them?
•○●⛦●○•
Tw: forced marriage, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.
•○🌑○•
Azriel's pov.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the glare of the morning sun streaming in through the window.
He always had his windows and blinds shut so no light would disturb his rare slumber. Why weren't the blinds closed?
He turned his head away, trying to turn away, but he froze when he realised there was something heavy on his chest. He blinked his eyes open cautiously. He knew it wouldn't be anything dangerous, because if it was, his shadows would have woken him up a long time ago.
When he realised what– who– it was, his heart skipped a beat.
There, on his chest lay his wife's head, her features incredibly softened. Her hand was gently draped over his abdomen.
He stared at the female. He always knew she was beautiful, but now he could actually see every small detail on her face. He hadn't noticed them till now because he had never been so close to her before, and if he stared for too long, he was afraid he'd offend her in some way or creep her out. And he didn't want that.
He lifted his hand to push back that strand of hair on her face that seemed to have a problem staying in place. He didn't pull his hand back though. He caressed her hair, staring at her closed eyes and her lips. Her nose and cheeks. Azriel was fascinated to say the least.
Y/n's brow furrowed, and Azriel pulled his hand back, holding still as she shifted. She pulled away from him, only to rest her head on his bicep, giving him space to turn onto his side. So he did, still studying her features.
He tried to not touch her, but his hand and mind were not on speaking terms, it seemed. His fingers ghosted over the arch of her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, the dip on her chin.
Now he knew why he had slept so peacefully and deeply for the first time in such a long time.
As he did all that again, his mind wandered.
•○🌑○•
He had reached the camp that he and Y/n had been born in within moments of leaving the House of Wind at dusk, having winnowed there. He had stopped to get some of the supplies he would need before flying the rest of the way.
When he reached the camp, he stashed the supplies he'd bought in his shadows and began the long work of sneaking narrow eyed females and their children out of the camp. He had planned to return before dinner, but convincing the females had been harder than he thought and took longer than anticipated.
But once he was done, he had wrapped his shadows around himself and started the work of drenching the whole place in the flammable material the male from the shop had given him. He flew quietly and swiftly with the huge can in his hands, making sure he wasn't making any sounds.
When he did that too, he started the fire and watched the camp burn down.
He knew the pain. How it burned. How it felt as if death would be a more peaceful option. How skin practically melts of the bones.
So when the screams started, he smiled.
He smiled as the wails and ear splitting shrieks filled the night air.
And then he went in search of the males he hated above all.
He walked through the heat of the fire, cautious of the flames and searched for his childhood home, if it could even be called that.
There they were, trying to get away from the flames that encircled them so that they could spread their wings to fly away.
He stared at the three men, his father and stepbrothers, trying frantically to search for a way out. He stared as one of his brother's hands caught fire and he screeched, the other's wings burning, his father's clothes turning to ash with the flames. Azriel smiled all the while.
And maybe that made him a sadistic bastard, but he was the Spymaster of Night Court. Being sadistic came with the position.
And then, his father looked up and froze, recognition lighting his eyes after a moment.
"Azriel." He whispered, but Azriel heard it clearly, as clearly as if he had spoken in his ear.
"Hello. Father." He added as a second thought. His brothers looked up, stopping mid scream.
"Shit." One of them continued screaming.
"How does it feel?" Azriel asked. He was enjoying this too much.
"You are our brother. Please save us. We were so worried about you when you left." The older one pleaded.
Azriel raised his brows. "Why would I save you and let all my efforts go to waste?"
They blanched even more. "You–you started the fire?"
"Who else would do that?"
"Azriel, son. Please, give us one more chance. I promise we will show you how much we care about you–"
"You can show the Mother that. When–if she blesses you with her presence in the afterlife. I highly doubt that, though." With that, Azriel turned on his heel, going to hunt down Y/n's father.
"Please, stop! Come back! We'll do anything you ask!"
Azriel paused. "Anything?"
"Yes! Anything!"
"Hmm. Tell me where Y/n's father lives."
"Y/n? Who is that?"
"The girl you promised me to."
"Oh that man lives in that house." His father pointed towards a house nearby.
"Alright. Thank you for the assistance." Azriel continued on towards the house his father had indicated.
"Wait! Where are you going?! Help us!"
"Again, why would I do that?"
"You said..."
"I never promised anything, father. You assumed."
He chuckled to himself as he heard profanities and curses being spewed at him.
He kicked open the door to the burning house he had been pointed to, and found Y/n's father lying down, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, his face and clothes damp with sweat. "Father in law. How are you doing."
Azriel didn't necessarily want the answer to that. He couldn't care less about it.
"S–son. Save me..."
Azriel smiled. "What do you think I am here for?"
•○🌑○•
He surprised himself with the satisfaction he got by doing that. He never thought that inflicting the same pain he had endured that made him hate his hands on others would be something he could be proud of.
Nonetheless, he was satisfied. Which was very concerning, but as long as it made his wife happy, he would burn down the whole of Prythian.
He ran his fingers through her hair, then realised she was staring at him. He froze.
"How long have you been staring at me?" He asked.
She huffed. "Don't you think I should be the one asking that?"
"Well, I asked first. You must answer."
"Hmm. Since you turned this way. May I ask what you were fantasising about that you didn't notice I was awake?"
He smirked, moving to sit up. "Trust me darling, you'd rather I show it to you." He whispered in her ear before standing. She gaped at him, looking furious. He knew it was all fake.
As soon as he turned away from her, a pillow smacked the back of his head and he chuckled. He picked the clothes he'd worn before his night clothes and waved at her as he walk out the door.
But he paused before closing the door behind him. He poked his head in, opening his mouth. But then he just stared.
There on the bed, she was sitting. Smiling widely at her hands and shaking her head. She looked to the balcony and bit her lip, lost in thought before moving to stand up. He smiled too, before finally interrupting the daydream she was having.
"Hey professional pillow thrower?" She whipped towards him with a gasp. "Lunch today?"
She blinked, thinking for a moment before nodding. "Sure."
"See you soon then. I mean, take your time smiling at the walls. I won't mind." He ducked away and closed the door before the pillow she threw at him again could land its mark.
Grinning, he turned to walk to his room. Then he stopped in his tracks when he found Cassian leaning against a wall nearby, his arms wrapped over his chest, wiggling his brows.
Azriel continued walking, trying to ignore the knowing look on his brother's face. "Shut up." He muttered when he passed by Cass.
"But I said nothing!" Unfortunately, Cassian followed Azriel to his room. "Though I can't help but wonder, are you skills gone or something? I heard nothing last night. No moans and groans and your name being screamed–"
Azriel shoved the bundle of clothes he had in his hands in Cassian's face before slamming the door in his face. He could hear Cassian's boisterous laugh through the door, and honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if the whole of Velaris heard it.
"Take her to a good place brother! For lunch I mean!" Cassian said through the door before his steps retreated.
Azriel huffed, but couldn't stop the smile that made its way onto his face. He leaned his head against the door, grinning before smacking his forehead and making his way to the bathing room.
•○🌑○•
Part 12
Taglist: @bubybubsters @maxxieluvs @bubbbllee @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @waytoomanyteenagefeels @tell-me-a-poem @the-lake-is-calling @spaxxxi @japanese-wonderland-blog @valeridarkness @moonlwghts @deadratio @esposadomd @harrystylesfan2686 @missusbarnes-rogers @whatthefuckshappeningrn @hyacinthoideshispanica @historygeekqueen @lizziesfirstwife @nastynesta @aroseinvelaris @nightless @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kodokunarisu-blog @selillusion @eos-princess @moonfawnx @a-court-of-milkandhoney @emilyo-218 @wannabewolf @ailyr92 @chronically-online-cheese @myheartfollower @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @marina468 @menaosama @starryhiraeth @hereticdance @mali22 @valencia-rou @azrielsstarlight @marvelouslovely-barnes @luvmoo @starlight-hope @a-frog-with-a-laptop @fall-myriad @alt-ghost @elleofdragons @ruleroftides @5moremin @stargirl1714 @bunnymallowo @ivy-34 @aria-chikage @kalulakunundrum
#acotar#azriel x reader#azriel acotar#azriel spymaster#azriel shadowsinger#shadowsinger x reader#Acotar fanfic#rhysand#mating bond#a court of thorns and roses#azriel fluff#acotar fandom#acotar series#Shadowsinger#spymaster#fluff#azriel fic#azriel fanfic#sarah j maas#acotar headcanon#acotar smut#Acotar writing#acotar fluff#acotar x reader#reader insert#forced marriage#tw forced marriage
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Yandere Emperor! x Opera Artist! Reader Headcanons:
Warning: This section is a continuation of the previous one, so you have to read the other one to understand this one.
Topics to talk about: Mention of kidnapping, abuse, murder, obsessive and yandere behavior, manipulation, and anything involving yandere behavior. Also, as I said before, I am NOT describing any Asian emperor in particular, so I have created my own; Not to mention that I have used the Chinese imperial harem system as a base, as well as the forbidden city itself. I will name (Y/n)'s children, so I warn you that I am not describing any prince or princess in particular.
Enjoy it!
1. Yan Li knew that because of having such fast promotions the concubines were mostly jealous of you, so to prevent any attacks, he kept an eye on every corner you went to.
2. He also watched over the princes and princesses he had with you, who were the following:
-The third prince, Li Chen (your first child).
-The sixth prince, Li Song (your second child).
-The eighth prince, Yong Li (your third child).
-The ninth prince, Li Yon'er (your fourth child).
-The tenth princess, Yan'rong (your fifth child).
-The fifteenth princess, Hua Li (your sixth child).
3. Your children also suffered from palace intrigues, so you had to protect each one of them tooth and nail. Yan Li saw this and decided to severely punish any concubine or consort who dares to harm you or your children.
4. To protect (and harass) you, Yan Li selected a specific group of servants for your palace, among them is the one who became your "right hand", a servant in charge of cleaning, named Yuhou.
5. Zhou, meanwhile, was devastated to learn that you were kidnapped by Yan Li in a golden cage, so he tried to enter the palace and enlist in the imperial army, which he succeeded after a few years. If he can't rescue you, he would at least watch over you from the shadows.
6. One day, when you were in the middle of your third pregnancy, you were walking with your maids when they saw each other. One of your maids, Lili (yes, your old friend), noticed this. He was shocked to see you not only dressed as one of Yan Li's consorts (at that time you were still a consort), but he felt her heart break at the sight of you pregnant. You felt like running towards each other, but you loved your children too much to challenge Yan Li like this.
7. --He… forced you?-- Zhou asked after remaining silent in surprise. You could only nod at that moment.
8. --Yes, isn't it obvious?-- You answered and left, being very devastated just like him, not knowing that Yan Li himself was watching them, angry and jealous.
9. Yan Li made sure you would never see your loved one again, taking him out of the forbidden city on super difficult military missions, basically sending him to die multiple times on purpose.
10. You suspected that Yan Li would find out sooner or later, so you purposely avoided meeting or talking about Zhou, no matter how sad it made you. You didn't even mention it to your children.
11. The few times Zhou was in the forbidden city, Yan Li tried to set traps for you to see how far you would go or whether you would be unfaithful to him, and the best thing you did in hoste traps was… stay in your palace and quietly go on with your life. , which Yan Li did not expect.
12. Yan Li has never hurt you physically, rather he threatened or manipulated you, followed by controlling how long you could sing and dance (like when you did before) or not, which discouraged you a lot. He only allowed you to do it for him.
13. I forgot to say that Lili entered the Mese Palace after you were kidnapped, but Yan Li wanted to make sure that she didn't help you escape, so he sent her first to work in the laundry house, the embroidery department, the flower department and gardening and finally in the workhouse where Lili had some acquaintances, both good and bad, and endured a lot of work and humiliation.
14. Each time Yan Li locked you more and more to himself, with the excuse that it was to take care of you, but he only wanted to control you.
15. Yan Li even had every gift that came to you or your children checked. He also appreciated any gift you gave him.
16. You watched your eldest children grow up, marry, and leave your palace for their own princely mansions, one after one. Li Chen was the first of all of them.
17. After you gave birth to Hua Li, you were unable to have children again, but Yan Li didn't care about this and still forced you to stay with him every night he could, now threatening to harm Zhou if you didn't comply with his whims. and you gave yourself to him.
18. Yan Li forced you to spend time with him, and not only at night but also visiting you in your palace, taking walks with him (sometimes with the Empress Dowager as extra company) and even accompanying him on trips and festivals.
19. Speaking of the Empress Dowager, she quite likes you and Yan Li is glad that you get along with her since… well, she's his mother. She is the only person who forgives you for spending a lot of time with her aside from your children and harem problems; He likes that you get along with the highest ranking woman in the empire.
20. Yan Li really likes your son, Li Chen, so much so that he secretly made him his heir to the throne; so neither you nor Li Chen himself knows.
21. In the event that any of your children or one of his consorts helped you escape, Yan Li would banish them from the forbidden city and condemn you to house arrest.
22. During festivals, he would control even who can talk and who can't talk to you. Among the people who can't even get close to you would be your beloved Zhou.
23. A drunk minister once insulted you, and as a result, Yan Li burned his tongue.
24. Yan Li is the one who had all your crowns made to your liking, demonstrating the deep love (or rather, obsession) he had for you.
25. Sometimes during the nights you were forced to give him back massages after a stressful day, and on other nights he would do this with you.
26. The servants even had to be careful not to bump into you, because depending on Yan Li's mood… he may simply punish them, or kill them.
27. As time went by, you became a grandmother thanks to your prince's children, but you couldn't always see your grandchildren since Yan Li liked to keep you prisoner in the forbidden city.
28. Every time Yan Li goes to bathe in his own private hot spring lake, he forces you to bathe with him, even if you don't want to. Likewise, if he knows that you are bathing alone in said waters, he will bathe with you even if you don't want to and he will make you be close to him.
29. He makes sure that every birthday of yours is fantastic.
30. Every time he got sick, he asked you to take care of him. Conversely, every time you got sick he took care of you and by doing so I mean not only getting you the best medicines, but also watching over everything that your maids or the imperial doctor do.
31. The Empress Dowager became ill over the years due to old age, and when she died, you were very sad since she was somehow the closest thing to a mother to you. Your princesses also mourned her a lot, not to mention Yan Li himself. Due to the close relationship Yan Li had with his mother, he was devastated and declared three years of mourning; It was the only time you felt truly sorry for him.
32. Yan Li has given the order that if something happens in the palace or during a trip, they must save you and your children first, since he does not want to see you hurt, injured or in the worst case scenario… dead. That is a nightmare and a terror that has haunted him day after day since he met you, which is why he believes that he is protecting you but in reality he manipulates you, locks you up and isolates you from the world.
33. He admired how you managed the imperial harem and all the internal servant departments with an iron fist, even if he didn't tell you directly.
34. The only excuse Yan Li accepts for you not wanting to sleep with him is if you or one of your children is sick.
35. The only visits Yan Li allowed to you were from your eldest children, either alone or with their wives and children. I don't know if I mentioned it before, but Yan Li noticed the pressure your parents were putting on you, so he sent his guards to "talk nice" to them, and from then on they stopped bothering you.
36. Yan Li saw you meeting Zhou secretly, which made him angry, so that night he threatened you that if you didn't say goodbye, he would kill him in a cruel and painful way. The next day she made you say goodbye to your loved one and then took him out of the forbidden city so that one of his guards would cut his neck, killing him quickly and throwing him into a mass grave. Needless to say, you really hated Yan Li again after that.
37. As the years went by, Yan Li became sicker and sicker, mostly from stress, which you took advantage of to start getting revenge on him, poisoning him.
38. His health deteriorated more and more, until on his final day, when he was dying, you dismissed all his servants from his main hall and then confessed to him. Yan Li was very angry and felt very betrayed, but he could do nothing but listen until he died at the hands of the person he loved so much.
39. During Yan Li's funeral, you pretended to cry, not knowing that your real happy days began from that moment. Yan Li's trusted eunuch read the emperor's will, which stated that Li Chen would be the new emperor, and you would be the empress dowager. Long story short, your son ascended the throne, reshaped your living conditions, and the other consorts became "widow consorts." You no longer had to worry about anything, you would just live in peace from now on, taking care of your daughters until they grow up.
40. However, Yan Li was waiting for you in the other world. He has told you years before he died that even if he passes away first, he will be waiting for you in the next life where he will find you and make you his again.
-Fin.
So, what do you think about this part two?
#yandere#yandere oc#cw yandere#yandere love#yandere x you#yandere male#platonic yandere#tw yandere#male yandere#yandere x reader#obsessive yandere#yandere concept#yandere emperor x reader#yandere fanfiction#yandere imagine#yandere male x reader#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons#yanderecore
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IDK if this has been done but I went through the 3 reboots and did a timeline of events so you wouldn't have to!
Side notes: sometimes I use the first initial for who it is! also some of MW3 has timestamps. I also apologize for spelling. Also, lots of this shit happens over like 7-12 days
April 6, 2019 Makarov bombs Verdansk
Price, Ghost and Soap know each other at this point, have NOT met Gaz
Start of MW1
Oct 24 2019 'Al Qatal' moves gas
Oct. 25 2019 Piccadilly Square
Oct. 25 2019 Price meets Gaz
Oct 26 19 Alex & Farah blow Barkov's bombs
Same day destroy one of B's bases
Oct. 27 19 Price and Gaz go to Picc Safe house
Oct 28 19A&F go to Urzstan hospital for "The Wolf"
Oct 28 19 P&G meet up w/ A&F for the Wolf
Oct 29 19 Plan ambush for Butcher & Wolf - Hadir uses the gas, learn Hadir stole the gas
Oct 29 19 PGAF Go to kill W, & get H
Oct 29 19 PGAF kill the wolf, H is 2 Russia
Oct 31 19 PGN go 2 Russia, Capture Kill Butcher (and traumatize a family)
Nov 1 19 Hadir is handed over to Russia
Nov 3 19 Take down Barkov's gas production plant & K
Price meets Kate @ Tea shop makes TF 141 w/ Ghost, Soap, & Gaz
END of MW1
- May 22, 2022 Soap goes side questing, turns green (idk I didn't watch the trailer (I did but I just know there's like green gas))
Start of MW2
July 15 22 Ghost Blows AlMazrah base (Honestly didn't get the point of us seeing this)
Oct 28 22 GS Kill/Cap Mission for Hassan -> Find American Missiles not Hassan
Oct 28 22 PG in Amsterdam for Missile info (Think they used it as an excuse to swim)
Oct 29 22 Capture a cartel mem 4 info
Oct 29 22 Alej. Go for cartel jumping border
Oct 30 22 GSAlej go 4 Hassan safehouse
They capture Hassan (picnic in the desert omg!)
Oct 31 22 PG in Spain for Hassan info Kate gets caught Shepherd tries to abandon her
Nov 1 22 PG meet with F to get Kate (they get her and get juicy gos on Shep)
Nov 1 22 Soap goes into Casa de Sin Nombre
Nov 2 22 Gulf oil rig, blows up by G&S (philip was here too)
Nov 3 22 Soap & Ghost are fighting Shadow co
Nov 3 22 SG go for Alej w/ Rodolfo. PG meet up
Nov 3 22 141 goes for Graves
Nov 4 22 Go 2 Chicago 4 Hassan & missile kill both
END of MW2 - Kate (& tech. Gaz) learn about Makarov
Start of MW3
Nov 10 23 Makarov is broken out of jail 2am
Nov 10 23 Farah is ambushed Konni got missiles around 6am
Nov 10 23 141 go for Nuc Power Plant, P get gased 9am
Makarov has been out for 6 hours
Nov 11 23 They go for Missiles in Urzikistan
Nov 11 23 Kate is going 4 intel on Makarov meets Yuri @ 3pm
Nov 11 23 Makarov crashes plane, blames Farah and Alex go there 7:30-9:30pm
meet with Kate and Nikolai in hanger Nov 12 8am
Nov 12 23 they go for Milena 7pm
Nov 13 23 they get Makarovs right hand man Nolan 11am
Nov 14 23 They find Shepherd swimming at some point 9:30
Nov 16 23 SG stop Verdansk dam bombing Same time PG are at airsti
Nov 21 23 141 go after Makarov Hacker
Nov 21 23 They stop Makarov bomb, Soap gets killed.
Price kills Shepherd after spreading Soap's ashes.
#cod mw2#cod mwii#cod mw3#Cod mw#cod reboot#captain john price#john price#john soap mactavish#john mactavish#johnny mactavish#simon riley#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick#nikolai cod#task force 141#task force 141 x reader#alex keller#john price x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#john mactavish x reader#simon ghost x reader#kyle garrick x reader#alex keller x reader#cod x reader#cod headcanons#cod x gn!reader#cod fanfic#cod modern warfare#call of duty
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.
singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader
✶It's Christmas morning at the Munson's and Adrie has a small request.✶
NSFW — slow burn, fluff, lovesick yearning, very light angst, 18+ for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use
chapter: 7/20 [wc: 3.4k]
↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12
AO3
Chapter 7: Breakthrough
Dreams of sleeping in were crushed one tiny footstep at a time.
Morning broke through the burgundy bed sheet hung as a curtain in the window. Slivers of blue fought away the slumbering gloom clinging to the peeled wallpaper, invading the small bedroom in drowsy clock ticks. Murky wine-colored shadows caressed the bundled comforter, crowded the pillows, soothed closed eyes into sweet dreams. Darkness cradled his head and sold him a lullaby fantasy. An aching yearn of a dream where the cold penetrating the thin trailer walls was kept at bay by more than his own body heat. Arms encircling him, a kiss behind his ear, a gentle wake up call. An idyllic rapture easily woven from the fibers of his unguarded heart. An aspiration quickly escaping his wishful fingers at the sound of running, and the vibrations of the trailer shaking, and–especially–the little voice yelling at him his five extra minutes were up.
“Daddy! You have to wake up.” Adrie jumped knees-first onto the mattress, and bounced her way over to him. “It’s Christmas, you have to get up!”
He grumbled from his warm pocket of air under the covers, and she whined.
“Please,” she begged, crawling towards him.
He winced, and hissed, “Ow-ow-ow, watch the hair. Miss Mouse won’t like me if I go bald.” He dropped his head back to where she sank her mighty fists into his pillow, and she apologized by putting all her strength into shaking his shoulder instead.
Wayne called from the kitchen, “I’m gettin’ started on our famous Christmas casserole.”
“Now that,” Eddie said in an upbeat tone, “I’ll get up for.”
“You’re mean,” Adrie pouted, scooting until her knees dug into his spine, and added on to it by saying it wasn’t fair he was making her wait to open presents.
Eddie twisted around to see her manufactured sad face (practiced over the years to elicit the strongest pity in him), and he snaked his arm out of the blankets to hook it around her, bringing her wriggling self in for a sloppy kiss on her forehead. She made a ‘yuck!’ sound and pushed away.
“Go sit, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Willfully, Adrienne slipped from his hold and sprinted the length of the trailer, rattling the metal window panes along her way.
In the following moment of quiet, he inhaled deep, and sighed through his hands scrubbing over his face. The oil in the electric radiator popped. A bird chirped. Music blasted from a neighbor’s home. A faraway bike skidded, spitting up loose rocks from the trailer park’s entrance.
Eddie rolled onto his back, and blinked at the stained ceiling. He tried to not make a habit of sleeping in Adrie’s bed now that she was older, but sometimes his back cried for a break from the lumpy couch cushions.. His back, his hips, his knees, his neck. All of it. Every now and then he needed the relief, to flatten himself out on the mattress after several long days of work wearing down on his body, even if it was considered weird or wrong by others.
Swinging his legs over the short drop to the floor, Eddie straightened out his thick knit socks, sweatpants, sweatshirt. He rubbed his knuckles against his dry eyes, stinging a line of water along his lashes. Flipped off the switch to the heater. Ran his fingers through his tangled hair, mouth tasting of stale beer from drinking last night with Wayne.
He stepped out of the room that used to be his, and staring at him down the hallway, past the kitchen, at the other end of the lousy home, was his little girl. She sat crisscrossed at the stout tree smelling of fresh sap, illuminated by colorful strands of lights, and backed by old ornaments previously stored in cardboard boxes. Her eyes sparkled with silver tinsel happiness, and her springy curls bounced with the excitement of her wave.
Wayne wrung a damp dish towel around his hands as he and Eddie made their way to the couch, and he gestured at her. “Alright, darlin’, you can go.”
The sacrifices were worth it.
In this lousy home filled with overdue bills and underprivileged struggles, was an abundance of love and awe. Eddie sat at the edge of his make-do bed with scratchy cushions that chafed his skin raw, and brushed his shaky fingers over his lips. “Yeah? Is that the one you wanted?” he asked, grinning so wide his puffy sleep-deprived eyes nearly closed from the unbridled joy he felt watching his daughter tear into the Rockin Robot cassette player and recorder; a toy which had an attached microphone so she could record herself singing onto blank tapes. “Wanna make music just like me?”
“Yes! I love it!”
It didn’t take long for Adrie to open her presents in the established order–smallest to largest. Stocking stuffers first, which she dumped out onto the pine-needled carpet, and snatched all the chocolates to put on the coffee table next to the plate of cookie crumbs and empty Looney Tunes mug. Tossed the pack of new socks and dress into a pile, but wore her pink rain boots. The talking Barney the Dinosaur doll, cassette recorder, and Barbie Fold ‘n Fun play house were placed aside for assembly and batteries later.
Wayne gathered the ribbons and bows she discarded to be saved for next year, and said, “Okay, Miss Adrie. Looks like you have one present left.”
The forest green bag with a portrait of Saint Nick sat propped against the tree, nearly as tall as Adrie when she stood and grabbed the handles. She peeked inside, and in one motion, dropped to the floor, and dislodged gift after gift. An eight-page book with reusable stickers she could move around to create scenes of dinosaurs roaming the land. A big box of 64 crayons with two coloring books. A plastic jewelry making kit. A puzzle. Containers of Play-Doh. And the very last item, turned over and shaken out from the bag, was a unicorn.
Adrie squealed, and swept the stuffed animal into her arms for a merciless hug. “He’s so cute!” she said, burying her face in the powder blue fur.
Eddie stopped tracing his lips. Wayne tilted his head at the scene, confused.
Spotting a small red envelope amongst the torn newspaper her presents were wrapped in, Adrie picked it up, and mouthed out the handwriting she wasn’t familiar with. “Santa left this for you.” Adrie held it out for Eddie to take.
Prying his gaze off the unexpected hoard, he accepted the envelope with his name on it, not uttering a word, nor reacting more than necessary. She bolted for her toys, and Wayne’s scrutiny was hot on the side of his expressionless face, watching him slide his finger under the corner of the flap and break the seal gently, avoiding tearing the paper.
He pulled out the card to reveal an illustration of two cardinals in a pine tree flocked with white glitter snow with a generic greeting on the front. Certain words were underlined in pen afterwards.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
He opened it to see if anything was written inside.
One glimpse.
He smashed the card closed and turned his face away from his uncle.
Collecting himself, Eddie sniffed and ran his knuckles along his jaw until he reached back and wrung his nape as he stood up, and walked to the coat hooks, slipping on his jacket and shoving his feet into his work boots without acknowledging his family.
“Where’re you–?” Wayne stared at his back in quiet bafflement.
“Goin’ out for a smoke,” he answered, and shut the door behind him.
~~~
Tree branches stilled after the delicate breeze knocking them together ceased. Hungry dogs went inside for kibble and warm blankets. Kids stopped riding their bikes when their moms called their names. Humidity dampened the crisp air. Everything hushed.
Eddie sat on the frumpy loveseat on the porch built onto the trailer. His forearms laid on his thighs, and the card remained clapped between his palms. He took a shaky breath. Exhaled. Or tried, anyway, to breathe despite his nose stopping up.
He opened the card again and read the message spanning the entire blank space available.
merry christmas eddie,
i hope adrie likes the gifts!
i know it’s hard for you to find peace,
so i tried going for quiet things that would
keep her busy, like the puzzle. it’s double sided!
that’ll keep her entertained. and i loved
play-doh as a kid, so i hope she does
too. & i can get her more coloring books if
she doesn’t like the animal ones. i know
Continued on the other side–
the bracelet kit says ages 7+ but maybe
you can supervise her. i remember having
one when i was little, before parents cared if
we choked on the beads.
SEASONS GREETINGS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR
if she’s not still in her unicorn phase, spare me!
it was too cute to pass up.
anyway, please get lots of rest over the holidays.
you deserve to relax.
–♡–
mouse
His daughter came dashing out the door, and ran up to him with her jacket flapping around her arms. He shoved the card under his thigh, and shifted his focus to zipping it up for her to silence his emotions from surfacing, not having the energy to risk shattering the facade of the morning by explaining why the unicorn she galloped up his leg meant more to him than it did her.
“You like what Santa got you?” he asked, running a heavy hand over her hair.
“He knew exactly what I wanted,” she rejoiced.
With the temperature dropped, and her boots shiny, she raced the stuffed animal up to his hip, and left him to babysit it while she played outside in the frozen-over yard.
Gladly, he tucked the unicorn companion under his arm as Wayne pushed open the squeaky side door and joined him.
Under normal circumstances, Wayne’s old man stoicism worked wonders on getting Eddie to talk. It was a sure thing. He’d see him come home with red-rimmed eyes, or that far away gaze on the worser days, and he sat in earnest patience, knowing his nephew needed the cool down time to organize his thoughts, and then he’d explain what had him upset.
It worked less well in the years following the incident which led to Eddie’s ostracization from Hawkins, but he just had to be patient. It would work. Eventually. Just had to be patient.
And when his nephew refused to speak, Wayne sparked up a cigarette, and ventured, “I don’t, uh, remember us buyin’ those last presents.”
“They’re from the receptionist at work,” Eddie stated. He didn’t move his gaze from staring holes into the worn down floorboards, but he did sink back into the couch, combing his fingers through the unicorn’s white mane.
“Oh,” Wayne said in genuine surprise. “That was nice of her.”
Treading carefully, his uncle spun his hand as he thought of the best way to approach the real conversation he wanted to have. “She seems nice.. To you, and to Adrie.”
That was when Eddie shook his head. “I know where you're going with this,” he warned, absent of any real threat behind the words.
He went silent in stubbornness.
But Wayne just had to be patient.
“She’s very.. uh.” Eddie sighed. He started again, this time looking up at the rusted awning as if it had all the answers to his love life woes. “She’s very vibrant, y’know? From the city, lives a big life, loves performing for people. She doesn’t need a gray cloud like me hanging over her.” He laughed a hollow laugh, and bumped his shoulder into Wayne’s, pretending their conversation was of the light-hearted variety. Like admitting these things aloud didn’t cause a devastating blow to his neglected self-esteem. “Doesn’t need someone like me tying her down to a place like this.”
Wayne scanned the same trailer park in the same small town with the same curse of bearing the Munson name, but he viewed them with less disdain. Less animosity. “You used to be vibrant too, kid. Used to always be talkin’ about your hobbies, playing music too loud, sittin’ out here with your guitar. Always bringing your friends over. What happened?”
Too many things happened, and they were not the kind he verbalized often, so Eddie chose the most obvious.
The corner of his mouth twitched at the joke flashing through his mind. He got in real close to Wayne’s face, raised his hand, and directed his attention. “My vibrancy’s currently ruining her new shoes.”
Tracking his finger, Wayne slowly turned his head in time to see Adrie crack the ice barring her from a puddle, and stomped it into smithereens, sending mud up her pajama pants and into her pretty pink rain boots. She jumped, and jumped, and giggled, and jumped, all over her dad’s heart.
Satisfied, Eddie hugged the unicorn to his chest after making his point.
“Have you considered maybe she likes gray clouds? Or she’s the type that looks forward to the rainy days?”
“We can drop the weather analogies, Wayne,” he said in a curt tone, cutting off his uncle's incessantness. “It’s not that, anyway. I know she likes me, I’m not that dense.”
Wayne didn’t put much effort into keeping the humor out of his voice, “Then what are you being dense about?” The contemptuous head tilt and accompanying eye roll were earned, but not regretted.
“She might be moving away at the end of summer.”
He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Might be?”
“She doesn’t know yet.”
He watched Eddie’s expression slacken to stark blankness again–face and posture wilting, weighed down by his fate–already resigning on a relationship he hadn’t yet given a chance. “Don’t you want to at least try? I mean, you never know. What if she–?”
“Don’t you think I’ve thought about that?” Eddie interrupted, growing annoyed at the topic and allowing it to seep into his temper. “Don’t you think I’ve sat here, day after day, and thought about it from all angles? Over, and over.” He became more animated as he spat out questions rapid-fire. “What if she stays? What if she leaves? What if things work out? What if they don’t? Do I deserve it even if it’s short term? Can I handle it when Adrie asks me why she’s not around anymore? Like, fuck. It’s all I think about. Constantly! Just again, and again. She could move back to New York and live her accomplished life without ever giving me another thought, but what if she doesn’t want to go back? What if she wants to stick around? What if she wants to work with me at the garage forever, and we get married, and buy a small house with a white picket fence, and live out our textbook dream together with 2.5 kids and a dog. Who knows!” Done ranting, Eddie ended it in a full bodied shrug, and collapsed into the cushions, releasing the most cathartic, yet dramatic sigh Wayne had ever heard. “She’s all I think about. Drives me insane.”
Wayne held out the pack of Camels to him, but it was rejected in a limp wave.
“I..” Eddie’s mouth hinged on the words, bottom lip quivering as the questions he posed washed over him as an exhausted, watery-eyed truth, “I didn’t even realize how bad the stress had gotten until she just..” He motioned. “Fixed it.”
Acknowledging the bitter reality, Wayne nodded. “You are much nicer to be around since you two started hanging out.. Adrie sees it, too.”
Not that Eddie meant to be an asshole, but after grueling hours of hard labor, he had little tolerance for the arguments before bath time, or the meltdowns before school. Months prior, he was alongside his daughter, crying harder than she did when the smallest inconvenience set her off, ending with both of them huddled on the floor; one of them screaming to be understood, and the other in a hopeless heap of a man who reduced himself to a shitty father who couldn’t do anything right, drowning under the pressure, anxiety, responsibility to not fuck up again.
Now, he was able to swim to the sun glimmering on the surface.
Wayne landed his rough palm atop Eddie’s untamed bedhead, and soothed him, “You should give yourself a chance at something great. I’ll be here to pick up the pieces if it doesn’t work out.”
Eddie sniffed, and wrung his lips to the side. “You gonna pick up Adrie’s pieces too?” he asked softly.
“I will, son.” Despite the rocky times in their relationship–the slammed doors, the yelling matches, the coming home with a newborn and no money to afford baby formula–Wayne promised him, “Whatever it takes to make you happy. I’ll do it.”
The egg timer in the kitchen dinged.
“Breakfast’s ready,” he grunted, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray, and giving the quick-nod-with-a-flattened-smile older men were known for after confiding in one another, and he went inside.
There wasn’t much time for Eddie to process the weight of his internal decision before Adrie was climbing onto the loveseat. And if she noticed she left a trail of mud up his pant’s leg on her way to kneeling beside him, she didn’t care. All that mattered was her icicle skin melting in the warmth of his heavy arm wrapped around her middle; and effortlessly, she fell into the comfort of his embrace while working her hands beneath his hair, untucking it from his jacket’s collar, and hugging him back.
Eddie stashed the card in his pocket, and grabbed the unicorn by the back of its head, putting the nose to her cheek and pretending it was giving her kisses. “Did you have a good Christmas?”
“Mhmm,” she hummed, pulling strands of his curls around her fingers while her cold nose was pressed to his throat. “Can Miss Mouse come over to play?”
“Not today. She’s busy with her own celebrations.”
It was weird how calmly he could answer her. No twisted tongue sitting in his mouth like lead, no tensed stomach from an assault of nerves, no racing thoughts of you and Adrie becoming too close before he was ready to disappoint her. The fear was still there, of course. But he didn’t dread it. He held his daughter tucked against his body, and whispered into the unruly hair she inherited, “But she will soon, okay?”
“Yay!” She showed her excitement by constricting her arms around him in a perfect vice.
He wedged the unicorn between them and scooped her onto his hip. “What say you, Princess Adrienne? Shall we go in for a bit of Christmas morning casserole, and partake in reindeer games after getting you into your winter attire? Hmm?” She wasn’t responding. “Adrie?”
Her mouth was hung open, and her hand out, palm turned upward, making a grabby motion at something over his shoulder.
Eddie listened to her, and turned.
Snow fell, fell, fell from the low hanging clouds smudging the sky in shades of gray, bestowing the trailer park with fat flakes drifting beyond the safety of the porch, melting onto the dead grass and brushing past his car’s mirror. Pretty, pretty things of childlike magic Adrie caught on her fingertips. Special things floating to the edge of the wobbly floorboards, and sticking to his hair for her to laugh at.
“I love you,” he said in a kiss to her bitter cold cheek.
“Love you too, Daddy,” she replied in the same fashion, with an additional kiss from the unicorn to the tip of his nose.
Doors around the trailer park opened. Wide eyes of wonder gazed up, and around, searching for friends to celebrate with. Eddie felt exposed in his all black outfit against the growing landscape of white. They were looking at him. Judging him. Munson. But, unlike any other day, the desire to bolt from their intrusive stares dwindled with each graze of his thumb over the card in his pocket.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie x reader#eddie munson smut#mechanic!eddie#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#the yes policy
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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 11: I Know This Hurts, It Was Meant To]
Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…
Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), lots and lots of death and destruction, literally nothing good happens in this chapter don't even read it, a Wolfman sighting, a wild Alys-Whent theory appears, more witchcraft! 🔮
Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.
Chapter title is a lyric from: “Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying” by Fall Out Boy.
Word count: 6.2k.
Link to chapter list: HERE.
Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes
Only 2 chapters left! 🥰💜
“Why isn’t Aemond back yet?”
You’re standing in the Dragonstone rookery with your arms crossed, brow furrowed, ravens pacing through straw and flapping their dark captive wings inside the cages. Through the window, you are watching the waves break against rocks where the Narrow Sea meets the shoreline. Outside it is overcast, misty, grey, cold. When you stepped into the gardens this morning—while Aegon was still sleeping, something he does with ever-increasing frequency, though you aren’t sure if it is more of a physical necessity or mental escape—frost crunched beneath your boots. Lord Larys Strong has shuffled into the room, his cane tapping on the stone floor; that is why you have spoken.
“Perhaps my sister was wrong about Daemon being at the Gods Eye,” he offers demurely. He is trying to be helpful; he is trying to comfort you. But you remember how vividly Alys showed you Everett being murdered by a mob in King’s Landing. You remember his screams, his flailing arms, men ripping the rings off his fingers and women stabbing the blades of their rusty kitchen knives into his eyes. Alys has never met Everett; she could not possibly have known what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, without gifts beyond what you once believed to be possible. Her sight is true and terrible.
“No,” you reply softly, still gazing at the iron-grey ocean. Any minute I’ll hear Vhagar flying over again. I’ll see her vast, reptilian shadow and know that Aemond has won and the war is all but over.
“Perhaps Aemond felt compelled to go south immediately after defeating Daemon and Caraxes. Perhaps he’s with Prince Daeron now, and they’re burning Northmen in the Reach. Perhaps he wants to return with Cregan Stark’s severed head.”
There’s no logical reason why this can’t be the case; but in place of relief, what you feel instead is a heaviness like stones being piled up, like ships filling with seawater. You turn to Larys. “If the king asks about Aemond, I want you to reassure him the same way you’re speaking to me right now.”
He bows his head. “Of course.”
“But I want you to do it more convincingly.”
Larys startles a bit, then regains his composure. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Is Aegon awake yet?”
“He was just getting out of bed when I checked on him.”
And that’s what you’re always doing now, you and Larys and the maesters and the guards: always looking in on Aegon, always making sure he’s not in too much pain, reminding him to eat, distracting him, soothing him, lifting his spirits. “Good. Have the cooks make something that will give him strength.”
“Not crab?”
“No. Something heavier. Beef, venison.” You recall the feast in King’s Landing to celebrate Rhaenyra’s taking of the city, slabs of rare meat glistening with blooddrops like rubies. Red like war, red like the banner of the house you were born to. “Boar, if the kitchens have any.”
In his bedchamber, the king is gazing out of his own window, but slumped in a velvet-cushioned chair instead of standing. He’s sipping a cup of red wine languidly, glazed eyes and slow blinks. There’s a dagger on the table beside him, the one he uses to cut his hair when it starts to grow too long. There are locks of white-blond hair scattered around him on the floor like a thin dusting of snow. Outside, grey clouds churn and waves shatter when they meet jagged boulders and cliffsides, the earth’s own bones.
Aegon glances over at you and says thoughtfully: “Where’s Aemond?”
“He’ll be back soon. I know he will.” He has to be. We can’t win without him. You go to Aegon and kneel down on the floor beside his chair. You lay a palm on his thigh, light as a feather, like you’re just a ghost or a memory. He places a hand over yours. Seconds tick by, late-autumn wind rattles the glass of the window.
“Aemond used to talk about us not being real Targaryens,” Aegon tells you. His voice is faint and dreamy. His eyes are still cast outside—miles away, years away—where he is willing Vhagar’s monstrous shadow to appear. “When we were very young. The Hightowers don’t have any Valyrian blood, they’ve been here in Westeros forever, since men lived in caves and worshiped…” He gestures flippantly with his wine cup, rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t care, sticks or rocks or whatever. That bothered Aemond. He felt that made us less than Rhaenyra and Daemon. Our father rejected us, he ignored us, he broke every precedent to keep us from the throne. Being a Targaryen…it didn’t matter to me.” He smirks wryly and looks down at the flurry of silver hair around his chair. “I didn’t want it anyway. Sunfyre was the only part of my inheritance I didn’t think was a curse. But Aemond needed that legacy. He always wanted to be a hero. He was willing to put in the work, he had the discipline, he had the skill. It meant so much to him, and I…” Aegon shakes his head, his voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have said those things before he left.”
“He didn’t think you meant it. He knew you were speaking out of pain and frustration.”
“I have to be able to apologize to him.”
“You’ll get the chance. He’ll be back soon.”
And Aegon’s eyes—huge and shimmering and a tumultuous blue like the ocean—drift to yours. The words are there, though you don’t hear them aloud: Will he really?
You have to divert him. You have to make him smile. “And don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll bring your favorite swamp witch with him.”
Aegon laughs; crinkles spring up around his eyes, pink rushes into his pale cheeks. “Oh, seven hells. He better not expect us to host her here while he flies south to roast the Stark men.”
“You don’t enjoy her company?” you tease.
“I’d throw crab shells at her. I’d make her sleep in a tree.” He sighs. “Borros Baratheon is going to be furious.”
“I suppose we don’t always get much of a choice in who we fall in love with.”
“No,” Aegon agrees. “We certainly don’t.” He sets his wine cup on the table, leans down to cradle your face with both hands, draws you in close to him and kisses you, deep and tender and slow. He tastes like wine, and weakness, and heat that he is fighting desperately to keep kindling. Everything he does now is full of effort, even just speaking, even just love. He moves like his arms weigh a thousand pounds, like his jaw is iron and his spine is lead. But he lifts it all for you, for you.
Your palm skates to the apex of his thighs. He is hard, he is hungry for you; but he breaks the kiss and covers his face with both hands, moaning. “Aegon?” You thread your fingers through his choppy hair, tuck his braid behind his ear, bring your lips to his forehead. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He chokes out: “I’m so fucking pathetic.”
“You’re not.”
“I am. I’m just this scarred, crippled, useless man. And everyone I touch is ruined by me. I can’t let anything bad happen to you. I don’t understand how you could still want me.”
“I do want you,” you swear, taking his hands from his face: the tears glistening there, the rough red burn on his right cheek. “You and no one else.”
Aegon stares at you with his wet, wounded eyes. “You can’t just give in because you think it’s something you owe me. We can’t allow this to become something that’s poisoned.”
Poison. You think of the tea you brewed Baela, of the milk of the poppy in the glass bottle on Aegon’s bedside table across the room. You think of the night you surrendered to Aemond for nothing, no gain, no strategy, no heir, just treason that grows heavy and unmistakable within you like a child would. “It’s not poison with you, Aegon. It’s the only time I feel pure.”
Aegon staggers to his feet and kisses you again as the wind howls outside. His tongue darts between your lips; his arms circle around your waist to help him keep his balance. He follows you to the bed, a moon chasing its planet, and helps you shed your gown of emerald green velvet, just one of your many skins. He’s lying beside you, he’s touching you everywhere, he’s nipping ravenously at your throat, your breasts, down to your belly, your hips. He’s parting your thighs like pages in a book. He’s dragging his tongue through your drenched folds. And then it flashes in your skull like lightning: memories of Aemond, of betrayal, shame and nausea and scalding blood rushing into your face.
“Come back,” you murmur, and Aegon obeys. But then he does something strange. He heaves himself up with great effort, repositions himself behind you, kisses the bumps of vertebrae down the back of your neck as the scars that riddle his chest scratch against your shoulder blades. When you try to roll towards him again, Aegon stops you.
“No,” he pleads in a whisper, hushed and desperate through your hair. “Don’t turn around. Don’t look at me.”
And before you can protest, his fingertips have skimmed over your hip to stroke you where you are warm and slick and aching, and you are gasping helplessly, begging for more, and his cock slips into you with slow, powerful thrusts that he battles not to break the rhythm of until you’ve come. But in the midst of the pleasure, you are aware that just like the moon in its withering phases, Aegon is somehow less, and so are you, and so is everyone, and so is the world itself.
When it’s over, Aegon doesn’t hold you like he usually does. He doesn’t sink into sleep like deep water. He rolls over, fumbles for his bedside table, pours himself a cup of milk of the poppy with shaking hands.
~~~~~~~~~~
You sit on the bottom steps of the stone staircase, your bare feet in cool wet sand. Your gown is scarlet velvet, a bear fur cloak clutched around your shoulders. You are reading a book from the castle library about the medicinal uses of berries. Across the beach, Aegon is trying to coax Sunfyre into eating a goat that the guards have brought for him. The dragon is sluggish and flightless, and his own blood stains his muzzle; but he peers at Aegon with pained golden eyes like he wants so desperately to please him. And for the first time, you are at last able to see dragons as something more than animate destruction. You see intelligence in them; you see what might even be love.
There are distinct footsteps approaching as Larys descends the staircase, his cane tapping ever-closer. News of Aemond? News of his victory? You twist around to greet the Master of Whisperers. “Do you bring something to lift our spirts, Lord Larys…?”
But no; his face is grim, and he’s holding a bundle of fabric under one arm. He lowers himself down onto the step where you are perched, sets his cane aside, and grasps the bundle with both hands. He stalls for a moment before he speaks. He is in shock, he is terrified. “I’m afraid, Your Grace, that I must inflict great heartache upon the king.” His eyes flick to you. “Perhaps you could help me. I don’t even know how to begin.”
Your veins feel icy; your pulse is thundering in your ears. Aemond? Vhagar? “What’s happened? Is it…about the Gods Eye…?”
“No.” Larys gives you the fabric, folded into a neat square. You pull it apart to examine it.
“What is this…?” But then you know. It is a cape. It is not a regal emerald color, nor a deep envious viridescence; it is a vibrant seafoam green, bright and bold and showy. The clasp is still attached, a gold that glints like the dragon ring on Aegon’s left hand. And the cape is riddled with dark maroon smudges and places where the fabric was singed away, leaving only a gash like the puncture mark of a fang. It smells like smoke and the coppery sickness of blood. Soot rubs off on your palms. “Daeron,” you breathe.
Larys nods gravely. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“How? How did you get this?”
“I have informants in the Reach. After the battle, one ensured that this made its way to me. It should be preserved. It should be given to his mother when we are reunited with her, I believe. Perhaps it will bring her some small consolation. It is the only relic of him she will have to bury.”
“Daeron,” you say again, and you can see him like he’s standing in front of you: daring, arrogant, brave, capable far beyond his years, cunning blue eyes, a shock of silver hair that he was so proud of. Alicent has lost two children. Can she survive this? Will she want to? “I don’t understand, what battle…?”
“Cregan Stark and his men met the Hightower army at Tumbleton,” Larys explains. “Addam Velaryon returned on Seasmoke to join the Blacks and prove his enduring loyalty to Rhaenyra. Perhaps the bastard was genuine, perhaps he only wanted to convince Rhaenyra to free poor Corlys from the Red Keep’s dungeons. It doesn’t matter which now. The boy is dead.”
“Dead,” you repeat. Addam Velaryon may have been a boy, but he fought for Rhaenyra. He fought for Cregan Stark. And you say before you can stop yourself: “Good.”
“Daeron on Tessarion, Hugh Hammer on Vermithor, and the Velaryon bastard on Seasmoke tangled in the sky above the battle. Vermithor was killed by a scorpion bolt fired by the Northmen. Seasmoke was killed by Tessarion. Daeron fell from his dragon in the midst of the clash. Once the Blacks emerged victorious, Tessarion was found alive but mortally injured, and she was shot to death by Stark’s archers.”
“And Cregan Stark, he’s…he survived?”
“Yes. He is unharmed. But the Hightower army was devastated.”
“What about the other Betrayer? Ulf the White? Could he and Silverwing—?”
“Ulf slept through the battle. Drunk to the point of unconsciousness, I’ve heard. He was slain afterwards. The riderless Silverwing has vanished.”
No Tessarion. No Vermithor or Silverwing. Sunfyre is dying. The only Green dragon left is Vhagar. You can’t believe it. You won’t believe it. “But…but Aemond was supposed to fly south after the Gods Eye, he and Daeron were supposed to fight together, and if Vhagar was there this never would have happened—”
“No, it wouldn’t have,” Larys concurs somberly. “But evidently, Aemond has not yet left the Riverlands.”
You study the cape, this ash-and-blood tapestry of the youngest Targaryen brother’s demise, the fifteen-year-old boy who was so much like Aegon. Where is Aemond? Still waiting for Daemon and Caraxes? Holed up inside the crumbling towers of Harrenhal with Alys? Where the hell is he? We need him. We need him. We can’t win without him.
“Your Grace,” Larys says gingerly, like trying not to creak floorboards. “I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable.”
If the Greens lose, Aegon will be executed. You shake your head. “No.”
“I don’t say this to cause you distress. I do it to save your life if that time ever comes. The king would want you to survive, and so would Alicent.”
You hug the mangled cape to your chest, your throat full of embers and your eyes blurring with tears. “There’s nowhere else for me to go.”
“To Claw Isle?” Larys suggests. “The Blacks believe you to be innocent. Your family would take you back.”
“Clement is the head of my house now. He idolizes Cregan Stark, I think he loves him more than he ever loved me. If Cregan is still alive when the war is over, Clement will give me to him. How can I marry a man who fought against Aegon’s cause? Who murdered Greens?” Who is, at least in part, responsible for his death?
Larys scrambles for another solution. “I could try to send you somewhere far away. Dorne, Essos.”
“And then what?” you demand; and Larys cannot answer. You do it for him. “I’d be a woman alone in the world. I would be vulnerable and friendless. I have no idea how to fend for myself. Autumn knew it.” And you remember what she told you before she accompanied you to Dragonstone, a journey that feels like a lifetime ago: I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.
“You read, you write, you study medicine,” Larys says, rather frantic now. “Perhaps I could arrange to have you taken to the Citadel and you could train under the maesters there…I could try to contact some who are sympathetic to the Greens, and if they agree you should depart immediately—”
“I won’t leave Aegon.”
“Your Grace, if the Greens lose this war…I fear the king will not survive. He is already weak. He is already ailing. There is very little you can do for him now.”
“I won’t leave him,” you hiss fiercely. “As long as he breathes, I belong where he is.” He’s risked his life to save mine. He’s taught me the joy that can be found in marriage. I will never stop repaying that debt.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys concedes. Then you refold the cape and walk barefoot across the beach to meet Aegon.
Sunfyre has at last appeased the king by setting the goat ablaze with a sickly gasp of flames. Now he is gnawing listlessly at the corpse. His golden eyes catch on you and track your steps as you approach, dully curiosity but with no malice. Aegon takes his leave of the dragon with a gentle pat of his angular face, struggles to his feet, and joins you under the bleak grey sky. Once he could not step into the sunlight without it burning him; now the sun rarely shines at all. He knows there’s something wrong. He can read it on you like clandestine letters.
“Angel?” Then he sees the cape that you’re holding. “What is that, a banner? A blanket? My bitch half-sister’s funeral shroud, I hope.”
You give it to him. Aegon shakes the cape open, surveys it, then gasps, a sharp inhale like the whistle of a blade through the air. His knees buckle; the fabric flutters to the wet sand. You drop down beside Aegon and embrace him, shelter him, shield him. He grabs at you desperately, like a drowning man clawing for scraps of buoyant wreckage in the waves.
“It was quick,” you murmur as you hold him. “He fell from Tessarion. He didn’t suffer.” You don’t know that, you have no idea what Daeron’s final moments were like. “The battle happened at Tumbleton. The Northmen are in the Reach.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Aegon rasps. “I don’t want to be the king. I never wanted it. I want to go back to before everything happened. I want to give Rhaenyra the throne. She can have it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it. Can we go back to when my father died? I’ll let Rhaenyra have the Seven Kingdoms. I don’t care what Otto and Mother and Criston say. They wouldn’t fight for it either if they knew what would happen. All of us are dead or broken. It’s not worth it. Nothing could be worth it. I don’t want to be the king. I don’t need the Iron Throne. I need everyone I’ve lost back. And I need you.”
“I’m so sorry, Aegon.” Your fingers are snared in his windswept silver hair; your heartbeat is thudding against his. There’s salt on your cheeks: his tears, your tears, the spray of the ocean. “It’s not your fault. Rhaenyra had the chance to end the war. She was offered terms and she refused them over and over again. Daeron’s blood is on her hands. She will pay the debt.”
And a tiny voice inside you says: Hasn’t she already lost four children? Hasn’t she paid enough?
The answer is dark and resounding. No. Nothing will ever be enough. But her life is a start.
“Where was Aemond?” Aegon sobs. “Where the fuck was he? Daeron wasn’t supposed to face the Northmen without him. He was a kid…just a goddamn kid…”
“I don’t know.”
“Are Daemon and Caraxes still alive? Is Aemond at Harrenhal?”
“I don’t know, Aegon. We haven’t heard anything.”
“I should have been there.”
“You would have been if it was possible. But you’re not able to fight. Sunfyre isn’t either.”
“I’m useless,” he weeps bitterly. “I can’t win the war. I can’t save anyone.”
And you brush his hair back from his face and feel his forehead for fever as you say: “You saved me.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“What’s she like?” Lord Bolton asks as he and Cregan Stark warm their large, weathered hands by the fire, their breath foggy in the wind and the stars glimmering in a cold cloudless sky.
The Northmen are still clearing dead and wounded from the battlefield at Tumbleton. Split bones must be forced back into place, infected limbs amputated, gouges scrubbed and stitched, burns treated, corpses buried, soldiers who cannot continue evacuated back to Winterfell via the Kingsroad. All of this must be attended to; Cregan Stark is a man of honor, and honor demands that he care for those who have pledged their lives to him. When the task is done, the Northmen will begin their assault on King’s Landing. The riots must be put down, the rightful queen must be protected, the succession must be secured. And Cregan must find and claim the woman he has been promised and yet denied by the wickedness of the grotesque, amoral, soulless Usurper.
“She’s beautiful, of course,” Cregan says. He speaks in subterranean rumbles, dark and rolling like thunder, booms and quakes, always a little louder than he means to be. He takes up space; he bends the light and gulps down the air. He smiles wistfully, remembering. “But that’s not the important thing. She’s clever, she’s tough. She’s not afraid of gore. I’ve seen her help set a compound fracture that pierced straight through the skin. She had blood all over her hands.” He grins and holds up his own, stained with earth and ash and half-dried maroon that looks as black as ink in the firelight. “We are made for each other.”
Lord Bolton whistles admiringly, his breath like mist. “She is a rarity.”
“Like treasure, like gemstones.” Cregan lays his blade across his knees, a longsword taller than some men and with a hilt carved in the shape of a wolf’s head. He cleans it, he tends to it, it is a part of him as immutable as his spine or his heart. “But she is not prideful. She behaves like a true noblewoman. She is quiet and modest. She defers to her father, to her brother, to me. She obeys.”
“That is essential,” Lord Bolton notes. “Nothing breeds discontentment like a willful wife.”
“She will give me sons with Valyrian blood. She is fertile, surely. Her mother bore six children.” Cregan polishes his blade, his unruly dark hair blowing in the night wind. Now he is pensive. “Her maidenhood was entrusted to me. It was a great honor, a great responsibility. It was something only I ever should have had. It is not her error, but she is less now.”
“You are a good man to still take her, the way she is now. The very best of men.”
“I cannot seem to forget her,” Cregan muses, quiet in a way that is rare for him. “I dream of when I first met her at Winterfell, snow in her hair and pages of books rustling beneath her fingers.”
“What will you do when you capture the Usurper?” Lord Bolton asks; this is the part that most interests him. “Burn him? Gut him? My men have brought their flaying knifes with them from the Dreadfort. They are eager to use them.”
“No,” Cregan says firmly. “No flaying. It is against the laws of war.”
“What use are laws to animals like Alicent Hightower’s children?”
“They preserve us. They safeguard our own humanity, our own honor.” Cregan holds his longsword aloft and scrutinizes it, gazing at his own reflection in the glinting blade. “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”
“So you will do it yourself,” Lord Bolton says with grudging awe. His own flaying knives are suddenly very heavy in his pockets; his fingers itch to use them.
Cregan Stark—the Warden of the North, the new Kingmaker—nods under the starlight. “Yes. I will end the Usurper. It can’t be anyone but me.” He sheaths his longsword, gliding it into its leather scabbard, thinking of his long-awaited wedding night with the woman whose purity was stolen from him like pieces of gold thieved from a vault. “And I will enjoy it.”
~~~~~~~~~~
In bed, surrounded by candles that flicker when cold drafts blow in through the crevices of the castle, you read to Aegon from a book cataloging all the bones of the human body. He doesn’t care about the content, you know that; he just likes to hear your voice. As you read, Aegon—his arms linked around your waist, his chin resting in the dip of your clavicle—interjects with drowsy commentary. “I’ve broken that bone,” he says. “Oh yeah. That one too.” “Grandsire almost cracked my radius in half when I was ten and I replaced his beard cream with cake frosting. He put it on just before going to sleep and woke up assailed by stray cats.”
You chuckle, a lightness that lasts mere seconds. Now Lord Larys Strong has appeared in the doorway, the orange-gold glow like dusk on his face. He rests both hands on the handle of his cane like he often does, but his expression is one you have never seen before. He is not just mournful. He is paralyzed, he is shattered. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, blank. He swallows noisily. He opens his mouth, but no words escape. He closes it again.
“Don’t tell me that,” Aegon says, deathly quiet, winter still. He pulls away from you. You shut the book and place it on the bedside table beside his glass bottle of pearlescent milk of the poppy. Then you watch Larys.
The Master of Whisperers takes a deep, tremulous breath. “I have received word that both dragons disappeared into the skies above the Gods Eye, and then—”
“No,” Aegon whispers. “No, he’s coming back.”
“Your Grace…”
“No, he’s coming back!” the king roars. “He has to, he has to, you know we can’t win without him!”
Aemond? you think, terror-stricken.
“I have three separate reports. They all agree. Caraxes and Vhagar destroyed each other. They plummeted into the lake and sank, along with their riders.”
“No—”
“Both of their riders,” Larys says.
Aemond??
“The reports are wrong,” Aegon counters. “They have to be.”
You can picture Aemond: smirking, teasing, bitter, brilliant, thoughtful, visionary, blind. How can he be at the bottom of the Gods Eye, eternally chained to Vhagar’s saddle, fish nibbling at his fingers and lips and the gristle between his ribs? “Aegon,” you begin, reaching for his hands; but he flinches away from you.
“No, no, he’s coming back!”
Larys says gently: “Your Grace, I am so profoundly sorry for your loss.” But of course, it is every Green’s loss. Who is left to stand between them and Cregan Stark’s army of archers, cavalry, Boltons with their flaying knives? The Baratheon men? And does anyone truly believe they can defeat the Northmen, assuming they arrive to wage war at all?
“He’s coming back.” Aegon is hysterical. His murky blue eyes stream like riptides. “He has to. We need him, Larys, you know how much we need him. It’s a mistake. Aemond is okay, he’s coming back, he’s coming back, we can’t win without him!”
You try to take his hands again. “Aegon, it’s not over yet, we’ll—”
“Don’t touch me!” he cries, breaking down in breathless sobs. Then he covers his face, ashamed, broken. “Everyone I touch dies. I’m a curse, I’m a monster. I ruin people.”
Larys rushes to comfort the king. You retreat from the bed, watching Aegon as he howls and moans, feeling that although there is one of Alicent’s children left alive, all of them have already been taken from you.
The witch, you think, poisonous, venomous, bloodthirsty. She led Aemond to the Gods Eye, and now he’s gone. He’s dead, he’s nowhere, he’s doomed us all.
What had Alys said before she returned with Aemond to Harrenhal? I can appear and speak to you briefly, perhaps for five or ten minutes. I will be like a mirage, a ghost. Find a closed door and write my name upon it in blood. Then knock three times and open the door. I will be there.
You dart to the table beside Aegon’s favorite chair, cushioned with deep red velvet, and snatch the dagger he uses to cut his hair. Clutching the hilt of the weapon, tears searing in your eyes, you bolt from the room and out into hallway. Dragons of stone and steel, fire crackling in their gaping jaws, watch as you flee past them towards the bedchamber Aemond always used when he visited the castle. You can’t fathom that you will never see him again. He was a weed that grew into you and put down roots, he became a part of your landscape. He was dandelions, he was clovers, he was ivy, and now he is earth scorched to ash.
I’ll never speak to him again. I’ll never see him again. How is that possible?
Blood. You need blood. Would there be any in the kitchens? Should you have a goat or a boar butchered?
No, no. Your mind is a maelstrom of storms and rage, fire and blood. I can’t wait.
You go to the closed door of the room that was once claimed by Aemond. He never owned anything; he only took things and penned his name to them in void-black ink. You take the blade of the dagger and rip it down the length of your left palm. Then you write on the wood of the door two words in a rust-colored scrawl, one on top of the other: Alys Rivers.
You ball up your bloodied fist and knock on the door three times. Then you throw it open. And in a black mist, there she stands: onyx gown, obsidian hair, black moonstone eyes, tears of blood that fall in a torrent down her alabaster cheeks. She is grief-stricken. But you have no compassion left for her; your mercy was once an ocean and has now receded to a creek, a puddle, sparse raindrops that people pray for during droughts.
“You told Aemond that Daemon and Caraxes would be waiting for him at the Gods Eye. You encouraged him to go.”
Alys shakes her head, an inhumanly slow motion. Her voice is deep and echoing, like a shout through a long tunnel. “I didn’t know this would happen.”
“You see things, don’t you?!”
“Not everything,” Alys sobs. “I saw him take flight. I didn’t see the rest of it. I didn’t know. I never would have let him go if I’d known.”
“And you killed him. You murdered him, you ruined him, you might as well have driven a blade into his heart.”
“Aemond went of his own volition,” Alys says. “I told him the truth of what I saw. He was certain that Caraxes could not meet Vhagar in battle and emerge unbroken. And he was right. Caraxes did not survive. But neither did Vhagar.” Her blood-streaked face crumbles again. “He was stabbed through the eye. His beautiful sapphire eye…”
“You’ve doomed us. Vhagar was our last adult dragon, Aemond was our best warrior after Criston died. You’re a murderer. You’ve killed us.”
Her glare turns hateful. “You are not such a stranger to killing.”
“Careful, witch,” you warn. “Or when Aegon sits the Iron Throne, we will send men to the rubble of Harrenhal to burn you alive.”
“No. My son and I will live. And I’ve seen your children, too,” Alys says, and for all the times she did not intend to be cruel, now she is grinning with savage madness.
Panic rises in you; you try to conceal it. “I don’t believe I’ll ever have children.”
“Oh, you will,” Alys insists gleefully. “You will. I’ve seen it. Snow in your hair, furs around your shoulders, children who are dark and rugged, wolf pups with dirt and ash on their faces.”
The North. The Starks. “No,” you say, horrified. I can’t marry Cregan Stark. If I’m given to him, that means Aegon is dead. “No, no, you’re lying. You’re lying!”
“You are not a woman who motherhood will come easily to. It will take time to conceive, but you will give the Warden of the North heirs. He will enjoy putting them in you. He will have to try often.”
Your voice is hoarse and helpless. “You’re just trying to hurt me, it’s not real—”
“Wolf pups,” she says again, insistent. “After Aemond died, I saw them all in a row. And my son,” Alys continues dreamily, tracing her belly with one palm, not showing yet but full of potential like blue-white lightning flashing from inside a storm cloud. “My son will be a knight of House Whent.”
“There is no House Whent, you lunatic.”
“No.” Alys smiles, leers, gloats. “But there will be. I will be driven from Harrenhal, but they will reclaim it. And a Whent will marry into Tully, and a Tully will marry into Stark, and your blood will mix with Aemond’s after all. Isn’t there a certain poetry in that?”
Your hands have flown up to cover your ears. Aegon can’t die. I won’t survive it. “No, no, no!”
“The blood of wolves will always sing to dragons. And that is because of you, I think. The mind forgets, if it ever knew at all…but the bones remember. Pieces of you threaded into the marrow. Murmurs of your voice in their dreams. Do not attempt to resist it. This is your fate, and it could be far worse. The wheel goes around and around, and we all take our turn being crushed. Be grateful you’ll still be alive. Be thankful you had the time you did with your broken king.”
“No!” You slam the door shut. The blood on your palm is drying; the slit you cut there burns.
She’s lying. She’s mistaken. She’s a witch and a madwoman and I don’t believe a word she says.
And before you can dwell on how little comfort this brings you, you hurry to return to Aegon’s bedchamber.
“Borros Baratheon will expect you to take his daughter as your wife,” Larys is telling Aegon. “He was promised a royal marriage. With Aemond and Daeron both gone, you are the only suitable Targaryen left.”
“I won’t do it,” Aegon says quietly. He looks bloodless and haunted; he looks half-dead.
“Your Grace…please…failure to appease him might inspire Borros to withhold his military support from us. His army is the only substantial force the Greens still possess. It is not a personal decision. It is a strategic one. And without having an heir with the queen, her political utility is minimal…”
“No,” Aegon snaps. “I will not be parted from her. Do not ask me again.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys yields, bowing deeply. You know he does not act out of ill-will towards you. He is an advisor, and he is trying to advise. You are not the logical choice. And if Aegon loses, you will reap no rewards because he chose to call you his queen. The world will end for you as well.
“What is that?” you ask, and they both jolt to see you in the doorway; but you aren’t looking at Aegon or Larys. You are peering out the nearest window at pinpricks of firelight that dance over the waves. Larys shuffles to the window, his cane rapping against the floor. With agonizing effort—though he refuses your help—Aegon crawls out of bed and stumbles across the bedchamber to join you and Larys.
“It’s her,” Aegon says; and you can hear the vicious satisfaction in his voice like glistening strands of saliva dripping from the jaws of a ravenous animal, a wolf or a bear or a dragon. The fire is from the glass lanterns they carry. There are no signs of Syrax or Sheepstealer, not even little Tyraxes, no squeals or shrieks or shadows that pass over the moonlight.
Stepping off a tiny boat moored at the end of the pier—attended by only a handful of servants and tugging her white-haired son along behind her—is Rhaenyra Targaryen.
#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon ii#aegon targaryen ii#aegon x reader#aegon targaryen x reader
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mutual 1: (that one mediocre twitter screenshot youve already seen five times today. you know the one)
mutual 2: yeah i microwaved your boyfriend sorry put him in there for a minute thirty mhm yep hes all crispy now sorry
mutual 3: if you dont want to fuck a fat hairy old man do you even really have the spark of consciousness
mutual 4: heyyy queen❤️ credit card tonight? credit card please? credit card information tonight bestie?
mutual 5: slenderman if he was WIZARD CORE be like find my mages
mutual 6: no guys. hear me out. mcu spiderman is actually a really interesting character because (6000 word dashboard nuke)
mutual 7: ok i’m not answering anything else from “Racist Anon” i try to engage with people in good faith but it’s been really bad for my mental health
mutual 8: wish a hot tgirl would cut me open and replace all my organs with old vhs player parts but in like a sexual way
mutual 9: at this point i forget she/her shadow the hedgehog isnt canon sometimes
mutual 10: who up wungling they hog
mutual 11: who up wungling they hog
mutual 12: THIRTY FIVE DEGREES SIX MINUTES SEVEN SECONDS NORTH. ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN DEGREES EIGHT MINUTES AND FOURTEEN SECONDS WEST. DECEMBER SIXTEENTH. YOU WILL KNOW WHAT TO DO
mutual 13: who up wungling they hog
mutual 14: i wish someone would wungle my hog… (uncensored selfie)
mutual 15: if you dont ship the rugrats you’re against free speech (i don’t remember why i followed this guy)
mutual 16: (twenty minute heritage blog rp thread)
mutual 17: unfollow if you watch the simpsons that shit is racist as hell
mutual 18: does anyone else think (mutual 17) is guilt tripping people
mutual 19: (reblog of my own zero effort post that i regret making) dave woukd say this
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Your Joy Ang style drawings look amazing! Do you have any advice for mimicking it?
HOW TO JOY ANG STYLE
Hi there! Yes I have. I will advice everyone, who want co mimic Joy's style, firstly to watch her speedpaints on her youtube channel. ( https://www.youtube.com/@JoyAng ) And watch her other arts, at her site - http://joyang.ca/artwork/
You will need to analyze how she works.
Earlier I didn't get it right away because I didn't quite understand it, but now I know some things:
1. Joy Ang makes a rough sketch of the entire drawing, and then colors it
2. Joy Ang first draws the works with a line, sometimes even on paper
Added my Kinkajou without color to the block
3. Then she creates a base layer under the line
4. Then (not always, but as I understood in most cases) merges the fill and line layer into one and begins to work with color and shades, pipetting the colors from the sketch (I'm saving the layers with the line just in case something goes wrong)
Use the "transparency lock" to stay within the bounds of the fill !!!
5. For dragons with lots of scales, like Kinkajou, personally, I first work with the color under the line and only then merge to make light on the scales, otherwise I will smear them all
6. Joy paints with STROKES, very very small strokes, which may make it a little difficult to work, but then the work will be more like Joy
Take a closer look!
7. Joy often, but not every time, draws a very contrast line of light next to the contour in her work
8. Her line is not smooth! It's textured!
9. The backgrounds in her works are a great example of working with contrast. Almost all of Joy's backgrounds are very light, sometimes almost white against the background of the characters. This is in order to highlight the character and focus attention on them.
10. Very important! Joy sometimes neglects anatomy in order to create an eye-pleasing picture, here's an example - flowing lines in her drawings, yes, dragons do not have a pelvis, but their body turns very beautifully and smoothly twists. I would compare this to animation, where the characters also usually have smooth, pleasant features.
Bad for anatomy, but great for stylysation!
11. And I think it should be said that her work is full of color, so don't limit yourself to "white and black" by painting light and shadow.
So.. That's it! You will need practice to completely repeat the style, try to study Joy Ang's work yourself, and make some small drawings first to get used to the style, good luck!
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H/D CAREER FAIR 2023 MASTERLIST & REVEALS!
What an amazing fair we had this year. But this much awesomeness doesn't occur on it's own. The mods would like to take this opportunity to thank some people:
♥ To the authors and artists. We're so so thrilled you participated for the 2023 fair. Your talents and amazing works truly made the Fair what it is! There would have been no fair without you all.
♥ To our readers and viewers. Thanks for taking time to view, read, kudo and comment. We truly appreciate your efforts and love every single comment that was left.
♥ To everyone who participated in our Fair Cup. You guys were incredible! You put in so much effort to read and comment and hustle for your team. We hope you had much fun!
♥ To those of you who spent the time reccing stories and artworks you loved – thank you!
♥ And finally, to everyone who helped beta and cheer for our participants – you're all amazing!
So give yourselves a round of applause! Without further ado, this is the reveals!
Much Love,
phoenixacid & sassy_cissa
(IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER)
ART
1. chachisoo drew "H.J. Potter", (2019) oil on canvas, Draco Malfoy (Digital Comic, General)
2. P_pato_roldnart drew Close Observation (Digital Art, General)
3. Itsphantasmagoria drew Holes (Digital Art, Explicit)
4. LordAzazel23 drew Under the Dementor's Watch (Digital Art, General)
5. porcelainheart3 drew One Foot In The Grave (Digital Art, Teen)
6. PinkElephant42 drew In Life & Death (Digital Art, General)
7. Dustmouth drew Harry Potter Gets a Job (Traditional Art/Comic, Mature)
ART & FIC
8. Bubblegumhead drew and wrote The Thread that Binds Us (22k, Teen)
FIC
9. harrows wrote Wherever You Go, There You Are (12k, Explicit)
10. Sleepstxtic wrote Connecting Lines, Connecting Crimes (15k, Mature)
11. annanotherthing wrote Amourous As This Lovely Green (15k, Explicit)
12. Romaine wrote Terminal Lucidity (3k, General)
13. Sita Z wrote Full Fathom Five (18k, Explicit)
14. Mischievous wrote All the Good Things and the Bad Things that May Be (11k, Explicit)
15. oflights wrote If the Bees Know (20k, Teen)
16. Meowfoy wrote WanderFull Fit (7k, Explicit)
17. starlitsilvereyes wrote Death is Not Fit to House a Love (21k, Explicit)
18. ravenesse wrote Let's Get Physical (10k, Explicit)
19. Flightinflame wrote Another Side (2k, Teen)
20. Ladderofyears wrote A Year In The Life (19k, Mature)
21. xErised wrote Playing Quiddick (12k, Explicit)
22. arminaa wrote Within You Without You (40k, Explicit)
23. Poison_literature wrote Blood Tainted Fingertips (7k, Mature)
24. dysonrules wrote A Competitive Cooperation (20k, Teen)
25. Maraudersaffair wrote My Own Personal Poltergeist (11k, Explicit)
26. Enchanted_Jae wrote Scanning the Skies (3k, Teen)
27. apricitydays wrote Once More To Arcady (32k, Explicit)
28. rei382 wrote The Sinful Serpent (11k, Teen)
29. Moon_Peach wrote Californian Calcite (31k, Mature)
30. DrWhoIsGinnyHolmes wrote Broom Service (7k, Explicit)
31. StarQuesting wrote Half Sick of Shadows (40k, Explicit)
32. Phoebe_Delia wrote Just Take Me Home (5k, Teen)
33. SanderVanSunshine wrote Ten Visits to Fire and Flight: The World of Dragons (17k, Explicit)
34. epsilonargus wrote means to a triumph (5k, Teen)
35. Tigersilver wrote The Plot (15k, Teen)
36. toxik_angel wrote Fawning Over You (39k, Explicit)
37. Aulophobia wrote To Have A Home (128k, Explicit)
38. meloflavor wrote Can't Pretend (3k, General)
39. saltwatergarden wrote port in a storm (8k, Mature)
40. peachpety wrote Playing for Keeps (7k, General)
41. DodgerKedavra wrote The Scent of Soft Rains (20k, Explicit)
42. SquibNation10 wrote Launch me to Ultralife (39k, Teen)
PODFIC
43. Cailynwrites read Call Me, Won't You? by Aelys_Althea - a Podfic (4 hours, Teen)
We will post stats and banners and Cup results shortly! ♥
#drarry#drarry fic#harry potter#draco malfoy#draco malfoy/harry potter#hd career fair#drarry art#please help spread the word#drarry podfic#masterlist#reveals are here!
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The Man with the Cold Lips
[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]
[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, domination, violence, trauma, mourning ]
[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]
This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.
Series & Characters Moodboard
Lady Walford Moodboard
Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard
Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze
Yesterday's trailer and the panel with ewan did something to me, so I think that dark aemond is the most appropriate thing I can give you today and that's it. It begins!
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
_____
Although she knew it was dangerous, after what had happened she forbade telling the King about what she had discovered. Some part of her hoped that Prince Aemond was alive − she was willing to help him regain the throne if only he would agree to spare her brother's life.
She spent the rest of the day alone in her chamber, covered in thick furs, thinking hard about what had happened.
About Vhagar.
He told her she knew his name, so he must have been someone she had seen on a daily basis before. Her discovery frightened him enough that he was willing to kill her − however, did he really want to do it out of fear of her father's wrath and the fact that he would lose his position, or was it something else?
She bit her lower lip at the thought that a part of her suspected she might be working with the Prince, to be his liaison, a devoted servant who by some miracle had managed to get into her father-king's closest guard.
He gave up the idea of murder because he knew that even if he had faked her suicide − the King would have blamed him for not watching over her and he would have lost everything, so he came up with another excuse, hiding himself behind sheer terror, hoping that she would believe him.
However, what purpose did what happened between them afterwards?
She pressed her lips together, feeling the heat in her body at the memory of that overwhelming feeling of fulfilment, that wonderful tickling and tension rising in her lower abdomen with each of his thrusts.
She placed her hand on her womb, swallowing hard at the thought that he had come inside her, that she could expect a child because of his seed.
She squeezed her eyelids shut, trying to breathe calmly, thinking only of how much better it would have been if he had let her die that night.
Her father had demanded, despite her objections, that she join the funeral feast in her mother's honour, so she walked reluctantly down to the great hall, her ghost following her at a greater distance than usual.
She thought that he himself was horrified by what had happened between them and the consequences that might follow.
She sat down at the table next to her brother, her father smiled at her and she reciprocated the gesture, thinking with amusement about how easy it was for her to pretend.
"There she is, my daughter. My treasure, my greatest support." He said with a pride from which her throat squeezed.
Only a few years ago she would have believed his words.
She felt him grasp her hand and she reciprocated the embrace, stroking his skin with her thumb.
"She's no longer a child and I've decided it's time to find her a suitable candidate for a husband." He said lightly, she felt her heart stop, the smile disappeared from her lips, on her face only pain mixed with disbelief.
They were at a feast dedicated to the funeral of her mother, his queen, and he was discussing her marriage.
"I ask that willing lords report to me on this matter." He said contentedly, letting go of her hand, and she closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.
She felt him standing behind her, felt his menacing, dark aura, and wondered what he was thinking.
If he imagined her lying in bed with another man, letting him sink deep between her thighs.
She left the feast quickly that evening, explaining to her father that she was tired, which he accepted with understanding. When she stepped into her chamber her servants helped her to pull off her mourning gown, once again offering her condolences, blowing out all the candles one by one.
She lay comfortably under the thick layers of furs, looking out the window at the cloudless sky full of stars, thinking about what had happened, unable to believe that by some miracle she was still alive.
As she began to slowly fall asleep she shuddered suddenly; she heard the door to her chamber open − Vhagar stepped inside without a word and closed it quietly behind him.
She watched with a rapidly pounding heart as, with an unhurried, lazy step, he approached her windows, untied the curtains and covered the only source of light with them, repeating this act until complete darkness fell around them.
She could see nothing but blackness.
She heard the sound of steel hinges opening, then the sound of a belt being unbuckled and the rustling of robes falling to the floor.
She lay still, her lips parted in horror and disbelief, felt once again this familiar, throbbing sensation between her thighs and embarrassing, sticky wetness.
She listened to his footsteps, the old wood creaking under his feet as he finally climbed onto her bed, she heard it bend under his weight.
She felt the touch of his big hand on her cheek and trembled, taking a deep breath, realising he wasn't wearing gloves, his warm breath wrapped around her face.
She tightened her hands on his bare, muscular shoulders as his fingers slipped into the ties of her nightgown and just ripped them open − she squealed when she heard the sound of the fabric being torn and a cool breeze surrounded her flesh.
"− I won't stop −" He said in a trembling, deep voice, so startlingly clear that shivers ran through her, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan when she realised he wasn't wearing a mask.
She squealed loudly, her body arching all over, her hands clenched in his hair when she felt it, his cold, wet mouth clamped down on her warm breast, playing with her nipple, sucking and licking it, the spot between her thighs throbbing with pleasure and desire.
"− oh − oh, gods −" She mumbled out, never having felt anything like it in her life, his hands ripped her chemise off her and only then did she feel his whole naked body pressed against her skin − it was such an overpowering, shocking sensation that she was out of breath.
She wanted to enjoy every second of what was happening, his lips teasing her nipple with a loud click, clearly taking great pleasure from it, his hands tightened on her hips, forcing her to spread her thighs wider in front of him, her fingers stroking his hair − she thought with a trembling heart that they were unexpectedly soft and long.
"− we can't −" She choked out with an effort, wanting to retain the remnants of her sober thinking and decency.
He, however, only chuckled under his breath, amused, his hand from her hip slid down between her thighs − she whimpered loudly as his fingertips ran over her heat, collecting the moisture that had already managed to flow out of her, oversensitive and delicate.
"− should I leave you like this? − I'm not that cruel −" He hummed under his breath with a kind of excitement from which she quivered all over. She heard him raise himself higher on his elbow, his nose ran over her cheek − she gasped as she felt his fingers begin to apply more pressure, in sure, circular motions teasing the bud hidden between her folds.
All she could think about was that he wasn't wearing a mask, her hand rised involuntarily to touch his cheek.
"Tsk-tsk." He hissed as he caught her wrist − his tongue ran over her upper lip as his middle finger made its way inside her, searching with it for the spot he had rubbed earlier with his length. "Don't."
She mewled with delight and her body shook with a shiver of pleasure when he finally found it, her hips responded to his touch with desperate rocking, her mouth parted invitingly, letting his tongue deep into her throat, their lips joined in a sticky, loud, hot kiss.
She panted loudly along with him, stroking his hair as she felt him slide his finger out of her, impatient, his lips sucking and brushing her fleshy skin again and again as the tip of his manhood pushed against her swollen slit, thrusting forcefully inside her.
She clasped her hands on his bare back feeling the scars beneath them and cried quietly into his mouth, trying with difficulty to fit him inside her − he throbbed all over in arousal, her breasts pressed against his chest in the tight embrace of their bodies.
They both started to moan between loud, wet kisses as he began to root into her hot core − this time she was so wet that a few pushes of his hips were enough for him to begin slipping into her with ease.
"− mmm − that's it − so fucking good −" He panted into her mouth, gripping her hips tightly with his hands, stretching her tight walls with his length with every movement of his hips.
She moaned helplessly beneath him, stroking his hair, neck, shoulders and back, all sweaty from exertion, their lips finding each other in messy kisses over and over again.
"− fuck − do you really think I'm going to share what's mine? − that I would allow some mere, petty lord take you? − hm? −" He hissed out and she felt her walls clench tightly on him at his words in pleasure, heat surged through her lower abdomen from which her head completely spun, her helpless whimpering answered him.
"− p-please − I − ughmm −" She babbled, unable to focus on anything other than how he slammed his manhood into her, how wonderfully it teased the spot hidden in her walls.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting to feel him closer, tightening her fingers on his back − she heard him groan low feeling it, speeding up, thrusting into her like crazy.
"− you want it, don't you? − my seed − deep, deep inside you − fuck, say it −" He breathed out between quick, deep, brutal thrusts − she felt him looking at her, felt his hot breath on her face, his forehead pressed against hers.
"− y-yes − please − fill me, fill me, fill me −" She mewled, both of them moaning loudly as a powerful orgasm shook her body, her core began to clench against him, forcing him to let go, his length twitching all over as his semen spilled deep inside her.
"− good gods, yes, take it −" He exhaled in delight, his thrusts sloppy and desperate, pushing his seed as deep into her as possible.
"− you're mine − I'm going to fill you every night − gods, you're going to bear me so many children −" He gasped in bliss, slowly coming down from his peak, the whimpers of pleasure coming out of her lips at his words − she wasn't sure she'd ever experienced anything like this in her life.
"− please −" She mumbled quietly like a helpless child, running her hands over his naked skin, wanting to remember that wonderful feeling − they were both hot and sweaty with pleasure, their bodies sticking to each other, her breasts pressed against his bare chest.
They both sighed when he finally fell on top of her, embracing her, their fingers sinking into each other's bodies, wanting to feel each other as much as possible, though she wasn't sure if two people could connect in any physical way more than they did now.
She could feel his loud, raspy breath against her cheek, the tip of his nose running over her hot skin, as if he wanted to check that it wasn't all just the result of his imagination.
"− stay − stay inside me −" She whispered, and he sighed quietly, as if relieved, with a gentle movement of his hips sliding his already half-soft manhood fully into her, hiding himself deep inside her.
Even though she knew it was wrong and irresponsible, that she couldn't trust him, that he was a traitor, she had never felt safer with anyone before, her eyelids closing involuntarily, having not experienced a peaceful sleep for so long.
"− don't open your eyes until I leave −" He whispered in her ear and she nodded, stroking his soft hair, her lungs filled with his scent, male sweat, steel, dust and fire.
His arms held her in a tight embrace through this night and many nights to come, making the days blend into one for her.
Each time he came to her he would cover the windows with curtains so that she could see nothing, and then sink his lips and tongue into the warmth between her thighs, groaning in delight as he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her, only to end up rooting deep into her, as he promised, filling her with his seed.
He always rose before dawn − she could see through her closed eyelids that the first rays of light were sneaking into her chamber despite the curtains, that if she opened them she could see his face.
She feared, however, what she would see.
All she could think about all day was the night, what he brought to her along with the brutal, deep thrusts of his hips.
When he took her, he would say that he was her husband, that only he had the right to touch her, that she would only bear his children.
She was his.
He used to show this to her by standing closer than usual when she was eating or reading, by no longer leaving when she was taking a bath or changing, staring at her shamelessly, promising her servants in her presence that if they said anything to the King, he would end their lives.
"Vhagar doesn't mean it and he would never hurt you against my will. Am I right?" She asked coldly, frowning at him as the terrified girl tried to attach the long sleeves to her gown with trembling hands.
"Mmm."
When they were alone he would dare to approach her from behind as she sit, his leather-gloved hand running over her throat only to grasp her cheeks tightly and lift her face up, forcing her to look at him.
She stared into his eyes obscured by the dark material, at his mask, indifferent, cold, mocking, his thumb gently massaging her skin.
He didn't need to say anything − she could feel the tension between them quivering in the air, making her feel a throbbing inside her.
"Tonight I'm going to make use of those lips." He hummed softly, parting her lips with his finger − she closed her eyes, feeling that she couldn't last, her hand lifted swiftly the thick layers of her gown and slid deep between her thighs, sinking into her moist warmth.
He sighed quietly, looking down at it, clearly taking satisfaction from the fact that his mere presence made her unable to bear it, that she needed to relieve herself.
"− do you want it so badly? − me fucking those moist, sweet lips? − hm? −" He cooed, and she only whimpered, tilting her head back, resting it against his stomach, with a loud, embarrassing click rising and falling on her fingers, teasing her pearl at the same time, feeling her nipples grow hard with arousal.
"− please −" She mumbled, although she didn't know what she was asking for, they couldn't do it now − they had to wait until night fell, like every day.
"− you look wonderful like this −" He murmured, stroking her cheek with his thumb, his voice trembling slightly − she knew that he was already completely hard, that he was dying at the thought of being deep inside her at night. "− so devoted −"
She mewled at his words and felt him clamp his hand over her mouth, stifling her moans that escaped her throat as she reached her peak − she felt her walls clench hungrily on her fingers, wonderful waves of heat surged through her body again and again. She heard him gasp with satisfaction as he saw her body spilling in front of him on the chair.
"− mine −"
That night as they lay in complete darkness, both of them falling asleep, his nose snuggled into the hollow of her neck, his soft manhood deep inside her, she dared to ask him the question that had long been pressing against her tongue.
"Are you Prince Aemond's envoy?"
Her question hung in the air as if in the void; she felt his body freeze − for a moment he did not breathe, his fingers tightened on her soft skin.
Silence.
Long, cruel, cold.
"Yes."
She swallowed loudly, a shudder went through her at his words. He felt it and leaned in, placing a soft, warm kiss on her shoulder, his fingers squeezing her breast with affection.
"I want to help him. Can you convey this to him?" She asked in a whisper and felt him flinch all over, letting the air out of his lungs in disbelief − she felt him lift a little, his hot breath on her cheek.
"What do you mean?" He asked in a trembling, low, deep voice, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. She pressed her lips together feeling her heart pounding like mad.
"I will support him if he spares my little brother. If he agrees, I'll do whatever he wants." She said in pain, feeling a squeeze in her throat − his lips pressed quickly against her skin, greedily, violently, kissing and sucking her, his length throbbing hard inside her.
He began to move again, slowly rooting into her with a sigh of delight and relief, saying no more until they reached their peak together, panting loudly, their bodies heated and quivering with exertion.
"− be patient −" He whispered in her ear with such tenderness that she felt her heart squeeze, heat spilling over her lower abdomen. "− soon − I promise you, we'll be married soon −"
After what he said, she fell asleep filled with hope, with the fact that she wanted to believe his words, that he would really protect her, that perhaps a great bloodshed could be avoided this time.
That they would really get married.
She thought that now, that everything had come together in her mind, she could finally look at him − her future husband, the man who had taken her for himself, who brutally and indivisibly stormed into her heart.
That was why, even though she had sworn to him that she would not do so, hearing him get dressed in a hurry she lifted her eyelids.
She felt her heart freeze, her throat squeezed so tightly that she couldn't catch her breath.
He sensed something was wrong, subconsciously realised she had broken her promise and lifted his gaze to her, his hands clenched on the belt of his coat.
A large scar ran across his right cheek, in his eye socket not a blue iris, as it seemed to her when she looked at him through the thin black material, but a sapphire, glinting dangerously in the first rays of the sun, his lips clenched into a thin line, in his healthy eye pain, disappointment and anger.
"You shouldn't have done that."
_____
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